#she would have continued to be insufferable for even longer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stories-and-chaos · 2 months

Text

Shrike: 2582 Days of Hell

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[One shot, word count 3326, Cw: none]

———————

Eleven months. Eleven fucking months since Alastor disappeared after that fight with Vox. And not a word or glimpse of him in that entire time. You knew he was alive. There was a tiny fragment of his shadow magick in the decorative finial of one of your hatpins. The enamel black eighth note at the end of a foot of thin steel was warm to your touch. It felt like your hand resting in the crook of his arm whenever you walked together.

If he’d died, that bit of shadow would have vanished and it would just be cold enamel and metal. So you checked it morning and night. You kept your usual rotation of pins; despite wanting the constant reassurance you didn’t want anyone to notice you favoring one accessory. Maybe you were being overly cautious, but you couldn’t help it with Alastor’s absence.

Niffty had vanished in a puff of ash about two weeks after Alastor had. Presumably your husband had summoned her to…wherever he was. There were other demons that had made deals with him in exchange for their souls. If he’d died all those deals would be void. But not one had dissolved, giving you more hope that he was recovering somewhere.

Which you needed. Every time you ventured beyond your territory or Cannibal Town, every television screen in your vicinity started displaying Vox’s face. The insufferable screen saver enjoyed rubbing Alastor’s absence in your face whenever possible. Sometimes it was just his face following you. Others, he staged talk shows or news stories discussing that last fight. He always circled back to the fact that he was active and your husband hadn’t been seen for months. The longer it was, the more gleeful he became.

Extermination Day was about a month ago. You spent the whole time gripping the music note pin, trying to detect any hint of Alastor running into the angels. Fortunately the shadow was unchanged.

Carmilla Carmine had called a meeting of Overlords to discuss the fallout from this latest attack. Meetings like this generally occurred every few years, often a result from something unusual happening. A drastic increase or decrease in kills, the loss of an Overlord, a particular district being targeted, all had warranted a meeting in the past.

This year it seemed there were several upheavals in territory and Overlords in charge. After Carmilla greeted the assembled demons, her focus turned to you. “Y/N. Will your husband be joining us today?”

Decades of performing allowed you to answer steadily, with a smile even. “No, not today.” Usually you attended these together, occasionally Alastor went alone. This was the first time you were there solo. There was an immediate bray of laughter from the other side of the table.

All three of the Vees were here today. Vox had a confident sneer on his screen (he’d updated his head to be a flat screen television a little over a decade ago). Valentino licked his lips before slowly grinning in what you presumed was meant to be a lascivious manner. Velvette, the youngest of everyone in the room, was texting rapidly on her phone. She’d been the one laughing and continued to snigger.

“Not today?” she asked without looking up. “Don’t you mean never, little Miss Frigid?” She finally glared at you over her shoulder, pink braids falling heavily around her face. “Why don’t you just admit what everyone in Hell fucking knows? Vox killed your twiggy arse husband and you’re useless without him.”

You did your best to keep your cool. This would be easier if you at least knew what Alastor was up to. Outright lies could get you in trouble later on, but admitting you didn’t know where he was? That would bring a shit load of trouble now.

“Surprising that ‘everyone in Hell’ is so eager to believe your tabloid drivel.” You waved a dismissive hand at the trio, launching a slight gust at them that frizzed Velvette’s hair. Not enough to undo her hairstyle, but she wouldn’t be able to fix it without taking it all down. The girl was fanatical about looking perfect in public; the loose hairs would drive her crazy.

Carmilla smacked the tabletop. “Y/N. You know my policy on weapons and magick at these meetings,” she said firmly.

You tilted your head slightly in her direction. “Apologies, cher, I just get annoyed by the chittering of little bugs.” You deliberately avoided saying that it wouldn’t happen again. Velvette growled. “If my darling Alastor was dead don’t you think that all the former members of this group he had ownership of would be coming after me?” You laced your talons together and rested your chin on top of them. “But I haven’t had to bother myself with any of them.”

Vox snorted. “Then why isn’t the pussy whipped fucker here?”

“I’ll admit you got some good hits in during that fight, Vox. So he’s taking a well earned rest.” Hopefully your tone was dismissive enough that they’d stop pushing.

Of course they wouldn’t. Especially not Velvette, she seemed to thrive on pushing buttons. She laughed again. “Ha! An Overlord taking what, an eleven month rest? Pathetic. If he can’t even show up to protect his territory I say it’s free game.”

Apparently the girl hadn’t gotten the message about you. Vox and Valentino exchanged a glance over her head as you smiled sharply at her. “Zut alors cher! Impatient, vapid, and misinformed? On top of being poorly dressed? I suppose you have that chip on your shoulder for a reason, ma petite.” You had the satisfaction of seeing her manicured nails digging into the table. “I’m not some pretty proxy little girl. Our territory is staying ours.”

Velvette was rising from her seat when Carmilla slammed the tabletop. “¡Es suficiente! Thank you for the information, Y/N. Velvette, take your seat. We have other business to discuss.” With that the meeting started in earnest.

A handful of minor players had perished. There were still turf wars going on but it looked like at least one new Overlord was emerging from the fray. Carmilla displayed a map of the city; one contested spot was close to your borders. You really didn’t have the motivation to go after it at the moment however. If you didn’t though, the brats might just do so instead. You could see them slowly creeping closer, putting pressure on you and yours. Although with the anger in Velvette’s eyes it might not be too slow.

The meeting stretched on. Before ten minutes had passed the Vees had pulled out their phones and the pings of text messages filled the air constantly as they texted each other. Despite glares from Carmilla, they kept going. It would almost sound musical if it wasn’t so strident.

There was discussion, offers and counteroffers for territory and cash, all with the undertone of tension. You participated enough to not be dismissed as an easy target. Carmine’s rule extended to the streets immediately around her building. Despite that, you could feel Velvette and her compatriots following you closely once the group started leaving.

Fuck this nonsense. Quickly, your wings flicked open and you pushed off into the sky. You didn’t even have to add anything to the downdraft; the Vees were knocked off balance, Velvette’s hair ripped out of its braids and tangled in the gusts. “YOU FUCKING OUTDATED BITCH!” she shrieked from below. Valentino could follow you but you doubted he would. He didn’t relish pain on his own person, just his employees.

You pushed yourself faster than usual on the flight home. The exertion helped distract you. But once you were home, the door locked securely behind you, all the emotions boiled over.

“Alastor you bastard!” you screamed into the cold dark house. “Where the fuck are you!” You sent out an involuntary rush of air; you could hear items pushed off surfaces, paper and cloth ripping. That was enough to stop you from screaming more, but it didn’t get rid of your twisted knot of feelings.

You didn’t have great night vision but you couldn’t make the effort to turn on the lights. You knew where the item you wanted was. You grabbed a bottle from the sideboard and made your way to the bedroom. You skipped your nightly routine, opting to just shed clothes as you walked. Your hatpin and hat you dropped on your vanity counter. Going by feel, you grabbed the music note pin.

In the past months you had arranged cushions and blankets in the mattress into a comfort nest. You couldn’t bear the empty expanse of the bed. Your nest surrounded you on every side with enough illusion of warmth to let you sleep.

You opened the bottle of whiskey. Not bothering with a glass, you chugged gulps until it was half empty. That wasn’t the way to treat good liquor but this wasn’t a good night. You capped the bottle, placed it on your nightstand for later before burrowing under the duvet.

Not even half a bottle of strong alcohol could keep everything at bay. But there were no Overlords here to mock you, no underlings to gossip, no friends to pester you. No Alastor waiting with a handkerchief after you cried all your emotions out. Just the drone of insects in the bayou and a drop of shadow attached to enamel and steel.

Maybe he could hear you through that fragment. You were going to talk either way. “Alastor? Please come home cher. I miss you. I can do this alone, I know it. I have been. But where’s the fun without you? Come home. S’il vous plaît?” At some point you started crying and eventually fell asleep.

You woke up to a hand on your shoulder and a voice calling your name. For a split second you hoped it was Alastor, but the scent of blood and rose perfume told you who it was. “Rosie,” you mumbled, not removing the duvet. She’d had a key to your house for decades of course.

“Darlin’, how long have you been in there?” she asked gently. She didn’t remove the duvet, perhaps knowing you needed to retreat from everything.

“When was the meeting?” you managed to ask. According to your friend, it had been a full day ago. “Since I got home from that.”

She sighed and rubbed your shoulder gently. “Y/N, dearie, you can talk to me if you’d like. It seems like you have a lot going on.”

You wanted to. Oh how you wanted to just let that knot of emotions loose. But even though you were friends, Rosie was still an Overlord, roughly equal in strength. You were vulnerable enough like this. If she knew Alastor was missing, would she be able to resist the temptation to take over? You hoped so but still didn’t want to take the chance.

A few long moments passed silently. Then: “You don’t know where Alastor is. Do you honey?” You froze. “Of course not, you wouldn’t have been so cagey at that meeting if you did.”

You flipped back the duvet enough to look at her. Nothing calculating in her expression, just worry about two of her friends. Her solid black eyes still managed to express concern. She answered your silent question “I’ve known you both for ages, darlin’. We’ve helped each other out plenty of times! If your man was really that hurt, you’d have let me help by now. So, you must not know what’s going on yourself.”

“Rosie, cher, you really are one amazing demon.”

“Oh honey, you flatter me! Let’s get something in you other than whiskey and we’ll talk.” You asked her to grab your housecoat, not feeling up to getting dressed but you also didn’t want to share every bodily secret, no matter how good of friends you were.

Later the two of you were sharing a pot of coffee, biscuits, and eggs. “Do you think anyone else has figured it out?”

“That not even you know where he is? I don’t think so. You’ve been acting as if he’s with you. And none of the other Overlords know you two like I do,” she said while adding sugar cubes to her coffee. “Alright, details, details. If I’m going to help you out, I gotta know what’s going on.”

There wasn’t much more you could tell her. She had seen the footage of Alastor and Vox fighting, then both backing down and his disappearance into his shadow. Vox had aired every angle he had of the incident multiple times. He’d even made an hour-long special with 3D models recreating the fight with dramatic shots and heroic close ups of his face. Part of the special even went frame by frame through Alastor’s shadows wrapping around him, pointing out every possible detail that Vox could spin as proof the Radio Demon couldn’t have survived.

While Rosie wasn’t about to believe Vox’s word, she did gently ask how you were so sure your husband survived. “Like I said, if the former Overlords he owns were free, they’d be coming for me. But also,” you hand the music note hatpin to her, “we made these in… the 1940’s I think it was.”

You let her examine it. The cannibal turned it over in her hands, gleaming steel flashing between her slim fingers. Before long she noticed the magick in the finial. She brushed her fingertips against the eighth note and felt Alastor’s distinctive green edged black power.

“Alastor has matching cufflinks with my power in them. So I know he’s alive. I just don’t know where.” You took the pin back and sighed. “I’m not about to let everyone know about this however. Especially when he hasn’t contacted me.”

“Well, shit. That makes things harder. Not a word from him?”

You shook your head. “He summoned Niffty a while back. I thought he might send her back with a message, some information, anything. But she’s been gone since a couple weeks after Alastor disappeared. I’m so scared of making something up and it backfiring! And if those brats find out I’m basically alone they’ll all come at me together.” You ran a hand through your hair restlessly. “I can take them on individually. Maybe even two to one. But if all three attack together? I’d be fucked.”

Rosie stayed quiet, letting you vent your fear out as she ate. “Well, one thing I can do is back you up. Both with what you say about Alastor and if those three come calling.”

“You’d…you’d do that for me? For Alastor?” Sure you were friends, but putting yourself on the line for another Overlord was not the norm.

“Of course honey! That’s what allies do; it's what friends do. We’ve done enough favors for each other that I’ve stopped counting, just like you right?” You had to nod at that. At some point it was silly to keep track who owed whom. “Not to mention, you and Alastor are much better neighbors than any of the Vees or their cronies. And you know my people, they don’t care for all that modern junk those brats peddle.”

You hadn’t realized quite how unsteady you’d felt these past months. Just knowing there was someone on your side helped immensely. Enough that you could think of your next steps instead of simply trying to endure what came your way. “Merci Rosie.” She squeezed your hand gently before encouraging you to eat. You hadn’t had much of an appetite recently but you needed to. Especially if you were going to rule your territory alone for now.

You and your friend discussed your options as breakfast disappeared. Rosie, reassured you at least felt a bit more stable, headed home after helping you wash the dishes. You then soaked in the bath, letting the warm water soothe the tension in your body. Your back and wings were sore after that dash home yesterday.

The hatpin was sitting on the bathroom counter. “I’m still mad at you, cher,” you said to it. Sound probably couldn’t travel through that fragment but you decided to act like Alastor could hear you. “And I’m not going to forgive you easily. But I’m not letting everything we’ve done together crumble because I’m upset. And I’m not letting those little bitches from the Vees crush us.”

You kept busy the following days. You quickly annexed that contested area for starters. No need to give the Vees a foothold so close to you and your friend.

Alastor’s broadcast station couldn’t do much without him. But there was space in the building. You moved recording equipment there. While you couldn’t write music, you recognized talent and you had an ability to pick what music would not just be popular, but endure past the moment.

Starting with an album of your favorite songs, you set up Songbird Studios. You leaned into the audio quality of vinyl records and the aura of class and exclusivity. Even though your library of music spanned genres, you were very selective about who could sign with the studio.

With a steady flow of income, you increased your power base. More deals and souls, favors and debts waiting for you to cash in, all of which firmed up your Overlord status.

There were days you cried, days you raged, days you wanted to stay in your nest and days you wanted to tear down the Vees tower brick by tacky brick. You confided in Rosie who continued to give you support and pinkie fingers to crunch when you were particularly upset. You were there when she needed someone to talk to and provide entertainment to Cannibal Town, both on your own and scheduling artists that worked for you.

It took a lot of effort, but you did your best to act indifferent at the Vees’ needling. The less reaction they received, the less fun it was. It took years but eventually they lost interest in messing with you.

You counted the days since Alastor vanished. Even once you knew his location, you kept track until you saw him in person again. Carmilla called a few meetings over those 2,500-plus days. You went to some, skipped others.

The latest one, you saw Velvette entering the building from your vantage point above. You were not in the right headspace to deal with the little bitch, knowing where Alastor was staying but not having seen him yet. Choose your battles.

Of course, when you found out later that your husband had attended that meeting, you wanted to kick yourself. And him. And Velvette but you always wanted to kick Velvette. Might as well add in the other two Vees while you were at it.

Once you reunited with Alastor at Charlie Morningstar’s hotel, you immediately moved into his suite. He kept the same motif as your home and it was easy enough to settle in. That night, you refused to let go of his torso as you laid in bed together. Even so, you were more relaxed than any other time in the past seven years.

“Two thousand five hundred and eighty two,” you said, your face buried into his side.

“Hmm? What was that, cher?” he asked, stroking your arm.

“Two thousand five hundred and eighty two. That’s how many days it’s been since I saw you last.” You sat up a bit to look at him in his vibrant red eyes. “I kept track.”

“I would expect nothing less from you my dear.”

“I’m going to take those days out on the person that separated us.”

His smile turned sharper. His sclera flickered black as his pupils turned into radio dials. “Will you allow my assistance, my dear Shrike?”

You reached up to stroke his face. You could feel your feathers sharpening. “Of course. I’ll need help after all. And who am I to deny the Radio Demon his revenge?”

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin rosie #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #hazbin vees #hazbin carmilla #alastor #alastor x reader #asexual alastor #asexual reader #asexual #acespec #ace representation

219 notes · View notes

sucker4colby · 10 months

Text

Friends in unexpected places

Warning: angst, cuss words

Word count : 2704

Summary: getting cast aside by everyone due to Colby’s new girlfriend but Sam being the only one to have your back.

Pairing : Colby Brock x female reader

Everyone knew that you and Sam never saw eye to eye, the only reason you guys tolerated each other was Colby. Sam had a longer friendship with Colby but you had his back through everything, always siding with him even if he was wrong. Everyone also knew you had fallen in love with Colby over time, and Sam took any opportunity to hold it over your head as blackmail whenever you were winning in arguments.

The only time Sam felt some kind of softness towards you was when Colby brought home his new girlfriend, he saw through the fake enthusiasm you had. His eyes softened knowing you truly did love Colby and like the good friend you were you backed all his decisions even if it hurt you. He watched as you forced yourself to hug her and welcome her into your lives knowing she had what you most wanted, Colby's love.

After a while of them dating Sam thought something was off about Colby’s girlfriend and his suspicions were confirmed when he overheard her talking about how she would break up with him if his views continued to fall. It made Sam so angry when he found out causing him to go up to your room and break the news making you equally as upset if not more. What infuriated him even more when she started pulling him away from you after you told Colby of your discoveries. He was so sure Colby would listen to you of all people knowing the feelings he harbored for you before he got in a relationship.

Unfortunately everyone else was also blind to her true intentions taking her as a sweet girl and taking you as the jealous girl with a crush. Embarrassed by the accusations you stopped hanging out as much opting to stay in your room or going out with friends outside of the trap house group. Sam was annoyed that everyone had shut you out so quick and welcomed her with open arms.

It worried him when you started looking into moving out knowing it would definitely alter your relationship with Colby even worse it would end it and he worried colby would lose someone so true for someone that was using him. Pretty soon Colby's girlfriend started showing her true colors, she wouldn't let him hang out as much anymore and only let him collab as long as she was included, she made comments that were out of hand. Everyone started feeling guilty about pushing you away for her knowing you only ever had Colby's best interest at heart.

Sam took it upon himself to host a get together and making sure you'd coming being the only one along with kat that still spoke to you. It was insufferable at first with the amount of tension that lingered in the air but pretty soon everyone was acting like nothing had changed. You hung around your old friends laughing and cracking jokes not wanting any bad blood between yourself and the people you considered family.

That was until Colby and his girlfriend showed up making the atmosphere change and everyone tense up, Colby's girlfriend was making things uncomfortable by making passive aggressive comments towards you. You couldn't help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, she was being aggressive towards you but you hadn't even done anything. No body said anything knowing she had colby wrapped around her finger so they watched as you took it.

For the first time that night she left Colby's side to go use the bathroom so you took it as a chance to go say hello. Walking up to him you tried to suppress the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, patting him on the shoulder as he turned to look at you. Everyone watched trying to see how the interaction would go between the estranged friends, it brought a smile to everyone's face especially Sam when you guys fell into a conversation so easily, almost like nothing had changed. They watched the familiar smiles that you guys sported when you were together, they watched Colby's eyes get their sparkle back for just a moment.

Colby's girlfriend had come back and she was furious that he was talking to you, he wasn't supposed to be around you especially since you tried to feed him negative things about her. She was walked over angrily giving you a fake smile before pulling him away to the corner of the room.

You walked over to Sam and kat who were giving you sympathetic looks but you just smiled weakly at them accepting a drink from Sam. Everyone tried to ignore the arguing couple but it was hard to when their argument just got louder and louder. Corey and Jake slowly made their way over to you guys watching as your body tensed up with every insult she threw at Colby, they were hoping you wouldn't snap because they how bad you got when it came to backing Colby up. They watched as you took deep breathes each time your left eye twitched in anger. Jakes eyes glancing down to your clenched jaw knowing that tell meant you were about to become unhinged. Finally you snapped turning around as she degraded him. Corey went to grab you only to be pulled back by sam. "Let her, she's got it." Sam reassure their friends having faith in you . " You trust her ?" Corey asked, shocked that Sam of all people was backing you up . " no, but I trust her anger." Sam told them watching as you stomped over there knowing you'd be the one to bring Colby back.

" you're fucking useless ! I told you to stop hanging around these people that's why your views are going down !" She scowled him. You stomped over giving her a fake smile and standing in front of colby. " hi, sweetheart idk what you're doing, but I know you're not insulting colby especially not in front of his friends." You told her taking a step forward trying to give Colby space from her. " why do you care ? You're a shitty friend for trying to get him to break up with me just because you like him" she snapped trying to walk around you only for you to side step and block her . " you're a shitty girlfriend who's only using him so how about you do better and actually treat my friend right." You tilted your head narrowing your eyes and trying to ignore the burning feeling feeling that wrapped around your chest.

" are you jealous ?" She laughed at you " is that why you're over here butting into something that doesn't concern you ? You think you can play hero and he'll come back to you? He needs me, without me he's nothing." She smirked pushing you and stepping towards Colby who was watching the interaction stunned that even after everything you were still sticking up for him. He snapped out of it as you lunged for her from behind, he rushed forward knocking her aside and grabbing onto you so you wouldn't pounce onto her. " what the hell Colby?" Ignoring her shriek he focused on keeping a tight grip around your waist as you struggle against him so you wouldn't knock her on her ass.

" he doesn't need you, he was great before you , he doesn't need anyone because he's Colby fucking Brock." You spat at her holding onto Colby's arms as he handed you over to Corey who was now in charge of restraining you. Colby couldn't help the warmth that wrapped around his heart at your praise , making up his mind as he walked over to her and dragged her out of the house.

You slumped down in Corey's hold lip quivering, feeling defeated as you watched Colby walk out of the house with her in toll.

...........

Colby pulled his fuming girlfriend out of the house and walked her to the end of the street. He caught off her ranting " I'm breaking up with you." He watched as she froze up feeling a bit guilty. She glared up at him angry tears in her eyes. " I knew you'd chose her. I knew you loved her." She spat shoving him. " we're just friends but honestly she treats me better than you do." He shoved her off. " we're done I'll swing by to grab my stuff later." Colby told the crying girl making his way back inside. " She wouldn’t be defending you if she didn’t have feelings for you !" She screamed at him making him holt. Did his best friend actually love him ? He was scared he might've missed everything up by being so blind. He shrugged at her going inside the house knowing he had to go look for his friend.

He walked into the living room but you weren't there making him furrow his eyebrows and look at his friends who were all staring at him. " she's upstairs with Kat and Tara." Sam nodded at him knowing he'd be looking for you. He couldn't help but smile as Colby ran up the stairs knowing you'd be ok .

Knocking on your closed door he heard shuffling before Kat opened the door squinting her eyes in anger at his presence. “ I just want to talk” he raised his hands showing he meant no harm. Stepping out of the dim room and closing the door the blue haired girl glared up at him. “ what is it you’re trying to do Colby? You can’t keep hurting her, she cares about you so much and you keep messing up.” She scowled him quietly hoping you wouldn’t hear them through the door.

His blue eyes looked down at the floor in shame. He was trying to comprehend how everything went down the drain, had he of realized you requite his love he would’ve never of gone out with his terrible ex. He tried so hard to find someone to love him because he convinced himself your love was anything but romantic.

“ I just want to apologize, make things better. I know I fucked up and I need to make sure I don’t lose her.” He pleaded hoping shed move out of the way because one way or another he was going to apologize to you, he just didn’t want to have to apologize to her too. They stood in silence while Kat made up her mind, letting out a sigh she went back into the room to retrieve Tara.

You were confused why your friends had left the room until Colby walked in awkwardly shutting the door behind him. You rolled your eyes masking your sadness and hurt with annoyance and anger. You waited for him to say something because you weren’t going to be the one to initiate conversation after he had chosen her once again.

Walking towards you slowly and sitting on the edge of the bed next you he cleared his throat. “Thank you for standing up for me.” He whispered nervously hoping he still had a chance to fix things. “ i always do” you scoffed looking up at the texture of your ceiling. Gulping down the nerves he reached for your hand that rested next to your side intertwining your fingers watching as your body tensed up then relaxed. He was relieved that you didn’t pull away, he swallowed down the bile in his throat at a realization.He knew his missed your touch and your presence but he didn’t realize that was what was missing in his relationship.

Colby didn’t realize how good it would feel to be around you again. Taking a deep breathe to calm his nerves made it worse, he could smell your scent making him lightheaded.

“ I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put you in those situations.” He said watching as you sat up getting off the bed missing the feeling of your hand in his. You looked at him with glossy eyes holding back tears. “ Thats the thing Colby, I never minded, I put myself in those situations because i loved you ! But you never noticed that because you were to busy loving someone else to notice it!” You snapped closing your eyes in frustration at your voice cracking betraying the wall you built up.

He watched with his heart breaking at the damage he caused, he stood up grabbing you by your arm and wrapping his arms around you. He just wanted you close and he hoped he could provide some comfort. “ Thats not true.” He said causing you to look up at him in confusion. “I never loved her, whole time I was comparing her to you. How could I love someone that wasn’t you?”

Your heart was pounding at the confession. You scanned his face for any trace of a lie but you could read him like a book, he was nervous but he wasn’t lying. Letting out a nervous giggle you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer to your body. You were a bunch of idiots, the whole situation could have been avoided had you guys of told each other how you felt.

Colby was stunned at your change in demeanor, he wasn’t expecting you to have a good reaction yet here you were hugging him like your life depended on it. “ do you really mean that ?” You asked wanting to make sure and just to hear him say it again. He nodded putting his forehead against yours and rubbing the smooth skin of your waist under your shirt.

“ I love you” Colby whispered wanting to sooth any doubts you might still have. A big smile took over your face hearing him say that, the one thing you always wanted to hear sounded better than you could’ve imagined. “ I love you too” you said before reaching up to connect your lips for a split second before pulling away.

Letting out a airy laugh you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear bashfully at the way Colby was looking at you. “ we should probably go down before they think you took me out.” He joked his smile never leaving his face. You rolled your eyes pushing him away from you. “Way to kill the mood.” He let out a laugh as you walked out the bedroom with him in toll.

He grabbed a hold of you hand and intertwining your fingers making you blush as you walked down that stairs. Your friends noticed you guys instantly but Sam was the one to notice your in laced fingers, a smug smile on his face. You guys joined them , everyone instantly in a better mood now that things were back to normal.

Sam made his way over to Colby who had an arm wrapped around you as you talked to Jake and Tara. Patting him on the back he caught Colby’s attention to him. “I knew she would fix things.” Sam told his best friend causing Colby to raise his eyebrows in amusement. “you knew? since when do you guys get along. “ Colby asked looking down at you as you switched your attention over to them. “Since i knew she didn’t really want my spot as your best friend.” Sam joked looking at you smugly causing you to roll your eyes at the blonde boy .

Colby looked between you two now confused. “You knew she liked me ?” He asked surprised Sam never said anything about it. Colby wasn’t upset but he was surprised that Sam of all people knew considering you two were the least expected to be friends. “He use to blackmail me with it. But its fine he was just mad he knew he’d never be your number 1.” You shrugged wrapping your arms around his abdomen.

Sam rolled his at you knowing your relationship was back to normal but with more of a friendly twist. He muttered a “yeah ok” before walking away causing you and Colby to laugh.

Making eye contact with Sam you smiled at him in a way of saying thank you. He was the only one who stuck by you and believed in you and Colby. It was unexpected but you were grateful to have him in your corner and you were excited for you newly establish friendship along with your new relationship.

___________________

Hope you guys enjoyed !

Im so sorry I haven’t been active my power was out all week due to some storms we had in Oklahoma.

I will be posting every other day this week to make up for the lost days.

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colbybrock #fanfic #sam and colby #youtuber #xplr club #colby x reader #fandom #xplr #colby brock x reader #youtuber imagines #youtube #sam golbach #fan fiction #fan fic writing #imagine

776 notes · View notes

toournextadventure · 1 year

Text

a fair trade

Summary: (an "everyone but her" one-shot) Wednesday wasn't entirely sure what she would consider you; acquaintance, friend, or more. You had hung out, but they weren't dates. But when you offer a trade in skills, she supposes it's worth a try. She regrets it for reasons she hadn't anticipated

Word Count: 2k Warnings: swearing, mentions of scars, Wednesday lowkey getting h-word Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

“Come on, Addams, it’s a fair trade,” you said as you followed after Wednesday.

She had been forced to listen to you attempt to convince her to rock climb with you after classes. Time and time again, she had told you no, she didn’t care to rock climb, it was nothing more than a reckless hobby on the best of days. It was idiotic. You could never convince her that the injuries to your hands were worth it for something that had no real meaning.

“Why would I want your callused hands on my cello?” Wednesday asked, not even bothering to turn around to face you.

“I thought you were rather fond of my callused hands,” you shot back, finally stepping in front of Wednesday to stop her further escape. With a singular sigh, she looked up to hold your gaze.

“Why would I be fond of them?” Wednesday asked. “They’re so rough they would scratch the neck of my cello.”

“Then you’ll always have a reminder of me,” you said with a smile. “You know you want to agree.”

“I most certainly do not,” Wednesday answered.

“Think of it as a chance to humiliate me,” you said before she could attempt to walk off. “If I suck, you can tease me all you want. Come on, you love teasing me.”

You were right, of course, she did love to tease you. Over big things, little things, anything you could give her. And maybe she did wish to see you attempt to learn to play the cello; your fingers were far longer than hers, surely you would be almost adequate.

And maybe she wished to see you rock climb. Maybe.

“Very well,” Wednesday said after only another moment of consideration, “but you learn first.” Your grin was irritating. “You’re not getting blood on my cello.”

“I thought you liked blood,” you teased as you stepped aside to let her continue walking. You were quick to follow suit. “You’re spooky enough for it.”

She didn’t answer you; no, not a word. And she certainly didn’t mention your hand on her lower back, guiding her to the table where everyone was waiting. You didn’t need to know how much it made her heart race.

You had knocked on her door right on time. Unfortunately, you looked a little too eager and that concerned her.

“Calm yourself,” Wednesday warned you as she guided you out to the balcony. “Or you’re replacing my cello.”

“Good luck, babe,” you snorted, “I don’t have a dime to my name.”

Wednesday stopped herself short while you kept walking to plop yourself down in the chair. You had called her something. Something… inconceivable. Had you realised you had said it? Was it on purpose? Yoko had warned her that you were a - what had she called it - a flirt. And she supposed you had both gone on an outing (it wasn’t a date) already. Was this how it worked?

“Don’t call me babe,” was all Wednesday said.

“Oh, sorry,” you said with a grin, “sure thing, bro.”

Oh you were insufferable. Would it really be so awful of her to just push you off the side of the balcony? Would anyone really miss you? Surely she wasn’t the only one who found you exasperating. No one would even think twice if you mysteriously fell off the balcony. You were reckless on a daily basis, no one would even be surprised.

“We gonna do this or not?” You asked, pulling Wednesday out of her dilemma. “My fingers are ready.”

Correction. It was no longer a dilemma, it was now a struggle not to push you over the railing.

Wednesday shook her head once to clear the very appealing image of you tumbling over the balcony before moving closer and getting you all set up. As much as she tried to avoid it, you made it very difficult for her to just direct you. No, you practically forced her hand and she had to grab you to position your hands and posture.

But she would admit, once you had stopped fooling around - which took far too long - you weren’t half bad. You listened and did as instructed, and at the very least you got almost a decent sound out of the strings. Enid had never been able to do such a thing. You weren’t good, but you were adequate.

“Your fingers are too stiff,” Wednesday said when, once again, you couldn’t move your fingers fast enough to keep up with the rudimentary song.

“I’m doing my best,” you huffed, “I can’t help it.”

“Learn,” Wednesday demanded.

“You’re such a dick,” you said. But she would hand it to you, you did try to learn.

Time flew as she watched you repeat the song, your fingers slowly picking up traction and moving a little more smoothly with each attempt. You still weren’t any more than adequate at best, but you were improving. If you kept this up she might even be willing to teach you some of her more difficult songs.

“Don’t ask me to try that again,” you said when you finished the song, “my fingers are numb.”

“Because you’re weak,” Wednesday said without hesitation.

“Not weak,” you clarified, “untrained.”

“You’re weak,” she said again with the barest hint of a smirk that she couldn’t stop. She hoped you didn’t notice.

You did.

“Get ready to eat your words, Addams,” you said with your own matching smirk, “it’s time to climb.”

“Your rhyme was horrific,” Wednesday told you as she helped pack her cello up.

“You liked it,” you teased, “now come on!”

You grabbed Wednesday’s hand and pulled her behind you, giving Enid a very quick “later!” before running off. Wednesday truthfully had no idea where you were taking her. As far as she was aware, there was no place to rock climb near Nevermore. And she knew good and well you better not be taking her to climb up the tower or she would leave you there on your own.

“It’s right over here,” you said, more to yourself than Wednesday, as you pulled her around to a building she, admittedly, had never seen before.

The doors creaked when you pushed them open. You flicked the lightswitch and the room was flooded with harsh fluorescent lighting that, truthfully, agitated Wednesday’s eyes. One of the walls was covered in equipment while the other two (she didn’t include the wall they were currently next to) was covered in different coloured shapes. Some of the wall branched out at different angles and formations.

She would never admit it aloud to you, but it was intimidating.

“I wasn’t aware this was here,” Wednesday said instead, and you immediately started pulling her further into the room.

“That’s the point,” you said with a shrug as you stopped them next to a table. “Xavier gets his art shed, I got a climbing studio.”

“Studio?”

“Makes it sound fancy,” you said with a smile. “Take your shoes off and put these on,” you said, pushing a pair of worn sneakers toward her.

She raised a brow at you, but you shrugged and smiled at her anyway. Fine, she thought, I suppose I must uphold my end of the bargain. With a soft sigh, she bent down to take her own shoes off. But when she stood to place them on the table and grab the sneakers, she nearly choked on air.

If you had warned her that you were removing your sweater, she would have braced herself for the sight. But you hadn’t, and now you were standing in nothing more than sweats, your sports bra, and your harness, and she was not prepared. A terrible heat rushed to her face and she rushed to look back down at the shoes before you noticed her staring.

It's not staring, she tried to convince herself, I don’t stare.

“Got ‘em on?” You asked, and Wednesday nodded once; she still didn’t look at you. “Perfect, come on.”

You lead her over to one of the walls, it just went straight up without any unusual angles. The grips (Wednesday assumed that’s what they were called) were larger and stuck out from the wall a little more to make for an easier hold. Ah, she thought, you’re giving me the training wheels.

“So, technically we’re bouldering,” you said, pulling some dirt out of a bag and rubbing it between your hands, “but you don’t need to know the distinction.” You pulled her hands over and rubbed dirt over them as well. “I’ll show you once.”

Wednesday wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t been warned of what all this would entail. There had been no preface to you grabbing the wall, the tendons in your hands becoming more prominent as you pulled yourself up. You were talking, but she couldn’t hear a single thing you were saying. All she could focus on was the muscle in your arm, and the way your back flexed, and the shine of scars going around your right hip.

“Hey, focus up,” you said in, what Wednesday realised, was a tone that said I know what you’re doing. “I’m not repeating it a second time.”

“Just climb,” Wednesday said with a roll of her eyes and a lump in her throat.

“You’re hopeless,” you giggled. A giggle? “Try to climb up to this hold.”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to try and climb while you were watching her with a grin and a sparkle in your eye. No, quite frankly she would have rather been killed on the spot. But you were looking at her not with arrogance, but something far softer.

It was a disaster from start to finish.

You had quickly jumped down and, from then on, practically lifted Wednesday up the wall, holding yourself up as well in the process. Essentially, you were doing two people’s worth of work just to get her a few feet off the ground. Your hands were gentle on her back as you kept her against the wall. The dirt on your fingers rubbed against the back of her hand when you pulled her to a specific place to grab. Your instructions were clear, detailed, and you said it so softly; it was difficult to remember you were talking about climbing.

“How are your fingers?” You asked once you finally helped her back to the ground.

They hurt, she thought, and so do my forearms. And my back. And my legs. But she couldn’t admit that. It wasn’t that she was lacking in athleticism, but she would concede the fact that yes, this was far different. It certainly explained your… physique. That same physique that she was… noticing.

“Fine,” she said anyway. You smiled and licked your lips; they looked chapped. Not that she was noticing.

“Your forearms will hurt tomorrow,” you said as you reached over to grab her hands and rub the dirt off, “and probably your shoulders.”

“I like the pain,” Wednesday said. She hoped you didn’t notice that she was staring at the scar on your hip. It finished wrapping around and went under the waistband of your sweats.

Not that she noticed. Or cared. Please don’t think I noticed.

“I’m sure you do,” you said with a soft chuckle. “We should try this again,” you continued, “I liked the cello.”

I liked watching you, she thought. Not that you would ever know, of course. But it was the truth. She had very much enjoyed watching you do something that you clearly enjoyed doing. There had been a joy in your voice and a looseness in your body that she never saw during the day. You almost looked free.

“Once a month,” Wednesday said. You smiled a big, toothy grin.

“It’s a date, Addams.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #everyone but her au

522 notes · View notes

abiiors · 10 months

Text

haunt // bed - pt. 2

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

a/n: truly out here manifesting the g and charli wedding with this one

minors dni!! part 1, part 3

wc: 3.3k

matty gently clinks a fork against his champagne flute, demanding the attention of the room.

you are standing in a corner, leaning against one of the pillars and surveying the room as you casually sip on some champagne yourself. it’s good stuff, bubbly but not too sweet. it fills up your head with fuzzy goodness. enough to make you smile at the insufferable man in the ridiculously nice suit over the rim of your glass.

“speech!” someone yells at the back of the room and a few weak laughs echo before everyone focuses their attention on the best man.

“george, charli,” he raises the glass at the couple who have their arms around each other, leaning into each other. “six months ago, you asked me if i would write something for the first dance. i was terrified, at first,” he laughs, “of fucking up, naturally. i wanted my best friends to have the perfect wedding that i did.”

you’re suddenly aware of his eyes on you; a kind of soft intensity that’s hard to look away from. his wedding—your wedding—was indeed perfect. you just didn’t think he would still have that opinion. a warmth spreads through your chest; it’s the alcohol, you tell your brain. stop drinking like a fish if you don’t want heartburn by the end of the night. but this warmth is tingly…it lingers too long in your stomach, perhaps in your whole body.

“i did write something for you,” he continues, looking away after a second, “and i hope you love it as much as i love you.” he smiles and a cheer goes up.

you straighten in your spot, no longer leaning leisurely against the column. someone brings out an acoustic guitar, making you very aware of the fact that this is the first time in almost a year that you will hear him sing. a small tremor goes through your hands and the liquid sloshes dangerously in the flute.

someone brings out a stool for him to sit on, and fixes a mic in front of him. people clear the dance floor, making room for the newlyweds. you stay transfixed in your spot; unable to move and desperate to flee.

what’s worse is that his date is already behind him, running a hand over his arm. she stumbles slightly and it’s not a surprise, you’ve already seen her down two glasses of wine. maybe that’s the key to this evening.

you look at george and charli on the dancefloor, already swaying softly in each other’s arms before he’s even begun strumming the guitar, completely lost in each other. is this what you and matty had looked like all those years ago?

your sour mood is not fair to them. this is their day, not yours. you should be honoured that charli’s asked you to be in the wedding party, not sulk in the corner like a seven year old being denied her favourite toy.

you stare at the champagne, at the bubbles rising up to the surface rapidly. time to suck it up and stop being a little bitch. with a surge of newfound annoyance, you knock the glass back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. you stagger, lightheaded for one solid moment, but it passes and matty strikes the first chord on his guitar.

his voice is all around you, echoing so clearly that for a second you wonder if it’s just the two of you in the room. his fingers move effortlessly on the frets while his other hand stums away at the strings, slows down to pluck them individually during slower moments and then speeds up again.

it’s not surprising that he sings of love and happiness. his words are full of emotions and when they fall short, the sweet tune compensates for it. what surprises you is how it makes you well up with tears.

matty has his eyes closed, smiling softly as he sings the lyrics. “so splash me with water / when we do the dishes together / i’ll take it over kisses in the rain”

one perfect curl falls on his forehead and just like that you’re back in a warm kitchen, past nine in the evening, hands slippery from the dish soap, singing along to the best of queen. matty’s hips bumping into yours as he gets too immersed into a song and forgets to rinse the plate properly. you reaching up to immediately flick him on the wrist. him tickling you as revenge, wet hands leaving damp spots on your old t-shirt.

there were happy days. in your heart, you knew it wasn’t all lonely nights and a cold bed.

his voice is replaced by loud claps and cheers as soon as the song ends. you open your eyes to a room full of people in some state of tearing up. charli has her head on george’s chest, blissfully unaware of the others. you’re glad the tears running down your face are not out of place.

“matty, that was wonderful!” his date chimes in loudly, breaking the spell.

this is the first time you’re hearing her voice. it’s high-pitched and american so when she says his name, it sounds more like ‘maddie’. and you’re once again fighting a losing battle with your brain not to stereotype her further.

“thanks, babe,” he turns to her and gives her a warm smile. the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind that makes him look twenty-two again.

the kind that feels like a gut punch to you.

“careful, darling,” denise’s voice startles you. she’s been standing close to you this whole time—just a bit ahead, watching matty just like you had been.

“careful,” she says again, “the glass might break.”

“what?” you follow her line of sight, right down to the glass in your hands and your death grip on it. your knuckles are white, clutching the delicate stem so tightly. she’s right, the glass might break any minute.

“oh…uh, sorry.” heat rises up the back of your neck and up your cheeks. “i didn’t realise.”

“‘s alright,” she smiles, studying your face for a moment. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

the party is in full swing around you, and you have found one more thing your ex-husband was wrong about. whiskey does start to taste exceptionally amazing; especially when you’re trying not to throttle not one but two people in front of you.

“dance with me!” charli calls for you from somewhere on the dancefloor.

she’s already discarded her heels somewhere in the corner in favour of comfy shoes and sweated off her makeup. but she still looks stunning and radiates with joy at the centre of the dancefloor. “come onnnnn,” she calls for you again, almost slurring her words, and makes a run to drag you to the dance floor.

“i can’t dance in heels,” you laugh, trying to get out of the dancing without offending her. the heels do hurt, not as much as you’re making it out to be but your feet are starting to get sore now.

standing and sulking in one spot all evening will do that.

“so take them off!” she’s in front of you now, holding onto your wrist and pouting like a kid. she knows you can’t resist that face. “please!! you can’t say no to me today, come on!”

it takes absolutely two seconds for you to give in. she’s right, you can’t—you shouldn’t—say no to her. not today of all days.

“only for ten minutes,” you grumble and set the glass aside. then, on second thought, you pick it back up and down the last two sips. it burns as it goes down but this fuzz is good. this fuzz will help you ignore the man and the blonde in his arms.

as long as it makes charli happy. and by the looks of it, she’s ecstatic; loudly singing along to a brittany spears hit. you shake your head at her, laughing at first and then joining in. this is fun—normal wedding fun. this is what you’re supposed to be doing at a close friend’s wedding. you are meant to get wasted and dance like a dork on the dance floor.

you even get twirled around by ross as soon as he sees you dancing. it’s almost like the old times, all your friends having fun together again. and for a brief, blissful moment the presence of the date doesn’t even bother you.

until you feel yourself trip over your dress and stumble. right into a pair of familiar arms.

he grunts, first from being so unexpectedly knocked into and then when your elbow hits him in the stomach. a small amount of satisfaction sparks in your brain but quickly gets overshadowed by a flood of mortification.

your entire back is pressed up to matty’s chest, almost a lovers embrace as he steadies you on your feet.

“careful, darling” he warns, bending to whisper it right in your ear. funny how he repeats the same words his mother had said twenty minutes ago, yet you doubt the thumping of your heart has anything to do with the dancing you’ve been doing.

the retort is on the tip of your tongue, don’t call me that, four small words that simply refuse to come out.

“thank you,” you reply breathlessly, clearing your throat against the sudden lump that’s lodged there.

“steady?” he asks.

his scent is all around you, the same fucking cologne he has worn for the last decade. the same perfume that you can still smell on your pillows sometimes, no matter how many times you wash them.

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you can let go now.” you make it a point to stare straight ahead at a bland spot on the wall. fuck your body for hyper-focusing on his heartbeat, fuck your head for spinning at one whiff of his cologne. and absolutely fuck your heart for breaking the second he lets go of you.

you stay still, only just touching him, still staring ahead until charli comes in your line of vision again. from this close you can smell the alcohol on her breath. she’s almost wasted at this point.

which is why it’s not really a shock when she gasps loudly.

“oh my god!” she slaps a hand on her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “you, me, george, and matty. like the old times!” she squeals, slurring half the words.

“char, no. no—”

“we should dance!” she declares.

“no, pl—”

“george, come here,” she yells over you, unbothered by your protests. and you know you’re doomed when an equally inebriated george comes into view.

there’s no way of getting out of this. the brittany song is on the last of its notes, about to change into something else. a sense of dread gnaws at your stomach.

“no, cha—”

“let’s get it over with.” it’s matty, placing a hand on your elbow and spinning you around to face him. he is so close, close enough for you to note the light stubble on his face; not clean-shaven like you’d thought at first. you know exactly what the stubble would feel like if you ran a hand over his face.

his pink lips are parted slightly, his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and his curls fall on his forehead. your hand twitches, desperate to brush them away because you know by the end of the night, they will be falling into his eyes. your stomach turns at the thought of how easily the urge comes. every feeling, every old habit rushing back to hit you full force.

“shall we?” he asks again, hand extended and waiting for you to take it. but all you can do is stare at it dumbly.

“right,” he says, placing his hand on yours for emphasis, “i don’t want to do it either. but i want to make my friends happy.”

his friends? indignation flares in your chest, burning hotter than the alcohol. suddenly any and all resurging feelings you’d felt for him just minutes ago evaporate into thin air. if he wants to act like he’s doing you a favour, then fine! if he wants to be an asshole then you can be a bitch right back. the song begins, something sweet and romantic but you narrow your eyes at him, ready for the battle to begin.

and if you are to win it, then you can’t be focusing too hard on the way his hand comes to rest on the small of your back; warm and reassuring and so so familiar. you can’t be relishing the feel of his warm breath on your shoulder, sending small, delicious tingles down your spine; can’t deliberately feel the way his hips press into yours, creating friction and something much more urgent.

no! so you square your shoulders and stand tall.

let’s get this over with then.

he steps to one side as the music begins to pick up; ever accustomed to taking the lead, and you step to the other side; equally determined to make this difficult for him. he knows of course, because he knows you and how your mind works. more importantly, he knows how your grudges work.

“are you really going to be difficult again?” he asks, just low enough for you to hear it over the music. “you can’t keep your pettiness aside for five minutes?”

his voice skitters over your bones, taunting and gravelly; matty from years and years ago who would raise goosebumps on your skin and make your blood heat up just by looking at you.

“my pettiness,” you grit out, “is none of your fucking concern.”

“it is when it’s my best friend’s wedding,” he cuts you off sharply.

“your best friend? as if they are no one to me?”

he tuts, condescending little shit, “can’t have the attention taken away from you for one second can you?”

your voices are rising; no longer the harsh whispers from before. and the distance between your bodies is almost negligible. his hand clutches tightly, is it his intention to hurt or to hold on? you don’t know. you don’t think he knows either.

“says the man who constantly whines for validation like a little baby,” you spit out, noses almost touching each other’s.

his eyes, warm and hazel once, are cold hard chips of brown. the anger in them turns his veins red. you imagine he’s seeing red right now, especially as his gaze dips to your mouth—painted red and curled in a sneer.

“you really have reached a new low, haven’t you, matthew?” you laugh in his face, brutally and sharp enough to cut. a sick and twisted part of you relishes in the fact that his date can see you in his arms. “oh, what must your arm candy think of you for twirling your ex around like this.”

“arm candy?” he scoffs, clearly taken aback. he must have imagined the wedding to be a fancy affair where he would get waisted and twirl his date around until they go back home and fuck in a drunken, sloppy rhythm. he would grope at her breasts like a starved man and she would hook her legs around his waist; much like how you once used to. then she would fall to her knees and satisfy all his needs. “don’t bring grace into—”

“grace?” you snap out of your disturbing train of thoughts about your ex-husband’s bedroom habits. instead, you choose to find happiness in the fact that it won’t be as smooth sailing for him as he thought. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, yeah? your toy is called grace?”

you regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. and not even for the right reasons.

“that sounds an awful lot like jealousy, darling” matty croons, finding his footing once again.

your breath hitches. the word is meant to be a weapon, hell, you two are right in the middle of an almost screaming match (again) yet he precisely knows how to wound you with his words (like always).

“don’t,” you warn. you’re falling for the bait by doing so, you know it, he knows it. but you’ll take the small bit of defeat over this. for emphasis, you yank your hand out of his and place it on his chest, as if to push him away.

his chest heaves slightly and suddenly you’re very aware of the muscles under the fitting white shirt. you should move away, fuck, you should stop touching his chest but your blood turns to lead, heats up your entire body as rage courses freely.

“don’t pin this on me.” you push him back just slightly, “it’s your need to overcompensate,” another push, “that’s why we’re here,” a third push.

and then his massive hand is wrapping over yours. you have no time to involuntarily mourn the loss of it on your waist; those tingles have already moved to your hand.

“losing your cool?” he tuts.

the infuriating bastard!

there’s a sudden urge to stomp on his feet with your four-inch heels, or better yet, to just knee him in the crotch. but you happen to catch the look on charli’s face. her eyes are wide, worried. this shouldn’t be happening. none of this should be happening. you’re not supposed to be creating a scene at one of your best friends’ wedding.

“would you look at that…” you peel yourself off him. the lump in your throat is almost overwhelming now and you’d be damned before you cry in front of him again. “you’re ruining your best friend’s wedding.”

before matty can reply, you turn on your heel, keeping your eyes sharply on the exit. this is too much. this evening was a mistake. saying yes to the dance was a mistake. coming here…

a lone tear escapes, tiny and pathetic. it makes you want to slap yourself that you would put your disdain for matty over your love for charli. after everything she’s done for you in the last ten months, after every night you’d spent crying in her bed and in her arms, this is the least you could have done. and yet you’ve failed; as a friend, as a wife, even as a person at this point.

footsteps slap on the marble floor behind you, getting closer as you step out into the corridor. of course, he’d follow. of course, he wouldn’t know when to leave it alone, picking at all your wounds that are only just scabbing over.

“stop!” he calls out, “you fucking coward.”

the shock of it alone is enough to freeze you in your place.

“what did you just say to me?” you blink at him slowly, taking in his cold eyes and lips pressed in a thin line.

“you fucking coward,” he repeats, “running away from every situation when it gets tough.”

“fuck you, matty,” you spit out, taking a step forward. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you punctuate each of them with a jab to his chest, stabbing your nails repeatedly into the soft spot over his heart. let him feel it. let him experience a million small deaths.

“what? nothing witty to say now?” his hand wraps around your wrist, holding it still in place. no matter how much you struggle, he won’t let go.

his face is inches away. he moves forward, backing you against the wall, holding onto your wrist tightly, mouth open and almost panting as if he can’t get enough air.

you can’t either. your head spins; so close to him, too close. your faces are inches away and involuntarily you stare at his lips, trembling with rage. this whole evening was a mistake but that doesn’t stop you from fisting your hands in his shirt and crashing your mouth onto his.

lemme know what you think pls <33 🤭

200 notes · View notes

1824deadpoetssoc · 4 months

Text

Spoilers for final episode of BBC Ghosts

So, Ghosts is over. I’ve seen a lot of people talking about being disappointed with the last episode. I’m not at all. I would have liked it to have been longer than the normal 30mins, just so we could get in to some of it a bit more.

Anyhow, I have some thoughts on what the ghosts might like about the hotel, and how Alison might leave the house but doesn’t really leave them. It’s a long one, and I made it mostly for myself as I wanted to get the thoughts out of my head!

So these are my head canons…

Alison returns there regularly to walk in the grounds with them whilst Mike plays golf, they have all their family celebrations there (A second child’s/grandchild’s christening party, wedding anniversary celebrations, graduation parties, milestone birthdays, Mia gets married there etc…), and the ghost come, join in & dance (because they love a party!) and they obviously return for Christmas every year.

I also don’t think the ghosts hate the hotel after a while either. There is an endless stream of guests and staff to keep them entertained. I like to imagine there is still the ballroom for weddings & functions, conference rooms, the library and a games room. I like to think the library contains the history of the house and holds a version of Button House archives for guests who want to know more about the history of the building.

Julian likes to mess about behind the desk with the booking system or follows the golfers around the course throwing shade about their skills. He sits in the members bar of an evening and listens in on the local Tory gossip from Barclay.

Lady Button spies on the guests/staff with faux disgust & gossips about them. The hotel hosts a murder mystery evening and she loves it.

Robin hangs out with the maintenance team & likes to mess with the lights to keep them on their toes. There are several chess boards in the games room, Alison sneaks a “reserved, don’t touch” sign on one of them so he can still play chess with Julian.

The Captain does morning inspections of the grounds, and visits the gym- there’s a PT employed there with very impressive arms (ahem, carry on). When the hotel hosts wedding receptions he is in his element.

Thomas has a dramatic “across the class divide” (his words) infatuation with a chambermaid who is working at the hotel whilst studying for her MA in English Literature. She sees his portrait in the Thorne suite & tells her friends that she finds him attractive and makes him the object of her regency romance style fantasies. This makes him extremely happy (and even more insufferable).

Pat loves the regular quiz nights hosted in the members bar. He still runs all the clubs in whichever function rooms are empty. Very much enjoys hanging out at the breakfast buffet.

Kitty likes to wonder down to the spa and watch people get manicures. She listens in on all the beauticians chatting about their love lives & celebrity gossip. She reads magazines over people’s shoulders whilst they wait for their treatments.

Humphrey also enjoys the members bar with Julian as he likes to hear people joking and having fun. There are a few French members of staff & Robin continues to help him learn the language by listening in on those conversations.

So, for me the Ghosts are able to continue a very happy afterlife, and are still very involved with Alison and her actual life.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #red lever

74 notes · View notes

sheeple · 1 year

Text

Lady Strong | Part 3

PHOTO NOT MINE. THIS IS ALL FICTION. Genre(s): Strong!reader / Angst? Fandom(s): House of the Dragon (TV series) Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryan x Strong!reader / Jacaerys Velaryon x Strong!reader (platonic/siblings) Summary: It's not easy being a Strong; with a mother who committed suicide, a father who sired three children out of wedlock and then died for it, and a creepy uncle who has nefarious plans for his niece, it's hard to find people who truly mean the best for you. Luckily there are your brothers and your fiance... right? Warning(s): Oof lads this is a sad one / murder / not good anger management / foul words? / It’s eps 10 so hold on lads A/n: Not me trying to make this a two-parter💀 also did I use some input of the comments I got? Who knows🤷🏻‍♀️ [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Part One] [Part Two]

No words leave your lips as you watch the Queen before locking eyes with your family across the table. Jace jumps up from his seat, fuming. You shake your head subtly to make him stop, but it is no use.

"Who has decided this?"

"Jace!", his mother scolds him, a stern look on her face.

Prince Aemond also raises from his seat. "My mother, the Queen, and Lord Strong, Lady Strong's ward."

You turn towards Prince Aemond. Did he know? For how long did he know what your uncle was conspiring?

You rise from your chair, making both princes look at you. "I must apologise for Prince Jacaerys, my Queen. I'll be a good wife to your son. If I may be excused?"

With one final bow, you walk out of the banquet hall. A heavy feeling slowly grows in your chest. Is this how your mother felt when her engagement was announced to your father? Did they know growing up that they would be engaged, or were they also thrown into the deep?

Once you finally reach your room, you collapse on your bed, laying on the silks as you peer up at the top of the canopy.

Your peace is soon disturbed by Jace barging into your room and slamming the door. He angrily starts to pace in front of the fireplace, his hands on his waist as he mutters to himself.

"Hello to you too, Jace", you sigh but stay put on the bed. He stops to look at you, huffs a couple of times and continues pacing.

"They can't do this! He's... insufferable! And cruel!"

"Have you even talked to him since Laena Valeryon's funeral?", you challenge him.

Jace stops in his warpath, his silhouette illuminated from behind by the fire but his confused expression is very clear. "Why are you defending him? They're forcing you into this marriage to make you spy on us."

That makes you sit up and raise an eyebrow. "Who said that?"

"Mother for sure will put a stop to this─"

"She won't." You get up from the bed and walk towards him. "Because she ─ like me ─ knows this is the best option. Yes, it is an arranged marriage. But your own got announced too today! It's the same, Jacaerys, and you know it."

That makes him shut up. He swallows and turns his head to the side, looking at nothing in particular.

"I'm sure he's a good man, Jace."

Jace gives you a look, and you return it. "How do you know?", he fires back, "you haven't talked to him too since! He could be a rapist for all we know."

"He's not Aegon", you hiss.

"No, we don't need another trying to claim the throne", he hisses back.

"I took a knife for him."

"And one for Luke!"

You shake your head and turn around, massaging your temples as you feel a headache brewing. "Please Jace... can we continue this tomorrow? I already lost my appetite. I don't want to lose my sleep too."

Jace, for once this entire time, get's reasonable and makes to leave my room. "Do you want me to extinguish the fire?", he asks, standing in the doorway.

You shake your head, "I'll do that myself."

Jace nods and closes the door behind him. As soon as Jace's footsteps are no longer heard, the first vase flies through your room.

A yell escapes from your lips as you trash the bedroom, taking out your anger on the furniture and decoration. You are so angry it hurts. Deep from within anger burns through your fingertips and out as you throw another candle against a wall.

Blood spills out of your hands as you watch the fire crackle in the fireplace, your chest raising up and down, straining against your stays.

Your anger soon replaces with sadness. You let yourself drop to the ground, covering your mouth as you sob uncontrollably.

Your father said to always look strong, and be the exact person they expect you to be from your house. Never show weakness in front of the eyes of the court. He knew how ruthless they could be and when shown just one grain of insecurity or weakness, they would latch onto it and tear you apart.

And you've stayed strong, all those years. You've endured being burned, stabbed, sliced, and loneliness at Herrenhal. Never truly feeling at home anywhere.

Haven't you given enough?

How could they? How could Larys do this to you? You knew that he didn't love you, but selling you off to the one who's vocal about your brothers' true birthright and his wish to maim Lucerys.

And now you're going to marry that man. Are they going to expect you to switch your loyalties? You've never really cared for Rhaenyra. Feeling indifferent about her was the best option. But your brothers...

You would do anything for them. You know if their mother doesn't become queen, they're going to be killed. And you don't know how you would handle the death of either of them.

Without realizing it, you fall asleep in the middle of the trashed room. Throughout the night, the fire has extinguished itself, the coals still smouldering once you get woken up by a servant. A gasp leaves her lips at the state of the room and of you.

She quickly ushers you into a chair that somehow survived your rampage. She puts some ointment on your hands, binding them before putting you in a beautiful dress.

The Princess and Prince decided to leave the capital to bring their children home before returning to stay with the King.

Luke and Joffrey hug you tearfully, knowing it will be a long time before they see you again.

Princess Rhaenyra looks at you worried. "Please know that you may not be of my blood, but I consider you to be my daughter. Pay no mind to Lord Vaemond's words."

You send her a small smile. "I know, my Princess. And I am grateful for the kindness you've shown me all these years. Even if I may not have shown it at all times."

She gives you a smile back and caresses your cheek before making room for her eldest son to say goodbye.

Jace's eyes zero in on your bandaged hands and he narrows them, "you have to stop hurting yourself for others. You're not a martyr."

"I do not", you hiss at him silently, making sure nobody sees it.

"Mother has assigned Ser Erryk Cargsyll as your personal guard", he whispers as he hugs you tightly. "She knows something isn't right. Starting with that cunt watching you."

You turn around and see Aemond observing the departure.

Jace mounts Vermax and holds for one last time your hand before pushing off of the ground, tears in your eyes. You know a storm is brewing between the Greens and the Black, and you're right in between it all.

As soon as the ships leave the port, Aemond makes his way next to you, watching as you wave them off in hope of a good journey.

"I was hoping we could take a stroll through the gardens. Catch up after so many years apart."

What a delight.

You nod and the both of you walk next to each other in silence. He has his hands clasped behind his back while you fiddle with the hems of your sleeves.

Ser Erryk watches the prince with hawk's eyes as he stands at the entrance of the garden, his hand on his sword in case the Prince dares to do something foolish. But you doubt that.

"Tell me, Lady Strong, what is Harrenhal like?"

You look up at the Prince in search of something on his face. But what? That he's jesting you? For cruelty?

"It's barren after the fire. But it's almost rebuilt. In my honest opinion, it's bland. Most of the heirlooms and the personal belongings of my family have disappeared."

He hums. "And do you miss your mother? I assume you left her behind travelling here."

He- he can't be serious, right? How does he not know?

"She's dead, your Highness."

The Prince stops in his tracks, a few steps behind you. "I apologise, I didn't know. How did she die?"

Well, if he wants the know you, that is a surefire way to do it. "She took her life jumping from the highest tower in Harrenhal when I was still a small child."

Surprisingly, Prince Aemond reaches for your hands, clasping them in his. A single hand of his dwarfs your own but the two of them engulf yours.

"You must have been terribly alone, all those years at Harrenhal."

What... is he doing?

Smiling uncomfortably, you pull your hands away. "I've had my family. It seems like your relationship with the Queen is very close, your Highness."

Smooth, changing the subject.

Aemond nods. "Yes. To be fair, I was never close to my father as a child. He was always busy being king, and turning a blind eye to the antics of his eldest daughter." He glances at you to gauge your reaction. Of course, he would take a dig at the parentage of your brothers. That's how he lost an eye in the first place

Choosing to ignore the comment, you say nothing. It's better to keep quiet than say something you would regret.

"You've grown wise over the years. And even more beautiful than we were children. The years have done you well."

The comment makes you produce the most unflattering noise a lady can make, at least that is what your septa told you; a snort.

It makes the Prince smile on his own as he watches you laugh. "Am I not speaking the truth?"

"I would hardly call myself beautiful, my Prince. I've been told that scars can be most unflattering."

"Scars are battles you've fought. Fights you won, and duels you lost. They are something you are to be proud of." He reaches out a hand and touches the scar on your collarbone, just like the day before. Only this time, you don't pull away.

His hand travels down, grabbing your hand. He starts to loosen the bandages and grazes the wounds that you inflicted on yourself. A hiss escapes your lips as it is a sore spot.

As you are fixated on Aemond holding your hand, you don't notice his other one reaching up at your face. He caresses the scar that runs through your top lip. It's the scar you got for him, defending him from the Strong bastards that faithful night. Defending him from your own brothers.

Your breath hitches. His hands are hot, scorching against your skin. The intimate moment lights up a fire within you, low in your belly. A fire you've never felt before.

The rather intimate moment gets interrupted by a servant fetching the Prince at the request of the Queen. He hums, his eyes still focused on you.

"You've won all your battles, my Lady Strong", he whispers, pulling his hands off of you, but not before rebadging your hand. He presses a kiss on the palm of your hand and goes after the servant.

Your breathing is harsh while your heart runs a thousand miles an hour. What the fuck just happened? Since when is Aemond Targaryen so affectionate? To anyone? Was this whole marriage his doing, and not that of your uncle and the Queen?

Glancing at Erryk, you give him an apologetic look before you make your way out of the garden and towards the library, not knowing what else to do until dinner.

And dinner does not come fast. And it passes slowly. Aemond has asked you to join him in his chambers. You know you can't decline, he's a prince after all.

Getting into bed quite late and your belly full of good food and Dornish wine, you sleep through the commotion early in the morning.

The King has died.

Only when a servant girl comes to dress you up quickly because your presence is wanted by the Queen, you do notice something's wrong.

Everybody is on edge and looking sombre, their eyes downcast. The banners have changed from their normal red colour to black.

Once you enter the Queen's quarters, you see her with a distressed look on her face. You curtsey.

"My dear (Y/n). Take a seat."

You cautiously take place next to her on the two-seater, your hands clasped in your lap.

She sighs once, "now you're betrothed to my son, you're expected to have your alliance with the Greens. Can I count on you?"

The question baffles you. Where your alliance lay was never an issue. Nobody ever expected you to choose a side.

"I... I don't understand, my Queen."

Queen Alicent stands up from the couch, towering over you. "The King has died in his sleep. His dying wish was for Aegon to ascend the throne. He is the true heir."

This makes you stand up yourself. "With all due respect, your Majesty. But Princess Rhaenyra was named heir of the iron throne almost twenty years, and in all those years the King never wavered from his choice to place his oldest daughter as heir."

She turns around with a disappointed look on her face. "Alright. Lock her up and don't let her out before she changes her mind."

Two guards who were stationed at the door grab both an arm and drag you out of the Queen's chambers. You thrash and squirm, anything to get out of their iron-like grip.

You make eye contact with Erryk, in hope that he will save you. But he shakes subtly his head. Like he wants to say not yet.

The guards throw you in your room and lock the door. Screaming and banging on the door until your voice is hoarse does nothing, you've discovered. Trying to pry open the lock also does nothing.

Only after you've given up, the lock rattles and Ser Erryk steps through the door dressed in a black cloak and also holding one.

"We have to leave, now." He throws the cloak at you and without thinking, you do what he says. He opens a secret passage in a wall and leads you through the inner workings of the castle, sneaking past white cloaks and to the stables.

He pushes a satchel in your hands. You peak inside and it's King Viserys' crown. "Whatever you do, keep it secure. If you follow the winding road to the north, you'll be at Dragonstone in one and a half days through the western shortcut. Ride fast and be safe."

With those words, you depart from King's Landing at full speed on horseback, only stopping at night to rest but further continuing on.

Once Dragonstone finally comes into view, you jump off the horse and run the last few steps up the bridge. What you're met with is a funeral for what looks like a baby.

Trying to control your breathing, you make your way to Princess Rhaenyra, now Queen Rhaenyra. You pull the crown out of the satchel and kneel down, holding the crown up.

"I, Lady (Y/n) Strong, daughter of Harwin Strong of house Strong and Deranna Florent of house Florent, pledge my allegiance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first of her name, the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."

Prince Daemon walks up to you and takes the crown from your hands, studying it. He turns around and places the crown on the rightful Queen's head and kneels down. Soon everybody follows as they pledge their loyalty to the Black Queen.

Soon, everybody makes the council room ready for the first Black Council, Jace pulls you aside into a hug.

"How did you escape? I thought they would surely lock you up."

"They did, but Ser Erryk helped me escape and bring the crown."

Jace lets out a sigh. "Thank the Gods you're safe. I couldn't sleep at the thought of you being with the usurpers."

Smiling at him, you squeeze his hand. "They haven't harmed me. But Queen Alicent made me swear my loyalty to Aegon. I didn't, and that's why they locked me up in my room."

As the council is summoned, Jace and Luke keep you close to them out of protection. Most of the things being discussed, you don't understand, but once they bring up the alliances and Jace says the Queen should send him and Luke.

Stepping up, you open your mouth. "Please, my Queen, send me with them. I may not be of royal blood, like your sons, but I would like to do my part. If you allow me."

Jace gives you a stern look, obviously not agreeing with you.

Before the Queen can agree or disagree, Luke speaks up. "She can join me, mother. Arrax is big enough for the two of us."

After a moment of thinking, she agrees. Once you receive the letters, you make your way outside. The Queen has borrowed you some of her old dragon riding gear.

Before you depart with Luke, she pulls you aside. "Before you and your father left for Harrenhal, he asked me to look after you if he came to die. I know I haven't always honoured my promise the best I could. Please, be careful out there. I know Alicent has sent her children to get alliances." She gives you a piercing look that makes you nod your head dutifully.

The flight to Storm's End is windy and thunder rumbles in the sky. Once you've arrived, the sharp wind whips through your bones. Luke helps you off Arrax but you stop both in your tracks once you see Vhagar in the distance.

"I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon", begins Luke bravely, stopping in front of the guards. "I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen."

The guards nod and turn around, a motion for you to follow them. You grab his hand and squeeze it in reassurance before walking after him in the hall.

Luke approaches Lord Borros, who sits on his throne-like chair at the end of a long hall. Three women stand to the right of him, which you presume are his daughters. To the left stands Aemond, his back turned towards the others as he converses softly with another woman. He glances at the both of you, his eyes keeping trained on you. His jaw is ticked and his single eye is harsh.

A knight announces our arrival as Luke goes to stand in the middle of the hall.

Aemond turns fully, and Luke looks at him almost scared. The white-haired man smirks.

Luke turns back towards the lord on his throne. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... the Queen."

Lord Borros does not look amused. "Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughs, but it's condescending. "What is your mother's message?"

Luke holds out the rolled-up scroll for a guard to take and bring to the Lord. The Lord demands a maester, who reads the written message. He whispers it in the Lord's ear.

The Lord looks pissed. "Remind me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my sword and banners for a marriage pact. The firstborn of Prince Aemond will marry one of my daughter's descendants. Isn't that right, Lady Strong?"

As suddenly the attention is on you, you still. How dare he, sell my potential babe off to the highest bidder.

"If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed? Boy?"

Without any hesitance, Luke answers, "my lord, I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed." He looks at Aemond, who still has a smug look on his face. He knows he has won this round.

"So you come with empty hands. Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

With a raised chin and taking the harsh words of the Lord like a true Prince. "I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord."

He turns around and looks at your proud face, he subtly grabs your hands in search of a supporting lifeline. He's just a boy, after all.

But Aemond's, "wait, my Lord Strong", makes you both stop in your tracks.

Walking back, you're ready for the conflict to come.

"Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

Sending a cautious look towards Aemond. "My Prince..."

"I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

"A fight would be little challenge. No." He reaches up and removes his eyepatch, revealing a sapphire in place of the eyeball he lost. "I want you to put out your eye. That's the least you could do after mutilating me and your sister."

Aemond looks at you now with both of his eyes uncovered, a dangerous gleam in them. This is not the same boy from all those years back you spent in the capital with, who would sit next to you as you both would read. This is not the same man that showed you his tender side in the gardens.

This is a man out for revenge. For blood.

"One is enough. I would not blind you."

"He owes you nothing", you say, standing between Luke and Aemond and pointing the dagger he just threw towards the young prince.

An amused smile grows on his face. "Hm, how brave it is to step in front of your baby brother, Lady Strong. But this is between him and me."

Tightening your grip around the handle, you raise it. "Don't forget, Aemond, I took a blade for you that night. We both are 'mutilated', as you call it. But only one is out for revenge."

As Luke declines behind you, Aemond advances and grabs the hand that holds the blade and holds it up to your neck.

"Than you are craven as well as a traitor, Lord Strong. Give me your eye or your sister dies!", he bellows, pushing the blade so harshly against your skin that it cuts.

Having enough, you launch your feet backwards and kick him in the nuts. Aemond folds double and you see your escape.

"Luke! Run!", you yell, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

As you both mouth Arrax, Aemond comes sprinting after you, sword in his hand and rage in his eyes. He himself jumps up on Vhagar.

It has started to storm in the meantime you have been inside, Arrax restless. Luke speaks High Valerian to the dragon before taking off.

Wrapping your arms tightly around the boy's waist, he looks wildly around him, in search of the large dragon. But it's hard to see anything due to the rain.

Out of nowhere, the largest she-dragon appears, flying above you. She attacks, snapping at the both of you as Aemond's laughter is heard through the clouds. Arrax can barely dodge them.

A chase starts and Luke sends Arrax down, towards the water. Vhagar is hot on your heels.

Luke sees a cliffside and flies towards it, in the hope of losing Aemond there. It seems to work for a while, as Vhagar is too big for the cracks.

Out of nothing, Arrax turns around and attacks Vhagar. The elder dragon roars angrily, setting in the chase again, this time of her own will.

"The clouds, Luke! Get above the clouds!", you yell, trying to get above the thunder and lightning.

The dragon obeys and you both hold on for dear life as Arrax does his best to gain control over the ancient dragon out to get him.

Finally breaching the clouds, you let out a breath of relief. "Do you see him?"

Luke shakes his head, looking wildly around to spot the dragon.

Vhagar jumps out of the clouds, her beak open and ready to devour. In his final effort, Luke pushes you off Arrax. As you fall, you watch how Vhagar devours Luke and Arrax, the wings of the beast falling down with you.

You scream, plunging quickly to your death. Arrax's blood hits you in your face as a wing crash against you.

Crashing into the sea, you took your final gasp of air before your lungs fill up with salt water. You try to fight the violent waters, but it was helpless. There was no way you know what is up and what is down.

As you lay helplessly in the last moments of consciousness, accepting your fate, a dark figure enters the water and swims towards you. White hair spread around like a halo, you feel how the person grabs your waist and pulls you up to the surface. Or at least, that is what you think it is doing. For all you care, it could be a siren.

Before your face hits the surface, you close your eyes and let death welcome you.

530 notes · View notes

galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

Text

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part IX/9

GAS!! Anyway, Part 9 Enemies to Lovers Gale POV

The memory of Tav falling replayed endlessly in his mind. Gale was unable to shake it - granted, it had only been a few days and even so it haunted him. Why did his brain insist on exhuming things he could not change? He was overcome with guilt that he should have done more, could have done more. That he should have insisted in a back up plan or come up with one himself. How reckless it was, how he let his pride get in the way of sense. He thought of how he tended to her before she came to, only succumbing to sleep once his weary eyes could no longer be forced open out of sheer will.

What a fool he was.

Gale was reenacting the first moments when they arrived in the Underdark, seething over how blind he had been. He would never be anything more than a rival to Tav, an insufferable ego-manic, and Gale saw that clearly. Astarion wasn’t exactly being subtle. Yet Gale was unconvinced, his gut nagging him. Why had she looked to me though? Why would she bother to look for my reaction at all?

He felt ashamed, embarrassed even for feeling the fingers of envy. He had no right to. And besides, Tav had yet to apologize. Gale still wanted an apology from her and thus, he squirreled himself away until it was time to move from their last camp. While they traveled, Wyll was busy talking Tav’s ear off so Gale was able to happily mosey behind, unworried about confrontation. Besides, talking to her with the rest of the companions present wouldn’t end well for anyone. The last thing this group needed was more drama. Between him and Tav, Lae’zel and Shadowheart, Astarion and, well, everyone else, he didn’t need to add fuel to the fire.

Gale was preparing dinner, mid peel, when he heard her footsteps approaching him from behind. “Whatever it is you have to say to me can wait,” he said, his eyes not leaving the potato. “I’m not really interested in talking to you at the moment.” The air was cooler down there, like a crisp Autumnal air.

He heard Tav’s footsteps stop. It made his chest tighten. Despite telling her he was not interested in talking with her, in fact not talking to her at all was driving him mad. Tav was all he could think about no matter how annoyed he was with her.

“Fine. Goodnight.” He heard her say, her tone icy.

He bit his tongue, still frozen in position and the silence piqued his curiosity. He didn’t hear her walk away. “You’re still here.”

“I am.”

“Hm. Curious, if you ask me, since you said ‘goodnight.’ If you’ve come here to grill me, I am not interested, and if you’re in need of grilling something might I suggest you start working on the fish.” He heard a soft laugh that sounded like she tried to catch it before it made a sound. His lips pulled up into a smile. Still, there was no sound of footsteps. “Have you come here to just lurk? Taking our trip to the Underdark a bit literally.” Another soft puff of air. His smile grew and he resumed peeling the potato.

The foreign sounds of creatures cloaked the air, a sense of calm settling between the two of them. Gale continued to slowly and methodically peel the potatoes, inspecting each as he placed them in the pot, making commentary as he went. “Oh wow, I’ve never seen one with quite so many eyes!” and “You’re much mushier than I like, but it’ll be our secret.” And then, “My, you’re the smallest potato I’ve seen. I almost feel guilty cooking you. In you go, then.”

“Are you still here?” Gale asked, although he knew the answer. The moment felt strangely comforting, more so even than the Weave.

“I am.”

“Have you got anything to say for yourself or shall I continue?”

A grunt. More silence. And then finally a resigned and sincere, “Gale, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or grace, and I -“ he heard her swallow hard and pause. Her voice, though honest, was also tight as if she was unpracticed in the art of apology.

“Difficult for you to apologize, is it?”

He heard her sigh in annoyance, “I already apologized -“

“Ah,” Gale held up a finger but still did not turn around. “You apologized for saying a cruel thing, an apology does not equal forgiveness. I should know that better than anyone.” He sighed, grunting as he rose to his knees and finally turned to face her. Gale inhaled heavily when he looked at her, startled by how her skin glowed in the purple, unending night. “And then you proceeded to ignore me for close to a month. Without so much as an explanation. Hits a little too close to home for my taste. So, while you may have apologized for the first offense, you certainly did not for the second.”

Gale’s eyes trailed from Tav’s eyes to her lips, to the way her body curved and then back to hers. Their breathing seemed to synch as they held their gaze. He watched Tav’s lips part before she looked away and pulled her hair back nervously. “It was childish, I know. I’m sorry, Gale. I really am. I just…” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way, it wasn’t fair of me.” Tav turned her eyes to his again and Gale felt heat prick at his ears. Silence filled them until she cut it, “I also wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

Gale paused, shaken. She couldn’t remember, could she? “Karlach saved your life.” He said, turning away to put the potatoes over the fire. “But, Thank you for your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me - ”

“That’s it?” Tav said, grabbing his arm. He felt a jolt shoot through him and cleared his throat, averting her gaze. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Gale knew he would lose his resolve if he turned to look at her. He knew the next words were rile her up and still they came tumbling out, “What are you talking about?”

She dropped his arm, her expression dark. “Unbelievable.”

Gale sighed and caught her wrist as she went to turn. “You’re right - I’m sorry - I’m just feeling a little stung at the moment.” He saw Tav’s brow furrow and then her face floods with color.

“That was nothing.”

“It certainly didn’t look like nothing.”

Tav glared at him. “What about you and Karlach?”

Gale was unable to stop the instant laugh that bubbled out of him, “Karlach? Tav, surely you know her better than that -“ he paused and looked at her with a furrowed brow, “Don’t you? You know she likes-“

“SH!” Tav said, pressing her fingers against Gale’s lips. As soon as she did this Gale felt himself stop breathing. The feeling of her hand on hips lips ignited him, the spark licking through his blood like wildfire. He felt a rush of blood to his nether-region and tried to ignore the feeling.

He took a deep breath and wrapped one of his hands around her wrist to bring her fingers away from his lips. He leaned down a bit towards her, his voice soft. “Ah, your point is moot. I may have locked myself away for a year, but I wasn’t born yesterday, I’m afriad. I’d rather you be honest with me instead of pretending as if you and he aren’t intimately spending time in one another’s company.”

“Why would that be your business?” Tav asked and Gale’s eyes flicked down to see her lick her lips. He swallowed hard.

“OOOO I knew I felt the fire cooking,” Karlach said and they both stepped back from each other quickly. Gale rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. She held up her hands and laughed, “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this meal won’t cook itself and I’m bloody tired. Please man, I’m famished.” Karlach rested on the ground by them, as if she meant to supervise Gale so he would stay true to his word.

“Fair enough,” Gale chuckled and looked to Tav only to catch a soft, unreadable expression before returning to work.

#bg3 brainrot #baldurs gate 3 #gale #god gale #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 art #gale x tav #gale romance #gale baulders gate 3 #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate tav #baulders gate gale

42 notes · View notes

witchmoon · 1 year

Text

by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond targaryen

406 notes · View notes

shyvioletcat · 7 months

Text

ROWAELIN MONTH: DAY 18

~ Aelin and Hawk Rowan ~

Just something silly and sweet for our beloved otp

~~~~~

The world passed by in a blur, Kasida’s stride eating up distance over the grassy plain. Each hoof beat resounded through Aelin’s body, the fast paced rhythm creating a symphony that only added to the thrill of the ride. Aelin trusted her steed completely, knowing she had the care for both their safety and avoiding unsteady ground. And they were not alone.

Rowan swooped, his wing brushing her cheek. As much as she loved the gesture, it was distracting, and Aelin almost missed the turn onto the forest path. Bastard, he was trying to distract her. Kasida slowed just a little, her sure footing not faltering as the path was swarmed with vegetation. Aelin assumed Rowan flew above the trees to avoid entanglement in the branches. Their little race was almost over and she hoped she could rely on the thick, overlapping boughs to help her win.

An obligation free morning had presented itself and tired of courtly nonsense stealing her away from him, Rowan had insisted they flee the palace. And he always complained about her affinity for dramatics when at times he was equally so. He had told her to dress for riding and meet him at the stables while he would sort out the rest.

Aelin had taken the time to brush and saddle Kasida herself, basking in the simple and ordinary task. Sometimes it was nice to pretend that she didn’t have the weight of an entire kingdom on her shoulders. It had barely been a year since the war had ended, her country was still rebuilding and there was so much to do. Still, she needed to take time for herself or she might go insane. Aelin had Kasida fully tacked when Rowan appeared, a pack on his shoulder and a wide grin on his face. Then he’d told her to meet him by the stream and shifted.

To get out of the city Aelin had used a small gate built into the outer wall, only for secret royal usage. Rowan had circled above her while she warmed up her steed, the mare impatient to run. When she was ready, Aelin turned Kasida to follow the edge of the Oakwald. And then they were off, Rowan’s screech of approval echoing. He understood her intention, this would be a race.

He gave another such call now, letting Aelin know he was still wth her. She was almost at the stream. With the thick foliage overhead she might just win. It would be hard for him to find a way through without risk to himself. Her fae senses picked up the sound of the stream, the scent of the damp soil. A few more moments and she’d be there. The trees parted, the stream was in view, and then there was a bright flash of light that had the over excited horse shying in surprise. Rowan stood there, leaning against a tree like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“I win,” he had the gall to say.

Aelin was nearly panting as she dismounted. Flames simmered at her fingers, the thrill of the ride and the indignation over what her mate had said only adding to the fire.

“I was here first,” she protested.

Rowan just smirked at her. “I would say otherwise.”

“Of course you would.”

“Because I won,” Rowan reiterated.

Aelin groaned in frustration, quickly tending to Kasida so she could graze but not wonder off. Then she was storming over to her husband, embers flying in her wake.

“You cheated,” she accused. “You tried to distract me.”

Rowan dropped the pack to the grassy floor, standing a little straighter, no longer using the tree to take his ease. “I did no such thing.”

This time Aelin growled at him, baring her pointed canines. Rowan just continued to smirk at her. The insufferable, cheating bastard.

“Fireheart, it was only a little race.” All his words did was antagonise her further.

“It’s never just a little race.”

Rowan chuckled softly. “My apologies, milady. I must have forgotten how competitive you are.”

Aelin was right in front of him now, nearly chest to chest. “Memory problems tend to persist in old age.”

Before Aelin could even think of a new argument, Rowan had reached for her shoulders, and spun them so that her back was against the tree. His body crowded around hers, but Aelin was not ready to give in. She just kept looking up at him, defiance all over her face.

Her mate ignored every ounce of malice she was sending his way, and lent in closer. “Are you going to waste our alone time talking?”

There was a hand on her waist, and Aelin couldn’t help but arch into the touch. As it rose higher her breathing quickened at it had nothing to do with the exertion from the ride. Rowan moved closer, his nose brushing against Aelin’s in a teasing gesture. She was about to demand he do something more when he finally kissed her. She surrendered to it, loving the privilege of having Rowan so close. They saw each other every day, but finding time to truly be with each other was hard to find some days.

She couldn’t help herself though, that fire of mischief still burned. Aelin broke the kiss, taking joy in the annoyance that entered Rowan’s green eyes. “And another thing—“

It seemed Rowan had had enough of her antics because he tugged her against him for another kiss, smothering her laughter. They stayed like that until they were both breathless and the only reason they broke apart was to catch it. Rowan’s hands weren’t idle though, they worked on untucking her shirt from her pants, touching the bare skin on her waist. That let Rowan recover and his breathing evened out, but with each insistent sweep across Aelin’s body her breath was hitching. Especially when those hands moved higher.

“Once upon a time I promised the first time I would take you wouldn’t be against a tree,” Rowan murmured onto the skin of her neck. Then he pulled back, watching Aelin’s face as he pressed into her firmer, so she could feel every hard line of his body. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

Aelin shook her head furiously, anticipation getting the better of her. They kept eye contact as she looped her arms around her neck and Rowan's hands slid down to her thighs. Cheating or not, Rowan had a point. She could argue this again later when they had more time.

Aelin arched into him, inviting him to take more. “I’m waiting, buzzard.”

Rowan laughed and kissed her again, and this time they didn’t stop until they had both unraveled completely.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed this little bit of canon silliness

@rowaelinscourt

#I should have a minimum two more canon works ready in the next 24 hours #rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2023 #throne of glass fanfiction

71 notes · View notes

kpop---scenarios · 29 days

Text

Obsession (2)

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Warning: Stalking, Threatening, Launguage

Word Count: 3.8k

Part One

It had been a little over a week since you and Chanyeol fucked, and it had been radio silence. You had hoped he would have texted you by now, but you didn't want to come across as that needy girl. So you kept it cool, until you couldn't keep that cool any longer.

“Oh my god!” Jennie yells. “Did you hear the latest news?” She asks, rolling her eyes. You had been invited for a night out at Baekhyun's apartment with everyone in your new friends group. You had partially expected Chanyeol to have been there and when he wasn't you were disappointed. You liked him and wanted you get to know him more, you also wouldn't have minded fucking around with him again.

“What!?” Lisa asks. Everyone was intently staring at Jennie, impatiently waiting to hear what she had to say.

“A little birdy told me that Chanyeol and Maya got back together.” She says, trying to stifle a giggle. Every single person that sat around Baekhyun's living room table groaned so loudly. Sehun, Baekhyun and Jisoo started fake sobbing, Jongin threw his head back in frustration, Lisa started to pretend to gag, while Kyungsoo began muttering about how he had to go back to avoiding Chanyeol.

You, on the other hand, sat there in complete shock. He had a girlfriend? How long has this been going on?

“What's wrong with her?” You ask, glancing at the dramatic group around the table.

“Let's just say, Maya is..” Baekhyun pauses.

“Insufferable.” Kyungsoo sighs.

“Stuck up.” Jisoo adds.

“Fucking annoying.” Lisa says.

“She's like the worst possible human in the world.” Jongin says. “I don't know how he puts up with her.”

You nod your head, you didn't have anything else to say. You felt hurt and confused. Your hands played with the full shot glass that sat in front of you. Just as Sehun was about to say something, the front door opens and in walks Chanyeol with a big smile on his face.

“Hey guys, what are we talking about?” He asks, plopping down on the floor, across the table from where you and Jongin sat. You felt the anger bubble up inside of you, and even though you had planned on saying nothing, words came out of your mouth.

“Oh, just talking about how you have a girlfriend.” You say, looking up at Chanyeol, staring him in the eyes. They go wide, as if he's a deer in headlights.

“Oh, uh.” He chuckles. “Yeah, surprise, Maya and I got back together.” He says, looking away from you to avoid eye contact. You continued to stare at him, you hoped he could feel your stare burning into him.

“But why?” Baekhyun asks. “Why would you do that?”

“What's wrong with her?” Chanyeol laughs.

You were uncomfortable. You were sad, mad, annoyed. Every emotion was felt right at this moment, and it was like Jongin could sense it. He moved closer to you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into him. He turns his head to whisper in your ear. “You okay?” He asks. You continued to look at Chanyeol who was now eyeing up you and Jongin, trying to process why his arm was around you.

“Uh huh.” You whisper back, breaking off the eye contact with Chanyeol. You gave Jongin a small half smile, hoping he would stop questioning you but that didn’t work. For the next 45 minutes, every few minutes you would catch Jongin looking at you, you could tell that he was questioning how quiet you were, wondering why and why you wouldn't tell him. You’d finally had enough social interaction for the night and decided to go.

“I’m going to head out right away.” you announce. “Just using the bathroom first.” you finish, walking towards the bathroom. You stepped outside to see Chanyeol standing outside the bathroom door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“You’re ignoring me.” he says, looking over at you.

“You have a girlfriend.” you say back. “Were you together..when..” you pause.

“No!” he exclaims. “No.. I, uh, met up with her afterwards. That's who had texted me..and we got back together that night.” he finishes. You can feel the tears threatening to fall. You didn’t want to cry over him, it totally wasn't worth it.

“Great, I'm happy for you.” you say, walking away from him. You grab your jacket, and again, Chanyeol stands in front of you.

“Let me walk you home.” he says, grabbing his jacket.

“Nah man, you stay. I already told her I would take her. Don’t worry, I'll make sure she’s safe.” Jongin says, coming up behind you. He slides his arm around your waist, pulling you towards the door. You were grateful for Jongin, but you really hoped he wasn’t getting the wrong idea. The two of you chatted about anything and everything on your walk, he made you laugh - hard. You continued to laugh all the way to your front door. Unlocking your door, you look at Jongin.

“Thank you.” you smile. “Really.”

“Anytime, Y/N. and look..” he pauses. “I don’t know what's going on between you and Chanyeol, but just know you deserve more.” he finishes, flashing a dazzling smile before starting to walk away.

“Wait!” You call out. He turns around. “You know?” you ask him.

“I had a feeling,” he says. “Good night.” he finishes, walking away. You walk into your apartment, feeling exhausted. You didn't realize how much of a toll this night had taken on you until you laid in your bed. You hadn't even taken your clothes off, but you didn’t have the energy any longer, swiftly falling asleep.

You woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed. As you crawled out of your bed you heard a loud banging at your door. Looking out the peephole, you didn't see anyone there, so you opened up your door, only to see a dozen purple tulips sitting outside your door. A smile spreads across your face as you look for a note.

Miss me yet?

Your smile faded just as fast as it had appeared. You stared at the note, a very uneasy feeling pulsing through your body. You brought the flowers inside, took a deep breath before deciding what you were going to do. You walked into your kitchen, dumping the flowers and the note into the garbage can before heading back to your bed. You'd already had enough for today. All day, you lounged around, your phone was off, you ate and watched shitty movies. You cried, you laughed, you slept. It was the perfect day before classes on Monday, you were dreading them already. You were not taking anything easy, and your entire body was a ball of stress.

Monday you had minimal interaction with anyone, you went to classes, had lunch with the group, went home to study and work on papers and it was the exact same on Tuesday. When Wednesday rolled around, you were so excited. The week was almost done, not to mention the group had decided to do a Friday Friend Dinner every other Friday, and this week it was on. Drinks and good food, you couldn't wait. Kyungsoo was an amazing cook, you often craved his food.

You were walking to your class, when out of nowhere you're yanked to the side. You looked over only to see Mark standing there with a smile on his face.

“Hi baby.” He says, leaning in closely. You try to back up, but you back straight into a pillar. “Did you like the flowers I sent you?” He smiles, moving closer. “I've been waiting all week for you to thank me for them. It hurts me that you haven't done that yet, Y/N.” He finishes, his smile dropping.

“Oh!” You say, forcing a smile. You were trying so hard to not show him any fear even though it was radiating through your entire body. “I didn't realize it was you. There was no name on it. They're so beautiful, Mark, thank you.” You smile. You needed him to calm down and let you go without an issue. You watch his facial expressions, he was getting angrier.

“Who else would they have been from?” He snaps. “Are you seeing someone else?”

You didn't know what to say. He stares at you as the panic sets in. Your body is trembling as he gets closer. You let your instincts take over, pushing him away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You scream. He rushes back towards you, slapping his hand over your mouth, stopping you from screaming anymore. Before you can react, Mark is pulled off of you, thrown down to pavement. You look over to see Chanyeol standing there, huffing as he stares down at Mark.

“Didn't I tell you to keep your fucking hands to yourself?” Chanyeol yells. He goes to you, grabbing your hand to pull you away. He takes you out into the open, and you see a blonde girl standing there with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“Chanyeol.” You breathe. “Thank you.”

He looks at you concerned. “Has he been bothering you alot?” He asks.

“No, no. He sent me flowers on Sunday, with a note but no name attached. I guess he was mad that I didn't thank him.” You explain. “I'm sure he's gotten the message now.” You half smile. You were trying to be okay but you weren't. Your body shook, you felt like you were still in shock. You looked over at the girl who looked even more unimpressed with you.

“Hi.” You smile, holding out your hand. “I'm Y/N.” You say.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. You retracted your hand feeling uncomfortable now. She looks at Chanyeol with a pout. “You let go of my hand to help her, Channie.” She says. “I'm so sad now.”

Chanyeol sighs. “I'm sorry Maya, do you want me to buy you something?” He asks. She perks up, grabbing his hand to pull him away, spewing on about some purse she wanted.

You already hated her.

Thursday, you didn't go to your classes. You stayed curled up in bed, answering the calls from Lisa, Jennie, Jisoo, Baekhyun, Jongin and even Kyungsoo, asking you if you were okay and what they could do for you. You were eternally grateful for all of them and how much they cared for you. They had asked you if you wanted to postpone your friend's dinner, but you didn't want to. It was something that you desperately needed to try and take your mind off your Mark situation.

Friday comes, and starts off better. You went to your classes that day. It wasn't until you looked at your phone, did your heart sink, and your anxiety flared up.

[From Unknown - 8:45am] I like your outfit today. You look so cute.

[From Unknown - 8:49am] I hope your first class goes well. I miss you.

You slipped your phone in your pocket, trying to focus on your lecture. Your phone doesn't stop vibrating the entire time you were in your hour and a half class. After it ends, you pull out your phone to read some of them.

[From Unknown - 9:07am] Please text me back.

[From Unknown - 9:10am] it's really not nice to ignore someone.

[From Unknown - 9:17am] Please, baby.

You deleted all the messages, only reading a few of them. You didn't want to deal with this. Maybe eventually he would get the hint. And he did, only until the afternoon.

[From Unknown - 2:47pm] I miss your smile. You looked so happy taking in the warm sun as you were walking.

[From Unknown - 2:52pm] Did you take a picture of the sky for your IG? I can't wait for you to post it.

You ignored them again, putting your phone into your pocket as you headed to your last class of the day. The hour went by quickly, with no excessive buzzing coming from your pocket. You were relieved but that didn't last long. As you made your way to Kyungsoo's apartment, the texts continued, and got progressively worse.

[From Unknown - 4:59pm] I don't fucking appreciate this.

[From Unknown - 5:04pm] You are being a goddamn cunt right now, Y/N.

[From Unknown - 5:07pm] ANSWER ME!!

[From Unknown - 5:11pm] I'm sorry, baby. I just miss you so much. Please answer me.

You sigh as you knock on the door of Kyungsoo's apartment, finishing reading the last message.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo smiles, opening the door. You walk into the most delightful smells, immediately causing you to forget about the texts. “You can join the others in the living room.” He says, heading back to the kitchen. You take your coat off, following the sound of laughter into the living room.

“Y/N.” Everyone yells, all happy to see you. You say hi to everyone, looking at Jongin, who mouths “sorry.” To you before you see Chanyeol with his arm around Maya on the couch. You wanted to roll your eyes so fucking badly. But your phone began to vibrate.

[From Unknown - 5:27pm] I can't wait to pin you down, kissing your body all over.

[From Unknown - 5:33pm] I'm going to make you cum so many times from my fingers when I finally get you in my bed. Do you want that baby?

You can feel the tears starting. Why won't he stop?

You press the phone button to call and scream at him but it won't connect. “This number is no longer in service.”

Maybe he deactivated it.

[From Unknown - 5:46pm] I hope you're not fucking Chanyeol or Jongin baby. I'll have to punish you for that.

[From Unknown - 5:54pm] Would you like that baby? I'm going to tie you up and punish you. I don't like being ignored.

[From Unknown - 5:56pm] Y/N. ANSWER ME.

[From Unknown - 5:59pm] I will fucking kill you if you don't answer me.”

You couldn't take it anymore. The tears fell as Kyungsoo walked into the living room.

“Y/N?” He asks, glancing around at everyone else. You completely break down, sobbing into your knees.

“Hey, what's going on doll?” Lisa asks, moving towards you. You slide your unlocked phone towards her, allowing her to read the messages as you sniffle.

“What the fuck.” She gasps.

“What? What do they say?” Everyone asks.

“Can I read them out?” Jongin asks you. You hide your face but nod your head. You didn't want to deal with this shit alone.

“Holy shit. He talks about what she's wearing today and gets mad at her for not responding.” He pauses. “I can't wait to pin you down, kissing all over your body.” He reads out. You look up, every single person there was pissed beyond measure. Except for Maya, who rolled her eyes at every text.

“Y/N answer me.. I will fucking kill you if you don't answer me.” He finishes in a whisper.

No one says a thing. Lisa, Jennie and Jisoo hug you tightly until Baekhyun pipes up. “Who wants to go hunt this mother fucker down and make him wish he never met our precious Y/N?” He says.

Everyone jumps up agreeing, including Chanyeol. Maya scoffs loudly at him

“What the fuck, Chanyeol?” She yells.

“Here we go.” Baekhyun laughs.

“You're going to protect her again? What about me? I actually matter.” She says, pouting again.

“Y/N matters too.” Chanyeol tells her. “She's important to me. As are all my friends.” He says.

“So I'm not as important as this fucking thing whose scared of a few little texts? Like grow up.” She yells at you.

“Who are you calling a thing, bitch?” Lisa snaps, standing up.

“Miss fucking cry baby over there.” Maya yells.

“Maya!” Chanyeol yells, his voice booming through the house. “Shut the fuck up.” He snaps. He glares at her, she tries to stand tall but she cowers under him. “Get your stuff. We're leaving.” He yells. “NOW.” He booms. She rushes out of the room without a word. Chanyeol mutters a “sorry” towards the group before slamming the door behind him.

The group sits in silence.

“Has anyone EVER heard Chanyeol yell that loud!?” Baekhyun asks, jumping up onto the couch. “I mean sure he's loud during game nights but holy shit.”

“literally never.” Jisoo says, her eyes still wide.

Kyungsoo looks at you. “Have you gone to the cops?” He asks.

“Yeah, you really should.” Lisa and Jennie urge.

“I have.” You sniffle. “They can't do anything for me until he physically hurts me.” You cry. “Apparently covering my mouth to stop me from screaming isn't enough.”

“That's messed up.” Kyungsoo sighs. “You shouldn't be alone. You need to stay with someone.”

“She can stay with me.” Chanyeol announces, walking into the living room.

“What happened?” Baekhyun asks.

“I ended things. For good.” Chanyeol says to everyone, before turning to look at you. “Y/N I am so sorry for the way she spoke to you. That was uncalled for and not fair.” He whispers with his head down. “You didn't deserve that.”

“Thank you.” You sniffle. “You didn't have to break up with her though.”

Baekhyun laughs out loudly, making everyone else laugh along.

“Yeah I did. It was time. I can't be with someone like that, I wasn't really into it anyways.”

Your phone buzzes again on the table.

[From Unknown - 7:08pm] I'm so sorry baby, please forgive me. Just talk to me.

Chanyeol picks up your phone, reading the message. He holds out his hand for you to pull you up. “We're going to go to Y/N's apartment and grab her things. I'll let you all know when we've made it safely back to my place.” He says. You go around the group giving everyone a hug while saying thank you to them. You didn't know what you would do without such great friends. you and Chanyeol didn't say much on the drive to your apartment. You were exhausted and just wanted to rest but you knew it wasn't going to come easily tonight. You and chanyeol head up to your front door, you unlock the door, letting him in first before you lock it back up behind you. You felt too paranoid to leave anything to chance. Chanyeol chuckles as he walks towards the table, patting it with the palm of his hand.

“This is a solid table.” He smirks. You roll your eyes at him, heading into your bedroom. quickly you find a bag, shoving your clothes into it, grabbing everything you can think of right now that you would need. You grabbed your charger and your laptop, and just as you thought you had everything, you heard a loud, rapid banging on your front door. You freeze. Chanyeol puts his finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. He waves you back into the room, mouthing for you to hide. Quietly, he creeps up to the door as the banging continues. He looks out the peephole, all he can see is black hair.

“Yes?” He says, his voice loud and deep.

“Where's Y/N?” He asks. You can hear Mark's voice.

“She's not here. You need to leave.” Chanyeol announces. “She's not interested in you. You need to move on.”

“Hah. I need to move on? She and I are meant to be together. You tell her I'll see her soon.” Mark yells, leaving Chanyeol's view. He opens the door slightly, making sure that Mark is actually gone. Chanyeol calls you out of the room, tears streaming down your face. He wraps his arm around you, taking you out of your apartment, heading for his car. You were terrified that Mark was going to be out there waiting for you. But he wasn't. Chanyeol opened the car door for you, you got in, placing your bag on the floor.

The drive is silent. It was late, you were drained. Walking up to Chanyeol's apartment, he unlocks the door, letting you go in first. It's bigger than you thought it would be. It was decorated very minimally, he had furniture around but not much else.

“It's very nice.” You smile.

“I'm still working on getting more things for it.” He laughs. He takes you to his bedroom. “You can sleep here. I'm going to take the couch.” He says.

“Chanyeol.” You sigh. “It's enough that you're letting me stay here, I can't take your bed too.”

He laughs. “You can. And you will. Get some rest okay? I'm right out there if you need.” He gives you a hub before grabbing his pj's and going into the bathroom. He comes out in a shirt and pj pants, heading for the living room. You dig through your bag, finding your shorts and a tank top to sleep in. You change and crawl into his bed. It smells so good. It smells like him. Sleep came to you easier than you thought, but it didn't last long.

You woke up breathing heavily, sweating and a little confused. You had dreamt that Mark had taken you captive and you were really shaken up over it. You crawled out of bed, heading to the living room.

Chanyeol laid on the couch, scrolling on his phone until he noticed you. He sits up quickly. “What's wrong?” he asks, standing up. He was no longer wearing a shirt.

Holy shit, you'd forgotten how ripped he was.

“it was.. a dream.” you start. “Mark.. he had..uh, kidnapped me.”

Chanyeol wraps you in his arms, in a tight and comforting hug. You hold onto him as tightly as you can, you feel so safe with him.

“Can you please sleep in the bed with me? I don't want to be alone.” You whisper.

He lets go of you, grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom. You both crawl into the bed, getting comfy. Chanyeol rubs your arm and shoulder as your back faces him. You quickly fall asleep, feeling more comfortable than you've been in a while. You wished the feeling of peace would last, unfortunately you knew it wouldn't.

You woke up in the morning with Chanyeol wrapped around your body. You were sweating so bad, you had no choice but to get up. You managed to wiggle your way out of his embrace, making your way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. You snooped around his cupboards, trying to find something to make for breakfast. You settled on making eggs and toast, it was easy enough. As you continue scrambling your eggs, Chanyeol walks out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes with a smile on his face.

“What's this?” He asks.

“Breakfast. Duh.” You laugh. You were feeling good today, you felt like it was going to be a great day. Until your phone on the table started to ring.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Chanyeol grabbed your phone, declining the call and blocking the number.

“There. That should work.” He smiles. He sets your phone down, before it starts ringing again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

#exowritersnet #chanyeol #park chanyeol #exo chanyeol #baekhyun #kyungsoo #jennie #lisa #jisoo #jongin #kpop fanfic #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #exo #exo fanfiction #stalker #college au

41 notes · View notes

sundaynightlive · 10 months

Text

A Comprehensive Guide on How Not to Tell Your Friends You're in Love [This Message was Approved by Sir Lancelot of Camelot] (Merthur)

[Read This for Better Context! But It's Not Required, or Anything]

4+1, silly knights, 3.4k, Arthur and Merlin being generally insufferable, unintentional secret realtionship trope, etc.

(TW: mention of battle, and Gwaine drinks piss? But it's comical, not like weird? I guess it's a tiny bit weird. You'll get it when you get to it.)

[1]

“Lance just let the man sleep,” Gwaine insists, “Perhaps the festival is still heavy on him.”

“You just want to get out of training,” Elyan accuses, which Lance is sure is entirely correct. Gwaine groans, dropping his arms at his sides defeatedly.

“Fine, whatever, go bother him and don’t come crying to me when he sticks his boot in your arse.”

A few of them chuckle, but Leon shoos Lancelot away, which is enough confirmation for him that going to check on Arthur is probably best. He rids himself of his sword and his armor, as he is technically off-duty and would not prefer to go clanking around the castle this early in the morning, and heads for Arthur’s bedchambers.

This is the first mistake.

When he finds himself at Arthur’s door, he presses his ear to the wood and hears nothing. So he knocks.

And knocks again.

And knocks a third time.

Still nothing. He thinks perhaps Arthur is not even there, but then again, the man has been known to sleep like an absolute boulder, so he should check, shouldn’t he?

This is his second mistake, and by far the worst.

It is upon opening Arthur’s door and peeking his head inside that he is greeted with the sight of two very naked men, one of which is thankfully obscured from him, and the other of which, well…

Lancelot retreats so quickly he actually find himself sprinting down the hall, lest the prince had woken up and seen him, or stuck his head out his door in confusion, or even smelled that someone had been there. He only stops when he’s so far away (and particularly lost) that he no longer knows what direction to go.

Lance had heard the rumors, had been present in the room when Arthur had warned Lord Edmond of he and Merlin’s… relationship, but he and the rest of the knights had chalked it up to a tactic to get Edmond to listen, not a truth. But there, just then, he saw them lying together. Truly lying together as if they did not regularly throw horse shit at each other’s faces and fight like back-alley boxers. Lancelot has watched Arthur dump soup over Merlin’s head, and Merlin give Arthur wedgies with a wave of his hand, and Arthur spit in Merlin’s wine, and Merlin toss said wine in Arthur’s lap—

Alright, perhaps this should not come at so much of a shock. They are generally inseparable, and fiercely loyal to one another, and never far from each other, even when Merlin is technically dismissed.

But god, paramour?

Does that technically make Merlin his superior?

Lancelot starts back the way he came, seeing that as the only way out of this ridiculous maze, and on the way, he bumps into Gwen.

“There you are!” she exclaims delightfully, offering him a wide and shining smile, “I’ve come to tell you there will be no training today. You weren’t with the other knights?”

Lancelot swallows and nods.

“I was, ah, looking for something.”

“Understood,” she says, and continues on her way. She gets past him quite aways before he turns around, unable to push down the curiosity building up inside him.

“Gwen?”

She stops, and turns.

“Yes?”

“Why? Was it canceled, I mean.”

She smiles.

“I believe you have Merlin to thank for that.”

[2]

It takes a lot, and by a lot, he means a lot, to shock Gwaine. It’s just not a task that’s easily done, and because of this, the knights have a bet going who can traumatize the poor guy most by the end of the week.

Now, Lancelot joined this bet heavily under the influence of alcohol, and regrets it, because he’s sure to lose. There’s nothing he could do that Percival could not beat, or Leon, for that matter. It embarrasses Lance just to speak of his own biological function, let alone trick Gwaine into drinking piss or kissing him full on the mouth—with tongue—as Elyan had done.

How Gwaine hadn’t flinched at the piss thing, instead lamenting—

Perce, you need to drink more water, is absolutely beyond Lance’s comprehension.

What a stupid bet. What a stupid bet. And worse, Gwaine is in on the whole thing (he had to be just for safety’s sake, if they were going to constantly affront him as they were doing) and he even knows Lance is screwed, teasing him constantly about not having made a single attempt, about “owning his loss.”

He was the laughing stock of the round table.

But he had one idea. And it was terrible, absolutely wretched, invasive, and probably treason.

But he is fed up with the teasing.

His first idea was to lock Gwaine in Arthur’s very wardrobe, which would ensure Gwaine would be present to something dastardly, but then he felt guilty at just the thought of invading his friends’ privacy in such a way.

So he settled for the stables.

Unbeknownst to anyone, except Lancelot, who had been extremely unlucky in happening upon Merlin and Arthur’s more intimate moments not once, but several times, the couple tended to retreat to the stables at random (but increasingly pattern-like) times of day to talk, or snog, or whatever—these times just happened to coincide with the free-time Lancelot had to brush and water and feed his horse.

He had considered moving his schedule around to avoid this, but the days came and went, and Merlin and Arthur knew he was there, as he was clearly visible when they wandered in and closed themselves in an empty stall, so he figured he wasn’t doing much damage and they were unbothered by his presence.

They would often do little more than flirt and bicker and tease, anyway, and there must not be any real concern for keeping their relationship a secret. Actually, Lance was starting to suspect they thought the other knights already knew, even though this was not the case.

That is the nail in the coffin—by inviting Gwaine to the stables with him, he’s only invading privacy Arthur and Merlin don’t even know they have, which, therefore, is not technically privacy.

Or maybe Lancelot is just really good at convincing himself he’s the good guy in any given situation, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Gwaine says, gently petting the horse’s nose, “Aww, are you lonely, Lancelot?”

Lance rolls his eyes, carefully brushing her mane, trying not to irritate her too badly at all the tangles.

“You’ll see,” he says.

“Is brushing this horse your lame attempt at winning the bet?” Gwaine muses, “Or maybe something around here…” As he begins to look around, grinning, Lancelot begins to hear footsteps and voices, vibrant voices, heading this way. He grabs Gwaine by the wrist and all but throws him to the floor, at which the knight just looks up at him, shocked.

“You are going to sit there and be quiet,” Lance snaps, speaking quickly, lest he still be talking when Arthur and Merlin arrive, “This is my only chance at winning this bet because I am not capable of pissing in your wine or shaving off your eyebrows in the middle of the night!”

Gwain reaches up to feel his eyebrows, which are still there—Lance just wanted to freak him out.

“I have been going crazy for two weeks because I am too good of a man to go around spilling other people’s beans, even when those people don’t know there are beans to be spilled—!”

“Mate, are you alright?”

“Shut up!” Lancelot hisses, “If you say a word of this to anyone, I really will come into your bedroom at night and your eyebrows will be gone before you’ve wiped the sleep from your eyes! Do you understand?!” Gwaine nods, wide eyed.

“You know, you’re kind of sexy when you’re angry—”

“You know, we could just steal away to your bedchambers instead of coming here every day,” Merlin muses suddenly, breaking their conversation and effectively causing Gwaine’s jaw to unhinge.

“When I have things to do, Merlin, I tend to avoid being in rooms that include both you and flat surfaces,” Arthur replies cheekily, and if it were possible, Gwaine’s mouth opens even wider. Lancelot has to look away from him because he’s blushing—of course today would be a day where they were being more obnoxious than usual, though, he and Gwaine are situated behind a wall, so it’s likely neither are aware of anyone’s presence, yet.

“Arthur,” Merlin chides.

“Well when you frequently conduct yourself as a common whore—”

“Arthur! Lance is probably here somewhere!”

“I don’t see him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not here, idiot.”

“But if he’s not here,” Arthur teases, “The floor is a flat surface—” Lance walks out from behind the wall abruptly, glaring half-heartedly at the lovers, Merlin who is leaned back against the door to the stall they usually steal, arms crossed over his chest, and Arthur who is caging him in with one arm, looking smitten.

As revolting as it is having to hear any of this is, Lance is quite chuffed that his friends are happy and in love. It doesn’t really bother him, or he would’ve made more effort to switch up his schedule.

“If you’re going to be disgusting, do it in the stall,” Lance grumbles at them, and Arthur grins widely.

“Ah, so he speaks!” Arthur teases, in reference to the many days they have come here and Lance has paid them no mind. Lance glances at Gwaine, just because he’s curious, and finds his face buried in his hands, a hint of blush peeking through.

Oh, he’s won. He’s won.

“I don’t know that you should be calling your paramour such a thing as a common whore. Especially when your paramour is my good friend Merlin,” Lance warns, unable to keep the warm smile from his face when Merlin pokes Arthur in the ribs playfully, beaming—and though it’s supposedly at the comment, Lance knows that it’s at Arthur.

They are happy, aren’t they?

“You wouldn’t be so certain if you had seen him this morning—”

“Arthur!”

“If I recall correctly,” Lance retaliates, “You’re the one who showed up to training this morning with a handkerchief ‘round your neck, which I suspect was hiding those nasty hickeys on your throat. Fairly certain I can deduce which of you acts as a common whore.”

“Ah, piss off,” Arthur says, grinning widely, completely unphased at the back-talk. Weeks ago, Lance would not have dared argue with the prince, but having grown to know of Arthur and Merlin’s dynamic, it’s safe to say back talk and true friendship is what the man prefers. The tough-love farce is just a face Arthur puts on—a convincing one, but a farce nonetheless.

“I think I quite like Lancelot’s points,” Merlin says, and Arthur knocks their foreheads together, bumping noses, which is when Lance elects to turn away and back to his horse (and Gwaine, who is dramatically lying on the floor in the fetal position).

“See you this afternoon, then, for bit more training?” Arthur calls towards him, presumably before they disappear into the closed stall to kiss some more. Lance looks up, grinning.

“Yes, of course, your highness.”

And with that, the entire ordeal is over, unless he’d prefer to drag Gwaine over and forcibly press his ear to the stall door, but that seems unnecessary.

“Are you alright?” he asks, as quietly as he can manage. “You win,” Gwaine says weekly, face buried in hay, “You. Win.”

—

“Lancelot won.”

“What?! How?! I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival, can you stop bringing up how you pissed in Gwaine’s wine? I’m starting to think you’re a pervert.”

“No, I’m a winner.”

“What could Lance have possibly done to move you?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell, and if I’m honest, I do not want to.”

“Well now you have to tell us.”

“You’ll find out. Eventually.”

“That’s rather ominous.”

“Lancelot has certainly cheated. I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival! Enough!”

[3]

“Why’s Merlin here?” Leon asks, and Lance flinches, hard. He knew it would come to pass that all the knights would eventually find out Merlin outranked them in title, but he hadn’t counted on being present every time.

Yet here he is, a meeting at the round table with him, Gwaine, and Leon in attendance, Elyan and Percival are currently working patrol, to be filled in later, as this was a matter brought up without warning, and no time to free them of their duties before deciding what to do.

Lance watches, squirming awkwardly as Uther’s brow furrows, and he looks from Leon, to Arthur, and then—

“Because he outranks you, Sir Leon,” Uther says, as if that were obvious, “And I do not trust my son—” Uther gives Arthur a pointed look, “—to not tell him of these matters, even if I instructed him so. And he will accompany you on your journey, anyway, as he always has.”

Leon blinks, dumbly. A deep silence fills the room, and Lance knows his own discomfort is written all over his face. Merlin looks to be feeling a similar level of awkwardness, and Arthur’s got this stupid little grin, like he’s finding the situation quite funny.

“Merlin outranks a Knight of the Round Table?” Leon presses, clearly perplexed.

Lance hangs his head, and Gwaine outwardly groans. Arthur’s small smile presses into a full one.

Uther pauses a moment, and then looks to his son.

“Have you not told them?”

“We know,” Lance speaks up, to maybe soften the blow a bit.

“You know what?” Leon asks.

“Merlin is Arthur’s paramour. Legally he outranks us because he is basically royalty-adjacent,” Gwaine explains.

“Not basically, he is royalty adjacent.”

Leon looks between them and Arthur, who is still clearly amused, and Merlin, who looks to be in some degree of physical pain.

“But… I thought when you—at the party—”

“Leon,” Lance says, carefully, as to not rupture any brain cells, “I know this is a lot, but I believe there are several villages on fire that require a little more of our attention than Merlin and Arthur’s courtship.”

“They cannot be married!” Leon exclaims.

“You know what I mean!” Leon sinks back in his chair, visibly unable to process this information. Because Lance is so well-acquainted, it’s growing harder and harder for him to understand this sort of reaction. Sure, he was surprised as well, it’s not totally unbelievable. They spend all their time together, they’re quite affectionate if you know how to look for it—

“Now, if this foolishness is finished,” Uther says, and Lancelot jolts at the realization this entire sordid conversation happened in front of the king, “Here is what must be done.”

[4]

It’s a three-day ride to the area where the villages are being pillaged, and while they travel as long as they can, they end up making camp some time in the middle of the night, sitting comfortably around a fire and making pleasant conversation to ease the nerves of the trouble ahead.

This is good—more than good, as Lancelot quite enjoys these fireside chats—until Percival decides to ruin it, and ruin it completely.

“Which of us do you suppose is the best in bed?” Gwaine asks, a one-off question meant to strike up an affectionate argument, which catches the attention of all of them. Lancelot is laughing softly, and moving to answer—

As much as it pains me to say it, I’d have to go with you, you shameless whore.

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Merlin.”

Gwaine’s jaw drops next to him as his own stomach drops into the soles of his boots. Leon’s look of abject-horror is downright comical, but Lancelot is too disturbed to actually laugh at it.

“Do you have a death wish?!” Leon hisses.

“Why do you say that, Perce?” Arthur asks, and Lancelot risks a glance this way. Where he had been amused at Leon's cluelessness, he is clearly not amused by this. His jaw is set and his gaze is piercing. Lancelot then swivels his head to Merlin, who has the back of a hand pushed up against his mouth, presumably to keep him from devolving into hysterics.

“First he pisses in my wine,” Gwaine mumbles, only loud enough for Lance to hear it, “And now he tells the crown prince he thinks his paramour is good in bed.”

Now that? That does tickle him a bit, and he finds himself covering his mouth as well.

Percival shrugs, oblivious, “He looks it.”

“He looks it?” Arthur presses, and if Percival hears the edge in Arthur’s voice, it does not slow him.

“Sure,” Percival says, “Well—it’s more as if he doesn’t look it. Those are the sneaky ones, you know—they look innocent, and then bam! You're all laid out and you don't even know what's happened."

Right, so this is the worst of each of these situations, and Lancelot literally saw them lying naked together.

“I see your point,” Elyan begins, “But I raise you—”

“Why don’t we test this theory, yeah?” Arthur interrupts, and it’s like getting punched in the gut. Gwaine even chokes on his water, doubling over and coughing while Leon hangs his head in absolute mortification, and Lance rubs an incredulous hand over his face.

Percival and Leon stare.

“What?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, “I’d like to test Percival’s theory, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me---that’s disgusting. That’s so far beyond anything Lance has already heard from them that he actually doubles over and puts his head as far between his own knees as he can get them, thoroughly humiliated by this shameless display.

Fucking Percival.

“You can’t be serious—” Elyan cuts in, but Merlin cuts him off.

“Arthur—” How has he said just a name so sensually, and why has he chosen to do so, and will Lancelot ever unhear this conversation? God, he hopes so. “—I believe you are well aware that I will have you.”

Nope—this one’s forever.

“Brilliant,” Arthur says, “I’ll return with the results in a bit. Be prepared for a very detailed account.”

And with that, they promptly leave, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon all appalled, and Elyan and Percival clambering for answers that the three of them must now provide.

Merlin and Arthur are gone for a ridiculous amount of time, but none of them have the balls to go and check on them.

[+1]

Lancelot never imagined he’d see Arthur cry, much less weep, but as Arthur does, gripping his paramour’s shirt with what must be a terrible relief at seeing Merlin alive, he cannot help but think Arthur is the strongest, most courageous, and kindhearted man he has ever met. He glances over to Gwaine, who meets his gaze.

Gwaine nods.

Lance nods back.

The fight had been bloody, but the knights remain mostly unscathed with the exception of Leon who had taken quite a few hits, but was breathing, and insisting he was alright. The scariest part of the battle had been Merlin, whom had been, at one point, surrounded, and then disappeared from anyone’s sight.

It didn’t take much searching around after the violence had quelled, but it had taken enough that Arthur had completely convinced himself of the worst.

But Merlin was fine. Mostly unharmed.

To watch Merlin pet Arthur’s hair, whisper sweet-nothings in his ear, and assure him time and time again---

I'm here. I'm here.

---while the crown-prince weeps into his chest, shaking like a leaf—it is heartbreaking. So much so that after a few moments, Lance must avert his eyes, and finds his fellow knights doing the same.

“I thought I lost you. I thought—”

“Arthur,” Merlin says firmly, “You must breathe. I promise I am right here.”

After that, the knights give them their privacy, congregating where there are the least amount of bodies, but where they might still keep a wary eye on the townsfolk. You never know about the people out here and what they think of royal customs such as paramours, or more specifically, the disregard of gender that often occurs in such an arrangement, specifically this arrangement.

Lancelot makes sure to keep his wits about him.

“I see it a great disservice to the very idea of love that they may not marry,” Leon says finally, breaking the silence.

“They cannot marry?” Percival asks, “I thought that legally—”

“Arthur must produce an heir,” Lancelot interrupts, “It’s not a matter of the church, it’s a matter of the royal line.”

There’s a silence—not long, but shifty and a little disappointed at that harsh reality.

“We could always throw them a wedding, someday,” Gwaine pipes up, “Not that I don’t think they are totally disgusting—” Lance elbows him in the arm, effectively shutting him up.

“Quit while you’re ahead, Gwaine. A wedding is a nice idea.”

Another brief silence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known two people so in love,” Lancelot continues, softly. And though no knight offers his verbal agreement, it is unanimous, and implicit.

124 notes · View notes