#and make the decision to look for himself.
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I decided to do this for the Batfamily. (Preboot version, because I disagree with DC's modern decisions.)
If the Batfam were queer, how would they talk about it?
Dick - awkward and tentative. No clue when he picked up the terminology he's using, but it's probably pretty general/balanced¹. He's not going to be using microlabels, but may have done a reasonable amount of research on whatever term he's accepted. Possibly the most ashamed out of everyone? Look, people haven't been very gentle with him about his romantic, sexual, or personal choices. And he's internalized that. I could see him EVENTUALLY being comfortably open about his identity, but that would be a long journey.
Babs - only talks to romantic partners, if she can help it. Clinical. Probably also prickly. Maybe dismissive. More focused on how it will affect their relationship than on how it affects her, or on specific terms. But also the most likely to explain the split attraction model, or pull up a graph? Possibly she'd shift tactics based on what her partner was comfortable with. Probably it would be to tactics her partner was LESS comfortable with? Babs, make things easier for yourself!
Jason - What flavour of fanon are we using here? Or canon? Using slurs that the people he grew up used for themselves could be accurate. Reading up on all the latest terminology so he can support the street kids seems in character for some versions. (He sounds like he's reading from a brochure, but like he's a counsellor reading from a brochure for your benefit!) Not having thought about it at all because he's been 'somewhat' distracted for most of his life seems VERY likely! Jason contains multitudes.
Tim - avoiding this conversation at all costs. Refuses to use labels. Might describe his experience, awkwardly, if he needed to, but would get distressed if you tried to give it a name. He might be able to accept BEING some flavour of queer, but openly talking about it in ways people can use against him? That might affect social standing and job opportunities? That might disappoint authority figures? No. Most likely to use a fake identity to explore. Has almost certainly done all the research, KNOWS current terminology, and will use it for other people. Just don't suggest he applies it to himself.
Steph - Would probably get extremely attached to language when first accepting it. Maybe to the point of policing things a bit. Because she's defensive and has spent her whole life being policed and judged! MIGHT sound like she was reading out of a college brochure. Possibly DID read it out of a college brochure!
Cass - summarizes complex topics into a 2 or 3 word sentence, and if you aren't following along, that's on YOU. Might like listening to someone else explain their extremely nuanced identity. Might be impatient. It's a toss-up, depending on how obvious she thinks things are, how much you seem to be overcomplicating it, and how much she's picking up from HOW you're saying it. I hope she figures herself out before she learns TOO much terminology, because later Cass respected words a bit too highly, and I want her to be able to understand the fluidity of self without thinking it NEEDS boxes.
Damian - okay, preteen Damian doesn't WANT to know about any of this, thank you. Many preteens do! Damian does not. Damian wants to join in on every rape and hate crime investigation, and also thinks kissing is gross. Wrangling and protecting Damian is a challenge. Older Damian would probably use microlabels, if any applied. (And he felt safe saying anything.) Accuracy is always to be desired! Also, they fit his worldview of exceptionality and isolation.
Duke - I think he'd be pretty comfortable with general, broadly understood, terminology. But he might struggle if that stuff didn't fit. Feeling compelled to explain the nuances of self seems like something he'd find really uncomfortable? So I can see him casually talking about himself if it was easy to talk about, but struggling to be open otherwise. Also, he might get pretty stuck on not being SURE about his identity. How can he talk about it if he might be wrong?? (Tim and Dick might struggle in a similar way, but it would be less obvious because of their other issues.)
Bruce - Extremely likely to used old-fashioned or clinical language, especially if it lets him sound like he's reading out of a psychology text-book. Most likely to accept the language without internalizing the identity. (It might be accurate, but that doesn't mean he needs to ACT on it.) Also most likely to have accept-ED some term 25 years ago and then just never brought it up again or acknowledged it in any way.
Alfred - wouldn't talk about it at all. Relationships are private. If it was important to do so, would use euphemisms like 'close to', 'cared for', 'did a small amount of exploration', etc.
-
¹ I kind of think of modern queer identities coming in 3 broad categories:
general - uses language like 'queer', 'LGBT', 'nonbinary' - commonly understood umbrella terms. Prioritizes fluidity of identity and connection with community over precise description
balanced - prioritizes connection with people of similar experiences, uses broad subcategories like 'gay', and 'trans', or combines broad terms together to suggest more precision, like 'nonbinary lesbian'.
microlabels - breaks down identities into more precise subsets like 'greyace', 'fem-aligned androgyne', 'genderfae', etc. Precise understanding of self prioritized over other people's understanding or connection.
'Microlabels' as shorthand is often used to mock people, so I thought it helpful to explain where I'm coming from.
he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure
#gender stuff#sexuality#queer#gecko's lists#this WAS prompted because Tim's current relationship is straining my suspension of belief in multiple ways#and I'm a 90s kid#current language is a REALLY recent thing
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Hiiii hshsh
So I got this idea on a car ride late at night after going to an extremely loud pub!! Which gave me this idea:33
Poly!141 plus reader
None of them know how to cook because they're used to having premade meals at the messhall or rations on missions! so when reader comes along (they can be part of the task force or they can be civilian), and they cook for them the lads decide that they're theirs now!! :3
I love this idea anon 😩😩
You didn’t think much of it at first, truly.
Cooking had always been second nature to you- something soothing, something tangible in a life filled with chaos. And in the military, chaos was the only constant.
It didn’t take long to realize something alarming, though: none of your teammates knew how to cook.
Not even the basics.
Soap, bless his heart, thought instant noodles counted as a proper meal. Gaz once tried to scramble eggs and somehow set off the smoke alarm. Ghost? The man could survive in the wild for weeks but willingly lived off protein bars and black coffee when left to his own devices. And Price could grill, sure, but anything beyond that? No chance. And it wasn’t as if a grill was always available.
So, you cooked.
Not because they asked. Not because you had to, or were made to feel like you had to. But because the first time you made something decent- just a simple stew, hearty and warm, after a grueling training session- they all looked at you like you had hung the damn moon itself.
Soap groaned after his first bite, tipping his head back in dramatic bliss. “Marry me.”
Gaz, already going for seconds, nodded solemnly. “Seconded. You can’t just cook like this and expect us to let you go.”
Ghost didn’t say anything outright, but the way he cleaned his bowl and then, after a pause, slid it forward for more? Yeah. That spoke volumes.
Price took his time eating, but you caught the way his gaze softened as he watched you. Like he was making a decision.
You didn’t realize what that decision was until the next morning.
You woke up to find all four of them stationed in the kitchen, waiting. Gaz leaned against the fridge, Soap sat on the counter, Ghost loomed in the doorway, and Price stood at the stove like he had any idea what to do with it.
“What,” you mumbled, still groggy. “Are you all doing?”
Price met your eyes, calm and sure. ��Waiting on breakfast. If you do wanna make it, that is.”
And that was that.
You should’ve known. Feeding a group of hungry, half-feral soldiers meant claiming them.
And, apparently, it meant they claimed you too.
The first time you all came back from a mission completely wrecked, it happened without thought.
Everyone was exhausted- cut up, bruised, dragging themselves through debrief with only the promise of a hard-earned shower keeping them upright.
You were just as battered. Just as drained. But the moment you stepped into the barracks and saw the half-hearted collection of protein bars and tasteless ration packs sitting on the counter, something inside you rebelled and cracked.
No. Not tonight.
Your body screamed for rest, but you ignored it, rolling up your sleeves and getting to work. It’ll be worth it, you kept telling yourself, and the promise of an actual meal kept you going.
You weren’t alone for long, thougg.
Kyle trudged into the kitchen first, watching with quiet amazement as you moved. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know.” you murmured, but kept going. A warm, fresh meal…
Soap dragged himself in next, blinking at you blearily before rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re an angel, bonnie. A bloody angel.”
Ghost leaned against the doorframe when he came a little later, watching. He didn’t say a word, but when you swayed slightly from exhaustion, he moved- one steady hand pressing against the small of your back, grounding you. He didn’t tell you to stop, or get in your way- just stayed by you, a steady, comforting presence.
Also helped chop the vegetables when you asked.
John didn’t say anything either. But he sat at the table, waiting patiently, eyes tracking every movement like he was memorizing you.
By the time you put the food down- something warm, filling, real- they were too tired to talk, but their gratitude was written in every movement and shone through every appreciative sigh they let out
Soap sighed into his bowl like it was the only thing keeping him alive. “If I die tonight, at least I die happy.”
Gaz nudged your foot under the table, a quiet thank you.
Ghost, ever quiet, simply refilled your plate before his own.
And Price met your eyes across the table, something unreadable yet warm in his expression, before nodding once. “Good work, soldier.”
The second time, it was worse.
The mission had gone sideways, backwards, and right into hell.
It had been long, brutal, pushing all of you to the breaking point. When you finally stepped back onto base, none of you were unscathed- Soap’s knuckles were split, Gaz’s jaw was bruised, Ghost had a gash along his ribs, and Price carried exhaustion like it was part of him.
And you? You were running purely on fumes.
But the moment you made it back to your quarters and saw the way they all moved- silent, weighed down by the kind of tired that settled in your bones- you knew.
Without thinking, you made your way to the kitchen.
Soap’s voice, hoarse with fatigue, followed you. “You don’t have to, lass. You gotta rest-“
“I know.” You croaked out. And you still did it anyways.
The stew took time. Slow, steady, the scent filling the air like something solid. Something safe. It gave you enough time to lay your head down just a little, eyes slipping shut just long enough for you not to pass out.
They didn’t argue.
They didn’t tell you to sit down, to rest, to stop.
Instead, they hovered- Soap setting the table, Gaz nudging a chair toward you every time you leaned too hard against the counter, Ghost watching you in that way he did when words weren’t enough.
Price stood beside you near the stove, his hand brushing your shoulder in quiet appreciation.
And when you finally sat down, they made sure you ate first; Soap nudged the biggest portion toward you. Gaz made sure your glass was full. Price made sure you didn’t lift a finger once the meal was done.
Ghost was the last to move, reaching over to take your wrist, squeezing once. A quiet thank you in the way only he could say it.
That night, none of them let you leave, either.Soap pulled you down onto the couch between him and Ghost, resting his head against yours with a tired sigh, and Simon pulled your legs to rest on top of his thighs.
Gaz, already half-asleep with his back rest against the couch, muttered.” You’re stuck with us now, you know.”
And Price draped a blanket over your shoulders, the weight of it solid and grounding. He patted your head, then his hand slid down to squeeze your shoulder while your eyes slipped shut, drifting off into a much-needed sleep. “That’s how it works.”
#noona.asks#noona.writes#cod x reader#cod x you#cod#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#tf 141#cod imagines#poly!141 x you#poly 141 x you#poly!141 x reader#poly!141#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#i love you anon this idea is perfect
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I'm not anywhere really near or into Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but since the second game released recently, I've seen a lot of new attention on my social medias, particularly around Henry and Hans' relationship
And I, very obviously, love queer characters and relationships, and even moreso the canon ones, so I watched the IGN video explaining how one might romance Hans in the second game
Man. I was blown away.
By now I've played a handful of rpg's and romanced a handful of npc's, but not ONCE has the dialogue and action of a confession scene ever felt quite so real and as beautifully acted
I have almost zero other context about the games or characters, yet I haven't stopped thinking about that romance scene in days
That you build up the affection and genuine care for Hans through dialogue choices feels completely non-forced, and you can tell that Hans enjoys your presence and respects you immensely. Henry gently encouraging and helping Hans when he's uncomfortable, always concerned about his wellbeing. There's such a solid foundation of mutual trust that even I, as an outside viewer, can tell that both men truly would put their lives in the others hands
And then the confession scene itself? Henry coming to say goodbye, and because of the work that has been put in to convey Henry's feelings of care and devotion for Hans, it's Hans himself who starts the conversation. He tells a story that he 'doesn't have his own words for', displaying that he's uncertain about how this might go, but knowing that it needs to be said before Henry leaves. He's both deflecting and projecting, using this story as a way to cushion the segue into his own feelings, or the blow of rejection should it come. And as Hans imagines something terrible happening to Henry, he immediately gets emotional, voice shaking, knowing he'd be unable to help
There's a small moment as Henry reassures that he'll be alright, when he places a hand on top of Hans' and this small, delightfully hopeful smile appears on Hans' face. I take this to be the moment where Hans believes that Henry has understood his story, and his way of confessing his feelings, and that Henry feels the same way about him. Then Henry stands, moving to leave and Hans' smile drops. Perhaps Henry's confidence falters here, and before he can reciprocate his true feelings and kiss him, Hans is running on adrenaline and courage and pulls Henry into the kiss instead, before he can second-guess himself
It's awkward, uncertain. Hans has this almost crushing grip on Henry like he's barely sure what he's just done, just that he couldn't let him walk away without doing something . And when Henry turns his head and steps back, noises of shock and breathlessness, Hans jumps back like he's been burned and spurned. He's stammering and stuttering out an apology, quiet and upset, unlike his usual self
Hans' body language as he turns away, making himself smaller, making more space between them than is necessary, it displays how he thinks his actions have just been perceived - that Henry doesn't feel the same way, he just ruined a perfectly good friendship, he's made himself look weak. He rubs at his mouth like he wishes he could remove the feel of Henry's lips against his own, tries apologising again, gasping for air, screws up his face in anxiety or anger for his recklessness......
Then Henry makes his own decision and speeds back over to him, pulling him into an even more crushing embrace and kiss, before they make their way over to the bed
The acting direction here in this scene is just so delectablely real . It looks and feels like I'm a fly on the wall of a real life confession, where both men are less than certain about their futures, and even less certain about how their relationship is perceived in the others eyes. Hans is visibly scared of rejection when Henry turns his back, Henry is visibly coming to terms with what he wants in this moment
The reactions are the most natural thing in the world, especially in a game that strives for realism. There was clearly a great deal of care that went into writing and directing this relationship, and with how naturally it progressed to this climax
And I think that's where the divide is for me, when I think about the romance options in BG3 or other rpgs, because there is something more flowery and shiny about those romances that I've experienced. Like they're too perfect, too polished and rehearsed, no room to have any fuck ups or moments of imperfection. But it's the awkwardness and show of non-positive emotions and reactions, rather than immediate lust and experience, that really pins the Henry and Hans scene above the rest
There's probably more I could say, and I'm sure there's more that others who know these characters and the games could say, but I just wanted to get my thoughts into some words and hope that it strikes true with someone else
I don't think I've ever seen a romance scene in a video game, that has felt so genuine as this. A thousand kudos to the actors for Hans and Henry, and the writers and directors for this marvellously curated scene ❤️
#kingdom come deliverance#kingdom come deliverance 2#kcd#kcd2#hans capon#henry of skalitz#hansry#kcd2 spoilers#kcd henry#kcd hans#kcd meta#kingdom come: deliverance 2#kingdom come: deliverance
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Idk if you ever have seen the "Thats it youre grounded get on top of the fridge" "this house is a fuCKING NIGHTMARE!!!!!!" But. That second line i feel like is Megatron about his fuckass army. Just one day he's on. The Brink bc of all the human fucking and kidnapping and hes Old so his backstruts hurt and yknow. being SPARKED.
And a Normal Inconvenience happens like. A Normal ass autobot vs Decepticon battle happens over an energon supply and the vehicons come back with their tails between their legs and are like "The autobots beat us..." and he just BLASTS a wall and "tHIS SHIP IS A FRAGGING NIGHTMARE!!! AAAAAAAAHG!!!" Crashout King.
He’s just so tired and so over being the only one not fragging the human, but still ending up the one sparked.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5f9ff2e1598af838240d08c40005d6bf/4480c2f42ea998e6-20/s540x810/c588cabf002073b9ac526824cb5f3594701509ea.jpg)
Everything Is Alright Pt 131
IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader
• All the chatter immediately stops as soon as he opens the door to his habsuite, all of his cassettes and the little human staring at him. Talking about him? Venting tiredly as Ratbat wings up to his usual dark corner and tucks his wings about himself, optics glaring balefully down at him. Because the former Senator is never letting that grudge go. Turning his attention on Frenzy and Rumble and their human, he’s not quite sure what to say. “Hello, little one,” he says, hesitantly lifting a hand like he’s seen you do. And Rumble and Frenzy beset him, talking at the same time. Introducing their human as their mate and asking for their own habsuite. Spark aching as he navigates this, he’d known the cassettes, his little found family, would drift apart eventually. That after the war they would want their modifications reversed. Want their own lives and no longer need his protection, but it’s always been a distant prospect. And it’s bittersweet seeing them happy, Rumble tucking his little human against his side as they smile up at him, expression uncertain. Wants this for them. Wants them to be happy. To live.
• Stretched out against Starscream, you smile when his lips brush your cheek. Because you’d missed this. Just the two of you tangled in each other talking. “I don’t like Megatron just making decisions for my world. There needs to be a human voice,” you mutter. Someone to rein him in when he gets too ambitious. To tell him no and make him listen. And somehow you know it’s going to have to be you. His spark mate. Groaning, you press your face against Starscream’s neck. Startling when the door opens and Megatron’s optics slide around the room before finding you both. ‘You can’t speak his name, you summoned him,’ Starscream growls as Megatron smiles lazily.
• “Doesn’t this look cozy,” Megatron says, servos flexing as you look over your shoulder at him and Starscream curls an arm more possessively around you. “I hate to interrupt, but you wouldn’t want to neglect your sparkling you saddled me with.” Taking a petty satisfaction in tormenting Starscream as you brush your mouth against his in an apology before you’re standing and glaring up at him. All defiance while he cups his hands around you and Starscream tenses, wings flared out aggressively. “I’ll bring our little mate back. Maybe.”
• Sighing at him as you settle in his hands and he carries you to his quarters, you hang on to his servos. “Do you have to mess with him? That’s what makes him do awful stuff.” And Megatron glances at you, that smug smile falling away as he studies you. Know he’s not as awful as he pretends to be. If he was, he’d have let you die instead of trying to save you and ending up a part of this mess. “He’s trying to do better, but you have to stop backing him into a corner,” you add as he lets himself into his habsuite and secures the door before heading for his berth. You expect him to just shift the panels around his spark and hold you up to it. Not to mass shift so you end up in his arms when he sits. Skin prickling when he just lays back, legs handing over the edge and you sprawled on top of him. “What are you doing?”
• What is he doing? This is an unnecessary risk and he knows it, but he wants to have this. The soft warmth of you against him. For a moment pretending this is his. His spark, not Starscream’s that’s been foisted upon him. “Relax. I’m not going to molest you. With my luck you can be sparked again already.” Which shouldn’t be an appealing thought. Shouldn’t be curious how soon you can be sparked after passing the existing sparkling to a sire to fully develop. Definitely shouldn’t want to find out. Shifting his plating, he waits as you push up and stare down at him. Wanting you to reach out to him. To touch his spark.
• That’s… something that hadn’t occurred to you. Can one of them spark you again so soon? You’d barely had the last spark any time, it had never even had time to really register. To become real to you before everything had gone wrong. Stretching out on him alongside his spark chamber, you dip your fingers toward that warmth and whimper when he snares you. Falling into him. Into his spark. And he’s there waiting for you, almost overwhelming as he wraps himself around you with a sense of relief. Can feel that lonely ache inside him as he pulls you in to fill those gaps in himself. He’s everywhere, swimming through you and you tremble when he shows you that fragile, little spark you’d created with Star. Yours. Curling tighter into him, something settles inside you feeling that new life.
• Needed this, the feel of you tangled in him easing his tension. Wraps himself tighter around you, around that spark. Trying to ignore that disconnect. That this isn’t really his even as he wants to claim it as his. Wants to place his own claim on you. To lay beside you, talking together, for you to smile at him the way you do at Soundwave and Starscream. To not be your enemy. And tangled in you, there’s no keeping those desires secret, feels you see them. Spark aching when you accept his needs. Accept him.
• Where are you now? Ever since Starscream severed his partial bond, he’s not been able to sense your emotions humming in the back of his processor and it hurts to be cut off like that. A part of him just gone unless he focuses and tries to find you. Because seeing Rumble and Frenzy happy, looking toward their future, left him even more empty. Feeling that missing bond with you. Where are you? Are you okay? There, but faint. He’s moving without conscious thought, drawn toward you. He’ll ask this time, not take in a moment of passion. Wants to move forward, too. To heal.
Previous
#transformers x reader#starscream x reader#megatron x reader#soundwave x reader#megatron#soundwave#starscream
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Dick was so tired. Exhausted, really. He had been for years. It had been that way since he had decided to make it his mission to compensate for the shortcomings of an emotionally stunted man with an adoption problem and no intention to change. Dick didn't regret it, not exactly. He loved his siblings and wanted to give them the world. He also knew he couldn't fully raise them while Bruce was there in the middle. He had tried. He always ran himself ragged and ended up on the other side of Bruce's rage for trying to "push his sons away from him". It took a lot out of him but he still tried for the sake of his younger siblings.
It didn't help that Bruce hadn't ever been great at showing affection and tended to push people away from him whenever they got hurt or too close to him for fear of losing them. It had lost some of its effect on Dick after the second time Bruce had kicked him out, after Jason's death, but he could still see the hurt on his siblings' eyes when they were on the other side of Bruce's cold shoulder. It had certainly made him feel unwelcome at the manor and unable to stay more than a few days at once. It also made him irritable at Bruce, although that might be more about the man's actions than the coldness he associated with the manor. He tried to mask it for his siblings. Compensate with easy smiles and warm hugs. He knew it wasn't enough. He had always had to choose between mitigating the biggest mess Bruce had left behind and truly being there for his loved ones. He could not do everything. He couldn't be everywhere at once. No matter how hard he tried. It was exhausting. And he always failed.
Dick had seen Damian pack. He had just gotten back from the cave after his latest attempt at reasoning with Bruce. He had gone to find Damian and had seen the boy organizing his bags and looking around the room to make sure he didn't miss anything. He had seen him take the family picture on his bedside table. Damian hadn't noticed him. Dick had made a split-second decision and left. He went back to the cave and prepared for patrol, telling Bruce about a case he needed help with in the Narrows and leaving with Batman in tow, just in time to see Superboy flying towards Damian's window. He had distracted Bruce and made sure he didn't see.
He had considered taking Damian to live with him before. Many times. The only thing that had stopped him was Bruce's reaction after Tim had rescued him from the timeline but before he started trying to mend bridges with the family. He had seen the closeness between Damian and Dick and had decided to take it away. He had thrown a fit and forbidden Dick from coming to Gotham, when that hadn't worked, he had told him not to come to the manor, when that also didn't work, he started sulking and gave Damian the silent treatment until Dick backed off and distanced himself from the kid enough. That was when he approached Dick and apologized with words that Dick now knew weren't his own and started trying to bring the family back together. Maybe Dick had always known and was just in denial about it. The point was, if Damian ever left, Bruce would immediately suspect Dick and bring the kid back while enforcing more restrictions. It wouldn't help his brother in the long term. So Dick let him leave and pretended not to notice anything amiss.
The realization came hours later. There were no kids living in the manor anymore. All his siblings had left and were starting to figure out how to live independently from Bruce. Dick didn't need to shield them anymore. He didn't have to keep pushing himself to the limit, trying to be everything they needed, trying to overcompensate for everything Bruce fell short on. He didn't have to go back to a place where he wasn't wanted, no matter how many times he was reassured otherwise (not many. Not even once). He could finally leave.
He ended patrol early and got there just in time to see Clark trying to maneuver the rest of Damian's animals in his arms without having to take multiple trips. "Take care of them?" He couldn't help but ask, even knowing he should be doing more and had no right to ask that of anyone else, let alone Superman.
Clark's eyes turned soft and sad. He nodded solemnly, finally having managed to carry all the pets, and left without another word to Dick. They both knew Dick wasn't referring to the animals when he had said 'them'.
Dick went back to his apartment feeling so much relief he felt guilty to ever feel like that towards his siblings absence. It didn't stop him from going to bed and having a full night sleep for the first time in years. It was more rest that he had gotten since Bruce had introduced him to a tiny Jason and told him he was his new brother. Maybe someday Dick would have enough energy to go back and try to fix things between them again. Maybe he'd reach out to his siblings and try to have a real relationship with them. One that wasn't so dependent on Bruce's moods. Maybe one day he'd be ready to talk to Tim, Damian, and Jay and listen to their experiences at the manor without immediately trying to smooth things out or getting defensive. Maybe the anxiety attacks would go away with time. For now he'd just enjoy not having to worry about anyone's emotional well-being but his own. Maybe he'd call Wally and the other Titans. It had been a while since the last time they talked. His siblings were safe. Dick was free. Everything else could wait.
Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.
It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.
So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.
Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.
It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.
Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.
He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.
He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.
God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.
Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?
He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?
He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?
He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?
Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.
And Tim?
Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.
Bruce changes, but not everything can.
That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.
#I know I said I was out of words but this wouldn't leave my thoughts#that being said it was supposed to be three paragraphs... I should've known by now#Dick is so sad and tired and I want him to get all the hugs#except he now has all that self-recrimination going and he'll probably isolate again#he'll get better tho. eventually. he probably needs time to figure out who he is when he's not at Bruce's shadow#anyway I made myself cry#I still kind of want them to reconcile eventually but also maybe not?#I think I'm going to go and write some fluffy good batdad thing cause Bad-dad!Bruce always leaves a bad taste in my mouth#and I need his good!dad version to cleanse it and hug his kids or something#this is getting long... at some point it might have to just become a fic on its own and go on ao3 or something#but it sounds like a later problem#anyway glad you like it. hope you enjoy this next part#dick grayson#bad dad bruce wayne#emotional exhaustion#neglect#emotional neglect
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Hi 🤗👋🏻, would you write a smut one about pedro x reader? Like they're babysitting a kid's friend, Pedro gets turned on by the reader who's trying to convince the kid to eat its food (or whatever you like). But every time things get spicy someone, even the kid or something interrupts them.
The Taste of Love
PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader
WORD COUNT: 1636| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
The aroma of burnt toast hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sweet stickiness coating the kitchen table. Five-year-old Leo, a whirlwind of boundless energy, was currently engaged in a battle of wills with a plate of spaghetti. His dark curls bounced as he shook his head emphatically, a tiny frown creasing his brow.
"No quiero," he declared, pushing the plate away with a decisive little hand.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Leo, we've talked about this. You need to eat something. You've been playing all morning."
Pedro, sprawled on the living room sofa, chuckled. "Sounds familiar," he called out, his voice laced with amusement.
You shot him a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with a carb-resistant five-year-old."
He grinned, pushing himself up from the sofa. "Let me try my charm." He sauntered into the kitchen, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, Leo. You know, spaghetti gives you super strength. Like Superman!"
Leo eyed him skeptically. "Superman eats tacos," he countered.
Pedro’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Ah, good point. But, uh… this spaghetti… it’s magic spaghetti. It makes you run faster than a cheetah!"
Leo considered this, then shook his head again. "I want chicken nuggets."
You bit back a laugh. This was going nowhere. "Okay, new tactic," you announced, grabbing a spoon. "Leo, how about we play airplane? The spoon is the airplane, and the spaghetti is… fuel!" You made airplane noises, swooping the spoon towards Leo's mouth.
He giggled, but still refused to open his mouth.
"Come on, open wide! Choo choo!" You zoomed the spoon around his head, making exaggerated engine sounds.
Pedro leaned against the counter, watching you with an appreciative glint in his eyes. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "you're really good at this."
"Thanks," you replied, your eyes still on Leo. "It's all about persistence." You wiggled the spoon in front of Leo's nose. "Last stop, the yummy tummy station!"
Leo giggled again, finally opening his mouth. A small portion of spaghetti disappeared.
"Yes!" you cheered. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Pedro chuckled. "You're amazing," he whispered, his eyes lingering on your face. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek. His touch sent a shiver down your spine.
"Gracias," you murmured, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Just trying to avoid a meltdown."
"Meltdowns are inevitable with five-year-olds," Pedro said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But I have a feeling you can handle anything."
"I'm pretty resourceful," you replied, meeting his gaze. The air between you crackled with unspoken energy.
Suddenly, Leo piped up, "More airplane!"
You and Pedro exchanged a look, a mixture of amusement and frustration. "Right," you said, turning back to Leo. "More airplane it is."
The spaghetti saga continued, with you employing a variety of creative tactics, each accompanied by sound effects and silly voices. Pedro watched, a constant smile playing on his lips. He occasionally offered encouragement, his voice a low rumble that resonated through you.
As Leo finally finished the last bite, he declared, "I'm full!" and promptly slid off his chair, running back into the living room.
You and Pedro exchanged a sigh of relief. "Mission accomplished," you said, smiling.
"You're a miracle worker," Pedro said, stepping closer. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you gently towards him. "You know," he murmured, his voice laced with a playful huskiness, "watching you… it was very… stimulating."
"Oh really?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you find so stimulating?"
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Your… dedication. Your… creativity. Your… everything." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "You're incredible, (Y/N)."
"Pedro," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.
Just as his lips were about to capture yours, Leo came tearing back into the kitchen. "Pedro, can you build me a tower with the blocks?"
Pedro groaned inwardly. "Of course, Leo," he said, forcing a smile. He turned back to you, his eyes filled with longing. "Later," he whispered, brushing a kiss against your forehead.
The rest of the afternoon followed a similar pattern. Moments of intense connection between you and Pedro, punctuated by Leo's constant demands for attention. Every time things started to heat up, Leo would inevitably interrupt, needing a drink, a toy, or assistance with some imaginary crisis.
As the sun began to set, Leo’s parents arrived to pick him up. After a flurry of goodbyes and thank yous, you and Pedro were finally alone.
He turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Where were we?" he murmured, reaching for you.
You smiled, anticipation bubbling within you. "I believe," you whispered, "we were about to… explore the stimulating effects of spaghetti wrangling."
He chuckled, pulling you close. "Indeed we were." His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, a kiss that spoke of pent-up desire and long-awaited intimacy. His hands roamed your body, sending shivers of delight through you.
"Mmm," he murmured against your lips. "You smell delicious."
"And you," you whispered back, "smell like… slightly burnt toast."
He laughed, pulling you closer. "Worth it," he whispered, his lips finding yours again. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His hands moved beneath your shirt, his touch sending sparks through you.
"Pedro," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
"Sí, mi amor?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
"Let's go to the bedroom," you whispered, taking his hand.
He grinned, his eyes burning with passion. "Finalmente," he said, following you eagerly. As you reached the bedroom door, you paused, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.
"You know," you said, "I have a feeling we're going to have a very… stimulating… evening."
He chuckled, pulling you into his arms. "I have a feeling you're right," he whispered, his lips capturing yours in another passionate kiss.
Pedro guided you to the bed, his hands sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You gasped softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he explored the sensitive skin along your collarbone.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he admired you. "Hermosa," he whispered, his voice reverent. His hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your skin, igniting a fire within you.
You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Pedro groaned softly, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and urgent.
He gently laid you back on the bed, his body pressing against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable. His hands explored every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched, his touch both soothing and electrifying.
"Pedro," you moaned, your body arching towards him, craving more.
He responded with a deep, throaty groan, his lips trailing down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. When he finally reached the waistband of your panties, he paused, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"May I?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire.
"Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.
He slid your panties down your legs, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers through you. His lips followed the path of his hands, kissing and nipping at your thighs, teasing you until you were trembling beneath him.
When he finally pressed his lips to your most sensitive spot, you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets as waves of pleasure washed over you. Pedro’s tongue moved with expert precision, drawing you closer and closer to the edge until you finally tumbled over, your body convulsing with release.
Pedro didn’t give you a chance to recover. He moved up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he positioned himself between your thighs. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against you, and you moaned softly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Are you ready, mi amor?" he whispered, his voice a mix of love and desire.
"Yes," you breathed, your heart pounding in your chest.
He entered you slowly, his movements deliberate and tender, giving you time to adjust. The sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, a perfect combination of pleasure and intimacy that took your breath away.
Pedro moved with a steady rhythm, his body pressing against yours, his lips never leaving your skin. You matched his pace, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.
"Pedro," you moaned, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built within you, threatening to consume you.
"I’m right here, mi amor," he whispered, his voice strained with desire. "Let go for me."
With a final thrust, you tumbled over the edge, your body convulsing with release. Pedro followed moments later, his own release washing over him as he buried his face in your neck, his body trembling against yours.
You lay there, tangled together, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through you. Pedro gently brushed the hair from your face, his eyes filled with love and adoration.
"Te amo," he whispered, his voice soft and sincere.
"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion.
As you lay in his arms, you knew that no matter what life threw your way, you would always have this—this connection, this love, this passion. And that was all you needed.
#marcus acacias x reader#marcus acacius x y/n#justus acacius#gladiator ll#joel miller x reader#marcus acacius smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader masterlist#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#pedroispunk#pedropascaledit#pedro#marcus acacius x reader#pedro pascal x plus size reader#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal x ofc#real people fiction#gladiator 2#pedrito#marcus acacius
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Tim follows Bruce's rules perfectly. In this way, perhaps, he can be better than his predecessors. He knows from observation that Jason liked to ignore the rules and argue with Bruce, and he can guess from what he knows about Dick that he was the same. Tim can’t afford to ask questions, or argue with Bruce, or break the rules. He has to be perfect. Too much is riding on it. If he messes this up and gets Robin taken away from him, he doesn’t know what will happen to Bruce. If he’ll slip back into his old ways and walk along the edge between life and death.
Because the thing is, Bruce is getting better. He’s not the same Batman he used to be; he buried a piece of himself six feet under with Jason’s body, and Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. Still, Bruce’s decisions in the field become more logical, and he can recognize when to go home and tend to his wounds now. He even invites Tim to stay for dinner after patrol once, but Tim knows a courtesy invite when he sees one, and politely declines.
Outside of the suit, Bruce keeps himself at a distance at all times, and Tim is grateful for it. It certainly makes it easier to remember that this is nothing more than a business partnership.
Dick is a little harder to keep away from. The older boy has a way of making Tim feel relaxed and safe around him that he’s never experienced before. Dick’s smiles make him feel warm inside, and Tim knows that the laid-back personality and dad jokes are a front that he puts on, yet he still can’t help but look forward to Dick’s visits to Gotham. He almost feels like an older brother, but Tim scratches that thought out of his brain the second it crosses his mind.
He realizes abruptly that he’s gotten too comfortable with Dick, and forces himself to withdraw. He keeps an eye out for the little things that tell what Dick is really feeling, like the flash of sadness in his gaze that he quickly hides whenever Tim does something that reminds him a little too much of his lost baby brother, or the way he freezes up any time he has physical contact with Tim while he’s in the Robin suit, or how he holds his breath for a fracture of a second whenever Tim is even slightly in danger. Tim learns to look for these signs, and holds them like barbs around his heart to prevent himself from overstepping.
Surprisingly, Tim finds it the hardest to keep himself from growing attached to Alfred. The butler is more compassionate than Tim ever could have expected, and it gets increasingly harder to keep him at a distance. He’s kind, and caring, and says exactly what’s on his mind (it’s very amusing to witness him put Bruce in his place and stay perfectly polite while doing so).
Tim pretends not to notice the way Alfred checks him for injuries after every patrol (with a med-kit waiting just in case), and sneaks extra protein bars into the various pockets of his suit whenever Tim gets low, and always has a steaming mug of the best hot cocoa in the world waiting after the particularly grueling patrols. Tim knows better than to accept Bruce’s pity-invites to dinner, but he’d never waste a mug of Alfred’s hot cocoa. (As long as he drinks it quickly he’s not overstaying his welcome, he justifies it to himself.) He ignores the sad looks Alfred gives him when Tim makes excuses to rush home straight after patrol rather than hanging out, or when he easily brushes off the older man’s concerns regarding his dark eye-bags and alarming coffee intake.
He keeps them at a distance at all times. They don’t want you, he tells himself, they need you. And that’s enough. It has to be. He can’t get attached to them because he doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with any of them; he hasn’t earned it. And if (when) being Robin gets him killed, they won’t be hindered by the inconvenience.
Tim knows he isn’t the best option for Robin, and some days that fact looms over his head more than others. He isn’t even a good Robin, anyone would have been better than Tim. He’s still actively fighting against brain fog every day, and he has to write things down constantly so that he won’t forget them, and sometimes at 3:00AM when he’s trying to finish his case notes and on his fourth coffee the sleep deprivation and migraines just feel like too much.
When it gets really bad, he reminds himself that nobody else stepped up.
He might not be a good Robin, but he’s the only Robin that Gotham has right now.
So he sucks it up and finishes his case notes. He ignores the headaches and exhaustion and goes to school the next day anyways. He doesn’t bother Bruce or Alfred with the minor injuries that come from patrol. He stitches himself up at home and tries not to get blood on his mother’s expensive rugs.
When it feels like too much, he keeps going, because there is no other option.
[Excerpt from chapter two of Blue Pills and Scattered Dreams, which will be posted soon...]
#sneak peak#blue pills and scattered dreams#chapter two coming soon#batfam#tim drake#dc universe#dcu#dick grayson#alfred pennyworth#tim and dick#tim and alfred#tim and bruce#tim drake has low self esteem#tim drake needs a hug#tim drake angst#drabble#cinder writes
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The Alchemy | Part 5
NFL!Bucky x Reader AU
Word Count: 5k
Warning: Angst, toxic relationship, manipulation
A/N: Im sorry in trying my best, mental health is just a bitch. Once again i dont know shit about football or the NFL LOL I'm an NHL girly but here we are so if i get terms and shit wrong its ok cuz its a fan fic 🤣🤣
Masterpost
----
The party was in full swing by the time you and Bucky arrived—packed with sweaty, overhyped teenagers celebrating the team’s win, red plastic cups littering every surface, the air thick with cheap beer and bad decisions. Someone had strung up white Christmas lights around the backyard, giving the whole place a soft glow, but it did nothing to cut through the chaos.
You weren’t even sure who actually lived here, just that it was a senior with rich parents who conveniently weren’t home, and that half the damn school had shown up to celebrate.
The music pulsed through your chest, bass-heavy and a little too loud, but it didn’t matter. Because Bucky was there, pressed close as he navigated you through the swarm of people like he always did, one hand grazing the small of your back, the other lifting in a lazy wave whenever a teammate shouted his name.
“Stay put,” he murmured near your ear once you’d finally managed to carve out a small space near the bonfire. “I’ll grab us a drink.”
You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.
The night was warm, the heat of the fire licking at your skin. You weren’t fully relaxed, there was something about nights like these, about parties, about being surrounded by people who were too drunk to notice if something went wrong, but Bucky made it better. He always did.
A few minutes later, he returned, grinning as he held out a red cup. “Here, got you something good.”
The second you caught the scent, rich, smoky, unmistakable—your stomach twisted.
Whiskey.
The smell hit you like a punch to the gut, sharp and suffocating, dragging you back to memories you wanted buried. The way the bottle slammed onto the counter. The way his words slurred together, thick with anger. The way your mother sat frozen at the table, staring at the wall, waiting for it to pass.
Your fingers curled into your palm. “I—I can’t drink that.”
Bucky frowned, holding it out a little more. “What? Since when does my girl turn down a drink?”
Your throat tightened. “Just… not whiskey.”
He opened his mouth, probably to make some joke about you being picky but then, you saw it. The exact second he realized.
His entire body stiffened, his eyes widening just slightly before flickering with something heavy. His grip on the cup faltered. “Oh, fuck.” His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with something close to regret. “Shit, I—I’m sorry.”
You shook your head quickly, forcing a small, tight smile. “Bucky, it’s not a big deal.”
“The hell it’s not,” he muttered, setting the cup down so fast it nearly toppled over. “Stay here, I’ll be right back….again.”
You watched as he vanished again, weaving back through the house, his shoulders tense.
For some reason, your chest ached.
You hadn’t expected him to care so much. It was just a drink. Just a stupid drink at a stupid party. But Bucky had looked at you like he’d failed you somehow..
When he returned, he had two cold beers in his hands. He pressed one into yours before cracking open his own, exhaling sharply like he was only just allowing himself to relax.
“I feel like an idiot,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I should’ve remembered.”
“Bucky, it’s an insignificant thing, it’s really not—”
He cut you off before you could downplay it again. “Nothing about you is insignificant, okay? Nothing.” His blue eyes burned with sincerity, sharp and unshakable. “The stuff that matters to you? It matters to me too. And I’m sorry I forgot.”
Your heart squeezed.
You weren’t used to people treating you like this—like your pain was valid, like your boundaries mattered, like your past wasn’t something to be brushed aside.
But Bucky always had.
He always would. You’re sure of it.
You swallowed hard, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For always being there for me.”
“Always” He whispered, a slight crack in his voice.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The chaos of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in the flickering firelight, beer bottles hanging loosely in your hands.
He was close..so close, the space between you shrinking with every unspoken word. His gaze flickered to your lips, just for a second, before his tongue darted out to wet his own.
Your pulse hammered. Finally, you thought.
And then…
“BUCKY, MY MAN!”
The moment shattered.
A loud, drunken whoop cut through the night, and then, suddenly, the entire football team was descending on him, dragging him into their celebration, slapping his back, shoving beer into his free hand.
You took a step back, your breath still caught in your throat.
Bucky’s eyes snapped to yours, something like frustration flashing across his face, like he knew what had almost happened, what finally, almost happened, like he wanted to go back but then someone was lifting him onto their shoulders, chanting his name, and he was forced to tear his gaze away.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
You let out a quiet breath, tilting your beer back and swallowing the lump in your throat.
Maybe it was for the best.
Maybe it was a sign you were meant to just be friends. To always be just friends.
-----
The hallway outside your hotel room was quiet, save for the occasional distant voices of players passing through, all heading somewhere to celebrate the win. You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you waited for John. The nerves sitting heavy in your stomach weren’t from excitement—weren’t from the anticipation of a night out, a rare moment to unwind after the intensity of the season’s start. No, this feeling was something else.
You knew what kind of night this would be before it even started. Because you knew John, and the thought of Bucky and him at the same table left you anxious.
John was already running late, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the seconds stretching into minutes, making you hyper-aware of everything—the way your dress felt too tight around your ribs, the way your pulse thrummed a little too fast.
Then, a voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“You okay?”
You turned slightly to see Bucky standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable.
You nodded quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just waiting on John.”
His eyes flickered with something, something you couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say anything right away, just studied you for a moment longer. And for a second, you wondered if he could see it, the way your hands clenched the fabric of your dress at your sides, the way your shoulders were drawn just a little too tight. He use to be able to.
But before either of you could say anything more, the hotel door swung open behind you.
John stepped out, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, his phone in one hand. He barely spared you a glance before looking past you to Bucky.
“Barnes,” he said smoothly.
Bucky gave him a nod, expression still unreadable. “Walker.”
John’s hand found the small of your back, the touch firm, more like a warning than anything else. “We’ll see you guys there,” he said, already steering you down the hallway.
Bucky didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering even as you walked away.
The ride to the restaurant was silent at first, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional ding of John’s phone as he scrolled through messages. You kept your hands clasped in your lap, your fingers digging into your palm to keep them steady.
Then, he spoke.
“Do not embarrass me tonight.”
You blinked, your breath catching slightly. “What?”
John didn’t look up from his phone. “These guys? They’re not just players. They have influence. And if you make me look bad in front of them—” He finally turned his gaze on you, a tight smile pulling at his lips. “Well, let’s not make this difficult, okay?”
You nodded automatically, your throat tightening.
He sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the seat. “Just smile, laugh at my jokes. And don’t go on and on about your stupid media stuff, alright? Trust me they don’t give a shit, they’re just playing nice because you used to be friends with Barnes.”
Used to
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look out the window as the city lights blurred past.
It was funny, in a cruel sort of way. You were finally in a place where you felt like you belonged, like you were good at something, and yet John had a way of making it feel so…insignificant. Like you were just playing pretend. And you knew he was right, they were some of the best players in the league getting paid millions of dollars. Why the hell would they care about you and your stupid job that you apparently didn't even earn on your own. And Bucky… well you didn’t even wanna get started on that because you knew deep down you weren't good enough for him then you certainly not good enough for him now. Friends or not.
By the time you pulled up to the restaurant, the unease had settled deep in your chest.
The restaurant hummed with warm, low chatter, the golden glow of the dimmed lights casting soft shadows against the walls. The air still carried the lingering buzz of victory, the easy energy of a team celebrating a job well done. The conversation around the table flowed effortlessly—teammates recounting plays, exchanging banter, trading inside jokes.
You sat between John and Sam, fingers curled around the napkin in your lap, trying to keep yourself grounded. Across from you, Bucky sat quietly, his beer untouched in front of him, blue eyes scanning the table. He wasn’t withdrawn, exactly, but he was watching. Observing.
John, on the other hand, was in his element. Effortlessly inserting himself into conversations, charming everyone around him, laughing at just the right moments. It was all so natural, so perfectly performed, and it made your stomach churn.
The waiter arrived, taking orders, and when he got to you, John barely hesitated before speaking.
“She’ll have an Old Fashioned,” he said smoothly, handing the menu back without looking at you.
You stiffened.
You hated Old Fashioneds. You hated Whiskey, its what your Dad use to drink.
It was such a small thing. Such a stupid, insignificant thing. But the way he did it, so carelessly, so decisively, without even glancing at you, made something burn in your chest.
For a second, you thought about correcting him. Thought about forcing your voice through the thick silence building in your throat. But before you could, his hand slid onto your thigh under the table, fingers pressing firm. Not quite enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you.
You stayed quiet.
When your gaze lifted, Bucky was already watching.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. But the look in his eyes made your skin feel too tight, like he saw right through you. Like he was remembering something.
And maybe he was.
The moment passed, lost in the clatter of silverware, in the swell of voices as the team kept talking.
“So, John,” Steve said, glancing at him. “What do you do?”
John leaned back slightly, his arm still draped over the back of your chair like he belonged there. “I do some PR work behind the scenes,” he said easily. “NFL branding initiatives, helping coordinate events, stuff like that.”
Helping coordinate events. That was generous. You knew damn well he barely lifted a finger. He had a title, sure—something vague that let him slip into rooms he didn’t belong in—but his name, his father, were what carried the real weight.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “And your dad? He’s still high up in the league, right?”
John grinned. “Oh yeah. He’s got his hands in just about everything. Any major decision in the league, you can bet he’s a part of it.”
Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn. No wonder you’re so connected.”
John just laughed. “Exactly. Connections are everything in this business. It’s all about who you know.”
He said it so smoothly, like it was just an offhand comment, like it wasn’t meant to cut. But then—
“That’s actually how Y/N got this job, you know.”
Your stomach dropped.
He said it like it was nothing. Like it was casual. Like it wasn’t a grenade he’d just thrown into the middle of the table.
John chuckled, nudging your side. “She’s so damn stubborn—wanted to do everything on her own. Thought she could earn it on her own. But hey, I put in a good word, made sure the right people saw her résumé.”
Silence.
You thought you might be sick.
With the boys that heard, with Bucky thinking you didn’t earn this job, didn’t deserve this job. You felt small, embarrassed. You felt all the colour drain from your face as you took in a sharp inhale.
And from the way Bucky’s jaw tensed slightly, from the way his fingers curled around his beer glass, you knew he was biting back from saying something.
The noise of the restaurant pressed in around you, but everything felt muted, far away. Your hands clenched in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you stared at the flickering candle in the center of the table, trying to keep your face neutral.
Then—
“Doesn’t matter how she got the job,” Sam said suddenly, his voice easy but firm. “Girl’s talented as hell. Deserves it.”
You looked up, surprised.
He was grinning at you, all warmth and confidence, like he hadn’t just rescued you from drowning. And you couldn’t help it—you smiled back, your chest loosening just a little.
But the moment was short-lived. It always was.
John’s hand tightened around your thigh in a sharp, quick squeeze. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough for you to feel it.
“Of course, my girl deserves the world,” he said smoothly, giving you a kiss on the temple before sitting back like he hadn’t just staked a claim.
Bucky was still watching.
Still quiet.
And then John, ever the performer, turned back to the conversation with a smirk. “So, Barnes,” he started, picking up his beer. “You knew Y/N back in what was it again? High school, huh?”
“Our whole childhood.” Bucky’s gaze flicked from you to John, his face unreadable. “But yeah.”
John laughed, shaking his head as he gave you another playful squeeze. “Bet she was a handful back then, huh? Like she is now?”
You forced a small, tight smile, but the grip on your thigh burned.
Bucky didn’t take the bait.
His voice was steady, even, when he finally spoke.
“I could never think that of her.”
The air at the table shifted. It was subtle, but it was there, the tension threading through the conversation like an undercurrent, pulling tighter with every second that passed.
Bucky’s voice was steady, even—but beneath it, there was an unmistakable edge, something sharp and unyielding. His blue eyes never wavered from John’s, locking him in place. And for the first time that night, John hesitated. Just for a second.
You had never seen him hesitate before. It wasn’t in his nature. He was used to having everything handed to him, power, privilege, even respect, whether he earned it or not.
Then, he let out an easy chuckle, leaning back in his chair like he hadn’t noticed the shift in energy. “That so?” He took a slow sip of his beer before glancing at you, his smirk returning. “You must’ve had him wrapped around your finger then, huh?”
Your stomach twisted.
You knew what he was doing. The fake charm, the lighthearted jabs that were never actually lighthearted. The way he was always trying to remind you, to remind everyone, that you were his.
Before you could say anything, Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.
“She wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate. “She didn’t take advantage of people.”
John’s smirk didn’t falter, but you felt his fingers press a little harder against your thigh.
“No?” he said smoothly. “Guess she’s changed, then.”
The words were coated in something...something that made your chest tighten, something that made Bucky’s fingers flex around his glass.
Your pulse pounded in your ears.
Steve cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. Sam, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, glanced between John and Bucky, lips pressing into a thin line. The energy around the table felt like a slow-building storm, quiet but electric.
John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Relax, Barnes,” he said, his voice light, but the way he said Bucky’s name, like it was a joke, like it was something he didn’t take seriously—made your stomach drop.
Bucky didn’t move, didn’t flinch.
But something in his expression changed.
His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightening slightly, and you could see the muscle feather under his skin.
It wasn’t that Bucky had a short temper. He didn’t. But there were certain things that got under his skin, certain buttons that could be pushed just enough to break that infamous restraint of his.
And John was pushing them.
Hard.
“I’m relaxed,” Bucky said evenly, voice slow and measured. But the way he was gripping the glass in his hand told you otherwise.
John chuckled again, but it was forced this time.
“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “I always wondered what it would be like, growing up with her. Bet she was always the center of attention, huh?” His grip on your leg tightened as he glanced at you, his tone deliberately playful but edged with something sharper. “She loves that, doesn’t she?”
It was a test. A warning. A reminder.
And Bucky knew it. You knew it.
His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders tensed just, the way they always did when he was holding himself back.
“She deserves attention,” Bucky said, voice low, the weight of it settling heavily between them. “The right kind.”
The implication was there, clear as day.
John’s fingers twitched against your thigh.
That got John’s attention. John for the first time that night, he finally looked Bucky directly in the eye.
The fake smile was gone.
The air felt thick, suffocating, like something was teetering on the edge of breaking.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.
John stared at Bucky for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, just as quickly as it had shifted, he leaned back again, his smirk sliding back into place like nothing had happened.
He let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you must really got it bad, don’t you?”
Bucky didn’t react.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
It was unbearable. You couldn't even hear the chatter from the other side of the table anymore, you couldn't hear the loud music, you could only hear the blood in your ears and the thumping of your heart.
Then, finally, John exhaled, giving your leg one last, sharp squeeze before finally pulling his hand away.
When Bucky didn’t give him a response of any kind he kept going. “Well,” he said smoothly, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “I don’t blame you. She’s something else, huh?”
His lips pressed against your temple, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, and when you instinctively glanced at Bucky again, his jaw was clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.
The moment hung there, heavy, stretching impossibly long.
The tension at the table was suffocating now, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.
You could feel Bucky’s stare—burning, unwavering—but you refused to look back at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see in his expression.
Anger?
Regret?
Something worse?
John, on the other hand, was thriving in it. You could tell by the way he leaned back casually in his chair, the way he sipped his drink like he wasn’t winding up for another hit.
You were hoping that someone else would say something. Maybe the waiter would come back and interrupt the moment. You were hoping that even maybe Bucky would finally respond and give him what he wants so this could just all stop. But he didn't, so John didn't stop.
And then, just as you feared, he took his shot. He was trying so desperately to get anything out of Bucky.
“You know, Barnes,” John mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “I gotta say, man, I don’t know how you missed out on this.”
Your stomach dropped.
You knew what was coming before he even said it.
John turned his head, his lips grazing your ear as he squeezed your thigh beneath the table. “She looks even better without clothes on,” he said, low enough that only Bucky, and maybe Sam, could hear. “Seriously. Something must be wrong with you.”
A cold chill ran through your spine.
Bucky went completely still. His fingers no longer flexing on the glass.
It felt like the world had stopped moving.
John grinned, leaning back again. “So tell me, Buck—what exactly did you do wrong to never get your shot?” He raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Didn’t have the balls to go for it?”
Sam shifted beside you, his posture stiffening. You weren’t sure if it was because of what John had said or because of the way Bucky was looking at him now, like a predator sizing up its prey. Bucky was letting him dig his own hole and he wanted so badly to bury him in it.
Then John’s smirk widened. He wasn’t done yet. He never was.
“Oh wait,” he said, snapping his fingers in faux realization. “Don’t answer that, you probably think you didn’t do anything wrong, huh? You just—what was it again?” He turned to you, pretending to think. “Oh, right. You completely cut her off when she told you she was moving. How pathetic is that?”
A sharp pain bloomed in your chest.
Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.
John laughed under his breath, taking another sip of his drink before delivering the final blow.
“And then you never even called her when she lost both her parents,” he added, shaking his head. “Not one but two! Damn, man. I mean, I’d say what kind of friend are you? but…” He shrugged. “You guys aren’t friends anymore, right? You made sure of that.”
Silence.
Pure, deafening silence.
Your heart was in your throat.
John’s words hung in the air like poison, thick and suffocating. The weight of them settled over the table, pressing down like a storm cloud about to break.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
And then—
Bucky finally blinked. He took a sip of his beer.
Slowly, he set his drink down on the table with a deliberate clink.
His knuckles were white against the glass.
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, measured breath.
But when he lifted his eyes to John, there was nothing playful in them. No amusement. No restraint.
Just ice.
And something dangerous.
Your pulse hammered against your ribs.
John, for the second time that night, hesitated.
It was barely noticeable—a small twitch of his fingers, the slightest flicker of uncertainty behind his smirk.
But Bucky saw it.
You knew Bucky saw it.
And you thought he was going to hit him. That he was going to lunge across the table. A part of you wanted him to.
The tension stretched impossibly thin, so thick it was hard to breathe.
Then..
“Buck,” Steve said, his voice low. A warning.
Bucky didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
He just stared.
And somehow, somehow—that was worse.
Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Man, you’re really pushing your luck tonight,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for his drink trying to ease the tension.
John chuckled again, but it wasn’t as effortless this time. He clapped a hand on your thigh one more time before finally leaning back, his smirk settling back into place.
His jaw was tight, his grip on his glass even tighter, but his eyes—his eyes—were locked onto John like he was seconds away from standing up and putting him through the damn table.
Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.
You weren’t sure if you were more afraid of what John would say next or what Bucky would do in response. Either way, the air felt charged, volatile, like something was going to snap.
And then, Bucky’s gaze flickered, just for a second, to you.
He saw the look on your face.
The way your fingers were curled into your lap, nails pressing deep into your skin.
The silent plea in your eyes.
And just like that, the tension in his shoulders dropped just slightly, the fire in his expression dimming just enough to see you.
You swallowed thickly, turning to John who was opening his mouth, again. Dragging in a shaky breath before reaching out, your fingers wrapping around John’s forearm.
“Stop,” you said quietly.
John barely glanced at you. “Stop what?”
You squeezed a little tighter. “John,” you said, your voice lower now, more desperate. “Stop this.”
John finally looked at you then, turning his body toward you slightly, his eyes narrowing. His smirk was gone. In its place, something colder, something more dangerous.
“I wanna hear you say it,” he murmured, his voice a quiet taunt. “Come on, honey. Where are your manners?”
You stiffened.
John tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Say it nicely,” he pressed, his fingers ghosting over your thigh under the table. “Try ‘please stop, John’.”
The words stuck in your throat.
The way he was looking at you, so smug, so in control, made you feel sick. You hated how easily he could do this, how effortlessly he could turn your voice into something that barely belonged to you anymore.
Your lips parted, just barely, ready to force the words out—
And then Bucky’s voice cut through the air.
“Don’t.”
John’s head snapped up, his entire body going rigid.
Slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Are you telling my girl what to do?”
That was it.
The final line drawn in the sand.
Before anyone could say another word, Steve pushed his chair back with enough force to make it scrape against the floor. His tone was sharp, decisive. Done.
“Okay,” Steve said firmly. “That’s enough. I don’t know what’s going on here, but this—” He gestured between Bucky and John. “—is not happening. Not tonight.”
Bucky didn’t move.
Didn’t take his eyes off John.
Didn’t blink.
Steve exhaled sharply before turning to Bucky. “Buck, let’s go.”
Bucky didn’t respond, not right away. You could see the war in his expression, the sheer force of restraint it took for him to tear his gaze away from John.
But when he finally did, when his blue eyes landed on you again, his expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.
He wasn’t just looking at you. He was asking.
Are you going to be okay?
You wanted to answer.
Wanted to say yes.
Wanted to say no.
Wanted to say please don’t go.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, you looked down.
Bucky’s jaw tightened again, but he didn’t push it.
He just let out a slow, measured breath before finally stepping away from the table.
Steve followed.
A few of the other players, ones who had been too far away to hear what had really gone down, called out casual goodbyes, still laughing about something completely unrelated. They had no idea.
And then, just like that, Bucky was gone.
John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the audacity. Then, without another glance at you, he pulled his arm from your grip and stood, scooting down the table to where some of the other guys sat.
Like nothing had happened.
Like you weren’t even there.
Laughter bubbled from the other side of the table, casual, easygoing.
Meanwhile, on your side, it was just you and Sam.
The silence between you was suffocating.
You swallowed hard, staring at the candle in the middle of the table like it might give you some kind of answer, some kind of out.
And then, barely above a whisper you spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Sam frowned. “I can’t stress this enough, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
Your throat tightened. You blinked rapidly, a single tear slipping free before you could stop it. You wiped it away quickly, but Sam saw.
He saw.
And he didn’t look away.
For a few more seconds, you just sat there, staring at nothing, the weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. Then, suddenly, the air in the restaurant felt like too much, too hot, too stifling, too heavy.
“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you said abruptly, pushing your chair back.
John’s head snapped up immediately. “What?”
You turned to him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just head back early.”
John frowned, standing before you could even move. He grabbed your wrist, hard, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you flinch.
“You going by yourself?” he asked, voice low.
Sam saw.
His entire body went stiff beside you.
“I figured you wanted to stay, don’t you?” you asked John carefully, testing the waters.
John let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he finally, finally, released his grip. “Of course I do,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward his teammates. “I’m here with my buddies.”
The guys around him laughed, completely oblivious to the way the moment had just unfolded.
John turned back to you, smirking. “Wait up for me?”
You nodded mechanically. “Of course.”
His smirk widened. “That’s my girl.”
And then, without warning, he yanked you down, crushing his lips to yours.
It wasn’t a kiss.
It was a claim.
A reminder.
It was too much, too hard, too aggressive, too something but you let him do it anyway. You always did.
When he finally pulled away, he flashed you one last smile before smacking your ass, earning a laugh from the other guys and turning back to the conversation like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just bruised your wrist.
Like he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs.
Like he hadn’t just won.
You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to move, forcing yourself to leave before you made the mistake of looking back.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x y/n#sebastian stan x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes angst#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes au#bucky fanfic#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky barnes x reader angst#bucky banres#james bucky barnes
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The middle one sniffed emiles arm again, and then he slowly but surely itched his way forward. He sat down and nuzzled the top of his head against emiles chest, before he laid down and buried his face into emiles hip...as if he wanted to get away from the world and disappear into Emile.
The older one, on the other hand, didn't move. He swallowed thickly before looking down. He hugged himself and moved even closer to the table leg, it was obvious he wasn't so quick to trust. But he'll get there. One day.
"Are you going to say that for the rest of his life?! Is that how you're going to keep him trapped until the day he dies? That he needs to be protected?! Virgil, you can help him protect himself, but you won't do that! You need to control his every move! Maybe Roman should be the one that makes that choice, have you ever thought of that? Romans not a child, he can make choices and decisions for himself!" Remus snarled as his hand went into a fist again. "Then your relationship with Roman will die too, Virgil. Are you willing to do that?"
Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.
{@moralpuppylover2}
Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.
So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-
He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.
"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.
@moralpuppylover2
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#also dew rests his head right there while aether jerks it because he really like to watch up close#just sayin
could i persuade you to say a little more
(I was JUST talking to @forlorn-crows about this! What a happy accident! )
It's late one night, they've already settled in for bed. Dew has his head on Aether's chest, curled up while Aether hums out a gentle tune and plays with Dew's hair, but Dew sees that bulge under the sheets. It was a long day, and Dew isn't particularly in the mood, but clearly Aether's body needs one last bit of relaxation before sleep can find him.
He doesn't say anything as he scoots down the mattress, planting soft, chaste kisses along his chest until he can rest his cheek against the softness of Aether's belly. Listening to his breathing and the interesting sounds his insides makes. The humming slows, but doesn't stop - not until Dew slides the sheet down Aether's hips, exposing the soft swell of his chubby cock. Aether still has a hand in his hair, claws sitting still against Dew's scalp as he waits. Waits for Dew to make a comment, a decision, something.
Dew sinks gentle fangs into the extra soft spot just below Aether's navel, nuzzles his hairy stomach, and wraps an arm around his thigh.
"Go on," Dew purrs, and Aether's cock twitches. "Let me watch you play with it."
Aether needs no further instruction - its not like this is the first time they've done this. He makes a pleased sound low in his chest, one that vibrates straight through Dew’s skull. Every sound Aether makes will have that same effect, and that's part of why Dew enjoys this view so much.
The other part is getting to see how worked up Aether gets like this, under such close scrutiny. The hand in Dew's hair slides down to hold the back of his neck, matching the grip Aether takes his pudgy length in. A thumb swipes back and forth over Dew's nape, just like Aether uses the other to rub little circles over the ridge of his tip, hidden by his foreskin. It's no time at all before that lovely, fat cock of his stands at full attention, and Dew's eyes trace every single touch Aether allows himself.
He takes his time like this, always does. Tugging with slow, twisting strokes that make every vein on his shaft fill out. Every peek Dew gets at the tip reveals more and more of a shine, a slick layer of precum he can just barely hear between slides of Aether's foreskin. Most of his focus is on the quickening of his breath, the deep rumbles of pleasure flowing into his head.
Dew's fingertips trace nonsensical patterns along the tender skin of Aether's inner thigh, muscles jumping under his delicate touch. He murmurs praise and soft questions into Aether's skin, but knows they go unheard. That's alright, he mostly saying them for himself anyway. So big, so hard, doesn't that feel good?
It's only when Aether changes the angle of his strokes, lets Dew see how purple and slippery the tip has gone, that the little ghoul lets himself be heard.
"Look how much it wants to cum," he coos, voice rough with exhaustion but still ripe with amusement. The hand on the back of his neck tightens. "Wonder what would happen if I just..."
It's all the warning Aether gets before a warm, elegant hand cups his fat sack.
"So heavy," Dew murmurs, and Aether makes the loveliest choking sound.
Dew palms his balls, gives them a nice squeeze, and delights in the way Aether's toes curl. He's one of the few who know how truly sensitive Aether is here, and it's something he'll forever take advantage of. He glides his fingers over them, massages until he earns his prize - a nice squirt of pre that lands right in Aether's happy trail. Dew shifts just enough to lap up every drop, and Aether's thighs tense up.
"Dew..."
"Hmm?" The little ghoul hums it into his skin, licks his lips, and one finger sneaks back to rub Aether's taint. Aether grips himself hard, is cock so stiff it must be painful, and Dew allows himself a sneaky little grin at the thought. "Oh, of course."
He adjust the angle of his head just enough for Aether to see that his mouth is open, and that's all it takes.
The groan Aether lets out as he shoots all over his belly, Dew's tongue and one particularly pretty spurt that stripes the bridge of his nose, damn near rattles the mattress. Dew watches it all, enraptured by every pump, every throb. By the sight of all that pearly fluid, every squirt and dribble, until Aether lets his satisfied cock rest in the cut of his hip. Dew licks up some of it, but Aether has never minded being left messy so he doesn't put in too much effort.
He scoots his way back up once Aether lets go of his neck, a shaky hand smoothing his hair, and offers Aether a smile.
"Better?"
Aether gathers up the stripe of cum crossing Dew's nose with two fingers, feeding it to the little ghoul with a lazy smile of his own.
"Better."
Dew nods, gives Aether the quickest peck on the lips, and hunkers down at his side once more. Rucking up the sheets until he's tucked in up to his shoulders.
"Love you," Aether says through a yawn, an arm slipping under the sheets so he can hold Dew's waist. Dew kisses the spot over his heart as Aether's satisfied purrs rapidly turn into snores.
"Love you too."
#miasma's work#the band ghost ficlets#dewdrop ghoul#aether ghoul#dewther#aether/dew#aether x dew#(dew is specifically enamored by the way aerher's urethra widens when hes about to spill but i couldnt make it sound good so just Know This#not reading before posting so if u see mistakes#no u dont
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A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter Nine
Chapter Summary: Prince Aemond would stop at nothing to get the one he truly wants. Word Count: 6,293 Warnings: Revalations, Lady Elinora and Prince Aemond Growing Closer, Daeron and Edward Protecting Elinora from Aemond, Aemond and Ser Gwayne Fighting, Secret Rendezvous, A LOT of Lies
It was forbidden from the beginning; Prince Aemond had known that, and yet, he found little care. When he saw her in the gardens, with a welcoming, warm smile on her lips and butterflies flying overhead, Prince Aemond knew he had no chance of fighting what he felt for Elinora. He tried. Gods, did he try. He tried not to feel as such. To not be distracted and tormented by her— to keep her at arm’s length and be cruel to her so she would stay away and not tempt him. But whatever tactic he did, he lost. And it was ironic that though he had lost, Elinora was still his prize.
Actually, no— she was no prize. To label her as a prize was to demean her, and Aemond could never stand for such a thing. She was a blessing. The most perfect blessing that the gods were ever so kind to bestow upon Aemond. Who could believe that someone as twisted and vicious as him would have someone as pure and kind as Elinora in his arms? Holding her flushed against him and kissing her soft, sweet lips.
The kiss was unexpected. It was just as unexpected when she came into Aemond’s life, but it was most welcomed.
As they returned to the castle walls, Aemond led Elinora back into her chambers to make sure she did not encounter anything or anyone. Elinora looked upon the prince, thanking him for the night of escape and thrill that she was deprived of. She was at a loss for words, unable to articulate how much she appreciated the night that all she could do to show her thanks was rise to the tip of her toes and give a quick peck on his cheek.
Aemond was taken aback. His cold being turned aflame for the very first time in his life, all because her lips momentarily grazed his cheek. He watched as Elinora’s eyes widened in realization, a bashful blush overcoming her cheeks, and Aemond could tell she was ready to hide in her chambers. So, he took hold of her arm and dipped down to capture her lips.
It was a spontaneous decision, a decision that Aemond did not think of thoughtfully. But he still did it because he did not know what other chance he’d have to feel her lips and hold her against him. Aemond could feel her freeze, taken aback by the shock of his action. The prince was readying himself to part, to leave and act as if he did no such thing, but when he felt Elinora’s arms circle around the back of his neck to pull him closer, and her lips ever so cautiously move against his, Aemond knew then that she was the only person he'd willingly yield and submit to.
He finally realized that all his stubbornness, his state of denial, and his forced animosity were all moot because, in the end, he would still succumb to Elinora.
Aemond felt the need for air, but he had no wish to part their lips and let Elinora realize what was done. However, he felt her lips stagger, and the way her hand clenched around his cloak, wanting for air, Aemond reluctantly parted. He watched intently as Elinora tried to catch her breath, his palm feeling the heat on her red cheeks. Aemond chewed on his cheek as Elinora’s eyes began to widen, the inevitable realization coming, and the prince could only watch as Elinora let go of her hold of him and hastily hid in her chambers in shock at what she had done.
Elinora took deep breaths as she shut the door closed. Heart racing in her chest. Confusion, disbelief, and want greatly loom over her sensibilities. She licked her lips, and upon them was still the taste of the prince. Bitter, cool, yet pleasing. She shut her eyes tightly as she heard the distant footsteps of the prince leaving.
Elinora paced in her chambers, her fingers playing with her lips that could still feel the touch of the prince. She just had her first kiss! Her first kiss that she was saving for her betrothed! Yet, she willingly gave it to Prince Aemond. It alarmed her that as she assessed her emotions, she felt no guilt. She should feel guilty, shouldn’t she? She had sullied herself and broken her oath to her family and the gods that she would save herself for her betrothed. Why, then, did she not feel remorse? Why, then, did she only feel elated about the kiss shared in the dark?
When the following day came, Aemond was filled with frustration. He was too reckless. He had shown all of his cards, and now he feared that he might have truly run off Elinora. “I see that you are once again frustrated... is it because your usual companion did not arrive by the pond earlier this morning?” Ser Criston questioned, trying to tease and test the prince. “You dare spy on me?” Aemond snapped as he turned to the knight.
“It was hardly spying, Aemond. You forget that the knight’s tower overlooks the pond. For all we know, almost all of the white cloaks in this castle have caught a glimpse of you and Lady Elinora feeding the ducks.” Aemond rolled his eye and attempted to leave, for he had no wish to speak, but the knight’s following words made him freeze. “Is your frustration in regards to your little venture to the city last night?”
“How do you know that?” Aemond silently questioned, enraged as he stepped closer to the knight. The prince watched as the knight sighed and shook his head. “I overheard your uncle informing your grandsire,” He stated, and Aemond’s eye widened. “Ser Gwayne saw us?” He asked in disbelief and watched as the knight’s eyes flickered behind him. “Why not ask him,” He said and motioned behind him. “I have warned you, my prince... now I fear you must pay the consequences.” Ser Criston said before leaving Aemond to face his uncle.
“Un—“ he was about to great and face his uncle civilly and explain what had transpired the other night. However, the knight had different plans. He threw a sword to his feet, a menacing expression on his face. “Pick up your sword— we are to spar.” Ser Gwayne gritted. “I’d rather not… I have finished my sess—“
“I said pick up your sword, Aemond.” Ser Gwayne snapped, and Aemond reluctantly did so. Aemond had no time to ready himself as his uncle suddenly swung his sword at him. “You dare sully her! You had crossed each threshold and boundary, Aemond!” Gwayne frustratedly said as he swung against his nephew. “I had done no such thing!” Aemond tried to explain as he blocked all of his uncle’s attacks.
“I could have turned a blind eye with you following her around the keep— sneaking around to feed those damned ducks— but for you to take her to the city? At night?! Compromising her?!”
“Nothing untoward had happened!” Aemond yelled, trying to shield himself from his uncle’s unceasing sword swings. His eye quickly scanned the yard, trying to find someone to aid him, but he frowned as the yard was seemingly empty; even Ser Criston was gone, and no one could stand between him and his uncle.
“That is not how it seemed… I have seen you both firsthand running along the streets— hand in hand!” Aemond grunted as his uncle swung his sword at his leg, using the flat side to not draw blood or cause any serious injuries. Aemond was rendered to sit on the dirt ground, with his uncle standing before him. “If you had seen and followed us, then you could attest that none of what you had insinuated transpired! Yes, I had taken her to the city, but you have seen we had only ventured to the shops!” Aemond panted, holding his leg that throbbed harshly as he had been struck by the metal sword.
“Then what about what has happened in the halls?” Gwayne questioned, his left eye twitching with rage as he saw his nephew hold and kiss Elinora. The girl was rendered in shock that all she could do was let him and, after, hide petrified in her chambers. “You had taken advantage of her! I— I thought you might be different from your older brother— I thought you were a man of honor, which is why I had let you grow closer to Elinora and ignored her brother’s concerns. But you have proven me sorely wrong.”
Aemond shook his head, raging at the words his uncle spewed that were simply untrue. He tried to stand, but Ser Gwayne rested the tip of his sword on his chest, preventing him. “She is too good for you, Aemond. She is pure and innocent, and we— she does not need you to corrupt and ruin her.”Aemond’s jaw ticked as there it was again. The sinking feeling— the menacing reminder that Elinora was too good— too pure for someone as damned and corrupted as him. And now, another had uttered his fears and point of grievance, and it only enraged him and fanned furthered the fire of want for Elinora.
“Stay away from Elinora, Aemond. I mean it. I shall give you this kindness and not tell another about what had transpired last night, but if I see you again in her presence, I will not hesitate to tell Lord and Lady Tyrell, and they would certainly lock Elinora in her tower… something I do not wish to see, but it would what be needed if you do not control yourself, nephew.”
“Wh—Why are you all here?” Elinora questioned in surprise as she ventured to the pond later that afternoon with Peony in her arms. Her brother, along with Ser Gwayne and Daeron, were stood by the edge of the pond, waiting for her. “We just thought you needed company... you’re often here alone, and well, it did not sit right with us,” Edward said, a group decision among them that they shall simply pretend that Prince Aemond was not often in her vicinity.
“Oh,” was all Elinora could say. Biting back her tongue to not utter the truth that Prince Aemond often accompanied her to feed the ducks. “Well, that’s very kind of you all... but it’s fine. I’m used to feeding the ducks by myself; you three never did accompany me in Highgarden.” She said and took a velvet pouch filled with feed from her dress pocket.
Three men exchanged looks as Elinora stepped forward and greeted the ducks and swans, sprinkling breadcrumbs upon the water and watching them eat. Elinora traveled her gaze along the pond as she had set Peony free, and she was merely concerned that her litten kitten might teeter over the edge of the water, but the three men who accompanied her took it as her searching for the One-Eyed Prince.
“So, Elinora... any word from home?” Ser Gwayne questioned as Daeron and Edward began to sprinkle breadcrumbs into the water as well. “A few… Lady Michelle had recently gotten engaged and wished me to attend their wedding that is to take place in a fortnight, but I had already sent her my regrets, seeing we are still to stay here for a moon.” She said, a slight tone of disappointment as Lady Michelle, though a few years older than her and her brother, was among the few true friends besides Daeron she had. It was unfortunate that she could not attend her nuptials, but it would seem she had naught a choice or option in the matter.
“She recently got engaged and set to marry in a fortnight? Why so sudden? Is she with ch—“ Daeron abruptly halted in his thoughts as Edward elbowed his side. “Well, that’s a shame. Lady Michelle has always been so keen on you. I remember how she would always play with you in the gardens and how she was the one who had taught you how to bandage and heal a wound with tea tree-infused honey,” Ser Gwayne remarked, glancing towards Edward.
The knight had stayed true to his word and told naught another saw of what he had seen the past night, but when Edward and Daeron came to him after his confrontation with Aemond, they told him their fears and concerns about the two’s proximity, and the knight, along with the two, devised a plan.
Gwayne had thought that it would be best to now make Lord and Lady Tyrell aware, but he knew the consequences if they did. He was not exaggerating or uttering a metaphor when he told Aemond that they would lock Elinora in a tower if her parents became aware of his fatal attraction. The three men had been witnesses as they did such a thing when Elinora was twelve, and a son of a lord had accompanied her in the gardens and convinced her to play hide and seek. They were only missing for a few moments, but Lady Tyrell had an attack of nerves at the sudden disappearance of her daughter. And to find her alone with the other gender had only spurred her mother over the edge, and they made a preventative measure to quite literally lock Elinora in the highest tower of Highgarden until it was engraved in her mind that she must not be in the close proximity of a man without an escort.
However, it would seem that teaching was starting to fade away. Perhaps it was the lessening of her parents’ strict and somewhat ridiculous rules as they had noticed Elinora was growing indifferent towards the lords that vied for her hand. Or perhaps it was the sudden change of routine when they came to the capitol, with Lord and Lady Tyrell so busy with matters of business that they could no longer hover and trail upon every move that Elinora made and did. Gwayne was not certain what had led to it, but he did not blame Elinora as she had been tempted by the glimpses of escape Aemond had offered.
The three men knew they must keep Elinora away from Aemond, but the prince was skilled in finding a way to get close to her, so all they could think of doing was have them return to the Reach. They could have easily done so, packed up their trunks, and made up some lie as to why they must return to Highgarden a month earlier than need be, but they thought it a tad cruel to forcefully whisk Elinora away and make her leave the capitol without much explanation. And so, they decided to have her think that she had made the decision herself. Using fond memories and cherished people as a tool to make Elinora miss home and make her think that she will leave the Red Keep and its people of her own volition.
“I know, I feel rotten that I am to miss her wedding, but what else can I do? We cannot just leave,” Elinora sighed and picked up Peony as the kitten had enough of venturing around the pond and missed the touch of its owner. “I mean... we could,” Edward said. “Can we? Mother and Father are so engrossed in business that we barely have family dinners at night— and I’m well certain that they would not approve of me taking the journey from here to Highgarden and back by myself.”
“I shall come with you, of course!” Edward stated, but Elinora shook her head. “They need you here for business, do they not? You are father’s heir.” Elinora stated the obvious. “Then we shall accompany you… surely Lord and Lady Tyrell will approve— and besides, I do miss the Reach. I’m beginning to notice how the air in the capitol is so… rancid.” Daeron offered, but Elinora shook her head once again.
“No! I’ll feel further horrid if I am the reason that you two shall be parted from your family— you have not seen them in so long! And they never have a chance to visit the both of you in Oldtown.” Elinora said, completely disagreeing with the notion as she already felt guilt inside her if she was the reason for Daeron being parted from his sibling.
“It’s fine, truly. I shall make it up to Lady Michelle! By the time we return to the Reach, it shall be the end of her honeymoon.” She smiled and expected the three men to return it as well. They did so, but only after they exchanged disappointed and knowing looks as if their plan had failed due to Elinora’s concerns for others rather than her own.
“This is a measly task— why must I see to it myself?” Aemond questioned as his grandsire summoned him to his study and handed him a parcel to be delivered to Storm’s End. “This is a gift to Lord Baratheon, along with a proposal for the hand of one of his daughters... this is of much importance, Aemond,” Otto revealed as he studied the great confusion on his grandson’s face.
“Proposal? To whom do you propose a marriage?” Aemond questioned, a sinking feeling in his gut as he was starting to realize as to why he was summoned by the Hand of the King. “Your memory cannot be that short, my prince.” Otto sighed. “For years now, we had revealed our plans… you must marry a Baratheon girl for their allegiances.” Aemond gritted his jaw; he thought they had forgotten such plans. He foolishly believed that he would be absolved from this particular duty as he had excelled in all others he had been tasked with. But he was a second son, a Targaryen prince. He was just another pawn to be sacrificed.
“Why... why me? Why not Daeron?” He questioned. “He is certainly more... agreeable, as all say he is. Why not bind him to the Baratheon girl?” He asked further, trying to convince his grandfather that he was not suited to marry that girl. “Daeron is set to marry another,” Otto simply said as he went through various scrolls.
“Who?” Aemond asked harshly, feeling that he already knew who it was. “Lady Elinora,” Otto revealed and looked towards the furry face of his second grandson. “They are well suited. They had known each other for years; her family trusted Daeron immensely, and I often see their closeness. It shall be a most fruitful and happy marriage... one that is rare in this family.”
The hand watched as his grandson clenched his fists and his lips thinned into a line. “Is this my punishment?” He gritted. Otto sighed, “This is in no regard to you, Aemond. Yes, I have heard you sneaking around the city with the girl, but as I have said to your uncle, who had followed you both, you two only went to the shop... nothing of depravity had transpired. I have thought of this plan for years. Her engagement to Prince Jacaerys shall be moot, and Daeron is already in close proximity to Lady Elinora... they are bound for ea—.”
“No!” Aemond seethed, and his outburst momentarily caught the hand off guard. “Marry her to me— I… I want Elinora.” He admitted. He admitted the truth that he was not yet ready to face to his grandsire as he had naught a choice but to do so. He could not let himself be bound to the Baratheon girl, and he most certainly could not let them bind Elinora to Daeron. “Aemond, your wants are inconsequential to this matter. All of us want something, but we cannot have it.”
“But I can have her! You simply do not wish for it! No betrothals are set— you can still betrothed her to me and betrothed Daeron to that Baratheon girl!” Aemond reasoned as he stood before his grandfather, who was as stubborn as he was. The hand rarely— if ever redecides his plans. And if he was set with Daeron marrying Elinora, there shall be no returning. “Do you truly want Elinora, Aemond? Or are you simply lusting over her?” Aemond’s expression turned disgusted at his words.
“I understand… I have been a young man myself. Yes, Lady Elinora is pretty... some would even say she is the vision of the maiden herself... but put your urges aside, Aemond. Bed one of your brothers whores, and I’m well certain that whatever this want you feel shall fade.”
“You are sorely mistaken, grandfather... but very well, if you do not bind her to me willingly, then I will have no choice but to bind her to me myself.”
“Is that a threat, my prince?” Otto raised his brow as he looked upon his grandson. They often say that Aemond was the second coming of Prince Daemon, but they are mistaken. Aemond was a vision of himself in his youth. Filled with determination and ambition to have more than he was born to have. “It’s a promise… Elinora is mine, and I do not care what betrothals you shall set because she shall still be mine at the end of this all.”
When the next day came, the keep was abuzz with the celebration of the twin Prince and Princess. Great preparations were made for the name day of Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jahaerys, but whatever great spectacle made did not deter the three men as they ignored the merriment in each corner of the keep to watch over Elinora.
“You need not accompany me; I am only going to have tea in the gardens with Princess Helaena... surely you three would wish to watch the tournament,” Elinora said as she was growing suffocated by the three’s presence. They had been following her for the entirety of yesterday. Wherever she went, to the pond, the library, and even the chapel where she stayed for hours to attend her weekly praying custom, they still stayed. Even Daeron, who could not even sit still for an hour’s service, stayed the whole three hours in the chapel.
“But we wish for it… You were right, sister. All of us had been busied as we came to this keep, and all of us must spend time together.” Edward remarked as they neared the usual spot where Princess Helaena and Elinora had their tea. Predictably, Prince Aemond was there, waiting.
As he spotted Elinora, the prince quickly stood. Elinora, on the other hand, stilled as she saw the prince. Her cheeks quickly reddened as she remembered her last encounter with the prince. How could she forget? It was always in the back of her mind, and when she thought of it for too long, her lips tingled, and it was as if she could still feel the kiss she and Prince Aemond shared.
Elinora continued to walk onward and tried to appear as normal as she could, but her usual nervous habit of twiddling with the ends of her hair was the only telltale sign that she was uneasy. Daeron clenched his jaw as he saw his brother. It was surprising, yes. But he had hoped that they would not see him as they had yesterday. He foolishly thought that Aemond had finally come to his senses as he had not trailed Elinora the entire day.
“Well, this is tense,” Daeron muttered under his breath as all five of them were rendered in still silence, as no one had a word of purpose for the other. Luckily, Elinora had thought of a matter to speak about. “Where are your children, princess?” She asked softly and turned her body to Princess Helaena, but she could still see the outline of Prince Aemond from the side of her eye. She could not understand that even just a blurry image of him had managed to move the usual butterflies atop her head to her stomach. “Aegon is accompanying them to ride the ponies near the south gate.”
“Is that... safe?” Daeron questioned with a frown. “Did Aegon not fall each time he rode the ponies?” He then added, and Elinora watched as Princess Helaena’s dream-filled eyes widened. “Oh gods, he did... if you would excuse me,” Princess Helaena said and hastily left the tense table.
Elinora blew on her cheeks as she continued to twirl with her hair. Her brother shifted in his seat, Prince Daeron hummed a tune mindlessly, and Prince Aemond tapped his finger on the table. None could utter a subject to converse of, and all wanted badly to leave the table, but they could not do so without looking suspicious.
“I-I just remembered I had a matter I must tend to— if you all would excuse me. I shall see you in the halls when the feast begins,” Ser Gwayne suddenly said, unable to stay at the tense table they all sat upon. It was concerning to see. His nephew Daeron, who always had a multitude of words spilling from his lips and could easily defuse a situation such as this falter, was disheartening. Elinora, as well as her usual lightness, was suffocated by this strain.
Edward breathed out loudly, glancing at the prince who had been stealing glances at his sister. He kicked Daeron’s leg to garner his attention, but as discreetly as he wanted to be, it was ruined as the youngest prince suddenly yelped in surprise. Daeron frowned as he turned to Edward, the young lord communicating with his eyes.
Edward’s green eyes motioned to Prince Aemond; luckily, the prince was quick to discern what his friend meant. “So, brother... do you not have to train? I heard from uncle you have become sloppy with your sword.”
Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye at his brother’s words. He glanced at Elinora; not once since the night they had sneaked into the city had he captured her jade eyes. “As sloppy you say I may be, I’m still a better sword fighter than you, brother,” Aemond responded and glanced at Elinora as she pursed her lips at the two of them, seemingly having a passive argument. “Arrogance is a sin, Aemond... perhaps this is you overcompensating for the lo—“
“Let’s see the ponies!” Elinora suddenly announced as she was quick to sense that Daeron was to utter offense. She placed a tight smile on her lips as the three of them at the table turned to her, who had stood and was ready to leave in the direction of the ponies. “Come now, lest the good ones be taken!” She said but did not wait for their response as she hastily left the gardens where the air was fresh but overly suffocating.
It was already the start of the feast, but Aemond had yet to speak to Elinora alone. The whole day, her brother and his had been around her like guard dogs. Staring him down and growling the moment he would even attempt to step an inch nearer Elinora.
Now, as the feast began, Aemond was seated further away from her, and all he could do was watch Elinora from afar. He was waiting. Patiently waiting until the feast was at its peak so he could have at least a short moment to speak with her. Surely, his youngest brother would indulge with his cup, and Lord Edward too shall follow along the footsteps of Daeron. All he had to do was wait.
As those who were invited began to eat and the entertainment arrived, Aemond watched intently as he saw a spark of excitement in Elinora as she saw the performers they had watched in the city the other night. There was a pleasing, warm smile on her lips as the entertainers passed her, them recognizing the girl who was so enthralled with their act that she had convinced the prince to acquire them to perform for a royal name day celebration.
“Do they know you?” Edward questioned as he noticed that those people dressed in garish clothes were waving and smiling at his sister as if they knew her. “I… I do not think so. Perhaps they were just being nice,” Elinora smiled, quickly turning away from her brother as it did not sit well with her to tell him a fib.
Instead of watching the entertainers, Aemond was watching Elinora. Watching as she gleefully be entertained by their act and laugh along with the others in the hall. He wanted badly to stand from his seat and be beside her, to finally speak with her of what had transpired in the hall because he knew all too well that there were bouts of doubt and most probably regrets in her mind for what they have done. He had to pluck that reservation in her pretty head lest all grow successful as they placed distance between him and Elinora.
When the feast was at its peak and the night had grown to the darkest hour, most of the guests had been intoxicated with the merriment and the Dornish wine reserve that all no longer cared about anything but themselves and how to keep the temporal high that the alcohol had caused. Aemond knew it was his time to move. He watched as Elinora stood from her seat and kissed her parents and brother good night before she was escorted by a guard to retire to her chambers.
Aemond quickly followed suit. Sneaking through the dark halls that led to her chambers. When she was delivered safely in her chambers and the guard had disappeared, Aemond stood before her door and gave a silent knock, knowing she would answer. “Is there anything you need, Ser?” He heard her voice call out, automatically assuming it was the knight, and Aemond had the pleasure to see her expression grow surprised as she saw him. Jade's eyes were wide and pink, plush lips parted.
“Oh… Prince Aemond… I—“ She began to stutter, not expecting to be met with him. “Have you enjoyed the feast?” He questioned, not wanting to confront her with the matter he desperately wishes to speak about. “I did— but, I— you should not be here, Your Highness,” Elinora said cautiously, fingers tightly gripping the metal handle of the door as she looked towards the halls. “Really? You had no qualms with my presence here the other night,” Aemond said lowly, his gaze turning to the dress of light blue that Elinora wore. Delicate gold embroidery of vines scattering on the bodice. She was fashioning a rather lower neckline than her previous dresses, and when Aemond noticed where his stare had travelled, he quickly turned away and instead focused on her eyes.
“And enough with formalities, Elinora… I do believe we're both past titles, do you not think?” He added and watched as scarlet spread to her cheeks as she realized what he was insinuating. “I— must go, good night, my prince,” She said as she could not bear to have this conversation tonight. Elinora tried to close her door, but the prince hindered her by placing his foot in between the gap.
“Do you regret it?” Aemond sighed and sought for her eyes. Cautiously pushing on the door to reveal more of Elinora. “What?” Was all she could ask. “The kiss, Elinora. Do you regret it?” Elinora felt her hands grow cold as the matter that she was trying hard to avoid was presented before her, the prince stubborn as he tried to acquire her answer. “I… I do not know,” She whispered, lowering her gaze.
“You do not know? It’s quite simple; it’s either yes or no. Now, do you regret our kiss? Yes or no, Elinora.” Perhaps the prince was a tad cruel at his approach, especially as he had to witness Elinora’s avoidant gaze and the way he could almost see the way the gears turned in her head as she tried to form her answer. “It... it matters not if I regret it or not— It should not have happened.” She finally said, and Aemond felt a smudge of guilt as he saw tears forming in her eyes at the way he had pressured her to face the matter.
Aemond sighed and tried to step closer to her, but Elinora swiftly backed away. “It shouldn't have happened... it should have never had happened. I— I had broken my family’s trust and— and my vow of loyalty to my betrothed even if I do not know he is. I have sinned.” Elinora spiraled, staring upon the floor, eyes wide, as she finally realized the magnitude of her actions. Aemond chewed on his cheeks and pushed himself in the chambers of the girl who was enveloped in shock. He took hold of her cheeks, pulled her closer to him, and tried to soothe her as she was starting to take deep, uneven breaths.
“You did no such thing, Elinora... you’re fine. You have not sinned.” Aemond tried to reassure, but she only shook her head, the prince feeling as the tears fell from her cheeks and onto his skin. “No! I have done all they had warned me not do! I am a horrible daughter! I have… I have sullied myself!” She cried, and Aemond held her head to his chest and held her and petted her soft, silky hair. “No, you didn’t, Elinora.” Aemond sighed and felt an odd tightening in his chest as he heard her sobs. He always found the cries of another annoying. His eldest brother loved it. Aegon did find amusement in the cries of sorrow and pain, but Aemond found it unbearable. No amusement nor sympathy was gained for the other cries he heard, but when it was Elinora’s sobs and whimpers, he felt most empathetic, and he wanted to do was cease her cries so the light throb in his chest would cease as well.
“I have! I... it was meant for my betrothed! I have broken my oath!” She cried once again and before Aemond could hinder himself, words that were lies left his mouth. “You have not. You did no such thing,” Aemond muttered and watched as Elinora slowly raised her gaze. “What do you mean?” She questioned, eyes red as she tried to back away, but Aemond only held her tightly. “Your kiss was not wasted... if as you say that it was meant for your betrothed, it still went to him,” Aemond said, lying so effortlessly as he could no longer watch as Elinora cried.
“What?” She breathed out, mind overly confused as she tried to understand what the prince meant. “Do you not truly see, Elinora?” He questioned and cupped her cheek. “It is me. I… I am your betrothed. You are to be bound to me.” Aemond said lowly as the girl tried to comprehend his words. “Elinora... you seriously cannot be that oblivious.” Aemond breathed out with a small smile. “Did you never wonder why I was so harsh with you in the beginning? I was simply testing my dear betrothed... to see if she is truly the woman of virtue all said she was... and they were right. You did nothing wrong. Yes, you may have given me your first kiss, but it was always meant to be mine.” Aemond said lowly, face threading closer to hers. Jade's eyes were still in disbelief.
“Really? Are you truly my betrothed?” She asked after a moment, staring directly into Aemond’s lilac orb to see if he had uttered a lie. Aemond gave one of his rare smiles and nodded, imploring Elinora to believe the lie that he too tried to sell himself. “I am, ñuha sōvion.”
“But why had you not told me sooner? I… I thought you hated me,” Elinora said, shock still heavy in her voice. Aemond sighed and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Now, who could hate you? Certainly not your betrothed.” Aemond said softly. If an interloper saw the scene, they would be riddled in disbelief as the stone cold prince had grown soft and warm for Elinora. Displaying a softness that not even he could believe he was capable of.
“Now, even I was permitted to reveal who I truly am to you… so I would advise you to keep hush of this. Tell naught a soul that I am your betrothed, not even Daeron. Promise me, Elinora.” Aemond implored, trying to keep his lie truly locked and just for them. “I promise,” Elinora said, and Aemond hummed as he was successful in convincing her. “Good.” He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I… I think you should go now... even if you are my betrothed, we could still be compromised,” Elinora then muttered after a moment, and Aemond could not help but let out a laugh and look upon her flushed face. “Oh, my virtuous girl... very well. Good night, Elinora.”
Elinora, for the first time in the past day, finally felt lightness overcome her as the guilt that she was never accustomed to harbor lessened greatly as she was reassured that she had not given her kiss to another man other than her betrothed. “Meet me under the willow tree by the pond tomorrow before first light,” Aemond then said as he was led to Elinora’s door. She nodded, and Aemond could not help but to reach forward to cup her warm cheek once more. “Good night, ñuha sōvion,” Aemond said softly. “Good night… Aemond,” Elinora smiled and slowly shut her door, completely believing that the man who has left her chambers was truly the man she was promised to and not a deceiver who would not let any obstacle prevent him from having her.
ñuha sōvion - my butterfly
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Chapter 2- Ruinous
Pairing: Bucky x F!reader
Warnings: Lots and lots of angst (sorry but not sorry), toxic behaviors between Bucky and Reader, 18+ MDNI
Length: 1.8k
Summary: You and Bucky are going through a rough patch. Is it something worth fixing?
A/N: Did I write this when I should’ve been studying for an exam? Yes, but I couldn’t help it!
I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!
Bucky stares at the pieces of the whiskey glass on the floor. Little droplets of the whiskey mixed with the Asgardian liquor stained the wall and the floor. It was unfair, you lashing out at him. You knew his struggles, his demons. And he told you it wasn’t your fault.
But he knew, deep down, that you were being fair. You had to do what was good for you. And right now, that wasn’t him.
Bucky collapses on the couch, his head in his hands. He knows that he acted like an asshole. He knows that you deserve better than that. So why couldn’t he change? Why couldn’t he stop lashing out?
He doesn’t have the answer. He wants to, but it’s like he can’t control what he’s doing. So he gets up, grabs another glass and pours himself a hefty amount of Asgardian liquor and whiskey, and grabs the mostly untouched box of cigarettes from his secret cupboard.
-
You wake up cold. You felt the emptiness beside you and slowly opened your eyes. You’re not home, you realize. The explosive fight with Bucky happened. You leaving your shared apartment happened. You staying the night at Natasha's happened.
You stare up at the ceiling, trying to think. How can your relationship be saved? How could you leave the relationship? The decision is daunting to say the least.
To start off, Bucky and you have been together for years. You know each other inside and out. Well, you used to.
You shake your head and try to think more.
Bucky has a short temper, quick to anger. But it was never with you. When you fought, it typically wasn’t anger that made you scared. He always made sure that you were trying to understand his side.
You shake your head. You couldn’t stop contradicting yourself. If you thought about a good thing about Bucky, a negative would follow. The whole situation is confusing for you.
You decide that laying in bed isn’t helping your decision. You get up and make the bed, trying to be a good guest. You leave the room to find Natasha in the kitchen making breakfast.
She offers you a small smile. “Morning, want some?”
You look at the pan and see eggs. You scrunch your nose.
“No thanks, I can’t even think about eating right now.” You sigh and hop up on one of the counters.
Natasha places her spatula down and leans on the opposite counter to look at you. “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep.”
“Well I did sleep, it wasn’t very restful though.” You yawn and shrug.
Natasha nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I just don’t know what more I can say, you know?” You feel your eyes begin to water again. “I knew about his baggage, his nightmares, who he is. And I fell for him hard and fast. And now he’s going backwards and refusing to get help. All of the bad doesn’t negate the good, but his recent actions are things I can’t overlook.”
Natasha hums and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe this is something you need to talk to him about.”
You quickly wipe under your eyes with a sniff. “Is that a good idea?”
Natasha pushes herself off of the counter to stand in front of you. “Are you scared that he’s going to do anything irrational?”
You shake your head. Even though Bucky isn’t acting totally like himself, he’s not an idiot.
Natasha nods. “Then you need to have this conversation with him. Maybe he can tell you his side of things and maybe that’ll change things for you.”
You think about what she said. On one hand, you know that talking to Bucky would maybe clarify some things for you. On the other hand, it may cause another fight. But it was something you were willing to risk.
-
You unlock the front door, the stench of Asgardian liquor and smoke filling your nose. You see Bucky on the couch, a cigarette in his hand.
He takes a drag before turning to you. “Where were you?”
You frown at his hand. Bucky follows your gaze. He knows you hate it when he smokes. Smoking is one of the few things he picked up again when he felt stressed. But he told you that he stopped because of how much you hated it. Now you know he lied.
“Natasha’s.” You mutter.
Bucky scoffs at this and puts out the cigarette. “Of course you were.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stands up. “It means I’m tired of you always running to her when we fight.”
“How is that any different than you going to Steve?”
“Because Steve is Steve. He’s my best friend.”
You let out a humourless laugh. “You’re telling me that just because Steve is your best friend he’s better than Natasha? She’s not some stranger.”
“Well she’s basically one to me, you spend so much time with her.”
“Well maybe I wouldn’t if you weren’t an asshole!” You raise your voice.
Bucky clenches his jaw. “So it’s my fault that you always run to her?”
“Sorry I don’t feel like I can come home!” You yell at him sarcastically.
He furrows his brows. “What, you don’t feel safe?”
“Look at you now! You’re getting angry with me for wanting space and hanging out with Natasha. Why would I come home if this is what I’m coming home to?”
“All because of what happened yesterday? Is that why you don’t want to come home?”
“No, I don’t want to come home because I’m scared of you! I’m scared that you’re moving backwards and this isn’t something that I can help you with. And… I’m scared that this isn’t something that I want to be around.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to be around?” He takes a step towards you.
“Bucky, you’ve been going backwards for months. You’ve been quick to anger, you started to drink more often, you’ve been lying to me about smoking for who knows how long. You act like you don’t have friends or loved ones who want to help you, like you don’t have resources.”
Bucky swallows. “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”
You take a shaky breath. “Then I’m moving out.”
Bucky’s eyes widen and his heart drops. “You’re gonna move out because I started drinking more and smoking again?”
“No, I’m moving out because I cannot and will not watch you destroy yourself. I come home drained. Not from work but from guessing what you’re going to be like. I want to do anything but come home to you and it shouldn’t be like that.”
Bucky runs a hand over his face. “What happened to through thick and thin? You’re gonna abandon me because I’m trying to work through some things?”
“Bucky I’ve been with you through thick, and I’ve been with you through thin. But you haven’t. I can’t be two people.”
“Well sorry that I can’t be the perfect boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for you to do the bare minimum and I’m not even getting that.”
“So me sharing everything with you is not enough?”
“Bucky, you only share halfhearted things! You tell me what you had for lunch and then your upcoming missions. I don’t know much about who you were growing up or what your favorite color is. I want to know all of you and you only want to share a fraction of that.”
“Do you really think it’s easy for me to share the things Hydra did to me? The things I did?”
“I’m not saying it’s easy. And I’m grateful that you shared bits of that, but you are moving backwards. You won’t even go see your therapist!”
“I don’t need some shrink to tell me the fucked up things I���ve done. I don’t need someone who doesn’t understand what it was like to be a fucking science experiment try to ‘decode’ me. Therapy doesn’t work.” Bucky takes another step towards you and softens his voice. “And I don’t need you to see how truly broken I am.”
“Bucky, I only see you. I see a man who has overcome all of these terrible things and is trying to right his wrongs. But I can’t see all of him when he’s starting to pull away from me. And you can’t say therapy doesn’t work when you’ve only been to 3 sessions and haven’t been back in months.”
“Fine, I’ll share things with you. Is that what you want? I’m not going to see some shrink, bringing up the past is… it has too many memories.”
You sigh and shake your head. “I need space, you need time. I can’t keep living like this, seeing you deteriorate in front of my eyes.”
Bucky finally lets himself break, his eyes water and his voice cracks. “For how long?”
“Until you show me you’re trying to get better.”
Bucky swallows. “And if I don’t?”
You shake your head. “You’re going to try.”
Bucky nods. You take a deep breath and wipe the tears staining your cheeks. It bothers you how much you’ve been crying the past few days but it’s been a long time coming.
“I’m going to go get more of my things.” Bucky nods, not able to say anything to you.
As you move towards the bedroom, Bucky sits back down on the couch. How is this real? He thought to himself. He knows that his actions have consequences, but you are the best thing that has happened to him. Was it because he was too selfish? Should he have known that all good things come to an end?
But you were willing to come back to him. You wanted him to get better. And he knows that the selfish part of him isn’t going away when it comes to you.
You exit the bedroom with another big bag of your things. Bucky looks up and stands.
“I don’t know what to say.” You try to take in every feature of his. “I’m probably going to stay with Natasha for a few days, then I’m going to talk with Tony about a more permanent solution.”
Bucky nods, not being able to bring himself to talk. You feel a pang in your heart, not wanting to leave him but knowing that it’s what's best.
“I guess I’ll see you around.” You walk towards the door.
Bucky finally speaks up. “Stay safe.”
You turn around and give him a small broken smile. “You too.”
As the door closes behind you, Bucky can feel everything around him shake. He sits on the couch, his head in his hands. Bucky lets out a cry, gasping for breath.
His whole world had left.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x reader#avengers#bucky x reader fluff#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky barnes x reader#james buchanan barnes#the winter soldier#winter soldier#james bucky barnes#Spotify
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THE LAW CANNOT FAIL ME
The Law of assumption determines the principles of human life and our role in the universe. It is a law because it has rules the man has to abide to in order to use it to his advantage. The law cannot be contradicted; it cannot fail man. It cannot fail you. Imagine it like this: man is God and the law is Abraham. Whether you’re religious or not, you know that in the Bible, Abraham is asked by God to sacrifice his only biological son, Isaac. Despite his sufferance, Abraham stands firm and decides to follow God’s orders. Now in this scenario, like we mentioned, you are God. God is the one who makes the ultimate decision and whatever He decides has to be done. No matter how it is done, God’s choices are always respected. You, being the god of your reality, create the rules that will play out in your everyday reality: whether it’s choosing an outfit for the day, what you’re doing to eat or if you’re going to keep living a life which does not benefit you. The law is the tool you have knowledge of that will serve you and make your desires solidify into concrete matter. It is the faithful disciple that abides whatever command it is given.
You are capable of creating a multitude of realities, parallel universes, shifting from one another and switching old ones off. The law cannot fail you. It cannot fail me. Nothing can fail God. God can’t fail. You have to step into the next missing link that will help you understand your power in order to manifest effortlessly whatever your heart desires. Everything you search for already exists within you, you just have to be brave enough to let yourself accept its existence. Be faithful of imagination, as it is the sole place alive and breathing. The outer world is a mere reflection of what imagination believes to be true. Change thyself in order to change thy world. The power man holds is immense, you being the man, the “I AM”, have the infinite ability to sustain a favourable change. Make the right choice today. Persist in having faith within imagination, play out the outmost perfect scenario and replay it in your mind as if it pays rent. Live in your mind, remind yourself that whatever circumstances your physical self is currently experiencing are simply temporary. Nothing lasts forever if you don’t want it to be.
I would like to add a couple of helpful quotes that I scrapped from Neville’s lectures, enhancing the concept of Belief, Self and Faith:
“[…] You walk in the consciousness of being that which you want to be, no one sees it as yet, but you do not need a man to roll away the problems and the obstacles of life in order to express that which you are conscious of being. That state has its own unique way of becoming embodied in this world, of becoming flesh that the whole world may touch it”.
“[…] The state I seek to embody is personified in the story as Jesus the Saviour. If I become what I want to be then I am saved from what I was. If I do not become it, I continue to keep locked within me a thief who robs me of being that which I could be”.
“[…] Because consciousness is the only reality I must assume that I am already that which I desire to be. If I do not believe that 1 am already what I want to be, then I remain as I am and die in this limitation.
Man is always looking for some prop on which to lean. He is always looking for some excuse to justify failure. This revelation gives man no excuse for failure. His concept of himself is the cause of all the circumstances of his life. All changes must first come from within himself; and if he does not change on the outside it is because he has not changed within. But man does not like to feel that he is solely responsible for the conditions of his life”.
#law of assumption#law of manifestation#loass angel#loass post#loass tumblr#loass states#loassblr#loassblog#loass success#loassumption#loa tumblr#loablr#loa blog#loa success#success story#manifestation#manifesting#neville goddard#affirmations#affirm and persist#desired reality#reality shifter#shifting community#shifting blog#shiftblr#shifting motivation#phylosophy#angel numbers#it girl#law of the universe
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Home Grown 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Cole Turner
This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Cole and Eartha.
Summary: loneliness can drive one to desperate measures.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Cole is tired. He's never really not. He spends all day on his feet, cleaning up some clog in the drains or fending off the pests in the fields. There's not much going on aside from the constant battle with the earth for his livelihood. His family's too.
Ever since his dad had a stroke, it's been on him to balance it all. His sister if off who knows where with who knows his name and his mom is looking after his dad. So it's all up to him to keep this place going. And it's all on her to keep him going.
The shame used to make him squirm. His skin would burn and his blood would boil. He'd close his laptop and mope, feeling bad for himself, calling himself weak. Then he'd open it back up and keep doing it. His persistence became indifference, Not to her. No, he only ever thinks of her. He just doesn't care if it's wrong because it makes him feel right.
That night, he's addled. His dad isn't doing well, his mom is worried despite efforts to hide that, and he can't get an answer from his sister. She said she'd come see them so he could spend more time working. Not that he really wants to.
He slips his phone into the little plastic pocket to protect it from the water. He balances it on the rack that hangs around the showerhead and he cranks the faucet to a steaming spray. He stands under it as he lets it wash away the tension and waits for the stream to buffer. It's taking a bit today but sometimes it happens. Out here in the farm lands, reception is spotty.
It's not working. He's lathered up by the time the error shows. Disconnected... Strange. Why?
He gives up with a sigh. The one thing he has to look forward to and even that isn't going his way. He'll give Jensen a call when he's done.
He rubs dry his hair as the water drips down his legs onto the mat. He looks down at himself then moves to face his reflection in the mirror. He's not an ugly guy. He's not being a narcissist, he just doesn't think he's that bad. He shouldn't be alone. Still.
He huffs and wraps the towel around his waist. He grabs his phone from the show and closes the curtain. He walks down the hall and locks himself in his room. His bars are full. He shouldn't be having issues with a signal.
He dials out and waits for Jensen to pick up. He does right as Cole expects to go to voicemail. He's whisper.
"Hey, dude," Jensen scuffs around.
"Busy?" Cole asks.
"Eh, sorta, just..." he clears his throat. "All clear now, bud. What's up?"
"Mm, well... you remember... that... feed. So, er, it's not working."
"Hm, and it's just on her laptop?"
"Yeah," Cole sits on the bed and chews his thumb. "All of a sudden."
"Did the error have a code?"
"Uhhh yeah, I think," he recalls the numbers as best he can.
"Device is either off or broken. Could be both. You could give it a few days and see," Jensen suggests.
"Sure, but, er..." A few days is a long time especially when they're so slow. "Yeah, you're right. I'll wait her out."
"Dude, trust me, I get it. Boss went out of town last week and I saw her pack her favourite toy," he purrs grossly. "Anyway, it's about that time for me."
The line clicks. Good. Jake kinda weirds him out sometimes. He drops his phone.
He'll be cool about this. He can handle a few days without watching her. I mean, she's a stranger. They've never even met. She doesn't even know he exists. So he can log off and touch grass, so they say.
~
The days pass in a torturous slog of dirt, pollen, and lonely nights. Cole is wound tight, ready to snap as he has a thousand things pulling at him at once. His mom wants to hire a nurse, his dad is getting aggressive with everyone, and his sister just convinced his mom to send her money they don't have. Worst of all, he's alone. He's not sleeping because all he does is dream of her.
As he cuts away the rot from the tomato vine, he catches the tip of his glove, just enough to pinch himself good. He curses as a flash of rage swells in him. He whips the clippers into the dirt and snarls. Goddamn it!
He paces back and forth angrily. He rips off the gloves and tucks them into his workbelt. He combs his fingers through his hair and prowls like a wild beast. He can't take it anymore.
He takes his phone out and calls Jensen. It takes two tries but he gets an answer. Not a happy one.
"Dude, I had to leave a meeting--"
"Feed's down," Cole interrupts. "I'm having a real bad day and I need--- I need it."
"Jesus, you sound like it. Hm, okay, you know her email?"
"Uh, sure I do," Cole says.
"Right, you know everything," Jensen laughs. "Come on, guy, let's not pretend here. We're all a bit freaky. So, I'll send you something. Don't click on the link, got me? You take that template and forward it to her. I'll include instructions so you can dupe the sender... she'll think it's some bullshit coupon redemption or whatever. She clicks on it, you got full access again."
"Really? That easy?"
"Well it all depends on her, doesn't it?" He snorts. "Alright, I'll get that too you when I can. Gotta go."
The call ends. Cole leans against the fence and sighs. He better follow through. Better yet, it better work.
#cole turner#dark cole turner#dark!cole turner#cole turner x reader#ghosted#home grown#series#watchers anonymous#drabble
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Father Dragon, His Dragonet and Monster
Platonic! Yandere! Neuvillette x GN! Child! Furina! Reader
Description: You didn't show up today. Neuvillette is worried.
Warnings and tags: OOC. English is my second language. You might see Focalors and Arlecchino as an unlikable people. Aether is a Traveler. Arlecchino's fate is gruesome.
A/N: It's a derect "what if" from original oneshot. However, you can see it as an alternative ending.
______
Neuvillette was equally worried and annoyed.
[Y/N] were late. They were never late before. They, despite being loud, dramatic and childish (for a five hundred-year-old archon), were responsible and punctual.
So, either something happened, that kept them late, or they overslept.
Neuvillette tapped out a simple rhythm on the tabletop with his fingers. In terms of inner and outer politics, legal proceedings and all other "Running the nation" business, he did most of the job, but [Y/N] still remain the most important figure and their participation was necessary.
Making a decision, he raised up from his chair and left the office.
A few minutes later, he climbed the stairs to the top floor of Palais Mermonia and stood at the door of their room.
Ceasth and Enghien¹, two melusines, that were guarding the door (recently, Neuvillette find it impossible, if not outright preposterous, to let humans guard [Y/N]'s room or kid themselves. Hydro Sovereign's child should be protected by a dragon, vishap or new sort of Hydro vishap), didn't notice him at first. They were whispering to each other, looking distressed. They didn't even realize, that Neuvillette was here, until he cleared his throat.
Melusines' ears perked up, they turned their heads in unison towards Neuvillette. Ceasth's tail nervously twitched.
"Monsieur Neuvillette! Good morning! Just in time, we were ready to go into your office."
Neuvillette frowned slightly.
"Did something happened with [Y/N]? Why they are late?"
Neuvillette tried not to roll his eyes, when both melusines looked appalled by how he addressed the archon.
Recently, Neuvillette not only stopped trusting people with protecting his kid. He couldn't bring himself to think about [Y/N] as an archon. It leads to some awkward moments, when he called [Y/N] by their name and without any title (both official and non-official) in someone else's company. He still remembered Clorinde's pale face, when she heard Neuvillette blatant disrespect. Even melusines, who, admittedly, weren't big fans of Hydro Archon, looked disturbed. A few times his tongue slipped, and he called [Y/N] by their name, when they worked together. Kid either choose to let it slide, or didn't pay too much attention to Neuvillette's words.
But right now, he has no time to deal with cultural shock. He leaned forward, looked straight at melusines. He repeated, slowly and clearly.
"Did something happened with [Y/N]?"
Enghien licked her lips, rubbing her hands.
"Yesterday they came back late. And they were... in distress. They didn't eat, and just stayed in their room. I don't know if they managed to sleep."
Ceasth didn't wait for Neuvillette to ask the next question.
"They were crying. There were some noise, coming from the room. Like Lord² [Y/N] were moving something. There also were sounds of something hitting the glass and talking. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was... desperate... And now... Better, if you see it on your own, Monsieur Neuvillette."
Neuvillette's blood felt, like it froze. Crying, someone made [Y/N] cry...
Ceasth, obvious to Neuvillette's emotions, turned around, knocking on the door. She raised her voice, so [Y/N] would hear her.
"Lord [Y/N]! Please..."
The loud cry interrupted her.
"Go a-away! I-I w-won't g-go out!"
The voice ended up in sobbing. Neuvillette fight the urge to knock down the door.
His kid, his dragonet were in distress. His kid, his dragonet need their father!
Neuvillette spoke slowly, keeping his emotions in check.
"Caeth, Enghiene, please, leave us. I will deal with the situation."
Melusines looked at each other, but turned away from the door without questions. Waiting until the couple disappeared around the corner, Neuvillette knocked on the door.
Immediately, the voice followed.
"I s-said, go a-away! I will s-stay h-here!"
Neuvillette's voice was soft.
"[Y/N], I promise, I won't make you leave your room. But, please, let me come in. I want to make sure, that you are okay."
[Y/N] didn't answer. Neuvillette waited for a few seconds, before putting a hand on the handle.
"[Y/N], I am coming in."
Still no answer. Neuvillette pressed the door handle. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.
The room didn't change much since his last visit. It was a kid's dream come true, with everything being too new.
But the once tidy room were a mess.
All toys, blankets, pillows and chairs were gathered in a heap in the corner of the room.
From the depths of the makeshift shelter, a pair of frightened eyes, reddened from tears, looked at Neuvillette.
________
Sometimes, you wished, that your mom Focalors didn't give you a mission.
You wanted a family and wanted to have friends.
Despite everything, you were just a kid.
You tried, you really tried to do your best. To be a good actor.
Crying yourself to sleep was enough for you to keep your emotions in check. Until yesterday.
A Scary Monster attacked you. Scary Monster tried to kill you.
You don't remember, how you managed to escape and got to your room.
Only in your room you get a small break.
You cried. You were scared and terrified. Scared of Monster, that almost killed you.
Whatever you look, you saw Monster.
You didn't feel safe. You made a shelter from everything you could move into the corner. In a small breaks, you were hitting the mirror in your room, where four centuries ago you saw her. And you begged.
"M-mom! P-please, I am scared! P-please, mom, I-I don't want to be an archon a-anymore. I don't like that game! P-please, m-mom, I... I want a hug! Mom, there is a scary Monster in Fontaine! It almost killed me! M-mom..."
She didn't come. She didn't appear in your room, or in the mirror. She didn't say, that she won't let anyone hurt you, that you will be okay.
You were alone. You were alone for the last four centuries.
You didn't sleep that night. And couldn't bring yourself to leave your room.
You tried to force yourself to leave the room. You tried to tell yourself, that you have an important task.
You didn't listen.
There was a Monster outside.
And it was searching for you
______
Neuvillette's heart aches, seeing his kid so scared and vulnerable. He carefully approached the shelter, and big tearful eyes watched his every step.
Neuvillette stopped before the shelter, sitting on the floor, making himself look smaller, more approachable. He slowly extended both hands towards the frightened child. They whimpered, curling into a ball. Neuvillette could see [Y/N] hugging a familiar plush Ball Octopus. Bubbly Seahorse and Armored Crab were also here, flanking the scared child.
"P-please, leave me alone." [Y/N] trembled, not looking at Neuvillette. "I will work from here today."
Neuvillette's frown deepen. There should be something he can do to make the kid calm down.
Neuvillette looked around. His gaze stopped on a familiar bookshelf, full of books about kids having families and getting ones.
A foggy memory surfaced on his mind.
A century ago, there was a relatively popular children's play in Mondstadt. A musical about a family having a happy life and going on adventures together.
There was a short Teyvat tour. In Fontaine, they were performing in Opera Epiclese.
[Y/N] watched all performances they had. Moreover, some melusines whispered about seeing Hydro Archon sneaking around the place, where acting troupe were practicing.
Neuvillette wasn't interested in children's plays. He barely remembered the tunes. But his kid needed it.
He started humming. One of the songs from the play, which mother sang to her children.
He didn't remember much. But now, repeating the melody over and over, he started to remember the tune.
[Y/N] stopped shaking. They were silently watching Neuvillette, tears running down kid's cheeks.
Neuvillette, still humming, extended his arms towards [Y/N] again.
This time they moved. With all of their three favorite plushies, they crawled towards Neuvillette. They left the shelter, letting Neuvillette see the unkempt appearance of normally tidy child.
Without letting their toys go, [Y/N] reached towards Neuvillette.
Still humming the lullaby, he hugged them, and slowly stand up, trying not to drop them and their toys.
He was holding them with one hand, while slowly petting their head with the other.
He put his chin on top of kid's head. Their hair was unkept, but fluffy.
[Y/N] were sobbing.
Neuvillette didn't speak, preferring to hum the melody. He managed to recall not only the whole motive, but, even some verses.
His voice never sounded so warm before.
"...My, beloved child please stay here, in my arms. While, you're still small and fragile I, will keep you safe from harm.."³
[Y/N] stopped sobbing. Now they were sitting here, with their face hidden in Neuvillette's chest.
Neuvillette didn't speak. He sang the song a few more times, before asking.
"Little one, tell me, who made you so upset? Your dad will punish them. Your dad will make sure, that no one will hurt you."
A pair of [e/c] eyed stared at Neuvillette.
______
You are supposed to be an archon.
A loud, boisterous god.
Lord of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples, and Laws. God of justice.
But you weren't them. They are her titles.
Titles, that you supposed to pretend to have.
You are supposed to be strong. You should yell at Neuvillette. You should chew him out for braking the subordination.
You were a God of Fontaine.
You were a liar, who would probably be kicked out on the streets the morning moment the lie is discovered.
And who would probably still be kicked out, when That Trial is over.
You didn't want to think about it. You wanted to think, that after the prophecy is averted, and you will be free to live your own life, they will appear.
Your family.
Your dad, who will protect you, and who will take you on travels.
Your mom, who will give you warm hugs and sing you lullabies.
You will live in a small cozy cottage. You will attend school, play with friends, get good grades.
And your family will love you.
But, what if it was just a lie? What if no one will be here? What if you will be alone. Forever.
You should yell at Neuvillette, who sang you a lullaby. You should chew him out for wanting to be your dad.
You didn't want to do it. You will let his disrespectful attitude slide. Just for a bit.
You are just a kid, right? Y-you...
You wanted to have a family just for a bit. A protective father.
"Monster... I was attacked by a monster...⁴ I just wanted to play with a cat... I didn't do anything wrong! And then monster..."
You were still crying. Neuvillette tighten his hug. He fought the urge to growl. He didn't want to scare you.
He caught his reflection in the window's glass.
His eyes became even more dragon-like. Slits of pupils became even thinner, irises became dark-purple, and scleras became light-purple.
He didn't growl, but he did bare his teeth. His canines became sharp, too sharp to be human teeth. Dragon's fangs. Neuvillette wondered if they were sharp enough to tear apart the monster.
Not now. He should make sure, that his dragonet are safe.
_____
"Don't be mistaken, Monsieur Neuvillette, I do respect you. Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa view you as an embodiment of Fontaine's Laws and Justice. However, I can't help, but wondering, what keeps Lord [Y/N] so busy? They have been missing official diplomatic meetings. Is Fontaine trying to send a message? Maybe, Snezhnaya became too insignificant in eyes of Hydro Archon. So insignificant, that Hydro Archon didn't care about meeting with a diplomat in person."
Arlecchino looked at him above the teacup. Neuvillette's face was emotionless. He waited for her to take a sip.
"Mademoiselle Arlecchino, don't you think, that you are crossing the line? Or did Cryo Archon make the most rude and mindless donkeys Snezhnayan diplomats?"
Arlecchino coughed, choking on a tea. Neuvillette's face still was emotionless, but he was delighted. Because, if she was the monster, who attacked his dragonet, she deserved nothing, but pain.
"Lord [Y/N] decided to spend all their time on solving the prophecy. The fate of a nation is more important, than a little dispute over Snezhnayan harbinger."
Arlecchino finally caught her breath.
"It's... not a little dispute. Childe was arrested for some unknown reasons, Fontaine didn't do anything to investigate his case, and you are refusing to let us investigate. One would think, that Fontaine want to cut ties with Snezhnaya."
Neuvillette looked through the window. His thoughts were far away. He was thinking about a home, far away from the capital. About small pound at the front yard with otters. About cozy rooms. And about his little dragonet. What were you doing right now? Were you reading? Were you playing? He hopped, that you weren't crying or trembling with fear. Because you were afraid, that monster will attack you again.
Three days ago he got you away from Palais Mermonia. He took you in his own house. It was secure, no one knew where it was. He promised, that you will be safe there. There was everything you will ever need. Cozy room, toys, books. Friendly otters, tasty food.
A good place to raise a dragonet.
And while dragonet are safe in their nest, Dragon Dad will hunt.
He didn't care, that you don't know who exactly attacked you. He would find out.
"Fortress of Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. Lord [Y/N] and I can't order Duke Wriothesley to release your colleague. Either spoke with Duke directly, or wait for Marechaussee Phantom to investigate his case. And stop lecturing me on how to run a nation."
He looked directly in Arlecchino's eyes.
"Now, I believe, that we have nothing else to discuss."
Harbinger stayed silent. With a nod, she stood up.
"We will continue our discussion later, Monsieur Neuvillette."
When she left, Neuvillette whispered.
"We will, if you are the one, who hurt my dragonet."
---
------
----
Neuvillette didn't really want to help Arlecchino or Childe. But he did ask Traveler and Paimon to get to Fortress of Meropide just to get make that annoying harbinger to shut up.
It took them a few days to learn about Childe's disappearance. However, they only decided to give a full report to Neuvillette after their month-long sentence was over. Neuvillette wasn't paying attention to their report. He was checking the list of names he made.
All Fontainians, all melusines, all tourists and diplomats. Everyone could have been the one, who attacked [Y/N] a month ago. Some names were crossed. He checked their alibis, and they were innocent. He still has a lot of names in his list.
"Oh, Monsieur Neuvillette, [Y/N] were always an Archon, right?" Paimon's question caught Neuvillette's attention. He looked at flying fairy, raising an eyebrow. Paimon was obvious to Neuvillette's confusion, and to Aether's 'Paimon, no' whispers.
"Of course they always were. What a strange question."
Neuvillette return to his list. Paimon, still obvious to Aether's whispers, explained.
"The Knave told us, that [Y/N] might be a liar. They don't have a gnosis."
Neuvillette dropped his pen. He slowly looked at Paimon again. Fairy start explaining, while Aether just rubbed his forehead in defeat.
"Oh... One month ago she tried to get the Hydro Gnosis..."
One month ago... When [Y/N]...
"...She waited, when [Y/N] were alone..."
His child, after another nightmare filled night was crying, while he was hugging them...
His eyes became more draconic...
"...they didn't fight, only begged to be spared..."
They again barricaded all windows in the house. Afraid, that one day monster will return...
Fangs broke the skin of his lips, filling his mouth with metallic taste of blood...
"...there were no gnosis, but they survived..."
They were spooked by a snapped twig, thinking, that monster was coming...
Sharp claws shredded the useless list...
"... perhaps, they just cursed. Maybe, if we face Lord [Y/N] in court..."
WHAT THESE PESTS THINK THEY ARE?!
"OUT!!!"
Neuvillette's roar shook Palais Mermonia, and terrified Aether and Paimon ran away.
Neuvillette, now more of a beast, than a human, sank his claws in the table.
Arlecchino. She was his target after all.
The hunt was on.
-----
Next few days Neuvillette couldn't look for Arlecchino. Poisson was flooded with Primordial Sea waters. People start demanding to see [Y/N], who still were staying in his home.
During days Neuvillette was dealing with aftermath if the flood.
At nights, he was taking care of [Y/N]. Their nightmares finally became less frequent. They even started to play outside more often.
There was a trial scheduled for today. Surprisingly, details of the trial were hidden from him.
For some reason, instead of a trial, Lyney and Lynette were performing. Neuvillette was ready to leave, when twins performed their last trick.
On a stage three people appeared.
Traveler, Paimon and utterly terrified you.
-----
You were just taking a small walk. You wanted to pick up some flowers to make a flower crown for Neuvillette.
The last month were scary, but you have never been happier before. You felt like a normal child who have the greatest dad in the world.
Somehow, you were found by people of Fontaine. They were shouting. Demanding answers from you.
You ran. Traveler found you and take you to a safe place.
In some cruel twist of fate, he got you into the court.
Aether's voice wasn't loud, but for you, it sounded like yelling.
"Your honor, I would like to charge Lord [Y/N] as a fraud who's never been the Archon in the first place."
You were trying to keep yourself together. You can't let them see your fear.
Neuvillette could barely contain his anger.
"I won't tolerate baseless accusations in the Court. There will be no trial today."
"But, Monsieur Neuvillette, by Fontaine laws..."
She still was talking, but neither you nor Neuvillette heard her.
Arlecchino was standing on the stage.
You start to back away, until your back was pressed directly to Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale.
You recognize her.
Monster finally found you.
You felt alone. Monster was here. Fontaine hated you. You wanted to return to Neuvillette's home. Tou you home.
Neuvillette's blood boiled. She was here. She was scaring his child.
But there was one thing he heard.
"D-dad!" his child called, and Neuvillette moved.
Neither him nor you noticed, how Indemnitium in Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale start going wild.
-------
Heavy body crushed into Arlecchino. Neuvillette's boot immediately pressed her head was against the stage.
"I will inlaid your broken body on Hydro Archon's statue!"
Neuvillette didn't care about screams of audience. He didn't care about narwhal, that was ready to consume everyone in sight.
He only cared about killing the harbinger.
Suddenly, the room felt with light. Noises were gone.
Narwhal was gone.
Arlecchino was gone.
[Y/N] were gone.
Only her.... Hydro Usurper was here.
Hydro Sovereign and Hydro Archon looked at each other.
"They called for you. They called you 'mother'." Neuvillette didn't blink.
"I... am not their mother..." Focalor's voice was weak. There was no use in saying anything. She could see it.
Her decision in taking away more powers, in making child a false archon, lead to this. At first, she thought, that hydro dragon might find [Y/N] adorable, and it will save Fontaine.
He did find [Y/N] adorable.
But, it looks like Fontaine's fate won't be as good as she hoped it would be.
Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale fell on her.
Hydro Sovereign's authority was restored.
-----
You were back home. Some melusines were keeping your company, while you were playing outside.
Everywhere you look, you saw walls of water, that now separated Fontaine from the rest of Teyvat.
Neuvillette left, saying, that he must deal with the monster.
------
Hydro Sovereign powers over the Primordial Sea were exceptional. He could easily give people of Fontaine a temporary forgives for their sins, or could easily create walls, made of Primordial Sea waters.
He could also easily make that walls a normal water again. And take away the forgiveness.
"Bring me the harbinger, if you don't want to dissolve in waters of the Primordial Sea."
She was here. Standing before him.
For the first time in ages, he was in his full dragon form. His talons grabbed her.
Hydro dragon spoke, and his voice made the earth quake.
"You are guilty. Pay for your crimes with your blood."
He was a dragon, but his horns weren't that sharp. In the water teeth and claws were much more useful for hunting.
To impale someone with his horns will be a torture. For an impaled.
And Neuvillette would love every second of it.
------
Natlan was a nation of dragons.
Place, where humans and saurians live together.
Fontaine became a nation of a dragon and his dragonet.
Neuvillette, Hydro Sovereign, ruled over the nation. He was a judge and an executor.
But you were the one who were sitting on the throne.
A child, who were adored by Hydro Dragon. Child, for whom Neuvillette will flood Teyvat.
Perhaps, you were supposed to do something about it. To tell Neuvillette, that he is wrong.
But you won't do it.
Not when he was taking care of you, when he was making sure that you are happy.
You always wanted to have a family. And, at that point of your life, you didn't care, if Fontaine's freedom was the price for your happiness.
¹ Quest-exqlusive melusines from canon. Ceasth is from Sigewinne's story quest, Enghiene is from "Lil' Fungi's Fun-Tastic Fiesta" and "Dance of Resolute Will" events.
²Headcannon time! It seems, "Lord" title for Archons are gender-neutral. We have Lord Barbatos, who, despite having an androgynous statue, is a male for in-universe people (see 'Sub-Space Boulder: Verdant Peak' description), and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata with Lesser Lord Kusanali, two females. I didn't want to use canonical Regina, because it is a female title.
³https://youtu.be/7bXnWKxdry8?si=UujvicBmoMmicdRU
⁴ Headcannon time. It seems, that at first Furina didn't recognize, who attacked her until she met Arlecchino later during official meeting.
#platonic yandere#child reader#genshin impact#gender neutral reader#neuvillette x reader#platonic neuvillette#yandere neuvillette#platonic yandere Neuvillette
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When Damian first joins the family, he is unaware of the bargain.
All parties must be in agreement to expand the list of members, and at first, Jason and Tim were concerned about whether Damian was trustworthy. Dick thought it would be a good show of trust, but had been outvoted.
When Damian found out about it, the circumstances were dire. On of the goons had a heart condition, and even non-lethal force had been enough. In the report, he had died of complications and pre existing conditions. Damian had no way of knowing that, but Bruce would not see it that way.
It was Dick who approached him.
“Trust me. It’ll be okay. It’s just a conversation, you’ll see.”
He’d taken them both to a cafe in Metropolis.
“Clark owes me a few favors. Keeping Batman from listening, and not listening himself, are relatively easy ways to fulfill them.”
Jason and Tim were waiting for them. Damian bristled, not expecting the two of them and their attempts at civil appearances.
“What is this?”
Jason and Tim didn’t look amused and waited for them to sit down. Dick sighed, realizing they would be no help.
“First off. This is a neutral space. No information from this conversation will be shared to any party not immediately present, used as a means of threatening another party present, or discussed in locations that are susceptible to the information being discovered by another party. Damian, before we continue, you must agree to those rules. Jason, Tim and myself have abided by them for several years. There are more stringent rules around the information we will discuss, but this general basis must be agreed to before we continue. You may opt out if you wish and we can head back to the manor.”
Damian wrestled with his decision but little of it showed on his face aside from his usual scowl.
On the one hand, information was being kept from him that he could find useful. One the other hand, he would have to enter into an agreement with three dangerous individuals that would know if he went back on his word with any of the information. If Batman was not already privy to this information, there is a reason he does not know it. Damian would be unable to determine how to share the information without knowing how it’s protected.
“… Fine.”
“I need more than that, Damian.”
“I agree to your terms. The information will not be discussed, shared, discoverable, or used as a threat.”
A look passed between the three older vigilantes before Dick blinked and nodded.
“The three of us have a shared agreement regarding information that gets shared with Bruce. Things that would get us in trouble if he found out. There are a couple of rules and stipulations about the types of information, but basically, it boils down the a mutual non-aggression pact.”
Tim cut in quickly.
“In the course of our night jobs, you will make mistakes. Things you couldn’t possible have known about. And rather than allowing Bruce to fixate on things that aren’t preventable and out of our control, we regulate what he knows of those situations.”
Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“When we fuck up and don’t want to get bitched out, we keep secrets from the old man. Early in knowing boy blunder here, we didn’t trust each other. To avoid involving B, we agreed not to eat on each other.”
Damian paused, considering.
“Then you all know what happened to one of the men from patrol a few weeks ago.” There wasn’t a question in Damian’s words, but Dick nodded anyways.
“Yeah, we know about his complications. That’s why we wanted to talk to you. We’ve been debating letting you into the pact since you came to live with B, but we weren’t sure how you’d take it.”
Damian tsk’d.
“You did not believe me trustworthy of such information.”
Tim tilted his head at him and said, “No, we didn’t.”
Damian nodded and thought about his options. If they were to be trusted, presumably they would keep information from Father. However, he would also become complicit in keeping information from Father, information he would not know the nature of until he agreed.
“What is the benefit of such an agreement?”
Jason chuckled and Dick started talking over him.
“We have all agreed to keep this information from Bruce. Meaning, if it looks like he’s getting too close to anything, we step in and help each other prevent that. It also means if we have a situation that arises and we need B to be kept out of it, we contact each other and it’s dealt with in real time.”
Tim nodded, adding “When I was going over files and alerts related to the case from last week I saw the coroner’s report of your guy. I could have altered the records right then and covered up the trail from the beginning. We have our own protocols for dealing with B and shared resources.”
“What is it that prevents this information from being shared?”
“Mutually assured destruction,” Jason said coolly.
“What Jason means,” Dick interjected, glaring, “is that the severity of the information is enough. As much as Tim or Jason doesn’t want B to know something, neither do I. If all of us work together, we’re good enough to keep it from him. The threat of any of us failing is enough of a deterrent because it would mean our own secrets coming to light. All information shared is of equal severity.”
Damian blinked, momentarily stunned.
“There is no punishment to ensure compliance?”
“Nothing aside from whatever B’s reaction to the information will be. And perhaps his reaction to finding out we kept it from him, if he figures that part out.”
All things considered, it was a fair deal. Not as secure as Damian would like, but better than nothing.
“I will require time to think about this proposal. But my original agreement stands. Will this be enough to ensure that the coroner’s report will remain in its current form or must I provide additional proof?”
“No, that’s alright. We’ll meet back up two weeks from now, we’ll need your answer by then.”
#batman#jason todd#bruce wayne#tim drake#dick grayson#redhood#damian wayne#nightwing#batfamily#batfam#i love the idea of keeping things from bruce and also the very real likelihood someone has died at their hands from complications#unmentioned here is oracle’s role in everything because even before jason was in the picture dick and babs had kept patrol secrets#i think damian would have the easiest time agreeing to the concept of mutual blackmail because he understands#not trusting people without leverage or securities especially in the beginning of him living at the manor#steph cass and duke will also eventually make it into the pact although there is concern over cass’s no kill rule#tim joining the pact wasn’t intentional bc it happened when jason was dead - when he came back realized dick had included him in their deal#calling it a mutual non-aggression pact made me laugh#love the idea of superman owing nightwing favors and it’s just don’t tell batman#(i hate dialogue tags if you couldn’t tell)
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