#I’m so happy for them and for anyone else who has found true love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

egglain · 7 months ago

Note

HIIIII!! omg I LOved ur Letters to Santa!!! Also all of the dickcember prompts are so good??? Thoughts on day 12 Partridge in a Pear Tree with sukuna (or honestly ANYONE) and reader has a gift for him...reader has been wearing a cute little plug all day getting ready to surprise him!!

This was just a blurb so if you had smth else in mind I'D STILL LOVVE

HAVE SUCH AN AMAZING DAY!!

… And A Partridge In A Pear Tree!

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Modern! Sukuna x GN! reader Content: dickcember day 12 - anal, unshaven, gift-giving; fluff & smut, belly bulging, first times

thank you so much for this request! if there’s a prompt + character you want to see next, requests are open! send an ask :)

Your boyfriend, Sukuna, was hard to surprise.

Not in the he has everything way, like Gojo. No, Sukuna was not very fixated on material things. Not in the don’t know what to get him way either, though that was true.

Sukuna just wasn’t prone to feeling surprise.

He was like a bear trap; open, constantly lying in wait for something to snap at. This spring-trap way of living meant it was nearly impossible to ever catch him off-guard.

But today, you were going to do it.

You were going to surprise him.

It was the winter season, which meant many things for couples around the globe. Arguably the most important, it was the season of gift-giving; of showing your loved ones just how much they meant to you.

You and Sukuna had been going out for almost a year now– molded to each other's routines, intimately familiar with how your lives fit together.

It was December 12th; not a particularly special day on the calendar by any means.

Which is why it was the perfect date for a sneak attack.

On the bus home, you couldn’t help but fidget next to your big boyfriend.

It was a beautiful day outside. Outside the big windows, bright skies sprinkled perfect little snowflakes onto the earth, painting the world in pristine white. All was still; much of the city was tucked away at home, as you soon would be. As you were supposed to be– that was, if you didn’t have to go shopping with your burly boyfriend for his coworkers.

You didn’t mind it though. Wrapping a wool-clad arm around Sukuna’s big one, leaning your head on his shoulder, you felt peaceful just the same.

“What are we looking for again?”

“Airbrush paints.” Your big boyfriend looked down at you, lips quirking into a soft grin. “Forget already? Why’d I bring you along again?”

“‘Cause you love me.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the scrunch of his nose. “Yeah, yeah. Deny it all you want but I know you, Ryomen. Who’s the paint for anyways?”

“Suguru. He wants to design a piece for his boyfriend but the guy’s terrified of needles. They compromised on airbrushing shit on, I guess.”

You hummed. It sounded nice to share a love that understood– that didn’t demand or compromise, but that found a third way. One where no one got hurt.

“And what’re you getting for Choso?”

“I have to get something for him?”

You elbowed Sukuna between the ribs, and the pretty noise he made– the bark of a laugh– made it worth it.

“Fuck– you’re a bony little shit, y’know that?” Sukuna looked down at you with amusement, shaking his head.

Few would mess with a guy like him. Easily a head and a half taller than you, wide as a fucking door, tattooed from head to toe; he looked like a criminal. And quite frankly, he acted the part, too.

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Yeah, whatever. I got somethin’ for Kamo months ago.”

“Piercing stuff?”

“Oh– no. Those ancestry tracking kits that steal your DNA for nefarious purposes. He wants to take one.”

Weird gift, but whatever made him happy.

As much as Sukuna would never admit it, his coworkers were a lot more to him than just that. The guys at the shop had become a little family. Making them happy made your boyfriend happy.

So you let him drag you around town in search of the best, only stopping to subtly readjust a few times.

Your boyfriend– your thoughtful, lovely, intelligent boyfriend– had no clue what he was in for.

Beneath the warm layers of wool and fleece, you were dripping.

A fat metal plug, about 3 inches long, sat snug inside your ass. A pretty pink gem– the same soft colour as your boyfriend’s hair– was cozily nuzzled between the mounds of your ass.

You had never done this before.

Your tush was off-limits, as much as it pained Sukuna to see such a tight hole go to waste.

Your boyfriend was a creature of possession, of marking and territory and he was never satisfied until he was sure his claim was clear.

He had been yearning for a taste of your ass since you first took your pants off; desperate to fuck you open on his fat cock, to mold you to the shape of his dick, leave you so far gaped you could never erase his mark. He wanted to pump you full, watch his seed fill that hole before flipping you around and doing the same for your mouth, until you smelled and tasted like him all over.

But it was always a no.

Until today.

You were going to surprise your boyfriend.

After a long day of bus rides, shopping carts, and paint swatches, you finally kicked your snowy boots off.

“Gonna bathe,” Sukuna grunted, dropping the bags by the door.

You took off your coat, hanging it up before rubbing your frozen hands together. Fuck, it was frigid out.

Your boyfriend padded to the stairs, pausing on the second step. “You coming, or what?”

Heat flooded your navel, warming your core and sending delicious sparks to where you were full.

You rushed to catch up with him, letting Sukuna pull you upstairs to the bathroom. He made quick work of plugging the drain and turning on the hot water, even as you draped yourself over his back to kiss at his nape.

With a grunt, he stood, shaking you off as he removed his shirt unceremoniously.

Your cold fingers itched to feel on him; those plush pecs were always a hundred degrees, and nothing sounded better at the moment than two handfuls of tit and a nice defrosting.

A white shirt flew at you, whipping your side playfully.

“Don’t even fucking think about it, brat.”

You pouted.

He didn’t budge, keeping his distance as he dropped his sweats and boxers.

Even soft, he was huge.

Fuck.

The plug shifted minutely inside you as you clenched and unclenched around it.

Sukuna made a point of staying out of reach as he rummaged in the spacious bathroom for things to put in the tub– those fizzy balls, the sud-making stuff, the salt– you had trained him well. He put products on the lip of the tub, testing the temperature of the water on the inside of his wrist. All the while, he paid you no mind.

Well, two could play that game.

You slipped out of your shirt, making quick work of your underlayers, before sliding off your bottoms. Turned away from him, you were sure to make a little noise as you slid off your underwear, bent to show off the pretty gem between your cheeks.

It took one– two– three look-backs for the image to click in Sukuna’s head.

You had never seen him move faster.

Hands were on your flesh before you could process what was happening.

Knelt behind you, your boyfriend's hands pried your asscheeks apart, practically nosing at the plug inside you.

“Fuck.”

Your partner was by no means expressive or good with his words– but this?

You could hear a pin drop as he stared, flesh of your bottom heating under his intense gaze.

You snuck a look back, shaking your ass in his face just a little.

If Sukuna was any less hypnotized, he would’ve given you a nice spanking for being a tease.

But now, almost mouth to mouth with your sweet hole, he couldn’t do anything but breathe heavily through his nose.

If he didn’t focus on breathing, he was certain he’d pass away on the spot.

“You like?”

If his blown pupils weren’t enough of an indication, his cock– now half-mast and quickly filling– told you all you needed to know.

“Wanna take it out?”

Sukuna swallowed, throat like sandpaper as he nodded.

Thick fingers gripped at the polished edges of the metal plug, giving a slow tug.

You were tight.

As fuck.

As his fingers stilled, the plug slipped right back in, eliciting a little whine.

From who? Sukuna couldn’t tell.

“Harder, ‘kuna– you won’t break me.” You braced yourself on the marble counter, bent and arched.

With a more forceful tug, the plug slipped out all at once, leaving your pretty hole fluttering around nothing.

Wet warmth flooded your ass.

“Sukuna!”

You jumped, flinching forward to escape his tongue.

Big hot hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his face.

“Haven’t shaved… don’t do that–”

“Don’t care.” It was muffled, tongue working deep inside your tight hole.

Fingertips dug into the meat of your ass as he feasted, devouring the copious amount of sweet lubricant inside you.

Replacing it with his mark; his thick spit.

You groaned, head dropping onto the counter as your neglected front got wetter.

Just as quickly as it started, he was pulling away.

“Bath time?” You blinked, trying to still the spinning of your head as you looked back at your boyfriend.

Sukuna had never looked so fucked.

His cheeks were a vibrant rose, matching the flush of his dripping cock. A cock he was furiously fisting as he stood.

Sukuna’s blunt tip prodded at your hole, which graciously parted at the prospect of something fat to fill it right back up.

“Fuuuuuck.”

Sukuna rocked forward slowly, girthy cock stretching you deliciously. The ache shot through your body, nipples hardening and mouth parting at the feel.

A cry– high and whiny– escaped your big boyfriend’s throat.

You did it.

You finally broke him.

Plush arms wrapped snug around your waist as Sukuna draped himself over your back, fucking into your ass unforgivingly. He punched the air out of your lungs with each thrust, tip bullying your insides in a way that had you dripping all over the floor.

“Fuck– tight. So fucking tight.” Although it was pressed up against your ear, he was talking to himself, all growled nonsense. “Need this ass. Need to mark this fuckhole so fucking good.”

You pressed back against him, grinding on his veiny cock as he worked it deep in your tummy. One big hand smacked against the meat of your rump, prying open your cheeks to seat himself further inside.

With an iron grip on the fat of your bottom (one that was sure to leave finger-shaped bruises the next morning), he rammed into you. His leaking head prodded at your insides in a way that had your stomach bulging with each thrust– something he ran a possessive hand over, putting pressure on your lower abdomen.

Each hump had stars exploding behind closed eyelids, toes curling against the cold bathroom tile as he practically lifted you onto the counter with his forceful movements.

The coil between your legs wound, thighs tensing as Sukuna nibbled at your earlobe; you knew it was taking everything in him to not bear into your shoulder, to not draw blood.

“Gonna stuff you so fucking full.”

Whether it was the grunted way he said it or the way he ground deep inside, you were cumming. Your release, fucked out from between trembling thighs, splattered all over the white bathroom tile.

The way you bore down on him had Sukuna tumbling off the precipice right after you. The rocking of his pretty dick stuttered as thick milky cum flooded your hole. He fucked it into you shallowly, rubbing the tip of his cock over the smooth flesh of your tummy.

You had never felt so warm.

So much for freezing over.

Oh, fuck– the bath.

“Sukuna!”

Your boyfriend, pliant against your back, could only murmur praises into your neck as you squirmed.

“The water!”

“Fuck the bath.”

“You came inside– I gotta–”

“Don’t gotta do nothing. You’re perfect.”

In the end, with a little wrangling and some praise, you managed to wrestle Ryomen Sukuna into the bath.

Big hands massaged the tense muscle of your shoulders, then down your arms, as warm bubblegum pink water pooled around your bodies. Resting back onto his firm chest, you allowed your eyes to shut, groaning happily as he worked out a knot with practiced fingertips.

Gentle lips pressed a feather-soft kiss to the top of your head, then the side of your neck.

“Thank you…”

It was soft, barely there– but in the otherwise silent bathroom, it was clear as day.

“I love you.”

Your boyfriend was hard to surprise.

But he always managed to surprise you.

banners by @strangergraphics!

#dickcember2024 #lain's dickcember #⤷ 𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔫’𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔰 ⋆.˚#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x gn!reader

335 notes · View notes

waffledforbreakfast · 11 months ago

Text

Sending Love Letters - [MUTI! BLLK X F!READER]

(SEPARATE) pt2

Staring: ness, otoya, karasu, Reo

pt1: rin, sae, shidou, niko, kaiser

[ BLLK Scenario Masterlist ]

TW: heavy ooc, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad formatting, cringe, scuff, etc.

>Ness

[btw i imagine kaiser and ness as good friends (like they were pre-bllk) ]

Ness sat with Kaiser and his family at the table, sorting through Kaiser’s many love letters

“Wow Michael, this must be a new record” Kaiser’s mother laughed “Who knew so many people had bad taste?”

Kaiser glared at his mother “Least we know I didn’t get my pretty genetics from you.”

Ness held in a laugh as he sifted through the pile of love letters. Kaiser’s birthday was over the weekend, and today being Friday, all the fan-girls sent him mail.

“This one girl had sent me like 20…” Kaiser picked up a fat stack, all with the same name signed

“That’s dedication…” Ness stared in awe at the stack.

But he eventually snapped out of it and continued looking through the pile

“Oh hey, this one’s for you.” Kaiser pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope (from him just shoving it into his bag) “At least it has your name on it… did you send it?” he was hesitant to believe that someone liked Ness

“No I don't think so…” Ness took the letter and inspected it carefully, it was in fact his name written on it. “Lemme read it real quick…” his small smile indicating that he was actually very excited to have a letter sent to him

Kaiser gave him a side-eye before going back to counting his own, silently jealous that someone liked Ness and not him

Ness, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. “AHHHHHHHHH WHAT IF [Y/N] SENT IT TO ME!! AHDOIFHABWIEUFBI”

He was smiling like crazy, he knew well that the handwriting, signature, and writing style was yours, he was all to familiar with it

For good measure, he pulled out a piece of your English homework and compared the two (how he got your homework? Don’t ask)

It was definitely yours, he was sure. You did have 2 classes with kaiser that day (don’t ask about that either), and you walked past them 6 times in the hallway.

At this point Ness was quietly squealing, he was so excited that you liked him back!

Kaiser silently laughed at this, not quite understanding why Ness was so happy, but also knowing full well that he may or may not be slightly(??) obsessed with you, so he didn’t bother

Ness was then day-dreaming for the next several minutes, and would even blank out occasionally for the rest of the day

“For f#ck’s sake Ness, just write back to her already…” Kaiser was getting annoyed at the heart pupils in his eyes “I swear if you’re gonna be like this on my birthday-”

“OK OK SORRY!!” Ness apologize before slipping the letter away “I’ll do later” he promised himself that he’d make it perfect, just for you :3

>Otoya

“No thank you, I’m alright” Otoya gently pushed the girl off his chest, the girl looked up at him with confusion

Hiori and Karasu’s jaws dropped while Yukimiya just laughed, “See, told you. Pay up”

The two other boys grumbled as they pulled out a few coins “There’s no way he actually did that, wasn’t he making out with that girl just a few weeks ago?” Hiori questioned, it wasn’t like Otoya to reject a girl, if anything, he was usually the one making the first move. Something must be going on.

“I told you” Yukimiya collected the few coins “I swear there’s some other girl he likes, why else would he stop talking to the others?”

“Rejecting girls for another girl?” Karasu also found this really suspicious “Unlikely. That would imply that he actually isn’t a total ass. Which we know isn’t true.”

Otoya rolled his eyes “Who do you think I am? Also- if you’re gonna discuss your little ‘bets’, maybe don’t do it right in front of my locker.” he laughed, not answering their questions

Hiori and Karasu frowned, “cmon, tell ussss!!” Yukimiya nodded in agreement “I must say, I'm curious too. Who’s the lucky or… unlucky girl?”

Otoya scoffed “No one. I don’t like anyone.” he laughed “Do you really think I’d get attached to someone so easily? Only a fool would do that.”

As he said that, he opened his locker to grab his jacket, when an envelope fell out. It spun in the air before landing on the floor, face down with the signature showing.

“ ‘[Y/N]’, heart.” Karasu read, “Is that the girl?”

Otoya swiped the envelope up quickly, “You saw nothing.” he shoved it in his bag, pretending nothing happened

“[Y/N]? Do you like her!?!”

“Does she like you!?”

“Why is it signed with a heart!?”

“Is it a love letter!?”

The three boys bombarded Otoya with questions, to which he didn’t answer. “I dunno what you guys are talking about.” He laughed with a smile, but his heart was beating so fast. He was asking himself the same questions, “Does she like me? Do I like her? Is it a love letter? Why is it signed with a heart???”

“Wait [Y/N]? She’s in my chem class, I have a project with her.” Karasu remembered working on it with you

“Lucky bastard…” Otoya whispercursed with a smile under his breath, Hiori and Yuki gave him a side-eye, not knowing what he said

“Wait, doesn't she have a boyfriend-???” Karasu looked at him

“Does she?” Otoya internally panicked, there’s no way you were already taken by someone else. “That’s fine, I can work with that.” he shrugged it off

“Why would she send him a letter then?” Hiori questioned

Karasu laughed, “That was a trap, I just wanted to see if it really was her.” he gave a prideful huff “She is in my class though- I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

Otoya froze in playful betrayal, “I don’t like her. I swear”

Yuikimiya rolled his eyes “Right right.”

Otoya laughed before grabbing his jacket and bag “Whatever. I’m gonna go home now, cya tmr.”

“Make sure to read it!”

“Remember to write back!!”

“Bye lover-boy!!”

The three boys teased him about the newfound crush. Otoya only scoffed and smiled, before walking home, reading the letter on the way.

He looked around him to make sure no one was watching, before smiling like an idiot at the confession. “Hm. Knew she’d like me.” He felt a surge of pride, “Now i’m guaranteed to win her over.” He tucked the letter away, already thinking about what to write back.

>Karasu

[Adding on from First/Second Encounters, SchoolAU!w/Otoya, Hiori, and Yukimyia]

You and Karasu had been passing each other notes for quite a while now, sometimes in class, or just in the hallway, whenever, really.

The two of you even went out a few times, as friends(??) of course. Eventually making your own codes together as a fun pass-time

Karasu was just eating lunch with Otoya, Hirori, and Yukimiya when you stopped by and slid him an envelope before walking off.

“oOooo, your girlfriend just gave you something~~” Otoya teased, knowing well that he liked you

Karasu just laughed, “She’s not my girlfriend.” He picked the letter up and looked at it carefully

“Not yet.” Hiori added, “You’ve been trying to confess for weeks now, but you always chicken out.”

“Yea, it’s getting kinda depressing.” Yukimiya nodded

Karasu just rolled his eyes before going back to the letter written in code. He took a bit to decipher it, reading it word for word

“What does it say?? I literally can’t read that-” Otoya squinted at the paper

“I think that’s the point…” Hiori commented, before looking back at Karasu “Looks like we lost him…”

Karasu just sat there, smiling to himself, not hearing a single word the other’s said. He was much too caught up in the fact that you had basically confessed, he was worried he mis-read it. He looked over the words again, before tucking the letter away, and covered his stupid smile with his hand, but his whole face was red.

“The words may be hard to read, but his face sure isn’t” Yukimiya laughed at Karasu’s expression “I’m guessing she confessed?”

“What? No?” Karasu tried to play it off, but he really couldn’t stop smiling.

“Awwwww, such cute love birds.” Hiori teased, “When will your relationships be this innocent, Otoya?”

The fboy only shrugged

“Back to Karasu,” Yukimiya turned to him “What are you gonna write back?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Karasu stuffed a spoonful of crappy-cafeteria food in his mouth, still somehow smiling, “You’ll see though. If I’m lucky, the next time you guys meet her, I’ll get to introduce her as my girlfriend”

>Reo

“Reo, can we please take a break” Nagi whined

“Alright, we’re done anyway.” Reo took a sip of his water, finishing up their training.

The two of them packed up, bagging their things before a small envelope fell out of Reo’s duffle.

“Hey Reo, what’s that?” Nagi pointed at the slip of paper that had fallen in a small puddle, the corner now wet

Reo looked down on it before picking it up and shaking it lightly to get the water off “Looks like another love letter.” He tossed it in a bin with a shrug

“What if [Y/N] sent it?” Nagi said, knowing

Reo froze for a few seconds, “What if [Y/N] sent it-” He did a 180° and shifted through the trash for the letter

He felt slightly embarrassed to be digging through garbage, but whatever. He picked the letter back up and inspected it carefully, what if you really did send it?

“Wow, what a sight… the richest boy in school is digging his hands in the trash for some letter…” Nagi mentally judged him, but shrugged it off, used to Reo’s desperation by now

Reo carefully slipped the envelope in his pocket, and turned to leave. He used to read all the love letters he got, he’d be lying if he said they didn’t boost his ego. But ever since he started crushing on you, he couldn’t bring himself to, always imagining it was you who wrote to him (until Nagi told him he looks kinda desperate so he stopped reading them all together). But surely reading this one couldn’t hurt, right?

Once he got home, he went to his room immediately. His caretakers found this a bit strange, but Reo was acting weird ever since he mentioned you, so they didn’t bat an eye

He threw his bags down and put the envelope on his desk, tilting his light to face it. It was like he was dissecting an animal.

He sat down, and opened it carefully, making sure not to touch the still wet corner. He took a few seconds to admire the kuromi theme before reading the letter.

Reo tried to keep a straight face while reading it, but his heart was beating 100x faster than before. He had to take a moment to process after he read it.

There wasn’t even a way to be sure you were the one who sent it, what if he was freaking out over nothing? He looked again at the name signed, but it was muddled out from the water. Reo cursed himself for letting it drop into the puddle.

All he could see was the first letter, and it was in fact yours. But Reo knew better than to get ahead of himself, what if sent back a letter and it wasn’t you!?

He sprung out of his chair quickly and went to go look for his parents.

“Mom! Do we have any restoration technicians?” Reo barged into the room, unaware they were in the middle of a small meeting, he gave a quick apologetic bow to the guests in the room

“Reo honey, is it urgent?” Ms. Mikage asked politely, gesturing at the clients.

“Yes. Very.” Reo nodded, 100% serious.

His mother took a moment to think before replying “There should be one in the services department, though I'm not sure if he’s what you're looking for. Ask for Mr. Deez when you get there.”

Reo bowed, “Thank you, mother.” and with that, he ran out the room and towards the Mikage office.

Usually, he’d book a chauffeur, but he didn’t have time for that, he had to get there now.

He pushed the glass doors open and stumbled to the receptionist, “I’d like to talk to Mr. Deez from the services department-” Reo took a moment to catch his breath

“I- yessir, right away.” The receptionist quickly dialled the man up and poured Reo a glass of water.

Once the recoverist arrived, he sat down with Reo and examined the letter. “Hm, I’m not sure I can do much for you, but I might know a man who can.” he pulled out his phone and started typing, “What did you say this was? A love letter?”

“Don’t worry about that” Reo said quickly “so did you find someone who can help?”

“Yes, though he’s a bit far.” He showed Reo the location, “This is his shop, he specializes in these things, often working with detective agencies. You can call him Mr. Nuts”

Reo took a picture of the map and stood up, “Thank you, Mr. Deez.” Before he could blink, Reo was already running out the door.

Reo checked the map as he ran, it’d be a 27 minute drive, there’s no way he could run faster. He stopped in his tracks before calling his chauffeur.

Once the car got there, Reo hopped in, coffee in hand. “Take me here.” he showed the man the location, and they were off.

Reo tapped his finger as they drove, getting anxious. What if they didn’t make it before he closed? What if they couldn’t help him? What if he finds out that you weren’t the one who sent it? What if-

“Mr. Mikage, we’re here.” the chauffeur parked and was about to open the door for Reo before he hopped out himself

“Thank you, wait here for me.” it was too late to turn back now, he’d already put a good few hours into this

He walked through the doors and looked around, it was a small shop, tools lying everywhere. “Hello? May I talk to Mr. Nuts?”

“Oh? A new customer? Welcome! I am Mr. Nuts, how may I help you?” an older looking man sat at a rusted table

Reo explained the situation and handed him the letter, asking for his help.

“I see I see, let’s take a look” The man took the letter and put it under a special light

“Please handle it with care.” Reo couldn’t help but worry

The man pulled out a few tools, some napkins to dry it, and put it under a metal machine. “Here, do you see that?” He pointed at a small screen attached “There’s what you're looking for.”

On the screen showed a filtered picture of the letter, and there was your name signed.

Reo’s eyes widened, it really was you who sent it to him! His entire face lit up, he couldn’t help but blush a little, the long chase had been worth it.

“Thank you, sir.” he took the letter back and held it tightly “For your trouble.” Reo threw a few bills down before exiting the store

The ride home felt much shorter than the ride there, but Reo couldn’t complain. He plopped down on his bed, letter still in hand. His heart was beating like never before, face still flushed.

Suddenly, a notification from his phone snapped him out,

Reo grinned, “Great idea, Nagi.”

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #headcannons #bllk headcanons #bllk scenarios #alexis ness #ness x reader #otoya eita #otoya x reader #karasu tabito #karasu x reader #reo mikage #reo x reader

119 notes · View notes

fineghkst · 2 years ago

Text

How Azriel acts around his mate

i’m thinking of turning this into a series so let me know if you guys would be interested (you can also choose which character i should do next)

warnings: suggestive

At the moment he finds out

Azriel couldn’t hide the surprised look on his face. It was the first time in a while the spymaster got speechless. Az is most likely to create a ragged excuse and leave as soon as possible (yes, he’s definitely panicking), going to some isolated place to understand that he finally found his mate.

How he acts?

Azriel definitely doesn’t know how to act around his mate once the bond snaps. He probably will act very awkward at the beginning, not knowing if he should tell his mate about it (considering they didn’t felt the bond yet) or wait until they realize.

Therefore, Azriel will need some time to digest that he finally has a mate. Az feels really insecure, thinking he’s not good enough for them and believing they won’t accept the bond. Even so, Azriel really tries to be the best he can to his mate, he’s always there, showing support at every situation. He’s also very kind and just wants to see his mate happy.

Will he tell anyone?

No. Az will hide it as much as he can. Azriel is a very private person and probably wants to figure out this new situation by himself. On the other hand, he knows how his brothers are a pain in the ass, so Az rather avoid to listen to the stuff they’re going to say. At least until his mate discover the bond by themself, he won’t talk about it, preventing them from ending up knowing from someone else

But once his mate accepts the bond Azriel’s behavior changes completely, he’s almost announcing to the world, constantly touching his mate in public.

When his mate feels the bond

He’s scared. Really, Azriel never felt this type of fear his whole life, to be rejected by the person who was supposed to be with him for the rest of his life. However, even if he’s terrified, Az forces himself to be honest about his feelings towards his mate.

He has never opened up that much to someone before, exposing an extremely vulnerable side.

If his mate needs some time, he will be very understandable and wait as long as necessary. Az will never pressure his mate to accept the bond or even give him an answer (please he’s the biggest gentleman out there).

When his mate accepts the bond

Az finally feels complete. His mate is his family, the person he trusts the most and is willing to do anything only to make them smile.

As i said before, Az didn’t feel enough for his mate, so he always thought they wouldn’t accept to be bonded to him forever. Honestly, he’s in a deep state of happiness, it’s like he’s finally found his home, his place in the world.

And as SJM said before, Az is a freak, so yeah, not leaving the room any time soon after that.

Things he loves to do with his mate

Pretty much everything. Azriel his happy to go anywhere or do anything if he has his mate to accompany.

It can be to comb their hair to having deep conversations at midnight. Az just loves to be with them.

Does he often feels jealous?

It depends on the situation. Azriel really trusts his mate, but if someone gets too flirty around them, he will definitely be jealous (and kinda insecure). He’s not likely to make a scene but will have a frown on his face for the rest of the night.

Favorite body part

He’s addicted to every single part of his mate, showing true devotion to their body everyday. He loves to kiss their soft lips, neck and inner thighs (he just can’t keep his hands away).

PDA

Even though Azriel is a very reserved person, he’s constantly touching his mate in public, always having a hand on their waist, holding their hand or kissing them. He usually doesn’t go too foward, but it depends on the situation, if he spends a lot of time away on a mission, will definitely be more clingy.

In short, I don’t see him caring much if someone his looking, but he prefers when they have more privacy.

How often he says “I love you?”

Everyday. He just wants his mate to be sure of his feelings. Az not only say it with words, but always demonstrate with his actions.

Protectiveness

Azriel is really overprotective. He’s terrified on losing his mate so they will always have his shadows with them, almost turning into a part of them.

Random bonus

Before every snowball fight Azriel always spends the whole year planning a new strategy to beat his brothers asses. He will share EVERY SINGLE DETAIL to his mate and even accept suggestions to improve it.

Once he wins, Az will celebrate a lot with his mate (if you get what I mean…)

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel hcs #azriel headcanons #azriel drabble #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #acotar headcanons

787 notes · View notes

chibsandchill · 2 months ago

Text

Fire and blood and ... love?

Summary: Daemon finds himself… yearning for who he believes is twin flame. Part 1 (?)

Fandom: House of the dragon (HOTD)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x AFAB!reader (can be read as belonging to any house)

Masterlist

AN: I’m extremely out of practice, but yeah, here’s a bit of Daemon ig.

Warnings: Including but not limited to: Daemon, Daemon, Daemon, metaphorical sh, allusions to metaphorical sui***e, janky dialogue at times, unreliable narrator, obsession, stalking, thoughts of violence, Daemon monologues for a fair bit of the fic, brief (very) allusions to what could be interpreted as "self-exploration", Daemon is manipulative, Daemon is his own warning (again), grammatical errors (english is not my first language).

Happy reading!

-:-.-:-.-:-

Daemon was a stranger to peace,

as was you, he imagined.

Until,

him.

He saw in you a twin flame. One that would challenge and be challenged, to comfort and in turn be comforted.

Though he reveled in the bond, coveted it even, you had not yet realized what he was to you and you to him. But he heard your heart’s calling. Perhaps he always has, just as he always will. Now that he had found you there was not a man nor force nor god that could tear him from you. It is a belonging that transcends earthly flesh and desires, it is as vast and ineffable as the gods themselves, as chaotic as a dragon’s soul and as warming as a roaring hearth. It is a thing beyond any words known to him and anyone else, and even if he had the words he would not share them. To share would be to give way, to rip a piece of you and give to another. Not even a word would he part with, even the idea of you was one he kept and cherished.

He wonders if you too felt the longing. If you ached as he did, hurt as he did. It oozed through the cracks of his facade like pus from an infected wound. It festered and blackened and split ever more with each second that he went ignored. Each time your eyes flickered past him was pain unimaginable. For this pain he too lacked the words. How does one even begin to describe the sheer size of the hole in his soul, the crippling agony that your absence caused him. The visceral reactions to others laying claim to that which is destined to be his. In all possibilities, in every life, on every plane of existence and even beyond that, it was always you, and across it all his pain and envy and longing echoed. It was enough to make even the gods cower under the weight of it all.

He would not be ignored any longer.

He would feel your eyes on him.

Finding you is child’s play. Even without eyes he would know you. The sound of your breaths is as familiar to him as his own, perhaps even more so. Indeed, to say that he found you would be a lie, for you were never lost to him. Though his eyes may be torn from you, you are two souls torn apart, the calling of your own is deafening. It calls like a wounded animal.

It’s all semantics in the end. Clever word plays and the copying of others declarations of devotion; all of which falls short of this. Whatever this is. All Daemon knows is that you are two parts of a whole, as crude and lackluster a description as that was. Perhaps even that is not true and the nature of this connection is beyond him. Maybe this body, this life is one where not even he can truly understand the bond and even were the gods to provide the words to put to paper, he could not. He is left stumbling in the dark with the memory of a light. He remembers the sun, he knows of it and can feel hints of its caress on his skin but he cannot bring forth the memories.

He was born in the dark,

but he would live in it no longer.

Today, Daemon would step out of the cave and he would see the sun and the sun would see him.

You linger among the flowers in the royal gardens even as the others have long since left. The floral scent clings to you. It becomes you.

“I was not aware that the prince cared for flowers.”

His heart skips several beats. Daemon is unsure how to proceed. What does he say? What should he not say?

“It’s a recent development.” He says.

You do not turn around to face him, even as manners dictate that you should. He’s glad for it. He finds himself overwhelmed, at a loss. Daemon came to find the sun but instead found himself drowning. Every sense set alight with you. It is a new sort of pain, this bonding. Different. Strange, even. It is water a touch too hot, like wine that stings as you swallow.

The splitting of your souls did not leave a clean scar. The edges of you are jagged and sharp and cut ever so deeply when he presses against it. He cares not. He welcomes it. Craves it. Daemon would gladly press himself against you until there was naught of him left if only to feel the shadow of you.

“Indeed.” You say. You smile. He can feel it. A string in that odd bundle of nerves is tugged, and he feels it as though it is his own. “It is an interest well-timed. The garden is in full bloom.”

“How fortunate.”

Daemon couldn’t give less fucks about the garden. But you did and so in a round-about-way, he did too. Viserys spared much expenses concerning the upkeep of their home, the garden but one of many that suffered because of it. You are deserving of more than this. He would have you surrounded by only the most fragrant and beautiful of flowers. This would not do. It is an insult to you.

“I find myself curious as to the origins of this… newfound interest in botany. Forgive me, but I was under the impression that the prince was drawn to the battlefield.”

“There is more than one kind of battle. I found myself in need of a change. Variety is good for the soul, is it not?”

“Quite.” You say.

Your steps are light as you move around the garden. Daemon’s eyes follow you. He would not miss even the most minute of movement in you; a slight change in your posture, a passing glance to a maid scurrying past.

“And you?”

You finally turn to him. Your eyes meet his, and all else disappears. If you answered his question, he could not say. He is not there to hear it. He is elsewhere. Wildfire courses through his veins and he feels both lighter and heavier all at once. It is confusing and frightening. It is raw pleasure and unimaginable pain. He is both hollow and full. Too full and yet not full enough. From beyond his body he looks at you and thoughts rush through his head at an alarming speed but still words evade him. Perhaps by design. His desire for you had no end, not even with himself would he share you.

“Is everything alright?” Your voice cuts through him and he is back.

He smiles. “It will be.”

Daemon is awestruck. He is rendered speechless. To see you, for you to see him, is overwhelming.

“That is good.” You say before excusing yourself to attend to your mother. She is with child again, you say.

Daemon is tempted to deny your leaving, to demand you to stay and instead attend to your prince. But he does not. Even in the midst of this… growing bond, he will be patient. It pains him, but to cut you off from your kin would be cruel. Daemon will be many things to you, but never cruel. He would allow you this time, and then less time. He requires all of you, and he would have all of you.

At first he thought he had fallen ill.

But now he knows that to be without you is sickness. Your absence leaves him shivering, unable to think. It is not unlike a fever, he thinks. To burn and be burned in return is the way of dragons. He wonders if this is not how Vermithor feels when Silverwing is away.

Your bond was not a thing of man, of Andals or the First men. It is a living being; unconditional love and devotion itself acting as a link. It is a concept beyond the mind’s of humans made palpable. He can feel it just as he can feel the ground under his feet or the fabric of his tunic on his skin. It cannot be denied, or ignored. It is not a thing created or formed, rather it has always been there. There are steps to it, Daemon reckons. And a line has been crossed. Surely the bond is screaming at you as it is roaring at him. It has waited for so long, as has he.

And they will wait no longer.

A day has passed, or so said the household staff. It might as well have been an age as far as he was concerned. Time passes remarkably slowly when you spend them hiding in walls and scouring down dank passages. You looked lovely as ever, like pure perfection sprawled out across silk sheets.

It was tempting to breach the line he forced himself behind. To behold you not from behind the cover of darkness but by your side. It is ever so tempting to just step into the light and have you again. That should be him warming you in the night, undressing and dressing you again come morning. But it is not, because the gods are cruel.

But Daemon,

Daemon is crueler.

He would steal you from under the Gods’ eyes, denying them the pleasure of his suffering. With you, he would have his justice. He would tear them from the sky, extinguish the flames and leave them shivering in the lands they themselves had sent his people into exile to. They would live a half life and he would leer at them from his throne.

Thoughts of revenge fed his control. He didn’t step into your chamber as you slept, even if his bleeding heart tried to demand he do. Daemon would have you willing. He’s had far longer than you to understand, so he would be patient.

For now.

“You sent for me, my prince?”

He shivers.

“Yes.” Daemon says. “I thought we might walk in the garden. I would like to know more about botany. It will no doubt come in handy someday.”

It takes all he has to speak and for his voice to not falter under the waves of you. Daemon’s words are lacking, empty, choppy and almost incoherent. Charm evaded them. He feels unsteady on his feet and the idea of walking is as appealing as drowning. You seem unaffected by him, your voice is clear and strong, your posture straight and unwavering. Not even under the influence of ancient gods do you fall short of perfection. Mayhaps that is why he is so lacking, the split between souls was uneven, for such was the traumatic tear. He wonders what he has taken in return. He would, will, give it all back. When you are whole again. One.

It is a thought that digs through him straight to his heart where it makes a home. Every drop of blood carries that single-minded desire of becoming one, of returning what was taken. All that he is, will be yours. Like that thought, he would burrow into your side, he would make a home in your heart and spend the rest of time keeping you alive.

“My prince is deep in thought,” you say. An observation more than a question. “I’ve been told I have a talent for listening.”

He didn’t doubt it. But to tell would be to open the gates and let it all out. There would be no stopping it, and he was not finished. Daemon would not taint you with his darkness. No, he would keep his thoughts until such a time that he had made himself again. His life was constantly repairing and rebuilding himself when others would knock him down, and when he himself would tear down the very foundations of his being so that he could build himself anew. With each cycle, with each sacrifice, he lost a piece of him, one that was replaced by rot. This, this, he would save you from. Until he tears the infection out at the root he would not be a dragon whole.

“I’m sure you are.” He says, though not unkindly. It’s half a battle already to try and tame his face. A grin would be fitting, expected even. But could he stop at a grin? Probably not. “But my troubles would bore you to death. I would much rather hear you speak.”

You dip your head, a faint redness creeping up your neck. “As the prince wishes.”

“He does wish it.” Daemon says.

“Where would you like to begin? Perhaps with the herbs, my prince? Most are commonly found across the whole continent and have been proven to help the suffering of others and oneself.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Yes.”

You don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t ask. Soon enough all of your secrets will be his, all those lovely thoughts shared. He would have it all.

“Then it seems I picked the right teacher.”

You clear your throat. Are you nervous? He watches frozen as you turn. Will you deny him this simple pleasure? With ease, it seems, for you step away from him rather briskly.

“This way, my prince.” You say.

You guide him around the garden like a well-seasoned guide. You know the location of each and every one of the flower beds containing whatever herb you wanted to introduce him to. That you carry great knowledge becomes ever clearer. Words spill from you with great abandon, a constant stream of tricks and instructions on how to craft everything from potions and poultices to bandages and various concoctions. It is almost concerning, to Daemon, how much you know. You are not yet protected, not fully, and to know too much in a place such as King’s Landing was dangerous. You are not a man, and thus you cannot be made into a pawn.

Daemon knows not how long he followed you around the garden for he was lost in your words. Time lost all meaning around you, it seemed. You spoke and he responded. He could hear himself answering, prodding, charming, but he knows not the words he spoke, nor the ones you sent back. He feels as though he has been split apart again, that part of him has ascended beyond petty mortal things. Words held no meaning for he would know your soul. Words are not honest. Not true. He is a Targaryen, and that word alone carries power, respect. You will not speak your mind, not freely.

He does not blame you for this.

There is the vessel, and there is Daemon. Your vessel is chained, restrained. Shackled. But you… you are unbound. Your core does not bend, does not sway in the gentle wind. It remains steady and strong; like a guiding light; a beacon. Daemon wonders if you too have split yourself apart. Perhaps, you too, are observing him in his entirety. There are no lies here, no secrets. There is only the truth for there are no words, no voices. It is and it isn’t.

Your soul shines brightly, almost blindingly so. But it is fragmented. Cracked, even. He can see the edges of it. The parts bleeding and weeping,

weeping for him.

The Starks carry the legacy of Wargs; great Northerners with the ability to enter an animal’s mind. But they pale in comparison to the legacy of Dragons, and of their riders. For what is seeing the world through hogs and rats compared to soaring the skies as a dragon. To breathe and live as fire and fury made flesh. This, whatever this is, feels like that. An out-of-body experience. Daemon scours through the vast nothingness to find the only thing that matters. He is not himself here; or maybe he is? Maybe this is the truest Daemon he can be. Is this how dragons perceive the world? Beyond vessels and the meaning of words.

“I apologize,” you say. “I have not had much practice with teaching.”

Daemon is back. He never left. Perhaps he is still there, gorging himself fat on your light while also conquering you here.

“Nonsense,” he says, “I have learnt much.”

Though not of botany.

You look at him. He is once more struck by your beauty. Under your skin he can see the faint glow of your soul. It cannot quite be contained by this fleshy prison. It seeps out of your pores, gives your eyes that delicious sparkle. Perhaps it is not quite so clear of a split between the two. Maybe like all else, Daemon understands little.

“I am glad. Though, I would recommend that, should you wish to know more, you seek the help of a Maester. They carry knowledge that I can only dream of possessing. You would learn much from them. Far more than I could ever teach you.”

Daemon hums in agreement. Your glow dulls ever so slightly at this. A sharp sting of pain echoes through him at the sight. ‘Tis true, the Maesters did carry knowledge beyond your understanding, and his for that matter. But he cared not for that. Their knowledge is flawed; outdated. It is facts and political agendas and fantasy passed down through generations. But your knowledge? It is born, not from ancient tomes, but from experience.

He doesn’t know how to fix the expression on your face; the slight downturn of your eyebrows, the dejection shown clearly. It is subtle, as all things are with you. You retreat a little, and the light follows. He wonders where you go. How can he follow?

How does one fit all their emotions into such small words? All Daemon knows is anger and sadness and deceit. His family shows love through scathing remarks and lies to hide the raw truth. They hide, hide and hide, coveting their cores and their true selves. They are hidden but they long to be seen all the same. It is so very confusing.

“Have you not considered that maybe that is why I chose you? I am a simple man in need of… simple knowledge.”

You did not seem to know how to respond to that. He’s almost glad for it. You bow your head, but he knows not the intent behind it. Do you see past the words? Daemon is not a simple man, at least not in the way that matters.

“I meant no insult.” He hurries to add. “It is as you say, I am drawn to the battlefield. Should I get injured there is no time for Maesters. Your simple knowledge may yet save your Prince’s life one day.”

You gaze at him, guarded. “I hope that day never comes.”

It is under the cover of darkness that he plots. Daemon finds himself spending most of his nights in old Maegor’s hidden passages. The stench of it clogs his nose. It’s musty and dank, filled with spiderwebs and dead rats. As a child he stepped on many a servant’s old bones, but he has long since memorized their locations.

From there, he watches over you. He knows the kind of people that are drawn to the Keep, to his family. Daemon is not the only one who lurks in the dark, but his purpose is far nobler, far more important. Far more than rats scuttle around the tunnels, but Daemon, Daemon would slaughter them all the same should they scurry too close.

He rather enjoys these nights with you. Granted, he would enjoy it far more were he in your chambers with you. Faint traces of your fragrance linger on the cold stone. Daemon imagines that by the end of the night he, too, will smell of it. The fantasy is far warmer than the walls he’s pressed up against, but a mere flicker of a flame compared to the other fantasies he carried. Perhaps this night will inspire more of those delicious, toe-curling dreams to carry him through the days until he can be with you like this again.

Surely, the way you move on the bed is to inspire him.

Surely you feel his keen eyes watching you through the cracks.

Surely, the light you keep by your bedside is so he can watch over you in the dark.

Flowing satin sheets allow the contours of your body to be known to him. It clings to you in a way that has him swallowing; be it from desire or envy, it matters not. It is all the same in the end.

Would your fingers wander, he wonders. Down, down, down, until even breaths stutter into a soft gasp. The pads of your fingers moving down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing, softly tracing soft skin. It is sweet torture to imagine these things, but when your fingers never take the journey his mind mapped out, he doesn’t find himself disappointed.

Why would he be?

When you, ever so sweetly, surrender your pleasure to him.

No, this is but a sweet prelude to what is to come, when Daemon can shed this skin and be yours.

Daemon can no longer summon you under the excuse of learning about ‘botany’. His brother grows suspicious of it all and instead of having you waiting for him in the gardens, it is desecrated by a gray rat.

Ever oblivious, his brother, the king.

But he cannot say the real reason why he lingers there, why he no longer scours the streets of King’s Landing from dusk to dawn. This, you, any of you, he will not share. This place, this garden, is far more than that. Your… spirit lingers among the plants. When the sun shines just right he can even see it. You. Tending to them with a steady hand. You are faint, and you shiver in tune to his breaths, but you are there all the same.

Perhaps you are indeed divided. Are you aware of it? Can you feel the disconnect? The separation of vessel and soul? It remains a comfort all the same to have you there. It is warming in a way wholly unfamiliar to Daemon that someone would go to such lengths (any lengths) for him. To tear yourself away from your vessel to watch over him, it is an honor he did not foresee. Perhaps you are more similar than he first thought. You stand guard over him just as he does you at night. You shroud yourself in the cover of the unleashed.

Daemon resigns himself to find you instead.

It is hardly difficult to. You are connected, after all. You are known to him. Always.

He finds you hidden away under one of the alcoves, but you are not alone.

“Prince Daemon!” The intruder exclaims, dropping down into a curtsy.

Daemon nods.

“My prince,” you greet him from your seat.

He speaks your name and it feels heavenly on his tongue.

A beat of silence.

“Would you like some tea?” You ask. “I gathered the herbs myself.”

You make a sweeping gesture to the table. The three cups on the table makes him pause. Steam rises from two of them but the third is untouched, but placed with the same care as the other two. Your… visitor is seated on the opposite side of the small table, but the third cup, his cup, sits next to you. Along with the tea the table is set with humble servings of desserts.

Accepting the invitation would be breaching even further court etiquettes. Your honor could come into question should anyone wander upon the group, even should the unwanted visitor remain. Him being there was already bordering on inappropriate, but he was a prince, and commenting on his actions would be far more inappropriate than whatever mischief Daemon had gotten himself into.

Such a shame, though, that Daemon has never cared much for etiquette, and so he promptly sits down in his seat with a barely audible huff. The corner of your mouth twitches as though you’re trying to hide a smile.

You pour a healthy serving of fragrant tea in his cup. It’s dark and murky, like the puddles he jumped in by the stables as a child. The smell is distinctly floral, but not like any flower he knows. It smells nice, and as you add a spoon of honey to it, it almost looks appealing. He wonders then how you knew of his love for honey. The healthy dollop you scooped up for him was anything but the norm, as his mother kept telling him during their afternoon teas. But then again, was it so odd that you knew? Many things about you were known to him before he had ever set his eyes on you. Perhaps you had even expected him today.

“Thank you.” He says, but he doesn’t move to grab the cup. You’re still stirring.

Your visitor fidgets in their seat.

“I… we apologize for the meager selection, my prince,” they say, “had I.. we known that you would join us, we would have asked the kitchens for things more… suitable.”

“This third cup, who was it for?” He asks.

“My sister. She usually joins us but she’s fallen ill.” They say, though he asked you.

Daemon glances at you. The sun is high in the sky and there’s a glint in your eye. He knows, then. You clever thing, he thinks.

“I am honored to take her place.”

For the first time since he arrived, you look away from his eyes. He cares not for the feeling that washes over him. The stark coldness that crawls up his fingers. Surely it will reach his heart and turn him to stone. Luckily the tea provides some warming comfort. It is a piece of you, a product of your labor; a sliver of ground up love for him to have. It is bitter, but the honey smooths it and so he has another mouthful of it.

“Is it to your liking?” You ask. “I’ve been told it’s an acquired taste.”

Daemon meets your eyes once more.

“Quite.” He says with a smirk that’s almost hidden behind the rim of the cup.

A faint blush spreads across your cheekbones, and you look away from him. He wonders if you know that he wasn’t talking about the tea.

Before long he’s back in the corridors of the Keep. Not long after meeting you he was called away to attend to his… duties. He had no choice but to leave then, even if his entire being screamed to stay. He could not yet afford such carelessness. Not with you. Not with all the snakes still poised around him to strike.

The King needed something done, and Daemon was the one who needed to see it done. But Daemon would have it no other way, for who else could his brother trust in this world. Otto Hightower? Surely not.

But it came with a price. The moon was high in the sky by the time he finally lumbered up to the hidden door leading into your chambers. Your candles were unlit and there was a distinctively you-shaped form under the covers. Tonight there would be no teasing glimpses of smooth skin, or shy, tentative brushes of curious fingers against yourself. No choked down gasps of surprise when those fingers inevitably traced against something that made you feel oh-so-good.

He could pluck you from your bed, if he wished. And he does wish it. He could take you now and before dawn you could be married in the ways of his people. No one would even know.

That night, Daemon breaches the boundaries of your room. His mind is racing with ideas, with different plots and scenes and thousands of endings and consequences to every single scenario he had playing before his eyes. Though they all ended the same way – united.

Several nights he’s stood posted outside your door, suffering in silence among the dust and whispers of whores and drunkards. But here? There is none of the harshness of the world. Your room is soft, in a way he could not explain. The air is not heavy, nor tainted with deceit. It is honest, pure. And it smells like you; alive and thriving.

Apart from the elaborate murals, the decor is rather minimalistic in style. Everything serves a purpose. It is so very unlike his own chambers. Daemon has plenty of fine possessions which he displays on shelves spanning one end of the walls to the other. Great pieces of history polished until they shone like the sun itself. Much of it is the remains of his family’s life before Westeros. But to call his chambers simplistic would be a lie. Indeed to say that the only grandeur is his impressive collection of history would be a far greater lie. Daemon enjoys both simple and lavish pleasures, and he is not one to deny himself of earthly pleasures. He’s spent many a golden dragon on hand-crafted furniture and woven tapestries, but they are all picked with the greatest of care and his chambers are a point of pride for him.

Alas, Daemon struggles to find you in the room. The smells and the feelings of it are all you, undeniably so considering how he shivers as he inhales, but the rest? Uncharacteristically bland. You are of life in a way that is not reflected in your chambers. There is none of you to be found; no memories to steal from a hidden chest of childhood toys, or clothing slung over the modesty covering in the back of the room. No books placed on the stool next to the bed, no flowers or herbs growing on the windowsill, not even a scratch or a smudge on the floor from a step just a tad bit too harsh.

If he could not see you sleeping in the bed, he would think this to be an empty chamber.

But he does see you, and so he knows it is yours. Perhaps you have hidden it away,

for him.

You know, just as he, that all that is you belongs to him. You have hidden yourself from the greedy eyes of your maids so that all you have, you can give. Just as he will give all that is he and all that he has ever been or ever will be.

Your bond demands as much.

Daemon looks over at you and he knows that he will no longer be satisfied by watching you from the hidden tunnels.

He keeps one of your handkerchiefs in one of his pockets. It smells like you.

He hopes it never fades, for surely the torture of being away from you will be unbearable then. This small reminder of you, this anchor to guide him in this sea of longing and deep pain, is all that keeps him from being swept away by the darkness within him. How can he bear being away from you if there is not even the slightest guarantee that he can return to you?

It is only as he is crossing the threshold into his own chambers that he realizes that, though you have gifted this to him, he has left nothing in return. This gift … this lifeline … was it a silent request for something of his? A need that you did not yet have the words for beyond the near-on stomach curling want? It is almost enough to make him return to your side.

Almost.

He would not disturb your rest, not when he knows the struggles of sleep. For a brief moment he allows himself a pause in chiding himself for neglecting you, to admire your strength. With each day he finds an ever increasing difficulty in truly resting without you. The act of falling asleep is unfathomable. It is as far removed a concept as can be. Those moments in the hidden passages are the only moments when his shoulders can finally relax, when his thoughts do not race to the point of blinding pain. How much of your suffering has he been ignorant to? Has his responsibilities led to him missing this, this shared struggle?

Are you yourself privy to this? Or have those grey rats convinced even you that your suffering is because of some arbitrary godly laws that you have broken by existing, by simply being in this bonded state that you are. They can sense this, Daemon is sure of it. They know what you are and they hate it.

A piece of his resolve is broken then. A man can only take so much, and he finds himself, with each passing hour, less inclined to restrain himself.

Yes, things would have to change, or Daemon fears that you both shall be driven mad. It is with that thought in his mind that Daemon returns to his chamber with a near on maddenly drive to set his plans in motion so that you can finally be whole again.

#hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagines #daemon imagines #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine

48 notes · View notes

azrielslightintheshadows · 2 years ago

Text

Princess.

Azriel x f!Reader

One of the series I’m currently working on. Enjoy!

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse and trauma

Masterlist.

Princess Masterlist.

Chapter 2

Azriel was seething, he felt like he could kill Rhysand for how he played him. How could he do this to him? He despised you, he hated you. He hated the fact that you never got to see the slaughter that happened in the war, he hated that you never had to get your hands dirty with someone’s blood. He hated that you were raised in a warm house with loving parents, that you would have dinner every night with your parents -the table filled with love and care. He didn’t know why he felt like that, he knew he should be glad that someone else didn’t go through what him and his family did, he should feel happy that a beautiful and sweet female like you wasn’t defiled by the horrors of this world. He could see how delicate you were, you reminded him of a rare and unique flower and even though he loved that, he felt the urge to rip this flower from the ground and destroy it. Was he a monster? He wondered. He was sure raised like one, but did they manage to turn him into one too?

Lost in these thoughts he reached the roof, he removed his shirt and didn’t even bother to wrap his hands as he approached the training dummy. He kept punching and kicking, hatred was pouring out of him like a wave, smashing into everything that stood on its way and drowning anyone who didn’t run away.

The dummy snapped in half and fell on the ground. Only then he stopped and stared, his breathing plummeting and tears escaping his eyes.

Was he so broken that he could hate a soft creature just because she was raised better than him?

“Ouch” Cassian cringed as he walked out “what did it do to you?”

“Fuck off” Azriel growled making Cassian chuckle.

“Do you want a real opponent?” The warlord asked and amusement filled his eyes, it had been a while since he had a good fight.

Azriel pounced on him and so they began.

Cassian had never seen him acting like that before, the shadowsinger was mad, his eyes wide and red, his hair a mess, his shadows frantically flowing around and the two siphons he had on each arm cracking from the power. Azriel had Cassian on the ground in less than five minutes.

“I hate her” -punch.

“I fucking hate her” -punch

“I fucking hate me.” -he didn’t punch this time, he just stared wide-eyed, his shoulders rising and falling quickly with every breath.

Cassian was speechless, he just stared at his brother with a worried and confused look.

“How on earth can I be mated with someone so weak and naive”

Cassian choked on air “she is your mate?”

“Yeah I felt the bond snap the moment she walked in…” Azriel rolled his eyes.

“Does she know?” The warlord stood up and stretched.

“I don’t think so, and I don’t care” he shrugged.

“But…why? I mean she seems like a sweet and caring female she could make you happy” Cassian was really confused, his brother needed love and affection so why was he denying his chance to get them.

“How can I be with someone like her? She will never be able to understand me and what I’ve been through. She is trained to wed a high fae not an Illyrian bastard. I will corrupt her, I will defile her.” Azriel couldn’t breathe as he realised what he said. Everything was entirely true.

“Az, please don’t think like that, you deserve to be happy. She deserves to be happy too and you can make her happy…” Cassian spoke with a sad look.

“No I can’t. Don’t speak about this again.” Azriel said and picked his shirt up, ready to leave.

“What are you planning to do?” His brother asked him.

“Make her hate me.” He responded and left.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You stayed in your room, when Mor came to ask you if you wanted to go out you told her that you couldn’t because you had to wait for Azriel to get you. She didn’t say anything and left with a curious look.

You didn’t know if Azriel was going to come, maybe he would avoid you and tell Rhysand that he showed you everything and you didn’t need to hang out together anymore.

Your hope didn’t last long as Azriel strolled in your room, his face was cold. He scanned your room and hummed. “Such a cute room for the princess” he scoffed.

“I didn’t choose it.” You whispered.

“Did I give you permission to talk?” He growled and you shook your head, you opened your mouth to say sorry but closed it again when he glared.

“Get dressed we are going out. I expect you to be at the balcony in five minutes” and with that he was gone.

You took a shaky breath and got up. You didn’t know what to wear, if you wore a dress he would scoff and be like “of course the princess is wearing a dress” so you picked a pair of pants and a shirt that looked way too big for you -At least this will cover my silhouette. You thought and got dressed. You felt kinda guilty for wearing pants, your mother would be so disappointed. But you needed to forget all the training you had and finally get a hold of your life. You needed to gain control of yourself in order to survive.

The pants were tight but the shirt reached your knees so you felt comfortable, with one last look on your reflection you hurried off not wanting to piss him more by being late.

The moment you walked out to the balcony and he saw you his eyes widened and his face became red. He looked feral.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He growled.

You stared at him waiting for permission to speak, he noticed. “Speak”

“I found those in my closet” you whispered.

“Why would my shirt be in your closet?”

You gaped at him, this shirt belonged to him? And then it hit you, the smell seemed so familiar when you wore the shirt… it was his smell. Stupid, how did you not notice this. You reprimanded yourself.

“I can go back and change” you offered and he just rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have all day, and I don’t care, you already ruined it. Keep it” he made a look of disgust and flared his wings.

“Let’s go” he said and opened his arms.

Your jaw dropped. You would fly to the city? Couldn’t he winnow you there? What if he dropped you? This would solve his problem.

He noticed your hesitation and huffed.

“I won’t drop you come on my patience is running low don’t make me grab you”

And with that you moved closer to him and let him gather you in his arm. His smell was so toxic yet addictive and you had to use way too much power to keep yourself from leaning further into him.

He glanced at you and took off. You didn’t scream, you didn’t feel fear. You kept staring at the city so mesmerised by the view. You felt free and a smile appeared on your face.

Azriel noticed this and furrowed his eyebrows.

“You’re not scared?” He asked.

“No, I like the feeling” you whispered, you weren’t sure if he heard you over the wind. The corners of his mouth twitched, a smile was trying to emerge but he quickly covered it with a frown. He looked at you, mischief flashing in his eyes and he dived. You were descending so fast that you could feel your intestines rearranging themselves but you didn’t scream, you didn’t know why but at that moment you trusted him. Even though he despised you… you trusted that he wouldn’t drop you and… you laughed. The ground was getting closer and you were laughing. You felt like you had gone mad. Azriel was probably thinking the same because his jaw dropped and confusion filled his features.

He manoeuvred both of you to the sky again and he stopped. You were floating over the city . You glanced at him and he was staring at your face.

“You really aren’t scared” he noted.

You nodded and he shook his head, the cold expression coming back as he landed. He dropped you and started walking. You grunted as your back made contact with the ground and your eyes filled with tears, you weren’t hurt just embarrassed as everyone stared at you.

“Come on I don’t have all day”

Requests are open!

My laptop has left the chat and probably this life so I’m posting this from my phone. So please excuse any mistakes I might not have noticed. Getting a new laptop on Monday 🥲

Also if anyone wants to be tagged on this series please comment so I can make a tag list on my phone.

376 notes · View notes

shepardstales · 6 days ago

Text

Excerpt from An Oath Written In Shadows - Chapter 6

Spyro's POV, 3k of pure King and servant business and royal duties and all that

@lordkingsmith @keeping-writing-frosty @watermeezer @ieppiq @bardic-tales

@nightmaricwriter

The crypt doors are open, though the hinges of the stone doors are slowly losing their colour, like all life is leaving the land. The stone doors are nigh on impossible for anybody to move on their own. There are vines taking over the doors now, though the vines which were once green, are white and look more like roots from a tree or some sort of ecosystem that has made it above ground, when it shouldn’t be. Something is eating away at the wildlife, even when we’ve been taking such good care of the land. We water the plants and even the rain helps with that, we give the plants whatever we can to help them grow, and every day they die a little bit more.

The castle walls seem to be alive with bugs and other critters though. I’ve seen a few snakes, though I don’t think any of them are deadly to anyone. We’d have fucked around and found out by now. There is even a stable on the other side of the gardens, where Camels sit under the shade and drink water from the ravines.. The gardens go on for quite a stretch of land so it's not like the Camels only live in a small enclosure.

And in this crypt, where the royals lie are what remains of Milo’s father, mother and stillborn sister. What remained of the former King was mere ashes, dust and a crown, so he’s been stuffed into an urn, and Milo was given the crown. Milo wasn’t sure if they should even have a service for the old King, but everyone else who had come before them, was all deep below in the deepest chambers of the crypt, so he did it out of loyalty to his family more than anything.

Every day we repeat the same old stories, where Milo struggles to hold a pen and paper and write more stories, write more letters. But he’s adapting. He’s learning. I’m teaching him. There are others dedicated to helping him. He can read just fine, he’s lost no skills there. But when it comes to writing letters, I am his guide, and the council seem to care more about letting the rich families do what they want, in exchange for silence on what has happened to the King.

Every day Milo tries to enter the crypt, and every day he has to be turned away because he cannot fit within the walls anymore. His wingspan, his body, everything that made him a beast, a monster, made the skinny little Milo a hulk of a beast - a bodybuilder couldn’t even take on one of the Manticore. That’s how big he was and he couldn’t fit in the crypt because his last memories of his family were locked deep within. I’ve been going in for him, to look after those within. He hasn’t been in, not since he was cursed to be a Manticore until true love broke the spell.

For ten years we’ve been asking ourselves the question “Aren’t we good enough?”

I’ve been in a relationship with our King, with King Milo since before he was cursed. His father would have never approved of the relationship, more concerned with popping out heirs, then letting his son be happy. The sorceress that had cursed Milo at King Brennan’s insistence, had disappeared into the kingdom’s depths, untraceable to anyone. Mostly because once you’ve used the dark arts, you kinda get drawn to it, and it consumes you. Nobody knows where she went, but all we know is her first name: Darcy.

Milo can make it up to the King’s quarters in the highest part of the tower in the castle, but the problem is that it’s a tight squeeze, so the quarters are often abandoned and he sleeps in the throne room, guarding the tower and the council quarters. I, despite being in a relationship with him, often find myself sneaking in to see the King, because I don’t think many others believe our relationship is real.

Only a few close members in our circle group, truly believe we’re happy together, so a group of us just stick together - Myself, Milo, Simone who is one of the chefs in the kitchen, Casper who is one of the knights and head of the royal army, and then there is Light who helps deliver mail from us, to the subjects and deals with any unwanted mail, like if there’s death plots and anything like that. He’s like a butler, army assassin type of guy rolled into one. He takes his job seriously and takes no shit from anyone.

There are other people that come and go, but none have ever seen the King, none have ever spread word about Milo because of how much turmoil the kingdom could be thrown into, if people knew the truth. These people are good people, who are helping us find Darcy, who wants to help break this spell.

Milo and I are sitting in the garden, close to the crypt. There’s a couple of greenhouses scattered around out here, to grow emergency crops in, if we so need to use it. The palace grounds go on for miles and miles, so knights are always patrolling the area.

Milo has the body of a lion, but his face is more human. I can still recognise Milo’s eyes and I know it’s him. His scorpion tail is long enough you could use it as a skipping rope if you really wanted. Milo has said his tail is poisonous, but he’s never once used it against any of us, only against prey he’s hunted for on castle grounds. He’s trying to sit like a human would, but looks like a dog or cat on their hind legs. He’s a little confused still, but he’s got the spirit.

“Sit normally, like you’ve seen lions do, Milo.” I tease, watching him struggle. “I know you want to be human, but you’re not helping yourself right now. Come on now, you know it’s not that hard.”

“I can’t sit still, not after what we saw last night!” Milo grunted and admittedly, was throwing his weight around accidentally because of a new power.

Milo was trying to balance a new part of his powers: He’d finally grown wings, at least dragon-like ones. They were still fairly small, but they were growing every day.

We saw something fly close to the castle grounds last night. It was big, it looked like an eagle, only it was too big to be an eagle. Simone and Light had tried to find what we’d seen, in some books but could only come across those we should avoid when we’re on the hunt for food. All of the books, the stuff containing the monsters of legends, were locked away by King Brennan, whilst others fell apart and scattered in the wind.

“What could it have been?” I know Milo already has an answer, but I ask the question anyway.

I love it when he gets excited about things he already knows, that he too has written about.

I realise I left a bag of our things out in the open in the heat, a bag of letters. A bag of documents that were for Milo’s eyes only. He notices where my line of vision is headed, and steps towards the letters.

“What if it’s a Griffin? It wasn’t as big as a dragon was, but either the monsters are returning, or —”

“You think one of the Shapeshifters has decided to show it’s face in this land once more, after being pushed away into the darkness after their brethren were murdered?” I finish with a smile.

My heart is racing. My palms are sweaty. I’m human, but I’m also a very white person getting scorched by the sun, so I try to look for shade, and find some under a tree by the crypt.

Milo’s mane, lion body and wings are white, like the rare white lions. His mane is long, his claws are jagged and yet his tail is a black deadly scorpion skipping rope, curling up and around in the air like he’s totally on guard at all times. He reaches out, following me and I curl into his side, petting him and I genuinely can hear him purr.

“It’s early days, maybe we’ll see more in the coming days. We shouldn’t get our hopes up so quickly. You don’t want to let your guard down. They might think we’re the bad guys.” I point out as I keep my voice low as he comes close to me. “You know what happened last time you got your hopes up.”

Milo groans at that. Some things are better left unsaid, and let’s just say this event involved one of the rich houses sending a daughter to the castle in the bid to become Milo’s wife. She ran screaming when she saw him.

Truth be told, if you must know, Milo and I are seeking another companion to our relationship, another partner. We think that’s what will make us stronger, what will make the kingdom stronger. But we haven’t really found anyone who would understand us, understand that. Want it. Most people would get jealous and jealousy is just another dagger armed by betrayal.

“Do you know how bad it is, to have urges that make me human but I don’t want to follow through on them, because I know it’ll hurt you.” Milo sounds upset, but I don’t really blame him.

I understand him. I understand every time he holds back. He doesn’t want to lose everything we’ve built around us, the friends we’ve made, for a Kingdom that needs its King. He wants both things and it’s finding a way to set both in stone, that is the problem.

“Do you want me to read you the letters from one of the girls you keep in contact with? They’ve been writing to the both of us, and I’m fairly certain you’ve met her. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.” I offer up, trying to change the subject.

I don’t want to argue. We’ve been through these conversations before and nothing we do or say will ever take away each other’s pain; the hopelessness feeling that is dragging us into a mirage.

“You still have letters? From whom?” Milo curls up beside me as we sit down on the grass and he lays on his side like a lion would when it was being lazy.

“We have letters from Halinka, Mercia, or Valentina, the grandma who you used to read to in the old folks home down in Aria, y’know, in the west.”

“We’ll go through all of them, but leave Mercia for last. She seems familiar to me. I need to know more about her.” Milo gave an order, but it was more…informal in manner. It was a suggestion.

“I’ll start with Valentina, do you think she’s lonely in that old folks home and doesn’t have anybody left to come see her? I ask, genuinely concerned for this poor woman.

“If we show favouritism, every grandma, woman, and rich man would want us to pay attention to them and then they’d be wanting favours.” Milo responds quickly, trying to scratch an itch and I reach out to help him.

“But wasn’t it you that said you’d try to keep in touch with as many people as possible?” I grin.

Milo in all his Manticore glory, frowns.

“You can’t win this argument Milo, you walked yourself right into it.” I tease.

Milo picks up a bag of letters and passes it to me gently, using his teeth. I take the bag and kiss his face and then quickly pull away, just in the event that anyone sees and screams at us to stop.

“How’s the novel editing coming along?” Milo asks, sad that he can’t really join in with that sort of thing anymore.

“We’ll have another finished editing by tomorrow, and it;’s up to the publishers to see if they’ll accept it or not. But we’ll have a copy here for our library either way.” I’m honest, hopeful.

“At least we’ll have something new to read, instead of having the council deny poor people water and plans to bulldoze their land for some get rich quick scheme.” Milo mutters.

“Those council men are loyal to your father, I doubt we’ll be getting rid of them anytime soon.” I shudder at the thought of them trying to rule instead of Milo. “They won’t rest until you have a wife.”

Milo doesn’t answer, but I can tell by his eyes that he’s thinking long and hard about everything.

All Milo wants to do is free this world from his father’s influence. He needs to stand his ground and tear the remnants down. But he knows his father’s influences run deep. And he doesn’t want anything else to topple.

So we sit together and go through the letters one by one, Halinka saying she’s moving to a care home because her family can no longer take care of her, but she’s still allowed to do her hobbies, so she’ll keep on writing. Valentina’s letters start off being readable, but then it’s clear that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, like she’s ill. Losing her memory, so I make sure on Milo’s behalf to check in with the care home. Mercia’s letters are last - her latest one saying how much pain she’s in from being worked too hard, trying to make money to food on the table whilst others just keep literally tearing her down. She keeps writing stories of a prince and a princess saving the world. But people have said it’s not believable.

“Mercia, I know her.” Milo whispers, absolutely certain of this fact.

“She must have come to one of your writing seminars. Or talks at the local library. You’ve got exchanges that are over ten years old, Milo.” I note.

“She addresses you as well you know, hoping we’re the real deal and not some fakes trying to get money for some random cause.” Milo is reading her latest letter and frowning, like he’s worried again.

“Do you want me to put the royal house wax seal on the letter to show we’re the real deal?” I offer up.

Milo nods.

“She has a new address that she’s moving into.” He notes. “Something must have happened to her.”

"Let’s just assume she’s okay, and send our responses to the new address.” I reply.

We sit in each other’s company for an hour or so. Some servants come out and offer us some dried meats and cheese on a platter. Milo takes them up on their offer, and I can’t complain either, since the last time I ate was two days ago, but Milo doesn’t need to know that. All you need to know is that I haven’t been restricting myself, it’s the council men who have been restricting my food.

They think they can starve me, they think I’m the bad influence on the King.

Even though Milo is technically King, he never had a formal coronation because of the curse. So whilst the Kingdom knows we have a King and what happened to Brennan, they don’t really know much else. Milo has been making plans for his coronation, hoping that his coronation will happen when the spell is broken, and I and our future other partner can rule as equals beside him.

Milo doesn’t drink wine, so herbal teas are brought out on platters too and I am allowed to join in with the indulgence. The servants seem adamant that we should be left alone, and I wonder if it’s because they feel sorry for us and don’t agree with the council men on the matters regarding our relationship.

The servants come and go and we indulge. One of the servants even brings out flowers to go into the crypt to lay at his sister and mother’s graves. Lilies and other flowers bunched up and full of life, for now at least, The servant is allowed to enter the crypt on Milo’s behalf, and then leaves as quickly as they came.

The letters we were reading, we make sure are bundled together by the author and put to one side, back into the bag as we discuss what the letters have said, and our ideas on what we should do. Then Milo has other duties to attend to, but Milo trusts me to reply to the letters for me, for the both of us and I know I won’t let him down.

“I love you.” I whisper into Milo’s fur. He licks me playfully in response.

Milo has to have the council men read new laws and stuff brought before him and he has to decide on what to agree on, what to bring into effect and what shouldn’t be and all that jazz.

Me? I’m supposedly the King’s right hand man, but I’m not even a servant anymore. I used to be, but I’m more of a bug they haven’t quite squashed yet. And they won’t squash. Not unless they get rid of Milo.

Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I leave for the library, knowing the council won’t look for me there. Where I can write in peace.

Where I can plan for our future.

#athena shepard wips #wip: an oath written in shadows #writblr #writeblr #am writing

11 notes · View notes

hardlypartying · 9 months ago

Note

idk if you have watched much press for s4 but maddie bailey is sending me with her responses to any riara related questions or fan praise…. (i think she’s obviously traumatised from the jiara situation.) anyway bailey made a comment about how kiara couldn’t stand murder let alone someone harming a fly which would make riara totally incompatible - and whilst i agree that’s true i also feel like her character would be the most capable of empathy/forgiveness compared to the other pogues!?!? like she’s so humanistic!!!!

would love your thoughts and a potential kiara deep dive 🫣

This ask is very apropos and you’re gonna need a drink…

I’m with you on the fact that Madison is probably traumatized by the way jiara was blown out of proportion by some fans and how that bled into their dynamics irl. It sucks so much that’s how it went down and I feel for them that they can’t be friends without things being made weird.

That being said, I don’t understand this extreme hatred she has towards Rafe potentially working his way to being a better person— regardless of him being someone who could potentially be with Kiara. Sure, don’t ship them but to say the fans of the ship don’t care about Kiara is… a take.

I 1000% agree with you, I think more so than anyone else Kiara as a character is capable of forgiveness given the opportunity to understand someone. Her heart and passion is what drew me in, she is so empathetic that its sometimes comes at her expense— I think that’s what her parents are terrified about when they see her hanging around the Pogues. Granted, the Pogues we know are genuine guys but her parents don’t know that or care to take the time to get to know them. Kiara did and since has had an unwavering loyalty to them. Her heart is so big and it’s perplexing to me that Madison thinks that there’s a cap on that? I personally don’t get it. I see Rafe as someone deeply troubled and who has never given a chance to get help— he lives with what he did everyday and resents himself for it. He was unwell, but rather than allowing him some grace, we’re what? Bashing him as he’s trying to make amends? Personally I believe that under the right circumstances any single one of the Pogues would’ve done what Rafe did regardless of who was in front of the gun, but their loyalty fits right on them and not on him. Rafe has continually expressed such a complex range of emotions about what he’s done and how he’s managing it— none of it was linear but that makes sense to me. I don’t expect him to have a clear path out of this but fucking hell he’s trying.

What really confuses me about their rhetoric is that they hate the idea of Kiara and Rafe because he’s dangerous, a murderer, psychotic, buzzword buzzword but then they’re happy to ship him with Sofia? Then all of a sudden it’s a cute relationship and he’s found his match. Dpmo. If they really believed Rafe was that dangerous why would they want Sofia, who is completely innocent in all this, to be with someone who has the potential to be violent again 🤨 Bc she’s “changed” him? It’s insipid and hypocritical.

Now for a mini Kie deep dive— at first I didn’t really get why Madison was playing Kiara like that during their scene together. She looked genuinely terrified seeing Rafe and her body language was so telling. And in my mind I’m surprised by her reaction because we’re seeing him heheing it up with Sofia and making business moves like? What are you afraid of? Venture capitalists? Yes. But then I took a moment to think about the state of mind Kiara was in.

I don’t think it was an extreme thing she did to pull out the knife. In her point of view someone just tried to kill her. Drown her no less and who else tried to drown her? Rafe. Her survival instincts were probably shooting through the roof because every time she sees Rafe, it’s never for a good reason. And you got to remember the very last time she saw him was at the beach with the sea turtles… not a good memory. She’s got no reason to trust he’s here out of the kindness of his heart, she doesn’t see/know him like that. All that mixed in with that batshit guy who’s hunting the Pogues down and the fact she’s alone— yeah the knife was a smart move. I think she would’ve done the same if Topper showed up tbh. I’m also proud of Rafe for not freaking out when seeing her hostility lmao, he’s come a long way. Back in the day (s2) if he saw that knife come out, he would’ve escalated the situation and made things worse.

And just to throw my two cents here— Rafe has been dogged this season. Oh my goooooddddd. You’re telling me he’s scattering his dad’s ashes alone, the only Cameron who cares? His dad who he last saw going off to South America with the Pogues? The Pogues who hate Ward and want him gone? And then his dad dies? Right after Rafe finally gets the approval and affection from Ward that he’s always wanted? And no one has given him an explanation of what went down? I’m surprised he hasn’t crashed out on them tbh. That little tiff he had with John B was too polite. In his mind 2+2= the Pogues killed Ward. Sarah and Rafe quite literally carried Ward to the tarmac together and it was all for nothing? No small reconciliation for the sake of Ward’s memory, after all he was their father. And he died for Sarah. It’s crazy to me.

Anyway I’m a spiteful person and the more people hate something the more I lean into it. The cast hating riara is hilarious to me because this ship was born out of nothing and now it’s in their mouths. Wild. I’m just upset that they’re facilitating hate towards people who ship riara, I’m of the mentality that you ship and let ship. Not gonna yuck anyone’s yum!

#riara #y’all get behind me #*gothic font* i will protect you

32 notes · View notes

yorit1 · 1 month ago

Text

Cressida could not believe that it was her wedding day to Eloise. She was at her family’s country estate, in a room finishing up her suit.

“How do I look?” Cressida asked.

“You look wonderful. Eloise will be gobsmacked,” Michaela said.

“I can’t believe you beat me to the altar by a few months,” Cressida said.

“Yes, being married to Francesca is the best thing that happened to me. I’m sure you feel the same with Eloise,” Michaela said.

“Yes, she is the best thing that happened to me,” Cressida said.

“Let’s go, we don’t want to keep ELoise waiting,” Michaela said.

Cressida and Michaela left the room and walked down to the garden where the ceremony would occur.

“How do I look?” Eloise asked.

“Beautiful, Cressida is so lucky to marry you,” Francesca said.

“I never thought I would fall in love or get married, but Cressida changed everything for me. Now I’m going to be someone’s wife,” Eloise said.

“I can’t wait to get married,” Hyacinth said.

“I remember when I married Simo, and he was so scared that we were getting married, but I was sure that I loved him and that he loved me,” Daphne said.

“I remember marrying Michaela. It may have only been a few months ago, but it was the best day of my life. I’m sure today will also be a great day for you,” Francesca said.

“Let’s go. I’m ready,” Eloise said.

Eloise and Cressida walked down the aisle simultaneously from two different sides and met at the altar. The officiant was there when they met in the middle.

“Welcome, everyone, to Eloise and Cressida's wedding. We are all gathered here to celebrate their happy day. If anyone has a reason why they should not be married, speak now or forever hold your tongue,” the officiant said.

Everyone was silent and smiled at the couple. Eloise and Cressida smiled at that.

“Silence, good, we love to hear that,” the officiant said. “Eloise, Cressida, you have prepared your own vows.”

“Cressida, my beautiful lady, I never thought I would fall in love. I thought I would only love characters in books. Then you and I became close friends, and everything changed for me. I fell in love and met someone who understood me in a way that no one else ever had. I loved that you challenged me and became my best friend. I love that I found a love in you and found someone who understands my love of books. I love that you care about fashion when I don’t. Most people think you are vapid, but you let me see the heart under that cold exterior, and I love it. I love you all and can’t wait to be your wife,” Eloise said.

“Eloise, you make me want to be a better person. To be someone behind the mean girl exterior. You helped me find my true self and helped me love myself for who I am. I love that you get lost in books and read them. I love that you enjoy your worlds. It enriches my world when you talk about the stories you’re reading. Just like I can talk about fashion, and you will listen to me. I love that you love me unconditionally. I never had that love growing up, and now I get to have you, my best friend and love of my life, as my wife,” Cressida said.

“Perfect,” the officiant said. “Now repeat after me.”

“I, Eloise Bridgerton, take thee Cressida Cowper as my lawfully wedded wife. To love, to hold, to cherish throughout our lives together. To be faithful in sickness and health until death do us part,” Eloise said.

“I, Cressida Cowper, take thee, Eloise Bridgerton, to be my lawful wedded wife. I promise to be faithful, always to cherish you and take care of you, in sickness and health until death do us part,” Cressida said.

“With this ring I thee wed,” Eloise said, sliding the ring on Cressida’s finger.

“With this ring I thee wed,” Cressida said, sliding the ring on ELoise’s finger.

“I now pronounce you wives. You may kiss each other,” the officiant said.

Cressida took Eloise’s face between her hands, dipped her in, and kissed her like it was their wedding day. The kiss was magical, and it showed each other how happy they were to be wives.

Cressida let Eloise go and took her hand. They walked down the aisle as everyone threw confetti at them. It was a perfect wedding day, and they could not believe they were wives.

Eloise and Cressida walked into the room that would be theirs for the night until they went on their honeymoon.

“I can’t wait to get you out of that dress tonight,” Cressida said.

“Is that a promise?” Eloise asked.

“It is,” Cressida said.

“I can’t either. I can’t believe I’m excited for my wedding night. I never thought I would be excited for that. I never felt attracted to anyone until we became close, and then it slowly hit me. I love you, Cressida,” ELoise said.

“I love you to,o ELoise. I can’t wait to spend the rest of the night ravishing you,” Cressida said.

“Let’s go, they are waiting for us at the reception,” Eloise said.

Cressida first took ELoise in her arms and kissed her with all her passion. She wanted to make sure that ELoise knew how much she wanted her.

“Okay, let’s go,” Cressida said.

Eloise and Cressida walked into the estate’s ballroom and saw that everyone was happy they were there and married, but everyone was cheating on them. Eloise could not believe that her whole family was there.

Eloise and Cressida walked to the central table and sat down. Eloise took Cressida’s hand and held it in her own.

Eloise could not believe that she was married. She thought that she never wanted to get married. That was until she met Cressida, and then she could not help but fall in love with the infuriating woman.

The first course was served, and Eloise happily ate the food.

“It’s time for the first dance. Will the wives come to the dance floor and dance?” the band's lead singer announced.

Cressida took Eloise’s hand and led her to the dance floor. Eloise was held in Cressida’s arms as they swayed to the music. It was exhilarating. Cressida kissed Eloise as they danced, and the kiss was magical, like all the kisses that day. The wives continued swaying to the music with tears in their eyes. They have never been happier.

They danced and ate throughout the night and were happy they were wives. Soon, it was time for them to leave for their room to have their wedding night. Eloise and Cressida were very excited about that.

#bridgerton #bridgertonedit #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #wlw post #wlwedit #wlw yearning #wlw #wlw love #wlw fanfic #social media #social media edit

16 notes · View notes

moonlightromances · 24 days ago

Note

please don't stop writing because of the haters! there's already been too many writers who has been bullied out of the fandom for writing fem bottom louis. i don't even think they care that much about lestat's trauma but that they just found another way to try to silence leslou writers. i think your characterization of both lestat and and louis is perfect and you never wrote lestat as a dominant beast. i actually think that writing sub lestat and big bad dom louis is so much more distasteful and disrespectful to both of them and given lestat's history it makes so much sense why he would prefer topping. i truly love your writing and read your fics for comfort in difficult times and just wanted to appreciate you❤️❤️❤️

thank you :’) don’t worry, I won’t, and I think such comments are meaningless if they’re sent without explanation. like, I’m willing to engage in good faith critique, but not with people who clearly just don’t like fem bottom Louis/Leslou and don’t think anyone else should either.

side note, but the idea that my writing Lestat as an exclusive top or the more dominant partner in the relationship is the same as hypersexualising him or portraying him as a beast/predator etc is a litttle ??? to me, because I feel like it’s very much suggested in s1 that Lestat tops most (if not all?) of the time and leans more dominant. so if you’re (presumably) fine with the show depicting them that way, then why not fic authors?

I’d even say that Louis getting turned on by Lestat exerting his dominance is a pretty clear layer to their first meeting in 1x01, and mind you, Lestat could read his mind there, just as he still could in their first sex scene in the same episode, and the domination/submission undertones are there too. it sounds obvious but the fact that he can read his mind means that he knows what he wants and needs — it’s largely how he’s able to convince him to be turned, and I don’t know why that wouldn’t extend to what he wants sexually?

I know people who feel oppositely on their sexual dynamic often point to the scene at Antoinette’s in 1x06, but that never felt like a true reflection to me of their happily married/domestic sex life, which is what I like writing best. the circumstances that brought about that scene were obviously so toxic and I don’t really see them trying to recreate it, but who knows! maybe I’ll be proven wrong and brat tamer Louis is the future lol.

but I digress. I really appreciate this kind message anon and I’m so happy you like my characterisation 🤍 and that my fics bring you comfort :( you’re so sweet. thank you so much and I hope you’re having a lovely day! <3

#anon #asks #loustat #leslou

10 notes · View notes

beapeas · 2 months ago

Text

Brother's Best friend

JJ Maybank x Female Routlege! Reader

Work Count: 4k

Summary: JJ drunkenly confesses his love for his best friend's twin sister. When John B tells JJ to back off, he accidentally breaks his sister's heart. It takes a surfing accident to set the record straight.

Billie Routlege had been tagging on to her brother’s endeavours for as long as she could remember, and tonight was no different. As much as she hated parties, her twin brother loved them, and that is where she found herself most weekends. As soon as the sun set, the crew hopped into the Twinke and headed to the other side of the island for a kegger on the beach. After a short drive, JJ hopped out of the van first and extended his hand to Billie, helping her keep her balance as she hopped into the sand. John B, Sarah, Pope, and Kie all trailed out of their little clown car, and they started their night.

It has been about an hour since they arrived, and Billie was hanging out close to the bonfire with her book, watching everyone else from a distance. John B and Sarah were dancing the night away on the other side of the crowd, Pope was knee deep in a beer pong game with some guys from school, and Kie was arguing with a group of Kooks closer to the shore. JJ was playing bartender and chatting it up with anyone who stopped by the little card table of booze, though it looked like he was drinking more than he was handing out. A few minutes later, JJ made his way over to Billie. He was clearly drunk, swaying as he walked.

“Billie come dance,” He reached his hands out for her. She adored JJ, but she did not adore the crowd of people he was going to pull her into.

“I’m in the middle of a chapter Jay,” She motioned to her book that she had read three times already. JJ pouted his lip like a little kid and snatched the book right out of Billie’s hands.

“I don’t care, come one.” He dropped her book into her tote bag and grabbed her hands, pulling her to her feet. She let him. JJ slung his arms around Billie’s waist and started swaying. She rested her arms around his neck, watching their feet so JJ didn’t guide them right into the fire. The light from the flames lit up JJ’s face as he hummed a tune for the two to dance to. Billie went along with it, though she was happy to spend time with him. She’d had a crush on him for years, but held off trying anything because of the whole brother’s best friend thing. It was too risky. That’s what she was thinking, anyways, when JJ rested his head in the crook of her neck.

“You smell good,” he mumbled. He was always an affectionate person, but this was abnormal. He’s just drunk, Billie thought. She just chuckled and rubbed his back, allowing herself to live in this little fantasy while she could. “Have I ever told you that I love you?” JJ asked. Billie froze in her place.

“You’re drunk,” she reasoned.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But it’s true.” He wasn't backing down. Then, he lifted his head back up, looking at Billie. She searched his eyes, and she believed him.

“I love you too, JJ.” She was never a good liar, no use in trying now. She reached out a hand to JJ’s face, stroking his cheek. He didn’t waste any time, leaning in to kiss her. Billie couldn’t believe this was finally happening, after silently pining for him for years. He kissed her sweetly, not rushing. She rested her forehead on his, steadying her breath. They decided to leave the party, walking home hand in hand. Billie didn’t want to let go, afraid that she would wake up from this dream. It only took twenty minutes to walk back to the chateau where they crashed on the couch.

***

John B saw JJ and Billie dancing together. He saw them kiss too, the way JJ had kissed so many random girls on that beach. He was less than delighted to see his one and only little sister (by three minutes) become the next muse of the biggest player on the island. He had this talk with JJ before. He wanted JJ and Billie to be close, he was happy they were. But JJ knew better than to try anything with her, John B made that very clear. Before he went to join Sarah in bed, he decided to remind JJ of his rules. John B grabbed JJ’s arm, dragging him off the couch. He hit the floor, waking right up.

“Ow! What the hell man?” He sat up, rubbing his side of the face that hit the floor. John B put a finger up to his lips, reminding the boy that Billie was sleeping a foot away.

“Come here,” John B went out to the porch and JJ followed him, stretching his arms behind him and yawning.

“Something wrong with the twinkie again?” JJ asked. He closed the front door behind him and plopped down into a chair. It had cooled down outside a considerable amount. John B looked pretty warm though, his face was getting red. Oh, JJ thought. He’s mad. John B just stared at him. “What’s got your panties in a knot?” JJ knew exactly what it was. It took a moment, but he remembered everything. Shit.

“Dude I saw you kiss my sister! My very off limits sister.” John B just stood in front of JJ, arms crossed over his chest.

“John B, let me explain.”

“No, the answer is no. You’re not gonna treat her like your next-”

“That isn’t what happened.”

“JJ you’re my best friend. Like my brother. You don't kissing your brother’s sister!” John B threw his hands up. JJ winced at his unfortunate phrasing. “Look, bottom line is, you back off or you find another couch to sleep on.” It was harsh, but John B's stance was firm. With that, John B went back inside, leaving JJ on the porch to contemplate what he was just told. He wanted to be with Billie. He had wanted nothing more for years. All the girls he kept around were just distractions. But John B was serious. If JJ lost John B, he might as well have nothing and no one. He didn’t feel like he had a choice.

***

The next morning, Billie woke up alone. For a moment, she thought last night was all a dream. But there she was, on the couch, in last night’s clothes. JJ must’ve just woken up before her, she thought. He would be around here somewhere. She looked around, and found him in the kitchen, sitting on top of the counter next to the stove where John B was cooking something. They were quietly talking when they noticed Billie standing up.

“Mornin’ B,” John B said. Billie approached the two boys to inspect John B’s cooking.

“Oh good, I was really hooping for burnt pancakes today,” Billie joked. John B flicked her shoulder in retaliation. She hardly noticed, she was focused on the unusually quiet JJ. He stayed in his spot only a foot away from her, but he kept his head down. She just assumed he didn’t want to say anything to make John B suspicious. He was always pretty protective of her, and she expected nothing different this time around. “Hey Jay, can we talk?” He looked up at her and nodded silently, dreading what he would have to do. Billie stepped outside onto the porch, and JJ followed, once again. She didn’t see the look John B gave him, or the nod that he returned. He decidedly hated porch conversations now.

“Look, if this is about last night, I’m sorry.” JJ started. Billie’s heart sank. He wasn’t supposed to be sorry. “I was really drunk, I didn’t mean to say all that or make things weird.” Billie thought she’d be leaving this conversation with a boyfriend, finally being able to call JJ her’s. She actually believed him last night. And now she felt so, so, stupid.

“Oh.” She felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she wouldn’t let him see her cry. That wasn’t good for anyone. She started to laugh, but there was no humor in her voice. “Of course, you were drunk. Why would you want me?" It took no time at all for her fears and insecurities to show themselves. "You can have any girl on the island, it’s silly to think you’d pick me. Glad we’re on the same page.” She blinked away more tears, leaving JJ to stare at her blankly. He was horrified, he wanted to hug her and tell her that none of that was true. That he really did love her and only her, but that wasn't an option. So he just stood there, mouth slightly open, like an idiot. When Billie realized he wasn’t going to say anything else, she ran back inside before the tears came in heavier. She ran straight past John B and into her room where she locked the door behind her.

JJ stood there for a while, feeling like a piece of shit. Eventually he went back inside, but only because he was hungry. When he saw Billie about to cry, he wanted to get on his bike and drive it right into the marsh. But John B went to all the trouble of making pancakes. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and sulked into the kitchen where he found a plate of pancakes, but no John B. He found his friend standing up against Billie’s bedroom door, quietly talking to the girl on the other side. When he spotted JJ, he gave up on Billie and made his way back to the kitchen.

“Dude, what did you do?” John B asked.

“Just what you told me to do. Are we good?” JJ put a fist out. John B thought his sister would bounce back in no time. This was just a little bump, and if he had let Billie become one of JJ's little flings, things would have ended much worse. So he nodded and hit JJ’s fist with his.

Billie stayed in her room for most of the day. She was more introverted than her brother, so he wasn’t immediately concerned by her withdrawal from the group. She was embarrassed, then devastated, and landed on angry. Angry at JJ for being so stupid, angry at herself for buying it. She thought about all the years she spent with JJ. All the times he defended her to school yard bullies, all the nights he spent in her room when she was scared of a hurricane. She remembered the times she held him while he cried over his dad, or the many times she cleaned him up after a fight. She took care of him when he was drunk or high, she helped him with school, and worst of all, she really loved him. She went through pictures on her phone of the two of them together. He always had an arm around her or a hand on her leg. It didn’t make any sense.

Billie spent almost a week driving herself insane like this. JJ was distant and cold. He thought he was protecting Billie’s feelings and his own, but it just drove the two of them insane. Sarah got Billie out of the house, taking her to the beach and to her favorite bookstore. Sarah was hoping Billie would talk about what happened. She got the lowdown from John B, but not even he knew what went so wrong. Everyone could see how JJ avoids looking at Billie and how she won’t walk into a room if she thinks he’s there. Even Kie won’t say anything, afraid to break the quiet tension.

One morning, John B stepped into Billie’s room to check on her. He found her curled up in bed with a book. It would have been a completely normal sight, but her eyes were red and puffy. His heart broke a little at the sight. He quietly sat down on the edge of her bed and studied her face. She finished reading the page she was on, then looked up to meet his gaze.

“You alright B?” He asked quietly. She set her book down and sat up a bit.

“I don’t know,” Her voice was a little raspy. She hadn’t used it yet today.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid.” Billie waited for John B to respond, but he didn’t. He just kept looking at her expectantly. She decided maybe it was time to tell someone what happened. “It was the kegger last weekend. Everything was all normal and I was just sitting back, then JJ came over, drunk off his ass. He wanted to dance, so we did. And then he told me he loved me,” Bille told him. John B’s eyebrows knit together at this. “I know he was drunk, but he really seemed like he meant it. Then the next morning, he told me it wasn’t real.” The tears had started flowing again and John B wrapped his arms around his sister, pulling her into a hug. “I don’t know, I really thought he meant it. I really wanted him to mean it.” Billie had to stop talking, she couldn’t anymore. She just leaned her head onto John B’s shoulder and rested there.

“Do you love him?” He asked. She took a moment to think about the question.

“I think I have for years,” was what she decided. John B felt terrible. He hated to think that his perfect little sister was miserable because he made JJ take it back. But John B had no idea what had really happened that night. He saw the kissing at the kegger, but he had seen JJ kissing a lot of girls at keggers. He didn’t want his sister to be just one of those girls. What he didn’t realize is that she never was. He made a mental note to talk to JJ and make things right next time he saw him.

There was a storm coming in later tonight, making for some pretty good waves out on the shore. Billie was tired of hiding in the corner of every room and hiding her face with a book. She decided to get her feelings out the way she knew best, and she went out to surf. Only Sarah and John B were home when she left. She let her brother know where he could find her, grabbed her board, and set out for the beach. Much to Billie’s dismay, Pope and JJ were out surfing as well. She caught JJ’s eye, but he was quick to turn the other way. Billie made sure to walk further down the shore, keeping her distance from the two boys. The waves were big and she wouldn’t let anyone stop her.

It was going well. The falling sun kept her warm in the cool water as she paddled out, and rode back in with every wave. After letting it all out on John B earlier today, she was happy to at least have one person who understood her. She felt her mind settling a little bit. The noise in her brain was being replaced with the swish of the water and the screams of the seagulls. JJ hated seagulls. They were loud and always tried to take his food. They shit on his bike when he didn’t cover it. Billie loved them. She wanted to be one right now and fly far away.

Eventually, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon. Billie never liked surfing in the dark, it was terrifying. She decided to claim one last wave and make the trek home. She sat on her board, scanning potential waves to close out her night. There was one coming towards her, growing as it inched closer. She started to paddle out, adrenaline from the last few carrying her forward. Once she had finally reached the base of the wave, she hopped up onto her board. She was on top of the world. The wave was way bigger than she realized. She didn’t notice Pope and JJ in the distance, watching her take on this monster. She didn’t notice a competing wave coming toward her. Not until it sent her flying.

It happened so fast. She was soaring on her board, then she was under water. The ocean pushed her around, straight to the bottom where she felt a sharp rock rip into her thigh. She wanted to scream, but her head was under water. The boys saw the whole thing. The second she teatered off her board, JJ went running. Fight or flight kicked in and Billie used her arms to push her head above the water. She gasped for air and searched for her board. The salt water stung at the gash on her leg, she thought she was going to puke. She located her board and dragged herself on top of it, so she could sit up and assess the damage.

Her leg looked bad. Some lighter scrapes outlined a deeper cut down the side of her thigh. Not to mention the sand and dirt that littered every little tear in the skin. Blood flowed out of it at a concerning rate. Billie was used to blood, but usually on the fists of her brother or cheeks of her friend. Not like this, and not this much. In a panic, she began paddling in. She practically crawled out of the water as JJ finally got to her. She ignored him, determined to take care of herself. Pope was just behind him, and made it right when Billie stood up. The sharp pain skyrocketed when she made it to her feet. It lasted no time at all as she fell back to her knees.

“Billie, let me help you.” JJ pulled his towel off of his neck and tried to put it over her leg. She yanked it out of his hands before he got the chance. She tightly wrapped the towel around her leg, trying to keep pressure on the cut. The light blue stripes quickly turned crimson. Pope grabbed her board while JJ stood close by, aching to help. But he didn’t want to upset her more.

“Call John B,” she demanded.

“I don’t have my phone.” JJ simply stated. Billie groaned in pain and annoyance, although none of them ever brought their phones to the beach. She knew that.

“Okay. I’ll just walk home.” She braced to stand up again, no matter how light headed she was getting. Pope quickly stepped in and put his hands on her shoulders, keeping Billie seated. She didn’t protest. She put her hands over her face, trying to focus on her breathing while Pope took the towel off of her leg. The bleeding hadn’t gone down at all, and her wound was only getting sandier. Pope replaced the first towel with his own, expertly tying it as a bandage. “Thanks Pope,” She offered.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but we should get you home.” He returned. Pope threw JJ’s bloody towel over his shoulder and picked up her board and his own. That left JJ to help Billie. She had no fight left in her, tears staining her cheeks and blood staining her hands. She put her arms up, allowing him to pick her up. He held her like a little kid, careful not to touch her leg in the wrong spot. They began their trek home. Of course, it was longer than usual because Billie had to go so far down the beach to escape JJ. The same JJ who came running. How could he not love her? It was a silent walk, broken up by Billie’s occasional sniffle. JJ would hold her a little tighter with each one, hating how much pain she was in. It was nothing compared to how tight Billie was holding JJ’s arm, desperate for some relief. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on not throwing up or passing out.

She didn’t lift her head from his shoulder when they walked in the chateau doors. She had completely dissociated by now. Pope swiftly went for the bathroom, where he would dig out the first aid kit. John B and Sarah were on the couch, not paying much attention until they saw the bloody towel hanging around Pope’s neck.

“Uh Pope, whose blood is that?” Sarah shouted, turning around to see Billie and JJ. “Oh my god,” she saw the second blood stained towel around Billie’s leg, and almost punched John B’s arm to get him to look. He stood up right away, assessing his sister’s face for signs of pain. She just looked defeated as she opened her eyes to meet his. He wiped a silent tear off her cheek, and cleared off the counter so JJ could set her down.

Pope returned with the kit and got right to work. Sarah draped a clean towel around Billie’s shoulders after watching her shiver in the AC, wearing nothing but a bikini. John B hovered behind Pope, watching him unwrap and clean the wound. JJ stood back, arms crossed. He was mad. Mad at himself for letting it get this far. John B handed his sister pain medicine and her water bottle. Before Pope could cover her leg in a clean bandage, Billie wanted to shower. She was still covered in ocean filth and sand, and there was no way she would get in her bed like that. She still couldn’t stand up quite right, so she enlisted Sarah’s help and they headed away to the bathroom.

Pope cleaned up his supplies as the three guys stood around in silence.

“What happened?” John B asked. JJ just stared at the ground, shaking his head.

“She wiped out,” Pope replied. “Must’ve hit a rock or something. By the time we got there she couldn’t even stand.” John B nodded in understanding. He took the two bloody towels and dropped them into the trash, not bothering to try to wash them.

“You should wash up,” John B told JJ, noticing the blood on his stomach and hands and shorts from carrying Billie back.

“God, I feel like this is all my fault. She only surfs like that when she’s upset about something.” JJ said. John B hands JJ a wet towel and he begins to clean himself off.

“It’s not your fault JJ,” John B told him.

“You’re right,” JJ realized. “It’s not my fault. It’s yours.” John B was taken aback, but he let JJ go on. “You made me do that. I didn’t want to tell her it was a drunk mistake. But you didn’t give me much of a choice!” He was yelling now.

“JJ,” John B tried to cut in.

“No, you didn’t have to watch her run away crying. Now she really believes that I don’t love her and it’s all because of you.”

“She told me about that this morning. I didn’t realize-”

“No, of course you didn’t, you wouldn’t even let me talk!” JJ threw the wet towel into the sink. The shower had turned off by now, and Pope ran off to the bathroom to cover Billie’s leg in gauze now that she was clean and dressed.

“I’m sorry,” is all John B could say, although JJ may not be the one he should apologize to.

“Look, I know you just want to protect her. But so do I, you don’t have to protect her from me.” JJ finished his rant and John B stood there, nodding. He knew he was right. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Billie was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in an old t-shirt and pajama shorts, her leg now wrapped in white bandages. Sarah and Pope must have sensed JJ’s want for privacy, and they filed out.

“Can you…?” Billie pointed to the hairbrush on the kitchen sink, which JJ grabbed and handed to her. She began running it through her tangled hair. JJ crouched down next to her.

“Can we talk?” JJ asked. Billie nodded. It’s not like she could walk away from him if she tried. “What I said at the kegger, it was all true. I meant it all,” he looked up at Billie, waiting for a reaction. She was just waiting for the catch.

“So why’d you take it back?”

“Your brother,” JJ chuckled. Billie didn’t. “I guess he saw us kiss, he was pretty mad. He basically said I wouldn’t be his friend anymore. I didn’t know what else to do. God, I should have punched him right there.” JJ kept rambling, filling the silence while Billie sat there, taking it in.

“I thought you were gonna be there when I woke up,” is all she could say. JJ’s head fell at this, he felt terrible.

“I know. I’m sorry,” He let his head hang, until Billie reached for his hands. She took them in hers, resting them in her lap.

“So it’s true?”

“Yes, god, it’s true. I love you, Billie.” He squeezed her hands, and she smiled for the first time in a while.

“Say it again,”

“I love you,” with his confirmation, she basically jumped into his arms. He held her tight, deciding John B was a problem for later. He kissed Billie again, no alcohol necessary this time. She came up for air and said,

“I’m gonna kill John B.” JJ could only laugh.

“I’ll help,” he promised.

#outer banks #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #obx #john b routledge #pope heyward x reader #kiara carrera #routledge!reader

15 notes · View notes