#love that little downward turn and slight lean in of hushed conversation

[aerynwrites]

Hey 👋

Welcome back, I'm glad the little step away was good for you 😊💛

I was wondering if I could request the first time reader buys Captain Rex a gift or has a little surprise day planned for him and he gets a bit emotional because hes not use to being treated well 😭

Thank you 💛

ahhhh okay! So I kind of just took this and...ran with it lol. I hope this is kind of what you wanted!

Surprise!

Captain Rex x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none - unbeta’d

»»————-　♡　————-««

Being in a long term relationship with a clone was not something you had ever seen in your cards as a Jedi Commander for the 501st. Especially when the clone in question was Captain of said battalion. However, you wouldn’t change it for anything in the galaxy, especially since you have Anakin and Ahsoka by your side to help you and Rex fly under the radar of the Council. Anakin was in a relationship after all, so he understood what it was like.

Today, you have taken one of the rare days off you and your boys get to throw together the surprise you have had in mind for Rex for the past few weeks. None of the clones have real birthdays, but you wanted to celebrate him and managed to get him to pick a random date for his birthday. You smiled fondly at the memory as you sat a plate of cookies on the table.

“None of the clones have birthdays, cyare, you know that. We weren’t born, we were created.” The last words leave his lips with a hint of venom to them, and you can’t help your lips from tugging downward into a slight frown.

“I know that, Rex,” you say softly, adjusting from where you lay on his chest so you can look up at him slightly, “Humor me,” you tease, giving him a small smile, “Since you don’t have an actual date, just pick one!”

Rex gives you a sideways look before finally letting out a sigh at the puppy dog eyes you send him. He is never able to say no to you. After thinking for a moment, he finally settles on a date - the date he became a Captain is the one he chose. 

“See now was that so hard?” you chastise lightly before leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before settling back down into bed, his arms still wrapped securely around you.

After that, the conversation had never come up again, and Rex had assumed you forgot about the silly birthday date you made him pick out. However, you were just determined to surprise him. You recruited Anakin and Ahsoka to keep Rex busy while you prepared your private quarters for the surprise, and while Rex was none the wiser as to why he was being sent on a wild bantha chase around the base - he felt a sense of relief wash over him when he was finally released from their plot. He has already taken his helmet off as he approaches your shared quarters, eyes tired yet shoulders relaxed at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. He was planning to just relax with you, relish in the rare day off you both have received and maybe watch one of those cheesy holofilms you loved so much. 

However, when he finally arrives at the room and the door swishes open, his eyes widen in surprise at the sight that greets him. The space is brightly lit with soft music playing in the background and a small handmade sign attached to the wall opposite the door reads: Happy Birthday Rex!  In neat handwriting. His eyes fall from the sign to take in the spread of food and deserts on the table near the kitchen, more than either of you could eat in days. He slowly sets his helmet down on the ground by the door before approaching the table. There’s a cake in the center that reads the same as the sign when he walked in, but the letters are iced delicately over the white base layer in 501st blue. 

Rex feels his chest constrict, an overwhelming sense of gratitude paired with a slight sense of confusion distract him from your entrance into the room. He ‘s only pulled from his observations when he hears a small gasp from behind him.

“Rex, you’re back!” you say happily, rushing over and wrapping your arms around him as he turns to face you. You couldn’t care less that he was still in his armor, you were just happy he was here. “You got here faster than I was anticipating! I was going to have the candles on the cake lit and everything for when you got back.”

He watches as you pull yourself from his embrace and flit around the room, grabbing a lighter and lighting the candles all while babbling away about the food you cooked and the plans you’ve made and how it took you weeks to find the special jam to put between the layers of cake. You were so consumed in your explanations, that you didn’t even notice when Rex’s eyes fell to the four neatly wrapped parcels on the end of the table. All of them had his name on them followed by the person who they were from - at least that’s what Rex assumed. 

He pulls his gloves from his hands before running his fingers gently over the colorful paper, looking up at you in confusion as he interrupts your speech. “What are these?”

Your brow furrows in confusion before realization dawns on you. Rex had never had a birthday gift before. Let alone a party all for himself. You give him a gentle smile and walk over to be at his side as you speak. “They’re presents, for your birthday,” you explain, “Anakin and Ahsoka each got you one when they heard what I was planning,” you chuckled a little, “Anakin won’t admit it, but he spent a lot of time picking out his gift. And then,” you reach out and grab the smaller box, “This is from the boys - your brothers - they all pitched in when they heard about it too.”

Rex could already feel the unfamiliar burn at the back of his eyes, but he tried to reign in his emotions as he pointed to the last one. “What-” he has to clear his throat, “What about that one?”

You grab the box from the table and turn to him, smiling the biggest smile as you hold it out for him to take. “This one’s from me! I couldn’t very well throw you a birthday bash and not get you a present now could I?”

At this revelation, Rex can no longer hold the tears back as he takes the small gift from your hands. He sees your eyes widen at his reaction and a slight panic overtakes your features.

“Oh no,” you mumble, reaching out to place your hands over his own, “Rex what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, wiping the stray tears away before taking a deep breath, “Nothing’s wrong, cyare,” he assures you, looking around the room at all you did for him before looking back to you with a smile on his face, “I’ve just…” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “I’ve never gotten a present before. Let alone a whole celebration dedicated to me being here.”

Your heart breaks slightly at his words, despite knowing the truth behind them. Clones aren’t seen as much more than machines of war to most people - expendable and replaceable things for the war. But Rex is so much more to you, and you were determined to show him that. You smile at him and set the gift in his hands aside, as you steer him over towards the cake.

“Well,” you begin, “As long as I’m still here I’m going to make every single day a celebration about you. Because you deserve to be celebrated.”

“Well I don’t know about that,” Rex tries to argue but you shake your head and point to the lit candles on the cake.

“Oh hush,” you gently scold, “Now, all you have to do for this birthday tradition is blow out the candles and make a wish.”

“A wish?” he asks, turning to look at you incredulously, “A wish for what?”

You shrug, “Anything you want.”

He turns to face the cake again, the candles casting a slight glow onto his golden skin and you can’t help but smile when he finally leans forward and blows the candles out. Once finished he pulls back and turns towards you, a smile on his face as he reaches out to take your hands in his.

“Did you make a wish?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “No.”

Your mouth falls open and you give out a disbelieving scoff, “Rex!” you whine, “That’s the whole point of blowing out the candles. Why didn’t you wish for anything?”

“Because everything I could wish for is standing right here in front of me.”

And before you can protest, he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, suddenly very thankful for birthdays and very thankful for you.

»»————-　♡　————-«« 

Permanent Taglist: @ajeff855 @kaermorons @imnotakilleranymore @hiscyarika @hail-doodles @mrpascals @bestintheparsec @forever-rogue @leaiorganas @wille-zarr @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @princessxkenobi @phoenixhalliwell @theocatkov @swimmingsloths @getinthepoolkeanu @engie115 @somnibats @rosiefridayrogersunday @recklessworry @gooddaykate @niki-xie @amneris21

#clone wars x reader #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars x reader #Captain Rex #Clone Wars

[gamergirl929]

The Fall (Tobin Heath x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Would you do a one shot with Tobin/reader, where the reader is an er doctor, like a big tattooed badass doctor, who is working a double night shift and Tobin is at home eight months pregnant with Ashlyn or someone and when they aren’t looking Tobin does something that causes her to fall. Then a doctor friend of the reader tells her that Tobin is there on her last thirty minutes of her shift. When the reader sees her figures out what happens she gets mad at whoever was with Tobin for allowing it.

“I’ll see you guys later.” You smile as you head behind the counter to grab your things, all too ready to be home after an INCREDIBLY rough double shift, but what you hear next stops you in your tracks.  

“We’ve got an 8-month pregnant woman coming in, took a fall.”  

The second you hear that you stiffen, a number of your colleagues turning your way, eyes widen.  

You shake your head.  

“Please, don’t be-

Just as the words leave your mouth your phone starts to ring, your eyes widening in horror as you jerk it from your pocket, your wife, Tobin’s, name across the screen, along with a picture of you and her, the two of you smiling brightly.  

You answer the phone quickly, your heart racing.  

“Tobin are you-

“Y/N, it’s Ashlyn, I’m so sorry, Tobin just fell and I don’t-

Your hands ball into fists, your eyes narrowing as your nostrils flare.  

“Where is she?” You growl, Ashlyn visibly shrinking away from the phone, your anger radiating through the phone.  

Ashlyn, gathering her courage, brings the phone back to her ear.  

“We’re on our way there, she’s got a gash on her head and-

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH HER!” You scream in the phone, one of your colleagues swiping the phone from your hold, your hands trembling violently.  

The conversation is hushed, meanwhile a couple of your nurses try to calm you down.  

You knew Tobin’s fall was an accident, but you were still seething you’d trusted Ashlyn to watch her, and under her watch, Tobin had been injured.  

“Goddamn it.” You growl under your breath, the woman who’d swiped your phone passing it back to you.  

“They’re coming in right no-

You don’t even let her finish, instead sprinting through the hospital towards the ER’s entrance, screeching to a halt when you see Tobin being stretchered in, a noticeable knot on her head.  

Ashlyn runs in, right behind the gurney, the woman swallowing hard when she sees the look in your eyes.  

You point a finger at her.  

“After she’s checked out, you and I are having a talk.” You snarl, the woman nodding.  

Ashlyn wasn’t small, goalies typically weren’t, but you were bigger, tattoo’s much like Ashlyn’s covering your arms, and by the look in your eyes, you were angry, angrier than Ashlyn had ever seen.  

She stops watching as you follow Tobin’s gurney to the back, giving the goalie time to call in some back up.  

Meanwhile, all thoughts off Ashlyn go out the window, instead, your eyes zeroed in on the bump on Tobin’s head.  

“Y/N...” She whispers, reaching out for you and you take her hand, giving it a squeeze.  

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Is it only your head?” You ramble, Tobin smiling softly.  

“I just slipped and hit my head on the coffee table.” She whispers, your nostrils flaring in anger.  

“I’m gonna kill her.” You snarl, Tobin’s eyes widening.  

“It wasn’t her fault...” She frowns and you shake your head.  

“She was supposed to watch you, to keep you safe.” You growl, Tobin giving your hand a squeeze.  

“She did, it was just an accident.”  

You stick to Tobin’s side like glue, scanning her results, even though she had an emergency room doctor that WASN’T you.  

“Y/N? What are you doing he-

The doctor stops midsentence when she sees who’s on the gurney, immediately springing into action.  

She walks passed you, placing a hand on your forearm.  

“We’ll take care of her, I promise.”  

You nod, knowing full well that Tobin was in good hands, and you would be by her side through the whole thing, making sure she was treated properly.  

You knew she would be, but you’d still keep a watchful eye on her, she was pregnant with your son after all and that meant that she was going to get the UTMOST care.  

You’d make sure of that.  

                                                            ***

Meanwhile, Ashlyn was pacing the waiting room, waiting for not only Christen, Ali, and Megan, but Becky and Kelley as well considering they were ALL in town together.  

The second Christen steps into the lobby, followed by the others, Ashlyn sprints to her.  

“Y/N IS GOING TO KILL ME! YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN THE LOOK ON HER FACE.” Ashlyn whisper yells as she jumps behind Ali, the woman ducking down so if you come into the lobby, you can’t see her.  

Unfortunately for her, you almost immediately make your way into the lobby, eyes zeroing in on her.  

You advance on the group, Christen wrapping her arms around you when you reach them.  

“Is she okay?” She whispers and you nod.  

“Just a bump, but she’s fine and so is he...” You run your hands down your face, before turning to Ashlyn, who shrinks under your gaze.  

You cross your arms across your chest.  

“You were supposed to keep an eye on her.” You growl angrily, everyone wincing as they turn to Ashlyn.  

“I turned away for a second and she-

You growl, the goalie’s mouth snapping shut.  

“I trusted you to take care of my wife, my PREGNANT wife, and you didn’t.” You bite, Ashlyn’s head hanging in shame.  

“I’m so sorry.” She frowns, your heart squeezing at the sight of the woman’s face.  

“I know you are, I just, she’s my wife Ash, and he’s my son...” You shrug. “I have to protect them at all costs.”  

“I know.” Ashlyn frowns and you sigh, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.  

“I know you didn’t mean for it to happen...” You say, Ashlyn picking her head up, a frowning pulling the corners of her mouth downward.  

You sigh, pulling the woman into a hug, the goalie wrapping her arms tightly around you.  

“I am really sorry.” She whispers in your ear and you nod.  

“I know, it’s okay.” You give her a squeeze, pulling away from the hug before throwing your thumb over your shoulder.  

“I came out to get you guys, she wants to see you.”

                                                            ***

You lead the group to Tobin’s hospital room, ducking down to kiss Tobin’s forehead when you reach her beside.  

Noticing the look of guilt on Ashlyn’s face, Tobin holds a hand out to her, the goalie immediately taking it.  

“This wasn’t your fault, I just slipped.” She shrugs, nothing the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth.

Her eyes narrow, darting from you, to Ashlyn, and back.  

“What did you do?” She asks and you scoff, your cheeks flushing slightly.  

“I-I didn’t do anything...” You mumble.  

“Except tear Ashlyn a literal new asshole...” Kelley mumbles and you send her a glare, snarling at the defender who hides behind Becky.  

“She’s isn’t wro-

Megan stops mid-sentence to jump behind Becky as well when you send her a glare.  

Tobin’s eyes widen as you, reluctantly turn her way, cringing at the look on her face.  

“Y/N...” She crosses her arms across her chest and you wince.  

“She was-

“Y/N... It wasn’t her fault.” Tobin says, more sternly and you huff, turning to Ashlyn.

“I know, and I’m sorry...” You shrug, shuffling from foot to foot, nervously.  

“It’s just...”  

Tobin is about to cut you off, but the look on your face tells her to let you finish.  

“I heard the call and I just, I panicked...” You frown, remembering the utter panic you’d felt, the many scenarios that had played through you head as to what Tobin’s fall entailed.  

Tobin reaches for, and takes your hand, giving it a squeeze.  

“I’m sorry I scared you, still it wasn’t Ashlyn’s fault, I kind of waited for her to look away before I got up...” She confesses and your eyes narrow, your wife biting back a smile.  

“Seriously?” You grumble, the woman shrugging.  

“I just wanted Oreos.”  

A snort pulls your attention from Tobin and to her teammates, your eyes narrowing when you send Megan a glare.  

“Hey, only your wife would nearly kill herself trying to get Oreos.” Kelley snickers and you roll your eyes, turning to look at Tobin.  

“Please. PLEASE, don’t try to do anything on your own again, there’s no telling what could happen.”

You turn away, and head towards Ashlyn, wrapping your arms around her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know SOMEONE purposely waited until you turned away to get up.” You send Tobin a glare, the woman sticking her tongue out at you.  

Christen sits on the edge of the bed, shaking her head.  

“Am I going to have to move in with you guys?” She asks and your ears perk up, a grin stretching across your face, a grin that makes Tobin’s eyes double in size. 

“No Y/N...” She pouts and you chuckle.  

“When can you move in?” You ask Christen, the forward turning to Tobin with a smirk.  

“Nooooo, I’ll be fine just by my-

Tobin falls silent when she realizes everyone is staring her way, incredulously.  

“Do we need to remind you of the Oreo incident that LITERALLY happened less than 2 hours ago?” Becky asks, a brow arched.  

She sighs.  

“Fine... Fine...”  

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you watch your wife pout childishly, a pout that’s wiped off her face when you lean down, kissing the top of her head as your hand rests on her protruding tummy.  

“I just want you both safe... At least until our little guy is born.” You rub her belly, grinning when the aforementioned baby kicks the palm of your hand.  

Tobin smiles, resting her IV’d hand on top of yours.  

“I know...” She whispers, cupping your cheek with her free hand and pulling you into a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper, Tobin smiling as she kisses your lips again.  

“I love you too.”  

You pull away, turning back to Ashlyn.  

“I think I owe you dinner.” You smile, Megan placing a hand on her chest over her heart.  

“Ali and Tobin are RIGHT THERE, Y/N.” She gasps and your eyes narrow, the purpled haired woman’s eyes narrowing before she sprints out of the room with you hot on her heels.

Kelley follows behind, eager to see what happens while Becky chases after you, in an attempt to stop the violence.  

Ali and Christen giggle as Ashlyn makes her way towards the bed.  

“I’m glad.” She grins and Tobin’s eyes narrow.  

“Glad that you have someone like Y/N keeping you safe.” She smiles flopping into an empty seat.  

Tobin smiles, she be lying if she said your protectiveness didn’t make her swoon, the dominant side that would come out when she was put in harm's way was something that Tobin liked the most about you.  

A few months later she’d see that protectiveness double, when it came to a certain baby boy with a familiar pair of brown eyes, brown eyes that looked just like Tobin Heath’s.  

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #tobin heath x reader #tobin heath imagine

[liliesoftherain]

My Everlasting Alstroemeria

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader; Midoriya Izuku x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst? 

Summary: Part 2 of Alstroemeria

A/N: Hi y’all, here's part 2!! Bakugou’s Pov. Let me know if you want a Deku pov????

-----

“Say hello dear; this is Lady (l/n) and her lovely daughter, Miss (y/n) (l/n).”

Katsuki stands there as The Lady bows gracefully with her daughter following suit, so he straightens and greets them as he’s been taught to. 

The Lady smiles, turning to his mother, and converses about something he has already tuned out. He stares at you, all properly cleaned and groomed--he wants to roll his eyes. He hasn’t encountered many girls his age before, but he knows they were all too, too girly.

“Katsuki, why don’t you show Miss (l/n) around the gardens outside? I am sure she will appreciate the sights,” His mother gently shoves him closer to where you stood, grinning triumphantly and looking at your mother with a wink. “Now, friend, we have an entire tray of biscuits calling our name--shall we?” 

The adults walk off to the parlor, and Katsuki knows they’ll have a perfect view of the gardens from there. Just great, he has to continue to pretend to be nice. 

He saunters away, yet doesn’t make it more than three steps as he realizes you still haven’t moved. How bothersome. 

“Are you coming, or not?”

“Oh, um, of course!”

Katsuki actually rolls his eyes this time, all while struggling to keep his hands from entering his pockets--he can still feel the welts of his mother’s fan as she reminded him of how improper he acted. You keep quiet, and he supposes it’s better than you talking his ear off like the other boys from his school. 

The garden was nothing new to him, the same flowers and exotic plants, perfectly trimmed and on display. The marble fountain in the center of it all was always a fan favorite--even if he could care less about the structure. 

Despite his feelings, he noticed that your wide eyes have settled upon it so he brings you close enough to view the detailed carvings along the sides. 

“It’s beautiful!”

“I suppose.”

He huffs, sitting on the ledge as you continue to admire it. The longer you stare, the more aggravated he grows, and he can’t help as he stands to shout for your attention.

“Hey! It’s just a fountain--Woah!”

Katsuki wasn’t expecting you to be leaning down to touch the water so close to where he was, so the moment he stands and turns he ends up bumping into you--sending you straight into the water. 

The fountain isn’t deep, so you sit up without a struggle, but you are soaked. Your hair is ruined, and you spit water from your mouth. Rubbing your eyes of stray droplets, Katsuki winces at the fact you will start to cry at any moment--as well as the hits he’ll receive later, although he tries not to think about it.

“I, what were you, are you okay? Why were you so close to me?”

He grabs you by the arms and tries to pull you out, sending nervous glances to the large windows to his left. He can tell you’re still processing what happened; you’re rapidly blinking and proving to be of little help as Katsuki drags you out and plops you to sit on the edge--much to his annoyance. 

When your (e/c) eyes bore into his own, he knows this is it; this is the moment where you’ll start to throw a fit, and he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Don’t cry, for the love of--”

Instead of tears, he is granted with laughter that thoroughly confuses him--why were you laughing? You chortle loudly, gripping the sides of your stomach and leaning forward. Katsuki doesn’t know whether he should steady you or step back, so he just stays still, watching as your body shakes and shivers from the breeze--yet you still laugh.

“What, just what is so funny?” Exasperation tugs his lips downward, and you struggle to contain yourself.

“Sorry. I just can’t help it--I, I fell into a fountain! Mother is going to be furious.”

You stand, and Katsuki jumps back to avoid getting wet; your skirts are weighed down by the water, and it falls to the ground around your shoes. Although, it doesn’t matter much, seeing as your shoes are also soaked straight through. His eyes narrow and his mouth twists in amusement, he struggles to contain his own laughter at the full sight of you.

“You look like a wet cat.”

“I feel like a wet cat.”

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

“Cry?” You tilt your head in confusion, grasping the ends of your dress to ring out as much water as you could. “Why would I cry?”

“Because, um, well, because you fell?”

“So?”

“So now your dress is ruined. Don’t you girls care about stuff like that?”

“It will dry, won’t it?” You shrug, grinning brightly up at him. “Besides, these dresses are pretty itchy.”

Huh. You were strange--especially for a girl. 

-----

“Katsu!” 

He turns at the sound of your voice, watching as you hike your skirts up and run towards him. He faintly hears your mother yelling at you to behave, to act more proper, but you pay no heed as you continue on. You’re out of breath by the time you reach him, yet you’re still grinning wide, with a missing tooth on display.

“You’re not supposed to run like that--you act like such a boy sometimes.”

He has to look away as you puff your cheeks in protest, smoothing your dress down as if it would help. You were awfully annoying. 

“How mean of you Katsu, I came for you to be nice and play with me, not for you to be grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy!”

“You are too!”

Katsuki huffs, flicking your forehead before running further off into the woodland behind the manor. The yelp of aggravation causes him to laugh, and he turns back to see you chasing after him--the bottom of your dress collecting dust and you weren’t upset about it. 

Good, he didn’t want to be friends with a girl who was fussy and cry-babyish after all. 

-----

“Katsu!”

He holds in a sigh, seeing the table you have set before you--the same table you have been decorating differently for the last week in fact. Why did you have to do this anyway? What was the point of setting a table--didn’t the maids do that? Who cares what it looks like, it was just for gossiping ladies wasn’t it? 

He spots another occupant and the table, and this time he cannot hold in his sigh of annoyance. Of course, Izuku had to be here, the little wimp never knew how to say no to you.

“Katsu, come sit and enjoy some tea!”

Your smile was small--formal--and Katsuki found the sight rather gross. Still, he sat down. Not because you asked him to, he was just tired after having to come all the way to your home. That was all.

“Good to see you, Katsuki!” Izuku waves shyly.

“I would say likewise, but it would not be gentlemanly of me to be dishonest.”

“Behave.”

He rolls his eyes at your input, leaning back in the chair as you come close and pour him a cup of tea. He observes your side profile, the way your brows--that used to be furrow in concentration as you struggled not to spill a drop--now stay smooth and worry-free. You’re graceful and poised, something he wasn’t used to. You catch him looking through the corner of your eye, and you smile sweetly at him. He quickly huffs, looking away annoyed.

Girls were so weird--you were so weird.  

Katsuki watches as you gracefully take your place in the chair across from him, conversing in idle chatter with Izuku about who knows what. You sat straight, arms perfectly crossed over your lap, with a flawlessly pressed gown, and not a hair out of place. 

“I just feel as if something is missing from the décor, don’t you agree?”

“I believe it is lovely, (y/n).” 

“Well, thank you Izu, but I really believe there is just, just something that I need to add.”

You sigh, face screwing up as you ponder, and Katsuki acknowledges that he prefers your face this way. Less put together, more you. It’s easier to make fun of that way, of course.

“Your face will be stuck if you continue looking in such an ugly manner.”

“Oh hush you fiend, I do not need beauty tips from someone whose frown lines are more prominent than his fathers.”

Katsuki exhales quickly, amused at your quick wit. 

Time passes and they leave you, Katsuki sending Izuku off with a warning of his victory at the next fencing match. Yet before he can fully leave your tea room, he glances back and watches as you continue to fret over whatever it could be you need for your final table piece. He turns away before you notice, heading home, and finds himself in his own mother’s parlor. 

Her spread is just about the same as any other boring table, and yet set in the center was a large bouquet of her favorite flowers. Petals decorated around the tins and plates that would have held the food. Scoffing in distaste he leaves for his room, muttering how boring and stupid tea parties were and how he would never understand. 

On his walk home after school the next day, he takes a long way home through a field of flora. He didn’t want to go home right away, that was all, and this was the longest route he knew. It wasn’t his fault it was full of flowers, and it certainly wasn’t his fault as he spotted a vibrant shrub of sunset-colored ones that he just had to pick. 

Once inside his home, he mentally cursed as the first person to notice him was no one other than his mother.

“Katsuki, what are those?”

“Flowers mother, of course.”

His tone didn’t go unnoticed, and Lady Bakugou clicked her tongue at his words. 

“For whom are your, of-course-flowers, to go to?”

“No one. I simply wanted them.”

“You simply wanted an alstroemeria--a romance flower?”

“I just wanted them; I do not care what they are.”

“...What an insufferable child.” She dismissed him with a wave.

He holds his tongue, rushing up the stairs and away from her scrutinizing eyes. A breath of relief stops short as she speaks up once more, a teasing tilt to her voice.

“Would you tell Miss (l/n) I say hello whenever you present her your gift? It has been too long.”

Why were all the women in his life so aggravating?

-----

“Katsuki, can you please try to act as if you are entertained?”

“This is the fourth dance today, (y/n), I cannot be any less than indifferent now.”

You both circle each other, the music from the pianist floods the ballroom and he can tell you were counting in your head along to the beat. He brings you back into his arms, and you stare into his eyes, your own swirling with emotion. Katsuki pulls his gaze away, choosing to look around instead; pride puffs his chest as he sees multiple alstroemerias decorating the room. 

“Oh, of course! You must be exhausted--do you want to stop?”

He’s drawn back to your face, and he curses how he is unable to stop sneaking peeks at your pouted lips. He wants to say yes; he wants to tell you how his feet ache, how since he had barely gotten home from his small business trip with his father a mere few hours ago he wants nothing more than to sleep. 

“No. Now continue before I change my mind.”

The smile that stretches across your face is absolutely radiant, and the laugh bubbles from your lips causes his stomach to twist in ways that he cannot explain. 

You really are a strange and aggravating girl--one he can’t appear to say no to.

-----

“Oh Katsuki, it is adorable!”

He watches as you trace a finger along the broaches front, your once sullen mood has now gone at the sight. When he first arrived he didn’t understand why you looked to be so upset, but the moment you realized it was him you had perked up. 

A part of him wishes to believe you were happy for his return, and not just the idea of presents.

The broach pin he had gotten was something he felt as if he needed to have for you; obtaining it on another one of his trips, this one lasting far longer than most. He went away the entire summer, staying in one of his father’s estates in another area he possesses, for educational purposes. As a future Duke, he was constantly thrown around to learn lands, trade, and the people of surrounding areas--especially of the land he will one day inherit. It was rather taxing, boring, and dare he say lonely. 

Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but your presence was quite missed. 

“Of course it is, my taste is impeccable after all.”

“Yes, the only man who would see the beauty in a woman’s broach.” You laugh at your own taunt, and Katsuki clicks his tongue as he pretends to try and snatch it back.

“I will just keep this then if I am the only one who sees such beauty.”

“No, I am merely jesting! Please, I love it.”

You bring it close to your chest, holding it carefully as if it were the most precious thing you owned, and his heartbeat quickened. He knew that wasn’t true--you may not have been as high in social status as he was, but being the daughter of a Viscount meant you still had luxury in life. As well as being the only daughter of your line meant you were pampered, downright spoiled, and yet you were anything but a pompous brat; you were wonderful, kind, caring, and too sweet for your own good. 

“I really do love it Katsuki. Thank you. I’ll wear it always, it looks just like my favorite flower! My everlasting alstroemeria.”

Maybe you were too sweet for his own good. 

-----

“What are you two doing here?”

Katsuki stands beside Izuku as they both find you in the drawing-room, accompanied by your mother. You both stand and bow, and he and Izuku dismiss the gesture--they are both too familiar to want to be treated with such formalities behind closed doors. Your mother allows the boys to take her spot, and she moves to the other side of the room to grant some privacy. 

“Well, we are all to be busy this season--you especially of course.” Izuku starts, soft eyes not going unnoticed by Katsuki. 

He does all he can to not push him away from your side.

“We came here to wish you luck, you are sure to need it with all this prepping you must endure.” Katsuki sighs, leaning back tiredly as if it was him to be affected.

Your laugh lights a fire within him, and he can’t remember when it had switched from an annoyance to being angelic music.

“You both are too kind--I shall survive, hopefully.” 

You fall into easy conversation, and Katsuki remains reserved to observe. 

You’ve grown throughout the years, no longer were you the wild child who would ambush him with sticks in the grove behind his home. No longer were you the young girl who would step on his toes purposely when he would verbally complain. No, now you were a bewitching young woman, one with an enticing face, enthralling wit, and a beauty like no other. 

If you weren’t the top choice for the season, he would be surprised--no doubt would the rest of the male occupants; it was something he was dreading. The chance to court you would be more difficult with the more callers you had and while he didn’t want to use his status as a flaunting point, he would hope it would keep others at bay until he could propose.

However, no one was as big of a threat as the green-eyed dimwit he called a friend. Katsuki was no fool, he knew Izuku cared for you just as much as he did. How could they not become so enchanted with you? 

You were perfect.

“I am not looking forward to all the dancing, it is different than dancing at home with one of you.”

“Well, you must promise to save a dance for me then.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, attention focused on him. That’s what he liked to see.

“Yes, you must. I have been subjected to your torture for years now--I have to see if you can hold your composure while under that type of pressure.”

You snort, an extremely unladylike mannerism that he held endearment for, and roll your eyes at his taunts. 

“Well then it is a promise, I shall always make sure to save you a dance,” you turn from him to the other and the illusion of being alone with you vanishes, “the both of you.”

Yes, if there was one person he’d have to watch for, it was going to be Izuku.

-----

“My Lord, this is my daughter, Miss Tokage.”

Katsuki merely greets her respectfully, not fully present in the conversation as he waits for your arrival.

When you do arrive, it is like time had stood still--no one else’s presence mattered except yours. You were ethereal; your seamstress having outdone herself as you wore a gown that did nothing but accentuate all the right traits. Your makeup--while you never needed it--brought out the color of your eyes and the temptations of your lips. Your hair was adorned with alstroemerias of the same beautiful sunset gold as he had brought to you all those years ago, and the urge to propose to you then and there was extremely difficult to hold back.

As his feet began to move toward you, a body blocked the way.

“My Lord, my dances for tonight are free--if you wish to occupy them, that is.”

His eyes flicker back to you, seeing you hanging off your mother’s arm as another suitor reaches you first. As long as it wasn’t Izuku…

He catches his mothers gaze, and she too looks as if she wants for him to turn the girl away. Yet she offers a half-heartfelt smile, and he feels his resolve crumble. That's right, Miss. Tokage was a very prestigious daughter, and it would be a good match. But that's not what he wanted--he wanted you.

He swallows down a sigh, accepting her offer as he writes his name on the first dance and pulls her onto the floor. Dancing with her is much different than with you; she's not the right height, she feels all too wrong in his arms, and the little conversation there is, is dull. Sure, he is probably the cause of that, as he merely offers polite responses and nothing more. He searches for you again, and finds you standing off to the side--the one and only Izuku standing next to you. 

The song ends, and Katsuki means to take his leave to head to you but this girl follows him, and he tries to explain as peacefully as he can that he is no longer interested before he gives up and makes his leave anyways. 

Katsuki searches the dance floor and sees how Izuku twists you effortlessly, and his anger begins to rise. You both are laughing, as always, and yet Katsuki knew it was different than before. This time, it meant so much more than playful banter between childhood friends. 

Without another thought, he pushes himself in your direction with a simple,

“Pardon--”

Your wide eyes fall upon him and his heart stutters.

“Miss (l/n), a dance? A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”

“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.”

When you look away, his smirk loses its humor and grows tighter; Izuku’s eyes darken in return. His arm tightens around you, and Katsuki has to bite his tongue lest he say something he’d regret.

When you take his outstretched hand, he calms; you’re the only one who could soothe his soul with something as simple as your touch. He spins you round, before pulling you close--this is what he needed. You fit perfectly into his arms, there was no way anyone could ever replace you.

“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”

“Very well, My Lord.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to make of your neutral face--normally at these events you joke and tease him, talking the night away, uncaring of the scrutinizing eyes of the guests. Now, it was as if you were truly strangers, speaking formally as any other person would.

After a bit more coaxing, you relax, and even let out an adorable snigger--he bites his lip to hold back a smile. There was the girl he loved.

“May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight--alstroemerias again? It suits you.”

He spins you, slightly longer than before just so he could control his flaming cheeks, and holds you closer when you spin back. All of his life he never understood why he cared for you so much; you were some strange girl his mother had made him escort around until you were so much more. 

He yearned for your quips and teases, he ached for your time and presence, he so desperately desired to spend every moment by your side. You understood him like no other, conversations with you were never dull, always full of life and warm--and he longed to converse with you until he grew old and unable. 

To him you were his path to true happiness, and Katsuki wanted nothing more than to be truly happy. Yet, your happiness mattered more; Katsuki would do anything to ensure it. 

He bowed when the dance finished, and his eyes looked up and locked onto green. Izuku stood off in the crowd, bottom lip caught between teeth before his attention flickered elsewhere. Maybe this was the opportunity he needed to take, to propose here before anyone else could. But fear kept his mouth from moving, what if you were to say no? What if you never spoke to him again? He could let you go if he had to, but did he really have the strength to never be able to be near you again? 

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” 

Confusion tore him from his thoughts, words caught in his throat as he watched you hastily walk away. Your tone was sharp, words final as you disappeared in the crowd.

When his eyes flickered to where Izuku once stood, he found that he too was nowhere to be seen.

-----

Katsuki Bakugou has never felt quite this hurt before; the feeling of his heart clenching in pain is something entirely new to him. His body is numb, his hands shake, and the feeling of drowning makes it difficult to breathe. 

He is stuck in place, watching as another puts a flower behind your ear and brings your hand up to his lips. He cannot move as you grow shy, basking in the presence of another man's soft gaze.  

“Izuku…”

“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

That punch to the gut is what it takes for him to come back down to reality, and he quickly turns on his heel and leaves. He aches in silence, leaving the ballroom without any goodbyes, blowing right past the juniper maiden who just couldn’t take the hint. 

None of that was important, he was too focused on his need for a breath as his chest constricts with the lack of oxygen. His gasps ring out into the empty night and he’s forced to learn against a marble pillar lest he falls. 

To be reduced to such a pathetic state angered him, but it was nothing compared to the anger he felt at his so-called childhood friend. 

The anger soon melted into even more pain, and Katsuki clenched his jaw at the way his throat constricted. He knew from the beginning he hadn’t much of a chance, he knew Izuku would be his biggest competition, and yet, there wasn’t one at all. If Izuku won your hear--who was he to argue that?

And so, he knew that nothing will ever be as good as it once was, as you were, nothing will be worth all his effort like you were, no one will ever come close to you. 

But if you were happy, he could pretend to be.

For you, his everlasting alstroemeria.

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #Izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #bridgerton au #bnha bridgerton au #mha bridgerton au #one sided love #or is it #part 2 #alstroemerias #alstroemeria part 2

[rosyfingereddawnn]

only the black rose (chapter 8)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: big nsfw warning, drinking, jimmy being himself, fluff

words: 3.6k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: so. layla’s a freak in the... well... not necessarily the sheets, i guess? more stressy hands because they're my weakness, and just... please savour the last bit of happiness you get here. that is all. (two more chappies to go!!!) hope you enjoy :) feedback as always is so very welcome!

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

———

As she’s checking over the stage, ensuring the lights and speakers are set to do their job, Layla’s thoughts roam. After the chaos at the hotel pool, while everyone was asleep, Layla had been anything but. Her tossing and turning had disturbed Jimmy, who had pulled her further into his arms with a tired grunt. She lay there for another hour, her conversation with Jonesy running through her mind over and over. It was obvious she’d have to go back to her own time, and she missed her friends. She missed her mom. She missed everything.

Layla couldn't help, though, but think that maybe she didn’t want to leave.

 She had made friends that meant the world to her, and… she’d found Jimmy. The guitarist had changed her life, and had shown her what it meant to love. She’s falling for him, and it’s not long before she hits the ground. It’ll be worth it, she thinks, for someone like him. Jimmy Page is a rare gem, precious, and she knows that she would spend her life trying to find her way back to him.

A throat clears from behind her, and, looking over her shoulder, Layla spots Peter Grant standing a few feet away. Soft smile resting upon his lips, he steps closer, placing a large hand on Layla’s shoulder.

“Layla, I trust everything’s going well?”

“Yep! Lights and sound are looking good, and the stage is set up. Anything else you need me to do?”

“No, this is perfect, dear,” Peter shakes his head, smile morphing into a smirk as he continues. “Though, you’ve been requested elsewhere. Follow me, Layla.” Leading her through the venue, Peter stops in front of a closed door, a laminated sign next to it reading, “Dressing Room: Led Zeppelin”. Turning to Layla, he holds out an arm, beckoning her to take it.

“Shall we?”

“We shall, Peter.”

Arm in arm, they walk into the room. Robert, lying elegantly across the comfortable couch pressed against the wall, has his eyes closed. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but his voice is hoarse, and he has a terrible cough. Knowing these boys as well as she does, Layla suspects that nothing will bring them down. The show must go on, after all. Bonzo is next to him, Robert’s feet in his lap. The drummer speaks quietly to the sick man, who answers in the voice of a 20-year smoker. Jonesy speaks in hushed tones to Jimmy, eyebrows pinched in worry. Jimmy, Layla realizes, has his finger in a bowl of what looks to be ice water, if the cubes of ice scattered across the table are anything to go by. From the doorway, Layla can’t hear what’s being said, but by the downwards tilt of Jonesy’s lips, she can assume Jimmy’s stubbornness is on full display again. Her entrance with Peter hadn’t been noticed, until Robert’s eyes open to slits and he sits up, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Peter! Ah, look, if it isn’t my favourite little dove…”

“Hey, Robert. How are you feeling?”

“Better, better,” Robert smiles, and stands up to pull Layla into a hug, hands splayed across her back. “All thanks to you, Layla. Seriously, thank you for taking care of me.”

Layla grins in response, waving at Bonzo as she passes. He lifts up a hand, as if to splash the woman, and her face lights up, a giggle flying out past her lips. Layla walks over to Jonesy, and he gives her an uncertain look, beckoning her closer. Leaning close, he whispers into the woman’s ear, a worried glance at the guitarist beside him following.

“He was in a lot of pain, even with the meds, so he, uh… found a bottle of Jack’s and… Layla, he won’t listen.”

As if on cue, Jimmy takes a pull from the large bottle of whiskey that rested next to him on the table. Layla hadn’t noticed it, walking in, but it stuck out like a sore thumb now.

“Hey, petal,” Jimmy slurs slightly, bottle in hand as he sends the woman a lazy smile. Injured finger in plain view now, Layla can see how the nail is completely black, the skin around it still dyed purple from the force applied to it. Layla shakes her head, eyes downcast, as she walks closer to Jimmy. She grasps the bottle of alcohol in his hand, replacing it with her own, a warm palm meeting his.

“Jimmy… you can’t just…” Layla drifts off, not wanting to argue with him this close to showtime. They can always talk about this later, after all. Jimmy, noticing her internal battle even through his alcohol-fueled haze, pulls her into his lap. Jonesy, confident that Jimmy is in good hands, nods at Layla before giving the couple a moment to themselves. Jimmy brings a finger to the apple of Layla’s cheek, stroking it almost hesitantly, as though she would break under a stronger touch. Layla’s eyes, once meeting his, drift to his plump, pink lips. They shine in the artificial light, as he swipes his tongue across to wet them.

“Layla,” Jimmy starts, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks at her dilated pupils. She knew he had caught her staring, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What is the meaning of life? Please, answer seriously. This is important.”

“Jimmy, I didn’t peg you as someone who indulges in drunk philosophical discussions.”

Jimmy huffs a sigh, and leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. Pulling back, he looks at their joined hands, before meeting her eye once more.

“Humour me.”

“Well—”

Before she could answer, Peter floats back into the room, telling the boys to follow him backstage. It’s showtime, and Layla doesn’t want her guitarist to leave yet. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, green eyes searching her face as though the answer to his question was written in the curve of her lips.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” she says, squeezing the hand in hers, passing courage from one to the other. “We can continue this after the show.”

Jimmy nods, and releases her hand slowly, not wanting to break the contact. Layla hops out of his lap, and helps him stand. Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, as she presses their foreheads together. Their eyelashes flutter against each other, and the scent of citrus, tobacco and pine was ever-present, invading all of Layla’s senses. Jimmy pulls away first, and walks to the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She smiles at him, adrift in the empty dressing room, and he smiles back, walking out the door.

“Good luck, angel.” Layla whispers, voice swallowed up by the silence of the deserted dressing room.

Making her way to the familiar lip of the backstage area, Layla’s hands wring together, her lips bitten red. Robert hadn’t sounded well at all earlier, and Jimmy… It seemed like he was deteriorating right before her eyes. The mixture of codeine and Jack Daniels killed the pain, sure, but he was no longer the sharp, pragmatic man she was falling for. He was too caught up in the burn of the drink down his throat, a way to forget the agony rushing through his hand like a current. Bringing her attention back to the stage, she spots the boys, who share a loaded glance. Robert takes a deep breath, and launches right in. ‘Rock and Roll’ passes without a hitch, save for some voice cracks. If anything though, they add to the authentic performance, the crowd electric as usual. ‘Sick Again’ stuns, followed by ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, and all is well, until ‘How Many More Times’ rolls around.

It was small. Insignificant, really. If Layla hadn’t been searching Jimmy’s face, entranced by the way his brow furrowed as he got lost in the music, she wouldn't have noticed. Breaking apart from the rest of the band to complete a complicated lick, Jimmy’s fingers trip up on the fretboard. To the audience, the only consequence is a slight dead note in the midst of heavenly riffs. Gazing over at Jimmy, however, Layla could see the discomfort in the downwards tilt of his lips, and the pain stiffening his shoulders. She could see the anger flaming in his dark eyes. Jimmy recovers well, delivering attack after attack, though his solos, from that point on, tended to go a little off-track. Whether from nerves or self-doubt, Layla didn't know. But she knows him. She knows the guitarist will let it cloud the entire night. She knows he’s gonna pick the show apart, minute after exhilarating minute, looking for the smallest flaw. Layla knows that she’ll be there for him through it all.

No matter what.

----------

With a hoarse thank you and a flourish directed at the audience, Robert finally leads the band off-stage to voltaic cheers. Robert, ecstatic as ever during the concert, seems to deflate the second he gets off. With a nod and a soft smile at Layla, he disappears into the depths of the backstage area. Jonesy and Bonzo pass by with tight-lipped smiles, clapping her on the shoulder as they follow Robert. Jimmy is the last to appear, and the reason for the rhythm section’s warning glances becomes apparent immediately.

Jimmy scowls as he approaches, eyes glassy, as though she were looking into a clear stream. Layla can see herself reflected in them; can see the worry reflected in her own gaze. Slipping a hand around his bicep, she steers Jimmy into a corner. He refuses to look at her, even as her hand tilts his face upwards softly.

“Jimmy, love, that was—”

“Shit.”

“No, not at all,” Layla steps closer, a hand finding the familiar spot on his cheek. “It was a great show. You saw the audience, Jim. They loved you guys!”

“It was shit, and everyone knows it. If I could just—”

“Jimmy, come on…”

“—be good enough, this would have gone differently.”

Layla’s breath catches, eyes as wide as saucers as she steps closer to the guitarist, who turns away. His gaze at the floor never wavers as he paces, muttering to himself.

“Jimmy, look at me,” Layla stops him in his tracks with a hand at his back. His shoulders heave with deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “You played a good gig. It doesn’t matter if you missed a note or two. You came to play a great show, and you did.”

“But it isn't enough. These people came here for an extraordinary show and we couldn't deliver. I couldn't deliver, and—”

“Hey—”

“—if my finger wasn’t broken, we would have been as good as we’ve always been. This is my fault.”

“Jimmy, this isn’t on you. You did nothing wrong.”

Jimmy’s hands fly up to land in his hair, as he pulls at it almost unconsciously. Layla grips his cheek lightly, as the other hand comes to rest at a thin wrist, pulling it away from the dark locks it had latched onto. Jimmy averts his eyes from the woman’s earnest gaze and turns his back once more, treading a hole in the wooden floor of the backstage area. Layla’s palm rubs soft circles into the fabric of his cardigan, patches of whispering dandelions catching on her fingers. From her place behind him, she can see the way he’s beating a fist into the palm of his injured hand repeatedly, perhaps a way to atone for a mistake that hasn’t been committed.

“I fucked up this tour. It’s my fault. I can’t do everything I know I can do, and that’s on me. I just…”

“Jimmy…”

“I can’t do this anymore!”

Layla shrinks back slightly at the exclamation form the man, who is shaking like a leaf. His head drops, long hair hiding his face once again. Recovering quickly, she spins him around carefully to face her. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her lips to his. His eyes flutter closed and he immediately reciprocates, a hand pressed to Layla's hips; his new favourite spot for them. Jimmy lets out a whine of pleasure, and Layla pulls away, looking into his tired eyes.

“Jimmy, listen to me. You did play well. I am so, so proud of you. Okay?”

“...Okay. I’ll… work on trying to believe you.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

If Layla sees the sparkle and shine of tears on the man’s cheeks, she doesn't mention it as she grabs his hand, leading him to an empty room, locking the door immediately.

Finally away from prying eyes, Layla unfurls the guitarist’s hands from their clenched position, bringing the injured one up near her mouth. Gazing up at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room, she presses a chaste kiss to each finger, slowing as she reaches the one painted shades of purple and black and blue. Jimmy nods, exhale shaky, and she presses the softest of kisses to the tip, hoping to cause pleasure rather than pain.

Jimmy’s hands slide lower from their place on her hips to cup her bum lightly, in case she was uncomfortable and wanted to slip out of his grasp. Her lips find his again as he pushes her against the large table in the middle of the room. Layla lets out a whimper, swallowed by the mouth against hers, as Jimmy’s tongue laps at her bottom lip, asking for entrance. He’s always been soft with her, but this new side of the dark-haired guitarist excited her. The kiss was over as soon as it began, Jimmy pulling away to stare at her, close enough still that their noses touched.

“Petal, I… We were gonna take it slow, and we will, but if you're ready…”

“I’m ready.”

Jimmy smiles, crashing his lips against her quickly, passionately. Pulling back once more, Jimmy smirks as Layla chases the high the feel of his lips gave her. Pressing into his space again, she frowns, which makes Jimmy chuckle. Layla’s hand reaches up, twisting in his hair.

“Angel,” Layla starts, a light tug on a mussed ebony ringlet following the nickname. His mossy eyes were dark with desire, and he placed his lips on her neck, kissing a trail down her jaw, stopping at her collarbone. Slipping the sweat-soaked cardigan off his shoulders, she traces a line down his cheek, eyes glued to his blush-red lips. “Can you lie down on the table for me? Please do try not to break any other body parts.”

“Haven’t I told you I’m afraid of heights?”  Jimmy laughs, and with a small smile thrown over his shoulder, he hops up onto the table.

“You overlooked that, love,” Layla says, unbuttoning her blouse ever-so-slowly, surely teasing the guitarist, who leans back on his elbows. His eyes follow her every move as she takes off the rest of her clothing. “Now, I feel like you might have too many clothes on, Jim. We need to be even, after all.”

Slipping his pants and underwear off in record time, he reclines back, already hard. Fully exposed now, Layla climbs up onto the table as well, straddling the man’s lap, before sinking herself onto him. A calloused hand lands on her hips, helping her find the perfect position, until a soft groan rang through the near-empty room. Jimmy’s hands move up to her breasts, toying with the woman’s nipples, much to her delight. Layla grabs onto his chest for support, craning her head back in pure euphoria at the sensation, the hollow of her neck exposed as Jimmy raises up to nip at it. Grinding her hips to the rhythm of the man’s soft groans, she trails hickies up his chest and neck.

“Something to remember me by.” she says, looking at him with dark eyes, a haze of lust filling them. Hand gripping Layla’s ass tightly, he brings her ever-closer, a mumbled “fuck” leaving the woman’s kiss-bitten lips. The guitarist’s face is creased with absolute exhilaration, as he rocks back and forth to the movement of Layla’s body on his. The couple didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Ecstasy fills the room, and whispers of praise flow like music from lips bruised and bitten.

“You did so well today, angel. You’re incredible.”

Jimmy raises up once more to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, a hand raking through the woman’s hair roughly, landing on her throat. Jimmy squeezes it lightly, warningly, and presses his lips to Layla’s once more, swallowing the shriek of pleasure she gasps out.

“You liked that, petal?” Jimmy’s hoarse voice reaches Layla’s ears almost belatedly, too caught up in the pleasure of his hands on her, though she nods as if her life depended on it. Panting hard now, Layla quickens her pace, noises of pleasure growing louder. With the friction of his hand on her, roaming everywhere it could reach, Layla felt divine; heavenly in this embrace. Leaning down for a heavy, passionate kiss, Jimmy’s hand finds her hair again, and he tugs on it hard. The pain elicits a moan from Layla, as she reaches her peak.

With a stuttered breath, Jimmy releases as well, gasps leaving his lips as he looks at Layla reverently. The wetness from her core rushes over him as she lays back down beside him, spent. Back arching as she pants, her head turns to face him, faces painted with bliss.

In a post-coitus haze, Jimmy has his arms wrapped securely around Layla’s shoulders, as her head rests on his chest. Layla giggles tiredly, as her breaths ruffle the dark hair on Jimmy’s chest. Looking up at him, she’s pleased to see him looking right back at her.

“That certainly cheered you up, didn’t it?”

“You’re the best at cheering me up after all. This, of course, was just a bonus.” Jimmy noses at her messy hair, smelling a combination of fresh linen, sweat and her shampoo; hints of strawberry and mango tickling his nose.

“We should get up, the boys are probably looking for us,” Layla says, dragging light fingers across his stomach, watching goosebumps appear on the pale skin. Whether it’s from the sensation or the chill of the table, Layla didn't know, but she’s comfortable in his embrace, in danger of drifting off.

“What if we just… stayed here forever. They can find another guitarist.”

“You’re pretty irreplaceable, Page,” Layla whispers, reaching up to press her lips to his jaw. “I mean, who would the boys chaperone if you were gone?”

“Chaperone? I’m not that bad. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Right, so Robert was lying about the time you refused to sleep for 5 days out of pure adrenaline? New York, 1973, I believe it was?”

“...”

“That’s what I thought. We need to have a serious talk about your habits, Jimmy.”

With a chuckle from the guitarist, the two lapse into a comfortable silence, as Jimmy presses a kiss to the top of Layla’s head, nuzzling it with his cheek.

“Hey,” Layla shifts to look up at him, eyes filled with adoration. She felt as though she were looking at a star. Beautiful and shining, but out of reach, as much as she wished for the opposite. She knew this couldn’t last, though she’d savour every last minute of it that she could. “I need to… tell you something.”

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. It’s… kind of the opposite, actually.”

Jimmy tilts his head in confusion, turning on his side to face her. He looked like a puppy, hair wild about his head, and Layla couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“S-So,” Layla shifts, nervous all of a sudden. Jimmy grips her hand in his, and nods when their eyes finally meet. “Do you remember what you asked me earlier? About the… meaning of life. You might not remember, you were a little out of it, and—”

“I remember. You’re rambling, petal. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s… it’s love. The meaning of life is… love. Jimmy, I…um…”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I’m… I guess... What I’m trying to say is,” Layla says, taking a deep breath as she looks into the eyes that captivate her, and make her smile, and set her on fire. “I’m falling in love with you, and I just… Yeah.”

Jimmy grins brightly, surging forward to capture her lips in a kiss bursting with joy. He laughs into it, as their noses brush together, his finger tracing nonsensical designs across her side.

“Very eloquently put, Porter.”

“Oh my God, I just confessed that I’m falling for you, and you focus on—”

“I’m falling in love with you too. I thought that may have been obvious, considering the state of this poor table.”

“W-Well,” Layla stutters, blushing crimson as Jimmy’s plush lips tilt up in a picture-perfect smirk. “Put your clothes on, Page. The boys are probably waiting for us.”

Jimmy laughs, but redresses in his stage clothes, turning to stare at Layla as she slips her jeans back on. Buttoning up her shirt and flattening her hair, which frizzed up like a halo around her flushed face, she gazes over at Jimmy. Crowding into his space, she put a hand to the back of his neck, up on her tiptoes to peck at his lips once more. He slips a hand to her cheek, and deepens the kiss. Pulling away to glimpse the golden smile that rests on Layla’s lips, he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Arm in arm, they walk out of the room, twin smiles nearly splitting their faces. Jimmy glances over at Layla, and can’t believe just how lucky he is.

Screw falling in love, he thinks.

This is love, and he knows it for sure, now.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso (let me know if you want to be added!)

#only the black rose #jimmy page #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page x oc #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

[bookwrm99]

Salty and Sweet

Hi! So, I’ve never posted here on tumblr before.. being totally honest, I just made this account a couple months ago so I could read some *good fanfiction* (and I haven’t been disappointed). Just a heads up, the rest of this post is about a sensitive topic: anxiety and panic attacks. I don’t want to accidentally trigger anybody. :(

I’ve been having a really hard time in the past few weeks; there have been a lot of medical emergencies with my close family members in addition to some family drama. I love to write, though, so I’ve been using it as an outlet. I recently wrote a (decent?) Asra fanfiction that helped me to vent out a lot of my internal and external struggles, and I thought maybe posting it here would be a good idea, in case it helped somebody else going through a hard time too. It’s easy for me to forget that my anxiety is not a flaw, not to mention that I have a support system here for me when I do have my emotional breakdowns, and I have to be reminded of that a lot/need a lot of affirmation from my s/o and my close friends. Everybody deserves an Asra in their lives, someone who loves you for who you are and will always be there for you, in any capacity you need. This is not meant to be a one-size-fits-all anxiety; this is just a reflection of my own personal struggles, the physical symptoms I’ve been feeling lately and the fear I’ve been experiencing over my immediate family finding out about my social/generalized anxiety disorder. Please don’t take it as me saying “oh, this is what all people with anxiety experience”; everyone with anxiety experiences it in a different way. I imagine mine like a fingerprint: nobody else in the world experiences anxiety in quite the same way that I do. Sorry, the preface got a bit longer than intended. This fanfic is basically what I imagine Asra doing for an apprentice who experiences anxiety on the regular, primarily what would happen when they have their first panic attack in front of him. If you’re reading this and you experience anxiety, I want you to know that you are so incredibly strong for making it through each and every day with it and that I’m sending a lot of love your way. <3 Salty and Sweet- (tried to have it be a) GN apprentice x Asra Alnazar. 1.7k wc. TW: anxiety and panic attacks It took every ounce of willpower within you to remain behind the shop's counter, a customer-service smile plastered to your face. It had been growing all day: the need to hide, a tightness in your chest that brought tears to your eyes which you had to carefully hide and brush away, lest anyone catch on to the fact that something was not right. You felt too tightly wound, like you would snap any second, and the fear of breaking at an inopportune time simply added to the anxiety growing within you. You had no idea what caused you to feel this way: always on edge, the smallest blunder setting off a massive overreaction. It had been this way for as long as you could remember. In all actuality, “as long as you could remember” was only three years, but you suspected this had been a long-term problem based on the quantity of calming teas and herbal remedies your past self stashed in your private drawers. Asra was in the back of the shop with the last customer of the day, performing a tarot reading for them. You couldn't leave the counter unattended, so you straightened the wares within the glass case and behind the counter with incredible desperation. Anything to preoccupy yourself until you could escape to the privacy of the upstairs, where nobody could see you. How you had been able to hide it for so long, you weren't sure, but you felt somewhere deep in your gut that Asra suspected something wasn't quite right. He had never walked in on your episodes despite living together for so long, but sometimes when you had to make a quick getaway into a private space you could see the question in his eyes, the slight part of his lips as he thought about asking. You feared the day he found out about them, the way he would react, how he would think of you. Your heart ached at the thought and you shied away from the thought of his rejection, the thought of him thinking less of you for having such uncontrollable bouts of unprovoked fear. Apparently you had been able to hide it from him well in the time you had been together prior to your death; at least, you assumed so, because Asra never said anything to you about it. You silently prayed that today would not be the day he discovered the flaw in your design, though the weight on your chest was becoming more unbearable by the second and your composure nearly impossible to keep. Tears were flowing more freely now, and you did not trust yourself to speak, feeling the tightness from your chest spreading to your throat as well. You focused on taking slow, even breaths, counting from one to five with each breath of herb-laden air in and out. The lavender on the shelf behind you was doing nothing to calm you at this point, and you fought not to hyperventilate. You heard rustling in the back room, the sound alerting you to the end of the reading, and you quickly turned to face the wall behind you, busying yourself with straightening the wares for the fourth time in the past hour. You could hear the fabric of the curtain rustling behind you as it was drawn back, the footsteps of both Asra and the customer slowly approaching then passing where you stood. You dared not turn around, afraid of your own expression. Asra and the customer engaged in idle chitchat, slowly approaching the front entrance, opening the heavy wooden door. The cool summer night breeze blew in through the crack of the door, washing over you and stirring the fabrics and hanging herbs interspersed throughout the store. "Have a good night," Asra gently ended the conversation, following the customer out to extinguish the lantern and flip the "Open" sign to "Closed" before reentering the shop. "Well, that's it for today," Asra sighed, sounding tired. "You've had a long day too, (Y/N). Looks like your entire stock of echinacea is wiped out." You swallowed thickly, afraid of your own voice but not wanting to tip Asra off by not responding to his banter. "Yep." Your voice cracked at the end and your stomach dropped, the feeling in your chest overwhelming you as the rest of your panic hit you in a large wave. "(Y/N)?" Asra asked, worry evident in his voice. Gods. Why now? Your breathing was speeding up of its own accord, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. You felt gentle hands come out of nowhere to grab you by the shoulders and you jolted, like a wild animal cornered, causing Asra to freeze. "(Y/N), what's wrong? Please look at me." Your body froze in place, afraid to let him see you in your current state. Though Asra was loathe to touch you after how you responded the first time, his concern for you and the foreignness of the situation caused him to reach out and gently capture your chin, directing your gaze towards his face. His brows furrowed and the corners of his lips turned downwards as he saw the tears spilling from your eyes, and he slid his hand up your jaw to rest on your cheek, using his thumb to brush featherlight touches across your skin. Suddenly feeling lightheaded and dizzy, you abruptly grasped his wrist, feeling your legs buckling underneath you. Asra's eyes went wide, and he quickly stooped to wrap his other arm around you, catching you from your fall to gently lower you to the ground. "Shh, shh, I'm here." Asra murmured into your hair, sitting beside you and holding your shaking body close as you rode the wave of your panic. While the touch wasn't unwelcome, you hated to let him see you like this, and you dreaded the explanation you would have to give him for this sudden emotional breakdown. After what felt like hours, finally your breathing began to slow, the tightness in your chest ebbing away into a blissful numbness. With your tears slowing, Asra gently lifted your face to meet his, thumbs gently brushing away the tears lingering on your cheeks. Asra continued to gently hush you, resting his forehead against yours and looking deeply into your gaze with his beautiful purple eyes. "I'm here, my love." His voice was soft, like a caress, and though he didn't understand what was going on he was determined to provide you the support you needed. The two of you sat like that for a few minutes more, with Asra's fingers brushing away the salty tears from your face and his plush lips leaving sweet, gentle kisses to the hairline above your forehead. When you had calmed, Asra leaned back to look at you fully, the question dancing in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. "Should I make tea?" Though not the question you had expected, you nodded gratefully. Calming tea would do wonders for you in this moment. Asra slowly stood, bringing you with him, treating you as carefully as you would a newborn babe or precious china tea set. Leading you to the little table in the kitchen, he sat you down, then began bustling about, putting hot water on the stove to boil in the beat-up kettle and pulling your favorite tea to put in the teapot. While he worked, he silently glanced over at you on occasion, worry written all over his face. When the kettle began to hiss and scream, he pulled it off, pouring the boiling water into the waiting teapot to steep. Grabbing the nearest two teacups and rinsing them out, he brought them to the table along with the teapot, set between you on a thick, woven piece of cloth. "Are you alright to talk?" Asra asked cautiously, afraid to push but concerned about you. You looked down at your hands, taking a deep breath as your heartrate increased exponentially. "Yes," you started, then felt your throat close up as emotion began to overwhelm you again. "Please don't think less of me." "My love, I could never think less of you. You can tell me anything." Asra spoke with deep conviction, reaching across the table with his right hand extended towards you. You reach out and take it with your left, looking up at him with watery eyes. Then you spill over. You tell him everything, your constant bouts of panic, the self-remedies you found in your private drawers, the inevitability of an emotional breakdown every time the smallest social blunder occurs or deviation pops up to your carefully laid out plans. Asra listens to it all with patience and kindness in his eyes, though his brows are still drawn together in worry. You carefully sip your tea, afraid of Asra's reaction, despite the numerous displays of his support to the contrary. It was a worry you couldn't help. Asra smiled gently at you, raising your hand to his lips for a kiss. "I promise you that I will find you a more potent remedy. You should not have to go through life like that, my love, and I can't imagine how hard it is for you." His soft voice carried across the table to your waiting ears, and he took a sip from his own cup, finishing off his tea and setting it back down. "I will always be here to support you, (Y/N). I value the trust you have in me. I will never think less of you, especially not for something like this." Your eyes fill with grateful tears. His reaction was completely different from the one you had feared he would have, and you abruptly rise from the table, rounding it and throwing yourself into his lap, twining your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. "Thank you, Asra." You said, arms tightening. "I love you." "I love you too." The two of you sat still for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company, breathing in their scent. Then, slowly, your eyelids began to drift shut, Asra's heartbeat guiding you into a calm, dreamless sleep.

#the arcana #arcana fanfic #asra #asra x reader #the arcana spoilers #asra x mc

[namjoonchronicles]

projectile | namjoon

pairing: namjoon x reader genre: fluff, domestic namjoon, slight smut(?), suggestive shit word count: 4k author’s note: i just wanted to write a delicious fic of namjoon 

The house is filled with children's laughter and that’s how your aunt liked it. You have more nephews than nieces so it was inevitable that the living room was scattered with toy guns and cars. “Ow.” Your cousin, Sagi, winced as she made her way through the Lego field, barefooted, “I came through the battlefield to tell you that your husband called.” No, not again. You pressed the phone between your shoulder and ear, “Yes, darling, it should be there. I didn’t move any of your Japanese books. Did you leave it behind, in another country, perhaps? Or did you forget to buy it?” Pause, “You can’t log in? Use my account then. Careful not to buy two of the same books like before… Remember the hassle we had to go through just to return it? Alright, take care baby,” End call.

“How long did you leave him on his own?” Sagi asked. “Two,” you sighed, slicing the sausages to make lunch for the kids. “Two weeks? Days?” Sagi’s sister-in-law joined the conversation. “Two hours.”

Two hours ago.

Feet drag against the floor, and you know for certain that the sunshine of your life is finally awake. His silvery blonde hair bobbed up and down, while you turn your back to him, leaning your front against the sink, washing the dishes from last night, with a faint smile on your face. “Do you really have to go?” He groggily asked, leaning his shoulder on the wall that separates the kitchen from the doorway, in that apartment Namjoon bought when he was single. Glancing up to the side at him, you passed him a wider smile than the one you wore when you heard him going up the hallway.                                    Nod.                                                                     His lips parted, his cotton baby blue Ryan PJs and the way he leant his head on the wall. How could someone look so cute, it’s not even noon yet. You walked over to him, sighing, “How many times are we going to have this conversation?” Grinning mischievously at your husband, stepping on his feet, tiptoeing, you planted a kiss on his chin and the side of his jaw before moving away and he followed. He stared at your shoulders and back view as you fixed the curtains in the living room, tying it up to the side to let some light through. After the movie last night, you didn’t rearrange the throw pillows back to its position and thought that you would have more time doing that in the morning. You came back to your own promise and fulfilled it. Namjoon pulled out a tall stool and climbed on it, watching you dust up the living room. Knowing how tidy his wife could be, he didn’t find it odd. What he did find odd was the fact that he wasn’t given as much as attention as he is required. He had just returned from work outside the country, came back to reunite with his wife, after a whooping 3 months of parting…and she’s leaving to her home country. From his body language alone, you knew he was brooding. His usually full lips were thin, pressed together, and he kept biting on them, placing his hand over them, as if he was stopping himself from saying something he thinks you didn’t want to hear. Namjoon is upset. Like you knew he was calling for attention, you strode towards him, and got close enough to place your hand to cover his knees and he still didn’t look at you. Your palm ran up and down his capable thighs as you tried to coax him into returning the gaze, puffing your cheeks smiling but it only worked, briefly, before he turned to cast his eyes downwards then to the side, rocking his upper body back and forth slightly, like a child. Then he spoke in pouts and mumbled, “I just got home and here you are, leaving…” he sighed with his entire body. I’m not done compensating the times we’ve lost. You thumbed his chin, leaning your body further, in between his legs, pulling his face towards yours. His antics, although very endearing, challenges you. As you stare into his beautiful brown irises, you felt your heart clutched with the affection it was known to project, the softness of his skin against the pad of your thumb, and he stared intently in return; waiting, anticipating, hungry for more that you would care to bless him with. There will be times like this. Something so trivial, moments like these where you have to choose between family and love, are the times you dreaded to go through. Certainly, Namjoon had just returned from a lengthy trip and you hadn’t spent enough time with him to part again, so you could understand why he became so needy. “Last night wasn’t enough?” You threaded your fingers through his beautiful locks, speaking in a sing-song voice, in a slight higher tone and whispers. He fluttered his eyes shut, hooked his fingers around your waist band, nuzzled his face into your nape, brushing his lips as he spoke in hushes, “You know very well it wasn’t…” He bracketed his hand around your waist and lifted you so you could straddle his lap and deepened the kiss. You buried your fingers in the strands of his hair, while he leaves your lips to trail kisses down your jawline, and the soft skin of your throat, as his strong arms around your waist, holding you in place while you squeezed him between your thighs. He smelled of bedsheets in the morning, with an adequate amount of warmth, like a blanket. Parting away for a little, you looked down at him with glazed vision, and breathily said, “You hadn’t made the bed, did you?” “We can always remake it,” He hungrily kissed you, and lifted himself up from the tall stool and carried you,running down the hallway to the bedroom, where he threw you on the bed and slammed the door shut. Your laughter was well heard through the door as Namjoon’s pyjamas flew and landed to the ground next to your bed. Fun, intimate and breathless; is how you’d describe what being with Namjoon felt like. He liked making jokes while he made love to you, and he is such a giver. His words were naughty as they were light-hearted, and he knew the effects his sultry deep voice had on you, a love-making session with him was never dull and never short of explosive passion. Namjoon knew where to touch, where to put his lips and where his hands should be, to get the most from you. It is always so sensual, as it is harrowing to even be away from him for long. He had his goals on to making you addicted to his touch, and he’s succeeded every time. It was not one sided, he made sure you knew. By the way he threw his head back into the pillow, how his back arched away from the bed, gripping the bed sheet tight, his heaving chest and heavy breathes, the shudders in his body that he had, failed to hide the consequences of your love on him. Thunderous deep moans, the need to have more despite given everything, the greed he didn’t quite understand. Loving you was sucking him dry but was also nourishing him. Does it make sense if he wanted to be inside you all the time? Does it makes sense if he wanted you to be inside him? This was no longer lust, or love. It was something in between, an insatiable hunger. His lips tingles at the sight of yours, and they longed to be forever intertwined with your skin. From the first time you spent a night with him, his desire for you never waned, and it was mind baffling. He found himself biting his smile at the very pleasure you were giving him, and he memorises the swirl of your tongue to help him cope his many lonely days when you weren’t around. Being close to you, isn’t close enough. Sometimes, even those memories isn’t enough. The craving is so great, it could kill him. “We will never get anything done, and I have to leave before noon,” he hugged your waist in a loose grip as you were moving away. Walking out of the duvet, stark naked, you fetch for the baggage underneath the bed. Then you snatched his pyjamas from the floor and put them on, and nothing else. He watches, sitting in the middle of the messy bed, hair in all directions, rubbing his face and bare arms and shoulders, duvet pooled around his waist. The empty baggage is now placed on the bed next to his large bony feet, poking out the duvet. 

Unzipping them, you turned away to fetch some folded clothes from the wardrobe.

“We can always call…” you consoled him, as you shove your clothes into the bag, “Or text. Or video call. And you have my parent’s house phone number…” He wet his lips with a sullen expression and biting them. There goes the sulking.

“I have to show support to my aunt’s family. She’s done five cycles of chemotherapy now, and I’ve done nothing more but ask her through texts when I know she misses me,” you explained. Namjoon scooted closer to the bag, and took out the clothes you were putting in. “She’s been asking when I could come and visit her,” you continued to take some blouses from the hangers and folding them while standing up, still unaware that Namjoon is taking out the things you’ve packed. “I’ve cooked a lot in the fridge, and if you’re hungry you can heat it up. If you want something else, you can go get something from the convenient store, yes?” you turned your back to him, and caught his reflection from the mirror. Adorable. Cheeky but adorable. You caught him taking the things out of your bag. And pretending he didn’t do anything when you turned around. You had to drag your bag away from the bed and from him, to the floor so you could do a proper packing. “The faster I go, the faster I come back, I promise,” you reassured him. Namjoon fell on the bed, on his side, plopped, watching you. His eyes peeping through the wrinkled duvet. “That’s what you said the last time…” he pouted. You pressed your lips together and silently scolded him. It wasn’t what you planned either, and he could have been a little more considerate. Maybe you should tell him that. “These people are with me, when you weren’t. Because of your work,” you huffed, knowing that you’ve said something that would hurt him. He reaches for his stuffed animal behind him and hugged it tightly within his naked chest, decorated with your nail marks.  He buries half of his face into the stuffed dinosaur and stayed quiet. You clicked your tongue and reassured him, “Baby, you’ll be okay…” Two hours later. He was not okay. He had used up approximately $2000 to buy clothes online, almost logged into dark web, and almost purchased a car. He had eaten twice in the span of two hours, and watched seven movies, skipping from one channel to another. He had stared at his phone while the movie is playing and laying on his stomach, switching his head to the side at the screen. “I’m bored,” he groans.   Namjoon almost cut his own bangs just because it was poking his eyes. He lost two earphones in a day and about to finish the third series of a manga he recently started. He felt the need to call you whenever he started a new series, or watched something funny on Netflix or when he felt like he needs to use the kitchen without your supervision. He tried calling Yoongi and Jimin, but it all went unanswered. He played online games, instead of writing new songs just to stop himself from calling you. He purchased two of the same books from different retailer. He used your Amazon ID to search for weird things like, 100 live ladybugs or decals that make your fridge looks like a Game Boy. He may or may not have purchased another child-size KAWS figurine that have scared you in the past. In fact, he had moved most of his collections to the office because you got frightened of it. He placed them in random places because he thinks its funny. You pinched him by the forearm and made him remove them, at once. Raindrops trickling down the glass window, and Namjoon followed the trails with his index finger. He stood in front of it. He blew hot air on the window and wrote your name before taking a picture of it and sending it to you. With a little heart emoticon. Crippling boredom forced him to reach over the top of the wardrobe to take out your wedding album. He smiled at the side of it, and sat on the floor, next to the made bed. His languid fingers ran over the pages like he was reading a sacred scripture, eyes wide with awe. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and wooden shack outside was the only thing that accompanied him. He felt even more lonely despite looking at your picture. He didn’t know what you were thinking of when you look at him that way. In that wedding picture, he was talking to his friends but he kept holding your hand, not wanting to let go. You were looking up at the view of his back, with such big smile. And it was so intimate, the fact that it was a smile that you put on despite him not looking at you. It made him feel very much loved. This is not the first time he had looked through this album, but every single time he did, it felt like it was the first. Namjoon unknowingly smiled back, as if to return to that time and give you back as much as you gave him. All he remembered from that moment was to hold your hand and never let go. He has a habit of drawing circles inside your palm when you were holding hands, loosely; and it was the kind of habit he wouldn’t let go of, anytime soon. He does it mindlessly, when he sat next to you in the movies, or when you were sitting in a parked car by the sea, or when he lays in bed next to you in pitch darkness. Namjoon just wanted to hold hands. Your hands. Even though he had his back turned towards you slightly, although the grip is loose, he still wants to hold hands. And the photographer cum best friend, Kim Taehyung had caught the moment on camera. His overpriced work was really worth it. Namjoon was glad that he delivered. It was very difficult to find a good wedding photographer nowadays. Not that he ever doubted Taehyung’s skills. God forbid Taehyung got to know that or Namjoon would be damned with endless sulking from his loyal but sensitive friend. His work is amazing, and Namjoon would remind him that. Just look at this fine shot. Namjoon in this picture, was leaning away from you, while you were greeting a close friend, your smile was so vibrant, it spoke volumes and how important that friend was, to you. Namjoon cowers, with a fond smile, face full of pure adoration to his wife. He rested his elbow on the table, looking at you, while you were holding your friend’s hand far too tightly. You couldn’t hide your excitement and he couldn’t hide his love to you. “…She’s so pretty,” Namjoon thumbed your face, leaning his back to the bed leg, putting the album on his lap, extending his lower limb towards the bathroom door. And he wonders, “Have you ever regretted, being married to me?” Time was the biggest challenge. His shortcomings, his dreams, his ambition, his thirst for knowledge. Your desire, your ability, your drive, your demands for security. To others, both of you had every reason to not be together. There’s too much differences. But also similarities. Whatever he was lacking, you fulfilled. His dreams and your ability to make them come true. His ambition and your drive, complimented each other. Both of you had every reason to be together. Namjoon will never neglect you, not even for a second. Because he knew how much he had to go through to even find you. He had a side of him that he would like to keep a secret, a space for himself. And whenever he required time to be alone, he’d assure you that he would come back. That he will always come back. It doesn’t take long, knowing how much he needed you. When moments like these take place, when he and you couldn’t be together, he finds himself searching for something. Something that only you could fill. Like how he is looking through wedding albums for your face, or how he’s hugging your clothes for the scent that you leave behind. Namjoon can be this affectionate. And he wouldn’t have known this side of him, if it weren’t for you. He hasn’t called this hour. Had he gone to sleep? You searched for your phone while your nephews lay tired in your lap, making a human pillow out of you that reminded you of another big baby that would do the same if he was here. A whooping 72 messages from Namjoon. He sent pictures of the food he ate, of the foggy window with your name, crying emoticons, and random “I Miss You” texts, the view he is looking at and finally, your wedding album. Just then, a new message is received. Husband is typing… “I leave your side empty. I’m going to go sleep now. Love you.” You replied with a picture of you laying on the floor with your nephews drooling on your t-shirt, with the caption: I’m not exactly having fun here. Sleep tight, goodnight dimple bear. Your cousin helped you carry one by one of the nephews into their bed and tucked them in. Sagi wriggled her eyebrow and pointed her chin to the kitchen table where burgers were stacked one on top of another with the amount of fries enough to feed a village. Your eyes shrunk while you covered your mouth to giggle quietly and followed her to the kitchen after shutting the door. “The three musketeers are finally asleep, and we are finally free,” Sagi sighed into her chair and turned the television on, pouring a glass of orange juice for you and her. “I can’t believe we were going to make it out alive, today,” you shook your head. There’s trails of unused toilet tissue expanding from the second floor to the first floor of the house. The eldest of the triplets through his top over the ceiling fan and convinced his brothers to do the same. Your only niece was screaming at the top of her lung and peeing over the heap of unfolded clean clothes. You kept stepping on Lego pieces and Sagi kept on changing diapers. Not only that, the diapers ran out and you had to drive over to the closest convenience store, but before you could get into the car, you had to fight the triplets off. Then one of the kids took the car key and hid them. So you had to use your uncle’s car but he had to leave for work at 5pm and it’s 3pm so you couldn’t buy the diapers right away. Sagi had her hair pulled into a hairdryer and the triplets stuck gum underneath the kitchen table. Your niece licked the floor when her chocolate milk was spilled and you were trying not to lose your mind from cleaning everything up. It’s like having many Namjoons at once. “I am…never having kids,” Sagi muttered, her eyes bore into the television, nipping fries between her lips. “Namjoon would never agree to me saying that,” you commented. “Namjoon is different…” Sagi quipped, switching to her side to face you, “How on earth did you even find a guy like him?” “Like him? Like what?” You grabbed a burger with its wrap. Capable. Doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink that much. Super smart. “He just…walked in the room,” you shrugged with a smile, “And if I didn’t know better, we would have stayed as friends because he was so freaking shy and he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, so the first few months I knew him, I thought he was a stuck up arrogant dude who doesn’t like the conversation we were having.” The pace you both were going at were slow. Acquaintance for two years, friends for another four, and it was only on the fifth year of your friendship that you finally give in to the lust you had over him, and it was embarrassing because when you confessed bleakly, Namjoon looked like he found out the universe’s biggest secret. You both were so comfortable with each other than it didn’t come across that you both loved each other. The lines between friendship and love are ever so thin and hazy, as time passes. The first kiss you had was in your car, and it quickly escalated to more than just hand touching, lips and straddling. The car windows got so fogged up, and he left his hand mark against the window. You were pretty sure who ever was walking past your car would have heard obscene sounds and the unnatural shaking of your car from the speed he was going for. Mid love-making, he said how much he loved you, and adored you and wanted you. And he didn’t have to say it because his hands and eyes were loud enough. You fell asleep on his naked chest, his hand rubbing against the small of your back, as he spoke in murmurs, staring up the roof of your car. “I have always wanted to have sex in a car,” he spoke seriously. And you hide your face in his nape, chuckling. “Me too,” you replied. Lifting yourself up from him, you wanted to see the outside but gushed, “Oh my goodness, it’s all fogged up!” He looked dazed, and managed to say, “You look beautiful.” Nipping your bare shoulder between his lips, his eyes searching for your validation. “Your eyes were filled with lust, you haven’t come down from your high?” you bit your smile and he shook his head. “I want this. I want us. I don’t think I’ll ever want enough of you,” he gave you a back hug, and held you tight. We’ve been friends long enough, haven’t we? Sagi froze. A stupid smile stuck on her lips, and “That’s so cute…” 3:17 AM Lurching sound filled the bathroom, bouncing from one tile to another. Namjoon had his head on the toilet bowl. He had been vomiting so hard that he grew tired from it.He leant his chin on the toilet seat, sitting on the floor as his knees gave way. Headaches, and the smell of anything triggered his nauseousness. He didn’t eat something bad, did he? He carefully rinsed his mouth and wiped his face. Taking his phone in his hand, he weakly dialled your number. He hates to wake you up but this was an emergency. “Babe,” he grumbled, “I can’t stop vomiting. Where can I get anti-nausea pills? I feel like dying...” Rubbing your eyes, you sat on your bed while Sagi stirs in her deep sleep. “Try checking the medication box, I wrote anti-nausea pills. You know where those are. What did you eat?” Namjoon dragged his feet down the hallway back to the kitchen, and opened the top cabinet where medication kits are, phone in between his ear and shoulder. His lips has washed away colours and turned pale. “Just instant noodles, and it tasted just fine,” he added. He unfastened the clips, and threaded his forefinger past the medicine envelopes until he gets to the anti-nausea label. “Take painkillers as well...and if it doesn’t go away in the morning, go see a doctor okay?” You advised him and he nodded, as if you could see him. The triplets mother walked in the room you shared with Sagi. She’s eight months pregnant with her fourth baby. And you remembered how her husband had couvade syndrome that hadn’t left until now. It’s a syndrome known for expectant fathers to experience symptoms that only pregnant women go through. You remember how he wouldn’t stop having weird cravings, sleep troubles and vomiting--in place of his wife. He looks like he was about to die. And then, you paused momentarily. Hold on. “Do you have a pregnancy stick test?”

#projectile #bts #namjoon #bangtan #bangtan boys #knj #rm #bts fics #namjoon fics #rm fics #bangtan ff #kpop #kpop fics #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon as a husband #namjoon scenarios #beyond the scene #fics #namjoon imagines #namjoon fanfic #knj fics #knj network #hyungline fics #soft namjoon #sub namjoon #sfw

[safeforwark]

The Sun Chases the Moon [SFW]

A romance fanfiction set in Final Fantasy XIV. When I saw these two interact in post-Stormblood I knew I had to write about them becoming a couple!

Magnai has long searched for his true love, his Nhaama. An encounter with Y'shtola Rhul leaves him certain (again) that the Sun has found his Moon. After a swift rejection however, he is left to think about what could have been, or perhaps what could be...

Contains spoilers for a post-Stormblood scene. I hope you enjoy kupo!

“Nhaama’s power is yours to wield!”  Sadu, Khatun of the Dotharl, spoke in euphoric glee after extended battle with the Warrior of Light.  “What does the Sun say to that?”

“Hmph. The Sun is not driven by base motives such as yours.”  Magnai’s breath was labored, having just crossed blades with Lord Hien and Y’shtola.

“But aye, they have been judged…and found worthy.”  Magnai stood and expressed his recognition of their strength.  “The Sun shall answer you call.”

As soon as the affirmations of alliance were clear, Magnai wasted no time in turning the gaze of his brilliant yellow eyes to Y’shtola. Her face was new amongst the people not of the Steppe. Her skill was astounding, and her grace unlike anything he had ever seen. Her platinum hair framed a sharp, learned gaze from eyes of pale silver. He had not imagined such profound power from so scholarly and beautiful.

“You. By what are you called?”

Y’shtola hesitated to answer.  “Y’shtola. Why?”

“Are you…” Magnai mumbled to himself. Unable to break his gaze from the cultured conjurer. His mind swirled with revelation. He wondered if it were not possible that his destined meeting, the introduction to his Nhaama, could it not be here and now?

“You shine with the full moon’s light, your healing touch as gentle as Nhaama’s love…”  Magnai’s voice grew louder in excitement at his proclamation.

“Beholding you, I am all but certain! My Nhaama is no woman of the Steppe!”  Magnai stepped forward, his intention clear to all at this point. He stepped close to gaze into Y’shtola’s eyes.

“Now, look into my eyes. Could it be…? Could you be...?”  Magnai smiled, his stalwart confidence allowing him to be overjoyed in the moment of his union.

Y’sthola smiled sweetly at the Au Ra man.  “I am…” Her lips became straight and serious as before, her words plain and direct.  “…not interested little sun. Try again when you have become a man.”

Magnai was slow to react, his mouth falling open in shock. He had suffered countless insults from Sadu’s sharp tongue, and had admittedly been rebuffed by those who had turned out not to be his Nhaama many times. Yet somehow Y’shtola’s rejection cut him unfathomably deep.

“Little…?”

A burst of laughter followed from Sadu, who began to chide him relentlessly. Suffering such grievous insult after being rejected set Magnai’s blood to boiling, and he drew his axe without hesitation. Scarcely had the battle begun that Y’shtola elected to depart, scoffing at the asinine nature of the Xaela ‘diplomacy’, or lack thereof.

After extended battle, which did little to provide succor to his wounded pride, Magnai returned to the Dusk Throne and retired to his chambers. He wished to channel his anger into breaking something, to splitting a rock in two or crushing Dzo bones into dust. Yet something strange happened when he lifted his axe or clenched his fist. He felt blocked. The Miqo’te woman’s words rang as clear in his ears as when she spoke them.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, frustrated and defeated. Her smile was so beauteous, she had shown it to him just long enough for him to remember, yet it was gone just as swiftly, and replaced with her stern face as she rebuked him. As angry as it made him, the Oronir recognized the strong, and strength she had. How could he dismiss the admonishment of one such as her then? She had shown her wisdom to be beyond her years, there were no flaws with which to tarnish her image. And her image was indeed burned into his mind…

---

The sun was setting on another day in Mor Dhona, and the Rising Stones had grown quieter as the hustle and bustle of scions and adventurers died down. Save for Tataru’s work station…

“I’m not sure I understand…” Tataru looked wide eyed at the towering Au Ra before her.

Magnai shook his head, annoyed.  “What is not to understand. I am here to join the order, this is the fold that calls themselves the Scions of the Seventh Dawn is it not?”

“Well yes, but, you’re…” Tataru stammered, she had dealt with questionable applicants before, but dismissal based on a lack of experience or credential would probably only serve to stoke this one’s anger more.

Magnai clenched his hands into fists.  “I have journeyed far little one, do you mean to play games with the Sun?!”

“Eep!”  Tataru jumped out of her seat and shuffled towards the door to the back room.  “I-I must consult a senior member you see, er, we will get back to you, terribly sorry!”

As the Lalafell vanished into the back Magnai sat down with his arms folded. The pure ridiculousness of the lengths he must go to. For her though… it would all be worth it to win his Nhaama…

After several minutes Alphinaud emerged from the back with Tataru in tow.

Alphinaud approached and extended his hand in greeting.  “Magnai was it? It is an honor to speak with the khatun of the Oronir. I am given to understand you are quite the magnanimous leader on the steppe.”

Tataru eyed Magnai sideways, leaning shyly toward Alphinaud as she tried to whisper to him. “Alphinaud that’s not what I—"

“It is the duty of the Sun to shepherd his people.”  Magnai hesitated, but then grasped Alphinaud’s hand.  “This land is far from the steppe however, and I am come to learn of its ways, of you Eorzeans.”

Alphinaud tilted his head a little, but still wore a diplomatic smile.  “Full glad are we to have your interest, let alone your presence. Pray tell though, why do you wish to become a Scion? Certainly there are other ways to learn of this land and its people.”

Magnai’s stern face clearly became focused on something altogether in his mind. He tilted his head back and folded his arms.  “Because the moon herself is of your fold, and of your people.”

Alphinaud and Tataru stood with slightly confused expressions, unsure of how to respond.

Magnai returned his gaze downward to the extant world.  “If this is the way of fate, than it is the responsibility of the Sun to shine for all his people. I must act not for the people of my blood alone, but hers as well. I would honor the moon in this way.”

Tataru tugged on Alphinaud’s sleeve, attempting again to deliver her words in a hushed tone. “This seems rather suspicious, I don’t think—"

“Very well!” Alphinaud smile as he boldly raised his voice.  “I would normally think to cross examine you more, but your passion as a defender of the people is plain. Your willingness to incorporate a larger body of people not your own is truly altruistic, and will serve you well.”

Tataru’s jaw slowly dropped open, she looked at Magnai, and then back at Alphinaud, and back at Magnai.

Alphinaud continued, “You see I am also not of Eorzea, in fact a great deal of the senior scions hail from the shores of Sharlayan, including the likes of myself, Urianger, and Y’shtola.”

Magnai’s expression changed upon hearing Y’shtola’s name. The change was ever so slight, but Tataru raised an eyebrow, noticing his widened eyes and retraction of his scowl.

Magnai nodded, slightly more enthusiastic for dealing with him.  “I am… grateful… for your acceptance. I would be happy to stand beside these… senior members.”

Alphinaud put a hand to his chin.  “Well, I certainly needn’t question your strength. I received a first hand account of your prowess during the Naadam from the Warrior of Light themselves. If you are truly willing to put yourself into potential danger for us, mayhap you could greatly aid some of our senior members…”

Tataru folder her arms and narrowed her eyes as she sat down, watching as Alphinaud chattered away with Magnai.

“It sounds as though stealth does not suit your skillset, and Urangier would not have much use for your axe… One of the members I mentioned, she is a healer. She is powerful in her own right, but having a warrior such as yourself would ward her from danger, and her skills would no doubt bolster your own battle capability.”

As they begin to walk away, Tataru silently shook her head. This could not possibly end well…

---

The sun was shining brilliantly over Vyllbrand.

“My… companion and I require passage across.”  Y’shtola passed a purse of gil to the ferrymen. She glanced back at Magnai. He was staring at her again, a small smile on his face. Rather he was almost always staring at her, which incidentally seemed to be the only time he saw reason to smile about anything. In her opinion the entire situation was as unwelcome as it was unnecessary. She sighed as the pair stepped into the small dingy.

Alphinaud had foisted it upon her without much choice. She remembered the conversation between them, how Alphinaud had seen ‘great potential for an ally’ and ‘a chance to diversify the scion’s staff’. While the order had decided on a loose structure, he was being awfully presumptuous to make such a decision without consulting anyone. Then he had brought him all the way to her with no warning! Y’shtola furrowed her brow. She had nowhere else to send him, he hadn’t the first clue about Eorzea, and Alphinaud had quickly managed to wash his hands of all responsibility.

“What troubles you, my… ah… Y’shtola.”  Magnai caught himself, she had put a swift end to being called the endearing title of Nhaama.

Y’shtola swept a hand through her hair.  “Nothing of consequence…”

She gestured to the approaching isle of Umbra, and the grand lighthouse skewered with corrupted crystal. “The Pharos Sirius, it was once the grandest single structure on Vyllbrand.”  Y’shtola had already quickly adopted the habit of explaining visible points of interest as if a common tour guide. This was often the only thing that would break his gaze away from her for a time.

Magnai took in the structure, thinking that from the very top it must be much taller than even the Dawn Throne.  “It is impressive to reach to the heavens so. Yet now it is…”

“Derelict, aye…” Y’shtola stared at the enormous shard that pierced the tower, clearly seeing it’s outline because of the corrupted aether within.  “This but one of many things destroyed in the calamity, and it is not the worst of it.”

Y’shtola looked toward the mainland coastline.  “For one who knew the lay of this land, it is a constant reminder. Where you now see barren bramble once stood verdant grains. Where you now see cliffs and peaks once lay fields and streams. Where you see rubble stood homes, and the families that built them…”

As Y’shtola’s voice faded from a hush to silence, the boat rocked gently with the waves, its small splashes in the water the only noise to break the silence. Magnai crossed his arms and looked at all he could see around him, noting every uneven break in the terrain, every set of decayed foliage, and finally the giant crystal shard that pierced the pharos.

“…To have the very heavens fall around you. The people of this land have suffered greatly.” Magnai’s tone was heavy.

The distinctly emotional response surprised Y’shtola. He seemed to truly take the gravity of her explanation to heart. She found herself staring at him for a change, watching his stern expression as he seemed to reflect upon the perspective she had presented him. They had only been traveling together a few days, mayhap she needn’t be so quick to judgement, her lack of patience with people these days was reminding her too much of her old mentor…

Magnai stood as the dingy approached the shores of Umbra, rocking the small boat with his size. His grip tightened on his axe.  “This place is abandoned then? Will there be aught to fight?”

Y’shtola gripped the sides of the rocking boat and flattened her ears, thinking that on the other hand she shouldn’t forget all she had witnessed on the steppe.

As the boat moored itself against the sand beneath it Y’shtola hopped over the side with Magnai following close behind. The waves lapped at her boots as she walked ashore. As they approached Y’shtola’s senses could make out the worn stairway leading up the Pharos. The scene was quiet, which would be conducive to her work, had she not a curious and love-struck follower ilms away from her at all times.

“Alright, I need to examine the crystals. It is dangerous to linger about them for too long, so keep your distance for awhi—”

Both heard the soft skittering in the sand approaching. Magnai raised his axe as several mantises appeared from the rocky terrain.

“Seems my quiet was not meant to be…”  Y’shtola sighed.

---

Though their pairing was farcical to Y’shtola, she did not dismiss Magnai, assuming he would tire of his duties or of her before long and return to Othard of his own volition. Days turned to weeks however, and as their time together stretched into months Y’shtola started forgetting to wonder when he would leave. It started to become all too second nature to plan accordingly for having him travel with her.

Much of her time was devoted to research, trying to understand the changes in the aether around the world. Magnai was a useful protector if naught else during such times, clearing hostile beasts and saving Y’shtola the trouble. Any other time he was simply observing her or asking questions about the world around them. Familiarity made his gaze less and less bothersome, and she began to enjoy teaching him about Eorzea, wondering if the self-satisfaction of enlightening such a wild and uncouth individual was how Matoya had felt teaching her.

On a typical overcast day, Y’shtola and Magnai set out for Oakwood. She had been asked by Limsan officials to look into the local fauna behaving strangely, with no naturalist able to discern why. They walked in quiet along a gentle stream as Y’shtola tried to spot any unusual patterns in the aether. Suddenly the sound of splashing water and screams broke the silence.

“Please!! Help!!”  A child’s voice, panicked and sobbing.

They both spied the young girl immediately, running across the shallow stream ahead of them. A group of three coeurl’s darted about on her sides, making ready to pounce on the child. Both Y’shtola and Magnai sprinted forward without hesitation.

Y’shtola shouted, “Magnai, the right!”

As Y’shtola jumped directly in front of the child Magnai flew passed them, bringing his axe down as quick as lightning on one of the coeurls, cleaving it against the ground before it could react. The other coeurl leapt at him with fangs bared, but was met with the flat side of Magnai’s weapon as he absorbed the force of its leap, and then threw the beast to the side. By the time it pounced back onto its legs, Magnai was bearing down on it, one slash of his axe leaving it bereft of life.

The third coeurl sprinted directly at Y’shtola and the child. Y’shtola conjured a flurry of biting wind that assailed it from the front, causing the beast to flinch and redirect its course. Before it could make another attempt Y’shtola focused on her staff, and a strong line of white light sliced through the air. The beast took only a single step before falling to the ground, thereafter motionless.

With the threat removed they turned their attention to the whimpering girl.

Y’shtola kneeled down in front of her.  “You’re alright now little one. What were you doing out here?”

The girl sniffled as she spoke.  “I… I jus’ wanted t’ fish… My da’ never lets me…”

Y’shtola nodded. “Mayhap for good reason, this place is not safe for a child on her own.”

The child whimpered, “E’ says… the wolves tha’ take our livestock would get me… but I ‘ate stayin’ inside the fence all day…”

Y’shtola shook her head. “It is for your own safety little one...”

“Nonsense.”  Magnai stepped forward toward them. Y’shtola looked at him in surprise, confused as to why he would interject.

The intimidating Au Ra stood dauntingly high over the young hyur girl. The shaken child looked at him anxiously, fearful of his intimidating presence. Magnai pulled a hatchet from his robe, presenting it to the little girl.

“Take it in your hand.”

The girl nervously reached for and put her hand on the handle. As Magnai let go the heavy hatchet fell to the ground with her fingers still around it. The girl put her strength into lifting it back up, the tool clearly being unwieldly in her hands.

Magnai addressed her sternly.  “Do not dishonor your family by becoming food for the beasts. You must find the strength to protect your land and your people. Thus do we earn the right to take of its bounty. Do not venture forth again until you can split a stone as big as you with your swing.”

The girl stared at him wide eyed and nodded. After it became clear Magnai had nothing else to say to her, she pointed down the path.  “My ‘ome is there…”

Magnai crossed his arms. “You set out on this journey by your own will, you must be able to complete that which you begin. Go forth, we shall follow.”

The girl nodded nervously. She turned around and began walking down the path, stopping and turning her head to look back at them every few steps. Magnai’s piercing gaze would drive her to take another few steps forward before having to look back again to ensure they were still there. As she forged on Y’shtola stood up and walked with Magnai as they trailed behind her.

She had not expected someone who had shown such disregard for simple diplomacy to have such a way with children. She felt remiss in calling him uncultured, even if she had found the Xaela practices oafish and savage. Now as she looked at Magnai she saw the aura of his aether differently, in a way she somehow never noticed before. His aura always looked so fiery and intense, she thought his ill-tempered and capricious nature to be the cause. Though as intense as it could be, she now observed how gently it glowed, so bright yet… a warm, welcoming incandescence.

“I am surprised at how well you handled the child. A bit blunt, but you gave her direction while warning her of the danger.”  Y’shtola’s tone belied her curiosity.

Magnai kept his gaze fixed on the young girl walking ahead of them.  “Children are not beasts to be tamed. They should be guided to reach their own heights, with their own actions, that is how we Oronir teach the value of strength.”

Magnai smiled to himself. “I can tell you were not brought up on so different of lessons, your will is like that of the steppe. I imagine they who raised you knew well the value of strength.”

Y’shtola’s ears perked up, her lips parting without sound as Matoya flashed through her mind. To think that he of all people could have such insight. She chuckled quietly to herself and smiled.

“Perhaps…”

---

The sun was already sinking below the horizon as Y’shtola and Magnai stepped onto the docks in Kugane.

Magnai looked around at the Hingan city.  “It has been a long time since I set out from this land to find you.”

Y’shtola scoffed at him. “Perhaps had you thought to investigate my identity rather than blindly asking everyone my name you would have found me much sooner.”

Magnai furled his brow. “Hmph.”

“Come.”  Y’shtola began walking along the pier.  “The Ruby Sea will be easier to cross by day, we’ll resume our journey to Othard tomorrow.”

As they crossed the city Magnai looked to the sky. The paper lanterns were hardly needed this evening, their soft glow outcompeted by the brilliant light of the full moon. He took a deep breath, gazing at its luster.

“Are you coming? Or do you intend to take in the night life?”  Y’shtola’s voice called out to him.

He looked back down from the heavens to see her standing in front of the inn. A sweet smile on her face. The same smile he had seen so long ago, on the day he first met her. He smiled himself, and then followed her inside.

---

“It has been too long since we were able to bathe and have a proper night’s rest.”  Y’shtola mused as she closed the door, returning from the baths. Y’shtola had donned a pure white yukata, beautifully complimenting her fair skin, much of which could be seen as the garment barely draped around her thighs. Magnai’s red skin conveniently masked the flushing of his face.

Y’shtola sat on the edge of the cot, looking over at Magnai, who sat at the window looking out over the inn’s moonlit garden. Tataru’s frugality was beginning to become extreme, one of her demands being that those afield together share lodgings. By now Y’shtola had become far too used to the company to complain.

“How does it look?”

Magnai turned to look back at her.  “It is lovely. The moon shines in great splendor tonight. It is… a shame you cannot behold it.”

Y’shtola shook her head. “I am still blessed to see a great deal. In ways I might never have imagined.”

Magnai stood and faced her, dramatically holding out his hands.  “Just as well, the sight still pales in comparison to your own radiance.”

Y’shtola tilted her head, letting her smile show as she did.  “Now on that I will simply have to take your word.”

Magnai walked over and kneeled down in front of Y’shtola.  “Tell me, long have I feared asking one who truly sees all as it is. What do you see, when you look at me?”

“I see…”  the strange mixture of emotion in his voice struck a chord with Y’shtola. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.  “A brilliant glow, it is bright and passionate enough to stand out among many, almost overbearingly so. Yet it shines softly, with purpose on all it touches. It is warm and welcoming, like the daybreak after a long night.”

Magnai nodded slowly, then reached to take up one of Y’shtola’s hands.  “Your words are succor to my heart. Though all my time with you has been a blessing. To be the Sun, yet see so little beyond thine own radiance is folly. You have been as my moon, showing me that the Sun’s brilliance is naught without aught to shine on.”

Y’shtola was taken aback by Magnai’s uncharacteristically eloquent speech. Squeezing the hand that held hers.  “I am moved that you would credit me with such. The… Sun, should be proud of his own accomplishments. Though I cannot help but wonder If he’s been listening to Thancred spin words for passing beauties.”

Magnai shook his head. “The Sun shines for all, but chases only after his moon.”

His free hand gingerly touched Y’shtola’s cheek as he leaned in toward her. Y’shtola looked at him softly, without speaking a word in response. As his face neared hers, he pulled her in until their lips met. His gentle demeanor didn’t surprise Y’shtola so much anymore. As their lips held together, she wondered if she just hadn’t been able to see it at first, or if their time together had brought out a different side of him.

The side of her yukata slipped down over her right shoulder as they kissed once more, and again, and again…

Outside their window in the garden it was quiet, with only the glowing moon as witness until it sank from the sky to give way to the dawn.

---

Y’shtola woke first, her unconscious stretching waking Magnai as she moved in his arms. They wearily opened their eyes and met each other’s gaze. They smiled at each other as thoughts of the many months leading to previous night drifted through their mind. Unusual for him, Magnai felt himself at a loss for words. Holding Y’shtola in his arms, feeling affection and warmth from her embrace, he finally felt… content.

Y’shtola sighed softly, speaking in a hushed tone, her normally strong words hinting at embarrassment. “I suppose this makes me… your Nhaama...”

They hugged each other a little tighter…

---

Magnai walked down the trail ahead of Y’shtola, his axe sitting on his shoulder as he took long, energetic steps. He reached the crest of a hill overlooking the valley path towards the Azim Steppe.

“Ah, we are so close to the Steppe! I can smell it’s familiar air on the breeze!”

Y’shtola chuckled as she walked up beside him.  “I’ve not seen you so giddy since we found that Wind-up Sun in the markets.”

Magnai nodded.  “It is momentous for the Sun to finally return to the Steppe, and when I tell them I now have my Moo—OOMPH.”

A stiff arm to the stomach cut Magnai short, as Y’shtola stared sternly.

“and I told you not to call me such til we are behind closed doors.”  Y’shtola gave him a coy smile.  “My dearest Sun.”

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV fanfiction #Romance fanfiction #Y'shtola #Magnai #Safe For Wark

[southsidewrites]

Night Shift (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Summary: While working the night shift at Pop’s, you meet a certain flirty Serpent, and he won’t take no for an answer.

Word Count: 1195

Request: From anon: “Can you do a sweet pea x reader one where she is a Northsider and waitress at pops diner and pea and a group of serpents come in and he hits on her all night until she agrees to go on a date with him.”

Author’s Note: Just a little flirty Sweet Pea drabble.  Sorry it’s a bit short, but I have lots of longer stuff coming soon!

Requests Open || Masterlist 

~~~~~

As usual, you were stuck on the night shift. It was the summer after graduation, and you were working like crazy at Pop's to save money for college in the fall. This meant that you got stuck with all the worst shifts, everything from early mornings to late nights, usually back-to-back.  

You had been absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook on your phone when you heard the distinctive bell at the door.  When you looked up, you felt your heart thump in your chest.  Serpents. Of the four, you knew Toni and Jughead from class and Fangs from drama club, but the tallest one, you had never met.

Fangs walked over to the counter and leaned over it as his friends sat down. "Hey, Y/N."

"Hey, Fangs." You set your phone down with a grin. "What brings you to Pop's at midnight on a Wednesday?"

"Hungry," he replied with a shrug.  Then he glanced back at his friends. "Any chance you'd want to join us?"

"I'm working, Fogarty."

"Yeah, and we're you're only customers." His grin was widening.  It was a look that you recognized, a look that told you he was up to something.

"How about this?  I'll take your order, and then I'll come back to the counter, sit my ass back down, and keep looking at Facebook until I pass out of boredom."

"Lame." Still smiling, he walked back to his table and sat down.

Rolling your eyes, you followed, your order pad and pen in hand.  When you got to the table, you noticed the conversation hush.  Suspicious, but not unheard of when dealing with Serpents. They were so normal in class most of the time that you sometimes forget they were literal criminals outside of school.

"What can I get for you guys?"

"Cheeseburger, fries, and a coke," Toni answered first.

"Three cheeseburgers, onion rings, and a chocolate shake," Jughead said.

"Just a double cheeseburger and a chocolate shake for me," Fangs said.

You turned your gaze to the final Serpent, the one you didn't know.  He was giving you a half smile that made your heart beat a little faster. “And for you?”

"Depends, are you on the menu?"

You nearly choked, and Fangs rolled his eyes. Toni was shaking her head, and Jughead just snorted with laughter.

"I—um—I can—"

"Don't worry about it, princess." He leaned back in the booth, running his hand through his hair to push it from his face. "I suppose a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla shake would work too."

You nodded, writing down his order and praying your whole face hadn't turned bright red.  "I'll get that in right away."  You scurried away, your heart still feeling like it might pound out of your chest.

"Lay it on thick, why don't you, Pea?" Fangs murmured. "Dumbass."

You smirked and sat back down in your spot behind the counter.  Your heart rate finally seemed to be calming down, and you could feel the heat leaving your face.  Two could play that game.

~~~~~

When you brought the Serpents their food, you were ready for whatever the tall Serpent was going to throw at you.  You set down all their food and then smiled, your gaze moving slowly over him, over his dark hair, his warm eyes, his broad shoulders.  You were in trouble.

"Can I get you guys anything else?" You kept your gaze on him.

"Wouldn't mind a little bit of you, princess."

"Ooh, too bad you need to pay extra for that." You allowed your lips to curve into a slight grin. "And I'm not sure you've got enough on you."

His smile widening, he sat up straighter in his seat, leaning against the table. "I don't think you know what I've got."

You flicked your gaze downward. "I think I have an idea."

Fangs and Jughead were both biting back laughter, and Toni seemed like she'd rather be anywhere else.

He held your gaze. "Maybe you'll let me prove it to you after your shift is over."

"My shift isn't over until four in the morning."

"Good thing I'm a patient man."

You rolled your eyes. "Enjoy your meals. I'll be at the counter if you need anything."

~~~~~

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, you couldn't seem to be able to go more than a few seconds without looking at the tall Serpent, and he seemed to be doing the same.  Every few minutes, you'd make eye contact, and he'd wink at you. You didn't know what had gotten into you—why he was having this strong of an effect.  You did your best to be resistant to men's charms.  Of course, Fangs had been able to charm you into more than one backstage make out sessions during musical rehearsal.  Maybe you just had a thing for Serpents.  

The next time you glanced at the table, Fangs was calling you over.  Sighing, you walked over, straightening out your terrible yellow shirt as you walked.

"What can I get you guys?"

"I think we're ready for checks," Toni said, giving her friend a pointed look.

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I want, princess."

"Maybe start using my name, and you might be more likely to get what you want, skyscraper."

He smirked. "But I don't even know your name."

There was not a doubt in your mind that Fangs had already told him your name. "You seem like a smart guy—I'm sure you can figure it out." You started handing out checks, making a special effort to lean over the table and set Sweet Pea’s down as slowly as you could, giving him a good look down your shirt.  You smirked when you saw his jaw tighten.

Toni rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Y/N.” Her, Fangs, and Jughead started pulling out money, but Sweet Pea just held his receipt and looked at you.

“Yes?” you asked, resting your hand on your hip.

“It looks like you forgot something on here.”

“What would that be?”

“Your number.”

Your eyes widened at his boldness. “Charming.”

“Aren’t I? Really though, Y/N, I need your number. I can’t possibly leave this diner without you agreeing to go on a date with me.” He was reclined casually in the booth, looking at you like he had all the confidence in the world you would say yes.

“I don’t remember you asking me out.”

“This is it, princess.  So, what do you say?” His smile was bright and surprisingly genuine.

You bit your lip, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you thought it over. “Fine.  One date.”

A grin split across his face, and Fangs and Jughead fist-bumped under the table. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

“Sounds good.” You could barely contain their smile as they walked out of the diner, and you walked back to the kitchen.

Pop Tate was standing at the counter, watching with an amused smile. “And here you said that you hated working night shift.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do, Pop, really.”

His warm smile widened, and there was a bright glint in his eyes. “Sure, Y/N, whatever you say.”

~~~~~

Thanks for reading!  If you enjoyed it, please check out my Masterlist, and feel free to make requests.

Requests Open || Masterlist

Sweet Pea Taglist (let me know if you want to be added)

@trashsiara @djdre92 @dream-catcheer @xdontxcare @avengersbabe13 @kikii-stfu @riverdale-enthusiastt @pumpkinqueenb @inlovewsweetpea @inspiredbynewt @cece-lives-here @thosefreckledeyes @im5-tw @moonchildcorbin @akkurates @miathestrup @kaylaarann @southsidemistress @savagebbygrl @slut-for-fandoms @everheart12 @lena-davina @lilthefucknot @supernaturalbaesduh @trust-me-im-joly @prettymuchboodup @everythingforsweetpea @princess-of-the-fandoms @live-love-bailar @fangsandsweets @lookatallthefeels @whatta-babe @sa-dthots @sweetpeaobsessed @lovenderrose @poolpartyingwithjaws @jcc04220 @the-ghost-of-hemingway @nope-thanks @pvnk-bivch @ella-full-of-secrets @irishfangirlxo 

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fic #sweet pea x reader #riverdale #riverdale imagine #sweet pea drabble #jordan connor #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea reader insert #reader insert #my writing #southside serpents #sweet pea request

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

And now for some (political) world building. Also introducing the story 'villain(s)'?

Count Nimat Veger stared down at the ground off in the distance with narrowed eyes and a frown across his lips. He tapped his fingers across the head of his cane, focus almost entirely upon the distant head of Ashelin Praxis. The entirety of the council and the ruling body of Haven rested just a floor below—they just finished an afternoon meal offered by the Praxis estate to apologize for the long delay. The council convened early in the morning and it seemed the young Praxis suffered from delay after delay for whatever reason she even called them for.

“Sir?” Veger slipped his gaze over to his young apprentice. The boy had come into his care following the death of his parents, slipped there at the behest of the Baron, and the only other remaining relative the child had young though said relative had been. Veger’d been quite happy to impart his knowledge onto such a noble lineage, and even now he found himself pleased with the results.

“Mr. Aksoy,” Veger murmured. “What do you think the young Praxis heiress is planning?”

Koray ran his fingers thoughtfully over the folders that he’d been instructed to hold onto thoughtfully. Bright golden eyes appeared pensive behind the spectacles that covered them, lips pressed thin.

“She wants to save her precious rebels,” Koray said carefully. “Especially ex-Commander Torn.”

“Mm, young love,” Veger mused faintly.

“Whatever Ashelin plans it most assuredly has something to do with them,” Koray continued. “She’s been protecting their involvement since before the invasion.”

“You think she knows the location of the rebellion’s mysterious ‘Shadow’ then?” Veger questioned, turning back to stare down at the ground below. He frowned when he saw three of the ‘Underground’ fighters each the palace steps.

“Most assuredly,” Koray agreed. His fingers tightened around the folders. “And that…Jak.”

“You think she’s protecting the abomination,” Veger mused.

Koray nodded, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “She must be. After all if he truly is….”

“It would be her best bet,” Veger agreed, carefully interjecting before Koray could finish the thought. It wouldn’t do to reveal their knowledge before the time was right. “She’ll want to use her precious Underground, don’t you agree?”

“Furthering her agenda?” Koray mused. “It does sound like Ashelin.”

Veger hummed and tracked the small rodent that rode upon one Underground member’s shoulder. It and Ashelin were obviously in some sort of heated conversation.

“What should we call them then?” Veger wondered aloud. “Something befitting their…perceived rebellion.”

“You mean something that Ashelin might propose to cement their trust in her,” Koray agreed. “They fancy themselves freedom fighters, don’t they?”

“Freedom League does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Veger chuckled, and turned from the window. He had enough of an idea of what would happen now. It seemed all so simple in the end.

“Sir?” Koray turned to follow after Veger with a furrowed brow.

“Do distract Ashelin and her guest for me, will you?” Veger said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll go prepare the…council.”

Koray nodded sharply and strode off toward the elevator Ashelin would undoubtedly use; it sat separate from the main council elevators, once used by the House of Mar almost exclusively. When they were almost at opposite ends of the hall Veger paused, turned, and called out to Koray calmly. Koray glanced back, eyebrows arched.

“I know you might want to,” Veger said calmly, “but don’t antagonize Jak. We don’t want to share our hand too early, now do we?”

Koray nodded with his teeth ground together. Veger in the end was quite right—they wouldn’t do to antagonize Jak and show their hand this soon. Not when there was much more to be accomplished, and so little time to do it in. Veger smiled, utterly pleased, and continued on his way with a faint whistle. Yes, getting a hold of Koray at the age he had was simply the most wonderful thing he could have done. Now to prepare the council.

The wait for the elevator took far longer than Koray expected. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve believed that Ashelin rigged the darn thing to stop anyone else from going up in it. However, Koray took this very same elevator not even the day previous and it worked just fine then. Eventually the elevator began to tick back downward to Koray’s sigh of relief. He waited until it came to a rest upon his floor; for the door to open and reveal the people he knew to be inside.

Koray stood stiff, proper, but he couldn’t help the blank blinking that happened once the doors were opened. Ashelin he knew, prepared to greet even. Ex-Commander Torn stood recognizable by the brat dressed in clothes fit for a king. Even the little rodent—although Koray never received the pleasure of making the thing’s acquaintance, and he doubted pleasure even counted there—but upon where the rodent sat….

“Rahmi?” Koray almost stuttered, face slightly paler.

Ashelin glanced between Koray and the Underground soldier; Torn next to Jak scowled. Whether because one of his soldiers happened to be known to Koray, or for another reason entirely didn’t matter.

‘Rahmi’ opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. The tinny quality to her words almost magnified her bitterness as she spoke. “I am not Rahmi. Rahmi is dead.”

Koray shook his head. “There has been no report of—”

“My brother is dead, Aksoy,” she said sharply. Daxter threaded his fingers into her hair, a calming gesture normally used on Jak.

“Koray,” Ashelin interjected sharply. “What are you doing on this floor? Shouldn’t you be attending your Count?”

Koray visibly jerked, then bowed his head disconnectedly in a way that really showed he’d rather not provide Ashelin the courtesy.

“Ashelin,” Koray deferred politely. “Count Veger and I got separated earlier after the meal you so graciously provided. I was on my way to return, but the elevator….”

“Is private,” Ashelin uttered slowly. “This elevator also touches upon private floors.”

“I had not realized.” Koray’s smile betrayed his words. Jak twitched, an eye glance to Daxter, a slight curl to his lips. “May I join you?”

Torn spoke up, carefully, “It would be best if you took the elevator down the hall, the one meant for public floors.”

Koray raised an eyebrow at the sudden presumption of the ex-KG Commander, especially considering to even use the other elevator when on one of the private floors you needed to be capable of entering in either a code—or of gaining permission. The private elevator needed a code from the first floor only, and all other floors on it operated without—Veger explained everything quite clearly to him when he first entered the Palace back when he’d been remanded into the man’s care.

“I had not been made aware of your reinstatement,” Koray said lightly.

“You are not a member of the Council who dealt with matters of security,” Torn replied calmly. “Neither is Count Veger. I am not surprised you do not know.” With that Torn leaned past Jak, and Koray noted how the boy twitched nervously and said nothing throughout the entire exchange, and pressed the button to send the elevator back down.

For a minute Koray stared at the shut doors, a scowl on his lips. He quite hoped that his distraction worked well enough for Veger, and he detested the utterly rude behavior of the ex-Commander. He rather hoped that Veger’s plans would lead towards the ex-Commander’s final fall from grace. He never did have any respect for the noble houses.

Veger just barely finished speaking to maybe a third of the council chambers, whispering his ideas and thoughts on the events to unfold—laying the groundwork and the seeds to continue the status quo eventually—when Ashelin stepped into the room. The entire council chamber hushed. Ashelin glanced over them all, much like a queen glancing over her court, and in response everyone shifted back towards their own respective seats.

Veger’s spot resided just a bit to the left of House Praxis, something considered much of an honor these days—and even before, when Damas ruled the city, House Veger’s position held prestige for their alliance with House Praxis. He settled down into his seat primly and sought out any sign of Koray. Veger fought down a frown when he couldn’t find the boy, not even sneaking into the room like a naughty child.

With everyone seated Ashelin nodded once, and took in a deep breath.

“To this august body, councilmen, councilwoman, and noble houses alike I apologize for the delay,” Ashelin said formally. “My preparations have been assailed upon all fronts due to undiscovered machinations of my father. This is not an excuse!” Ashelin held up her hand to forestall any reply. “I should have anticipated these problems in light of what I called you here for, but I digress.”

Veger had to admire the girl. She stood tall, straight-backed, and more often than not with her hands clasped behind her at parade rest. Her father certainly trained her well, he noted.

“The matters which I have come to discuss with you here today are in hot debate already,” Ashelin continued. “We’ve come to no true arrangement in regards to the Underground resistance members—” she had to raise her voice at the slight murmuring that grew, “—which is part of the solution I am here to propose. You’ve heard from Commander Torn, myself, and several other key members of the Underground that they’ve fought for Haven. For what Haven used to be—before my father, before the Krimson Guard became the boogeyman that the everyday citizen fears. The Underground has claimed again and again that they fight under the banner of the House of Mar—and I come here to prove that today.”

Ashelin turned, and Veger watched with anticipation as the door slipped open and Mar—oh the precious child grown up to be such an abomination—stepped through that door. His head was held high, but Veger could easily calculate the levels of dark eco in his system vying just beneath the surface from the pallor of his skin. Oh he was surprised, a bit, at how Ashelin had chosen to dress the boy—he looked so much like Damas it was a bit of a punch to the gut. Mar had grown wonderfully, even with the dark eco treatments Praxis gave him. He stood regally, and Veger knew there had to be some coaching for that, somewhere. The boy he knew still acted as uncouth as ever—this Mar was a bit more graceful, a bit more like his father and grandfather both.

Behind Mar entered an Underground member, another surprise. She looked vaguely familiar—something about the russet color of her hair, perhaps, but the eyes were all wrong. They were a dull brown and not the fire-bright orange-gold he’d once seen in a similar face. Upon her shoulder sat the rodent—the best friend from a time long lost. Veger kept his face as neutral as possible despite whatever he felt. He listened to Ashelin’s undoubtedly wonderful explanation.

“I present to you, councilmen, councilwomen, and noble houses, Prince Jak of the House of Mar,” Ashelin said, and the whole room fell instantly silent. Mar—Jak—stepped up until he was even with Ashelin, and silently surveyed the room. “Prince Jak has worked with the Underground for a full year now, and before that was in the care of the Underground leader, the Shadow.”

“Where is the seal?”

Veger pinpointed the voice of elder matriarch Zoe who stood talk with her gray hair bound tightly into a bun. Her eclectic eyes practically glowed from beneath the rims of her glasses and she visibly seemed to vibrate. Veger pinched back a sigh at the interruption.

“Furthermore why you have you convened the whole council, and not just the sage lines as historically happens when succession is brought to bear?” Zoe continued sharply, gaze focused entirely upon Jak. “A mere likeness to the House of Mar does not denote an heir after all, as I’m sure you well know Heiress Praxis.”

Ashelin paled a bit, but Jak stepped forward. Veger couldn’t help but lean towards the spectacle before him, curious. He watched Jak bow—polite, actually deferring to the matriarch, interesting—and when the boy spoke well, Veger never did quite get the chance to hear his voice before.

“Matriarch Asul,” Jak said, and Veger found it delightful how Ashelin jerked in shock. Wasn’t the abomination just full of surprises? “Ashelin has convened the entire council because of the unusual circumstances surrounding this entire affair. I…lost the seal of my House as a small child.”

Veger paused, he had to visibly shake himself and he wasn’t the only one. The boy had done what?!

“It was some time after Samos took me under his wing,” Jak continued. “However Samos, Ashelin, Torn and myself have come up with a suitable way to prove to you my identity—aside from traversing the Trials as my ancestors before me, since no one but an heir to the House of Mar can be witnessed to such an event.”

“That and, well, been there, done that,” the rodent piped up. Jak rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Dax, thank you,” Jak huffed, and Veger saw a faint smile cross Zoe’s face. Interesting.

Ashelin took over from there, wrestling herself back under control. “Unfortunately this is where the delay has come in. My father had seen fit to remove all chances of proving an heir to the House of Mar.”

Shocked whispers wove throughout the room, and Veger had to stop himself from letting out a sharp curse. Dratted Praxis couldn’t even be bothered to display a fake!?

“Thankfully, over this past year, Jak and his friend Daxter located the Ruby Key, one of the few artifacts—”

“We know the Ruby Key,” Zoe interrupted. “Ashelin Praxis this august body has been waiting all day for this nonsense, pardon me when I say to get it on with. We’ll deal with the discovery of the Key, it’s history, and the results of this little show later.”

Ashelin swallowed. Veger swallowed. He hadn’t realized the old bat had a spine to her.

Without any further words Ashelin nodded to the rodent, who pulled over a bag and presented the Ruby Key. Veger could already tell that it was in fact the genuine article, and he felt his mouth go dry. The implications only just began to actually cross his mind—no seal, an actual artifact from Mar, a true-blooded heir—when Jak grasped the Key firmly and made the gem within swirl with eco. He then took it a step further and coaxed the eco out, a small bit of sweat on his brow told Veger exactly how hard this was for the boy, until his whole hand lit up bright red with it.

The entire council fell silent aside from Zoe, who smiled like a cat who got the crème. For a moment Veger swore she looked right at him as she dipped her head, and so followed the rest of the council—Veger himself forcing the deferential motion much to his distaste.

“Welcome, King Jak,” Zoe greeted calmly, “of the House of Mar.”

Shit.

​

#fic: patriciate #fanfic #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #canon divergence #wip