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avastrasposts · 5 months

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A Baker's Dozen - Three

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hi!

Look at all the love you guys gave Din last week! I'm completely overwhelmed and flustered and I'm so happy you guys love this little series of Pedro boys and, apparently, the luckiest woman in the world. I love exploring their voices and aaaaall the fluff and sweetness I want to cram into these stories. But before we meet Pedro boy number three I have to give a few shout outs: First to @maggiemayhemnj because of certain fashion choices in this story... Secondly to @trulybetty and @for-a-longlongtime who actually made Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread from the first part! Dieter would be very proud of you both and then steal half the pan.

Series Master List

Now, enter Pedro boy number three, and look who it is...

You almost drop Mrs. Levinson’s bag of cardamom rolls when you see him stepping through the door with a hesitant look on his face. The tool belt sits low on his narrow hips, the faded denim shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and he’s looking around the bakery with a cautious frown. It’s like he’s stepped out of the pages of a calendar of sexy construction workers, and you mentally pick your jaw off the floor as he looks over at you.

“Here you go Mrs. Levinson,” you say, adding the last cardamom roll to her bag and forcing your eyes away from the man.

“Thank you dear,” she replies, giving you a sweet smile as she puts her hand on top of yours, “Have you seen Mrs Morales lately?”

“No, Mrs Levinson, I haven’t.”

“Ask her about her son the next time she comes in, he’s such a sweetheart,” she pats your hand a few times, taking her bag.

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, see you next week,” you wave as she makes her way to the front door, the man with the construction belt holding it open for her with a polite, “Ma’am.”

As he closes the door, you take a few steadying breaths, and smile as he comes over to the counter.

“How can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on his face and not let them stray to the freckles that disappear under the V of his shirt.

He rubs his hands together, wiping at a stain that won’t budge, and gives you a small smile.

“I’m wonderin’ if you offer baking lessons here?

His Texas drawl is smooth and low, a pleasant lilt to his baritone voice and it just adds to his attraction. You wonder if he’s aware of how good looking he is, he doesn’t have that air or attitude. Instead he shrugs his shoulders and puts one hand into his pocket, the other one twitching nervously at his side as he waits for your answer.

“I don’t do regular baking lessons but I’m sure I can arrange something,” you reply, “what did you have in mind?”

“Well, my daughter, her birthday’s comin’ up and I’d like to make her a cake or a pie or…or somethin’ that’s not just a supermarket cake,” he says, “But I don’t know the first thing about baking and I reckon I might need a bit of help or I’ll burn the kitchen down.” He furrows his brow as he talks, looking up at you with chocolate brown eyes, his hand still twitching by his side.

“That sounds like a very good reason to learn some baking, I'd be more than happy to help,” you smile at him and his forehead smooths out as he smiles back at you.

“Really? That’d be great, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, and I’ll only charge you for the ingredients, not the lesson,” you say as you bend down and get your calendar out from under the counter.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” the man protests, “I have to pay you for your time.”

“How about you pay me with time?” you ask, looking at the tool belt around his waist, “I have a couple of small jobs around the place that are probably pretty easy, but I don’t have the right tools, maybe you can help me with that?”

“Yeah, sure, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that,” he nods and sticks out his hand, “I’m Joel, Joel Miller.”

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller,” you smile back at him as you shake his hand, “How about next Monday? I’m closed on Mondays so I can give you the lesson then.”

“Umm….” he squints his eyes as if he’s thinking hard, “I think that works, afternoon alright for you?”

“Yeah, whenever,” you reply, “come by at one and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, really ‘preciate it,” he grins at you, running his hand through his hair, making the dark curls stand on end as you resist the urge to reach up and touch them.

“Do you have a preference for what to bake? Or does your daughter have a preference?”

“As long as it’s easy and contains chocolate, we’re both happy,” he says, “It’s got to be easy, I’ve never done any baking in my life.”

“Easy, gotcha, I’ll make sure it’s fool proof,” you laugh, “I think I have some ideas already, I’ll make sure you don’t burn down the house.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “I’ll see you on Monday then.”

He gives you a wave and a smile as he leaves.

…

You can’t help but spend some extra time on your hair on Monday morning, picking out your cutest apron as you get to the shop and telling your reflection to get a grip as you apply some make up. But the man is just…you shake your head, focus now!

You’re putting the ingredients out on the workbench in the kitchen as you hear a knock on the front door. Joel is right on time and as you walk across the front of the shop he gives you a wave through the window. He’s got his tool belt slung over his shoulder and a toolbox in one hand.

“Afternoon,“ he smiles and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your eyes from drifting over his wide shoulders, the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing hugging them tight. It looks as if he’s just showered, his dark curls are damp and brushed away from his face and his scruffy beard looks a little bit neater today.

“Afternoon, you’re right on time,” you smile at him, leading him back into the kitchen where he puts his tools down in a corner.

“Nice kitchen you’ve got,” Joel says, looking around the utilitarian workspace, “I never knew baking included so much equipment though.” He’s looking into your large dough mixer on the floor, the one used for big batches of bread.

“Baking is a very equipment heavy sport,” you laugh, “I’ve got so many gadgets with only one use, it’s ridiculous. But don’t worry, you’ll only need three things.”

“Sounds good,” Joel smiles at you and comes over to the counter where all the ingredients are laid out, “What are we making?”

“Texas Trash Pie,” you say, looking at him for his reaction and it doesn’t disappoint, he furrows his brow and looks thoroughly confused.

“Did you say ‘Trash Pie’?”

“Yep, a Texas Trash Pie,” you laugh, “Don’t worry, it tastes a lot better than it sounds. And it’s one of those ‘use whatever you feel like’ pies so you can adjust it to your own taste.”

“Ok, I see pretzels and pecans and chocolate, all things I like, so I’d say I’m good with that.” He smiles at you, “What’s first?”

“First we wash our hands,” you wave him over to your sink and let him clean up.

“So I’ve got two options for you, I’m going to teach you how to make the pie crust now, but you can buy a ready-made one too if you’re worried about making it from scratch,” you say as you point him to the recipe sheet you’ve printed for him, “Go on, follow that and I’ll help you out if you need it.”

“Ok, throwing me in the deep end, huh?” he chuckles and starts rolling up the sleeves of the flannel shirt.

“It’s sink or swim, Joel”, you grin, leaning next to him by the workbench, glancing down at how the sleeves of the shirt hug around his forearms when he’s got them folded up, you swear he’s flexing them on purpose, but he just leans down on the bench and picks up the paper.

He carefully reads the recipe in silence for a few minutes before he grabs the flour and gets to work. He doesn’t need any help from you in the first few steps, putting all the ingredients in the bowl and working them all together as you add cubes of cold butter. You don’t want to distract him so you stand next to him in comfortable silence while he consults the recipe every other minute to make sure he’s got all the steps.

“Alright, I think that’s holding its shape right?” he asks you after working the ingredients together into a dough ball.

“Looks very good to me,” you say, “Now, flatten it into a disc and wrap it in plastic, we’re going to let it chill for a bit.”

“Right, boss,” Joel replies, and it makes your cheeks heat up, as you try to suppress a giggle.

“We can get the filling done now but then we have to wait for a bit,” you explain as he puts the dough in the fridge.

“Ok, let’s do that and then I’ll see what you need help with around here.” Joel replies, double checking on his dough before closing the door, “Didn’t think pie dough was that easy, people make it sound real complicated.”

“No, once you’ve got a good recipe it’s easy. And this next part is foolproof.” You hoist yourself up to sit on the workbench.

“Don’t tempt me, I could still burn down your kitchen,” he chuckles, coming to stand next to you and you catch a whiff of his warm cologne. His eyes are level with yours now and you can’t help but reflect on how much like chocolate they are as he smiles at you.

“Lucky thing I know a contractor who can rebuild it then,” you smile back at him and he gives you a wink.

“Lucky you indeed. Do I know him? I could tell you if he’s any good,” he replies, picking up the recipe card.

“You might know him, he’s tall, dark hair, cute smile, built like a barn door,” you smirk, feeling your butterflies erupt up as his own smile widens.

“Cute smile huh? Must be from out of town, I don’t know any contractors with cute smiles in this place.”

“He’s really bad at baking, but he’s got potential, might be an alternative career path if his construction thing doesn’t pan out.”

Joel’s grins and glances down at his hands holding the recipe, a pink shade creeping up his neck under the shirt.

“Yeah, I might know him,” he chuckles, looking up at you again, “Is he getting lessons from a real pretty baker girl, kinda makes her customers nervous with her own cute smile?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s the one.”

“Alright, good to know,” he smiles and your eyes are still locked together, both of you trying to contain your grins.

Finally Joel breaks, clearing his throat and tapping his finger on the recipe card.

“So, this is foolproof, even for me?” he asks, bending down to read the recipe as you nod.

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes as Joel checks that he has everything he needs and then he looks up at you again.

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, “That’s it? Dump all the stuff in a bowl and mix?”

“Told you it was foolproof,” you reply, “and you can mix in other things if you prefer.”

“Ok, but I’ll follow your recipe for now,” he says, “ ‘one cup semi sweet chocolate chips’.” He grabs the measuring cup and the chocolate chips.

You watch him as he carefully measures out the ingredients in the bowl and then mixes it all together.

“That’s it?” he asks and you nod.

“Yup, that’s it, now grab the dough from the fridge and roll it out to fit that pie form,” you point him to the form you’ve placed on the bench for him.

“Alright, never used a rolling pin, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Joel grins as he unwraps the dough. You watch him weigh the rolling pin in his hand as he cocks his head and looks at the dough, as if he’s sizing it up, figuring out how he’s going to tackle it.

“Any special tricks I need to know?” he asks, looking over at you.

“No, just keep even pressure and try to roll it out into a circle but don’t stress too much, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Ok, here goes then,” he laughs and starts rolling. He’s tentative at first, squinting at the dough every other time he rolls over it.

“Put your weight behind it, Joel,” you smile at him, “it won’t break.”

“If you say so, you’re the master baker,” he replies, adjusting his stance and putting more force into it. The green plaid of his flannel stretches across his back as he starts rolling in earnest across the dough, and you can’t help your eyes flitting between the way his hands grip the rolling pin and the tight seams of his shirt.

Far too soon Joel’s got the dough nice and smooth, rolled out into a neat circle.

“You’re a natural at that, Joel,” you laugh and give him a quick pat on the back that makes him puff up a little.

“Tell my daughter, she’s never going to believe me when she sees her old man with a rolling pin in hand.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed,” you say, handing him the pie form, “So next step is to roll the pie dough onto the rolling pin and drape it over the form, then we bake it.”

You tell him how to move the dough into the pie form and he gives you a proud smile as it settles neatly.

“Now cut away the overhang and we’ll get it in the oven.”

While the pie crust bakes you make Joel a coffee and treat him to some of your leftovers.

“It’s not fresh but they’re still good,” you say, handing him a pain au chocolat, his large hands dwarfing the pastry.

“I’m really not complaining,” he chuckles, biting down into the flaky dough, “I’ll bring my daughter next time I come, she's got an even bigger sweet tooth than me, but not until after her birthday, or she’ll catch on to my surprise.”

“If you find out her favorite I can teach you how to make that next time,” you say, leaning against the counter with your coffee while Joel smiles at you.

“You’re being far too nice, you’re gonna ruin your business if you keep giving away baking lessons.”

“Who said I’m giving them away, I’m charging you next time,” you laugh, “this first time freebie was just to get you suckered in, now I’ve got you hooked.”

“You’ve sure got me hooked, darlin’,” Joel drawls, winking at you, and heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re a real flirt, Joel,” you giggle, trying to contain the butterflies that have erupted in your stomach again as he keeps his eyes on yours, looking up through his dark eyelashes as he smiles at you.

“Just being honest, honey,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and finally taking his eyes off you. You feel like you can breathe normal again, resisting the urge to fan yourself with your hand as you sip your from your own mug.

In the kitchen you hear the oven ping and you set your mug down as Joel looks up, “The crust is ready, time for the last step.”

“I feel like you’re going easy on me,” he chuckles, “shouldn’t baking be harder than this?” He follows you into the kitchen as you smile at his comment.

“You’re on beginner level, Miller. You’re not gonna let me build a house the first time I use a hammer right?”

He laughs at that, his eyes squinting as his shoulders jump.

“Alright, point taken, darlin’,” he chuckles, taking the oven mitts from you, “I’ll stay on the easy stuff for now.”

“And I’m actually giving you a challenge,” you point out as he carefully lifts the pie crust from the oven and sets it down on the workbench, “I could’ve given you a recipe that required no oven.”

“Wait, you’re telling me I could’ve done this lesson with no oven?”

“Sure, but here we are, and your pie is ready to be baked,” you smile, “Just dump the mixture into the crust and smooth it out as best you can, it’s going to even itself out in the oven anyway.”

Joel does as you say, dolloping the sticky mixture into the pie crust and pressing it down lightly.

“All done, but, there’s one extra addition I like to do that’s not in the recipe,” you say, nodding as he puts the final touch to the pie. “You can sprinkle just a little bit of sea salt over the top, it’s a nice contrast to the sweetness of the pie, especially with the caramel and the condensed milk.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Joel says, “if you say it’s good, I’ll trust that.”

You hand him the container and he grabs a pinch, “Just a sprinkle?”

“Just a sprinkle, try to get it evenly over the top.”

“And now in the oven?”

“Yep, just in the oven and then we wait.”

As you watch, Joel carefully slides the pie form back into the oven and closes the door and you set a timer.

“Alright, let me clean up and you can show me what needs fixin’, I’ve already seen that shelf in the corner,” he says, nodding over to your bookshelf that doubles as an office, holding all the paperwork for the bakery.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask and Joel walks over to it and gives the corner of it a gentle kick, making the whole thing sway.

“Oh, ok,” you say as Joel grabs the shelf to steady it, “please fix that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it stable, but you might want to consider replacing it, that cheap Ikea stuff will always start to wobble after a while,” he says, washing off and moving his tool box in front of the bookshelf as you start to remove some of the contents.

“Actually,” Joel says, looking around the bakery’s kitchen, “You don’t have an office, do you? Where do you do the paperwork for the business?”

“On the workbench,” you say, pointing to where Joel’s bowl still is, “or I just take it home with me.”

“You know, I did a job a few months ago, built a small fold away office set for a bedroom,” he says, giving the kitchen an appraising look, “If you get rid of the bookshelf, I could build you a new one and include a desk that you can fold away, it basically works as a door for the shelf when you put it up, and a desk when it’s down. Here, let me show you.”

He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of what he means, the office set up is a sleek custom build in a small bedroom.

“Wow, you built this?” you ask, “It’s beautiful, but I could never afford something custom built like that, I’m sorry.”

Joel gives you a warm smile, putting his phone back, “I’ve got plenty of material left over from that job, and my time is free for you, I’d be happy to build it for you,” he says but you shake your head.

“Really, Joel, that’s too much, you’ve already offered to fix things around the kitchen, I can’t let you build that too.”

“Please, stop being so infuriating and just accept the damn thing,” Joel chuckles, bending to pick up a screwdriver from the toolbox, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back here after we’re done with this pie.”

“You don’t need an excuse to come back, Joel,” you smile as you watch him begin tightening the screws holding the old bookshelf together.

“I don’t?” he asks, still focused on the screws but you see him glance over as you pull out what you need to make the foundations for a wedding cake for next weekend.

“Of course not,” you smile, “you’re welcome anytime, baking lessons or not.”

“I might take you up on that then,” he says with a grin, giving the bookshelf a shake. “Ok, it’s sturdy now but I’m going to take some measurements for your new one.”

“Thanks Joel, I really appreciate it,” you reply as you begin measuring the ingredients.

“You’re welcome, and it’s no bother, really,” he smiles as he comes over to you and looks over your shoulder, his arm touching yours as you move back, but he doesn’t back up, the warmth from him seeping through the layers of clothes.

“What are you making?” he asks and you tilt the bowl towards him.

“Sponge cakes, they’re the bases for a wedding cake I’m delivering on Saturday.”

“That must be the master level of baking,” he says, looking at the sketch of the cake you’ve made alongside the recipe, “It looks complicated.” The cake has four layers, each layer decorated with different coloured macarons and intricate flowers made from sugar and Joel traces his finger over the pattern, “Incredibly beautiful, I’d love to see it when it’s done.”

“I’ve got pictures of a similar one on the bakery’s Instagram page,” you say but Joel shakes his head.

“I don’t have Instagram, but my daughter keeps buggin’ me about it, says it’d be good for business if I had pictures of the stuff I make on it. But I don’t know…” he shrugs as if the very idea of social media is beyond him and it makes you laugh.

“She’s right though, it would be good for business,” you say and he shrugs again.

“I might get an account just so I can see your cakes though,” he grins and you smile up at him. He’s still standing very close, leaning his hip against the bench, his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Your head fills with the image of him leaning closer, soft looking lips parted as his hand finds your waist.

But he bites down on his plush bottom lip instead, the faintest shade of pink tinging his cheeks, turning to face the kitchen, “I’d better get a start on paying you back,” he says, grabbing hold of his tool belt.

“Ok,” you breathe out, momentarily flustered as you turn back to the cake batter, pulling your eyes away from the way he tightens the belt around his waist, hanging low on his hips.

Joel quickly spots a few other things that need fixing around the kitchen, things you hadn’t even noticed, and gets them sorted in quick succession, a wonky wall shelf, an exposed wire, the squeak on your back door and the glitchy handle on the inside of the fridge.

“Alright, no more getting locked into the fridge,” he says, testing the handle while you dust off your hands.

“Thanks, Joel, really, that one’s been giving me trouble for a while,” you say and he gives you another warm smile.

“Anything else you need help with?” he asks, “Maybe the AC? It’s boiling in here now.” He unbuttons his green plaid flannel and shrugs out of it, the gray t-shirt below is showing sweat stains as he hangs the shirt on your coat hanger.

“Uhm…” your brain stalls as he turns around and looks at you with a hand on his hip, “No, no, the AC works fine, it’s not on though, makes the kitchen too cold.”

“Alright, you’ll just have to put up with my sweat stink then,” he says, “Should we get back to the pie or does it need more time?” His cheeks are pink and he absentmindedly rubs his hand over his scruffy beard as he waits for your answer, his lips curving up in a smile as he catches your eyes drifting over his shoulders, the t-shirt pulled tight over the width of them.

“Ah..umm…no, I don’t think so,” you stutter, attempting to slap your brain back into shape. As a means to distract yourself you walk over to the tall shelving system that holds all your bigger equipment, reaching up to lift down your biggest cake container, “It probably needs about twenty more minutes, I set a timer.”

The container catches on something out of sight up on the shelf and you tug at it but it’s still stuck.

“Oh c’mon, don’t make me get the ladder,” you grumble, tugging at it again.

“Hang on, let me help you,” you hear Joel behind you just as you give the container another pull, and the whole shelf creaks, starting to tilt towards you, a metal bowl clanking onto the floor, hitting your shoulder on the way down.

“Oh!” you gasp, putting up your hands to stop the whole thing from falling on top of you, the heavy Husqvarna shifting and sliding above your head. Suddenly Joel is right behind you, his chest pressed up against your back as he grabs the shelf on either side, pushing it back up against the wall, making the equipment rattle.

“You ok, honey?” he asks, still pressing the shelf back, trapping you between his arms as you exhale.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” you huff, “Fuck, that scared me,” you give a shaky laugh as Joel carefully releases his grip on the shelf and takes a step back, letting you turn towards him, “Thanks for catching it, that could’ve been bad.”

“That could’ve been really bad,” he nods, looking at you with concern, “If that thing hit you, you wouldn’t be walking away. I’ll get it secured to the wall for you right now.”

“It was attached to the wall, at least the guys who remodeled this space said they attached it,” you say as Joel steps to the side of the shelf and looks up at the brackets attached to the wall.

“Yeah, they might’ve, but the screws are coming out of the wall now. Do you have a ladder?” he asks, turning back to you but he frowns as he sees you. “Darlin’, you’re looking a bit pale,” he puts his hand on your cheek, his warm palm making nerves of another kind shiver inside you.

“C’mon,” he says, gently leading you back to the workbench, helping you hoist yourself up to sit on it, “looks like you had a bit of a shock, can I get you somethin’, water maybe?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, giving him a small smile. The shelf tipping had scared you but now it’s his closeness that’s making you jittery. He smells so good, even with his sweaty t-shirt you can smell his cologne, and when he smiles in return, your stomach clenches and you glance down at his lips.

“Darlin’,” Joel says, his voice low as he sees your eyes move back up to his, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

You almost lose your words as his hand finds its way to your cheek again, the thumb caressing across your heated skin.

“Please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes are dark as he leans in, searching yours, and when you put your hand on his arm, his skin is warm, flexing under your fingertips. The scruff on his chin tickles your lips as he brushes his nose over your cheek, prolonging the moment before his eyes slip closed, and he takes a shallow breath.

You don’t know what to expect, a soft peck maybe, a careful first kiss, but not this. His lips finally land on yours with a gentle press, warm and plush. But his hand on your cheek holds you close as he slowly parts his lips and you feel the hot tip of his tongue lick across your bottom lip, begging you to open up. You let him in with a low moan, your hand slipping up his arm, over his shoulder, and you tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue is gentle but insistent, letting you open up for him, but he doesn’t hold back when you do, every bit of space you give him, he claims. One hand lands on your hip, pulling you closer before he slides it up to your back and you mimic him, feeling his muscles move under the thin cotton of his t-shirt as you run your hand over his shoulder blades. When he steps in between your legs, the full length of his warm chest pressed up against yours, you’re almost embarrassed by how loud your moan is in the quiet kitchen. But Joel licks into your mouth, pulling you closer as if he wants to pull another one from you, letting you swallow down his own groans.

Minutes pass, your face feels hot, flustered, your body weightless as your lips tingle under his. You can hear his heavy breaths into your mouth, his pulse thrumming under your fingertips as you caress his neck, rake through his soft curls. And you can feel his excitement in the way he’s pressed himself against you, you’re just one bold move from hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him back onto the workbench with you.

You don’t know who pulls back first, maybe it’s the sheer lack of oxygen that makes you both separate just a little, foreheads leaning together, your eyes still closed as he runs his fingers across your cheek, tracing your lips.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, his voice low and breathless, “Open your eyes.”

You look up at him, he’s smiling softly, almost in stunned wonder, and you know he’s mirroring the look on your face.

“Will you let me take you out for dinner some time?” he asks, still letting his thumb trace the outlines of your face, “I would very much like to do this again.”

“Any day, Joel,” you reply, leaning into the warmth of his hand as he cups your cheek again.

“Alright, darlin’, then let me get that shelf secure so that you don’t end up killing yourself before I get a chance to do more of this.” He bends to your mouth again, and you part your lips in anticipation, his tongue slipping eagerly into you with a low groan.

Your head spins when he pulls back with a sigh after too short of a time pressed against you.

“You’ve got a pie to take care of too I guess,” you smile at him and he chuckles.

“I’d all but forgotten ‘bout the pie, honey.”

Right on cue the timer goes off and Joel reluctantly pulls away, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter.

“Let’s see this masterpiece then,” he grins, stepping over to open the oven door and pulling out the pie. He puts it down on the counter and gives a low whistle. “That’s a mighty nice pie, if I do say so myself,” he chuckles, looking very proud of himself.

“It’s a fantastic looking pie, Joel, you did great,” you smile and he grins at you.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’. And I’m really looking forward to trying it but I should get that shelf attached to the wall first.”

He smiles at you again, giving your thigh a quick squeeze before he turns and crouches down over his tool box, digging through it.

“You said you have a ladder?” he asks, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, out in the back room, I’ll grab it for you;” you reply and jump off the workbench. The ladder is tucked away in a corner and as you pull it out you hear Joel start up his power drill.

“Here you go,” you say, putting the ladder next to the shelf and Joel gives it a shake, testing the stability.

“Might wanna invest in a new ladder too, honey,” he says, “these cheap ones are not too stable. I’ll pick you up a new one at the hardware store, I get a good professional discount there, save you some money.”

“You’re coming in here and just fixing everything, Joel,” you smile and he gives a little chuckle, shrugging as he gets up on the ladder.

“I just like to make sure everything’s working, don’t wanna see you get hurt over something I could easily fix,” he says.

“I really appreciate it, Joel,” you say and he winks down at you.

“Now, cover your ears, darlin’, this is gonna get noisy.”

You do as he says and he gets to work. It doesn’t take him many minutes to make new holes in the wall, fill up the old ones and make sure the shelf is securely screwed to the wall again. When he gets back down onto the floor he gives the structure a hefty shake and it doesn’t budge.

“Alright, there you go, no more death traps in your kitchen, honey.”

“Thanks Joel, really,” you say, “I feel like you’ve done way much more than I could ask of you, just for teaching you one pie.”

“Make it up to me then,” he smiles, “I’ll get a babysitter and you let me take you out for that dinner on Saturday.”

“How is that me repaying you?” you laugh as Joel steps closer, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger.

“Because it gives me the chance to kiss you some more,” he smiles, bending to find your lips again.

“You’re a very cheap contractor, Joel,” you mumble into his mouth as he brushes his nose against yours while he teases your lips.

“Your kisses are worth a lot more than you think, darlin'.”

Part Four

If you want to try out Joel's Texas Trash Pie, here you go!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #a bakers dozen #pedrostories #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic

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mastermindmiko · 6 months

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Poor Mrs Norris

Pairing: Fred Weasley + reader

Word count: 834

Summary: You plan out a prank with Fred and George

Warnings: pranks, hexing, kissing that's all, but lmk if there's anything else

Requests are open

Hey! If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist.

At first I thought it was endearing, and sweet. The way he would make sure that I'm feeling well, ate enough and that I am enjoying myself. Now, it's been bringing a bubbly sensation in my stomach that I can't get rid off.

"If we go to Flich's office, we can kidnap Mrs Norris and then-"

"Bold of you to assume that Mrs Norris can be kidnapped she's one feisty cat." I shake my head disapprovingly at Fred's plan, knowing that the cat would scratch his hand enough before she's a meters distance away from him. Fred flirts, "Just like you."

He sends me a wink, and if there were a month ago, merlin, even a few days ago I would have rolled my eyes and continued on with my day, but now, the stupid fluttery, bubbly feeling is back. George says, "We'll just hex her from where she's at."

"How will we get filch away from her long enough to do the hex?" Fred continues, eager to make this prank amazing, hilarious and fool proof. I suggest, "One of you can set up a dungbomb to make Filch notice, and while he's too bust running to catch you, I can hex Mrs Norris."

Poor Mrs Norris, I didn't actually want to hex her, she's a pretty nice cat if you ignore the whole scratching and violent thing she has going on. Luckily, the hex won't hurt her or anything, it'll only last a few hours at most.

"I can do it, since I'm the fastest runner." George says, and Fred looks at his brother like he's grown two heads. Fred counters, "I am the fastest runner."

"No, I am-"

"It really doesn't matter who is faster as long as Filch doesn't catch you." I say, looking between the two bickering boys disapprovingly, but finding Fred's pout adorable.

I think I spend too much time gazing at Fred's beauty because next thing I know he's looking at me with a smug grin then he teases, "You're staring."

"I am not."

"I understand that I'm completely irresistible, but love, you can hide it a bit better than that." Fred continues to tease me, and I roll my eyes, standing up, hoping that he doesn't notice the blush on my face.

"George, you've got the bombs?" I ask, and George stands up waving them. Fred stands up too and I say, "Let's do this then."

George nods his head then leaves the room already making his way to the far side of the corridor a few feet away from where Filch's office is located.

I hide behind one of the pillars and wait until I hear the sound of the bombs exploding then see Filch leaving the room. I wait patiently, but then I feel a hand wrapping around my waist.

I look up to see Fred waiting behind me, eyes trained to the door. I gasp and remove his hand, taking a step back. I say, "What are you doing here?"

"Pranking Filch with you, genius." Fred says, smiling at me, and my face heats again. This crush was getting out of hand, of course he was pranking Filch with me. He looks back at the door and I look at him.

I wonder how anyone could not be able to differentiate between Fred and George. They were identical twins, but there were so many differences. Fred's face was rounder, and he has that adorable freckle on his neck, and that cute-

"You're staring again." Fred says, catching me in the middle of looking at the tiny freckle about his top lip. I turn redder, but don't break the eye contact. I blink a few times, and maybe I've Imagined it, but I see Fred looking at my lips.

It was a spur of the moment thing, I don't even think about it because I know that if I do I'll find a million reasons not to do this. I step up on my tiptoes and kiss him. He reciprocates the kiss before I even realize what I was doing.

He wraps his arms around me and I toy with the hairs on the nape of his neck. He presses me against the pillar and we kiss for what feels like the perfect equivalent of both a second and an eternity.

We hear footsteps approaching and we part. George comes jogging towards us and he has a bit of sweat on his forehead. He's grinning wildly in anticipation. He asks, "Did you do it?"

I didn't even hear the bomb exploding or Filch running after George, so we definitely didn't hex Mrs Norris. I bite my lip sheepishly and Fred answers, "No, we didn't."

"Why not?" George pouts and then he looks confused. He looks at Fred and I, and I feel myself blush. I notice Fred's ears turning pink too. George rambles, "Why are you blushing? And why is your lipstick smudged? And-"

George gasps, and that's the day Fred Weasley became my boyfriend.

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coeurify · 10 months

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hear me out…. bumping into ellie wasted at a nightclub dancing makin out then she recognises u irl a week or smth later n it is on!!!!!!

ok.. this took a turn to be more post makeout fluffy loser ellie so.. yea!

Ellie was not someone who made out with girls in clubs, drunk off of whiskey she only ordered to try and show off to Jesse and Dina. Sure, she saw it happen— it was normal. But no, Ellie definitely did not.

Ellie never called herself a pussy, she would never admit that. But Jesse had no problem snickering it whenever her freckled cheeks were painted red after a girl looked at her at a bar or club. She didn’t usually do anything about it. Hell, the last time Ellie got laid it was because a girl had straight up asked her. Ellie just was not the best at all that.. seduction shit.

Nor was she good with no strings attached shit. That one-off hookup turned into a situationship that she couldn’t let go of. Ellie also had a tendency to pine over the most minor interactions with people. Once, a barista handed her a straw and after their fingers touched, she convinced herself it was the love of her life for the next week. So.. one night stands or messy kisses in the dim lights of clubs were not exactly her thing.

Except for once. Last Saturday, 12:07 am. Not that she had memorized it or anything. Totally not. She definitely had not scorched the night’s memory (of her hands against hips, lips that tasted like the cranberry juice mixer against her own, soft hands pulling her bun out to run fingers through it) into her brain. No way.

What Ellie will admit she remembers was the embarrassment that singed the baby hairs on the back of her neck as Dina slapped an arm on her back, the three drunk young adults clambering out of the tightly packed club close to 1 am. “I knew you had it in you! You totally rocked that girl’s world. Jesse, you owe me five bucks.” Then Dina had stuck an expectant hand out to Jesse, causing a short offended gasp from Ellie. “You made a bet on me?”

They did. Ellie’s own best friends had no faith in her ability to have quick and fun hookups like everyone else their age. But she had proved them wrong! She had made out with a really, really pretty girl.. no strings attached.

She didn’t even know your name. Not that she had to. You were both all too happy to skip the pleasantries and get straight to having your hands on each other. It wasn’t like she was wondering what your name was, and if she could find you somewhere on social media the entire walk home that night.

Definitely not. She convinced herself of this every day since then. Every time she saw a flash of hair that looked like yours around, or when her brain went a little haywire, and she came back to the messy sketch of your eyes on her notebook.

Within the week, Ellie had forced herself to get a grip. It was just some random making out, for fucks sake. She had no reason to daydream about how you had keened into her when she bit at your bottom lip. No right to be squeezing her eyes shut to remember how it felt to have your hand slip up the loose material of her shirt, heated touches against her stomach.

No, those flashbacks started to settle simply from the pure stubbornness of her own brain, which shot scoffs and head shakes straight out every time one popped up again.

But now, with her back pressed to the uncomfortable metal of a cafe chair, flannel pushed up to her elbows as she tilted her head back to enjoy the breeze from the sky, she started to think again.

Dina was leaning over a menu, biting her lip as she tried to decide what drink to order. It had been Dina who suggested they sit outside, at this particular cafe, so maybe El should blame what happened next on her.

The soft sound of the door swinging open sounded, bringing the auburn-haired girl’s face down from where it tilted into the sky.

For a second, she thought she was hallucinating. Really. Maybe something had been slipped into the water next to her, or maybe Dina had like— poisoned her for calling her annoying earlier. Because certainly, this was not real.

Your hair, the one she had brought her hands to tug at the other night, was on full display, your head tilted down as you rummaged through an apron with the cafe’s name printed on it. Ellie knew it was you right away, and blinked a few times to ensure this was not some evil hallucination.

The auburn-haired girl sat up a little straighter on the chair, causing an awfully loud screech against the cement. Your head came up simultaneously, the pen now in hand.

“Sorry,” you apologized, flipping to an empty page in your little order book. “Had to find a pen. What can I get you guys?”

You smiled, just like you had under the flashing lights of that club, and it was just as pretty as Ellie remembered. But when your eyes met hers, that smile faltered slightly. The pen slipped from your grip, clambering right onto the table with a very annoying ping sound.

Dina reached her hand to grab it, but Ellie was faster. As if was some competition, she leaned slightly over the table and wrapped her fingers around the pen, holding it up for you. “Here,” she mumbled, trying to keep any voice crack to herself. “Thanks..” you hummed, sniffling.

Dina eyed between the two of you, slightly convinced she had just been forced into the middle of some awful cheesy romcom, something that would be promoted with big blocky letters like ‘cafe meet cute!’ She cleared her throat, breaking the weirdly tension-filled stare down happening between the two of you.

“Sorry—“ you apologized, throwing on another cheery smile as you looked at Dina, “what can I get you?”

Ellie doesn’t even hear Dina’s order, and she also doesn’t prepare hers. She is too busy nervously twisting a finger between her other hand in her lap, sneaking very obvious glances at you, and then back down to the menu that looks like pure gibberish.

“Cool! And for you?” your voice questions next, smooth and sweet in a way that had the film reel of Saturday playing in Ellie’s head all over again.

“You can kiss me, you know?” you called over the loud music of the club, ignoring how bodies bumped against you every other second, sending you stumbling further into Ellie, who you had flipped to face, her hands still gripping your waist. Your eyes blinked slowly at her, glossy lips twitching up, head dizzy with the vodka and cranberries you had. Ellie wasted no time after your request, pressing forward harshly to capture your lips.

Ellie cleared her throat, “Uh..” great, she had totally no idea what to order. “Honestly, I’ve never been here... I’m not sure what I’d like. What’d you recommend?”

Dina didn’t even hold back the scoff from the other side of the table, because, really.. that was Ellie’s line?

You seemed to find it endearing, though, meeting her eyes again as you suggested your favorite sandwich and drink, pointing toward it on the menu.

“Cool…cool.. I’ll try that,” Ellie nodded, leaning back into her chair again. The sandwich you recommended had tomatoes, and she hated tomatoes. But it was fine.

You nod one too many times before turning on your heel and speed walking inside.

Dina started immediately. “Why the hell did you just eye fuck our waitress?” she accuses, leaning in to squint her eyes at you. “Also, you are fucking ass at flirting. Staring at someone with those freakily green eyes just doesn’t work.”

Ellie frowned, “fuck off, Dina.”

She waited to speak until she was sure you were inside the cafe again. “That’s the girl I made out with at the club,” she muttered, flushing slightly.

Dina’s mouth dropped open, “You’re shitting me.”

Auburn hair shook slightly out of place as the other sighed. “Nope. It’s totally her.”

“Damn… maybe you’ve got some weird curse on you that, like.. bans you from having one night stands.”

Ellie only scoffed in response. It didn’t feel like a curse, maybe more like a blessing to see you again.

“Hey, you can go two for two with shitty lines for waitresses and put your number on the receipt.”

Ellie rolled her eyes like it was a bad idea, but she definitely would do it.

#rins reqs ❀.#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams tlou

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avatar-anna · 1 year

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I swear I could read prof y/n content all day longgg!

Could we get an angst moment? Love a bit of drama hahahaha 🤪😂

prof and h angstttt plsssss

enjoy! xx

The Professor Series

Harry knew Y/n. He knew her favorite authors and composers; he knew her favorite constellations, how she liked to sleep curled up into a ball when she had stomach cramps, and how she took her tea; he knew she wore mismatched socks, that her Southern accent returned when she was tired or tipsy, and that she had a little freckle on her hip; he knew she worked really hard but wanted to try to take herself less seriously sometimes; he knew the things that made her laugh and what she got excited about; he knew what places to kiss to make her blush and that she appreciated when he listened to her lectures before she gave them, even if he didn't quite understand.

It was safe to say Harry knew his love, inside and out.

But the person he was faced with now he almost didn't recognize.

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n to be asked to consult on particularly difficult cases that local police departments were struggling with. Y/n often looked over the case files and any other bits of information as it came in, gave her profile, and that was that. Each case lasted about a week, maybe more, but they always had successful outcomes.

Harry had been away on tour while Y/n was teaching in Cambridge. They missed each other obviously, but Harry started to worry when he didn't hear from her for almost two weeks. A few days wasn't out of the ordinary, mostly because Y/n forgot to respond to texts or answer a phone call, but she usually got back to him within a day or two; if she was working on a particularly difficult case, maybe more.

But this was a whole two weeks. They’d never gone that long without talking to each other. There had been no fights or disagreements that would warrant a silent treatment from Y/n, so it couldn’t have been on purpose. But Harry couldn’t come up with a reason that was good enough for Y/n to not speak to him.

So, despite the pushback from his management team, Harry rescheduled a couple shows so he could fly home and see what was going on. They didn't want him to leave, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Harry arrived at Y/n’s townhouse late at night. The door was unlocked, which was almost as unusual as the mess he found in the front room when he came inside.

He'd never seen Y/n's home in such disarray before. Books were scattered everywhere, takeaway cartons and half finished mugs of tea and coffee littered every surface in her kitchen and living room, and all the curtains were drawn closed, casting the whole space in a stuffy gloom. Harry almost couldn't believe his eyes. Y/n scolded him when he didn't use a coaster, and now there was week-old food sitting on her coffee table.

Y/n was nowhere to be found, though, which meant she was in her bedroom. Harry worried about what he would find on the other side, but whatever was going on with her, she needed him.

She was sitting at her desk, her back to him as she bent over it and read something. She didn't even flinch or turn around when the door opened, like she hadn’t even heard Harry come in.

“Y/n, darling,” he said.

She turned, tired and unfocused eyes landing on Harry without much emotion. “Oh. You’re here. Did you call?”

Harry had never seen her so out of it before. He suddenly realized that Y/n wouldn’t have known what day it was let alone the last time they’d spoken. He felt completely out of his depth, but he tried his best to tread lightly.

“No. No, I wanted to surprise you. How—How are you?”

“Busy,” Y/n said immediately. “I have this really difficult case, so I can’t talk right now.”

He guessed as much, but even difficult cases Y/n had worked on in the past never reduced her to this. Her hair was a tangled mess at the nape of her neck, she only had one sock on, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t changed her clothes in days. Harry was suddenly glad he listened to his instincts and came here.

“I know it's important, love, but so is taking care of yourself,” he said. “Why don’t you take a break and clear your head? We can eat and watch a documentary or something.”

Harry rested his hand on her arm, but he quickly realized that was the wrong move. Y/n wrenched her arm away from him, her eyes lit with irritation.

“Take a break? I can’t take a break! There is no time for breaks,” she yelled. Harry was immediately stunned. Y/n had never raised her voice at him, or anyone else for that matter. “Young women, someone's wife or daughter or sister is dying, and they will continue to die if I can't figure this out, don't you understand that?”

“I know, that, Y/n. Of course I understand, but you’ll have a clearer head if you—”

“Don't baby me! I didn't ask you to be here, so just leave me alone. I need to work, I need to figure this out, I need...”

She ignored him after that, and Harry could tell that he'd been dismissed. He also knew there was no use reasoning with Y/n when she was this upset, so he left her to her own devices and left her alone like she'd asked.

Going back into the living room, Harry began to clean. He picked up and straightened stray books, folded blankets, threw out old food. He found comfort in doing something rather than just twiddling his thumbs while he thought of some way to reach Y/n like this.

Because the truth was as well as he knew her, he'd never seen her like this before, and he didn't know how to be there for her, or how to bring her out of this darkness she seemed to be in. He knew how much these cases meant to her, how much she valued helping people, but this was different. It seemed almost personal.

By the time Harry had swept the floors and washed all the dishes and fed the Emperor and Faye Winter, who had been lounging on their cat tree—they at least seemed unaffected by Y/n’s unusual behavior—Y/n still had yet to come out of her room. Harry knew then that she wouldn't be coming out at all, and that he should probably get comfortable on the couch.

All night he worried about her. Every couple hours or so, Harry would hear Y/n pacing her room or cursing quietly or throwing what sounded like sheets of paper around after crumpling them up. She was frustrated, that much was clear, but all Harry could do was lay on the couch and listen. In the morning, Harry decided to keep giving Y/n space and went about his day like he normally would when he stayed at the townhouse. He sat and read some emails while the cats cuddled him on either side, he went into town to restock Y/n’s fridge, and he kept cleaning up.

And nothing. Y/n didn’t make an appearance the whole day. Not to eat or acknowledge that he was there or say hello to the Emperor and Faye Winter. Harry could hear her shuffling around in her bedroom like she'd done all night, but she never came out. By the time the sun was going down, he started to worry more than he already had been.

The problem was he didn't know what to do. Harry had never dealt with anything like this before. He thought he had a grasp on reaching Y/n and understanding what she needed and how, but she shut him out so fast and lashed out so intensely. This obviously wasn't a typical case, something must've happened to make her react this way, but Y/n wasn't going to tell him anytime soon.

And there was no one who could give Harry insight either. For all intents and purposes, he was Y/n's family. She didn't have relatives she spoke to regularly, not many close friends, no one who might have ever seen her act like this way before. And her mother certainly wasn't an option; Harry didn't want to give her the satisfaction of having to call her at all, and he didn't think she would know anything about this anyway.

All night Harry stayed up brainstorming. He wracked his brain for someone who might know Y/n and how to help. And when he did, he went to work on tracking them down. Harry had decided on contacting one of her old professors after recalling Y/n speaking fondly of one a couple times. It took time figuring out where he was and how to get a hold of him, but he eventually did. Harry called every ten minutes and left message after message with some secretary until he eventually got through.

“This is Dr. Moore.”

He sounded old, but Harry didn’t take the time to wonder what this person looked like. “Hello. My name is Harry, and I believe you know a close friend of mine. Y/n L/n.”

“Ah yes,” Dr. Moore said. “I haven’t heard from Y/n since she only had one PhD. How is she?”

“N—Not great,” Harry said. He proceeded to word-vomit the whole situation, his stress and anxiety about his love's well-being pouring out of him over the phone. “I—I've never seen her like this before and I'm not really sure what to do. She won't talk to me or leave her room. I was just hoping you might know something or had seen her...behave like this before.”

The professor didn't say anything for a while, hopefully gathering his thoughts. “She's rather well-adjusted for someone who has seen and experienced so much,” he finally said. “But you have to understand that she's...different from the rest of us. She has a gift that no one else has or can really make sense of.”

“She’s more than her intelligence, Doctor—”

“I don’t mean it like that, Harry,” Dr. Moore said softly. “She's a genius, she's brilliant, but that doesn't come without its faults. Many brilliant minds suffer from a little madness, Y/n is no different.”

It was like Harry could hear what Dr. Moore was saying, but he didn't want to believe him. “Y/n isn't crazy.”

“I didn’t say she was. But she has a tendency to be obsessive, loses track of time, hyperfocuses on a singular subject. Surely you've noticed that.”

“Yeah, but...It’s never been this bad, I mean, this is extreme.”

Harry didn't like the professor's insinuations, or how helpless he was making him feel. Harry knew Y/n, he knew her. She wasn't mad, she wasn't sick, she just needed a little help.

“I realized quite early on that Y/n never took failure...lightly. For someone like her, being wrong is a tough pill to swallow. Perhaps start there?”

“Right, thanks,” Harry muttered. This phone call was a bust. All it gave him was more stress.

He was about to hang up the phone when Dr. Moore spoke again. “Harry, Y/n is exceptional, and that doesn't come without its own bevy of...adversities. But Y/n is strong, and she has a good head on her shoulders, even after everything she's been through. I imagine just showing that you're there for her will be enough. Don't crowd her, but be close enough to catch her when she falls, as you've already done. Her family was never patient enough to love her the way she needed, I hope you can be that for her.”

Harry hung up after that, not having anything to say to the professor. A glance at his phone told him it was three in the morning, but he got up from the couch and chanced going into Y/n's room anyway.

She was pacing and muttering to herself incoherently, but Harry didn't let that bother him. Y/n noticed him but said nothing, and neither did he. He just got into bed, picked up a book off her nightstand, and began to read.

Y/n was quiet for a moment, and Harry could feel her gaze on him, but he kept quiet, and she eventually went back to pacing. It wasn't easy, but Harry did his best to just ignore her, have his presence known without talking to her directly like Dr. Moore suggested. He hoped that Y/n would come to him in her own time.

His eyes burned, begging him to finally go to sleep, the words on the book in front of him blurred. He was exhausted, but he was determined not to lie down. Not until Y/n was in bed next to him.

“You know, sometimes I find it helpful if I talk about things out loud.”

An invitation to open up, a small one after about an hour of silence. He didn't really expect Y/n to take the bait, but she did, kind of.

“What do you mean?”

Setting his book down, he said, “Well, all your thoughts are swirling around in your head. It might be helpful to just say them out loud, like bouncing a ball against a wall.”

“O—Okay.”

She began to explain in loose terms what she was working on and what her thoughts were about the case. And once she started, it all came pouring out of her. “I—I failed. I gave a profile, they arrested someone, but it was the wrong person. I’m—I’m never wrong.”

“It’s not your job to make the arrests,” Harry said gently.

“People are relying on me! Women are continuing to die at the hands of some monster because I can’t—because I couldn’t—”

Y/n shook her head and went back to her desk, shuffling pages around. Harry sighed. He knew what the problem was, but now he knew for certain that Y/n wasn't going to rest until she fixed her mistake. He didn’t bother trying to convince her that this wasn’t her fault, that would be useless right now. But he had to do something.

Getting up from the bed, Harry trudged over to the desk. He rested his hands on either side of her and rested his cheek on top of her head. “Are you so sure that you were wrong and the police weren’t?” he asked.

“They would’ve found the right person if I was right. I must’ve missed something,” she said, shaking her head.

“More than one person can fit a profile, can’t they?”

Y/n exhaled harshly through her nose. “That’s what I tried to tell local police, but they wouldn’t listen. I’m—I’m missing something.”

Harry kissed the top of her head and began to knead the tension out of her shoulders. “Did you think you were right before?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Give me a percentage.”

“Ninety four.”

Whistling, he said, “I’d take those odds.”

“These are people’s lives, Harry, not a craps table. Lives are being lost because—”

“Because terrible people exist,” Harry interrupted. “You didn’t kill those people, Y/n.”

She wiped at her eye harshly. “I can’t help but feel responsible,” she sniffled.

“I know,” he said. “But I believe in you. I believe you can figure this out. But not by running yourself ragged. You can’t work like this.”

“I can’t sleep,” she said, voice trembling. “I won’t. Not until—”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Harry made himself comfortable on the floor beside Y/n’s desk. He was exhausted, his back hurt from his night on the couch, but he couldn’t go to sleep. Not until she did.

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked him, brows furrowed curiously.

He tilted his head back and gave her a sleepy smile. “You stay up, I stay up.”

Y/n looked like she wanted to say more, but her focus was quickly pulled back to the papers on her desk.

Harry didn’t remember falling sleep, but one minute he was watching Y/n work at her desk and providing noncommittal hums as she bounced ideas off him, and the next he was blinking his eyes open, his body stretched out on the floor. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket strewn across his body, an extra pillow beside him. Y/n was sitting in front of him with her legs crossed, a mug in her hands as she watched Harry sleep.

“Wha—What happened—”

“You fell asleep around 5:15,” she said, taking a sip while Harry sat up. His back popped and strained, clearly not a fan of another sleep on something that wasn’t a bed. “I would’ve carried you to the bed, but you’re a bit heavy for me.”

As his head cleared, Harry noticed that Y/n’s hair was wet and her eyes were clearer. She was in a fresh set of clothes and her desk seemed relatively put together.

“Did you figure it out?” he asked, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

Y/n nodded. “A little while after you fell asleep. I got an email about an hour ago. They arrested the right person.”

“That’s good,” Harry said, squeezing her knee. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I just, um, I just got a different email. From an old professor.”

“Oh.” Well, that didn’t take long. “What did he say?”

“That he had the most interesting conversation with a close friend of mine,” Y/n said. Setting her mug down, she tugged her knees to her chest. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Harry could barely focus on anything but his stiff neck, but he tried to shake his head. “I’m almost positive you don’t.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said. “I—I don’t need to be fixed.”

“That—That’s not what I’m thinking,” Harry said frowning. “I don’t think that at all, Y/n.”

“Then why did you call him?”

Harry rubbed at his face tiredly. “I wanted to help you. I didn’t know how, so I asked for some help of my own.”

“I don’t need to be handled like some child.”

“Two weeks, Y/n,” Harry said, voice sharpening the slightest bit. Because for a moment, Y/n had frightened him. Not because he thought she was crazy or mentally unwell, but because he didn’t know how to reach her, and he always knew how to get through to her. “I didn’t hear from you for two weeks, and I come back here and the house is a mess, you’re not eating, you’re driving yourself—”

“Don’t say it!” she blurted. “Don’t say that I’m crazy, Harry. I’m not. I just...get a little sidetracked. I’m not—I’m not crazy.”

Harry could see it in Y/n’s face, then. The fear. She didn’t want him believing what she already believed about herself to some degree. He wondered how many times someone had told her that she was, or implied it. Harry had a feeling no one had ever taught her how to fail, or accept failure. Y/n was exceptional, but she wasn’t perfect, no one was, but she’d been brought up believing her knowledge had no bounds. She was taught how to fly, but no one taught her how to fall, and when she did, they blamed her for not figuring it out herself.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, because you’re not,” he said. “But I do worry when I you don’t come out of your room for a few days. I’m allowed to worry.”

Y/n had been looking down at her lap, but when she finally looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Harry let the corner of his mouth curve into a smile. “For making me sleep on the couch yesterday? Water under the bridge.”

Y/n’s responding grin was small, but it was there, and Harry found himself wanting to make it bigger.

Joining him on the floor, they both laid back down. Y/n rested her head on Harry’s chest while he wrapped his arms around her. For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything, but before he fell back asleep, he found himself saying, “You know, I know I’m not as smart as you or anything, but I do know a thing or two about work ethic. I can help you find a balance.”

Y/n gave no indication that she agreed or disagreed. For a moment, Harry thought she’d already fallen asleep when he felt her nod. “I’d like that. But I think...I think I need to take some time off. Maybe just focus on teaching for now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to,” Y/n yawned. “I want to scale back. Just teach, travel, maybe get a Master’s degree.”

Harry laughed. Only Y/n would think going back to school for another degree would be considered “scaling back.” But he couldn’t be prouder that she was taking the right steps to treat herself better.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he said. He kissed the top of her head as he waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. Y/n kept quiet, her breaths keeping time with his until he realized she was asleep. Breathing a sigh through his nose, Harry stared up at the ceiling and hoped she had a dreamless sleep.

#harry styles #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

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whatacaitastrophe · 1 month

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If You Were Mine

Summary: Four times Astarion realized he might be in love with Fallon, and the one time he was ready to do something about it, but Gale got there first.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gale x Tav (Female), Astarion x Tav (Female)

AO3 Link: Here

Song Inspiration: "Can I Be Him" - James Arthur

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: Pining (so much pining), angst, mentions of past abuse, denial of feelings, realization of feelings, drinking, canon-compliant

“You can kill it can’t you? Like you did the others?” Astarion asked the elven female who stumbled upon him as she emerged from the destruction of the nautiloid crash. The crash that (somehow) Astarion, this elf, and the half-elf and human man who accompanied her, and god knows who else all managed to survive. Astarion had more questions than answers at this point, but he knew one thing: He’d seen this elf walking around the ship, so surely she had something to do with the tadpole that now resided in his brain. Though Astarion was fairly certain that the very same tadpole was the only reason he hadn’t burst into flames yet, so if this elf had something to do with it, maybe he should be thanking her instead of luring her into a trap.

The elf smirked at him, sizing him up, her violet eyes piercing Astarion down to his very soul. “Easily. Stand back.” Yes, if she knew how to kill them, then she must be familiar enough with his abductor’s to have had something to do with it. Astarion could not help himself– his eyes roamed over the elf’s body as she walked past him to assess the threat he’d completely fabricated.

She was beautiful— her tight leather armor clung to the curves of her body like a second skin, and if Astarion was being perfectly honest, he could not remember the last time he laid eyes on a backside that perfect. It was an observation that took him aback because, quite frankly, Astarion also couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared enough to truly notice.

Under Cazador’s control, Astarion just went through the motions. Step one: spout pretty words he didn’t mean to get them back to the palace. Step two: sleep with them so they’d lower their guard. Step three: hand them over to Cazador. Lather, rinse, repeat. Out here though, so far, it appeared as though Astarion was far enough away from Cazador to be free of his control. Perhaps his little stowaway was also the cause for that as well.

Astarion watched the woman carefully as she crept slowly around the corner, waiting for a mind-flayer to appear. She jumped slightly when the boar burst out of the bushes instead and that’s when Astarion struck. The blade of his dagger was against her neck and they were on the ground mere seconds later. “Ah, ah, ah, shhh. Don’t fight it, darling,” Astarion warned her before glancing over to her companions. “Stay back or I’ll slit her throat.”

The dark haired man glared at Astarion, and out of the corner of his eye, Astarion could have sworn he saw fire crackling on the man’s fingertips. A magic caster of some sort— likely a wizard based on his attire. “Do that, and I will incinerate you.”

So it was definitely fire, then, and the protective look in the wizard’s eyes meant he and the woman with Astarion’s blade against her neck were either already romantically involved, or this man wanted them to be. Whatever the case, Astarion just hoped it would keep the wizard from doing anything stupid.

This close to her face, the first thing Astarion noticed was the smattering of freckles across her cheeks— wild and uncoordinated, much like the navy streaks in her raven hair that were falling out of the ponytail atop her head. There was a scar across her nose and cheek, and for a split second, Astarion found himself wondering how she got it. She was even more beautiful up close. What a pity he was probably going to have to kill her.

“I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

The woman had the audacity to shake her head. Astarion’s nostril’s flared. “Don’t lie to me— ah!”

Suddenly their minds were connected, and he was seeing flashes of a life that was not his: a man with the same violet eyes as this woman, bleeding out in her arms. A piece of parchment with a singular name and a pouch jingling with coin sliding across a bar top towards her. A man leering at her, offering to buy her a drink, and agreeing to go upstairs with her. Then, his dead body being dragged toward a balcony before getting tossed into the Chionthar.

Whoever this woman was, she was a paid assassin, and if she hadn’t head-butted him while he was distracted, Astarion probably would have noticed the arousal that accompanied the fear he felt knowing that the only reason he was still alive was because he’d gotten the upper hand, and tackled her to the ground first.

Her name was Fallon, Astarion learned, and the moment she confirmed that she too had been ready to kill him before their tadpoles took them on a trip down memory lane, Astarion decided he would follow her anywhere.

—

Finding Gandrel in the swamp was unexpected. Fallon led them there because she wanted to investigate the hag they’d run into, and the woman she may or may not have been holding hostage, but a wrong turn led their group up a hill and right to the Gur hunter who admitted he was hunting a vampire spawn.

There was no way this man was looking for anybody other than Astarion, and there was no way Gandrel hadn’t been sent by Cazador to find him. Astarion did his best to quell the panic rising within himself— his new companions did not yet know he was a vampire. One word from Gandrel, one mention of Astarion’s name, and his life would probably be forfeit. Fallon had let Astarion do all the talking up to this point, and she either did not notice or did not care as he slowly reached for his dagger.

“I’ve dealt with your kind before, you know,” Astarion said coolly to the hunter as he took a step forward. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, Astarion swiftly grabbed the man by the back of his head and drove the dagger into his eye, smirking as Gandrel gurgled his last breath before dropping lifelessly to the ground. “It wasn’t a good experience.”

Gale, the wizard from the beach, made a horrified noise. Karlach, their fiery new tiefling friend shouted and swore loudly. Fallon, on the other hand, just stared at Astarion in shock. Then, she took a deep breath and let out an exasperated sigh. “Please tell me you had a good reason for doing that.”

Astarion pulled his blade from the dead man’s eye and wiped the blood on his trousers. “The man was dangerous. Trust me, I did us a favor.”

Another exasperated sigh as Fallon closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her forefinger. “Next time you decide to murder someone, at least warn me before you do it.”

Astarion raised his eyebrow and smirked at her. “I will definitely, probably, consider thinking about it.”

Fallon rolled her eyes at him, but Astarion couldn’t help but notice the amused smile she was trying to suppress— likely to keep Gale and Karlach from freaking out further. For whatever reason, she trusted Astarion. Moreover, she seemed to like him.

That was the moment Astarion decided he was going to seduce Fallon. For protection, of course— certainly not because he actually wanted her. Having Fallon on his side would certainly make things easier if Astarion’s companions ever found out he was a vampire. Yes, survival was all that mattered, he didn’t want her.

Right?

—

Astarion observed the party happening in their camp with a sour look on his face. The bottle of wine he’d swiped from the wagon the tieflings brought with them was…well, it wasn’t the worst wine Astarion had ever had, but it certainly wasn’t good, either. The gratitude from the tieflings was endless. One by one, they all made their way to his tent, profusely thanking him for saving their lives. A few were even emboldened enough by the alcohol to make a pass at Astarion, offering to thank him in a more intimate setting, to which he not-so-politely declined. No, there was only one person Astarion was interested in sleeping with tonight.

It was the perfect opportunity. After he failed to drink her blood while she slept, there was an energy shift in Astarion’s relationship with Fallon. They’d come to an agreement: he could drink her blood once every couple of days to maintain his strength, and he could drink the blood of as many of their enemies as he pleased. The blood of their enemies seemed to be endless, and while it sated Astarion’s hunger well enough (certainly more than the blood of animals), it never left Astarion feeling truly satisfied. The only blood that truly satisfied Astarion these days was Fallon’s. He craved her blood in a way he’d never craved anything, and he could only chalk it up to the fact that she was the first thinking creature Astarion ever drank from. Fallon’s blood was more intoxicating than the finest wine, and Astarion often found himself counting the days until he was once again allowed to press his mouth to her neck and bite the spot that made Fallon’s breath hitch and her heart rate increase.

Not only that, but whenever Astarion flirted with Fallon, she flirted back. Fallon entertained his ridiculous musings about what their companions’ blood might taste like (even if she’d confessed she would take a bite from Gale, of all people, given the chance). She indulged Astarion’s vanity when she caught him fruitlessly looking in a mirror, describing his features to him in great (extremely complimentary) detail. Every conversation Astarion had with the elven woman was planting the seeds for the move he intended to make this evening.

Astarion couldn’t help but admire Fallon as she worked the room, graciously accepting the gratitude from the tieflings and the druid, Halsin, who joined their party after they saved him from the goblin camp.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” The sound of Shadowheart’s voice made Astarion jump slightly, as he’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that the cleric had made her way over to his tent, and was standing beside him observing the party.

Astarion looked over at Shadowheart, tilting his head. “A lot of this night is ridiculous, so I’m going to need you to be more specific, darling.”

Shadowheart nodded over to Fallon, who was currently laughing at something the bard– Alina, Alanna, Alfira– was saying to her. “The way they’re all falling at her feet,” Shadowheart clarifies. “Do you think she even realizes every single person at this party would take her to bed, if given the opportunity?”

An amused smirk appeared on Astarion’s face, and raised an eyebrow at the cleric. “Even you?”

“Caught that, did you?” She chuckled as she took a long drink from her wine bottle. “Why not? It’s a party, after all. Though I don’t think I’m her type.”

“Fair enough,” He conceded. “To answer your question…if she does realize it, she’s very good at hiding it.” Astarion studied Fallon as she said goodnight to Alfira, leaving the bard with a longing look in her eyes. Fallon looked over to where Astarion and Shadowheart were standing, and a bright smile appeared on her face as she made eye contact with Astarion.

“Good luck.” Shadowheart said, patting Astarion on the shoulder as she turned to take her leave.

“Not staying to converse with our fearless leader?”

“And bear witness to you trying to convince her to come to bed with you? I’d rather vomit.” Shadowheart teased, and Astarion frowned.

“What are you–” He asked, and Shadowheart gave him a sly grin as she walked away.

“I did say everyone at this party, didn’t I?” Well, she got him there.

Astarion shook his head as the cleric walked away, and drank from his bottle of wine.

“Was I interrupting something?” Fallon asked as she approached.

“Hardly. Shadowheart was just saying goodnight.” He took another sip of wine and winced.

“Why the face?”

“The tieflings don’t exactly have good taste in wine.” He scoffed.

Without another word, Fallon reached out and took the bottle of wine from his hand and drank from it. When she lowered the bottle from her lips, Fallon was trying not to sputter. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re a bad liar, darling.” Astarion chuckled as he took the bottle back.

The smile returned to her face as Fallon broke out into laughter. “Gods, it’s so bad. I’ve been drinking from a bottle I’ve got stowed in my tent all night.”

Astarion faked an appalled look as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You mean to tell me you’ve got something better than this plonk and you’re not sharing? Darling, I’m hurt.”

“To be fair, I got it from Gale.”

“Got it, or stole it?” Astarion asked mischievously.

“He gave it to me– you and I both know I would never be able to steal it without getting caught. That’s what I have you for.” Fallon grinned.

“Is that all you keep me around for, darling? Petty theft?” Astarion flirted, taking a step closer to her.

“You’re also pretty good at killing people without getting caught.” Fallon conceded as she took Astarion’s bottle of wine from him again and took another drink.

“And…what would you say if I were to suggest you and I sneak off later to find a little death without getting caught?” Astarion asked smoothly, not even bothering to hide the suggestive smirk on his face. This was it, the moment of truth: it was time to see if all of the seeds he’d spent the last fortnight planting were going to take root.

Astarion watched Fallon carefully as the slow realization of his suggestion washed over her. Despite the fact that there was a raucous party happening around them, all sound evaporated as he stared at Fallon. Astarion didn’t need to breathe, so the act of holding his breath in anticipation was simply that: an act. Fallon’s expression softened, and she reached forward and pressed the bottle of wine back into Astarion’s hand.

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

Her response was not what he’d been expecting, and the suggestive expression on Astarion’s face faltered as he took a step back from Fallon. “What are you talking about?”

Fallon laughed softly. “I know what you’re doing…and I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”

Astarion stared at her, completely disarmed by her words. “I don’t know what you–”

“Please, I’m not an idiot. You think the only way to guarantee your safety is to seduce me. Right?”

The vampire’s jaw slackened as he stared at the ranger in front of him, completely stunned into silence. “I–” Astarion stammered before closing his mouth again.

“Well, you don’t. You’re my friend, Astarion. Barring the fact that you’ve already saved my ass more than once, being my friend means I’ve got your back. Your protection is already secured. I promise. No sneaking off for a little death required.”

“Okay.” Astarion said stupidly, all other words completely lost in the shock of this woman reading him so thoroughly.

Fallon took Astarion’s free hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “Have a good night, Astarion.”

The vampire was too stunned to say anything else as Fallon walked away, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as she did. Astarion saw the way her posture and gait changed as she made her way to Gale’s tent. Fallon wasn’t walking over to see the wizard, she was sauntering, and Gale was staring at her with his mouth slightly open as she approached.

Astarion had gathered from the pining looks Gale often gave Fallon when she wasn’t looking that the wizard wanted the ranger, but it never occurred to him that Fallon might want Gale, too. Astarion watched their entire exchange: the way Fallon’s face lit up when Gale cracked a joke, the way she placed her hand on his bicep as they made intense eye contact, the brief look of confusion on Gale’s face that slowly turned into elation as Fallon spoke.

Then, the wizard stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Fallon’s cheek before she turned to walk away, and a surge of jealousy clawed its way into Astarion’s chest as the ranger blushed, a lovesick grin plastered across her face as she went to talk to Karlach. Soon a dull ache replaced the jealousy in Astarion’s heart, and he frowned deeply.

Maybe his desire to sleep with Fallon was about more than just gaining her favor and protection.

Astarion downed the rest of his wine and dropped the empty bottle to the ground. “Shit.”

–

“I assume he belongs to you?” Araj Oblodra addressed Fallon, but she was referring to Astarion. The blood dealer from Menzoberranzan wanted him to bite her, because she wanted to know what it would feel like.

Fallon folded her arms across her chest, and shifted her weight to her left side. Astarion may have been standing behind her, but he knew that stance. It was the one Fallon often took when someone they encountered said something so utterly ridiculous that she was almost in disbelief that they could be so stupid.

“Excuse me? He is his own person.” There was a coldness to her tone, and Astarion swore the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. What she said, though, hearing Fallon say those words, it warmed Astarion’s heart like it was still beating.

“I’m sure he believes that. How utterly adorable,” Araj turned her attention toAstarion. “Do you have a name, spawn?”

“Um, Astarion, but hold on—“ He could feel the panic starting to rise within him as he listened to Araj offer them an extremely valuable potion in exchange for a bite from Astarion. This woman saw him as an object and nothing more: something to be used for her personal enjoyment, something to be exploited.

Astarion declined, and that was not what Araj wanted to hear. That was the moment Astarion’s head started to spin. He felt separated from his body, like he was watching this play out from the rafters, not like he was actually there and participating in the conversation as Araj berated him for saying no.

He didn’t come back to reality until he saw the peak of Fallon’s ponytail somewhat obstructing his vision, because she’d stepped in between Astarion and Araj.

“He said no, now back the fuck off or the only blood you’ll be dealing with will be your own after I spill it all over this gods damned floor.” Fallon threatened, and Astarion felt that warm feeling in his heart again.

Araj made another rude comment about Astarion being a spawn, about him being property, and before Astarion could truly register what was happening, Fallon lunged at the drow, only to be caught around her middle by Karlach.

“Steady soldier, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” The tiefling reminded their leader as Araj drank an invisibility potion and fled. Not that the potion really made any difference— Fallon could still see the drow, courtesy of Volo, even if the rest of them couldn’t.

“I don’t care. I’ll kill her and make it look like a fucking accident. I know how.” Fallon fumed as she struggled against Karlach’s grip.

“Perhaps we should go back to camp for the evening to clear our heads before our cover gets blown and reconvene tomorrow.” Gale suggested anxiously as he peered around to make sure nobody in the adjacent rooms to Araj’s workshop was aware that anything had gone awry.

“Fine, but if she’s here when we come back tomorrow I can’t promise I’ll let her live.” Fallon seethed, and the warm feeling in Astarion’s heart intensified.

Several hours later, once everyone else had gone to bed, Fallon approached him.

“Are you okay?” She asked gently as she sat down beside Astarion outside his tent.

That was certainly the question, wasn’t it? “I should have given her what she wanted,” Astarion said quietly as he averted his eyes from Fallon. “That potion could have been an asset.”

“No potion is worth having if you have to force yourself to do something you don’t want to do.” Fallon countered.

“There’s so much at stake, though. My whole life since becoming a vampire has been about using my looks to get what I wanted—what Cazador wanted— I should have just gritted my teeth through a single moment of unpleasantness and moved on. That’s…that’s what I used to do. It should have been easy.”

“It wasn’t easy this time because you’re stronger now than you used to be. You’re not a slave anymore— you’re free.” Astarion looked at Fallon and he saw the pride shining in her eyes. She was right. Astarion was definitely not the person he was when they met, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized this was largely in part to having met Fallon in the first place. “It’s because of you, you know. You—you’ve made me realize that I deserve better. I can’t say I know what the future holds for me, but I know that whatever decisions I make will be mine; and no one can take that from me.”

Fallon smiled genuinely at him and Astarion couldn’t help but smile back. There was just something about her smile that seemed to brighten up even this land shrouded in darkness. “While I wish I could take all the credit, I wouldn’t have gotten through to you if that strength wasn’t already inside you somewhere.” She leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Gods, you really can’t take a compliment, can you?” Astarion teased with a soft laugh. Not once in the short time that Astarion had known Fallon had he ever witnessed the woman receive a compliment and just say thank you— it was always thank you, followed by some ridiculous reason she didn’t deserve said compliment, or complete denial she deserved the recognition at all.

Fallon let out a sharp laugh. “Caught on, have you?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you always do that? Deflect when someone says something nice about you.” Astarion elaborated as he studied Fallon closely. Her eyes began rapidly looking everywhere except at Astarion as she sat next to him quietly.

When Fallon finally made eye contact with Astarion again, there was a sadness in her eyes that Astarion understood all too well. “The same reason you do it: when someone spends all their time telling you that you aren’t worthy of kind words, eventually, you begin to believe them.”

Though Astarion had come to count Fallon amongst the few he could call a friend, this was the first time Fallon offered up any sort of real information about herself (and her life before they were abducted) to Astarion and suddenly, her rejection at the party with the tieflings made even more sense. The overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around the raven-haired elf and tell her just how worthy and wonderful she was flooded Astarion’s body. Instead, he just stared at Fallon and nodded sympathetically, because doing anything more than that would mean admitting out loud that he cared for Fallon far more than he ever intended to.

Another moment of silence passed before Astarion stood up and disappeared into his tent momentarily. When he returned, he had a bottle of wine in his hand. He uncorked it and took a long drink before passing the bottle to Fallon with a soft smile.

“Here’s to being better than they ever told us we’d be.” Astarion toasted.

Fallon smiled at him as she took the bottle, and just like that, warmth flooded Astarion’s heart again and all of the atrocities of the day began fading away.

Maybe, someday, he would be worthy of that smile.

Maybe, someday, he would be worthy of her.

–

“You’re running out of time, you know.” Shadowheart said to Astarion one morning when they were alone at camp. Fallon, Gale, Karlach, and Wyll had gone to Moonrise Towers to rescue more tieflings, and Lae’zel was at The Last Light Inn, discussing battle strategies with Jaheira and the Harpers.

Astarion gave the cleric a look. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sure?” Shadowheart asked slyly, which only exacerbated Astarion’s confusion.

“Yes, I am quite sure.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about Fallon. You’re running out of time to tell her how you feel.”

Despite the calm look that appeared on Astarion’s face when Shadowheart explained herself, deep inside, Astarion was panicking. How did Shadowheart know? Surely it hadn’t been obvious…had it? Astarion didn’t think he’d been treating Fallon any differently since the day they met Araj Oblodra. If anything, he’d given her more space. Astarion scoffed.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.” Astarion said casually.

Another eye roll from the cleric. “Perhaps I was wrong, then. However, on the offhand chance that you’re lying, and I’m not wrong, Gale declared his intentions to Fallon yesterday. After a bloody battle, of all things.”

Despite the neutral look he managed to keep on his face, Astarion’s heart dropped into his stomach. Gale and Fallon had been exchanging bashful smiles and pining glances ever since the tiefling party a few weeks ago, but Astarion didn’t think Gale had the stones to actually do anything about it. Then again, something changed about the way Gale carried himself after that old wizard showed up and instructed Gale to blow himself up at Mystra’s request. Perhaps Gale was going to go through with it, so he needed to strike while the iron was hot.

If that was the case, how dare Gale use her in that way and pass it off as his dying wish? Fallon had a big heart– Astarion had seen it in the way she rushed to help those who needed it and to avenge the people that were lost. He saw it in the way Fallon looked out for Astarion and the rest of their companions, taking the time to actually get to know them and make sure everyone was doing alright, promising to help solve everyone’s individual problems on top of dealing with her own. It was obvious she had feelings for the wizard, and that Gale was content with taking advantage of her feelings and her kindness…to use Fallon and discard her so he could be a martyr for his goddess…it made Astarion’s blood boil.

If that was the case, Astarion would kill Gale himself.

“Astarion?” Shadowheart waved her hand in front of the vampire’s face, snapping him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

“Sorry, darling, it’s been a while since I ate and the hunger kind of took over my thoughts for a moment.”

Shadowheart smirked at him as she saw through the lie– Astarion fed on Fallon yesterday, and the ranger had the bitemarks to show for it. “Right…well, seeing as I have no intention of being your next meal, I’ll leave you to it. Just…don’t wait too long before you go hunting, alright? I’d hate for you to miss out on something good because your prey got away from you.”

Astarion shot Shadowheart a grateful look, both for not pressing him to verbally admit he had feelings for Fallon, and also for encouraging him to do something about it. “Thank you.”

The rescue mission was a success, and when Fallon, Gale, Karlach, and Wyll returned to camp everyone was in high spirits. Not only had they managed to save all of the tieflings captured by the Absolutists, but also a group of Ironhand gnomes, with no casualties. It seemed like as good a time as any to try and talk to Fallon– not that Astarion had any idea what he was going to say to her. These feelings, his desire for her, it was all foreign and uncharted territory and there was at least a fifty percent chance that Astarion would end up not saying anything at all and making up a reason he wanted to speak with her.

Astarion and Fallon were usually the last two awake– being elves meant they naturally required less sleep than everyone else. Once it seemed like everyone had gone to bed, Astarion momentarily retired to his tent to grab a bottle of wine, certain that alcohol would calm his nerves (plus telling Fallon he loved her over a glass of wine felt like perhaps it was an appropriate romantic gesture). Upon exiting his tent, however, Astarion was greeted with the sight of an astral projection of Gale, and it was speaking to Fallon.

Shit.

What were the chances that what he’d just witnessed wasn’t exactly what Astarion thought it might be? Something told him the probability was low. Astarion hung back until the vision of Gale evaporated before making his way over to the elf, bottle of wine still in hand (just in case). “What was that about? Is the wizard suddenly too good for in-person conversation?” Astarion asked as he approached Fallon from behind. The ranger jumped, clearly not aware that anybody had seen the exchange that just occurred, and when she turned to face Astarion, her cheeks were flushed and there was a giddy smile on her face.

“Oh! Hi! Gale was just– he, um– he invited me to come meet him somewhere private. I guess he wants to show me something?”

So it was exactly what Astarion thought it might be. Fuck. He was too late. “Show you something, hm? I can only imagine what he could possibly want to show you in private.” Astarion smirked as he teased Fallon.

“Shut up.” The elf in front of him rolled her eyes and giggled– Astarion was certain that not only had he never heard Fallon laugh like that before, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. Her eyes drifted to the bottle of wine in Astarion’s hand. “Did you need something?”

Astarion shook his head. “I wanted to see if you were interested in a nightcap to celebrate your win today, but it sounds like you’re otherwise engaged, so I’ll be off.”

“I’m sorry.” Fallon apologized, bless her, not that he really had any idea why she felt the need to do so.

“Not to worry.. Another time,” He waved her off with his free hand and an easy smile, hopeful that it masked the fact that he felt like he was dying inside. “Have fun, darling.” With a wink, Astarion turned on his heels and walked back to his tent, his face falling the second his back was to Fallon.

Fallon and Gale did not return to camp until the next morning when everyone was already around the campfire eating breakfast. They were hand in hand, and Fallon giggled softly as Gale leaned in to whisper something in her ear before kissing her cheek.

“It’s about gods-damned time!” Karlach hollered upon seeing them.

“I, too, was growing tired of the longing glances the two of you gave each other when the other was not looking. I’m glad you both finally saw sense. Perhaps now you’ll be able to focus on the problems at hand.” Lae’zel agreed, and Astarion couldn’t help but snort with laughter. Even when she was congratulating someone, she managed to insult them. It was brilliant.

“Are you going to be okay?” Shadowheart’s voice filled Astarion’s mind as she used their tadpole connection to wordlessly communicate with him.

Astarion did not look at Shadowheart, not wanting to give away that they were having a private conversation in their minds. “Like I said yesterday, darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He saw no reason to admit his true feelings to his friend, especially not now– not when they officially didn’t matter. Fallon made her choice, and her choice was not Astarion.

He watched as Gale escorted Fallon to her tent, likely so she could change out of yesterday’s clothes, the dull ache that had taken root in his chest the night before intensifying tenfold as Gale tucked his finger beneath Fallon’s chin and kissed her deeply before making his way to his own tent. The smile on Fallon’s face was bright enough that Astarion was certain even the shadows of this cursed place would shy away.

“She looks happy.” Shadowheart’s voice filled Astarion’s mind again, and he sighed.

“She deserves nothing less.”

Once upon a time, Astarion might have made a play for Fallon’s heart anyway, her relationship with Gale be damned. Ironically, the reason Astarion now listened to his moral compass was entirely due to Fallon’s influence. Without even realizing it (or maybe she did), Fallon had turned Astarion into a better person, and because of that, he was going to let his feelings for her go. If all Fallon was able to offer him was her friendship then Astarion would be grateful for it. He just hoped that seeing her happy with someone else would eventually stop feeling like someone ripped open his chest and threw his heart on the ground.

How sad it was, to finally feel alive again, and not be able to share it with the person who made him feel that way.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #astarion #female tav #gale x tav #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #bg3 fan fiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fan fic #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fan fiction

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sunshine-theseus · 6 months

Text

Midas' Touch

Cortnee Vine x Reader Summary: It's hard not to fall in love with a girl like that warnings: - not completely proof read. - i haven't written for fun in so long and i suck at knowing if i'm using the correct tense so i'm sorry about that😭

It's hot. Too hot to be doing much more than rondos and some light running for warm up before heading back to change into our kits and hear a few last words from Garrath.

And that's exactly what we do. Well, until I spot flaming red hair out of the corner of my eye as I'm heading back to the tunnel. The feature is familiar on its own, but odd when combined with the sky-blue jersey that adorns her.

A smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts is thrown my way and I stumble over the back of Holly's foot. I quickly apologise before scurrying back to the locker room.

I had only met Cortnee at the World Cup, when I got my first call up for The Matildas. We weren't close in comparison to people like Kyra and Charlie, but we roomed together and got to know each other reasonably well.

This was the first time I'd seen her since our defeating departure and I'm more nervous than I was during my debut. I had admittedly developed somewhat of a crush on her during the World Cup, but I'd managed to forget about it within the whirlwind of transferring back to the Brisbane Roar from Liverpool.

Until now.

~~~~~

I'm lining up when I spot Tameka approaching me with Harley, who is dressed in a number 13 Roar jersey that is 3 times too big for her. Before they get too far, Harley is running full speed into my open arms, giggling as I sprinkle her face with kisses.

Meeks was originally in the starting XI, but Garrath made the decision she would make a good boost after half time when players began to tire. That meant Harley was now my mascot, and I have no complaints because she'd the cutest little thing, unless she starts blabbering secrets. Which she tends to do, a lot, when she's excited.

"Are you sure you're okay with her? She can be a lot."

I smile softly at both of them.

"Of course it’s fine. She’s a sweetheart”, and with that, Tameka says goodbye and walks out to the sub bench with the others.

As I’m putting Harley back down so I can hold her hand on the walk out, I see the same flash of red hair pass by. I’m following her with my eyes when Harley tugs on my hand and whispers “Have you ‘n’ Cortnee kisseded yet?”

I can feel myself burning up, but simply shake my head no before grabbing her hand and following the rest of the team out onto the pitch as she giggles softly beside me.

~~~~~

It gets worse as we begin to shake hands with the Sydney. I’m last, and Harley’s starting to spew random words and facts she knows as we walk down the line. Cortnee is a mere metre away when Harley begins waving to her and jumping up and down, begging for her attention.

I shake Cortnee’s hand and I nearly choke at how beautiful she is up close. Her eyes are brighter than I remember, and her hair is golden under the burning sun, her freckles are like constellations and I nearly reach up to trace them.

But our greeting is cut short when Harley jumps into her arms and asks “is it hard being away from your girlfriend?”

Not a second later, Tameka has Harley in her arms again and Cortnee and I are blushing, but I’m moving onto the next person before we can say another word, trying not to look back at her as she jogs back and forth lightly before taking her position.

I don’t know how I forgot it. The rush of the pre-game had me occupied, but as I plant my feet on the ground, the fact I’m always her marker, even in scrimmages at camp, hits my like a truck and I know this may possibly be the hardest game I’ll ever play if I can’t get her out of my head.

~~~~~

I had been doing pretty well so far if I do say so myself. I’d managed to stay focused on the game and had converted a free kick from Sharn into a goal in the 27th minute that put us in the lead: 1-0.

But now my focus is beginning to waver, at possibly the worst possible moment. It’s the 88th minute and Sydney was just awarded a corner. We’re all gathered at the goal, marking whoever we could, to stop the ball that was about to come flying in, from crossing the line. But as I’m pushing back into the player behind me, I feel her hands on my hips and warm air hits the back of my neck.

I’m turning to tell her off, but my breath gets caught in my throat again. Why won’t she leave me alone. Let me focus on this game before smiling so sweetly at me and sending sparks through my body.

Cortnee cheekily nudges me forward as the ball curves through the air but I can’t stop myself from falling to the ground, my focus has been completely removed from the ball. And yet… I still manage to stop it as it rolls, or more so is kicked into my face rather harshly in an attempt for Sydney to score an equaliser.

A groan resounds across the pitch but I’m standing before the ref can try to call the medics over. I’m not letting a little ball to the face stop the game this close to the end, I’m exhausted and can’t take more than whatever added time we’ll already receive. Well, that’s what I’d like to think.

“Nice try Y/L/N but you know the rules! You’re getting checked for a concussion, don’t try to fight it.”

Such a nice lady, yet suddenly the bane of my existence.

The concussion assessment takes no more than 30 seconds, and by the time I’m running back on, we’ve started the (gratefully) 2 minutes of added time. The medics also add the fact I haven’t broken my nose but I will develop a nice bruise that may scare Harley and my niece and nephew for a few weeks.

~~~~~

I’m standing back in front of Cortnee when the final whistle blows, Brisbane won, we’ve won, 1-0. Before I can take off to hug and celebrate with my team, the bright hair and cheeky dimples are the only things in sight. And before I can try and comfort her for her loss, lips softer than I could have ever imagined, are pressing hard against my own.

I’m not sure I’d ever reacted faster than I had in that moment, grabbing her face while her hands wrap around my waist. But I pull back with a wince and lightly grab my nose.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since our first match at the world cup when you scored your first goal” she whispers softly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you” In that moment I think about how I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as her.

“Well, I guess Harley knew something we didn’t”.

“She knows to get what she wants. I think she secretly set us up”.

“The three-year-old?” I giggle and peck her on the lips.

“She has her ways”.

“Does this make us… girlfriends?” I quickly ask.

“I’d fucking hope so”.

I grab Cortnee’s hand and drag her over to Sharn, Tameka and Harley, the youngest of which has a cheeky smile as she screams “CORTNEE AND Y/N KISSEDED” and claps her hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT IS THE CUTEST FUCKING STORY EVER” Alex screams as we sit on the pitch, warming down from today’s training.

We’re back at camp for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers, and it’s the day before our match against the Philippines. Cortnee had wanted to have the physio check out her leg, the tension in her hamstring seeming to be causing her more grief than anyone wants, so I was sitting with Alex, Mini and Sam. It’s an odd combination but I’m glad to be getting to know more of the girls.

“That was actually fucking sickening. Kristie is going to love hearing it later.” Sam laughs at the mention of her own girlfriend.

“I genuinely think that was what Harper and Harley spent their time on all of last camp because she kept asking about you two as well. But it was about damn time.” The comment from Mini has me slightly shocked. Was there anyone who didn’t think we should get together?

Before I can ask anything, Tony is calling us to gather round to say some words and give us feedback before sending us back to the hotel. I’m standing on the end when two arms snake around my waist and a gentle kiss is pressed to the top of my head. I lean back into her but don’t say anything until we’re told to get going.

“What did she say?” I lean into her some more as we walk back to the locker room.

“It’s just a little tension, I’ll be okay to play tomorrow”

~~~~~

She most certainly was not okay to play. Cortnee was subbed on and within 10 minutes was back sitting next to me on the sub bench with an ice pack on her thigh.

To give her credit, the injury was predominantly from a collision on the pitch, but I was selfishly mad she didn’t tell me. So, while I held her hand as we took a lap around the pitch and signed shirts and took photos with fans at the end of the game, I didn’t talk to her.

Or in the locker room.

Or on the bus to the hotel.

Or at dinner.

Or as I watched her pack her bags and leave back to Sydney because she needed to start healing as soon as possible.

All I did was give her a peck on the lips and watch her uber drive away.

An hour later she texted me about a fan she’d met at the airport, who was shaking so bad she had to take the photo. I liked it but didn’t reply.

But now it was our final match day, and I don’t have Cortnee to have breakfast with, something that had become somewhat of a tradition for us whenever we could.

I have no clue as to why I’m so mad about it, but as I sat with Sam and Steph at breakfast, I knew I needed to at least call her and apologise. So I did.

The phone rings, almost too many times, but eventually the girl I love is staring back at me.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!”

The lines are rushed out by both of us, probably louder than need be as I get weird looks from some of the girls.

“No no you have no reason to apologise Cort, I literally got so mad for no reason, I should be helping you heal not ignoring you!”

“I still should have told you, let you help me. I love you and you just want the best for me.” We’d never actually said those words. But I blurt them out before I can stop myself.

“I love you too!”

Everyone around me is giggling as I blush.

I look back to Cortnee on my screen. She’s out in her backyard, laying on the grass, her hair is splayed behind her, golden, touched by the hand of Midas. Her eyes are as blue ever, her cheeks rosy, dimples deep. Then I hear her laugh and I don’t think I could love anyone more because I’m melting in my seat as we quickly bid each other goodbye.

That night I play for her, and as we celebrate, Sam and I both call our respective partners together to let them know. And when we hang up I turn to Sam, unable to stop smiling.

“I’m going to love her forever.”

#woso x reader #cortnee vine x reader #the matildas x reader

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fourthwingfan · 16 days

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Madness - Chapter 17

Hi, guys. Enjoy the new chapter :)

It is therefore only natural that the more powerful the dragon, the more powerful the signet its rider manifests. One should beware of a strong rider who bonds a smaller dragon, but even warier of the unbonded cadet, who will stop at nothing to seize a chance to bond.

—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

After sleeping in the crowded barracks for the last two months, it’s weird, and oddly decadent, to have my own room. I’ll never take the luxury of privacy for granted again.

I close my door behind me as I step into the hallway.

Violet’s door is to the right of mine and I see her limping towards me.

“Hi, there rider.” I greet her with a smile. “How is your leg?”

“Hi, Aelin.” She smiles back. “It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Good morning, neighbours.” I feel an arm around my shoulder.

“Hi, Liam.” I look up at him. His room is the one left of mine, and Ethan’s next to him. We are the only first-years who survived Threshing in our squad.

“Hi.” I hear Vi whispers and I can see a small blush? on her face.

Oh, my god. I love it!

“Are you okay, Vi? You’re face is a little red.” I say with a sly smile.

“Yes.” She glares at me and turns around when Rhiannon’s door, across the small hall from us, opens and we see Sawyer’s tall, lean frame come out. He runs his fingers through his hair, and when he sees us, his eyebrows rise and he freezes—his cheeks almost as red as his freckles.

“Good morning.” I grin.

“Guys.” He forces an awkward smile and walks off, headed toward the main hallway of the first-year dormitory.

Rhiannon walks out of her room and smiles as soon as she sees us. “No more breakfast duty?” She turns to Violet.

“I was told last night that all the less desirable duties were being handed off to the unbonded so our energy can be redirected for flight lessons.”

„One more reason for the unbonded to hate us,” Rhiannon mutters.

“It doesn’t matter. I think our dragons existence are already pisses them off.” I shrug.

„So, Sawyer, huh, Rhi?” Vi asks as we start down our hallway, passing a few other rooms before meeting up with the main corridor that leads to the rotunda. Have to say, the first-year rooms aren’t as spacious as the second-years’, but at least we all got ones with windows.

A grin curves her lips. “I felt like celebrating.” She darts a quick side-eye at her. “And why have I not heard of you celebrating?”

We melt into the crowd moving toward the gathering hall. “Haven’t found anyone I want to celebrate with.”

“Really? Because I heard that you and a certain squad leader had a moment last night.”

She nearly stumbles over her feet.

“Come on, Vi. The entire quadrant was out there, and you don’t think someone saw you?” I roll my eyes.

„Who gives a shit if it’s frowned upon to be in a relationship with a superior officer? There’s no regulation, and it’s not like any of us is guaranteed to live through the day.” Rhiannon says.

“Solid points,” she admit. “But it’s…” she shakes her head, searching for the right words. “It’s not like that with us. I’d always hoped it would be, but when he kissed me—there was nothing there. Like. Nothing.”

“Well, that’s shitty to hear.” She hooks her arm through hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” She sighs.

“I’m not.” I glance at them. “I never liked him. And he doesn’t support you, Vi. You deserve someone who sees you. Because you’re awesome.” I squeeze Vi’s hand.

“Thanks, I think.” She smiles at me with gratitude.

„Good morning, ladies. And Liam.” Ridoc forces his way through the crowd and slings an arm around Rhiannon and Vi’s shoulders as we enter the rotunda. “Or should I say, riders?”

“I like the sound of riders,” Rhiannon replies, shooting a smile in his direction.

“It has a certain ring to it,” Ridoc agrees.

“It’s definitely better than dead. Where’s your relic?” Vi asks Ridoc as we pass through the columns of carved dragons and take the steps into commons.

“Right here.” His arm falls off her shoulders, and he shoves the sleeve of his tunic up to reveal the brown mark of a dragon silhouette on his upper arm. “You?”

“Can’t see it. It’s on my back.”

“That will keep you safer if you’re ever separated from that massive dragon of yours.” His eyes dance. “I swear, I thought I was going to shit myself when I saw him on the field. What about yours, Rhi?”

“Somewhere you’ll never see,” she responds.

“You wound me.” He slaps his hand over his heart.

“I highly doubt that,” she retorts, but there’s a smile on her face.

“And you Aelin? If it’s somewhere private than I’d like to volunteer to check it out. Just you, and me.” He winks at me.

“Nice try.” I laugh at him. “But I’ll pass.”

“Are you waiting for someone else?” Liam whispers in my ear.

“Shut up.” I elbow him in the ribs while I feel myself flush.

Before anyone can ask another question we move through commons and into the gathering hall, then make our way through the line for breakfast.

“Asshole,” Ridoc mutters in front of me. “I still can’t believe they tried to kill you.” He says to Violet.

“Who?” I ask and look toward the counter. There’s a man behind it and he glares at Violet with hatred in his eyes. “Oh wow. What did you do to him?”

“I beat him during the challanges.” Vi turns to me. „And before Threshing he said that I better watch my back.”

“Hm. He really holds a grudge.” I say while we collect our breakfast. „But don’t worry, now you’re a rider with a badass dragon. Still… I can’t believe he’s this petty.”

„I’m the weakest link, right? Unfortunately for me, that means people are bound to try and take me out for the good of the wing.” Vi says.

“You’re not!” I say firmly.

We head toward the Fourth Wing section and find a table with extra seats.

“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.

“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys from Tail Section scurry off the bench.

“Sorry, Sorrengail!” the other says over his shoulder as they find another table, leaving this one empty.

What the hell?

“Well, that was really fucking weird.” I say as Rhiannon rounds the other side of the table, and I follow, putting our backs to the wall as we step over the bench and sit, setting our trays in front of us.

“Even weirder?” Liam remarks, gesturing across the hall toward First Wing.

Following his line of sight, my eyebrows lift. Jack Barlowe is being squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.

“What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon bites into a pear and chews.

Jack moves to another table—whose occupants won’t make room for him—and then finds a place two tables down.

“How the mighty have fallen, Ridoc notes, watching the same show I am, but there’s no satisfaction in watching Jack struggle. Feral dogs bite harder when they’re cornered.

“Hey, Sorrengail,” the stocky girl from First Wing says with a tight smile as she walks past our table.

“Hi.” She wave awkwardly as she walks away, then turn to whisper to us. “She hasn’t spoken to me since I took one of her daggers in that challenge.”

“It’s because you bonded Tairn.” Imogen blows her pink hair out of her face and throws her leg over the bench across from us to sit, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic and revealing her rebellion relic. “The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail, are now about to be the most powerful rider in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you.”

I blink, is that what’s going on? I look around the hall and take note. Social groups have split up, and some of the cadets I would have considered threats are no longer sitting where they usually do.

“Which is why you’re now sitting with us?” Rhiannon arches a brow at the second-year. “Because I can count on one hand the number of nice words you’ve said to any of us.” She holds up a fist with zero fingers raised.

Quinn—the tall second-year—takes a seat next to Imogen, and Sawyer arrives, sitting on Rhiannon’s other side. Quinn tucks her blond curls behind her ears and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, her round cheeks rising as she smiles at something Imogen says. Have to admit, the hooped piercings that line the shells of both her ears are pretty awesome, and among her half dozen patches, it’s the dark-green one—the same color as her eyes—with two silhouettes that’s most intriguing. I should have studied up on what all the patches mean, but according to what I’ve heard, they change every year.

I’m personally a fan of the first ones we’ve been given. I had to sew the tail-shaped patch with the emblem for Fourth Wing and the centered number two with great care, being sure to only stitch the fabric of my corseted armor, since it’s not like any needle is going to penetrate the scales.

„You weren’t interesting enough to sit with before,” Imogen responds, then bites into a muffin.

“I usually sit with my girlfriend in Claw Section. Besides, no use getting to know you when most of you die,” Quinn adds, tucking her curls away again, just to have them spring forward. “No offense.”

“None taken?” Vi says.

Then Heaton and Emery, the only third-years in their squad, flank Imogen and Quinn on the bench across from us.

“Wow. Is it a squad meeting?” I ask while munching on an apple. “Liam, I think we stand out too much.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you sit with your own squad?” Imogen asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Because they like us more than you. Even though you are their squadmate.” I smile at her coldly. “We have every right to be here. If you have a problem with it then the challanges we’ll start over soon.”

She swallows and looks at her plate.

“Is it just me or is anyone else surprised that Barlowe bonded?” Ridoc questions. “Though from what I’ve heard, his Orange Scorpiontail is on the smaller side.”

“She is,” Quinn confirms. “Which is why he’s struggling this morning.”

“Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll make up for his lack of social standing in other ways,” Rhiannon mutters, her gaze narrowing. “You have to have some protein, Vi. You can’t just survive on fruit.”

“It’s the only food I can be sure isn’t tampered with, especially with that guy behind the counter.” she peels an orange.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Imogen scrapes three pieces of sausage onto her plate. “She’s right. You’re going to need all your strength to ride, especially with a dragon as big as Tairn.”

I stare at the sausage. Imogen hates her just as much as me. Hell, she’s the one who broke her arm and ripped out her shoulder on assessment day.

“You can trust her,” Aon says, and I startle, almost dropping the apple.

“She hates us.”

“But she has changed.” He says and I can feel him pulling back.

No other explanation? Fine.

Vi starts to eat, and I focus on the conversation at the table again.

“What’s your signet?” Rhiannon asks Emery.

Air rushes down the table, rattling the glasses. Air manipulation. Got it.

“That’s epic.” Ridoc’s eyes widen. “How much air can you move?”

“None of your business.” He barely spares him a glance.

“Sorrengail, after class is out today, you’re mine,” Imogen says.

“I’m sorry?” She asks in surprise.

Her pale green eyes lock on her. “Meet me in the sparring gym.”

“I’m already working with her on sparring—” Rhiannon starts.

“Good. We can’t afford her to lose any challenges,” Imogen retorts. “But I’m going to help you with weights. We need to strengthen the muscles around your joints before challenges resume. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

The hairs rise on the back of my neck. “And since when do you care about her survival?” This isn’t a squad thing. It can’t be. Not when she didn’t give a shit before.

“Since now,” she says, gripping her fork in her fist, but it’s the lightning-fast glance toward the dais at the end of the hall that gives her away. Her concern isn’t coming from the goodness of her heart. Something tells me it’s an order. “Squads are about to be condensed at morning formation. We’ll be down to two in every section,” she continues. “Aetos kept the highest number of his first-years alive—hence the patch—so he’ll be allowed to retain his squad, but we’ll probably gain a few when they strip the squads from those who weren’t as successful.” She glances at Liam and I.

As discreetly as I can, I look to my right, past the other Fourth Wing tables and to the dais where Xaden sits with his executive officer and the section leaders, including Garrick, whose shoulders look like they should take up at least two seats. It’s Garrick who looks my way first, his forehead lining with… What is that? Worry? Then he looks away. The only reason he’d be remotely worried—he knows something.

Imogen helping Violet. Violet bonded to Tairn. Ohh shit.

“Aon? Is Tairn and Sgaeyl are mates?”

“Yes. They have a bond.” He answers.

“Then Violet and Xaden are somehow connected too?” I have my suspicions.

“Yes. They have a bond through their dragons.” He answers. “But it’s not an emotional one, little one.” He adds silently.

Then it means Garrick knows Violet’s fate is tethered to Xaden’s.

My gaze snaps to Xaden, and my chest tightens. So. Freaking. Beautiful. Apparently my body doesn’t care that he’s as dangerous as they come in the quadrant, because heat rushes through my veins, flushing my skin.

He’s using a dagger to peel an apple, removing the rind in one long curl, and the blade continues its path as his eyes lift, locking with mine.

My whole head tingles.

Gods, is there any part of my body that doesn’t physically react to the sight of him?

He glances toward Imogen and back to me, and that’s all it takes for me to know for certain. He’s ordered her to help train Violet. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.

…

A few hours later, after the squads are rearranged and the death roll is read, all the first-year riders in Fourth Wing stand in our newly issued flight leathers, waiting in front of our dragons on the flight field.

We were the smallest squad, it was logical to disband us. I don’t know why, but fortunately Liam, Ethan and I was assigned to Fourth Wing, Flame Section, Second squad. It’s Violet’s squad. Our squad’s second- and third-years went into the same squad too. I don’t complain. I’m glad that we’re still together. So now it’s our first flight lesson as a member of a new squad.

The uniform is thicker than our usual one, with a full jacket I’ve buttoned over my dragon-scale armor. And unlike our regular uniforms, whatever we choose them to be, flight leathers bear no insignia besides our rank at our shoulder and any leadership designation. No names. No patches. Nothing that could give us away if we’re separated from our dragons behind enemy lines. Just a lot of sheaths for weapons.

I try not to think about possibly fighting in the war effort one day and focus on the organized chaos evolving on the flight field this morning. I can’t miss the way the other cadets look at Tairn or the wide berth the other dragons give him. Honestly, if I had those teeth bared at me, I’d back away, too.

„No you wouldn’t, because you didn’t. You stayed and defended your friend.” Aon’s voice fills my head as he stands next to Tairn, and I can tell from his tone there are places he’d rather be.

“Only because there was a lot going on at the moment,” I respond.

“I don’t think so. Now pay attention!” He ends the discussion.

I roll my eyes but focus on what Kaori is saying from the center of the field. His hand is up, using common lesser magic to project his voice so we can all hear.

God help us when Ridoc figures out how to do that. I bite back a smile, knowing he’ll find some way to annoy the shit out of every rider in the quadrant, not just his squad.

“…and at only ninety-two riders, you are our smallest class to date.”

My shoulders dip. “I thought a hundred and one were willing to bond, plus you and Tairn?”

“Willing doesn’t mean they found worthy riders,” Aon answers. “You’re worthy. At least I think you are, but you apparently don’t pay attention in class.” He chuffs and a warm puff of steam blasts the back of my neck.

“There are forty-one unbonded riders who would kill to be standing where you are,” Kaori continues. “And your dragons know that your bond is at its weakest point right now, so if you fall, if you fail, there’s a good chance your dragon might let you if it thinks the unbonded will be a better choice.”

“Comforting,” I mutter.

Aon makes a noise that reminds me of a scoff.

“Now, we’re going to mount, then follow a series of specific maneuvers your dragons already know. Your orders are simple today. Stay in your seat,” Kaori finishes. Then he turns and breaks into a sprint, racing the dozen feet toward his dragon’s foreleg and making the vertical climb to mount.

Just like the last obstacle on the Gauntlet.

I sprint up the same way and I navigate Aon’s spikes to find the seat. My tighs ache a little from yesterday, but it’s bearable. I grip the pommel. Okay, I’m ready.

Kaori’s dragon launches into the sky.

“Hold tight.”

I feel as Aon crouches a millisecond before he hurls us skyward. The wind tears at my eyes as my stomach falls away, and I risk holding on with one hand to lower my flight goggles. Immediate relief.

“We had to go third?” I ask Aon as we fly out of the canyon and higher into the mountain range. I get it now, why I didn’t see the dragons training often even though I’ve basically grown up at Basgiath. The only people around us are other riders.

“I only agreed to follow Smachd because his rider is your instructor. Tairn should be the first.”

“So you’re an in-front kind of guy. Good to know. Remind me to spend some time at temple so I can make multiple appeals to Dunne.” I keep my focus on Kaori, watching for when the maneuvers will start.

“The goddess of strength and war?” Aon clearly scoffs this time.

“What, dragons don’t think we need the gods on our side?” Shit, it’s cold up here. My gloved hands tighten on the pommel.

“Dragons pay no heed to your puny gods.”

Kaori banks right, and Aon follows suit, leading us into a steep dive down the face of one of the peaks. I clench with my legs to remain in the seat.

We go into another climb and even a near-spiral of a turn, and I can’t help but notice that he’s taking everything Kaori is doing and making it harder. The same as Tairn.

“Why did you make it harder?” I ask. “It’s our first flight lesson, I don’t want to fall off.”

“You won’t. I chose you, now trust me. Unless you’d rather be scraped off the glacier below like Gleann’s rider back there?”

I whip my head around to look, but all I see is Aon’s tail swinging, his massive spikes blocking the view.

“Don’t look.”

“We already lost a rider?” My throat knots.

“Gleann chose poorly. He never bonds strongly anyway.”

At least I can hold my seat. It’s not that bad.

As soon as I think this, I see Violet as he falls off from Tairn.

“Violet!” I shout without thinking.

“Don’t worry. Tairn will catch her.” Aon says.

“What? But I thought the dragons never catch the newly bonded riders.”

Then I see Tairn’s claws catch her. He climbs high, then tosses her again, his back rises to meet her falling bottom. I sigh with relief as she takes her seat. She’s safe.

“Worry about yourself, little one. You have a lot to learn. Leave your friend to Tairn.”

I try to concentrate, but I can’t help and notice as Violet falls again.

And again.

Shit. We have to figure something out.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #liam mairi #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #oc #the empyrean #xaden x oc #xaden riorson x oc #tairn #deigh #dragons

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sallowslady · 3 months

Text

I want you to carry my child // Sebastian Sallow x Female Reader, One Shot

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Female Narrator/reader

Words: 1.7k

Chapter Warnings (read at your own risk): Talk about sex, infertility, pregnancy, marriage, the female narrator's house is not specified, relationship between Sebastian and the female narrator, use of 1st person for the narrator, both of them are 18+.

Summary: Sebastian and you want nothing more than a baby. After one year of trying, you're still not pregnant and it worries Sebastian.

A/N: English is not my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes or errors.

Enjoy! 🤍

“I just don’t understand,” Sebastian sighed. “We’ve been trying for a year now, with no luck.”

Sebastian sat at the edge of the bed, as naked as the day he was born. With the duvet around me, I got up from my lying position on the bed and crawled behind him. I laid my head on his shoulder and hugged him from behind, enjoying the warmth of his body against mine.

We had just made love, another try for us to get the baby we so desperately wanted.

“Maybe it just takes time for us,” I whispered, planting kisses along his jaw.

Sebastian sighed again and looked down at the floor. I could see and feel how much it bothered him. He didn’t say it, but I knew there was a part of him blaming himself. We have been trying for a year now to get pregnant, but as Sebastian had said, with no luck.

We were both young and healthy. 21 and 22 years old. There should be nothing wrong. Still, it worried Sebastian that I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet—more than it worried me.

“What if something is wrong?” He asked, sighing again. His gaze did not leave the floor.

My arms were still holding him in a tight hug.

“What if there isn’t something wrong? What if you’re just worrying for no good reason?” I answered back, beginning to place kisses on his shoulders that were covered in beautiful, tiny freckles.

“But Garreth and his wife only tried for three months or something, and then she was pregnant,” Sebastian explained, looking back at me. “I’m serious. What if there’s really something wrong and it might never happen?”

I sighed, dropping my head back on his shoulder. I didn’t know what to say. A part of me knew we had to talk about it, especially because I knew how much it meant to Sebastian, but until now, I had tried to avoid the subject and let time tell what would happen.

“I don’t know, Sebastian,” I finally said. “Are you afraid that I can’t get pregnant?”

I had avoided addressing that particular question, because what if it was me who had trouble getting pregnant or worse, what if it wasn’t possible at all?

Sebastian's eyes widened at my question, shaking his head eagerly.

“What? No!” Sebastian said, still shaking his head. “As far as we know, it could be me as well.”

That made him look down at the floor again, sighing. I climbed onto his lap so I was facing him and made him look up from the floor and at me instead.

“Exactly,” I said. “We don’t know anything for sure. Maybe we just need a little more time before it’s our turn?”

As we sat there, looking into each other's eyes, I could see the concern in his eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

“Do you remember when I told you that my parents had a hard time getting me and Anne?” He asked. I slowly nodded. I did remember him telling me a few years back, but I couldn’t remember the context or the exact details about it. “I always thought it was because of my mom, but now I’m not so sure anymore.”

I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t done talking, so for now, I just listened.

“I.. I think it was my dad,” He continued to speak, and his facial expression became more and more sad. “And now that you’re having a hard time getting pregnant, I’m afraid-” His voice broke. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

I grabbed his hands and intertwined our fingers. I still didn’t say anything but waited till he was ready to continue to speak.

“I’m afraid it’s because of me. What if I can’t get you pregnant?” He finally said. In that moment he looked and sounded so vulnerable, so fragile.

My heart broke a little there. Not because what he just had said didn’t matter to me, but because I could see how much it affected him. I loosened our fingers and brought his hands up to my mouth.

“Sebastian,” I said as I gently planted small kisses on his hands. “I don’t care if you can’t get me pregnant, heck, I don’t care if I will ever be pregnant. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it matters to me! I want to be able to make you pregnant, to have children with you.” He answered me, his face as serious as can be. “That’s.. That’s my job, you know?”

I sighed, but still looked at him with a warm and understanding smile. I began to understand what this was all about for Sebastian. I laid my hands on his cheeks while looking into his brown eyes.

“Seb..” I said with a low voice, using his nickname. “I understand that’s how you feel, but if that’s the case that you can’t make me pregnant, then that’s how it is. That’s okay. I don’t blame you and you shouldn’t be blaming yourself.”

Sebastian broke eye contact and shook his head.

“No, I won’t accept it. Not when Garreth got his wife pregnant! I want that too! I want to see you carry our baby, our child and know that it was something we did together.” He explained, pointing at my flat stomach and then he laid his hands on it. A part of him in that moment sounded like 5th-year Sebastian, trying to compete with Garreth.

“I want a little baby to grow in there,” He said as he caressed my stomach as if there actually was a baby in there. “I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. I just want our child to be healthy and to look like their beautiful mother. I just want to know that it came from me and that it happened because we love each other. That’s all I want.”

I bit my lip as I listened to him. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand him and the thought of being pregnant with his child was what I wanted most in the world, but it wasn’t the most important thing to me. It was him.

I forced him to look up and into my eyes before I kissed him. The kiss was short, but filled with all the love I had for him. I pulled back again and as I looked at him again, I could see tears pressing in the corners of his eyes.

“I understand, and know that there’s nothing more I want in this world than to be able to carry your children and become their mom, but if that can’t happen, no matter who’s “fault” that is, then we have to accept that,” I said. “There are other ways we can be parents if getting our own child isn’t possible. We can adopt and it would still be our child, just as much. I know it.”

I could see that he was thinking and I decided to carry on with my talk.

“Love is not necessarily blood. It’s so much more than that and I know that you feel that too, just see with you and Ominis. He’s like your brother. What matters is the way you treat people and how you make them feel loved and important.” I explained to him, caressing his cheeks. “And I know you will be an amazing father, whether our child was made from you or adopted.”

“Mhm..” Was all Sebastian said.

I knew it would take him some time to accept if we couldn’t have our own biological child. He wouldn’t accept if it was because of him, not right away at least.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’re all that matters to me,” I told him. “I couldn’t care less if you can’t make me pregnant. I know you care about it, but I truly don’t.”

Sebastian looked at me. He tried to hide it but I could see a smile growing from the corners of his lips. He leaned forward towards me so that our foreheads were pressed against each other.

“I love you. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. You’re my life, my everything. I’m so lucky.” He then brought my hand up to his mouth, kissing my wedding ring.

I smiled and felt the butterflies in my stomach. After 6 years together, he could still make me feel newly in love and so loved by him. He was my person.

“I’m lucky,” I said, watching him kiss my fingers. When he stopped to look me in my eyes, I felt my heart start beating faster. I felt so happy.

“I’m definitely the luckiest.” He teased, smirking as he raised his eyebrows a couple of times.

I just shook my head and laughed at him. I knew Sebastian and this would go back and forth for ages if it were up to him. He always wanted to have the last word.

“Not true,” I giggled but got serious quickly again. “I still think we should keep trying. Maybe it just takes time for us. We don’t know for sure if we’re infertile.”

That sentence made Sebastian’s cheeky smile disappear, reality hitting him once again. He bit his lip but nodded.

“Yes, of course, we will keep trying! Also if that means we will have to stay in this bedroom all day and all night to make that baby. I wouldn't really mind that.” He said, sounding just as normal cocky Sebastian and a little smile appeared again at the corner of his beautiful, soft lips. “Even if that means that I will have to tie you to this bed, with your legs lifted up in the air to make sure my seed will reach your uterus.”

That made me burst into laughter.

“You’re always so perverse Sebastian!” I laughed as I pushed him away from me, but Sebastian was fast. He grabbed me and quickly knocked me down on the bed so that the duvet slid off of me and my naked body was exposed.

“I can’t help it when my wife makes me horny all the time,” He said before he lay on top of me, our naked bodies touching. He took the duvet around us and then he kissed me.

My hands found his hair there was already a mess from earlier, and shortly after we made love again for the third time that day, praying to God that one day a little baby would grow in my belly.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #oneshot #infertility #pregnancy

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beau-mchale · 1 year

Text

July 4th, 2009

“What the hell is that?” Beau drawled as he rested his hands on his hips, looking at the girl in front of him with a crooked, amused grin.

“My festive and patriotic get-up.” The blonde replied, as if it were obvious. She shrugged her tanned shoulders, where the summer sun had kissed her skin in a splattering of freckles.

“That’s a damn napkin tied together with some string.” Beau argued with a shake of his head, tearing his eyes away from her tiny, American flag bikini and low-waisted denim shorts. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand: hosing out the cow’s water trough. “Where are you going dressed like that, Peach?” He tried to sound less possessive and more curious; using her nickname with an edge of dominance.

“Um, the fair, duh!” Peach clearly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Aren’t you going?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Beau replied, now filling the troughs with fresh water. The sun was just finally descending, allowing the cooler, less humid air of a summer night to take over. The breeze felt good against his sweat-slicked forehead. “And you better bring a dang sweater because you’re gonna get cold.”

Peach about had enough of Beau, and she let him know but letting out a loud laugh. He loved that laugh. “One, you’re coming to the fair, and two, I don’t need a sweater. I’m from the north, remember? I never get cold.”

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

“Do not say it.” Peach gritted from between clenched teeth as she hugged her body, her arms covered in goosebumps. Beau chuckled and slipped off his denim jacket, before handing it to the small, shivering girl. “Take this before you freeze to death.”

“That’s dramatic.” She quipped, pulling the jacket on. “It’s only chilly when the breeze picks up.”

“Thanks to the ocean winds.” Beau replied, “I know we’re a little ways from the beach but we still get those wicked cold fronts.”

The two of them wandered through the crowded Musella 4th of July fair, surrounded by red, white, and blue lights, laughter, and the nostalgic smell of fried dough. They set it up every year in the Walmart parking lot that overlooked town. Beau couldn’t help but continuously steal glances at Peach, noting how exceptionally good she looked wearing his clothes. He wished he could see it more often, if he wasn’t such a coward.

The granddaughter of his employers was not where he should be laying. There were many reasons for that, but the main was how badly he needed his job. But, damn, her sweet and sour personality and tight, little body were irresistible to him.

“Let’s get a good seat for the fireworks.” Beau decided, breaking himself out of an inappropriate daydream that included untying her string bikini. Peach agreed happily and grabbed his hand, tugging him through the crowd until they got to the edge of the parking lot. They sat side by side on a guardrail that separated the lot from a steep hill that led to town.

“You need to loosen up.” Peach said to Beau, elbowing him playfully in the ribs before she looped her arm through his. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he felt an unfamiliar warmth fill his chest. Fuck, he was screwed.

“Oh yeah?” Beau replied, reaching across his body with his free hand to gently touch her cheek. Peach lifted up to look at him, her pretty face a mixture of curiosity and need. He gently stroked her jaw with his thumb, counting and memorizing every freckle scattered across her nose. “How’s this?”

Leaning down, Beau bestowed a slow, deep kiss to Peach’s mouth. Their tongues connected as an explosion hit the sky. They kissed earnestly, with a sweetness to it that was even more foreign to Beau. The fireworks illuminated over them as a flame caught deep within him. He knew that this flame may become an inferno, or maybe fizzle to a smolder, but no matter what… it would never go out.

#[ beau 001 ]

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aurelim · 7 months

Text

Louis/Eloise

The Royal

❝I have to. It's my duty to serve the people of Oceanic.❞ ❝Listen to me. Ignore what everyone else will say. You are perfect the way you are. You are my everything, love.❞

Age: A month younger than MC

Race: Human

Gender: Male or female, depending on player choice

Pronouns: He/him or she/her, depending on player choice

Physical appearance: The Royal has slightly tanned skin due to intensive time spent in the sun, although their parents try their best to maintain the natural fair-pale shade. They have a heart shaped face framed by wavy red hair, either tamed or tied up in a bun with two small strands on the side. Soft brown eyes that can go cold at a poor choice of words and freckles dotting their cheeks. 5'7" no matter the gender.

Trope(s): Forbidden love, impossible love, royalty, [REDACTED]

As the heir to the throne of Oceanic, the Royal has a heavy weight on their shoulders that they cannot shake off—the expectations of the people and their parents often reminds them of their duty to deliver responsible decision for the betterment of the kingdom. For most of the week, they are cooped up within the castle walls, fulfilling their tasks as the one next in line. However, during a small portion of the day where their schedule is empty, the Royal will always go to visit their private shore by themself. A tradition they have upheld since they were young.

In public appearances, the Royal comes off as an understanding, charming, mature young adult—exactly what everyone expects from the heir. All warm smiles and dimples. But behind closed doors, the fake smiles drop and shoulders slacken. The fire in their eyes never goes out but they allow themself to be exhausted. Just once.

Their idea of relaxing is by standing in front of the waves, shoes off, and enjoying the smell of salty air and water. A servant usually has to come and fetch them, as they do not keep track of the time. And recently, they have been going more often due to undisclosed reasons... as well as sneaking off to town to do gods-know-what.

There have been rumors circulating around them, particularly involving [REDACTED]. Are they true? Are they not? You will have to wait until it is announced.

Chance encounters are life-changing. You don't think you would have ever noticed the Royal had it not been for Cordelia and K. And more importantly, you do not think you would have ever met them on the streets without your...unique circumstances. Little had you realized then the potential to gain a powerful ally, as well as a lifelong friend.

Fun Facts About the Royal:

There is so much lore I want to write down about them, but they would all be major spoilers for the game! So for now, take this condensed, somewhat short intro post for now. But expect to see some huge updates to this as further chapters are released!

Also would you call them "Lou"? Been thinking about an easier nickname besides "The Royal" and it's pretty cute! Though they are accustomed to everyone calling them by their first name

Their original design was going to be heavily inspired by Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid. However, it was changed to an appearance similar to Ariel. Maybe your headcanon is that he's Ariel's son or grandson? That's what mine is lol

Has a very refined taste for red wine. Likes it especially from their own kingdom but imported tastes are good too

Loves drawing. And because they live right by the sea they have a lot of sunset sketches and swirls of water in their notebook

Has a diary where they write down about their day; if you romance them you'll probably find long romantic tirades about you

Actually likes wearing crowns if it is light and only in the castle

Sheltered kid growing up—while their parents may have exposed them to monarchy politics early in their life they remained relatively naive and unaware of certain...things

Things that will remain unmentionable

Knows some secret passageways within the kingdom due to safety reasons, but they may show it to you if you are lucky enough!

Stuffed animals creep them out and they are all over the walls of the castle thanks to their father's love for hunting

No, not stuffed animals. Like actual taxidermy

Deathly allergic to gossipy people and mice—physically wilts at the mention of either one

Would buy you anything you want just to please you. This will especially show during the crushing stage, but it will be a habit that never dies down *if* you get married

Can resist puppy eyes with a huge question mark. But usually not because they are a major people pleaser. It comes with their job

#As the Ocean Lures #atol #atol ros #ch: the royal #the royal #3/4 #ro info #atol ro info

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lya-dustin · 9 months

Text

Cupid kills with arrows

Chapter 15

Gif by @merlinaddams

Taglist:@cljordan-imperium @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9

He has taken to calling her his queen since that nightmare.

As far as terms of endearment go, it’s not that bad.

Aemond gets a blush creeping up his pale and freckled neck when she calls him Star Eyes.

She produced that nickname when they had been getting tipsy with an aged Dornish red and he’d been reciting the most irritating poems he could find in one of the books given to them as gifts.

Aemma had gotten bold enough to compose a very bad poem for him where she rhymed eye with sky and Vhagar to swagger.

He wrote it down, on the back cover of his poetry book, and both had forgotten about it until today when she wanted to cheer him up.

He’s been so tense, the stick up his arse back in its earlier place it seems.

They had been fine until that night at Cider Hall.

He had been puffing out his chest in pride hinting at having gotten her with child and seeing them shake in their boots when they saw the magnificent Dragon Queens they rode.

Then he had a night terror he wouldn’t speak about and suddenly he was acting as if they were waging war on anyone who didn’t see her as her mother’s heir.

Acting as if her mother was their enemy and Aemma too blind to see it.

“Something is bothering you.” She says as they eat a late supper together after making the good decision of turning down mama’s invitation to dine with them.

They had been home for less than a day, he was snapping at everyone for no apparent reason and worse calling her brothers ‘Strong Lads’ while they played ball with Joffrey in the gardens.

Joffrey didn’t even know he was a bastard yet. Her baby brother ran out of the garden in tears thanks to Aemond hinting he had two dead fathers.

“I am perfectly fine, sweet girl.” He said using her mother’s term of affection for her.

The words come out mocking her, making her sound like a prissy little princess who hides behind her mother’s skirts.

He had been as rigid as a board when they were welcomed home by them, cold and civil, and now he was scratching at her with these sharp claws of his.

“Aemond, do not scratch at me.” She warns from across the table in their new rooms.

“Have you ever considered that your mother may love your brothers more than you?” he asks again, not looking at her, as if he might say something else he refuses to voice.

“All parents have favorites; I know for a fact that your mother loves Aegon the least out of the four of you.” What the fuck has gotten into him? He was getting on her nerves with this sudden change. “I am very sure we will have favorites amongst our children, and it won’t be the same child.”

“Hypothetically, if Driftmark were to repeat itself and it was our child maimed for calling their cousins bastards, who would your mother defend?”

This was what the nightmare was about, it must be, it would not make sense if it weren’t.

Aemma is at a loss for words, frankly, she has no idea how this would go.

“Hypothetically, it would never happen because they would be raised not to give a shit about it, at least by me, and their cousins would be trueborn.” The princess said knowing the true answer.

Mother would defend her sons and grandsons because that is what any mother would do. She wouldn’t demand an eye for an eye, no one with a functioning brain would have asked for such high a price unless the assailant was their inferior.

And even then, only if done out of malice.

Alicent had been too busy waging war against her mother she forgot her reason there.

This had been an accident; Luke had been punished enough and everyone else as well.

“Aemma. You know that is not what I meant.” Her husband reminds her.

“Fine, she would likely take their side.” Once she says the words he wanted to hear, she cannot stop. Comes out like fucking vomit.

“To call them bastards is to remind all that the law for adultery in the royal family is to kill all including the children. I won’t be spared should it ever come to that because those who bring it up will say I am not trueborn either to suit their ambitions.

If I am not careful, someone will turn us against each other with the intention of having us kill each other so they can rush in with Aegon because gods forbid a woman inherits over a man.

My mother already fears that you will manipulate me into taking the sword hanging over my brothers’ head and swing it; your attitude today may as well confirm her worst fears.

So no, I don’t think my mother would choose me over my brothers, but I cannot fault her for that because I would do the same in her situation!

Is that what you wanted to hear, dear Aemond?!”

Aemma’s chest is heaving, and she feels angry enough to take it out on something or someone by the time she done.

So, she leaves, she isn’t sure where, she just needs to be out of there.

“Aemma.” And as he always did when they were children, he follows hot on her heels.

“Aemma!” He calls again as she bounds out of the room needing air and a moment away from him before she tells him Driftmark was as much his fault as it was her brothers and cousins.

Yes, he was the worst injured, but he had thrown the first insult and later picked up that rock.

It was as much his fault as it was her brothers and cousins.

“Aemma, where the fuck are you going?” He reaches out to her and takes her by the waist causing her to fight him like a madwoman.

“Anywhere, but here.” she answered somehow wiggling out of his hold. “I just need air.”

“Then let me go with you.” Aemond suggested feeling some guilt for causing her this emotional distress.

“I’d rather be alone.” The princess said knowing it hurts him more than it hurts her.

How do you apologize for making your wife voice fears she hid so deep even if he was surprised about them existing?

Mother was fond of saying how Rhaenyra would kill them to solidify her reign and apparently Rhaenyra had warned Aemma about him and his family wanting to do the same.

The two women were far too similar to each other, it was no wonder they became enemies.

When Aemond hears soft footfalls as he checked on Vhagar’s nest, he turns hoping to see his wife and being disappointed when it's his sister instead.

“I had assumed you would have been with Aemma, but I suppose it’s better she weren’t here.” Rhaenyra said quietly and yet her words still had the chilling effect of ice water running down his spine.

He felt like he was eleven again.

Small and weak, the butt of the joke and always at the mercy of anyone considered better than him.

“I will apologize to Joffrey later; I will say I misspoke and meant the Father and Ser Laenor.” The prince said quickly, wishing his hand hadn’t begun shaking as he remembered how Larys used hot pincers to take out the tongues of those who claimed mother had been father’s lover when Aemma Arryn still lived. “That should buy you enough time to figure out how to tell him the truth.”

“Thank you, I know after what happened in Driftmark I do not deserve such things form you, but you have my gratitude, little brother.” It is genuine and yet, Aemond fears her like a mouse fears a cat.

“I am not doing it for you, sister, Joffrey will already suffer enough when he learns his identity is based on a lie. He deserves a few more years of blissful ignorance.” Aemond swallowed his fear and banished the nightmares from his mind as they walked back into the Dragonpit.

Vhagar was too big for it, she preferred the beach near the caves making them walk back through the caves connecting them to Rhaenys’ Hill or take a carriage.

Rhaenyra seemed to have walked there, something he had not expected as she looked like she was about to pop.

“Thank you, anyways.” They settle for uneasy silence before Rhaenyra gets brave enough to say something else. “I am sorry for what happened that night. It was a terrible accident, and I shouldn’t have threatened violence for speaking the truth. As your sister, I should have never made you think for a second, I would willfully hurt you and instead ensured you had all the care and support you needed.”

He had not been expecting that.

What in the Seven Hells did Septa Teora do with these people?

Even mother wouldn’t apologize for trying to keep him from flying and training after he lost his eye thinking she was doing it for his well-being.

“As your goodmother I should not have assumed you were the type of man to use my daughter so cruelly.

And for that I apologize as well.”

Aemond tried not to stare as she says things, he was convinced he’d never hear in his lifetime.

He supposed his grandsire’s death had opened the path to true reconciliation.

“She told you what our quarrel was about?” he asks, and she nods sheepishly.

“Don’t hold it against her, she was quite angrily mending your shirts when I visited your rooms. She admitted to some things, and I filled in the blanks.

I have known her for seven and ten years, Aemond.” Rhaenyra doesn’t mention him not accepting her apology.

The loss of his eye and his loathing of her and her sons had defined quite a lot of him. It is a hell of a thing to move past.

He will forgive her eventually, he thinks.

Aemma can’t begrudge him that because he has accepted that it will take just as long for her to forgive his mother.

But he must ask, just to get it out of his mind and move past the thing that caused the first marital spat in his marriage.

“If Driftmark were to repeat itself, would you have done to your grandchild what you and father threatened to do?” he asks reminding himself a thing like that wouldn’t happen, that it was his fears talking.

His children would not be poisoned against their kin like mother had done believing they were the enemy.

The only enemy they had had been grandfather who would have killed them to get his wish: absolute power.

To show he was willing to make peace with them and prevent the war father and Helaena keep seeing in their dreams, he offers his sister his arm as they walked back into the caves.

“No, the children would be made to apologize for the accident, she or he would be treated with all the care needed, and the children punished accordingly.” Rhaenyra accepted his arm with a hopeful look so reminiscent of Aemma and Helaena. “We should have done that the first time around, none of us adults should have let our politics and animosity take over. I hope you can forgive me someday, little brother.”

“Perhaps I will.”

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #cupid kills with arrows fic #big sister rhaenyra #aemond targaryen x ofc #ewan mitchell #queen charlotte au

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