#A Message for the Castle - Answered Asks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gghostwriter · 3 months ago

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i saw you opened your fluff requests so how about this: reid recieves an invitation to a high-school reunion back in Vegas but he doesn't want to go because of his bad childhood. but his best friend (who is completely in love with him) convinces him to go, and offers to be his fake girlfriend to hype him up and make him feel more comfortable. he agrees and ends up confessing his love on the same football field he was bullied on

please feel no pressure to write this, it's just an idea i thought was cute

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to lovers; Fluff with a mix of pining wc: 2.1k A/N: Reader is not part of the BAU, but she just still work for the FBI. By far, this is my longest request written (it's a chapter length) and I don't know how it became so long but I hope you enjoy it still! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Rewriting History. // Spencer Reid

It was the heavy scent of books and wood that welcomed you home. Street lights reflecting off the emerald green walls, bathing the apartment space a warm golden hue. There was peace and stillness, your roommate of two years, Spencer Reid, nowhere to be seen—a usual occurrence that came with his and your job too, being FBI agents under the BAU and CACU, respectively.

You sluggishly made your way to your bedroom, adjacent Spencer’s closed door. Flipping open the switch, your worn body collapsed on the plush vanity chair as thoughts about the darkness of your job slip away and get replaced with melancholy on your connection with the boy genius. It was a relationship nurtured by grueling times in the academy—a connection forged out of convenience at first before becoming this convoluted and intimate bond all because you ended up falling for him.

It wasn’t a conscious choice and Spencer didn’t make it any easier. He was a closed off castle complete with a moat and a secret password—painfully shy and awkward in nature. If it wasn’t for required partnership in physical classes, you doubted you’d get as close as you were now.

A beep brought you out of your musings.

And as if he knew you were thinking of him, it was a text message from Spencer informing you of his return home in a few minutes.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of the chair and changed into a set of clothes—a faded Caltech tee, that you never returned, and a pair of black leggings

Padding across to the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator and silently thanked your past self for prepping dinner for two in advance. With how irregular both your schedules were and Spencer’s apparent lack of skill in cooking, it fell upon your shoulders to make sure he isn’t living off of cold pizzas and Chinese takeouts.

As the second plate of food was heating up in the microwave, the chiming of keys softly echoed from outside the mahogany door.

“Hey Spencer,” you called out from the kitchen counter.

A series of rustles and a soft hey answered back.

You tilted your head to the side in contemplation, something was wrong and as he turned the corner, shoulders curving in on itself and brows furrowed, something must definitely be wrong.

“Tough case?” You asked, bringing both plates to the rounded dinner table.

“Yeah—” Spencer shook his head. “Actually no, not really but I got an email from Las Vegas.”

Your spoonful of soup hung midair, immediately concerned with the email contents. “Is it your mom? Is she okay?’

Having visited Diana in numerous occasions with and without Spencer, you’ve learned to love that woman fiercely too. She was a breath of fresh air—blunt during her lucid days and smart during her academic lectures.

“It’s from my high school, an invitation for the reunion.”

Ah. “And you’re not sure if you want to go?”

He shrugged, chewing his slice of chicken before answering. “There’s really no one I want to reconnect with, you know. No happy memories really.”

“That’s true,” you nodded along.

During the first few nights moving in the apartment, Spencer had shared the lows he had to go through just to get to where he was now at such a young age—endlessly mocked for being a geek, no friend group or single confidant to watch his back, and the utter humiliation of being tied naked on a football post. You had an inkling that the genius had gone through bullying, it was a sad norm in all schools, especially in public, but hearing it first hand had brought home just how much of his closed off and shy personality was a product of his trials.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “I think you should go.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah. To show all those mean bullies where you are now,” your back straightening from the idea. “They’ll talk about you in passing anyway, whether you’re there or not so might as well be there to show them up and defend yourself plus—” you paused, taking a sip of water before barreling through. “—you’ve become quite handsome since then. Don’t you think?”

His hazel eyes widened in surprise, further adding to his appeal. Spencer was so innocent that he didn’t know the effect he had on women—first evidence was yourself and the second was Lila Archer. “Y-you think I’ve become handsome?”

With warmth spreading on your cheeks, you nodded. “You’ve always been handsome to me.”

Spencer started coughing, hand beating on his chest as the food threatened to go down the wrong tube.

Alarmed, you quickly stood up and started patting his back for assistance. How embarrassing was this—the first time you blatantly flirted with the man you formed intense attraction for ends up with him almost choking. Was this a sign maybe to not push your luck? You’ve done just about anything to nudge Spencer’s mind in acknowledging your feelings, from remembering all his little quirks (all were just so cute), actively listening to his tangents (all very informative and interesting), and even sometimes delivering a box of donuts to his team (all in the name of seeing his face brighten up) but none seemed to have worked. So, you opted to tell him in words and look what that did to him.

You gnawed on your lower lip. Maybe it was best to pull back, maybe it was best to throw in—

He cleared his throat before his hand reached yours situated on his shoulder. There was a slight tremor before it closed around your all of a sudden clammy palm. “I’ll go if you go with me.”

Filter off your brain. “As a fake girlfriend type of thing?”

You shut your eyes closed, promising to yourself to stop reading those unrealistic romance novels that Penelope lends you.

“If—if you want,” his voice shaky and soft as rustles could be heard in the background.

Opening your eyes, Spencer was now fully facing you. Eyes roaming your face and body—profiling you.

A small smile graced your lips. “Okay.”

———

The second thing your brain thought of was how oddly fitting that the reunion was held at the school gym, located beside the football field. The first thought being how Spencer looked devastatingly handsome in his suit and tie.

His attire wasn’t that different from his usual in the FBI but there was a hidden meaning behind his choices. The patterned brown blazer was a gift you had given to him for his first anniversary working at the FBI and his tie matched the color of your dress.

It made you feel warm even though a shiver went down your spine as a sudden gust of wind passed by.

Spencer slid closer towards you. “Do you want my coat?”

“I’m alright, thanks for asking Spence,” you looked up, smiling in reassurance. The fairy lights hung in rows emphasized how structured his face was. A high nose bridge, similar to his mother’s, and high cheekbones that made your fingers twitch in want to caress. He was stunning to look at—a view you feared you’d never get enough of.

“Spencer Reid!” A booming male voice shouted from across the gymnasium causing a few heads to swivel. Based on the other attendees reactions—giving them ample space as they passed and the stares tracking their every move, you knew who he was right away. A former bully.

“How are you?” he reached out his hand for a handshake. One that Spencer stared at before bringing his hand up to a wave, lips in a tight lipped smile.

“Hey Paul, nice to see you.”

“Is it?” He chuckled before turning his eyes on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You stated out your name, tone very similar when you’re on the field—cold and professional.

“Look at you, Spencer, having such a pretty girlfriend. Heard you work for the FBI now, is that how you two met?”

A saccharine smile spread across your lips. Your boy genius had been stiff ever since Paul called out his name. Having have heard how Spencer once reacted to a case where the unsub was a high school victim, you knew where his mind was at the moment. Grappling with the hurt from the past and trying his best not to lash out from the scars it had left behind. “Yeah, we met at the Academy and just clicked. He was such a gentleman that I couldn’t say no when he asked me out for a date.”

“That’s good to hear. Listen, man, is it alright if I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

You brushed the back of your hand with his, bringing his attention to you. There was a slight furrow in between his brows and his stature was taut, like a stretched out bow that needs to release it’s arrow. This was one of the few times, you could tell, that Spencer was unsure what to do. There was no malice behind Paul’s request and although you weren’t a profiler yourself, the slight hunch on the former bully’s shoulder silently communicated his remorse.

Spencer’s eyes trained on yours and as if he found the answer within the depths of your gaze, he slightly smiled, squeezing your hand in his before turning back and nodding to the interloper.

“I’ll go get a refill,” you lifted your empty cup to excuse yourself.

In truth, you stood idly near the punch bowl and kept your eyes glued on the male duo. Paul was looking down, shuffling his feet, before taking a deep breath and looking straight at Spencer. He uttered a few words you couldn’t make of and in turn, Spencer’s body relaxed and he nods once. With an offer for a handshake, one that Spencer shook, Paul walked away as you made your way back to your partner’s side.

“Good talk?” you asked.

“He apologized,” Spencer muttered, eyes studying you before grasping your hand back to his. “No refill?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it anymore. Say Spence—” he titled his head as an answer. “Want to get out of here?”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with relief. “Thought you’d never ask.”

———

The cicadas were singing their tune as you and Spencer stepped out to the football field. The grass lush in color and the faint smell of wet earth wafted around. Grateful that you opted to wear sensible flats rather than the high heels Penelope was bartering you to wear, you held Spencer’s hand tight as he started recollecting the worst bullying that happened in the same place many years ago.

“That—” he pointed at the goalpost on the far right. “—was where I was left tied up. I remember feeling worried that I would catch hypothermia as the rain kept coming and going that day and I remember feeling sad when I got home and my mother didn’t notice me missing.”

Your voice caught in your throat.

He continued on. “They say people forget events as they grow older and I wished I had the luxury of that.”

“Because of your eidetic memory,” you sighed. It was a blessing and a curse to have.

“But I was thinking, maybe I could rewrite it instead?”

There was a thick layer of hope behind his words causing you to turn, fully facing him this time.

“I—I’ve been keeping a secret from you for 24 months and 182 days and I don’t know if this would change our relationship or ruin it but you’re my person, my best friend—” he took a deep breath. “—and I’m in love with you.”

People say there are moments in your life that would upend everything as you know it and tilt everything to an axis, you never understood what they meant by that, up until this moment. The twinkling night stars suddenly appeared brighter, the temperature warmer, and the force that tethered you to Earth was no longer gravity, it was now Spencer Reid.

You smiled, eyesight blurring from tears. His trembling fingers reached out to wipe the droplets making its path down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with you too, Spencer Reid, since the beginning.”

And as if the world needed more proof, he smiled—his bright, full teeth smile and you felt your heart halt before starting back up again.

It was proof that he owned the beating organ in your chest and all the emotion that came with it.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid request #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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arvandus · 7 months ago

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FICS FOR GAZA

Hello everyone, I've decided to join the @ficsforgaza fundraiser. I've had a couple people express interest, and I think that every little bit helps. I will be offering WIP donations as well as drabble requests.

Donations are to be submitted to a vetted fundraiser. Do NOT send donations directly to me or to @ficsforgaza. Once you have completed the donation, send me a private screenshot of proof of the donation. Once I receive proof, I will update my WIP and request list and begin writing!

If you have any questions about the donation process, please view the pinned post for @ficsforgaza. If you have questions about the WIPs or requests, please reach out to me.

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REQUESTS

$2 donation = 100 words

1k word maximum ($20 donation)

Send me a character/characters and a dialogue prompt, trope, or just an overall idea that's been plaguing your brain lately and I'll write a short drabble/ficlet for you!

Fandoms I will write for: BNHA, Obey Me!, Wind Breaker, JJK, Haikyuu, Blue Lock, Black Butler, AOT, Bleach, Tokyo Revengers, Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters I will write for: Any! Bring it on, I love a challenge.

Will write: x reader (any gender), character ships, OCs, aged-up characters; SFW/NSFW, dark content (noncon/dubcon, yandere, etc). NSFW & dark content requests must provide proof of being 18 or older (request made off anon with age indicator in your tumblr bio). Note: If you want to make a NSFW/dark content request but remain publicly anonymous, send me a private message OR the same request off anon so I can verify. I will respond to your request using only the anon submission once you're verified.

Will not write: pedophilia; NSFW minors (even if no adult character is involved); anything involving bodily fluids that aren't saliva, tears, or blood; eggs, oviposition; a/b/o. If you're unsure about your request, you can message me privately and I'll be happy to answer, no judgment. :)

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The Art of Looking (Haruka Sakura x f!OC)

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Picture Perfect (Haruka Sakura x f!OC)

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 7 months ago

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Lucerys' funerals and Jace saying he'd ratehr die himself than lose another of his brothers and being heartbroken and you comforting/being there for him

Although Jacaerys looks really good in his new clothes, I'm not ready for this scene. It will most likely happen in episode 1. I tried to minimize the sadness, but be prepared for tears

Warnings: graphic details/mention of Lucerys' death,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Three days after Lucerys left to deliver a message on Storm’s End, dreadful news reached Rhaenyra: her son was dead. A raven from Lord Borros reported that a fisherman had discovered Lucerys’ head and neck washed up beneath the cliffs of Storm's End.

First, her father and her stillborn daughter. Then, her crown. And now her teenage son, her sweet boy Lucerys. Rhaenyra had known loss in her life, but how much grief and pain could one person bear before they’re inconsolable?

The cause of Lucerys’ death was a mystery, but Daemon vowed to uncover the truth. Although he wasn’t his son by blood, he cared about the boy. The storm alone could not have decapitated him, no matter how fierce.

The young prince’s remains were brought to Dragonstone, but Rhaenyra needed more. Determined and heartbroken, she flew on Syrax’s back, searching for ten days for any remains of Lucerys — or Arrax. If the storm caused them to crash, there should be more evidence, right? Yet, the Queen found nothing.

During these ten days, Jacaerys returned from the North with promising news about the Vale and Winterfell. He entered the quiet castle with a smile on his face, impatient to tell his mother about her new allies, but it washed away when you told him about his little brother.

Jacaerys' stomach churned, refusing to believe the words. Lucerys couldn't be dead. He saw him a few days ago, they were sparring on the beach.

‘’No… That’s not true,’’ he denied, shaking his head.

‘’They found parts of his body, I…I’m sorry, Jace. Luke is dead.’’

Jacaerys stood still for a moment, his face pale and expressionless as the reality of your words began to sink in. He was rarely ever struck, but losing a brother felt like a part of him was being ripped away. You watched as he brought a hand over his heart, filled with a deep, aching pain. His face contorted and his eyes welled up with tears.

Seeing him break was rare, and it tore at your heart.

He clenched his jaw, trying to hold back the tears, and looked at you, his eyes filled with despair. ‘’How did it happen?’’ he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The King’s passing had been a significant loss for the Seven Kingdoms, but Jacaerys was never close to his grandsire. He had seen him occasionally in King’s Landing and at the occasional dinner, but the King had been very ill. His death had been inevitable.

Lucerys, however, was young and healthy, with his whole life ahead of him.

A tear slipped down Jacaerys’ face. He never thought he would have to live a life without his brother.

You shook your head, wishing you had answers. ‘’We don’t know. Daemon is looking for answers.’’

The day of the funeral, Dragonstone was silent, grieving the loss of the young prince.

Your stomach was tied in a knot as you dressed yourself. A maid came to your door, asking if you wanted her help this morning, but you politely declined. Today was going to be emotional and you wanted to get ready in privacy.

When you finished clasping your necklace, you glanced at Jacaerys and noticed he was struggling. He couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking, making it impossible to fasten his brooch right. He made a noise of frustration and you walked over to him.

‘’Let me help.’’ you said softly, securing the brooch to his cloak and doublet, and smoothing his collar.

He thanked you with the smallest smile, grateful to have you in his life — especially in dark times. He couldn’t have found a better person to call his wife.

‘’Have you gotten the clothes from Luke’s chamber?’’ you asked.

Jacaerys let out a heavy breath. ‘’Y-yeah. They’re over there, on the bed.’’

It was his idea to take some of Lucerys’ clothes to burn with what was found of his body. It looked less disturbing than a single head in the middle of the funeral pyre.

‘’I knew there would be deaths during the war — it’s inevitable —, but I didn’t think Luke would be the first to go. I should have taught him how to navigate a dragon during a storm…’’

You cupped his face between your hands, making him look at you. ‘’Don’t go there,’’ you said firmly, holding his teary eyes. ‘’What happened was not your fault, Jace.’’

Jacaerys closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. ‘’I know,’’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘’A part of me cannot help but feel some guilt. Luke was always scared of flying, of not being able to control his dragon. And now— now he’s dead.’’

You pressed your forehead against his, holding back your own tears. You tried to think of something to say, but no words would alleviate the pain.

‘’I would rather die than lose another of my brothers.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months ago

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Celebrity Crush, Table for Two

Part 2 of Celebrity Crush

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: You go on a date with your celebrity crush after meeting him in uniform. 1.2k+ words of fluff!

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

A/N: Thanks for the idea @anonymousmuffinbear! I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for reading and all of your kind words!🤍

You sigh as you fall backward onto your couch. The past week has been busy and stressful, so you have had no time to relax. Now that you're caught up with work, you can finally catch up on everything you’ve wanted to do. Which, admittedly, isn’t much. With your remote, you scroll through your favorite streaming app to find something to watch. A new true crime documentary catches your eye, and you suddenly remember something. Tim Bradford gave you his number, and you haven’t done anything with it.

Before you can find his contact, your phone rings with a call from one of your friends. You love her but do not want to talk or hang out tonight.

“Hello,” you greet, despite every instinct telling you not to answer.

“Hey, girl! We’re going out for mini golf and dinner, are you in?” she asks.

“Not tonight. I’m exhausted, but I’ll try to join next time.”

“Okay, no worries. Get some rest! Oh, hey, how’s your celebrity crush?”

“Tim?”

“No, Rick Castle- yes! Tim!”

“I don’t know,” you admit, picking at your blanket. “I haven’t called him yet. I was about to text him.”

“Don’t text him, call him! You’ve already made that Greek god wait a week for you.”

“He’s probably busy.”

“Call him.”

You can’t argue again before she hangs up on you. As you find the right contact, you shake your head and click the button to text Tim. Tim is a cop, and you will not risk interrupting him in the middle of something important. So, you type out a quick message, hit send before you can overthink it, then set your phone aside and start the documentary about the Hillside Strangler.

“Should I have signed the text?” you ask aloud. You only wrote About that thanks over dinner…

As you wonder if Tim will know who it’s from, your phone buzzes with an incoming message. Tim’s name catches your attention, and you hold your breath as you read his text.

Tell me when and where.

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement, and you’ll never admit to anyone that you bounce up and down on your couch out of pure excitement as you tap out your reply. In a few minutes, you have a dinner set for tomorrow with your celebrity crush at one of LA’s many restaurants. As the narrator sets the scene for a vicious murder on the screen before you, you fall back on the couch with a smile because you have a date with your celebrity crush.

“What am I supposed to wear?” you grumble as you look through your closet. “Is this even a date? Or just a chance to thank him again?”

You’ve only seen Tim in his uniform, but you know he will look amazing no matter what he wears. On the bright side, he’ll one-up me even if he’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, you think. You stop as you pull a hanger forward. The perfect outfit was right in front of you the whole time. It just took an hour of stressing to find it.

Soon after, you enter the restaurant and look around, impressed by the atmosphere. More impressive, however, is Tim Bradford smiling at you from beside the hostess stand. He walks toward you, proving that you are right. The man can’t look bad, but he knows how to dress.

“You look beautiful,” Tim says.

“You do, too,” you answer. “Or handsome? You’re both- I… Thanks for meeting me.”

“Are you ready?”

You nod, and Tim offers his arm. With your arm looped through his elbow, you follow him to the table with your eyes on his face the entire time. Tim smiles at you as he pulls your chair out for you, and his fingers trail over your arm as he steps away.

“So,” Tim begins as he sits across from you. “What’s it like being one of the only women in the world that gets to go out with your celebrity crush?”

“Well, the only thing he’s done is help me to my seat and prove that he eavesdropped,” you murmur, looking down at the napkin in your lap.

“If you wanted a nice date, you should’ve chosen a different celebrity crush. I don’t have the best track record,” Tim admits.

You sigh dramatically but smile as you ask, “How soon can you get Aaron Thorsen down here to take over for you?”

“If I sent him a picture of how perfect you look, very quickly.”

“Tim, no one is a great date. Me included,” you promise, offering your hand across the table. “Besides, I thought I was just here to say thank you again and talk about the cases in the documentary.”

“Right,” Tim agrees. “But I’ll need something in return. If I tell you about the cases, you have to tell me about you.”

“Interesting case details for boring personal details? That’s a terrible deal for you.”

“Depends on where you stand.”

You shrug, but Tim takes your hand as a silent promise that he wants to hear about you and get to know you. This is a date, after all.

“You’ve been in three documentaries,” you begin, ignoring the menu and everything else around you. “Which of those cases was your favorite?”

“Morris Mackey,” Tim answers without hesitation.

“Because of Officer Thorsen?”

“Amongst other things. It was an interesting investigation.”

“I have to ask-“

“If seeing Jake Butler dead freaked me out?”

You pinch your brows and finish, “Is your Sergeant really that funny?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim answers. “Grey is one of the best cops and best men I’ve ever met. Your turn. Why did you approach me in the store last week?”

“Are you kidding? I loved those documentaries, I wasn’t kidding. When else am I going to get the chance to meet someone from one of those?”

“I’m glad you texted,” Tim admits.

“I’m glad you gave me your number. You know, my friends thought my crush on you was weird until they saw you.”

“The Abercrombie model hot cop?” Tim asks with a knowing smile.

“Their words.”

“Are you ready to order?” your waiter asks.

“Oh, right,” Tim says, looking at the menu. “We’re going to need one more minute. Thank you.”

The waiter nods, and you wait until he walks away to laugh. Tim shakes his head as he raises the menu, and you decide right then that this is the best date you’ve ever been on.

“Thank you, Tim. I had a great time,” you say as Tim walks you to your car.

“I did too,” he replies.

Tim slows and uses your joined hands to pull you toward him. He looks down at your shirt, visible beneath your sweater, and notices it’s the one he gave you from the store.

“Do you think I’m the kind of celebrity crush that can get a second date?” he asks.

You hum as you step closer to him. Slowly, you tilt your chin up and give Tim time to step back. He doesn’t, opting to meet you halfway. When your lips brush against Tim's, he has all the answers he needs. This is not going to be your last date. You raise your hand to his jaw, gently sliding your fingers against his skin before you move back, your other hand still in Tim’s.

Tim opens his eyes slowly as he asks, “Does this mean I have to watch true crime with you?”

You smile and laugh, squeezing Tim’s hand. “Oh, yeah. Who else can tell me how accurate everything is?”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you

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vaokses · 4 months ago

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Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips.

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.”

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?”

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.”

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter.

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala.

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.”

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does.

“So, who will be the lucky man?”

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs.

“I didn’t choose anyone.”

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union.

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side.

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done.

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back.

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?”

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet.

___

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home.

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone.

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike.

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were.

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island.

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.”

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve.

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.”

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle.

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist,

“I detest games, Daemon.”

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.”

“I only ask that-…”

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?”

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.”

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.”

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor.

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit,

“It was worth a try.”

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.”

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.”

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother.

“You are aware this is not a request.”

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.”

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…”

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…”

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from.

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns,

“Careful now.”

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.”

“She has approved of this union.”

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena.

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons.

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…”

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?”

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort,

“Let me fight.”

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.”

“If I had been a son, y-…”

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.”

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…”

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.”

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…”

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?”

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before?

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through.

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck.

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.”

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a…Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.”

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.”

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.”

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.”

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door.

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.”

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?”

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.”

___

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor.

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.”

“What would be good news to you, Princess?”

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips.

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.”

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.”

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?”

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath.

“I asked once.”

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years.

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however.

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.”

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…”

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.”

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.”

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.”

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips.

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.”

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this.

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.”

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.”

“I was close to all of them.”

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.”

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound.

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.”

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.”

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore.

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?”

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?”

You shake your head.

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.”

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you.

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.”

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness.

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing.

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.”

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.”

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.”

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye.

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.”

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess.

___

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle.

“Are you two having a fight?”

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…”

“You know better than to ask that from us.”

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.”

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking.

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.”

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty.

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head.

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.”

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do.

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this.

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury.

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.”

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.”

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.”

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

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#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader #fics by me

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fandoms-x-reader · 5 months ago

Text

Stuck in a Closet

Requested By: @o-livias-posts

Oneshot

Summary: When something goes wrong with a prank that the Anti-Lucifer League is trying to pull off, you and Belphie find yourselves locked in a closet. Belphegor x Reader (romantic pairing) Warnings: some smut at the end! Word Count: 2,440

You took in deep breaths as you did your best to steady your heartbeat. Your mind was racing with thoughts but there was one that predominantly stuck out. Why did you agree to do this?

You knew the answer, of course. It was because of Belphie. It was always because of Belphie.

The moments after he escaped from the attic haunted him. He never thought humans could be as wonderful as you were. And he wanted to do everything he could to make it up to you. To replace every bad memory of him with ten times the amount of good memories.

Belphie eventually became the demon that you spent the most time with. Wherever you were, Belphie wasn’t too far behind. And if the brothers couldn’t find you, they knew it was because you were up in the attic taking a nap with Belphie.

Being in the Anti-Lucifer League, you were used to his antics when it involved Lucifer. He was an opportunist and whenever he saw an opportunity to strike, he was quick to do so.

You weren’t expecting this opportunity to arrive at the Demon Lord’s Castle though.

Diavolo had invited the entire group over to the castle for a mini-retreat. He apparently had gotten a case of nostalgia about the first time it happened. No one knew either other as well back then and Belphie was still locked in the attic, so he didn’t even get to experience it.

Diavolo was convinced that it would be even more this time, and it’s not like any of you could say no. Though, Belphie was certainly tempted to and it took a lot of convincing from you for him to agree to go.

While there, Belphie surveyed the area carefully. He made sure to pay attention to what room Lucifer was staying in. He noted the best places to hide and what areas he could set up a decent prank in. Satan seemed to have the same thoughts running through his mind because he wore a knowing smile when he and Belphie locked eyes for a brief moment.

Belphie had sweetly asked you to join in their schemes with his eyes. To which you firmly shook your head no. You tried to convey the mental message of “Not in Diavolo’s Castle!” But, damn it, when he gave you the puppy dogs, it was so hard to say no to him.

You rolled your eyes in response, letting out a small sigh. Belphie smiled at you in reply, knowing that he had managed to convince you. “Everything okay?” Lucifer asked you, noticing your slightly annoyed-looking expression.

You quickly wore a smile as you felt both Satan and Belphie intensely watching you. Play it cool. Don’t let him suspect anything’s up. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Do you remember the first time we did this retreat?” you questioned.

Lucifer looked displeased as memories flashed through his mind. Specifically of the time when you and he were dancing and he had gripped your hand tightly, whispering words of a threat to you. He had only meant to protect his brothers, but he deeply regretted that moment now.

“Perhaps I should go and see what Lord Diavolo is up to,” Lucifer replied, giving you a courteous smile before walking away. Belphie and Satan gave you looks of approval.

The rest of the day was full of secret whispers of a plan that was slowly coming together. None of you could talk too long or Lucifer would know something was up. If he didn’t know already - he had a way.

It was a simple plan that was based heavily on Satan’s ability to act. He believed the best way to throw Lucifer off your trail was by letting him believe he was winning. Satan would be minding his own business when Lucifer would undoubtedly approach him with the normal threats of not ruining Lord Diavolo’s time at the retreat.

Satan would act indifferent, just like he would normally be. But he was going to find a way to slightly hint that you and Belphie were up to something. Lucifer would have no choice but to investigate and demand Satan take him to the two of you.

He could find the two of you himself but it would take much longer and he wasn’t sure how much time he had until the two of you decided to play the prank. Satan didn’t want any part of it, refusing to go until Lucifer bribed him. Win-win. Satan gets to play his part in the trick while also getting something out of it from Lucifer.

Satan finally agreed to take him to the two of you, leading him down the staircase in the main hall. Which is where you and Belphie would strike.

Everything had been going exactly to plan. Satan was quite impressed with his acting skills if he did say so himself. But there was just one problem, you and Belphie were nowhere in sight.

The two of you were supposed to be in a nearby room, watching the staircase so you knew exactly when Lucifer was on them. The prank should have been done by now. So, where were you?

_______________

You let out a small sigh as you did your best to face Belphie in the limited lighting. “I knew something like this would happen,” you told Belphie. “You knew we would end up in a closet?” Belphie questioned.

“Well, no, not exactly. But this is the Demon Lord’s Castle and I know how many suspicious things happen here. Which is exactly why I didn’t want to pull a prank here,” you replied, pouting slightly.

You and Belphie had entered the room where you were supposed to stay lying in wait for your target. But it was as if the castle had a mind of its own and sensed your ill intentions. Because the second you and Belphie closed the door, the two of you were transported to a small, dark closet somewhere in the castle.

“Relax, Satan will know something’s up when we aren’t there to pull off the prank and he’ll come and find us,” Belphie replied, leaning against the wall behind him. Thankfully, the closet was pretty much empty - void of any uncomfortable objects that would be pressed into the two of you.

“Besides, there are worse places we could have gotten teleported to. And worse people you could have gotten stuck with,” Belphie replied with a sly smirk.

You wanted to glare at the demon, but he wouldn’t be able to see it. Not to its full extent. The darkness surrounding the two of you was too much. Your eyes adjusted enough to it to just barely make out each other’s figures, but other than that you couldn’t see anything else.

And because your sense of sight had been nearly completely taken away from you, you felt like all of your other senses were on high alert.

The tension between you and Belphie was thick. Belphie shifted positions and his hand brushed against your arm, leaving your skin feeling like it was on fire where he touched it.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck in this closet?” you asked him, desperately trying to fill the silence and keep your mind from wandering.

In the silence, you felt like your heart rate was the loudest thing in the world, pounding against your ribcage at the mere thought of you and Belphie being alone.

“I’m not sure. Maybe all night,” Belphie replied, a teasing tone in his voice. He secretly hoped it would take the whole night. After all, that meant he would be able to have you all to himself without having to share you with his brothers.

“You’d like that,” you teased in return, noticing the fact that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Belphie’s smirk only grew. You both knew that he would like that.

“Would you?” Belphie questioned curiously and a deep blush coated your cheeks. Luckily, they were hidden by the lack of light.

Your foot brushed against something hard and you had slight hope that maybe it was something you could use to get the door open. “There’s something down here,” you told Belphie, doing your best to turn around in the limited space.

Your leg pressed against Belphie’s thigh and he suppressed the gasp that wanted to leave his lips. He thought that was the worst it was going to get until you bent down to find the object with your hands.

It was a completely innocent gesture on your end. You were trying to get out of the closet. You didn’t even realize the way you were pressing into Belphie until you felt his hand grip your hip. You were startled by the action, tensing up slightly, but you didn’t move from your position.

Belphie was doing his best to steady his breathing as he did everything he could to stay in control. He took in a breath before stating in a low voice, “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to be doing more than just standing in this closet.”

The blush once again returned to your cheeks as realization dawned on you. You did your best to not stutter as you replied, “Sorry, I almost have it.” Your hands felt the cool touch of metal and you quickly picked up the object.

You turned back around to face Belphie with a bit of a struggle. Somehow he seemed even closer than he was before. You held the item in between the two of you as Belphie asked, “What is it?”

You gave Belphie a sassy look. “I can’t see what it is, Belphie,” you responded. “Well, describe it then,” he replied. You let out a small sigh exploring it with your hands. “I don’t know - it's like a pipe or something. It's thick and long,” you told him.

“Hmm…a thick, long pipe?” Belphie asked, stifling a laugh. If he could see the look you were giving him, you were sure that it would kill him. “Could you take this seriously?” you asked with a small pout.

He let out a small chuckle before replying, “I’m sorry.” Belphie loved it when you pouted, even if he couldn’t see the adorable face you were making right now. “But, the pipe’s not going to help. The cracks in the door are way too small,” he added, before taking it from you and setting it back down on the ground.

You let out a defeated sigh before slinking against the wall. “Hey, we’ll be out of here soon,” Belphie told you, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

With your sense of touch being heightened, you were very aware of everywhere Belphie was currently touching you. His hands on your cheeks, his chest pressed against yours, one of his legs in between yours.

You could feel his breath and could hear your heart racing as it felt like electricity was coursing through your veins. Every inch of you wanted to lean in.

Belphie was having the same internal struggle. He wanted to know how your lips felt when they were pressed against his. He needed to know.

He wished he could see the look in your eyes right now. Were you craving him as much as he was craving you?

He hoped you were because his want for you was too strong and it compelled him to lean forward, finally closing the distance between the two of you.

You immediately kissed Belphie back, letting him know that you did want him just as badly.

You pulled him slightly closer, deepening the kiss just a bit before pulling away.

But the kiss wasn’t enough. It only left you both longing for more and Belphie decided to hell with acting chaste. He wanted you.

He immediately pulled you back in for another kiss. This kiss was much more passionate though. Your hands moved to his hair, gently tugging on the soft strands. While his hands moved to underneath the bottom part of your shirt. His hands rubbed over the skin of your stomach to your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

His hands rested on your hips as he pulled you closer to him, kissing down your neck. You began to grind against his leg that was between yours, desperate for some kind of friction and Belphie let out a small groan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he reconnected your lips.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you felt Belphie getting more and more turned on by your grinding.

“Is that the pipe?” you asked against his lips, smiling. Belphie let out a chuckle in between kisses. Brat.

He was growing increasingly more frustrated by the amount of clothes you both still had on; but, before he could tear them off, the door to the closet suddenly opened.

You and Belphie broke away from each other, the light temporarily blinding you as your eyes readjusted. When they did, you saw a very surprised-looking Asmo and Satan.

“Ooh, what were you two up to?” Asmo asked in a sing-song voice, a knowing look in his eyes while a smile rested on his face. Like he even had to ask.

Satan was still trying to process the image he had just seen. After the initial shock passed though, his expression turned to one of anger.

“If you two wanted some alone time, the least you could have done is tell me. You ruined a perfectly good prank! And you missed an excellent performance,” Satan stated, crossing his arms as he glared at the two of you.

You couldn’t tell if he was more upset about the prank not working out or the fact that you weren’t there to see his acting.

“I want a turn with Y/N in the closet!” Asmo stated, trying to enter the cramped room. Belphie let out a groan of frustration as he pushed Asmo back. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as the two of you finally left the confined area.

You had spent so much time in the beginning wanting to get out of the closet. Now the only thing you wanted to do was go back in and finish what you and Belphie had started. The look of annoyance on Belphie’s face told you that he felt the same way.

He was going to make sure the two of you found some more alone time. Preferably somewhere where he actually had space to do all the things he wanted this time. And somewhere where his brothers couldn’t interrupt again.

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kingmakercastle · 1 year ago

Note

‘the worst part is that you see me as a victim.’

Lucien watched tapped his fingers in quick succession on the table, back and forth as he heard Elena say that, refusing to look at her as she spoke. He didn't understand why she was assuming he meant it in a negative way. It was a fact.

He looked up at her after a long moment, confusion dancing in his eyes as he responded in a soft and gentle tone.

"Elena...you're operating under the assumption I mean it in a demeaning way, aren't you?"

He walked over to her, gently pushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "I don't...given we're both victims..." He hadn't mentioned his own past to her yet. He hadn't been ready until now.

#A Message for the Castle #A Message for the Castle - Answered Asks #Answered Asks #the-last-doppelganger #Revolutionary Ideas #Revolutionary Ideas - Prompts #Prompts

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bleedingoptimism · 1 year ago

Text

Calling Eddie on the phone that first time, when he’d panicked about Tarja’s cold, was like opening a dam. They start talking on the phone all the time. At first, it’s always about Tarja, photos of her drawings, a story about school, questions of whether she forgot her plushie in Steve’s car again or not.

But then it’s just them chatting, asking about their day, showing each other what they are working on, or sharing a meme. Soon, they start wishing each other goodnight and Steve knows he’s stepping into deep water with both feet at the same time but he can’t stop.

He likes Eddie, a lot. He’s in too deep already. He was already halfway in love with him when he realized he liked him as much more than a friend… That he liked him much more than he liked his own boyfriend. That he doesn't even like his boyfriend…

But if Steve was dreading breaking up with Tommy not to lose Tarja… now that he has double the people to lose… There’s no way. Thinking about not seeing them again makes him feel like he’ll never be able to take a full breath of fresh air again.

They are hanging out at the park the day Steve completely loses control of the situation. He’d promised Tarja he’d take her there last week and Tarja had begged Eddie to join them so now, they are sitting side by side on a bench watching Tarja build sand castles with another kid in the playground.

The comfortable silence gets interrupted by Steve’s phone going off and, checking his messages, he sighs, already bothered by seeing it’s from Tommy.

‘get your big pretty ass home soon. i have guests tonight’

‘Big? Shit. Is my ass too big?’ He thinks as he frowns at his phone.

“Everything ok?” Eddie asks, looking at him curious.

“We need to get back, it’s Tommy” is all Steve says, shaking his phone in explanation. He can’t help but pull a face of exasperation trying to make light of the situation but Eddie frowns.

“Steve, about Tommy… If he’s not good to yo-”

“You sound like Robin” Steve interrupts, he’s talked to Eddie about his best friend before, but he never mentioned Robin is always telling him to break up with Tommy.

“Well, then I’m not that far off am I?” Eddie presses kindly, ducking his head to try and catch Steve’s eyes.

But Steve keeps them fixed on his shoes. There’s a stain on the tip of his left one.

Eddie takes his silence as agreement and keeps going, “Why haven’t you broken up with him, then?”

Why does Eddie want him to break up with Tommy? Is he trying to get rid of him? Does he not like him around? No, it’s not that. Eddie is his friend, he’s kind and lovely and has never once been mean or rude to him and Steve needs to stop projecting.

But, he can’t answer that or tell Eddie the truth, he thinks. And then, his eyes betray him, drifting from the floor to Tarja, who is now…being buried in the sand with the help of the other kid. Her little feet kick up as she giggles delighted. He smiles to himself a little. That kid, she’s a menace.

Eddie gasps and Steve realizes his mistake. He looks at him and Eddie is looking back, eyes huge,

“Steve… don’t tell me, it’s-”

Steve shakes his head no frantically, “No, it's not- there’s a lot of reasons! It’s not- Ugh fine, it’s not only because of her but, she’s one of the reasons…” he struggles to say.

And then he shrugs, like ‘What can you do? Hehe’ Because he’s an idiot.

Eddie stares at him for a long time, unblinking and with his mouth half open, “You’d do that for her?” he whispers and it sounds so… raw.

Steve just looks at him, not knowing what to say and trying really hard not to get distracted by Eddie’s beautiful lips.

He suddenly turns to face him properly and takes Steve’s hand with both of his, “Fuck, Steve…” he says and then closes his mouth shut and opens it again. Steve leans a little closer eager to hear whatever Eddie wants to say but then his phone rings and he jumps off his seat, startled.

Looking at the caller ID, he curses, “It’s Tommy”

He picks up the call and starts walking in a big circle, he can never sit still while on the phone,

“Hey,”

“Hey dummy, you didn’t answer. Is everything ok?” Tommy asks like he’s actually worried and not just impatient.

‘Dummy’... it’s supposed to be affectionate but every time Tommy calls him that it feels like he’s sticking a needle in his heart.

“Yeah, we are at the park, we’ll be right there. I’m-” But Tommy hangs up before he can finish the sentence.

“Asshole,” Steve murmurs to himself and looks back to see Eddie has already collected Tarja and is waiting for him.

Seeing both of them holding hands and smiling up at him makes Steve want to cry and scream at how much he needs them. He’s so fucked.

🧸

A week later, he’s at a dinner with Tommy and Tommy’s coworkers.

Because Tommy doesn’t have friends, he has coworkers. Because friends are for children.

Or so Tommy says… Fuck Tommy.

He’s bored out of his mind and pushing his food around on his plate. Lost his appetite after Tommy looked at him funny for ordering fries instead of a salad.

He can’t stop thinking about Eddie, about him asking why he hadn’t broken up with Tommy yet, and about whatever it was that Eddie didn’t say that day.

And then, as if it were fate or something, he gets a message from Eddie, he looks at it under the table when he sees it’s a photo. Not that Eddie would send him a nude or something he just doesn’t want anyone else to see.

However, he might’ve been wrong about the nude because Eddie is shirtless in the photo he sent, Steve notices with burning cheeks.

But the photo is not sensual at all. Instead, it’s the cutest, loveliest thing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s Eddie and Tarja standing in front of the big mirror in Eddie’s hallway with big smiles, identical dimples on their right cheeks. Both their curly hairs are bundled up on top of their heads and they are covered in paint.

All of Eddie’s tattoos are colored in bright colors, his demon skull, the sword, the dragon, the goat, the vines that adorn his top scars, everything. The colors don’t respect the lines and the paint is dripping a little, clearly Tarja’s work. Meanwhile, she has cute skulls, bats, and roses drawn on her arms, and her freckles are now every color of the rainbow. They are fucking beautiful.

The text below says ‘she forgot toothless at tommy’s. im trying to distract her’

Steve bites his lip to hide a big smile and sends at least a hundred heart eyes emojis and then answers he’ll bring it back later.

“Are we boring you, Steve?” One of Tommy’s coworkers asks. He can hear the venom in her voice.

‘Yes’

“No, not at all. Just answering a text,” he says with a closed-lip smile.

“Oh! Let me guess, from your ‘job’” she laughs, doing air quotes with her claws, and then whines, putting on a voice, “Help me, Steve! I can’t decide what to wear to a party”

They all laugh, Tommy included and Steve just glares at her unsure if he should rise to the bait or not.

“Aww, don’t be mad Stevie,” she coos at him, “I’m just messing with ya!” she smirks and then looks at her nails as if she were a disney villain or something, “I wished I’d gone to college for something as simple as fashion. You are very lucky to be so successful,” And they laugh again. Only one of them has the decency of looking uncertain about it and Steve is seething.

Lucky?! He’s worked his ass off to get to- whatever- he takes a deep breath and smiles at her.

God, fuck his people. They are so… miserable.

Making other people feel bad about themselves just because there’s no joy in their own lives. He feels sorry for them.

But Tommy laughing alongside them makes him feel sick to his stomach.

After, when they are going back to his place, Tommy takes one hand off the wheel and puts it on Steve’s thigh slowly going up. Steve briefly considers opening the door and jumping out of the car in motion but ends up just slapping Tommy’s hand off of him aggressively.

Tommy scoffs but he doesn’t say anything and keeps his hands to himself the rest of the way. And when they get home, he confronts Steve, “What’s got your panties in a bunch now, uh? Steve, we haven’t fucked in weeks!”

Steve swirls around and laughs, “Are you shitting me right now?! You want me to let you touch me!? After how you just laughed at the way Carol talked to me?” he says.

“Uhg, not this again! Did you get your feelings hurt again, princess?” Tommy mocks him and Steve rolls his eyes so hard he wishes he could do a backflip to accompany them. Hell, he probably could.

He doesn’t even bother answering Tommy, too sick of his shit, and just walks past him on his way to the door.

“Oh c’mon, Stevie! We were just kidding!” Tommy says, changing his tune completely and trying to sound nice. Then doing another 180 when Steve just keeps getting ready to leave, “Why are you so fucking sensitive. Are you seriously leaving right now?!”

Steve doesn't stop, doesn’t even look at him and Tommy follows him to the door, “Good! Fine! Leave! Run back to your Robin. You’ll be back!” he tells him, and Steve hates that he’s said it before and had been right. But when he’s closing the door as Steve is walking towards his car Tommy yells one more thing that completely breaks him, “You are too much work, Steve! You are not worth this much trouble!”

Steve slams the door of his car and drives away but ends up pulling over a few blocks later because he can’t see through the tears.

He whales and heaves, shaking while he rubs his eyes over and over again. All he can hear in his head is ‘you are not worth it. you are not worth it. you are not worth it. you are not worth it.’

Fuck Tommy.

He takes a deep breath trying to calm himself and rests his head against the headrest, rolling it from right to left and massaging his scalp but when he looks to the left, something in his passenger seat makes him gasp. As if it were fate or something… Toothless, Tarja’s plushie is sitting right beside him.

☝️first part

👈previous part

👉 next part

☕🥐💕?

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans eddie munson #kid fic #cw: toxic relationship #one more part to go babes!#i wrote something

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inlovewithl3vi · 5 months ago

Note

Wait till the boys learn my joints can predict the weather. 😆

(Feel free to ignore this! I just thought of this after reading what you wrote for my last message)

-bad joint anon

ok totally off topic I think that the name "bad joint anon" is hilarious!

also please never expect me to ignore an ask I literally love getting asks!!!!!!!!!!!

I thought about this too tbh lmao. mostly since growing up my grandparents and parents could smell when it was gonna rain and I fear that I have actually developed the ability to do so too.

My mom also can somewhat predict the weather too so I kinda get this (she has arthritis so yk) so I'm just gonna use the fact that her bones start to hurt when its gonna rain or when its getting colder. sorry if that's not how it works for you! anyway I'll shut up and write-

"you can what?!" Asmo looked at you, clearly surprised. "My joints predict the weather." you responded, not looking up from your DDD. you had mentioned only a few minutes before that its probably gonna rain tomorrow, when asked you had to explain that you could quite literally feel it in your bones. "how does that even work? do humans have magic I didn't know about? Solomon never mentioned this to me..."

you set your phone down to explain a little more. "remember how my joints sometimes pop or crack? yeah well sometimes my bones kinda just start to hurt when its gonna rain. I don't know how it works, it just does." Asmo nods as Satan walks in. "Oh! Satan! did you know the humans body predicts the weather?" Satan looks up from the book he was holding and glances over at you. he raises an eyebrow before speaking. "really? how so?"

of course then you have to answer all his questions (and point out every inaccuracy in human anatomy books from the devildom)

The next day, before you head out to RAD you glance out the window and see a nice light rain. you sigh and grab your umbrella from your bag, already prepared. "MC! you were right!" you glance behind you as you start walking to see Asmodeus dragging Solomon with him as he runs up to you. "It is raining!" he laughs slightly as him and Solomon fall into pace with you, continuing to walk to RAD.

Bonus: Diavolo gets really concerned about this when you tell him, more so than the brothers (mostly since the brothers have had some human interaction but Dia was mostly kept only in the castle). He genuinely freaks out when your joints crack or when you tell him its gonna rain or snow and it actually does. He'll get used to it (eventually) but till then he's gonna have a small heart attack anytime your bones make any sort of noise. (even if its normal)

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me x mc #obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo x reader #bad joints anon

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babybatss-blog · 4 months ago

Text

BETTER THAN THIS

Link(totk) x reader, 1900 words

summary: you are Zelda’s personal assistant. Link is Zelda’s bodyguard. You’ve always hated each other, but what if that isn’t the complete truth?

cw: lots suggestive content, enemies to lovers fic with a wild amount of horniness and angst. Intoxication and random person is overly touchy with reader.

Who would’ve thought that you and the hero Link would be together tonight, in a passionate embrace underneath the Zora Kingdom party, your breath intertwined and lips colliding frantically? Certainly not you, who hated Link with every fibre of your being due to his uptight personality and constantly anxious demeanour.

You’re Princess Zelda’s personal assistant, organising her events and facilitating the revival of the castle after Calamity Ganon’s attack. Honestly, Link got on your nerves. He never left you and Zelda alone, was always worried about safety issues and didn’t answer your questions, as if he’s some sort of better person than you. And it was no secret that he didn’t like you too, divulging to Zelda that you’re taking the modernization of the castle too far or that your schedule is too much for her. Therefore, Zelda became your strange little message carrier, conveying messages between the two of you and trying to keep the peace. Sometimes she would try and complement him to you, saying statements such as “he was so kind the other day” or “He definitely worried about you when you left last night.”

She tries desperately to repair this illogical feud between you, but to no avail. That is until today, when the three of you are sitting in a wagon together on the way to the Zora domain. Sidon’s inauguration is tonight, and the princess is expected to attend for her blessing. This involves a party, grand feast and hours of boring speeches, but it’s for the best to have a prospering society in Hyrule.

“I’ve always loved this area so much. Don’t you?” Zelda asks, bewilderment in her eyes as she looks around the area. It is beautiful here, and Link seems to agree due to the twinkling look in his eyes. “Definitely. We’re planned to stay here for three days, but I may elongate the stay so we can do some sightseeing. I hear that they have built a Mipha memorial nearby.” Link stiffens at your words, having some sort of impact on him that you don’t quite understand. “I’m not looking at a statue of my dead friend.” He mutters, loud enough for you to hear but not Zelda, who is sitting opposite the two of you. You wonder whether you should speak up, telling him that Sidon put hard work into it but ultimately don’t stir the pot. Afterall, you don’t want to ruin the ride with your bickering once more.

The wagon enters the gates of Zora’s Domain, illustrating a wide runway with blues and aquas, like an underwater sanctuary out of a fairytale. Zora children and adults crowd the sides, waving enthusiastically at you as they cheer. Zelda smile’s back at them in that same way she looked at the views from earlier: grateful and ecstatic.

When a child runs over to the wagon and follows it through tripping steps and teary eyes, she holds up a ragged teddy bear to Link. “Link! Link! I love you!” He timidly takes it, an embarrassed blush quickly turning his face into a resemblance of a tomato. You laugh, finding his nerves shocking as he is the hero of Hyrule after all. “He said thank you!” You call out to the child as she stops following the wagon, noticing the despondent look on her face that he never responded. “Thanks…” He grumbles, avoiding your eye contact as he places the bear in his bag. “No problem. But maybe we need to get you into some of Zelda’s etiquette classes if you’re going to act like that every time a fan interacts with you.” Link just merely rolls his eyes.

You arrive, and as Zelda and Link already reunite with their old friends you set off to work. Those two may be able to have fun, but you don’t, rushing around to ensure everything is perfect for the princess. She certainly isn’t posh or judgmental, but Zelda does have certain things that she likes to have in her living situations. It is your responsibility to ensure that her journal is in her room, bags are unpacked and clothes are prepped for the next day, as well as checking that all the appropriate safety precautions are made.

After a while you collapse on a chair, watching Sidon’s attendees scatter around to prepare for the crowning. It’s tough work, and even tougher when you watch Link joke around with Sidon instead of helping. Isn’t he supposed to be Zelda’s bodyguard? So why is it your responsibility to update the guards on your arrival and suspected leave date and not his? Lost in your frustration about this and the other many things he does (like why is his hair always so silky??) you suddenly have someone sit down next to you, their toned bicep leaning on the back of the chair and an exhausted huff leaving their mouth.

“Zelda told me to take a rest while she goes for a walk with Yona. Mind if I join you?” Asks Link, his eyebrows furrowed as if he just did something preposterous. You turn to him bluntly, eyes scanning his body. Who does he think he is, just suddenly acting like he’s your friend? But you don’t want him to get any satisfaction out of your shock, so you merely reply “Yeah that’s alright” before turning back away from him.

As much as you would love to uphold a confident, unbothered quality in this moment, the air is soon filled with and uneasy silence you yearn to break. But why? You never want to speak to Link, and certainly not with trivial small talk.

“This looks nice. The coronation is going to be beautiful.” He states. “Yeah, definitely. But they’re also so… long.” He laughs at your annoyance; in a beautiful rumble you don’t think you’ve ever heard before. You continue to talk, trying to conceal that pit in your stomach. “But Zelda loves them, and I know Dorephan is thrilled to pass on the throne to his son.” Link nods thoughtfully, pondering your words. “That’s true. I know this was a big day for Zelda, regardless of if she ever actually had a coronation or wanted one. It’s a nerve-wracking yet important step for any royalty, and culturally unique in every way.” Once he finishes your mind is fried, having never heard him speak remotely more than a sentence in the past. But he knows much more than you do, and his insight is intriguing to say the least.

The conversation is left there, after a cook runs up to you asking about the princesses’ dietary requirements. Before you know it, it’s well into the night and you feel like you haven’t breathed once. During the speeches you were ensuring Zelda was prepared for hers, during the crowning you were helping the chefs prepare the food and during the idle chatter you were having meetings with members of the community to see what the royal family could do to help them.

You find Zelda on the middle of the dance floor with the new king of the Zora, doing some sort of traditional jig and giggling like a schoolgirl. You told her not to have any wine tonight, but it seems she didn’t listen. “My dear, will you not dance with us?” asks an intoxicated and overtly touchy older Rito man. “Oh, thank you but I don’t know the dance.” “Well that’s fine, I don’t know it either! You just copy the person next to you! Here, follow me!” Without further warning he grabs your arm and pulls you onto the floor, twirling you despite how you almost fall over. The dance is complicated and fast, but with this random man’s lead you manage just fine. That is until it’s time to switch partners, and your viciously thrown into Links arms.

“Link?!” The two of you look at each other with the shock of seeing someone come back from the dead, even though you knew you were both at the party. “You didn’t strike me as a dancer” He says, and you scoff. “Neither did you. What are you doing?” “I don’t know, guess the wine got to me.” He answers honestly. Your hands intertwine and you clumsily follow the movements, as he does the same in a somehow even worse way. He twirls you, and you swear you see his eyes drift down to your ass, but they jump back up to your eyes with an intense glare. Just to spite him, you pull him in close, seeing his confident stare falter. “Having a nice night?” You smirk, hand clasping his shoulder. He’s warm but muscled. It feels good on your dainty hand. “Could be better. Want to get out of here?”

Did he just, say what you think he did? You stop dancing, despite being jostled by the people next to you. Wordlessly you nod, unable to get the words out as you fear that perhaps you’re dreaming this. But why would you? You don’t care what he thinks, or about spending time with him. Still holding your hand, he leads you down the stairs to the pools, leaning on the railing which overlooks the water and you join him, reluctantly dropping his hand.

“So, what’s your deal?” He asks, not even bothering to turn and look at you. “What do you mean?” “I mean why are you here? Being a personal assistant, following Zelda and I around. You seem… Better equipped for something more fulfilling.” You blush, surprised at his complement. “I don’t know. I guess it was just what was expected for me. Apparently my ancestors worked at the castle, and so when Zelda was hiring my parents were thrilled. They thought I was perfect for it, as it’s in my blood and all. But I… Wanted to adventure. Go to the wildest plains of Hyrule, climb the tallest mountains and meet the furthest civilisations. But I can still do that with you two!” A silence lingers between the two of you, an uncomfortable one that makes the hair on your neck stand up. Finally, he turns to you and straightens up. The creases on his forehead display true concern, one you haven’t had directed towards you since you were a kid scraping your knee after a tumble.

“No. You go and do that, Zelda and I don’t need you. This is your life, not your parents, not anybody else’s. Yours.” He seems truly angry when his says this, and it makes your heart flutter. When he says his next words he closes the gap between you, lips almost touching yours but showing the tiniest restraint to not. “You’re better than just some personal assistant. Trust me, I know it.”

That’s when you can’t take anymore, and you kiss him. If you were in any sort of right mind, you’d think you were insane for doing this, your fervour causing him to stumble back and grab your waist for support. But he kisses you back, tongue sliding hungrily into your mouth and grazing your white teeth. You moan, and he digs his nails into your ass.

You needed this, and so did he. Whether you knew it or not.

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starogeorgina · 6 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Paring: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence

1.03

Hearing a soft knock on your door, you sit up slightly dazed. It takes you a minute to focus on the handmaid now standing at the foot of your bed. Her gaze was firmly locked on the direwolf snarling at her. You stroked behind Storm's ears, calming him. Many at court criticized and judged you for allowing your daughter and her wolf to sleep in your chambers, but you ignored their comments and allowed it. Since the handmaid in front of you served the high towers, you presumed she would have been aware of this.

“Is something wrong?”

“Forgive me for waking you, princess, but Ser Gwayne has asked for you to join him in his chambers immediately.”

Her words left a sour taste in your mouth. After consummating the marriage, the maesters had worked out the days you were most fertile, and those were the only nights deemed necessary for you to perform your duty. In the three moons you’d been married, Ser Gwayne had never been cruel towards you; he just wasn’t interested in speaking with you unless necessary.

“What knight is stationed outside my quarters?”

“Ser Thomson.”

“I haven’t heard of a knight with his name before.”

“I believe he only joined the king's guard yesterday, princess.”

Quietly, you get out of bed and consider your different options. Meera was in a deep sleep and would be unaware of your absence. You could refuse to go, but would it be worth giving Alicent and Otto more ammunition to tarnish your name with? The hour was late, and you will most likely be gone until the sunrise. You had only just excused your sworn shield for the night, but you didn’t like the idea of leaving your daughter in your chambers with a knight you did not know guarding her.

“Thank you. Ser Thomas can retire for the night, and Ser Criston can resume.”

She clears her throat. “And Ser Gwayne?”

“My husband can wait. I won’t be leaving until my sworn shield is here.”

She nods and goes to pass the message of the changing of the knights on. Walking to the opposite side of your room, you slide the nightdress off and replace it with a simple red-fitted dress. It might have been nighttime, but you wouldn’t be caught wondering why the castle was half-dressed. Once you finish changing, rebrand your hair.

Little time passed before the knights changed over. When you open the door to leave, you’re surprised to see how panicked Ser Criston is. He starts checking you over for any injuries. “Princess, has something happened?”

You step out of the room and close the door behind you. “No, nothing. Forgive me for asking you to come at this hour. I’ve been asked to join my husband, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Meera.“

“You don’t need to explain,” he says softly. “The handmaid who came to my door didn’t explain why you called for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

The knight straightens his posture and says, “I’m sworn to protect the king and his family, which includes his granddaughter.”

“Thank you. Nobody aside from yourself, Raya, or my sister is to enter my apartment.”

—

A strange feeling lurks within the castle halls, causing you to feel on edge. Edric had taken you to the crypts of Winterfell many times, and never once did you feel afraid, but the Red Keep at night felt more haunted than the ghosts of the north ever did.

The hall your husband's bedchamber was in was absent of any knights, which confused you. Aside from being married to a princess, he was the queen's brother and son at the hands of the king.

You knock twice, but when you don’t get an answer, you push the doors open and enter. A large sigil of House Hightower hangs on the stone wall; it truly was an eyesore. You’d make sure any future children you have bedchambers have the same amount of Targaryen symbols.

Hearing a clattering noise, you spin fast. “Ser Gwayne?”

You abruptly come to a halt when you turn the corner, your gaze reaching his bed. Your husband wasn’t alone in his bed; a long-haired brunette woman had her leg hooked around his. She was laughing as Gwayne fondled her breasts. A naked redhead was bending over and picking up a knocked-over jug of wine.

“Gwayne,” your voice was too soft for him to hear. “Gwayne!”

He lurches upright in the bed; the look on his face would have been amusing in any other circumstance. Your husband was staring at you as if you’d grown a second head.

“What are you doing here?”

The two women quickly start to redress, judging from their clothes, or lack thereof, if you assumed they worked in a brothel. They run by you with their heads lowered, but before they reach the doorway, you snap, “Do not return to the red keep, ever.”

Gwayne stares at you, speechless. A valyrian steel sword would have sliced just as deep as the humiliation you’ve just suffered. Swallowing back any emotion aside from rage, you shake your head and turn to leave.

“Wait!”

“I’ll deal with you in the morning, husband.”

—

Anger bore through Ser Criston as he marched towards the High Tower's quarters. No doubt he would get an earful from Harrold Westerling, lord commander of the king's guard, for disobeying a direct order from the king's family to retire until tomorrow, but seeing how upset the princess he was sworn to protect was, he couldn’t simply leave things be.

Criston was confused when the princess returned and quickly dismissed him. Her eyes were full of tears, but she insisted everything was fine, so he did as he was asked.

There was always a warm bowl of oatmeal or stew available to members of the king's guard, day or night, in the armory. The sky was still dark outside, and there were only a few of her off-duty guards eating before retiring for the night. While deciding on which meal would keep him feeling full for longer, Criston overheard two handmaidens who were clearing dirty dishes, disguising the king’s second-eldest daughter, and how humiliated she must be by her husband inviting two whores to join them in the bed chambers. Criston knew something had happened to upset the princess, and the guilt for not pressing her for further information left him feeling guilty.

The princess was still grieving her late husband and life in the north. He wouldn’t allow a spoiled child like the son of Otto Hightower to add to her upset.

Gwayne answers the door and allows the knight to enter, but before he can ask why the other man was there, the wind is knocked out of him when Criston slams him into the wall.

“Wh-what did my wife tell you?”

“The princess told me nothing, but I’ve heard the gossip that is spreading fast.” Criston keeps Gwayne pinned by wrapping a hand around his neck. “I wonder what the king will do when he hears how you brought disgrace to his daughter.”

“I didn’t know she was coming.”

Criston loosens his grip slightly. His grip wasn’t tight enough to leave any bruises, but tight enough for Gwayne to squirm. “A handmaid woke up the princess and passed on the message for her to join you. I spoke with the girl myself.”

Gwayne frowns. “I did no such thing. I would much rather have enjoyed the company I was in in that bed with the princess.”

Reaching for the leather strap around his waist, Criston pulls a small dagger out and places it underneath Gwayne’s chin. “To insult the honor of a princess is an act of treason,” he warns. “You may live in brothels if you wish, but the next time you humiliate the princess by bringing whores into the keep, it will be the last thing that you do.”

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