#and everyone just stops and looks at the spectacle in shock
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
some thug getting lucky and striking a hard blow to robin and the fighting just suddenly stops. because when the dust clears and he’s not jumping between shadows and flipping too quickly to catch, when he’s lying in a crumpled little pile on the ground, they can see that the kid is like. twelve years old. and the reality of seriously injuring a child can be really heavy, even for your average hired goon. and of course they’d be terrified of batman’s retaliation but is it not also extremely unsettling to see Vengeance, The Night, Batman look so utterly human when he notices and rushes to start emergency medical intervention
#it was good in injustice when the arkham fight just kinda stopped when damian killed dick#like everyone is just like oh shit… and stands around looking at the drama#so that but babey#because a thug wouldn’t care if they hit nightwing hard#but babey? hes just so small?#give me a scene where robin goes into cardiac arrest from an electrical shock#and everyone just stops and looks at the spectacle in shock#of the batman giving desperate chest compressions on the spot#like no one is trying to attack him or anything because its just that surreal
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
SAFE AND SOUND (1/3) ━━ pazzi
☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.
☆ ━ word count: 10.1K
☆ ━ warnings: nothing yet really, should all be in the next chapter lol
☆ ━ links: part two, my masterlist, ao3 link
☆ ━ author’s note: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote one of my ships going to the hunger games together, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice 🧐 obviously this is a hunger games au so if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie or are not familiar with the premise, i don’t know how well you’ll be able to understand. alsoooo this part is lowkey very much buildup and not actual pazzi just mostly azzi; it was meant to be one whole part but it would’ve been too damn long so i split it!
“AZZI FUDD.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around her seems to freeze in time. Lucia Bliss, the escort from District Nine, says the name with a certain flair, her voice high-pitched and breathy, as if this is a celebration instead of a death sentence. Lucia’s purple hair gleams under the harsh midday sun, her too-bright smile a sick contrast to the crowd’s silence.
Azzi stands rooted to the ground. Her heart slams in her chest, and her vision narrows as shock seeps through her bones. She can’t move, can’t breathe. Her body is disconnected from her mind, numbness spreading through her limbs. She vaguely registers the weight of the stares from the girls around her—some wide-eyed with horror, others carefully blank. Azzi blinks. Is this real? She swallows hard, but her throat feels like sandpaper.
She never let herself think about this. Never allowed the possibility to take root. She spent the whole week worrying about her little brothers, Jon and Jose, her anxiety circling around them like a storm cloud. Jose, especially. It’s his first Reaping, and he’d been so scared he couldn’t sleep the night before. Azzi had promised him it’d be okay, that the odds were in their favor. She’d lied. And now it’s her name that hangs in the air.
Her legs feel heavy, like they’ve been weighed down with stones, but somehow, she forces them to move. One step. Then another. Each movement is stiff, mechanical, her body obeying while her mind is still reeling. The faces in the crowd blur into a mass of pale colors, and Azzi avoids looking at any of them directly. The sun presses down on her back, making her skin feel tight, suffocating, but she barely registers it. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears, a dull roar that drowns out everything else.
I have to do this. She repeats it in her head, over and over, as if it will numb the panic creeping up her spine. I have to get up there.
The platform is higher than it looks. It looms above her as she approaches, and the closer she gets, the more she feels the weight of the district watching her. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she keeps them balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She can’t afford to show fear. Not now.
She steps onto the stage, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. Lucia Bliss beams at her, all synthetic kindness and hollow enthusiasm, like she’s completely oblivious to the fact that she’s sending a sixteen-year-old girl to her death. Azzi wants to scream, to shout at her, to demand to know how she can smile like that. Instead, she stands there, stiff as a board, staring blankly into the crowd.
She doesn’t look at her family. Not yet. If she lets herself see them—really see them—she knows she’ll fall apart. And she can’t afford to break down, not in front of everyone. Not here. The numbness is the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
“Now, for the boys!” Lucia announces, with that same bright cheeriness, like this is all just a grand spectacle and not a nightmare come to life.
The second name is pulled, and Azzi barely registers the sound of the boy’s name. “Kellan Ryder.”
Her eyes catch a glimpse of him as he stumbles forward—a scrawny boy with messy red hair and too-thin arms. He looks no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen at most. His face is pale, his mouth set in a tight line as he walks toward the platform like a condemned man heading to the gallows. There’s no strength in him, no fire. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Azzi knows his fate immediately. Anyone with a brain should. He won’t make it.
Kellan’s knees wobble as he climbs onto the platform, nearly tripping on the last step. His frightened eyes dart around, but when they meet Azzi’s for a fleeting moment, she sees it—the absolute terror, the resignation that’s already settled in him. He knows he’s dead. And now, she’s tethered to him.
Lucia claps her hands together, looking as if she expects the crowd to erupt into applause, but no one moves. District Nine never claps at the Reaping. There’s nothing to celebrate here.
Azzi’s jaw tightens, her hands still clenched at her sides. What now? What happens next? She can’t feel anything except a dull, creeping fear gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. It’s been less than five minutes since her name was called, but it feels like an eternity has passed. She feels lost, unmoored, floating in a space where time no longer makes sense.
As the anthem blares across the square, she chances a glance into the crowd—just for a second. Her gaze locks onto her family. Her mom is there, her face pale but strong. Azzi’s dad stands right next to her, an arm around her waist. They wear the same firm expressions—like they may actually believe their daughter can make it through this. Azzi can’t find Jon and Jose—they’re somewhere within the rest of the relieved crowd of boys who have been spared this year.
Lucia is speaking again, but Azzi barely hears her. The words are muffled, distant, as she’s ushered off the stage and into the cold interior of the Justice Building. Her chest feels tight, her throat burning from holding back everything that’s clawing at her insides, threatening to break free. She can’t let them see her cry.
Inside the Justice Building, it’s quieter, but the silence only makes her pulse race faster. She’s taken to a small room to wait. The goodbyes. They give her only a few minutes with her family before she’s whisked away forever.
Her mother is the first to come in, and the second the door closes behind her, the stoic mask she’s been holding up crumbles. She rushes forward and pulls Azzi into a bone-crushing hug. Katie Fudd does not shed any tears, but Azzi can feel her shaking against her shoulder. Trembling, but trying to fight it.
“You’re going to come back,” her mother says firmly, as if she’s manifesting it into existence. And then, more choked: “Please, Azzi. You have to come back.”
Azzi stands stiffly for a moment, then wraps her arms around her mother. She wants to promise that she’ll come back, that she’ll survive, but the words stick in her throat. How can she make a promise like that when she doesn’t know if she can keep it?
“I’ll try,” Azzi says instead, her voice hollow. I’ll try. It’s all she can offer.
Her brothers come in next, Jon leading Jose. The second Jose sees her, he runs to her, clinging to her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. His face is streaked with tears, his breath coming in ragged sobs.
“You’re gonna come back, right?” Jose’s voice is small, broken. Azzi’s reminded that he’s only twelve. “You have to come back.”
Azzi pulls away slightly, brushing the hair out of his face. “I’ll do my best,” she whispers, her voice trembling. She can’t say anything more than that. She wishes she could lie, give him something more hopeful, but the truth is all she has.
Jon is much quieter, and he stands back, his face hard as stone. But his eyes—his eyes are full of pain, full of everything he’s trying not to feel. When he finally steps forward, he pulls her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “Please try to come home.”
Azzi nods, her throat too tight to respond.
And then it’s her dad that gets her last, his arms wrapping around her softer, less firm. He rubs a hand along her back, rests his chin on top of her head. It makes Azzi want to cry. But she doesn’t. She keeps the tears in. Tim tells her, “Be smart. Don’t trust anyone.” And then he pulls away, meeting her gaze. His eyes aren’t sad, they don’t memorize the lines of her face as if this is likely the last time they’ll ever see each other. Instead, they’re firm, a fire burning in them, a fire that believes Azzi has enough spark in her to win. “You’re strong, Az. You find what you’re good at, and you stick to it. Just like shooting.”
Azzi nods, though his words don’t truly reach her. She’s good at basketball—great, even. The best shooter in her district. But the Hunger Games isn’t basketball. It’s entirely different.
The goodbye is over too quickly, the Peacekeepers ushering her family out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. As the door closes behind them, the reality of the situation hits her with full force. This is happening. This is real. There’s no way out of it. In just a few days, she’ll be in the arena, and all that will matter is survival.
Azzi takes a deep breath, her hands trembling. She has to survive. For her family. For her mom. For her dad. For Jon and Jose. I have to win.
But as the cold emptiness settles into her chest, she knows it’s not going to be that simple. Not even close.
THE ROOM in the Capitol’s Remake Center is pristine and clinical—too clean, in fact. The walls are bright white, and the overhead lights are too harsh, casting everything in an almost sterile glow. The faint hum of machinery buzzes in the background, and Azzi sits stiffly on the plush chair in the center of the room, her back straight and hands clenched in her lap. She can feel the cold, unfamiliar air of the Capitol against her skin, a far cry from the familiar, earthy smells of District Nine. The whole place feels wrong.
Azzi’s mind is still spinning from the events of the past day, from the Reaping to the train ride to the Capitol. Everything feels like a blur—one unending nightmare she can’t escape from. The vibrant, colorful city that’s supposed to be awe-inspiring feels nothing more than a glittering cage, trapping her in a world that doesn’t belong to her.
A knock at the door startles her from her thoughts, and she straightens, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest. The door opens, and in walks a tall, slender woman with dark, shimmering hair cut into a sleek bob. Her skin is flawless, glowing in the artificial light, and she’s dressed in an outfit that’s both futuristic and elegant, all smooth lines and shimmering fabric.
She strides into the room with the kind of confidence Azzi has only ever seen in Capitol citizens, her heels clicking against the floor. When she reaches Azzi, she extends a perfectly manicured hand and offers a soft, warm smile.
“Hello, Azzi. I’m Seraphine,” she says, her voice gentle, as though she knows how jarring this experience must be. “I’ll be your stylist for the Games.”
Azzi stares at Seraphine’s hand for a second too long before realizing she’s supposed to shake it. Her fingers feel cold as she grips the stylist’s hand briefly, then pulls away, her eyes flickering nervously to the floor. She hasn’t said a word since entering the Remake Center, and even now, her throat feels tight, like it’s closed off from the weight of everything around her.
Seraphine seems to notice Azzi’s discomfort and doesn’t push her to speak. Instead, she walks around the chair, studying Azzi with a critical yet kind eye, taking in her features as if she’s a sculpture being examined for the first time.
“You’ve got very strong features,” Seraphine says, her voice soft as she moves to stand in front of Azzi. She lifts a hand, her finger tracing the air just in front of Azzi’s face as if imagining her canvas. “A really beautiful face. Great symmetry. Your nose is perfect—straight, but with just a little softness at the tip. And your lips,” she smiles, “plump and well-shaped, the kind people pay for here in the Capitol.”
Azzi doesn’t know what to say. She swallows hard and forces out a quiet, “Thank you.”
But the words feel hollow in her mouth. Two days ago, she probably would’ve flushed at the compliment and grinned at the woman before her. But it doesn’t matter now. Being beautiful won’t keep her alive. It won’t stop a sword or a spear. It won’t protect her when she’s standing in the arena, staring down a tribute who wants her dead. She doesn’t care about her looks. She cares about surviving.
Seraphine seems to sense the tension in her, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she steps back and claps her hands together, her expression shifting into something more professional. “Well, we’ve got a lot to do before the Opening Ceremony tonight. The tributes from District Nine usually get an agricultural theme, but we’re going to make sure you stand out. You’ll need something that catches the eye, something that makes people remember you. The Capitol loves a good first impression.”
Azzi tries to focus on what Seraphine is saying, but her mind keeps drifting, her thoughts pulling her back to District Nine, to the faces of her brothers, her parents, their small home nestled in the farthest corner of the district. She feels like she’s been dropped into an alien world, surrounded by people who don’t understand what it means to fight for survival. Here, everything is about image—how you look, how you present yourself. But in the Games, none of that matters. At least, not to Azzi.
Seraphine motions for Azzi to stand, and she does so stiffly, her muscles aching from sitting so rigidly for so long. The stylist begins to circle her, appraising her figure and murmuring to herself. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Seraphine snaps her fingers, and a team of assistants rushes in, carrying bolts of fabric and strange devices Azzi doesn’t recognize.
Seraphine smiles softly, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s shoulder. “We’re going to make you look incredible. Trust me, Azzi. I’ve been doing this for years.”
Azzi doesn’t respond. She lets the team of assistants work on her, trying not to flinch as they run strange tools across her skin, smoothing it, shaping it. They tug at her hair, pulling it back tightly from her face, and apply makeup to her cheeks and eyes. She’s never worn anything like this before, and the sensation of it all feels foreign, uncomfortable. The air smells heavily of perfume and hair products, nothing like the open fields and fresh earth of her home.
Seraphine watches closely, making small adjustments as the assistants work. “We’ll keep it simple but striking,” she says as she examines the fabrics. “District Nine is about agriculture, the backbone of Panem’s food production. So we’ll lean into that, but in a way that makes you look powerful. Strong. Like someone the Capitol will want to root for.”
Azzi barely nods, her mind half-absent.
The assistants pull out a long, flowing piece of fabric, the color a rich golden hue that shimmers in the light. It’s embroidered with intricate patterns, resembling the fields of grain District Nine is known for. The material clings to her body, forming into a fitted jumpsuit that accentuates her athletic build. The design is sleek and modern, with a slight flare at the shoulders, giving her the appearance of strength, while the fabric flows behind her like a cape made of golden wheat.
Seraphine steps back, admiring the final look, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “You look incredible, Azzi. Absolutely stunning. This will make the audience remember you—beautiful, but more importantly, formidable.”
Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The girl looking back at her is a Capitol version of herself, someone polished and made to look like she belongs here. But Azzi can see right through it. She doesn’t belong here.
“How do you feel?” Seraphine asks, stepping up beside her.
Azzi hesitates, her eyes lingering on her reflection. She looks strong, she looks like someone people might fear. But the question gnaws at her, the same thought that’s been looping in her head since she arrived at the Capitol.
“Being beautiful won’t help me in the arena,” she says quietly, her voice low, as if the thought escapes her without permission.
Seraphine’s expression softens, and she places a hand gently on Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s not just about beauty. It’s about presence. The Capitol citizens, the sponsors—they want someone they can believe in. If they believe in you, they’ll help you. They’ll send you things you need. And that could be the difference between life and death.”
Azzi doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s never thought about it that way—never considered that people watching her might care enough to help. She doesn’t know if she likes that idea, though. It feels too distant, too detached. How can she trust that some faceless audience in the Capitol will care enough to keep her alive?
But she nods anyway, her jaw tight as she looks back at her reflection. “I guess.”
Seraphine gives her a reassuring smile, but Azzi can see the flicker of something else in the stylist’s eyes. Maybe a recognition of the bleakness that comes with the Games. Or maybe just sympathy. Either way, it doesn’t change the reality.
And then Seraphine is clapping her hands again, signaling the rush of assistants and stylists bustling back into the room. They tidy up the last few details, adjusting the cape of shimmering gold fabric that flows behind Azzi, smoothing out any wrinkles in the intricate embroidery of her jumpsuit. The noise, the movement, all of it feels overwhelming, but Seraphine stays calm and poised, giving Azzi a reassuring smile before gesturing toward the door.
“Come, Azzi. We need to head downstairs. Your chariot awaits,” Seraphine says.
Azzi’s legs feel unsteady as she follows her stylist. There’s a gnawing anxiety low in her stomach, a knot that’s only been growing tighter since her name was pulled. She walks behind Seraphine, out of the room and down a long, marble hallway that echoes with the click of the stylist’s heels. The air feels heavier here, the anticipation hanging thick in the space around them as they make their way to the first floor.
The elevator doors open, revealing the Remake Center’s ground floor—a massive, gleaming stable. The smell of horses hits her first, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of the upper floors. The space is wide and open, filled with row after row of chariots, each one assigned to a different district, waiting to carry their tributes into the Opening Ceremony. It’s loud, too, with the sound of people bustling around, prepping the tributes, adjusting the horses’ harnesses, and giving last-minute instructions.
Azzi’s eyes dart around, searching for Kellan, her district partner. She spots him off to the side, standing next to one of the chariots, his eyes wide with fear and his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. He looks terrible, Azzi thinks, her heart twisting in her chest. Kellan is so young—fourteen—the same age as her little brother Jon.
In fact, Kellan could’ve been Jon. Could’ve been Jose. The thought makes her feel sick. He’s just a kid. And now he’s about to be thrown into a fight to the death.
Azzi’s stomach churns as she approaches Kellan, trying to think of something to say, something that might ease his nerves, but nothing comes to mind. What can she say? You’ll be fine? It won’t be that bad? It would be a lie. There’s no comforting truth here.
Lucia is already there, too, flitting around with her usual enthusiasm. Her bright purple wig bounces as she talks, gesturing wildly with her hands. She’s all Capitol—flashy and clueless, too caught up in the spectacle of it all to realize what’s really at stake.
“Ah, Azzi! You look fan-tastic!” Lucia exclaims, clucking her tongue and clapping her hands together. “Seraphine has really outdone herself this year.”
Azzi gives a stiff nod, but her attention is drawn to the figure standing next to Lucia.
Their mentor—Cyrus.
A tall, grizzled man in his mid-forties, Cyrus won the Games when he was seventeen, Azzi knows that. His hair is streaked with silver now, and his face is lined with years of bitterness and loss—an expression she’s come to recognize in former victors. Cyrus isn’t the warmest person, but he knows what it takes to survive, and that’s all that matters to Azzi now.
He steps forward, eyeing her and Kellan critically, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You both look good,” he says, his voice gruff, as if the compliment costs him something. “But this isn’t about just looking good. It’s about making the Capitol love you. You need them on your side, or you’re dead in the water.”
Kellan swallows hard, his eyes darting nervously toward the chariots. Azzi can see his hands trembling slightly at his sides, and again, that pang of guilt hits her. He shouldn’t be here. He’s too young.
So is Azzi. So is every other tribute here.
Cyrus doesn’t seem to notice Kallan’s behavior—or if he does, he doesn’t care. He steps closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. “When you get out there, you smile. You wave. You make sure they see you, like you’re already a victor. The crowd loves confidence. They love tributes who look like they’ll win, not ones who are scared to death.” His eyes flick to Kellan, lingering for a second too long. “So you both smile. Got it?”
Azzi nods, even though the last thing she wants to do is smile right now. But Cyrus is right. They have to play the game, even here.
She turns her head slightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment when something—or someone—catches her eye.
Just across the stable, standing next to another chariot with her district partner, is a girl. She’s tall for a girl, like Azzi is, with long blonde hair that’s been braided back into a bun. Her outfit is clearly themed around District Seven—lumber—and it’s made of rich brown leather, like freshly cut wood, with patterns that resemble tree bark. But what stands out most to Azzi isn’t the outfit. It’s her face.
The girl’s features are sharp but soft in all the right places. She has a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seem to flicker with something unspoken. She’s pretty—beautiful, even—but not in the overdone, Capitol way. There’s something natural about her beauty, something real.
Azzi’s breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. For a moment, the noise of the stable fades into the background, and all she can hear is the pounding of her heart in her chest. The girl holds her gaze, her expression unreadable but intense, like she’s studying Azzi just as much as Azzi is studying her.
This girl is another tribute. Another person Azzi might have to kill. But the thought doesn’t stop her from staring a second too long, from letting herself get caught in the girl’s gaze.
It’s only when Cyrus barks something at them that Azzi snaps her head back around, her cheeks flushing as she tries to focus. This isn’t the time for distractions.
She forces her attention back to Cyrus as he continues giving them last-minute instructions. “Smile. Wave. Make them love you. Got it?”
Azzi nods, though her thoughts are still jumbled. She glances at Kellan, who’s biting his lip nervously, his eyes darting around the stable like a rabbit caught in a trap.
And then they’re being ushered toward their chariot. Azzi takes a deep breath, her legs feeling wobbly as she steps onto the platform, Kellan following behind her. The horses, sleek and muscular, are restless in front of them, their hooves clattering against the marble floor. She grips the edge of the chariot tightly, her knuckles turning white.
As the chariots begin to roll out, Azzi takes one more deep breath. She can hear the roar of the crowd growing louder, the excitement building as the tributes are about to make their grand entrance.
The moment they roll into view of the massive audience, the noise is deafening. The Capitol citizens cheer and shout, their brightly colored hair and outrageous outfits blending together into a sea of vibrant chaos. Azzi forces herself to smile, just like instructed, letting her dimples show through as she waves to the crowd, her arm moving mechanically as if on autopilot. She hates it—the way their eyes are all on her, the way they’re watching her as if she’s nothing more than a piece in their twisted game.
She’s never wanted attention like this. The only way she’d ever dreamed of being noticed was by playing basketball, maybe one day making it big enough to play in the Capitol’s professional leagues. But that was a stupid dream—something far out of reach for someone from a District. Even if she won the Games, even if she became a Capitol darling, she’d never be allowed to play. The basketball leagues are for Capitol citizens, not for tributes. Not for people like her.
Azzi keeps smiling, keeps waving, even though every second of it feels wrong. The crowd’s cheers grow louder, their excitement palpable, but Azzi feels nothing. All she can think about is the girl from District Seven—the girl whose eyes she can still feel on her, even now, as the chariots roll forward.
IT’S THE second day of training. Yesterday, Azzi found her strength—throwing knives. It was quick; the dagger was the first weapon she picked up and tried. And it just… worked. It surprised her at first, but as the blades left her hand, spinning in the air before sinking into the target with a solid thud, it felt almost familiar. The motion, the precision, the focus—it all reminds her of shooting a basketball. In her mind, it’s the same concept: aim, release, make the shot. Whether it’s a knife sinking into a dummy or a ball swooshing through a hoop, the goal is the same. And it comforts her in a strange way, turning something deadly into something she’s used to, something she can control.
Now, Azzi stands several feet away from a dummy, gripping a knife, the handle cool against her palm. She lines it up with the target. Her muscles tighten as she flicks her wrist, releasing the dagger. It slices through the air, embedding itself into where the heart of the dummy would be with a satisfying thud. A perfect hit. She lets out a slow breath, allowing a small flicker of satisfaction to cross her face. The trainers don’t miss it either, nodding with approval as they observe her from across the room.
Cyrus, her mentor, has been watching her closely since she got here. And, after Azzi informed him of her successes with the daggers last night and his compliments of her physique, the true muscle she has, it’s been clear he’s placing his bets on Azzi this time around. It seems there’s just no point in trying with Kellan.
As for Kellan, he hasn’t said much of anything since they were whisked away to the Capitol. He’s just a boy, and Azzi has watched the fear in his eyes grow with each passing day. Cyrus has tried to train him, to offer him advice, but Kellan’s barely even listened. It’s as if he’s already given up. Azzi sees it in the way his hands tremble whenever he holds a weapon, the way he flinches during combat drills, and the way he refuses to meet anyone’s gaze. He’s already dead in his mind, and Azzi knows that mentality will get him killed in the arena.
“Focus on yourself,” Cyrus had told her bluntly last night after dinner. “Kellan’s not gonna make it. You need to accept that now.”
Azzi had nodded, the truth of Cyrus’ words sitting like a heavy weight in her chest. She tried talking to Kellan once, offering him a few words of encouragement, but he barely even acknowledged her. After that, she stopped trying. She can’t afford to waste time or energy on someone who’s already checked out. It isn’t like she doesn’t feel guilty—she does—but she has to survive.
She can’t focus on anyone else’s survival but her own.
Today, Cyrus has her focusing on something other than knives. “You’ve got those down,” he’d told her before the session. “Learn how to survive the elements now. Plants, food, water. You need to know what’s safe and what isn’t. Most tributes die from hunger, dehydration—not all of it is blood and guts.”
So Azzi finds herself crouched in front of an information station, its holographic displays showing various plants, fruits, and fungi. She taps the screen, cycling through images of plants she might find in the arena, trying to commit them to memory. Which ones are edible, which ones are poisonous, which ones could be used to heal wounds. It’s not as exciting as knife-throwing, but it’s necessary, and she knows it.
She’s absorbed in her study, staring intently at a particularly nasty-looking mushroom, when she senses someone approaching from the side. Her muscles tense instinctively, and she glances up, prepared to brush off whoever it is—until she sees Paige Bueckers standing next to her.
Paige Bueckers. District Seven. Azzi knows who she is. She’s memorized all the tributes’ names and districts by now—it’s smart to know who she’s up against—but Paige was the first one she committed to memory. Maybe it’s because of the way Paige caught her eye before the opening ceremony, their silent exchange of glances lingering in Azzi’s mind longer than she’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s because she’s watched Paige train over the past two days and realized just how dangerous the girl really is. Azzi saw her with a sword earlier, moving with a deadly grace that sent chills down her spine. Paige might be one of the most skilled tributes here, and that’s saying something.
Paige is tall, even a little taller than Azzi, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a thin, black headband resting over it. Her sharp, blue eyes meet Azzi’s as she stops next to her, wearing a grin that seems completely out of place in the tense, competitive atmosphere of the training center.
“Azzi Fudd,” Paige says, her tone casual, as if they’re not preparing to kill each other in a matter of days. “District Nine.”
Azzi glances back at the screen, her brows furrowing slightly. She doesn’t know how to feel about Paige approaching her. She doesn’t know what she wants. This could be some kind of strategy—get close to your enemies, make them lower their guard. Azzi isn’t stupid. She knows better than to trust anyone here.
“Bueckers,” Azzi replies, her voice neutral, not giving anything away. She keeps her eyes on the screen, scrolling through more plant images.
But Paige doesn’t leave. She shifts her weight, bouncing slightly on her heels, like she can’t seem to stay still. The grin on her face widens, and Azzi feels even more confused. Why is Paige so friendly? Why is she smiling like they’re just two normal girls having a chat?
“So, you’re, like, really good with daggers, huh?” Paige says, her voice light. “I saw you throwing earlier. Pretty impressive.”
Azzi doesn’t look up. She sighs instead, her fingers hovering over the screen. “Guess so,” she mumbles. In the back of her mind, she knows she should probably be nicer. Paige might be trying to form an alliance, and with Kellan being a dead end, Azzi could use one. But trust is a luxury she can’t afford right now, and Paige’s enthusiasm throws her off.
Paige doesn’t seem fazed by Azzi’s short response, though. She keeps standing there, grinning like an idiot, her eyes twinkling with some kind of amusement. It’s unnerving how at ease she seems, how… happy. It’s probably a mask. She’s probably as terrified as the rest of them, and she’s just getting through it in her own way.
Nevertheless, Azzi can’t take it anymore. She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with Paige. “Why are you talking to me?” she asks bluntly.
Paige blinks, her grin faltering for just a moment. For the first time, she looks a little unsure of herself. “Um… I don’t really know, actually,” she admits with a small, nervous laugh. “Just… wanted to, I guess.”
Azzi narrows her eyes, studying her. She has no idea if the girl before her is being honest. But the sincerity in her voice catches Azzi a little off guard, and for a second, she’s not sure what to say. This is the Hunger Games. No one talks to someone just because they “want to.” Everyone has an angle. Yet Paige stands there, looking oddly genuine, like she really doesn’t have a reason. Like she just wants to talk to Azzi, no strings attached.
For a moment, Azzi’s walls start to crack. She considers the possibility—however slim—that Paige is just… a good person. It doesn’t make sense, not in a place like this, but the warmth in Paige’s smile makes Azzi’s suspicion waver.
“Well,” Azzi finally says, her voice a little softer than before, “maybe you shouldn’t.” She doesn’t look away this time, her eyes lingering on Paige’s, almost like she’s testing her.
Paige’s grin returns, softer this time, but still there. “Maybe,” she says, “but I’m here anyway.”
Azzi shakes her head a little, gaze returning to the screen. She needs to focus on this, not the girl beside her.
Paige doesn’t seem to be deterred, though, still watching Azzi with that easy smile, her eyes bright. “You’re pretty serious, yeah?” she says, tilting her head, almost like she’s teasing but not quite. “Locked in. I get it. Gotta be. But… we’re all here, y'know? Same boat.”
Azzi shifts her weight, feeling her jaw tighten. “I have to be serious,” Azzi mutters, her fingers swiping across the screen, though she’s not really paying attention to the plants anymore. Her heart beats a little faster under Paige’s gaze. “You can’t survive if you’re not.”
Paige leans in just slightly, and Azzi catches the faint scent of something sweet on her, like flowers. “I know that,” she says, her tone softening for a moment. “But you might need some help in there—if you wanna win.”
Azzi’s shoulders tense. The suggestion makes her uneasy, and her instinct is to push back. Help. From anyone, it feels too dangerous. It feels like relying on someone she can’t control. She barely trusts herself in this place, let alone a girl from another district who, let’s be real, could very well end up as an enemy.
“I don’t need help,” Azzi says, her voice firmer than before. “Especially not from people I don’t know.”
Paige’s smile fades a little, but there’s no frustration in her expression. If anything, she just looks… thoughtful, almost curious about Azzi’s reaction. It’s like she’s trying to figure her out, trying to see beneath the guarded exterior.
Azzi hates that. She doesn’t want to be studied or analyzed, especially not by Paige Bueckers. She’s already doing too much of that herself—constantly assessing everyone, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, trying to predict who’s a threat and who might just fade into the background.
“I’m not trying to get in your way, Azzi,” Paige says quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier lightness. “But, y’know, maybe we don’t have to be enemies. I’ve seen you, and you’re good. Like, real good. And neither of us are Careers and both our district partners are kinda duds, so I just thought…”
Azzi cuts her off, turning to face her abruptly. “Thought what? That we’d be allies? Friends?” She shakes her head, ignoring the strange knot of tension building in her chest. Paige might be trying to help, but Azzi doesn’t want it. She can’t want it. Not here. “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that. Sorry.”
Paige stands there, still watching her, and for a second, Azzi thinks she sees something flicker in Paige’s eyes—disappointment, maybe, or understanding. But Paige doesn’t push back. She just nods once, a slow, thoughtful thing.
“Okay,” Paige says, stepping back a little, giving Azzi space. Her smile returns, softer, but still there. “I get it. Just… keep doin' what you’re good at.”
Azzi feels a strange pang in her chest as she watches Paige step away, like maybe she’s made a mistake. But no—she can’t think like that. She needs to stay focused, stay sharp, stay alone. That’s how she’ll survive.
Without another word, Azzi turns on her heel and walks away, her heart beating faster than before.
THE PINK dress hugs Azzi’s figure, its soft blush fabric shimmering under the bright lights of the dressing room. It’s not something she’s ever imagined herself wearing—not this shade, not this tight. She looks almost like a Capitol citizen now, polished and flawless in her own right.
The dress has a high neckline and delicate straps that crisscross her shoulders, falling in elegant folds down to her ankles. It’s simple, yet the color makes her stand out, glowing softly against her dark skin. Her hair is styled in loose waves, not unlike the Capitol’s obsession with effortless beauty, with the font pieces pulled back into braids. The makeup is light but dramatic—plump lips, accentuated cheekbones, and eyes that pop with a subtle pink shimmer.
Seraphine steps back, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. “You look stunning, Azzi. Like a dream.”
Azzi nods, not fully meeting Seraphine’s gaze. She knows she looks good, but it doesn’t feel like her. The face staring back at her in the mirror is a version of herself she doesn’t recognize. It’s not the Azzi from District Nine; it’s not the girl who shoots hoops with her brothers or helps her dad tend to the crops. It’s someone else—someone made for the Capitol’s stage. Someone for their entertainment.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, though her voice lacks enthusiasm. Seraphine doesn’t seem to mind. She knows by now that Azzi is serious, focused. There’s no time for compliments when the Games are looming.
Seraphine’s assistant adjusts the hem of Azzi’s dress one last time before stepping aside. “You’ll knock them dead,” she says with a wink, though the words sit heavy with the weight of their meaning. Knocking them dead. That’s quite literally what Azzi will have to do soon enough.
As she’s led out to the waiting area before the interviews, Azzi’s mind begins to drift. She thinks back to the training evaluations, how she had scored a 10—one of only four tributes to do so. A 10 is good, she knows that, but the competition is fierce. Both the girl and boy from Two scored 10s and Paige managed a 10 as well. There are other tributes with 9s, plenty who will be formidable in their own right. But Paige? Paige is different. She’s unpredictable, unnervingly skilled. And something about her makes Azzi feel a pang of unease.
As Azzi settles into her seat backstage, waiting for her interview with Caesar Flickerman, she watches the other tributes’ interviews on the screen. The Careers are all flashy and confident, playing up their deadliness to the crowd’s delight. Caesar eats it up, grinning and laughing as they boast about their skills and charm the Capitol audience. The boy from District Four also stands out—tall, muscular, and intimidating. A strong swimmer, no doubt. He’ll be dangerous, especially if the arena is at all water-based.
But none of them hold a candle to Paige.
When Paige steps onto the stage, it’s as if the entire room shifts. She looks stunning, effortlessly cool, in a crisp white suit that contrasts sharply with the frilly dresses most of the other girls have chosen. Her hair is down, styled in soft, wavy locks, with the top half pulled back in a way that highlights her sharp features. She looks more masculine than the other girls, but somehow that works in her favor. It’s not just that she’s different—it’s that she owns it. The Capitol loves different.
Azzi watches, unable to tear her eyes away, as Paige charms the entire crowd. She’s funny, confident, and just the right amount of cocky. Caesar practically beams at her, and the audience is eating out of the palm of her hand.
“You’re quite the swordswoman,” Caesar says, raising his eyebrows in admiration. “I saw your score, Paige—a 10! That’s incredible.”
Paige just grins, shrugging casually. “You know, I try.”
The crowd laughs, and Cyrus begins to mutter under his breath. “Damn it,” he says, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “She’s going to have sponsors lined up around the block.”
Azzi knows he’s right. Paige isn’t just skilled—she’s magnetic. People want to root for her. She’s dangerous, yes, but she’s also got this charm that makes you want to see her win, even if that means she’ll be killing people to get there.
Azzi swallows hard, feeling a knot form in her stomach. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s drawn to Paige, too. There’s something about her that pulls Azzi in—her confidence, her grace under pressure, her ease in the face of what’s to come. It’s not just attraction, though she can’t deny that Paige is beautiful. It’s more than that. There’s something about Paige that makes Azzi feel like she’s… alive. Like she’s not just surviving, but living fully in the moment, despite everything. Ironic, considering Paige could be the one to kill Azzi in that arena—or vice versa.
And Azzi hates that she feels this way. She shouldn’t be drawn to Paige. She shouldn’t be thinking about how Paige’s eyes had locked onto hers back at the opening ceremony, or how Paige had approached her during training, trying to talk like they were friends. None of it matters. Paige is just another tribute, another obstacle standing between Azzi and survival.
But still… there’s something about her.
As Paige’s interview wraps up, the crowd erupts in applause, and Caesar gives her a hug before she leaves the stage. Azzi watches as Paige walks off, her suit practically glowing under the stage lights. For a brief moment, Paige glances in Azzi’s direction, their eyes meeting across the room. It’s quick—just a fleeting second—but Azzi feels her heart skip a beat before she looks away, reminding herself why she’s here.
Just two interviews later, Azzi is taking a deep breath as the lights hit her, stepping forward onto the stage. The crowd is massive, louder than she imagined, and their cheers seem to echo in her chest. Her eyes land on Caesar Flickerman, who’s grinning wide at her as she approaches him, his flamboyant suit sparkling under the stage lights.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Azzi Fudd from District Nine!” Caesar announces, and the crowd’s cheers grow even louder.
Azzi sits down next to Caesar, her fingers resting awkwardly in her lap. Despite the excitement around her, she feels the familiar nervousness bubbling up inside. This isn’t her element—talking, being the center of attention. She’d rather be on the sidelines, unnoticed, but here, there’s no avoiding it.
“Azzi, you look absolutely radiant tonight!” Caesar says, his voice warm and enthusiastic. “Tell me, how does it feel to be here in the Capitol, getting all this attention?”
Azzi smiles politely, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “It’s… different,” she says softly. “I’m not really used to it. But it’s nice, I guess. Everyone’s been very kind.” Very kind because they probably know I’ll be dead in a couple weeks.
Caesar nods, leaning in slightly. “I can imagine it’s quite a change from life in District 9. Tell me, what’s life like back home?”
Azzi pauses, her mind drifting back to the open fields and the quiet days of working alongside her family. “It’s simple,” she says. “We work hard, but it’s peaceful. Most of my days I’m just spending time with my family, doing the chores or playing basketball. It’s nothing like here, but it’s home.”
Caesar smiles warmly, sensing the connection she has to her district. “Family, huh? I bet they’re watching right now, rooting for you. Tell me, do you have a big family?”
Azzi shrugs a little. “Not too big, not too small, I think. There’s my parents, and then I have two younger brothers. And we’re still very close to my grandparents. I just… love my family, they’re very supportive. They’re great.” She feels her throat get choked up by the end of the sentence, not wanting to think too much about her family, how much she misses them. Even though, truthfully, she knows she should be thinking about her family because that is what needs to be her motivation. She needs to win this for them, no matter how impossible it may seem.
The crowd gives a soft murmur of approval, and Caesar’s grin widens. “That’s wonderful. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of people cheering you on back home. And speaking of support…” He pauses dramatically, the audience clearly hanging on his every word. “Any special someone out there you’re hoping to impress? Perhaps a crush back home?”
Azzi’s eyes widen a little at the question, feeling her face heat up. A crush. That is quite literally the last thing on her mind right now. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not sure how to answer without sounding awkward.
“I, um… no,” she says with a laugh that’s more nervous than she intended. “Not really. I’ve been focused on training, so… no time for that.”
Caesar laughs good-naturedly, waving a hand as if to brush off the question. “Oh, I get it, I get it! Training comes first, of course. But I’m sure there are plenty of admirers in the Capitol who are wishing they could get your attention.”
The crowd cheers in agreement, and Azzi can’t help but smile a little at their enthusiasm, though she still feels her nerves fluttering in her stomach.
“But let’s talk about something fun,” Caesar continues, changing gears smoothly. “You’ve been in the Capitol for a little while now. What’s your favorite part so far? The food? The fashion? The luxury?”
Azzi takes a moment to think, glancing down at her dress. It’s true, everything in the Capitol has been overwhelming—lavish and excessive compared to the modest life she’s known back in her district. But there’s one thing that stands out to her more than anything.
“The food,” she answers with a small smile. “I’ve never seen so much of it in my life. And it’s all so… colorful. I didn’t even know you could make food look like that.”
Caesar chuckles. “Colorful! I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” He hits his knee as he laughs, the audience giggling with him. “But, yes! The Capitol chefs do love their extravagant dishes. Has there been anything in particular that’s caught your eye?”
“Honestly, the desserts,” Azzi admits, her smile widening. “There was this cake we had the other night, and it was shaped like a swan. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so good.”
The crowd laughs once more, clearly charmed by her innocence, and Caesar claps his hands together. “A girl after my own heart! Who can resist a good dessert, right?”
Azzi relaxes a little more, finding it easier to talk now that the conversation has shifted to lighter topics. Caesar’s friendliness helps, and she realizes that, for the first time, the crowd isn’t as intimidating as she thought they’d be.
“You know, Azzi,” Caesar says, his tone softening just a bit, “you’ve got this quiet strength about you. I think a lot of people are really drawn to that. You don’t need to be loud or flashy to make an impact. And clearly you have made an impact—you scored a ten in the training. I mean, come on!”
Azzi smiles a little bit at the validation, her dimples poking through. “Thank you,” she says, nodding. And then she shrugs, her lips quirking up a little further as she adds, “I try.”
Caesar and the crowd chuckle at the action. “Well, you’ve certainly done well,” he tells her earnestly, before adding, with a wink, “And I have to say, your smile is absolutely infectious. I think you’ve got the whole crowd wrapped around your finger.”
The audience cheers again, louder this time, and Azzi feels her face heat up.
“Well, Azzi, it’s been an absolute pleasure talking to you tonight,” Caesar says, standing and offering his hand to help her up. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all rooting for you.”
Azzi stands, shaking Caesar’s hand and giving the crowd a small wave as they erupt into applause. As she walks off the stage, back to where Seraphine, Lucia, and Cyrus are waiting, the adrenaline from the interview still buzzes through her.
Lucia beams at her as she approaches, her hands rushing to cup Azzi’s cheeks. “You were perfect, Azzi! Absolutely perfect.”
Seraphine nods in agreement. “The crowd loves you. You’re going to get so many sponsors, I just know it.”
Even Cyrus gives her a rare grin, clapping her on the shoulder. “You did good out there, kid. Real good. I think you’ve got them in the palm of your hand now.”
Azzi lets out a breath, the tension slowly leaving her body as she realizes she’s done it. She got through the interview, and didn’t just survive it—she actually made a connection, made herself heard and liked. The Capitol might not feel like home, but for now, at least, she knows she’s done everything she can to stand out in the best way possible.
THE MORNING is unnervingly quiet. Azzi walks beside Cyrus, the soles of her shoes barely making a sound on the sleek marble floors of the Capitol building. They’re headed toward the hovercraft, the final step before the arena. The place where everything will change. Each step closer feels heavier, the weight of what’s coming settling into her bones.
Cyrus walks just ahead, his brow furrowed in thought. Azzi knows well enough that he’s not the type for overly emotional goodbyes, but there’s a seriousness to him today that wasn’t there during training. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and Azzi notices the faint lines of tension in his jaw. She’s quiet, still processing the fact that in just a few hours, she’ll be fighting for her life.
As they near the docking area, Cyrus stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are sharp, cutting through the nervous haze that’s settled over her.
“Listen to me, Azzi,” he begins, voice low but firm. “This is it. From here on out, it’s all strategy. Everything you do, every move you make—it has to be calculated, smart.”
Azzi nods, her throat tightening as she listens.
“I know it’s not in your nature to trust easily, but in the arena, you’ll need to be even more cautious,” he continues. “Don’t form alliances unless it’s strategically sound. I don’t care if they seem friendly or if they remind you of someone from back home—trust no one unless it gives you an advantage.”
His words cut deep, and she swallows hard. She hasn’t really thought much about alliances, but it’s clear that Cyrus has. He knows this game inside and out.
“And whatever you do, keep your emotions in check,” Cyrus adds, his gaze hardening. “The moment you start caring too much about anyone in there, you’ve already lost. I know you’re good-hearted, Azzi, but that’s not going to save you—not in the Games.”
She doesn’t say anything, just nods again. The lump in her throat grows as the reality of what’s coming washes over her.
“And the bloodbath.” Cyrus pauses, before his voice lowers slightly. “The moment those platforms rise, it’s going to be chaos. Don’t linger. Don’t get caught up in the fight unless it’s unavoidable. Get what you need and get out. Do you understand?”
Azzi meets his eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest. “I understand,” she says softly.
He studies her for a moment, and for the first time since they arrived in the Capitol, Cyrus’s tough exterior seems to soften. His hand reaches out, resting on her shoulder, and the squeeze he gives is firm, reassuring.
“I believe in you,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “You’re smart, and you’ve trained hard. I’m going to do everything in my power to help get you home.”
Her eyes well up slightly at his words, but she quickly blinks back the tears. She can’t afford to be emotional right now. There’s no space for it.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely able to get the words out past the lump in her throat.
Cyrus nods once, and then he’s stepping back, his hand falling away from her shoulder as they reach the hovercraft. Seraphine is already there, waiting for Azzi, her usual cheerful demeanor muted with the solemnity of the day. The metallic hiss of the hovercraft’s door opening sends a shiver down Azzi’s spine. This is it.
Without another word, Azzi steps inside. Seraphine follows, offering a small, reassuring smile as the door slides shut behind them. The hovercraft hums softly as it lifts off, heading toward the arena.
Inside, the sterile, clinical atmosphere makes her stomach churn. A Capitol medic approaches her almost immediately, a small syringe in hand. Azzi barely flinches as the needle pierces her skin, injecting the tracker into her forearm. She knows it’s necessary. They need to know where she is at all times. It’s standard procedure, but it still makes her feel like livestock.
Seraphine sits beside her, her usual flair for Capitol fashion stark against the dull surroundings of the hovercraft. She doesn’t say much, just watches as Azzi rubs her arm where the tracker was inserted. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken words, and it’s not long before they arrive at the underground facility just outside the arena.
Once inside, they’re led into a small room where Azzi is handed her arena outfit—a black, water-resistant suit that fits snugly against her frame. It’s durable, sleek, and clearly meant for endurance. The material feels odd against her skin, foreign compared to the simple, looser clothes she’s worn most of her life.
She glances at herself in the mirror. The suit is practical, but its design tells her something about the arena. Water. The Capitol is hinting that water will play a significant role in the Games. Maybe a jungle, maybe a lake, or something more treacherous. Her mind races with possibilities, but she pushes the thoughts aside. She’ll find out soon enough.
As she pulls the last of the suit into place, Seraphine watches her carefully, her eyes glassy. The usually confident stylist seems suddenly small, fragile, as if she’s struggling to keep herself together. She steps forward, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of Azzi’s suit, her fingers trembling slightly.
“You’re going to be alright, Azzi,” Seraphine says softly, her voice cracking just a little. “You’ve been so strong. You’re going to make it back—for your family. I know you will.”
Azzi’s chest tightens at the words. Seraphine’s sincerity, her belief that Azzi can survive this—it’s almost too much to bear.
“Thank you,” Azzi whispers, her voice barely audible.
Seraphine pulls her into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around Azzi’s frame with surprising strength. It’s brief, but Azzi feels the weight of Seraphine’s worry in that embrace. It’s like she’s saying goodbye.
When they pull apart, Seraphine’s eyes are red-rimmed, though she’s trying her best to hold it together. “Good luck, Azzi,” she says, her voice shaky. “You’re going to be okay.”
Azzi swallows the lump in her throat and nods. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just gives Seraphine a small, grateful smile.
The door to the launch chamber opens, and it’s time.
Azzi steps into the glass cylinder, her heart pounding in her chest. The last thing she sees before the platform begins to rise is Seraphine, standing in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer.
And then the ground shifts beneath her feet, and she’s lifted upward, the glass tube carrying her toward the surface. Toward the arena.
The first thing she notices is the intense humidity. The air is thick, almost suffocating, and it clings to her skin. As her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, she realizes why—it’s a jungle. Dense, tangled vines hang from towering trees, their massive roots weaving through the ground like some ancient network. The ground beneath her platform is slick with mud, and just beyond the edge of the platform is a large body of water—a vast lake, its surface calm and unnervingly still. It stretches out as far as she can see, bordered by the dense jungle on one side and the metallic glint of the Cornucopia in the center.
Water. She was right.
Azzi’s gaze darts to the other tributes. There’s movement all around her, platforms rising as the others are pulled into view. Some faces are familiar from the training center, others not so much. She spots the Careers first—the boy and girl from District Two, standing tall and confident, both of them dangerous and ready. Their eyes are already locked on the Cornucopia, clearly prepared to kill anyone who stands in their way.
A few spots down, she sees Kellan. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looks like he’s barely holding it together, his body stiff as if he might bolt the second the gong sounds. He’s trembling slightly, and Azzi’s heart tugs at the sight. He’s not going to last long, not with that kind of fear weighing him down. But she can’t afford to think about him—about anyone, really. Cyrus’s voice echoes in her mind: Don’t get too close to anyone.
She swallows hard, her gaze shifting back to the Cornucopia. The metallic structure gleams in the sunlight, stacked with supplies—everything they’ll need to survive. Weapons, food, water. But it’s a death trap. The Careers will get there first, and they’ll cut down anyone who tries to take something they’ve claimed.
Azzi’s eyes flick to the jungle behind her. It might be safer to head for cover, to avoid the bloodbath entirely. But then again, if she doesn’t grab something now, she could be left empty-handed, vulnerable. She forces herself to breathe deeply, trying to focus on her strategy. It has to be quick, precise. She’ll grab something—anything—and get out. That’s it. Nothing fancy.
The countdown begins, the metallic voice booming over the arena. Sixty seconds.
Azzi’s heart races as the clock ticks down. She glances around once more at the other tributes, trying to gauge their movements before it’s too late. Some are already tensing, their eyes glued to the Cornucopia. Others, like Kellan, are frozen in place, terrified to move. Far across from her, Azzi thinks she sees a flash of blonde hair. Paige. She wonders if she’s scared right now.
Thirty seconds.
Azzi’s hands ball into fists at her sides, every muscle in her body tightening. The humidity, the jungle, the water—it all presses in on her, but she pushes the fear down. She can’t afford to freeze up. She won’t.
Fifteen seconds.
Her pulse pounds in her ears, the world around her narrowing to just the Cornucopia and the water at her back. She feels the weight of everything—Cyrus’s words, Seraphine’s hope, the Capitol’s eyes—bearing down on her. It’s overwhelming, but she won’t let it break her.
Ten seconds.
The other tributes are crouching now, their bodies taut, ready to sprint the moment the gong sounds. Azzi glances at the Cornucopia again, her mind calculating every possible move, every route.
Five seconds.
Her heart hammers in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Three.
She digs her heels into the platform.
Two.
Her hands tremble.
One.
The gong sounds.
The Sixtieth Hunger Games have begun.
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers fic#uconn wbb#uconn#wbb#wcbb#pazzi#pazzi fic#azzi fudd#uconn huskies#paige x azzi#hunger games#wnba#wlw#pazzi angst#hunger games au#safe and sound
263 notes
·
View notes
Text
Falling for her
(Amber Freeman x fem! reader x Tara Carpenter)
Summary: Amber reveals herself as one of the killers, and you, her girlfriend, are as shocked as everyone else. A year after all this shit, you and Tara become closer, eventually leading to something more than friendship... Part 1 || Part 2 Warnings: blood, injuries, death of characters, slight angst a/n: might do a part 2 👀 (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)
Since the beginning you defended her, telling everyone she was incapable of killing someone. Telling them she wasn't like that. Telling them they were wrong.
Turns out you were the one who was wrong this all time.
And even now that she shot Liv in the head you couldn't believe it. You simply couldn't.
You were frozen in place, incapable of running away with the others. You only moved because Amber dragged you to her room, along with Tara, whom she taped and put in her closet before kneeling in front of you.
"You okay baby..? I know I lied, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to hurt you I promise"
She whipped your tears away with her thumbs and placed a peck on your lips.
"You're coming with me after this right? We'll run away from Woodsboro and start a new life together, just the two of us. No more Ghostface, no more blood, no more Tara."
As far as you could remember, she had always been jealous of Tara. Not that you felt anything for her, you loved Amber and her only, but your girlfriend didn't seem to understand that.
You fought a lot because of that, which led you to spend more and more time away from her. More and more time with Tara. You knew it wouldn't fix anything, but you couldn't handle your girlfriend's jealousy 24/7. You needed space.
“P-please d-don’t hurt her… I’ll come with you… j-just… leave her alone… please…”
“Oh baby… you’re so kind even in that situation… but I can’t let her live, she’d snitch on me and the police would be after us…”
She smiled at you. Not the smile that made you fall for her. A crazy, psychotic smile.
“Now come with me baby, you wouldn’t want to miss the spectacle, right?”
She gently took your hand and guided you downstairs before dragging you to the kitchen, when she told you to wait for her.
You wanted to run away the second she left, but your legs didn’t seem to agree. All you could do was cry on the floor, re thinking everything, every time Amber told you she had something to do, probably killing someone.
Killing someone with the same hands she touched you with.
Knees against your chest, you couldn’t stop crying. Your eyes were all puffy and red. Your chest hurt. Your heart hurt.
When Amber got back, gripping Sidney’s hair, followed by Richie and Sam, you were still there. Not even looking up.
“Y/n..? You… you knew..?”
That made you tilt your head up slightly.
“S-Sam I swear I didn’t know… I would never hurt anyone… let alone Tara…”
She looked at you with suspicious eyes, along with Sidney.
“N-no.. I.. please you have to believe me..”
“Yeah, believe her.” Richie said, grabbing your arm to make you stand up. “Maybe that’ll help you trust her”
He sunk his knife into your abdomen, five times, his other hand on your mouth to prevent you from screaming. He threw you back onto the floor, as Amber entered the room.
“Okay Gale’s here, now we can-” she stopped as she saw you bleeding on the floor “Y/n!”
She rushed to you, a worried look on her face. She took off her costume and tried to bandage you up with it, to stop the bleeding.
“What the fuck did you do to her?!”
She turned to Richie, glaring daggers at him.
“Touch her again and I will fucking kill you."
She kneeled in front of you, gently cupping your cheeks.
"I'm sorry baby... he wasn't supposed to hurt you... y-you're gonna be fine don't worry... we'll end this quickly..."
She kissed your lips softly, before standing up.
You didn't see nor hear anything after that, barely conscious due to the amount of blood you were losing. When you opened your eyes, you were alone in the kitchen.
You could hear fight noises coming from the hallway. You stood up painfully. Once at the door, you felt your heart drop for the second - or was it third? - time this day.
Amber and Tara were fighting. She was going to kill her. You had to do something.
You managed to get in front of Tara just as Amber was about to stab her.
"Baby what are you doing...? You should rest you're not-"
"Amber... please stop... you can't kill her... she's our friend... they all were..."
You could see she was hurt. She thought you would be on her side, even after her reveal. But you weren't. You'd rather protect Tara than stay with her.
"Okay then..." she said
You thought you convinced her. But you were wrong. There was even more craziness in her black eyes.
"If I can't have you no one will."
She raised her knife, but before she could do anything, she got shot in the head. You watched in horror as she fell, remember all the moments you spent together.
You fell on your knees, heartbroken at the sight of your girlfriend's lifeless body. Even if she tried to kill you at the end, you knew she loved you.
Tara placed herself in front of you so you didn't have to see Amber any longer, thinking it wasn't good for you. You looked up at her, tears in your eyes, before pulling her into a hug she gave back.
<><><><> ♡ <><><><>
After "the incident", you spent a month at the hospital, in a room you shared with Tara. You were more than happy to have her by your side, and she felt the same about you.
Sidney came to visit you once, before going back home with her husband and children. She apologized for killing Amber, to what you replied she saved both your life and Tara's so there was no need for excuses.
Six months after that night, you moved out of Woodsboro with Sam, Tara, Mindy and Chad. You all agreed on the fact that to heal and move on, you needed to get the fuck out of this city.
New York was your new home, and you wouldn't deny you were doing much better since you moved in with Tara and Sam.
Eight months after your arrival at New York, you found yourself thinking about Tara a lot more than just a friend would.
Was it bad that you were falling for her, only a year after Amber died..? Did it make you a bad person? What would Tara think about that? Was there even a chance she'd like you back?
"Y/n? I've been calling you for like ten minutes, are you okay?" Sam said as she entered your room
"Sorry, I was... thinking"
"You want to talk about it..?"
"If you don't mind listening.."
She sat beside you on the bed, taking your hand in hers.
"Hey, remember what we said when we left Woodsboro? I'm here for you, I'll always be"
"Thanks..."
You gave her a grateful smile.
"Now tell me everything"
"It’s Tara… I-I think I'm falling for her..."
The older girl looked at you with a slight smile.
"You have every right to fall for someone you know? That means you're over her, you're healing"
"Yeah..?"
"Plus I'm pretty sure she likes you back, given the way she looks at you and talk about you"
She squeezed your hand slightly.
"C'mon now, dinner time"
A few days had passed since you talked to Sam. It was night, and you were on the balcony, watching the sky and the city, when you felt a blanket falling on your shoulders.
“I thought you might get cold..”
Tara’s sweet voice made you smile as you turned to face her.
“But you don’t even wear a jacket! Tara..”
You pulled her closer to you, wrapping the blanket around her too, before realizing how close you were now.
You only ever saw her freckles from afar, but now you could see them perfectly. She had more than you thought.
She was so pretty, face illuminated with the faint light of the city, head slightly tilted up to look at you.
“Y/n…”
Her eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to your lips before going back to your eyes.
Neither of you said a word, yet you understood each other. You placed your hands on her waist, while she placed hers behind your neck, pulling you close, her eyes never leaving yours.
She stopped, only a few inches away from your lips, making sure you really wanted it to happen. You were the one closing the gap between you.
One of her hands went in your hair, soft lips moving against yours tenderly in a passionate kiss.
You could kiss her for hours, and she could say the same. You stayed here for a while, only pulling away when the lack of air forced you to.
No words were needed, and none was said during the next hour you spend on the balcony. You watched the stars, her head resting on your shoulder while she intertwined your fingers.
When it started raining, you both returned to your rooms after one last kiss.
You sat on your bed, smiling like an idiot, while Tara did the same on the floor.
She took a bag from under her bed, opening it silently, and taking something out of it.
“Now that I have you..” she brushed the white mask with her thumb “no one else ever will”
[Next part]
#amber freeman#tara carpenter#scream#scream 5#amber freeman x reader#tara carpenter x reader#amber freeman x fem reader#tara carpenter x fem reader#ghostface!tara
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Love you, goodbye (The Gossip) P.9
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x cousin!reader
Summary: One of the most talked about gossips among the lower class servants in Kings Landing is the fact (or not) that Aemond Targaryen got involved with his cousin Y/n Targaryen when they were both teenagers. Mainly due to the fact that at the age of 17 she was sent to Old Town overnight. Some employees claim that Aemond was caught between her legs. Some say that, like her father, she had had a horrible fight with her uncle and aunt and was sent away. And other than that none of this happened, she just became interested in the course offered at the Old Town conservatory. But now five years later, Y/n Targaryen is back, and rumors haunt those who favor them.
This chapter is a part of a main story The gossip, you can find the previous chapter, summary and general tags by accessing the link.
Summary of the chapter: After all the things that could go wrong have happened, guilt eats away at those it shouldn't haunt.
Warnings of the chapter: 18+, family fights, dysfunctional family, mention of blood, mild violence, no description for reader.
Word count: 14.300k
A/n: I hope you like the new chapter!! 💕💕 For those who want, the songs in the chapter are Coraline by Maneskin and Angels like you by Miley Cyrus.
"Hey hey kings landing, it seems that the Targaryen family's annual charity ball has just overtaken Cece Lanister's birthday as the event of the year in our city. That's because Aemond Targaryen caused a widespread uproar by physically assaulting Jason Lanister. Those present claim that Jason was merely dancing with Y/n Targaryen, and her older cousin attacked him in a fit of rage while uttering threats. What could cause such a temper tantrum in our dear Targaryen?"
❦❦❦
The music died in the hall at the same moment, leaving only silence and sounds of shock and horror emitted by the guests as they witnessed the scene. Y/n put her hands to her mouth when she saw a trickle of blood running down Jason's chin, who was looking at Aemond in a daze. But the stupor passed slightly quickly, as moments later Jason threw himself forward and punched Aemond in the chin.
Y/n screamed her cousin's name in horror when she saw the movement, but before the Lanister's fist hit him, the Targaryen dodged it with pure practice from the years of swordsmanship training and physical fights that fascinated him so much. Blinded by rage, Aemond threw another punch, breaking Jason's eyebrow and making him stagger back, hot blood gushing down his face and staining both Jason's expensive clothes and Aemond's hands.
Y/n's eyes screamed in panic as she stared at the scene, not knowing what to do. That was when Aegon ran behind her and pulled Aemond off Jason by the lapels of his suit with all his strength, which wasn't doing much good, since Aemond looked like a runaway horse that would trample anything in his path.
-Touch her like that again, Lanister, and I'll kill you! - Aemond shouted as he was held with difficulty by Aegon, whose eyes were wide open. - Did you hear me, you bastard? I'll fucking kill you!
Aegon could barely hold Aemond and nodded for Daeron to help him. The younger brother, who had gone out to get some air, came running from the doors of the hall's garden with wide eyes while everyone watched everything as if it were a spectacle offered at the Targaryen ball.
The guests looked at the scene in shock, none of them expected such an attitude from the always so well-composed Aemond Targaryen, who was now completely out of control being held by his brothers while threatening to kill a Jason Lanister covered in blood.
Y/n's eyes were wide and she could barely move while Daeron and Aegon tried to hold Aemond without success, while Jason was held by two security guards who had arrived. But even so, Aemond did not stop advancing on Jason, his face contorted with pure fury as he threatened him.
Coming to her senses slightly after hearing the whispers of two women behind her, Y/n ran towards Aemond, holding the older man's furious face between her hands while Aegon and Daeron pulled him by the arms and shoulders in an attempt to drag him out of the hall.
-Aemond, please. - She begged with frightened eyes as he tried to free himself from his brothers' grip. - Stop it!
As if looking at her was a point of concentration, Aemond stopped advancing on Jason, staring at her with wide eyes, adrenaline still flowing through his veins. And taking advantage of this, Aegon and Daeron pulled him away from the hall and the shocked looks of the members of high society present there.
Feeling her heart beating as if it were almost in her mouth, Y/n barely looked twice at Jason who was being held by his uncle with some bruises already blooming on his face.
And without looking at the shocked faces of those present at the ball, she just followed her cousins down the hallway with a heavy heart of worry, but before she could go any further Oto blocked her path with his eyes smoldering with pure rage.
-What do you still want? - The older man hissed, taking two furious steps towards her. -Haven't you done enough already?
-That wasn't my intention… - She almost cried in front of the older man who had always scared her as a child, but she held herself back.
-Shut up. - The man roared, making Y/n take a step back with her eyes slightly wide.
-Oto… Oto… Oto… - Before Y/n could have any reaction, the cold and mocking voice of her father came from the end of the hallway. - I think it would be wise of you not to raise your tone to my daughter like that in my presence.
Y/n could feel her father's presence hovering behind her like a shadow. Oto clenched his teeth so hard she thought they might break. And without saying a word to Daemon, he turned and left in the same direction as his grandchildren.
-I didn't ask for your help! - Y/n screeched furiously, going in another direction, leaving her father behind.
She walked through a few corridors before being stopped once more, but this time by the last of the last people she would like to see in the entire universe. Floris Baratheon.
-You don't get tired, do you? - The oldest said ironically, looking at her furiously. - Of drawing all the attention to yourself, no matter the cost.
Y/n said nothing, she just threw her head back and gave an ironic and humorless laugh while looking cynically at Floris.
-If you think you're going to get anything out of this, then you're wrong, because I'm going to marry Aemond Targaryen no matter what! - Floris croaked even more furiously. - I'm going to be his wife and you're just going to be the trash I'm going to throw out after we exchange our vows!
Y/n felt a coppery taste in her mouth when she heard the Baratheon say those words, barely noticing that in her anger she had bitten her cheeks so hard that she had cut them. And with eyes smoking with pure fury she took a step forward, glaring at Floris.
-Do you really want to talk about this, my dear? - Y/n threw her head back, laughing, as if she hadn't been affected by Floris's words, and looked at her venomously. - He doesn't like you, he doesn't even care! He'll never care!
-Do you want to know where Aemond was while you were humiliated in front of the whole city at that ridiculous inauguration last Saturday? - Y/n looked at her, pouting her lips, her eyes shining while laughing.
And approaching Floris, leaving her lips very close to the older woman's ear, she whispered so that only the Baratheon could hear.
-He was between my legs, fucking me on a beach in Lys without even remembering your existence! - Venom dripped from Y/n's lips with each word spoken. - And the best of all is knowing that he never touched you like that and he never will. - Y/n laughed, her eyes shining. - Because he's mine!
Overcome with the fury of humiliation Floris delivered an audible slap to Y/n's left cheek, with enough force to make her face tilt slightly to the side. But the smile didn't leave Y/n's lips, she just laughed even more with that strange glow of anger in her eyes.
Before Floris understood what was happening, Y/n had already headbutted her hard, drawing blood from her nose.
-You bitch! - Floris yelped, holding both hands to her nose, which was bleeding slightly, only the pain preventing her from jumping on Y/n at that moment.
Before things could get really bad, Rhaenys appeared at the end of the corridor with her typical hawk face, even more grumpy, and with long strides she pulled Floris away from Y/n, interposing herself between the two.
-Could it be that you all went crazy today? - She growled, looking between the two, scolding them as if they were children. - There are two women, not war horses!
-Floris, go to the end of the hallway and ask Cole to take you to get that nose taken care of! - She hissed at Floris, whose once impeccable dress was stained by a few red drops of blood that had come out of her nose.
-Y/n, your father is looking for you. - Rhaenys looked at her very firmly as Floris disappeared down the hall with Cole.
-I'm not going anywhere with him! - She hissed, turning her back on Rhaenys.
-You should start considering your actions better, my dear, stop acting so much guided by your emotions and listen to your reason at least a little. - Rhaenys looked at her very seriously with her hands behind her back and serrated eyes. - Things don't usually end well for people who don't know how to control their own temper.
-It's been working well for me so far! - Y/n replied rudely, not wanting to be rude to Rhaenys, but unable to contain herself with so many negative feelings and so much anger inside her at the moment.
-Of course. - The older woman sounded ironic as she curved her eyebrows and lips. - Look where this has brought you.
Without looking back again, or giving an answer, Y/n opened the side door to the corridor and walked as quickly as she could through the gardens, with an almost overwhelming desire to get out of there as quickly as possible, barely able to breathe as she walked through the manicured grass.
She barely felt afraid when reached the empty, dark road that surrounded the place where the family's charity balls were usually held. The only things she could feel at that moment were deep sadness and anger, as she walked alone through the dark street in the middle of the night.
Until a flash of light illuminated the road, almost blinding her, followed by hundreds of others soon after as her name was called from several different directions.
-Y/n, where is your cousin? Is it true that he broke Jason Lanister's nose? - A woman's high-pitched voice sounded as she placed the camera very close to Y/n, who tried to cover her face with her arms without success.
-Are you fucking your cousin? - A man's much rougher and more vulgar voice sounded in the crowd, sending chills through her body as she shook her head negatively, gasping for air, suffocated by the crowd.
-Were you with Aemond Targaryen in Lys last Saturday? - Came the question in a croaking voice as another flash burst very close to her eyes, almost making her fall while she denied everything with her head, barely able to open her lips.
The crowd of photographers suffocated Y/n to the brink of despair. She could barely breathe, in every direction she looked more flashes came burning her eyes and making her dizzy. Her legs seemed to not obey and even if she had a way she didn't know if she would be able to run away from there.
-I heard from a paparazzi friend that he has some very interesting photos of you with your cousin on the beach in Lys. - One of the photographers shouted very close to her in a mocking voice, taking another photo, making Y/n's eyes widen in horror.
Everything was interrupted when a shrill horn blared through the air while the sound of a roaring car engine invaded the environment amidst the deafening noise of the flashes.
-Y/n! - Daemon's loud and firm voice came over the noise of the cameras. - Get that out of her face, you faggot. - He growled, pushing one of the photographers to the ground, causing more flashes to go off.
-Dad! - Y/n sobbed in panic as Daemon pulled her to him by the shoulders protectively, pulling her out of the swarm of photographers and guiding her to the car, slamming the door hard as soon as he put her inside.
-Why did you go out there alone? - Daemon hissed, getting into the car and slamming the driver's door, already accelerating the car once more, threatening to run over the photographers.
-H-he said he has a picture of me with Aemond. - Y/n whined in despair, staring at him and barely hearing her father's question.
-At this point, a photo of you two together isn't even that bad anymore. - Daemon sighed carelessly, watching the paparazzi in the rearview mirror with a furrowed eyebrow.
-A photo of us in Lys on the beach! - Y/n croaked desperately, almost in tears as she trembled slightly, and Daemon frowned, worried about his daughter's disproportionate desperation for a simple photo on the beach.
-Y/n, what were you and that asshole doing on the beach? - He muttered in a very serious voice, pressing his eyes slightly in frustration.
Y/n didn't answer, she just looked at the floor of the car and sobbed.
-What were you doing? - Daemon hissed, more seriously, staring at her.
-W-we swam… naked and then we… we… - She stuttered slightly, unable to say the words in front of her father.
-Fucking hells. - Daemon grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he understood the connotation of what his daughter was saying.
-W-what's going to happen now? - Y/n whimpered with her hands on her face.
-I'll solve this. - Daemon grunted, looking at the road ahead with a sharp gaze. - I assure you of that.
❦❦❦
Still holding Aemond firmly by the arms, Aegon and Daeron threw him forcefully into a room at the end of the hallway, slamming the oak door hard behind them.
-Holy shit! - Aegon grumbled without expressing any emotion on his face while Daeron looked from one brother to the other in shock.
Aemond still seemed to be slightly fuming with pure rage beneath the surface, pressing his hands together so tightly that his nails tore the flesh of his palms.
Abruptly, the room's door opened with a bang and Oto entered furiously with hard steps, followed closely by Alicent, whose lips were slightly trembling. As soon as he stepped inside, the older man slammed the door behind him with such force that the hinges shook.
-Have you gone completely mad?- He roared. - Lost your mind? Beat up Jason Lanister because of that little prostitute? - Oto hit a wooden table in the corner of the room with force, making Alicent shudder slightly.
For the second time that night, Aemond felt his vision turn red when he heard his grandfather referring to Y/n in such a vile and low manner. And unable to contain himself with such a large amount of anger and alcohol in his blood, he pulled the older man by the collar of his expensive suit, his eyes burning with fury.
-You will never refer to her that way again! - Aemond practically growled at his grandfather, his face contorted with pure rage, his heart racing in his chest - Do you understand me? - It sounded more like a scream than anything else as he almost lifted the older man off the ground. - Talk about her like that again and I swear to the gods I'll forget we're family!
-Aemond, let him go! - Alicent shrieked in panic, but he barely heard her voice, blinded by her rage.
-By the Gods, stop this, brother. - Daeron begged, pulling Aemond back by the shoulders again, along with Aegon, who watched everything in silence, just restraining his brother and not letting him do anything he would regret later.
Aemond released his grandfather abruptly, huffing in anger as he took two steps behind still being held tightly by Aegon and Daeron, while Oto stared at him with wide eyes next to Alicent, who bit the sensitive skin of her thumb unconsciously while her lips trembled.
-What the hell did you do, Aemond? - Viserys hissed, entering the room shortly after, limping slightly with pain in his joints due to the fatigue and stress of the night.
-By the Gods, attacking the boy like that in front of everyone we know?
-He deserved it! - Aemond shouted, making everyone step back slightly. - He deserved it for putting his damn hands on something that isn't his!
And with a bang the door opened once more and Floris entered the room with her face contorted in rage and a visible bruise on her nose still with blood marks, marks that were also on her dress.
-You bastard! - She shouted with bloodshot eyes, going towards Aemond furiously. - Lying son of a bitch!
-What happened to you? - Alicent asked with wide eyes, approaching the girl before she reached Aemond.
-What happened to me?? - Floris laughed ironically, throwing her head back angrily and then shouting. - That crazy bitch attacked me!
Oto lowered his head, placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose, his face contorted with anger and consternation. While hearing Floris curse Y/n, Aegon put his hand back on Aemond's forearm with a frown.
-By the seven, Y/n did this? - Viserys said, looking scared at the girl.
-Aemond? - Helaena's calm voice sounded through the room, completely out of tune with the chaotic environment, as she walked through the open door and towards her brothers. - Are you hurt?
She placed her hand gently on his face, looking at him worriedly, while carefully looking for any injuries on her younger brother's face.
-Where is Jaehaerys? - Aegon asked at the same instant he saw his sister.
-He's with Cole, don't worry, Aegon. - Helaena whispered calmly while still analyzing Aemond's face, who remained silent with his eyes slightly out of focus.
And bringing even more chaos to the room, the rude and cutting voice of Borros Baratheon burst into the corridor.
-Get out of my way, you imbecile! - He growled at one of the security guards in the corridor, already entering the room that seemed to be getting smaller and smaller.
-What does all this mean, Hightower? - He shouted, his face white with anger. - That's not what we agreed upon!
-Mr. Baratheon can believe that all this will be corrected… - Oto began very seriously, but was interrupted by the man again.
-Corrected? - Borros growled. - Your stupid grandson just made my daughter go through the greatest humiliation of her life! Floris has a potentially broken nose!
-You won't talk about my brother like that! - Daeron raised his voice at the same time, stepping in front of Aemond, Aegon and Helaena, as if he were not the youngest of the four brothers, while staring at the man twice his size without a hint of fear in his eyes.
-I'm still going to marry him! - Floris shouted furiously, not paying attention to her father's words or Daeron's complaints.
-Enough! - Aemond shouted with wide eyes and heavy breathing, making everyone's eyes turn to him.
-There will be no wedding! - He shouted, looking at Floris. - There will be no candidacy! - He looked at his grandfather. - There won't be any shit!
-What? - Floris screeched, walking furiously towards Aemond. - How dare you say something like that after everything we've been through?
The moment Floris put her finger in Aemond's face while screaming furiously, he grabbed her hand firmly and pulled the engagement ring with the excessively large diamond from the girl's third finger and threw it against the wall with all the strength he had.
-There will be no engagement! - Aemond shouted, shaking with fury as he let go of Floris's arm. - There never was an engagement because I didn't even agree to it!
-There really won't be any kind of engagement because my daughter won't marry that… that… lunatic! - Borros Baratheon shouted, pulling his daughter away from Aemond with furious eyes.
-You can forget my support in these elections, Hightower! - The man shouted one last time, leaving the room, dragging his daughter with him and slamming the door with a bang.
-What the hell is going on here? - Viserys asked in shock, looking from Alicent to Oto to his children in the corner.
Before anyone could say a word, Rhaenys appeared in the doorway with a deadly serious look.
-Viserys needs to come with me to the hall. - She hissed with serrated eyes. - Damage containment.
-We'll talk about it later! - Viserys murmured, leaving the room with an even more pronounced limp alongside Rhaenys.
A scathing silence fell over the room with Viserys's exit as everyone looked at each other. Aemond's breathing was uneven and he shivered softly, staring at his mother and grandfather, until suddenly a realization dawned on him.
-Where's Y/n? - He murmured, looking fixedly at Helaena.
-It's okay… - She smiled sweetly at her younger brother. - Rhaenys said Daemon was going to take her back to the hotel.
-I need to go see her! - He muttered, frowning, already heading towards the door with long steps.
-Are you completely crazy? - Alicent screamed, on the verge of tears, interposing herself between her son and the door. - Isn’t everything you did enough?
-You're not going to leave here and go after her! - Alicent's voice sounded shrill and angry as she glared at Aemond. - You can't go there! What if someone takes a picture of you after all this? - Distress oozed from her pores as she spoke while she furiously scratched the skin on her thumb. - What if one of the hotel employees at least tells the press that you went there?
Aemond grunted, walking around the room in despair, his skin burned and his head throbbed, the only thing he felt was pain throughout his body.
-What kind of hell is this life where I can't even decide what I want? - He growled, looking at his mother and grandfather in fury.
-You're making me wish I was dead, because being dead is better than being in this family! - He spat out the words in a hateful way with his eyes wide with anger and his breathing labored.
Alicent looked at him in shock with her right hand on her lips, while Oto had a look of disgust boiling in his eyes. Aemond's breathing was so uneven that he felt like he could hear his own heart beating in his ears, with his vision blurred and his hands trembling.
Little by little he felt as if he were observing all of this from outside his own body. Aegon and Daeron's voices echoed through the room along with Alicent and Oto's, while Helaena placed her hand gently on Aemond's shoulder, looking into his eyes, her lips slowly moving in what seemed to be his name.
-Everything will be fine. - She whispered to the youngest carefully, and the sounds gradually began to ring through his ears again.
-No! - Aegon's voice sounded furious as he stared at his grandfather and mother. - I'll take Aemond with me! What do you want to take him to the mansion for?
-To drive his head even more crazy? - The older one laughed ironically - To send him to that septon to mess with his mind? No, not this time! I won't let you!
-My brother is going home with me! - Aegon spoke very seriously, taking the lead from an enraged Aemond.
-Helaena, will you stay with Jaehaerys today for me, please? - He sighed to his younger sister who quickly nodded her head.
-Aegon, this is not your decision to make! - His mother hissed, staring at Aemond who looked away.
-That's enough, we're leaving. - Aegon rolled his eyes, pulling Aemond with him. - Daeron, take Hel and Jae home.
Aemond felt numb, he didn't know if it was from the alcohol or the mental confusion that was eating away at his brain, only realizing he was in the parking lot when he felt the breeze on his face as he got into the car.
-Hey you! - Aegon shouted to one of the valets, sticking his head out of the car. - The one with the weird hat… come here! - He waved, taking a 100 dragon note from his wallet.
-Take my brother's car to our house and give it to the doorman. Tell him I sent you.
And without saying anything else, Aegon accelerated the car and with a loud roar of the engine passed through the garden gates while some flashes were fired around the car.
❦❦❦
Y/n could barely breathe as she passed through the bedroom door, looking in all directions, feeling trapped in the long red dress while listening to her father grumble and shout angrily on the phone. Staggering as she took off her heels, she fell against the bathroom door, and without even undressing, she turned on the shower water and stood under the jet, feeling her heart racing in her chest.
She felt like the diamond choker was suffocating her as if it were a tight hand around her neck. And in the midst of desperation, she pulled hard, making the tiny stones break and fall onto the wet bathroom floor, while she cried, pressing her eyes shut.
Outside, Daemon paced back and forth in the bedroom hall mumbling into the phone.
-Since Sunday? - He muttered, narrowing his eyes. - The bastard has been trying to sell you that photo since Sunday?
-Uncle… - Came Rhaenyra's slightly worried voice on the other end of the line. - He's asking a small fortune for the photo and when I pressed him to see it he wouldn't let me… you know what that means… you taught me what that means… - She grumbled on the other end of the line.
-If he hasn't sold it to any tabloid so far and he won't let you see the photos before payment… - Daemon growled, squeezing the cell phone tightly between his fingers.
-It's because he doesn't have anything really impactful to offer. - Rhaenyra spoke as if she were It was obvious and Daemon was sure she was rolling her eyes.
-Tell the bastard you're buying the fucking picture. - Daemon grumbled angrily reluctantly as he looked toward the open bathroom door, listening to his daughter's sobs.
-What?! - Rhaenyra questioned him in a slightly shrill voice.
-What did you hear. - Daemon rolled his eyes as if she could see him. - She's in despair, I need to get this sorted out right now.
-Uncle, you were the one who taught me that giving in to this kind of thing is never the best way…
-Just do what I said! - He growled, hanging up the phone and putting it in his pocket as he stared at the half-open bathroom door, not knowing what to do, wishing more than ever that Laena had come with him.
With his eyes slightly closed, he entered the bathroom, sighing in relief when he saw that his daughter was still dressed under the water, her arms tightly wrapped around herself and her eyes staring fixedly at a fixed point on the wall. Daemon grabbed the hotel's terrycloth robe and walked slowly towards Y/n, turning off the shower and carefully feeling her flinch at his touch. He cradled his soaked daughter as he had done when she was a child and they were still together.
-Come with me. - He guided her to the room slowly while Y/n shivered slightly, pulling the robe closer and closer to her.
Daemon left her alone to get dressed, returning a few minutes later when he thought it had been more than enough for her to put on her pajamas. Feeling a brief flash of anger when he saw his daughter sitting curled up on the bed, still with that lost look in her eyes.
-Aemond won't forgive me if this picture comes out in the papers. - She whispered without moving a muscle. - It was my idea.
-It won't be published in any newspaper. - He approached the bed, staring at her. - I've already taken care of everything, the bastard wanted to sell the photo to Rhaenyra. I told her to buy it. This ends here, Y/n.
Y/n could barely breathe when she heard her father's words, and suddenly, when she heard him say that everything was fine with such certainty, a feeling of relief embraced her and for a moment she was able to draw air into her lungs again. Until the rest of the night came back like a bucket of cold water, and once again she felt those damn tears wetting her cheeks, while she tried to wipe them away with her fingertips angrily.
-What do you want, Y/n? - Daemon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. - Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it. - His voice was so convinced that for a moment Y/n almost believed him.
-It's not within your power to give me what I want. - She muttered softly before turning her back on her father and covering herself almost up to her head, pressing her eyes tightly in an attempt to forget that day.
❦❦❦
Not far away, Aegon was putting Aemond under the shower in an attempt to bring his brother back to reality while removing from him the strong smell of whiskey mixed with only the gods knew what else. After helping the younger one get dressed, Aegon frowned when Aemond refused to lie down on the bed, walking to the living room and curling up on the couch, staring at the window, just like in the previous days.
After so many incidents, the sun was almost coming out between the clouds under the melancholic gaze of both brothers.
-Thank you for defending me. - Aemond muttered to the older one without taking his eyes off the window for even a second.
-That's what I should have done a long time ago. - Aegon sighed with a small side smile.
A few minutes later, Aemond heard his brother talking on the phone in the kitchen and immediately paid attention, trying to find out if there was anything else going on in the midst of that endless torment, but it was just Aegon talking to Jaehaerys.
-Uncle Aemy is fine, daddy swears to you. - He murmured softly. - Obey Aunt Helaena and be a good boy. Sleep well, little mouse.
-He cares about you. - Aegon rolled his eyes as he walked into the living room once more after hanging up the phone. - I think it's cute, if you ask me.
Aemond's lips curved slightly in what was not quite a smile, but at least it was something different from the face contorted in anger and anguish of the last few hours. And without the courage to leave the youngest alone, Aegon sat in the armchair and leaned it back, groaning softly as he finally stretched his back after the long day, but feeling a slight discomfort in his butt from having put the apartment keys in his back right pocket.
-Brother? - Aemond's voice sounded sad and empty.
-Yeah? - The eldest turned his head towards him with a worried look.
-Do you think she'll forgive me after what happened today? - His voice still sounded a little strange, and Aegon couldn't tell if it was because of alcohol or sadness.
-Aemond, these things happen, you didn't do anything big. - Aegon rolled his eyes. - Everyone has already wanted punch Jason Lanister at least once in the life
-And well… apparently she broke Floris' nose. - Aegon made a face. - Then I consider you two tied for the biggest psychotic jealous outburst.
-Thank you. - Aemond murmured, motionless with his legs crossed on the sofa, looking more like a statue than a human and giving in to tiredness Aegon passed out.
Inside Aemond, feelings fought among themselves to see which would come to the surface with more force. The guilt for worrying Aegon, Helaena and Daeron. The constant and absolute pain of having hurt Y/n. More guilt for having disappointed his mother and grandfather. Even more pain every time he thought about Y/n, along with that pain of worry about how she was. And below all of that, anger still burned slowly, stirring with more force every time his brain rewound the scene of Jason touching Y/n.
Aemond couldn't say how much time had passed, the only thing he knew was that the sun was high over Kings Landing and that Aegon was moving slowly in the armchair.
-Did you sleep? - Came the sleepy question, but he just shook his head. After all, how could he? With so many thoughts eating away at his brain incessantly and unbearably over the hours that had passed.
-I want to go see her. - Aemond muttered after long minutes without saying anything.
-So go! - Aegon sat down, looking at him.
-I'm afraid. - Aemond finally moved and faced the eldest. - What if she doesn't want to see me?
-I honestly highly doubt that. - Aegon muttered. - I already told you Aemond. Y/n loves you, she wouldn't have come back here after all that shit years ago if she didn't.
-What if this isn't enough to fix things? What if I've hurt her too much for that? - Aemond whispered, squeezing his hands tightly and Aegon finally realized that he was once again holding Y/n's necklace between his fingers as if it were an amulet.
-You'll have to go there to find out. - The older man sighed, staring at him fixedly, his lips curling downwards in a caricatured way while gesturing lightly with his hands. - You know, little brother, when we make a mistake, sometimes no matter how hard we try, we can't fix it. But if we're patient enough… maybe time will fix everything for us.
-I've already wasted too much time.- Aemond murmured in a slightly bitter voice. - I don't know if her love can wait that long.
-Sometimes I wish I knew what it's like to truly fall in love. - Aegon smiled melancholically and Aemond laid his head on the back of the sofa with a sad laugh.
-No, you don't. Look what love did to me. - The pain was almost too much to bear, and he would only bear it if he could be with Y/n at the end of it all.
A little later, when Aegon had eaten something and insisted unsuccessfully for Aemond to eat, he finally decided to check his cell phone for messages from Helaena, but what he found was not what he expected. In addition to the hundreds of messages from acquaintances trying to ask questions in a subtle way, there were photos of Y/n in the middle of the road surrounded by paparazzi in the middle of the night.
-I really need to go out. - Aegon sighed, looking at the phone without letting Aemond see it so as not to go crazy again. - It's only a few minutes, try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.
-Yeah, like spending 10,000 dragons on your corporate card in a whorehouse in the fleabottom. - Aemond scoffed, irritated with the older man.
-This only happened once, and it wouldn't have happened if someone had taken the care to tell me that the corporate card expenses are public. - Aegon rolled his eyes, picking up his wallet from the table.
-Everyone knows that, Aegon. - Aemond closed his eyes impatiently as he heard the door slam behind him as Aegon left.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and Aemond frowned, still sitting on the couch with Y/n's necklace between his fingers. Feeling a twinge of hope in his chest, he stood up and opened the door, finding himself face to face with none other than his uncle, Daemon Targaryen.
-Great, that's just what was missing in my day. - Aemond grumbled, turning his back on the door and returning to the living room without inviting his uncle in, but he did so anyway, closing the door behind him with a calmness that was unnatural for him.
-What do you want? - Aemond hissed, glaring at him angrily. - Tell me to get away from her? That this is all crazy? Get in the fucking line! - He mocked, sitting in Aegon's armchair angrily with the necklace still in his hands.
-You know, I was just like you when I was younger. - Daemon laughed, sitting down. - Full of repressed anger due to attempts at forced obedience, in my case it was my grandmother and not my mother.
Aemond frowned, leaning forward slowly, listening to his uncle's words.
-I don't like to talk about it. - He fixed his nephew with a scathing look, but even so, Aemond could see a glimpse of pain in his eyes.
-But like you… I fell in love with the wrong person when I was young.
Unable to hide the shock at hearing those words from his uncle, Aemond widened his eyes and stared at him without being able to say a word.
-A belly dancer from Lys who worked in a restaurant on Fish Street. She was beautiful, charming and extremely kind. - The older man smiled melancholy with a somewhat lost look.
-But my grandmother thought she wasn't good enough and made me choose, either I would marry Rhea Royce to strengthen the business and stop all that scandal, or I would be disinherited. - He laughed without humor. - I obviously chose the first option.
-I married Rhea in a grand ceremony held by the high septon with all the members of high society present. - Daemon rolled his eyes in a mocking voice, but Aemond could see a flash of pain in his eyes. - And my life became hell. Saena wasn't the kind of girl who would accept being anyone's lover, and I hated every second I had to share with Rhea.
-Nothing ever worked out in that marriage because nothing grows in bitterness. - His gaze was deadly serious. - Not even after Y/n was born did things get better, because no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't be there. All I felt was hatred for that woman and that damn place.
Aemond listened to everything with his serrated eyes and his breath held in his lungs, as if even breathing would make too much noise in the room.
-Years later, when Rhea died and I finally decided to go to Saena again… - His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and acceptance. - She had already married a fisherman, had two children with him, and it was too late.
-So if you're going to make a decision, make it now, boy. - Daemon growled. - Because it's not just your life, it's Y/n's life too. And you're hurting her.
-You understand very well about hurting her, don't you? - Aemond bit back angrily, after all, who in the seven hells did he think he was saying that, when it was Aemond who dried every single tear that Y/n had shed for Daemon over the years.
-It seems to me that you are starting to master the subject too. - The older man laughed disdainfully at his nephew upon hearing that, already getting up from the couch and looking around Aegon's apartment with clear judgment in his eyes. - Judging by the way she was when I left her earlier.
Aemond froze instantly upon hearing those words, all the anger towards his uncle disappearing immediately upon imagining Y/n once again hurt because of him.
-What did she say to you? - His eyes were glazed as he pressed the silver chain firmly between his fingers.
-Just decide once and for all what direction you're going to take in your life and whether you're not going to choose her… - Daemon hissed, staring at his nephew. -Say it at once so she can follow her own path free of you!
Without waiting for an answer, Daemon left the apartment, slamming the door firmly behind him.
The moment after his uncle left, Aemond felt his own bones compressing under his skin, as if they were going to snap at any moment. The words he had just said echoed in his head loud and clear, as if Daemon was still there repeating them.
Suddenly, the worst scenario he had ever imagined in his life appeared in his mind: Y/n married to another man, with a couple of children that weren't his. Aemond's stomach turned at the thought and, in view of that, he didn't even think about anything, he just left a note so as not to worry his brothers even more, and after passing by his own apartment as quickly as possible in search of clean clothes, he set off towards the Aegon's Fort hotel once again.
❦❦❦
Y/n felt her mind in pieces. She didn't even have the courage to touch her cell phone or read the newspaper with the news of the day, the mere idea of what she could find there made her stomach turn after everything that had happened the night before.
At that moment, all she wanted was to talk to someone and vent about everything she felt, but unfortunately for her, the best friend in her life, who she would usually run to and cry in his arms, was the reason for the tears she had shed in the last few days.
Until a small flame of hope appeared in the back of her mind when she remembered her dear friend who, besides Aemond, had always been by her side. Helaena was so sweet and kind, always treating Y/n as if she were a little sister she had finally gained to play with dolls.
The youngest didn't know if her cousin would still like her after everything that had happened in the last few years, but she was the only person with whom she could consider having a minimally sincere conversation. Y/n put on the first dress she found in her suitcase, a black dress that reached her knees in a light fabric with short sleeves.
Without caring much, she tied her messy hair, still slightly damp from the contact with the fabric of the sheets, into a ponytail that did little to make her look more presentable. Still scared from the encounter with the paparazzi the night before, Y/n didn't dare leave the hotel alone. And just like she had done to buy things for the charity ball, she asked the hotel driver to take her.
The only problem was, she had no idea of Helaena's correct address, she only remembered that Aemond had said that she was living at the exit of Rosby facing the sea, and that was what she told the driver. The man drove down the quieter street in front of the beach and as he passed by the houses, Y/n felt her heart ache and tighten more and more as she saw the happy families playing in the gardens with wide smiles on their faces.
The children ran and their parents chased them, some were going to the beach, probably for a day of family fun and Y/n smiled melancholy as she watched a little girl cross the street holding her mother's hand.
A few meters ahead, something finally caught her attention in one of the houses. A huge arch of leaves over the gate, and behind it a few meters ahead a baby yellow house with a porch that had at least eight different wind chimes and several hand-woven dream catchers hanging from the ceiling.
-Stop the car!
Her voice sounded almost desperate and the driver braked at the same time, only not throwing them forward because they were going at low speed.
Looking quickly around before getting out of the car in search of curious eyes or cameras, and when she didn't find any she opened the door and ran to the gate, pressing the intercom button right away. It took less than a minute for Helaena's gentle, dreamy voice to sound through the receiver.
-Hello?
-Can I come in, Hel? - She whispered into the intercom after a few moments of gathering courage.
Y/n hadn't even finished speaking when the gate had already made a strange noise when it opened and she sighed in relief, walking towards the safety of Helaena's flower garden.
-Cousin! - Helaena appeared at the door with a look of pure melancholy on her face.
-Hi! - Y/n replied, staring at her own feet and then raising her head when she felt Helaena's arms embrace her softly and warmly. Sighing with contentment, she simply hugged her older cousin back, not squeezing her as much as she wanted to, since she knew Helaena didn't like to feel trapped.
-Come in, I have mint tea in the kitchen. - She said, breaking away from the hug and walking back into the house.
The whole place was screaming Helaena's name at the top of its lungs, both outside and inside. There were several plants scattered all over the house, on the sofa a light blue wool blanket that Y/n was sure her cousin had made by hand, and on it a basket full of unfinished embroidery that Helaena placed on the floor so she could sit.
Y/n shivered slightly when she noticed that a large sliding door opened to an adjacent office where there were hundreds of small insects and other things that her older cousin was probably studying. She definitely preferred it when Helaena focused on the turtles and other more pleasant animals.
-How are you? - Helaena returned moments later with two cups of mint tea and sat next to Y/n, looking at her regretfully.
-I don't know how to say it. - Y/n sighed, looking into space, raising the cup tremblingly to her lips and taking a sip of the tea. - It's like I'm being torn apart little by little day after day.
-And things never stop going wrong no matter how much I try to make them work. - Y/n sobbed lightly, covering her face and wiping away a single tear that ran down her cheek before continuing to speak with a slightly choked voice.
-I can't stand crying anymore. - She looked at Helaena with teary eyes. - And I feel like this is the only thing I've done my whole life, it's like things could never work out for me. - She closed her eyes tightly while shaking her head. - As if I wasn't destined to be happy, I wanted so much to believe that Aemond was my destiny… that we were meant to be, but I think my destiny is only sadness and loneliness.
While Y/n sobbed, trying to hold back her tears, Helaena looked at her with a look of deep sadness, not knowing exactly what to say. Suddenly, with a soft snort, Dreamfyre jumped onto the couch and lay down between the two. The gentle Basset Hound stared at Y/n with sad, drooping eyes for a few moments and then licked her leg affectionately, making Y/n sigh and stroke her head.
-What's it like? - Helaena asked curiously, looking at her with melancholy in her eyes.
-How is what? - Y/n frowned in confusion.
-Being in love. I've never been in love in life, I don't even think I will, but I wanted to know what it feels like.
-It's as if there wasn't a chasm too big in the world not to jump over. - Y/n stared at the ceiling with her head lying back on the back of the couch. - I feel like I could jump off the top of Aegon's Hill right now if someone told me that after that Aemond would be mine forever.
-Isn't it absurd that I can have anything my heart desires, and the only thing it wants is Aemond? - She laughed without any humor, just pain and bitterness.
-And I hate so… so much to think that while I cried for him all these years… he simply went on with his own life without me, built new dreams… and just… forgot about me. - She spoke slowly and paused, slightly lost between words.
-To think that while I love him with all my strength, he's no longer sure if he wants me or not. - She gasped almost breathlessly, as if that mere prospect was taking the breath from her lungs.
-He didn't tell you? - Helaena raised her eyebrows in confusion when she heard her saying those words.
-Told me what? - Y/n looked at her, tilting her head to the left side.
-He was devastated, Y/n. - Helaena looked away to the floor as she remembered those days, practically sighing the words. - He didn't want to go back to college, he didn't want to do anything but stay in his room.
-Aegon called me about two weeks later and asked me to come home. - Helaena's eyes roamed the room slowly as she spoke and caressed the warm ceramic of the cup. - I left my college things in Dorne and took a flight to Kings Landing because Aemond wasn't even eating the first few days, asking for you to be brought back from OldTown.
-He was completely destroyed. - Helaena sighed in sadness. - I thought he was going to die from so much pain during that time and none of us knew what to do to help. It took him days to get back on his feet.
-And when he did… he focused completely on his studies and work. - She looked at the floor, playing with the handle of the cup. - He didn't go out anywhere anymore, no trips, no going to the beach, no parties, or anything that could be remotely fun.
-He just stayed locked up at home studying or working at the company. - Helaena bit lips gently, her jaw tense as she spoke. - And when he did go out, it was to go to the Sept to pray and talk to the septon, because if he wasn't our mother start to go mad.
-He asked me to call the conservatory every now and then to check if you were okay without anyone suspecting. - Helaena subtly curled her lips as she remembered that. - He cared Y/n… he never forgot you.
Y/n felt her heart ache as it hammered at high speed against her ribcage at that moment. Every word Helaena said made her want to run to Aemond and beg them to talk. Begging him to be honest with her, even if she herself didn't know if she could be.
-Auntie Hel! - Y/n heard a sleepy and insistent childish voice calling from the stairs. - I want to call Daddy again to see if Uncle Aemy is okay!
-Aegon left Jae with me. - Helaena smiled a little happier as she said that, but soon became serious. - Daeron is trying to calm our mother and grandfather down after last night.
-Aunty Hel? - Jaehaerys called confusedly from the end of the stairs, pulling a thin white hand-embroidered blanket close to him with his eyes still sleepy. - Uncle Aemy is okay, isn't he?
-But of course he's okay, my dear. - She smiled, going to the boy and picking him up with a little effort. - Your daddy is taking care of him and everything will be fine, Uncle Aemy just got very angry with an inconvenient man. - Helaena rolled her eyes as she remembered Jason Lanister.
-But what if he has one of those Sinks? -Jaehaerys held Helaena's face between the palms of his small hands, very worried.
-A sink? - Helaena arched her eyebrows and frowned in confusion, while Y/n watched the equally confused interaction on the couch.
-It's when you go many days without sleeping and fall hard on the floor like a fool! - The little boy explained very seriously to his aunt, still holding her face. - Uncle Aemy hasn't slept in days, Aunt Hel.
-And I don't know if he ate his vegetables too! - He whispered more quietly as if that were a secret.
-My dear, Uncle Aemy will be fine, okay? - Helaena reassured him as she stroked his soft silver hair, even though she herself was not at all calm when she heard that. - He's just going through a really bad week, but everything is going to be okay.
-And you can be sure that I'll make him eat all his vegetables. - Helaena spoke in false seriousness, making Jaehaerys relax and sigh in relief.
-Don't make him eat the asparagus, I hate it when Daddy makes me eat asparagus.
-Okay, so no asparagus. - Helaena smiled and left a soft kiss on Jaehaerys' nose, making him laugh and throw his body back, softening.
Y/n's stomach turned when she heard the boy's innocent words and concerns. As well as seeing Helaena's sweet interaction with the child.
-Hel, I need to go. - She murmured, getting up and straightening her rumpled dress.
-But you haven't even finished your tea! - Helaena looked at her confused, still holding Jaehaerys firmly in her arms, who had now laid his head against her shoulder.
-We'll have another tea later and talk better. - She smiled and spoke hurriedly. - Thank you so much for being so good to me.
-You don't know how much it meant in that moment. - Y/n kissed her own palm and placed it on Helaena's left cheek affectionately as she smiled at her cousin.
-See you later, Bean grain! - She smiled and left a kiss on Jaehaerys' arm, making him smile shyly and hide his face in Helaena's neck.
Leaving the now cold cup on the table she walked again to the hotel car parked in front of Helaena's gate, and before even slamming the door she had already given the driver a new destination, Aemond Targaryen's apartment.
Still fearful after the recent events, Y/n asked the driver to enter through the building's guest parking lot and went up to speak to the doorman right after.
-Can you tell my cousin that I'm here? - Y/n hung on the counter anxiously as she spoke.
-Mr. Aemond left almost an hour ago, miss. - The man said kindly.
-Oh, I see… could you give me the maid's keys so I can wait for him to come back? - She gently curled her lips. - He won't mind, I swear!
Without question, the man handed the keys to Y/n, who thanked him with a slight smile before going up the stairs, avoiding the elevator so she would have time to think as she slowly climbed the stairs, swinging the keys between her fingers.
When she finally arrived at Aemond's floor, she stood in front of the door for what seemed like hours before sighing deeply and opening it. Y/n couldn't help but smile when she saw Vhagar jumping off the soft couch and hiding beneath it as soon as she heard the door open. Little by little, when she saw it was Y/n, the cat took part of her body out of hiding, exposing herself more, making Y/n smile with the action, closing the door behind her.
She walk into the living room and seeing that everything was exactly the same as it had been when she left on Tuesday afternoon. Except for the fact that the room was brighter than usual and she then noticed that the thick, long curtains were open for the first time, illuminating the room with golden sunlight.
But then, her eyes were drawn in another direction, but precisely in the direction of Aemond's once impeccable bookshelf, which now looked unkempt. Since those bright orange clothes from the Lys hotel were thrown haphazardly over it. Frowning softly, Y/n walked over there, holding on her clothes and feeling her heart tighten with pain as she remembered the joy she felt in those days, and she thought with a heavy heart of sadness that she would wear those horrible clothes every day of her life if she could forever feel a third of the joy she felt that weekend.
Still overcome by melancholy, she looked down, feeling curiosity eat her alive when she realized that the trunk that had sparked her interest the other day, had the golden key in the lock, begging to have its secret contents seen. Y/n didn't want to go through Aemond's things without permission, she really didn't, but curiosity spoke louder, practically screaming in her ears.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the key, opening the lid of the trunk and finally looking inside while gently biting her lower lip. The confusion was visible in her eyes momentarily, with a subtle crease forming between her eyebrows, when she saw wooden boxes organized in the left corner of the trunk next to an old and worn book on "how to train your dragon", while in the right corner there were what looked like some scraps of fabric and a blanket.
Still with a frown, she put her hand between the fabrics, feeling something soft in the middle of them, little by little Y/n's eyes began to fill with tears as she began to realize what was stored inside.
Mr. Bunny was there, at the bottom of that trunk lying amidst what Y/n had now realized were poorly sewn clothes and the blue blanket of hot chocolate. He was much more shabby than in childhood, with his thin and thin plush, but even so, hundreds of memories flooded her mind, of all the times they played house and the stuffed bunny was her imaginary little son.
A sob escaped Y/n's lips when she, still hugging Mr. Bunny, pulled one of the fabrics from the bottom of the trunk and realized it was a child's shirt with one long and one short sleeve. The shirt she had made for Aemond the first time she hadtried to sew. The other fabrics were more failed attempts at creating life-size clothes that she had made over the years to give him as gifts, and a carefully folded blue scarf.
Feeling her hands were trembling and damp, she took one of the wooden boxes and placed it on her thighs, opening it carefully afterwards, losing her breath at the same moment when she noticed dozens of polaroids of her and Aemond as teenagers inside. Pictures of them laughing, pictures of them making silly faces, pictures of them exchanging kisses hidden from everyone, pictures that were too revealing for anyone's eyes but their own.
Tears ran freely down her face as she pulled each of the memories from inside the box, with each picture she sobbed as she revisited the moment it was taken. In one of them, Y/n found herself sitting in the meadow with her eyes closed and a smile, holding a bouquet of colorful flowers freshly picked by Aemond and she could see something written on the back, the tears running even faster as she read the words in Aemond's fine and impeccable handwriting.
"Will I see my spring again?"
With trembling hands she took the other box from the trunk, feeling her heart racing as she opened it. At the bottom of the box were a few sheets of paper that she carefully pulled out, sighing when she realized they were drawings she had made for him. Silly things like flowers and bears when she was starting to draw, better and more technical drawings of street cats and an attempt to draw that dragon from a movie the older one liked. But also detailed drawings of Aemond’s hands, face, jaw. Full-body drawings of him, drawings of him in ways that only her eyes could see.
There were several others in the box, and Y/n smiled when she saw one she had made of Aemond with baby Jaehaerys in his arms about one years after he was born, with her own handwriting written in the corner of the drawing.
"Soon it will be ours."
Amidst uncontrollable sobs, reading those words and seeing the drawing of Aemond with the baby in his arms, Y/n raised her head and looked out the wide window, where now with the curtains open she could see the sunset, and a crease slowly appeared on her forehead. Still trembling and feeling her legs barely responding to her, she got up from the carpet holding the drawing against her chest and walked to the window, feeling her heart burn as she looked at the horizon and for the first time noticed what was there.
Visenya's Hills.
Her eyes filled with tears again at the same moment, and when she pressed them she could practically see the memory again, as if the gods were giving her the opportunity to live it once more.
-I love you.
-I love you too, Aem.
-When we're old enough and no one can boss us around anymore, I'll buy a house that will be just for us. Facing Visenya Hills, and we'll be able to get married and build our own lives.. - Aemond's sweet, youthful voice promised once again in Y/n's mind.
He had done it, even if she hadn't come back yet, even if they weren't together. He had saved all those memories, he had bought the house facing Visenya Hills, he had been waiting for her all that time. And a smile appeared on Y/n's lips as she finally reached that conclusion.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened without warning, and with a happy smile she turned towards the entrance, but the smile slowly died as she quickly dried her tears with the back of her hands when she saw Alicent standing at the entrance of the apartment with a deadly look on her face.
-Aunti… - Y/n began, finishing drying her red face, sticky with salt from her tears, but she was interrupted by Alicent at the same moment.
-I told you not to call me that anymore! - The woman spoke in a firm voice, taking a step forward and leaving her bag on the table in the entrance hall.
Those words cut Y/n as deeply as the first time they were spoken five years ago.
-What are you doing here? - Alicent asked in a voice as cold as the look she was giving Y/n at that moment.
-I-I came to see Aemond. - Y/n stuttered slightly, unable to look at her aunt directly.
Alicent gave the girl a mocking look while rolling her eyes, making her even more paralyzed, if that was possible.
-When are you going to stop, Y/n? - Alicent arched her eyebrows, shaking her head and walking slowly towards her. - Stop involving Aemond in your personal tragedies and dragging him to the bottom along with you? Wasn't everything that had happened before enough? Was that spectacle yesterday necessary?
-It wasn't my intention… - Y/n replied with a low and slightly trembling voice
-It's never your intention. - The older woman rolled her eyes in a condescending tone of voice. - And yet Aemond is always in trouble because of you.
-Like when you climbed the tree even when I told you not to… - Alicent squeezed her eyes slightly as she moved smoothly around the room. - And when you couldn't get down, he climbed up to get you and ended up falling and breaking his arm.
Y/n felt a pang of pain in her chest as she remembered that day, about how she really wanted a fruit that was on a very high branch and how when all the adults had moved away she climbed up the branches of the tree to the top, but then was too afraid to go down and screamed Aemond's name until he found her and climbed up to help her. She managed to get down with his help, but when she was almost there, Aemond slipped and fell over his arm, breaking it in the process. The look of pain in his eyes as he told her that everything was okay was forever etched in her memory.
-Or when you decided to play with Balerion even after I told you not to because he was a very irritable animal… - Alicent pointed out once again with an even colder voice as she looked at her from the bottom up, a look that Y/n had seen her use several times with people that her aunt considered inferior to her. - And the one who ended up being bitten in your place was Aemond.
Her aunt poking that wound was even worse, Y/n hated that memory and Alicent knew it. It was about a year and a half after she moved to the mansion, Y/n had always liked animals, her mother had several of them at home and she couldn't believe that Balerion could be so fierce. Until the day she ran her hand over the dog's fur while he was distracted and he advanced his jaw on her with a frightening bark. Before he could bite her hand however, Aemond jumped on him from behind pulling him backwards with all the strength he possessed at such a young age.
He managed to stop Y/n from being bitten, but he couldn't stop the dog from sinking its teeth hard into his shoulder. There was blood and screams, but not Aemond's screams, because he endured everything in silence as was his custom. The screams were from Y/n who cried in panic as she apologized, even though the problem had already been caused.
-You're just ruining his life. You've only been hurting him since the two of you met! - The older woman shook her head as she spoke and got even closer to Y/n, making her feel more cornered by the moment. - Can't you see that?
-I didn't want to hurt him. - She practically whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
-But you hurt! You hurt and get in the way all the time! - Alicent almost screamed as she gestured with her hands at that point, making Y/n take a step back. - He would have been disgraced just like Aegon if I hadn't sent you away at that time! He would be forever tarnished in the eyes of the shareholders, the company, and the media! I would miss the opportunity to surpass Rhaenyra!
-What do you think is going to happen??? - Y/n suddenly screeched upon hearing that, staring at Alicent. - Aemond is the most hard-working and competent person I know, but it's not just about that! Uncle Viserys will never leave him as the main heir as long as Rhaenyra exists because we all know he favors her!
-It's not just about that! Aemond is cunning, intelligent and exceptionally hardworking, he can do whatever he wants! - Alicent scolded, her eyes sparkling with anger. - He can build a political career like his grandfather in the future, but who do you think will vote for a candidate who married his own cousin? No one!
-Aemond has never been interested in politics. - Y/n bit back, because she knew all of Aemond's dreams, and this wasn't one of them. - It's always been business, I've always wanted to be a businessman.
-He didn't tell you about that, did he? - Alicent laughed ironically, turning her back to her suddenly while putting her hands on her waist and shaking her head. - My father got him a unique opportunity, he could be the youngest representative to be elected in the history of Kings Landing, and he was very excited about it.
-But now thanks to you! - She emphasized very firmly as she turned towards Y/n once again. - The party withdrew the offer! They no longer want Aemond to represent them alongside my father in these elections after last night's scandal! Do you know how good that would be for him? And now he's ruined!
Confusion and pain took over Y/n's features as she could barely look at Alicent with trembling lips, feeling as if her voice had been sucked into a black hole and would never be returned again. The only thought in her mind at that moment was "Did Aemond really want that?"
-If you love him as much as you say you do, why don't you leave him alone? He was doing much better before you came back. He was moving on with his own life, building his own future, until you came back and ruined everything by dragging him down with you into this hole bottomless that you call love! Leave my son alone! - Alicent hissed the words more and more angrily, making Y/n's heart flutter while her stomach churned, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't raise her voice to her aunt. Her chest hurt when she heard those words, each one hitting her like a bullet.
-You ruin all possible opportunities for a bright future for Aemond. He's not like you, he needs more, he needs greatness, and you're only going to drag him down to mediocrity with you! - She shouted angrily, already very close to Y/n and stopping briefly to catch her breath while putting her hand to her chest.
-Just go away and leave him alone so he can be happy. - Alicent muttered very quietly, looking her deeply in the eyes as she said that, and without waiting for an answer, she turned back towards the door and left with hard steps without saying another word.
Y/n could barely breathe, the air was missing from her lungs and she felt frozen in place, as if she would never be able to move again, or speak, or do anything else. Little by little, as the minutes passed, she managed to move her legs from the spot, and still unable to think straight, she just walked back to the building's entrance hall.
-Miss Targaryen, aren't you going to wait? - The doorman asked kindly, and she just shook her head without saying anything else, just leaving the key on the counter and heading to the visitor parking lot.
-Where to, miss? - The driver's voice sounded as he opened the door upon seeing her.
-H-hotel. - She muttered without looking at him, getting into the car and closing the door behind herself.
As the car drove through the streets of Kings Landing, Y/n began to notice the informative signs of the newspapers and tabloids that made her stomach turn more and more with each news headline read.
"Sins of the father?" And right below a picture of Daemon and Laena with a picture of Aemond and Y/n as teenagers next to them.
"Emotional breakdown leads heir to attack Targaryen associate." Written in huge letters with a picture of Aemond at the entrance to the ball, before all the commotion.
"The morbid aggression of Aemond Targaryen that scared everyone at the annual ball."
"Will he be fit to lead in projects as bold as his older sister?"
In one of them a blurry picture of Aemond with his face visibly contorted with fury being held by Aegon and Daeron as he tried to jump on Jason Lanister again.
The sting of tears stung her eyes once again that day, it was her fault. The people of the entire city were thinking badly of Aemond because of her, it was always her fault.
Y/n could barely move her legs out of the car when she arrived at the hotel, having to use all that was left of her strength to walk to the elevator, and as soon as she got down to her room's floor she wanted to turn around and go away again. Since Aemond was sitting on the floor of the hallway in front of her door with his eyes closed and his head leaning against the wall. The moment Y/n turned around trying to get back to the elevator she heard the sound of his voice calling her softly echoing through the hallway.
She just froze in the middle of the hallway, unable to move forward or turn back. She just stood there motionless, with her eyes tightly pressed together and her lips tightly pressed together as she held herself back from crying once more. His footsteps sounded across the wooden floor of the hotel, getting closer to her with each passing moment and Y/n just closed her eyes tightly, barely able to breathe when she felt him stop behind her.
-Please tell me I can touch you. - His voice sounded in a painful murmur close to the shell of her left ear and Y/n felt all her skin tremble at the same moment, she just nodded without being able to say a single word, and also without being able to deny his touch in that painful moment.
When his hands gently touched her forearms, slowly turning her towards him, Y/n felt as if an electric current was passing through her body, and when she finally faced him head on, she thought she would faint right there when she looked at Aemond's eyes full of pain looking back at her.
-I'm sorry for yelling at you. - He murmured, slowly caressing her left cheek with his fingertips. - I'm sorry for the things I said, for hurting you and making you go through all of this, I really am.
Aemond's eyes were red and moist, his heart burning in Y/n's presence, he didn't even care about the fact that they were in a hotel corridor full of cameras when he slowly pulled her in for a kiss, being overcome by the purest disappointment when Y/n turned her face to the side, refusing him.
-L-let's go in. - She murmured very quietly, looking around for curious looks. - Someone can see us.
-I don't care if anyone sees! - He replied again, holding her face between his palms and staring at her. - I really don't care.
-Aemond, please, let's go in. - Y/n begged, looking around with fear visible in her eyes when she saw the red camera light flashing at the end of the corridor.
Letting an audible snort escape his lips, Aemond released her face and followed her back to the bedroom door, entering behind Y/n like a shadow and closing the door behind him. With the sound of the door closing, Aemond pulled her towards him, pressing both their bodies together.
-I want to fix things. - He murmured against her hair. - I can't lose you. I'd rather be dead than be without you!
-You're enough. - He looked into her eyes as he held her cheeks firmly with his palms. - I don't need the company, I don't need anything else. Just you, you are enough for me to be happy.
Those words would have made her scream with joy an hour ago, but now all she could feel was even more pain knowing that he would hurt himself once again for her, giving up his own dreams just for her, and that pain was unbearable.
-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. - Y/n repeated meaninglessly, barely holding back her tears as she thought about Alicent's harsh words. - I'm sorry for hurting you.
-It's okay now…
-No, it's not! - She interrupted him, crying with trembling lips. - Not when I keep doing this! I'm not good for you.
-What? - Aemond's gaze was a mix of confusion and sadness as he held her close to him with his fingers lightly tangled in her hair. - Where did you get that idea?
-It's the truth! - She stared at him fixedly, nodding her head. - I've only brought you trouble! Look at the newspapers, look at everything they're saying about you, Aemond! It's my fault!
-No, it's not. - He murmured, bringing his face closer to hers, barely able to contain the pain in his chest when he saw her eyes so sad. - I did it. I hit that fucking bastard because I couldn't stand to see him putting his hands on you!
-You're mine, Y/n. - He growled softly against her neck, bringing them closer and closer. - Only mine! We were made to belong to each other.
-Aemond…- She began, trying to push him away from her so as not to let things go any further than they had, but he interrupted her at the same time.
-I love you. - His voice sounded raw, torn and sad as he stared at her with red, wet eyes.
-Aemond, no. - She cried and he finally kissed her on the lips, leaving behind a bitter taste of salt, sadness and pure pain.
-I love you. - He repeated as he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers without breaking eye contact, still lightly brushing his lips against hers.
-Aem…
-I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I didn't tell you as soon as you came back. - He begged, pulling her more and more against him, almost merging her body with his. - I'm sorry. I swear I still love you the same way. That I still want you. That everything is real to me as it is to you.
-We were meant to be Y/n, we always knew that. - He whispered close to her ear, his voice contorted with pain and sadness as he frowned. - From the moment we met for the first time.
-We both got it into our heads that we were destined to be together, Aemond. - She sobbed, feeling him pulling her closer and closer to him and not having the strength to free herself. - But maybe we're not, not when everything seems to be going against us.
"Not when it seems like all I do is disrupt your life." She thought silently, hugging him.
-We'll make it work for us, no matter what. - He grumbled very seriously, laying his forehead against hers again.
-If we were truly destined for each other, the gods wouldn't have brought us so much sadness. - She sobbed, pulling her head away from his, staring at him with eyes shining with sadness as she tried to sound determined, but unable to let go of him.
-My father called me to go live in Pentos with him. - Y/n sniffed as she used all the strength she had in her to move away from him, wiping the tears from her cheeks as more of them fell. - And I'm going with him… to spend some time with my father, my stepmother and my sisters.
-What? - Aemond's eyes widened in shock instantly and he stepped towards her once more. - Pentos? There's nothing for you in that place! Never had! You belong here, with me! You can't just leave again!
-Maybe that's for the best. - The youngest sniffed, looking at him with her lips curved down and her eyebrows curved. She could tell him a hundred lies to push him away, she could tell him that she hated him, that she was too hurt to continue. But she wouldn't be able to, Y/n would never be able to look Aemond in the eyes and lie like that, she would never be able to break his heart as she looked into his eyes. Maybe that was exactly why she didn't have the strength to talk about the past.
-I don't want to lose you. - Aemond's voice was a very low murmur while his eyes were broken with pain, he felt at that moment more than ever as if his heart was being torn apart inside his chest. - Not again.
-I love everything about you. - He kissed her neck with tears in his eyes making Y/n's heart race uncontrollably in her chest even though she didn't want it to. - I love when you get excited and smile in a way that makes my entire life worth living.
-I love that crease between your eyebrows that only appears when you're so focused on something that you forget the world around you. - He laughed melancholy with his trembling hands gripping Y/'s arms and kissing her forehead between her eyebrows with such affection that he almost made her melt and run down the floor, so soft in his arms that she could barely breathe or speak.
-I love the fact that you are sweet and kind to people, even when you don't need to be. - He sighed against her neck, brushing his lips there while he avidly smelled the aroma that was now the orange shampoo that she always loved to use in her hair.
-I missed you every day since the moment you left. - The older man held her cheeks between his palms again, looking at her with teary eyes and a racing heart. - I prayed in secret for your return when what I should have been doing was asking the gods for forgiveness for my indolence and begging them for the grace to forget you. - His lips trembled gently as he pressed his eyes together, as if the mere memory hurt him. -All I could think about all these years was you and how much I wanted you back.
Aemond kissed her on the lips again, this time deepening the kiss and tangling his right hand through Y/n's strands of hair, clinging to her tightly as he devoured her lips with longing. Unable to contain herself, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around him like a vine, feeling that any closeness would still not be enough.
Slowly, Aemond's hands went down her soft thighs in gentle and soft caresses that caused uncontrollable shivers all over Y/n's body as she sighed against his soft lips. Soft, he brought his hands to the hem of her dress, holding it firmly and pulling it up slowly and timidly, as if he were undressing her for the first time.
Both Aemond and Y/n felt as if they didn't know what they were doing at that moment, all they knew was that they wanted to feel each other with all the strength of their existence. Little by little they got rid of each of the pieces of clothing, leaving them behind until they fell naked on the wide hotel bed. There were no smiles in either of their eyes, only unshed tears of pure sadness and melancholy.
The two exchanged those same salty and slightly bitter kisses as they pressed themselves against each other on the bed in search of more contact, as if each other's bodies could bring comfort where words could not. Y/n felt Aemond entering her, letting out a sigh as he finally felt a good sensation after so many days in agony, but after that he didn't move his hips, he just remained still inside her for a few moments, as if he wanted time to stop and for it not to end here.
Tear-soaked kisses were left by Aemond on Y/n's neck while she kissed the older man's long, soft hair. Slowly, Aemond finally began to move against her, drawing sighs from the lips he loved so much. Carefully, Y/n tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him into a slow, soft kiss where they both released the sighs and gasps resulting from the act they shared.
Their breathing became more erratic and Y/n shivered around Aemond, holding onto him with increasing force, crossing her arms behind his back and trapping him with her legs against her as if she would never let go. Feeling her walls writhing against him, Aemond poured himself deep inside her with his breath panting and collapsing on her body, leaving his head lying on the younger woman's chest, feeling a spark of happiness in his own heart when he heard her heart beating like a hummingbird in her chest.
Aemond couldn't tell if it was minutes or hours before he moved to lie down next to Y/n and pulled her close to him, never losing contact with her body.
The youngest looked at him confused, a mix of emotions eating away at her insides in a more than devastating way. On one side, the love and the desire she felt to be by Aemond's side, and on the other, the purest and cruelest fear that it really was everything her aunt had said, of really being to blame for each of Aemond's bad decisions. She caressed his chest softly and delicately, consumed by those thoughts, until her hand went up a little higher and reached a slight unevenness in the skin.
Y/n gently caressed the scar on Aemond's shoulder where Balerion's teeth had torn the flesh so many years ago. They were almost translucent, disappearing amidst his milky skin. Flashes of memories floated back into her mind, and Y/n pressed her eyes tightly, trying to make them disappear.
-You took such good care of me while I recovered. - Aemond sighed melancholically as he remembered her affection and concern while his arm healed and gently kissed the tips of her fingers that were caressing him.
-It was my fault. - She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. - You wouldn't have gotten hurt if it weren't for me.
-I would hurt myself for the rest of my days if it meant I could have you. - He sighed, leaving a chaste kiss between her hair, and Y/n felt a tear run down her face and land on Aemond's chest.
She couldn't continue hurting him and hindering him for the rest of his life, not anymore. As the hours passed, Y/n could feel his breathing gradually becoming heavy and rhythmic, signaling sleep. With a sigh, she stood up shakily, trying her best not to shed even more tears when she saw him lying naked between the sheets. His face still tense even in sleep.
With deep and uneven breaths, she tied her messy hair in a braid and dressed only in a moss green cashmere blouse with short sleeves and a pair of shorts while drying her own tears that wouldn't obey her and insisted on falling. Holding her arms tightly against herself, she looked at Aemond one last time, putting her hand over her mouth to contain a loud sob that almost escaped into the silence of the room.
-Goodbye. - She sobbed softly, curling her lips tightly into her mouth, biting them with her teeth as hard as she could, and gathering the little strength she had left, Y/n put on her shoes, picked up her bag and left the room, unable to resist looking back one last time and staring at Aemond's sleeping figure that resembled an angel more than anything else on earth. Her angel.
tag list: @afro-hispwriter @fan-goddess @strangersunghoon @zenka69 @callsignwidow @amanda08319 @alesswift-blog @marialikescherries @palomavz
Final Notes: Well, well, maybe Alicent is smarter than Oto after all! The next chapter will probably have another flashback...
We finally found out what was in Aemond's mysterious trunk, were you expecting that?
next chapter
#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#hotd x you#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen x female reader#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fluff#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon imagine#ewan mitchell#ewan nation
101 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hii! so today is white day and I was wondering if I could get Sunday and jing yuan headcanons with their partner on white day.
thank you and have a great day/night 💞
𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Sunday & Jing Yuan x Gender-neutral Reader
𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: spending white day together
Warnings: Fluff, spelling mistakes,
𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎
He's a romantic man as well. Only want to do the best for you on this very special day. Showing up at your home with the fresh flowers that have been picked from the ground this very morning once you’ve taken the flowers, he just places a feather light on your hand almost as if it’s delicate like glass.
After that, you just spend some time together, but not until you see an event that piques both of your interests. Just some random event hosted for lovers to have a good time yet the big thing they advertised was a simple classical dance.
It's a pretty basic thing ever and not the first to be done but if you just wanna go for the fun of it, it wouldn’t hurt to dance and have some fun right?
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“A dance, my dear.” Sunday holds his hand out for you to take, a charming smile on his face. His eyes twinkle at you, and your heart races in response. You give him a timid smile as he takes your hand in his his other hand going to your waist, with yours going onto his shoulder.
Slow dancing with each other, the gentle sway of your bodies as well as the melody that fills the air around you both is almost hypnotic.
Your cheeks tingle from his sweet touch, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest. Your mind wanders off as you enjoy the moment. Before he spins you around, mimicking the bright smile you have on your face "I'm so grateful to have you." You whisper, and you begin to blush. His eyes light up with adoration as they look into yours.
Your heart does flips as he looks at you with such loving affection in his eyes. He leans in closer and his lips brush over your cheek. The feeling of his breath against your skin causes your stomach to turn. he smiles at your reaction.
“Me? I am lucky enough to have you look my way.” his soft voice sends shivers down your spine. You feel yourself blush more as he kisses you the lips softly, before leaning back once more.
"I'll still love you no matter how much time passes between us."
𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃
He’s so romantic about it, even taking a day off (skipping out) from work, just so could plan out the entire day with you and have some fun together.
He planned everything out for you, his day off, going to the flower shop and the owner giving you such beautiful flowers since it's a special day, or how the owner of the chocolate store just randomly gives you the most expensive chocolate box saying “It's a romantic day, you deserve to be happy.” Everyone been saying that all day?
But the gifts don’t stop, jing yuan himself gives you something so special, a ring that is made of gold, making your heart jump. It looks so expensive. He didn’t have to! But you can’t take it back now or else he’ll get pouty with you, along with the excuse that “It’s a special day to show love and you must accept it.”
Last but not least, watching fireworks together since every year the designs that fireworks make in the sky, makes you wish the day would never end.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Bursts of colour paint the night sky, each explosion accompanied by a symphony of crackles and booms. The vibrating colours mix to a spectacle of an image in the sky.
You wanted this day to never day. you could see the smile on Jing Yuan's face but it was directed towards the beautiful fireworks at you. He looked at you with that look that always made your heart race, like a thousand fireflies flying around.
“Aren’t you going to even look at the fireworks?” You can’t help but ask, ah..is there something on your face or something? Is that why he’s staring so much? “Want a better look?” he smiles —to your shock—picking you up from your feet as if you weighed nothing.
Jing Yuan’s strong grip on your waist with your legs automatically wraps themselves around his waist. the bright gold firework went off, illuminating his face—he looked so happy— you couldn’t help but give him some of your love–even if it’s just a fraction, he’ll still enjoy it–just leaning in and kissing him on the lips whilst your arms tightly wrapped themselves around his neck.
Just because the fireworks end doesn’t mean you have to.
if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!
#✧*:・゚✧:・ Yurinna's Writing :・゚✧*:・゚✧#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#hsr jing yuan#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail x reader#star rail#star rail x reader#hsr x you#hsr x reader#sunday hsr#sunday x reader#sunday x you
199 notes
·
View notes
Note
OH MY FUCKING GOD!! Okay! I just got off work and thought of the funniest thing!!! So context, I'm 5'4ft! König is 6'9ft! So how would he react to a short male reader climbing up on his shoulders to get a better view??
The 141 just chilling on a watch or something, and the reader is just like, "Damn it, I need to get a better view." And without any further explanation, he just uses the straps and gear König has on to stand on his shoulders.
-Crow
what a cute dynamic LMFAO first MW ask and it’s coincidentally at the same time im playing the campaign- anyways I think that-
König would probably be quite shocked initially I mean obviously he wasn’t expecting it. Your 5’4 self is relatively short among the other men your involved with, they all practically tower over you with minimal effort. So when there’s a cool firework show and everyone’s kinda standing in the way it’s a bit hard for you to see the grand spectacle everyone’s ooo-ing and aww-ing about. You looked up and saw probably the tallest one of your friends, König, standing there with his arms crossed. His tactical gear has many straps that seemed to be almost made for climbing. He turned quickly as he felt a tight tug on his back, the feeling of a foot…? Was felt on his lower calf. But when he turned he wasn’t met with the sight of you, no, he heard you instead. “Stop moving Im trying to see!” It was then that he realized that you were straight up climbing on him. He’d ask you why you were doing- almost stuttering out the words in absolute shock of the event unfolding before him. After you succeeded in your mission at climbing the mountain that is König, he’d simply ask if you were “happy now” as you practically sat on his shoulders. You’d just nod and smile at him before enjoying the rest of the show. You both definitely got some weird looks from the rest of KorTac.
Part 2
———
Directory
#könig call of duty#könig modern warfare#könig x male reader#konig x reader#könig x reader#könig imagine#cod mw2 imagine#cod mwf2#call of duty modern warfare 2#konig x male reader#male reader#x male reader#prismuffin#fanfiction#x reader#prisask
736 notes
·
View notes
Text
Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 03
Words: 4,2k
Summary: You didn’t like him, at all. But due to your bad luck you would have to be forced to work with him and different circumstances end up leading you to the fact that perhaps the word dislike is not the one you use to describe him.
ac: _3aem (twt)
Warnings for this chapter: blood, abusive parents (Satoru’s parents are awful)
Tags: modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball
Author’s note: thank you so much to everyone who is liking, rebloging and commenting on this fic of mine, it makes me really happy. Thank you 💕
Materialist | previous chapter | next chapter
Links to the fic: wattpad | ao3
Two weeks had passed since you and Gojo became project partners, two weeks since the incident at the store, and two weeks since he offered to help you study. You initially refused, but things had changed quite a bit in those two weeks.
Gojo had remained as irritating as ever, but at times he showed a surprisingly kind side, making you doubt even of your own existence.
However, today, you had a strange sensation.
Observing the incessant glances and hushed whispers from the group in front, you felt an escalating desire to grab the stapler positioned before you and hurl it towards their heads, accompanied by a stern command to focus on their own affairs. The classroom atmosphere had been permeated by this spectacle for a good 20 minutes, and the source of their distraction was unmistakable – Satoru Gojo, seated right beside you, had become the center of attention.
Turning your attention away from the nosy group ahead, you focused intently on your screen, scouring for relevant information to contribute to the project. However, a gnawing unease prevented you from fully concentrating.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Gojo diligently searching for information as well. To your surprise, Gojo appeared unusually serene and subdued today. He had even arrived with a portion of his work completed, a contrast that left you feeling somewhat embarrassed, considering you hadn't even begun your part.
In your defense you would say that you needed to prioritize other works, whose due date was earlier.
But back to the topic you suppressed a nervous impulse, taking a piece of paper from one of your notebooks, uncertain of how to proceed.
“I accept your deal”
You jotted down the note, folded it discreetly, and left it on Gojo's keyboard without meeting his gaze. Why did your heart race so intensely over a simple study proposal? It shouldn't be this complicated, so why were you feeling like that? You observed as Gojo picked up the paper, unfolding it. What expression adorned his face now? Likely one of his irritating, confident smiles. Pushing these thoughts aside, you attempted to refocus on your task—searching for project-related information.
“When would you like to meet?” A shock ran through your body when you felt Gojo's voice in your ear.
You turned your face to meet Gojo's, just inches from yours, he was close, too close. From that distance you could clearly see every detail of his skin, even admiring the blue of his eyes even more. Your breaths mixed with each other. You opened your mouth to close it again instantly, you were speechless at that moment and you felt immense heat on your cheeks.
Gojo moved his eyes watching you, as if he wanted to memorize every little detail of your face. And that was just causing your nerves to kick into high gear. Could he look away? Could he blink? Could he just not look at you?
“You…” You tried to formulate words but apparently your brain didn't want to work at that very moment. Why? You wanted to scream.
Gojo raised an eyebrow. "I…?"
“Too close.” You were able to finally say.
Gojo moved away a little but without stopping to look at you. “So when?”
You looked at him and away. “This… this Sunday? I don’t have work that day.”
“Okay, in my apartment then.” He stopped looking at you and went to his computer.
“Wait, what?” You tried not to say it out loud.
Gojo looked back at you. “You have a better place.”
No you didn’t, but his apartment? That was very intimate, wasn’t it? Shit you were getting nervous and your heart was pounding on your chest like crazy. Stop.
“No…” You said defeated. “Okay, at your apartment on Sunday.” You said quietly so that only he could hear you, you didn't want anyone else to be aware of that meeting.
Gojo nodded in acknowledgment and returned his attention to his work, his demeanor still serious and distant. Despite agreeing to study together, a sense of discomfort lingered in your stomach. Gojo seemed too reserved, too distant.
The sudden ring of the doorbell snapped you out of your reverie. Had the class already ended? Lost in your thoughts, you hadn't realized how quickly time had passed. Hastily, you began packing your belongings into your backpack, noticing Gojo rising from his seat and exiting the classroom.
You shouldn't have cared about him leaving without a farewell or any of his usual jokes. Since being paired up, you'd wished for some distance, yet now, as he reverted to his usual self, it bothered you—and the worst part was that peculiar feeling lingered.
Leaving the class with your backpack, you scanned both directions, searching for the tall figure with white hair. At the end of the hallway, you spotted him, hands in his pockets, head down, strolling away. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of something indescribable.
Go!
Your heart urged you to move, to step forward, yet your legs remained rooted to the spot, your mind screaming at you to be sensible and not be deceived. Despite your internal turmoil, you fixated your gaze on him once more, only to see him accompanied by a tall, slender girl who seemed to exude wealth from a distance. You rolled your eyes as you observed her clinging to Gojo, his smile directed at her with a gallant air.
Turning sharply on your heels, you set off in the opposite direction, relieved that you hadn't succumbed to the impulse to approach him like a desperate puppy. Perhaps you'd watched too many American films, constructing elaborate scenarios in your head, painting Gojo as the mastermind of a cruel game, indifferent to your feelings and merely toying with you.
But why should it matter if that were true? You'd never harbored any fondness for him anyway, so why should his intentions affect you?
Walking through the corridors of your faculty, you made a conscious effort to push those unsettling thoughts to the back of your mind. Your priority was to focus on your next class. Fortunately, you were scheduled to be with Kyoko, and it happened to be your favorite class: the laboratory. It provided a welcomed opportunity to unwind and engage in unhurried conversations with Kyoko throughout the hour.
Most days in the laboratory involved analyzing products provided by the teacher to observe their reactions to different mechanical effects and subsequently creating detailed reports. The benefit was the option to work in pairs, and naturally, you and Kyoko were like two magnets – inevitably sticking together.
Stepping into the familiar laboratory, the customary scent greeted your senses. Scanning the room, you spotted your best friend already donned in her gown and gloves. She greeted you with a smile, indicating the seat beside her. Grabbing your own robe and gloves, you approached her, exchanging cheerful waves. After placing your backpack under the table and laying your notebook on top, you shed your jacket and began to put on your robe.
“When are we going to your apartment to start getting your things from it?” She turned around to look at you.
“On Sunday…” You realized it that instant. “Fuck… I told Gojo we would be studying together on Sunday.” You closed your eyes.
You didn’t have a lot of things in your old apartment but you needed to clean it to leave it perfect so the owner wouldn’t complain.
“Suguru asked me out that day.” She whispered and you looked at her with your eyes wide open.
“What? And you were going to cancel it?”
“Yeah, I mean you asked me first for your help, it wouldn’t be fair for me to go out on a date after telling you that I was going to help you out, right?”
“Kyoko… sometimes you are just too good hearted. Listen.” You hold her hand. “I will try to find another moment to study with him. And you, my sunshine will go out on that date.” You smiled and she smiled back. “And you will have the best time.”
“I love you.” She said. “Sometimes I think we should get married.”
You throw your head backwards and laugh. “It’s almost like we are married. And I love you too.”
“By the way, you haven’t met Shoko right?” You tilted your head, Shoko? “Oh you will love her, she is friends with Suguru and Satoru.”
“She is the girl that was with you in the picture.”
Kyoko nodded. “She is studying medicine and she is really cool, you will like her.”
You hummed. “I’m going to get jealous if you keep talking like that about her.” You joked.
“You know you are my only one.” She hugged you in a dramatic way.
“Okay class!” The teacher entered the classroom, making you and Kyoko pay attention to her. “Today we will be…”
You and Kyoko got to work with what your teacher had sent you. While you did the necessary procedures, Kyoko took sketches and photos so he could make the report later.
You left the sample in front of Kyoko, so that she could take a photo of it, and you sat on the stool, removing the quanta that had left your sweaty hands. You grabbed your phone and went to chat with Gojo.
You to Pain in the ass
Gojo, I can’t meet up with you on sunday, we will need to reschedule it
I hope you understand it
Efficiently utilizing your time, you left your phone upside down and powered up your PC. With the tasks completed and photos transferred, you and Kyoko delved into crafting the report. By the time the class concluded, you had already covered more than half of the report, allowing you to ease into the remaining work after returning from work.
You walked besides Kyoko, while listening to her complaining about one of her teachers and how he wanted them to make an essay of at least 10 pages talking about liquid crystals. You knew the concept, you had shared the first year with her and some classes now. But Kyoko had chosen to continue studying modern physics, she was clear that she wanted to dedicate herself to education after this.
You, on the other hand, had opted for astrophysics, classic. But since you were little it was a topic that you had been passionate about, you have the vague memory of your mother talking to you about it and explaining concepts to you, which at that time you did not understand and seemed like fantasy to you.
It was over the years that you discovered that your mother had also studied astrophysics and that in fact she had become a good astrophysicist. But meeting your disgusting father and everything that happened afterward ended up sinking her. At least that's what your grandmother told you, but she had always been reluctant to talk about it, first with the excuse that you were too young to understand it and then telling you that it was better if you didn't know more.
You entered the cafeteria and went to get a coffee, today you couldn't eat with Kyoko, Haibara had asked you if you could go earlier to replace him.
You grabbed your coffees and sat down in your favorite place. You took a sip of your coffee and noticed Kyoko's gaze. You knew there was something strange about you and that the question was on the tip of his tongue.
“Nothing happens Kyoko.” You said before her saying anything. “I can tell you were about to ask me what’s going on and nothing is happening.”
“And I know clearly you are lying here.” She said, grabbing coffee.
You sighed defeated. “I hate you…”
“You don’t.” She smiled, showing her teeths. “Now what’s going on in your little head.”
You pursed your lips. "Gojo was strange today, that's what. But it doesn't matter and I don't care."
She leaned on her hand and looked at you with those eyes she had. "Are you sure you don't mind?" You nodded your head. "From the moment you entered the laboratory, you have been thinking about that." You turned your head to avoid her gaze. "I don't think you don't care."
You snort. “It doesn't matter, he just behaved again as if I didn't exist. He's probably with that long-haired girl who smiled so stupidly at him."
Kyoko looked at you with his mouth half open and whispered your name. "Are you jealous?"
Are you jealous? Those three words caused you to almost choke on your coffee, almost because you ended up spitting it all out on the cafeteria table.
“Kyoko! You are crazy?”
“I’m not the one that got jealous over another girl.”
“I was not jealous! I was angry because he was being a dick.”
“Sure and why does it matter to you?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t stand him.”
“I… ugh leave me alone Kyoko.” You were so frustrated, irritated and angry.
You were not jealous about Satoru Gojo, you just couldn’t. You were just worried, worried because he was your partner. That’s it, he was your project partner and you just were worried. Jealous? Please that's nonsense, you weren’t jealous over that tall, slim, beautiful woman, that was nothing like you. You weren’t, you weren’t.
“I’m leaving.” You stood up.
“You didn't get angry did you?”
“I could never get angry at you, Kyoko.” You reassured her and she smiled. “But never say that again, because I’m not jealous, it’s just that, my dislike for him is just a little bit smaller okay!?” Kyoko pouted and waved goodbye to you.
You took your phone out of your jacket and looked for your headphones in your backpack, you needed to listen to music and escape a little. When you turn on the phone, the notification jumps to a new message.
Pain in the ass
Where are you?
You rolled your eyes. What was what he wanted now?
You to Pain in the ass
Leaving the cafeteria. Why?
Not even 10 seconds passed when a new message appeared in the chat.
Pain in the ass
Wait there, I’m coming
Now he wanted to see you? You huffed and rolled your eyes, putting your phone back in your pocket. The question is, why did you stay and wait for him? You had agreed to meet Haibara in 45 minutes, if you didn't leave now, you would be late. But something prevented you from leaving. You hated it.
“Birdie!” The stupid nickname again.
“Stop calling me that Gojo.” You said with a serious face.
“Hello.” Suguru next to him greeted you with a smile.
“Hi Suguru.”
“Why do you call him by his first name and me?” You rolled your eyes and ignored him.
“Is Kyoko inside?” You nodded and he smiled. “Well, then I’m going in. Bye.”
“I will break his jaw if he ever makes Kyoko cry.” You said when he was gone.
Gojo laughed besides you, until he saw your annoyed face. “Yeah… mhm why can't we meet on Sunday?”
“I need to take care of something.”
“What thing?”
“Doesn’t matter.” You looked away from his gaze.
“I can help you and we can study while I help you.”
“I don’t think moving out of an apartment and cleaning it’s a very good place for a studying session.”
“I think it’s an excellent studying session.” He clapped. “Then I will see you on Sunday. We will clean and study.”
You sighed, suddenly you missed the Gojo from that morning. “Alright… Now I have to leave.” You turned around and started walking away from him.
“Wait!” You felt Gojo grabbing your wrist to which you immediately pushed her away. What was he doing? “Sorry.” He took his hand away and he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I… just have a good day birdie.”
You nodded and thanked him. Surely he had hit his head today or something? First he comes to class with his spirits on the rocks and then he becomes a complete introvert?
Sat next to the window, on the bus, you pressed play on your playlist. You and Gojo had not even been companions for a week, but in this short time you had realized one thing and that was that it was extremely difficult to read. As much as he pretended to be extremely happy and always wanted to be laughing, there was something he was hiding. And today you had been able to read him a little, his blue eyes did not shine with the same intensity as other times, they were sad.
But why were you so intrigued to know what he was hiding? To know him more?
“What’s up with that face?” Haibara talked next to you.
“Nothing, just college things.”
He nodded. “Thank you again for coming earlier.”
“You know you don’t have to thank me.”
Haibara has been working here since before you arrived, the establishment belonged to his grandparents and since he was little he had been helping them on an ongoing basis, but when he entered university he decided to start working from time to time to help his parents cover college expenses. He had been the one who had taught you everything that had to do with the store and who had helped you balance your schedules. During the two years you had been there he had done a lot for you, which is why you didn't mind covering for him for a few hours from time to time.
“Then I will see you tomorrow.” He talked from the door. “Take care!”
“Bye!” You waved back at him.
Satoru Gojo pov
Satoru gripped the basketball tightly, but his heart wasn't in the game. Despite the sunny day and the familiar rhythm of the court, he couldn't shake off his low spirits. Following a visit to the grocery store, he returned to his parents' home, only to find his grandparents had departed. However, their absence didn't spare him from the impending lecture and ensuing conflict. It felt like déjà vu, as if he were six years old again, facing the consequences of breaking a plate. All he yearned for was the freedom to live life they way he wanted.
“You are acting strange today.” Suguru threw the ball back at him.
Satoru took it with both hands and sat on the ground, letting out a sigh. "I guess." He murmured. “Yesterday I was at my parents’ house again. I was there nearly two weeks ago and they called me again.”
“Ugh, I can imagine why you are like this.” Suguru sat next to her. “They are still beating you up for not having studied law? Or the fact that you are still single.”
“I guess both.” He laid down on the grass. “They want me to go with Utahime, as my date, to the charity dinner we are having next month.”
Suguru laughed. “Utahime would probably end it all rather than go with you somewhere as your date.”
“She would probably killed me.” He sighed. “Mei Mei approached me this morning, I also think her parents have told her something and she wants to be my date.”
“Well at least you know that with Mei Mei you wouldn't end up dead, maybe with less money.” Suguru joked.
Satoru grabbed his hair in resignation. “Ugh, just no. I don't want to go with anyone…”
“But there is someone.” Satoru looked at his friend.
Yeah, of course there was someone.
“Yeah… but if Utahime kills me, she would probably kill, revive me and then kill me again.”
“For how long have you been in love with her?”
“Suguru, shut up.” Satoru reproached him, closing his eyes. “To be in love is a big thing, I just have a crush on her.”
“You even used to say she was an angel.”
“And what did you want me to think if I was 6 years old and she disappeared so suddenly?” He opened his eyes and looked at the blue sky. “But…” He stood up and looked at his friend. “She doesn't seem to even remember me and for two years the only thing I've had from her has been to ignore me. The good thing is that she has accepted the deal I proposed. So I will try hard.”
“What deal?”
“She sucks in one of the subjects we share, and I am the best, of course.” He said arrogantly to which Suguru rolled his eyes. “I proposed teaching her for the exam that we have two weeks and if she passes, she would accept a date with me.”
“Are you telling me, she accepted that?”
“Of course she did. Look at my cute face.”
“More like your annoying ass.” Suguru pushed him back.
“So you and Kyoko are going out on a date right?” Satoru sat back and started playing with the ball.
“Yeah, I asked her out.” Suguru tried to hide the fact he was getting red but failed as his best friend started to laugh. “Satoru, don't make me punch.”
“Sorry sorry, but it’s kinda funny seeing you getting nervous over a girl.”
They both started to joke around as if they were 8 years old again, until Satoru's phone started ringing making them both sit back down on the grass. Satoru pulled the phone out of his pocket and groaned as he read the name on the screen.
Father
Hearing his friend's growl, Suguru looked askance at his best friend's screen and understood his reaction. He patted him on the back, trying to calm him down but he knew that as soon as he took that call Satoru would probably lose his nerve.
“Hello father.”
“Son, you’re mother and I need to talk with you. Please come to our house.” And he hanged out.
Satoru looked at the screen of his phone without saying a word. He felt like a tool for his parents, nothing else than that, just a tool.
“Satoru…” He heard Suguru calling him, bringing him back to reality.
“Huh?” He looked at his friends and back at the phone. “I have… I have to go.” He stood up.
“Satoru, call me if anything happens. Okay?” He nodded at his friends and went straight at his car.
As he drove, Satoru secretly wished for endless traffic, hoping to delay his arrival at his parents' house. Yet, time slipped away unnoticed, and suddenly, he found himself standing before them. Avoiding eye contact, his family instructed him to sit down, signaling the impending discussion of serious matters.
“You will be dropping your degree as soon as this term is over.” His father spoke.
“What?” Satoru blurted out, trying not to sound too abrupt.
“What you heard son.” His mother took the cup in front of her to drink from it.
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s not about what you want or you don’t.”
His father spoke coldly. “If not, what our family needs. And what our family needs is an heir to take over the position that your grandfather will leave when he retires.” He looked at Satoru. “We were pretty good when you tricked us and signed up for that degree behind everyone's back. But it’s ending now."
“You can not do that! I’m an adult, you can’t not…”
“Son, don't raise your voice.” Her mother spoke. “How can you be so insolent? We have given you everything you have ever wanted since you were born and when we ask you to do this for YOUR family you refuse?”
“Everything I ever wanted?” Satoru laughed.
Satoru couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the irony of the situation, what bad joke was that? He had been spoiled from the moment he came into this world, all the toys, all the clothes, everything he wanted he had. But when he wanted to have his parents there for him he didn't have that.
“What type of joke is that mother?” Satoru looked at her. “You have given me everything I wanted? Where were the loving parents, eh? Where? You filled me with consent and gifts but never with what a child really needed, which was his parents.” Satoru raised his voice.
“Insolent child, how dare you raise your voice like that at your mother.” His father got up from the couch and approached Satoru.
"Are you going to hit me like you did when I was little?" Satoru smirked. “I guess those were the only times I've felt any physical contact from you.” And the first slap came, making Satoru's face turn around.
“Dear…” She muttered to her husband.
“If he doesn’t understand it the good way, he’ll have to come to his senses the hard way.” He said and another punch fell on Satoru's face.
Satoru remained still, realizing that any action on his part would only escalate the situation further. He endured the onslaught of blows, each one landing with painful precision. Blood trickled from his lip and nose as the beating came to an end. Despite his mother's call for a servant to tend to him, Satoru rose from the ground, determined to leave.
“Son, as soon as this term is over it’s over and there is no way back.”
Satoru bit his lip. It hurt.
He left the house but not before hearing his mother's lament.
“If only we could have had another child.”
Satoru took his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to his best friend.
Satoru to Suguru 🐉
Let’s hang out !!
I need a drink
Suguru 🐉
You never drink
Did something happen?
Satoru sighed and looked at himself in the car mirror. It would leave a mark, for sure.
Note: comment if you want to be added to the tag list
Tag list: @lavender-hvze, @crybabytoru, @sanriosatoru, @norvacaine, @sadmonke, @faetoraa
#gojou satoru x reader#gojo saturo#gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo x you#satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fanfic#gojo fluff#gojo satoru smut#satoru smut#fanfic jjk#jjk x reader#jjk smut
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Personal Virtual Transition
I won a weird competition to use a Spiralistix virtual reality A+ glasses at the laboratory I am assigned to go to and I pack my bags to head to London when I am greeted by a the limo driver.
The limo is rather bare all that I see is a less then twin like bed I lay down in when a pair of the goggles pop down and I place them on my head instantly a light flashes in my eyes.
I fall deep a sleep as my mind transfers over to the mainframe of the device leaving me in a pitch black room and I am left in darkness until a ball of light appears filing up the whole space.
The ball projects a image of a blank virtual male leaving me at a loss except I saw Tom Hardy in the ball showcasing him at some major celebrity event in a dashing suit I can only imagine.
Next thing I know suddenly I am falling in to a deep sleep body, mind and soul are soon transferring in to the ball all of sudden I am hit with a shock appearing at the event and I see it.
Crowds screaming as they are surrounding me, more hands reaching out to grabbing me too and pulling left, right, up, down and center until my eyes land on the glass door and window.
I am now literally in control of actors super sexy and hot ass mother fuckers body in the midst of the spectacle and I decide to play along with it taking his finger licking it and messing his hair up.
I flash a bright smoke showcasing my teeth then make my way down the red carpet my hands are in air and waving it to the sea of massive amounts crowds who are lusting after me.
I slap my ass hard while making a hot sizzle sounds, then make gun signal in my hand and shoot upward and make a weird facial expression as I ditch my wife to have some old fun.
Taking a second I sneak off to the private bathroom of the hotel locking the door a bit and start to undress my self slowly as I lay my cell on to the counter as it records my every movement.
Doing a sexy dance routine just live stream for everyone to see declaring that I am hot ass mess and I need to give myself to some one and he has no idea I am about to make him mine.
I grab my cock starting to pump it creating a heavy undulating movements as I I scream, howl, and shout in pain and pleasure before I cum and I feel the horror of Tom from inside of my body.
“Time to clean up this mess!”
“God! Look at this face “
“I am about to hit some pussy and ass”
“Yeah! I am talking about you bitch”
“Oh Stop! You are embracing this “
“I can feel your heart racing “
“Do not ignore me”
“Or deny my”
“This is my body now “
“Anyone let’s go “
“Hello everyone!”
“Let’s fucking party “
“Hey babe”
“Let’s dance “
“Are you ok Tom?”
“Yeah? By the way”
“Huh?”
“I want a divorce! Sorry babe! Bye”
I call for my limo, calls hotel to set up a room for me and we are off as they park and I am heading in to my hotel room disrobing me of my clothes stripping till my underpants as it all leaves me naked.
I stand in the mirror soon enough I see his reflection looking back at me with anger is ranging on and waving his fist at me so he is getting closer to me as close as the mirror gets closer to me.
He stood stronger in a super height equal to mine, his arms are wide across from me now padding his arms to his body and I love it I can feel the panic in his throat and the pure surge of energy.
“This is impossible! You cannot do this.”
“I am allowed to do anything I want.”
“I chose you “
“I am in control “
“This is my will”
“I will you to obey “
“FUCK You!”
“You will be fucking “
“Some ass”
“You evil creep”
“Evil? Creep? No! No!”
“Oh Tommy! Tom…Tom”
“I am Tom Hardy”
“I am Eddie Brock”
“Asswipe”
“On a deeper level “
“I understand you “
“I am suffering with mental health too”
“I am not as confident as I should be”
“We have to exude it”
“That’s a life”
“Stop falling it “
“Enough fueling it”
“I am your Master now”
“I consume you “
“There is no freedom”
“No free will”
“I love you Tom”
The end
#tom hardy#virtual reality#vr goggles#body possession#the possessed#take over#Master Lawrence Universe
105 notes
·
View notes
Text
37 - It's Giving Grease
Prev | Masterlist | Next
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Y/n looks at their friends confused as they get into the backseat of Bahiyyih’s (brother’s) car. “Good morning to you guys too?” Y/n asks, eying the group suspiciously. “Are you sad again?” Eunchae asks, giving Y/n a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Um… not any more than usual?” Y/n is beyond confused.
“You’re dressed like a normal person.” Hikaru points out. “It’s gross.” Y/n screws their face up at her words, mildly offended at the comment. “Did you forget today's dress code protest?” Bahiyyih asks, causing Y/n to shrug. “No, I’m just not gonna do it.”
The three friends gasp at this. Y/n not participating in a protest? Something must be truly wrong. “Look, it’s not that big of a deal, okay? I know Jungwon’s probably gonna be super stressed out because everyone’s protesting and I don’t want to add to that.” Y/n mumbles, the end of their sentence trailing off.
“And what if Jungwon participates in the protest?” Hikaru asks. Y/n deadpans at this, a gentle roll of the eyes showing they are not taking their friend seriously. “This is Jungwon we’re talking about. He follows rules and does what he’s told - protesting doesn’t fit into either of those things.” Y/n states. “I don’t know… maybe he’ll surprise you.” Eunchae smiles.
The school halls are filled with students from all walks of life - banning together to protest the dress code. Some keep it more simple, with extra jewellery or mildly-graphic shirts whilst others show up in jaw-dropping outfits, breaking the dress code in more ways than imaginable.
Y/n gets a few stares as they make their way down the hallway - most likely due to their lack of protest. Given the spectacles Y/n has put on throughout the year so far - not seeing them participate is certainly a shock. Although Y/n is technically still breaking the dress code (they can’t give up their ripped jeans) it’s not the outfit people were expecting.
“This is what you get for being a simp.” Hikaru whispers, earning an eye roll and jab to the side from Y/n. “You’re acting like I don’t love the attention.” Y/n whispers back snidely. Hikaru goes to reply with another sarcastic comment but gets distracted by the sound of Bahiyyih calling out to Wonyoung and Ricky.
“You guys all look so cute! Wait, you aren’t protesting Y/n?” Wonyoung asks, her attention turning to Y/n and their outfit. “Y/n’s trying to be a goody-two-shoes to impress Jungwon.” Eunchae says, nudging her friend playfully. “I’m not doing it to impress him.” Y/n rolls their eyes. “I just don’t want to stress him out more than he already is, and participating in the protest would do that… no offence.”
“Wait, but Jungwon’s the one who-” Ricky is immediately cut off as Wonyoung slams her hand over his mouth. “Jungwon is probably stressing his poor little heart out. Maybe you could go talk to him, Y/n?” Wonyoung says, a stark contrast between her harsh glare at Ricky and her gentle smile at Y/n. “Uh… yeah, okay? Let me know how the protest goes.” Y/n says, waving goodbye to their friends before taking off down the hallway.
“You’re such an idiot sometimes.” Wonyoung immediately scolds as soon as Y/n is out of sight. “I’m sorry, I forgot they don’t know Jungwon planned this.” Ricky states, defensively. “You just need to stop talking in general.” Hikaru rolls her eyes. “Sorry, it’s not my fault I'm so talkative and charming.” Ricky smirks - letting out a yelp as Hikaru slaps his chest.
Y/n thought they knew exactly where Jungwon would be - but as they look around the library confused they see no sight of him. “Um… excuse me ma’am but have you seen Jungwon at all?” Y/n asks the librarian, who immediately lets out a sigh as their eyes scan Y/n up and down.
“Nice to see you’re finally cleaning up your act… but I better not see you two skipping class in here again.” She warns. Y/n nods obediently and the librarian points towards the far tables, where Y/n and Jungwon commonly sit. Y/n’s brows furrow - didn’t they check there?
Y/n thanks the librarian before making their way towards the back of the library. Only one student is sitting there, with their back to Y/n. The bright red hair throws them off for a second but as their eyes land on the schoolbag next to their feet - they immediately recognise a familiar cat keychain.
“Jungwon?” Y/n asks, unsure. The student turns around at the sudden voice - and Y/n immediately recognises him. After all, no one has ever looked at them the way Jungwon does. “...hi.” Jungwon says, biting his lip nervously. Y/n continues to look at him with wide eyes, their gaze locked on his fluorescent strawberry locks.
“...do you like it?”
Like it? He has the audacity to sit there, smiling innocently as if he doesn't look like the hottest new anime character and then ask if Y/n likes it?
“Are you serious right now? Won, you look amazing.” Y/n exclaims in disbelief, pouting slightly as someone a few tables down shushes them. They don’t look to see who the person is - their eyes are busy fixating on Jungwon’s hair. How badly they want to reach out and touch the fiery strands.
As Jungwon suddenly stands, Y/n’s gaze flickers to the rest of his outfit. He’s wearing baggy distressed jeans - covered in rips and pins and cute little doodles. They hang slightly low on his hips, exposing the band of his boxers. The pants are paired with a loose graphic tank top which, as Jungwon stretches his arms slightly, Y/n immediately notices is mildly cropped. All things that the dress code certainly does not allow.
Y/n is rendered speechless, which doesn’t happen very often. Jungwon almost laughs at the shocked, slightly dazed expression on their face. He takes a few steps forward until he and Y/n are standing face to face.
“I’ll take amazing.” Jungwon smiles. Y/n’s face is screwed up with confusion, as their eyes dart between Jungwon’s hair and his outfit. “I’m... so confused… you’re doing the protest?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon to chuckle slightly. “Y/n… I started the protest.”
Now Y/n has officially short-circuited. Jungwon - the guy who messaged them all those months ago, asking them to follow the dress code; the guy who watched them get detention over and over again for breaking said dress code is standing in front of them with bright red hair and an outfit that doesn’t follow a single dress code rule. Is it some kind of alternate universe?
Meanwhile, Jungwon is eating this up. He expected some sort of reaction (a small part of him was hoping Y/n would immediately leap into his arms but that’s just the delusions talking) and this is certainly a reaction.
“I see you’re not participating.” Jungwon points out, gesturing to Y/n’s outfit. His gaze is playful and Y/n bashfully moves to wrap their (Jungwon’s) jacket tighter around their body. “I didn’t know you were the one who planned all this and… thought it was gonna stress you out… so I didn’t do it.” Y/n mumbles, their voice trailing off. “Cute.” Jungwon smiles, taking note of the subtle blush that spreads across Y/n’s cheeks.
“Why are you protesting? I thought you were okay with the dress code?” Y/n asks, changing the topic. “Well, yeah but you aren’t… you’ve done so much for me Y/n and I wanted to do something for you in return. Something to show that I care about you.” Jungwon says, causing Y/n’s heart to flutter slightly. “You did it… for me?” Y/n asks, an unfamiliar tone in their voice. Jungwon nods wordlessly, his eyes widening as Y/n’s fill up with tears.
“But I was so bad to you. I basically used you and now you’re just giving me what I wanted. What about you? What do you get from this?” Y/n asks, sniffing in an attempt to stop the tears from rolling down their cheeks. Jungwon’s heart clenches at the sight and he immediately reaches forwards to pull Y/n into his arms.
“You weren’t bad to me. You made a mistake, yeah. And it hurt but it also taught us both a lot. I can see, even from your reaction right now, how guilty you are and that shows me you’re different now. I forgive you, Y/n.” Jungwon whispers against Y/n’s head, having to physically hold himself back from pressing gentle pecks to follow his words. “And I’m not just doing this for you, it’s for everyone. There’s nothing wrong with breaking some of the rules, I learnt that from a certain someone.” Jungwon smiles, causing Y/n to giggle slightly against his chest.
Y/n pulls back slightly to look at Jungwon’s face, glancing at his hair and outfit once more in the process. “So… bad boy Jungwon is here to stay?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon to laugh. “I’d hardly call this bad boy… more like slightly less uptight Jungwon.” Y/n playfully scoffs at this, finally bringing their hands up to brush through Jungwon’s hair. “I don’t know… dyed hair, ripped jeans… what will the teachers think?” Y/n asks sarcastically, squealing slightly as Jungwon pinches their waist. “I don’t care what they think.” He mumbles, pulling Y/n even closer so their faces are only inches apart.
The two fall silent as they stare into each other's eyes. It’s similar to how they were a few nights ago, at Jungwon’s house. Although this time the atmosphere isn’t stiff or awkward. It’s comfortable - like this is exactly where they’re supposed to be.
“I really miss you, Y/n.” Jungwon whispers, his breath gently blowing against Y/n’s skin. His eyes flicker between their eyes and their lips, completely unsure of where to look. “I miss you too.” Y/n whispers back, lowering their hands from his hair to rest securely around the nape of Jungwon’s neck. Y/n can practically see the sense of relief fill Jungwon’s eyes, as his body completely relaxes against theirs. Jungwon leans forward to press his forehead against Y/n’s, his eyes closing for a few moments of bliss before opening again.
“Do you… think we could date for real this time?” Jungwon asks, his eyes full of hope as they stare directly into Y/n’s. It’s almost overwhelming, their closeness. Every sense, every thought, every feeling solely focused on each other - as if nothing and no one else exists in this moment. Y/n takes a second to process Jungwon’s words, their heart and brain working rapidly rushing around to form some kind of response. As the words get stuck in their throat, Y/n resorts to an enthusiastic nod of the head, a quiet whispered “please” following soon after.
That one word was all it took for Jungwon’s eyes to flutter shut, a staggered breath escaping his lips as they stretch out into a dimpled smile. He moves to gently nuzzle his nose against Y/n’s, their lips ghosting over each other’s ever so slightly. They both know what is about to happen but there’s no rush, allowing themselves time to experience being together again. Finally, a few simple words escape Jungwon’s lips before they are fully engulfed by Y/n’s.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
And he does. And it’s electric. Their mouths move together perfectly in sync, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle - as cheesy as it sounds. No amount of proximity is close enough as they pull each other closer and closer as if they won’t be happy until every inch of skin isn’t being touched.
It’s only when their cheesy grins get far too wide to hold back, that the kissing stops. Jungwon switches to pressing gentle pecks against every part of Y/n’s face. Their moment of bliss is quickly interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing, causing Jungwon to pull away slightly.
“Skip class to makeout?” Y/n asks, smirking. “When I said it’s okay to break some rules, that’s not what I meant.” Jungwon fake scolds. “I was just kidding. You’re not the only one who’s changing, I haven’t skipped class in weeks.” Y/n smiles. “Well… let’s not fall back into old habits then.” Jungwon says, leaning down to press one final kiss against Y/n’s lips before grabbing their hand and going to walk them to their class.
“Did you see Mr Jeon is wearing ripped jeans?”
“Wait, what? Like for the protest?”
“I guess so… kind of cool for a teacher to back us up.”
The intense conversation at the lunch table is cut short as Jungwon and Y/n approach, hand in hand. Bahiyyih spots them first, her eyes widening as she notices their intertwining fingers and she immediately points towards the two.
“You’re holding hands!” She exclaims, causing the rest of the group to turn and look at the couple. All hell breaks loose when their eyes land on the couple - you’d think the pair were celebrities with the way their friends are acting.
“I always knew you two would work things out.” Niki smiles innocently, earning a few confused looks from the group. “You put vomit emojis every time we mentioned Y/n for like, weeks.” Jongseob points out, causing Niki to wave him off nonchalantly. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Wait, so are you two like… dating, dating?” Eunchae asks, her eyes filled with hope. Y/n and Jungwon look at each other for a moment before nodding, causing the group to erupt into a fit of cheers.
“I think they’re more excited than we are.” Y/n mumbles, quiet enough that only Jungwon can hear. “Perks of being the only relationship in the group.” Jungwon replies, his voice purposefully louder to gain the attention of his friends.
“Hey! I could get a girlfriend if I wanted one!”
“As if anyone would want to date you.”
Sighing, Jungwon turns his attention fully to Y/n. “I don’t know if I can deal with this right now… wanna hang out in the library?” He asks “God, yes.” Y/n sighs, reaching to grab a fry off Bahiyyih’s plate. “We’re gonna go, I’ll see you in calc.” They say. “So, it’s back to you ditching us for your boyfriend?” Hikaru teases. “Only sometimes.” Y/n replies before walking out of the cafeteria with Jungwon.
“People are staring at us.” Jungwon comments, as the two walk through the halls. “Probably because your hair looks like a firetruck.” Y/n jokes, causing Jungwon to look at them with a deadpan expression. “I thought you liked my hair…” He mumbles. “I do! But you can’t deny that it sticks out.” Y/n reasons.
As the two turn around the corner towards the library, they are stopped by Mr Jeon walking down the hallway. “I was wondering when I would run into you two.” He says, his eyes subtly flickering to their intertwined hands. “We need to discuss some things… could you meet me in my classroom? I just have to drop off this printing to Mr Kim.”
“Of course, we’ll head there right now.” Jungwon smiles, bowing goodbye to Mr Jeon before dragging Y/n down the hall. “Are we in trouble?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon to shrug. “I’ve never gotten in trouble with Mr Jeon before. But he is the teacher in charge of the student council so… it’s probably something to do with the dress code.” He says. He notices the nervous look on Y/n’s face and squeezes their hand reassuringly. “It’s gonna be fine… you’re not even really breaking the dress code so if anything, you’ll just watch me get yelled at.”
“I��m not going to yell at you.”
Jungwon and Y/n visibly relax at his words, causing Mr Jeon to chuckle slightly. “We do need to talk about the dress code, though… more specifically, the protest.” Mr Jeon continues. “Since Jungwon was kind enough to email me about this in advance, I wasn’t blindsided by today’s events. And Y/n, I understand that you had nothing to do with this but, given your past involvement I hope you can see the importance of your inclusion in this discussion.”
Mr Jeon is certainly a teacher - even his speaking mannerisms show that. Y/n can’t tell if he’s practised this statement or if this is just the way his brain forms sentences. In all honesty, half of the words went in one ear and out the other, so they just nod along silently and hope that they didn’t just agree to something insane.
“Good. Now, Jungwon. You know I have great trust in you as our student council president and I know you wouldn’t do something to this extreme if you didn’t believe it would benefit the students at our school. With that being said, if you are not clear about what it is you want changed, the change will not happen.” Jungwon nods at Mr Jeon’s words. “I know that completely getting rid of the dress code is unrealistic but there are a handful of the rules that the students believe are unfair - those are the ones we would like changed.” Jungwon says. “I sent an online form to those who are participating in the protest to ask what rules they disagree with, then I was planning on making a presentation and taking it to the school board.”
Mr Jeon’s eyes light up at Jungwon’s preparation and planning. “We have a school board meeting this Friday after school, I would be more than happy to support you with this.” Mr Jeon smiles. Jungwon turns to look at Y/n, who just looks back with a slightly confused expression. They’re still not 100% sure why they’re here. “Okay… I guess I’ll start preparing then.” Jungwon says, smiling slightly as he feels Y/n squeeze his hand reassuringly. He’s got this.
TAG LIST (closed): @kang-yeosangs-initials @kpopstanmeg @b1ndignity @soobiverse @dudufodd @mikadorbs @pagesofmiracles @tya0 @ilovewonyo @bringer-ofchaos @huening-ly @latriii @callmeblondie @run2min @straykids-riley (can't tag) @rikimylove @chaechae-23 @lacimolela @n1ght-maring (can't tag) @luvvsjungwonn @yenqa @tzuyusluv @viyqe @vocaloshin @deadgirlwalking3 @flamiricky @hanniesss @grayscorner @wonqr @neozon3nha @beomgyusonlywife @ahnneyong @lani-heart @jayujus @str4wb3rizz @yunwonie @danielleismyname @spilled-coffee-cup @jaylans-stuff @oceanmsxoxo @j-wyoung @mrowwww @lazy-miya @shinsou-rii @minkyungseokie @s7noo @beatr2x @thatoneembarrasingmoment @soobawrz
@miumiuoi @lucyinthesky-00 @wrapmeinatortilla
#dress coded#enhypen#enhypen fanfic#enhypen smau#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen jungwon#jungwon fanfic#jungwon smau#jungwon x reader#jungwon fluff#enhypen heeseung#enhypen jay#enhypen jake#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen sunoo#enhypen niki#kpop#kpop fanfic#kpop smau#kpop x reader#kpop fluff#fanfic#smau#x reader#fluff
153 notes
·
View notes
Note
could I request the tangled prompt for george, please? 😚
and congratulations on 150!!! 🎉
here u are lovely, thank you sm!! (wc: 870)
George is not used to this whole heart in his chest thing, and it’s really dragging down his name as an enemy of the crown.
I mean, sure, that’s not something he can just put away—and the palace guards certainly won’t—but he almost wishes he could. Which is stupid, obviously George loves being a criminal—who doesn’t?
But the thing is, you’re kind of more than he’d been expecting. George thought you were naive, and jumpier than a field mouse, and you are, but you’re also kind when you want to be, and similarly cutthroat when necessary. You’re not half bad.
Like now, in the square, you’re helping an older group of women with their knitting patterns. George had ordered you to lay low, but he realizes now how foolish that is. It doesn’t matter how low you lay, everyone would be looking at you anyways. You’re just magnetic that way.
Leaving the chittering group, you pass over the wide open square, eyes on a shady alcove at the other end. George ducks further into the overhang, skirting around columns to meet you there.
Even if you’re not seeking him out, he’s glad you’re getting some shade. The mid-year sun is penetrating every thick stone building in the kingdom, and turning the ground into a coal walk for your bare feet.
And anyways, when the sun and you meet head-on, it’s a spectacle that’s hard to look at.
Rounding the corner, George stops short, realizing you’re not as alone as he thought.
You’re crouched, hair fanning over your shoulders, speaking with a small boy who looks very unfortunate. There’s dirt covering his face, and his feet are similar to yours in that they’re unprotected. He can’t be more than ten, but instead of playing in the sun like most children, he’s slumped against the wall, looking tired.
George’s newfound heart thumps a little, shocking his system. He steps forward, but then you’re standing, pulling the boy up with you.
Weaving through carts and wagons, you lead the boy into the center of the square, and then skitter away to a quartet of musicians.
The little boy looks like he’s treading open water, spinning in the wake of your attention. When you come back, you take his shaking hands into yours as a song begins to play.
Then you’re dancing.
With the height difference it’s nothing more than a flailing spin, but with every rotation both your face and the boy’s light with joy.
Two couples join in, and George ventures out of his hiding spot to get a better view. As he passes vendors and shoppers, he notices them uprooting themselves, pushing toward you the way he is.
Many of them join, and when George is on the bank of the whirling circle of townspeople he can’t see you anymore. The dance has quickly evolved into a more complex braid of partners, one that everyone but him seems to understand.
A part of him worries that you were taken, but a flash of gold cuts through the mesh of feet, and his shoulders settle.
The partners change fast, so one second your elbows are linked with an older man, and the next you’re swinging into a young girl. It goes this way down the chain, changing all at once like a flower that blooms new every minute, and you keep your eyes on George the whole time.
When you reach him, you stick one hand out and yank him into the fray.
George stumbles and then catches himself on a stranger who kindly guides him into the proper spin. Luckily, he’d been watching long enough to know when to switch, pinging from one partner to the next as bystanders clap to the beat.
When he’s rounded the full circle, the music changes, and everyone finds a new direction.
Though he probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, George understands why you and the boy had looked so happy. As he swings through smithys and students and artists, touching each hand briefly in this hurdling dance, he’s undeniably alive.
He thought that stealing the crown was the fastest his heart would ever beat, but he might have been wrong. Running away was easy, but coming back? Near impossible.
Without him even realizing, George is finally dancing with you. It felt like every time he’d completed the circle and come to you, the music had changed and you’d miss each other.
But now, you’re under his hands, and when the music changes, you tighten yours around his. The chain breaks, and no one seems to mind. George suspects it was all your making anyways, so this time is no different.
Around and around you spin under the summer sun, and George tugs you closer, his feet doing the work for both of you. He doesn’t have to think, he just turns and turns and lifts you, revels in your delighted laugh. He shocks himself with his returning laugh—not snide nor attractive, but truly overjoyed.
When you land on your feet, the music comes to an end, and George and you are still laughing. Both of your chests meet with each huff, swelling with air and pride.
George knows it’s not about the crown anymore.
+
thank you for reading xx
masterlist
join the celebration!
#harriet’s 150 celebration#george weasley#george weasley x fem#george weasley x you#george weasley x y/n#george weasley fluff#george weasley x reader#george weasley imagine#george weasley drabble#george weasley fic#george weasley fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fandom#harry potter#request
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cinnamon Girl by gingsengkitten
☆ Slash One-Shot
☆ Angst/Light Fluff
☆ A/N: Thank u to @d3vilstower for the idea! <3
Sorry if this is written jumpy, it’s just a one-shot so :P
☆ Synopsis:
Y/N decides to introduce her secret rockstar boyfriend to her high brow parents, and gets a rude awakening about love, power and corruption.
☆
Y/N didn't mean to make things difficult. She didn't mean to cause trouble. To upheave tradition, cause chaos. It seemed at every turn of her life, given the opportunity for the balanced structure laid out before her by her parents, and their legacy, her heart would lean in the opposite direction. This pattern followed her all her life.
While most people would kill for the wealth and stability that she came from, she would kill to escape it. The soulless, loveless game. Maybe that's why she first fell for Slash. Maybe it was just some silly escape. Or maybe it really was true love. The sleepless nights of stolen kisses, late night drives, the reckless thrill. Her parents would kill her if they knew the extent of their relationship. To them, slash was an invisible figure in her life. "Stacy" she’d tell them when she left the house. She knew lies were easier than the truth. They both knew that. But these days, the love seemed harder and harder to conceal. That's why tonight Y/N and Slash had planned to tell them. Right to their faces. Maybe they'd understand, maybe they'd just think the two were young dumb kids. maybe they'd get a heart attack and drop dead. Whatever the risk, it was one they both were willing to take for this.
-
"You've got this baby. We've got this." Slash gave Y/N a tender lingering kiss on the cheek, he saw her apprehension. She nodded and poked into the den where her parents sat pretentiously in front of the large fireplace.
"Momma, Daddy, I'd like you to meet someone very special to me." Y/N fiddled with her fingertips nervously. The reality was staring her down suddenly as her father looked up from his paper, peering over his spectacles. Y/N ducked around the corner and took Slash out by the hand. It was as if all the air was sucked out of the room in that instant. In that moment, they both knew, this was a mistake.
Her parents suddenly became alert and upright. Maybe Slash should have worn a button up or something? No, she didn't want him to change himself for this. They said nothing and the silence stung. Y/N smiled nervously. "Momma...Daddy.!" She pleaded politely for reply, a "don't be rude!" urgency in her voice.
"What a precarious name that is....slash...hm.."
"Yes he's a very talented musician mama, it's a nickname, all artists have them. In fact, he's in his own band-"
"I know who he is." Her father abruptly cut in. "You know....." He began as he stood up out of his chair. Seemingly towering over everyone in the room as he puffed his cigar- a crude judgmental look pierced through Slash.
He continued. "I met a man in a rock band once....Very curious man. Talented too." He walked slowly over to slash, obviously eyeing him down. "But the poor soul seemed drawn to the wrong crowd...." He came face to face with Slash, almost puffing cigar plume in his face disrespectfully so. ".....I didn't hear from him for years until recently! It was the craziest thing you ever did see. This talented, talented man-MUSICIAN, I see him laid up outside the Kmart off Santa Monica. Begging for two dimes to rub together. Poor sad soul really."
He continued his awful monologue
"I'm a music lover myself, slash. Oh yes. But obviously you know that's no career right? Of course you do!" He gives a boisterous false laugh. Y/N sank into herself completely in shock and horror.
"Daddy! Stop it!" Y/N yelped out angrily. She turned to her mother to look for support but only received an equally blank stare of disapproval. "Slash, it was lovely to meet you dear but I've got a crossword I'll be needing to finish before bed. Best you get going."
Y/N stared her parents down in disbelief at just how arrogant they were being. So cold and so rude. She huffed and grabbed slashes hand and stormed out. "Come on Slash. We're leaving."
"You take that girl out that door I'll have your sorry ass arrested for kidnapping!" Her mother screamed out immediately.
Y/N halted at the threshold. Slash stood on the front porch, waiting for y/n to join him. He looked at her longingly, seeing the hesitation in her eyes. She's just a girl. Could she really walk away like this from everything she knows? "Y/N...?" Slash uttered. Y/N continued her pause. "Slash- I - my uncle - he's the head of police."
"Y/N it doesn't matter!"
"Yes it DOES Slash he could arrest you without proof or anything!!!"
"Y/N please-" slash begged.
"You take that girl one step further I swear to god I'll have your name plastered all over the country!" Her father bellowed out as he followed behind into the the front foyer.
Y/N was torn. She knew the power her family held. They really could have him arrested. They could ruin him. Even over this. She stood in arrest in the doorway. Turning her head back and forth.
"He's TRASH Y/N you will NOT be leaving here with that boy!"
The hesitation confused Slash. To him, the decision was obvious. He didn't understand the extent of which her family could hurt him. Y/N hadn't considered this fact. She thought somehow she could get away with something she wanted like she had in the past. She was spoiled. They did give her what she wanted. Just not this apparently.
"Forget it." He dropped Y/N's hand and backed away slowly in hurt.
"Slash please. Please you don't understand!" She started to cry out.
"You ever show your face here again you'll be sorry." Her father barked out.
"Slash please-" her cry was weaker and defeated. Everything within her gave out. She clutched the door frame in tears as she watched him walk away. He didn't understand. How could he? He didn't know the world of old money and the twisted games of power that came with it. Y/N didn't understand the extent of it either-until tonight. She was in utter disbelief. "How could you?!" She turned to her parents in total anger. "How could you be so cruel?! You don't even know him! What do you know about love?!" She cried out angrily. Suddenly her mother slapped her across the face. Every stood in shock as Y/N held her face distraught. Y/N ran upstairs and locked herself away in her room.
-
It had been a month since she saw Slash. Each time she called, each time she drove by, no answer. Nothing. Was this for the best? Maybe it was best he was protected from her family?
Slash took an impromptu trip to LA, where he would spend the next month drowning in alcohol. Roaming his usual stomping grounds. 'He's TRASH!' Echoed in his head relentlessly. It could not have gone worse. Was that expected for a guy like him? Was this for the best? Maybe she did deserve better? Maybe it was for her own good that he didn't continue to throw off her life plan laid out for her so perfectly. Who was he to intervene in their family? Maybe he just needed to stick to what he knew best....
The two hearts yearning for each-other but the reservations of doubt planted harshly within them from that night kept them apart as designed.
Not hearing from Slash only furthered this doubt for Y/N. Fine, he didn't want to fight for her? Maybe he didn't really love her then....
That mixed with the added affirmations from her parents continued to dig at her. She became a shell. If it couldn't be Slash- then it didn't matter anyways. That's why about two months later, on the evening of her 20th birthday party, when an old family friend, Derek, had asked for her hand in marriage in front of all her friends and family in the ritz and eyes of her parents, she agreed. It was a thrill of a night for everyone except her. She played along but all she could think of was Slash over and over. But she had to let him go. He didn't want her anyways. He didn't fight. He walked away right? That was him. She relayed these white lies to herself daily to soothe her yearning and bring her back to the reality she now faced. Marriage.
Derek was a snobby aristocratic heir to a local fortune. He was semi tolerable and had the money and connections that mattered in a world like theirs. What was love for anyways? Did mother love daddy? Is this just how it worked? How it was supposed to be? Y/N blinked out of her usual trance to find herself perched up on the stand in front of the mirror at the bridal shop. The beautiful white gown falling down around her body.
"You look STUNNING!" All the girls squealed with glee. While they all fell over her, she let out a false grin, but she floated above herself, watching from afar. None of it felt right or real and yet here it was.
And at the exact opportune moment, as she appeared giddy with excitement, surrounded by a parade of women, slash had found himself accidentally watching it from afar through the large store window that displayed the show room. The unfortunate coincidence of timing in which he had decided to return to town. His voice caught in his throat. That solidified reality then and there. Something inside him fell apart completely. He didn't know that Y/N was being married off against her will. At the expense of being homeless and shunned by everyone she knew. That if she had tried to protect him. He didn't know the power struggle that had plagued her all her life. To outsiders it seems to simple. To him, it seemed so intentional. Seemed so.....clear.
-
That wouldn’t be the last time they met. Another month passed by and Slash would find himself stung frozen at the sight of Y/N as she sat perched, alone at the end of the bar. Well past midnight. Slash swallowed his pride at one last chance at her presence before he lost her forever. He sat himself down next to her. She lifted her gaze up and over to meet his face. Both their hearts frozen in time. Every emotion, every look, touch taste- all flooding back in an instant. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked. Y/N paused for a moment to ponder this offer. Bending boundaries in her head to make this seem okay. What was wrong with two old friends catching a quick drink? “Sure.” She accepted. The silence was thick. With so many things left unsaid, yet neither dared ruin things further with more irrelevant words. “Seen you around town.” He said. She stared forward. “Oh yeah?” She stared onward still, almost too afraid to face him. For if she looked too long, she feared she might feel every thing she’s tried so hard to forget. “Bird said you’re engaged..” he continued. Y/N stood firm but felt nauseous at that statement. “It’s true. I am.” She replied, dead in the throat. She took a swig of her drink. Slash eyed her sallow movements. Silence still heavied between each word.
“Is he good to you?” He almost begged to know. That stung. Y/N turned to face him. Face her fears. Slash never fought for this. He didn’t fight. He didn’t come back. While it would have been a real shit storm if he did, why didn’t he? “Yes, Slash. He is. He’s a gentleman, he’s - he’s diplomatic, he’s-“ slash almost chuckled at Y/N fighting to express her satisfaction for her fiancé. He didn’t buy it. “-and he’s rich-“ slash added. Y/N flustered at slashes jab remark. “Well- I mean- yes but that’s not important.” Y/N defended. Slash scoffed “ Oh please.” He rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. Tears welled in Y/Ns eyes. She knew he saw through her. She felt silly and fake.
“Does he make you laugh?” Slash asked seriously.
Y/N turned back to face him. Tears streaming down her cheeks. “He doesn’t make me cry.”
With that, She stood up, placed a small kiss goodbye on his cheek, and left. There she was-gone once more. Gone forever. It took him every bone in his body to not chase her down. He couldn’t. She didn’t want him anymore remember? Slash clenched his jaw, if he didn’t, his eyes would also well with tears that stung so harshly. He couldn’t allow himself to slip. He couldn’t indulge in his pain. It would be too much.
So he sat, and he sipped.
-
Another week passed and Y/N found herself staring again at the stranger in the mirror before her. Commotion around her, muffled to a high frequency pitch. Staring endlessly into herself. Maybe searching for some sort of understanding of this all. A veil is placed upon her head and she comes to. “Stunning. My stunning daughter.” Her mother teared up at the sight of her daughter on her wedding day. Beauty waterfalled from Y/N at every inch. Everything seeming so perfect, and yet, Y/N could barely muster the energy to stand up. When the soul grieves so deeply, it takes all the ounce of strength from the body. Leaving a lifeless vessel in its wake. A vessel, is what Y/N had become.
She stood, arm linked in her fathers. And suddenly from the dressing room hours earlier, she now felt her feet shuffling forward- down the aisle. Staring ahead. Almost through her husband to be. The crowd rising to her entrance. Light whispers and gasps of endearment. She looked so beautiful and yet, felt so ugly inside. All of this was wrong. With each step she took forward, the urge to collapse became stronger. She held back tears, to which any onlooker could assume were from happiness. The tears fell anyways. They begin streaming mascara down her cheeks. Why did this feel wrong? Why did this feel like she was walking to her grave? She reached to alter to which her father handed her to a prideful Derek. No tears fell from his face, in stark contrast, he couldn’t help but express a look of shock and slight disgust as he saw her face from behind her veil, revealing to all in sight a completely tear and makeup streaked face. “Are you-okay?” He whispered half heartedly. Y/N paused. It was happening again, she was floating outside her body, witnessing it all from above. And suddenly hearing herself shout
“RUN!”
“FUCKING RUN!”
Slashes face appearing in glimmers upon her fiancés face. A shock of lighting shot through her.
“I can’t-“ she whimpers out a dead small mumble. The priest and groom lean inward in a confused look. “Dear, what was that?” The priest requested.
“She’s uh- she’s just got the jitters! Poor girl.” Derek chuckled nervously speaking on her behalf.
“I- I can’t do this.” She repeated louder. Shaking her head she stepped backward. A buzzed confusion beginning to spread like wildfire through the room as the ceremony wasn’t starting.
“Excuse me?” Derek chuckled arrogantly.
“I don’t love you. Derek. I’m sorry. I have to go now.”
The silence of the room broken at the sound of the bouquet hitting the floor. Gasps erupting, but Y/N could only hear or see one thing, slashes face in her mind, and the door to the chapel. Chaos and confusion rips through the chapel, everyone stands at their feet, heads turning as they watched her sprint to the door. Y/N heaving, sobbing, gasping for air. She exited through the large wooden doors and the fresh air almost choked her itself. She let out a breathy laugh/sob/sigh of relief and sorrow. Not even calculating her plan of action, just feeling the sweet release of that room. Of all of this. She continued her way down the hallway, out the main door, sunlight bursting upon her. The air had never felt so cool and calm and crisp. She knew exactly now with full clarity where she needed to be. As she began her journey to what she wanted, she halted in shock to find it no more than feet in front of her. Slash sat parked in his convertible black Buick riviera, smoking on a cigarette. His face expelled equal shock as hers. A mere beat goes by before she catapults herself into the passenger seat.
“Drive!”
-
“Are we considered fugitives?” Y/N asked. Head rested on slashes chest as they slow danced in an empty dive bar off the highway. Her dress still enveloping her frame. Slash laughed and tilted her head up to look at him. “I’m not sure doll. Would you like to be?” He gave an earnest look of jovial seriousness. If that was her wish, so be it. Y/N let out a wide, devious grin and pulled his cigarette from his mouth, taking a puff from it. Slash held her face in his large hands tenderly, about to lean in,
“Yes. I think I’d like that.”
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Dance - pt. 2
The dinner actually went by without any “incidents”. But considering some people, this was really surprising, because there was a certain tension in the air. Gibbs and Charlotte were sitting at a different table than you and Tony, but both of them were looking at you…you should have dropped dead on the spot.
Completely unimpressed by this, however, Alan's best man Tom led you straight to the dance floor when the dancing began. But while the others also went to move to the rhythm of the music, Gibbs remained silent and observed at the table. Charlotte tried to persuade him to dance, but he refused and she scurried off and was never seen again. That looked like trouble…or the abrupt end of a relationship.
Whatever it was, he looked relatively calm. In fact, he didn't just look like it, he didn't care either, because when he saw you in someone else's arms, he could have burst with anger and jealousy.
You didn't care at all about his bad mood. He was usually in a bad mood and what the reason was (if there was a reason) you didn't know or care about, because the men were lining up to dance with you and you were having the time of your life.
One dance partner after another asked you for a round on the dance floor, which you happily granted them. It was so nice to finally let go and just have fun.
Suddenly the band started playing a tango and you saw Tony walking towards you with a big grin. He grabbed you, pulled you close to him and asked you to dance. Those around you held their breath in anticipation. With the way he pulled you close so hotly, anything could happen.
Pressed tightly against DiNozzo's body, your heart beat like a whirlwind. You whispered to him doubtfully: "But I can't tango." But he waved it off with a seductive smile: "Just let the music carry you and follow my lead,"
"Then let's try it!" you finally agreed. My Gosh, that was exciting!
You entered the dance floor together. He held you close to him and you moved passionately to the beat. The dance floor was on fire. It was sex on the dance floor...in front of all the guests.
It was shocking, but it was sooo much fun. You could have danced with him forever. Lying in DiNozzo's arms? Better than you ever thought!
The dance floor belonged to you, because everyone else stopped dancing and watched you enthusiastically as you pressed yourself close to each other, turned around each other and wrapped your arms and legs around each other. It was a passionate spectacle of seduction and dominance...and that was absolutely hot.
The dance was so thrilling that you were completely out of breath at the end. Laughing, you separated from each other and noticed the thunderous applause around you.
But while you were completely amazed by this, Tony was bathing in the attention and praise of those around you. After the performance, you were sure that some of the female guests would give him their phone numbers.
You looked briefly at the people standing around, then back at Tony, who suddenly froze like he had before the wedding. The others also became quiet, so that the atmosphere that had just been relaxed suddenly became tense to the breaking point.
Was there a fight? Was there any other trouble?
It all depends on how you looked at it, because your boss was standing next to you, snorting with anger and piercing you with his gaze. If you didn't know better, you would say he was jealous. But that couldn't be, because there was still rule number 12, which made that absolutely impossible.
Before you could say anything, however, you were grabbed by the arm and Gibbs pulled you towards him possessively. His look and demeanor screamed: "You're mine!" But nobody knew about it...including you.
The other guests whispered: "Is there some relationship drama brewing? Is the sexy silver fox your husband and the passionate dancer his rival? Hopefully the evening doesn't end in bloodshed, he seems to be losing his temper with anger and jealousy.”
This scene and his uncharacteristically emotional behavior made Tony sit up and take notice. Did your boss have feelings for you? Was it actually possible that he had fallen in love with you?
Him? The tall, always cool and composed Leroy Jethro Gibbs? Who knows? But after all, he was only a man and at least Tony and the male part of the wedding party could understand him completely.
In contrast to them, you no longer understood the world. What was that about?!
But all considerations were forgotten when the music started playing again to defuse the situation and you started moving to the beat.
“What do you think you're doing? What's that about? Every man in this room is drooling even more at the sight of you and is keen on you!" hissed Gibbs. He was definitely pissed off. The only question was why? You had only danced with your colleague, nothing more.
But immediately afterwards, all thoughts were forgotten. He put his arms around you and pulled you close to his body, while your arms wrapped around his strong shoulders and you pressed yourself as tightly to him as possible.
Even with the best will in the world, not a piece of paper would have fit between you. Where did one begin and where did the other end? No one who saw you could say exactly.
But you didn't care anyway, because you had forgotten everything around you. There was only you and your little world. You looked deep into each other's eyes and couldn't take your eyes off each other. Your hearts were beating like a drum roll. Could you hear his heart pounding loudly? Could he feel that your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest with excitement?
It was fantastic and very exciting to feel each other.
The other guests? The dance? Who cared? Your inner being was in such turmoil that you felt like you were burning.
After what felt like an eternity, the song ended and you gradually woke up from your shared dream. You vaguely noticed that you were the only ones still standing - motionless - on the dance floor, which was being watched with excitement by those around you. What would happen next?
Not much, but that was all the more effective.
Because when you fully realized the situation, you quickly separated from each other and Gibbs turned around and walked silently and quickly to the exit. He left the event, while you went back to your table, completely upset, and had to sit down.
What had just happened?
You were full of questions…
(To be continued in Chapter 3.)
----------------------------------------
Here you will find the other chapters of this story.
Masterlist stories - Part 1 (finished ones)
Masterlist stories - Part 2 (finished/ongoing)
-----------------------------------------
Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27
-----------------------------------------
#ncis#jethro gibbs x reader#leroy jethro gibbs#gibbs#gibbs x reader#leroy jethro gibbs x reader#ncis fanfiction#mark harmon#gibbs fanfiction#jethro gibbs#leroy jethro gibbs fanfiction#jethro gibbs fanfiction#ncis x reader#ncis reader insert#jethro gibbs x you#gibbs x you#leroy jethro gibbs x you
11 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello could you write a story on this little segment? ❤️
Dainkae
Prince regent Kaeya, titled Khaenri’ah’s last hope is expected to produce and birth an heir.
He enlists the help of captain Dainsleif in secret to impregnate him much to the captain’s shock. Dainsleif had always been weary of the prince and his clan for taking over the eclipse dynasty and it shows in how he fucks him- rough and ruthless, almost angry and violent.
On the day of prince Kaeya’s labour, Dainsleif is privy to the birth as a guard, he stands inside the chamber face impassive as he watches the prince give birth to his child- their child unbeknownst to everyone else. The scene is a spectacle, most of Khaenri’ah’s nobility inside the birthing chamber watching their prince give birth to their next blessing.
Meanwhile Prince Kaeya lays on the birthing bed, legs held back by multiple sets of hands of healers and alchemists. The room is quiet as hundreds of eyes gaze at him, the only sounds being murmurs of the crowds and the loud shouts, grunts and screeches the prince lets out as he labours.
Y'all feed me so good with these prompts.
Fingers running over the hilt of his blade, Dainsleif keeps his expression blank. He was simply another pair of eyes on the Prince, no more than just one of the crowd. He glances about, taking note of the excitement sweeping through the onlookers.
He's familiar with many of them, not on a personal level, but by status. Nobility from various families, houses, and clans. All alight with the buzz and promise of the future heir.
A frantic wail comes from the bed, drawing Dainsleif's attention. Hands curled into the sheets, heavy belly contracting, Kaeya lets out another panicked scream.
The healers are unphased, sharing looks with each other ranging from pity to irritation. Strong hands are holding his legs wide apart, drawn up close to his chest. His hole is on full display, leaking fluid and blood, cock bound to his thigh.
Dainsleif can't even begin to fathom how humiliating it must be. On full display, agony gripped his body while a crowd of near strangers gossiped.
Petty, but he can't help but feel a bit of satisfaction watching the Prince writhe in pain.
The healer slipped two fingers into Kaeya's hole, prodding around with what looked to be far too much force. Kaeya screams, back arching off the bed.
"Fully dialated. It's time for the Prince to begin pushing." A thrilled rush of whispers erupts from the crowd, but Prince Kaeya is less than pleased.
"N-No, I'm not ready, I don't think I need to push-"
"You don't need to think," one of the healers quips, "Just do as we say."
He pulls his legs further back, Dainsleif feels his stomach twist at the sight of the head of the child- their child- starting to emerge.
"Push." the healer commands, and Kaeya obeys, chin to his chest, legs trembling.
"Don't stop," the healer chastises as the Prince stops to suck in a rush of air. He whines, exhausted and hurting, but bares down once more. "Push...push, push push." the healer coxes, fingers slipping around the child's head, helping ease it free.
Another horrific scream rips from the Prince,
"Stop! Stop! It burns! Stop!"
Ignored, the Healer continues, pushing against the outside of his hole and helping the head to pop free. Kaeya screeches, attempting to roll away from the pain. He's held in place, arms now pinned to his sides.
"Push, push now." Kaeya isn't listening, he's too far gone in the pain, sobbing openly. The healer slides a hand inside of him, rotating the shoulders and tugging the infant free.
The onlookers break out into cheers and claps as the Healer opens up the crying newborn.
"A son! We have a future prince!" the Healer moves through the crowd, showing off the bloody infant while the others clean up the Prince and turn their attention to minding the mess between his legs.
Dainsleif knows he should feel terrible, watching as everyone ignores the exhausted, crying Prince. Not a single congratulations, no one asks how he is. The room empties, everyone following the Healer as they bring the infant out for further announcements, leaving Kaeya naked and alone.
He knows he should feel something, anything at all, but he doesn't.
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
He's Good People Ch.3
Chapter 3: I Didn't Mean to Take Up all your Sweet Time (I'll Give it Right Back to Ya, One of These Days)
Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston
Summary: (Winston centric, briefly Egon centric) To get out the firehouse, you 're invited for a day out on the town with the "common man" of the Ghostbusters, and he won't stop opening doors for you
Warnings: Reader wears masc presenting clothes for like one paragraph
THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE :((( hope a longer update makes up for it!
read it on Ao3!
It was fairly late into the night. You felt weird about going to bed while none of the others had returned, like you were overstepping. You were content with being curled up in a chair as Egon annotated a book in the dimly lit lab. He had offered you one of the many works from his personal collection, but the words started to lose their meaning after the first handful of pages. Maybe he ought to read it to you, instead. You set the book aside, much more interested in watching him. He had his sleeves rolled up again, fairly unnecessary because he was only working with paper and pencil.
He discarded his work for the second time that day, looking over at you. The need for sleep was creeping up on him, as his eyelids sat low and his gaze remained soft.
"I´m sorry for boring you."
"I´m not bored. Are you tired? You don't have to stay up with me."
He put the pencil back into a mug full of others. He rose from the workbench, opening the book to a heavily noted page. Crossing over to where you were sitting, Egon joined you, holding it open for you to see. There were large, square photos of terrifying looking sculptures. Upon further inspection, they were really just recreations of exotic animals. A boa constrictor, an alligator, a giant salamander, a…platypus. Behind each of them stood a Victorian era man, beaming with self-worth at the spectacles surrounding him.
“See him?” He pointed to the man. “That’s Benjamin Fairhooke. He had a penchant for imported animals. And too much money. So much so he had the theater near your building constructed to show them off.” He turned the page to a large spread of the theater in the late 1800’s, advertising an oddity show.
“They started showing plays and operas soon enough. But everyone knew how passionate he was. Piranhas-in-the-bar sink, frogs-on-the-staircases-passionate.” There was a photo of Fairhooke next to a woman. Despite her exquisite clothing, elegant features, and extravagant jewelry, she had a fairly sour expression, while he still beamed at the camera, an iguana in his lap.
“That was his wife, Claira. Their marriage was falling apart while ticket sales peaked. They held their son’s wedding reception in the lobby of the theater.” He had a grainy photo bookmarked. There was a newlywed couple, normal. Claira’s in the background, though. Not happy her son was just married, but instead staring down the barrel of the camera like it was a gun.
“She had just found Benjamin in a parlor, tending to a snapping turtle. She got so mad, she took the shovel from the fireplace and managed to decapitate him in 10 minutes.” Holy shit.
He could feel your shock. “I know. She left him there for the rest of the night. They searched for weeks, until they found his body. She told them everything- just not what became of his head. His animals went missing, and his kids wanted nothing to do with the theater. Local legend says that the souls of his then neglected animals are still searching for Claira. Anywhere she could be. But it fell into obscurity. Everyone who believed in it died at the turn of the century.” He shut the book.
“So. The ghosts of a bunch of critters are running around my block, looking for his murderer? And one ended up in my washing machine?”
“Essentially. I’ve wanted to investigate since I heard the story, but it was always word of mouth. I only just found it buried in an anthology of neighborhood ghost stories in Ray’s store.” He sighed, getting up and placing the book back into its place on his shelf. “He was pretty excited about my findings. He always is. But he’s been dragging his feet about it.” Egon looked worried, if not at least a bit frustrated, as he took a seat back next to you, knees touching unintentionally. You could understand, this was his longtime friend, after all. This all seemed very perplexing to him.
“Maybe he’s just scared? Of what he’ll find?” The words really don’t serve much purpose other than to soothe his nerves- they don’t convince you, even as they fall from your lips. Ray was a discerning and generally happy man, but he was still brave. He wouldn’t be a paranormal expert, a Ghostbuster if he was scared of what he loved.
You could tell his fears were still there. You placed a hand on his, silently grateful as you felt that they were still the same hands you held earlier.
“I promise, the moment I can get back into my apartment I’m gonna look for the key.”
There was the predecessor to a smile, before he had a look that read as accepting defeat. “I apologize for you being stuck with us so long. Only a day more.” Before you could protest, tell him that you’re having a wonderful time and you’re sorry for being in their hair, you heard cursing downstairs, followed by heavy steps approaching, making you jump.
Ray and Winston joined you upstairs, covered in thick, oozing slime of some sort. Winston held a smoking machine like the one Ray had after cleansing your house, only this time a bit more scratched up.
“It wasn’t a mannequin at all. God-damned-ghost-komodo-dragon on its hind legs. Sprayed us bad- we hosed ourselves off 6 times on the way home.” Winston tried wiping the slime moving from his glove to his wrist off on his pant leg, only making the viscous substance spread more.
Ray didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t bouncing off the walls. “This is big. Y’know that old theater-”
“I already explained it.”
“You’re kidding.”
‘’No. I explained Fairhooke, Claira, the ghosts. All of it.”
Winston could feel the start of a petty back and forth, so he discreetly asked you to follow him. He laughed and shook his head as he went down the steps to the very bottom of the firehouse. You had seen this room when Ray brought you down for pajamas, and you recognized the door he had peeked into, but not what was on the wall. A large, red electrical looking panel stared back at you.
“Ray taught me how to do this when I was new here.” He went through the motions of showing you how they used it to hold ghosts. You were glad he took the extra step and explained what it really did under the surface, because lord knows you were puzzled.
“He even made a rhyme. ‘When the light is green, the trap is clean’”.
“Does this make me part of your team now?” You complain, purely jokingly.
“You don’t wanna be? I wouldn’t mind.” You had to hand it to him, he had a charming way of disarming you. He didn't give you time to respond, as he made his way to the laundry area. He came back with new pajamas, softer looking ones.
“I hope these are a little more personable.” He handed you a light purple t-shirt, and dark purple sweatpants. There was thought behind these, definitely not something they had laying around in the hamper.
You smile at the consideration. “Thank you.” He returned it, very white teeth and all. He gave you privacy to change, and was peeling his suit off upon your return. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, the mire of today´s job trying to stick to his skin. He finally got the soiled jumpsuit off, and it stuck to the floor like a glue trap. As he stuffed it into the industrial washer, another one tumbled out a laundry chute and onto a pile of dirty, but not slimy, clothes. He sighed, carefully picking up the soiled suit and garments and placing them in, too.
“What is it, anyway?” You watched on as he poured a cocktail of different, unmarked liquids, which you assumed were non FDA approved cleaners for these kinds of unconventional stains.
He pressed the washing machine closed, turning a few knobs and pressing a few buttons. “Ectoplasm. As graceful as it sounds.” You follow him, as he makes his way back up the steps.
“Like sticky skunk spray.” He stops in front of the sleeping quarters, and it gives you a moment to wonder why exactly you were still following him. As you start to mull over it further, he places his pointer finger over his lips.
“We oughta get out of here tomorrow. Ray’s gone to bed without dinner. Bad sign. It’s not pretty when he and the professor get into it.” He explains, voice hushed.
“Are they okay?”
“They will be. Ray stresses for a day, but he always apologizes, ‘cause he’s scared to lose his friend.” Winston smiles familiarly, thinking of the men he’s grown to know well over the past 5 years since his initial hiring. You can’t stop the spread of warmth under your skin as you think, too.
“Kindred spirits. I hate to see them both so worked up.”
“They can’t help it. They’ve got a new distraction running around.”
You don’t have time to process it, again, before he’s halfway back down the steps to the first floor. You lean over the railing, just as he passes Janine’s desk.
“Where are you going?”
He doesn’t stop walking, until he reaches the exit. “I promised my mom I’d stay over. Be up early tomorrow, ok? I’ll take you on a joyride.”
“Goodnight,” you wave, as he gives you a two finger salute, letting the door shut behind him.
You can’t really sleep- you don’t want to, anyway. Egon’s still upstairs, Peter’s with Dana, and Ray’s in bed by himself. As tempting as it is to go up there and console him, you really don’t want to come off as pushy. So, you had an apron tied over your front, sleeves rolled up and gloves on as you worked to scrub the slime out of blanched fabric. What a night.
The stickiness was seldom coming off, but you noticed progress. It would bubble and sud with the soap, but it was nothing a frequent rinse didn’t get rid of. The only problem was that it was thick, and it sat deep in the absorbent material. You lost track of the hours you spent, going down the line; Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, scrubbing, rinsing, soaking- over and over. The need for sleep left you, as this housekeeping mystery kept you unwilling to give up until it was completed.
There was a click of the heavy door, and your thoughts of finishing the task as you feverishly scraped a suit against a large washboard suddenly ceased. Winston stood at the door, dressed and holding 2 cups of coffee-shop-coffee.
“Good morning,” his face was both impressed and fearful. You figured this was enough, as most of the slime sat mixed with now greenish water in the large sink. You carefully transferred it to the dryer with the others, and peeled your gloves off.
“Goodmorning,” you wiped some soap off your cheek with your wrist.
He handed you a cup. “You think you deserve a shower after all that?” You walked out the laundry with him, the warm liquid having the opposite of its desired effect as it made you the slightest bit sleepy.
Your shower was quick and to the point. In the few days you’ve been there, your towel has had a permanent residence on a hook by the door, a fair distance from the other 4. You figured this would have to be your second day in the blue sweater, but you didn’t mind all that much. You managed to wash it as well the night prior, so it was dried and fluffed as it waited for you.
Winston ran into you on your way out the bathroom, something dark in his hands. He unfolded it, and stepped behind you to put it on your shoulders.
“What’s this?” You whipped your head around to watch his movements.
“Had to pick this up from my mom’s, too.”
It was a dark purple jacket, the sleeves needing to be cuffed by him in order for your hands to appear. You could see a wide, black stripe wrap around the back and little pinstripes around the collar. You knew Winston was a more eccentric dresser than his coworkers, the brightly colored laundry telling you so, but to take something so nice from his mom?
“I can’t take this, She doesn’t even know me.”
“It’s mine. And it’s going to a good cause.” He drops your wrist. Taking a step back, he examines his work with a hand on his chin, an unsatisfied look on his face. He figures out what’s wrong, as he grabs the zipper from the bottom and pulls it up, the blue of the sweater underneath now hidden. There’s a pleased smile on his face as he takes another step back, before starting down the stairs.
“I’ll be waiting for you in the car,” and he disappeared.
While you were excited to get out again, to have some sort of normalcy for a day, but the urge to check the kitchen overtakes your legs. Your heart feared for the worst, you peek across the threshold, and you could’ve died then.
Egon was at the little table, pancakes, eggs, and coffee on two plates in front of him. The thing was, yours was untouched. He sat there, hands in his lap, face unreadable, until he noticed your presence. He didn’t light up, his features didn’t change, but you could’ve sworn there was a slight, upward twitch of the inner corners of his eyebrows. You felt a sort of nausea wash over you, that settled in your chest as you thought of what to say.
Walking towards him felt condescending, as if you were increasing the parameters of whatever obviously negative emotion he was feeling, but it was the proper thing to do. You folded your hands in front of you, unthreatening. Benevolent. He looked at you through his eyelashes, like a wounded animal.
“I’m sorry. That I wasn’t around this morning.” To anyone else, this would seem melodramatic. A meal skipped out on between 2 people who have known each other for 2 days. But the way there was a flash of forgiveness, that you saw so often in the downcast faces of those young men and women around a coffee pot, weeks after their indulgence of passion. One of them did something. And the other so desperately wanted things to be okay again. They’d be engaged. You saw it on the faces of teenage actors, as their parents commented on a poor performance, before bringing them ice cream. It was the small injustices, from the people that you loved.
He opened his mouth to speak, before a honk from the garage cut him off. Winston was calling you, the unfortunate timing making you cringe.
“I’m sorry, again. I won’t be gone long.” He didn’t respond as you retreated to the door.
You reluctantly disappeared out the room, before appearing one more time.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
You take your leave down the stairs, the garage door open as the Ecto-1a runs idly. Winston leaned over, opening the passenger door for you. Settling in with a huff, he turned to you as you pulled your seatbelt on.
“Ready?” When you nod, he pulls the car out the garage, and onto the street. After a few minutes of driving from the firehouse, he reaches for the glove compartment, his hand emerging with a cassette in a purple case.
“Hope you don’t mind Mj,” he grins as he slides it into the car’s slot. The singer’s voice fills the car, and he eventually joins in. He has an amazing singing voice, honestly, and you’re too compelled to take pleasure in his gaiety as he drives.
“The Jackson 5: Jackie, Tito, Marlon, Jermaine, and Winston,” you tease him. The city’s awake with you, as children took their lessons on the blacktop of the school’s playground, and grandmother’s bought fruit placed in their foldable carts. A handful of dogs howl as your highly decorated car passes by.
“I could never take Michaels place,” Winston crosses his heart, the cassette starting to play a Stevie Wonder song. He nodded his head along to the beginning of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”.
He enjoyed himself for the whole song, even roping you into joining in. Eventually, he turns the volume down a few notches.
“What music do you like?” He questioned, nodding in acknowledgment as you listed off your current favorites. As he waited at a red light, he skipped a few songs, claiming that you’d like this one more after the inventory you gave him.
You take another look around, as the setting gets more and more unfamiliar to you. “Where’re we going, anyway?” You tilt your head.
“Right now, I’m thinking the music store. But I have other ideas, too.” He pulls up to the curb of an aptly named record shop, shutting off the engine and opening your door from the outside before you could protest. The inside was fairly simple, musical equipment sitting on shelves behind a desk, records stretching around the perimeters of the room, and cassette tapes in the square middle.
The layout intrigues you, as your brain pings at recognizable albums. You shy away from Winston, flipping through a few records in your favorite genre. He reappears at your side, a small box of blank tapes in his hands.
“Are you recording something?” You continue to browse. He shakes his head.
“You’re gonna need your own tape to play in the car. We all have one.” He peers over your shoulder casually, taking in music he’s never heard of. You shake your head apologetically, fearing the effort it’ll take. He picks up an album you’d been eyeing.
He turned to look at you, eyes earnest and eyebrows slightly raised. “Make space for yourself.” Simple words. He wasn’t asking a lot from you. But he was speaking to you- I want you to survive. I want you to live.
You have nothing to do but nod your head, no point in protest. He has a pleased smile, and examines the album a little more before putting it down. Something else catches his eye, and he brightens, mouth open in awe. There’s a full stack of reddish yellow squares, and he spins around to show you, eyes twinkling like a little kid.
“Tommy! I thought you didn’t carry Hendrix!” He chides the man excitedly, flipping the album around. You stand behind him to read the song list as well. Tommy merely shrugs.
“Best guitarist since Berry,” he proclaims to you. “Absolutely insane sound.” He had such a look of delight on his face. It was different from Ray’s- it wasn’t analytical, he probably didn’t know everything he could’ve about what he loved, but that only made him love it more. Winston’s joy was simple, but it wasn’t unimportant. As he talked on about the man he looked up to, his soft eyes crinkled, a wide smile meeting them.
“I wasn’t allowed to play him.” He pulled out his wallet, paying for not only his newfound treasure, but the empty cassettes and your own personal favorite. “Not when I was at home, or when I was deployed.” Tommy handed him the items in a plastic bag. “But I paid my neighbor a nickel to let me when our parents weren’t home. I lost a lot of commissary that way, when I got older.” His story had a boyish tone to it, as he held the door open for you. He wouldn’t stop opening doors for you, insisting on it as you got in the car.
“Are you hungry?” His question makes you recall the other companion you’d forgotten at the firehouse, your heart filling with cement. You agree to lunch, knowing he really wouldn’t let you refuse.
Your next destination is a little restaurant, the area busier as midday approaches and working class America is looking for something to eat. When you enter (and he holds the door), there’s a teenaged boy behind the counter, packing orders and taking cash. The interior is smaller than you assumed, as the floor is taken up by the buffet-style kitchen behind the spot to order, and a few tables and chairs. It smells amazing, though, and the menu looks even better. Winston watches you pridefully as you marvel over what to get, before his voice breaks you out of your stupor.
“Know what you want?”
“I can’t decide. It all sounds great,” you confess, the idea of choosing making your head hurt.
Winston chuckles at your response, guiding you to a little table and making you wait there as he chooses for the both of you. After letting some highschoolers get in front of him so they could get back to school before the hour ended, you see that he’s an exceptional conversationalist, becoming instantly acquainted with the people in line with him. He asks them about their day, listens intently, and when asked about his own he gladly replies with “day out with a friend,” pointing to you. You give a bashful wave to him and his newfound comrades.
He speaks familiarly to the kid at the register, counting things off his fingers, and even slipping him a bill that was definitely not a part of his total. He soon has two styrofoam containers in his hands, steam rising out the slight openings. He opens yours for you, the water vapor and aroma hitting you like a punch. There’s greens, mac and cheese, and fried fish staring you down as your eyes widen. While you were stuck in your hypnosis, he reached over, cutting your food for you.
It was like you died and went to heaven, before being sent back to finish your plate. You almost absentmindedly held onto the table to keep you tethered to the Earth.
“You guys have kept me fed all weekend,” you say between rushed bites. It’s true- this is the best you’d eaten in a while. You swallow. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to stop and make actual food.”
“Egon treats you to breakfast, I treat you to lunch.” He raises his hands in a shrug. “Good?”
“Amazing,” you chew. “You seem to know this place well,” you suggested.
“I take lunch here everyday,” he wipes his mouth on a napkin.
“I can see why. Is it a favorite?”
“No, my favorite is the Jamaican lady down the corner.”
You raise an eyebrow, setting your fork down as he blissfully kept eating. “But…you know everyone here, they know you, you come here every day.”
He blinks. His tone is slightly quieted. “I know. But the owner’s trying to put his daughter through college. Any penny I can give to him counts.” He talks as if the act of selflessness was the simplest thing in the world. It amazed you, how easily kindness and servitude came to him. In your short time with him, he was nothing but humble and friendly with everyone he interacted with. The small smile that spread on your face was one of admiration, and genuine mystique at the kindly man across from you.
You chatted for a bit longer, about growing up, your families, before you were both finished. He tossed your trash, and bid the teen at the register goodbye before walking you back to the Ecto. Once inside, you couldn’t help but lean your head against the glass, your lack of sleep the previous night manifesting after eating so good.
“I think that knocked me out,” you tried hard to suppress a yawn in your throat as he turned on the ignition, soft rumbling making it harder.
“There’s a word for that,” he laughed. That was the last thing you could remember, before waking back up. The car was still parked in the same spot, and as you sleepily looked around, Winston sat in the same spot, peacefully reading a small book. Your stomach dropped as you noticed the time- nearly 3 o’clock.
“I am so sorry,” you stumbled through an apology, sleep still sticking to your panicked words. He simply took his reading glasses off, eyebrows raised as you rambled.
‘I don’t mind. I had my book.”
“I didn’t snore, right?” Your skin burnt.
He paused. "It made a good ambience.”
You threw your head into your hands, Winston snickering at your expense as he started the car again. He drove out the area, sidewalk now full of families coming from school and work, in addition to teenagers loitering for a bit before they headed home. The scenery became less cozy and residential, and slowly became more retail, tall buildings advertising clothes and businesses. You recognized it as being your downtown area- albeit the parts you felt too low-income to pursue.
“What’s next?” You wondered if there was dried drool on your chin.
“I doubt anyone is talking to anyone back home.” Winston bit the inside of his cheek. He kept his eyes on the road, thoughts behind his eyes. He had a bittersweet look on his face, before speaking again. “When we didn’t have anything to do- or any spare money to do it with, my mom took my siblings and I to the department store.”
You’ve heard quite a few personal stories in the last few hours. Maybe it was his way of connecting. You decided to probe. “What’d you do?”
His face softened a bit, recounting the positive parts of the memory. “All types of fashion shows. Found future gifts to our dad. Made our mom promise to find us shirts just like the ones on the rack- and she did. We pretended we were the richest kids in the world. Preacher’s kids, we weren’t…terribly poor. But there were reminders. Mom made it better.” He smiled fondly, despite the car being stuck behind a bus.
The car moved forward. “I’m sure she’s the reason you turned out so well.” The car suddenly stalled, and you were honked at from behind. Eventually, you were parked against the busy sidewalk of a wide, tall building. The sheer size was enough to intimidate, as you still sat in the car, gazing at the top of the structure as he had the door handle in his hands.
You were estimating the floor count, before you felt a hand grab yours. His palms were soft, slightly calloused, but warm nonetheless. He looked down at your conjoined hands, before simpering back up at you. “So you don’t get lost.”
As Winston guided you through the bustling floor, your anxiety was substituted for security. The makeup counter was absolutely packed, as were the prom dresses upstairs. That made a fair amount of sense, as the school year would be ending soon. While on the escalator, you can see all the patrons, hurrying in and out with their bags. At the top, something in the toy section catches your eyes. Winston lets himself be led over.
“What a find,” you take a rectangular box off the shelf. It’s a nearly identical Smokey the Bear plushie, just a newer model. There’s a tribute to the old one printed on the back of the packaging. Winston watched as you reveled in the coincidence.
You remember his presence, and the lack of context he has for you suddenly admiring a children’s toy. “Ray sleeps with an old one. Smokey’s seen better days.” Winston smiles as you place it back on the display.
“Why not get it for him?”
You shake your head swiftly. “I’d be dishonoring your mom. I thought the point was to not spend money?”
He picked the bear back up. “She also says that you can’t take money to the grave. Maybe it can be a goodbye present? We can find something for Egon and Peter, too.”
You think on it. At this rate, there wasn’t much for you to repay their kindness with. Well-thought-out gifts paid for with Winston’s money will have to do, for now. You agree, before disembarking to a clothing department. You end up in the men’s section, articulate and hip pieces you couldn’t even dream of affording. Winston gazes up at the flashy, electric purple suit vest on a mannequin, as you sit back on a chair behind him.
“You like that one?” You sit up.
He puffs out a laugh at the outfits' pure hedonism. “It’s a lot. Even for me.”
“And you want it,” you rise, skimming the racks for the matching pieces in his size as he protests. You wordlessly hand them to him, and he surrenders, disappearing behind the entrance to a men’s dressing room. In the meantime, you’d look for Peter’s gift. To be fair, you knew him the least out of the 4 men. But Winston had told you he messed around too much in the lab, and lost his favorite tie to a small fire. He apparently never had time to replace it, and Winston could remember the exact brand, style, and color, so you figured he could single out the one you were looking for out of a short stack of silky, red fabrics.
As you waited in a warmly lit lounge area by the fitting room, he emerged, holding his arms out and up to model it for you. The satin of the cream colored undershirt fit around him nicely, the bright vest even coming in at his waist a bit. He had the full ensemble on, even down to the suede loafers. He looked like a moviestar, even if he was too humble to actually admit it himself, the price tag swinging underneath his arm.
“It’s something,” He looked at himself in the mirror, hands on his square hips.
“It’s great, that’s what it is,” you say honestly.
“You like vampire-soul-train?” He turned.
You put your hands up defensively. “I love vampire-soul-train.” He continued to look indecisive about it, confidence visibly falling. “Are you gonna come back for it?”
“Where would I wear it to?” He peeked at the price tag one more time, dropping it like it burned his fingers.
You shrugged. “You don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just fun to dress up. Ask Janine.”
He laughs. “I guess you’re learning from the best.” He looks down pleasantly surprised at what he’s seeing on the floor. “If anything, I’d come back for the shoes.” He looks at you through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you find anything?”
You look around at the dozens of clothes behind you. “I guess not.” There’s a lot to choose from, and a lot of bright colors fighting for your attention. It’s all a little overwhelming, looking at clothes you’d fall in love with and never buy. You end up standing in the middle of the department, scratching your head swimming with uncertainty, until Winston taps you on the shoulder.
“They have it in your size.” So you matched.
“We look like a magic act,” you tease him, remembering Peter’s tie situation. After he pinpointed the correct match, you admired yourselves a little longer- at least until the staff were tapping you on the shoulder and asking if you needed anything, courteous smiles twitching as they watched you saunter around in their merchandise.
You looked at more things in different departments- jewelry that you tried to convince Winston to re-pierce his ears for, home decor you’d have if your place was bigger. Eventually, he gladly paid for the 2 gifts, the large bag in which they were placed sitting next to you at an ice cream counter. As you ate, you both came to the conclusion that Egon deserved a decadent little chocolate cake from the dessert store you were at, and you hoped it would keep in the fridge overnight.
“You ready to go home tomorrow morning?’ He put his spoon in his mouth. Butter pecan. You groaned lightly. You wanted to give them their space- and their money back, but it was like the ending to a pleasant dream, going from companionship and a warm place to sleep in a hard time to a now-damaged apartment and job fairs.
“As ready as I can be. Thanks, for putting up with me this weekend.” You put your spoon down.
“You won’t get rid of us that easy. We’ll be there to help you clean up.”
“The 4 archangels. I promise, when I get back on my feet I’m finding new ways to repay you all.” He dismissed your offer.
“It’s the minimum. Louis’ office was in the boiler room for a bit, you know.” He lightened your guilty mood. As he smiled, you noticed the now dark bruise against his jaw. Impulsively, you reached out and manipulated his face gently.
“Does it still hurt?”
There’s a crash from the first floor. You both rush to the balcony railing, watching as people run to the exit, as feral growls vibrate around the large store. Winston grabs your hand again, though less tender now, running down the steps of the now disabled escalator against waves of people running up instead. When you reach the bottom, you watch in terror as an angry alligator destroys the store. As you looked on, you could see that the tail of the beast was vaporizing in front of you, as it hissed out a slime like the one you worked to wash out early in the morning. This wasn’t just an escaped animal. It was a ghost. Winston came to this conclusion at the same time that you did, pulling you towards the exit and to the Ecto.
“Should we call Peter and Ray and-”
He opened the door to get his equipment. “They won’t get here in time. And they won’t have any of this.” He grabbed a proton gun, staring down at it before sighing. “I’m gonna ask you to do something very dangerous.”
Your eyes flickered down to the weapon in his hands, before your mouth fell open. “Absolutely not. Dr. Spengler said that it was ‘unregulated units of atomic energy.’” He ignored your protests, putting the proton pack onto you. He pulled the belt tight around your waist.
“It’s easier than you think,” he said hurriedly, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “Have you ever flown a plane?”
You stare at him, eyes blown and wide, before burying your head behind your hands. He pries them off gently, placing them each on different points of the gun. “Well then it’s just like driving a car. You shoot the ghost with this, okay? Just keep holding onto him, and I’ll open the trap for you. We’re gonna do it, and we’re gonna do it together.”
Before you could revel in him talking you through it, he’s pushing you inside. Herds of frightened customers cling to the walls, out of the way of the ghost, and make room for you and Winston as they quietly whisper to each other that help has come. The alligator is ripping up a display, the woman in the ad subsequently dressed in Victorian style dress. Winston creeps up towards it slowly, before advising you to stay behind one of the makeup counters.
“I’m gonna tell you when. When I do, hit this button. That’s all. Okay?” You purse your lips, nodding, and crouching despite the nerves being felt in your weak legs. He leaves you behind, the ghost with its back turned as it tears up the poster. From your hiding spot, you can hear it notice him, growling loudly as it charges. He signaled you, and you popped up like a toy, shaky fingers igniting the stream.
He did the same, exclaiming loudly as you immobilized the spirit. He advised you to raise it up slowly, as the phantom flailed around.
“What now?” You called over the volume of the particle accelerator whirring like crazy on your back, separated from your skin by a spring jacket and a sweater. He didn’t have an answer.
He hesitated. “You didn’t manage to grab a trap while you were out there, did you?” You could have fainted. You saw his stream falter. “I’ll be right back. Keep holding him- I’ll be two seconds!’
His stream stopped, as he sprinted out the door, nearly slipping on ectoplasm in the process. The ghost thrashed harder, trying to resist the force suspending it in the air. You felt like the weight of holding up an adult alligator suddenly, and your arms couldn’t keep up with its fight. Your stream gave out for a split second, and in that time it was free, and on the floor. It locked eyes with you.
Your cry for Winston echoed throughout the department store- hell, throughout the city as you ran as fast as your legs could take you around the floor once, then up one of the escalators. You skidded to a stop at the end, as the chaos of the escaping crowd managed to knock down a large glass case, sending glass all over the floor. Your momentum didn’t stop you soon enough, and you slid over the shards before falling to the waxed floor. The ghost got closer, sending your heart to your toes as it opened its mouth, expelling a wave of noxious green slime. You saved your pride, ducking out of the way at the last second. You only had a moment to celebrate your triumph, as a quick movement of its ghastly tail reminded you of its ability to interact- and harm, the physical world.
You got back on your feet, before noticing Winston run back inside out of the corner of your eye. You needed to get back downstairs, but all of the possible ways down were blocked. A large decoration swung from the ceiling, reaching fairly low to the ground. The ghost was creeping closer, teeth bared. If you die, please let your soul haunt the firehouse.
Your nerves steeled themselves for you, hesitating on the ledge, before taking your literal leap of faith as the ghost lunged forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when you felt your sweaty palms make contact with the course rope. You slide quickly, before remembering you actually had to catch the violent apparition. You reach weakly for the gun swinging behind you, forgotten, and feebly aim your gun at the glass part at the railing where it watched you. The glass shatters in its wake, and as you continue your ride down the rope, the ghost is caught in your stream, the speed at which you’re moving dragging it through the air. You reach a safe enough distance to the ground, letting go of your hold on the rope and dropping on your knees unstably.
Winston’s been watching from the floor, regaining his strategy as the ghost hovers ahead. He sets his stream on it, and kicks a trap directly below. Your ears are ringing, and your heart’s beating at a thousand miles a minute as he calls on you to lower the spirit. With diminished resistance, the ghost is caught in the trap, smoking rising to the ceiling. The entire store is quiet. The smoke reaches the alarms, setting off the sprinklers, and the hostages erupt in celebration.
Winston lays an arm around your shoulder, speaking low into your ear. “I told you, it was easy. You’re amazing.”
But you're still in a daze, and Winston recognizes it as he gently guides you to the car, avoiding reporters and even a few policemen. Before he takes you to the passenger side and aides you down into the seat, he raises your hand for everyone watching the news in the tri-state to see.
“Y/N came, saw, and kicked its ass!”
You don’t say much as he drives back to the firehouse, siren on. You suddenly startle back to consciousness, turning to him in disbelief.
“I caught a ghost.”
“You sure did.”
You laugh weakly, rubbing your eyes. Your laughter picks up, before it turns hysterical. You crank down the window, sticking your upper body out in ecstasy. This was the most alive you’ve felt in your entire adult life, and you let everything in the car’s path know.
“I caught a ghost!” You cry out as the Ecto drives through the city’s streets.
#ghostbusters#egon spengler#ray stantz#peter venkman#winston zeddemore#ray stantz/reader#ray stantz x reader#egon spengler/reader#egon spengler x reader#winston zeddemore x reader#winston zeddemore/reader#x reader#ghostbusters 1989#ghostbuster 1984#fanfic#ao3#ao3 writer#ao3 link#he’s good people#series
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 3! We @witchplease44 decided to make this into a series.
Lesson 3: Quick with Love and Language
You twist up your nose as the wind blows the horrid stench of dwarves who have not had the chance to bathe in nearly a week towards you again. The ponies were in a much more spacious formation while Bilbo and Gandalf had opted for wearing their tunics up around their noses. Even Thorin was not above drawing his coat up farther to help.
You watch Bifur slump forward in his saddle until he is hugging his pony’s neck. “‘Uthrat! (greatest fatigue)” he groans. Was that a word?
“Rukhis, tada takhagi!” Dori cries from the back of the trail. (Yuck, that stinks!)
“What is that?” You call to the speakers. “What are you saying?”
“My apologies lass. Had forgotten not all among the company were dwarven learned.”
“That is what the language of Dwarf’s sounds like?” You had assumed they must have their own language, but you had never heard anything of it before now. “You’ll have to teach me some of it along our journey, if I may be so lucky.”
“There!” Ori cried suddenly. Looking ahead you all saw a decent sized stream. Thank the gods!
“Mahd!” came a chorus from the other dwarves as everyone directed their steeds into a gallop towards the running water. (Blessing)
Camp was made just out of sight from the stream and it was a hilarious spectacle to watch the majority of the party scramble to unload their things and rush to the water. Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and you were soon the only ones left to get a fire started. “So,” you call, “What can you teach me of the language and ways of Dwarves? Where should we begin?”
Thorin grunts. “We should begin with the fact that Dwarfs are fiercely protective of our culture, we do not share it with just anyone.”
“I should hope dear Thorin that you do not mean to say I am merely anyone, especially after saving your hides from trolls and boredom upon this journey thus far.”
Dwalin grumbled and Balin chuckled at the look of shock on Thorin’s face. “I- I suppose you, may have earned an introduction into Dwarfish culture,” he relented almost sheepishly. You smile at him and bow playfully, receiving an eye roll.
“Don’t worry lass,” Balin laughs, “he shall come around. Let’s begin with a crash course on language and perhaps,” he whispers the last word, “courting.”
Dwalin and Thorin make their way to the stream when Gandalf returns to camp and makes himself busy reading and blowing smoke rings. You are so enthralled in Balin’s teachings that you don’t hear Kili and Fili walking back to camp. “So you have Ones, which are much like man’s concept of soulmates?”
“Yes,” he smiles, noticing the boys, but allowing them to pretend to hide, “our Ones are very very special to us. They are our other half.”
You think for a moment. “Has it ever been known… no forget me, it is a foolish question.”
“Ask it dear, only fools do not ask questions. Besides, I think I have an idea of the question you have.”
“Has it ever been known for two dwarves to share a One?” you ask quietly. You swore he could hear your heart beating inside of your chest. I couldn’t bear to have to choose between them.
Balin reaches to hold one of your hands in his to stop your fidgeting with your shirt. “No, I cannot say that it has ever been known for two dwarfs to share a One.” Your heart drops and so do Kili and Fili’s. The elder brother turns to stomp off, but pauses as Balin resumes talking. “I also cannot say that it has ever been known for wizards to have nieces, Dwarfs to use Elven blades, or a company of thirteen Dwarfs, a hobbit, and a witchling to defeat a dragon. But look at us!”
You let out a nervous chuckle and lightly shove his shoulder. “You mustn’t do such things Balin, you nearly made me faint. I should’ve known if anyone would piece it together it would be you.” He laughs as you recover from your fright. “Do any of the others know?”
“If they have suspicions they hold them close to their chest.” He studies my worried face. “You have nothing to fear, dearie. Dwarfs take Ones very seriously. If the princes agree you are both their One there will not be a soul to question it.”
“What about Thorin? Not only are they his nephews, they are his heirs to the throne, the princes of Erebor, and I,” you pause for a moment, “I am not a Dwarf. The kings of Men and Elves are very particular about who may be allowed into the royal families and besides I am not the kind of person he would want for either of them to court, much less the both of them.”
Balin walks to you and places a hand upon your shoulder. “You will find that Dwarfs are much different than the races of Man and Elf. And as I said, he will come around. He worries, perhaps too much, but his heart is in the right place. He cares for those boys as though they were his own.” He looks out into the woods. “Now it would appear the others are returning from their spa time, should be able to find some decent privacy, lass.”
You nod and smile. “Thank you, Balin, for everything thus far.” You place a friendly kiss to his forehead and head to the stream with your things.
You walk a minute or two upstream from camp and unload your clothes and weapons to begin disrobing. The water was a touch chilly, but nothing you couldn’t quickly acclimate to. How refreshing, we needed this. Your peaceful floating is cut short by movement from the tree line.
“Who goes there?!” You call as you wade over to your things and pick up your bow and notch an arrow.
“Only me, gaihith,” Fili calls back as he raises his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “I wished to spend some time with you if that is acceptable.” (Little dove)
“Of course,” you drop the bow back onto the pile of supplies. “I shall finish up quickly and we can talk.”
“No hurry, dove,” he smirks as he takes in what of your body he can see through the water, “In fact, please, take your time.”
You laugh at him and splash him slightly. “You, you…you boy!”
“It is nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing I haven’t touched before, or kissed before.” These princes and their silver tongues would be the death of you, you decided.
You giggle and take your bar of soap to wash yourself. “What was that you called me? Gay-hithe?”
“Gaihith,” he corrects as he sits on the bank of the stream. “It means ‘little dove’. It seemed an appropriate pet name.” Your heart melts.
The two of you spend the next few minutes talking before the conversation turns flirty and suggestive. He reaches out a hand to trace down your side, making you shiver. Fili reaches down to cup the side of your face in his hand. “While I am enamored by every word that passes your lips, what say we put them to a better use?”
You gasp quietly and smirk at him. “And what better use do you have in mind, my prince?” He smiles sharply and looks down to the obvious tent in his trousers. “I could be cruel and make you beg,” you giggle.
“You could,” he whispers darkly, “But I think you are too excited to make either of us wait, gaihith. I can see it in those gleaming eyes of yours.” You bite your lip and begin undoing his trousers as his hand travels into your hair. “There’s my keen girl. You did say you were always eager for more knowledge,” he recalls from your first time together. “Have you done this before?”
You shake your head. “Only last time with Kili a little, but I admit I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, if anything specific.”
His eyes darken. “So this would be our first solo lesson? How fun.” He lifts his hips to help you move his trousers down and release him. This feels much different to the other times you had been intimate with the princes. The other times they had directed you on what to do, now Fili just stared down at you with a sharp grin and dark eyes. “Go ahead, dove, don’t be shy.”
You blink up at him and quickly nod your head. Reaching out your hand to grasp him, you can’t break your gaze away from his. His breath hitches as your hand makes contact and begins to caress up and down. “Beautiful,” he growls, “You can be a bit more firm love.” You follow his advice and blush as his breath quickens.
“Such a quick learner.” You finally manage to tear your eyes from his and as soon as you do his hand is quick in directing your gaze back to him. “Ah, ah,” he tuts, “Eyes on me, princess. You are doing so well for me. Maybe you could use that pretty mouth of yours now? Hmm?”
It feels as though he has you under a spell, perhaps that is what love is after all, as you take him into your mouth. You take notes of what motions pull what sounds from your prince above you and try to repeat those more. You swirl your tongue over the head and his eyes drift shut. You give his balls a tug and pull off for only a moment. “That isn't fair, I had to keep my eyes on you.”
He curses and grips your hair, tilting your head back in the process. He chuckles darkly, “I will try to keep mine open, but you make me weak at the knees.”
You smile and get back to work. You might be under his spell, but it made you bold to know you had power over him. Fili groaned and rocked his hips in time with your bobs. You grip his hips, digging your nails in as he trembles from pleasure. His breaths came out in shaky pants, clearly at his limit.
You pull off but stroke with your hand, “Are you gonna cum for me, my prince?”
“Y-yes. Yes! Please don’t stop.”
He was such a pretty mess, and you loved it. You took as much of his length into your mouth as you could and hollowed your cheeks to suck. Fili bit down on his fist to keep from screaming as he spilled into your mouth. His seed was hot and made your tongue feel sticky, and you gladly drank him down.
“I swear, gaihith, you might be the death of me.”
“I’ll add that to my list of accomplishments,” you tease back as you climb to your feet. Fili pulls you into a kiss, skin hot against yours. “Let's get back before the others worry I’ve drowned. You can make it up to me later during your watch.”
Fili’s eyes flash with excitement, “But of course. It would only be fair if I got a taste as well.”
#kili durin#kili x reader#lord of the rings#smutty fanfiction#fili durin#fili x reader#fili and kili#the hobbit#smutty smut smut
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Raze (Pt. 1 / ?)
With the Day of the Jackal recently dropping, I figured it would be a perfect opportunity to begin a new show to watch AND write about! Feedback is always welcomed -- I may create a multi-part series off of this depending on how I feel with this first one. I love the idea of The Jackal meeting his match in a female adversary...One as clever and elusive as he is. Enjoy!
Five minutes.
That's all that was left. Five sixty-second intervals and $7.5 million would be loaded into his account, this apartment suite blown from existence, and one more politician made into an obituary.
That's all there ever was to it.
The Jackal laid his cheek against the rifle, the cool metal a familiar, grounding weight beneath his eye. From his scope, he could see thousands of feet across New York, over the glittering skyline of 'The Big Apple', to his target's future location. The Golden Plaza - a luxury hotel that had been established in the sixties, infamous for housing the rich, the famous, and that lesser known group: the criminal.
Alas, even the glitz and glamour of the U.S. wasn't out of his reach. When something needed to be done, not even the Atlantic could stop him. No one could. Thank goodness for his humility; anyone else with his list of accomplishments would have an ego as big as the Plaza.
Adjusting his scope, he took a deep, soothing breath, eyeing the front of the hotel, soon to be occupied by Leonard Mercer. Politician by day, sure, but the man was stained with blood day or night. The Jackal didn't have to ask why Mercer had a price on his head...Everyone knew his dealings, from the homeless in the alleys to his fellow politicians. It was a secret shared by everyone, spoken by none. Not that he would go asking anyways.
Two minutes.
Mercer wouldn't use the back entrance. He was too egotistical for that. He wanted the public, the press, to see him march through the Plaza's front doors. He wanted them all to see the way the doorman nearly bowed, the bellhop waiting hand and foot. All the better. Makes things easier.
Sixty seconds. Journalists waited behind barriers, corralled by a mix of local police and federal agents. Cameras flashed, microphones jutted into the air. Onlookers would think a Hollywood actor was arriving, in Jackal's mind. The way they all festered and frenzied just to get a glimpse, a single word, from Mercer.
Who was playing his part, with the sleek black car that pulled up to the front of the hotel. Jackal tightened his hand on the handle of the rifle, taking another deep breath. Any second now. In through the nose, out through the mouth. One shot.
An agent opened the car door. Flashes bursts, turning the scene into a dazzling spectacle. A male head of hair ducked out of the car.
The Jackal's finger hovered over the trigger.
Leonard Mercer turned to the paparazzi that surrounded him, giving a pearly smile and a friendly wave. His head centered in the crosshairs.
And then it was gone.
Blood splattered across the pavement, the sidewalk, the velvet carpet leading to the hotel. It stained the clothes of reporters, the suits of agents, the side of the car. All in a split second, with Jackal's finger yet to pull the trigger.
His head snapped up from his scope. No. No. He pressed his eye back to the rifle. Reporters scattered, trampling each other in a panicked, shoving mass. Agents had drawn their guns, looking to the sky. Bystanders cowered. And his rifle still lay cold in his hands.
He now sat in a wasted apartment suite, $7.5 million gone in a heartbeat. Mouth open in shock, the Jackal fell back into his seat. Someone had stolen his job. Stolen his millions. Someone had just stolen his credibility. He sat there, questions reeling. Had the client doubted him? Had they not trusted him? Or was this an entirely different plot, with different players, different clients?
Wait a damn minute.
His eyebrows furrowed as he leaned forward to look through his scope one last time. He nearly shoved his eye through it. The scene below was chaotic, just as he'd left it. But one brief glance told him what he expected. The shot, the angle - based on the way the rest of Mercer's body lay there...
The shooter was here. In the same building. Had to be only a few floors up.
He moved quickly, as if on instinct. The rifle was dismantled in seconds, slipped into his suitcase. Cap pulled low, coat shrouding his form. A handgun slipped into his pocket. A new mission on his mind.
9 notes
·
View notes