#after that though sorry your a grown woman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

qwimblenorrisstan · 7 days

Text

Subservient | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Rhys’ reputation in Hewn City is less than stellar, so when an orphanage becomes overwhelmed, he offers to take some in. His plan doesn’t turn out how he expected when he’s instead sent you, an employee there, sent to scope Rhys out before sending children to him. And in true High Lord fashion, he unceremoniously dumps you off on his brothers.

Word Count: ~ 3.4k

Warnings: Abuse, starvation, dehydration, child abuse, bruises, scars, injuries, traumatized reader, orphans, but it ends with some fluff I promise

A/N: thank you so much to anon who sent this req in, it def gave me the inspiration I needed, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

When you first arrived, the first thought that Azriel had was that you were a sorry sight, hair clearly previously having been mangled and just brushed in time, clothes old and worn by others before you, eyes tired and dim as you didn’t even try to take in your surroundings, looking completely out of it, even with the High Lord of Night Court sitting only twenty feet from you, lounging on a throne.

Azriel could pick up the subtlest shift of Rhys’ scent, the slight tinge of worry as he took you in, despite the sensual smirk that remained on his face, and his lazy posture like a cat spread out, stretching.

But they were in Hewn City, and Rhys couldn’t afford to be himself in Hewn City, not yet anyway, not until the next generation of Fae that was less cold and brittle arrived. Which could take centuries, at the least. Even now, with the plan that was unfolding, it wasn’t likely the citizens would see him as anything worth their time or support.

And as he watched you silently trudge up to the throne, giving the barest bow in recognition only when the older Fae elbowed you harshly in your too-thin figure, he wondered why he had even thought this would be a good idea. Sure, Rhys didn’t have the best reputation in the Court of Nightmares, and the citizens were angry after the damage done to their city, and the lives lost.

The orphanage had taken in more children than they could handle, requiring help from citizens who weren’t the most willing to serve.

This left Rhys with an idea, one that everyone else in the Inner Circle had given their support for eventually, albeit begrudgingly. He took two birds with one stone and took in some of the orphans to both raise his reputation and solve the orphanage size problem.

The only issue with it had been that the orphanage, despite its problems, and the obvious displays of uncleanliness, lack of employees, and even some abuse, refused to give Rhys any children, and though the High Lord could just override their order, that wouldn’t help with the issue of his reputation.

And so they’d agreed to send a worker, one that had grown up in the orphanage and lived there still, working full time to help the children. And look how well that had turned out, with this malnourished, beaten female showing up, barely even alive.

Rhys didn’t speak, his eyes, unsmiling, on the male who’d led you here, forcing him to speak first. The tension grew thick.

”Here she is, my Lord.”

He said, voice smooth despite the hint of nerves Azriel could detect under it, and in his body language. He was fidgeting, palms sweaty, scent blocked with some sort of sour spray commonly sold here in Hewn City, but Azriel could pick up the notes of fear in it, the anxiety.

Rhys watched silently, waiting just to watch the man slowly become more afraid, before speaking.

”Very well, then. Azriel, escort her to the House.”

He said with a simple wave of his hand, and despite the surprise that rose in Azriel about the fact that Rhys hadn’t called the man out or exposed him in the slightest for the obvious mistreatment of the woman, he pushed it back down, walking over to you and gingerly picking your frail form up as if it might shatter with the slightest amount of force.

A silent winnow to the House of Wind, the shadows gently exploring you, reporting every little injury they found, the dehydration and starvation evident in your body, not to mention the clear lack of sleep from the dark eye bags you possessed.

”What’s your name?”

He tried to ask it softly, so as not to startle you, like talking to a cornered animal, but you weren't very responsive. He sighed near silently, walking to a table, the House pulling out a chair as he set you down in it. A glass of water appeared on the table, and that was the thing that seemed to make your eyes light up again, even if just a little bit. Maybe just natural instincts to get water after going so long without.

He gently grasped the water, bringing it to your lips as they parted, tilting the cup slightly to let the water flow down into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop eagerly, parched tongue that felt like sandpaper finally getting the hydration it screamed for.

You panted as he pulled the cup away, hand going to grasp it to bring it back, but he shook his head and you realized the cup was empty. The House, seeming to sense your thirstiness, decided to help, and your eyes widened when you saw water magically filling the cup. Azriel watched, a small smile playing on his lips at your awe and surprise.

”The House is sentient,”

He explained, voice low and quiet. Gentle.

”It decides that we need a bit of help, sometimes.”

You brought the cup back to your lips, drinking the liquid all down as your hand shakily held the cup. The House filled it up, and you drank again and repeated it until your stomach felt full of all the water it could hold, and you couldn’t keep anything else down.

“Full?”

The shadowsinger asked, and you nodded hesitantly. He seemed to expect it.

”You’ll eat in the morning. For now..”

He glanced outside, at the darkness that had swept over the sky quickly, before turning back to you.

”I’ll take you to your room.”

It was another silent moment, a walk, as he offered a hand you didn’t take at first, only carefully taking after you tried to stand up and your knees buckled immediately. It was more like his arm around your waist, at this point, with how he was holding half of your weight up. Your eyes grew heavy, even as you gaped at the paintings adorning the walls, the carpet and rich wood beneath your feet, the fancy wallpapers and furniture. Just selling one of those pieces of furniture could pay for probably a decade’s worth of food for the orphanage.

A fancy wooden door came into view with a carved siding and intricate leaf patterns with flowers carved around the handle, it opened for the both of you as he walked in. The bed in the center of the room was rich, but looked comfortable, just the way you liked it with the right pillows, blankets, sheets, and everything. There was a side table and a large closet, as well as another door you assumed led to a bathroom. You could’ve sworn you heard music playing somewhere down the hall.

As you walked in, he remained at the doorway, not going to enter your space without your permission as you leaned against the wall, slowly making your way to the bed until you sat down on the edge of it, still in your dirty clothes.

You were too tired to care.

He turned to leave, hand on the door handle before you spoke.

”Y/N.”

He glanced at you, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, eyes narrowing just a bit.

”My name,”

You clarified, voice raspy and thin, but slowly shedding its rough layer, smoothing over with every word you spoke.

“It’s Y/N.”

He looked at you for a long moment, hazel eyes peering into yours, before he gave a small nod, and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him.

That night had been the first time you’d spoken to any of them, and also one of your last nights seeing Azriel. He’d been sent away on a mission, only giving you a brief introduction to his brother Cassian, a big, brutish-looking man with a smirk, who had forced you to eat properly every day and even convinced you to help out with the exercises today.

Thanks to the daily intake of protein and nutrients you got three times a day now, as well as water, your thin figure had filled out nicely, and you were outside, detangled and freshly washed hair tied back into a braid that the red-haired priestess had done for you after watching you struggle with doing it on your own. You’d already forgotten her name. Something that started with G.

Cassian was trying to help you with the daily stretches that his mate, Nesta, had supposedly originally started with. Your body wasn’t as frail as before but was stiff as a board due to the long hours of being forced into a wooden chair, or the days spent bent over tables folding laundry or over counters doing dishes, not to mention all the paperwork for an orphanage…

You weren’t flexible. At all.

“Here, try to move your hand slowly down, even just centimeter by centimeter.”

He was trying to get you to touch your toes, but you only frowned, hand refusing to go past the bottom of your knee as you tried to push it further, your already aching back screaming in protest.

The three other females out were practicing their swordplay, or whatever one would call the weapons they were wielding. You could hear steel on steel clinging from here, even, and you saw how Cassian wanted to join them. How his eyes kept glancing up at them, a hint of longing in them, maybe even a gleam of lust at the thought of seeing his mate sparring.

And you felt bad for holding him back from that, bad enough that you just wanted to get this last stupid stretch over so you could go back inside and quit wasting his time. With a little mental shove, you pushed your hand down further, jerking it down and-

Something hurt. Bad. A slight sound of something popping almost, and a sharp pain in the back of your leg. Years of controlling your expression from the harsh punishments of the older women in the orphanage came back as you forced it into a neutral, fingertips gracing your toe as you slowly shifted back into a standing position.

Cassian must’ve been too focused on the other females to notice your subtle limp, or how all of your weight was focused on one leg. He raised a brow, glancing back at you when he saw you shift up.

“I touched it.”

You said simply, and he grinned, genuine pride in his eyes gleaming so brightly that it hurt flashing as he nodded.

“You’re making good progress, go take a break. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, yeah?”

You gave a nod, and he patted you gently on the back as he jogged past, picking up a sword and launching straight into sparring with Nesta as you managed to get into the House.

Cassian might’ve been a bit oblivious, but the House of Wind was anything but. Immediately, a chair appeared right near the entrance, and a strong sudden wind pushed you into it, a cold cushion appearing right beneath the aching spot in your thigh as you sat down.

The chair began moving, going straight into your room, where you shifted onto the bed, sitting on the edge.

Strangely though, the House didn’t do anything further. Didn’t provide any ice, or anything to compress it with, so you supposed it was up to you. Usually, it provided anything you needed badly.

Shifting up, your hand went to gently explore the back of your thigh, tenderly pushing against your pants to find the spot that was aching so badly, and soon enough, you found it. A sharp pain shot through your nerves as you grunted and flinched at it, hand immediately going away.

You tried to stand up, but your knee on that right thigh completely buckled, and you fell to the floor in a heap, vision swimming.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you loosed a deep breath, frustration blooming through you.

“Need some help?”

A familiar low voice asked, and you opened your eyes, only to see Azriel standing right by one of the windows, head tilted to the side, hazel eyes examining. His shadows whirled around him, some carefully approaching you. You froze under his gaze, eyes widening.

“How long have you been standing there?”

You asked, and he began to approach, long strides making their way to you as he crouched down in front of you. He hummed in thought, lips pursing before he answered.

“Long enough to know you’re hurt. Can I pick you up?”

He questioned, eyes peering into yours, asking for consent. After just picking you straight up that first introduction without asking, he figured he might’ve not made the best impression, and he planned to undo that. Or maybe he was just overthinking this whole thing. Either way, consent is still a good thing to get.

You nodded, glancing down at your leg as you began trying to squirm, but with a single shake of his head, Azriel shut it down. His hands wrapped around you, slowly lifting you up and carefully to avoid your hurt thigh as he took you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet seat.

“Do you know what’s..wrong with it?”

You asked, and he glanced at your right thigh, shadows flitting around him.

“I’d assume a hamstring tear. Hopefully just a partial one.”

You gulped nearly audibly at that. An entire hamstring tear, just from some stupid stretches that you couldn’t get down. You’d bothered this family enough, and to have Azriel, probably fresh from a mission and tired as hell, having to help you with this…it was more than embarrassing as well.

“I’m going to need to…”

He swallowed awkwardly, gesturing to your pants, and you grimaced. He must’ve noticed, because he quickly offered up a solution.

“I can have the shadows do it, they won’t hurt you. Promise.”

You nodded at that, a breathy little-

“Okay,”

-escaping your lips. Azriel turned away as the cool touch of the shadows, at first made you shudder, though you eventually adjusted as they unbuttoned the pants, slowly slipping them off, making sure the material didn’t put any pressure against your injured leg. They also made sure to tug your shirt down to cover your underwear, which you silently thanked them for. You didn’t need the shadowsinger seeing all that.

He eventually turned back around, probably having been signaled by his shadows that they were done. His gaze remained respectful, making sure to never wander as he bent down, glancing up at the bottom of your thigh and frowning to himself, before nodding.

“Torn hamstring. We’ll keep pressure and ice on it while I wait for Madja.”

You blinked.

“We? Also, who’s Madja?”

You asked, brows furrowed in mild confusion.

“Madja is our family healer. She’s been doing it for centuries now, I sent my shadows to contact her the moment I saw you injured. And you aren’t going to be staying all alone while injured. It’s a ‘we’ situation.”

He replied bluntly, somehow still not a rude sort of blunt, though. Your cheeks turned red.

“You didn’t have to do that, it’s not that bad. Really, I could’ve managed-“

He cut you off before you even got the rest of the sentence out.

“You collapsed from the pain while trying to stand up. It was that bad. Despite whatever you experienced while at that orphanage may have led you to believe, you are not subservient, and you are allowed to have problems.”

He said almost sternly, and you sat there, shocked for a moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You said, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, and he gave you a doubtful look, moving to sit down so he wasn’t towering over you, settling on the floor across from where you were sitting.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N. I see the way you clean the dishes off after dinners, help set the table before them, offer to babysit Nyx for Feyre, clean the weapons the Valkyries use in training for them…it’s obvious.”

His hazel eyes met yours yet again, and you tried to swallow that lump down, failing, again.

“It’s hard not to try and help out when I’m just stuck here as some charity case for the High Lord.”

There it was. The truth finally came out.

It felt bad saying it out loud, worse than it sounded in your head, but it got rid of some of the pressure in your chest finally saying it.

The orphans were starving and dehydrated, abused, and here you were, complaining about getting unlimited access to food, water, exercise, and plenty of opportunities those children would’ve gobbled up, opportunities you would’ve gobbled up at their age, had you gotten the chance.

Azriel didn’t look surprised. In fact, he looked like he’d been expecting you to say this eventually.

“It’s just—being stuck here, with all these things, when the children at the orphanage need them more than me, with the food shortages and dehydration, and Mother knows the abuse going on behind the scenes—it just feels wrong.”

He let you talk, watching you rant, while a pack of ice appeared on the floor, given by the House. When you finally managed to calm down, tears still welling in your eyes from frustration and anger, he stood up, hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know.”

He said quietly, and you sniffled, glancing up at him.

“What?”

He hesitated, before answering your question.

“I knew the orphanage wasn’t right. I’ve known for a while. It wasn’t about a charity case, or that’s not why I originally suggested it. I needed a whistleblower to shut it down.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“You want me to…”

“Only if you want to.”

The decision was yours.

Would you keep your mouth shut about the things you’d experienced as a child and employee at the orphanage, where you’d been trapped and abused for years, or would you finally stop being subservient and ignoring your own needs?

Nearly six months later, the final court proceedings went through.

It was shut down, and the children all relocated to Velaris’ orphanage funded by Feyre’s earnings from her art studio. After several bruises, scars, deformities, and the obvious malnourishment and illness in most children and employees were pointed out, not to mention some first-hand testimonies led by you, and a handful of other employees and children, it was an open and shut case.

It was a wonder no one had uncovered it earlier.

Almost as if they’d been purposefully ignoring it.

But it was over now, you thought, as you stood in one of the many balconies at the House of Wind, looking at the view over Velaris. A warm presence made itself known as cool shadows began slithering up your arms that were on the railing.

He stood beside you, also taking in the view. His scarred hands, unbound by the usual gloves he wore when getting home from missions, rested on the railing. Your cold hands slowly crept up to his, fingers brushing, both of you holding your breath as your eyes met, and your fingers intertwined slowly, carefully.

Gently, but not because you were fragile, not because Azriel thought you would easily break, he'd already learned that even when you’d been put through trial and tribulation time after time you came out dented, but whole. It was gentle because you both needed a slight reprieve from the world’s chaos and violence. From the horrors that lurked in your mind, prowling and waiting for the right moment to come back up, unwelcome and unwanted.

His wings shifted, one curling around you as he subtly shifted you closer, the limp less pronounced in your sideways step toward him.

Your free hand made its way to his cheek, softly stroking with the pad of your thumb, the barely developed calluses from your training with Cassian a soothing feeling for Azriel. His free hand made to lightly stroke your cheek, letting you take the lead. Giving you a choice.

You leaned in closer, and he bent down slightly, just so you wouldn’t have to rise on your toes to reach his face. Your lips brushed softly against his, a tentative touch, but not unsure as his reaction of kissing you back spurred you on.

And for a moment, both of you intertwined beneath the sky, everything was alright.

#writers on tumblr #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar fluff #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #send asks #anon ask #angst #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

423 notes · View notes

francixoxoxo · 2 months

Text

˚ .✧ Precious as Rubies

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒳 ℛℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽ℯ 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝓁． 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓋ℯ𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝓇ℴ𝓃𝑔， ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓈．

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭!

𝐓𝐖: 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Lollllll sorry for angst

Coriolanus’ world had nearly stopped turning when the doctor told him your pregnancy could be fatal.

He swore he would never, never love the child who killed the love of his life. The only woman he could ever love. Coryo’s late-night tears became cries of anger, tears of spite. That damn fetus. He did this to you, he put that parasite into your perfect body and now you wouldn’t let him fix his mistake. Now you forced him to live with the consequences.

He would never love the child that killed you.

Coriolanus had been paralyzed with fear that all that spite, all that hate for his own baby might dampen whatever love he had left, now that she had let you live. He was proved impossibly wrong, the very moment Ruby wrapped her little, chubby fingers around his pinky and his azure eyes flooded with tears. Oh, it was him wrapped around her finger from then on.

The first night you brought her home, Coriolanus held you close to him, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Telling you just how grateful he was for you. Murmuring just how much he adored you. Putting his foot down and whispering that you two would have no more children after this whole wreck. It seemed like just after you two fell asleep, Ruby’s cries came from the nursery.

Coryo moved to get up, but you shook your head. “She’s hungry. I’ll get it.” You cooed, a gentle hand on his chest pushing him back against the mattress. He grumbled something but obliged you.

When you slipped back into his arms, Coryo stirred only enough to press a kiss to your hairline and mumble a goodnight. You were exhausted, sleep was calling your name.

Until a few hours later you awoke to your daughter’s bawls from the room over. This time, your husband threw the covers off him before you could protest. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “It’s only fair.”

You don’t protest. Childbirth has exhausted you, quite frankly. So you let your eyes flutter shut, and your mind slip into sleep.

You wake up only just a few hours later, though not to Ruby crying. Some instinct in you forces you to your feet— Coryo isn’t in his side of the bed. Barefoot and sore, you make your way to the nursery, all sorts of nerves shooting through you.

When you push open the door, the hallway lights pour into the dark nursery to illuminate Coriolanus, sitting in the rocking chair beside Ruby’s bassinet. He was absolutely knocked out, baby in his arms, bottle empty in his hand and head tipped back against the chair, blonde curls loose and mussed. Oh, what a sight.

You worked hard to keep your laughter to yourself, carefully stepping closer and kissing Coryo’s forehead. You almost lifted Ruby from his arms, but it was such a tender vision that you couldn’t bring yourself to. You slept very soundly, knowing that your baby was safely tucked into her father’s arms.

Coriolanus proved himself over and over again just how good a father he could be. You and him both agreed that you needed to be involved with Ruby, you couldn’t just leave her to a nanny as most capitol socialites would.

Ruby was a blessing, and Coryo always treated her as such. He read to her at night, you’d sit in that same rocking chair he’d fallen asleep in all those years ago, looking between your daughter and husband. His eyes would be trained on the book, occasionally he smiled up at Ruby. Oh, she’d grown into the most darling little girl.

With your dark locks in the shape of Coryo’s thick curls, and his bright, sapphire eyes, rosy little cheeks and sweet smiles. Ruby stole everyone’s heart the moment she spoke. Coriolanus absolutely spoiled her, adorning her little neck in expensive yet simple and childish necklaces, a favorite of hers becoming a dainty ruby on a golden chain. You dressed her in the cutest baby doll dresses, wrapping her up in the best fashions and most darling colors to suit her cheery nature. Every toy that girl wanted, her father was holding behind his back, cooing for her to close her eyes as he presented it to her the very next day. Spoiled absolutely rotten, you’d say to Coryo.

“Well, I don’t see a problem.” Coriolanus shrugged, looking up from the documents on his desk and peering at you through his lashes. You were sprawled out over a chaise against the wall of his office, feet propped up on the armrest and a hand splayed over your belly. You’d put a five year old Ruby to bed about thirty minutes ago. it was another late night for Coryo and a restless one for you, so you figured you might stay up with him.

You shake your head. “She’ll get a big head if we aren’t careful.” Coriolanus shook his head, smiling softly to himself. He scrawled his signature on a bill.

“She hasn’t yet. Ruby’s a very humble girl.” Coriolanus announced with pride, glancing towards you. You didn’t seem convinced, still worrying for your daughter. “My love, you never got snobbish. I could shower her in jewels bigger than her fist and she would still take after you.” You were relieved to find that, years later, he was correct.

She never got greedy, or snobbish. Surrounded by spoiled children of her father’s colleagues, you were very careful to remind her to be humble. To be kind.

While you and Coryo got ready for a gala, she’d sit on your bed, watching her father clasp expensive diamond necklaces around your neck, pressing sweet kisses to your shoulder as he zipped up the back of your dress. Watching as you fixed his tie, listening as your wit brought laughter from his lips. The two of you showed Ruby what love was, what it meant to give your whole heart to a person.

Coryo would stand behind you, letting you use up the mirror as he rested his hands on your hips. You’d adjust your hair, and your husband’d rest his chin on your shoulder, meeting Ruby’s eyes in the mirror. “Isn’t your mother beautiful?” He’d say, every single time, lifting his brows. And every single time, Ruby’d nod enthusiastically.

Coriolanus certainly made sure to raise a daughter who adored her mother as much as he did, especially when you’d gone through such hell to have one at all.

When Ruby turned seven, Coryo had excused himself from breakfast for a moment. You’d stood behind your daughter, your hands on her shoulders, raising your brows at your husband as he reentered. Ruby was watching him with big eyes.

“You’re a responsible little girl, aren’t you?” Coriolanus raised his brows, but unable to resist a smile at his daughter. He held his hands behind his back, hiding the present from her. She nodded passionately. “And you’ll take care of this gift?” Ruby would nod her head off her neck if she could.

Coryo glanced up at you, and at your little nod, he brought his hands ‘round to his front to present to a Ruby a kitten, hardly the size of both his palms. Ruby gaped at the little muss of fur, pelt white as snow. “For me? It’s for me?” Ruby gasped, grabbing at the cat eagerly.

“It’s for you, darling girl.” You cooed, watching her hold the kitten. Coryo steps around his daughter and her new cat to slip an arm around your waist.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Ruby squealed, moving to sit on her knees with her legs tucked under her, setting the kitten on the floor of the dining room. You watched as Ruby stroked the kitten twixt the ears, her brows drawing in deep thought.

“What’s the matter?” You frown. Ruby shakes her head, shifting the little kitten to the crook of her elbow and coming to hug Coriolanus. Her arms could only wrap around his hips, her head hardly reaching his stomach. His hand instantly came to card through her dark locks. “Nothing… I just don’t know what to name her.” Ruby mumbles into her father’s suit.

Coriolanus reaches down and scoops her up, resting her on his hip. He pretends he isn’t grossed out by the cat on his new suit jacket. “Well, it’s up to you.” He raises his brows. You shrug, slipping a hand between your daughter and husband to stroke Ruby’s cheek.

“What about…” You squint a moment, staring at the rosy hue of your daughter’s cheeks. The color of a— “Poppy?”

Ruby’s sapphire eye lit up, that was the one. She gasped a little, smiling brightly. “Poppy!”

“Mm, mama’s just full of good ideas.” Coryo hummed, leaning over to press a tender but quick kiss to your lips. He turns so Ruby can get a chance to smack a little kiss to your cheek. God, he wished she could stay so little forever.

But she couldn’t. She grew too fast for both of your likings. Before you knew it she was a teenager, earning scoldings from her father practically left and right. “She’s got your rebellious streak,” Coriolanus would huff in the aftermath of a reprimanding. You’d often send him to her room to make things up before bed. He would go reluctantly, but to your satisfaction always come back with a lighter heart and an easier mind.

Before your eyes, Ruby grew into a captivating woman. Yet often she’d still sit on the floor beside your chair, laying her head in your lap and letting her long, luscious dark curls wash across your legs. Ruby would come to you when she was arguing with her father, huffing harsh words about Coriolanus, but biting her tongue as you gently defended his intentions. You’d push your fingers through her hair, watching as those familiar azure eyes stared up at you with an equally familiar adoration.

“Mama, he’s just cruel sometimes.” Ruby muttered, nosing your thigh, her arms tightening around your waist. You absentmindedly braided a few ringlets together as you shake your head.

“He means well, baby.” You promise. Ruby was complaining of the most recent fight, over a man she was seeing. You personally took a liking to the boy, but Coryo made it very clear to you that he didn’t want him anywhere near his little girl. Ruby insisted that she wasn’t so little, that her father didn’t get to make her decisions for her anymore. “He just wants a good partner for you.”

“Nandor is a good man.” Ruby sighed, tilted her head and lifted her eyes to your face. “Won’t you convince him?”

You smile a bit regretfully, stroking the backs of your fingers down her rosy cheeks. “Not good enough for you, my heart.” Nothing would ever be good enough for Ruby, not to Coriolanus. But you agreed to talk to your husband about the boy.

Sometimes you missed when she had been little, moldable and curious. But you were so, unbelievably proud of how far from moldable she was now, as a young woman. Your Ruby was a steadfast, wise girl.

Late at night, you’d murmur these thoughts to Coryo. You’d trace the extra creases in his handsome face that time had etched as he spoke without any bite in his words. “She’s bullheaded.” He’d smile, the action creasing his eyes. You mirrored him.

“Like her father.” You’d remind him, gently.

No matter how stubborn she was, Coriolanus absolutely loved his daughter with his whole heart. He’d try and put up a strong face but she had him wrapped around her finger since the day she was born. And had been making Coryo proud ever since. Proud of her intelligence. Proud of her fiery spirit. Proud of the woman she had became.

All the pain Ruby had caused you was infinitely worth it.

Where the time had gone, Coriolanus didn’t have a clue.

He fidgets with the cuffs of his suit, trying to retrace his steps as if to find exactly where the past two decades went. Twenty-five years. Too soon, he had told Ruby, but that girl was stubborn as all hell. Too soon, he had told you, but you’d smiled and reminded him of how young you both were at your wedding.

Still, Coriolanus drew his eyebrows, he recently had become aware of the amount of creases in his forehead all that time had awarded him. Ruby had just been born, hadn’t she? He’d just had the scare of his life; the relief of his life. He’d just fallen asleep at her crib, watching her sleep through tired eyes. He’d just been picking out a kitten for his little girl, just been smiling like a fool at you while he let her stand on his feet as they danced, he could’ve sworn Ruby had just been little.

But clearly that wasn’t the case. He rubbed his temple, trying to sort the words that he needed to say when he returned to your side later. Trying to think of how he could describe how distraught he felt.

Coryo was giving her away. Too soon. Too young. Oh, it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. You seemed so calm. You were always calm, though, weren’t you? He’s glad Ruby didn’t inherit his anxiety.

No, you seemed happy for her. Coriolanus was happy for her, of course. But he couldn’t overlook the fact that Ruby would no longer be under his roof. No longer would she be at his breakfast table, or just down the hall, or just in the garden. He would send her off well, of course; he made sure she and her new husband had the house of their dreams, completely paid for. But that wasn’t any consolation.

It was bittersweet, that’s the word he decided on.

Coryo stood the moment the door opened, smoothing down his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. A smile creeps across his face as he takes in Ruby, his daughter, his darling girl, dressed in a smooth, white sheath dress. He steps forward, brows lifting as his eyes drift over her long sleeves, the lace around her waist, the elegance of the dress.

“Oh, darling.” Coriolanus breathes, nostrils flaring to keep the tears out of his eyes. He lifts her hand, giving her a little twirl and eyeing the lace of her veil. “You’re a beautiful bride.”

“I feel beautiful, really.” Ruby grins, and Coryo is forced to face it. Forced to look into her eyes, her irises like mirrors of his own, forced to realize that she was grown. She was a woman, not a little girl. She looked like you, his heart swelled to think.

Maybe his eyes are wetting, because Ruby hooks her arm around the crook of his elbow, and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. Coriolanus turns his face to look at her, smiling a bit sadly. “You ready for this?”

“Not in the slightest.” He admits, and as Ruby laughs he realizes that her eyes were wet too. His other hand comes to cup over hers resting on his arm.

Ruby stares at the double doors that they’d walked in front of, her eyes wide and bright. Coriolanus inspected her face. Oh, he didn’t care how old she got, or where she lived, nor who with, he would never stop adoring his daughter.

“I love you, Papa.” Ruby breathes as two servants begin to push the doors open, the muffled piano suddenly filling her ears.

Coryo blinks away some more tears, his chest swelling with a deep breath. “I loved you first.”

Perhaps half a year later, Ruby told the two of you over lunch that she was pregnant.

Pregnant.

Ruby, your little darling girl, was having a child of her own. Oh, you felt so happy that your heart threatened to swell enough to burst. Your daughter was making her own life, and though Coriolanus was convinced that it would be separate from yours, you two would most certainly be in it.

Coryo tried his best to hide it, but you could see those little tears pricking his eyes. Tears of joy, that boyish grin stretching across his lips told you. You clasped his hand tight, the gesture reciprocated with a lingering peck to your cheek.

You feared the worst for a bit. You were paralyzed by the thought that Ruby’s pregnancy would be as horrific as yours was.

But she seemed fine. She didn’t become gaunt, as you had. She was full, glowing and happy. Ruby didn’t feel faint or ill, though she did have normal aches. Everything about her pregnancy was just normal. Perfectly healthy.

Ruby insisted on having her baby at home. You had your qualms, but that girl had always been bullheaded. You just asked that she call you and Coriolanus, so you could be there.

Well, she hadn’t. Neither had her dolt of a husband.

Her dolt of a husband who, scrambling over his words on the phone to Coriolanus, he thought the amount of blood was normal, thought nothing of it, until it had been too late. The midwife couldn’t staunch the blood.

It took everything in him to not kill Nandor himself. He instead sent one of his men, his nostrils flaring as he used the phone built into the back of the limousine to call him, clutching your hand. That idiot, that fool, that devil had practically killed Ruby. The moment he hung up, he was consoling you. Coryo pet your hair away from your face as you wept, your fists clutching onto his suit.

How could this happen? She was perfectly fine, you thought. “She was healthy, she was meant to be healthy. This wasn’t meant to happen! It was meant to be better for her!” You rambled as you bawled, sobbing into Coriolanus’s chest. You stood in the corner of the room, paramedics swarming your daughter. Oh, your poor daughter.

Your darling girl.

Your Ruby.

Coryo, for one, was furious. White hot rage licked at his skin like wildfire. All of his power. All of his control. It meant nothing here. He knew this silly home birth bullshit would only end poorly. But had Ruby listened to him? Had Ruby accepted his money, his offer of the best doctors, the best medicine, the best hospitals? No. She never listened to him, that girl.

He feels out of his mind. His hand is on your band, holding you close and tight, his nose is in your hair, his eyes are stinging, but his mind feels like trudging through murky water.

Coriolanus vaguely recalls wishing that the baby would die, and not you. That God would save you, his love, his life, his everything, in return for taking the fetus. When he got to have both, he wondered how he could ever pray for such a thing.

But he was certain now that God was listening. What a sick joke, he thought, to let Coryo hold his baby. To let him dance with her, read to her, walk with her, love her, only to rip her away. Oh, he regrets every vile thought he’d ever had about Ruby before she was born, when all she was to him was a parasite trying to kill you.

She was killing you now, all over again. Your body shook with sobs, the sound heartbreaking. It was a sharp, consuming pain, to lose a child. To lose a daughter. You felt as if something integral to your soul had been shattered. What hadn’t taken you, had taken your baby.

What a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure when Coriolanus let go of you, his arms unwinding from around you to receive the infant from a paramedic. Cleaned and wrapped in an inoffensive, white cloth. There wasn’t much your distraught mind could manage besides resting a hand on— as the paramedics told you— your granddaughter’s head. You sniffled as fresh bouts of tears poured down your cheeks.

For a moment, Coriolanus was terrified that this was Deja vu. Paralyzing fear shot through him, fear that he would be unable to love this baby. The same way he feared he would be unable to love the child that killed you, he feared he’d resent the child that killed Ruby. His darling Ruby. How could he feel kinship to the parasite that killed his daughter?

But as he held the infant in his hands, his brow pulled taut, oh, no, it was clear. Crystal. He murmured, voice featherlight, “I’ve got you.” You thumped your head to his shoulder, your tears wetting his sleeve. You saw some kind of fierce love in Coryo’s eyes, his jaw ticking.

He could see Ruby in her.

#coriolanus fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanart #coriolanus icons #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #thg coriolanus snow #thg snow #thg tbosas #thg fic #tbosas #thg #swaddled in silk

549 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 11 months

Text

Danny & Constantine, Orange, Butterscotch Ripple

@imbreonix Prompt fill set #4

It started out as a joke that turned into an actual event: Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day. It sounded absurd, of course it did. The Justice League was hardly work and certainly not a social club, but once it had been said people started to actually think about it. More and more of the heroes were taking on mentorship rolls for the next generation. While the heroes, of course, tried their best to provide what their mentees needed, they were still grown, experienced heroes and their sidekicks were kids.

Kids who lived a life that most could never understand.

Eventually it have been talked about enough in passing and over rushed meals and before meetings that it ended up on the agenda.

“Robin believes it would be beneficial for the younger heroes to know others in the same positions as themselves,” Batman had explained, as if that answered anything. The Big Bat wouldn’t even clarify who Robin was.

But there they were, Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day. It actually was a pretty nice event with snacks, drinks, and several enthusiastic sidekicks. It turned out Robin was Batman’s sidekick.

“Partner,” Robin insisted boldly, whenever the term sidekick was used within his hear range (which was disturbingly good).

The kid was the very opposite of Batman: bright, personable, and always in motion. Flash was more than a little concerned how quickly Robin and Kid Flash seemed hit it off. “They’re plotting something.”

“Hn,” was Batman’s reply, though he was watching the two whispering sidekicks too.

All in all it was a cheerful success.

It made John’s skin crawl. He jiggled the unlit cigarette in his fingers. He didn’t do social events, not outside of bars, and he really, really didn’t want to be here.

“We can just go back to the House,” a small, nervous voice suggested hopefully from behind John.

That was the thing, though, he wasn’t here for his own sake.

“No, we can’t,” John said with a sigh.

“We really can, though. We haven’t even talked to anyone. I bet they haven’t even noticed we’re here—”

“John! I did not think you would be attending,” Wonder Woman said as she approached, a smile in place. A good chunk of the founding members trailed after her.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, well,” John said with a little shrug. He didn’t admonish the kid for cussing, he didn’t have a leg to stand on there, but by Superman’s puzzled face the Big Blue had clearly heard it. “Figured I had better bring the kid.”

“The kid?” Hal repeated incredulously.

John reminded himself he really shouldn’t punch his teammates.

“Yeah, the kid,” John said. He stepped aside to reveal Danny who had been hiding behind him. “Geist, Justice League, Justice League, Poltergeist.”

“Um, who, Constantine?” Flash asked, sounding nervous.

John looked to his right, which for all appearances, was an empty spot of air. “Seriously, kid?”

“Sorry,” Danny whispered.

“It’s okay, kid,” John said, holding back a sigh. The kid was sensitive to that sort of thing, so John had been trying. (He still messed up plenty, but he was trying.) John looked back the Justice Leaguers and shrugged. “Ghost. Visibility is like that sometimes.”

“Ah,” Diana said with a sage nod. John admired the woman for how nothing seemed to phase her. She simply looked to where John had been looking and smiled. “Hello, Poltergeist. Welcome to Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day.”

“Partner!” a kid dressed like a damn traffic light called from across the room where he was talking to who was clearly a mini Flash.

“Oh,” Danny said. (It was clearly weirding out some of the heroes to hear Danny but not see him.) “I’m not… John doesn’t let me help that much? I don’t know if I count as a sidekick.”

“That’s because last time you tagged along you went intangible and fell through a bridge, kid,” John grumbled and then immediately felt bad. “You know we’re working on it.”

“Yeah,” Danny mumbled.

John couldn’t see Danny, not any more than the others, but he could picture the way the kid would be scuffing his toe on the floor, head down as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

John sighed. “Ain’t your fault kid, powers take time to master.”

“Robin,” Batman called.

Immediately the tiny traffic light was literately bounding across the space to stand next to Batman. The kid smiled up at the Big Bat like the man had hung the moon.

“Yes, B?”

“This,” Batman said, nodding to the empty space, “is Poltergeist. He came with Constantine.”

“Oh,” Robin said. He spun to face the spot of air and held out his hand without hesitation. “Come, Kid Flash and I are— um,” Robin shot Batman a look, “talking. You can join us! I bet you will be really useful!”

Flash mouthed the word ‘useful’ with a terrified look on his face, but no one actually said anything while Robin just stood there, smiling, with his hand out. And then Robin’s grin impossibly widened, his hand closed around nothing, and he took off across the room.

“…anyone else worried about that?” John asked after a moment.

“So worried,” Flash said.

“Hn,” Batman added.

“Right then. I need a glass of shitty punch to spike,” John said and abandoned his teammates to find the refreshments. Thank the gods, the fuckers, for hip flasks.

“I live with a ghost now, Bats, you’ve got to up your skills if you want to sneak up on me anymore,” John said before taking another sip of his much improved punch.

Batman stepped up into the corner of John’s vision, which felt like such a Bat thing to do, so John felt the placement was very purposeful. John wouldn’t complain, it let him watch Batman without taking his his eyes off where Danny was sitting with Robin, Kid Flash, and Wonder Girl. Danny was pretty see through, but he was slowly becoming more visible the longer he spent in the company of the other teen heroes.

“How long have you had him?” Batman asked.

John snorted. “That’s what you go with? Not how it works to fuck a ghost?”

Hal and Aquaman weren’t as quiet as they thought they were, but maybe that was on purpose. Maybe they had wanted John to hear. He just hoped the kids hadn’t. He might not have a clean mouth, but even he had limits.

“He doesn’t have to be your blood to be your son,” Batman said in that certain way of his.

It had John finally glancing over at Batman. It was a lot to admit and John hated to be on uneven grounds. “How long have you had yours?”

No one would ever believe him, but John could swear that Batman almost smiled.

“Nearly five years.”

John hummed and took another sip of the punch. “Only six months, not even. And he’s not my son. Kid deserves better than me as a da.”

“They always deserve better,” Batman said, his voice a low rumble that John swore he could feel in his battered bones. “We just have to try to be better.”

“Yeah, well,” John said with a bitter chuckle. “I’m not you, Bats, I don’t think I have better in me.”

“Yes you do, you’re here, after all,” Batman pointed out.

John swallowed and looked back the kid, his kid. Danny was almost solid now. His white hair floated as he threw back his head in laughter at something Robin had said.

“Yeah… yeah I am.”

---

AN: So. So. This has gotten away from me. I blame Moku. So much blame. I can't promise I'll continue it but there is... there is a good bit of plotting TO continue it. It would be after I get done with City Pigeons Bleed Green though, as that's my current family feels fic.

If it gets continued we have a John/Bruce tired dads with issues slow burn fuck buddies to lovers, Danny and Dick being friends (and family), canon divergence, Tim joins the Bat family early, Bats with magic (and the world should fear them), and Alfred's judgemental eyebrow.

#dp x dc #dadentine #John Constantine & Danny Fenton #Geist #prompalomp #tired dads AU

2K notes · View notes

perlelune · 9 months

Text

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Grandma’am’s dissonant notes fill your room as you lie on the bed. The old woman’s wobbly soprano has been the background noise to your awakening this early morning.

At least it diverted you from your dire thoughts.

You rose with low spirits, defeated. You didn’t dare leave the cover of the warm blankets.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for so long, the flower patterns have morphed into smudges of pale color swirling in your vision. It’s all you did the entire morning. Stare at the ceiling while awful thoughts collide in your head. Perhaps for hours. You’re not sure. Time has been a foggy concept as of late.

You can’t even remember when everything started spinning out of control. The beginning of your unraveling.

The day before Coryo held you as you wept in his arms. For a while, in the warmth of his embrace, the uproar in your head fell silent.

Now it’s all noise again. Chaos. You have no desire to climb out of bed, face the day. Perhaps it makes you a bad guest. But hiding is easier. So it’s exactly what you elect to do.

Hiding until it becomes an impossibility.

Or until the door knocks in that case.

The sound startles you.

You don’t answer. Instead, you burrow yourself further beneath the sheets.

The knock starts again. Stubbornly, you ignore it.

“I’m coming in,” a familiar, airy voice announces.

The creaking of the door reaches you and your brows crumple. A slight weight plops on the mattress, making it dip under you. You freeze, willing yourself to remain still.

A delicate perfume hangs in the air. Guilt seeps through you. It’s not like she’s done anything to you. If anything, she’s been kind. It’s about the hot layer of shame that has grown thick roots into your being.

Her gentle lilt flutters above you.

“I won’t move until you talk to me; I’m worried.”

You gnaw on your lip. The seconds stretch to minutes, arduously long, seemingly endless as she remains on your bed. It dawns on you how deadly serious the older of the Snow cousins is. She will not go away until you speak to her.

Besides, your mother’s voice echoes somewhere in your head. Your behavior is ill-fitted for a lady. Here you are, a guest in someone else’s house, acting like a petulant child.

Though you balk at the prospect, it’s time to face the world.

You huff out a quiet sigh under your breath before peeking above the blanket.

“Tigris,” you mumble.

Her thin blonde brows are pinched.

“You missed breakfast,” she notes. She tilts her head, scrutinizing you as her frown deepens. “First dinner, now breakfast. It’s becoming a habit.”

Concern glimmers in her honey orbs. Your chest squeezes. The last thing you want is for someone else to feel terrible. You push the blanket further away from you, sitting up as a contrite smile tugs your lips.

“Sorry.”

Tigris’ slender fingers latch onto your forearm.

“Don’t apologize. Just keep me company today.”

You attempt to deflect, “What about Coryo?”

The blonde releases a deep exhale, crossing her arms in frustration. You’ve gazed upon a similar crease on Coriolanus’ face before.

“He barely has time for me these days. Between his work with Dr Gaul, the University and…” A small smile plays on her lips as her voice trails off. “You of course.” Your cheeks heat at her implication. Of course, you’re aware of Coriolanus’ dedication to showing up for you as of late. But it never occurred to you that it could impede on Tigris’ time with him. It saddens you.

From what you recall of the glimpses of them you caught growing up, there was a time the two Snow cousins were inseparable. After all, ever since they were young, Tigris has been everything to him. A mother, a sister, a best friend. It was clear on Coriolanus’ face too. Fondness was etched on his face whenever he looked at his cousin.

She leans over you, her tone pleading.

“Come on, I really need a friend, and something tells me you do too.”

Shoulders sagging in surrender, you concede, “I’ll get dressed.”

She leaps to her feet, a victorious smile breaking onto her face.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food before we go,” she sings. “When’s the last time you ate anyways?”

You purse your lips, shocked at the realization of how long it’s been since your last meal, eating having toppled to the bottom of your list of priorities the last two days.

You give an honest reply.

“I…can’t remember.”

Concern scrunches Tigris’ angular features once more. She then takes her leave and you glumly get ready for the day.

Food is brought up to your room. You nibble down every bite of cheese, bread and eggs until you’re full.

You find the massive trunk Coriolanus had the staff carry up to your room. You marvel as you peer inside, rummaging in search of an outfit for the day. His thoughtfulness astounds you. You don’t deserve a friend like Coryo.

Once you’ve removed your night robe, it pools at your feet. Your stomach sinks at the sight of your bare form. Bruises still speckle your skin. They are starting to fade but the ones on your hips and thighs are still quite prominent. The thought of Coryo touching you this way crosses your mind and you shudder.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way.

It’s like your friend said. It’s better that it was him than some stranger with nefarious intentions. After all, you were both drunk. You both didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s obvious Coriolanus is as inconvenienced by this as you are.

You should move on, let the incident scatter amidst the unfortunate mistakes of youth. It’s what common sense dictates. Otherwise guilt will chew you to the bone.

But you can’t.

Every time you think of that night, you’re unsettled, an inkling of wrong humming through you.

It haunts you. Though you wished it didn’t.

The remainder of the morning is spent with Tigris. The two of you scour the city in search of various fabrics and items her boss, Fabricia Whatnot, asks her to collect.

It’s a nice change of scenery and you welcome it.

You even get to see Tigris work on a dress, a magnificent wedding gown whose sight stirs a bittersweet feeling within you. It reminds you that your own dress was ruined, a matter you’ve yet to solve.

…If there’ll even still be a wedding.

As the afternoon sun crests to a scorching peak in the bright blue sky, she offers to stop by a café which you readily accept. You both sit beneath a wide umbrella on the outdoor terrace.

You take small bites of your petit fours, the sugar melting on your tongue providing much needed comfort.

“Does your grandmother do this every morning?”

Tigris’ lips pause above the rim of her porcelain cup, her honey gaze widening at your question. Realization then lights up her face.

“Oh, the singing? Yes, almost.” A fond smile spreads onto her thin lips. “Grandma’am likes to reminisce about the glory days of our family, you know…before the war.”

Your brows furrow.

The glory days...

Could the days before the war truly be referred to as that? The people of the Districts were forced to serve the ever-growing needs of the Capitol citizens, reaping no benefits from their hard work and being kept docile by the perpetual threat of execution.

Exactly like now.

You hardly see the glory in that. Maybe for the victors, the ones who get to stand atop the mountain while others try to claw their way up from the bottom until their hands bleed.

But, as usual, you don’t voice your treasonous thoughts, simply nodding in response.

Tigris and you both relish the comfortable silence for a while. She doesn’t urge you to talk and you’re grateful for that. Idle talk is an arduous task when constant worries gnaw at your mind.

While she may not know the depth of your predicament, you appreciate that Tigris picks up enough not to prod.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she says. “Quiet. I like to come here when I need a moment to myself.”

Your gaze roams across the luxurious garden near the café. You get lost in admiring the pretty flowers and the swan fountain. It reminds you of your own garden, your beloved roses, probably withering from neglect. You’ll need to tend to them soon.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. You nibble on your bottom lip before your eyes find hers. “I’m sorry for being…difficult this morning.”

Tigris’ shoulders heave as she replies nonchalantly, “It’s quite alright.” Mirth sparkles in her amber orbs. “I’m sorry for dragging you all over Panem to run those errands.”

You give a small smile. “It’s fine. I enjoyed the distraction.”

You look down and fiddle with your napkin, arranging it in different positions several times in your lap.

“Is something the matter?”

Tigris’ abrupt inquiry makes your head snap up.

You hesitate beneath her compassionate stare. After a long, quiet minute, your shoulders slump.

“I just loathe that I am such a burden to you and Coryo,” you mumble.

Tigris tilts her head, genuine confusion scrunching her features. “A burden? Don’t be ridiculous. You could never be that to me...” Her slender hand reaches across the table to drape over yours. “And even less to Coryo.”

A wry chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, he’s got better things to do than taking care of me.”

She shakes her head.

“Taking care of you is a pleasure to my cousin.”

You wince. “I very much doubt that.”

Tigris’ head lowers, her hand rising to her mouth to dampen her chortle.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, frowning.

“It’s just…you really don’t see how much you’re changing him?” She studies you momentarily before heaving out a long exhale. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately. She smiles.

“I haven’t seen him focus on something other than his ambitions in so long…not the way he focuses on you.”

Your jaw hangs slack at her admission.

She pauses, seeming to mull over her next words. “Coryo…when he returned from his service in District 12, he was so different. I thought all the warmth in him was gone, that he was becoming like my uncle.” A distant, sad look dims her eyes. “A cold, calculated man. But when he’s around you…" Fondness illuminates her face while she gauges you. "I don’t know, it's almost like he’s back to his old self. The little boy I knew, sweet and caring. My little Coryo.”

Her fingers tighten around yours as she beams. “You’re good for him, so don’t worry about being a burden. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Tears of relief almost spill from your eyes at that but you swallow them.

Instead, you return her smile. It may have been at the behest of your dead brother but you couldn’t deny how comforting Coriolanus’ presence has been, his friendship the silver lining above somber clouds. Coryo is the only one who gladly listens when you talk about Sejanus and how much it aches that he’s not there anymore, his passing having left a void that can never be filled. It’s too painful for your mother and your dad’s in plain denial. If it weren’t for Coryo, grief would have eaten you alive, you’re certain of it.

It’s hard to picture your life without him in it now, in some form or another. In fact, you don’t think you even want to. You may have lost a brother but the gods were merciful and granted you another.

After you leave the café, you and Tigris take a leisurely stroll through the Capitol’s streets. The talk you had with her rejuvenated you. For the first time since that awful night at Clemensia’s, you feel a bit more like yourself.

All is well until someone strides out of a bakery, someone you know too well. The sight of the familiar face freezes you in your spot.

Your eyes then lock from across the street. You watch the recognition dawn on his face.

He starts making his way towards you.

A surge of panic bleeds inside you. You briskly grab Tigris’ hand.

“Let’s go,” you urge, already pulling her in the other direction.

“Wait…what?” Befuddled, Tigris lets you drag her along as you start racing through the streets.

You don’t dare look behind you, your heart thundering inside your chest.

You dive into a busy street. The crowd cloaks you as you zigzag between bodies. Strangers give you dirty looks but you don’t care, focused on running as far away from who you saw as you can.

You and Tigris end up in a narrow alleyway, catching your breaths behind a dumpster.

You shoot worried glances at the other end of the alleyway. You lost him, you realize. A strange blend of emotions fills you, every single one carving a larger hole inside your chest.

“Who was that?” Tigris asks between uneven breaths.

Shame swells within you as your gaze lands on the cobblestoned floor.

“My fianc��,” you reply.

“Hey.” Your head lifts from your knees, your eyes traveling to the blond head peeking through the slight opening of the door.

Concerned cobalt orbs study you. You avoid his scrutiny by focusing on a random spot on the bed sheets. He enters the room. As he sits at the edge of the bed, you bring your legs closer to your chest.

His soft tone breaks through your hazy train of thoughts. “Tigris told me what happened.”

You unleash a shaky breath before finally meeting his gaze.

“I’m a coward,” you say.

His hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb collecting an errant tear you didn’t even realize had spilled over. “You’re not a coward,” he assures.

Your lip wobbles. Of course you are. You saw William, your own fiancé, and ran away from him. Who does that? An idiot and a coward. But you didn’t know what else to do. You panicked. When his beautiful green eyes locked with yours, all you could think about was those same eyes filled with hate and betrayal if he ever learnt what you did.

“I am,” you affirm.

Coriolanus strokes the side of your face, his tone growing firmer, “It’s a tough situation…”

His sentence is halted by a loud banging downstairs.

Your eyes go wide.

“What’s that?”

The faint echo of your name being yelled from outside reaches you. Your heart leaps as Coryo’s features go taut, his jaw clenching.

His lips stretch in a tense smile.

“I'll go check. Stay here.”

“I’ll come.”

You jump from bed and make a beeline for the door. He tries to placate you by holding your shoulders, blocking the exit with his towering frame.

“Princess, I don’t think-”

You glower at him. You can’t run forever.

“You can’t stop me, Coryo.”

Tension hangs in the air for some minutes, thick and electric, before he relents with a deep sigh, “Alright.”

Heart in your throat, you take slow steps down the stairs. Coryo trails behind you in silence.

Your name’s uttered again, the door rattling as he bangs against it. You flinch.

Trembling feet drag to the front door. Your hand spreads over the wooden carving. You take a deep breath before hesitant words stumble out of you.

“William, you can’t be here.”

“I love you. Of course I should be here.”

Unwavering determination vibrates in his tone. Guilt flares within you. You swallow the impending rush of tears. You don’t deserve him. He’s good, kind, honest…and you’re a liar.

“I saw you with that girl, Snow’s cousin. Talk to me, baby, please.”

“I just need a little time...alone.”

“What? Is this about the wedding preparations? Is it your parents?” He sounds confused and hurt. Your heart wrenches. You’re hurting him. It’s exactly what you meant to avoid. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. We can face anything as long as we’re together.”

The desperation thickens in his voice.

“Come out. I just want to see your face, please.”

“I…”

Your fingers hover above the gold door knob. But your hand is snatched by long, stern digits before it can fully wrap around the handle. Coryo tugs you away from the door. You gasp as his deep voice resonates in the lobby.

“You need to leave her be. She told you she needs space, William,” he says.

“Snow!” A mirthless chuckle ripples from the other side. “I knew it had to be you somehow.” You leap as the hinges of the door shake as William’s fists slam against it once more. “What did you do to her?”

Tears well up in your eyes.

“Right now, it’s you that’s hurting her,” Coriolanus says, his fingers curling around yours. “What kind of husband-to-be doesn’t respect his future wife’s wishes?”

Your brows collide. You wish he didn’t speak like that. After all, you’re the one at fault. But fear keeps the words chained to your throat.

“I just need to see her, please,” William insists.

Your stomach lurches. This is insane. Your fiancé is on the other side of the door and you won’t let him see you.

Maybe William’s right. Maybe talking to him will fix everything.

You sniffle and wipe your tears. You take a solid stride towards the door again, fingers ready to open it.

“I think I should, just for a few minutes.”

Your decision is made but Coryo’s hand cinches around your wrist. This time his hold is much firmer, on the cusp of painful in fact.

You grimace as he draws you away from the door, near the stairs.

He bends over you to whisper hotly, “To tell him what, princess?” Angling your chin upward, he sighs. “That you gave me something you denied him all this time? After just a few drinks?” Heat nestles in your cheeks. It is true. Both you and him got near that point so often, but you were adamant about waiting for your wedding night. It was your excuse every time. You doubt he’d take it well if you told him what occurred. While you want to believe your relationship will survive it, Coriolanus’ words are tossing fuel on every insecurity within you. Your confidence wavers, your hand sagging in his hold.

Coriolanus’ intense blue gaze is hard on you as he continues, his raspy tone low and foreboding, “Or perhaps, you’ll make up a lie? You really think he won't see it on your face?” A contrite expression settles on his handsome features. “You wear your emotions on your sleeves. He’ll know right away.” His thumb sweeps over your cheek to wipe a lone, stray tear. “William seems like a good man, but such a betrayal…it’d break the two of you before you even began.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting over your earshell. “He will never forgive you.”

All hope shrivels inside you, the last remnants you still held onto crumbling to dust.

You almost made a mistake. Of course Coryo’s right.

“Do you trust me?”

You give a frantic nod, releasing a shuddering sob.

He smiles at your response.

“Then go upstairs,” he instructs. “I’ll talk to him, fix everything.”

Seeing you linger at the bottom of the stairs, longing gaze darting to the door, Coriolanus squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m going to make sure you still get to have a wedding at the end of this.” His smile grows wide. “I promise you.”

You search his face. Confidence radiates from his expression, planting the belief that he’s right deep within you. You shouldn’t have doubted him. Coriolanus has gone to great lengths to help you. Even now, he’s protecting your future. It’s more than one should ask of a friend, yet he’s doing it for your sake.

“Thank you,” you say. His hand slackens around yours, a satisfied glint dancing in his cobalt gaze. You rush up the stairs, not daring to look back in fear you falter once more.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow

1K notes · View notes

vxnuslogy · 2 months

Text

– in between missions.

pairing: sunday x gn!reader

premise: it's been an eventful six months since sunday joined the stellaron hunters. today marked one of their very rare day offs, and what better way to spend the day with the people that's taken care of him.

– warnings: slight angst if you squint, mentions of blood in some parts.

– author's note: updated the lore in this little mini-series (?) LMAOO thank you sunday leaks on sunday for bringing me back to life. so sorry for being a bit ia, tumblr has been such a pain in the ass that it slightly demotivated me to write. new layout for sunday fics too so yippie!! (totally not foreshadowing). art credits to 冒火锅海台 on Weibo for the art. | 4.1k words (LMFAO).

MORNING — 6:00 A.M.

before, sunday would wake up at the crack of dawn; waiting for the sun’s rays as he watered the plants he’d been taking care of. now –he still wakes up earlier than most– he spends his mornings in a big kitchen with the sound of kafka’s humming filling the bubbles of silences that start to form. it was always a pleasure helping the older woman cook everyone’s breakfast without having their loud bickering in the background (though sometimes he would grow paranoid if he never heard it throughout the day; he’s grown used to your voices).

before missions started, all the petty quips, and the laughter, sunday appreciated the quiet moments he gets to share with kafka.

“sunny, can you take over for me? i need to defrost silver wolf’s nuggets.”

sunday only hummed in response. body lazily slipping itself into kafka’s previous position of frying the leftover rice from yesterday. “sunny” was the woman’s name for him; a form of endearment, you said, she does it to everyone. sunday would never admit it himself (kafka often teased how adorable his morning voice was so he tried not to speak until after breakfast), but hearing that little nickname always sent a flurry of little butterflies down to his chest. collecting the pollen from the flowers you’ve carefully placed in between his ribs and spreading it all over his chest. no one has ever given him such a casual nickname before, so sunday had started to cling to it like a lifeline.

when the clock strikes 7:30, it usually means you're about to wake up. after patting his hands dry on a spare kitchen towel, sunday lifts his head and there you are. a small smile spread across his lips when you greeted kafka with a side hug. you still had your bed hair and your eyes were barely open; it was an endearing sight to see.

“good morning,” sunday snaps out of his daze when an arm wraps around his shoulder and pulls him close to your chest. sunday could distinctly smell the chocolate you ate with silver wolf the night before and the soft remnants of your scented candle. he let his head lean more into your touch as he mumbles a soft good morning straight to your heart. ignoring the pair of eyes that crinkle in amusement behind the kitchen counter.

by the time 7:50 rolls around, you’re fully awake. a cup of coffee in your hands as you, him, and kafka go door to door to wake up your little group. from the corner of sunday’s eyes, he sees kafka peer over blade’s door and a grumpy okay go through. on the other end, he sees you greet firefly good morning with a hug before disappearing into another hall to come and get elio.

before he could even knock on silver wolf’s door, the wooden thing pulled open and he was met with the sight of the silver haired girl looking down at her game console. he chuckled in amusement, patting down the stray hairs that poked up and guided her to the kitchen. he made sure to ask if she’s beaten the boss yet and when she replied with an angry huff, sunday took it as a sign to not bring it up for a while.

it's already 8:10 when everyone is sitting down around the kitchen table. plates of warm fried rice, chicken nuggets, some slices of fruits, pancakes, and multiple cups of teas and coffees were laid down on the table. small chatter started to arise and sunday could feel the energy start to spike as well. as he took bite after bite until he felt your knee bump into his. when he turned to you, he was met with the sight of you pushing more food in his direction.

“you need to eat more,” you said before taking a bite of your pancake. “you’ll need the extra nutrients if you want to fly again.”

sunday just smiled and accepted your offerings without as much as a word.

roughly an hour passes before everyone is cleaning up their spaces. blade was on dishes duty while the rest went back to their rooms to get changed. sunday was in his quarters, buttoning up a spare polo blade had given him when he heard a knock on his door.

“good morning again.” you greet with a smile.

sunday smiled in return and urged you to come in. “good morning to you, too.”

“kafka and firefly are going out for groceries. do you want anything?”

sunday was taken back to the days where he would water the plants in his office back in the penacony. how he would run his finger down each leaf and smile to himself when a flower starts to bloom. if sunday only joined a few weeks ago, he’d declined immediately. but it's been almost half a year since he’s joined, and he’s feeling a bit more comfortable with asking for more personal things.

“plants,” he replies. “the small ones that are easy to take care of.”

you tilt your head curiously like an owl. “why plants?”

“i used to take care of some flowers back in dewlight pavilion every morning. i’d like to get back into that, if you don’t mind.”

sunday recognized that little smirk of yours. with a shake of his head, he accompanies you out his room after fixing up his hair and bid farewell to kafka and firefly.

“let’s get you all the plants you want then.”

AFTERNOON — 2:38 P.M.

training in the afternoon was something sunday didn’t get quite used to. even now as he’s exchanging blows with blade, he feels quite unsure of his grip around the hilt of the wooden sword; how his footwork felt sloppy and uncoordinated. sunday wasn’t shocked (maybe, just slightly, a bit bitter) when the dark haired man knocked him off his feet for the seventh time in under two hours.

“you’re overthinking things too much,” the man grumbled, offering his hand to him. “it’s written all over your face; stop thinking about the nitty gritty things and start focusing on the task at hand. if you keep focusing on your opponent's footwork, you’ll end up ignoring his swings.”

“right, apologize. let’s go again.”

sunday had never felt such a competitive surge of emotions come over him whenever he trained with blade. the way he swung the charred sword in his hands; his body and how it moved so fluidly like water; and his determination to win despite beating him by more than a mile; it made sunday want to genuinely get better. blade fought like it would be his last battle, and he would go down with a fight.

“mister is getting better,” muttered silver wolf as she collapsed face first by your side, finishing her own training with elio. “he’s keeping up with the old man now.”

you brush away the bangs that stuck to her forehead and offer her a towel. elio, now in their cat form, sat down on your other side and started playing with the orange peels. “sunday has improved a lot huh? it feels like it was just yesterday when he first joined.”

“for reals.” the silver haired girl stretched and tried to reach over for the oranges.

a memory resurfaced in sunday’s mind when he caught sight of you peeling oranges for silver wolf. how you looked particularly at peace in the moment. his mind replayed the image of robin when she came back to penacony after the accident. he had such an intense amount of guilt for not being by her side at such a hard time, he isn't quite sure how to put it into words.

“brother!” shouted robin as she entered his office, a bright smile on her face and her phone in hand.

before he could utter a word she had shoved her phone to his face, “an orange?” he asked with a confused tilt of his head.

robin nodded and said, “they say when someone close to you peels your oranges, it's a sign of having a strong relationship! is that why you’ve been peeling my oranges for me recently?”

sunday felt the wind be knocked out of him as his world turned upside down. blade had flipped him over to his back and as the cherry on top, whacked him on the head with his wooden sword.

“for not paying attention,” he grumbled. “let’s call it a day.”

he didn’t get much of a word in when blade was already seated beside silver wolf (the girl shoving an orange slice to his mouth and him accepting it silently). sunday gets up from his lying position, patting down the dust on his (blade’s) clothes and takes a seat next to you.

“do you mind opening your wings for me?” you ask as you place a small plate of orange slices on his lap.

taking one in his hand and a small bite, he lets the pair of wings by his waist stretch out and lay on your lap. your careful fingers and observant eyes scanning over every feather, smoothing out the ones that stuck out. it wasn’t long before silver wolf put down her console and started poking at his wings too.

“do you feel that, mister?” she asks.

he shakes his head with a small smile, “no, i do not.”

she only hummed and looked up at you. “will he be able to fly soon?”

you take a few seconds to respond.

“soon,” you mutter as your hands re-adjusted the exoskeleton that’s been supporting them. “they look better than when you first arrived. you seem rather curious, what gives?”

silver wolf pouted and shoved at you lightly. your chuckle rang in his ears like music. the same melodies he would play on his record player when the night feels too long. sunday leaned more to your side when the younger girl showed a pixelated character in her game and pointed to its wings.

“when you fly again, mister, you have to take me with you!” she excitedly exclaimed with stars in her eyes. “i’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to fly.”

sunday felt a tug deep within his heart when he looked into her eyes. silver wolf, surprisingly, was very welcoming of him when he first joined. they got along fine and would even spend their free time in each other’s company. her excited demeanor reminded him of how robin looked when he first took to the skies. the animated expression on her face; her grin reaching her eyes; and the way she’s leaning forward in anticipation.

“when i fly again, i’ll be sure to let you know first.”

his reply was all the more worth it when the girl jumped in delight and landed on blade’s back. your laughter along with silver wolf’s excited blabbering and even blade’s protests made more flowers bloom inside his chest. sunday ceased his chuckling when he realized he had run out of oranges to eat. before he could even ask for more you’re already replacing his empty one with a new plate filled with peeled oranges.

“i can peel them myself, [name].” he says almost in a whisper.

“i know you can,” you dangle the orange peel in front of elio and let them play with it and stack them in a pile. “but let me do it for you.”

EVENING — 6:00 P.M.

“it’s my turn to decide what we get to eat!”

“it’s been your turn for two weeks. if anything, it’s my turn now.”

sunday could only push the two further and further apart, or at least try too. blade was a foot taller than him and obviously more bulked up than him; silver wolf might be the shortest but she knows how to use it to her advantage, zooming from one place to another like a little mouse. he could only plead with a lopsided smile when you enter the kitchen, your towel around your neck to catch the stray waters that dropped from your hair.

you sighed with the shake of your head and pulled silver wolf back into your chest. two arms snugly wrapped around her small shoulders as she kicked and pointed at blade. sunday on the other hand stepped in front of the man with a stretched arm, trying to calm down the silver haired girl as best as he could.

“at this point if you two can’t decide then i’ll just cook whatever i want.” you joked. both heads turned towards you and glared, but you only laughed and let silver wolf stomp her way to sit on the kitchen counter. “how about some sweet and spicy chicken for dinner? that way you both get what you want.”

sunday watched in amusement as silver wolf jutted her lower lip and mumbled on how she wanted cake. blade only slumped his shoulders and grumbled a low fine and started helping you take out all the ingredients from the fridge as well as the pans and bowls.

“i swear you two have worse cravings than a pregnant wom– ow!” you didn’t get to finish when blade purposely knocked your head when he opened a cabinet. your eyes narrowed at him while he only shrugged. a playful smirk on his lips as he shoved your head lower when you went to berate him.

a soft nudge on sunday’s back pushed him a bit forward. elio’s blue eyes in their cat form met his own gold ones and the two stared for a while. the cat motioned his head towards you and blade who chatted over dinner, not long, silver wolf also joined.

“go join them.” was all they said before jumping down from the table and going to who knows where.

sunday didn’t get a chance to reply when a pair of arms snuck around his waist. he let out a noise between a surprised gasp and a shout that made you snort in amusement. when he turned to glare at you, you only stuck your tongue out and tied the apron around his waist.

“come help us make dinner, sunday.”

and how could he say no when you’re already dragging him by the apron to the kitchen aisles with all the ingredients laid down.

by 7:15 p.m., kafka and firefly enter through the door and are met with a memorably amusing sight of sunday almost collapsing on their dining table as elio pushes a carton of milk to his direction. you and silver wolf were laughing at him with pointing hands and tears in your eyes. even blade cracked his own chuckle and rolled his eyes playfully as the halovian kicked him in the shin.

the taller woman surmised that sunday had fallen victim to blade’s insane spice addiction. the stray silver spoon on the table with the sauce was evidence. kafka let out a chuckle as firefly came over to his side –still keeping a bit of distance– and asking if he was alright.

“thought you were only getting groceries?” you ask with a raised brow. eyes surveying the amount of bags she and firefly had in their hands.

“there was a sale for clothes,” kafka reasoned. “how could we say no?”

you shake your head in disbelief and give the woman a side hug. “dinner will be ready in ten. help the poor angel soothe his tongue in the meantime.”

kafka laughed as she dropped her bags by the living room couch and guided sunday to sit down. firefly handed him an empty glass and offered to pour the milk in it. he shook his head no and did it himself. the poor boy downed the drink in one go and it didn’t seem enough to soothe his burning tongue so firefly went to get another carton from the fridge.

sunday furrowed his brows and stuck out his tongue. no doubt his taste buds won’t be working for a while.

“why does blade put so much spice in his food?” he questions the older woman who only smiled. her eyes glazed over to where the said man was and sunday followed.

“bladie can’t taste anything that isn’t spicy,” kafka said, her eyes not once leaving blade’s figure. “a living corpse can’t really taste anything. spice is considered a pain sensation; pain is the only thing he can feel and taste.”

sunday frowns at this new information. he knows little of blade’s past and had made no effort to try and dig it up. he was curious, yes, but it must be an incredibly sensitive topic if every night the man slips away from his bedroom seeking you or kafka out to soothe the mara that’s coursing through his body.

“i… see.” a hand came to ruffle up his hair. he looked up to see kafka smiling down at him and handed him another cup of milk.

“try to ask him about it someday. maybe you’ll be able to help.”

sunday keeps that information at the back of his mind until everyone finishes cooking dinner.

the clock hit 7:25 and everyone decided to eat by the living room to see what kafka and firefly bought in their mini shopping spree. he sat in between you and blade on the floor, using the small coffee table in front of you to hold your food while silver wolf sat on the couch behind him. her legs over your shoulders and slouched on the couch.

time surprisingly passed slowly tonight. only ten minutes had actually passed of kafka showing off her new coat, but to sunday it had felt like eternity. he absentmindedly tossed his food around his plate, pushing away all the spicy pieces of chicken to the edge of his plate.

“not eating the spicy chicken now are we?” sunday whipped his head to blade and glared. warmth rising to his cheeks, wings fluttering in embarrassment when he remembered what had happened not too long ago.

“your “normal” amount of spice nearly sent me to a coma,” he rebutted with a roll of his eyes. “so pardon me for not wanting to be sent to the hospital.”

you let out a loud laugh and leaned back on the couch. silver wolf was now using his head as support when she agreed wholly with his statement. firefly let out a quiet cough to silence her laugh while kafka chuckled. blade only rolled his eyes and took the pieces of chicken on his plate and placed it on his own.

“you said you wanted to try.” he argued back. a teasing lilt to his voice as he placed a piece of chicken to his mouth to add more salt to the injury.

“a grave mistake that was.”

you cease your laughing and lean on your propped up arm. “well look at you two, getting along so well!”

sunday scowled while blade scoffed. both picking up pieces of food and silently chewing. what started as a small bump of sunday’s elbow turned into a small petty argument about spice tolerance.

“it is quite sweet of you bladie,” kafka started. “for taking all the spicy pieces off of sunny’s plate, i mean.”

you jumped to the wagon immediately and nodded. “agreed! you’ve never done that for anyone here before. i’m starting to think you’re playing favorites.”

“one more word and i’m dumping the rest of the chili oil on your plates.”

that had shut you up immediately. for extra measures, you scooted away from them both with your plate close to your chest. “shutting up now…”

NIGHT — 11:20 P.M.

sunday let out a long sigh as he tossed and turned in his bed. he had lost count of how many times he’s replayed tonight’s dinner in his mind to at least try and get some sleep and not be plagued by his nightmares. tonight was joyful, and he’d like to keep it that way till the end of the day. but his insomnia had struck him again like always. he’s already drunk two pills from the medication you bought him and it's yet to take effect.

with one last sigh, sunday threw off the sheets over his body and stalked out of his room as quietly as he could. the base was dark in the dead of night. the halls looked more ominous and longer than normal, something he believed was taken out of a horror film. when he first wandered these halls at this hour, sunday would feel the pricks of his paranoia.

but unlike the first time, there were no longer stray feathers of ravens following his wake. his feet weren’t stained by his blood as he dragged his body to the direction of salvation. in these halls, sunday wasn’t carrying a knife he used to plunge into his own chest to try and make the weight of the sins he didn’t commit a little lighter. he was free; free as he could be in the safety of everyone’s presence.

his gaze shifted to the slightly ajar door that led to your workshop. he frowned as he realized you were staying up late again. when he peered into the small crack, sunday was met with the sight of firefly hunched over your desk, sound asleep with stray pieces of fabric by her feet.

the nights at base were usually cold so sunday quickly walked to his room again to get a spare blanket. as quietly as he could, the halovian entered your workshop, silently cursing when the door creaked slightly. making sure he didn’t step on any of the fabrics on the floor, sunday draped the blanket over the girl’s shoulders.

another memory of his resurfaced. on nights like these, robin would sneak into his office with a pillow and blanket in her hands. she would guide his head gently to lay on the pillow and not the harsh wooden table and make sure the blanket over his shoulders didn’t slip until morning came. by instinct, sunday’s hand came to smooth down firefly’s hair and whispered good night.

he started picking up the stray pieces of whites, blues, and blacks from the floor and neatly folded them one by one. placing them in neat piles on your table. with one last look to firefly’s figure, he smiled to himself and quietly shut the door behind him. his next stop was the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea.

“he’s gone now, firefly.”

even as you called out to her, firefly did not budge and kept her head in between her folded arms. you shook your head and sat down next to her. you had witnessed what happened and you could only guess the conflicted feelings the girl felt.

“do you think he’s a bad person, little knight?” you ask, hands picking up one of the fabrics sunday had graciously folded and laid them on the table. a measuring tape around your shoulders and a pencil snuggly on your ear.

“he’s done bad things, but…” you hum in reply. firefly’s voice was muffled because of her arms but you heard her perfectly fine, much to her dismay. “i don’t think he’s a fully bad person. i just find it… awkward to interact with him.”

“do you want to interact with him?” you wonder. “as friends i mean.”

firefly finally raised her head. hand clutching the blanket draped over her shoulders as the other ghosted over the spot where sunday had patted down and whispered good night.

“i don’t know.”

you only hum. “sunday is rather strange isn’t he? he’s quite the piece of work if you ask me.”

“what about you?” firefly fires back, scooting her chair closer to you. “do you think he’s a bad person.”

“no. no i don’t.” you answer immediately and feel firefly pause. “he’s kindest person i’ve ever met.”

“i see…”

you pat her head gently and fixate your gaze back to your table.

“he’s a lot more like us than anyone expected. sunday has done bad things that hurt those around him, but we’ve also done that haven’t we? take your time. all of us were lonely at some point, so it’s also his first time he’s ever craved someone’s company. we’ve all done that too, didn’t we?”

when a new day started (around 1:56 a.m.) she made her way back to her room. sunday’s blanket was still wrapped around her even when she laid down on her own bed. she never pointed out how you purposefully drafted a space for the ticket you’ve always hidden on sunday’s new uniform.

#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail sunday #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #hsr x you #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday imagines #sunday x reader #sunday headcanons #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

377 notes · View notes

cat3ch1sm · 1 year

Note

hii! could i request hcs about illumi's fiancé meeting the zoldycks? something along the lines of her being expected to be the next lady of the house and getting used to the mansion's lifestyle (having butlers, being secluded on a mountain, having the entire family living together)? it would also be nice to see her getting along with the little siblings (killua, kalluto, and alluka)

sorry if i left out any necessary details in this request :(

~✰♡✰♡✰~ hellooo! thanks for ur request :)) haven’t written for hxh in a little while so im happy to write this for you and our favorite bug-eyed assassin :3 if you’re ever unsure about what info to put in a request, just visit the pinned post! ily 💚

fem!reader

𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜é 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤𝐬

illumi isn’t close with his family in the same sense that normal people are close with their families, but nonetheless he feels the need to inform them of major developments in his life. through a letter he tells his family of his engagement, and says that he is going to bring you to his home to see them all.

silva is indifferent, and zeno couldn’t care less, but kikyo is ecstatic that her illumi is finally going to marry someone- and that it isn’t that awful clown hisoka. she’d been seriously concerned for a second there. but she rounds up all the members of her family to be present on the day of your arrival (using excessive force because nobody really wanted to come besides alluka, who was only allowed to meet you because killua threatened to not show up unless alluka was permitted as well).

when you and illumi first arrive after the lengthy trip up the mountain, you are greeted by butlers gotoh and canary, whose presence startles you. you were aware of illumi’s great wealth and status, but it was certainly different from how you’d grown up. just getting inside the actual home is a process- illumi’s strength slightly freaking you out when he pushes open four of the doors to the entrance of the mansion without breaking a sweat and then encountering Mike, the Zoldycks’ monstrous dog. illumi does notice your apprehension, though, and plainly assures you that the dog won’t harm anybody it isn’t supposed to. you’re still visibly nervous, though, so illumi has you come closer to him and hold on to his arm. regardless, you realize it may be tougher to settle in than you thought.

at last, though, illumi brings you to his family. nobody reacts much outwardly to your presence, but you notice a white-haired boy with catlike eyes observing you closely, his expression a mixture of suspicion and confusion. standing beside the boy are two other black haired children- one with short black hair standing somberly with his hands folded in front of him, and the other an eager blue-eyed girl whose gaze sparkles as she looks at you. the white haired boy stands right behind the blue-eyed child. the tall, blonde man with a large frame illumi tells you is Silva, his father, and the slightly shorter man with white hair beside him is illumi’s grandfather, zeno.

without warning, you feel thin arms thrown around you in an embrace, and you almost jump out of your skin. but when you are released, you see the woman that can only be your fiancés mother, the only member of the family illumi had warned told you about prior to the visit. kikyo wears a large dress with an ostentatious petticoat and hat, and most notably a visor over where her eyes would be with one red glowing dot. her appearance is unsettling, and you find it a little difficult to force a smile when she greets you. illumi watches you from the side of his eye, his face unreadable.

just as kikyo is pulling away, something gleaming and silver and large is thrown right at your head, whizzing right by kikyo’s hat and slicing off a single hair from the feather on her hat. you don’t hesitate to lift your hand to your face and catch the sword immediately, the blade slicing your hand- but you don’t flinch as the blood seeps onto the blade and down your arm. you tilt your head to the side to see your assailant is silva, his arm still poised in throwing position. his expression grows less stony once he sees you’ve caught his weapon.

there’s a moment of icy silence, you lowering the weapon to your side, and silva watches you even more intently before uttering a flat “welcome to the family.” with that, he and his father turn and disappear elsewhere inside the mansion. kikyo, though, takes this as her cue to immediately grab you so you two can walk by yourselves throughout the mansion. illumi doesn’t look super pleased to see his mother take you, but he knows better than to try and stop her.

you two are navigating the long, hollow corridors of the zoldyck home. you pass many unsettling family pictures and paintings as well as various weapons like swords and arrows on the walls, and several human sculptures that seem a little too realistic. you’re also sure that you pass at least two torture chambers. it’s an eerie atmosphere, which was what you’d expected, but it doesn’t help your nerves.

kikyo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about your apprehension, and instead starts talking about how much she’s wanted a daughter and how thrilled she is to finally have a “daughter” to take in. but then she grows eerily serious. she talks about how you’ll be expected to be the next lady of the house and, since you’re becoming a zoldyck, how you’ll have to follow the same codes they do as a family and exhibit the same values- which makes you antsy. the woman clearly seems a bit unhinged. you’re relieved when the walk ends and you’re returned to your fiancé, who gestures for you to take his arm again. illumi’s mother’s mood changes drastically yet again and she storms off, shrieking to her husband that it’s rude for him to walk off after hardly having said anything.

now you and illumi are left with the four other children- the white-haired boy, the girl with long hair, the boy with short hair and purple-pink eyes, and a homely fat boy behind the three younger ones. he holds a small console in front of his face and doesn’t even seem to acknowledge your presence. illumi introduces them to you.

“y/n, i’d like you to meet my siblings,” illumi states in his usual manner, walking slowly towards them. gesturing to the white-haired boy, he says, “this is my brother, killua. i call him kil.” he looks down at his brother with an eerie smile and black eyes like pits, but killua keeps his stony gaze straight ahead. his hand rests on the shoulder of the girl in front of him.

“this is my youngest brother, kalluto,” illumi continues, placing a large hand on top of the boy’s head. his hands remain folded in front of him, and he gives you a polite nod. looking toward the fat boy behind kalluto, his expression slightly curling into one of disdain, illumi tells you, “and this is the second oldest, milluki.” milluki doesn’t acknowledge you at all, which seems to visibly irritate illumi, but he doesn’t reprimand the boy.

you’re confused when illumi doesn’t introduce the girl, and you glance up at him in confusion. “illumi, what about her?” you look down at the girl in front of killua, who looks surprised for a second, and so does killua behind her. “you forgot to tell me her name. she’s a beautiful little girl.” you manage a small smile, leaning down slightly to stroke the girl’s hair. her blue eyes sparkle with joy, and killua looks up at you as well, looking a little confused but also very relieved. “your mother said she had no daughters.”

illumi’s eyes lower ever so slightly, giving him a dismissive look. “she doesn’t,” he answers flatly, and his tone makes you feel like that’s the end of the discussion. you’re definitely lost- but you suppose it’s something illumi will have to fill you in on later. you glance sideways at illumi, hand still resting in the girl’s hair. she definitely doesn’t seem to mind you, and killua appears to have warmed up to you as well. milluki’s vanished elsewhere and kalluto watches the whole exchange from the corner of his eye.

suddenly you all hear kikyo call for illumi, who immediately stands up upon hearing his name. “you will remain here until i return.” he tells you, his tone no-nonsense, and heels clicking he makes his way down the dark hallway, leaving you alone with the kids.

the second illumi is out of earshot, the girl brightens up. “hi!” she chirps, bouncing on her feet excitedly. “my name is alluka!”

you’re slightly startled, but you smile at the girl anyway and tell her hi, still wondering why illumi seems so detached from this girl in particular.

killua seems to read your mind. “i know what you’re thinking,” he tells you, not unkindly. “listen, my family doesn’t like alluka much- and they refer to her with male pronouns. just go along with it in front of them. it’s safer for you.” he pauses, then looks down. “but thanks for being nice to her.”

you frown and nod, deciding not to ask any more questions about it. kalluto still hasn’t said anything, but somehow you don’t feel like this boy will be anything to worry about.

with alluka and killua having warmed up to you, you get into a conversation, and kalluto eventually offers a few words after awhile- although never acknowledging alluka directly. most of it is basically killua wondering how the hell you managed to get engaged to someone like illumi.

“No way he didn’t force you to go out with him.”

“What the hell do you even see in that guy? He’s batshit crazy- and he’s definitely not a model.”

“How’d he propose? Did he try to kill you and you survived?”

“‘Man, you really gotta be messed up for Illumi to like you.”

“What even made him wanna get married to you? What even made you wanna get married to him?”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“And you said yes? You’re crazy!”

that’s all i got :3 hope u enjoyed <33

#anime #hxh headcanons #hxh memes #chrollo x reader #hunter x hunter #hisoka x reader #illumi x reader #illumi zolydck x reader smut #reader x illumi zoldyck #reader x illumi #illumi zoldyck x you #illumi zoldyck x reader #illumi zoldyck headcanons #hunter x hunter illumi #illumi hxh #hxh imagines

2K notes · View notes

sugojosgf · 5 months

Text

tell me you're aching for me

﹒ nanami﹕☆ ﹟ fem · prns ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ : ᯓ cw : fluff ! ﹐

you dont even realise that it's valentine's day, until nanami reminds you

you sigh, packing up all your things into the brown cardboard box that sits on the floor of your cubicle. you use packing tape to close it, only thing remaining on the table is a calendar and a desktop.

you knew you weren't going to continue working at that place after your internship, a little too intense and draining for your tastes. the corporate atmosphere wasn't really your cup of coffee, except for nanami who coincidentally was.

you were surprised though, and a little hurt. he hadn't come to give you coffee like usual but he also wasn't there to bid you farewell. you tried convincing yourself that he was probably just too busy for an intern like you.

that's when you hear a distant voice, a manager who you had the opportunity to work under, unfortunately. she was mean and obnoxious, using you like a personal slave instead of an intern. she would make you work for her personal endeavours and any refusal would have your internship threatened.

"nanami! a little late today, that's surprising for you!!" she giggles, you look over the cubicle and see her manicured nails travelling up his arm. he looked as handsome as always.

"you know, it is valentine's day today and i wanted you to have these chocolates." you look at the calendar and it was in fact, february 14th.

"oh," you hear nanami say. "im sorry, i actually have a date waiting for me." and your heart breaks a little. he holds a pretty bouquet of roses, wrapped with brown paper.

it was stupid you to think that him giving you coffee or his jacket actually meant something. he was grown, he probably liked women who knew what to do with their life.

you let a few tears slip and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. sniffling, you exit the office to head to your car.

it's evening and the soft sun basks you in warmth that feels like a mother's hug. you close the trunk and look back once to bid goodbye to your six months of hard work.

right before you get into your car, you hear someone yell your name. you turn back confused only to find yourself face to face with nanami.

"i thought you left," he pants, "thought i was too late." his usual hair-do has fallen apart, blond strands cover his forehead. his eyebrows creased, as he looks at you worry etched in his eyes.

you smile warmly at him when you see the bouquet in his hand. lucky girl, you think to yourself. the woman he has waiting at home is the luckiest person ever to exist.

"everything good, nanami?" you ask, a little worried to see him still slightly hunched trying to catch his breath.

"the elevator broke down after you left, had to use the stairs."

your eyes widen in shock, he was in the seventh floor. he had run down seven floors trying to reach you?

you quickly make him sit in your driver's seat and hand him a bottle of water. you try to calm your thoughts down as he recollects his composure.

"you shouldn't hav-" "would you like to go out with me this weekend?"

your brain stops working.

"h-huh?"

"i always thought you were pretty, and i really wanted to ask you out almost five months ago. your personality, your diligence and just the way you present yourself has me utterly entranced."

he stands up and hands you the bouquet.

"i just thought it would be quite inappropriate if i asked you while you were an intern, i did not want to abuse my position and impose on you. so, no pressure but if you would like to, i'll do my best to take you on an enjoyable date."

you are speechless, your jaw going slack.

"y-you like me?"

he smiles at you, eyes turning into crescents. a soft chuckle escapes his lips.

"quite a lot, i'm afraid."

#nanamin me 🧈#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk nanami #kento #nanami kento #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanamin #fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☁︎#nanami x y/n #nanami x you

506 notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 4 months

Note

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Daenerys Targaryen

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

doesn't really follow canon, Dany doesn't marry Hizdahr

Part of him had expected to be executed right then and there in the fighting pit, after all, he'd thrown a spear in the direction of the Targaryen and nearly impaled one of her knights. His victory in the pits had been shortlived afterward, with a swift order to throw him in the dungeons for an 'attempted assassination' where he'd be thoroughly questioned. A few hours had seemingly passed since then, and he kept himself busy by napping against the rough stone walls and hearing the groans and moans of fellow prisoners. The door at the end of the corridor opened with a loud whine and his eyes parted, hearing heavy footsteps walking right toward his cell.

"Are you certain he is who you say?" A woman's voice asked, light and youthful. The Targaryen, perhaps, or possibly the advisor girl who trailed after her everywhere. He hardly cared about Meereen's newest ruler, much less had time to learn anything about her and her people.

"Yes, Your Grace. My eyes have yet to deceive me." A man answered, his voice lower in pitch and withered by age. The knight he'd almost killed, no doubt. (Y/N) almost snorted. He must've bruised an ego or two by accident.

"Very well." The woman responded and the dimly lit corridor brightened with the light of a torch. The man holding it appeared to indeed be the knight if the scowl on his face said anything. (Y/N) hummed and shifted slightly to face the newcomers, his eyes trailing from the knight to the young woman standing beside him. Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders partly pulled back into braids and framing her oval face. The ends of her dress had grown stained from the walk through the corridor, the light blue now a dark shade of brown, but she hardly seemed to mind or notice.

"Will I be killed by fire or eaten by one of your... 'children'? I always wondered how that'd feel like. Horrible, probably, but at least it beats drinking yourself to death, aye, Gaz?" The prisoner across from his cell made a low grunt of acknowledgment, uttering a frail curse directed at him. (Y/N) grinned and the knight's eyes narrowed further.

"You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the-"

"Queen of Meereen would've done fine, Ser. Don't waste your breath on the rest." (Y/N)'s interruption only seemed to fuel the knight's irritation further and he opened his mouth again, likely to bestow some sort of lecture upon him before Daenerys Stormborn raised her hand to silence him, casting a thankful look over her shoulder at him and stepping closer to the cell.

"Do you have a problem with my titles?"

"You rule Meereen, no? You should, uh, shorten it to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of Mereen, the Mother of Dragons, and the rest of it. You are not Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys Stormborn. House Baratheon sits on the throne, though last I heard, those fools were fighting each other."

"And from what I've been told, those fools were your brothers. I'm sorry for your losses, I know what it is like to lose two brothers." Daenerys hardly sounded apologetic, although he hardly blamed her. His brothers, especially Robert, were difficult to like. "But if rumors are to be believed and if your last brother, Stannis, falls as well... it will make you Lord of Storm's End."

"And those who believe the rumors about Robert's wife believe you are the next in line for the throne. Yet, here you are, fightin' in pits like an animal and sittin' in dungeons. What happened to you, boy? Everyone's been searchin' for you." (Y/N) tore his eyes away from them and stared at the wall in front of him, his lips twisting and jaw clenching. He'd been the last born, the last son of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon. He wondered what they would've thought of the messes their sons had created for themselves. Two were dead, the other lost his mind, and the last one fled home before a marriage could've been thrusted upon him.

" I suppose I am already Lord of Storm's End, seeing as Stannis believes himself to be King. If you have come here to ask for my support, you will be disappointed, however. You can hardly rule Meereen. How will you rule the Seven Kingdoms? You've been away from court for years, Daenerys Stormborn. You have no right to the throne unless you take it as my brother did, and even then, those who survived King Aerys will fear having another Targaryen as ruler. You will have to work harder than Robert to win the trust and loyalty of any noble."

"Sounds as if you know quite a lot about ruling. I am in need of another advisor, Lord Baratheon. Perhaps, you could fill that role."

Daenerys's room had the best view in Meereen with its large balcony showing the large expense of the city and the breeze that flowed in, keeping the room cool even on the worst days when the sun shone down on them relentlessly. (Y/N) enjoyed the view, and especially enjoyed the breeze, although he hardly had reason to leave the Great Pyramid after having been ordered to remain inside unless accompanied by a loyal servant of Daenerys. At least her distrust in him had lessened tremendously over time.

"(Y/N)," Daenerys sighed, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder and opening those dazzling eyes of hers to peer up at him. "Tell me more of Storm's End." She said softly, her fingers trailing down his arm until she found his hand, intertwining their fingers together. (Y/N) chuckled, resting his chin atop her head and feeling her silver strands tickle his skin.

"Well, as the tale goes, the Storm Kings ruled the Stormlands for millennia until Aegon's Conquest when he sent his commander, Orys Baratheon, to battle with the last Storm King. Orys won the battle and took the late Storm King's daughter as his bride thus becoming Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Since then, Storm's End has been ruled by House Baratheon." (Y/N) recounted the history that'd been engrained into his head from the moment he could understand language. Baratheons had always been proud of their history, of their ancient lineage. He tilted his head, lips brushing over her hair and pressed against her forehead. Daenerys smiled. "Why are you interested in Storm's End, Dany?"

"Because..." She trailed off, eyes flickering away briefly. She moved slightly, peeling away from his side to instead straddle his lap, her bare chest pressing against his. "Because I care about you. More than I'd like to admit. You are not the man I thought you'd be. You are... incredibly vexing and arrogant but you are intelligent and a just man. I have been... thinking... about what was said that night in the dungeons. Ser Barriston is right, as are you. I have much to learn, but I believe with you at my side, we could rule the Seven Kingdoms together."

"Dany-"

"I know you care about me, too. I know Kings Landing will accept you as their king and any other children we have will rule over Storm's End, just as your family has all these years. I spoke with Ser Barriston, I asked for his advice and he gave his approval. We could wed, whether in Targaryen custom or Baratheon, and rule the Seven Kingdoms."

"Wait, wait," (Y/N) exhaled, sitting up further and delicately cupping her face in his hands. "Any other children?" Her features softened, her lips forming a gleeful smile. She leaned back, away from him, and peered down at herself, her hand coming to lovingly rest on her belly.

"Missandei and I believe I am with child, (Y/N)."

516 notes · View notes

chelseacult · 22 days

Text

I Should Hate You

Katie McCabe x Chelsea!Reader

Summary: Katie is tasked with marking you.

Word Count: 1.1k words

You knew that playing Arsenal at the Emirates would be a struggle. The roaring celebratory crowds anytime an Arsenal player started a run. The equally enthusiastic boos every time you and your teammates so much as touched the ball. Nothing out of the ordinary. What you weren’t expecting, though, was your current position.

“Sorry, darlin’,” says Arsenal’s Irish superstar as she untangles her body from yours. She stands and reaches both of her hands out for you, a small smile on her face. You might’ve appreciated the gesture if she hadn’t been on the offensive end of all the fouls you’ve encountered during the last 60 minutes. But she has been, so you don’t. Instead, you brush her off and pull yourself up before returning to your original position.

“That’s, like, the 10th time she’s fouled me. I swear she has a personal vendetta against me or something,” you gesture around aimlessly as you take your place next to your best friend.

“What has she done now?” Lauren James asks with a quiet laugh as she kneels down to retie her boots.

“Aside from embarrassing me repeatedly for the past hour, she just tripped me. On purpose, probably.” You reach a hand down and help LJ up once she finishes tying her laces.

LJ lets out a laugh at your reply. “Right, well, that’s called ‘marking.’ Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” LJ squeezes your shoulder with a smirk before the referee blows her whistle, signaling for play to start back up. You share a laugh before attempting to clear your mind and get back into the game. Your attempt starts fruitfully, and you forget all thoughts of your complications with the Irish woman.

You begin running up the wing as your teammates initiate an attack. “Heads up!” Erin yells as she sends the ball soaring toward you from the 18-yard box. Before you can even think about your next move, a sharp pain shoots through your ankle and shoulder, and you find yourself on the ground once again. Your teammates shout, and the crowd erupts in deafening boos as the referee shows your assailant a yellow and then points to the spot.

“Oh, bullshit! I hardly touched her!” exclaims a voice you’ve grown all too accustomed to hearing today.

“Want to explain why I’m on the ground then?” Nathalie helps you up as you glare at Katie. “I’m okay,” you assure Nathalie quickly, brushing off her questioning of your fitness and turning back toward the Ireland captain.

“I don’t know, but I think VAR’s about to find out,” Katie states with a smirk (that you wish you could smack off her face) as she raises her eyebrows and gestures behind you before crossing her arms. You turn to see the referee walking to the penalty check screen. An intense suspense fills the stadium as everyone awaits the referee’s final decision.

“Has to go our way. She completely clipped you. Studs up and everything,” speaks your captain, Millie Bright. She joins the swarm of fellow Chelsea players that has now formed around you, the Arsenal players having disbursed.

After a thorough review of the penalty decision, the referee swiftly returns to the pitch. With a firm expression, she announces her reversal of the call, awarding the decision in favor of Arsenal.

“Come on! That is shit!” Guro shouts as the referee cancels the previously awarded penalty. The thunderous cheers of the Arsenal fans drown out her shouts. The dramatics of the Norwegian winger do nothing to ease your spirits like they usually would. The game ends shortly after, ending in a 3-1 Arsenal win.

You deflate, refraining from diplomatically shaking hands with the Arsenal players after the game. You’re standing off to the side watching a bantering Sam Kerr and Caitlin Foord when you sense a presence walking up behind you, followed by the feeling of two hands on your waist. “Think ya better fire your diving instructor,” the voice whispers in your ear before the accompanying hands pull you toward their chest.

You pull away from the person completely and turn around to face the Irish woman who has recently been the absolute vain of your existence. “I know that you know that call was fucked,” you say sternly.

Katie mock gasps, raises her eyebrows, and drops her jaw. “You want us to what?” she jokes and feigns disbelief.

“Stop,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. She steps closer to you at this reply.

She laughs, “Ah, that’s not a word I hear too often. The eye roll is a different story.” You’re unsure if the innuendos were intentional. The way she’s not even trying to hide biting her lip answers this question for you, though. She smirks again at your lack of response, and you only kind of want to smack it off her face this time. You feel your face heat up as she keeps her eyes trained on yours. You nervously look away and busy yourself watching Niamh’s post-match interview, hoping that Katie will just walk away.

You keep your eyes on Niamh as you feel Katie step close to you again, despite something urging you to turn your head toward the other girl. Katie keeps her hands to herself as she leans close to whisper in your ear this time; her lips brush against your ear as she murmurs, “The more you try to ignore me, the more I want to be right here.” Your breath catches as her words linger in your ear.

Katie pulls away after a tension-filled minute, her expression combining smug delight and amusement. She clearly enjoys the reaction she just pulled out of you. She steals a quick glance at your lips before looking back up at your eyes and holding out one of her hands. Your mind is still whirling from the earlier feeling of having her body so close to yours. You just stare at her outstretched hand.

“See something you like?” she asks as she wiggles her fingers and turns her hand around and back. Your eyes jump back up to hers. “Yeah. Your yellow card earlier,” you choke out.

“Katie!” someone yells from behind you before Katie can reply. Probably one of her teammates. You can’t be bothered to check. Katie nods at the person before turning back to you. Her hand still outstretched, she reaches for one of yours and shakes it with no help from you.

“Until next time, love, yeah?” With an ever-present smirk, she finally removes her hand from yours and starts to walk away. “Unless ya don’t feel like waiting that long. Up to you,” she winks and joins her teammate (whose identity you’re still unsure of).

You’re pretty sure she just put the ball in your court.

a/n: first fic 👀 hopefully it's not terrible. I have mixed feelings about my first post being for an arsenal player but!!! advice is appreciated. thank you alright bye

#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine #arsenal women #arsenal x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso blurbs

239 notes · View notes

pierregazly · 1 year

Text

you make loving fun ꨄ pierre gasly smau

pierre gasly x fem!russell!reader

in which pierre has made it obvious he worships the ground his fiancé walks on, but her brother just has to make it clear he can fight if he needs to.

ynrussell has posted a story

liked by pierregasly, carmenmmundt, and others

replies

pierregasly je t'aime mon chérie 🤍

georgerussell63 you better be sleeping in different beds. and the food better be fully cooked

ynrussell we've been engaged for 9 months. ynrussell and it's a fucking croissant it's obviously fully cooked you dolt

pierregasly

tagged ynrussell

liked by ynrussell, charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, and 650,093 others

pierregasly what a great winter break with my favourite person! time to get back to work 💪😈

view all 3,209 comments

ynrussell i love youuuu

ynrussell thanks for massaging my sore ankles after :(

liked by pierregasly

username they are literally so CUTE

username i want to be ynrussell so bad... like she's so pretty and pierre brings her EVERYWHERE

georgerussell63 this doesn't seem like a safe date option

georgerussell63 my sister better be in one piece by the time you finally return her home

ynrussell i am a grown woman??? i am not being returned home??? what is WRONG with you pierregasly i think i'll keep her actually, sorry mate!

username do you guys think george is serious or is he just playing a joke

username he comments on EVERY single one of their posts... my mans gonna fuck pierre up if he ever steps out of line frfr

liked by georgerussell63

ynrussell

tagged pierregasly

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 46,209 others

ynrussell a special happy birthday to the king of my heart 🫶🏻 one year closer to 30 handsome!!!

view 306 comments

username happy birthday pierregasly!!!!!!

charles_leclerc 🥳🥳🥳

pierregasly do you want to fight??? one year closer to 30???

georgerussell63 i've got this ynrussell, don't threaten my sister or it's game over

pierregasly je t'aime 🤍

georgerussell63 is there a video of pierre getting his face shoved into the cake? i'll pay good money for it

username george omg

username LMAOOOO pleaaaase george is ruthless does he even like his future brother in law

georgerussell63 no. happy birthday pierregasly.

username why is no one talking about how he's looking at her in that second photo???? the pure love??? im gonna cry i hate that i love them

username the 😭 king 😭 of 😭 my 😭 heart 😭

ynrussell

tagged carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, and 12 others

liked by pierregasly, georgerussell63, alexandrasaintmleux, and 52,951 others

ynrussell spoiled absolutely rotten by all the wonderful women in my life this weekend, thank you all for making my bridal shower so special 🫶🏻 (and an extra special thank you to my best friend for the beautiful present he dropped off for me in the middle of it all)

view all 902 comments

carmenmmundt had so much fun celebrating the beautiful bride to be!!

username it makes my heart so full that carmen's planned so much of ynrussell's pre-wedding stuff, she has to be in the wedding party omg

username do we think george is one of pierre's groomsmen???

username if pierre doesn't want to die on his wedding day i'd hope so lol

georgerussell63 i hope pierregasly didn't ruin your special day by showing up. so happy to see how overjoyed you were in all the photos 💗

ynrussell pls stop harassing my fiancé. love you georgie.

username i literally cannot WAIT for their wedding, i just know pierre is going to go all out to make sure ynrussell is the happiest bride in the world (or george will get his ass)

pierregasly i stand by what i said, prettiest flowers for my prettiest flower 💐

georgerussell63

tagged ynrussell

liked by ynrussell, pierregasly, carmenmmundt, and 879,092 others

georgerussell63 can't believe the little girl who used to make me zip up her raincoat on the way to school is getting married tomorrow. honoured to be apart of your special day. and even though i mention it 14 times in my speech, pierregasly i know where you live and i will hurt you if you ever hurt her.

view all 2,311 comments

ynrussell 🥺🥺

ynrussell i'm going to cry. love you always georgie 🥺

username the picture of him zipping up her coat i'm going to cry... my fav brother/sister duo HONESTLY

username i just know this man would get away with murder for her if he had to

username pierre would not stand a chance against george

username bestie be so fucking for real, george's skinny ass ankles wouldn't stand a chance against my man pierre

carmenmmundt i think you've made enough threats by now?

liked by pierregasly, ynrussell, and 63 others

pierregasly may as well make it 15 times, i just dont think 14 is enough little brother

georgerussell63 do NOT call me that

pierregasly and yngasly

liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc, alpinef1team, and 1,673,942 others

pierregasly i am truly the luckiest man in the world to finally be able to call myself your husband. the tears were worth seeing you in the most beautiful dress, on the most beautiful day. i will hold my vows until the day i die. je t'aime, i love you.

view all 3,564 comments

username omg he cried!!!!!!

username i KNEW IT i knew pierre would be a crier my man's looks like he would be

username do we think george made him cry

username girl dont be delulu i'd be crying too if yngasly was about to be my wife

georgerussell63 i have a video of you crying. don't act up.

pierregasly wouldn't count on it lil bro. username pierre may get beat up without it even involving yngasly as this rate

yngasly can't believe i bagged myself such a looker

yngasly i love you mr. gasly

pierregasly i love you mrs. gasly

honestly this was one of those one's that i started, imagined myself in this position and then basically HAD to finish it. thank you to the lovely person who requested a russell!sister!reader who is engaged to pierre, who constantly get's threatened by george. i hope you all loved it!!

my requests are open

taglist:

@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @princessria127 @iloveyou3000morgan @love4lando @asfaraslifegets @decseptapril @somanyfandomsbruh @fangirl125reader @imagandom @motorsp0rt @jspitwall @sarahedwards16 @glitterf1 @christianpulisic10 @carlandonorri-s @smoothopz @eugene-emt-roe @epitios

if your name is struck through it wouldn't let me tag you! let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist/if you're missing from it :)

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #f1 x reader #pierre gasly x female reader #f1 social media au #pierre gasly smau #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 x you #smau #my writing #my smau

2K notes · View notes

kumkaniudaku · 6 days

Text

Stay A While

Summary: Terry's back home and trying to make amends with an old friend.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,944

Part: 1 of ??

Warnings and Notes: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. Or at least Terry hoped that was the case as his thumb hovered over a familiar name in his contact list. A dingey hole in the wall became a haven on the tail end of his journey back to some sense of normalcy. He was down a bike, a truck, and a piece of his heart but continued to press on until fatigue forced him to stop for rest. The owner, a small woman with a big voice noticed his rough appearance as he passed by on foot and invited him inside to duck an incoming storm. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when he repeated that he had ground to make up before nightfall.

When she asked if he needed help he politely and foolishly declined all but a glass of brown liquor and access to an outlet. That same whiskey and a sprinkle of Motown-era love songs playing on a rickety jukebox had broken a grown man down enough to reach out to the one person who might still be willing to take him in. Even if only for a night.

Searching for extra courage, Terry took another sip of lukewarm Jack Daniels before tapping his phone screen. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before a short pause signaled the call had connected.

The silence on the other him was loud, forcing him to speak up first.

“Hello?”

Fading voices and shuffling in the background were the only indicators of a presence on the other line, making Terry feel embarrassed for starting a call in the first place.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Hey, look… if now’s not a good time I ca -”

“Terrence? Did you mean to call me?”

“I, uh…yeah. I did. I’m sorry. I should’ve -”

“Are you okay? It’s loud wherever you are. You good? You hurt?”

“I could tell you if you would give me a chance to answer,” he chuckled. His amusement made her kiss her teeth in annoyance. “I’m okay. I’m a little banged up, but I’ve seen worse. I’m somewhere between Charlotte and home. Stopped in this spot for a drink and somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Terry took another swig of whiskey and sighed. “Nothing, really. I was hoping I could see you, though. You know, when I make it back tomorrow.”

“You staying anywhere when you get here?”

“Not yet, but I’ll find somewhere. I know how to survive.”

“TJ…,” More silence. Thick. Long. Full of tension and years of baggage that they had yet to discuss. The other voice sighed before answering. “Come on by. I’ll have the back room ready for you. You need toiletries?”

Terry’s face softened into a near smile at the invitation. “Yes ma’am. A meal would be nice, too.”

“Okay. I’ll have you something if you can get here before dark tomorrow. Please be safe, Terrence. I mean it.”

Before he could attempt to extend the conversation, the call ended, leaving her contact photo in full view. Terry allowed a slow grin to spread across his face just as a short text with her address came across the screen.

“Another round, brother?”

Terry looked up from his phone to find an expectant expression on the bartender’s face. He shook his head and reached for the wallet in his back pocket. “Nah, but thanks, man. Think I’m gonna close my tab, actually. I gotta see about a bus ticket before it’s too late.”

“If you heading to her,” the man started, pointing toward Terry’s phone. “you need a cut, man. A lineup. Something. You look like what you been through. If you got $20, I can get you right.” A slight frown and knitted eyebrows in response made the bartender shoot his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want no problems, big dog. I just know what it’s like to see your lady after a hard time. Let me help you.”

A quick look into the black mirror of his cell phone screen forced Terry to reckon with his appearance. He couldn’t remember his last haircut and his mustache was starting to dwarf his upper lip. He sighed and reached into his back pocket.

“Extra $10 and you can get the face too?”

“Extra $20 and I’ll get you where you going myself.”

------

City noise had long been replaced by suburban quiet by the time Terry’s destination came into view. His friend back at the bar was true to his word and arranged transport that turned a 6-hour journey into 2 hours of UGK on the speakers, a little privacy, and AC on the hottest summer day so far.

After exchanging pleasantries and cash, Terry stepped out of the cramped Honda onto the smooth driveway pavement. Every house, street sign, and front yard looked exactly as he remembered them, bringing mixed emotions forward.

The short journey to her front step felt arduous for his tired legs, but he persisted until he was mere inches from the front door. He lifted his arms and prepared to knock but stopped short when it swung open unexpectedly.

“Knocking when I can hear those heavy feet from a mile away is courteous but unnecessary.”

He chuckled and rubbed a hand down the back of his head. “Good to see you too, Treece.”

Patrice greeted him with a half smile as she studied his appearance from toe to head. A few years and a little extra weight had done wonders. She settled on his eyes and softened her gaze. “You look good, TJ. Come in here and cool off.”

Stepping inside her home felt like walking into a time capsule. He’d spent so many after-school days and summer nights here that it felt like his childhood home not too far up the road. Photos from yesteryear lined the walls on the way to the living room where nothing had changed except new furniture and a bigger television on the TV stand. The heat from the oven mixing with a slight chill from the air conditioning unit kept the room comfortable enough to nap if he could settle for more than a few minutes.

Terry’s eyes drifted from his surroundings to Patrice as she led the way. Long braids covered the back of a high school t-shirt and jean shorts. Her brown skin had become golden under the North Carolina sun, making her glow a little in the morning light. Grown woman weight had settled onto her once thin frame, transforming her into a more of a mini version of her older sister than before. All the changes he’d imagined when he had a free second were ions better in person.

Patrice gestured toward the leather recliner in the corner without speaking, inviting him to take a seat and settle in on her way to the stove.

They existed without words for a few minutes while she took fresh biscuits out of the oven and arranged them next to sausage patties and an omelet on one of her good porcelain plates. Terry trained his attention on his shoes, trying and failing to find a way to break the ice. He wanted to apologize. Confess his wrongs and desires in one grand speech designed to erase nearly ten years of absence. But the words wouldn’t form in his throat and the moment came and went.

Balancing a dinner tray in one hand and orange juice in the other, Patrice carefully made her way to his spot in the living room. Seeing her kind eyes calmed his nerves and set his chest ablaze.

“No more pork for you, right? This is chicken sausage from my Nana and them in the country.” She asked as she sat the tray on his lap.

He nodded in appreciation. “Yeah. You remembered?”

“You ain’t been gone that long, TJ. I still know who you are and what you like. That orange juice don’t have pulp in it either.”

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly before hanging his head to pray.

“Any time.”

A re-run of A Different World became the only sound in the room outside of an occasional content sigh from Terry as he tore through his breakfast. Patrice watched in amusement until her broad smile caught his attention. He slowed in embarrassment and returned the stare long enough to induce loud laughter from both of them.

“I look crazy, huh?”

“No,” she assured with a sweet smile. “You just look like you're happy to be back home, is all. Fayetteville missed you.”

“All of Fayetteville or someone specific?”

“Don’t start, TJ.”

“I’m only asking a question.” He answered without making eye contact. “You know you’re the only one who still calls me that?”

“What? TJ? That’s your name.”

“Yeah, but…you know. It’s not 2010 anymore.”

Patrice shrugged and settled deeper into the couch. “Considering that’s about the last time I saw you in the flesh, I guess it stuck for me. But, I can call you Terrence if you like.”

“Nah, TJ’s good. I like it. From you…specifically.”

The pair exchanged equally bashful looks, both too shy to say anything that would incriminate themselves. Instead, they watched the television in silence and stole looks until a commercial break took away their distraction.

Without speaking, Terry began to gather dishes and stand, prompting Patrice to rush over before he could move too far.

“Treece, I can do it.”

“I know,” she answered in a sing-song voice while sliding the tray from his grasp. “But I haven’t done this for you in a while. Let me love on you a little bit.”

His eyes tracked her every move until she was behind him at the kitchen sink. Boyish nervousness made him twiddle his thumbs until words came rushing out like water from a burst pipe as he sat back down.

“So, how you doing? How you been?”

“I’ve been okay. Mostly work and no play, you know. Thankful to be out of that classroom for a few weeks and get some peace.”

“Yeah? Kids driving you crazy?”

“Baby, the kids, their parents, and my parents are driving me to drink,” she laughed. “I can’t catch a break.”

“What about your man? He driving you crazy?”

Patrice scoffed and shook her head. Her mama and his mama talked too much. Terry chewed his bottom lip, hoping he didn’t offend.

“We…aren’t together anymore. Hard to build a family together when he’s off building one across town.”

Terry craned his neck around the armchair to make sympathetic eye contact. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that part. I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s alright. I gave it to God a long time ago. Maybe I’m not meant to be anybody’s wife yet.”

“Maybe you weren’t meant to be his wife.”

“Well, it’s not like any suitors are knocking down my door for my hand in marriage.”

“Probably because you keep swinging it open before anybody gets a chance.”

Patrice rolled her eyes and flashed her middle finger in Terry’s direction. “Ha-ha. I see you didn’t lose your jokes at Lejeune. Only your ability to keep in touch.”

Her retort left a shallow cut in Terry’s ego, making him turn his attention back to the television. He knew he’d broken a decades-old promise and that atoning for his sins would take time. But he also knew that, at any moment, Patrice could send him back into the world with nothing more than a full belly and a swift kick in the ass. He had to tread lightly.

Taking the lull in conversation as his opportunity to lick his wounds in private, Terry stood and gathered his belongings in both hands. Patrice watched him from her spot with an apologetic expression.

“You don’t have to leave. Got a couple errands to run so it’ll be quiet in here. Take the whole couch if you want.”

“That’s alright, but thank you. Figure I can make myself useful and cut the yard. Maybe unpack some of this stuff if that’s alright with you. You got a mower?”

“Yeah, it’s back there,” she answered, gesturing toward the backyard with her head. “Will you be here when I get back?”

Sensing the hidden motivation behind her question, Terry dropped his bag to the ground and made his way into the kitchen. Cautiously, he leaned down to press a short kiss to Patrice’s forehead before using his index finger to tilt her head upward and meet his eyeline. “Yes. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a half second while she nodded her understanding. A wave of relief made the hair on her arms stand at attention but she quickly bit back any urge to engage further.

“You looked tired when you got in,” Patrice started, turning her back to Terry to conceal her flustered face. “I cleared Junior’s old bed back there. It’s a little small but sturdy. The sheets are fresh. Let me know if you need more blankets. I like it cold at night.”

“I’ll survive, girl. I’ve slept in worse places than a full-sized bed. Thank you.”

A split second of hesitation kept their eyes glued to one another until Terry ended the stalemate by backing out of the room and disappearing down the hallway.

Patrice took his absence as an opportunity to compose herself. Busy hands and racing thoughts fueled a cleaning marathon until tasks that had long fallen to the bottom of her to-do list were crossed off.

For hours they co-existed without many words exchanged. Occasionally, Patrice would steal glances at Terry while he meticulously tended to the lawn and bushes. When he could, Terry made a point to brush up against her when he walked past and agree with each of her many suggestions. Being in her space was enough for him and he dared not upset the natural harmony.

By the time dinner rolled around, they had found a groove. A quiet dinner led to an even quieter cleanup shift and quick good nights exchanged after watching Jeopardy together.

Terry left Patrice to her own devices while he fought to acclimate to such cushy surroundings. Try as he might, he couldn’t get used to the soft mattress below him or the near-frigid temperature in the house. Tossing and turning left him unsatisfied. The walls felt like they were converging. Flashbacks were turning into night sweats. He needed to escape.

Slowly, he slid out of bed and into a pair of slippers Patrice had gifted him earlier in the day. Measured steps help him sneak past her bed bedroom, out of the back door, and down into the backyard without causing a disturbance.

The early June air was balmy, clinging to the skin beneath his t-shirt. In the distance loud bass from someone’s car speaker vibrated until it was out of earshot. Dogs barked and howled to salute the moon worked in tandem with the faint smell of charcoal cooling from a night of backyard barbecues to remind him that he was far from the trouble of Shelby Springs.

It’d been a while since he could enjoy the night without being on high alert. The last week was a special kind of hell that he feared he could never shake. The urge to flee was beginning to creep in like the tide, threatening to wash away what little progress he’d made.

After a few deep breaths and mumbled prayer, Terry retreated to a porch swing to rest his weary legs. His shoulders relaxed as soon as his backside met the aged oak and, almost instantly, he felt safe enough to close his eyes. One deep breath turned into another until he was drifting into his first peaceful sleep in weeks.

Minutes passed like seconds. Thoughts slowed to a halt. His heartbeat regulated. Near bliss was upon him.

Inside, a single lamp flipped on to illuminate Patrice’s path as she searched the house for her guest. His room and bathroom had turned up empty results with almost no sign that he’d been there throughout the day. He wasn’t on the couch or in the kitchen raiding the fridge like she half expected. Worry had all but made her pass out until she heard the slight creak of her swing on the porch, making his head appear and disappear from the window above the sink.

She couldn’t fully open the door before Terry opened one eye and looked in her direction. She froze and he smiled.

“Feet not as heavy as you thought, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. If I’d known you trade in a bed for this old thing I wouldn’t have wasted my time on laundry.”

“Hey, I built this old thing, remember?”

Patrice chuckled at the memory and pointed at the metal chain keeping the swing in place. “Damn near lost a finger behind it, too.”

“Would’ve been worth it knowing you were happy.” Patrice nervously shifted her weight from left to right under Terry’s intense gaze while he took his turn to look her over. Finally noticing her awkwardly standing between the screendoor, he motioned to the spot beside him. “Sit with me for a second.”

Patrice visibly wrestled with her decision but ultimately joined him. They maintained a careful distance, being sure to keep their individual limbs from connecting for fear that the mere sensation would set them ablaze. They played a childish game of cat and mouse until Patrice spoke.

“I was rude earlier,” Patrice confessed while fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. Terry closed his heavy eyes to cure the burning sensation growing by the minute but acknowledged her statement with a confused grunt. She continued. “I never asked how you were doing. The whole thing about my ex sort of brought up old feelings.”

He frowned, hurt by her revelation. “You know I wasn’t trying to hurt you, right?”

“You never are. Same ol’ honorable TJ. Terry, I mean.”

“TJ for you.”

Again he popped one eye open and paired it with a grin that disamered Patrice and made her giggle like her high school self. The sound had him resolve that he’d spend his whole life making stupid faces if it meant she’d get some joy from them.

“You ready to tell me everything I missed or are you content with popping up on my porch? And how long do you plan to be here eating all my food, anyway?”

“I don’t think you wanna hear that,” he answered in an attempt to dodge the loaded question. Patrice persisted.

“No, I do. I see the tattoos and the fresh haircut. TJ turned into a man while he was gone. At least let me get to know this new person.”

“I grew up,” he sighed after some time. “Gained some. Lost a lot. Still trying to pick up the pieces.”

“What’d you lose?”

“Lately? Money. Family. Shit, my mind.”

“Why?”

“Mike died.” An abrupt interruption of an already complicated conversation brought forth a long pause. He waited for an interjection but found none, prompting him to offer more details. “He was killed. In jail. I tried to get him out and bring him home but I was too late.” Terry answered without making eye contact. Shame wouldn’t allow him to meet her potential judgment.

Patrice mentally cycled through names and faces until she realized the gravity of Terry’s statement. She reached out to breach their unspoken barrier and grabbed his hand which he accepted with no pushback.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” he answered before squeezing her hand and finally returning her eye contact. “I handled everything. It’s over for now. I’m here with you. We can focus on that.”

“Even though you keep skipping how long you’ll stay.”

Patrice’s warmth was starting to take a backseat to her cold nature. Old wounds had started to re-open and rebuild a wall they both thought they’d successfully hurdled. Despite her attempt to pull her hand out of his grasp, Terry stayed put. He eyed her for a moment, picking up on a thin veil of tears threatening to form at her water line.

She watched his normally steely blue-gray eyes soften into something that mirrored the softness he carried when they were kids. She couldn’t find the gumption to look away as he brought her knuckles up to his lips for a set of short kisses before looking back up at her. Pleading. Begging for any indication that she had softened her heart toward him.

“Treecey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it. You meant more to me than the way I left and I pray every day for a chance to make it right. We crossed a line that night and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t handle that like a man should have. I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face.”

Sincerity was thick in his voice despite his low, even tone.

Patrice listened without a word. A single tear cascaded down her face despite her valiant attempts to keep her emotions at bay. She swore she’d never cry about Terrence Richmond again. But old habits die hard.

Terry used his free hand to swipe away that tear and the next one sitting at her lower lash line with the pad of his thumb.

“Say something,” he pleaded. “Anything. Tell me you hate me.”

“You know I don’t hate you,” she whispered, too choked up to continue without a deep breath. “I…I just feel like you took a piece of me with you, you know? And you never wrote back. You never called. You shut me out like we were never friends. We could’ve gone back to how things were.”

“I fucked that up.”

“I’m aware. But that doesn’t mean that I trust you won’t do it again. No matter how much I don’t hate you, I’m not eighteen anymore. My patience is thin. I can’t allow you to turn my world upside down again.”

“Hand to God I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” Though she whispered, Patrice’s words sliced through Terry like a hot knife through butter.

He hung his head in defeat as she pulled her hand from his grasp and made quick work of standing from the bench. Her footsteps retreated past him and to the back door until she paused.

He looked over his shoulder to find her eyes closed and chin pointed to the sky in contemplative silence. This was it. The final blow.

She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “Stay as long as you want. Junior’s living with his girlfriend now, so nobody’s coming to make you leave. Tomorrow, we can go get you some new clothes. I’m tired of looking at those raggedy t-shirts already.”

Terry took her jab in stride and gave her a half smile as a sign of compliance. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

“Mhm. Lock the door behind you when you come in.”

“Good night, Treecey.” His farewell came in an annoyingly sweet voice as a last-ditch effort to drag some loving words from her. Patrice stopped and gave him one more once over and a dismissive eye roll.

He waited for the ghost of a smile that disappeared before he could blink. She shook her head and took a step inside the house.

“Shut up, Terry. Go to bed.”

Terry hid his amusement until she was out of sight, leaving him alone to grin at how even her rebukes felt like love letters.

“Shut up,” he repeated to himself as he closed his eyes to doze again. “Hm. I’ll take it.”

TAGS: @planetblaque

Happy to tag whoever is interested.

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

253 notes · View notes

ewanmitchelll · 3 months

Text

Imagine you can fix him. No, really, you can.

Warnings: drama, angst and (explicit) smut; long post; some canon divergence…

***

You’ve been raised at court as part of Princess Helaena’s retinue. Due to your noble status, this isn’t different any other lady of your station might’ve expected.

You have grown close to the princess, and the two of you are very good friends—more like sisters, truthfully. Due to your similar nature, both of you found yourselves reading, sewing and dancing when possible.

But as you grew, you eventually found another companion to spend your time at court with. The second wayward son of King Viserys, Lord Aemond.

Here’s how all it began…

***

• (I) Broken infancy.

Right after the mess where the Queen confronted her stepdaughter about what had happened between Rhaenyra’s offspring and Aemond, you opt to go after him.

It’s dark. It’s late and you should be elsewhere, but you pay little mind to these rules. You find Aemond outdoors, sitting in the stairs as if he’s contemplating quietly the price paid for losing an eye.

You think you hear a sniff, but you’re not sure. You wait until silence is absolute before making yourself announced.

“L-Lord Prince.”

Aemond turns abruptly, completely out of guard. He hates the vulnerability, but before he can come out with a snark response, you step forward and say:

“I do not mean to intrude. But… may I offer you company?”

The boy looks at you with distrust.

“What are your business here, Lady Y/LN? You should be with my sister.”

“I was worried about you…”

“I don’t need your pity”, and saying so he spits out.

“You don’t”, you agree calmly even if you’re shaken inside. “But everyone needs a friend.”

There is a small pause where you anxiously wait for him to give you some space. Eventually he does since there’s no one around.

“Well. Helaena doesn’t like many people, but here you are, the only one she actually spends time with”, mumbles Aemond.

You smile before taking a seat by his side.

“It appears so.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You know Aemond is still getting used to your company, so you speak nothing.

“I’m sorry”, you tell him.

The prince casts a look at this y/c haired lady of the house y/c dressed in the manner of the Hightower. Despite the remaining distrust in his eyes, you know he reads you.

What a process to forge a bond, and yet here you are.

“For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“No. But I lament for the loss you went through.”

“Well…”, and here he inclines his head towards the great shadow flying over the dark skies. “It was worth the dragon I reclaimed.”

“Like every Targaryen before you.”

Something about you said seems to knock his defenses down. However this isn’t something Aemond is prepared to admit. Yet.

***

• (II) Darkness & Light.

Aemond keeps an eye on you as much as you keep an eye on him. You’ve grown to a handsome woman, wearing gowns that reinforce your curves even though nothing in your actions deem other than innocence.

You and Helaena are almost twins. Could be so had you been birthed by Queen Alicent. Perhaps this is why Aegon looks down on you as much as he does to his sister-wife.

But the wayward, gloomy Prince, who at times opts to find his path towards his… whore, cannot divert away of you.

In fact, he is rather surprised to see you gravitating towards him just as he leaves the room.

“Y/N”, Aemond whispers your name, hands behind his back, not turning his head to welcome you… and because he hopes you don’t spot a slight, timid smirk that forms on his lips due to your presence.

“My dear Aem. Going to practice with Ser Criston again?”

You purposely link your arm to his, nudging his side playfully to tease him the way you know he doesn’t like.

But the prince can’t get rid of you, can he?

“Like always.”

“May I watch it?”

“If you want to.”

Aemond knows silence is not your best trait, something that he, in fact, appreciates.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of my sight again”, you muse, eyeing him closely.

He avoids your gaze, aware of what you talk about. But why does he feel a hint of shame knock his pride?

“Hum”, it’s all he says.

You sigh heavily. By how you breathe heavily, Aemond knows you are about to lose your temper.

“Don’t “hum” at me, Aemond Targaryen. You’ve been whoring again, haven’t you?”

To your surprise, he stops abruptly, turning at you in such a way that makes you blush. Aemond reads you, him too baffled when discovering you might actually have feelings for him.

How else would you feel so possessive towards me, Y/Nickname?

Today, your hair is tied in two perfectly braids. They are long enough to fall over your waist, Aemond notices. Your eyes are livid, he can tell the amount of repressed feelings that are behind the colour that paints them—and he is intrigued to know what these are.

You are chewing your bottom lip, a sign of nervousness—he never took you for an insecure person.

Are you afraid of losing me?

And then there’s something about the gown, green like always, that makes him want to rip it. He can tell your breasts are tied… and he wants to release the pressure this gown is making on them. Suddenly, comes to his mind a scene where he is sucking your nipples, rubbing one with his thumb all the whilst using his tongue to play with the other.

Perhaps you’d like that, Y/N. To be treated well. Perhaps you’d be a better replacement than my whore.

Indecent thoughts that he cannot sweep off his mind, but that his mind plays a good effort to it because you are a good precious damsel who doesn’t serve to be part of his dark, sinful self.

And yet… what he sees in you is the light that blinds him. Another sight he cannot lose. So he does what’s best of him to do: push people away.

“How does this concern you, Lady Y/N? You’ve been a good friend, but you are nothing more to me.”

Words that shouldn’t have come out this way. But they do. When seeing the hurt in your eyes, Aemond knows the weight of his lies. Suddenly, he realizes he wishes he could be saved.

And you, as his savior, have been pushed away.

“I am not quitting on you”, you wear your prideful mask, which intrigues him. “Still going to watch your practice though. Besides, I was only asking… because of your mother.”

Aemond cannot amend the awkwardness, but his mind screams at him for not bothering in doing so.

“I know.”

So he turns his back on you. And to his consternation, you stay.

Whilst Aemond practices with his sword, you shut yourself in your world. Your eyes are carefully down whenever a courtier passes by—you detest to get the male attention, not when you wish for more on Aemond’s part.

But you little foolish thing, he doesn’t want you. The prince sees you as a friend, is all. An extension of Helaena.

You struggle with your tears as this thought occurs you, but perhaps this isn’t so bad, is it? Duty often sacrifices sentiments. Perhaps you should tell your sister, Queen to be, that you are ready to marry and then… stay away of him for good.

But the courage in this decision soon dissipates the moment you raise your eyes and find Aemond staring at you.

And you know you’ve been trapped.

***

• (III) Scars.

You are about to slip under your blankets when the door of your bedchambers are abruptly opened. You are frightened when hearing the sound due to your exposed state: your line nightgown poorly covers your nipples and you still have no time to throw robes to cover yourself when he stands before you.

Distressed, anguished. In who he really is. In one broken state you’ve only seen once.

You forget yourself when you run to hold Aemond Targaryen in your arms.

“My love”, you whisper, letting him sob. “My prince”.

You pull him to yourself, the only one Aemond trusts with his being. The only one he knows he can be himself, with his scars and open vices. He clings onto you, he digs his fingers onto your waist, letting him be guided to your bed before burying his head against your belly.

You can only imagine what had struck him like this. A feast of demons over his head, each fighting for his flesh. And yet you are here, battling against them.

When he finally stops sobbing, he looks up at him. You’ve never seen him so fragile, so famine for affection. And here you are. Providing what he needs.

“Tell me all”, you whisper.

“I do not want to. You’ll find a monster in me”, and yet he holds onto your hips, fearful you’d let go of him.

“You are not a monster, Aemond. You may have some vices, but you are a human being like anyone else”, you tell him gently. “Come here.”

Aemond obeys you, sitting in front of you.

“Let me tend you”, you whisper. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Y/Nickname…”, he holds your wrist firmly.

“I won’t leave you. I won’t abandon you”, you assure him. “Do you trust in me?”

Aemond nods his head.

“My boy, then let me bath you. Besides”, and here you dress your best smile. “You smell like old dragon.”

Finally something that pulls out a smile of him. As he sits there, you are quick to fetch servants to prepare him a good bath. When you go back at him, Aemond gives you that intense look which gives you shivers.

And wets you in between your legs too.

But this isn’t the moment nor the time.

“Come. It’s ready.”

You lean against the wall of the privy quarters as Aemond starts to undress. Even though he is damaged for what he’s done, he likes to feel the weight of your gaze on him. And he smirks when he stands nude before you.

“I don’t think you’ve seen me like this”, he muses.

You don’t look away when he says so. Aemond feels a heat growing inside him.

“No, I don’t. Not physically anyway”, you point out.

“Don’t look away”, he asks.

You dare to scan his body with your discreet gaze, eyeing his well build muscles, attentive to his scars and… his manhood, which is now erected. And quickly you look away, blushing, as he chuckles.

“You’ve never seen one up before, my lady?”, he asks, sliding into the tub.

You gently knee behind him and get to rub his back with a sponge.

“Do not take me to your whore, Aemond”, you snap at him.

The prince smiles at it. He lets you clean him before he dives into the water. When coming back to the surface, the prince is disappointed for not seeing you there.

A moment later, though, when he’s dressed in clean clothes, says Aemond with a subtle accusation tone:

“You left me there for one moment…”

“You surely can handle yourself as you finished you bath. I am only your friend, wasn’t that what you called me?”

Aemond sighs.

“Y/Nickname, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He comes at you and rests his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. When you side look at him, you spot that old fragility rarely seen.

It’s what melts you down.

“Very well. Come here. Let me tend you”, and now back to your bed, you and him lace your fingers together, his head in between your breasts. “What did you do, Aemond?”

You stroke his hair with your loose hand, aware that he’d done something bad. But where others see him ruthless, you see a broken boy trying to find his worth in this misadjusted world.

“I…”, his embargoed voice has your attention.

“Yes?”, you lift his chin, now cupping his face; removing his eyepatch, you gently force him to look at you.

And here comes a tear.

“I killed him. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Who?”

But you know the answer.

“…Lucerys.”

Old wounds that never close… bleed endlessly. You sigh heavily, but rest your forehead against his.

“You shouldn’t have done that, my dear”, you speak softly.

“I understand.”

“But I won’t abandon you, you know that, do you?”, you hope to transmit him that, regardless of this sinful secret he shared with you, together you two are stronger.

“You are the only one who knows my weakness”, he buries his head against your neck, needy of you, weak and feeble. Fragile. “Do not dare to leave me.”

“You have always been sacred to me to be profaned now, Aemond”, you whisper.

He leans his body close to yours, transfixed by your irradiating beauty… and your unending loyalty.

The prince touches your face and you tilt your head, letting his slander fingers brush over your face and then going down to your neck. You partly wish that he goes below… a perception he sees evident in your eyes.

Aemond knows he’s as vulnerable as you. And yet his hand moves to your collarbone, unlacing your nightgown.

“So beautiful. You look as if I can be redeemed.”

“You can”, you lean closer, not minding how purposely your breasts slip out of the line. Your eyes remain locked with his all the whilst you take his face with your hands. “You can be redeemed.”

Aemond waits no further: his dragon fire awakes and he is about to burn you. You welcome his hungry lips thus, sighing in content as he crawls over your body, ripping impatiently your gown, promptly reclaiming you the same way he did Vhagar.

You subdue easily to him, letting him have his way to you. That his lips make his kiss ache every part of you gets a moan out of you, which in turn makes Aemond smirk.

You are mine and mine alone. I possess you, I take you as who you are, my lady Y/N.

Such are his thoughts, which you need naught to have the ability to read them; for they are readable in his tight grip of you, in how his tongue dominates yours along with his body.

Trapped under his dominance, you are found breathless and a puddle of mess when he parts the kiss to let slid his tongue over your jawline and neck, his fingers now pulling your hair gently, tangled in your curls.

Then he stops what he’s doing to contemplate your state under candlelight. And here he smirks.

“Divine you are, my lady. How can a man like me be worthy of a woman like you?”

You sensually lift your legs to pull him by his hips as you adjust your body so his can mould better in it. You like the lust in his eyes, one of the kind that doesn’t conceal his vices nor his virtues… one that shows his genuine feelings to you.

“You deserve all the love in the world, my dear Aemond. Let me heal you”, you stroke his cheeks, smiling gently.

“A flower soon to be deflowered by a rogue”, he sneers under his breath, but there’s no despise in his eyes, only the same old scars.

“I am your woman”, you tell him, and he’s surprised to find in you the same possessiveness there is in him. “I am not any flower, though.”

Aemond smirks. Whatever insecurities laid behind his good eye, now they are no more.

“You shall be more than that, darling”, he brushes his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip not long after. “My consort, mother of my heirs.”

As if to assure you he means every word, he not only kisses your neck and gets a few moans out of you, but leaves some bruises there. You’ve been marked.

Aemond, however, cannot take out of his thought the idea of corrupting you. Though it flings him with some guilt, the way your legs are wrapped around him, your bodies so perfectly moulded that leaves no doubt that it is hardly sinful what’s to be done.

You may spot some of it, so to assure him there’s no question of the legitimacy of the deed, you put yourself under him properly so he looks down at you… and yet your hand takes hold of his erect manhood.

“Y/N!”, he gasps in surprise.

You give him a malicious smirk at the same time there is nothing to encounter in your gaze that is not innocence itself. Inexperience you may be, but you have ears that long heard of maids doing so with their partners.

But to feel his cock responding well to your moves is a positive indicator that you are doing it well.

“My lady!”, he wants to stop you, but fuck it it’s so damn good. Aemond rolls his eye, almost falling over you. “You should not…”

“I want you”, you whisper in the back of his ear as you caress his face and hair with your free hand. “Carnally, emotionally, all that is between. I want my prince Aemond Targaryen the way he really is.”

It’s enough to wipe out any reasonable thought he may have in regarding preserving you of such naughtiness. Aemond lets out the repressed lust for you, his sentiments towards his lady—of the kind only his whore knew about—, and bloody seven hells… you know how to make him feel good!

All the whilst you enjoy feeling his precum getting your hand soaked, and twirling your thumb around the tip like he instructs you to—the very fact he’s the one teaching you also arouses him quite.

“Fuck”, and he growls against your skin, burying himself into your breasts, biting your nipples and sucking each ardently with the devotion of a lover.

So you too welcome a different sensation of bliss, a pleasure never before felt, hitting on your in waves of heat that get your body out of control. It does “worsen”, though, the moment he does to you what you do to him.

Aemond captures the surprise that flashes behind your eyes when he finds you soaked to the core. And then… not deeming to waste his seed, he takes your hands and pins over your head.

As his thighs are over yours, you see this handsome man towering over you. His well build muscles, his handsome manhood…

“Do you like the view, Princess?” Aemond asks gently, though the way he looks at you there’s nothing innocent or gentle.

And he sees how your body reacts. Which only arouses him further.

“Yes”, you are almost breathless. “Please, do not make me beg.”

Aemond chuckles low, hands wrapping around your neck.

“Oh, but aren’t you begging already, my love?”

And then he releases the pressure by inserting another finger in your womanhood.

“Mm. You like that, do you not?”, Aemond groans as you deliberately give yourself to him, a complete mess. He likes the view, to know he ruined you too.

And then he bends over… only to slowly insert his manhood into you.

“Oh Gods!”

Aemond side smirks at you.

“It’s going to be a long night, Princess Y/N.”

And to seal his promise, he pursuits your lips in a passionate kiss.

***

• (IV) The Great Escape.

As you stand quietly in the royal chambers, you detect grey clouds rumbling in the sky. You furrow your eyebrows at the sight, perceiving it as a bad omen.

It’s when Helaena comes at you, so suddenly and silently that you are almost startled by her presence.

“I see the boy”, she whispers at you, the only one who understands her. “He will conquer all.”

“Do you mean any of your brothers?”, you ask in the same tone.

Helaena smiles quietly, though in her eyes you detect a mix of apprehension and concern. You know she hesitates, so you hope to transmit calmness.

“Laena, do not fear. I shall keep your secret with me”, and you point to your heart.

She looks at your hands before giving a look at the horizon. You give her time. Then she turns her head and says:

“He shall not be king until other dies”, another pause. “You should not be here when Aegon becomes king.”

You are more than aware that Aegon is not really fond of you.

“Is war coming, dear Laena?”, you ask.

“No”, and here she smiles. “Not for you nor Aemond.”

You have the decency to blush. You’d think your secret encounters with Aemond remained a secret, but didn’t you underestimate your closest friend?

“I…”

“Do not apologize. You’ve brought him the light out of him.”

And in her own way of saying thanks, Helaena rests her head against your shoulder. So suddenly the announce of storm is dissipated… and your fears, likewise.

But before this light prevails, it is yet the time to cross the dark. Therefore, you are not entirely surprised to find Aemond vulnerable again. It’s late night and he comes for you in seek of solace. The one kind he’s been refused by his family.

Aemond slides through the half open door, already suspicious in not finding your privy chambers completely close. Hearing voices, a fang of jealousy threatens to bring out his worse when he comes to find out you and Helaena have been spending time together.

It is a relief, somewhat one that makes him smirk, to seeing you getting along with his family. Not that he cares about it, but…

He waits until Helaena is gone to surprise you. You are wearing a pink gown with details in pink and are just untying your braid, completely unaware of his silent presence.

Aemond is reclining against the wall, watching you remove the courtly garments that you wear daily, noticing in your distracted face different expressions he is used to see in you.

“You look exhausted”, his voice comes out as a single whisper right as you are caught off guard and almost crying out as a result. “What’s wrong?”

“Aemond!”, you yell. “Are you out of your mind? Always like a rat, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at your reaction, moving to where you stand so he can have you all to himself. You melt instantly in his arms, but then quickly recompose when noticing that vulnerability only you spot on.

“Wait. What happened?”

“You didn’t answer my question”.

You know it’s pointless to argue with him so you shrug your shoulders and say:

“Just tired, is all.”

You don’t think wise to tell that lately you’ve been having strange morning sickness, so you motion to fetch yourselves some wine before getting at him.

“Now your turn.”

Aemond doesn’t buy your lie, though. But taking the wine offered, he opts to keep that in his mind for a moment later.

“I’ve met the Strong boys.”

“Oh.”

And here comes the thunder…

“What do you mean by “oh”? I’ve been teased out and about, Y/N”, says a very moody Aemond. “Jacaerys and Joffrey think they can have their way out?”

And here he comes to burst in tears. That broken boy hasn’t been healed nor taken care of. You put your glass aside and move to embrace him. Like a needy child, he comes for support which you give him without second thoughts.

“What happened then?”

“A fight was only prevented because of my mother. She welcomed Rhaenyra and her bastards here.”

You let him burst out his anger, silent and pained, as you hold him. In moments like this is when he undress the rogue mask he often wore to public; -and it’s here his fragility is seen, which leads to a more intimate moment.

“You don’t feel at peace here.”

“No”, Aemond admits. “Not here not anywhere. But I aim to reclaim Harrenhal.”

A stranger shiver crosses your spine and even the prince feels it. He looks up at you, quizzically so.

“What was that?”

“Oh, the shiver? You felt it too?”, you try to make a joke about it. “So tight you felt it as if it were you, uh?”

But Aemond is serious.

“I am not joking, Y/N.”

“I had a bad feeling about this. You know the stories of Harrenhal.”

Now the silver haired man chuckles.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dragons could be a myth, and were treated as such before the Conquest by the Westerosi. And yet here they are”, you tell him firmly. “Stories contain a degree of truth. I did my homework.”

“I can tell.” And softening, he rises to cup your face and kiss your nose and lips. “I did not wish to distress you. But I cannot stay here any longer,Y/N.”

“Well…”, and you smile as you rest your forehead against his. “Let us runaway, Aemond. Together.”

“To where?”, Aemond isn’t sure about the idea, but this possibility does bring some relief to him.

“The Free Cities”, you decide. “You aren’t the first Targaryen who flees King’s Landing to locate somewhere there. Essos is one of those who traditionally welcomes these Valyrian kind.”

Aemond chuckles, pleasantly surprised by your wit.

“We need little convincing, don’t we?”

“It is what you need most, my beloved. Some peace of mind and spirit will do you well.”

So the plan is architected. And the promised consolation shall come.

Yet, night arises and with it, demons that come to dispute over royal flesh. Aemond is tormented by his nightmares. As he watches you sleep peacefully, he envies your serenity.

Part of him riots against the idea of being with you. Running away sounds coward-ish and the ilidic paradise is an idea fit for poets and story tellers.

Reclining against the wind, naked, he is vulnerable and to feel it only makes him feel irc about it.

It’s when you notice the bed getting colder. As you turn around, you see you are alone once again. You almost panic at the idea of him leaving you, but this is wiped out of your mind when seeing the state he is.

“Aemond”, you don’t mind the clothes. “Come to bed”, you rest your chin over his shoulder. Suddenly you notice how tall he is.

He tries to avoid your gaze, but it is difficult to ignore you when you recline your body, so warmt, against his. In a stark contrast of fire and cold, he is like an ice berg to you.

“Please”, you ask him.

Aemond turns at you at last and acquiesces with your request. Silently he follows you, but he doesn’t sleep straight away.

“You are worthy of love”, you tell him, cuddling him. “You cannot ignore the wounds that hurt you.”

“I fear I am incapable of healing”, Aemond whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “How can you conceive the idea of us together, Y/N?”

“You can be saved.”

He snorts, eyes closing as he slowly drifts to sleep under your tenderness.

“Maybe I do not want to be saved.”

“To be saved or to be redeemed. Is there any difference? Sleep my life. The night may be long and full of terrors, but light always comes to win over it.”

You’d think Aemond had fallen asleep as you take the blankets and cover yourselves, but as you too lie down, your hear him say:

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile warmly because this is the first time he admits it out loud. Wiping away your happy tears, you lean to kiss his forehead.

“I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

Indeed, funny as it is, you are now officially part of the House Targaryen. Daeron and Helaena had been the only witnesses of the ceremony that made you officially Lord Aemond’s wife.

“Welcome to our family”, greets Daeron. “Just hope one does not notice the mess we are.”

“Oh, nothing too different of my own family, my lord.”

“Lord?”, Daeron scoffs. “We are family now, sister. There is little need to use formalities.”

Aemond smiles quietly when spotting a blush turning your cheeks into crimson. And speaking of informalities, Helaena welcomes you in her own way. To a general surprise, she in fact hugs you close before saying:

“Never forget. A king will come soon. To conquer all. The line must carry on.”

And then she takes Daeron away, leaving you baffled.

“What did she say?”, asks Aemond, curious.

“I’m afraid this time I didn’t understand what she meant, husband.”

“Well”, he shrugs his shoulders. “Not many of us do. Ready, my lady?”

You smile warmly and the sight makes Aemond content. Sun is rising in the horizon when he helps you mount old Vhagar.

And when she is ready to fly, you cling tight in your husband like a monkey.

“Oh my Gods!”

He laughs away. Never before he laughed so unpreocuppied, so carelessly, so free.

You know it. You feel it too. For when you look at him, you could tell how successfully you fixed him. Didn’t you?

***

• (V) Essos.

You may think you are brave for riding Vhagar, but braver so for mounting your husband. Now that you have enough trust to do so, you come to find out that is a lot better than in your wildest dreams.

“Oh Gods!”, and like any other day you are louder,a sound the servants are already used by now. “Aemond!”

It’s been three months since you and Aemond settled in Essos, and ever since the city not only welcomed you two properly like the royalty both of you are, but is also becoming the stage to Aemond’s ambitions—to which you turned a blind side to.

“So good, my wife!”, Aemond groans, pleased like always to see your boobs bouncing and how synced his body and yours are in one single move.

But domineering he is, so in a matter of seconds you are under his power again, a “victim” of his intense thrusts. And as he seeds you, it’s only then he comes to notice the changes of your body. Your breasts are bigger, you are curvier and your appetites… are different too.

As he collapses against your side, Aemond holds you close to him, though. Stroking your hair and helping to straighten it after messing you good, he smiles.

“I cannot believe myself when I recall the enormous quantity of years that took for us to get married.”

“You are slower than I’d assumed to be, husband”, you tease him, earning a few tickles.

“Life here isn’t as bad as it seems, though”, Aemond contemplates after kissing your forehead. “I think we can rebuild our life here in the manner of Westeros.”

You know there are certain ambitions that do not die, no matter the efforts in healing scars. It’s a side of his character that you’ve always accepted. Then you are reminded of Helaena’s prophecy and somehow you made your peace with it.

“Indeed, I…”

Oh no. Not that nauseous morning again! In a matter of seconds you are running to your privy quarters and throw all that you’ve ingested earlier the day… out.

When Aemond rushes after you, though, he doesn’t take too long to realize that an heir is coming. At last.

“My dearest wife”, he kneels after you. “Let me help you. The way you help me.”

For the first time in years he sees your vulnerability, your fragility. You try to conceal it, but he doesn’t allow you to shy away.

“Y/N… Do not be stubborn”, he helps you clean. “There is nothing wrong with it. Do you not realize what does this mean?”

When you give him a quizzical look, the prince chuckles.

“I cannot believe that I am the one to tell you… but you are carrying our child, my love.”

News that would come to change your lives…. But others too.

***

• Epilogue.

Three years later.

You are giving birth again—the price you pay for delighting yourself by engaging in marital affairs with your handsome prince—when news come from King’s Landing.

Aemond is holding baby Rhaella in his arms all the whilst watching his son, Aegon, practice sword ship. He’s very prideful over his eldest son taking so much after him where brain matters are concerned—and abilities too—, but the sweet temper is something the boy takes after you.

“See, Rhae? Your brother is going to protect you just fine”, Aemond smiles before kissing his daughter’s head.

She giggles, a sight he adores to behold, but every smile dies when a messenger dressed in green comes in.

“My lord Prince”, this young lad greets Aemond, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Who is this? Sent by mother, I presume.”

The lad delivers him an old parchment. When opening it carefully, the prince frowns.

“What does this mean?”

“There is war in Westeros, Ser. And King Aegon has summoned you.”

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #team green #lord Aemond #aemond one eyed #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #prince aemond targaryen #Prince Aemond

352 notes · View notes

mismatched-sockss · 6 months

Text

Kiss it better

» Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!BAU!Reader » Wordcount: 2,4k » Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, non-sexual nudeness and touching (except for maybe a short allusion but emily turns reader down), reader has female anatomy (breasts are mentioned), mentions of unsub beating up reader and the resulting injuries, reader takes unspecified pain medication, pet names (honey, my love, baby) » A/N: no detailed body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

You tried to muffle the pained groan when you leaned into the shower to turn the water on, so Emily wouldn't hear. You didn't want her to worry her again. Still, not even five seconds later she slithered into the bathroom, almost slipping on the floor with her socked feet as she ran to the door.

"What are you doing?", she asked warily, her brows furrowed as she watched you like a hawk.

"Taking a shower?" You slowly turned to her and simultaneously started to unbutton your shirt. Your knuckles ached slightly from the movement, but the pain was not bad enough that you would have to stop.

"Yes, I can see that. Why are you doing it alone?"

"Because I'm a grown woman and can tak- ow!" Pain shot through your whole upper body when you shrugged the shirt off and moved your arm wrong. You tried to breathe through the pain and shot Emily a thankful smile when she helped you to fully remove your shirt.

She gasped when she saw the full extent of your injuries when she turned back to you after she threw your shirt into the laundry basket. She had been busy dealing with the Unsub and the local police earlier when the EMTs checked you, so she only knew what happend from what you told the team. This was the first time she saw the result of what the man had done to you.

Hotch had sent you to interview a potential witness, but when you knocked on the door the guy freaked when he saw your credentials. You fought with him but he got a couple of good kicks in once he had you on the floor.

Luckily you only had a couple of small wounds were the skin on your knuckles had split from the punches you were able to land, a cracked rib or two and a slight concussion. The big bruise that covered your right side looked really bad; it reached over half your stomach and your ribs up to your shoulder blade, shining in an angry mixture of different shades of red and purple.

As long as you moved with caution the pain was manageable so far and the bruises looked a lot worse than your injuries actually were. You could only imagine how bad it must look to Emily right now.

"Oh honey", she breathed out as she stepped closer. She reached out for you, her fingertips just barely touching the skin of your shoulder as she traced them along the bruise. Even though the bathroom had gotten warmer as it slowly filled with the steam from the hot water, her touch send a shiver down your spine and goosebumps started rising on your skin. "I'm so sorry. I should have gone with you."

You smiled at her as you took her hand between yours. "It's not your fault, okay?" You squeezed her hand and started to draw soothing circles on her skin with your thumb. "We had no way of knowing that Keller was the Unsub, when I left to interview him. And I was the one who insisted I would be fine on my own. Also, you already were halfway to the M.E.s office by then, so you wouldn't have been there either way."

"Still. Reid could have gone to talk to the M.E. alone. Then I could have gone with you." Emily raised her other hand to your cheek and softly stroked her thumb over your cheekbone. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

"I know, baby. But I'm okay." You crooked your head to the side as you leaned into her palm and rolled your eyes as you corrected yourself, because physically you were far from okay. "Okay, more like I'll live."

"You better...", she pouted.

You laughed and after she joined in, a sign that the tension was slowly leaving her, you leaned in to close the space between you both and kissed her.

Emily smiled when you parted and nodded her head to the running shower. "Let's get you cleaned up." She helped you to take off the rest of your clothes and then took off her own so she could join you in the shower. She insisted to do all the work and ordered you to "just stand there and look pretty."

The both of your stepped inside the shower stall and a deep sigh left your lips when the warm water hit your skin, immediately relaxing your tense muscles. The water pressure was light enough that it didn't hurt when it landed on your skin.

Emily reached behind you to grab one of the bottles and signaled you to turn around and face away from her, before she flipped the lid and squeezed some of the flowery smelling stuff into her hand. You closed your eyes when she started to shampoo your hair, her fingers gently massaging your head. She giggled when you hummed. “Feels good?”, she asked. You just hummed again and let your head fall back. When she was done with the shampoo, she unhooked the shower head and rinsed your hair out, then she worked some of the conditioner in as well. Every step - shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse - she softly massaged your scalp.

She proceeded to lather her hands up with shower gel. While she was doing so she planted a small kiss onto your right shoulder, right above the edge of your bruise. Emily's hands glided over your skin, washing your arms and your back, and she made sure to move over your injuries as softly as she could so she wouldn't hurt you.

By the time she made you turn back around, her touch had done much more to you than just washing your body. With a new portion of shower gel she started on your collar bones and worked her way down, over your breasts and stomach.

Your breathing quickened and you put your left hand on her waist to pull her closer. You tried to kiss her, but Emily turned her face away and chuckled. “Nope.”

“Mean”, you said and pouted. She kissed your nose before she bend down to wash your legs.

"I'm not being mean, but you are hurt. You'll have to wait until you're better, my love." She looked up at you and the sight alone - Emily on her knees in front of you and the way she was looking into your eyes, paired with her hands on your thighs - almost drove you insane. Like you said. Mean.

You groaned and rolled your eyes playfully. "Why do you have to be so responsible?"

"Because I love you and because I'm your boss."

"Just because you've been in the BAU longer than me, doesn't make you my boss”, you laughed.

Emily shrugged, a wide smile on her lips. "Tomato, tomahto. It's pretty much the same thing."

After the both of you were done in the bathroom - freshly showered, bodies lotioned and dressed in comfortable clothes - Emily gave you some pain killers and sat you down on the couch so she could apply new bandages on your hand.

“It's really not that bad”, you said. She held your right hand in both of hers, examining your knuckles - split skin accompanied with light red bruises that were already turning purple.

She shook her head. “It's bad enough. Just let me do this, please?” Emily didn't wait for your answer, didn't even look up at you, before she dabbed some disinfectant on your knuckles; then she wrapped the new bandage around your hand.

“Okay”, you breathed out, giving in. You could tell she still blamed herself that you got hurt, heard it in the way her voice had cracked just now. If dressing your wounds and tending to your every needs would help that she felt better about it, you'd let her.

You didn't blame her. Or even Hotch. The only person at fault was Keller. But you knew, that if the roles were reversed and Emily would have gotten injured in the field while you weren't around, you would blame yourself as well. Probably even if you would have been around.

So you let her do her thing. You let her fix you something to eat, let her wrap you up in a cozy blanket and let her brush your hair. You would lie if you would say, that you didn't like it.

It was still early enough in the evening that you had time to cuddle up on the couch with each other and watch TV while sharing a tub of ice cream. Emily had you sitting between her legs, your back to her chest, so she could hold you without you having to lie on your side. One of her hands had found its way back into your hair, her fingers playing with your hair and untangling the knots that were back in your hair after she had brushed it earlier.

You had stopped paying attention to the TV a long time ago, fully focusing and enjoying her touch. From time to time you felt her planting a quick kiss here and there - the side of your head, your neck, your shoulder.

Slowly but surely it lulled you to sleep, you eyelids getting heavier by the minute. You adjusted your position, turning your head to the side to lean your forehead against her neck. Just when you were about to drift off, your hand slit off Emily's thigh and it collided with the empty ice cream container next to you. You jumped, not because it hurt your hand but because it had startled you in your half conscious state. Immediately after you doubled over in pain; which you regretted the second you did it as it only made it worse.

“Woah, hey, hey.” Emily grabbed your shoulders to hold you steady.

Tears shot into your eyes and you whimpered. It felt like your whole right side was on fire. Now with the sudden movement and since you had rested for a while, your more than sore muscles ached even more than they had before.

A sob fought its way out of your throat and before you knew it, you were full on crying. The crying didn't make it better: your head started to pound again, your side got worse as your body shook with every sob and when you started to hyperventilate your ribs violently protested against having to hold your lungs in.

Emily held you against her, making sure to not hurt you any further of course, and brushed the hair from your forehead. She stroked your hair as she was trying to calm you and she whispered “Shhh, it's okay... It's okay. Just breath.” into your ear over and over again. It hurt her, that she couldn't do anything to help you, to ease your pain. To take the pain away.

It took a while for you to calm down, until your breath evened out and your sobs stopped, only soft whimpers leaving your lips now. Emily asked you if she could get you anything and when you asked for painkillers, she sighed and kissed the side of your head. “It's too early to take another dose. I'm sorry, baby. We-”

“I don't care”, you cried. “Please...”

For a short moment she fought with herself. She wanted to help you, but you only had taken the last pill about two hours ago; the prescription said to wait at least four hours between doses. But with one look into your eyes, she dismissed all caution and nodded. If it only had been 30 minutes, it would have been a different kind of story. And not keeping to the advised time frame one time, shouldn't hurt.

“Okay”, Emily breathed out and carefully got up to get the medication and a glass of water. When she came back, she took a seat next to you and placed the pill in your hand. You took it and after drinking some of the water you gave her the glass back. “Thank you.”

“Of course”, she said and placed the glass down. “Why don't we get you into bed, huh?”

You just nodded. All you wanted to do right now was sleep. You were so tired. From the day, from the crying, from the pain.

“Do you want to go now, or do you want to wait a moment for the medication to work?”, she asked and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. God, you hoped the pain killers would work their magic quickly.

“Now please”, you said in a low voice.

Emily took your hand and helped you stand up, walking you slowly over to your shared bedroom. You stopped at your side of the bed, waited for her to pull back the blanket and then carefully laid down with her help.

“I'll be right back”, she told you, once you were all set. While she was gone, you closed your eyes and hoped, that your pain would stop soon. It had dulled a bit by now and lying down had helped your body relax. Right now, your headache was hurting the most in your body. Luckily it had stopped pounding in the rhythm of your heartbeat, but there was still a constant, sharp pain that felt like your head was about to split open.

You laid your wrist over your eyes - the bandage felt both soft and rough on your skin – and you kept it there, not moving it even when a soft clink on your nightstand indicated Emily's return; presumably with a fresh glass of water. You could hear her walking around the room and shutting off the big room light before she climbed into bed.

She softly touched your wrist and moved it away from your face so she could hold your hand in both of hers in between your bodies. “Are you feeling better yet?”

You turned your head to look at her, watching her pull your hand closer to her face and planting the softest kisses on your bandaged knuckles, one by one. You smiled at her. “A bit, meds are slowly kicking in, I think.”

“Good”, Emily said as she smiled back at you from behind your hand. “I'm glad. Try to get some sleep.” She sat up slightly and supported her weight on her elbow so she could lean down. First, she kissed your lips, then she planted a kiss on your cheek and one on your eyebrow.

“Good night.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #ghosts can write #❤️ e.p.#--- mismatched🧦

496 notes · View notes