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judasofsuburbia · 2 years

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something something caretaker! steve gets hired by rockstar! eddie to look after and live with wayne. everything is set up over the phone after eddie was given his resume so eddie's never physically seen the guy but he has enough positive reviews and references that it seems like there is anybody in this world that doesn't like this steve harrington fellow.

wayne munson soon becomes his #1 fan.

wayne keeps telling eddie all about steve in their weekly phone calls. anytime eddie tries to steer the conversation into something actually about wayne's health and wellbeing, wayne manages to involve steve. says that steve's blushing face is real handsome while steve rolls his eyes and laughs to himself across the room.

"you should come home on your next break," wayne says.

"i'm planning to."

"steve really wants to meet you," wayne says with an infliction.

"well, shit, wayne. from how much you gush about him, i'm excited to meet your new boyfriend too," eddie teases.

"oh hush, you. my casanova days are over. you, however, could use someone good."

the next break eddie has, nearly six months after steve starts working for the munsons, he arrives at nearly 11pm. he's quiet as he sneaks into the house he bought wayne years ago and nearly shits himself when he sees steve hanging out on the couch watching TV. he drops his suitcase to the floor, jolting steve out of his trance.

"oh god, i'm so sorry!" steve rushes to say as eddie clutches his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

"steve, i take it?" eddie laughs breathlessly.

"yeah, hi," steve stands from the couch and holds his hand out. "nice to finally meet you."

steve steps into the light as he does this and eddie's taken aback by just how handsome he is. oh fuck, wayne wasn't just messing around. eddie takes his hand, firm and strong, and shakes it.

"sorry to jumpscare you like that," steve smiles and his eyes twinkle in the low hallway light.

"no, i should've prepared myself," eddie says. "someone hasn't been in the house either than wayne or i in....well, ever."

"don't worry, i'll try to keep mostly to myself as you two have quality bonding time," steve replies sheepishly.

eddie shakes his head. "you don't gotta do that. you're more welcome around us than anyone. i owe you so much for looking after him."

steve smiles. "you already sign all my paychecks."

right, yeah. eddie's technically this guy's boss. eddie's never really thought of it that way before. that means any plans eddie's monkey brain had in the last thirty seconds about flirting with the handsome caretaker is out the window. it wouldn't be appropriate. eddie slouches and gives steve a tired smile.

"i'm gonna turn in. see you at breakfast?" eddie asks, hopeful despite his conflicting internal monologue.

"be prepared for oatmeal," steve jokes. "it's the only thing he wants for breakfast nowadays."

eddie scrunches up his face. "you don't have any poptarts or anything fun stashed away somewhere?"

"depends. do you like brown sugar cinnamon?" steve asks.

"love it," eddie whispers.

"then yeah, your breakfast fate can be a little better," steve nudges his elbow and it lights up eddie's skin.

"thank you caretaker steve," eddie salutes and turns heel to his teenage bedroom.

over the next few days, eddie goes out of his mind. he watches steve just do his job, the job he hired him to do, and he's still going crazy over it. how steve prepares for everything, accidents and things eddie couldn't even predict. spoon feeds wayne if his hands are too shaky. jokes and messes around with him like he's family. wayne's eyes keep drifting over to eddie's when steve isn't looking, a smug little smirk on his face.

"it can't happen," eddie seethes when steve leaves the room. "you're what's important here and i need him to stick around."

"and i need you to stop moping about the country, getting your heart broken every other week," wayne retorts. "steve's a good boy. he would treat you right."

"we don't even know if he's gay," eddie grumbles.

wayne gives him an unimpressed look that makes eddie bark out a frustrated laugh. "take a look at his bedroom, kid. you'll have all your questions answered," wayne advises right before steve returns.

"jeopardy time?" steve asks, hands already on wayne's wheelchair handles.

"eddie is gonna beat us both," wayne claims.

"that so?" steve beams. eddie is glaring daggers at wayne.

"he's full of useless facts," wayne jokes while eddie throws up his hands and steve laughs joyfully.

eddie falls for steve more and more as the week goes on. he tries his best to restrain it, tries his best to never be alone with steve. catches himself from checking steve out (especially in his daily running outfit, god) and swallows flirtatious lines that nearly escape his mouth. it's hard to say no when steve invites him to watch a movie or hang out with him while he cooks dinner but he does. eddie has to be coming off like a total dick at this point but it's for the best.

steve is out running an errand so eddie finally decides to snoop only a little bit. opens steve's bedroom door and smiles at all the decorations. sure enough, there is a little bisexual pride flag sticking out of the pen cup on his desk. eddie is admiring framed photos of steve and some kids along with little handwritten camp postcards on his corkboard when steve enters the room.

"anything interesting?" steve jokes from the doorway.

"shit!" eddie yells, clutching his chest again like he did the first night. "fuck, i'm so sorry."

"don't be," steve shrugs easily. "it is your house after all. i snoop your teenage bedroom all the time when wayne asks me to change the sheets."

"still, i shouldn't be invading your privacy," eddie says with an apologetic face.

steve walks carefully over to where eddie is standing. "i don't think there is much privacy between us where wayne is concerned," steve says quietly with a kind smile, leaning up against the desk.

"i'm sorry about him," eddie groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. "he is a little pushy about my love life."

"no, i'm sorry that he's weird about us. i swear i called you handsome once and he has never left it alone since," steve admits with a small blush.

eddie's eyebrows raise. "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you kidding me? you got this whole," steve gestures in a circle, "rockstar bravado going on. hard not to admire the show."

"well, you've got a show i admire too," eddie admits, inching closer.

steve huffs, looking down bashfully. "do i?"

"mhm. smart, genuine guy with a heart of gold. makes wayne's days better. lights up a room. probably rescues cats from trees and saves drowning puppies," eddie smiles.

steve tilts his head from side to side. "i may have rescued a cat before but it was stuck under my little brother Dustin's porch."

"see? heart of gold," eddie repeats.

steve exhales deeply, twisting his mouth. "i wasn't sure if you liked me."

eddie reaches his hand over and touches steve's hand on top of the desk. steve looks up shyly to eddie's sympathetic face. "i didn't want to-- there's a power trip here, you know? like you said, i sign your paychecks. i'm not about to pull out the moves and make you feel like your job is at risk if you aren't into it."

steve nods before slowly rubbing his thumb over eddie's.

"and if i am into it?" steve whispers.

"well i--" eddie stutters.

"can i kiss you?" steve asks quietly. eddie's not sure he's ever been asked in his entire life.

eddie nods. when steve's lips touch his, it's all over. any pretense of keeping his feelings undercover blows up like fireworks underneath his skin. eddie feels as his resolve sparkles and cracks away into the air. he encourages steve to keep kissing him by pulling in his face closer. steve sucks his bottom lip in between his own when his watch beeps.

"wayne's meds," steve whispers.

"old bastard," eddie jokes. "watch a movie with me later?"

steve bites his lip and nods. "i know just the couch."

#emily writes #emily's brain worms attacking her at work once again!!!!!#steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie au #steddie fics #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

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abilouwrites · 2 months

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WHO TELLS A TEENAGE GIRL SHE’D MAKE A PRETTY BRIDE

AND THEN LEAVES WITHOUT WARNING, ON A FRIDAY NIGHT

I’ve never been comfortable with love, rarely found comfort in another person. Except him, cradled in his arms on a Tuesday night. My leg over his, his between mine. My arms around his neck and fingers twisting the green curls in my fingers. He peppers kisses against my chest and collarbone, “I can’t believe we’re about to be second years” I murmur. My breath hot against his skin as his hands slide up my tank top.

“I want to marry you” Izuku whispers, so faint I can barely hear it. In the privacy of my room with my fan blowing the words wish away into nothingness.

“I do too” I agree, a little more firm. A little more existant than his, I lay next to him a happiness of just existing next to him. Of being with him, a hopefulness of the future.

Oh how quickly that was ripped away from me. A startling Saturday morning, knocks on doors. Shouts from downstairs. Letters taped to doors, each one. Even mine. Scribbled handwriting and some stains through the ink. I stare at it as I ride the elevator down. Baggy sleep shorts and one of his shirts I took last night after we did our homework together.

Gone, just like that. Like he just disappeared; gone out to nowhere. Izukus excuse to leave me after telling me he loved me. Because he was worried about my safety. Mine and everyone else’s.

“How do you feel y/n?” Momo asks as I stare in silence at my letter. Biting at my lips and picking at my fingers, “y/n?” She repeats my name softly. Passing me a cup of green tea. It shakes in my hand that I grasp for it. Her reflexes catch it from my slippery grasp and she sets it on the table. She sits next to me, a friend from my elementary days. A girl I’ve known my whole life. She wraps an arm around me and holds me to her.

“I don’t understand” I repeat again and again, as if the more I say it the clearer his reason for leaving me will become. Leaving me after I’ve told him how many times I’ve been left. In this same situation, again and again I have loved and love has been ripped away from me, “why would he leave? He’s safest here?” I try to make sense of it. But there is none.

No logic was made in his choice to leave. But he still left, “he told me he loved me” I whisper, “he thought I was asleep but I wasn’t and he told me he loved me. And now he’s gone”

I’m still reeling from this, standing slowly. Iida chastises me but I’m in my own world. One where I need to lay in bed and mope, wail and cry until the hurt leaves my body. Until I don’t want to run out and find him, I’m too tired to keep begging for someone’s love and affection. I don’t have it in me anymore to love. And maybe that sounds selfish but to be gifted a note that says he wants to protect me and the school but still leaves me. Knowing it may hurt me more than death to see him leave.

I close my door, sinking to the ground on shaky legs and sore bones. A lump shoves itself into my throat; I bow my head and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of him. The sweet cinnamon of his cologne. Vomit biles in my throat as I rip the shirt off. A desperate attempt to rid myself of him. A shoving cleanse of everything he’s gifted me.

Tears fall down my face, thick hot tears fall down my cheeks. Bowing at the curve of my lips, snot running down my nose. I’m shirtless crying in my dorm room, wailing and sobbing like some stupid girl but the boy I loved and the boy who told me he wanted to marry me just left me. Left me with no good explanation. God I want to die.

Air doesn’t feel like it’s air, and I can’t breathe. I’m weak as Momo lets herself into my room. Quiet and gently she grabs a shirt from my closet and tugs it over my shoulders.

“Shh. I know y/n just breathe”

I don’t fight her, I don’t fight as she lifts me into my bed. And lays with me, I don’t fight. I don’t have anything to fight. As the tears fall from my face and collect on my pillow, as they stick my eyelashes in clumps. As my nose runs and tears fall into my open mouth.

“He told me he wanted to marry me..” I hiccup against her skin, “and then he left me”

I repeat it again, softer this time. Like the way Izuku said he wanted more, more than just a girlfriend, “he told me he wanted to marry me, and then he left me”

#louiseabilenewrites #my hero acedamia #izuku midoryia x you #izuku imagine #izuku angst #izuku mydoria #izuku midoria x reader #mha izuku #izuku x reader #bnha izuku #izuku midoriya #izuku x y/n #my hero is over and i’m not ok #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia

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neoplatinum · 6 months

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cinnamoroll girl | kim 'winter' minjeong

summary: you meet a girl obsessed with cinnamoroll

pairing: minjeong x reader

themes: fluff, just two very cute girls, cinnamoroll, yizhou & aeri!, mention of jimin!

wc: 1.7k

"aeri, stop." you pull the covers back up your face. curling into yourself in bed. you already feel awful, so why is she bothering you right now?

"you are such a mood killer! she dumped you six months ago, get up!" aeri tugs the comforter so hard she falls on her butt. you laugh at her until you realize how cold you are without the blanket. so you rush forward to try to grasp it out of her hand.

"aeri! give it back!" you shout at her.

"no! please come outside with us. we're all so worried about you." aeri pulls the comforter harder, and you let go. aeri once again hits the ground again. you hear a loud thud and see her soothing her head.

"that's what you get." you stick your tongue out at aeri, to which she throws the comforter right back in your face. you get sent backwards, falling into bed.

"ning! i'm done with her, she's hopeless!" you hear aeri shrill. yizhou walks in, eyes wide at aeri on the floor. but she ignores the girl, walking towards the bed and trying to coax you out.

"sweetie, it's not healthy to stay in bed all day. come join us outside!" out of spite for aeri, you comply immediately. getting up with a playful smile as you watch aeri's shocked face. aeri walks out annoyed while you get ready for a night out.

"ning, i'm going to strangle that girl." you hear faintly in the hallways.

you join the two girls outside, eyes smiling at yizhou while aeri punches your shoulder.

"you are so annoying, why are you only nice to ningning?"

"because." and you leave it at that, walking out of the apartment.

"aeri, who's that?" you point at the girl with the short bob. her eyes are wide as she tries the claw game; it looks like she's trying to get a cinnamon roll plush.

"that is ning's friend, be nice. we invited her out too." aeri explains, but all you can see is the love of your life. hot hot biker jacket girl with a short bob and a handsome face. lips to die for and long, long, long legs. wow, she is exactly your type.

"ning! you didn't tell me you had such a hot friend." you don't take your eyes off the girl, just speaking loud enough for yizhou to hear.

"i did, i told you multiple times about minjeong. you have just been so 'woe is me' about your heartbreak that you never met her." yizhou continues, eyes rolling when she sees you eyeing minjeong like a puppy seeing their owner.

"god you are so gay, not even an hour ago, you were moping about jimin." aeri starts shaking a hand in front of you, and you finally snap out of your daze.

"shh, don't speak of her please." you shush aeri, and pull the two girl's arms. you need to meet minjeong quick. so you approach the girl at the claw machine.

"hi!" you enthusiastically say to the unsuspecting girl. the girl gives you a once over and a look. before pointing at your shoes.

"your shoelace is untied." she points out, and you look down. sure enough your right shoe is untied.

"oh, um. yeah sorry." you kneel down to tie your shoe, meanwhile aeri and yizhou are snickering at each other. you attempt another introduction.

"hi, you are minjeong?"she tilts her head, and you swoon, it's really like looking at a maltese.

"yes." she says and returns to her claw machine. both yizhou and aeri let out a boisterous laugh. leaving to go "get food", which really means they're going to watch you try to flirt with minjeong from afar.

"do you like cinnamoroll?" you watch as her eyes light up, suddenly she's stopped looking through her pockets for more coins.

"yes! he's my favorite sanrio character." she exclaims, taking out her phone to show you a photo of her cinnamoroll collection. they have nearly taken up the whole wall of her bedroom. it's adorable actually, how dedicated she is to this sanrio character because of how cute it is.

"that's so cute." you point out.

"yeah but i'm having trouble getting this cinnamoroll." minjeong points at her claw machine. "i've been here for ten minutes, but i've had no luck."

"maybe i could try?" you offer. digging through your jean pockets for coins. you start shoving coins into the machine. flexing your hands and stretching your neck. getting ready to get this cinnamoroll plush for this cute girl.

you go for the first try, lining it up in the front, and lining up the clawe by checking the side glass. tongue in between your teeth as you focus. dropping the claw...it grabs one and you can hear minjeong gasp. as it rises up, it releases the cinnamoroll. dropping it back onto the pile.

you aren't going to let that stop you from winning this plushie for minjeong though.

you get another try, aiming for a different cinnamoroll, same method. checking the front, and checking the side for position, dropping the claw and crossing your fingers, begging for the claw to give you the plush. and with bated breath it drops into the dispenser corner.

"yes!" you shout, high fiving minjeong who gives you tight hug after, leaving you breathless with a rapid heart beat. goodness, this girl's got you good.

aeri and yizhou return with hot dog and drinks in hand. watching minjeong get absorbed in the cinnamoroll doll that you just won for her. minjeong hands it back to you.

"it's for you." you say, and push the doll back into her hands. she smiles widely at that, tucking it into her bag and the other two girls give each other a knowing look. you four enjoy the rest of the arcade, all the while you're busying eyeing minjeong and you think she is just so darn cute.

"can i have minjeong's number?" you ask aeri. she's popping popcorn in her mouth as you both watch spiderverse.

"ask her yourself." aeri doesn't take her eyes off the movie.

"when would i be able to do that?" you ask.

"tomorrow, she's coming over." aeri continues digging through her bowl of popcorn.

"tomorrow? aeri our apartment looks like a mess right now!" you get up and start picking up all the random clothes and pieces of trash littered around the living room. you start running into your room like a sprinter. grabbing all the dirty clothes off your floor, and shoving them into a laundry basket. you run out and throw all the clothes into the washer, immediately pressing buttons to start the wash cycle.

then you're wiping down the kitchen counters, the dining table, the windows. you wipe down the coffee table and lift aeri's legs to wipe it completely.

"aeri move!" you shout at her. she rolls her eyes but lets you clean around the couch. then she's back to sitting down. you start cleaning the many dishes in the sink and placing them in dryer rack.

"maybe i should say minjeong is coming every week for you to do these chores." you roll your eyes but honestly yeah this is a great motivator. then you start cleaning the bathroom and washing the shower. (aeri is confused why you're washing the shower because minjeong is definitely not staying over)

you finally clean your bedsheets and comforter after your laundry load, excited to have minjeong over. then you start pestering aeri again.

"what does minjeong like to eat? snacks? drinks? favorite food?" you start, opening your notes app to diligently write down each answer. aeri shakes her head at you.

"and do your job for you? no way, ask her yourself. it's more genuine that way." she answers as she pauses the movie, getting up to watch you run around like a headless chicken.

"fine. be like that. just so you know, i ate your lunch last week." you stick your tongue out at her before hiding in your room.

"you come back out here!" aeri shouts. you tune her out, smelling yourself: yeah you need to shower. while aeri pounds at your door, you're busy gathering yourself for a long and definitely needed shower.

"hi minjeong!" you bump aeri out of the way, to greet minjeong first. the girl looks so adorable in a blue button up and light washed jean shorts.

you think she looks like how the first spring day feels. warm and inviting. she walks in with a small smile, a little timid visiting you and aeri.

"hello, thank you for winning that cinnamoroll plush for me." she says as she gifts you two some wine.

"oh no problem, anything for a pretty girl." you say to her. aeri's gagging just at the sound. then minjeong walks in with yizhou trailing behind her.

it's a full house, when you all sit at the dinner table, enjoying a delicious dinner filled with laughter and bad gossip about people. you get to really feel the energy of minjeong, a rather reserved girl to people she doesn't know well, but gets very comfortable around people she knows well.

yizhou is doubling over in laughter, and nearly spilling her wine all over the floor, while hitting aeri. minjeong just laughs and points at them two. you laugh at the sight of them three, it's like dumb, dumber, and dumbest.

aeri and yizhou are knocked out on the couch after laughing too much. you take the time to help clean up around the apartment, putting away leftovers. meanwhile minjeong offers to help wash dishes, not letting you say no.

so you and her are quietly cleaning the apartment while the two other girls take a much-needed rest after their drinking.

you walk behind the kitchen counter, and you start drying dishes that minjeong has washed.

"hey minjeong."

"yeah?"

"could i have your number?" you ask, very nervous and feeling the jitters in your body.

"yeah, only because you won me that plushie." she looks at you and smiles. you don't stop smiling the rest of the night, even if aeri kicks you when she wakes up.

a/n: my original minjeong work got deleted :((((, but it's okay i didn't love the plot for it. so here we are with this piece instead. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#aespa #aespa x reader #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #minjeong x reader #kpop imagines #aespa x you #aespa winter #winter aespa #neoplatinum

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vivalas-vega · 11 months

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mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

hey hi hello !!! if you couldn't tell by my previous post, it's my favorite time of the year... which means fics to go along with it! this is just the beginning, from now until new years my fics are going to be very centered on the holiday season so if you have any requests pls send them my way! this one is very short, but sweet and fluffy to kick things off :)

mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

add yourself to my taglist

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none really, slight suggestiveness at the end

Frank Sinatra was crooning from the record player on the console to your left… perched next to it was a still-steaming mug of hot chocolate done up a mile high with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick barely poking out of the top. There was glitter from the ornaments dusting the floor and unbeknownst to you, a rogue piece of tinsel woven into your hair as you perfectly placed each bauble on the tree before you. You were so lost in your own Christmassy world humming along to Let It Snow and narrowing your eyes at your work to make sure it was just right that you didn’t even hear the front door open and close, or hear Jake chuckling at you as he snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I think it’s a little too early for this, darlin’, the Halloween decorations have barely been put away,” he said into your ear as you squeaked in surprise, squirming in his grasp to turn around and hit his chest.

“I know your mama taught you it’s rude to sneak up on people,” you chastised and he just smirked down at you. “Besides, it’s never too early for a bit of Christmas joy.”

“Far be it from me to rob you of your joy,” he said, backing away and holding his hands up in surrender as he looked over the place. You’d had the day off while he was gone at work and you really didn’t waste a second of it. The tree was nearly done, all of the pillows and blankets on the couch had been swapped out for more festive options, and garland was strewn across the mantle. He was always in awe of you and your ability to bring magic to any space… when he’d arrived home from work at the end of August he’d actually been startled by a rather gruesome statue greeting him on the front porch and the fake spiderwebs he’d managed to walk through… you hadn’t accounted for his height when putting it up, only yours. Even throughout the normal periods of the year your home exuded warmth and a little something special that was just you.

“It’s perfect timing, really… I need your help with something,” you said and he looked at you expectantly, eager to oblige whatever request you had for him. He watched as you ruffled through the various shopping bags, and he decided it was probably for the best that he just not look at the bank statements this month, before you produced several bundles of glittery snowflakes and thrust them in his direction. “I wanted to hang these from the ceiling, I thought it might be pretty.”

“I think it will be wonderful, sweetheart,” he said, setting them aside for a moment as he looked you over properly. You were wearing a red slip dress adorned with lace complete with fuzzy reindeer socks on your feet that were in stark contrast to the silk clinging to your body but somehow they made you look all the more sexy to him as he settled his hands on his waist and pulled you in, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips but you leaned back and put a finger on his lips to stop him, giggling at the look of confusion that passed over his features.

“Excuse me, sir… I don’t see any mistletoe, do you?” you asked, looking above you and he let out a sigh at your antics. “I’m a lady and I can’t go around kissing just anybody. There are rules, you know.”

“I didn’t realize I was just anybody, darlin,” he replied, digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you flush against him but you weren’t having it, you wiggled free from his grasp and turned your back on him, returning to draping tinsel along the branches of the tree and trying to suppress your giggles.

“Find the mistletoe and you’ll get your kiss,” was all you said and he muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch as he began stringing the snowflakes up, taking great care to space them evenly and hang them at varying heights… something he knew to be sure to do after the great debacle of Halloween when he didn’t hang the bats to your standards. He watched you out of the corner of his eye… still humming along to the Christmas record you’d inherited from your mom as you stepped back to admire your work. It really was beautiful, and he wasn’t just biased because you had done it. You had managed to keep it nostalgic without looking tacky, modern without lacking warmth and he couldn’t help but smile at the satisfied look on your face.

You stood on your tiptoes, struggling to reach the top and place the star atop the tree and Jake chuckled as he quickly reached your side and took over for you, fiddling with it until it was straight and you leaned into him as you admired your handiwork, “I’ve always loved Christmas but ever since you came along I can’t seem to get enough of it.” you said, recalling the first Christmas you’d spent together on his family’s farm. You’d been welcomed with such open arms, and experienced a true small-town holiday season for the first time in your life and it solidified that this was without a doubt your favorite time of year.

“I was just thinking the same thing, sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple before you moved to clear away all the bags and boxes, leaving behind a pristine and festive living room. You leaned against the archway leading to the kitchen, watching as he secured the last snowflake to the ceiling as you made sure to position yourself just right… legs on full display and that mischievous smirk on your face that Jake couldn’t get enough of. It was something you had picked up from him, and he always loved seeing the little ways in which you two would mirror each other. “What are you up to over there?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously and you shrugged.

“Oh, me?” you replied, “nothing.” You truly looked irresistible to him right now… lace delicately framing the curve of your chest and the tops of your thighs, all done up in red with that sparkle in your eye as you settled all of your focus on him, walking across the room as if being pulled to you by a magnet.

“Is there a reason you’re glued to this doorway?” he asked, resting his hands on your waist as you allowed your eyes to dart upwards, just for a moment, and that’s when he saw it… the mistletoe. “You little minx,” he teased, leaning closer and your head tilted back instinctively. You had specifically chosen the area the two of you passed through the most often to place the mistletoe and that cheekiness was one of the reasons he’d fallen so head over heels in love with you. He closed the gap and captured your lips in a dizzying kiss, tightening his grip around you when you leaned into him. You moaned softly into his mouth when he deepened the kiss but were left wanting when he pulled away suddenly.

“You know, I am a gentleman… just because there’s mistletoe that doesn’t mean I can-” he’d started, wanting to get back at you for your earlier stunt but you just rolled your eyes as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around him. You never had a second thought jumping into his arms so suddenly, you knew deep in your bones he’d never let you fall.

“Oh shut up and take me to bed,” you said and just like the snowflakes he was more than eager to oblige your request, reconnecting your lips as he maneuvered down the hallway, hands gripping your thighs as you melted into him.

“Oh my god, Christmas threw up in here too.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @toobouquet @a-v-a123 (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you - so sorry!)

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 7 months

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Could you do 1. "Did I ever tell about my first ever murder?" "What murder, you're innocent as fuck!" With Marko x reader, the reader being a witch and the fic being a funny romance? If you need more detail you can message me! 💕💕

Absolutely! Thank you so much for requesting hon! I hope you'll like this!💜

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The smell of cinnamon lingered in the kitchen, slowly but surely mixing with the smell of salt - whether that was because of the open window or the spell, I wasn't sure - and incense. It wasn't a difficult spell, not at all. A rather standard cleansing I liked to do every once in a while, making sure that the consequences of certain practices wouldn't follow me. As I walked around my house, murmering the spells and spreading the salt on the windowsills and doorways, I felt the last hot rays of summersun touch my face. I smiled. With any luck, he'd be here soon.

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I walked into the kitchen. Marko always insisted that he didn't mind eating take-out whenever they ate human food, but I knew that it was just a matter of convenience. Sure, take-out was good, but it was not as good as my own cooking, surely. So, with a pan on the fire and some quick work on mixing the ingredients, I had a lasagna baking in the oven.

"Open the door!"

I looked up, surprised at what I was seeing. The sun hadn't yet set, and yet here he was already. He tried - and failed - to cover himself with a blanket, trying to protect himself from the final rays of sunlight and-

"Are you crazy? You could have been burnt to crisps!" I quickly pulled him inside, closing the curtains and grabbing some ice for his burnt hand.

"Evening, babe!" He just grinned, causing me to shake my head. "What's cooking?"

"Lasagna. That is, of course, if you promise not to burn yourself to death in the sun for me."

"I didn't mean to, I just- we need to talk alright?"

"About?" I put a glass and a bloodbag in front of him, grabbing a cup of tea for myself.

"Well, our leader still thinks that you are a liability."

"Ah, that." I shrugged. "I don't think being a vampire would be that bad. I've been thinking about it, you know."

"It's more than just us being together, you know that?"

"I know you and the boys are a date one, live with four kind of deal."

He chuckled. "You know what we have to do."

"Party all night? Sleep all day? What was it that David always said?" I knew what he meant. Of course I did. I just wasn't sure where this would go.

"Babe," he looked at me, his face turned serious. "You need to kill."

"Why do you look so worried?"

"Because I know you and I don't know if you can."

"What?"

"Kill."

"Of course I can kill." I stood up to get the lasagna out of the oven, making a plate for each of us. "You really don't have to worry about that."

"How do you know? It is harder than it looks, especially the first time and I don't want it to haunt you -"

"I never told you about my first murder, did I?" I said quietly.

"What murder?!" Marko dropped his fork. "You're innocent as fuck!"

I hummed. "I mean, I didn't mean to kill him."

"You actually killed someone?"

"Yeah." I looked at Marko, seeing his confused and yet slightly prideful look. "I did."

"What? How?"

"Now, it wasn't anything brutal, you know. Nothing like you guys do."

"But you did kill someone?"

"Yeah. I- we established that already, right? I killed someone, by accident."

"Hit and run?" He asked taking another bite.

"No."

"Then what?"

"You know how I always check, to make sure that the area is safe for you guys?"

Marko nodded, motioning for me to continue.

"Well, one night, the spell flared up, and I noticed that there was someone lurking around the cave. I knew he was trouble, and I was close by, so I thought I would check it out, you know?"

"It is sweet how much you care."

"It was mainly your pigeons that I was worried about," I grinned, sticking my tongue out before continuing. "I walked up to the man, who immediately tried to ask me everything I knew about not only the cave but also the kids seen coming out of the cave. He was bad news, alright. I noticed he had stakes with him, I could smell the garlic - he was out to kill you guys."

"So?"

"So I might have maybe put a little jinx on him?"

"What jinx?"

"Just some bad luck, you know. Being a little more clumsy than usual? Like, tripping. From the edge of a cliff?"

Marko looked at me, before chuckling. "You tripped a man to death?"

"I didn't mean to, but yeah. Yeah, I did."

"You must really like me."

I looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"To kill, just so you can see me again?"

"You'd do the same thing," I grinned. "Maybe together we can be an undead Bonnie and Clyde."

"Now that'd be something," Marko took my hand, pulling me towards him. "But, seeing as killing is no longer something I have to worry about -" he kissed me softly - "do you think you'd want to become like me?"

I smiled, kissing back, looking him in the eyes. "Yeah."

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #tlb #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #lost boys

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charliemwrites · 7 months

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I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

#I don’t… know #I just needed to write something and post it to get out of this block I’ve been having #it’s not necessarily good but…#ta-da #velikan #cod Velikan #rook ‘Duke’ Alistair #cod oc #my oc #cod #thoughts™️#my writing #weird friends #dom friends

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childofthewolvess · 5 months

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for the ask meme you reblogged: what things do you associate with loki (that may or may not be upg)? I'm talking things like food, animals, drinks (both soft drinks and alcohol), movies/books, fictional characters, even like silly things you might see in thrift stores.

Oh absolutely I can do this! Loki loves random things, in my experience, so I have... quite a few random things I associate with Loki. Let me know if any of you also associate any of these with him! A lot of these are super personal but stand anyway.

Forest fires—nature's balanced form of chaos)

Redwood and sequoia trees—cones are serotinous, meaning they only open when fire reaches them

Southeast Alaska/temperate rainforests & fjords—they're very geographically similar to Iceland/Norway and I feel Loki's chaos in the sharp winds and chaotic seas

Orcas—similar to how the wolves are viewed, they have a negative representation when they're integral with their chaos to the cycle of balance in ecosystems. I actually have a bunch of orcas on Loki's altar! He showed me orcas when I lived in Alaska.

Glow sticks—literally don't have a reason for this one.

Wolves—this one is not a UPG because of Fenrir, but I personally associate wolves with Loki because they for a very long time were viewed as the "bad guys" and monsters, when in reality, they were the balance to the ecosystem that was needed. Awfully reminiscent to Loki in his myths.

Solar eclipses—also not necessarily a UPG, but the sheer chaotic energy and power from solar eclipses reminds me of Loki's energy

My roommate's cat—lol, she is an AGENT of chaos. As someone who grew up with cats, never had a more chaotic cat in my life. She also raids fridges. And stares at Loki's altar every day. My roommate says she's a witch.

Writing and storytelling—Loki Does It For The Story, and a lot of times speaks to me through my world and creative writing.

Fireball shots—it's the cinnamon I think, but Loki gets fireball shots every few days (lol.)

Green, orange, black, and blue—Loki's colors, this one jsut makes sense to me and I can't really describe why.

Nature—nature is inherently chaotic but maintains a cycle, and this is Loki's energy to me. He is also part Jotun, associated with nature, and to me, he is present everywhere in the wild and unpredictable forces of nature.

Sweet tea—don't know why but Loki enjoys sweet tea

I'm Just Ken (Barbie Movie)—this is the funniest one yet, but Loki literally showed me the entire dance sequence to I'm Just Ken in my sleep (I had watched the Barbie movie once), and would not stop bothering me until I got him the Barbie movie vinyl and played it for him.

Performance in storytelling—this could be theatre, but really just performing and putting on a show while telling a story. This is the same deity who tied his balls to a goat and saved all the assess of the Norse pantheon because he got Skaði to laugh, so this one checks out.

I have so many more but there you go for a start. Working with Loki is just sheer chaos, if you couldn't already tell.

#witchblr #paganism #pagan witch #eclectic pagan #pagan community #witchcraft #lokean #norse pagan #heathenry #loki deity #loki worship #loki

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celestemona · 3 months

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Waitwait, I have a question—what are the dynamics/tropes of the genshin mamas and papas? And if so, do they have special nicknames or pet names with each other? The kind that only you and the other person has...

(Personally I kinda see mama reader and al haitam (idk how to spell his name, shoot me dead I guess) are those very serious, very sticks with their job people that you really don't know if they're married, but the moment they leave the akademia—the moment they leave for the day! His small little smile! The way they would try to hold each other's hands or slowly intertwine with each other.

I also see mama reader and kaveh being that couple that's like, "I LOVE MY WIFE!!! " and mama reader is like, "... kaveh, darling, stop embarrassing me" but they like it shhh) mmmm the thoughts are getting to me.

THAT'S ABSOLUTELY THEM 😭😭

Let me tell you a fun fact about Kaveh's & his wife's relationship: he had to work a lot to court her. Mama reader took an interest in him on their very first meeting. However, she didn't accept his feelings entirely until he paid all his debts. Something about “how will I know you're serious about us when you can't even put your life back on track?”. Harsh words yes, but that worked to enlighten Kaveh's goals.

That's how serious (and whipped) he is about his wife.

Alhaitham' & his wife' dynamic were perfectly described here. When they're at work they put their focus entirely on it. Sometimes you can find her in his office so they can have lunch or a cup of tea together. But only when they leave for they day you see a slight intimate & affectionate side of him towards his wife.

Kazuha' & his wife's dynamic is the calm, gentle, and tired one but helpless in love with his excited, flirty & funny wife's persona. Not a chaotic dumbass way, though. Just a very exciting way. My girl is just madly in love with her husband and adores her children very much! They prefer to be intimate indoors, but they’re not afraid to show some pda too.

I'd describe Cyno' and Mama reader' relationship as looks like a cinnamon but can kill you (her) x looks like can kill you but sometimes is a cinnamon but can kill you too (him). Cyno has that grumpy face that scares most of Sumeru's citizens but all his defenses are put down when his wife shows or gives him some affection. And when he gives her some pda you can see flowers twirling around her. In general, I'd say they are that typical couple which one doesn't need to speak for the other know they’re being heard. They work pretty good together!

I'd say the trope of Neuvi and his wife would be that classy, fancy & untouchable couple. Mama reader has a more laid-back personality tho. Being a merchant, she sometimes displays seductive and manipulative traits but this only works with other people. Neuvillette knows very well how to deal with her and she loves him for it. They're very affectionate with each other indoors.

Not completely biased but Wriothesley has a dynamic similar to Kaveh's with his wife. He had to dig deep to reach her heart so now he's enjoying his happy married life as a reward for all those years she had played hard to get. Don't get me wrong, they were always into each other but their lives weren't easy. Anyways. In their dynamic, there's a lot of teasing, sometimes some pda & flirting (this one mostly comes from reader).

And finally we've our dear Lyney who'd steal the stars and the moon from skies if his wife asked him to do so. At the beginning of their relationship, they clearly presented a shy, blushy & whipped (him) x friendly, teasing & flirty (her) trope. But as they got to know each other and the relationship grew stronger, I'd say they settled into a sweet & calm dynamic. Sometimes Lyney can't help but show his extreme enthusiasm toward his wife and she can't help but be his reason for breathing hahah They've a very lovey-dovey dynamic.

#messages 💌#genshin husbands ♡#genshin husbands au #ooh sorry i forgot the nicknames. i'll mention them eventually ok?#gill ♡

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authorautumnbanks · 28 days

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One Night (21)

The amusement park is packed, but Shippo appears to be doing okay with the noise. Granted, she got him some earplugs and Koushi some headphones. Kagome pulls the small blanket until it is up to Koushi's chest. He looks out of the stroller window. She has his baby carrier just in case he wants a better view of everything going on. Koushi is pretty inquisitive.

"Sensei!" the students yell.

Kagome stops and looks over her shoulder. Why are their faces so red? Did something happen?

"My bad," Satoru sighs, removing his hand.

Oh.

Satoru is always touching her. Always squeezing her ass or resting his hand on her lower back. Satoru huffs and then places his hand on her lower back.

She ducks her head and smiles. Her insides are gooey like a cinnamon roll. Being with Satoru is a little like that. Warm. Soft. And when she takes him into her mouth, he tastes—Kagome gives herself a mental shake. Not the place.

"I want to ride on that!" Shippo says from his place on Satoru's shoulders. Kagome follows where Shippo is pointing and then shakes her head. "Papa! Let's go!"

"Nope, you gotta stick to the ride for kids." Not that Shippo would be hurt or affected by the larger rides, but he is supposed to be six, and six-year-olds do not ride the biggest roller coaster in the park. Or maybe they do. Doesn't matter, Shippo is small and wouldn't pass the height requirement.

"But..."

"Sorry, bud. We'll head to the kid's section. There are a lot of games you can play." Satoru looks over his shoulder. "You guys are free to do your own thing, and we can meet up for dinner. Unless you want to ride the smaller rides."

"We'll meet up," Yaga says, rubbing the back of his head. Next to him, Panda's large dark brown eyes have yet to blink. He is as tall as Yaga in the human form, Shippo gave him. His hair is black with white streaks.

"Megumi," Shippo coos.

"No."

"Big brother," Shippo sing songs. "You know you want to stay with the family."

Kagome sighs. "Shippo, Megumi wants to hang out with his friends. Come on, or you won't have time for any of the rides." She flashes a smile at Megumi, who looks so relieved. The students follow them for a bit and then break off into their own groups. Once it is just them, Satoru stops.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Why wouldn't she be okay? Kagome tilts her head. "Yeah?"

"You can't get on any of the rides, and I'll need to go with Shippo." Even with the shades on, she can tell he is looking at her stomach.

She exhales. "I haven't taken a test." Not that any test would be more accurate than Sesshomaru, but still, it does not feel real. After trying for so long, getting pregnant so easily is hard for her to wrap her mind around.

"I believe in Sesshomaru."

"You believe in Sesshomaru," she chortles. "You barely know him."

"Seemed like an okay guy," Satoru says with a smile.

"He lives up to the whole killing perfection name," Shippo quips.

"I'm still alive," Kagome points out.

"What?" Satoru snatches his shades off and hangs them from his hoodie. "What do you mean by that?"

Whoops. She needs to change the subject. Last thing she needs is for Satoru to pick a fight with Sesshomaru the next time they go back to visit. She did promise to get some winter clothing for Sango's family. Kagome flutters her eyelashes and strokes his arm. "My mom and Syouma want to take the boys shopping over the weekend."

"... This weekend?" Satoru bites his lip. "We'll be in the house by then. Like the whole day?"

"A couple of hours." She mirrors him, biting her lip as well while heat builds in her gut. Satoru isn't wearing anything crazy, but for some reason, the black hoodie and jeans are driving her crazy.

"Papa! I want to go on a ride." Shippo huffs.

"Sorry, sorry." Satoru laughs. "Let's get moving. Now you don't have to ride every single one. We can always come back. Plus, I don't like leaving your mom alone for long. There's always something lurking around the corner." Satoru glances over to the left. Kagome frowns.

"I can put a barrier up while we wait if it'll make you feel better." In the stroller, she's got a shikigami disguised as a toy in case she needs any extra support, though she doubts it.

Satoru nods, but he's still looking to the left. "Yeah, you should do that."

"Are we going after them?" Shippo asks, taking his shades off.

"Nah, they haven't tried anything." Satoru flashes her a smile as he hands Kagome his and Shippo's shades for safe keeping. "I think there are some rides we can all get on, like a tour or something." He rubs her back and when he pulls away so he and Shippo can get in line, Kagome's heart pangs. Oh dear, she is falling for him.

Koushi looks up at her and stretches his arms out.

"Oh, did you want to watch Daddy and Shippo?" Kagome coos as she takes Koushi out of the stroller. She balances Koushi with one arm and pulls out her phone to record. "You see Daddy?" She holds the phone up. Koushi laughs and then fusses. "Oh no, buddy. You stay right here. Don't even think about it." Kagome squints her eyes at Koushi and tries to look stern, but he just giggles and Kagome's stern demeanor cracks faster than an egg. "I'm serious. You stay right here with me, or you'll give mommy and daddy a scare."

Koushi yawns.

Figures.

He threw a fit earlier when Shippo declared he was going with Satoru instead of shopping with her. Kagome presses her lips into a thin line. At this rate, Satoru will have to come with if she wants the boys to do anything. She lowers her phone and stops recording right as Satoru and Shippo head over to them.

"I want to go on another one!" Shippo says, jumping up and down. "And I want to win some prizes, too." He stops and then points a finger at a game. "I gotta get something for my brother and Mama."

"Well, let's go win some prizes, yeah!" Satoru fist pumps the air. Shippo mimics him. Koushi clenches his fist and Kagome bites down on her tongue to stop from laughing. They end up winning more prizes than what can fit in the bottom of Koushi's stroller. "What is Shippo doing?" Satoru asks.

Kagome hums. "He's always been partial to human girls," she admits. With an arm full of prizes, Shippo talks animatedly with some young girl with brown hair. He gives her an oversized stuffed bear and laughs at something she says. Shippo hands over another prize.

"... He's far too young for that," Satoru exclaims. "Oi! Shippo, come on. We gotta meet the others for dinner, save some for them!" Satoru raises a brow. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she says, turning her head away. "Did you want to take a bath with me when—"

"Yes. Fu—mmm yes."

"Papa, seriously?" Shippo rolls his eyes. "I left one gift for Megumi. Can I have cake for dinner?" Shippo waves goodbye to the brown-haired girl. Her parents shake their heads and usher her away. "Please?" Shippo widens his eyes.

Kagome gives Shippo an Are you serious right now expression and turns the stroller around. "No one is having cake before dinner." She looks at Satoru, who throws his hands up in front of him. Uh-huh, Satoru was planning on getting sweets first, for sure.

"Shippo and I are gonna step out for a bit once we meet up with the others."

"Everything good?"

"It will be."

Got it. He's going to put some fear in whoever is on his radar. When they get to the restaurant, Satoru kisses the top of Kagome's head and then Koushi's.

"Where is Gojo-sensei going?" Yuji asks, pulling out a seat across from her.

"Oh, there's someone being weird, so I think he's gonna talk to them or kill them." She shrugs one shoulder while she cradles Koushi in her arms and looks over the menu. "He and Shippo will be back soon. Shippo will be upset if he misses the show." Kagome motions to the stage on the right. The tickets were pricey, but Satoru insisted they get front-row seating to the stage.

Yuji scratches his head.

Was it something she said? Kagome frowns. Why is everyone looking at her like that? Aren't they sorcerers like Satoru? She does not get what the big deal is.

"What's wrong?"

"You're so nonchalant about it," Nobara says.

"Oh... well, we've already had to deal with one assassin since the news of Koushi spread." She glances back at the menu. Satoru will probably want that. If they aren't back in time, she'll just order for them. Shippo will want everything. "Chances are they'll back down, though."

"We should do something for sensei," Yuta says after a moment. "He took care of everyone's missions so we can enjoy this night out." The table grumbles, but the students eventually agree to put something together. Only Megumi watches Kagome, so she flashes him a small smile.

Satoru did not take on everyone's missions, but Kagome is not going to correct the student's line of thinking, nor is she going to bring attention to how many shikigami she can make.

"Uh... Kagome-san?" Yuji starts. "What does sensei like?"

Kagome stares blankly. What does Satoru like? "He likes sweets, and he loves when the boys show off...is there anything you guys have been working on that you could show him?"

"My energy can be sloppy," Yuta says, leaning forward. "But I've been working on it."

"Put something together like the exchange event," Yaga says after a moment. "It would be good for everyone."

"Is everyone participating, minus Gojo-sensei?"

Yaga frowns. "Naturally, Satoru should not partake. It will be a celebration of sorts."

Kagome looks down at Koushi and smiles. She isn't quite sure what the others are planning on, but it sounds like some kind of event for Satoru to watch.

"Could Shippo participate?" Yuta asks. "Or would that be too much for him? He is young, but he's so strong." Yuta motions to Panda, who looks delighted to be out and about with everyone in his human disguise.

"That will have to be up to Satoru since he has a better judgment of what Shippo can handle," Kagome admits. It doesn't sound any different from the things Shippo did at the kitsune school and Shippo insists on going on missions with Satoru. Kagome shifts Koushi. He wraps his hand around her finger.

Satoru is a good father.

"Yo! Sorry, took longer than I thought it would." Satoru pulls out a chair to the right of Kagome for Shippo and then sits down next to her on the left. "Did we already order?"

"Gojo-sensei?" Yuji asks, lowering his voice. "Did you... did you kill someone?"

Shippo snickers.

Yuji rears back. "Shippo? Did you?"

"I'm just a kid," Shippo replies, widening his eyes and blinking them. "I would never. Why, I can't believe you would accuse me of such things." He sniffs.

"What? No! I wasn't—"

"Shippo, enough," Kagome interrupts. "I was going to order this for you if you weren't back in time." Kagome points to the menu.

"Looks good to me," Satoru replies, pulling out his phone. "I'll just go with that then." He slides his phone back into his pocket right as Kagome's vibrates.

Did he text her?

Satoru: I'm going to stick my tongue in your ass tonight ;)

Her face burns. She wants to look at him so badly, but she doesn't trust herself to not melt into a pile of goo at the table. Who says that? Her heart is beating so loud, she's just happy neither Shippo nor Panda have called her out on it. Satoru squeezes her thigh. She bites back the whimper, shocked by her reaction.

It is only after the server comes around to get their orders and returns with their meals that Megumi addresses Shippo. He runs a hand over his hair. "So, just curious, what did you do?"

Shippo glances away from the stage, a live show about a girl raised by lions and how she falls in love with the boy raised by hyenas, and cups his hand around his mouth. "He's alive. Papa let me practice my domain expansion."

The table goes still and then all eyes turn to Satoru, who continues to eat with one hand. His other hand is still firmly attached to her thigh.

"Satoru," Yaga says lowly, keeping his voice down. Kagome swears she is hearing a hint of fear in Yaga's voice.

"What? I was just helping to tire him out some before we leave here. No biggie." Satoru squeezes her thigh and then holds out his hands for Koushi. "Shhh, watch the show." He rests his arm across the back of her chair and brushes the tips of his fingers across her arm.

I'm going to stick my tongue in your ass tonight.

Kagome closes her eyes and exhales. So much for paying attention to the show.

***

A/N: The students are now regretting their decision to include Shippo in their Gojo-sensei appreciation event. Megumi hasn't shared his new shikigami with the others, so he's the only one who suspected Kagome may have had something to do with Satoru being able to take on their workload.

"Will Shippo get an attendant too?" - Right now Ito, is like the attendant/assistant for the whole family.

"Shippo probably needs more nutrition to keep up the illusion all day" - Yep, he's eating a lot more because he's expending more energy. He's on his way to gaining another tail.

Take care! Wishing a wonderful Sunday and a wonderful week. Drink plenty of water and get lots or rest!

Side story, I was talking to my grandma yesterday and she was telling me how happy she was to have little titties instead of many titties and I stared at the phone wondering how we got to such a conversation.

#crossover pairings #jujutsu kaisen x inuyasha #gojo satoru x kagome #kagome higurashi #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha x jujutsu kaisen #gojo x kagome #rare paring

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corazondebeskar-reads · 8 months

Text

remember what you're staring at is me

jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 8 - found footage | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 2.9k

summary: A videotape is left on your porch one morning, and it changes everything about your budding relationship with Joel Miller.

warnings: Jackson!Joel, some dark!Joel, some soft!Joel, we love a man who contains multitudes, ambiguous ending, I wish I had made this a much longer one shot but oh well, references to The Hospital Incident, oral (f & m receiving), implicit p in v

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You find it on your porch one morning in an old paper bag. Someone’s written right onto the brown wrapping with black crayon—”you need to know the truth.” It seems rather dramatic once you peel back the paper to find a videotape.

It's not high quality—the footage is fuzzy and crudely edited together. But there’s just no mistaking the man on the screen.

Joel and Ellie came into your life when they arrived for the second time in Jackson. You had heard the gossip the first time, but never met the pair.

You met him fairly quickly when he swung by with a torn jacket, gruff and blunt but polite. Steady. “They, uh, said to ask you about some mending?”

“Sure thing,” you say easily, smiling at the very handsome stranger. “Let me take a look.”

It was a casual thing, the sewing, and you liked it that way. You didn’t make anything, didn’t haul things to the market. You spun the wool for those who did craft things, and then you kept to your little projects at night.

The push and pull of the needle was the meditation you needed to keep going every day, even now, even safe here in this bubble. Something productive, something to keep your trembling hands busy and your mind blank.

And in return, you got company and conversation. Most folks knew your services could be bought with a warm drink or baked good, a promise of a favor you’d never call for.

“How long?” he asks, voice flat and serious, but it didn’t prick at you, didn’t land as rough as it set out.

“Not long,” you muse, looking over the tear—a knife gash of some sort, and the thin lining that peeked out. “Ten minutes if you just want it sewn up, or if you give me a day, I can get it properly stuffed.”

“Sewn, please.”

Please. You like that. Manners at the end of the world.

“You sure? Be a lot warmer if I fill it out.”

“I don’t—” he scowls at the ground. “I barely have anythin’ to offer ya for the mending.”

You want to tell him it’s on the house, call it a welcome basket, but he’s holding out what he does have to offer and your jaw drops just a little, lips parting to make way for a soft, pleased “oh” that has him straightening up.

“I can find somethin’ else,” he says.

“Oh, no. That’s… amazing,” you say, taking the jar into your hands and popping the lid. They certainly aren’t potent, not like you remember, but oh, you could die from just the faint smell of the cinnamon sticks. “This is… more than enough. I’ll owe you, I reckon.”

“I dunno about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Seriously,” you say, eyes wide. You set the jar on the counter. “For that, I’ll get the whole thing done tonight.” After all, the delay had only been so you could go to bed.

“Y’ain’t got to do that, I don’t mean to be a bother.”

You brush him off and start gathering your supplies. If you steep the thread in tea for a bit, you think, you might be able to get close to the color of the fabric.

He turns down a cup when you offer but does take a seat at the table. He’s as stiff as your late husband’s favorite bourbon, but the blunt edges grow a little duller when you don’t try to keep up small talk.

The bright overhead light casts him in shadow, deepening the circles under his eyes and drooping his wrinkles in inky black. But his eyes are bright and curious as he watches you start to add unspun wool from your stockpile into the jacket, trying to shape and layer it evenly through the inside. You have to make a couple incisions but keep them tight to the hemlines and existing stitching.

The thread dries quickly with the hearth raging and he speaks for the first time as you weave it through the needle’s eye.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a threader,” you say, offering it to him to see after you’ve pulled it loose. “I, um. I’m not as dexterous as I used to be and I can’t say my sight’s as keen, either. Makes it easier to use these damn tiny needles. Luckily, it wasn’t a very in-demand item when people were raiding shops.”

“Huh,” is all he says, sliding it back across the table to you.

The stitching is quick and rote. You’re used to people pouring out their life stories and desires and drama when they sit at your table or on your sofa, feet kicked up on your coffee table while you sew.

But this silence with Joel is warm, too. You’re almost regretful the job didn’t take longer.

You stand up and he follows, pushing his chair neatly back into its place. He takes the coat and runs a gentle finger across the original wound.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

You give him a wan smile, never having found those words to settle right in your skin. “Nice meeting you, Joel,” you say instead. “You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and lets himself out.

You lock the door behind him and wonder why you feel so energized. That tea was decaf, after all. And a little fuzzy, if you were totally honest, but you weren’t going to dump it down the drain just over a few fibers.

One day when he comes, it’s with a bundle of thick socks and another, smaller jacket. Not a difficult job, but the gift he brings to trade knocks you off kilter so hard that you have to sit down.

“Not sure if it’ll be any use to you, but figured you’d know someone who can use it if you don’t,” he says, looking at the floor.

You’ve gotten to know him a little better, though his visits are few and far between. But he’s gotten more comfortable around town, more interested in following that wild daughter of his than hiding away.

Sometimes, he’ll even sit at your table in the mess. You’d even go as far to say that the two of you were friends.

So you can tell what he’s trying so hard not to project. He’s nervous.

It looks almost like a desk lamp with its sturdy base and bent wooden arm, but in place of a shade and bulb is a hoop. You recognize it immediately and your stomach swoops. It’s an embroidery stand and you might faint just from that, just from having a steady way to hold the fabric tight as you sew.

But that isn’t all. He shows you how to turn the peg that loosens the grip of the handle on the side, a raw hewn thing that doesn’t match the worn stain of the stand. You’re burning, head spinning, and the fuzzy darkness at the edges of the world stop you from focusing on the gift.

The carved handle, he says, with hands curling around either side of you, has been partially hollowed to accommodate the end of the magnifying glass. You can raise and lower it with the peg and rotate the handle to use the other side of the glass.

“Joel,” you say uncertainly. He doesn’t really seem like he’ll want the attention drawn to it, but you have to know. “Did you make that?”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Just added the glass is all.”

“Just added the glass,” you echo in a whisper. But you know he doesn’t mean he only attached it. He made the entire attachment and fit it onto the stand.

His ears are red and he won’t look at you.

You set a cautious hand on his arm where it reaches across your shoulder, still resting on the table. He’s caging you in from where he leaned over to demonstrate. “Joel, this is incredible. This is… this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Ain’t a big deal,” he mumbles but he doesn’t shake off your hand. “Just saw it and thought it might be useful.”

You feel emboldened by his kindness, so you curl your hand around his bicep. “Can I thank you?”

He looks down at you now, seeking something that he must find, confirmation in your blown out pupils and parted lips, and nods.

He doesn’t break away as you slip from the chair to sink onto your knees or when your fingers loop around his belt to pry it open.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” you say, voice tight.

He shakes his head. “You’re not.” His voice is the rumble of thunder breaking a tense summer night.

You don’t bother removing his belt, simply knocking it open to reach for his zipper.

You’re about to tug his pants down when the door opens.

“Hey sugar,” Tommy drawls, “all my fuckin boxers have holes. Can you help a guy out? Promise they’re cle—“

His loud mouth gave just enough warning for Joel to pull his shirt down over his belt and for you to fumble at rolling the cuff of one pant leg up just so, reaching for a pin.

“Oh hey, Joel!” Tommy says happily. “Finally fixin’ those ratty old things?”

It’s a fucking miracle that he’s in these jeans, his favorites. Actually, it’s not, he wears them all the time, and they’re just a little too long so the bottoms are torn up.

“Guess so,” Joel scowls. He’ll have to finally let you hem them now.

“Just leave ‘em on the table, Tommy,” you say around the needle between your teeth. “And tell Maria to stop bein’ so rough with them.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “She can’t help it, sugar. I’m irresistible, see?” He claps his brother on the back and takes his leave.

You slump a little, sighing as you set the needle on the table before moving to resume your activity.

But Joel steps back. “I should get goin’,” he says. The line between his brow is cavernous and his lips are tugged down at the corners.

“Oh. Okay,” you say, and pull yourself up with a hand clutching the table.

“So. Thanks again,” he says. And then he’s gone.

You let yourself drop dramatically into a chair, groan growing as it turns physical when your tailbone hits the seat wrong.

You’re rubbing your forehead and thinking about going to bed to give yourself a pity orgasm when the door opens. He’s quiet and cautious, but he pushes the door shut behind him and locks it.

“M’sorry,” he says. “I…”

“It’s okay,” you say with a tired smile. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, offering you a hand.

You take it and let him pull you to standing.

His other hand finds your waist. “I was bein’ a coward.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Darlin’, you couldn’t,” he says. His arm slides further around, pulling you to him in a gentle embrace. He looks down at you through heavy lids, watching the way your lips part just a little. “You still want this?”

You bring a hand up to cup at the hair that curls down the nape of his neck. “Please,” you whisper.

He matches your motion, cradling your head in his palm as he dips his head to kiss you. He wastes no time, licking into your welcoming mouth, seeking out the earthiness of the tea still lingering on your tongue and the sweet shiver of goosebumps prickling across his skin as you wind your fingers into his hair.

“Shit,” he mumbles when you break away for air. “What do you want, baby? What can I have? You gotta tell me now, before I can’t think straight.”

“You can have whatever you want, Joel,” you say, hot breath brushing his swollen lips before he presses them to you again with a growl.

It’s a much quicker kiss, and he breaks away to drop to his knees and push your skirt up to your hips. You have to lean back with both hands clenching the edge of the table not to fall over in shock.

He nuzzles against the soft cotton of your panties and groans at the smell of your wet cunt. He mouths at it gently over the fabric before hooking his finger around the gusset and pulling it aside to part your lips with his tongue.

“Not fair,” you gasp as he feasts. “I was supposed to—supposed to do that for you.”

“You said whatever I want, darlin’,” he says against your pussy, chasing the taste of you.

“Fuck,” you pant. “Fuck.”

“Gimmie one and I’ll let you suck my cock if ya want it so bad,” he says, plunging two thick fingers in and basking in the way you squeal and squirm. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, pistoning in and out like he’s trying to win a race.

It works, with his tongue on your clit and his fingers against that soft, secret part of you that no one has touched before, you gush around where he spreads you. “That’s it,” he croons, “good girl. Good fuckin’ girl, give me another.”

“You said—”

He cuts you off by sucking on your clit and your hips rock, wobbling the table as he takes another from you anyway.

“Couch or bed?” he says, tugging your panties down your legs now that he’s sated the immediate urge.

“Don’t care,” you say.

“Alright, bed,” he says. “Wanna do this right.”

“Don’t think you could do it wrong,” you say, a lazy, sated smile on your face and a lightness to your eyes that he thinks he could get addicted to.

He does let you suck his cock, and thinks maybe he could die happy from the warm, wet of your mouth and the way you look up at him like he’s the only thing in the world.

At that moment, he is. You had resigned yourself to keeping your little crush a secret until it faded, too fond of him to risk it, but here? Now? Now that you’ve had him, you don’t think you can ever go back.

He’s gentle in a way you can’t quite name. It’s not that he’s soft with you, but just aware. Like he knows where you’re capable of meeting him and settles there. He makes room for himself in you like you’d done for his coat, opening you up and stuffing you until you’re warm and full and renewed.

He doesn’t leave you to stitch yourself up, either. He buries his face in your tits and holds you tight after, cleans the both of you up with a warm towel, and kisses you before he leaves.

Neither of you want him to go, but he’s got Ellie at home and won’t—can’t—worry her by not coming home. Not without warning. Next time, he whispers, and it carries a question and a promise.

There is a next time. And another. And another. You think you might be in trouble. You do far less mending jobs once your evenings are taken over by Joel. You still take them, darning socks on the soft with your feet in his lap, or basking in the way he looks proud and satisfied when you use the stand to fix up bigger projects. Some of your favorite nights are when he sits and strums his guitar while you sew, just two people finding peace by creating it themselves. Together.

So when eight months later, that tape finds its way into the VCR you’ve only used twice, you’re more than familiar with the bulking shape of him. The way his hair sticks up when he runs worried hands through it. The grip of those hands, sure and steady.

He finds you there on your third viewing. You didn’t even hear him come up the porch, didn’t realize the sun was starting to crest over the mountains, that he’d be coming by with breakfast just like he promised.

The little Joel on screen is working his way to the operating room. You’ve stopped flinching at each crack of the gun or collapsing body.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

You do startle when he speaks, unaware that he’d been watching you watch the tape for a minute. His voice is low and slow, something lurking beneath the baritone that trips an alarm.

This isn’t your Joel. This is that one, the one from the TV.

He moves like a jaguar, slinking and graceful. “Where,” he snarls, breath curling off your clammy skin, “did you get this?” His hand curls around your shoulder at the base of your neck.

“It was on my porch,” you whisper.

His fingers dig in a little where he holds you in place. “Try again.”

“It’s the truth, I swear. I didn’t know what it was.”

“How much did you watch?”

“All of it,” you whisper, though it feels like the click of a lock.

“Goddamnit, baby. Why’d you have to do that?”

There’s an actual click, the unmistakable flick of a release.

“Joel, please,” you say, voice breaking. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“I can’t take that chance,” he says.

He still hasn’t brought the knife close to you, though, so you hazard a glance over your shoulder. You wish you hadn’t. He’s gone, his sweet eyes dead to the world, no whisper of his gentleness to be found.

“I swear, please. You can trust me.”

“Can’t trust anyone in this world, darlin’. You shoulda realized that by now.”

*title from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #jackson!joel #dark!joel #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #dead dove fic #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday8

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restinslices · 8 months

Note

Hello! Could you do the Lin Kuei trio with a g!n reader asking them to dance? Like what you did with the earthrealm boys!

You finna be real disappointed 😭

My phone storage still in hell so no pics. I need to make a moodboard for everyone or smth

Bi-Han

There's legit nothing else for me to say

Listen, I know I make him sweeter than he actually is a lot but I can't make my fingers type some shit like “yeah! he'd totally be for it!”

You could be the apple of his eye, the reason he woke up in the morning, the oxygen in his lungs, the wind under his wings, his cinnamon apple, and he'd still tell you no

“Absolutely not” to be more specific

You think Bi-Han, the mf with a huge ego, is always serious and damn near has Batman's voice is gonna boogie? It's wishful thinking but the answer is no

Especially for a video? Get the fuck-

The best you'll get is him listening to the song

Which isn't all that good because he's the type to say “I'm listening” and is very much NOT listening

“I'm listening” *starts vacuuming*

He likes slower music so he'll “listen” to that

I get it, y'all want me to say he'd be super sweet but babe at some point the delusion is so delusional we gotta snap out of it

He wouldn't even have a favorite song because like I said, he's not listening much. Instead of hearing lyrics, he just keeps thinking “I can't believe they asked that”

Kuai Liang

No pt2

Y'all I can only lie so much

Kuai Liang and Bi-Han are some of the most serious people in the game

You're not getting either of them on board with this dancing shit

And you're posting it? Now it's especially no

The Earthrealm guys are goofy. They'll do goofy shit like this. These guys? Some of y'all 'bout to be real mad at me, but it must be said…

Unlike Bi-Han he'll listen to a song and actually listen to it

And maybe he'll have a favorite. Maybe.

Kuai Liang gives me “I only stick to one genre” vibes so he'll listen to it but the chances of him listening to it again are pretty slim

This ain't what y'all want but I'm tryna imagine it and feel the fantasy and it's just not fantasy-ing

Maybe he'll slow dance with you but that's off camera and private

He wouldn't lie and be like “oh sure. We can do it later”

He's just like “um… no but thanks for the invite”

You can ask another Lin Kuei though. He won't be upset

Or you can do it by yourself and he'll gladly watch and hold the camera

Tomas Vrbada

Y'all ain't gon’ believe what imma say next-

LISTEN I wanna say they'd all bust it down but like y'all, let's be real 😭

None of them are letting you record them dancing then post it on the internet. They are assassins that's constantly doing shit for Earthrealm

He'd be nice when he says no at least

“I'm no good at dancing. You can show me though”

Maybe he'd do a little step to the left, step to the right, spin around and break it down tonight but it's not on camera

It'd have to be the most simple dance ever and you two would have to be alone

He'd do a little dance if you kept bothering him but that video shit is not happening and he'd only do it once. Maybe twice.

Idk why but I feel like Tomas got two left feet but he'll try his best for you so you let it go

I remember in a post I said I feel like he's lowkey a Twice stan but have y'all seen their choreography? He's gonna break a damn knee

He'll gladly do the fan chants and watch you though

Overall the answer is no but he'll listen to any songs you recommend and he'll watch you. Might do a little boogie once or twice if you stay on his ass.

I wanted to be delusional too ya’ll but I couldn’t 😔 This is so short but I ain’t know what to say. We’ve discussed my brain is ass rn

#mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #bi han sub zero #bi han #bi han headcanons #kuai liang #kuai liang scorpion #kuai liang mk1 #kuai liang headcanons #tomas vrbada smoke #tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada headcanons #mk1 headcanons

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turbulentscrawl · 8 months

Note

I hope you dont mind me sending a req and it should be angsty right?

I absolutely adore your modern reader and i very much like andrew. So do you mind me sending a request about the modern reader with andrew part 2? To connect with the angsty part, personally i want you to write something about how the modern reader feels lonely for being the only one who comes from the modern timeline, like feeling alienated or estrangement from everyone who comes from the past and struggling with the no internet or new media to consume (personally i think anyone who is from our time could probably feel a withdrawal of internet. I know i do. It suck and i look crazy when it happened.)

Ooo.. considering how our mannerism, fashion, and hygiene routine differ a lot from the past can also cause friction with others can be a good angsty idea. And also food, assuming the reader come from a well off family, their food would looked like what royalty ate. With salt, pepper, cinnamon cost a fortune back in time. You can go wild, i am sorry if this is a long req, i merely gives suggestion. Dont mind me if you dont want to write it.

I think this is the longest individual scene I've written so far! I got carried away ahaha. Actually, this might need to become a multi-part series. ewe

Warnings: fem reader (it was relevant for this), hurt and comfort

Another day of staring at the wall. Or the garden, as this particular moment would have it.

It had been about three months since your arrival now, according to Freddy. (Tracking the days was the one thing he was good for outside of matches, as far as you were concerned. The guy was meticulous with records-keeping, you’d give him that. But he was also a dick.) Three months of boredom, monotony, and a critical lack of stimuli.

The first few weeks had been fine, if only because you were too busy trying to survive a potential witch hunt. Turns out, being hated and blamed for everything has a way of distracting the mind from its homesickness. But the worst of that had passed now, leaving you to take in the reality of your situation: you were more removed from your old life than anyone else here. Your entire way of life was gone.

There was no internet, no television. There was a library, but it was only ever added to at the whim of the man named Orpheus. There were no cars, and there was nowhere to go. There wasn’t even a washing machine—everyone took turns doing their clothes by hand. The stove in the kitchen was gas, and fickle. The doctor, Emily, and Luca made efforts to introduce you to the ways of this more ‘primitive’ environment, but the sheer disappointment of it all made it hard to make an effort. The hygiene standards were different, too, and it was jarring to see what some of these people considered ‘clean.’

“What are you doing out here?” A voice calls. You jump a bit, rattling the chains of the bench swing you’ve occupied. When you turn around, the ‘Gravekeeper’ is behind you in his dark casual wear. The moon is but a sliver in the sky, so if it weren’t for the paleness of his face and hair you might not have seen him at all in the darkness.

“What does it look like?” you ask in response and face forward again. ‘Andrew’ isn’t a bad person, from what you can tell. He doesn’t seem to hate you like some of the others do. But he’s defensive, sticks his foot in his mouth a lot, and you’re too tired for an argument.

“…It’s past curfew,” he says, voice moving around the swing slowly. He’s in your periphery now, hands folded over his chest like he’s still holding that shovel of his. It’s some kind of comfort item for him, you think, but he doesn’t have it with him.

“Luca said that’s just a suggestion,” you reply. “And even if it’s not, you’re out here too.” Andrew pauses after you say that, awkwardly shuffling in his spot, looking between you and the garden. There are no birds, no crickets out. You can hear him swallow thickly in the silence.

“I saw you from the upstairs window,” he says slowly. “I…thought I should come check.”

“Why?” You’re waiting for a ball to drop. To be tricked.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Andrew says, wiping his hands on his pants. Sweat, maybe. “When you first showed up…I thought you were really loud. You and that little box both…. You used to play that terr— eh, that music on it all the time. But I haven’t heard it in a while.” Your eyes are drawn to him as he explains. You can’t help it, you’re stunned. Not many of the other survivors bothered to show concern for you, and they often weren’t around because they had their on things to attend to. Luca had his inventions, Ada had Emil’s treatments, Luchino his research. You didn’t know Andrew paid any mind to you. He mostly kept to himself.

“I’m stewing,” you whisper, answering his initial question.

“…Do you…need to talk about it?” he asks.

“You don’t want to hear it,” you reply quickly. Andrew scoffs, a flash of his attitude returning.

“I asked didn’t I? I may not understand half the stuff you say but that doesn’t mean by ears don’t work,” he snaps weakly. It sounds like something someone back home would say. It sounds genuine. You look at Andrew again, now with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat.

“I feel gross,” you croak. Andrew was scowling for a second, but your words shock his face back into something more relaxed. He shifts around again, awkward, unsure, and steps towards the bench. You stop rocking it long enough to let him join you and he sits closer than you would have expected. “I hate it here.” Andrew nods, watching your face, your fidgeting hands, your bouncing knees, and everything spills out like vomit.

“It’s all gone. Everything I knew. There’s nothing to do here besides survive, necessities and shit, and everyone fucking hates me here. No one talks like I’m used to, or behaves like I’m used to, or treats me like I’m used to—but I’m the odd one out so it feels like it’s all my fault that I don’t fit in. I miss my friends, my clothes, my room, my food. I miss my movies, I miss my technology, I miss my products—you guys don��t even treat hygiene the same way we did back home for fuck’s sake--” You’d learned early on that it was considered odd to bathe daily. Water reserves weren’t a concern in the manor, but everyone mostly stuck to the routines they knew. The only saving grace was that you hadn’t had a menstrual cycle since before you arrived. One less thing to worry about, at least.

“—and thank god, because none of you even KNOW what a tampon is!” Andrew makes a face that’s something between embarrassment and horror. You can tell from the way he’s subtly looking himself over that he wonders if he seems gross to you, but you’re too deep in your own misery to bring it up right now.

“And I’m sick of how some of them men here treat me! I don’t give a fuck what it was like for you all, I’m an equal to you all, god damn it, not a punching bag, or a whore, or unpaid maid! Like—I get that you all don’t realize what you’re doing—I get you haven’t been told it’s bad yet, but I’m gonna crack Edgar’s glass jaw if he suggests I wear a skirt ‘like the other ladies’ one more time!”

“If it helps,” Andrew says quietly, “I think that’s just him liking skirts. He’d probably wear one himself if he had an excuse.”

“I don’t care,” you gasp, grabbing Andrew’s forearm suddenly. He tenses under your touch, blushes. “It’s—it’s just all of it together! Look, I-I already feel bad being so angry! I understand why I seem scary, and I understand the world was a different place for me, but I hate that I have to say goodbye to all of it just because no one wants to learn about how things were for me! Fuckin—Emily was interested in how I lived through Covid, but all that got me was being treated like a plague rat. You guys don’t even get sick here! And Norton asked about the economy, but now he thinks I’m some rich bitch when I wasn’t even middle class! And Fiona acts like I’m some beast because of how I talk and curse so much! And Kevin asks about me feeling safe, but then he treats me like a damsel who needs constant rescue! I just…I just….it’s always something! I just want someone to treat me like I’m normal again.”

You crumple into full sobs, forehead landing on Andrew’s sturdy shoulder. He’s completely silent while you break down. His free hand eventually comes up to hold the back of your neck, a gesture that tells you it’s fine for you to be there, against him. Andrew is not a man of many comforting words, but this is enough, you decide. It’s an effort, which feels like more than you’ve gotten in some time.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, but when you finally calm down Andrew suggests you get some sleep.

“I’m not tired,” you croak. You are. It’s a lie. But if you sleep it will be tomorrow instead of being this moment of rare comfort. Andrew hums an acknowledgement.

“Alright. Neither am I," he says.

You think that’s a lie, too.

#idv x reader #identity v #idv gravekeeper #andrew kreiss x reader #turbulentscrawl

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idontplaytrack · 3 months

Text

If you hold me

AJ Campos x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, mature themes— angst, domestic violence/abuse, coarse language, disordered eating?, undiagnosed medical condition. Reader discretion is advised.

"If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did."

— Cinnamon Girl, Lana Del Rey

AJ and Gabi were out tonight, the sisters decided to go to a pub and just hang out— just the two of them. It’s been a while since they got to do that. Everything was going great until her phone continuously lit up with messages from you. Then, you’d called her. Dropping her half-eaten mozzarella stick into the basket, “Excuse me, Gabs.” She picks up your call.

“AJ?” You hiccuped, “Where are you? Can you come— pick me up please?”

Her blood ran cold, fingers trembling and nearly dropping the device.

“Where are you, baby?” AJ took a deep breath to calm herself down,

You were crying. “I— there’s the gas station on 12th?”

“Okay, I know where you are, stay put. I’m on my way.”

Hearing the whole conversation, even just AJ’s side of it, Gabi was ready to bolt out the door with her after quickly leaving a fifty on the table.

“She must’ve stopped by our place and no one was home.” AJ sighs, checking her phone periodically in case you’d texted. She wanted to be able to know immediately that you did and not miss anything.

Pulling up at the gas station, they didn’t see you outside so AJ got out of the car and ran inside. There immediate relief when she saw you sitting right by the checkout on a stool, but then she was swiftly hit with anger and worry when she saw the red handprint around your neck. “I wanted to call 9-1-1, hon. But she wouldn’t tell me anything,” The worker, a lady likely in her 40s, told AJ.

“Thanks, I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

‘Does she even know I’m here?’ She thought to herself.

AJ walks up to you, “y/n.” You blinked profusely, slowly turning your head to look at her. “Let’s go, I got you, baby. Come on.” She says quietly, taking your hand. You just followed her lead, barely able to stand up straight.

You held your tears in until you got to AJ’s room, purposely ignoring Gabi’s questions knowing you would not be able to answer them without bursting into tears again.

“Did your Dad hit you?” AJ went right for it.

“More like I was trying to get my mom away and got dragged into it.”

“So yes.” AJ grabs her phone again, ready to make the phone call to the authorities.

“He punched her, threw things at us. Then he shoved me against the wall and did this.” You said, gesturing to your neck. Taking in an unsteady breath, “He got— he got so mad at me for taking a nap because I wasn’t feeling well. I tried to take pain medicine because I had a migraine and my damn stomach hurt but he threw it out. Then he just punched me in my stomach.”

AJ tried to keep a straight face but she was fuming at this point. Quickly making the call, she was back to checking on you. “Do you want to go to the hospital? I can take you, baby.”

You were adamant on not going, so she didn’t push it. “Which one were you taking?”

“Huh?”

“The pain meds.” She clarifies, an arm gently wrapped around you.

“Tramadol?” You sniffed, “It’s prescription. I don’t have my prescription— and fuck, I need— it hurts, AJ.”

“We have Motrin, would you want to take that and see if it helps you a little bit?” AJ asks, stroking your cheek. You nodded, agreeing to do so. She got up and exited her room, going downstairs to retrieve the medication— along with something to drink, and eat. She knew you hadn’t.

You were curled up in her bed, zoned out when she returned. “Here, eat something, okay? I don’t want the meds to hurt your stomach.” She hands you a granola bar, you took it hesitantly.

“He didn’t want to let me have dinner.” You revealed. “Sent me up to my room and I fell asleep. He woke me up and started yelling at me then all of that happened.”

She just held you close, whispering words of reassurance into your ear as you rested against her nibbling on the granola bar in hand. Once you had finished that, she took a pill out of the bottle and gave that to you followed by the glass of water. “Do you want anything else? I can cook something up for you.” She asks, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on her nightstand. “No.” You muttered, she pulls you closer carefully. You snuggled against her chest while she massaged your scalp for a bit, eventually settling on just having her arm around your waist.

“I doubt they’ll do anything, really.” You admit, “I tried.”

“Don’t think about any of that right now. And you’re staying here with us.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t say anything and just laid there, completely exhausted, defeated. “Where does it hurt?”

“My lower left side. They’re all saying it’s all in my head.” You told her, “It’s not— there is something there. I feel it when I press it, the doctors did too.”

“I’m sorry that’s still bothering you, my love.” AJ wanted to scoff. She knew exactly what you were talking about— she felt the same thing they all did when you had her check it awhile ago. It angered her so much that your doctors have not been listening to you and just tried to shut you up with painkillers. But of course, she didn’t. She stayed composed and just cuddled with you, making sure you knew you were safe here with her and Gabi. Well…that not so little area where your Dad had punched you in? It was as good as pulsing non stop, sending wave after wave of sharp, stabbing pains radiating through the surrounding area.

“It still hurts…” You groaned softly, shifting yourself a little to get more comfortable. You knew it would take some time for the Motrin to kick in, but you just got the urge to say that. You didn’t even think, you just felt it and the words were flying out of your mouth.

“Do you want me to get you a change of clothes?” She kisses your cheek tenderly, “Or just some shorts that are looser around the waist?”

You nodded, “Yeah, shorts.”

“Okay, I’ll be just a sec.” She slowly moved away from you and went to rummage through her closet for a suitable pair of shorts.

She was thoroughly stunned by the injury, how that bruise was starting to form. AJ bites back a heavy sigh, quickly going up before you to keep you steady. “You wanna sit down and change?”

You only shook your head no and continued to put on the shorts with a bit of a struggle. You were okay after all, AJ made sure you were. Before long, you were back in her bed, in the security of her arms. You couldn’t sleep though, you just didn’t really feel like it. “We can watch something. Whatever you want.” She grabs her laptop.

“I dunno.” You answered.

“That’s okay, hm? We can find something together. If not we’ll just snuggle. That’s fine.” She promised.

You apparently started to cry again and you had no clue why you were crying. The pain meds have already kicked in prior to this. It freaked you out, desperately trying to stop it but AJ wasn’t even fazed. “Hey.” She squeezed your shoulder, “Hey. Look at me, baby.”

“‘m sorry.” You babbled, avoiding her eyes.

“Baby…it’s okay.” She hushed, “It’s okay. You’re alright, I promise you.”

“Why?”

AJ squinted at you, but you didn’t see that of course. You were too busy staring at the stripes on her duvet cover, avoiding the eye contact like your life depended on it.

“Why do you care? Why do you love me? They all just hurt me and think I can’t be bothered by it. They never care. So why? Why do you? I don’t deserve it.”

Aaaand cue AJ’s heart getting stomped on.

“Because I can.” She answered, “Because I have it in me to give you the world. As long as I can do it, you will get whatever you want. You…y/n, I have fallen so in love with you. More and more every day, and I don’t even hesitate to do whatever helps you. Whatever it takes to see your smile. Baby, you deserve a love that is calm, that is healing and safe. Don’t you dare tell me you’re hard to love, because you are not. Falling and being in love has been the easiest thing for me— no doubt about it. It’s not like school, it’s not like track. I don’t have to live up to others’ expectations of me. I just do what feels right for you, for us. You are so loved, so so loved, honey. Never forget that. I will always be here just like I have been.”

You then turned to look at her after she’d finished talking, feeling the impulse to give her a kiss. So…you did. You leaned in, and she naturally went with it without a moment of hesitance. “I love you.” You broke away from the kiss, cheeks stained with tears, “I love you so much. Thank you for being so patient and gentle with me. It means more to me than you know.”

AJ pulls you back in for another kiss before you both resumed your previous positions and continued to cuddle. Now, you were starting to feel the sleepiness creep up on you. AJ notices, “Close your eyes…and just go to sleep. I’ll be right here, not gonna leave. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, head against her chest.

“Good.” She wraps her arms around you tighter, “Sweet dreams, preciosa.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N: Y’all got another drabble bc I just somehow can’t get into the mood to write a full fic rn. Literally don’t know why I even decided to finish this draft but well…a post’s a post.

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frenchie-sottises · 3 months

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Back at it With the Punch Out Headcanons.

It's been a long while since I've done any Punch Out Headcanons, and combined with the fact that I looked through my old posts and may or may not have cringed a little, I'm gonna add some more headcanons and update some current ones. (Mostly cause they were made out of little information I had at the time.)

Also, just throwing up a warning real quick as some of these headcanons do mention some heavier topics like familial abuse and childhood neglect for some of these boxers. However, they don't go into detail.

Glass Joe:

I called him a cinnamon roll last time, and that still holds true, but I didn't realize how sassy this man was. Telling you you're bad for his health, making it clear he's coming for you by pointing at you like you just committed a crime, this mfer has some spunk for having a hundred losses to a single victory. He's still extremely chill, but he's not above throwing hands if necessary.. even if he might lose.

100% the type of person to make baked goods for someone if they're down or it's their birthday. Part of the reason why he likes taking his friends to lunch.

Even though the WVBA doesn't seem to have an age limit, especially apparent with boxers like Gabby and Hoy, he's still not looking forward to the day he must retire. He enjoys boxing, it's why he's still kicking despite losing so much, and he hates the idea he won't be in the ring anymore.

Tumblr has broken his humor.

Von Kaiser:

Was exposed to so much propaganda as a kid that he makes a point to learn all sides of the story purely out of spite.

His dad was in the military, so respect was almost literally beaten into this man's head as he grew up. However, despite the trauma, he doesn't believe in his father's tactics, so he chose to turn his boxing career into a place where he can teach other kids the proper way to become respectable adults without the trauma he was put through.

Has a difficult time expressing his feelings, but will eventually give in if it's someone he's close to or with enough coaxing. However, the quickest way to gain his trust and help him open up is to respect his space. His expressions make it pretty clear what he wants.

Kinda has to be dragged to make any sort of online presence. He only has a Facebook and a Tumblr. It would've been strictly Facebook had Joe not encourage him to make a Tumblr. (The site has also broken his humor.)

Disco Kid:

Has 100% wore your typical 80s disco fashion. There's a reason why he's called "Disco Kid." His grandparents were big disco dancers, which eventually got passed down to him. Rollerskating's pretty much paired up with that, so he breaks it down.

Is quite an oddball when it comes to being a boxer. With his history, you'd think he'd just stick with being a dancer, but he's never liked the idea of his passion being his profession. He likes the freedom in his dancing, so it's staying as a hobby. Of course, you need money for hobbies, you saw his car, so he took up boxing when he saw a poster for a WVBA match. He may not be the best, but he loves boxing enough to want to incorporate it with his dancing.

Has made it a mission to learn every instrument there is! He loves his disco stuff, but he has a general love for music. Old, new, fancy, simple, it doesn't matter. If it exists, he wants to learn it.

Is one of the more tech savvy boxers of the group. There's a chat in the Discord server that is solely for memes cause he wouldn't stop posting them in general. ("I've been kicked for posting memes in general. Help-") May or may not be part of the reason Joe's and Von's humors are broken.

King Hippo:

He may be royalty, but he's one of the most humbled beings you'll ever meet. He's definitely an acts of service kind of guy, so he's holding doors open for people, giving people food, using his money to help the citizens on his island, his mother raised him well.

Has personally fought and chased Airbnb off of his island after they tried their greedy bullshit. They already cause people in other places problems, he'd be damned if they're welcomed on his island! (It was televised too, so his appearance alone made even Sandman shake in his boots.)

You're not gonna believe this, but.. Hippo can speak English. He can speak it really well, actually. His iconic way of speaking originally started for show, but became his main way of talking, but English was his first language, so, on the few occasions where he needs to actually talk, he surprises everyone in the room with it.

Has experience in architecture. Safe to say it's one of his biggest passions, and he uses it often to help his citizens because why be a king if you just sit on your ass all day when you can help your people instead? He sneers at most kings he's heard about.

Piston Hondo:

He's such a snarky lil shit in the ring, it's almost comical. He does it on purpose just to cause problems. He's fine outside the ring, but the boxers can tell when he's out to cause problems when his moves his eyebrows more than he normally should.

Second to Tiger when it comes to being a clean freak. He sneezes at the littlest things, so he has air filters and humidifiers all over his home. It's helped quite a bit! If he's in a room where it's dirty, he immediately goes into cleaning mode, outfit and all.

His love for drawing and art still holds true. He gets easily inspired, so he always has a sketchbook on him. He eventually picked up digital drawing, feeling unsure at first, but his determination led him to discover how much he loved it! He now makes a point to learn different forms of art, having made a room in his home dedicated to all things art.

Sneaks up on people too easily. He doesn't even do it on purpose most of the time, he's just very light on his feet. Not even the lightest sleeper can hear him moving around when it's three in the morning. 100% mastered this to raid the fridge, there's no way you're this quiet without picking it up somewhere.

Bear Hugger:

Got his knowledge and love for nature from his dad. He fully understands and accepts nature in all her beauty and ugliness. This also means that anything you'd want to know about nature, he's your go-to. He isn't one to sugarcoat things, so any information you wish to know is to be done at your own discretion. (Is also one of Casual Geographic's biggest fans as he keeps it straightforward while also having master word play.)

May or may not have his DNA altered via a were..bear bite. Yeah, who knew his sparring partner was a mythical being? He paid no mind till he started noticing the typical changes found in such a transformation. His speed and strength led to him breaking his tools by accident fairly often, and his sharpened senses overwhelmed him a few times, but he's adjusted to this and uses these abilities to his advantage, especially in hunting. He's thought about possibly climbing the ranks while he still has the time, but is still unsure as he doesn't mind where he currently sits.

Will fight and has fought people who litter without a second thought. The forest he lives in used to be covered in trash, which he spent weeks cleaning, so he takes massive offense to those who don't bother to throw away their trash. If the person purposely does it after being warned? Only God can save you, cause he's thrown people's whole selves into trashcans. (His werebear abilities make this easier to do.)

Was originally gonna be a massage therapist before attending one of his mother's boxing matches. He has always been good with his hands, so he went all the way and gained his license for it. Of course, he prefers boxing, but he hasn't let his license expire, so he still holds the therapist title!

Great Tiger:

Number one clean freak out of everyone in the WVBA. No one knows where he got it. He doesn't even have health issues that require it like Hondo does, but he feels the need to keep his house clean. This also, by extension, means he keeps himself extremely clean. It's not to insufferable levels like with Don, but he always has a light scent of lavender on him. If he was in a dirty room, or a dirty home, you're gonna see about thirty clones all dressed up and cleaning the place.

If the light shines on him just right, his eyes almost look like they're made of liquid gold. He gets a lot of compliments on his eyes, it's ridiculous. It's either the eyes, or the mustache, which, he won't deny, his mustache is pretty fabulous. He loves the compliments, but he does get a bit overwhelmed if they get too much.

Has a deep love for mythology. It doesn't matter where it's from, he reads and learns all he can about it. He's one of the few boxers who suspects Bear Hugger might've had something happen to him due to the subtle changes he's picked up. He's also dressed up as a vampire on a few occasions just for funsies.

He doesn't want to admit it, but whenever he wears a sash belt, the extra bit behaves like a cat's tail. He tries to control it, but it's apparent when he's irritated, it flicks around just like that of a cat. The only thing it doesn't do is lift straight up, which is something that happens when a cat is happy to see you, but it does curl at the end.

Don Flamenco:

For being as cocky as he is, if he feels like he's in the wrong in any way, he's apologizing FAST. He can't imagine ever hurting someone, even if it's unintentional. He also struggles to not cry as he admits he was wrong, but, dammit, he can't help it.

Absolutely adores games that encourage creativity like Sims and Minecraft. He's always looking forward to designing houses and gardens in these games, using any and all tricks he knows to bring extra pizazz to them. It's even better when Carmen's around to join in. His favorite of the bunch is probably Sims 4. Animal Crossing is a close second. (And you know, damn well, that they got the fanciest, gothic houses in the games.)

Don't ever assume Don performs actual bullfighting, cause this man will not let you hear the end of why he's against it. He's one of cultural heritage, but bullfighting is a disgrace in his eyes and looks forward to the day it's illegal across the country. He'd rather fight the bull with his bare hands in a test of strength than ever bring out a weapon.

Doesn't realize how much his perfume bothers people. He loves the smell of perfume, especially anything floral because of course this dude loves his flowers. He gets fussed at a lot for it, so it's a miracle Mac wasn't fazed by it.

Aran Ryan:

His parents are both terrible. The father pretty much drank his life away while the mother ran away. Because of this, Aran was forced to grow up and fend for not only himself, but also for his little sister, Arabella. It's mostly the explanation for his unhinged and masochist-like behavior. Most people don't fuck with crazy.

Despite his rough background, he was able to get help from neighbors, who all silently agreed to take turns watching the two cause American foster systems tend to not fair much better. He worked at several jobs once he was sixteen. He's worked anything from cashier work to yard work and even some automotive work. He wasn't able to finish school, he dropped out as soon as he started working, but eventually got his GED once he took up boxing and got a steady income to help keep Arabella in school.

Does not give a fuck about what people say about him, but will be on the verge of wailing on someone if they dare trash talk his sister. Soda's had to hold him back a few times cause he'll halt the match to fight whoever said some bs, he doesn't play. Luckily, for everyone involved, anyone with a sane enough mind will not dare cross that line.

Thanks to the WVBA and the neighbors, this is the craziest he'll ever get. Outside the ring, he's pretty much one of the most chilled boxers you'll meet. The most he does is pranks, which all go for annoying the people he targets. You can take the Irish man out of the chaos, but you'll never take the chaos out of the Irish man.

Soda Popinski:

Number one cat magnet. He can't explain it, nor is he trying, but cats love him. He can literally just sit on a bench in a random spot, and it wouldn't even take two minutes before a cat comes out of the wild for some pets. He was even once bombarded with a whole bundle of kittens when he saw one on the side of the road one day. He took them all home, named them, and takes great care of them. Tiger seethes with jealousy.

His calm nature is the Yin to Aran's chaotic Yang. He was one of the first boxers to greet Aran when he first joined, and lent an ear to all the stuff Aran was going through and had to get off his chest. After that, the two pretty much became best friends. He's even helped babysit Arabella a few times if no one else was around to help. It's a bromance at this point. Only Soda can calm Aran down if something, or someone, severely pisses the Irish man off.

Has an immune system of steel. Not even diseases like Covid can faze this man. People suspect it's the soda, but it actually lies in the fact that Soda's technically a genetic experiment gone undetected. Someone messed up the shots and his mother got the shot the Russian government was using to make super soldiers. No one knows about it.

No one has successfully hid from this man, his sixth sense for sniffing out bullshit is insane. Don was sent to get drinks, but came back claiming the store was closed, but Soda pointed out the shirt he left with had tiny flowers, but the one he was wearing currently is only dots. Then Disco came in late for his training sessions, claiming he caught the train, but Soda told him that there's a road that avoids it altogether and questioned why he didn't just take that route. It's almost annoying for the other boxers how quickly he puts them on the spot.

Bald Bull:

Mother died when he was only ten, so the rest of his childhood was handled by his shitty father. Despite being the oldest of three, his father gave his younger brother the ranch due to his disapproval of Bull taking up boxing. He kept what his mother said in mind: to follow his dreams, so he did. He's tried to keep contact with his siblings, but they cut contact with him despite knowing their father is in the wrong. He's understandably bitter about it.

When he has himself a me day, he dresses up in his biker gear and drives his saddlebag bike with the ape hangers. (Ape hangers are high sitting handlebars that encourage upright posture.) His helmet conceals his identity, so no one knows it's him driving around and having fun. He became a rebel/biker as a way to break free from his father's control, so it's forever a part of him. He's also outrun the cops on several occasions. They still haven't caught him!

When it's a good day, he's got that extra bit of shithead energy about him. Doesn't even care if he gets his ass beat by Sandman, when he feels good, he's taunting EVERYBODY. His favorite method of taunting is taking the heaviest dumbbell available and lifting it while cocking an eyebrow and grin while the person is down. Heaviest he's done is 260lbs. He's aiming for higher.

His love for Turkish delights came from his mother making them every weekend after dinner. They hold a special place in his heart, using the same recipe his mother wrote for him, along with several other of her recipes, to keep ever since he took up cooking classes. Will burn someone's house down if something ever happens to that little booklet.

Super Macho Man:

Pissing off people is his specialty. Even when he's not really trying, he'll say something extremely dumb that encourages one of the other World Circuit boxers, usually Sandman, sometimes Bull, to come and beat his ass. He's either oblivious, or he's secretly a masochist, cause this happens a lot.

Takes the BIGGEST offense when someone doesn't recognize him. He thinks he's super famous, and there's some truth in that, but you'll always have people who don't keep up with celebrity drama, so his dramatic self gets salty when the person claims to not recognize him. "Well, I thought I was more popular than that!"

Despite being a dick most of the time, he has his silly moments. People compare him to Randy Savage, they're being generous, so he'll go out of his way to quote him with the voice and everything. He's nothing like the guy other than name, but he does find it endearing and will happily give his fans free meme material. He even quotes memes made of Randy, even the breathing one. He almost passed out.

Loves musicals. He was a huge theatre kid, so he's really good at playing assigned parts and has an extremely good singing voice. (Disco may or may not be slightly jealous.) Absolutely got hooked on musicals like Hamilton, The Count of Monte Cristo, and even the Heathers! Doesn't care he's a buff dude, let him wear the costumes and play those leading roles!

Mr. Sandman:

BIG momma's boy. His mother basically raised him on her own, making sure her boy never lost his way once he got out there. He's grateful for having such a loving mother, and he often gifts her a good chunk of his paycheck so she can treat herself nicely. Not much is known about what happened to the father, but he was a former boxer.

Had dreadlocks at one point in time. Took amazing care of them, even sometimes decorating them with golden braid clips. When they fully matured, they made him look like a lion. He was super proud of them and was upset that they got in the way when he decided to take up boxing. He tried to tie them up in a ponytail, but some of the matches he had got heated, and it led to some of his locks getting ripped out. He plans to regrow them once he enters retirement.

Quietly thanks Mac for taking the belt from him that day. He aimed to be the best, not because of his insecurities, but because he wanted to ensure he could provide for his mom. He thought claiming the belt was it, so when Mac took it, he got the much needed kick in the ass to realize that he doesn't need to be perfect to help out. He's already top dog, so he's already reached that goal.

He tries hard to be stoic, but he can't help but chuckle at some of the shenanigans that occur with the other boxers. Aran smacking Bull's head really hard and getting decked for it? He snickered. Soda constantly putting people on the spot? He smirks at it. Macho almost passing out from doing that one Randy meme? That took some self control, especially when all he heard was Macho falling on his back with a loud "THUD" when he had his head turned.

Extra:

Carmen:

At first glance, she seems incredibly tame, but she's feisty! If someone angers her enough, she'll straight up rip a nearby door off its hinges and beating them with it. Hell, when she's really happy about something, there's a chance she'll kick the door on the wrong side and rip it off the hinges. She's had to replace the doors around the house a few times due to this, and Don finds it hilarious.

Pastel goth type. She was a pink hater for a long while, but the color grew on her. She's also incorporated other pastel colors into her wardrobe. May or may not also have Monster High stuff that she wears as well.

Works as a hairdresser. She colors and styles her hair often, and it's done so well that her girlfriends got her to do their hair. Some of them eventually suggested to her to pick up hairdressing as a profession, which she decided to give a shot and winded up loving it. She's even helped Don with coloring his hair a few times cause he tends to make a mess when he does it.

Cannot sing to save her own life. She was long ashamed of it too, but Don truly doesn't care whether or not she can sing. Due to this, she slowly regained the confidence to sing her heart out again. Anyone who judges or dares to wish for her to shut up will be met with a very angry Don.

Arabella:

She can do no wrong. No, seriously, she's far too sweet to even attempt the kind of bs Aran pulls on a regular basis. Unfortunately, this also means she's gotten bullied a few times as other kids think she's an easy target, especially considering she's chunky and is likely on the spectrum. When Aran had to try and teach her to defend herself, she questioned why she couldn't be friends with them instead.

People make jokes Joe is the baby of the WVBA, because, y'know, his record, but it's really Arabella. Literally everyone has adopted her. If she ever needs help with anything, there's always someone around to help her. Homework? Hondo, Soda, and even Macho can all help. Friendship advice? Disco is literally the extrovert. If she gets bullied? Well, God help the school board cause everybody's showing up. It's hard to not spoil her cause she's such a good kid.

There's a good chance she could be an engineer when she grows up. She comes up with the most creative, and sometimes simple, ways to solve an issue. Her and Aran had to use bunk beds for a while, but nobody really told them how to properly bunk the beds, so Arabella dug into the closet and grabbed a couple of hangers that they could break and use. Surprisingly, they worked really well. Aran's pride shows when he tells this story.

She loves to color in her free time. She has a whole drawer's worth of coloring books and coloring supplies. When she's done, she often gifts the boxers her work, which is also often themed based on what she thinks fits them. They cherish her work, often framing it and hanging it around their apartments. Some of her work is even on display around the gym they train at. She mostly uses crayons and coloring pencils, but she's been learning to use markers as well. She loves the alcohol markers.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 4: Under The Heart Tree]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to give a heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who has fallen in love with this series!!! I read (and go back to reread) every single comment, reblog, tag, and message I receive, and they mean the absolute world to me. I truly don’t have words to express how appreciative I am of you all. With the end of Chapter 4, this series is officially halfway over; there will be 8 chapters total. I hope you continue to enjoy it. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, witchcraft, a wild Aegon appears, drama, pregnancy, a tiny bit of sexual content, mentions of death and violence (per usual), cryptic Helaena prophesies, Sir Criston being a supportive stepdad, found family feels, one (1) still jealous boi, more drama, lots of shouting, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“What do you need?” Aemond asks—his voice tender, the back of his hand testing the heat of your cheeks—and you tell him. He gathers everything: foxglove, sorrel, mint leaves, sticks of cinnamon, snakeskin, bloodstone, clear quartz, a blue candle, black tar rum, blood from a living bull. He does this swiftly and without any hesitation. He knows that only you have the power necessary for a cure.

In the dead of night, the prince half-carries you to the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. You try to grind the dry ingredients into dust with the mortar and pestle, but your hands are weak and trembling. Aemond takes the tools from you and finishes himself. He sets the candle on a gnarled, ancient root and sparks it to life with the dagger and flint your mother gave you before you left Bear Island. Then he pours the dust into a pitcher and slowly mixes in the rum and the bull’s blood. The candlelight dances on his face: shadow, light, shadow again. All the while, here where the Old Gods can hear you, you chant this over and over: “Mend the bones, fill the veins, stitch the flesh until it’s whole again.”

Aemond grimaces as he stirs the contents of the pitcher with the dagger blade. “You don’t have to drink this or paint it on your bedroom walls or something, do you?”

You smirk wanly. “Not quite.” And that’s fortunate, because you haven’t been able to drink anything in days.

Back in the Red Keep, the servants to fill your bathtub with water so hot it clouds the room with steam. Once they’re gone, Aemond helps you into the tub and then adds the pitcher’s crimson brew. You steep in a shimmering, blood-red sea and feel the sickness sweat out of you: the nausea, the tremors, the pain, the repulsive bone-deep weakness. Aemond perches on the rim of the tub and braids your hair to keep it tucked neatly away, singing softly in High Valyrian, words you haven’t learned yet.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur in the dreamlike haze of blood and heat and relief, nearly asleep. Your cramped muscles have unraveled like loose threads. The anxious, scratching demons that live in your skull are blessedly chained at the moment.

“You do,” he replies. When he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep recedes from you like a waning crescent moon. Sounds of the morning breathe in through the open windows: birdsong, faraway voices, clops of horse hooves, wind in the leaves. You stretch, tentatively measuring the strength of your body; there is no aching, no fragility, no absence of strength like smothered embers. Your spell worked. You are cured. The triumph swells through you, a dazzling sort of fever. And then when you open your eyes, you see him.

You yelp like a startled animal. “What—?!”

“Good morning,” Aegon says brightly. He’s cross-legged on top of your writing desk and brandishing a cup of wine in his right hand.

You sit upright with a groan. “You need to stop doing this.”

“I have things to say that you should hear.”

“What?” you reply crossly.

Aegon sips his wine. “My mother has formally invited Borros Baratheon and his daughters to court. She did it a while ago, actually, but she’s been keeping it quiet. She didn’t want to give Aemond too much time to brood, I think. They are arriving in one week. There is going to be a feast. Lots of dancing, lots of diplomacy, and—my personal favorite—lots of drinking.” He raises his cup in a mock toast.

“Fantastic,” you say flatly.

“The thing is, Jason Lannister heard about this little development all the way out in Casterly Rock, so now he’s sending his daughters to court too. And so are the Arryns, and the Starks, and the Tullys and Tyrells, and Greyjoys too, if they can find anyone who counts as a lady. Maybe even the Westerlings and Swyfts and Swanns, you know…just in case they can pull an upset.” He takes another swig of wine. “It’ll be just like a horse market, except that all the horses walk on two legs and wear dresses.”

“One week…” Everything in you sinks. I knew this was coming, of course I did…but does it have to happen so fucking soon? Then again, maybe any time would feel too soon, months or years or decades. Maybe eternity with Aemond wouldn’t be long enough.

“No matter which horse wins, the result will be the same,” Aegon continues. “An engagement will be announced and my brother will soon wed in the Great Hall and set about the glorious task of producing heirs.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought you might benefit from having the opportunity to prepare yourself. To devise an exit strategy. To…” He considers this next word carefully. “Cope.”

“Oh,” you realize, staring at him. You’ve never been able to get a handle on Aegon Targaryen. He’s not attentive to Helaena—she gets companionship from Aemond, from Alicent, from Otto, from you, but not from her husband—yet to your knowledge he’s never been cruel to her either. He does not ridicule her many peculiarities. He does not criticize her. On the rare occasion that he shares her bed, you overhear no sounds of mistreatment, no weeping or shouting or coercion. Aegon never leaves marks of violence on his wife, which is more than you can say for your own father. He neglects his duties, but he does not rebel against them. He’s done horrible things, surely, blatantly; and yet somehow he does not strike you as a particularly horrible person. “You’re not here to torment me. You’re trying to be helpful.”

Aegon smiles, but there’s very little humor in it. “You can keep that to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He hops down to the floor, guzzles the last of his wine, and leaves the empty cup on your dresser before vanishing through the doorway like a ghost.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gardens are buzzing with bees and gossip. You sit in the midst of a stiflingly mundane tea party and try to remain present enough to smile and nod at the correct moments. You wring your pendent—moonstone gem, silver chain—as Helaena eats lemon cakes beside you, humming contently. She is technically the host of this gathering. It’s meant as a welcome to the noblewomen who have already begun to arrive at court, an opportunity for them to mingle and sample the luxuries of King’s Landing and prove themselves as future wives and mothers. So far, all they’ve proven themselves as is vapid and shallow and frustrating; although perhaps you only feel that way because one of them might be destined to marry the man you love. Aemond hasn’t mentioned the feast to you yet. He never mentions anything related to his impending marriage to some other woman. You’re afraid to bring it up. You’re afraid to break the euphoria you’ve been living in with him like a spell.

As your attention wanders, you notice a spot of blood on the sleeve of your dress. Before the tea party, you and Helaena had been watching Aemond and Sir Criston spar in the courtyard. That particular exchange had been bloodless, but then Ivar Kellington had broken the nose of some hulking Arryn man deluded enough to challenge him. The droplets had sprayed into the crowd like burgundy rain. The match lasted about twelve seconds.

Look at me, having some illustrious gilded blood after all. Ha ha ha.

Across the table, several noblewomen have veered into a covert discussion of one of King’s Landing’s greatest scandals: the indiscretions of Prince Aegon. You can’t catch every word, but you can catch enough of them. Which means Helaena can too.

“A handmaiden…that’s what I heard…yes, I know…what an embarrassment…well you can’t give them all moon tea, now can you?”

You glare at them—a Tyrell girl, you observe now, and a Lannister and a Tully—but they continue their prattling. Helaena rises from her chair and hurries off into the foliage with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Hey,” you begin, but still the ladies take no notice.

“Little blond children all over the city…more brothels than you could…and the fighting pits…”

“Hey,” you say again, leaning over the table. Now they look at you. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?!” cries the Tyrell.

“How dare you!” says the Lannister.

The Tully blubbers: “It’s not like she understands anyway—”

“She does understand.” Your voice is fierce and black and low. “She understands everything. She is your future queen and you’ve upset her with your stupidity. She’s too kind to tell you that to your faces, to make you pay for it. Her kindness is chronic and all-consuming. But I suffer from no such affliction.”

“You seem to suddenly think very highly of your station,” the Tyrell notes. “I wonder what has instilled such confidence in you, Lady Mormont.”

“Yes,” says the Lannister. “Has your family recently acquired some new lands…or titles…or armies…or anything?’

“No.” The Tyrell grins viciously. “They still just have poor little Bear Island. I wouldn’t even be able to find it on a map.”

“Perhaps that isn’t something to brag about,” you say, and storm away from the tea party before she can puzzle out what you mean. You can feel their narrowed eyes following you, cold and conspiratorial.

You find Helaena by a towering butterfly bush. Winged insects in a hundred different colors swoop around her like snowflakes. Silent tears stream down her ruddy face.

“Helaena…” You move to comfort her, then think better of it. She can be very particular about being touched. “I’m so sorry,” you offer, not knowing what else to say. It’s not like the girls were lying. Their words were terrible, and they should not have been said in earshot of Helaena; but they were true.

“Dragons do not speak our language,” Helaena says haltingly, deliberately. A sapphire-blue butterfly lands on her outstretched hand. “But still, they understand. To think they don’t is a mistake.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“They are not stone. They feel as deeply as we do.”

“Yes,” you say again. She means herself, of course; woven in the womb to speak differently, to think differently, to be so irretrievably different. And yet you find every thread of her wonderous.

She opens her arms wide. For a moment, you don’t understand what she wants; and then you embrace her. She clutches you tightly, digging her fingernails into your shoulder blades, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her tears there, hot and flowing freely.

“It’s alright,” you soothe. “Everything’s okay. You are so loved. You are so blameless.”

“I want to help you,” she says softly between sobs.

“Help me…? Help me with what, Helaena…?”

“I want to help you,” she repeats; and then she plods off, swiping tears from her eyes with both hands, still surrounded by a blizzard of butterflies.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to talk to you about something,” Aemond says.

You are sitting together under a juniper tree on Bearstone with a picnic you’ve assembled: breads, cheeses, cherry and apricot jams, glossy red apples, honey cakes, wine for him, pomegranate juice for you. The kitchen staff had shot you sideways glances as you plucked each item from their cupboards. They know you’re Helaena’s lady-in-waiting, but they also know that you’ve been spotted socializing with the royal family with increasing frequency. There are whispers, and there are rumors, but if Alicent and Otto Hightower are aware of them they haven’t mentioned anything to you. Perhaps they feel it’s not even worth mentioning. Perhaps they expect the problem to be imminently remedied by one of those gorgeous, wealthy, well-connected women sauntering around the Red Keep.

“Okay.” You steel yourself for what comes next. You’ve known this was coming since the very beginning, since your arrival in King’s Landing, since before he ever touched you; Aemond Targaryen must marry, and he must marry well. Your hand settles protectively, instinctively over your belly, where your child lives unbeknownst to the rest of the world. You will be showing within a few months. What happens next will not only affect you. The prince’s affection for you is such that you now trust him not to leave you abandoned, adrift…but which path will he choose for you? He could give some lord a generous reward in exchange for marrying and providing for you…although given his territorial nature, this seems unlikely. He could send you back to Bear Island. He could send you to Dorne, where he counts the maesters among his few true friends. He could send you anywhere. He could set up a small household in the Crownlands somewhere, visit you a few times a year, know his child only as a passing thought. Regardless, you will lose him, whether in part or in whole; regardless, he will drain away from you like spilled blood.

Aemond says: “I think we should marry as soon as possible.”

Your mouth falls open. The apple you’ve been holding rolls out of your grasp. “You can’t marry me.”

“Why? You don’t consent?”

“No, I…” You shake your head, staring at him, stunned. You can’t find your words. “I…I’m a Mormont.”

He smiles. “I am aware of this, Moonstone.”

“Then surely you are also aware that there are currently about fifty highly-esteemed noblewomen in King’s Landing prepared to fight to the death for a chance to marry you. And that Otto Hightower and your mother are expecting a prompt betrothal to one of them.”

“I won’t do it,” he says calmly.

“You have to.” It pains you to say it, it flays you alive to say it, but it’s true. “I know that. I’ve always known it.”

“I have met my match in you. I will have no other. And my child must be legitimate.”

“They won’t allow it, they’ve planned this for years, they need this marriage—”

“Then Daeron can do it,” Aemond says. “There is one more son of King Viserys, is there not?” Daeron is younger than Aemond. He’s been serving Lord Ormund Hightower as a squire in Oldtown since he was twelve. You’ve heard that he’s a sweet boy, a compliant boy, more humble than either of his brothers. But he won’t be ready to marry for another few years. Aemond peers out over the ocean, meditative, melancholy. “I have already given enough to this family.” His eye, he means; his eye and his dragon and his swordsmanship and his fierce, efficient loyalty. “They will not take you from me too.”

You watch him, the wheels in your mind whirling. Is it possible? Is it really? When he turns back to you, he is at once himself again, or at least the way he is with you: kind, gentle, alight.

“What do you think, Moonstone?” Perhaps he’s nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“I think that there is nothing I want more than to be bound to you in every way possible.”

“You must truly consider it,” he warns. “If you are my wife, you are inextricably linked to our side in what comes after. You must fully understand what you are entering into. Nothing can stop me from having you except your own will. If you have rethought your allegiances, or if you cannot bear to face the bloodshed…I can send you somewhere safe. I can make you disappear.”

What comes after. War, he means; the war of succession that will almost certainly follow the ailing King Viserys’ death, whether in a week or a month or a year. On one side will be Rhaenyra and Daemon. On the other will be Alicent’s children. You know exactly where you’ll be standing. “I understand, and I consent. I will shy away from no battles.”

Aemond closes the space between you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly, deeply, sending dragonfire heat spiraling down to every piece of you: nerves, arteries, bones, heart.

“So you aren’t bored of me yet,” you tease, climbing into his lap, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. Your freshly renewed body fits with his perfectly, effortlessly, like the black of night around the stars.

“Regrettably, I am not even the least bit bored of you.”

“I hope I don’t get you killed.”

“I’m sure you’d have a spell to fix that.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, grinning, greedy. You respond eagerly, melding into his rhythm. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heartbeat races. The ocean wind is strong and tearing, the grass beneath your knees soft.

“Hm. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” your betrothed murmurs, his palms pressed into the small of your back, pulling you in closer.

“Me too.”

“And you’re hungry again.”

“Starving,” you amend, grinding your hips against his, turning his face away with your hand so you can bite the soft white skin of his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. His right eye is dazed, rapt, lost in you like a labyrinth; his sapphire glistens like sunbeams reflected off the crests of waves. You guide his hands beneath your dress so he can feel how wet you are. And he whispers slyly as he helps free you from all those cumbersome layers of fabric: “I told you you’d always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has studied the marriage rituals of the North. He knows them almost as well as you do. And so what must happen next is clear.

He comes to collect you from your room when the moon is high and the rest of the Red Keep dreaming. He looks the same as he always does—dressed in black, hair long and flowing, stoic and unsmiling until he sees you—and there are no special ornaments for you either. Weddings witnessed by the Old Gods are not strewn with guests or festivities or music or gold. They are vestiges of long, dark, cold winters when survival itself was a triumph. They are bare; they require only the meeting of two honest souls. And a heart tree.

Aemond grazes a thumb across your cheekbone, marveling at you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” And you are: completely, absolutely, with every drop of blood in your veins.

He takes your hand in his. He leads you from the room. And then, on the other side of the door, you discover Helaena. Both you and Aemond halt mid-step.

“Can I come too?” Helaena asks timidly. Moonlight glows on her angelic face. “I would like to be there. I would like to see you happy. Someone should be happy…if not me and Aegon, if not Mother and Sir Criston, if not the king…then at the very least you two should be.”

“Helaena…” Your words cut off, choked by emotion. You reach for her. She burrows into your arms with no reluctance at all. “Of course, my love,” you say, holding her. Aemond gazes at you, smiling faintly, immeasurably proud. “Of course. You are always, always welcome.”

In the godswood, under the cold fire of infinite constellations, the three of you arrive at the heart tree. You carry no torches to attract the attention of others. In the darkness, there is no discerning the color of the grass or the bark or the leaves. All the world is a murky, placid indigo; all the world is blind to arbitrary mortal designations of good and evil.

“There’s one thing I should mention,” Aemond says. “I have arranged for us to have a witness. I know they aren’t necessary in the North—the Old Gods themselves are the witnesses, seeing through the heart tree like a window—but I thought it would be wise for us to have someone of widely-regarded integrity to confirm that this marriage occurred. There can be no disputing it later.”

This is sensible. Your palm skates over your belly before you remember to stop yourself; you must get into the habit of giving away no clues of your pregnancy…until your marriage is public, at least. “But who…?”

Sir Criston Cole trudges into the godswood in full armor. “Alright Aemond, you better not be forcing me to help you catch and cut open a bull again, I’ve still got the bruises from last time, good gods…” He stops dead when he sees you. “Oh. So this has been the cause of your distraction.”

“Sir Criston, Lady Mormont and I are to marry.”

Sir Criston’s eyes are wide and blinking. “…Marry…?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. “Immediately.”

“What? Where…?”

“Here.” He turns to the heart tree in explanation.

Sir Criston stares blankly at the three of you, then shakes off his paralysis. “Oh no. No no no. Your mother would murder me.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Aemond…” Sir Criston begins, petrified.

“I am asking you to serve as a witness because of the love you bear for me and my family,” the prince says. “And I am asking you to keep this from my mother and grandfather. Not for long, mind you. Just until the feast has passed and the nobles have returned home to their own castles. Then I will inform my family in private, and they can soften the blow by offering Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever house they decide they like best. This is not treason, Sir Criston. It is a mark of the profound trust I have in you.”

“Oh gods. Gods help me.” Sir Criston covers his face with his hands and stays that way for what feels like a very long time. Fireflies illuminate the cool night air like stars. Several land on the sleeves of Helaena’s gown and shine there like jewels. “Okay,” Sir Criston agrees at last. “I’ll do it, Aemond. I’ll do it for you.”

The prince embraces the lowborn knight, perhaps the best swordsman in the realm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father.”

“I know.” Sir Criston’s mouth quivers. His dark eyes are slick. “Now let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

You and Aemond join hands under the rustling leaves of the heart tree. Sir Criston stands beside the prince; Helaena stays near you. There is a distant rumbling of thunder. Sparce raindrops begin to fall. Aemond doesn’t know the vows used in a Northern wedding, you realize, and you can’t remember them well from the marriage ceremonies you attended as a child; from what you can recall, they are generic, plain, ‘who comes to take this woman?’ and that sort of thing.

“What should we say, wife?” the prince asks you, smiling, starlight in his eye. Suddenly, you are alone with him here in the godswood. You are the last people in Westeros, in the entire world. Winter has come and gone and left nothing but two ghosts doomed to dwell together here for eternity.

You speak without first thinking of what to say. The words flow through you like a river. “In the sight of gods and men, I bind myself to you. I will run from no battles, I will crave no flesh but yours, I will put no cause before your own. I pledge to you any strengths that I possess and I vow to slay my weaknesses. I am yours, body and soul. Use me as you will, but only out of love.”

Aemond repeats these words, and then he kisses you. Helaena claps; Sir Criston bows his head to hide a small, sincere smile. Rain falls as you all hurry back inside the Red Keep.

For the very first time, Aemond takes you to his own bed, to the room where you cast the spell of protection that saved him in the joust. There are still remnants of dust on the floor; he could not bring himself to erase you. As your clothes fall away, flashes of lightning reveal every line and birthmark and scar. There is no shyness. You know every stitch of each other already. You make love with gentle, exquisite slowness as the storm builds outside: his fingers woven through yours, his thrusts deep, his whispered promises heavy with truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something for you,” your husband says as you stand together by the fireplace in the privacy of Helaena’s chambers. In the flames, dry wood pops and crackles. “For the feast.”

“We are so well matched you will not believe it,” you reply. “I have something for you too.”

Helaena brings it over: a tunic that you have been embroidering together for days. It is black—Aemond’s preferred color—but decorated with a dragon of silver thread. The beast winds around the wearer’s back and waist and arms, breathing cool glistening fire.

“It’s supposed to look like Vhagar,” you explain. “But…well…I’m not quite as good at embroidery as Helaena is, so the face is a little…and the wings…”

“It’s perfect,” Aemond says, beaming. And then again: “It’s perfect!” He yanks off his plain black tunic and replaces it with the one you’ve gifted him. “Now I will appear especially dashing for all my prospective wives.”

Helaena giggles, blushing a cheerful pink. She is elated to be in on a joke, to have been trusted with information of such consequence. She points at the silver dragon. “Be cautious with her. She will not always listen.”

“Who, Vhagar?” Aemond asks. “She listens well enough. I’ve tamed her. I’m good at taming all manner of beasts…dragons…bulls…bears…” He grabs you by the waist and draws you to him, kissing the side of your face over and over until you squeal and push him away, laughing. “As for my gift…” He calls for the servants and they enter with a gown. They hand it to the prince, casting you a wary glance, and then disappear again. The gown is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The color is subtle, shimmering, opalescent, almost…

“It’s…it’s…”

“Moonstone,” Aemond says. He gives it to you. The fabric flows like water. “I commissioned it the day after the joust. No one else will have anything like it. I’ll be able to spot you anywhere in the room.”

“I doubt you’ll have time to notice me. There will be a plethora of views to enjoy.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’ll be the best.”

He leaves to accompany Alicent as she enters the feast while you and Helaena finish getting ready. Helaena’s gown is a vivid greenish-blue, and the stones in her jewelry are turquoise. There are teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from your ears and a string of them around your left wrist, gifts from the princess. As always, your moonstone pendant hangs from your neck. You are dressed ostentatiously for a mere lady-in-waiting, particularly one from as modest a house as your own. People may wonder about that. You smile to yourself. They won’t have to wonder long.

The Great Hall is radiant with music and conversation and candlelight. The most celebrated houses of Westeros mingle: the men boasting about their lands and their swords (which hang at their belts in scabbards of leather or metal), the women boasting about their wombs, the children boasting about their enviable betrothals. Those who don’t yet have betrothals to boast about are hoping to procure one tonight. No one pays much attention to you—the daughter of an important house, the widow of an unimportant man—unless it is to compliment your gown. You and Helaena dance together with flushed faces, giggling and twirling until you trip and fall into each other’s waiting arms. Meanwhile, Aemond—who, contrary to you, is having a great deal of attention paid to him—dutifully navigates the hall to pay his respects to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Starks, on and on down the ladder. He speaks to each of the families, nodding politely to the clamoring, bejeweled daughters, before moving on to the next. He does this as quickly as he can so he can get it over with. He has never been at ease with strangers. He has never found it simple to trust them. A part of him will always be that overlooked, scorned second son, reserved by nature, suspicious by necessity; it’s just that he sometimes forgets this when he’s with you. No matter where he goes in the room, he keeps you on his good side. He watches you, he covets you.

There is one guest, and only one, who notices you and asks for a dance. Cregan Stark is young and handsome next to the other lords, nearly your same age, and you had met years before as children. He has a natural, kind charisma. He asks you about your family back on Bear Island as he carries you around the floor like a strong wind, tells you about Winterfell, offers his condolences for the loss of your mother. He doesn’t even think to mention your late husband. It is a commiseration between two Northerners in a distant land; it is a comfort to you both. As soon as Cregan Stark drops your hand and departs to awe some other lady, Aemond appears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks good-naturedly as he circles you, gliding his palm nonchalantly over your waist, your wrists, the small of your back. Your skin responds to him, goosebumps rising, lust kicking up like embers in a stirred fire.

“Diplomacy,” you reply primly.

“Hm. Perhaps we should send you to negotiate treaties.”

“I am very persuasive.”

“Yes, I know.” And he takes your hand to spin you around just once before leaving to pretend to consider marrying some other woman.

When Helaena is whisked away to dance with Otto Hightower, you pour yourself a cup of pomegranate juice and nurse it as you stand by the wall, alone. The noblewomen from the tea party toss you venomous sneers. You ignore them. You have everything they could ever want and more. Your hand settles briefly, forgetfully on your belly, and then you snatch it away.

Aegon, very intoxicated, wobbles over to you and props his back against the wall so he can keep his balance. “Hello,” he slurs.

“Hello.”

“I thought you might like to disparage the candidates with me,” he says, then gestures with his wine cup. “Look at that Floris Baratheon. Ears like a fucking donkey.”

You chuckle, hiding your face guiltily behind your own cup. “Shh. She’s not so bad.”

“You seem to be handling this remarkably well. Perhaps my brother has bored you, perhaps you have had your fill of him. Or perhaps you aren’t so heartbroken because he’s planning to keep you around as his mistress. I wouldn’t have guessed that to be his style, but upon second thought, you have thoroughly corrupted him. In that case, he should choose the donkey for sure. Someone stupid and docile. You can have rooms on opposite ends of the Red Keep and there will be no need for you to claw each other’s eyes out.”

“I’m not an animal, Prince Aegon.”

“You’re a Mormont. That’s hardly better.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Aegon leans into you, unsteady but not purposefully intrusive. “You’re worth more than all of them put together. I’m sorry that’s not what matters.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“We are natural allies,” he says, and clinks his cup against yours in a toast. Fortunately, he is too drunk to notice that you’re avoiding wine this evening. That would certainly raise some suspicions. “I know your secret, and you know mine.”

“What…?” And then you understand. Your secret is your relationship with Aemond, that part is easy. Aegon’s secret is a bit more obscure. What perhaps no one else knows is that there is more to him than brash words and wicked deeds and flippant, lazy recklessness. That he loves his family. That—somewhere way down deep, unspoken but alive—he cares.

Aegon shoves himself away from the wall and gives you a parting bow, clumsy and lurching. “Enjoy your evening as best you can. I’m going to go piss on the floor.”

“Cheers,” you reply. He staggers away, leaving you alone again.

As the Great Hall whirls around you like a galaxy, you bask in the warm glow of this moment, this liminal space like a doorway. There will be grumbles, surely, but what you and Aemond have forged cannot be undone. No one can take away your marriage. No one can take away your child. You knew unconditional love once, long ago on Bear Island, safe in your mother’s arms; now you have it again. You belong somewhere again. You took one hell of a detour, but now you are home.

You don’t feel him enter the hall, because he’s not Aemond Targaryen. He doesn’t change the room at all. You only turn because you hear rising chatter, and then elated shouts, and then the thunder of men’s handshakes and pounds on the back. You wonder who is being congratulated, who is being cheered like a soldier returning from war. When you see him, your cup drops out of your hand. Pomegranate juice floods across the floor like blood. He sees you, rushes to you; and it's the strangest thing, because it all seems to be happening very slowly, but not slowly enough for you to flee. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run but you can’t. You can’t even speak. You can’t even scream.

He is battered and bruised and thinner—harsher—than you remember, but it’s him. His name rings through the hall in a hundred different voices.

“Axel Hightower, back from the dead!”

“He survived the shipwreck! Praise the gods!”

“And now he’s come to surprise his wife!”

You are powerless to stop his approach. You are chained in place by horror. All around you, the life you thought you’d have is crumbling into dust. It’s running out of your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

“Aww, look, the poor thing is in shock! She can’t believe it!” some idiot sighs romantically. There are applause and whistles. On the periphery of your vision, you see Aegon backing away as far as he can from the dance floor. His head whips around, searching for someone.

Axel grips your arm, pulls you into him, and kisses you. It feels like being invaded. It feels like that very first night with him when he—not cruelly, no, but with a dreadful, willing ignorance—forced his way inside you until it felt like you were being sawed in half. You flinch violently; every muscle, every nerve screams to be away from him. You try to push Axel off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Why would he? He owns you, like a castle or a horse. He can do whatever he likes to you. The notion of you having desires to the contrary would never even cross his mind. There are tears bleeding down your cheeks: for you, for your child, for the future whose throat has just been slit in this room. It feels like you’re dying. You wish you were.

There is the shrill whisper of a blade being torn from its scabbard. All the guests fall silent. Axel takes a step back from you, his fingers still clamped around your forearm. Aemond holds the point of his sword to Axel’s throat. Several crimson beads drip from where the steel has pierced the paper-thin surface layer of skin. Aemond’s voice is dark, like nightfall, like onyx. His eye is blazing blue, cold fire. “Remove your hands from her, or you will lose them.”

Axel is too mystified to be outraged. He releases you. You can breathe again. “She is my wife by law.”

“She carries my child!” Aemond’s words ricochet off the walls like shattered glass. The Great Hall boils over with gasps and scandalized jabbering. “And we married under the heart tree. She is mine.”

“You what?!” Aegon blurts out.

“You what?!” Otto Hightower roars.

“Sir Criston?” Aemond calls, summoning him.

Sir Criston Cole steps out of the rabble. “It’s true,” he says. He hides his reddening face from Queen Alicent. “I witnessed it. They are wed.”

“This is an outrage!” Axel bellows, then looks to the crowd for their verdict.

“Bigamy!” someone cries out. A chorus joins them, a sea of jilted noble families who can only benefit from Axel carting you back to Oldtown.

“Whore! Whore!”

“Poor Axel Hightower escapes from the jaws of death to find this?!”

“A mortal sin!”

“Go back to your true husband!”

“Take her to the dungeons!”

Aemond steps in front of you, twirling his sword once, twice, again. “And who would like to be the first to try?”

No one moves to detain you, but the crowd’s sentiment is unmistakable, rabid. The jeers continue to rain down on you: bigamist, sinner, whore. And you can’t even decry them as slander, because they’re true. Otto Hightower is clutching the back of a chair like he might fall over without it. Alicent’s eyes are pooling with stunned, furious tears. Helaena sinks to the floor, covering her ears with both hands. After taking a moment to consider it, Sir Criston moves to stand beside Aemond and draws his own sword.

Ideas flit through Aemond’s mind like arrows. He catches one of them. As Sir Criston watches the crowd, Aemond turns back to you and touches your face with his free hand. “Say you want a trial by combat.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I can beat any man here besides Sir Criston and he wouldn’t fight me, just say it.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” you announce for all the court to witness.

“No she doesn’t!” Otto shouts, trying to drown you out.

“She does,” Aemond insists, grinning madly. “And I will be her champion.”

“Then I shall name my own!” Axel says. Already the court is chattering that there is no great cowardice in this; he is still recovering from his ordeal, far from his physical peak, and Prince Aemond is one of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. Axel scans the Great Hall for someone, anyone, who could challenge him. Sir Criston could probably best Aemond, but he would never agree to try. His allegiances to both Alicent and Aemond are too great. Who else could there be? Who else could there possibly be?

And then Axel’s gaze lands on him. When Aemond said he could beat any man here, he wasn’t wrong. The giant the court calls Killington hardly counts as a man at all. He’s not a man; he’s a monster. And he’s been thirsty for Aemond’s blood for years. He towers over anyone else in the room; he outweighs them by double. He steps forward, answering a question that has not yet been asked.

Axel’s face splits into a grin. His eyes glint like mirrors, like blades. “I choose Ivar Kellington.”

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