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thestarsarebrightertonight · 3 days

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get it off your chest , get it off my desk // theodore nott x fem ravenclaw reader

playlist: lavender haze - taylor swift , cruel summer - taylor swift

summary: theodore nott always tormented you , teased you. you never knew why and until now you didnt care , even harboring a small secret crush on him- but when his whole demeanor switches to that of affection and love notes. your confusion and anger becomes overwhelming.

y/n used , ravenclaw reader , fluff , comedy/cringey , bullying , theos annoying , swearing , not proofread

masterlist

"got your nose in a book again y/n, shakespeare poems? wow a romantic. its sad yknow, no wonder you dont have any friends." theodore nott smirked as he slapped the book in your hands out of them and onto the floor.

"fuck off nott she does have friends , im literally right here." your best friend - lisa turpin - sneered at the boy , throwing him the deadliest of glares.

"ah turpin didnt spot you there. not surprised i didnt spot you considering youre so irrelevant, youre practically see through." theodore looked at her coldly , his foot stomping on your book on the floor to stop you from retrieving it.

"nott , get your foot off my book!" you exclaimed , theo turning to you with a overdramatic shock.

"so she does speak! i thought you were mute or something little y/n" he laughed , all of his friends hollering behind him. it really wasnt that funny.

"we talk practically everyday because all you do is fucking harrass me!" you fumed.

"hey hey hey! dont swear sweetheart , its so unlady like!" he pretended to be offended , his smug smile betraying him.

"fuck off nott and just leave me alone, its been 5 years and im truly wonder when you will LEAVE ME ALONE!!" you emphasised the last few words , screaming at him before grabbing lisas hand and storming down the corridor.

theodore could only stare after your figure with a satisfied smile. it was obvious that theo had never been one to express his feelings well , so when he fully fell head over heals for you in first year - his immediate reaction was to bully you. ridiculous right? all of his friends think so but all of them are too afraid to tell him....well asides from pansy parkinson.

"theodore nott when will you grow a fucking pair and ask the girl out rather than tormenting her!" pansy finally snapped , for the first time in 5 years of theodores pathetic pining , she finally stood up to him and took one for the team.

upon hearing her words , theodores laughing ceased automatically , the group of slytherins behind him falling into a dead silence.

"w-....what?" theodore stuttered quietly , staring at pansy like a deer in headlights.

"you heard me nott , everyone is sick of your little big bad theodore act you put on around that poor girl! its not her fault that you cant comprehend your fucking feelings!"pansys loud shouts making the boy snap out of his daze , unforgiving anger cascading over his once shocked face.

"who the fuck do you think you are parkinson!" theodore shouted back , stepping towards the girl before blaise grabbed his arm harshly.

"yeah you're definitely not going any closer to her." blaise said sternly , squeezing harsh on theos arm , "everyone agrees with pansy mate. shes just a quiet ravenclaw- either leave her alone or man up."

"bullying her isnt doing anything nott but making the girl despise you." lorenzo said angrily before running after you and calling out your name.

this only added fuel to theodores bright flame. you and lorenzo were extremely close and he had no idea why. he hated it. and watching you stop and give lorenzo a soft smile as he wrapped his arm around you , almost made theo throw up.

"theres no point in being jealous mate. that could be you if you were just a bit nicer to her." mattheo said plainly , not very interested in theodores love life but sick of the tensions growing between lorenzo and theo because of said love life.

"youre one to talk you are horrible to all of your little toys!" theodore argued back , glaring at mattheo who only shrugged.

"yeah and im not madly in love with 'my little toys'." mattheo chuckled as theodore clenched his fist tightly.

"so what do you all suggest i do then?! ive tried leaving her alone before but it just meant she paid no attention to me-" theodore was cut off by a sarcastic draco.

"God forbid the girl youve bullied for years pays no attention to you when you finally stop bullying her."

"fuck off malfoy i dont bully her i just...tease her."

"if thats teasing then whats your definition of bullying." mattheo laughed to himself.

"can you all just piss off! help me!" theodore exclaimed in desperation , seeking the advice of his bored friends.

"start flirting with her. throw in a love note or two, girls love that mate." blaise said.

"or! how about something oh so simple - start being nice?!" pansy let out with confusion having heard the boys overcomplicate something so simple.

----

so thats exactly what theodore nott did.

the next door you stayed alert as you walked through the corridors to breakfast , preparing for water or frogs to rain down on you at any second.

so when they didnt come down and theodore nott didnt run past you cackling loudly , a small skip was put in your step and a soft smile plastered on your brightening face.

"someone bubbly today!" lorenzo said with a grin as he came up ro walk besides you , an arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you in close.

"sure am! im dry! like actually dry!" you grinned happily as lorenzo admired the once in a life time joy that your face held.

"what do you mean - you sound crazy?" lorenzo laughed as you only shrugged with the same smile.

"nott has usually soaked me in water or some kind of spell by now , but im actually fine! the spawn of satan is nowhere to be seen!" you left lorenzos arm to skip through the door of the great hall , the fluffy haired boy laughing behind you.

"hi everyoneee~!" you sang out softly as you sat down on the wooden bench across from lisa , luna and cho , sitting besides padma.

they all stared at you oddly , confusion laying on the furrow of their brows , "are you okay?..." chos thick accent rang out in your ears.

"im absolutely perfect, have you guys noticed anything?" you asked joyfully.

"well it certainly feels like we should have-" luna started softly before you cut her off.

"im dry! and i dont have green hair , or purple eyes and im not crying!" you beamed brightly , hugging padmas side as she hesitantly patted your back , exchanging looks of shock with the other girls.

"thats great y/n - but im confused-" lisa said as you stopped her by grabbing her hand and squeezing it excitedly.

"theodore nott has left me alone!" you shouted with happiness , gaining some judging looks from those around you, not that you cared right.

all of the girls faces relaxed with realisation letting out soft 'ooh!'s and gasps , before grinning just like you.

"this is amazing news , no more nott!" lisa cheered happily as you all laughed.

"this calls for celebration." luna stated softly , reaching into her pocket and pulling out a chocolate bar , "its muggle chocolate harry gave me. no better occasion than now to have it."

you all smiled and thanked the blonde girl as she passed out some chocolate to each out you.

you let yourself release a small sigh of contentment before a small piece of parchment landed on your empty plate.

all of you fell into an eery silence as you stared at the piece of paper , every one of you recognising the cursive writing to be theodore notts.

you gulped harshly as padma gasped , all of you silently processing the dreaded appearance of the note.

slowly and reluctantly , you grabbed the note , unfolding it in your hands.

' Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - T.N '

you released the note from your hard clutch as the words sunk in. EW!! EW EW EW. you had never gotten such a feeling of ickyness before. theodore nott has written down a shakespeare sonnet and addressed it to you?!

"i feel sick!" you let out loudly as your friends scrambled to grab the note and read it , padma rubbing your back in comfort having already read it over your shoulder.

"its not that bad y/n its...romantic.." padma said with hesitation.

"romantic?! padma , im going to throw up and ive not even had the luxury of eating my breakfast yet!!" you let out in horror.

cho , luna and lisa across from you put the paper down on the table , exchanging glances and holding back loud laughs.

"i mean...atleast its not a bucket of cold water?" cho tried to reason quietly.

----

ever since the note hit your plate , your day had been consumed by pure terror. your face pale and your eyes dazed as you soullessly walked the halls to your last lesson of the day , potions with the slytherins.

"y/n, it truly isnt so bad , ive never been sent a love note before.." padma tried to reason and leve your disgusted and angered state.

"thats great for you, i really wish i could say the same!" you shivered as you remembered the words on the parchment.

lisa and padma laughed lightly as you bit back your own laughed , standing in front of the potions door with hesitation, "got to face the devil guys, theodore nott."

"the devil that wrote down a sonnet and gave it to you!" lisa teased as your whole face twisted with disgust , shivers running through your body.

"lets get this over with." you sighed as the other two girls nodded sadly and opened the girls, both of them walking over to your usual group of tables.

you went to greet lorenzo, your usual potions partner , and pull out your chair before seeing mattheo riddle sitting in it.

"well hello summer!" he said with a teasing grin.

"my name isnt summer-" you asked with confusion before realising his reference to the sonnet, "shut up riddle and get out of my seat!"

him and lorenzo laughed before mattheo shook his head with a smug smile , "im afraid i cant do that summer , but would you look at that! theres a free seat besides theo!"

your eyes darted around the room , searching for a better alternative , but there wasnt one , the only seat was besides theo and snape could be heard storming down the hallways towards the room. snape would go off if you werent sat down upon is entry , so you simply ran to the seat besides theodore and sat down just in time.

"hi-" theo started happily before being cut off by snapes monotone voice.

"open your textbooks to page 509 , if you dont have your textbook, detention." snape stated simply as mattheo sighed , knowing he didnt have his textbook.

the whole lesson had gone on painfully slow , theodore seeming to get closer to you every minutes , his arm touching yours and his knee brushing yours under the table. you were desperate to leave this room.

so when 50 minutes later snape said how disappointed he is in your class' work and stormed out of the room , you jumped from your chair and began to pack your bag along with everyone else.

your actions were cut short , when a now standing theodore placed a note on your side of the table.

you stared at it in silence , the same cursive words spelling your name and folded parchment as this morning.

".....get this off my desk nott!" you seethed, catching the attention of lots of your remaining classmates.

"why? i wrote it for you so read it." he said , with a light blush , avoiding your eyes by packing his bag.

"either get it off your chest right here , right now - or leave me be! i dont want your stupid love notes!!" you shouted at him , the boys jaw clenching.

he swiftly turned around , so quickly and so close to you that you stumbled a few steps back , "i love you!"

the whole room fell into a deep silence , the tension thick and the harsh stares blinding.

"w.....what?!-" you asked in pure surprise , frozen and feet glued to the ground.

"i love you and i have done for ages , im just shit at showing it! blaise told me girls like love notes and i was stupid enough to believe him!" theodore let out quickly , his nervous state echoing through his rushed words.

"dont blame me-" blaise muttered before being smacked on the arm by a completely invested pansy.

"you...dont joke about stuff like that nott i knew you were horrible but this? this is fucking cruel!" you shouted at him , tears building in your eyes as you grabbed your bag and stormed out.

theodore watched in horror as you walked out , crying silently , he ran out after you abandoning his bag and leaving your fellow potions students in shock.

"that was better than the movies!" mattheo laughed loudly , breaking the silence in the room.

---

"y/n!" theo shouted after you as you stomped through the empty dungeons, desperately trying to escape to the comfort of your dorm.

"y/n!" theo shouted again, both of you beginning to fully sprint down the corridor.

"fuck off nott!" your voice broke as you shouted and ran.

though none of it was worth it as the boy grabbed your hand and pushed you to the wall in the most gentle way possible , using his hands besides your head and his body to cage you.

"let me go!" you screeched ,as the boy simply stared down at you.

"y/n whats wrong-"

"whats wrong?! WHATS WRONG?!" you screamed as he winced , "you bullied me for 5 years and now one sudden day , you love me?! and you think im going to be okay with that! who told you?!"

your last words caught the boy off guard , as he looked up from the floor and gaped at you , confused , "what do you mean who told me?-"

"that i used to have some stupid crush on you - thats why right?!" you seethed with anger as theos jaw dropped to the floor , staring at you.

"you have a crush on me-?"

"had! had a crush on you!" you said bitterly as he broke out into a grin.

"i- i dont know what to say , i had no idea." he said as your face paled.

you had just told theodore that you had a crush on him....definitely just had.

"i-...haha , i was just joking ha ha!" you forced out a fake laugh as he grinned at you , grabbing your face softly.

"im so sorry for everything i ever did to you i just...i just wanted your attention." he said quietly , looking down ashamed.

"i dont know if i can forgive you, youve made me miserable for years theodore." his eyes glassed over at your works , "but maybe i could give you a chance to change..."

he beamed with a smile reminiscent to the one you had this morning as he hugged you happily.

"i promise , ill only ever make you smile summer."

you cringed at his use of the nickname and pushed the happy boy off you , "dont get ahead of yourself , im simply giving you a second chance and - dont ever call me summer again."

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idkwhatever580 · 2 days

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I’ll cut your f****** balls off!

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader

Prompt: y/n gets mad when Bruce “accidentally” ends up with his face in Natasha’s boobs 🤨

Warnings: cursing, Bruce slander, jealousy, boobies, fight scene, y/n is more than a bit angry, soft/sensitive y/n at the end

A/N: I legit wish I was him. But I was a little too nice to him in Are you mad? So I decided to throw out some hate. Not proofread 😬

——————————————

Y/n’s pov

I am watching Natasha pour herself a drink from the couch I’m sitting at with a smile on my face. When I see Bruce creep up to the bar to talk to Natasha.

I squint my eyes at his awkward stance and decide that there’s no harm in listening in on their conversation. So I perk up on my super hearing and zone into their words.

“How’d a nice girl like you end up working at a dump like this?”

“Fella done me wrong”

I furrow my eyebrows at Natasha’s words. I know she doesn’t really know how to handle situations like this other than flirting since she was trained to do that, but it still makes me feel uneasy since we’ve been dating for a while now. I also didn’t think I did anything wrong.

“Got a lousy taste in men kid”

“They’re not so bad”

I hope she’s just joking, but what did I do to wrong her if she’s not? Also why is she not correcting him on my pronouns if she’s talking about me?

“Well they have a temper, deep down they’re all fluff. The fact is they’re not like anybody I’ve ever known.”

A look of confusion falls upon my face when I hear this. I can’t tell if she’s talking about me or Bruce. I want to assume it’s me but the way they’re ogling each other makes me doubt myself. I keep looking at the ground.

They talk a bit more and I keep listening.

“They sound amazing”

“They’re also a huge dork.”

I haven’t actually given them many looks during their conversation in fear that they’ll see me. But I look over at this point and I tilt my head. Then she adds.

“Chicks dig that”

And I’m angry.

Is she really talking about him? Maybe she’s trying to be nice and still doesn’t know how to. Maybe she doesn’t realize she’s flirting hardcore.

I snap out of my thoughts and they are still talking

“Did he- were they- what did they do that was so… wrong to you?”

“Not a damn thing… but never say never”

I huff at her words and I watch as she walks over to me and sits down. She looks at me and I fix my face before she can tell I’m mad.

I’m gonna brush it aside and see if she tells me anything.

“What were you and Bruce talking about?”

I say with the most composed voice I can. She smiles and says

“I was talking about you. I don’t think he knows about us”

She smiles and I smile back and say

“Really? We’ve been dating for what? Six months now? And most everybody has found out.”

She shrugs her shoulders and says

“I think he was thinking of Cho when I was talking. I was like “chicks dig dorks” and he is a dork and I’m sure Cho likes him.”

I take a steady breath and nod my head. I grab Natasha’s drink and take a sip of it

“Hey! that’s mine!”

I give it back and say

“Sorry. I wanted to try it.”

It’s getting to the end of the party everyone is gone except the rest of the avengers and a stray drunk man that probably had some of Thor’s asgardian liquor.

The boys are trying to lift Thor’s hammer and Natasha has moved to my side. I look down at my dress and smooth out some of the wrinkles.

When suddenly this beat up robot comes out and starts talking all this crap. Everyone is on edge and suddenly he says he’s on a mission

“Peace in our time”

And then a bunch of Tony’s robots come flying out. Everyone scatters and I run behind the bar to grab the gun from it when Natasha jumps over and lands on her back

“Nat”

I try to go to her but then Bruce ends up on the bar.

Dumbass

Natasha pulls him off of the bar and he lands right on top of her.

His face is in her boobs and the impact makes Nat let out a loud choked groan. I narrow my eyes at him as he apologizes and she says

“Don’t turn green”

He says

“I won’t” and I grab one of the guns and she grabs the other.

She starts shooting and I wait and she looks at me and I nod my head towards the stairs and she tells Bruce to come with her.

I stay at the bar and wait for an opening to hit the robot.

I shoot it a couple times but this fucking gun doesn’t have as many rounds as Nat’s. So I wait a second and yell at cap to throw my his shield.

He throws it and I grab it doing a spin maneuver and throw it right at the robot slicing it clean in half.

This Ultron dude keeps yapping on and on about peace and whatever until Thor throws his hammer.

I don’t care right now. I am seething with how Bruce thinks he can do that to my girl.

Everyone tries to collect themselves making sure nobody is hurt but I march over to Bruce and Natasha and I start yelling

“You fucking cunt!”

Natasha gets in between us before I can hit him and she says

“Woah woah woah hold on babe what’s going on”

But I ignore her

“You think you can have her?! She’s mine you bitch!”

Everyone is worried about how I’m being kinda crazy so they circle around us and make sure I can’t get to Bruce. And he says

“Did you not just see what happened?! And you’re worried about me liking her?”

I huff and say

“I don’t give a fuck what just happened! You know what just happened?! You shoved your face in my girls tits! That’s what happened!”

He is actually scared of me and Tony is behind him saying

“Don’t turn green please”

For once he keeps his composure and says

“I didn’t mean to! She was pulling me down from getting shot!”

I get angrier and say

“So you’re gonna say it’s an accident? Don’t act like I didn’t hear your conversation earlier! I heard how you want her! If you ever touch her again I’ll cut your fucking balls off! You hear me?!”

Natasha ends up picking me up and carrying me to our room. She tells Tony

“I gotta get her away from him. When she’s calm we’ll come back to help. Just worry about ultron and Bruce.”

He nods his head as they all disperse. Natasha carries me to our room and then plops me down on the ground and says

“What the fuck y/n?! What the hell was that?!”

I look at the ground while my breathing is a bit erratic. I don’t say anything as I avoid eye contact with her.

She realizes I’m shutting down and to combat that she brings me over to the bed and makes me sit down. I look at my hands that are now in my lap and she sits down on my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

As she plays with my hair she says

“Baby, can you please tell me what’s going on? Why are you so worked up over Bruce?”

I huff and say

“I heard what you said! You were totally talking about him and then he went and shoved his face in your boobs. That’s only my thing to do.”

She sighs and keeps asking knowing there’s more to it.

“Baby, what else?”

I stay silent for a bit and she squeezes my shoulder in reassurance and I crack. I immediately start crying and saying

“Please don’t leave me I love you. I don’t want you to leave me. Please don’t go! I love you!”

She pulls me in and rubs my back. Then she maneuvers us so that I am now straddling her lap.

Usually I act all tough when we’re around others but I am a baby around Natasha. She just brings the soft side out in me.

She rubs my back and shushes my crying and says

“Oh baby, I’m not leaving you. I love you too.”

My sons turn into more silent tears and she pulls me away from her neck. I whine a bit but she clicks her tongue and I quiet up. She makes me look into her eyes and says

“Listen to me okay?”

I nod my head and sniffle

“I am not leaving you for Bruce. I am not leaving you for anyone. I love you so so much and I don’t ever want to leave you okay?”

I nod my head and she continues

“Now that I’ve said that, I want to say that I was not talking about Bruce when I was talking to him. He had come up to me and said how he feels like he can’t talk to girls. He likes Cho, and he asked if he could practice being smooth or whatever with me. So I said yes not knowing you were being hurt by that. If I knew you’d be hurt I would have never done it.”

She pauses and I nod my head so she continues

“So yes I was flirting with him but it was fake and he was just trying to be cool for Cho okay?”

I look down and nod my head then she lifts my head back up by my chin and says

“I’m so sorry. I can see how that got mistranslated from across the room. Will you please forgive me?”

I nod my head and say

“I was never mad at you.”

She smiles and kisses my pout into a smile and when she pulls away I whine a bit in protest. I try to get another kiss but she says

“None of that detka. We have a big matter to handle then we can make out at much as you want okay?”

I nod my head and get up to go downstairs but she grabs my wrist and says

“Let’s get changed”

So she changes into a tank top and shorts and I change into a baggy shirt and shorts. Then Natasha says

“When we go downstairs, you’re gonna apologize to Bruce and then we’re gonna figure this ultron stuff out okay?”

I roll my eyes and nod my head but Natasha doesn’t like when I roll my eyes so she smacks my butt a bit and says

“Don’t roll your eyes at me”

I look down and say

“Sorry. I’ll apologize to Bruce”

She smiles and gives me a peck on the cheek.

We head downstairs and I go into the lab.

“Hey, um Bruce?”

He looks up and immediately is scared and he backs away, so u throw my hands up in surrender and say

“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I let jealousy overtake me and I got a little scared that Natasha and you liked each other. I didn’t know you like Cho. So I just wanted to apologize and say I’m not gonna cut your balls off”

He chuckles and says

“Uh it’s okay. Thanks for not murdering me”

He scratches the back of his head and I nod and go to leave but I pause and say

“You and Cho would go good together. I also think she likes you back so you should go for her after all this is over.”

He smiles and thanks me and I leave.

I walk into the hallway and Natasha is waiting for me there. I go to her and hug her but instead of a normal hug I shove my face in her boobs.

She laughs at my possessiveness and says

“You good there?”

I nod my head and say

“Mine”

But it is muffled since, of course, my face is literally in her boobs. And she chuckles and pats my head softly before rubbing it and says

“Yes. All yours.”

Once I am satisfied we go into our office and start working to figure out the ultron shit.

I look over at Natasha and say

“I’ll still cut his balls of if he touches you wrong again, or anyone’s for that matter”

She laughs and pats my head before saying

“I’m sure you will baby. I’m sure you will.”

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

A/N: I didn’t want to make Bruce the real bad guy. Oh no 😥 I’m going soft. A few years ago I would have never been nice about him. I hope you liked it!

#avengers #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #fanfiction

205 notes · View notes

basset-babe · 2 days

Text

five times: the first.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip

word count: 3.5k+

a/n: in the ever tasteful art of writing fan fiction, here's me breaking my writer's block and making my debut on bridgerton fanfiction, i give you the first of five times with ben. i absolutely adore the abc men but ben just has a special place in my heart (tbh anthony and colin do too, i just felt like daydreaming abt ben today) i do hope y'all enjoy! ciao!

dividers from @heavenlayt thank you!

first time.

"My lady? It is time to wake." Elsie, my lady's maid, knocked on my door, as she entered. "If your ladyship pleases, the hour had struck 6 of the morning." As my eyes adjusted to the soft light hues streaming through the curtains. I sat myself up and replied, "Elsie, good morning. I am now awake, awake enough hopefully."

Elsie ushered in with a pitcher of water and cloths. "Is it really today already?" I huffed as I stood walking to my dressing room. I cleaned myself and slipped on to a new chemise. "My lady, Her Grace has instructed that we make haste. Yes, your presentation to the Queen and the court is today. In a few hours to be exact."

I faced my looking glass as a few other maids came in to assist with my stays and petticoats. This is the day that all my grandmother's lessons and patience comes to fruition. All the hours practice dancing, and of course, the languages I've studied and now do speak fluently, if I do say so myself.

"Tell me honestly, Elsie," I looked back at her as she ties the ribbons of my corset. "Would I ever succeed in... all this?" I flailed my hands gesturing. I fear I might not even find a match for this already seemingly long season. She smiled and said, "You've prepared for this for the longest time. You have become such a fine young lady, miss. Any bachelor is to be blessed in abundance to bask in your presence, in my estimation. My hopes and prayers are always in your welfare, my lady."

As I take my last look in the looking glass, my gown fashioned from ivory silk, its smooth surface shimmering. My hand traced the pearl-beaded neckline and I fixed the puff of my sleeve. With my gloves at hand, I head out my room's door where I am greeted by my grandmother, her cane tapping the hardwood floors. "A tad bit early than I expected, my dear." Her tone joking as I followed suit. I smiled as we went down the manor's foyer. The stairs were adorned with our small family's portraits. "Well, I did try to attire myself with the utmost haste, Grandmama, fully aware of your esteemed patience." I remarked in jest but she laughed amusedly.

Halting in my steps, I found myself drawn to a familiar sight—the wedding portrait of my beloved parents. A soft smile graced my lips as I gazed upon their image, memories of happier times flooding my mind.

Sensing my absence, my grandmother turned back, her keen eyes alighting upon me. With a gentle hum, she adjusted her monocle and approached, offering a comforting pat on my back. "Grandmama," I began, my voice tinged with a wistful longing, "I do hope I make them proud." Her response was a tender reassurance, spoken with unwavering certainty: "I am sure they already are, dearest."

As I stood poised on the threshold, awaiting my turn for presentation, a sense of vulnerability washed over me, akin to that of a damsel in distress. My grandmother, ever the epitome of grace and poise, meticulously adjusted the feathers of my attire, ensuring every detail was impeccably in place. "Breathe," she counseled, her voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of my nerves. "You have done me proud, dearest," Grandmama affirmed, her words a comforting embrace, imbued with pride and unwavering support.

Then the Lord Chamberlain announced, "Miss Y/N Y/L/N presented by her grandmother, the Right Honorable, the Dowager Viscountess Y/L/N."

As the grand doors parted, a hush fell over the room, and I sensed the weight of every gaze upon me, particularly that on my grandmother too, her presence announced by the dignified tap of her cane as she followed behind. Stepping forward with measured grace, I approached the Queen's podium and executed a low curtsy, drawing in a deep breath as I maintained a respectful bow. Despite the murmurs echoing through the court, a moment of stillness enveloped the room as I felt the Queen rise from her seat. With a gentle touch, she lifted my chin, and I straightened, meeting her gaze with a warm smile.

"The paragon that you are, my dear," she uttered with a tender affection, bestowing a kiss upon my forehead in a gesture of approval. A grin spread across my face, the warmth of her words suffusing my being, even as my cheeks protested from the strain of the continuous smile. With a graceful pivot, my grandmother and I retreated with measured steps, executing another respectful curtsy before withdrawing from the Queen's presence.

The once subdued murmurs of the court now crescendoed in my ears, a cacophony of whispers and speculation swirling around us.

"Grandmama... Me? A paragon?" I murmured to her, quite exhilarated by the Queen's words. Yet, my grandmother remained stoically composed, her gaze fixed steadfastly ahead amidst the throng of aristocracy.

It was a rare sight to behold her amidst society's grandeur, for she typically kept to herself. However, she had made an exception, deeming it fitting for me to enter society this season. And indeed, her decision had borne fruit. Every effort she had invested in my preparation had culminated in this moment of recognition and acclaim.

I cast a fleeting glance towards the court and beheld the most gentle of green eyes. He acknowledged me with a subtle nod, prompting me to avert my gaze. I delicately toying with my fingertips as a flush of warmth suffused my cheeks under the weight of his gaze. I thought, "He must be a Bridgerton." As he wore their signature navy blue color and his hair a bit more disarray in his possible attempt to make it look more orderly.

In a moment of amusement, I softly chuckled as I returned my gaze to his warm countenance, which bore a friendly smile. Grandmother moved her cane in front of me as if to rectify my demeanor. Upon realizing my error, my gaze widened in contrition as I cast a sheepish glance her way.

Inwardly, I fortify myself for the impending social engagements with the esteemed members of the court, anticipating the sunset reception that is to ensue after this presentation. "May fortune favor the bold," I silently invoke, summoning courage for the encounters ahead.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the Buckingham Palace gardens, guests gathered amidst a scene of opulent splendor. Marble pillars and graceful arches adorned with cascading vines formed the backdrop, while ornate chandeliers and intricately carved ceiling pieces adorned the alabaster walls of the open-air reception area. Underfoot, the smooth marble flooring provided a regal foundation for the soirée, imbuing the atmosphere with an air of timeless grandeur and sophistication.

As refreshments circled the soirée on silver trays, deftly carried by attentive servants, the ton assembled to mingle amidst the lush surroundings of the Buckingham Palace gardens. Bustling mamas engaged in animated chatter, their voices rising above the murmurs of conversation, as astute gentlemen sought out advantageous alliances for their poised debutantes. Amidst the swirl of social intrigue and polite banter, the air crackled with anticipation, each guest poised to seize upon the opportunities of the evening's gathering.

Accompanied by my grandmother, I descended the garden stairs into the sunken garden reception. The ton, resplendent in their finery, turned their heads in unison, their curious gazes alighting upon us like the flicker of candlelight on polished silver. Whispers rippled through the crowd as we traversed the room, each pair of eyes lingering, momentarily entranced by the spectacle of our arrival. Even those engaged in conversation momentarily paused to acknowledge our arrival. "The season's paragon.." They said.

"Your Grace, might we trouble you for some refreshments?" I nodded to the servant approaching with a tray of glasses.

As we delicately sipped our glasses of lemonade, Lady Ledger made her approach, flanked by her cousin Lady Violet Bridgerton, and her daughter, Miss Eloise, who had been presented alongside me earlier in the day. Joining them was her friend, Miss Penelope Featherington, completing their entourage.

"Ah, Viscountess Y/L/N, Lady Y/L/N, are you enjoying the reception?" Lady Ledger inquired with a knowing smile. Lady Bridgerton nodded graciously in acknowledgment, offering a courteous response to both my grandmother and me. "Indeed," Grandmother chimed in, "never underestimate the Queen's knack for transforming the mundane into a marvel of grandeur."

"Shall we take a turn around the room, Lady Y/L/N?" Miss Eloise extended the invitation, linking elbows with Miss Penelope. "Shall we?" I said settling between them, leaving our matriarchs amongst their chatter.

We've taken a few steps far from the soirée back near the refreshment table when Eloise spoke, "Well, Lady Y/L/N, do enlighten us on your thoughts about the presentation and the reception. Speak freely, for I've grown weary of the tiresome cacophony of giggles and idle daydreams from the other ladies this evening. Thankfully, Miss Penelope here has been a better companion throughout."

"I find myself drawn to exploring avenues beyond the confines of the marital sphere at present, even though my mother absolutely opposes to the idea of me having a gap year, then." Penelope sighs and continues, "Despite the absence of prospects thus far, I find myself surprisingly content in my quiet indulgences."

"Honestly, delaying a year in the marriage mart may seem unconventional, but one mustn't rush fate. Patience often leads to the most unexpected and delightful unions." I answered, "Even I opted for a delay of a year, despite not making my debut until this season as per Her Grace's wishes. I must say, I couldn't be more grateful for the opportunity to indulge myself in my beloved books during that time."

"Do tell, Miss Y/L/N, what literary tomes do you find yourself indulging in?" Eloise asks.

"I dabble in perusing natural history compendiums, particularly finding botanical works to be a favorite pursuit of mine," I paused momentarily, then continued, "Oh, I fear I may inadvertently bore you both with my penchant for the sciences. However, I do find solace in the allure of romances and literature crafted with a delicate balance of wit, social commentary, and the thrill of romantic escapades, albeit confined to the written word."

Further discourse veered towards the discussion of almost radical hobbies and interests amongst the three of us. I found myself increasingly at ease amidst the reception, in the company of these two. "But I do wish these receptions offered more than mere gossip, dance, and music," Penelope remarked.

"Indeed, it can become rather tedious to dance until one's feet ache," I replied, "although, I must confess, I have yet to be invited to partake. I merely entertain the notion of engaging a tutor and mastering the intricacies of these social dances through diligent practice."

"I concur. It might indeed provide a welcome diversion, perhaps enticing one of you to accept an offer to dance, solely for the sake of regaling me with the experience. There is only so much I can endure of our daily routines and chatter," Penelope added with a hint of playful exasperation. "Nothing absolutely changes, honestly."

However, ere long, the moment was upon us as Lady Bridgerton approached alongside a gentleman with tousled brown locks, unmistakably of noble bearing. Penelope and I moved aside as he was introduced. "I would like to introduce you to Lord Morrison."

"Miss Eloise. A pleasure." He bowed.

Lady Bridgerton nodded towards Eloise in agreement as he spoke, "Might I have the honor?"

Penelope and I smiled amidst the gentleman as we glanced over to Eloise who's had a confused smile at the offered hand. "Of what?" She asked, her hands clasped.

We stifled a laugh as her mother said, "A dance, Eloise," Lady Bridgerton, then, led Eloise's hand towards the outstretched one of Lord Morrison's. "Yes, I think you shall, Lord Morrison." She looked at Eloise, "Do recall, a try?"

She cast upon us a gaze brimming with utter annoyance, seemingly beseeching deliverance from a dance destined for doom. "You wished to be entertained," she intimated.

As I discerned my grandmother's cane drawing nearer to Penelope and me, she gracefully inquired, "Are you enjoying your company, dear?" Her tone carried both warmth and concern. "I couldn't help but notice the absence of suitors vying for your attention. Would you care to be introduced?" she offered, her hand holding a glass of wine, likely courtesy of Lady Danbury.

"The night is indeed still young, Your Grace," I respond with a smile. "As you often advise, there's no need to hasten amidst fun."

"Atta girl," my grandmother replies with a twinkle in her eye. "You've made my words your own. Quite the wit, just like your dear old grandmother."

"Not that old, Your Grace." I laughed.

As my grandmother started her lively chatter with Penelope, my gaze wandered, drawn to a familiar mess of brown hair amidst laughter, situated beside Lady Bridgerton. Automatically, I presumed him to be her son, but entirely unsure which one.

Our eyes met, again, even if we are across the room. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored coat and carried an air of warmth that set him apart from the crowd. Intrigued by his steady gaze, I felt a flutter of anticipation in my chest as I continued to chat with Penelope and my grandmother.

"Will you excuse me, Viscountess and Miss Y/N. My mother, she summons me. " Penelope exited as her mother waved her hastily over for an introduction to a baron, it seems.

"May I take a tour of the room again, Grandmama?" I asked.

"Come take the tour with me," Grandmama said. As she walked and her cane struck the marbled pavement, gentlemen adjusted their cravats and smiled my way. "They are all staring again, Your Grace."

"Pay no mind, my dear. Allow them to come to you."

We were soon approached by a nobleman. "Lady Y/L/N. Miss Y/L/N. I am Lord Ibarra," he announced, his tone posh and refined.

"Ah yes, Lord Ibarra," Grandmama replied. "I believe you have been introduced to my granddaughter, Y/N."

"Yes, we met at your estate's Thanksgiving picnic," he confirmed.

"And I believe you had just won a few awards in Madrid," I added with a touch of nostalgia.

"Unfortunately, his advocacies stand in his way of scoundrelship, dearest. Oh well, humbug," she remarked, waving a dismissive hand.

"Well, in that case, I do hope his lordship has found himself new musings," I said with a polite smile.

"Only then would he be able to indulge in new hobbies if he'd been keeping up to date with his dues and no backlogs, wouldn't you, Lord Ibarra?" Grandmama added with a pointed look. Lord Ibarra nodded curtly and took steps back before excusing himself form the encounter.

"He is unfit. Quite poor with money and all the decisions that accompany it. A man of any honor ensures his debts are entirely settled. Let us proceed." Grandmama commented,

We continued our tour of the room. A gentleman dancing nodded with a smile. "He is rather charming."

"He is merely attempting to salvage what little remains of his fortune. Be assured that Mr. Fairfax is well informed of your considerable dowry." Grandmama, yet again, snidely remarked.

"I trust you are acquainted with him as well," I observed, gesturing to a gentleman with a colorful cravat. "Heaven forbid a notorious rake and alleged father of a bastard should captivate you, my dear."

Another gentleman who walked pass and smiled. "Only a seventh son. We shall find you a more suitable match." Grandmama stated.

Then Lady Bridgerton approached with her son in tow. "Ah, what a delightful sight. Violet, dear."

"Viscountess, this is my son, Benedict," Violet introduced with pride.

"Lady Y/L/N. Miss Y/L/N. An honour," Benedict said with a respectful bow. "I have been hoping for the chance to meet you."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, my cheeks flushing, yet again, with a becoming blush. "Mr. Bridgerton," I replied, my voice soft but filled with warmth, "the pleasure is mine."

"Your mother and I have shared many a tea. We are close, are we not?" Grandmama said with a warm smile.

"Indeed, but circumstances have changed now that your granddaughter has entered society, now a lady," Violet remarked, her eyes twinkling.

"About time, a year later than as her father would have wished," Grandmama responded with a sigh.

"Oh, I am deeply sorry for the recent loss of your son and daughter-in-law. I remember them both fondly from our social seasons," Violet said with genuine sympathy.

"Life must move forward after mourning, as it always does. Enough of the sorrow. We must ensure you two become well acquainted," Grandmama said, steering the conversation back to the present.

I smiled as Benedict handed me a glass of lemonade from the servant's tray. "I have not seen you much around the ton recently, Miss Y/N," he commented with a gentle curiosity.

"Ah yes, I have been occupied with managing the estate alongside Her Grace since my parents' passing. Additionally, I have been deeply engrossed in my hobbies and interests," I explained.

"What might those be?" Benedict inquired, his interest piqued.

Grandmama interjected, "Her botanicals. She is utterly devoted to her plants, especially during blooming season. It is quite a passion of hers."

"Miss Y/L/N," Benedict began, his voice carrying a warmth that sparked my curiosity, "I must admit, I never knew that botanicals held such fascination for you."

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks at his observation, but his genuine interest put me at ease. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," I replied as my voice tinged with excitement, "Botanicals have always been my greatest passion. There's a certain beauty in the way plants grow and flourish, don't you agree?"

I found myself opening up to him, sharing my knowledge of plants and their intricate ecosystems. With each word I spoke, I sensed his genuine interest, and I couldn't help but feel a flutter of connection between us.

"Mr. Bridgerton," I said, my heart swelling with pride, "Your appreciation for botanicals is truly heartening. I would be delighted to share more of my botanical knowledge with you in the future, if you're interested."

His eager nod and warm smile filled me with joy. "I would like that very much, Miss Y/L/N," he replied, his voice sincere. "It would be an honor to explore the wonders of the natural world with you."

"Oh, Benedict, you must tell them of your recent painting," Violet encouraged.

"Mother," He laughs. "Yes, one has reached display at the art gallery on the avenue. It's not much, really," Benedict said with a humble smile.

Grandmama replied, "That is an outstanding accomplishment, Benedict. It seems both of you have a tendency to downplay your achievements! I, for one, am a great supporter of both the sciences and the arts."

"There is always room for refinement in my pursuits. One never truly reaches perfection, wouldn't you agree, Miss Y/N?" I merely nodded in respond to his question, my demure demeanor intact as I delicately sipped from my glass.

Benedict began to stand more upright as Lady Danbury approached our group. "Lady Danbury, good evening," he greeted with a respectful nod.

"At ease, Mr. Bridgerton. Miss Y/L/N, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason I've yet to see you on the dance floor?" Lady Danbury inquired, her sharp eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Grandmama replied, "All in good time, Agatha."

Lady Danbury leaned in and replied fleeting, "You poor thing, being kept off the dance floor."

"If only it were not time for us to retire," Grandmother said turning turning to me with intent. "I am anything but weary, Your Grace," I assured Grandmama, my enthusiasm evident.

"Dearest, there is nary a gentleman here who wouldn't take your hand. You must consider this. The most perfect thing for you to do now is not to dance but to leave them all wanting more. If anyone knows how this works, it is I, your grandmother," Grandmama advised, her eyes gleaming with wisdom.

"Perhaps you are right. Let us go," My expression softened with a small smile. My heart sank slightly at the thought of our evening coming to an end so soon, but I knew better than to disobey my grandmother's wishes.

With a nod of gratitude, my grandmother turned to Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope we shall have the opportunity to see you again soon."

I watched as Mr. Bridgerton returned my grandmother's gracious smile with one of his own. "The pleasure was mine, Viscountess," he said, but his voice tinged with regret. "I look forward to the chance to call upon Miss Y/L/N--"

But before he could say another word, my grandmother had already ushered me away, leaving Mr. Bridgerton standing amidst the bustling garden. As we made our way through the crowd, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the missed opportunity to spend more time with him. The thought of not having the chance to dance with him weighed heavily on my mind.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was not the end of our story. Despite the missed chance, I held onto the hope that our paths would cross again, and that perhaps, in the not too distant future, I would once again find myself in Mr. Bridgerton's company.

#benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #x reader #fem reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton/reader #fic #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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navia3000 · 3 days

Text

s o l o n g , l o n d o n

Includes : Aaron Hotchner

Genre : Angst

Warnings : Mentions of break downs, drinking, mentions of depression symptoms, not proof-read

Based On : So Long, London by Taylor Swift

Part two : All My Ghosts

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

“Haley wants us to get back together.” Upon hearing those words, her heart dropped. She realized why Hotch asked her to come on this ‘date’. She thought he was finally going to ask her to make whatever they were official, but she now knew he just wanted to let her down easy.

“What?” She asked. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, her view of Hotch blurry and distorted. Though she couldn’t see very well, she could see the pity and regret written on his face.

“She wants us to try to be a family again.” She took a second to process his words.

“And, what did you say?” She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

“I said yes.” He watched the tears fall from her eyes. “I had to, for Jack. For my family. We both knew this wasn’t a sure thing, Y/N. I’m your boss, and our jobs are dangerous enough, this wasn’t going to work.” He was right. Since she started at the BAU, she developed a crush on her slightly older, and incredibly intimidating boss. She would’ve never thought he felt the same towards her, and she was constantly teased by her fellow profilers about it, until he asked her out on the way home from a case. She was elated. They went on a couple dates, and she was sure they were going great. Until now.

“And Haley gave you the out. Instead of telling me, you led me on,” she choked on her sobs. She reached for her purse, preparing herself to leave Aaron Hotchner and her heart along with him. “Go back to your family, Hotch. And don’t worry, I’ll pretend like nothing ever happened.”

And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

The team was shocked and confused when Y/N took a two-week leave of absence. She left without telling anyone or saying where she was going, she didn’t even tell Hotch, going straight to Strauss and asking for her leave, using the ‘family emergency’ excuse. They were even more surprised when she returned, acting as if she hadn’t just left without a word.

She could feel their eyes on her the minute she entered the briefing room. She sat down, chin high, eyes forward, not daring to look any of them in the eye for fear they would see through her facade.

Hotch’s eyes burnt a whole in her head. They hadn’t talked, interacted even, since that night. And while she was going to be profesional, she didn’t want him thinking he broke her heart, even if he did.

“Y/N, good to see you back.” JJ was the first to address her, the first to break the silence. She gave JJ a smile, and turned to look at the file sitting in front of her, keeping to herself throughout the briefing.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The team had moved the briefing onto the jet, the case being of a serial killer who was quickly devolving. The profilers all noticed their fellow coworker and friend’s strange behavior, her demeanor entirely different to the one she wore before her leave. She wouldn’t indulge conversation with the others, always directing the topic onto the case. The agents had also picked up on Hotch’s behavior; how his eyes would linger on Y/N for a little too long, and how he avoided referencing the woman.

Emily was growing even more concerned for her friend as the minutes passed, and when she saw her heading to the front of the jet for coffee, she quickly followed. “Hey,” she alerted Y/N of her presence, turning and closing the curtains to give them some privacy.

“Hi,” she gave a tight-lipped smile, moving to go back to her seat before Prentiss grabbed her arm.

“What’s going on?” She saw her friend’s face harden, her eyes moving to her feet.

“Nothing,” she knew better than to try and pretend like nothing was wrong around a bunch of profilers, but she couldn’t admit to herself that hers and Hotch’s break up was taking a toll on her. She was skinnier and paler, and was clearly struggling with something. But she couldn’t even call whatever happened between them a break up; they were only going out for a month and they hadn’t even told the rest of the team. So, sticking to her word, she would continue to act as though nothing happened.

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t believe that.” Emily dropped her grip on the girl’s shoulder, moving to fiddle with the coffee cups on the table. “Something’s going on. We all see it. You don’t have to talk about it, but, I want you to know we’re all here for you.” She saw tears pooling in the younger girl’s eyes, and her concern grew and her heart broke and all she wanted was for her to be okay. “You can talk to us. You can talk to me, or JJ, or even Hotch.” At the mention of his name, she broke. Her tears ran down her face, and sobs racked her body.

Emily hurried to hug her friend, shocked at her sudden breakdown. She heard the curtain being pulled, and turned to the sight of the team’s concerned eyes on the pair. But, she made sure to watch Hotch, noticing his own eyes becoming glossy at the sight of the crying agent.

For so long, London

Had a good run

A moment of warm sun

But I'm not the one

She sat on her couch, drowning her sorrows with a bottle of wine. Emily, JJ, and Penelope had just left her apartment after a night spent of crying and laughing, the women comforting her after she had confided in them about all that happened with Hotch.

She felt better, but not great. Her heart still hurt every time Haley and Jack came to visit Hotch during his lunch break, and she kept having to excuse herself to the bathroom whenever she was around him for too long. The team pretended not to notice the tension between her and Hotch, and they both refused to acknowledge each other unless it referenced their work or a case they worked.

Everyone knew something happened between them, and they knew their friend was not okay, so they pushed past it in hopes of nursing their friend back to happiness. She was incredibly grateful for all their friends were doing for her, but it wasn’t enough.

Nobody knew that she had just given Strauss a request for a transfer from the Bureau; none of the others knew, all but one person. The same person who’s name lit up on her phone, his calls going unanswered as she sipped on her glass of wine.

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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space-blue · 3 days

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Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #house harkonnen #margot fenring #gom jabbar #dune 2 #dune #dune meta #dune part two #dune part 2 #paul atreides #character analysis #sociopathy #bene gesserit

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pretty-circa006 · 22 hours

Text

Sex Ed

Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader summary You have some follow up questions after Coach Negan's sex ed class tags student teacher relationship, age gap (reader is 18 negan is like pushing 40?), blowjob, pet names

wc: 1.9k

note i tried a little something new when writing this, can you tell what it is?

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Negan glowers at the students of his gym class sitting in the bleachers before him. They're all laughing like fools and making crude jokes that only displayed their immaturity. Seniors, they were supposed to be, but a majority of them acted like foolish middle schoolers.

"Listen up you dumb little sacks of shit!" he shouts. The students all quiet down, some getting startled by the loudness of his voice before doing so.

"I know a majority of you kids, well, technically young adults, are too immature to handle this shit, but the displeasure of teaching it to you has unfortunately been bestowed upon me." He slams his large hand on the whiteboard on wheels, bringing his students' focus to the topic of today's lesson; sex ed. His hazel-green scan his audience with distain, daring them to say anything stupid- nobody did, which is a relief. But that relief instantaneously turned into dread when his eyes landed on her. From her seat in the center of the bleachers, she stares at Negan while seductively biting her finger and giving him sultry bedroom eyes.

He sighs to himself, quickly averting his gaze. She was always, always looking at him like that. Like she's an apex predator and he's the prey she'd been stalking, waiting to pounce and feast on his flesh. At first, it freaked him out, constantly feeling her eyes boring into his skin. But it quickly became flattering to know he had a little admirer. She's always the first to his class, the first to pay attention to him, the last to leave, and the only student to frequent his office. If that's all she did, she would have been just been a girl with an innocent little crush. But her crush was anything but little or innocent. He should have been able to realize that when she'd show up to every gym class in the world's tiniest shorts. If not then, he should at least have noticed when she'd spend excessive amounts of time in his office. He brushed all that off, though, assuming the shorts weren't for him and that she just liked his office for the air conditioning and bowl of candy on his desk.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

The lesson went by fairly smooth. Not many stupid joked were cracked, which was a win for Negan.

"Grab a complementary condom on your way out," he says as students get up from the bleachers, "and if you have any extra questions, you can come see me." He internally cringes at that last part. The internet was a thing and if students wanted to know something, they should look it up themselves instead of prolonging this awkward moment for him. But he had to do at least the bare minimum of what his job required him to do.

Thankfully, the students were just filing past him, some stopping to grab handfuls of condoms, and none of them stop to talk to him. The gymnasium is finally empty without a student in sight. Negan's honestly surprised she didn't stick around after class like she usually did, but he couldn't complain. He pushes his whiteboard back into his office and shuts the door behind him, ready to wind down and catch up on some work.

"Hey Coach."

"Jesus H. fuckin' Christ, kid!" A startled Negan shouts, hand clutching his heart. He finally notices the girl sitting at his desk in his chair with her feet propped up comfortably on the desk. He can't keep his eyes from scanning her legs, the smooth skin fully exposed from upper thigh to ankle.

She lets out a little giggle before her face returns to that usual seductive look.

"I had a question 'bout today's lesson," she tells him. Negan sighs and rubs a hand down his face, anticipating something wildly inappropriate to come from her mouth.

"Goddammit, kid, what is it?" he asks hesitantly.

"First off, stop calling me kid. I am eighteen," she explains, holding up a finger. "Second," she puts up another finger, "I want you to teach me something."

"That's not a question." She rolls her eyes at him and takes her feet off the desk.

"Will you teach me to give a blowjob?" Negan's eyebrows shoot up at the same time his eyes widen. She's dead serious too, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Those same eyes drift from his down to the growing bulge in his gym shorts. She squeezes her thighs together and bites her lip.

"Darlin', you do know that what you're askin of me is wildly fuckin' inappropriate, right?" He's supposed to be serious, but the dimpled smirk on his face sends another message.

"You're supposed to be teaching sed ed, ain't ya?" she argues. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, only riling up the oversexed girl even more.

"Inappropriateness aside, you couldn't handle all this," he says, motioning to his growing boner.

A smug smile makes its way across her face. She gets out of his chair, kneels in front of it, and pats the cushion, silently demanding him to take a seat. He takes a peak at her cute little ass that her tiny gym shorts were barely doing anything to cover. He figures that if he gives in to her demands, she'll realize that she, in fact, cannot handle what he's packing and will back off. He didn't particularly want her to shy away from him, but her forward behavior would pose a threat to his job sooner or later and he's not eager to get fired.

Fuck it. He locks the door to his office and sits in his chair. She's looking up at him through her long lashes, excitement radiating off of her.

"Well, ya can't suck my fuckin' dick through my fuckin' shorts."

"Oh. Right!" Her shaky hands reach toward the waistband of his gym shorts and he lifts his hips so she can pull them down just enough to free his cock. She lets out a little gasp when the large member springs up and slaps his abdomen. For the first time, her seductive, siren-like facade starts to slip, revealing a nervous, inexperienced girl. With a smug smirk on his face, he looks down at her. She talked so much game, but when it came time to play, she didn't even know how.

"I...I asked you to teach me, didn't I?!" she squeaks. She's embarrassed at how dumb she's sure she looks and even more so at the fact Negan's getting a kick out of this.

"Spit in your hand, doll. Then stroke it a few times," he instructs. She apprehensively spits a glob of saliva into her palm before gently wrapping her hand around him. She's mesmerized by his size, so thick her fingers couldn't touch. As she shyly moves her hand up and down his shaft, she occasionally glances up at him in search for his approval. There is none. He's unamused as he watches her. His wraps his larger hand around her smaller one and squeezes it tighter around his dick.

"Gotta put more presser than that, sweetheart, 'cause I can't feel a damn thing."

She nods her head and he removes his hand, letting her try again on her own. With her hand wrapped more tightly around his cock, she can feel every ridge of his veins rubbing against her fingers. Negan lets out a seemingly satisfied sigh which encouraged her to go faster. Her mouth makes an 'o' shape when she sees precum leaking from his reddening tip. She impulsively brings her head down to him and experimentally kitten licks the precum, before taking the entire tip into her mouth. She looks up at him again, but he's already looking down at her with lust darkened eyes.

"Go on, baby, you can fit more of me in that sweet little mouth of yours," he taunts. She lowers her head until his tip makes contact with the back of her throat, but even then he's not all the way in. His thick, throbbing member fills her mouth, resting heavily on her tongue. With more confidence, she begins bobbing her head up and down. Negan's hand grips a handful of her hair and stops her.

"Don't use your teeth," he corrects her. She chokes a 'sorry,' out from around his cock, the vibration from it feeling good. In her effort to not use any teeth, she hollows her cheeks, the spongy flesh of their insides caressing Negan as she bobs her head. With the hand that's still gripping her hair, Negan forces her to go a little faster, but doesn't push her all the way down on his cock. She picks up the pace on her own, causing Negan's grip to relax.

"That's it, darlin', you're takin' my cock so fuckin' good right now." Her nails dig into his thighs as she continues despite the pain in her tired jaw. His praise sends a wave of heat directly to her core causing her neglected cunt to clench over nothing. But his praise wasn't enough. She wants to hear his pleasure, to hear him moan and come undone in her mouth. She forces the remaining inches of him down her throat, but she immediately regrets it when she gags around him. But she's already in too deep and wouldn't dare dream of quitting now.

"Holy fuckin' shit, doll!" he pleasurably groans, "you are a goddamn dick suckin' natural!" She can feel him twitch inside her mouth, a telltale sign that he's close. Her own cunt throbs, despite receiving no attention. Both of his hands grip her hair as his restraints come undone and begins fucking her face. Exasperated profanities and moans fall from his mouth as she takes him so well.

"Want me to cum inside your throat, doll?" He gets out between pants. She hums an 'mmm hmm' as she tries to move in time with his thrusts. His head falls back against the chair and eyes slightly roll back as his hips rut into her mouth, burying her nose in his dark curls. As he shoots his hot load into her mouth, a guttural moan claws its way out of his throat.

He pulls his softening dick from her mouth and tucks it back into his shorts. He leans down and grabs her jaw so he can admire her pretty, cock drunk face. The trails of dark mascara tears dried on her cheeks and her lips are slightly swollen and her hair is a mess. She looks perfect.

"Open," Negan commands. She opens her mouth, showcasing to Negan his cum resting on her tongue.

"Now swallow." She does and maintains eye contact with him the whole time.

"That's my good fuckin' girl," he praises, causing heat to spread on her cheeks and down to her pussy. She stands up, using the desk behind her as support. Her knees are slightly bruised, a delicious sight to Negan.

"Thanks for teaching me, Coach," she says, her tone slightly teasing.

"Yeah, alright. I gave you want you fuckin' wanted, so get outta my goddamn office." He means what he said, despite how playful he sounded.

"But wait," she says stepping closer to him. He raises an eyebrow in response as she grabs his hand and brings it close. She puts his large hand in between her legs, forcing him to feel how wet he made her. He looked up at her a, his face morphing into a dark smirk.

"Don't you wanna return the favor, Coach?"

note and the answer is....present tense! i wrote this in present tense instead of my usual preferred past tense. thoughts?

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kakushino · 23 hours

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hello can i get a giyuu x reader angst , like where giyuu had an argument with the reader , but it turns out the reader is pregnant? you can add any other plot twist cus i love plot twists thank you !<3

Almost

Tomioka Giyuu x Fem! Reader

He had lost a lot of people in his life by his own making. He refused to lose you too.

Tags: pregnancy, arguments, blood mention, abortion mention (no actual abortion), hurt/comfort Word count: 2k

Masterlist

AN: Hope you enjoy it! I actually had a WIP of an argument + making up before, so I got to revisit it and add the pregnancy spice you asked for hehe~ Huge thanks to my dearest beta reader @glitchtricks94 for helping me clear it up (o゜▽゜)o☆ another huge thanks to @starrierknight for brainstorming with me

Giyuu’s injuries weren’t worse than normal, but that didn’t stop you from fretting over him – especially when he had a gash on his cheek, the same cheek you kissed a week ago when he was leaving for his mission. It made your chest feel tight to see his pretty face marred by demons. Your grandmother was surely rolling in her grave that such a classical beauty was hurt, the thought spurred you on to care for him.

No detail went unnoticed under your eye. He seemed tired, as usual, and a little stressed, as usual too - just a regular morning after slaying demons.

You sat him down at a western style dining table with a medical kit and supplies to clean the cuts with next to you. Your hands shook slightly when the damp cloth wiped away grime and blood, your lips pressed together when a fresh drop of blood oozed from the wound.

“You need to be more careful,” you murmured as you worked, the statement automatic, thoughtless.

Giyuu’s whole body stiffened. “Or what?”

You froze in place, your hand dipping the cloth in warm water. This was a new tone of his – a new way words could cut you if he wanted you to hurt: it was rough, serrated, mean. “What?”

He rolled his shoulders back a little, rearing for a fight. “You heard me the first time.”

You clenched your hand, leaving the rag in the water, and turned to fully face him. “Why are you so defensive? I meant no harm,” you replied, trying to calm the storm before it fully set in.

He stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair he had sat in over. The look he shot you sent your heart galloping in your chest, from fear or indignation, you didn’t know. “You’ve done enough. Leave me be.”

Did he like you like this? Was the hurt in your eyes enough? That was – did he like the way it glinted, the way it caught the light? Hours upon hours spent on making your suffering pretty, and perhaps now it would pay off. He could cut you down into something pretty if he wanted to, and maybe you would let him.

Before he could walk away, before he could twist the rusty blade, you rose from your seat, “I have done nothing to warrant this tone with me, Tomioka Giyuu. Now tell me-“

"Stop bothering me," he cut you off, heading towards the door.

A violent whirlpool of emotion threatened to drown you, and for once, you let go. “You- you oaf! I can’t stand you being like this! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect,” he snapped, voice like a viper and words just as stinging. “Or at least it would be if I didn’t have you nagging me every time. I’ve been through this enough to know what to do with myself. Unlike you who sits here all pretty and safe and fat, ready to wrap a bandage and call it a day.”

You flinched, for the first time in your husband’s presence, tears springing from your eyes, which you rapidly blinked away. What have I ever done to deserve this? You had waited on your hands and knees for this man every time he’d come home battered and bruised and broken and put him back together, without complaining, with love. This was what you got in return for your devotion? Pretty and useless. That’s what he basically called you.

Your throat tightened. You hardly had the energy to respond so you turned away and just… left. You couldn’t continue listening to Giyuu when he sounded so much like… like Shinazugawa. Whatever was bothering him best be left alone to cool off before you could talk about it.

You nodded to yourself as you packed an overnight bag. Some time apart would be good for you both. You knew he wouldn’t be sent out on a mission for a few days again, since he just returned from a longer stint, so you would come back tomorrow and try to resolve it then.

It was time for a check-up with a midwife anyway.

He had really said all that.

And you left.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you left, as you should. He had treated you like garbage.

There was no going back, no taking back his idiocy, no swallowing back his words.

‘Let's stop fighting’ was at the tip of his tongue. ‘Come here and let me hug you’ nearly spilled from his lips. ‘I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry’ choked him up as you walked away.

He knew you were right. You did nothing wrong.

He felt nothing.

He was worth nothing.

Giyuu picked up the shards of his heart up and finished cleaning up his wounds. A short bath later, he walked into the kitchen to find food already made for him, now long gone cold. It just reminded him how much he butchered his relationship by what – stress and tiredness? A demon taunting him right before its death? If so little shook him up, did he even deserve to be with you?

A sharp pain pierced his heart at the thought of leaving you. His selfishness truly knew no bounds, hurting you and putting you in danger for being a Hashira’s partner yet wanting you to remain by his side.

After eating his portion, he made tea and waited to see if you would join him. There was no movement in the house at all; were you in your shared bedroom, laying in bed as you were used to when upset? He would give you time to cool off, give himself time to breathe, and then he would approach you with a clearer head. He needed to apologize.

One hour. Two hours.

Had he angered you so much that you wouldn’t come out? Your spats had never lasted this long.

The tea had long grown cold, but Giyuu couldn’t bring himself to make more. There were no sounds coming from the house.

Were you even here?

The thought jolted him from his seat, quickly walking to your shared bedroom.

“Love?”

Nothing.

“I’m coming in.”

He somehow expected it, though he’d hoped against it. You weren’t there.

Already turning to check all other rooms, he called out your name. His pace was brisk, his throat starting to clog up with a familiar emotion. Claws of anxiety sunk into his stomach, his heart beat like a drum, his lungs struggled to take in air. You weren’t there.

Where were you?

He ran through the whole estate and back two times but came up with no clue as to where you were. Panic mounted, crawling up his spine like a spider he couldn’t shake away.

Giyuu slammed the gate of his home open, very nearly running into his elderly neighbour.

She was hardly phased, though confused by his frazzled visage. “Tomioka-san? What’s got you in such a hurry, young boy?”

“Have you seen my wife?!” he’d never been as rude as he was now, but you were gone so what was he supposed to do?

“Your wife? Oh, that’s right, I saw her. If I recall, she was on her visit… hmm, who was she going to visit?” his neighbour mused. Giyuu waited with all the patience Urokodaki beat into him, that was – quite impatiently. “Oh right! A midwife! I was very surprised when-“

He stopped listening, or rather, he stopped hearing anything going on around him. A midwife? A midwife was a profession with a very specific set of skills for a very specific group of people… Did that mean-?

“Isotani-san,” Giyuu interrupted, breathless, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you saying my wife is pregnant?”

She squinted at him, “You didn’t know?”

It felt as if lightning came from clear skies and struck him. Every nerve itched with some kind of energy telling him to move.

He later vaguely remembered asking his neighbour for the direction you left in, but at the time, he saw nothing, and felt everything all at once.

Were you going to… terminate it? Were you going to tell the midwife, and would she terminate it? Was the midwife going to terminate it and help you move on? Would you move on without him?

Thoughts racing, heart galloping, Giyuu felt feverish. He stumbled back, deaf to his neighbour’s concerned questions as he turned the way you had left just hours ago. One foot in front of the other, a step by step, getting faster with each meter he passed until he was running nearly as fast as Uzui, desperation spurring him on.

Kanzaburo flew overhead, and when he cleared the village bounds, he called out to get the crow to lead him to you.

Time was of the essence. He may have botched his life, but he was too selfish to let go of you. He wanted, no- needed to get you back. You were his love, his soul, his home. He wouldn’t be able to go on if you left.

He felt crazed, desperate, as he ran.

Giyuu would have been faster had he not have to follow Kanzaburo but he wouldn’t be able to find you alone. He felt as if he was racing against the time. Any minute now, you would be in a the midwife’s home, waiting for the release from his clutches; any second now, you would sever the only tactile link you had to him – your baby.

His baby.

He swore, his mind supplementing him with your argument. It had been all his fault, he’d just lashed out because of nothing, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. How childish he’d been – and he was supposed to be a father? No, he wanted to be a father. He’d fix himself and he’d support you and he’d even carry you your whole pregnancy, so you didn’t have to walk. He’d learn to cook more than the basics to feed you and your baby.

Please, let me be in time.

Then he saw you.

The whole world seemingly froze, grey and empty save for you.

You were a pearl amongst rocks, still as beautiful as the first day he saw you, as beautiful as you were on your wedding day.

Giyuu didn’t stop, even as you turned to him in surprise when he called your name. He didn’t stop until he had you in a soul-crushing hug, tight and near bruising – one he immediately eased up on, since he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Calm down, Giyuu! What’s going on?”

“D-don’t-“ he stumbled over his words, still frantic and breathing heavily, “don’t get rid of it!”

You were confused, “Get rid of what?”

His hands were heavy clutching onto your clothes, his frame nearly hanging onto you. “Our – our child,” he gasped out. “Isotani-san told me you were- she told me you were pregnant.” His words came out in a rush, eyes wide as he stared at you, his pupils darted all over your face for a sign of – of anything, be it forgiveness, anger, sadness, anything.

Looking at him in such a state, near quivering in his spot, you felt powerful. Giyuu was at your mercy for once. You could topple him as easily as a sandcastle, crush him under your boot and grind down to juice him of all that made him who he was. It made you realize you held just as much power over him as he did over you. Oddly, you felt reassured - of his love, of your love, of the relationship.

Heart hammering in your chest, cheeks filling with warmth, the adoration you carried in your heart spilled over and pooled in your stomach. You hungered for more of this power, positively starved to sink your teeth into him and drain him.

But that could wait.

“I am indeed pregnant,” you confirmed, your hands resting on his arms, thumbs stroking soothing lines over his muscles. You paused, letting the seconds painfully stretch out, “I’m not terminating the pregnancy.”

His whole being sagged with relief. Giyuu fell to his knees in slow motion, his hands sliding down your yukata to rest over your hips, now clutching the fabric there with a weak grip. “Thank gods…” he rasped out, his breathing stuttered as if holding back sobs. “Please, love, let’s not- I apologize – I apologize for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out. I was wrong…”

His impossibly blue eyes met yours, the surface glistening with unshed tears, his guilt bitter but his plea tasting sweet on your tongue. Saliva gathered in your mouth, wanting more.

Did that make you a bad person?

“You dismissed my concern,” you stated, fighting back any expression wanting to take over your face. “You said I nag you. You called me useless.” And pretty, your mind supplied. He’d also called you fat, so there was that. “I didn’t deserve that.”

Giyuu’s lips were downturned, “You didn’t. I was an oaf.” His admission did nothing to soothe the ache he’d given you. “I’m willing to take whatever punishment you deem worthy of my misdeeds.” He let go of your yukata, smoothing over the wrinkles he made. He didn’t know what to do with himself, trying not to fidget as you rolled his actions and words in your mind.

“There will be no punishment,” you told him. If possible, he became even more tense, the need for absolution great. Perhaps no punishment would be a punishment of itself. “But don’t think you’re entirely forgiven. I accept your apology; you however have to make up for it your own way.” You studied his earnest expression, brows slightly furrowed as he started thinking about ways to win you back. It shouldn’t be too hard. He did it once, he could do it again.

Giyuu slowly stood up, taking your hands in his. “I won’t disappoint you, love,” he said resolutely, kissing your fingertips softly. He adored you, with his whole heart, mind and body.

Everything would work out – just like the ice always melts and clouds disperse, a typhoon passes and the sea calms.

“If you pull this act again, I’m leaving.” You glared at him for a second to get your point across. Giyuu nodded and pulled you in for a sweet kiss.

He almost lost you and he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Thanks for reading! Reblog or comment if you liked it :3

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

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yoonivy · 1 day

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 7.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. angst

01| 02 | 03 | 04| 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11

----

“Welcome back… Lady Mormont.”

Time has frozen.

At least that is what it feels like as soon as you laid your eyes on Aemond.

Your mouth parts after a dry swallow, as if parched for so long and his visage is the water that will sustain you. All you could do is stare upon him and drink in your fill.

You have thought about this moment happening for so long. Of what you will do when you see him again. Yet none of your previous fantasies seem appropriate anymore — not with his arm wrapped around your dearest friend’s waist and your husband so close by your side.

So you just stare, open faced and vulnerable.

The look on your face has Aemond narrowing his gaze. Quizzical or suspicious, you cannot tell.

(Shouldn’t you be able to tell? You used to read him like an open book.)

But you can only guess that he is as astonished as you are by this surprising reunion.

“Actually, your Grace,” Jeremy pipes up. “My wife goes by Lady Strong now.”

Aemond hums noncommittally and does not even spare Jeremy a glance, keeping his gaze and attention solely on you. It is as if he did not even hear him, reminding you of the time Aemond rudely interrupted your dance with Jeremy all those years ago.

Perhaps your husband remembers it as well. He goes rigid beside you.

So you slip your hand into his, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. Jeremy returns it, his finger flexing against yours before he squeezes your hand tightly.

The prince does not miss even a millisecond of this exchange, and when you turn back to face him, you are met with the most unenthused scowl.

There was a time when you could have just pinched it off his face with a laugh. Where did that time go? How did it end up like this?

It makes your stomach turn how strange this feels. It hurts so much… but all you could do is grin and bear it.

You pull your hand away from Jeremy to curtsy low towards Aemond, finally remembering that you had not even formally acknowledged him yet.

“Prince Aemond, it’s wonderful to see you again,” you say with your head dipped low, eyes on the ground.

“Is it, really?” You hear him question. “I apologize if I find that hard to believe, Lady Strong. You didn’t even invite me to your wedding! Did my invitation get lost somewhere on the way to me?”

Though it may sound lighthearted, you hear the subtle accusation in it. It has you flicking your gaze up at him, meeting his eye. Despite his smirk, you can clearly see the hurt in him. Hopefully he can see the pain you have been carrying as well.

“How do you two know each other?” Alys questions, her confused gaze darting between you and Aemond.

Your mouth parts, about to answer… But the words would not come out, dying at the tip of your tongue.

What can you even say? What are you and Aemond now?

“It is the duty of the Prince Regent to know the people that lord over our glorious lands,” Aemond supplies. “So of course I know about the Mormonts of Bear Island. I had visited a couple times as a child and got acquainted with the Mormonts,” he turns to you with a tight smile, hands clasped together behind his back as he dips his body your way, “isn’t that right… Lady Strong?”

It is not entirely wrong, but it did not seem right either. The nonchalant and broad way he explained your relationship felt so impersonal that you cannot help but feel a strong pang of sadness deep in your heart.

“Right,” you answer hoarsely, taking a swallow since your throat felt tight and blinking rapidly since your eyes are threatening to water. The latter does not work, but you are blessed by a distraction by the name of Talia. The young Lady Strong runs to you and you bend to your knees to catch her, hugging her closely and your tears disappearing into her curls.

It did not take you long to realize that the little girl is crying too.

“Oh, angel…” you coo sympathetically, pulling away to wipe the tears on her cheeks with the pad of your thumb on both sides of her face. Your face falls as you take in her bloodshot eyes and look of absolute distraught — it’s clear that her tears are beyond just seeing you and Jeremy again. It is something else.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond watches with a knot in his stomach, looking between you and the little girl and wondering if she’s… he looks towards Jeremy, then back at the little girl.

They have many similarities — chestnut brown curls and honey brown eyes. Definitely favouring the Strong features and yet none of the Mormonts.

There is a bitter taste in Aemond’s mouth, his mouth pulling back in a scowl.

In another world, a better world, she would have had pearlescent silver hair and your eyes.

The Prince Regent shakes away the thought just as Jeremy picks up the little girl, the both of you coddling her closely, asking her what is wrong.

The girl is in shambles, unable to explain as she stutters and hiccups through her tears.

“What about ‘We have a lot to discuss’ did you lot not understand?” Comes a booming voice.

Everyone turns to the clearly vexed Ser Simon, who had just noticed that no one had been following him.

“Apologies, grandfather,” your husband says, passing the little girl over to you.

Ser Simon’s hard stare did not move away from you, disapproving as always. What have you done now, you wonder. “And Talia. I told you to stop with the tears. Crying to your aunt and uncle will not bring your father and mother back. You have to grow up now.”

A soft gasp startles out of you at the sudden devastating news, looking over to find your husband’s heartbreaking expression. His mouth opens, as if he was about to ask his grandfather to repeat what he had just said, like he could not believe what he had just heard, but no words came out.

Your gaze sharpens into a heated glare at the man who spoke the deplorable words, holding the little girl more closely as she sobs against your chest, though she tries to keep it quiet this time.

An agonizing pain throbs your heart, for your niece and your husband.

You step closer towards Jeremy, hoping your presence is comforting enough. You can’t imagine how he is feeling. If you lost any of your siblings…

You could not even think of that right now.

Behind you, Aemond lets out a breath of relief that he had not known he had been holding.

---

You are unsure if it is because you are a woman or because the castellan of Harrenhal does not care much for you, but you were not allowed to take part in the discussion. Frustratingly, you think it might be because of both reasons.

The sun is already starting to set and yet your husband still has not returned to your chamber. He has already been gone for a few hours and it has you anxiously pacing around the room.

Harrenhal had been attacked — that you can conclude by the injured and the repairs being done around the castle. But what of the riverlands? Or Hornhill? If a clash had broken out in Harrenhal, surely those areas would not have been left untouched.

Worrying your lips, you stare out the window, wishing you had the gift of sight to see miles and miles beyond.

Remembering Forrest’s letter to Braeden, a sinking feeling of dread settles in your stomach

Are your siblings alright? The invisible strings that ties you all together seem to be pulled taut and loose at the same time. But you are sure it is just in your head. As much as you try to put on a smile and stay optimistic, you are always just worried now, always stuck on the worst case scenarios.

The door of the room opens just before you go mad with any more dreadful thoughts.

Turning away from your spot by the window, you watch as Jeremy steps in, weary eyed and appearing more exhausted than the last time you saw him. You meet him halfway across the room, your steps hurried while his are slow. When close enough, you reach for his arms as his own find their place on your waist.

Before you could even get a word out, Jeremy's face crumbles, it is as if he had been holding back this whole time he had been gone. He finds home with you, his face hidden in the crook of your shoulder, breaks down while he tells you through aching sobs about the fate of his brother, his friends, and many other people he had grown up with due the attack of the Blacks.

As you hold him tightly, you tell yourself that in due time, Jeremy will tell you everything you need to know. But for now, you lead him to your marital bed and let him seek solace in your comforting embrace.

---

A couple days pass and you were correct, Jeremy tells you all that he knows once he is ready. He informs you that the Greens are brokering a peace deal with the Riverland houses, and that he is sure that the Tully’s will accept it. Though about the Reach – and Horn Hill, specifically – he had no news. Nothing at all. You don’t know whether that should relieve you or worry you more.

Your husband has no reason to lie to you.

So could Forrest’s intel be wrong?

It does not make sense seeing as your older brother is part of the Queensguards, but you desperately hope that is the truth.

You decide to take your mind off it for now before you go mad.

There are still repairs to be done. Injured people to nurture back to health. And the children — oh you know they would love for a distraction and normalcy for this confusing yet terrifying time, and resuming your art lessons would surely bring that.

You’ve neglected your self appointed duties since your return to Harrenhal, only leaving your bedchamber a few hours a day before you find yourself running back to the safety of it.

It must be exhaustion from the long travel.

It must be lightheadedness from the remembrance of death all around you.

It must be the feeling of vivid violet like goosebumps on your skin, the wisp of blanche from the corners of your vision —

But you do not want to hide away anymore. So you start your day at the medical bay, offering your aid wherever the maesters see fit.

You make makeshift gauze out of old yet newly washed clothing. You help dress wounds. You feed those who are not able to by themselves. And when one of the maesters needed more dreamwine, you offered to be the one to get more.

That is how you find yourself standing like a statue right at the open apothecary door.

It had not been your intention. But you realize as soon as you step into the apothecary and freeze suddenly in place when you see your dear friend, that you had been avoiding her.

You have seen Alys around. Out the window of your bedchamber as she walks across the courtyard, the prince regent by her side. In the dining hall, the two of them sharing a meal. In the common room, absorbed in reading separately while sitting so intimately side by side that Alys was practically on his lap. Wherever Alys is, Aemond is surely close by.

Perhaps that is the reason why you had not dared to approach her.

But right now Alys is surprisingly alone and none the wiser about your guilty stagnant hovering by the doorway. The raven haired beauty is too preoccupied with her work.

Your eyes water at the sight of her, mouth pulling down into a wavering pout. You miss her so, so much. Yet you’ve been hiding from her because of what? A long lost love who you have not seen in years ?

You’ve moved on. You really have… With Jeremy.

It is clear that Aemond has moved on as well — and with your best friend. You should be happy for them.

No. You are happy for them.

… Aren’t you?

You do not have the time to reflect on your conflicting feelings — not when you hear your name being called, and when you look up, you meet Alys fox-like gaze. There is an uncharacteristic small yet kind smile on her lips, one she reserves just for you. “… what are you doing standing over there?”

You clear your throat and put on a smile, finally taking a step into the room. “I apologize. I did not want to bother you.”

Alys shakes her head.

“You are never a bother, my lady… Actually, I was going to seek you out after I let this batch of sweetsleep simmer,” she says as you make your way beside her.

Close now but not too close, you watch her stir the pot in front of her one last time before putting a lid on it. She turns to you then, “I finished the medicine for your father last night and sent it out early this morning.”

She leans in closer, and you catch the gleam of mischievousness in her eyes as she whispers, “threatened the courier to make haste as well, so hopefully it will get to your father sooner rather than later.”

With those words, every disconcerting thought you were having fades away, replaced once again with only appreciation and admiration for Alys.

An emotional feeling of gratitude overtakes you as you take a hold of her hands. “Thank you, Alys. I don't even know what I would do without you. I will forever be in your debt.”

Alys shakes her head with a soft smile, reaching up to gently tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear before she cups your face. “I want nothing from you except to know that your mind is at ease.”

You almost burst into tears. Instead, you tackle her into a tight hug.

“I really wanted to lessen your burdens,” Alys says, her hand stroking in a comforting manner against your back. “Especially after what happened here and at Hornhill.”

Her words give you a pause. You rear back slowly, meeting her eyes, your face pinched in confusion. “.... What… What happened at Hornhill?”

Now it is Alys’ turn to look bewildered. “Jeremy had not told you?”

Panic starts to set in you, heartbeat racing and breathing near hyperventilating.

Told you what? Was there something to tell ?

“My Alys. There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” you hear distantly. It barely registers, not with the ringing in your ears.

Alys ignores the newcomer as well and murmurs your name, full of worry.

You step away from her, clearly already distracted with the thoughts in your head when you tell her, “I should go… have a word with Jeremy.”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll see you soon?”

You squeeze her hand once more, offering a smile and a nod before you turn away to leave the room.

As you pass by Aemond, you bow towards him though you quickly keep on walking.

You don’t see how his hand reaches out in an attempt to stop you. Though before his fingertips could touch you, he drops his hand lamely by his side.

The Prince Regent keeps his eye on you until he can not see you any longer. The ache in his chest grows.

Another opportunity to be in your presence — gone , just like that.

Disappointment does not even begin to cover it.

---

You find Jeremy at the training yard.

Sometimes you forget how much the name Strong fits with your husband, when all he ever is sweet and soft-spoken with you.

But as you watch him now, it is the one word you can think of to describe him. Strong , a solid and powerful force to be reckoned with.

A protector.

Is that why he had refrained from telling you about Hornhill? To protect you?

Jeremy barely budges when the man he is dueling with elbows him in the stomach, the abs on his stomach clenching as it absorbs the blow. He then easily turns things around in his favor, shoving the man to ground with a grunt and stabbing his sword right into the dirt beside the man’s head, thus ending the fight.

A second later, the seriousness of the duel dissipates when they both laugh at the same time, Jeremy offering a hand to help the man up.

Your hands come together to applaud for your husband, and his attention turns towards where you stand behind the fence. Meeting your gaze, his mouth widens into the most handsome smile.

He jogs towards you, and you can not help but lose your breath at the sight of him. The way his bare upper body glistens with sweat and how his muscles are taut from the practice…

Swiftly, you shake the thoughts away that the heat between your legs try to distract you with. You remind yourself that you are here for an explanation and not anything else.

“Hey,” Jeremy greets, leaning across the fence that divides the two of you to kiss your cheek. “You’re up and about early this morning.”

“Thought I’d better start doing my part to help out,” you say with a shrug.

He hums, reaching out to lay his hand on your shoulder, his thumb grazing along your clavicle.

Ever since arriving back, Jeremy has been more physically affectionate. Always finding reasons to touch you, or sometimes, for no reason at all. You have a feeling you know what caused the sudden change.

In truth, you had been enjoying the newfound possessiveness.

Except right now. You can’t stomach his touch at the moment knowing he had been lying to you.

So you shrug his hand away, causing Jeremy to tilt his head and narrow his eyes in concern.

“Are you done with training?” You question, before he could get a word out.

He glances behind him, and even though he does not seem to be — the others still clashing with one another — he turns back to you and says, “I could be.”

Nodding, you implore, “Please. We need to talk.”

With that, he jumps over the fence with practiced ease, and you pull him to a quiet corner of the courtyard.

Alone and with no one around to eavesdrop, you get straight to the point.

“I heard about Hornhill.”

The way Jeremy’s face falls in shock and the hard swallow he takes tells you everything you needed to know. But you press anyway, “Did you know?”

A long moment of silence passes before he nods sheepishly.

Your heart wrenches. “Jeremy… why ?”

At the sound of your voice breaking, his does too when he starts to speak, “I… I did not want to worry you, my love. Believe me, if I knew any news about Jorah and Renee — good or bad — I would have told you right away. But, as of right now, I have nothing, just as I told you before,” he takes a hold of your hands, eyes pleading for you to understand why he had told the little white lie, pleading for you to forgive him. “The Tarly’s have been sending letters to families of fallen soldiers and villagers, and if Jorah was… gone , we would have gotten word of it by now.”

Red rims around his regretful gaze, and you know all too well the grief that had caused it.

It had laid with you in bed every night since arriving at Harrenhal. It had your husband screaming in his sleep, dreaming of nothing but blood on the lifeless bodies of the people he loved.

“Please, please, forgive me,” your husband begs, his honey brown eyes filled with tears. “I just did not want you to feel the way that I did — like I still do.”

Your lips thin, contemplating his words. Then you lace your hand with his.

“Then tell me everything you know, my heart. And don’t spare any details this time.”

It’s not full forgiveness, but it’s a start.

---

Aemond finds you in the kitchen, led there by the sound of your melodic and lively laughter drifting through the cold and bleak halls.

He tried so hard not to seek you out. But his heart would always somehow lead him to where you are.

It’s a conflict in his head. Yes, he still loathes you. Of course, he is still bitter. And there is no doubt that he still resents every inch of you.

But for the past few weeks, every single day since the two of you find yourselves dwelling in the same place, Aemond’s subconscious would somehow find the time to search for you in the largest castle in all of Westeros and its hundreds of rooms.

The arduous task that he gives himself never deters him, for just one look at you — even for a passing second — is enough.

( You’re lying , the voice in his head mockingly laughs. You could never hate her and it is never enough. )

He stomps down the voice.

So he never dared to come too close. Always just a little out of your sight. Drinking you in from afar.

It's just you today, he notes as he watches in the shadows by the open doorway of the kitchen. No husband of yours following after you like a dog.

There are a group of children surrounding you though, all in awe as you slice up the pie you had made with their assistance.

The scent of the freshly baked pastry flows to him, causing a wave of nostalgia that pangs his heart.

Aemond remembers the many times you and him had also helped your mother and Dorothea with making the Mormont’s special apple pie.

He remembers peeling and slicing up the apples with you, offering up the slice most perfectly cut for you to pop in your mouth. Remembers accidentally dropping too much cinnamon into a small bowl, causing it to dust up into the air and into your noses, stinging your eyes as you sneeze and laugh and cough and whine out his name. Remembers sitting shoulder to shoulder, taking that first bite of the warm and delicious tart apple filling at the same time with a simultaneous hum of content, your elbow nudging him as your brows lift and your lips grinning as if to say we made that.

Smiling unbeknownst to himself, Aemond does not realize he got lost in the memories until the children are rushing past him. They are too engrossed and excitedly chattering amongst themselves that they do not see him standing there.

But someone does notice him.

“Prince Aemond?”

Your honeyed, sweet voice. His name.

He has to take a sharp intake of air, his heart stuttering underneath its hollowed cage.

Although he is the one who sought you out and this is what he wanted, to be alone with you — it is too much.

(It is never enough.)

Plastering on a tight smile, Aemond turns towards you.

The way he sets his eye on you has you feeling nervous. It is piercing.

“I apologize for intruding, my Lady,” he drawls. “I was led here by the scent of the famous Mormont apple pie.”

But his gaze does not linger away from you for even a second.

“You are not intruding, your Grace…” you say, timidly twisting your fingers together. You glance back at the wooden counter behind where the pie rested, “Would you like a slice…?” Then you wince, remembering — ”Actually, there’s only one left and I’m afraid I already took a bite of it. But if that troubles you, I can make another—”

“I don’t mind sharing. We’ve done it before,” he interrupts you. A smirk starts to pull his lips. “…I’ve devoured yours, remember?”

A shuddering breath escapes you, your face blazing with heat.

You don’t believe he is talking about pies anymore.

Turning away swiftly after clearing your throat, you don’t dignify the comment with an answer. It was highly inappropriate. But that doesn’t stop your chest from tightening at the image he put in your head.

As you fuss around to plate up the last slice of pie, you feel his gaze following you. Leering so intensely that the crawl of it over your skin causes you goosebumps.

What was the word he used again? Devoured?

Yes, it feels like he is devouring you whole .

You are so in your head and nonplussed about your every move that you don’t even realize he was standing behind you — until you feel the weight of his touch on your lower back.

They say that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, but Aemond’s touch is as electric and all too familiar.

It causes a shiver to run down your spine, and you quickly flinch away from him as if struck.

You fix an affronted glare his way, all it does is spread that infuriating smirk on his lips once again.

If you didn’t know any better, he seems to be enjoying the fact that he is making you both nervous and agitated.

“Shall we see if this compares to your mother’s and Dorothea’s?” He questions, tone cheeky, as he grabs a fork and cuts off a small piece.

“The children loved it.”

“They’re children ,” he remarks flippantly. The glare would have been the permanent fixture on your face if he had not said your name. But he did, and so your expression slacks, mouth gaping at the sound of your name on his tongue. It has been so long since you’ve heard his tongue wrapped around the syllables — he has always made your name sound like it is the prettiest song.

You are not sure if he had meant the familiarity or if it just slipped through accidentally. But he keeps prattling on, “They’ll eat anything tooth-achingly sweet and claim it is the Gods’ gift to mankind.”

“Wait a second…” Laughter fills the room, and you place a hand over your mouth to try to muffle it. “I think I recall this one dragon prince who had that revelation many, many times… He never learned though, not even when he would toss and turn all night because his tummy hurts and I had to keep him company, reading his favorite stories until he fell asleep.”

An annoyed huff through his nose is the only acknowledgment you get. It has you giggling until he brings the fork up into his mouth.

At the first bite, Aemond chews slowly, his expression giving away nothing.

Anxiously waiting for the verdict, you begin to bite down at the corner of your lip.

You are not like your mother or your sister. Cooking and baking does not come second nature to you. Even boiled eggs are not safe in your care if you are not careful.

On your visit to Bear Island, you would be by your mother’s side every time she was in the kitchen, making sure you follow the family recipes exactly how she does them.

In all honesty, you have been scared that you will never measure up. Terrified that something will happen and you will never taste anything like what your mother makes ever again.

But then Aemond lets out a steady hum, his eye closing as his head tilts up to the ceiling — captivating your attention so easily. His jaw is working like he is savoring it. And when he swallows, his neck — his beautiful neck — bobs elegantly.

Ethereal.

Aemond breathes in deeply, then opens his eye — lashes fluttering prettily — and sets it on you.

“It’s good,” he compliments, in a tone so soft you almost thought you had dreamt it.

“It tastes exactly how I remember it.”

He smiles then, sweet, unlike the arrogant or cruel smirks that only graces his features lately.

It is the smile of your Aemond.

Just that one smile was enough to break down the walls that had built itself between you two — at least for you.

So you gift him one of your own. Wide, and brilliant, and blinding.

The air in his lungs catches. The beating of his heart stops.

Who said he needed his sight anymore? As if you are the sun, he is willing to stare upon you until he loses function of his remaining eye.

The intruding thought does not last long.

Aemond glances away, cursing himself. Cursing you.

Is that really all it takes for him to forgive everything you had done to him?

A pretty smile, and nothing else?

Irritated at himself, he pushes the plate a little too forcefully towards you.

“Oh.” You frown. “You don’t want any more?”

One look of your little pout has Aemond squeezing his hand into a tight fist.

Weak. He is so weak.

Unflexing his hand after he takes a moment to calm down, he sighs. “We’re sharing, remember?”

Tentatively, you break off a tiny piece to put in your mouth before nudging the plate back in his direction.

Aemond rolls his eye, but does the same, only taking a little piece and then offering it back to you.

This goes on for a while. The room is quiet save for the scraping of the fork on the plate.

It is strange being here with Aemond like this. You almost think you might be dreaming. But he is real — your many secretive glances at him from the corners of your eyes made sure of it.

The silence is killing you. Many unsaid things linger in the air, but you don’t know where to start. There was a time when you talked to him about anything and everything, now you are rendered mute in case of saying anything wrong or idiotic.

Does he even want you to speak to him?

All the letters you have sent went unanswered, perhaps he wants it to stay that way.

“I heard you went back home for a little while.”

In breaking the silence, Aemond also tears down your overthinking.

There is a sudden lightness in your chest when you take in that he wants to talk to you.

As you were about to answer, you remember you are still chewing, so your hand comes up to cover your mouth as you nod to answer him instead.

Glancing down, Aemond huffs out a soft chuckle because of the look on your face.

Lovely , might have been a passing thought, but he is trying to drown out the voice in his head at the moment.

“How was that…?” He questions carefully. “How’s your family?”

“It was…” It takes you a moment to find the words on how you felt being back home — so many emotions overwhelmed you every single day you were on the island. With a faint smile, you finally settled on, “… something I really needed.”

You tell Aemond about your short time back on Bear Island. About your niece and nephew, about Braeden fully taking over as the Head of House Mormont, and so much more. He stands there and listens, hanging onto your every word.

“I finally had the chance to tell my mother this… thing that I was too afraid to tell her through letters.”

It flashes in your mind — your palms pressed on your stomach, your tears of distress, your mother holding onto you while she murmured it’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with you, don’t you ever think that, my darling.

You swallow the lump in your throat caused by the memory.

“And seeing my father again…”

Maybe for the last time.

This time, the passing thought makes a few tears fall.

Quickly, you wipe them away. “I apologize… I had not meant to dump this all on you.”

The awkward chuckle you let out dies in your throat when you feel Aemond step closer towards you. You glance wide eyed up at him through wet lashes just as his knuckles graze gently over your cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, catching the last of your tears. His touch lingers on your skin for a bit longer before he drops his hand — but his half-lidded gaze is still set on you.

You tuck your hair behind your ear nervously.

“And what about you, your Grace?”

“You’ve probably heard most of it.”

“Perhaps,” you answer. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Aemond lets out a low hum. “Then where shall I begin? With my brother, the supposed almighty and chosen king, and yet he’s injured beyond repair. Or my sister? There’s not much to say. She pretty much lost her mind further after losing her son. And I can’t forget about my mother…”

The look on your face is far too pathetic, Aemond thinks in disgust. So overtly pitying it makes his skin crawl. It makes him turn away from you, shamefaced.

Don’t look to me like that — you have no idea what I’ve done to you and your family.

“I guess we’ve both missed a lot,” he comments with a sardonic laugh. “I suppose that is what happens when people drift apart.”

“I guess so…” you reply, frowning.

But you don’t want it to stay that way. Your heart hurts thinking about it.

“Aemond?” He looks towards you, catching your watery gaze again. “Can we…” Your hand grips on the edge of the wooden table, fingers tapping anxiously. “Can we start over?”

The request takes Aemond aback, gaze narrowing and head tilting in disbelief.

Start over?

Just like that?

Like the past years did not matter? Like all his sleepless nights and anguish over you was for nothing?

Aemond nearly scoffs out loud — but then he really thinks it over.

Starting over and all that it entails… Being able to be by your side, to talk to you, to make you laugh once again… Which is everything he is secretly yearning for. As much as he loathes to admit it, it is true.

The past few weeks have been sweet torture for the Prince Regent. You were all his rotten mind could think about, distracting every other thought in his head because of the fact you are finally so close.

But to truly start over, everything should be laid out on the table, correct?

The damning confession is there, on the tip of his tongue…

Aemond bites back the words in cowardice, too afraid to face your ire. You despising him is the last thing he wants. Especially now that you are actually speaking to him, looking upon him with those eyes of yours he used to worship.

So instead, he sucks in a breath and nods.

“Alright… Let us start over.”

And when your pretty lips break into the sweetest smile he has ever seen, Aemond decides that although he made the wrong choice, it is one he does not regret making.

Aemond just wants to bask in your sun for a little bit longer before the inevitable happens — the day you find out the truth and hate him with all your guts until his final breath.

Is that truly so wrong of him?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd imagine #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd

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starlostseungmin · 7 hours

Text

prologue: look what you started ─── lee know (unedited ver.)

✰ pairing : yandere!minho x doctor!fem.reader (she/her pronouns).

✰ genre : crime au, joker x harley quinn trope with a twist, nsfw 18+, romance, toxic relationship, angst.

✰ prologue warnings : profanity, mentions of murder, interrogation room, threats, knife + more and specific warnings will be written on the actual fic MDNI.

✰ prologue word count : 1.2k

✰ notes : been planning this fic for weeks and was inspired by lee know’s gucci photoshoot with wkorea and red velvet’s psycho and chill kill. i might provide a playlist but idk this is my third repost of this prologue btw. please separate fiction from reality. COMMENTS, REBLOGS, and TAGS ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED. will post the actual fic either june or july!! stay tuned <33

Changbin slammed a bunch of papers on the table making you cringe at the sound. It was loud yet the fear wasn’t caused by it but what was written on them.

It was a random afternoon when Han dragged you along with him from your clinic to this godforsaken interrogation room filled with nothing but silence as you were under surveillance from the outside. Changbin stood a meter away with his hands on his waist, waiting for an acceptable answer. You heard a heavy sigh from him as he grew impatient. There was nothing to tell anyway, and you won’t say anything. Not even a word as to what happened.

“You still won’t talk?” He asked with a smirk formed on his lips. “What do you know about him?”

You took a deep breath as Changbin leaned forward the second he asked you a questionーstill nothing was coming out of your mouth. It should be a secret, you promised him that and you will never tell. But out of everyone, why you? The papers on that damn desk were his medical records, prescriptions, birth certificate, and the personal information of the people he murdered. A responsible citizen, no, a professional doctor like you would most definitely report a criminal immediately. But you didn’t.

Instead, you hid him away from everyone even though you knew about the consequences. You will go to jail, that’s for sure. You didn’t even know why you did it. Was it because you were swayed? Terrified? Threatened? Or was it because you voluntarily wanted everything to happen the way it was?

It should be simple. He was your patient before he became a lover.

“You wouldn’t turn me in, will you?” He asked pointing the tip of his knife on your neck as you stood in front of the mirrorーbody trembling.

“N-no,” Your voice cracked.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Y/N, you know that,” He answered, pulling the sharp object away as he buried his face in your neck with his arms wrapped around your waist. “You’re precious to me. I love you,” You bit your lower lip as tears streamed down your cheeks while reaching for his hands shakilyーholding them tight.

“I love you too,” You answered staring at your messy reflection in that broken, foggy mirror. “No one will find you, I promise,”

Upon turning away from Changbin’s face, Chan suddenly entered the room and sat across from the table from where you were sitting. He was cleaning the lenses of his glasses as your eyes glued on your balled fists resting at the hem of your skirt. You didn’t know what had gotten into you and why you ended up in this mess that he started. You were not supposed to tolerate him and yet you did. Were you crazy? Or was he?

“What information did you get?” Chan asked Changbin, fogging the lenses of his glasses with his breath before proceeding to wipe them again.

Chan is known for being the best detective in the city. There’s no case he couldn’t crack and he’s too smart to be outsmarted by anyone who tries to flee from the law and Changbin being the interrogator made the situation worse. You knew he used to be friends with everyone in this room, especially Han who was outside, listening to every word. No one can escape, not even you.

There were so many questions, most specifically they were for yourself. A doctor, a foolish one indeed. Who in the right mind would hide a criminal in the countryside for the sake of love? You. Maybe you weren’t in your right mind. And Minho… you can’t just let him go away. He did so much for you already.

“She’s tight-lipped, she’s not answering any of my questions and it has been two fucking hours, Chan. Two!” You heard Changbin exclaim out of frustration with his jaw tightened. Right, two hours for nothing.

“No matter how long you want to keep your mouth shut, we won’t let you go,” Chan spokeーtaking his glasses to rest on the bridge of his nose. He was calm as the ocean water in midsummer but you knew he wouldn’t be once he started talking. “We will find him no matter what, Y/N,” There was a sudden threat and full authority in his voice that made you feel scared. He is one intimidating fucker. Even if you acted strong on the outside, the fear that they’ll find Minho anytime would kill you.

“You don’t have to do this,” You spoke. Finally.

“Then tell us what you know. You’re being brainwashed by him, Y/N!” Chan shouted as you stood up, slamming your hands on the deskーglaring at them as if your eyes would burn them.

“A doctor will never share any confidential information of their patient with someone who is not their guardian!” You arguedーnostrils flared in anger. “Don’t make a fool out of me just because you think I know everything about him and you have the authority to question me. I was brought here against my will without a fucking warrant! And you are expecting me to say something which I won’t so let me go!” It was firm, indeed but they wouldn’t listen.

“You know we can’t do that unless you say something,” Changbin shouted making you slap his cheek causing a loud noise and a tense atmosphere. The man’s eye twitched in shock. For sure he wasn’t expecting that neither did Chan and Han. A harsh sigh escaped from his lips as his hand covered his red cheek, almost cursing the shit out of you but you were just standing there, hands on the desk with your eyes still not calming that death glare.

“I said, let me go.” You answered, infuriated. They didn’t have a choice and so they did.

You didn’t even say thank you after that, and what for? There’s nothing to be thankful about.

Grabbing your bag, you headed out of their office as Han followed you outside. He kept calling your name and to your annoyance, you didn’t want to talk to him. Not with anyone involved in the authority. There’s Minho on the line. You can’t speak further of him anymore.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be this harsh,” Han said, trying to catch up to your pace. “Minho Hyung was my friend, a precious one, and still is! We just really want to know what happened,” Han pleaded, almost tears in his eyes as you stopped in your tracks to face him.

“If you want to see him, be a good friend instead of putting a price on his head,” You snapped at him. Han just stood there, breathless and confused as to why you were making a fuss about it just to save Minho’s ass from getting caught.

“He killed someone! He’s a runaway criminal and you’re the only one who knows where he is!” Han argued.

“I said I don’t!” You yelled as tears started to form in your eyes. “He’s gone, Han! You don’t know where he is, neither do I,” You said. “I wouldn’t be back here if I was with him. He’s gone, Han! So quit thinking that I know!”

However, there was a short pause between you and him as if he was suspecting you, which was indicated as obvious. Han doesn’t trust you ever since his disappearance but he is so naive, no, every one of them.

“You’re lying,” Han gasped in between his cries. “I know you did something to him,”

No, Minho did something to you.

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pleasepress1forfrontdesk · 2 days

Text

The Chains Are Heavy

(Levi's long awaited backstory, finally)

Special thanks to everyone who has been following and rp with me. You really have helped make this character more than he was meant to be.

(@fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency @tired-sayaka-ada @never-gets-sick @oscarsgallery @city-of-c0rpses @v-extreme-diminuendo @kijimha )

How did I get here again? It could all have been a simple life for me, but it wasn't. Ever since I became 10, I was rob. Robbed of my family, friends, goals, dreams, my childhood, and most importantly my innocence.

Not just my innocent mentally, but literally too. I lost my innocence of being a civil. They all hate me now. Rightfully so. After all I have been nothing but a danger to everyone around me. All I did was make things worse. This war could have ended quicker if it way for me....

How did I get here again....

Foul Ball

It all started on March 22, a day after my birthday and two days after my best buddy's birthday, Cooper. We have been friends since daycare and being in the nursery at church. Cooper was a year younger than me, he was a wild kid, always taking things to the risk or the extreme. Super fast as well, faster than all of the kids on the playground, running was one of his passions. Cooper once told me that when he grows up he'll become a track star. As silly as it sound he had my full support, because you could never say no to Cooper. You could never tell him what to do.

I on the other hand was the balance for Cooper's wild behavior. Much more soft spoken and tame for a 10 year old. I may have not been the fastest runner, but I sure did have a good arm at throwing things. I had a goal, to become the world's best baseball player. It was my dream after all, to be on the professional teams and be famous. I wanted to make my mom proud

I must admit some of my behavior is like that, mostly because I was a mommas boy. It was just her and I after all, which I didn't mind. Though sometimes Cooper would joke that his dad, who was also single, should marry my mom so that we can be brothers and live together. I always told him that we wouldn't need legal documents in order to be brothers. As long as we stick together we will always be brothers.

Well that promise didn't last long... Cooper and I wear out in the front yard of my house, playing baseball as usual. I was using my new metal bat that I got for my birthday, it was much stronger than my old wooden bat. We were having a fun time, Cooper was about to throw the ball until he arm suddenly dropped and let go of the ball.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I turned my head to see what Cooper was now looking at. My eyes widen and I start to feel the same sense of fear that Cooper might be feeling. Two black cars parked in my driveway, and five government agents came out of them. My heart skips a beat. It can't be.

I watched as the knocked on the front door of my home, my mom answering it a second later. The government agents start talking to her, and even though I couldn't hear what they were saying, I could tell by the look on mom's face that this way good.

Cooper tugged on my sleeve. "You don't think the president actually signed that bill right?..." Cooper looked worried now, and I so was I. I clenched my fist into my shirt.

"He would only sign it if war ever started....." The realization dawned upon us both. My lips trembled. "I don't want to go to war...." I mumbled those words with tears falling from my eyes.

That was the last day I ever saw my mom again.

That was the day I was robed of everything.

Strike 1

A 10 year old out in the battlefields of war, that isn't something you saw everyday. But here I was, fearing that my life could end at any moment in these trenches. And it would be like this for the next 9 years.

It took some adjusting to, though there was no time to adjust. Hand a gun to a 10 year old and tell him to go to the trenches and figure it out. I wasn't even given training. They didn't care. They wouldn't care about me. I was a child who would get in their way.

I didn't blame them. After all this wasn't the military decision after all, it was the horrible president at the time who made this decision. What the Nimone government did was cruel. They went through every legal citizen document and determined who would be drafted into war. We already had plenty of men above 18 drafted, but it wasn't enough. With the law at the time, anyone who was above 10 years old, could be drafted if they were proved useful enough to be used.

And that's what upset me the most. That I was just some weapon in their eyes. A tool to be once and never again. I wasn't the only one upstairs though. Many parents and families were upstairs by this dumb decision. It wasn't just families either, it was our own men as well who were outraged by this decision.

Upon my first day at the military base I met the leader of my unit squad, Captain Ross. He was a tall and well built man, always having a cigarette in hand and giving cold gazes at everyone. It was scary first meetings him. After all, the captains in the Nimone are train and built to be unstoppable military weapons. Nothing can stop them, and they will not stop until they are dead.

Being compared to this grown man compared to me was quite scary contrast. I was just some tiny kid compared to him. We both looked at each other for the first time and I can tell by the look in his mustard yellow eyes that he was displeased. There was a scoff as Ross stared down at me. "Who the Hell put a 10 year old in my unit squad? This is a kid, he should be home, not here about to die for our country." At least Ross and I were on the same page. Who's mess up idea was this anyways?

Everything from that day forward continued to go down. You expect the 10 year old to be a helper in transporting supplies or be in the med bay, but no I was thrown straight to the front lines. The trenches. The conditions of trenches were horrible, but the treatment around here was worse.

I wasn't given proper clothes that were my size, everything I worn was made for grown men. I had to learn how to sew to keep my shirt together because I wasn't given new clothes. I been wearing the same shirt the militarily gave me for over 10 years now.

The bunks were hard as rocks, I could barely sleep. That's even if I could sleep at all within the anxiety that any moment a bomb could drop on us. Sometimes I didn't even get to sleep in bed. Someone I would pass out in the trenches or on the floor. I had to push myself to still be barely functional.

They needed me after all, all for my ability. It was either fighting in the trenches, or infiltrating the enemy team as a spy. With my ability I could look, sound, and act like someone else as long as I had a single strand of their DNA on a peice of clothing for me to wear, I could transform to be like them. Mirror Mirror, I called it. This was useful to the military, since I had to use it a lot. My ability was the only reason why I was still living while fellow soliders fall dead to the floor before my eyes.

They all started calling me DNA, Levi DNA, since that's what I was to them. I was called that name so many times that to this day I can't remember my own real last name now. That war has made me forget a lot of things.

Strike 2

I try to suppress the memories and nightmares so hard, but at the cost of forgetting anything good before the war. I was robed of the memories of my childhood because of it. Even if I did try to forget, the ones that were the worse always lingered in the back of my mind. All those moments of being in pain and suffering. Everything was starting to become dull around 18.

This was had been going on for so long that I was loosing my reason to keep fighting. As if I ever had a reason to in the first place. I was just doing what I was told. Go spy on these guys, aim for the head, use your ability, back to the battlefield you go. All words that have no importance to me anymore.

I remember one time I was in the medical bay, I had gotten badly injured, but even in that moment I couldn't rest for long. Dr. Ikari, a young man who never got to finish school, had to patch me up. Unfortunately he had to send me right back out to the battlefield a minute after he was done attending me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that we were feeling the same thing. This dullness that we both felt. I barely talked to him, but I could tell that both of our worlds were become gray.

When I was around 19 I thought there was nothing left to look forward to. The war was slowing down but I was already numb. Or so I thought until one day I saw a familiar face. Jumps off the bus was a familiar red head, it was Cooper! For the first moment in a long time I smiled as I saw him. He spotted me and we waved to each other. He still recognized me! I never felt more happy in that moment.

At last we can be like brothers again. Things became less dull, there was some color back into my life. Things were finally looking up. We would sit in the dining hall, eating the worst food, but that didn't matter to me. I got to talk to. My best friend.

Cooper would catch me up on everything that I have missed and I would vent to him about how this war was. His optimism brought up my spirits, which brought me to ease. He barely has changed since I last saw him, my same old buddy. We promised that once this war was over that we would support each other while we fulfilled our dreams. A track star and a baseball player.

Strike 3

That promise didn't stay.

I was robed again.

I could never forget that moment.

We were out in the battlefield, trying to traverse no man's land, our side finally had the upper hand in closing end on the enemy. But we lost many men that day, including Cooper.

He didn't react faster in time. Before I knew it, I was cradling his dying body in my arms, blood dripping from his forehead. Cooper was shot in the head. I couldn't stop crying. I wasn't even fighting anymore. All I did was lay on the battlefield, holding him closer to me. "Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me." I would mumble to myself through tears.

But he left. I believe now that he's resting well with God in heaven.

In that moment I could forgive myself. I couldn't forgive the enemy team. I couldn't forgive our own government for all of this. Things were becoming dull again, but there was this redness starting to boil in the inside of me. This ticking time bomb.

Then it happened.

I had enough.

The day I finally snapped.

I'm out

I regret everything I have done in that span of a week. I was the reason why things got worse. It was little things at first. Ignoring Ross commands, running straight into dangerous territory and slaughtering the enemies, or throwing a grenade at helicopters. Then it got worse, I destroyed many of our own military weapons and transport, with some of our own men still in them. I set some of the base on fire. Gave valuable information to the enemy team. Held hostages of innocent people. Many things.

All these things became documented, published for all the public to see. Soon Levi DNA became a name to hate. I was a danger to everyone around me. That I need to be killed or locked up away forever.

There were two final straws that let to my arrest. The president at the time came over to the base, there for a impossible meeting. He was the reason why I was suffering like this. With all the rage built up in me, I tried to assassinate the president. It took 6 guys to stop me from doing so.

But I wasn't done that day. The worst thing that I have done was use me ability for a murder. I transformed to look like Captain Ross, committing a murder on the previous vice captain at that time, making it look like he was the one who did it. I baseball almost ruined his name and reputation.

He hated me that day since.

There I was, now arrested and locked away in a high prison facility. Ross took the pleasure to torture me in breaking my spirit, in which he did. There was nothing to look forward to anymore. Everything had became gray once again. I felt nothing as I sat in my dark cell, chained to the wall. I didn't deserve good treatment. I didn't deserve kindness or anything good. After all a criminal, a monster, doesn't deserve anything at all.

There was no reason for me to live anymore, and I was ready to accept that.

For a long time in that cell I would be in my own little headspace, daydreaming that I was living a better life with my family and friends. It was my only "joy" left. But even that couldn't be enough.

I was ready to end it all, yet a tiny part of me told me not yet. One more chance. I try to ignore that tiny bit of hope left, but I caved in. I made a promise to myself, that if I could not find a reason to continue on living in a month, then I would end it all.

So I acted. With brute force I broke out of that prison. I snuck onto a boat headed towards Japan. I free myself and upon leaving Nimone to Japan, I did find one major thing to keep me living. The sun and rakn. The sun was so warm and bright, great against my skin and the rain was so calming and cooling.

This was my chance to start again.

Back in the game

Upon arriving to Japan, I ended up in Yoko's city. There I was already lost and confused. I didn't know where to go or where to stay. I didn't know Japanese so asking for help was a impossible.

For my first few weeks there I was a hobo, wandering around, taking food out of trash cans. I found a abandon car to sleep in for the nights, but I barely got sleep. Things weren't looking good again. I desperately needed a job.

But who would hire a criminal?

That's until I stumbled upon this building and this man with probably over 20 children. His name was Mr Fukuzawa. And upon meeting him, my life was never the same again. Things changed, for the good this time. And I was welcomed into a new life with such amazing and kind people. My world had color again.

I'm forever thankful for that day.

Thank you.

#bsd oc #bungou stray dogs oc #bsd #bungou stray dogs #levi dna #Cooper Levi's best friend #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs rp

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sunkissed-zegras · 18 hours

Note

It’s 8pm, the girls are in their dorms, and the manager calls them telling them to get into their pajamas if they haven’t already and meet her on campus.

After a bit of walking she leads them to a building and pulls out her key.

“Now I thoroughly cleaned the floors for this shit so Istg if there’s any stains on the floor afterward...”

“You swear to god what?”

“Imma call your parents.”

Nika goes to respond but her words die on her lips as the doors open…

GYM SLEEPOVER.

Yeah that’s right, manager took it upon herself to set up the Gym for a team sleepover.

I’m talkin tables of food, both home made and takeout.

Board and card games.

Sheet face masks.

Bluetooth

A damn PROJECTOR so they could watch whatever (they’re totally watching ponyo and looney toons back in action)

Trash cans.

Girl they’re eating good food, having a good time…. some of them being sore losers at uno (I’m looking at you KK) (Manager and Azzi tag teamed in uno and destroyed everyone)

Making memories, sharing old ones, talking shit LMAO.

Then at the end when it’s time to sleep manager takes out the blankets, pillows, and floor mattresses (I say floor mattresses cuz ain’t no way they bout to stay in those sleeping bags) so they could set up on the floor.

They wind down and just sleep…

…

Or you know

Someone breaks the silence and asks a random ass question, which someone leads into deep and meaningful conversations???? All of a sudden everyone is soft

Then they actually go to sleep (lowkey fighting on who’s sharing with manager cuz they’re literal children and can’t agree on anything)

…

AFTER KK goes “Wait, Are we even allowed to be in here?”

“Nope, but if there’s an issue they can take it up with me.”

“Okay…”

“Paige, get your cold ass feet off me.”

“Bro, hey’re not even that cold-“

“Yes they are!”

-🐹

I JUST REMEMBERED THIS ASK AND I READ IT BUT FORGOT TO POST IT!!!!!!!!!!!

this needs to be a whole fic (yes, yes i know i say that about EVERYTHING) but for real!!!!! like, it does!!!!!

idk this sounds a lock in (lmk if yall have this in america cause...) usually for sports and for like student council we'd do a lock in every semester to get to know everybody, it's like a big gym sleepover

manager would do this before the season starts for all the new freshies and recruits to feel welcome and at home, it's her fav thing to do!!! it's sm fun

#uconn wbb manager thoughts 💭#🐹 nonnie!

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gaysindistress · 23 hours

Text

This is definitely not canon at all but yall are gonna let me have this😭

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Astarion x gn!reader

masterlist

So Star Boy, our sweet Astarion, was a magistrate and grew up wealthy, if not nobility in some way. Based on how sarcastic and cunning he can be in the game, I’d bet my left big toe that he used a little shit when he was younger. I’m talking switching the side of the road he’s walking on if he saw a beggar and turning his nose up if they talked to him. We also know that this is somewhat true given how he ended up becoming a vampire. I’m imagining him being very similar to Cressida from Bridgerton; just someone who is miserable and craves feeling important/valued. He needs to make others feel small because he felt worthless growing up and doesn’t know how to cope with the weight of his family’s expectations.

Which leads to me my impossible canon; what if he had a betrothed before he was turned?

What if he was awful to them because he didn’t know how to be kind?

I don’t think he has the ability to be truly awful but I do think he would ignore them, keep a distance, and probably be very short with the poor soul. He’d be dismissive and constantly give them looks because he’s just so angry to be engaged to them. It’s not that they’ve done anything; it’s the fact that he’s being forced to marry someone he didn’t pick himself. Once more his family has taken away his freedom and has forced him to play the part of a noble son.

This betrothal has been in the works for years, maybe even since birth but they haven’t been allowed interact until recently. Sure he’s known that it was some second born of a distant family ally and he’s seen a handful of paintings but that’s all. He’s never spoken to them or truly ever seen them.

It feels like the sky is crumbling around him when he does finally meet his betrothed. Sun breaks through the stained glass windows of the church as astarion stares at the mocking portraits around him. They seem to mock his situation with their out stretched arms that promise freedom and salvation. His boots make sharp and impatient noises as he taps his foot out of frustration. His parents, ever the stunning and elegant figures that they are, whisper as they critique every aspect of their son. Just when he’s about to huff and demand that they leave, the doors swing open and a small crowd of people waltz in. A man and a woman who foil Astarion’s parents stride up to them, murmuring half hearted apologies and excuses. Behind them trails a few servants and the other half of this unwilling couple.

Astarion rolls his eyes at the shy demeanor of his betrothed, cursing any god listening for this entire thing. His mom snaps her fingers and beckons him to her side to make the official introduction.

“Astarion darling, this is your betrothed,” she tells him as the servants fall away and reveal the single most beautiful creature that Astarion has ever laid eyes upon.

“Oh what a pretty little thing,” his father says before Astarion can speak and adds, “it’s shame they’re rather dull minded.”

The look that flashes across his betrothed’s face is one of immense disgust but it’s schooled into one of cool collection. They settle their warm eyes on Astarion and give him a gentile smile as they murmur their greeting.

“What a pretty little thing indeed.” Astarion finds himself saying without realizing it.

When this small spark of admiration bursts into distain is yet to be revealed but rather quickly it does and even the mention of his upcoming wedding makes him ill. Astarion avoids it at all costs and morphs into a bitter husk of himself as it draws closer.

That is until he’s turned.

A part of him is grateful that he’s dead to the world but there’s also a part that feels guilty. The sweet smile didn’t deserve his cruel and cold behavior but then again he didn’t deserve to lose his freedom like that.

Over the years, I’d think he would forget about that part of his life or rather he would lock that memory away. It’s useless to dwell on a ‘what if’ like that when Caz-cunt is alive.

So his pretty little betrothed is scrubbed from his mind and whatever he felt for them is forgotten as well.

Fast forward to when he’s adventuring with Tav. They’ve started what it appears to be a budding relationship (more like a few artfully crafted seductions but that’s not the point). Astartion finds himself falling for Tav and caring for them in a way he never thought possible. There’s a sting in his chest whenever he looks at them but it feels deeper, older than their relationship. It nags at him to remember but to remember what? It feels like it’s always on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

His fingers grasp at the tracers of a memory so forbidden that he doesn’t think he could even touch it. At night after hunting, Astarion finds himself staring up at the moon, trying to pick apart his own mind to figure it all out. By morning he’s exhausted and starving again.

During one of his many fruitless nights, he drifts to sleep and wakes up to someone pressing a dagger to his throat.

“Where is your camp?” The shadowy figure demands in a low voice as they gently press the blade against his neck.

“I don’t have one,” he replies, confused by his own quickness to protect his unfortunate companions.

“Lies, where is it?” The blade kisses and lavishes his neck as a prick of blood beads out.

“If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you get off of him and back way,” Tav’s authoritative voice calls out. Astarion can’t see much around the mass that looms over him but he can see that every one of his companions is there with weapons drawn.

The figure makes a disgruntled noise before quickly getting up and backing away with raised hands. They give some bullshit excuse that no one truly believes but Tav is more focused on Astarion to further question them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the figure lets slip and earns the full attention of everyone, Tav especially. They position themselves between their lover and this thief, leveling them with a harsh look of judgment.

“Who are you?” Tav demands.

The figure chuckles to themselves as they push their hood off to reveal themselves. A collective shock rings through the group when they finally see the person that got the under hand on Astarion.

“Who I am is unimportant. Why I am here is the question you should be asking.”

Tav shifts from foot to foot, ready to attack as they pose the ‘correct’ question.

The newcomer’s face breaks in an eerily familiar smile as they inform the group that Raphael sent them. They survey the band of ragtag adventurers before them, their eyes quickly scanning over each person but settle on one pale elf.

Chaos seems to erupt in the form of hushed conversations and sharp words but it all falls on deaf ears for Astarion.

All he sees is that perfect facade of a smile and warm eyes that he’s been searching for the 200 years.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” his formerly betrothed murmurs to him and him alone.

#astarion x gn reader #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x male reader

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television-overload · 2 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 31/34 - home

[Read on AO3]

Their caseworker stops by in the morning to get their signatures on some paperwork and lays out the timeline for getting the adoption finalized in the coming months. For all intents and purposes, though, Madeline is theirs, and they're free to take her home. The birth mother's signature is there in black ink, signing over her parental rights to them. The sight of it brings tears to their eyes.

They won't soon forget what that young woman has done for them.

After one last checkup with the doctor, they pack up the room and get ready to leave. Scully dresses Maddie in a bright blue flower-patterned shirt with matching bloomers, a headband, and socks to keep her feet warm.

Once she's snug in her baby carrier, they lay a fuzzy pink blanket over her legs to keep her cozy on the trek out to the car. Mulder proudly lifts the carrier with one arm, and with the other, he reaches for Scully’s hand. There may be three of them now, but he hasn't forgotten who he came in here with.

Brenda walks out with them, and they bid farewell to the nurses that had looked after them during their stay. After this, they'll be on their own, just the three of them.

Before they reach the exit, Mulder stops suddenly, standing in the middle of the floor and looking down at Maddie. There’s something that has been bugging him, something left undone that just doesn't feel right. He whispers something to Scully, and then asks the caseworker a question.

He knows it wasn't a part of the agreed upon hospital plan, as set out by the birth mother, but can he really just walk out that door without thanking her? Without telling her how much this means to them?

“Is Krista still here?” he asks. “I know she said she'd prefer to keep to herself, but—”

“I believe she’s waiting to be discharged as we speak,” Brenda answers. “I can call and ask if she's open to a visit from you all, if you’d like.”

“Please,” Mulder says, and Scully nods in agreement.

Brenda steps away to make her call, returning a moment later with a smiling face.

“She said she’d be happy to see you,” she announces. “I can show you the way, if you're ready.”

Mulder bites his lip in thought.

“Give me a couple minutes,” he says, handing off the baby carrier to Scully. “I'll be right back.”

-.-.-

The room where Krista has been staying after delivery is in a different hallway than Mulder and Scully had been in. When he returns, bearing a nice bouquet of flowers and some chocolates from the gift shop, Brenda beams at them.

“This feels insufficient,” he says, shrugging self-consciously at his gifts.

The woman puts a comforting hand on his arm, shaking her head. “I'm sure she will appreciate it,” she assures him kindly.

She gives them one last glance to make sure they're ready, and then knocks on the door.

“You can come in,” a voice calls from inside. Without further ado, Brenda pushes the door open and pokes her head through the doorway.

“Got some visitors for you,” she says cheerily, before looking back at them and nodding for them to enter.

Krista is seated on the edge of her bed, wearing comfortable leggings and a Georgetown sweatshirt. She looks well, if a little nervous.

“Hi,” she says, smiling a little shyly.

“Hi,” Mulder echoes, entering the room with Scully right beside him. “These are for you,” he says, holding out the flowers for her, which she accepts with a smile.

“Oh, thank you,” she says. “You guys didn't have to do that.”

“We're the ones who should be thanking you,” Scully says, tears pricking at her eyes. I can't tell you how happy you've made us. This– This is a debt we'll never be able to repay.”

Mulder nods in agreement, returning to Scully’s side and placing a steadying hand on her lower back.

“We're going to do everything we can to give her the best life possible. I promise,” he says. “I just… wanted you to know that.”

Krista nods, and it's remarkable how at peace she seems, given the circumstances. Mulder can’t imagine being in her position.

“Can I ask—” Scully starts, adjusting her hold on the carrier nervously. “I mean, if you don’t mind sharing, can I ask why you chose us?”

Krista breathes out a laugh, her eyes settling on the tile floor. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she says, amusement lacing her voice.

Mulder fights back a smile, glancing down at Scully with raised eyebrows.

“You might be surprised,” Scully says, turning her attention back to the woman who had given them a daughter.

Krista looks at them, her expression clear and honest and hopeful. She shrugs.

“She’s… meant to be yours,” she states simply, as if it were the most basic truth known to humankind. “I can’t explain it, but I just– I know you were meant to be her parents. I knew it from the moment I met you.”

Beside him, Scully sucks in a breath, and he feels his throat constrict with the swell of emotion.

“I had this feeling, when I found out I was pregnant, that someone else needed her. And… it was you.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t even understand it herself. “Do you believe in that kind of thing, Mr. Mulder? Dana?”

He looks down at the sleeping baby in the car seat, dressed in one of the first outfits they bought for her when they went out shopping.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, settling a hand on Scully’s shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

Krista nods again and smiles, his words confirming what she had hoped.

They’re interrupted a moment later by a nurse stopping by with the last of the discharge paperwork, and they wait while Krista speaks with her. She’s probably anxious to get home. No one likes sleeping in a hospital several nights in a row.

When they’re alone again, Scully steps forward.

“Did you want to hold her?” she asks boldly, concealing a worried tremor in her voice. It’s the right thing to do, he knows, and he hopes someone would do the same for them if their positions were switched. But with the adoption still not finalized, there’s always that one seed of doubt that tells them she could still change her mind.

“We’ve already said our goodbyes,” Krista says with a bittersweet smile. “Besides, I don’t want to wake her.” Still, she does get up to peek down at her in her car seat, gently running a finger over the back of the baby’s tiny, bunched up hand. “What did you name her?”

Mulder clears his throat, blinking back the tears that have unexpectedly sprung up.

“Madeline,” he answers.

“Hm,” Krista laughs, her cheeks pulling back in amusement as she drinks in the sight of the baby she bore. “That was my grandmother’s name.”

If they needed any other sign that this was meant to be, that was it. It seems Krista feels the same way too.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she says, cupping the top of the baby’s head and softly smoothing over her wisps of dark hair with her thumb.

Scully brushes back an escaped tear from her eye. “Do you have a ride home?” she asks.

Krista stands and makes her way back to her bed, perching on the edge like she had been when they arrived.

“My best friend has been here with me, she’s driving me back,” she answers.

He’s relieved she has someone here with her. Scully had offered her support if she needed it, but Krista is a fiercely independent young woman, not unlike another person he knows. She’d chosen to keep things private, and they were respectful of that choice.

Still, it’s nice to get a moment with her before they part ways.

“If you ever need anything… Anything at all—” Mulder starts.

“You know where to reach us,” Scully finishes.

Krista inclines her head, a grateful smile passing over her lips.

“Thank you,” she says. “You guys will be wonderful parents, I can tell.”

-.-.-

The drive back to D.C. is one of the most stressful of his life. He white-knuckles the wheel like his life depends on it, resisting the urge to check the rear view mirror every few minutes to make sure Maddie is doing okay. Scully sits in the backseat with her just in case she's needed, and though Mulder misses his copilot, he's glad Maddie has someone keeping her company back there.

It's surreal, the walk up to their apartment. This is where their journey into parenthood will really begin. Late night feedings and diaper changes, cuddling on the couch; Eventually, she'll be making messes while eating squishy baby food in the kitchen and maybe even learning to crawl. All of it within these walls that he's thought of as home, in some capacity, for far longer than he's lived here.

His home is wherever Scully is. His home has been a thousand different motels across the United States. His home has been in the middle of the woods while being hunted by mothmen in Florida. His home had been hospital rooms, rental cars, run-down diners, and any number of airport seating areas over the years.

His home has been a dark and dusty basement, feathered with little knick knacks and article clippings that he thought would make him feel fulfilled. In reality, it wasn't until the day she walked in the door that the office ever felt like home. The difference was like night and day.

Now Scully opens the door to their apartment, and they're welcomed not by cheesy posters and doctored images of UFOs, but by a huge welcome home banner strung up on the wall on the far side of the room. Baskets of gifts, apparently from Maggie Scully's church group, sit by the fireplace, and a hand-knit baby blanket drapes across the back cushion of the sofa.

Scully’s eyes fill with tears as she takes in the sight. Mulder brings the baby carrier over to the kitchen table, setting it down so that he can let Madeline out. She stretches her back into an arch, squeezing her eyes shut in protest against being woken up from her nap. He smiles as he lifts her to his shoulder, holding her warm little body close and patting her gently in a comforting rhythm.

“Hey Scully, looks like someone loaded the fridge too,” he says, nodding toward a sticky note that he spies tacked to the refrigerator where it hadn't been before. Sure enough, it’s filled to the brim with ready-made meals for them. Those church ladies work fast. “Good to be home, huh?” he asks, just as Scully turns away from inspecting the freezer.

“I still have a hard time believing this is our life,” she says, finding her voice again. “Does it ever feel like a dream to you? Like you’re watching someone else’s life and not your own?”

He does know what she means. He’s felt it in little moments throughout their partnership, even from the beginning. He’ll never forget the way she’d shown him such loyalty, vowing that she’d only ever put herself on the line for him. He’d never known that level of trust and commitment before, yet she offered it so freely. It had stunned him into momentary silence, to hear it declared so plainly.

She’s his best friend. And—more than that—he is hers. That’s what had been truly unbelievable to him. He was never anyone’s first choice. Not until she came along. And now she has chosen him for something else, too. For a more lasting relationship. A decision that guarantees their lives will be intertwined for the foreseeable future.

He has to pinch himself to remind himself that it’s real. Evidently, she does too.

For once in their seven years together, they have found a truth that asks very little of them. It does not demand penance, or further suffering. Nor does it require some great sacrifice or heartbreak.

All this truth asks is that they let go. Surrender to it. Stop fighting. Stop running.

Because the truth they’ve found is love, and though it may have taken a while to come to terms with it, there’s no question in his mind that that’s what it is. All this time, everything had pointed him toward it, he’d only pushed it away. He has willfully ignored what was right in front of him, believing that it couldn’t possibly be the answer. He wasn’t worthy. She deserved more. There had to be something else, some other truth that would save him, that made all the suffering worth it.

But in the end, it was her. She is the truth that was sent to save him. This life they’ve begun together—that’s what he had been searching for all along. Not a replacement for the family he’d lost, but a chance to have one of his own. To build one quite literally from the ground up.

“This is our life, Scully,” he says to her, standing close to her in the middle of the kitchen. “I want to believe.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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eksvaized · 2 days

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Part Two Ghost / Reader [ Previous ︱Next ] AO3 ︱Wattpad taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @villainofmyownstory

As the first light of the day seeps into your room, the morning sun casts a warm glow on the tousled sheets of the bed where you lay, stubbornly refusing to start the day. Despite the fact that sleep had only overtaken you as dawn was breaking, you find yourself strangely alert, your mind far from restful. Your thoughts are in a state of tumultuous disorder, an overwhelming cacophony of different scenarios and emotions that relentlessly assault your mind.

The reality of Simon marrying your sister is a bitter pill to swallow. Each time you think of them together, an uncomfortable knot ties in your stomach. Adding another layer to the complex feelings you’re grappling with is the fact that Emily is carrying his child. The thought of them starting a family together brings confusing emotions to the surface, making the situation even more complicated. You wrestle with guilt, feeling like the worst sister in the world as you find yourself unable to decide which revelation is more difficult to bear: the pregnancy or marriage.

You know you shouldn’t be comparing the two things, but how can you not when it’s all you can think about. Last night, you agreed with Simon to move on, to leave the past in the past and avoid talking about it, and certainly not mention anything to Emily. Yet a stubborn part of you, a part that refuses to listen to reason, clings to the memory of the one night you spent with him, refusing to let it fade into oblivion yet.

As you drown deeper in the sea of your own thoughts, your quiet contemplation is suddenly shattered. The door swings open with such an assertive push that it causes your heart to flutter in surprise, making you jump a little and shift awkwardly as you quickly grab a nearby blanket and throw it over yourself. Emily, already dressed to the nines and wearing a grin that threatens to split her face, storms in.

Upon seeing that your eyes are wide open, she wastes no time. Without even pausing for a breath, she launches into an extensive list of tasks that must be completed today. It’s a barrage of information that has you scrambling to keep up, but it’s clear that Emily is in her element, thriving in the whirlwind of wedding preparations. And it all begins with accompanying her to the first fitting of her wedding dress.

“I had considered going before, you know, before you came, but I thought it would be much better if you came with me,” she explains, her voice filled with a blend of excitement and anxiety. As she talks, she absentmindedly fiddles with the dainty bracelet that adorns her wrist. Then, without warning, she pulls the blanket off of you in one swift motion, leaving you shivering slightly and rolling your eyes at her dramatics. “I know that I won’t be able to pick anything today,” she continues, her tone slightly more serious now, as she picks under her nails. “But still, I need your advice. Unlike Simon, I know you will tell me the truth if the dress makes me look fat or if…”

Emily continues to talk incessantly, showing no signs of stopping, or at least slowing down. And it feels as though her voice is drilling into your head, causing an unbearable pressure that keeps building up and up. It feels as though an invisible pressure is building up inside your skull, like a dormant volcano ready to erupt, as you struggle to keep up with the unrelenting flood of her conversation.

Your temples pulse with a relentless throb, each heartbeat amplifying the already unbearable tension. You try to alleviate the discomfort, applying pressure with your fingertips, kneading the tender spots on your forehead, but the pain persists. You want to remain polite, to preserve the calm and cordial atmosphere, yet the urgent need to temporarily escape Emily’s incessant talking becomes too overwhelming to ignore.

In a desperate bid for solace, you make a seemingly casual excuse that you need to take a shower, and finally, after enduring another five minutes of her chatter, Emily takes a hint and leaves you alone. But just before the door swings shut, sealing off the remnants of her voice, she tells you that Simon has already left. Fortunately, he left his car behind, too, saving the need to call a taxi later. A sigh of relief escapes your lips - that’s one less thing to worry about, you think. In your current state, you’re not entirely sure you would have been able to handle the combined force of both their presences so early in the morning.

After having completed your morning routine, you find that Emily has already prepared a hearty breakfast. The tantalizing aroma wafts through the flat, making your mouth water as you walk to the kitchen. When you sit down to share the meal with Emily, however, she barely picks at food and only nibbles on a slice of apple a few times, murmuring something about not wanting to bloat like a balloon.

The drive to the boutique is a long one, but Emily takes it upon herself to fill the time with her endless babbling. You’re grateful when she fails to notice your silence, or if she does notice, she doesn’t comment. Either way, she seems content with the occasional nod of your head and the smiles you offer her each time she throws a glance in your direction.

You were already aware of Emily’s meticulous nature. But the dress fitting session, which you initially thought would be a straightforward process, turned out to be a test of endurance, significantly more tedious than you had anticipated. Even Emily’s indifference towards the price tags on the lavish dresses did nothing to hasten the process. On the contrary, it seemed to bestow her with boundless freedom to mull over every option, focusing even on the smallest, most irrelevant details.

“Thoughts on this one? Hmm?” Emily asks with a gleam in her eyes. She takes a step back and then twirls around twice, ensuring you get a good look at the gown.

The dress she’s currently wearing is intricately lacy, adorned with a subtle hint of sparkle that catches the light just right. It is undeniably beautiful, a piece of art in its own right, but as stunning as it is, it doesn’t feel like Emily—you can’t image her walking down the aisle wearing it. So, you shake your head gently in disapproval and reach out for the flute of complimentary champagne that the boutique has offered. As Emily turns back towards the mirror, you take a generous sip, the bubbly liquid offering a brief distraction.

“What I’m looking for, well, what I need... no, what I want, is something a bit more form-fitting,” she declares, a spark of resolve lighting up her eyes. “I want something tighter to show off my figure—I don’t spend all those boring hours in the gym just to be hidden under so much fabric,” she says with a determined nod. Her hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over the material of the gown, the soft rustle of fabric filling the silence of the changing room as she ruffles it.

Caught off guard by her unexpected statement, you feel your eyebrows involuntarily arch in surprise. The thought of a tighter, more revealing dress seems far from ideal, particularly considering Emily’s current condition. She is, after all, pregnant. You part your lips, ready to express your concerns and reservations, only to clamp them shut at the last moment. A fleeting memory flashes across your mind - your promise to Simon not to reveal that he had confided in you about Emily.

“But I don’t think a tight gown would suit you,” you gently counter, attempting to steer her away from her decision without divulging the real reason for your objection. “And… and if you wear a ball gown—not this one, of course—a tiara would look so lovely on you.”

You hastily backtrack your previous disapproval, eager to nudge her in a more suitable direction. You’re fully aware that if she were to choose a form-fitting dress now, her growing belly would eventually become apparent, necessitating adjustments to the garment. This would no doubt stress Emily out, and you wish to spare her that needless worry, and spare your own sanity along the way, too.

“No, I want a tight… sultry gown. Maybe with a low back cut. I could get a nice tan,” she insists, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at her stubbornness. This doesn’t go by unnoticed by her sharp gaze. “What?” She questions, but you shake your head again, not wanting to get into an argument. Especially not here, not when you know that the assistant is undoubtedly lurking somewhere in the back, probably eavesdropping on this conversation. “Spit it out, Y/N.”

Taking a deep breath, you bite the inside of your cheek and slowly stand up. “I need to step out. My head is spinning a little.”

“No,” Emily’s voice rings out clearly as she takes hold of your wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks just as you’re trying to slip past her. “Tell me,” she says, her tone demanding yet laced with a hint of desperation. “You promised you’d come here today to help me pick out my dream dress. And yet, up until this very moment, you’ve barely lifted a finger. You’ve stood by, silent and brooding, as I’ve tried on dress after dress.” Her voice grows quiet, but she continues, “And… and the moment I finally settle on a dress, one that, mind you, you haven’t even seen yet, you suddenly refuse to share with me the reasons why you disapprove of it.”

You look at your sister, and fuck, you know you should keep your mouth shut, but the champagne—exactly two and a half glasses, if you’re being precise—loosens your tongue, prompting you to speak blindly. Without pausing to think about the promise, you are about to break.

“In a month, you might not fit into this ‘dream dress’ of yours anymore. A ball gown, on the other hand, allows for more adjustments,” you blurt out the words, your speech rapid and almost frantic, as if you’re trying to get them out before you lose your nerve, or before you change your mind. “And don’t get me wrong, Em,” you quickly add, eager to prevent any possible misunderstandings. “You’d look absolutely stunning in any dress you choose. Truly, you would.” You pause, taking a moment to breathe in. “I just want to save you from any unnecessary stress and headaches down the line.” Your voice softens, and you hope that your words, however blunt, are received with the care and concern you intended.

A silence ensues, the air growing thick with tension. Emily’s gaze, previously soft, sharpens like a hawk’s, her eyes narrowing into thin slits as she slowly unwraps her fingers from your wrist. You brace yourself for the storm you’re sure is coming. But then, to your utter surprise, Emily’s face relaxes into a fit of giggles, the tension dissipating as quickly as it came. She glances around furtively, as if she’s ensuring that the two of you are truly alone, before leaning in closer. Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’m not pregnant,” she says, a hint of laughter still lingering in her tone. “Not yet, at least.”

“What? But Simon—“ you start, but Emily swiftly cuts you off.

“I told Simon I am,” she continues, rolling her eyes with a hint of amusement, obviously enjoying the baffled expression on your face. “I knew he needed a bit of a nudge to pop the question, and that seemed to do the trick. And really, it’s not such a terrible lie, you know? After all, we are getting married, and we do plan to start a family either way. So, it’s only a matter of time before I do end up knocked up.”

You feel as if you’ve been thrust into the thick of a fever dream. The words cascading from Emily’s mouth are a jumbled mess, a puzzle that you can’t seem to piece together. None of this is making any sense. You’re at a complete loss for how to respond, how to react, so you voice the one thought, the one sentiment that is spinning around and around in your mind like a broken record, “This is wrong.”

“Don’t—don’t start,” Emily interjects, rolling her eyes in a habitual, dismissive motion that grates on your nerves more than you care to admit. Her bright smile dissolves into a thin line. “You may wish to stay all your life alone, so focused on your career that you can’t see past it, can’t see anything beyond it, but… but I’m not you. I know what I want and I know what I need to do to get it.”

“This isn’t about you and me,” you say, taking a step back and raising your voice a notch. “It’s about you being dishonest with Simon. Do you really believe that this is the way to start a marriage?”

“Well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Emily’s words sting like a slap to the face.

A surge of emotion swells within you, a cocktail of confusion and indignation. You can’t comprehend why you’re reacting so strongly, getting so defensive over Simon, because in some twisted, complex way, you can understand how Emily’s plans might seem perfectly logical to her.

“Either way,” Emily begins, her words flowing with an edge of steel, “Since you could not keep your promise to Simon about maintaining your silence, I would appreciate if you could at least extend that courtesy to me. Do not breathe a word of this conversation to him. Consider it a wedding gift to me.”

Emily’s statement hangs in the air, a palpable tension that lingers even as her attention shifts back to the mirror. But then her mood changes as quickly as a summer storm, dissipating into thin air as she resumes her critique of the wedding dresses, particularly the one she’s wearing, which she deems truly horrid.

The changing room begins to feel claustrophobic, as if the white, bright walls are slowly inching closer and closer, threatening to suffocate you. You can’t help but feel trapped. Seeing an opportunity, you slip out, unnoticed, when you realise Emily is lost again in her own world again.

As you step outside, the warm air kisses your face. It’s a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the changing room. Almost without thought, your hands start rummaging through your pockets. A string of harsh and bitter curses slips from your lips as the realization hits you like a freight train - you left your cigarettes at home. You recall tucking them back into your suitcase, naively reassuring yourself, ‘it’s not like you are going to need them, right? Wrong.

“What are you doing out here?” Simon says, making you jump. You hadn’t noticed him before, his tall frame casually leaning against the nearby stone wall. “Shouldn’t be inside? Helping Emily?”

“And shouldn’t you be somewhere else, not here?” You shoot back, unable to completely suppress the simmering frustration that’s been building up within you, and perhaps a hint of anger that’s begun to creep into your voice.

Caught off guard by your tone, Simon’s eyebrows knit together, the playful spark in his eyes replaced by genuine concern. “Is something wrong?”

Annoyed, you retort sharply, “Why do you keep asking so much questions?” Realizing that your response came out harsher than intended, you take a deep breath before sighing, feeling the tension drain away a little as you add, “Sorry. I guess I just had a little too much champagne, and now my head is throbbing.”

“Really? Is that all?” Simon strides forward like a predator closing in on its prey. His piercing eyes study your face closely as he tilts his head slightly.

In that fleeting moment, a realization hits you like a bolt from the blue - you could reveal the truth, expose Emily’s lie. It would be the right thing to do. Yet, as this understanding seeps into your consciousness, another deeper, more profound realization dawns upon you. Your motivations for wanting to reveal the truth are not as noble, not as virtuous as they seem; they stem from a complex web of feelings and reasons you’re not willing, or perhaps not ready, to admit to yourself. And so, you just simply nod your head. “Really,” you say, managing to conjure up a small smile that fails to reach your eyes. “Just too much free champagne.”

Simon continues to look at you with an intensity that is hard to describe, his gaze seemingly piercing your very soul; his deep, dark eyes remain steadfastly locked with yours, trapping you in a captivating stare that you find impossible to break free from. There is something about him, something indescribable and yet intriguing, that keeps you rooted on the spot, as if his presence alone commands your full attention. The world around you fades. It feels as though your feet have been glued to the concrete beneath you, making it impossible for you to walk away even if you wanted to.

Your trance is broken only when he starts speaking, jolting you back to reality.

“Well—” Simon says, his tongue flicking out to moisten his bottom lip, drawing your attention in an almost magnetic manner. “Since I’ve managed to wrap up my plans for the day earlier than expected, I think I’ll stick around for a while and wait for the two of you.” He glances at the bustling traffic before adding, “Not in the mood to take a bus home.”

Your head bobs in response. Deep down, as much as you don’t want to leave him, as much as the thought of returning to Emily sends a wave of dread through your veins, you know you don’t have much of a choice. So, after another long, lingering pause, you turn on your heels and reluctantly walk back inside.

Emily takes her sweet time, spending another two hours shuffling through the racks, trying on a seemingly endless array of dresses, changing from one to another, then even slipping back into the very same gown she had already worn and dismissed earlier. It’s not until she’s exhausted every conceivable option that she finally, albeit reluctantly, decides to call it a day. You can’t help but wonder if your subtle backhanded comments and lousy compliments had something to do with her decision to wrap it up. You couldn’t care less, though. Not right now, at least.

The ride home is wrought with tension and awkward silences. You try your best to avoid looking at Simon and Emily. Especially when he leans over to peck her cheek affectionately, or when he casually squeezes her thigh after shifting gears. You also try to tune out their conversation, focusing instead on the scenery outside the window. However, your attempts at sulking in peace are cut short.

“That’s lovely, isn’t it, Y/N?” Emily’s voice breaks through your thoughts. She swivels around in her seat to face you. “I’ve heard so much about Johnny, but never had the chance to meet him. But now that you’re here, and considering Simon is in need of a best man — since I’ve already chosen my maid of honor,” Emily offers you a smile. “—it seems like the perfect opportunity for us to go out to dinner together.”

With a concerted effort, you summon up the last remnants of your energy, forcing a smile onto your face. However, the moment your gaze locks with Simon’s through the rearview mirror, your mask of contentment slips. Your facade crumbles like a house of cards in a gust of wind, and the corners of your lips fall. “Do I really have to go?” you ask, the tone of your voice echoing the reluctance of a young child being coaxed by their parents into attending an event they have no interest in.

The question hangs in the air, heavy with your apprehension. The truth is, you’re unsure if you’re capable of enduring an entire evening pretending to be alright, acting as if your mind isn’t a tumultuous whirlwind of chaos. The thought of having to plaster on a smile, engage in small talk, and act as if everything is fine is daunting, to say the least. The simpler, and arguably more appealing, course of action would be to stay at home, hidden away in your room under the pretense of a mid-summer cold or perhaps even a champagne-induced hangover.

Emily, seemingly oblivious to your evident discomfort, dismisses your pleas with a wave of her hand that causes her bracelet to jingle. “Don’t be silly, of course you must,” she insists. Her head pivots towards Simon, seeking his support in this matter. However, he doesn’t rise to the opportunity, his gaze refusing to meet hers. “You and Johnny are to walk together down the aisle, and I need to be certain that you two will look good together. If not—” Her gaze flickers to Simon once more. “I’m afraid Simon will be forced to find a different best man.”

Emily’s statement was likely meant to be taken lightly, a lame attempt at a joke, intended to lighten the mood, but you pounce on it like a predator, using it as a chance to challenge her. “Shouldn’t it be Simon’s choice, who he wants as his best man?” you say, injecting an edge into your voice, letting Emily know that the conversation about her lie hasn’t slipped your mind yet.

Simon is acutely aware of the rising tension within the car. He observes as you and Emily exchange heated glares, the hostility between you palpable. Despite being caught in the crossfire, he chooses to remain quiet, and only breaks his silence when Emily, her eyes still glued to you, begins to open her mouth.

“Don’t worry, love,” he assures her, his voice soothing; his words directed at Emily, but his gaze never leaving your face. He curls his palm around her thigh, giving it a light squeeze before his hand returns to the wheel. “Johnny is handsome, and he and Y/N will certainly look splendid together.”

#love triangle #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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skyward-floored · 1 day

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Volga gets some spotlight for a change (hdw au)

Comes after Volga confronting Cia (and Link on Skyloft, but it’s slightly less necessary to understand this)

...

Volga seeks out and fights the strongest. That is his objective.

He goes where the sorceress tells him, leads monsters into battles as she deems fit. He sees others only as adversaries, evaluating them solely on the threat they pose, the strength they wield.

Nothing else matters.

Only his orders, and strength.

The Hylian army is at their gates, working steadily through the valley, and despite the sorceress increasing Volga’s power, they’re still advancing, calling upon the Great Fairy to aid them. Volga himself is forced to retreat back to Cia’s side, and he stands silently beside her, waiting for her orders.

She’s watching the battle with a look in her eye that grows steadily more enraged, her knuckles whitening on her staff. It isn’t long before she orders him back out, commanding him to find the princess and crush her.

Volga nods, preparing to obey, when the sorceress stops him, a manic look in her eyes.

“This time you will destroy them,” she snarls, and thrusts her hand against his chest.

Power rushes through him, greater than what he had received before, and Volga roars as it fills his veins, turning into a dragon and leaping into the air.

This time he will be the strongest.

Volga glides across the valley, making a beeline towards the army’s leader, the princess’s sword flashing across the battlefield. He lands with a roar, and she quickly turns her attention to him, eyes widening as she leaps out of the way of his first attack.

Volga is merciless, using his weapons of both spear and claws, shooting fire and dive bombing with his dragon form. The princess is annoyingly stubborn though, avoiding nearly all of his attacks, parrying blows and dodging flames.

Some distant part of Volga is impressed.

He snarls as she avoids yet another thrust of his spear, and the princess looks at him, something odd flashing in her gaze.

“Volga! Come to your senses!” she suddenly shouts, parrying an attack. “I know you to fight with honor! What glory is there to be found in using dark magic to win all of your battles?”

“Don’t mock me!” Volga snarls, slamming a clawed hand towards her. How dare she?

“Open your eyes!” Zelda shouts as she dodges, still not giving up. “I believed you to be a proud dragon warrior, not a mercenary for darkness!“

Their weapons clash, and Zelda looks up at Volga without fear, her blue eyes bright.

“Think of your family, Volga. Look past the darkness clouding your vision.”

Volga falters just a hair, a snarl dying in his throat. There is certainly no darkness clouding him, merely the extra power the sorceress provided, but Zelda’s words of family carry a spark of something different. Something... important?

Volga shakes his head, frowning.

...What had she said again?

The spark fades, and Volga roars, hitting her backwards with a clawed hand. The princess is thrown to the ground with a cry, but before Volga can press his attack, there’s a flash of blue and green, and the Hero stands in his way, sword raised.

He has a stricken expression on his face, but Volga barely registers it, roaring again as he goes to face the both of them. The princess regains her footing as the hero slams his shield up to block Volga’s spear, and the three of them resume the fight.

Other monsters join the attack, and the hero’s attention is drawn to keeping them away from his princess, mostly leaving her and Volga to fight alone. Volga draws constantly on the sorceress’s power, and it’s soon obvious the princess begins to flag against his brutal attacks.

She fights on though, tenacious as ever. Soon enough Volga finds their weapons locked again, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Knight Volga, I thought you a protector, a dragon of honor,” she says, voice breathless but earnest. Blood drips across her eye but she doesn’t loosen her grip to wipe it away. “This isn’t who you are, drawing on dark power, fighting in wars for a cause you don’t believe in!”

That persistent spark of something comes back in Volga’s mind, flickering in his thoughts, buzzing in his memory. It makes him falter, just a little.

“Please,” Zelda repeats, still straining against his spear. “For Link’s sake.”

The name rings familiar, and Volga stumbles as a face flickers in his mind, blue eyes shining through the murk. Looking at him in trepidation as information spills from hylian lips, scales glittering in places they have no right to be.

What is this memory?

He can’t recall the events that led to it, or what came after, or even where he was when it occurred. In fact... all he can really recall is the sharp urge to fight the strongest, destroy the enemy, do as the sorceress commands.

Who is the boy with scales on his arms, and hair nearly the same color as his own?

“Volga,” the princess speaks again, less strained now, and Volga belatedly realizes he’s stopped fighting. “Fight past this darkness. I know you are more than what Cia is letting you be.”

Cia.

The name is like a clap of thunder in his head, and suddenly the darkness he’d denied was choking him is all too evident, coursing through him alongside his fire, constricting his thoughts and twisting his actions. Its influence is overwhelming, and Volga clutches a hand over his chest, thoughts whirling as memories rush back.

Cia invading his home and forcing him under her service, ignoring his wishes to be left alone. Using her magic to make him fight, starting a war over lust for his son, putting him on the opposite side of his own kin.

Purposely obscuring the fact that he had a son.

Volga snarls, anger rising as flames drip from his lips. Cia used dark power, foisted upon him without his say, using him as nothing but another pawn in her game and his son—

“No... no!” Volga shouts, gripping at his head with both hands. “I won’t be ruled by darkness!”

He won’t remain Cia’s puppet for another second.

Volga lashes out at the darkness coating him, tearing at Cia’s influence in his chest. He can feel her power fight back the moment he pushes against it, darkness reaching up to claw at his mind, but Volga tears back with claws of his own, refusing to succumb to it again.

He pushes back with his own power, not that of the sorceress, fire clashing with darkness.

A roar builds in his throat as he gains a solid foothold, and he pushes it out, Cia’s dark power leaving him all in a rush.

And he is free.

Weakness follows the loss of power, but even as Volga drops to a knee, he feels more clearheaded, more alive, then he has in weeks.

And it’s overwhelmingly refreshing.

Volga curls his fingers into the dirt as he regains his bearings, clutching his spear as he raises himself up off the ground again. The princess stands a few feet away, watching him with a hopeful look on her face, and Volga huffs, looking away.

...right into the eyes of the hero.

His son.

Volga stares, the boy staring back with an uncertain look on his face. The hero’s gaze is interrupted by a monster slashing at him, and Volga shakes himself, then looks around the battlefield, taking in what he’s missed.

His gaze falls on the princess again, and something burns in his chest, a need to finish what he started. Volga raises his spear in challenge, pointing it at her and the hero.

“This time I will duel you properly. I will win this fight under my own power,” he declares.

He has other business, important business even (Cia will pay, he swears it), but his pride insists he finishes this fight. He wants to show the two of them how he really fights, no dark powers, no false strength.

To finish the fight he began in an honorable manner.

The princess hesitates at his request, exchanging a loaded look with her hero. But he nods, and she nods as well, pointing her sword back.

And they start the fight anew, dragon, princess, and hero.

The fight is invigorating, to say the least. Volga’s very scales seem to buzz with excitement as he battles the two, the old fire coming back to his blood. They’re an incredible team, truly powerful, and fighting them helps immensely with continuing to wake him up, forcing any remnant of Cia’s power from his bones.

They weave in and out in tandem, one of them striking, and then darting out as the other attacks. Despite the remaining weakness from the loss of darkness, Volga matches them blow for blow, his blood singing as he duels the two.

He hasn’t had a fight this challenging in years, and it reminds him of older days, of other duels.

A smile on a tanned face, ruby-red eyes, hair the color of new-fallen snow...

Volga promptly pushes that image aside. He needs to focus on the here and now, and his strength is fading, the hero and princess still pressing their attack.

As much as he hates to admit it, Cia’s actions have left him low on strength, and as enjoyable as this fight is... he’s fading. Rather fast.

And suddenly, he finds himself on his knees, a sword pointing at his neck.

Volga looks at Zelda, then over at his son, both of them breathing hard. An odd feeling of pride runs through him as he looks at the boy, and he almost smiles. Only one other person has ever been able to truly best him in battle, and it’s clear both of them learned from her.

Impa taught them well.

...It was no wonder Cia wanted one dead and the other her captive.

Anger courses through him at the reminder of the sorceress’s treachery, but his energy is spent. Too spent for him to reasonably mount a successful attack on her.

His vengeance will have to wait.

The princess opens her mouth to speak, but Volga beats her to it, closing his eyes as blood runs from a cut over one of them. “I accept my defeat with honor. I lose, but I do so without regrets.”

He exhaled and looks up at the two of them, and his son meets his eyes again, blood and dirt smeared on his face.

Volga gives him a singular nod, then despite his weariness, turns into his dragon form and takes off into the skies. He needs to rest, and recover from his wounds before figuring out what to do next.

And... process the ramifications of having a son.

Impa...

Link and Zelda watch him go in silence, Volga’s wings bright as a comet as he glides away. They’re both breathing heavily from the battle, small injuries bleeding, burns stinging. Zelda is smiling though, and there’s a hesitant sort of hope in Link’s eyes as they watch the dragon grow smaller in the distance.

Zelda squeezes Link’s shoulder as Volga finally disappears from their sight, but they don’t have time to dwell on what just occurred.

Cia still needs to be taken care of. But then...

Link supposes they’ll figure it out.

#I’ve been fighting with this for like two months so this is me admitting defeat and just posting it lol #hyrule warriors #hdw au #legend of zelda #loz Volga #Volga #fic #writing from the floor #poor Volga he’s so souped up on dark power he’s little more than another weapon for Cia #luckily zelda is good at what she does #writing from Volga’s POV is so hard T^T #but it ended up being the best choice #even though I’d also love to write this from Link’s perspective #ugh gosh I have so much planned for this au I’ve barely even touched

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