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catsteeth · 1 month ago

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Turn Your Cloak - Pt. 3 (parts 1 and 2) FINALE

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x reader

+:✿ Request ✿:+

Request: “Humbly requesting Benjicot and Velaryon Fem Reader. Benjicot, ever the romantic, manages to attack and 💀 Aemond and as a gift, he brings reader (and by extension, rhaenyra and Jace) his head. Honestly I just need to see Benjicot turning into Bloody Ben and Reader matching his freak. Feel free to add whatever else you want (smut is welcomed but not required)” CW: MDNI, drunk sex, p in v sex, unprotected, afab reader, alcohol consumption, mention of arranged marriage, canon typical violence, mention of death, war. A/N: You said smut welcomed and I threw a welcome home party.

Word Count: 11K

The threat of war loomed closer, and the tension in the air grew more and more with each passing day.

You grew so anxious you could not sit still. Pacing the floors of your chamber all day and night long.

You tried your hardest to find a solution that somehow no one had thought of yet. Perhaps if you thought long enough on it you’d find it. But of course, you couldn’t. The only solution you could find, and all the members of your mother's council could conjure was one.

War.

In a council meeting many months ago, you sat beside your betrothed as your mother heard the advice of the lords within her cabinet.

Lord Corlys had thought of a plan. Daemon would set out on Caraxes toward Harrenhal. His departure would be publicly announced to scatter all squatters who remained there during his absence. Aemond wanted Daemon dead more than any other of the Blacks. Should Daemon fall dead, all the lords who backed Rheanyra would turn their cloaks out of fear. So Lord Corlys would give Aemond the opportunity he wanted. But the real plot would be that Lord Corlys would lead a troop of men from Dragonstone to Harrenhall in secret as battles raged on in surrounding territories.

But they would not waste their occupation of the Riverlands. Whilst they would have men near the surrounding forestation of Harrenhal, they would have their troops scatter the Riverlands, while leaving Harrenhal seemingly unoccupied. They would wage brutal and vengeful battles across the Riverlands whilst they waited for any sign of Vhagar near Harrenhal.

Once Vhagar was seen, the troop would take advantage of the tree's coverage and use hooks, arrows, weighted nets, and catapults to bring the beast down. Reinforcement from Hugh and Ulf would be used to aid in the killing of Vhagar. Once it was done, Aemond would be executed for his crimes.

Without Vhagar and the Prince Consort, the Greens would be lost. King’s Landing and the realm would be in the hands of the rightful Queen Rheanyra.

The council decided it was their best option.

You wanted to volunteer your effort, volunteer your dragon. But, you remembered how Benjicot got onto his knees and begged you to simply consider otherwise. If he begged you to simply consider it, you didn’t want to know how he would react if you did enter battle. So you sat silently in the council chamber. Simply acknowledging that the plan was a good one and the best one you had.

So, your grandfather began gathering his best men for the troop. Many were of his own ship crew, many rivermen, many northern. But the one man who you cared for the most was Benjicot. He volunteered almost immediately once he had the chance to.

You weren’t thrilled with his choice you were nearly devastated. But, you remembered what he said to you.

“I’ll go to war. Kill every green I see. I’ll roar and rampage in the name of your revenge.” His eyes were wide, he was desperate, “I’ll bring Kings Landing to your feet.” He vowed to you, “I’ll never command you to do anything, never forbid you to do anything. I’ll give you my own sword to ride your beast into battle. But, I keep thinking of it. Being in battle and looking up to see you overhead on your beast. I am overcome with pride and admiration but should the greens shoot you down, or Vhagar prevails- I have to beg you selfishly. You’re the only woman I want, the only one I’ve ever loved, the only one I’ll ever love. If you are harmed, or worse I will burn all of Westeros to its soil and me with it.”

You knew this was necessary for him. To protect you, to attempt to heal you. This was what he wanted, what he needed.

So reluctantly you sent him off to battle with a lock of your hair, your favor, and a kiss.

He was marching toward arrows, swords, blood, and fire and yet he was the happiest he’d ever been. He was not nervous, for he knew if he kept you in his heart he would prevail.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The days since Ben had left were long and torturous. Your only solace was his letters that he sent to you.

His letters were romantic and gentle. Each would detail little of the war, he didn’t want you to know all that he was doing. He feared it would scare you. But you found out through the reports of the troop's progression through the Riverlands. A complete opposite of his own letters.

Benjicot surprised everyone in the troop, especially your Grandsire. He wrote to your mother and her council of his brutality. The sounds of Ben’s war cry was comparable to a hysterical laugh. One that struck fear in his enemy. It was clear he had no fear in him as his unpredictable and brutal fighting. He alone had more confirmed deaths than the rest of his troop combined. He was often covered in a mixture of dry and fresh blood. His sword and his body never tired of bloodshed.

It was only in one letter that he did hint at his bloodlust. The last letter he wrote to you.

𝕸𝖞 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊,

𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊, 𝕴 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖊 “𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕭𝖊𝖓”. 𝕴𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗. 𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖉, 𝕴 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕾𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖞 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊. 𝖀𝖓𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

𝕸𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖈𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊. 𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖓𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖐𝖎��𝖑, 𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖙. 𝕴𝖋 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌.

𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖘𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖑𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝕴 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘. 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉. 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖜 𝖉𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉.

𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖎𝖙, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖆 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗. 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖜𝖊’𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊. 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉, 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉.

𝕬𝖛𝖞 𝖏𝖔𝖗𝖗ā𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓 (I love you)

𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 & 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗,

𝕭𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

His words haunted you. His devotion touched you but his admission of his mortality shook you.

Since he had left things at Dragonstone became more and more complicated. The dragon seeds had made off with Seasmoke and Vermithor. Leaving your plan in a compromising position. As you sat at your mother's council table you ignored the words of the lords who sat around it with you. You toyed with your fingers as you were lost in thought of Ben. You interrupted whatever conversation was being had as you asked, “Any news of the Lord Corlys’s men?” You asked finally bringing your attention back to the council, “They’ve been making progress toward Harenhall, has there been any news in regards to Vhagar?” You clarified.

Your mother looked at you with sympathetic eyes and nodded to the maester. The maester looked to you, “Nothing concrete, Princess.” He said with a shake of his head.

“Rumors then?” You said picking apart his words confidently.

“Plenty.” He nodded, “Though it is not wise to heed to them.”

Before he could continue to speak of something else, you spoke again, “I am too young to be wise.”

The maester silently debated whether he should or should not tell you the truth. “Some of the men rumored it… Vhagar has been seen near Harenhall.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “This seems like a rumor to heed mind to!” You said as you sat up in your seat.

Your mother raised a hand to you to calm you, “Lord Corlys has not seen it. Nor has Benjicot, or I suspect he would have written such news to you.”

“Some soldiers report seeing merely an end of a tail, or the smell of dragon. The sleep-deprived and frightened mind can think up such things.” The maester said in an attempt to ease your mind though it did the opposite.

You scoffed, “Or perhaps these men have seen such things, perhaps they have smelt dragon.”

“We know nothing yet.” Your mother said dismissively. You knew she was blinded by her want to protect you and Jacaerys. But you also knew you were now their last hope at taking on Vhagar and preserving your plan.

“And yet we have too much to risk. Daemon’s dragon is just one.” You said nearly pleading for her to open her eyes, “You must let me ride out Mother.”

“No.” She said quickly with a dismissive shake of her head.

“Mother!” You nearly shouted, regaining her attention and silencing the rest of the men at that table. “We are out of options.” You said standing, “Send me to Daemon. Vaghar cannot take two dragons at once.” You placed your hands on the table and leaned towards her, “He has taken my brother, my grandmother, I will not let him take my husband.” You shook your head slowly and maintained your eye contact with her. “I won’t let him take victory.”

Rheanyra felt her eyes tearing up. She knew you were right but she couldn’t allow herself to admit it. “What then? You’ll fly out on Silverwing and face Vhagar as Arrax did?”

“Yes.” You nodded confidently, “Lucerys was not ready. Aemond took advantage of his youth and inexperience.” You looked at her with confident and strong eyes, “I am ready.” You said with a nod, “Without Vhagar, the Greens are lost. You cannot afford to lose Caraxies.” A silence hung in the air for a nearly uncomfortable time. The lords at the table did not dare offer their advice in either direction. They knew better than to come between a mother and daughter dragon. Soon, reluctantly and hesitantly Rhaenyra nodded though she immediately regretted it. “I’ll show you what loyalty looks like.” You said as you pushed yourself away from the table and marched out of the chamber doors.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Thousands of miles away, Benjicot sat at a table in a tavern within the Riverlands. He wrote on a piece of parchment, being sure to keep his words hidden from the drunken men around him. He was writing to you, of course.

“Oi, Bloody Ben!” A rowdy soldier called out toward Ben.

Ben folded the paper and shoved it into his shirt. He looked toward the man at the bar, “Aye?”

The man approached him with two women in his arms, “I’m paying,” He said with a drunken smile, “What say you? Which lass you take?” He asked as he looked over at the women with a lustful grin.

Ben huffed, “Fuck you.” He said with a tired scowl.

The man looked at Ben with an angry gaze, “The fucks your problem-”

Before the man could finish the strong hand of Lord Corlys took hold of the man’s shoulder. “The Lord of Ravenhall is a loyal man.” He said as he pushed the man away with a single shove. Lord Corlys looked toward Ben, “I respect that.” He then looked toward the barkeep “A round of brown ale for me and the Blackwood.” He commanded and the barkeep nodded.

Ben stood out of respect, “Lord Corlys-”

Lord Corlys did not pay attention to this, he simply raised a hand for Ben to sit as he sat across from him. “My granddaughter is restless in Dragonstone,” Ben said, immediately and completely consumed by his words. He had heard nothing of how you were. Only from the letters that you sent and he knew you would not tell him all of your worries. “She wonders and paces the halls waiting for ravens from you.”

Ben sighed with heartache, “I write every moment I am granted.” He wished he could have done more. He looked up to Lord Corlys, “Is she safe?” He asked with desperation.

“Of course.” He said quickly, “She worries for you endlessly.” He said as the ale was sat on their table and he began to drink.

“I wish she wouldn’t,” Ben said shaking his head, ignoring the ale.

“She has requested to ride out on Silverwing to relieve our troop's efforts,” Corlys said, somewhat curious as to how Ben would respond. Ben’s eyes widened for a moment as he looked at Corlys. “How does that make you feel?” He asked bringing the cup of ale back to his lips.

Ben thought for a moment, “I’ll never prevent her from what she wishes.” He then shook his head, “Though I wish she’d keep safe.”

“As do I,” Corlys said. He could see Ben’s anxiety through his words. “But Silverwing is a large and formidable beast.” He said trying to ease Ben’s anxieties, “Larger than Moon Dancer, Vermax, Syrax, Caraxies, Seasmoke, Maelys-”

“But not larger than Vhagar.” Ben interrupted. He was imagining his worst fears.

Corlys sat his cup down and leaned toward Ben, “Aemond is overly confident in his abilities. He is not as talented a rider as he claims.” Ben looked at Corlys taking in all his words, “Vhagar is too large a beast to hold a true hold of. It fights as an animal does.” He sat back in his seat, “My granddaughter has a true hold of her beast. She is a talented rider, and she is clever. Aemond is hardly clever.” He shook his head, “She will not run into a battle she won’t win simply because hotter blood prevailed over her better judgment.”

Ben sat in silence for a moment, “She’s mentioned nothing of flying out in our letters.” He was trying to brush off Lord Corlys's well-informed words for rumors.

“Well, she’s not been granted permission by the Queen.” Little did he know, you now did. “Though her council has been pushing her to. And armor has been made for her.” Ben felt his heart sink into his stomach, “She didn’t lie to you, just didn’t tell you. She probably wishes for you not to worry.”

Ben’s eyes fell onto the floor, then returned to Corlys. He had the same predatory gaze he had on the battlefield, “I’ll not allow a man to bring harm to her.” He said darkly.

Corlys sighed weakly, he could see the devotion he once had for his late wife in Ben’s eyes. Though he could even see that Ben’s devotion seemed even stronger. He knew if something were to happen to you, not even the Gods would be able to heal whatever damage Ben would bring. “We are men who love our family. But Believe me.” He warned, “You cannot stop what other men wish to do.” Ben knew of what Corlys spoke of. “And you cannot stop your wife from doing what she wishes to do. Our wives were born with fire in their hearts.”

“I know.” Ben nodded, “I love that fire, but it-”

“Infurates you.” Corlys said with experience, “I know.” He nodded with a smile. Finally, Corlys took hold of his cup of ale and stood, “My granddaughter cares for you deeply- loves you. Do not allow me to find you with a whore.” He said as he left Ben at the table.

“Never,” Ben said with a shake of his head.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben continued to worry for you just as you continued to worry for him.

You sent a letter to the Riverlands, to Ben’s encampment. You told him you would be flying out into battle. You had to be honest with him though you worried how it would affect him.

He would have appreciated it, though the letter never arrived.

Since you were enrolled in your mother's war, the battles in the Riverlands grew heavier.

In the Riverlands, Benjicot roared and rampaged with bloody satisfaction. Killing and slaughtering tens, of hundreds, of thousands of men. Laughing and enjoying each fatal swing of his sword.

In Dragonstone, Your armor was being readied, polished, and finely tuned. As you waited for the silversmiths to fit you into your armor, you sought out Silverwing.

The dragon keepers placed an armored saddle and chains onto Silverwing. As they did the weight of what you were flying into sank in. You may never see this home again, you may never fly on Silverwing again.

Your mother's eyes were filled with concern and sorrow. She did not wish to sacrifice another child for the crown. “Māzigon arlī naejot nyke. (Return to me safely.)” She spoke to you softly as she held your face in her hands.

She found the sight of you alone to bring pain. She could not bring herself to stop you, but could not stay any longer. She turned away, painfully and reluctantly.

You turned back to Silverwing. You smiled softly at the silver beast. Even if you died in battle, at least you died with her. Bonded for life and death. You ran your hand along her snout, “Īlon vīlībagon hēnkirī, uēpa riña. (We fight together, old girl.)” You said with a melancholy tone.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The Greens had brought more and more knights to the Riverlands.

Ben thought he had killed the last of them as he stood up from the battlefield covered in blood. He looked at the horizon as he saw more green banners coming their way. “Green cunts.” Benjicot swore through gritted teeth and lowered harsh eyes as he stared at the coming knights. “Kill them all!” He declared before raising his sword and running head-on into the frye.

As he ran in his sword diced through men like tallow, laughing and roaring all the while.

However, it was becoming clear that their troop was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Ben didn’t let up.

As he saw some black soldiers giving into exhaustion he grabbed hold of their collars pulled them up and threw them back into the battle.

Suddenly Ben’s bloody focus was disturbed. Benjicot could feel a pull of his heart. As though it were directing him to something.

His intuition would be proven correct when he heard a fellow man shout, “Dragon!”

The battle nearly fell silent. Eerie and still, as all looked above and saw the shadow of a large beast above the clouds.

The Greens and Blacks alike waited in anticipation and fear. Would this dragon be salvation or death?

As the dragon began descending towards the battlefield at an alarmingly fast pace, it was clear who it was.

“Silverwing Above!” A knight shouted, “It’s the Princess!” Another shouted.

All ducked and coward as you dived low near the ground, getting as close as you could to the battle while staying airborne.

Ben’s eyes instinctually found you in the sky. And as you flew past his eyes he saw you for a brief moment and yet he captured your image in enormous detail.

You on top of your armored beast flew forward clad in armor that gleamed like forged moonlight. The breastplate was a masterpiece of polished silver and steel, etched with ornate marine patterns and crowned with a three-headed dragon motif that seemed to radiate power and authority.

The pauldrons jutted backward, adorned with razor-edged fins that gave the appearance of wings. Jagged and sharp, they seemed designed to evoke intimidation as much as protection. Underneath your pauldrons and over your shoulders, a cape of fine, interwoven links of chainmail glinted with every movement. Its texture was as fluid as a stream, softening the harsh precision of the armor. The belt at your waist bore a fishtailed dragon.

The helm was a crowning glory, a sculptural marvel with its aerodynamic curves and horn-like crests that rose defiantly from the crown. Its silvered steel sculpted to mirror the fierce elegance of a dragon. Silverwing in fact, the Helmet was made to resemble the beast. The crown of the helm arched upward and backward into two long, curved horns that spiraled back like the crest and horns of the beast, Slender slits for the eyes hid your gaze, imbuing the figure with an aura of mystery and menace. Though your eyes were hardly visible, Ben could have sworn your eyes bore into his soul.

Along the sides of the helmet, delicate filigree hinted at the visage of the predatory beast, its essence captured in cold steel. With an aura of predatory grace. It was not merely a piece of armor—it was a testament to the bond between knight and beast, a symbol of the strength and majesty they shared. It was a statement, you were not a dragon seed but the dragon. The dragon to which each Green should fear.

The Greens scattered as Silverwing's nasally roar crackled through the air like thunder.

“Dracarys!” You commanded confidently.

Silverwing obeyed with no hesitation. Her flames enveloped hundreds of Greens within minutes.

Benjicot stood in amazement as he watched you. His eyes then looked onto the carnage that you brought. The bodies had turned in ash and clay just before his own eyes. Ben let out another laugh as he began swinging his sword again.

“Your princess has joined you in battle!” Ben shouted with pride and adoration as he motivated the men, “Any man who lets her down dies by my hand!” He shouted once more before diving back into the frye.

You heard a familiar screeching roar.

As you looked over your shoulder you saw Caraxiess. With Daemon, your stepfather atop of him.

You knew now was the time to follow your plan.

“Ruaragon. (Hide)” You commanded. Silverwing dodged any of Vhagars attempted assaults as she flew up into the clouds. She took advantage of the thickest clouds, blending into the grey and silvers of them. Silverwing was a talkative dragon. She often purred or chirped as she flew, but never when she hid. It was a trick you had taught Silverwing for battle. She was a breeding dragon, not fighting class. Or so that’s what the dragon keepers told you. So you took it upon yourself to teach her.

You looked down beneath the clouds to see Vhagar. Finally, you thought. You felt the anger rise in your stomach. “Nābēmagon. (Attack)” You said with some hesitation.

Silverwing dove rapidly through the clouds and flew over the head of Vhagar. As she circled back you could see the shocked expression on Aemonds face.

Silverwing’s jaws clamped down onto the wing of Vhagar. Tearing her already damaged wings.

Vhagar roared and attempted to spew fire at you and Silverwing.

It made Ben gasp, and nearly lose his focus, but you managed to dodge the attack immediately.

You watch as Caraxes took hold of Vhagars throat, but it wasn’t enough to kill the large beast.

As you circled back once more, you knew you had only one option, “Jikagon syt se ȳrgos! (Go for the neck!)” You shouted,

Silverwing’s jaw clamped onto Vhagar’s throat. Hot blood poured out of its wounds and fell upon the soldiers below. Burning them, greens and blacks alike.

You held on as tightly as you could to your saddle as Silverwing’s talons clawed at the sternum of Vhagar, piercing its heart.

As Vhagar fell limp in Silverwing’s jaws, she released its lifeless body. As did Caraxes.

You and Daemon watched as Vhagar’s body fell into the lake below.

You breathed heavily and petted Silverwings scales as she breathed exhaustedly. “Gīda, gīda riña... Sȳrī gaomagon. (Steady, steady girl… Well done.)” You praised her as she flew on, taking in the sudden peace.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

What you nor Daemon saw was that Aemond did not perish in the fall.

Vhagars body met the water before Aemond. He has untethered himself to Vhagar and swam to the shore quickly.

The only person to have noticed through all the chaos was Ben.

He chuckled to himself as he followed after him. He wasn’t going to allow him to survive.

He killed thousands of greens, thousands of men just to fill the hole that Aemond left in you. He couldn’t let the man who brought such pain to you and your family live.

Benjicot went into the forest after Aemond. He walked for what seemed like hours into the surrounding woods. Soon however he found what he was looking for.

A mournful Aemond sitting by a small stream.

Aemond looked over his shoulder to see Ben standing there. Looking at him with the eyes of a predator. “You found me,” Aemond said tiredly, slightly irritated, and without fear.

Benjicot remained silent for a nearly uncomfortable amount of time. Just staring at the man with dark and low eyes. “Do you know who I am?“ Ben finally spoke. His mind was running rampant with ideas of how he would draw as much pain out of the arrogant one-eyed prince.

Aemond’s eye trained over Ben’s face as though he were looking through him. It didn’t take much to figure out who he was. Ben was covered in blood, more blood than any other knight on the battlefield. “You are betrothed to my bastard niece.”

Ben took steps closer to Aemond, his eyes low. Staring at him as if he were a wolf spotting prey. “I am betrothed to the Princess of Dragonstone.” His voice was harsh and deep.

“Another whore of Dragonstone,” Aemond spoke cooly and calmly. His words sent hot rage through Ben’s already scolding hot blood. His eyes did not lighten, they remained dark and hateful. “An exciting prospect for a lord of a small and meaningless house I would wager. A chance at power.” Aemond stood on his tired legs and turned to Benjicot. “All you have to do is marry a bastard.”

Ben’s expression didn’t shift, stayed as hard as it was before. “You took something from her.” He said as his grip on his sword tightened. Aemond noticed the blood-covered sword in his hand. “Something you can’t give back.”

His eye went from the sword in Ben’s hand to Ben’s dangerous gaze. “Is that why you’re here? You want to prove your worth to an illegitimate half-breed?” Aemond’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not proving anything.” Ben shook his head slowly, “I want you dead because I have seen the pain you’ve brought to her.” He took a few more steps forward, biting his tongue out of anger, “And your words do not serve you well.”

Aemond smirked slightly, “I am the prince, son of Viserys Targaryen.” He said as he withdrew his sword, making Ben grasp his tighter and move into a defensive stance. “I care nothing of that bastard's pain.”

Ben chuckled lowly, “You are no true prince. Craven cunt.” His laugh faded and his eyes returned to bloodlust, “I want you for myself.”

“Craven cunt?” Aemond questioned, “And yet- you fight for a bastard’s cunt.” Aemond said with amusement.

With his vulgar remark toward you and your sex, Ben raised his sword toward him. Sneering at Aemond as he did so.

The clash of steel echoed across the forest, punctuated by the sharp hiss of labored breaths. Ben’s bloody longsword flashed in the dim light, arcing through the misty air toward Aemond Targaryen, who met the blow with the cold precision of one who had honed his craft to a deadly art. Sparks leaped as their blades met, the force of the collision reverberating through their arms.

Ben pressed forward, his strikes wild, unpredictable, but purposeful, fueled by the searing fire of grief and vengeance. His footwork was aggressive, his movements as much a storm as the one that had claimed Lucerys Velaryon.

Aemond moved like a shadow, his single eye gleaming with cruel calculation. His swordsmanship was a thing of grace and cruelty combined—every parry and riposte was a lesson in control. He danced around Ben’s fury, exploiting the openings left by raw emotion, testing him with feints and punishing counters.

The fight churned across the uneven ground, boots kicking up loose soil and grass. Ben’s blade grazed Aemond’s shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of crimson. “That’s for her tears,” Ben said.

Aemond retaliated in kind, his blade carving through the air toward Ben’s ribs. Ben twisted away, barely avoiding the fatal blow, his chainmail ringing out as the sword glanced off it.

They circled each other like wolves, each looking for the moment of weakness that would tip the scales. Ben feinted a low swing, then brought his blade upward in a desperate arc. Aemond was faster, stepping to the side and slashing at Ben’s thigh. The blow struck true, and Ben faltered, a growl of pain escaping him as blood darkened his leg.

But Ben did not stop.

Ben lunged with renewed ferocity, his sword crashing into Aemond’s with such force that both men staggered. The Targaryen’s smirk twisted into a grimace as he was driven back, his boots skidding on the wet grass. Ben pressed the attack, his movements now fueled by sheer willpower, his injured leg threatening to buckle with each step.

Aemond stepped inside Ben’s guard, their swords locking, the screech of steel-on-steel cutting through the air. Aemond twisted, forcing Ben’s blade aside, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to be still.

Then Ben’s superior strength prevailed as he pivoted, his off-hand clutching a dagger pulled from his belt. “For her heartache,” Ben said through gritted teeth as the blade darted upward toward Aemond’s neck, narrowly missing the prince’s jugular. The blade was lodged halfway up into Aemonds jaw nearly piercing into his mouth.

As he pulled away Aemond retaliated with a savage thrust, his sword piercing through Ben’s side, the blade slick with blood as it withdrew. “For my annoyance,” Aemond said, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Aemond grasped the underside of his jaw, attempting to stop the heavy bleeding of his wound.

Ben dropped to one knee, his vision swimming, but his gaze locked onto Aemond’s. Even in defeat, his eyes were defiant, a refusal to let his fury die with him.

To Aemond’s surprise, Ben stood again. He fought with all his might, with all his love.

The two men stood in silence, both equally damaged. Breathing heavily, in an attempt to regain whatever energy they could.

All that could be heard was the sounds of the small stream flowing down the hillside.

Ben’s eyes looked at Aemond, filled with anger and vengeance. “Come at me,” Ben hissed, raising his sword at Aemond once more, “With everything you have.” He sneered, his voice was wavering, but it was still deep and harsh.

Aemond smirked despite the blood pouring from his neck, a grim mask of arrogance and malice. He steadied himself, raising his sword once more, but his movements were slower now, his footing less sure. Ben noticed the subtle shifts in his opponent’s stance, the faint tremor in his grip. Aemond was faltering, even if he refused to admit it.

Ben's injured leg screamed in protest as he stepped forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain. "I said come at me!" he growled, his voice carrying over the rush of the nearby stream.

Aemond lunged, his blade flashing toward Ben’s chest. But this time, Ben was ready. He sidestepped, using the momentum of his dodge to pivot behind Aemond. Before the prince could recover, Ben swung his longsword in a brutal arc, the edge slicing across Aemond's back. Aemond cried out, his voice a mix of fury and pain, as he staggered forward, blood soaking his tunic.

Ben didn’t let up. He closed the distance, his sword coming down in a powerful overhead strike. Aemond raised his blade to block, but his strength was waning. The clash of steel reverberated again, but this time, Ben’s strike forced Aemond’s sword from his hand, sending it clattering to the ground.

Aemond fell to his knees, his breaths ragged, blood dripping from his wounds. His single eye glared up at Ben, defiant to the last. "Do it, then," he spat, his voice hoarse. "Prove yourself."

Ben’s chest heaved as he stood over Aemond, his sword poised to strike. For a moment vengeance—pressed down on him.

“For my wife,” Ben whispered. With a swift, decisive motion, he drove his sword into Aemond’s chest, the blade piercing through armor, flesh, and bone. Aemond gasped, his defiance crumbling into shock as his body went limp and fell to the soft ground.

Ben pulled the sword free, the weight of his vengeance lifting slightly but leaving behind a hollowness he couldn’t yet name. Aemond collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

But, once more, fury ran through his blood.

Ben swung his sword down once more onto Aemond’s neck. Decapitating the one-eyed prince.

Ben staggered back, dropping to one knee as the exhaustion and pain overcame him. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood. But he was alive. Against all odds, he had survived.

The stream whispered in the silence that followed, carrying away the echoes of their battle. Ben lifted his gaze to the sky.

In the distance, Ben would hear Silverwing’s nasally chirping. He smiled softly, and then, with the last of his strength, he rose to his feet, grabbed Aemond’s head by his long silver head, and began the walk back to the encampment.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Meanwhile, the war had come to a halt. Greens were lost, and the Blacks had prevailed.

While men combed the fields for their dead, you combed with them in a desperate attempt to find Ben.

“If he’s not here, are we to believe he coward away?” Daemon asked Lord Corlys as the men continued their search.

“He’d never do such a thing!” You said defensively. “Ben has never proven to be craven.”

“Then where is he?” Daemon questioned pointedly.

“We better direct our attention to Aemond.” Lord Corlys said.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about such a thing. All you could care about was Ben. “Where is he?” Corlys continued.

“At the bottom of the lake with the ugly beast.” Daemon with an irritated sigh.

“Or perhaps they are both closer than we think,” Corlys said as he looked across the field.

Confused you turned to see what Corlys saw.

That's when you saw it. Ben, was bloodied and sweaty. His hand clinging to his wounded side. His other hand, dragging along the severed head of Aemond Targaryen.

You turned around to see him stumbling weakening across the battletorn field. “Ben?” You asked as though you couldn’t believe your eyes. Pure disbelief.

“Fire,” Ben said painfully and exhausted but he’d never felt such relief to see you alive.

His words verified that you were not seeing a vision, but he was real, “Ben-” You said as you began running toward him.

“I’m bloodied-” Ben said, not wanting to frighten you.

You shook your head as you continued running toward him, “I like you bloodied-” You wrapped your arms around his neck and began kissing his bloodied cheeks frantically. You’d never been so happy, “The Gods are real!” You said with a smile as you held his tired and bloody face in your hands.

Ben’s dirty and bloody hands held your face in return, “Let me look at you-” Ben said, his eyes heavy and his voice hoarse. He took in the vision of you. Shiny and chrome, dangerous and graceful, a warrior and a princess. “I have waited so long to look at you.” He said before wincing in pain,

You looked down at Ben’s wounds. “You’re hurt.” You said. Though the blood that was his and the blood that was not was hard to distinguish between, It was a foolishly late realization.

Ben smiled weakly at you, his eyes still soaking in the sight of you, “I can’t bring myself to care right now.” He said despite beginning to collapse to the ground. His body gave in to the pain and blood loss.

You pointed to a squire, “You- Get the maester!” You demanded. You dropped to the soil, holding Ben closely. You ran your hand through his dark hair, attempting to keep him awake, “I’m not leaving you.”

Ben still had a smile on his face as his eyes finally shut.

As he did, your heart pounded, your tears welled and fell from your eyes. And Silverwing let out a roar so loud it shattered every window left in Harrenhal.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben was taken to the Maesters in Harrenhal.

You lay there beside Benjicot as he lay there motionless and wheezing. You held his hand as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. Desperate for him to make a noise, any kind of sound at all besides the sounds of labored breathing.

You washed his exposed skin with a rag soaked in warm water. You were sure to speak to him, read to him, and you even sang to him. He always loved to hear you sing to yourself, you caught him eavesdropping on you many times.

It was memories like that that made you hold out hope for him.

Finally, one day, as you laid cuddled into his side. Your hand resting on his chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. You heard a sound, “Mmm..” Ben finally let out a noise as his eyes began to flutter open.

You looked up at him, then finally sat up and held his face, “I’m here, I’m right here. I will be right here.” You said as if you were cooing a child.

Ben’s eyes finally steadied, he looked at you with longing eyes, “You flew.” He spoke weakly.

You exhaled sharply, and shook your head “I am sorry.” You closed your eyes and looked down in shame, “I know you did not want for me to see battle, but I could not sit by while you faced Vhagar alone.” You stammered.

He squeezed your hand tightly, “You’re the bravest woman I have ever met.” You finally looked back to him, “I’ve missed you.” “When I saw you in that sky I thought I’d died, gone to the heavens.”

“You nearly did.” You said placing a gentle hand on his bandaged side, “We’ve been here for a day and a night.” He took notice of how you said ‘we’, and he placed a hand on your cheek. You looked at him, your eyes inspected his face. His eyes looked nothing like the man you saw two days ago carrying your uncle's head. “You killed Aemond.” You said with a strange lightness, your eyes lighting up and the corners of your mouth threatening to lift into a smile as you thought of his head Ben carried.

Ben however didn’t hide his pleasure. The corner of his mouth pulled to a smirk as he spoke, “I never promise things I can’t keep.”

You felt adornment rush through your body, making you smile as you looked at him. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I’ve missed you so.”

You kissed his lips, the first kiss you’d shared since he departed. Ben’s lips were hungry, wanting more and more of you.

You stifled a giggle as you lifted off of him and got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, almost whining. You looked back at him as you walked toward the pot hanging on top of the flames in the fireplace.

“Nowhere,” You said as you poured a bowl of stew you had ready for this very moment, “You must eat.” As you sat by his bedside once again, you said, “We need you well-rested for your trip home.” Holding a spoonful of the stew to his lips. To which he gladly ate after days of nothing but war.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You stayed with Benjicot in Harrenhal until he was well enough for the ship to return to Dragonstone. Never leaving his side.

By the time you had returned, the war was fought and won. It was easy enough without Vhagar and Aemond.

When you stepped foot on the island you could hear the voice of your mother calling out to you.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother called out, looking at you as if you might be a mirage, “(Y/N)!” Rhaenyra shouted as she saw you approaching. She rushed toward you.

Your mother tightly wrapped her arms around you, “I am fine.” You said trying to calm her.

“Your grace,” Benjicot said, redirecting Rhaenyra’s attention. “The realm is yours.” He said with a stern demeanor that spoke of devotion.

As he spoke, a squire held out a wooden chest. Rhaenyra looked at it curiously, “What is this?” She asked approaching it.

“I have brought you Aemond Targaryen,” Ben said, in some way attempting to warn her.

Rhaenyra looked at Ben with suspicious eyes.

As she opened the box, her expression seemed stone-like.

She looked at the sight with a mix of emotions. All of which were sudden and overwhelming. As she looked upon the brutality before her, the memory of her son, Lucerys, rose unbidden—his laughter, his earnest eyes, the boyish joy he had brought to a mother’s weary heart. And then the vision shifted, darkened, to that fateful day when Arrax had fallen, torn asunder in the stormy skies over Storm’s End. A part of her whispered that she should rejoice. Her son's death was avenged. Aemond’s dragonfire was extinguished, and with it, one of her bitterest enemies. But Rhaenyra found no solace in vengeance.

Her voice cracked, raw with grief and fury. “Aemond’s death is but a hollow victory. Blood spilled for blood, and still, the price is never paid in full.” Rhaenyra gathered herself quickly. “You have served me and the realm well. Done for us an invaluable service.” She spoke to the two of you. Trying her best to sound as enthusiastic as she could. But for Rhaenyra, there was no justice in it. Only a strange hollowness.

Rhaenyra closed the chest.

She turned to you with a somber smile, holding you by your shoulders, finding her true victory in the sight of her child safe and alive. The queen would feel her emotions coming onto her again. So she smiled once more at her daughter before taking her leave inside the castle.

Jacaerys walked toward the chest, opening it once more for a brief moment before shutting it. Aemond’s face and sapphire eye were engraved into Jacaery’s mind. And now, it was before him once more, lifeless and still. He felt a dark satisfaction unfurl in his chest, a cold flame that burned brighter with every heartbeat. He then stepped toward Benjicot, “A grizzly display of loyalty.” He said with a stoic tone. Jace then nodded, “But a display nonetheless.”

Jace gave Ben a firm nod, a bow of his head, before he too followed after his mother.

Ben looked at you, and you smiled at him.

You took Ben’s arm under your own, guiding him into the Castle and allowing him to lean on you. “I believe he accepts you.” You spoke softly to him with a girlish smile

Ben stifled a chuckle through his nose, “I only want him to know my intentions with you are honest.” He said with a sweetness unbefitting of a brutal warrior as he.

You huffed as you and he passed the threshold of the castle, “You needn’t prove anything.” You said defensively in his honor.

As you guided him to his chamber you looked at his tired and weakened body. It made you feel an even more tender adoration for him.

Once you had arrived at his chamber door, Ben was hesitant to go in and rest. He stood there refusing to let go of your hand. You smiled as you looked at him and sighed, “You must rest.” You said softly as you ran your fingertips through his hair lightly.

Ben shook his head, “My body might be fucked but my eyes are not. I have waited too long to be with you.” He was always stubborn.

You looked down the hall to see if anyone was there, when you saw you were alone you pulled Ben in close and kissed his lips. He was again- hesitant to let go, trying to taste as much of you as he could. “Rest.” You insisted, pushing his back playfully. “You must be well enough. Do not forget to have a wedding to attend in a fortnight.” You said before slipping from his grasp.

Ben watched as you walked down the hall. Smirking, he bit his lip as you looked back at him once more.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben did indeed rest and was well come that fortnight.

The wedding would be remembered by all who attended.

The skies above Driftmark were streaked with hues of fiery red and deep violet as the sun descended, bathing High Tide in a glow as resplendent as the day’s occasion. It was a union of houses steeped in ancient Valyrian tradition, yet now bound to the Riverlands by the presence of Benjicot. The ceremony itself took place beneath a grand arch fashioned from driftwood, bleached white by years of sea and sun, entwined with silver ivy and pale fire blossoms from Dragonstone. A brazier of Dragonfire burned at its center.

Benjicot stood at the end of the aisle, his heart pounding beneath his chest as though it sought to break free and meet you before you could take a single step closer. The young lord had faced death more times than he could count during the war fought in your name, had led men into battle with your image burned into his mind—a guiding star, his unwavering purpose amidst the chaos. Yet, here, in the stillness of this sacred moment, he felt a fear far greater than anything he’d ever felt.

Would you know the depth of his devotion? Could you see it in the way his dark eyes followed your every movement, in the reverent stillness of his hands as they gripped the pommel of his sword? He had fought for you, bled for you, and yet it was your love—freely given, not won on the battlefield—that had undone him completely.

The veil cascaded over your crown like delicate waves, woven from the finest lace and embroidered with a constellation of pearls. Each raw pearl gleamed softly, their iridescence catching the light as though imbued with whispers of sacred devotion. Marine motifs swirled intricately through the fabric, threads flowing like seaweed of ivory and blue silver. The veil seemed alive, a tender masterpiece that wrapped her in a reverent glow, as if shielding her in the quiet embrace of centuries-old tradition. It framed her face with a serene beauty, a living ode to the grace and purity of the sea.

The gown was spectral and a relic of an ancient past, its ivory lace flowing with an ethereal grace. The bodice, structured yet soft, embraced the form with regal elegance, while the long sleeves and cascading skirt swept downward, pooling into a train that seemed to melt into the floor. The accompanying veil draped over your head, mirroring the gown's delicate intricacy, its lace and pearls shimmering faintly in the muted light. Together, they conjured an image of timeless romance, a fleeting glimpse of a bride from a bygone era, suspended in eternal reverence.

Your beauty inspired great emotion in a brutal and merciless man like Benjicot. He felt tears beginning to well in his eyes as he looked at you. You were the most beautiful woman- no- the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You were more beautiful than even his dreams dared to conjure. His throat tightened, and for a fleeting moment, he doubted whether he was worthy of you— You a woman of Valyrian blood and otherworldly grace who had chosen him, a mortal man tied to the soil and shadow of the riverlands.

As you stepped toward Ben and the Septon, you smiled at Ben, who smiled back. He sniffled and attempted to hide his tears.

Ben took you by the hand, as you both looked at one another. When she reached him, and they stood face to face, Benjicot felt a strange, overwhelming calm. Your hand slipped into his, cool and soft as a sea breeze, and with your touch, he found his home. No words passed between them as the Septon began to speak the ancient rites, yet he felt as though they were speaking volumes. His love for you surged within him, fierce and boundless, as he swore silently to himself that no harm would ever come to you, not while he still drew breath.

Ben’s gaze did not stray from you as the Septon began to speak, “You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

To which, Ben did without hesitation. The black of his cloak contrasted beautifully with the ivory of your gown.

Though you’d not take the name Blackwood, you’d take him as a Husband. That was all he needed in this life.

The Septon continued, “We stand here, in the sight of the Gods and men. In thanks and praise, to join two souls as one. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Your eyes drifted from the fire to Ben’s gaze. “Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Hear now their words. Look upon one another and say the words.” Your eyes never left one another's hold.

You spoke your vows, softly, earnestly. You wanted him to know you meant every word. “I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.”

And Ben recited his, “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.” Ben’s grasp on your hand tightened for a moment. His other hand held your cheek gently and he looked upon you with loving and caring eyes. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” His vow was not mere words. They were words spoken for centuries by a million men in a million different ways. But his were sacred and were heavy with duty and honor.

You tried your best to hold in your tires, “And I take you as my lord and husband.” Your voice was soft, gentle, and weakened from emotion.

“And I take you as my princess and wife.” He looked into your eyes, his voice steady as he repeated the vows, but beneath the surface, his body was filled with fire.

The High Valyrian rite began, you and he both placed your hands above the brazier’s flame, uniting fire and flesh in a silent pledge of courage and loyalty. Then, in Velaryon tradition, a vial of seawater was poured over their clasped hands,

“Se perzys zaldrīzoti se iēdar hen embar, ivestragī bisa sagon. (By the fire of dragons and the waters of the sea, let this union be eternal.)” The septon recited. “Then in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim you both, man and wife. Vala se ābrazȳrys, mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se syt ry jēdaone, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder..”

He was hers entirely, and for the first time in his life, Benjicot felt that he had found his place. The love between you and him was so profound no one, not even the Gods could touch it.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

The wedding feast was a spectacle to rival the ceremony. Tables laden with exotic Valyrian delicacies sat beside platters of hearty Riverlands fare, symbolizing the joining of your two worlds. Roast swan stuffed with figs and honey, spiced eel pies, and bowls of dark red wine were served alongside savory venison and blackberries.

Ben held you tightly as you and he danced around the Driftmark throne room. Ben looked at you adoringly, “Have I told you how breathtaking you look?” He asked sweetly.

You giggled girlishly, “Every hour it seems.” You said as he spun you around the floor.

Ben’s eyes trailed over your body, “I damn well better ‘ave.” He said with a lustful grin making you blush.

Ben danced you around the ballroom floor. As though he was proudly displaying you. You stifled another giggle and rested your head on his shoulder, “I don’t want this to end.” You said softly.

Ben ran his hand over your head, and hair, “It won’t.” He whispered in your ear, “I’m right here. I will be right here.” You raised your head from his shoulder and looked at him, realizing he recited the words you spoke to him as he woke in Harrenhal.

“Pardon my intrusion.” Lord Corlys’s deep voice cut through the dreaminess of that moment, making you quickly realize his presence. Ben seemed as startled by his presence as you did. “No intrusion, my Lord,” Ben said loosening his intimate hold on you in the presence of your Grandsire.

Lord Corlys smiled pleasantly to Ben, “May I have a dance with my granddaughter.”

Ben smiled in return and nodded, “Of course.”

As your hand abandoned his and placed in your Grandsire’s hand, Ben spoke, “I want ‘er back.” He said in jest before leaving the two of you to speak privately.

Corlys amused by jest smiled as he turned his attention to you, “He is a good lad.” He said confidently, “He stayed loyal and steadfast the whole of the war.”

Your thoughts turned to the ones you had during those months of isolation, “The Gods blessed us by returning you and him safe.” You said with a still heavy heart from those days of waiting for letters and news.

Corlys smiled down upon you warmly, “Your father would be proud of you. So would your grandmother.”

“I wish they were here.” You said with a melancholy smile.

He sighed in return, “You have so much of your grandmother in you. Fire and blood.” As he spoke, you looked down. Feeling once again displaced. But he could see through that. Your grandsire held your chin up high as he spoke once more. “And salt and sea.”

Your smile returned to you, “Thank you, Grandsire.”

As the sun set and stars began to glimmer, dragons circled overhead, their cries echoing across the sea. A grand pyre was lit on the beach, and as its flames soared skyward, Benjicot and his Velaryon bride danced beneath the stars. The music of pipes and harps wove a spellbinding melody, and the laughter of their guests mingled with the roar of the sea.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once the night had slowed to a halt, Benjicot wasted not a moment.

The two of you, fairly drunk from honey wine, rushed off to your now shared chamber.

Benjicot caught up to your pace, and picked you up, carrying you the rest of the way to your chambers.

You couldn’t help but giggle and laugh as he kicked the door to the chamber open.

You threw off your long and beautiful veil, too drunk to care what happened to it.

As Ben set you down you felt his strong hands wrap around your waist tightly, and his nose trail against your skin. Along your shoulder to your neck, breathing in your sent. “Benny.” You said in a breathless whisper.

You could feel the heat from his breath on your skin. “No man on the battlefield would call me that,” Ben said softly into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. You could hear the smile on his face.

“No.” Your hand tangled in his hair as you felt his kisses grow more and more desperate against your skin, “Out there you’re Bloody Ben.” You whispered seductively, “But I am your woman and In here, you’re my husband.”

His lips abandoned your skin, and he took off your chin making you look at him, “I’m always your husband. Bloody or not.”

You smirked at him, “Don’t forget that.” You said with a sweetly seductive tone.

Ben’s brows narrowed, “How could I?” He asked, looking into your eyes, yearning, “You’re beautiful.” He said shaking his head.

You shook your head and stifled a laugh, “You’re drunk.” You said dismissively as you removed yourself from his grasp.

Ben grabbed hold of you once more. You giggled and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of being at his mercy. He placed you onto the bed and loomed over you. “And you are beautiful,” Ben said as he looked at your face admiring each and every bit of you.

“Benny?” You asked softly,

“Yes?” He responded, playing with the fabric of your delicate dress.

You took hold of his hand, “Will you tell me something honest?”

He looked at you a bit more seriously, “Always.”

You looked down, unsure of how to ask what you wanted to do, “I’ve heard vulgar rumors of war camps.” Benjicot looked at you, intrigued as to what you were going to say next, “Women throw themselves at knights and soldiers.” You looked up at him, “You were gone for so long, I’d not hold it against you if-”

“No.” Ben interrupted you, “No, I did not.” He said with confidence and earnestness you knew was true. “I did not lie in my letters. You consumed all of my thoughts. And how could you not?” He said as his hand ran over your face gently, “Every time we saw the ocean I watched the waves and felt you with me.”

You felt silly for suspecting such a thing. But fortunate to have a husband who would remain faithful to you, and honest to you. And not be angered when you question him.

You took his hand that ran over the side of your face and kissed his still bruised knuckles. Then kissing his palm, and then his thumb, then finally taking his thumb in your mouth as you sucked on it.

Ben groaned as you did so. He leaned down, and gently removed his thumb before he began kissing your lips once again.

He kissed you softly and gently until his hunger couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled your tongue into his mouth as he sucked on it.

Once your kiss broke, you felt flushed. “Benjicot.” You said breathlessly, running your hands down his well-dressed exterior, “I’ve waited for this for so long I don’t know where to start.”

He ran his hand through your hair, shaking his head, “Just let it come.” He said assuring you.

“Kiss me.” You demanded and he obeyed without hesitation. Kissing you feverishly, with such passion you never knew was possible. He bit and sucked on your lips as though he was trying to consume you. You felt your body shake with anticipation as you felt the heat between your legs grow. As the wetness became more and more intense, you pushed Ben off of you, “Unlace my gown.” You demanded, and once again, he happily obeyed.

As he unlaced and unbuttoned your gown more and more of your skin became exposed to him. Never had he seen so much of you, his cock was already embarrassingly hard for you and all he could see was your back.

His hand ran over your exposed skin, “You’re so soft.” He said softly.

You turned around, letting your beautiful gown fall to the ground, pooling around your feet. Your body was fully exposed to him, finally. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and yet you were all the more beautiful than he could have anticipated.

He wanted to ravish you like a hungry and angry man in battle. But, he didn’t want to scare you.

His eyes trailed all over your body, yearning, longing. He licked his lips as he placed one of his hands on the small of your back, pressing you against his chest. His other hand held your face as he kissed.

His lips mingled with yours in an eternal dance, and his hand began uncontrollably roaming all over your body. Making you moan sweetly into his mouth. His hardening cock rocked against your thigh. He couldn’t help it. The feeling of your bare breast in his hand, the feeling of your hardening nipple in his grasp, and the goosebumps that crawled against your skin from his touch, nearly drove him mad.

You grabbed a hold of his overcoat, gripping it so tightly the fabric threatened to rip. “I want to see you.” You moaned against his lips.

Benjicot looked at you hesitantly for a moment. He was not an insecure kind of man. But the war was not kind to his body. He’d collected many scars during his time in the war.

But you bore yourself to him, and he wanted to bear himself to you. He began stripping layers away. You admired all parts of him, damaged or not.

His toned chest and stomach were ridden with scars big and small. Each only showed you all he had done for you. A trail of hair from his belly button that led into his still-clothed cock made you clench your thighs together.

You ran your hand over the tenting bulge in his trousers making him groan. “I will not jest.” You said, assuring me before he pulled himself out of his trousers.

Ben chuckled lowly as he finally discarded them, “I hope not, you’re stuck with it til the end of your days.” His cock was halfway hardened, and still, it was larger than you had envisioned.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I am blessed til the end of my days.” You said softly.

The scars on his body felt lighter now, their pain a distant echo, because every wound had been a mark of his loyalty, proof that he would stand against the world itself to protect you.

Ben looked into your eyes, “I love you.” He spoke with devotion.

Your hand ran down his scared chest, over his stomach, “I love you.” You affirmed.

Now, the two of you, naked to one another. Ben laid you down on your now shared bed softly and gently. He looked down over your body with lustful and predatory eyes, “I’ve got to get you good and ready.” He said as his hand ran down your sternum, “I can’t hurt you.” He said as his hand continued to travel further and further down.

You smirked, “I’ll not protest.” You said before you gasped at the feeling of Ben's fingers sinking between your folds.

Ben was practically drooling as his fingers found your clit making you clench your thighs together around his wrist. Ben chuckled lowly at your sensitivity. “Velvet.” He said softly. Your moans only excited him more and made you seem all the more appetizing. “Can I taste you?” He asked with a hint of desperation in his voice.

You siffled a giggle, “You have before.” You said thinking back to your first night in Raventree Hall.

Ben smirked, and shook his head, “Oh, but I want to eat you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “How?”

With his lustful and menacing smirk, he began slowly lowering himself on you. He kissed his way down your body, kissing your breasts, sternum, and stomach, until he was between your thighs. Ben looked up at you, “Is this alright?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded, beginning to understand his meaning.

His rough calloused hands spread your legs apart.

You could hear your heart beating in your ears. You’d never felt so vulnerable. Not even in war. And yet you never felt so safe. His hands offered sanctuary.

He kissed down your thigh, making small animal-like groans as he did. As if he were taking each fiber of his being to not ravish you right there.

His desires slipped from his grasp for only a moment. Making him bite down on the soft skin of your inner thigh. It made you gasp and shutter, which only encouraged him.

As his lips kissed against your slit, you felt a surge of passionate lust you’d not felt ever before. And as his tongue slipped past and between your folds that passion was only further ignited. “Ben, awhhh-Ben!” You moaned as you held onto his dark hair.

Your legs shook and pressed against the sides of his head as he drank you in. Lapping up all that he could.

His nose rubbed against your sensitive bud as his tongue pushed in and out of your entrance. It was nothing you’d ever had before. Not even by your hand. You could feel a tightening in your stomach, which was only wound tighter and tighter before it snapped.

Ben drank in your release with a moaning pleasure.

As he lifted his head he smirked at you. “Sweeter than honey wine.”

Your chest rose and fell with each panting breath. You grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to crawl over you.

He kissed you passionately, and you could taste yourself on his lips. It felt vulgar and sinful, but in the same breath, it was ecstasy.

You wrapped your legs around him, inviting him into you.

Ben pulled his kiss away from you, looking at you with serious eyes. “Are you sure? You do not have to.”

You nodded, “I know.” You nearly whispered.

Ben hesitated for a moment. Not because he didn’t want to- he did,- more than any man could ever want anything. But because he wanted you to want it just the same. “If you wish to stop, say the word.” He reminded you.

He waited for you to nod before he began to ease himself inside of you.

The intrusion at first was foreign. You’d not taken anything near as big as him before. You gasped and moaned softly as he slowly and gently slid his way in. Until he was completely and fully inside of you, he looked at you, “Is that alright?” He spoke attempting to not moan.

You nodded, and Ben’s head dropped to the crook of your neck, “Thank the Gods.” He groaned.

His hips moved against your own. Grinding himself inside of you, again, and again, and again. You moaned as his lips fell onto your neck. Smothering your skin in kisses.

You caressed his head, and closed your eyes, relishing in the pleasure he was driving into you, “You feel so good,” You whimpered.

Ben lifted his head and looked at you. You could see the fire in his eyes, the same fire he had in him when he fought in battle. “You like it?” He asked in a growl, there was nothing that could have brought him more pleasure than the fact he made you feel like this.

You nodded frantically. You used locked your legs around him, forcing him to fuck you deeper and deeper as you said, “I need more. More-more-more-more-”

Ben groaned like an animal, “Fuckin’ hells.” He rasped, “You keep sucking all of me in.” He said with a growl.

You held his face closer to yours. His forehead pressed against yours as you looked into his eyes. “Harder, Ben.” You demanded, and he obliged obediently. He used the same strength he did in the war to plunge himself hard into you. “Ooh, f-fuck-” You moaned, the pleasure so intense you never knew such pleasure could exist.

Ben looked into your blown pupils, desperate and needy. “Tell me, Love.” He groaned.

“It feels,” You began, but struggled to finish your words. Your next release was coming, and soon. He could see it in your eyes plan as anything.

He nodded, looking at you with loving eyes, “I know.” He said, his pace not letting up but increasing. Wanting to draw as much pleasure from your lips as he could.

Your cunt kept squeezing him in, tighter, and tighter. It was ecstasy, euphoria, better than any wine, ale, or opium there was.

As his moans grew more and more animalistic, his movements grew more and more erratic.

Your cunt clenched so hard it didn’t release, squeezing as much of him as it could as you came around his leaking cock. “Awh!” You moaned, hands grasping the bedsheets by your head as tightly as you could. It was all he needed before you felt his hot seed spreading through your belly, “Ben!” You moaned,

He caressed your face. “I’ve got you.” He said, holding you close as he thrust into you once more, making sure none of it got away. “Always have you.” He said, his energy weakening, and his breathing slowing.

Ben looked down at you. Cheeks flushed pink, and your lips swollen. Your eyes were relaxed and the sweat from your body made you glisten in the candlelight. Ben panted looking at such perfection “No painter, nor sculptor could ever capture such beauty.” He said smiling at you. Ben laid down beside you, pulling you close to him, rubbing your back running his hands through your hair. “How do you feel?” He whispered to you as he kissed your temple.

“Perfect.” You said with a smile, running your fingers through his dark hair.

Ben chuckled lowly to himself, “Aye, you are.” He said softly before pulling you in by your jaw to kiss him once again.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to commission a personalized letter from a comfort character or any other custom writings please check out my ko-fi :) Xoxo, Bambi

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aemondapologistfrfr · 7 months ago

Text

His Princess - Pt7

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: The battle continues at Kings Landing as the dance begins in Harrenhal. When everything seems overwhelming there is a break on the horizon. Rhaenyra sends Y/n and Ben back to Harrenhal after they take Kings Landing to see the outcome.

Warnings: 18+ battle/war, blades, blood, death, swearing, my version of the battle above gods eye(spoiler for the show bc it’s fr and it’s not cute) - mc but cannon death, beheading, alys spreading info like the gossip she is, after war and gossip oral(f receiving), fingering

Authors Note: hopefully the switching of the povs offers what I wanted it to!!!!, hate cole but i can’t deny he’s a good swordsman and would need at least two ppl to take him in a fight, i tried to keep gods eye minimal bc i can’t stand dragons fighting!!!, also daeron is not apart of this story bc i didn’t want another dragon to be hurt!

Word Count: 5.5k almost half of this is war

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

“Find him,” I sob to Vermithor and his growls shake the walls around the city as Silverwing and I give out an earth shattering cry as we circle the host raining fire upon the Greens.

Vermithor gives out a bone chilling roar and sprays fire along the Gods gate. I’m turning my head searching for any sign of Ben as Silverwing follows close to Vermithor. I take notice of Vermithors wound but it’s more of just a scratch and the bleeding has already ceased much to my relief. My adrenaline rises to match my fear as my heart pounds wildly in my chest as we continue our search for Ben.

Vermithor circles around where I last saw Ben and begins to fly down to the ground. He sprays the ground in dragon flame before he lands on the burning men as Silverwing lands us in the center of the fire next to him. The warmth licks at my armor as I watch the flames die around me. As the haze clears I see Ben cutting down men around him in a frenzy.

I sob in relief as I see him still in one piece and quickly slide off of Silverwing. I slip the sword from my back and go to Ben’s side. My blade becomes an extension of myself as my body goes into a killing calm. Everything around me fades away as I face man after man. As I turn to my next victim I can see the burnt scorpion behind the host.

Cole emerges from the ruins and bodies offering me a bloody smile. Our dragons step closer to me and bare their teeth. Their low growls and chuffs vibrate the ground beneath us. Ben turns to me and sees Cole walking over to me and quickly makes it to my side.

“You need two dragons and a whores daughter to stand against me?” Cole laughs to Ben bitterly spitting.

“You will still die in the end.” I hum raising my sword.

“We shall see.” he charges forward with his blade in front of him and I quickly fold backwards to avoid his swing.

Ben comes from behind and strikes with his sword and Cole barely avoids the metal. I rise once again and try to catch Cole from behind but he is quick on his feet. The three of us dance with our blades as the war continues to wage around us. My nerves start to rise as I see our host getting overwhelmed as both of our dragons are grounded with us for the moment.

This moment of thought has costed me dearly. Pain washes through the side of my face as blood trickles down my neck as Coles sword slices my flesh. I give out a loud cry and Silverwing screams with me.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

The clouds hang low in the sky as the smell of rain on the horizon washes over the ruined castle. The sky is preparing to weep for the dance that will soon take place. Fog begins to roll in from the forest line casting everything in a gray light.

“You will die here today.” Alys appears through the foggy gates walking to Daemon and Caraxes.

“As long as I take Aemond with me, I care not.” Daemon pulls his helm on and makes sure everything is secure.

“So eager to die before you meet your grandchild?” Alys tilts her head with a small smile.

“They’ll be better off without me.” he mounts Caraxes and shoots into the sky.

Daemon has had enough of Alys’ mind games and doesn’t even bat an eye at the insinuation of having grandchildren. He never saw himself living long enough to see his children or wife contented. He knows this is the last thing he will be able to give them and he hopes it’s enough to change the tides of the war.

Daemon circles around Harrenhal keeping his eyes peeled for Vhagar and her one eyed rider. He’s growing impatient but he can feel the promise of death in the air. Caraxes perches on one of the towers as they await their fate. A low grumble comes from the distance and Vhagar comes into view from the clouds.

Daemon shoots into the sky and lures them away from the castle. He doesn’t much care for this castle but he knows many Lords will ask Rhaenyra for it so it must remain standing. He leads Aemond over the body of water called Gods Eye.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

As I rise to my feet Ben is relentlessly bashing his sword into Coles. The metal song promises death. I try to find an opening to help Ben once more but he has a glazed look over his eyes as he slams repeatedly into Cole. I watch on in shock as I’ve never seen Ben fight like this. Some of his men stop and watch on as this one on one continues.

Our dragons grumble as some of Coles men stand and watch. It seems as if this part of the wall is on a pause as they wait to see what happens. I rip a piece of my shirt off from under my armor and wipe off the side of my face. The cut seems to start just under my eye and travels down to my jaw. The dirtied cloth stings but it helps staunch the blood. Ben lets out a mighty roar and swings his long sword and I gasp with widened eyes.

“Your Kingmaker.” Ben yells as he raises Coles head into the air.

He dips down and grabs Coles foot and drags it to Vermithor who grabs his leg in his claws. He returns to me still gripping Coles head in his hands and I look to him as he’s breathing heavily. He turns my face and looks at my cut as his nostrils flare.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers as the men begin to look around unsure if we’re to keep fighting. “To Silverwing.” he nods his head and begins to usher me over before he goes to mount Vermithor.

Vermithor and Silverwing shoot to the skies and give out victorious growls. I look down at Vermithors claws as Coles headless body is being paraded through the air. He slides low to the Green host and they falter as they take on the body hanging above them.

“Your Kingmaker is dead and your King dies at Harrenhal.” Ben proclaims as we fly along the walls.

A loud grumble comes from the clouds and my heart stops as I see a large shadow approaching. As the dragon comes into view I squint my eyes trying to figure out who it is. It’s not Vhagar or any other I’ve ever seen. Silverwing chirps and flies to meet the new dragon. I shake my head thinking I must be delusional from blood loss as I spot Rhaena atop this dragon.

“I figured I would help in the war!” Rhaena calls out as her dragon gives out a fierce cry and I look below as a sob rips through me as I see a grand host from the Vale and the North seeping through the tree lines running to meet the Greens host.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

Caraxes and Vhagar circle each other around the body of water and give out low grumbles. The sky begins to cry as the dragons close in on one another. The Blood Wyrm quickly twists around the old fossil as she barely turns in time for the first snap of teeth. Vhagar gives out a loud cry as Caraxes sinks his teeth into her neck.

Vhagar pulls away from Caraxes and breathes fire upon him and Daemon. Daemon flies through the flame and straight for Vhagars rider. Aemond dips, narrowly avoiding Caraxes maw. They pull back from one another and the dragons circle above the water once more.

“You have lived long enough,” Aemond calls across the skies to Daemon.

“Something we agree upon,” Daemon chuckles as he begins to unclip from Caraxes.

The world seems to hold its breath as Daemon unsheathes Dark Sister and points to Aemond and Vhagar. Caraxes flies quick and hard latching onto Vhagar. Daemon jumps from his dragon to Aemond landing on Vhagars head. He sprints down on uneven feet as Aemond struggles to get his weapon or unclip from his saddle.

“For my Queen,” Daemon roars as he pierces Dark Sisters through Aemonds one eye before everything goes black.

The dragon’s give out a cry and spiral down to the water. The impact could be felt well over a hundred miles. Blood rain falls from the sky as the false King and the Rogue Prince implode to their watery grave.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

3rd person Rhaenyra Pov:

Addam has been sent to recruit the small folk and hand out armor and weapons for those willing and able. Rhaenyra has slipped into the castle through the tunnels and has made quick work of finding her loyalists. She makes it to the throne room and lets out a breathy laugh. Alicent and Helaena are brought in and kneel before her.

“Rhaenyra please,” Alicent pleads from her knees as Rhaenyra holds a blade to her throat.

“You brought this upon yourself.” she looks down to Alicent with contempt.

“The Kings are dead.” Helaena speaks softly from her place next to Alicent.

“Which ones?” Rhaenyra turns her head to Helaena lowering the blade from Alicents throat.

“All of them.” Helaena shakes her head and Rhaenyras blade falls out of her hand.

“Ring the bells to let-“

“Your Grace, another dragon and a host.” Addam bursts through the throne room doors breathing heavily.

“Who?” Rhaenyra looks at him confused.

“They say Rhaena with a host from the Vale and North.” Addam takes in the scene before him.

“She’s done it.” Rhaenyra smiles breathing out a sigh of triumph and relief.

“They also say that Ben and Vermithor are flying around Coles headless body above the host. He carries his head on his back.” Alicent lets out a soft sob at his words.

“Your son’s are dead. Your Kingmaker has been beheaded. You are surrounded. Ring the bells and save your remaining men.” Rhaenyra looks down to Alicent.

“The common folk will remember this destruction.” Alicent narrows her eyes at Rhaenyra.

“They fight your host from within the walls. You have lost.” Rhaenyra tugs Alicent up harshly and begins to bring her to the bell tower.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

My head cranes to the city as the bells begin to toll. All of the dragons surround the city and give out one last cry before they start to the Keep. As we look down the fighting is slowing and swords are being lowered. I’m in awe as we fly through the city at the amount of small folk that are pushing the Greens out of the gates.

Baela and Jace come into view and tears start sliding down my face as I see them unscathed and safe. Rhaena comes from behind the Keep with Addam trailing close behind her. Our dragons follow Syraxs call and we land perched on the main gates.

We all dismount and make it down to the main courtyard. We all look to each other and my siblings take in mine and Ben’s appearance. Their eyebrows furrow as they see my cut and look to our blood and dirt covered bodies. I turn to Ben and see Cole’s head bouncing against his back as he approaches me. Vermithor lets out a low growl and flings Cole’s body to the center of the yard.

“I see burning people wasn’t enough for you both.” Jaces voice drowns out as me and Ben look to each other.

“Let’s find a witch to bring him back. I want to kill him slower.” his voice rough as he tilts my chin to look at my cut.

“I’m okay.” I look up to him taking in the death that remains in his eyes.

“We will find you a maester at once.” he pulls me with him into the castle.

“Where are you two going?” Baela yells after us.

I tug him to the throne room thankful he doesn’t know where the maesters chambers are. I must see my mother. I need to know who rang those bells and what it means. As the doors groan under my hands I behold my mother atop the throne with her crown on her brow.

“Daughter,” Rhaenyra rises taking in my state. “My children,” her voice wavers as the rest of my siblings trail in behind me and Ben.

“My Queen,” I bow.

“Call for a maester,” Rhaenyra flicks her head to Jace and he’s out in the hall shouting in seconds.

I huff as he brings in a maester who sits me on a chair and begins to clean my wound. Ben holds my hand as the maester beings to stitch up my cheek. Rhaenyra is lowly talking to my siblings about how their plans went and she finally turns to me and Ben.

“I wish to see the head.” Rhaenyras voice travels through the hall.

“The rest of him is in the courtyard.” Ben rises from my side and pulls the head from his back. He offers her the head holding it by his hair.

“You’ve done me a great service, Benjicot.” she shakes her head at a loss for words. “What happened to your cheek?” Rhaenyra turns her attention to me.

“Cole.” I say trying to steady my breathing as the maester pulls the thread in and out of my flesh for his last stitch.

“You fool,” she shakes her head before she leans down and engulfs me in a hug before she turns back to the group of us.

“We’ve done it, gather the remaining Lords so we may start about clearing out the traitors and moving forward.” she turns and nods her head to us. “Ben, Y/n,” she stops us before we exit.

“Yes?” we turn back to her.

“I have one more immeasurable favor to ask of you both.” she whispers down to us.

“Say it and it will be done.” I look to her with tired eyes but ready to do what she needs.

“Go to Harrenhal and see what remains.” her voice barely a murmur as her eyes begin to tear.

“We will go at once,” I nod my head.

She walks out of the Keep with us as we take in the dragons and the wall crumbling under their claws. Her head snaps to the rest of Coles body that remains in the center of the courtyard. From beyond the gates we hear shouts and cries of agony from the people who were not as lucky.

“Fly safe and stay together.” she pulls me and Ben into a tight hug. “Please return to me.” her voice a whisper as she looks to both of us.

Ben turns to me and we finally have a moment alone to ourselves. I look into his eyes and he seems to be coming down from his adrenaline still. I wrap my arms around him and he holds me tightly against him. I care not of our blood and dirt and pull his lips to mine feverishly.

“I want you to fly with me and Vermithor,” he looks down to me separating our lips.

“Ben, I’m fine,” I sigh looking up to him.

“I know, but I just want you by me.” his hold on me tightens.

“Then ask Silverwing,” I relent and he pulls away to turn to my dragon as I walk to his.

“You flew valiantly today, my beautiful Silverwing. Will you allow Y/n to fly with me and Vermithor on our next journey?” I turn from Verithors neck and see Silverwing nudge into Ben before he starts towards me.

“Up you go.” he softly tugs me towards his wings and I begin my climb. We quickly settle and take flight. Silverwing flies next to us and they both give out a victorious song to the men below before we coast out on the horizon.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

As we enter the Riverlands we can feel the great loss in the air. The clouds weep, cleaning off some of our blood and dirt as we make our way to the ruined castle. Our dragons give out low grumbles as we approach Harrenhal and begin to make our descent outside the main gates.

Ben helps me off refusing to let me do anything on my own. He has a hand pressed against me at all times and grabs my hand for his own once we make it the ground. The heaviness in the air is unsettling while the wind sings an eerie song.

The castle grounds are silent. We saw no dragons on approach and hear nothing as we look around for any sign of a threat. As we turn my heart goes to my throat as Alys appears.

“Where are they?” I ask pulling the bone knife from its sheath and pointing it at her.

“I would think you wouldn’t be so quick to show your child more death and violence. Though, you are your father’s child..” she trails off with a smile.

“My child?” my eyebrows furrow as I raise the knife even higher.

“The one you’ve been carrying for a moon now.” she nods to me and looks to Ben. I bring my free hand to my abdomen and try to think of any signs that her words are true. “I may have played mind games with your father but I can’t slip through your bond with the child’s father. He’s very protective.” she chuckles to Ben who is now trying to push me behind him.

“Where is my father?” my voice wavers as my mind already knows the answer.

“You’ll find him under the Gods Eye.” her skirts swish as she disappears behind the walls once more.

“Stay with the dragons and I will go.” he looks down to me intensely.

“You will not start with this overprotective male dominance now.” I huff as I try to walk past him but he grabs my arm to stop me.

“Y/n,” he looks to me with pleading eyes as his hand travels to my lower abdomen.

“After I find my father,” I shake my head and pull him along with me.

We walk silently to the body of water just beyond the crumbling fortress. Our dragons follow behind us the ground shaking at their heavy steps. As we approach my breath catches taking in the blood splattered around the shores.

Pieces of the once great dragons are jutting through the surface of the water. I can tell it’s both dragons by their coloring and a sob bubbles out of my mouth. My hand slips from Ben’s as I fall to my knees on the shore looking on at the still water. He kneels next to me and hugs me tightly.

“I have to go find him.” I shake my head as tears begin to slip down my cheeks.

I rise and start to walk into the once clear water that seems to now be stained a blush pink. Water licks at my thighs until I begin to start my swim. I swim around the masses in the water until I spot Caraxes. As I dip my head under the water to look for him my stitched cut screams in agony.

I pull up for breath and begin to move around to see if I can find him anywhere else. I’ve been searching around Caraxes and have found nothing so I relent and begin my search around Vhagar. Ben shouts at me from the shore but I can’t abandon this search.

As I dip down under the surface again my eyes blurry I spot Aemond in Vhagars saddle. I slip above the water to take in a deep breath before I dive down. My eyes bulge as I take in Dark Sister pierced through his remaining eye. I quickly scan the area and my remaining air bubbles out of my mouth as I see Daemon resting on the rocky bottom. I swim to the top and let out a loud sob.

“Ben, I need you,” I cry and he’s running into the water and at my side in seconds.

We swim below the surface and I rip Dark Sister from Aemonds head as Ben begins to lift and pull Daemons body to the surface. I grab on and help him carry him to shore. As we finally make it to the sands I sit silently looking down at his blade.

“I-“ I shake my head as tears begin falling down my face.

I let out a grief stricken scream and Silverwing quickly approaches the shores and curls near me. Ben holds me to him as my sobs continue to wreck me. My breathing finally settles and he looks up to me with sad eyes while wiping them away with his thumbs.

“We need to prepare his body to bring back home.” I sniffle before getting to my feet.

“I’ll go see if there’s a maester or someone,” Ben rises wiping the sand off of him.

“I told him he would die here.” Alys comes from the other side of the shore.

“Are you just here to mock me and speak in riddles?” I yell exasperated.

“I’ve brought this for your cheek. It’ll heal it better than those stitches.” she offers me a cup and I look at the foul smelling paste. “I’m also the only maester, if that’s what you want to call me, and I can prepare his body for your travels.” she offers and I cant tell if she’s sincere or not so I turn to Ben hoping he will deal with this situation for me.

“What is this paste?” he grabs the cup from my hands.

“Your dragons wouldn’t allow me to poison the mother of your child. Use it or don’t.” she chuckles turning her head to look at our dragons.

“I want his body treated with respect. Bound and wrapped tastefully befitting a King. All of his armor is to be cleaned and properly packed so we may travel with ease. We will take our old chambers while you finish your work.” Ben pulls me to his side as we begin to walk to the castle once more.

Our feet drag up the stairs as we stop in front of familiar doors. Ben pushes them open and escorts me to a chair to sit down. I place Dark Sister next to me and let out a shaky sigh. He kneels in front of me and locks his eyes with mine.

“I’m sorry,” his words soft as he places the cup with the paste next to me and grabs my hands.

“I had hoped he would make it.” tears still slide down my cheeks as he pulls me down into a hug.

“It seems as if Alys made you a bath. Let me clean you and help you relax.” he hums standing with me.

He walks me to the bath and begins to remove my stained armor. I peel off my clothes as he starts to take off his armor. When he removes his shirt I can see small cuts littering his skin and I look at him with sad but thankful eyes that he’s still with me. He helps me slide into the bath and takes a seat next to me.

The warm water lulls my muscles and I lean back resting my head on the lip of the small pool. I feel the water shift and he starts to undo my braids releasing their tension. I sigh in relief and allow my eyes to drift shut. He brings a cloth and soap to begin wiping my skin as I relax further into the water.

“Do you want to try her paste?” his voice soft as I crack an eye open.

“Sure, if anything bad happens Silverwing will eat her.” I shrug as he rises out of the bath.

“I will kill her myself if she causes harm to you.” his voice trails to me from the couch before he returns.

He applies a generous amount of paste to his fingers and brings his free hand to my jaw to tilt my head. I look up to him expectantly as he lowers his fingers to my cheek. I wince as the cold paste slides down my face and a shiver travels my spine as I feel the wound dispelling the stitches and doing its own work.

“It’s healed.” his words almost a question as he tilts my head. He brings his hand up and shows me the black thread that was once holding my cheek. “That means she wasn’t lying.” his hand slides from my chin and he places it on my stomach.

“Ben,” his name falls from my mouth as I allow myself to finally think about Alys’ words and the life growing inside me.

“The mother of my children, my Princess, my wife.” his words filled with devotion as his lips softly press against mine.

I let his lips wash away the day and all that’s come with it. His hand resting on my lower abdomen slides a little lower and I moan into his mouth as he circles my clit. His lips kiss down my now healed cheek and licks around my pulse.

“I can’t wait to see you growing with our child.” he whispers in my ear as he dips his fingers into my core. “You’re gunna be even more beautiful.” I rest my head on his shoulder as my hips grind into his hand as my pleasure is already washing through me from my heightened emotions.

“Come let’s get you into bed while I find you some clothes. I’m sure we’ve left some behind.” he helps me out of the tub and walks me over to the bed always keeping a hand placed on me.

“Ben I’m not going to break, I just fought alongside you in a war.” I huff but still allowing him to pull the covers over my body.

“Do not remind me.” his rage seeps off of him.

“Don’t work yourself up again.” I roll my eyes chuckling. “Come to bed, let’s forget today for a little while.” I pout my lips trying to pull him in with me.

“I must find you clothes and food and a drink. Is there anything else?” he rambles as he begins walking to the doors.

“Maybe some clothes for yourself? I know Harrenhal is empty but I don’t think the ghosts want you walking around nude.” I shake my head smiling.

He pulls open the wardrobe and quickly slides on some pants and continues to rifle through what we’ve left. He pulls out wrinkled shirt next and shrugs before putting it on. He finds the shortest slip that’s been made in all of the seven kingdoms apparently and tosses it to me on the bed.

“Now you have clothes.” he nods to himself before slipping out the door. I sigh and slip the piece of fabric on nonetheless. I pull the blankets closer and allow my eyes to rest while he’s off on his hunt.

“I found some meat and cake and that’s about it.” Ben pushes the doors open jolting me awake. “And water. I’ve also spoken with Alys.” I stretch out wiping my eyes.

“Pray tell what more Alys had to say.” I sigh as I hold my hands out expectantly for my water.

“Just that she’ll have everything prepared for us by the morning. I’ve sent a raven to Rhaenrya telling her that we will return tomorrow.” he hands me my glass of water and sits on the bed next to me with the tray of food.

“You didn’t deliver the news of Daemon in that letter, did you?” I pull the cup from my lips.

“No, she needs to see for herself.” he shakes his head. He starts to cut up the meat on the tray and goes to feed it to me.

“Benjicot Blackwood,” I scold. “What happened to the man who made me and Silverwing hunt for him and his dragon?” I raise my eyebrows as a smile plays on my lips.

“Shh, I’ll be the man now.” he tries to hide his smile as I accept the meat from the fork.

“Then that means no more jumping off of Vermithor into the middle of a war.” I narrow my eyes at him as I accept another mouthful.

“I was wondering when you would yell at me about that.” he says sheepishly.

“I was so fucking scared. I thought my heart was going to stop. Never do that again.” I furrow my brows. “You did look incredibly fierce doing it though.” I whisper and his eyes snap to mine.

“Fierce, hm?” he smiles down to me.

“And fucking stupid.” I push him back as he chuckles.

“Well let’s hope our child takes after you.” his smile is soft as he sits up.

“Do you wish for a boy or a girl?” I hum as he starts to feed me cake.

“I care not.” his smile widens.

“I hope for a girl, so I think we’ll have a boy.” I chuckle accepting more of the sweet dessert.

“Then we’ll have as many until we get a girl.” he discards the tray on the ground to bring his full attention to me.

“We shall see what the Gods grant us.” I hum pulling him into a kiss. “Did you not bring any food for yourself?” I pull back looking to him.

“I ate as your food was being prepared. I wanted to have a different kind of dessert.” his eyes darken and he crawls over me kissing me once more.

My thighs spread as he settles between them. He licks and kisses down my neck before circling his tongue over my covered nipples. I whine as he scrapes his teeth around them before snaking his way lower. He places featherlight kisses down my slit as I sigh, bucking my hips to his face.

His tongue juts out and offers small licks to my sensitive bud as I softly pant above him. His lips encase me while his tongue lashes against me quickly. My hand goes to his hair as I grind against his mouth and chase my pleasure. His other hand interlocks with my free hand as he continues with his tongue.

“Ben, fuck,” I cry as I arch off the bed.

He licks down my center and pushes his tongue into me as I gasp trying to catch my breath. He brings his other hand to circle along my bud as his tongue laps at my wetness. I explode across his face and he continues licking to clean me off. I sigh as my body melts into the bed as he comes to lay at my side.

“What of you?” I say my eyes barely open as I go to reach for his length.

“I’m okay, my love. Rest.” he grabs my hand and kisses my forehead as I curl into him allowing my mind to forget all of the bad today and only think of the good.

We’ve taken Kings Landing. My mother sits the throne. My cheek is healed. I have a life growing inside me. I have a man who is absolutely devoted to me at my side awaiting the day we can marry and I can’t wait to marry him. I drift off contented listening to his heartbeat.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌

Part 8

ik i said 3 more parts 2 parts ago which means only one more after this but that’s just not enough?? and now i want to write abt them being happy and married and with kids wtfff are ppl down for that or do i do a spin off series??? like lmk bc i want more than just an epilogue and a glimpse like no i want to see this man waiting on you hand and foot and being absolutely OBSESSED with you pregnant with his child

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @anaviieiraaa @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @zanygot7straykidsbonk

if I missed anyone lmk!

#fancast bloody ben #fancast benjicot #benjicot blackwood x reader #benji blackwood #benjicot blackwood #benjicot x reader #ben blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood smut #bloody ben hotd #bloody ben smut #bloody ben x reader #davos blackwood x reader #x reader imagine #x reader smut #x reader fic #x reader #smut #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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the-monkeies-girl · 9 months ago

Note

koba x reader pls pls he doesn't get enough love compared to caesar

We love 1 ( One ) Bonobo on this Blog. I really hope this is good, I'm the worst with trying to pick apart new characters to write for AAAA.

Title: End Of Day. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: ( Slightly, just a tease haha. ) Implied Koba x Reader. Words: 3K+ ( How? I don't know don't ASK ME. ) Rating: T ( Mentions of aggression, animal abuse. ) Summary: Your favorite thing to do? Annoy Koba. ( I am bread crumbing here. Someone eat my bread crumbs and ask for MORE. )

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Koba was sure to make sure you knew your place. From the moment you stepped into the Colony, with every move you gave, every word you either said or signed, every breath you took was accounted for, almost painstakingly so. It wasn’t your fault you were found by Caesar’s army, half dead and dragged back, nursed to health by some lovely Chimps wearing intricate face masks, that in your heated haze of injury, looked remarkably like medical masks.

It wasn’t your fault that Caesar offered you refuge after you explained the circumstances that left you almost dead; you were turned on by your fellow group of Humans for expressing the opinion that maybe… The Apes were not so bad, maybe they were just trying to survive much like you all were. Bad choice of opinion to have in a group of people who were terrified of the sun. Rather than just letting you out with you opinions, they ended up beating you to a bloody pulp, taking all the things you had scavenged for, and left you in the woods. Fear made Humanity turn against itself, and that was your clear cut example.

So, that’s how you found yourself where you sat. Perched rather comfortably in front of the fire of the Colony, taking in grace the way that the flames roared in front of you. You could see Caesar and Maurice from your position, signing away without any caution. What were they talking about? You had no idea, the heat from the fire resulted in the warping of the air around you and the signing looked blurred. You had just wrapped dinner up, enjoying the regular assortment of Fall dishes.

Some fish, an Elk caught by Caesar’s hunting party earlier in the day, more nuts than there were berries; just a circumstance of the weather. All things you enjoyed, but not as much as you enjoyed antagonizing your favorite Bonobo. Tilting your head at that thought, you took a moment to glance around the Colony. Speaking of the devil, Koba was nowhere in sight. He usually sat himself along with Caesar and company for meals, taking in some refuge to talk about strategies about the human camps that were too close to the Colony. Koba always suggested just attacking. Caesar always shot him down.

Koba would then look at you like Caesar’s reasoning was solely your fault. You’d stare back at him, unnerved and knowing that if he were to do anything to suggest harm to you, Caesar’s fist would come down on him again. Metaphorically, of course. Apes together are strong, apes do not kill apes.

If you could record the interactions between Caesar, Koba and yourself, it would make for some good Reality TV. You laughed at that to yourself, knowing that no one else around you was going to understand unless you explained in detail what you were talking about. You had patience for many things, but explaining brain-rotting TV to the Colony was not on your bingo-card, at least this evening.

Shifting your body just a bit, you pulled the sleeves of your shirt down to encase your forearms and let your eyes trail back around so you were looking at Caesar and Maurice again. The Orangutan must have noticed your stare, giving you a slight gesture with the move of his head. Smiling at him, you fell pensively into the flames in front of you and how they moved. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do when you were by yourself, when Koba wasn’t around. He was seated drama for you, and at least you got the pleasure of communicating verbally when with him, even if it was all aggression and arguments. You recalled in almost vivid detail your first spark of aggression from him. It wasn’t the absolute mad-dog stares he gave you when you finally emerged from the medic portion of the Colony. Or when you sat for the first communal dinner, not sure of the etiquettes. You imagined he complained to Caesar the entire dinner about your mere presence. Oh, no no. He avoided you deviously then, and tried his best to do that going forward. Out of sight, out of mind for Koba though he admittedly found himself a bit obsessed with the hatred he had for you. It was all humans, but now it was streamlined to just you for the time being.

You were placed in a delicate situation of circumstances. The streamline had to have started when you accidentally mistook him for a Chimpanzee. The absolute animosity as he went off the rails, telling Caesar things like how stupid you were to not know the difference, how you didn't belong there, how you were too human for any of them and needed to know your place and that Caesar needed to do something about you before you tore down the Colony with ignorance.

It was an honest mistake, you tried to explain in the moment. It wasn’t your fault once again that… Chimpanzees and Bonobos looked remarkably similar. The only times you had seen either were in Zoos when your were a child! Koba did not look too kindly on either and absolutely tore into you in broken English and a few signs at the mention of a Zoo falling from your lips. A place, to him in his resolute mind, that meant nothing but torture and was just a means to keep them in cages, away from actually experiencing life, only getting glimpse from the hands of humans. He hated it, he hated how loosely you had talked about it. He hated you. You were tentative to leave the conversation, more offended than anything at the fact that he got angry at your ignorance and didn't even offer the chance for you to explain yourself or apologize.

You apologized to Caesar later that night after dinner, who took the apology as sincere and who gave you a bit of insight about Koba as a piece of mind; sensing that maybe you needed the information to make your own judgment about his friend and not just ones based on pretenses. The years he spent in facilities after what happened with his mother and caretaker from the TV stunt he did. He was literally being tortured again and again at the expense of Humanity's gross negligence and sadistic curiosities. Caesar explained his scars - all of them against his arms, legs, his face and his eye.

With each word the Ape King told you, your heart sank a bit more in empathy. No creature, as nefarious as Koba acted or not, deserved such things and it opened a door for you to be a bit more accepting and understanding that his bias towards Humans, towards you, were rooted in deep fear and alienation. Caesar told you to never take what Koba said to heart, Koba was bred to fear, bred to run from any notion that Humans could be good and nothing you were going to do or say would save him from that. You nodded in quite understanding to Caesar.

And that’s how you fell into your enjoyment of annoying him. You had tried to be kind to him multiple times with no avail, each time mentally beating yourself up at the fact that Caesar had warned you that goodwill was not going to be reciprocated or appreciated. So, you began to give it back to him just as hard as he gave to you. It was a fun game, most of the time. Koba usually got caught by your bitter remarks towards him and he’d stand down before aggression really bubbled to the surface and he’d do something to garner the wrath of Caesar. Instead, you opted into the enjoyment of staring at each other during breakfast, mid-day meals when they happened, and dinner. You found it mildly endearing the way that he complained to Caesar that things around the Colony were starting to smell like humans. Starting to smell like you.

You chuffed at that and smelled your sleeve. It smelt like the creek you washed it in. You had no idea what that comment was about. You were just as smelly as the rest of them, actually more than you really cared to admit, for your own tastes but that was down to the Simian Flu taking the advantages of showers and soap from you. If he was going to say something mean, he needed to do it about something you had no control over and that’s how you ultimately kept yourself rather level headed in the game you had going with Koba. He took offense to your personal issues without really knowing the deeper meaning, if there even was one.

Every step you took was full of intent to Koba. Every blink you had was full of malice to Koba. Every breath you made was just the worst to Koba. It meant you were still alive. All everyday activities were scrutinized, and you just had to laugh at that. How much he despised you to the point of obsession. You’d joke around with him and imply that maybe he didn't hate you, that maybe he actually really liked you, but that was taking it a bit too far and you wondered if that was going to be the straw to break the camel's back, to get him to actually lurch at you out of defense. The sun had set at least half an hour ago, your back now feeling the chill as the brisk air of the ocean came rolling over the land. Always at the same time of day during the Fall, always right at bed time and you found yourself wrapped in many pelts just to cope. Maybe he got busy, you thought to yourself and began willing your body to get enough energy tohead back to the nest that Caesar was so gracious to offer you for as long as you wanted to stay. A voice absolutely tore you from whatever state of consciousness you were floating around in, reminiscing about when you arrived, thinking longingly about the things you left behind from the Flu… Whatever they said, you made the assumption that they were not talking to you. Why would they? You were just minding your own little--- Ah, the voice spoke again, you noticed the gruff nature, the harshness inflicted into each of the words. Koba. And he was asking you what you were still doing out, sitting by the fire. You really had no excuse and looked over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow at wonderment at where he had been for dinner. You had no entertainment.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear what you’re asking me over your loud breathing sounds.” You were referencing the huffing he often had around you, the anger palpable from his body at the release of your comment. He sauntered towards you, your internal primal instinct being that of fear but you just peered up at him when he was right next to you, arms apart in defense, legs holding himself to look larger, more intimidating. It surely worked, the gait he used coming towards you put your heart into a skip and it felt like it was sitting in your throat with realization.

You’d never been alone with Koba- you always had your buffer. Caesar, usually, had the easiest time taking his friend down from the ledge, but Maurice has taken his due diligence, as well as Blue Eyes when Koba said something about you he didn't agree with, who very much like his father, told you not to take anything Koba said about you seriously. “Caesar…” You narrowed your eyes as he began to speak, already aware that his one good eye was more than good enough to see you in impeccable detail despite the only light source being from the bonfire that was slowly dying. “Has you waiting for Koba?” “I’m honored you think I’m waiting for you.” Rolling your eyes at the audacity of his statement, you stood up. He was only an inch or so taller than you when he was bi-pedal, but the fact that he was pure muscle as compared to your very slinky form of human was enough to give you a slight pause as you considered sizing him up teasingly. He’d probably think it was a real threat from you and tear your face off. Quickly, you decided against it and muttered to him, “Move. I want to go to sleep.” He didn't. You sighed, rolling your eyes again and tried to move past him but with every step you took to the side, he followed suit. You didn't have any excuse to wait for him by the fire--- IF!! That was what you were doing, which it definitely was not. You simply lost track of time and didn't move. Good justification, you patted yourself on the back and looked at the Bonobo in front of you. A part of your heart shifted. You had been close to him plenty of times, usually when he charged at you before Caesar had to tell him to back off. But, now, this close and without any movements, you really got a good look at his face and how… How almost sad he looked.

The scarring on his face against his natural skin was jarring, so bleak and faded from years, his bad eye was ghosted with white but you swore it was looking right into yours with the intensity of his gaze. The fragment of empathy you always had towards him surfaced. You felt a tiny urge to reach up and lightly trace th--- Oh my GOD what were you thinking? You blinked that thought right out of your mind and stared at him again, focusing on the expression of his face rather than the minute details. It was perpetually as grumpy as ever, his expression. But it was often capsized by a look of anger or annoyance, depending on how he felt that. Anger when you said or did something stupid, annoyance when you were just hanging around for no reason. In this case? A little bit of both, but more annoyance. Swallowing softly, you felt your fingers twitch as Koba’s gaze pierced you like a thousand knives.. “Why are you so late?” You muttered finally, your breath expanding onto his face from the mere proximity. Koba scoffed at you, now returning you the absolute pleasure of having his breath in your face before dropping to all fours and heading to the left to pick some food before bed. Your eyes followed his movements, always mean and hard, but maybe that’s just how he felt he needed to hold himself after what he had been through. “Not… Human business.” That was a fair and valid point, and in most instances, you would leave it alone but you decided to push, having not gotten enough stimulation from him during the day. “Well, we really missed your cheery attitude. I had to eat all by myself, no Koba staring longingly at me.” There was sarcasm leaking through every pore of your being. Koba bit into an apple; his canines shone in the light of the flames of his action. The bite he took was large, chewing just as roughly as he had bitten into the fruit. “Had... things to do.” “Like what? Bring me with you next time so I can start to annoy you on your outings. I get bored here.” Koba growled ever so slightly. He didn't like being questioned by anyone, especially by you. It felt oddly like an interrogation. And the suggestion? He’d rather gouge out his other eye than take you with him, anywhere. Well, not that… He’d take you with him. If it meant he could beat you to an inch of your life, his fists taking relished silence in how they’d crush your ribs, how they’d beat you to submit to him, how he’d bring your face closer by holding your hair and make you admit all your ignorant human mistakes. Submit, submit! That idea lingered in his brain before he forced it back out. No, no. He did not want you to submit like you had submitted to Caesar, a topic of conversation that Koba did not enjoy. A topic of conversation that Caesar denied, being in any sort of advancements with you, being intimate with you. Koba was just making accusations to get you to go away.

“No.” You tilted your head at his answer, the fact that he didn't give you anything snappy in return like he so often did before he turned, picking a few more pieces of fruit up and trailed away. You watched him in shattered silence. He had to be up to something, you figured as his figure disappeared into the darkness, towards the nest he had made for himself so many years ago. You wanted to follow out of loneliness, now left to your own devices for the rest of the night but you stopped yourself. He’d probably bark at you for following… Tell you to back off, maybe even snarl at you in the typical Koba fashion. But, he wouldn’t do anything, Caesar would make sure of it. He’d sit in petulant aggravation as you bothered him about the details of your day. You thought about that and weighed your options. A few seconds later, your feet were pattering on the ground as you followed him, talking once Koba was in range of your hearing. You could see his shoulder tense, figuring he was out of the woods with your relentless chattering. He never understood that about humans, how absolutely grating the small talk was. In fact, Koba sometimes took solace in the mere idea of ripping your lips off. Then you couldn’t talk back, couldn’t ask him things, couldn’t address him. He liked that idea. He liked that idea a lot. He didn't bother to turn towards you as you trailed next to him, Koba’s feet taking him a few steps ahead of you. He’d refuse to walk side by side with you as he took to leading.

“Seriously though--- Where were you today?” Koba growled in frustration at the sound of your voice. Yes. Very, very annoying the concept of small talk with humans. With you.

#koba #koba x reader #planet of the apes #pota #kingdom of the planet of the apes #kopota #planet of the apes x reader

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honeylullaby · 3 months ago

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I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must’ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

#rivals #rivals disney+#rivals disney #rivals hulu #rivals fanfic #rivals smut #rivals fanfiction #rupert campbell black fanfiction #rupert campbell black x reader #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell black fanfic #rupert campbell black smut #rupert campbell-black #alex hassell

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hirukochan · 1 year ago

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Blindsided

A Severus Snape x fem!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Complaining to your friend about Snape's complicated presence in your life ends up with you being pulled into the battle of Hogwarts. Will Snape survive?

Warnings: Smut, some degradation, angst, blood

Wordcount: 6300

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

“I don’t know!” You whine and drop your head onto the counter.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’ how can you not know why you fuck someone?”

“It was a lapse in judgement.”

“A huge bloody lapse that must have been.” Aberforth grunts and dries a glass with a dirty rag. “Severus fucking Snape - his name is almost as feared as you-know-who’s these days.”

“I know!” You peer up from the counter. Aberforth looks grim - but he always looks grim. In your sixth year, you once and for all decided the Three Broomsticks is too crowded and unpleasant to be in. The Hog’s Head already had a terrible reputation back then, but you didn’t care as long as it was quiet. A sorta friendship developed between you and the barman after that. “Do you hate me now?”

Aberforth grunts. “Hate you? Ridiculous girl.” He turns to put the glass back on the shelf to the other glasses that were never used. “What would I hate you for?”

“I slept with Snape.”

“And?”

“Twice.”

“I repeat, and?”

“He- he killed your brother…”

“I’m certain he has killed a lot more than just my brother and as you know Albus and I haven’t spoken in years. When you are as old as me you don’t view death as something so terrible anymore. Anyway, I heard he was sick. Caught some nasty curse or something.”

“I’m a terrible person.”

“Don’t flatter yourself! There are way worse people out there. Snape for example.” He makes a sound that distantly resembles a laugh. A rattling humph sound. You glare at him, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Was it at least good?”

“That’s the worst part.” You groan and prop your head up against your hand.

“That bad?”

“The opposite.”

“That good, hm?”

You blush and quickly take a large gulp of your drink to hide it.

“You know, I’ve said it before you should-”

“I’m not joining the resistance, Aberforth!” You groan. “I have nothing to bring to the table. I was decent at best in Defense. I’d get myself killed within the first few days.”

“You know Snape.”

“I fail to see the connection.” Aberforth raises a brow and you shrink a little under his intense ‘are-you-kidding-me’-gaze.

“A spy in their midst would be useful.” He says gruffly and places another glass on a shelf.

“I’m no spy! I can’t fool Snape! We can hate him as much as he deserves to be hated but you have to agree that he’s a bloody genius! I could never fool him.”

“You said he broke into your flat while fatally injured. Even a genius is sometimes just a man thinking with his cock.”

“I’m not whoring myself out to-” Your outrage is cut short by an ear-splitting scream outside.

“This damn Caterwauling Charm!” Aberforth roars and hurls his dishcloth to the ground. You press your hands to your ears to shield them from the scream. It rips through the night like a sharp knife through skin, tearing at your eardrums and every nerve in your body. It is like the caster of the charm is standing right next to you but the terrible sound clearly comes from outside.

“What is this?” You shout over the wail towards Aberforth.

“Curfew’s been broken! They were boasting about being sent here to catch Potter. Seem to be thinking he’d be stupid enough to come here and they seem to be right.”

You get up from the bar stool and follow Aberforth to the window.

The wailing stops. You take a relieved breath and drop your hands to your side. Multiple Death Eaters dressed in dark robes are storming out of the Three Broomsticks . They are talking about something, but you can’t hear.

“Poor Rosmerta.” You grimace at the thought of having to serve those monsters at your establishment. Instinctively you grab your wand in your pocket. Dementors flood into the village. You tense.

“Bloody fool!” Aberforth growls. A shimmering blue stag runs through the town centre, fighting off shadowy dementors. Potter’s Patronus. You gasp, clasping your hands over your mouth. So Aberforth is right. Harry Potter is here in Hogsmeade.

“What would possess him-”

Aberforth stalks through the room and rips open the door.

“Potter!” He hisses. Wind tears at his robes and what sounds like three sets of hasty footsteps cross through the room and up the trickery wooden staircase behind the counter. You see nothing. If it weren’t for the steps you’d think nothing happened.

“Invisibility cloak.” Aberforth mutters over his shoulder, but his attention is suddenly pulled away by multiple hooded figures reaching the pub. You take a step back, disappearing in the shadows.

“So what?” Bellows Aberforth in response to something you didn’t catch. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t your Patronus! That was a stag. It was Potter’s!” A Death Eater shouts back, sounding rather childish you note.

“Stag!” Roars Aberforth. He draws his wand and you tense, grabbing your own tighter, your knuckles going white. If they attack Aberforth you’ll- jump into a fight you’re gloriously outnumbered in? “Stag! You idiot - Expecto Patronum! ”

Aberforth’s large goat Patronus jumps from the tip of his wand. Head down, it charges toward the village centre, and out of sight.

“That’s not what I saw” says the Death Eater, sounding less convinced than before.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” Another Death Eater interrupted the first. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations-”

“It was me.” You say and step forward, out of the shadows like Snape always used to when catching you out and about in the castle after curfew and the thought almost makes you laugh hysterically considering what you’re about to do. “When I arrived that horrible sound started.”

“You set off the charm?” The first Death Eater says confused. His eyes roam over your body, causing a cold shiver to run down your back and a foul taste to spread in your mouth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide from the hungry stares of the dark wizards.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here at this hour, beautiful?” The second one purrs in a sickly-sweet tone of voice. You somehow manage to keep your blatant disgust from showing on your face. You square your shoulder and raise your chin, looking down at the men with nothing but disinterested arrogance.

“That is hardly of your concern.” The men look at each other, snickering mockingly.

“‘Hardly of your concern’?” One sneers. “Princess thinks herself too good to follow the rules.”

“Perhaps we ought to teach her a lesson, boys.”

“I am-” you raise your voice to drown out their beginning discussion of what to do with you. “-here to see Severus, so do yourself the favour and fuck off, yes?” A murmur passes through the Death Eaters. Saying Snape’s first name feels weird.

“The headmaster doesn’t receive walk-ins - especially not at this hour, even if they are as pretty as you.”

“He’s expecting me, you moron!” He is definitely not expecting you! He said he hopes you’ll never have to see him again!

“She sounds just like him.” One of the figures murmurs.

“Wait-” Another interrupts him. “I recognise you! You’re Snape’s little whore! Yes! The one in Diagon Alley, you remember boys? The shop that’s off-limits. I wondered why a pathetic bookshop would be off-limits until Wilkies said he was sent to get Snape from there and who do you think opened the door?”

You keep your chin held high and your clenched fists hidden in the pockets of your coat you had not taken off in your hurry to get out all the things weighing on your chest. Aberforth catches your gaze. His brows are knitted, an unspoken question in his eyes. You give him a tiny nod.

You can do this.

If Potter is here, here, there must be a damn good reason for it and if you could keep Snape distracted long enough-

Something in your chest tightens painfully at the thought of deceiving the man, which is ridiculous! He’s a Death Eater and a murderer!

He said this will all be over soon and while he probably meant that you-know-who will kill Potter soon - you have the chance to help the resistance here, help Potter. Everyone says he’s your only hope so here goes nothing.

“If you’re done wasting my time, then!” You growl, pissed off by the way they speak about you right to your face.

“You’re not going anywhere alone!” The Death Eater who recognised you says sharply. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way to your…” His eyes roam over your body and he licks his lips. “ Date .”

It’s hard to resist the urge to claw his eyeballs out with your fingernails but you succeed. Somehow.

He steps to the side and gestures for you to lead the way. “We’ll escort you.”

You shoot him a snide glance and leave behind The Hogshead and Aberforth and the pretended safety you have been surrounding yourself in ever since Albus Dumbledore died.

Your stomach drops further with every step you take towards the imposing castle looming over the quiet village. You are flanked by two of the hooded figures. Your mouth feels dry and fuzzy and not even the sight of your beloved Hogwarts with its glimmering windows can ease your anxiety.

What if Snape blows your cover? ‘Expecting her? Why would I be expecting her?’ What if he decides to play along? Or maybe he’ll ask why you lied?

You take a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air into your lungs, focusing on the way they expand in your chest.

Snape came to your flat when he was fatally injured! Aberforth is right, that has to mean something! It just has to…And Potter is here for a reason! They say he is the only one that will be able to defeat you-know-who and while placing your fate on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old sounds ridiculous you will certainly not defeat the most powerful Dark wizard to ever live! But you can distract Snape. Yes. You can keep him busy and buy Potter a chance to do whatever he is here for-

Or Snape sees right through you and Potter doesn’t have a plan.

You can’t even begin to tell yourself you don’t want to distract Snape like that because your body is already working against you.

You reach the iron gate. It opens with a shrill squeak and your feet once more hit the grounds of Hogwarts. Even with your nerves raw and plotting an escape from your body to save themselves while you walk to your doom. There is light in Hagrid’s hut. The treeline of the forbidden forest is cloaked in shadows, thicker and somehow darker than normal shadows and just like when you were a student here you feel like eyes are watching you from between the trees. The water of the Black Lake splashes against rocks and while in your teenage years you found the sound soothing it now only serves to unnerve you further.

You don’t look up to the headmaster's window.

You’re also shamefully aroused and your heart flutters at the thought of seeing Snape’s endlessly dark eyes that look so cold and apathetic from a distance but when you were standing right in front of him they had looked so soft and filled with emotion you could not dissect and you wonder if they always looked like that. Perhaps you had just never stood close enough to him to notice? A vein part of you whispered that it is all for you and no one else.

You squash the voice.

Your steps echo in the entrance hall. Your eyes catch the piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall, the strict head of Gryffindor house and Transfigurations Professor. Next to her in the doorway to the Great Hall stands Professor Flitwick. As soon as they see you and your escorts they hastily end their hushed conversation. They stare at you in quiet recognition and shock and you fail to conceal your fear from them.

“This way, beautiful.” One of the Death Eaters sneers and grabs your arm. You rip free and glare at him, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “Headmaster must be waiting already.” He grins, bearing his yellow teeth at you with unabashed ridicule. Disgust prickles over your skin, sinking into your stomach.

“Don’t touch me.” You hiss because you can’t help yourself. Without looking at your former Professors again you turn towards the grand staircase. Each step worsens the brooding feeling of inevitable doom that’s waiting behind the Gargoyle and then you’re standing in front of him much sooner than you ever would have expected or been ready to.

Snape is sitting behind a large desk, bend over a stack of parchments, greasy black hair falling in front of his face like curtains. He is holding a raven feather quill with a sharp silver tip which is gliding over the parchments with quick, elegant motions. He doesn’t bother looking up. He doesn’t seem to think the Death Eaters worthy of his attention.

You look around the round room. You were a good student - or at least a boring one. You’ve never been called into the headmaster’s office. The walls are lined with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses and you feel transported back in time, just another student flinching at the stringent eyes of her professors. Dark leather-bound books adorn the many shelves and you can’t help but wonder whether Snape has read them all.

“I seem to remember you having been assigned to guard the village.” His deep voice cuts through the silence with taunting indifference and the way the words roll over Snape’s tongue and vibrate in his throat has you pressing your thighs together.

“This one claims you’re expecting her.” At that, Snape looks up. If he is surprised to see you, he doesn’t let it show. You shrink under his intense gaze no matter how much you told yourself you wouldn’t on the way up to his office. His eyes are cold…empty somehow. A man who has seen too much horror to not have lost some part of his humanity along the way.

He’s even skinnier, the shadows under his eyes deeper. You feel the overwhelming need to hug him despite everything he has done.

“And?” The other one says impatiently. “Are you?”

“I was waiting for you to leave but it appears I need to spell it out for you - unless you were expecting a treat for fetching what is mine like good guard dogs?”

He- he didn’t- he is playing along?

The hooded men grumble a few unsavoury insults and slam the door shut behind them. The sound leaves behind an eerie silence that Snape doesn’t seem too interested in breaking.

His gaze drops back down onto his parchment and he begins scribbling again. The portraits share looks and whisper with each other.

“Hi…” The word gets stuck in your throat and sounds far higher than you usually talk - you doubt he understood more than a gurgle. You clear your throat and take a hesitant step forward, closer to the man who these days is as feared as you-know-who.

Snape sets aside his quill and steeples his fingers. His intense gaze seems to burn right through your forehead and has you squirming. Something in his eyes softens, a change so miniscule you almost missed it.

“What are you doing here and why are you lying?” He asks. He speaks softer too. Less cold, less sardonically.

“I kinda…tripped the Caterwauling Charm when I arrived in Hogsmeade and…there were Dementors and Death Eaters and they said some things…I got scared so I kinda told them….you were expecting me-”

His lips curl. “‘Kinda told them’ ?”

“I did- I did tell them.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“Why were you in Hogsmeade to begin with?” Suspicion flashes through his eyes. You take another step forward.

“I- I missed you.” Not exactly a lie. You do miss him for some fucked up reason! You’ve been thinking about him every day since that stupid blind date stood you up and his eyes haunt you every night when you close your eyes. The memories of what happened in that exact bed you were lying in came back to you and more often than not ended with you panting his name as you made yourself cum - knowing your own touch would never compare to his.

His eyes darken, his jaw tense as though he can-

You blush.

He can read your mind. He told you at the restaurant! You try not to think about Potter, but trying not to think about something always leads to thinking more about it so you bring your thoughts back to you in your bed. Covered in sweat, clutching your pillow-

“You missed me?” He asks, pretending to not have understood you but the subtle taunt in his voice betrays him. Perhaps he wants it to betray him. “And so you…what? Thought you’d go to Hogsmeade and try to get into Hogwarts? You could have sent an owl, dear.”

“The thought didn’t occur to me.”

“My, my…oh well, you’re here now aren’t you?” He pushes back his chair and spreads his legs. “Show me how much you missed me.” Mischief and an unspoken challenge glitter in his eyes and for some reason it turns you on further.

As though caught in a trance you move, rounding the desk and closing the distance between you and Snape. Distantly you are aware that the portraits are watching you. Your stomach churns and flip flops and the liquor you had at Aberforth’s turns out to have been a huge mistake.

Snape undoes the buckle of his belt. Something in the way his hands move and his shoulders are drawn into a tense, straight line tells you he doesn’t expect you to go through with this.

Joke’s on him.

You’re not at all against this turn of events.

Not now that he is in front of you, so close you could just reach out and press your body against his, feel his hot breath on your neck or his lips against your breasts.

You push your coat over your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground as you sink to your knees between his legs. His eyebrows rise and lips part, his eyes following you.

“You’ll have to teach me though, headmaster.” You purr. A smirk pulls on your lips. Snape’s surprise lasts for another few seconds before it flickers and morphs to sombre satisfaction.

“Take out my cock.” You can’t help the trembling of your fingers when you reach for the buttons of his trousers. It’s not fear, rather the opposite. You bite your lip and slip your hand into his trousers. He inhales sharply when your fingers close around his cock. He is already half hard and throbs in your hand. Gently you free him and then look back up, waiting for instruction.

You’re not stupid. You know the basics - kinda. You’ve never done this, after all, a fact Snape seems to relish in.

“Dumb slut can’t even suck cock, hm?” He snickers. His insult should offend you. You should get mad and insult him back and get up, storming out of his office in a cloud of rage - you don’t. You get wetter . An uncomfortable wet spot in your knickers - the testament of your decaying moral compass.

‘Fuck it’, you think. ‘Potter is here - we might all die today.’

If the world ends today what does it matter if you’re a traitor? A terrible, depraved, morally corrupt woman that is drawn to you-know-who’s second in command? A man almost as feared as his master?

“Lick it.” His voice cuts through your thoughts. Cold and sharp like an icicle falling from a roof, large and fast enough to pierce through a person. You part your lips and swipe your tongue over the tip of his cock. Snape groans under his breath. He reclines in his chair. The old leather creaks under his weight.

He tangles a hand into your hair, stroking your head as though you’re his loyal pet, seeking its master’s closeness.

You press your flat tongue to his cockhead, licking several hard, broad strokes over it. You place kisses just beneath it and work your way down his shaft, alternating kisses with licks all while dragging your thumb gently over the underside of his cock, just by his cockhead.

Snape’s groans get louder with each pass of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightens.

“Ahhh- fuck….what a good girl- a filthy, dumb slut satisfying her headmaster, huh? Or at least trying. You’re giving this your all, aren’t you girl? How pathetic you are.” He tears at your hair, pulling your head up and pressing your lips against his cockhead. Beads of a milky liquid are gathering at the slit. “So desperate for cock you come all the way here in the middle of the night on the off chance I might be willing to fuck you again.” Keeping your eyes trained on his you catch the liquid with the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t taste as horrible as you feared it would. Salty, kinda bitter.

“Open your mouth.” You do. You obey without hesitation. Snape looks like a king sitting on his throne and you’re the new addition to his harem, learning to please her king in all the ways he likes.

Snape brings your head closer, pulling on your hair, keeping iron-like control of your head. You grab hold of his trousers, clutching the fabric between your still-trembling fingers.

His cock slips between your lips, forcing you to open wider to him, your lips stretching around his girth. Snape looks at you with a mixture of admiration, tenderness and roaring lust and your chest swells with something akin to pride. Pride that you caused such a shift in a stoic, controlled man like Snape. And perhaps hope that Snape is not merely the barbaric Death Eater he is appearing to be. Perhaps there is more to him.

“That’s it, girl-” He groans and drops his head back against his chair, grabbing your head with both of his hands now, forcing it down on his cock. Force is unnecessary of course. You wouldn’t stop doing this even if he wasn’t holding onto you.

You drool over his hard cock while Snape bobs your head up and down, muttering words you can’t hear over your own sputtering and choking and the blood pounding in your ears. Your knickers are ruined at this point. Your cunt clenches around jarring nothingness. You’re so aroused it hurts . There is an unbearable need deep inside you and you can’t- can’t-

You let go of his trouser, dropping your hand between your spread-out knees and under your skirt. Never have you been so wet. Your fingers slide into you without any resistance. You moan around Snape’s cock.

He opens his eyes, blinks as though he isn’t quite aware of his surroundings. His eyes meet yours. You must look pathetic. Drooling over his cock, tears and snot smeared on your face while he uses your mouth to pleasure himself.

“Are you touching yourself, dear?” He coos, his lips curling into a smug grin. Your eyelids drop shut and you moan again. Snape pulls on your hair, plucking you off his cock. You whine both at the sting and the loss of contact. Before you can fully catch up with the situation Snape has gotten to his feet, pulling you with him. He smashes his lips against yours. His hand is securely tangled in your hair, pressing you closer to him while also preventing you from pulling away.

You don’t want to.

You missed him so much. Even though you don’t really know him. Even though you really shouldn’t. He was your teacher and he is a murderer and you don’t give a shit.

You mewl into the kiss and cling to the front of his robes.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He murmurs against your lips. His hand leaves your hair. He grasps at your arse, squeezing your cheeks in his large hands that have slipped under your skirt. He is grinding you into his erection.

“Snape-” You moan. He forces you back. Your thighs hit the edge of his desk. Snape lifts you up on it and drops to his knees. Your hands tangle into his hair instantly, pulling him closer, parting your legs for him.

“So fucking beautiful.” He repeats, sounding almost dazed. He kisses your knee, trailing up your thigh, inching teasingly, torturously towards where you need him most.

“-Snape…”

“I don’t want to die without knowing how you taste.” Your mind is too far gone, too useless, too lust-drenched to register his words or the pang of worry you would normally feel at hearing them. Just a few minutes earlier you would have noticed the certainty in the word die. Like a man on death row, walking towards his execution.

Snape tears at your knickers, pulling them roughly down your legs.

Hot. His tongue is so hot- heat that sears at your skin, killing and saving you all at once.

You grip his hair tighter and throw your head back. Snape laps at your cunt, licking broad, hard strokes over your folds, pulling moan after pathetic, whimpering moan from you.

Much too soon he stops, leaving you just on the edge of release, suspended in the air, surrounded by heat and desperation and roaring pleasure.

“Snape.” You rasp, your voice strained.

“You’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all, dear.” He says. He probably aimed to sound teasing, in control, smug maybe. But control has long left this room. Neither of you possess a single ounce of it and he sounds equally as needy as you feel. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer.

“Yes, headmaster.” You say. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the hard swallow he takes. He closes his eyes and his jaw tenses.

“Vixen.” He growls and pounces at you. One second you’re sitting, smirking at Snape, the next you’re buried under his weight, pressed down on the desk. He enters you in one thrust, a truly sinful groan falling from his lips. He fucks you rough - much rougher than the last two times. You’re kissing, clicking teeth and gasping for air. Snape pounds into you, his thick cock stretches you open, hitting all the right spots. You cling to Snape, grasping at his sleeves and collar, desperate to touch him, feel him.

Last time Snape clung to you like a dying man to life - now you’re clinging to him like life not ready to let death take what is hers.

“Snape!” He sucks on the delicate skin over your throat, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“I had made my peace with never seeing you again.” He rasps in your ear between feverish kisses. “I don’t- I can’t-” Whatever it is he wanted to say, it’s lost to your shared pleasure. Snape presses his face against the crook of your neck, panting and groaning and you cry out, pressure mounting inside you. Ripples morph to tidal waves, swallow you up, pull you under and lift you up all at once and Snape murmurs something against your collarbone you can’t make out.

You can feel it’s important though.

Crucial, world-changing, momentously significant information and you sob. The worlds slip through your fingers like sand in an hourglass and you hold onto Snape tighter, tighter so perhaps those words aren’t lost- he isn’t lost-

Snape lifts his head and kisses you. Soft, gentle. A stark contrast to before. There’s longing in the kiss, regret and pain and you weave your fingers through his hair and kiss him back, begging for him to shatter your worries because something isn’t right here! You can tell- something-

What aren’t you seeing?

Droplets hit your skin.

Are you crying?

An explosion tears you apart. It’s in the distance, muffled through the many ancient walls separating the headmaster's office from the source. Both of you look up. Snape at once composed, his eyes once more distant. Wetness lingers in them.

“Stay here.” He orders.

“What’s going on?” Is Potter here? Snape has meanwhile straightened up and fixed his clothes and hair.

“Stay.”

“Snape!” You push your skirt down and jump from the table, following him towards the door. He pauses. Tension drawn into every muscle, in the very way he stands, unable to face you. “Please-” Your voice breaks.

“I need you to stay here.”

“Please talk to me.” Now you’re definitely crying.

“I told you this will be over soon. Today’s the day.”

You shake your head. Can he stop being a fucking enigma and just be honest with you for once!

He wants to leave, but you grab his hand and hold him back. He’s trembling. You couldn’t tell before, but touching him now-

He’s scared.

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, sobbing.

“I need to know you’re safe. Please- I’m begging you- stay here.” His voice is heavy and crack at the end.

“Severus-”

He swirls around in your embrace and cups your cheeks before kissing you. The kiss tastes of salt…

“It’ll all be over and if it goes according to plan you’ll be free. You’ll be safe. It’ll be over. Promise me- promise me you’ll find happiness. That you’ll live, that you’ll find love and have a family of your own and- that you will be happy and safe and loved !”

“Severus-” Snape presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his own against it. He has his eyes closed.

“Promise me.” He sounds like the words physically hurt him. “Please! ”

“If you promise to come back to me!” You’ve grasped the front of his robes again. Tears stream over your cheeks. Snape doesn’t answer. He gently disentangles your hands from his clothes and with a billow of his cloak he is gone.

You clasp your hands over your mouth and sink to your knees, shaken with silent sobs.

This can’t be happening- this can’t be real. You feel numb. There is no fear left, not even pain which you had expected. You feel empty. Like Snape took a part of you with him when he left.

For a long time, nothing happens. You gather your pathetic self from the ground and drag yourself over to Snape’s chair. Aimlessly you open drawers in search of some liquor. Snape surely would have liquor in his desk, right?

“Bottom drawer, dear.” A warm female voice says. You flinch but quickly remember you are in fact surrounded by a bunch of portraits. You don’t even have it in you to blush.

You open the suggested drawer with more force than necessary. A bottle rolls over the bottom of the drawer. It’s some fancy whiskey. Not that you care. You pick up to bottle and are about to unstopper it when-

A picture lies in the drawer. It was hidden underneath the bottle. With knitted brows, you set the bottle aside and pick it up.

It’s you.

You are in front of the bookshop. Wind is pulling at your hair and snowflakes are falling down on you. You’re laughing and trying to catch them with your tongue.

Why does Snape have a picture of you in his desk? Why is it in his whiskey drawer?

Your mind pictures him sitting here, taking swigs of his fancy liquor and staring at the picture of you.

You should feel uncomfortable. This is- weird. It should be weird.

It’s not.

It doesn’t feel like it at least. It feels of suppressed longing, of a yearning for something he can’t allow himself to have but is unable to let go of.

You can’t stay here. You have a terrible feeling about all this. Something terrible is going to happen.

Leaving Snape’s office you stumble into a war zone. Hexes and curses flash through the air, there are screams and shouts. You duck, draw your wand and join the battle.

It’ll all be over today .

Snape’s words play on repeat in your head. Everything blurs together. You send your nastiest curses at the hooded Death Eaters all while looking out for greasy black hair and slimmer than they should be shoulders.

You don’t find him anywhere.

Out of breath and scared for your life and everyone around you, you wind up in the Great Hall. You’re bleeding from a wound on your head and several gashes all over your arms and upper body of varying severity.

And there you spot him. He’s standing in the middle of the room. The battle seems to come to a halt. The remaining fighters have gathered around the walls of the former dining area. Next to Snape stands Harry Potter and they’re facing you-know-who together-

Wait.

Snape is facing his own master?

A blood-soaked bandage around his throat Snape glares at the pale, noseless monster. He is hunched over, his breaths seem to be laboured.

There’s a duel. Halfway through you-know-who’s red eyes lock with your own. The intensity of the sheer cruelty in his eyes knocks the air from your lungs.

“How ill-conceived of you to bring her here, Severus.” A pale, long wand is aimed at you. Snape swirls around. His eyes widen with shock and fear and accusation.

Everything goes quiet.

Green light speeds towards you. You-know-who turns towards Potter. Snape runs towards you. Potter’s spell hits you-know-who’s in the air.

Snape shouts your name. Droplets of blood fly through the air.

And at once the sounds return, smashing into your eardrums with deafening force. You throw yourself down on the ground. The curse hits the wall behind you. It bursts into shards of stone that fly through the air. Some hit you. Some hit others. You look up, your heart racing in your chest, your fingers tremble from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You almost died.

Fucking Voldemort almost killed you!

Quickly you look up, gripping your wand tighter, prepared to defend yourself if necessary-

There’s cheering. Voldemort is dead, they shout. You spot the pale figure on the floor with Potter standing over him.

He is dead?

Truly dead?

It’s over-

You let out a laugh somewhere between hysteria and pure joy.

“Severus-” Where is he? He was running towards you- “SEVERUS!”

Heads turn towards you.

Snape is on the ground, surrounded by his black robes, a puddle of deep red blood growing around him steadily. “HELP! HELP! SEVERUS- ” You sprint towards him, dropping to your knees even before you reach him and slipping over the ground. “SEVERUS! SEVERUS! PLEASE-” He is still warm. You gather his slack body into your arms, cradling him to your chest. No no no no no no- please-

“Severus- Severus-” Warm blood sticks to your hands. Too much- way too much.

“Please please- no- Sev- no-” Arms wrap around you, tuck and pull on you, tearing you away from Severus. You scream and flail around, trying to hit whoever is trying to take him from you, take you from him- no-

“SEVERUS! LET GO OF ME! SEVERUS- ”

Madam Pomfrey rushes towards Potter and Snape. She sinks to her knees and waives her wand over Snape’s lifeless body. You give up your fight. You sob and cry and whimper Snape’s name, pleading with whichever deity is listening to you to not take him- no- not now-

“He was on our side all along-” Potter says, his voice cracking. “Dumbledore asked him to kill him- He was on our side-”

You watch the healer work with bated breath. Magic flows out of the tip of her wand in a steady flow, battling whatever had Snape bleeding. Potter has fallen to his knees in the meanwhile. McGonagall is silently crying.

“He’s stable.” Madam Pomfrey says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “For now at least.” The hands holding you, release you and you scramble off the floor. Snape is lying in a cot the healer summoned. She is already gone, hurrying towards the next victim of this battle needing healing. You have no strength left to care or to even consider helping anyone. Nobody asks you to.

You lie down next to Snape.

“Please don’t die-” You whisper the words again and again until your voice fails you and you just watch his chest rise and fall because as long as his chest is still rising and falling he is still alive.

Your eyes fall shut.

You let them.

For just a moment. A moment of rest.

“I- told you to…stay-” You startle awake. “You never listen…” Black eyes blink at you. Tired but alive. So alive.

“Severus!” You sob and crash your lips against him. A hysterical laugh of relief escapes you.

“Ow- careful-” He groans.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Quickly you back off. “You’re alive.”

“It would appear so. Believe me, I am as surprised as you are.”

“Idiot! You fucking wanker! How dare you almost fucking die on me again!”

Snape laughs, but it sounds horrible. Like nails on a chalkboard. You heard that Voldemort’s snake tore open his throat and Potter just about managed to save his life.

“I apologise.” He rasps. “Allow me- allow me to take you to dinner. Proper dinner. With at least five courses and wine.”

“As long as you actually show up to the restaurant.” You chuckle and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Only a fool would waste the opportunity of a date with you.”

#snape fandom #ao3 fanfic #severus snape #severus snape smut #snape x you #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #dividers by cafekitsune

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franabz · 5 months ago

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★ Moth to a flame Band141!AU part 2

(part 1)

Ghost wasn't very sure why he was suddenly so drawn to the absolutely bonnie young woman on stage, but something about her was like a moth to a flame to him in ways he couldn't really understand.

Maybe it wad the way she seemed absolutely terrified, practically hitching with every step she took on stage in front of rows of (mostly drunken) bar patrons. You'd almost feel sorry for how she was practically shaking like a leaf as the stage manager handed off her own mic and her eyes nervously darted over the crowds with a tremble in her knees.

The lead vocalist, Vixen, didn't seem as amused as the rest though. She subtly took a step back and nudged you with her elbow, snapping you a "Don't fuck up" look that made you swallow thickly. One by one each member of the band got to their respective places, then Vixen's voice pitched into the mic through the speakers. "Thank you all for having us here tonight!" She grinned widely, obviously thinking highly of herself in the moment.

"How 'bout tae brunette? She looks like'a bonnie lass." Soap commented, resting his forearms over the wooden table as he nodded towards one of the other female band members, the bassist stage named Robin. "We're lookin' for a vocalist, not 'nother bassist." Price sighed, taking another drag of his cigar before tapping it against an ashtray to take a sip of his whiskey. Gaz and Ghost were mostly silent, simply observing the potential candidates. At least Gaz seemed alive in his thoughts, his brows raised slightly in curiosity as the music finally began. Ghost however, ever the stone-faced man, was completely unreadable, per usual.

An upbeat and funky rhythm sounded through the speakers as each band member performed their parts with practiced ease, everyone giving it their all. Vixen's captivating alto voice being the main focus. You did your best to stay on-par with the rest of the band, yet remained significantly quieter. Ghost kept his eyes trained on you with laser focus, seemingly keeping a mental note of every flat, shaky note you managed to spew out like he was some sort of critic. "She's good." Gaz uttered quietly while resting his chin in his palm, subtly head bobbing to the beat. "Ah dinnae ken... Ye can barely even hear 'er over the blonde." Soap gestured a hand towards Vixen, watching as she was blatantly trying to steal the spotlight over the other band members, her voice considerably louder than the instruments. Price simply watched with a critical eye. You could practically hear the gears moving in his head.

Little by little you finally started breaking from that timid shell you were curled in and your true colors began to shine, your captivating soprano vocals mixing with Vixen's alto tone rather nicely, though it was obvious she was still trying to overpower you. Nonetheless you delivered with such soulful grace that rang out in the ears of patrons even after the song ended. Almost like a siren drawing in unsuspecting victims.

Though Price didn't say anything, it was obvious his face said it all. "I have to talk to her."

"Soprano and baritone? Not a bad combo." Gaz chipped in. "Wot's what mean?" Ghost finally spoke up, gruffly scowling as he tapped his foot against the wooden flooring below.

"Bloody 'ell, pipe down." Price grunted, waving away his smoke as well as waving away the chatter of the boys.

The rest of the performance the boys were relatively quiet, each going through their own inner turmoil. Well, everyone but Soap. He couldn't care less who joined as long as they were a decent person. As the band finally finished and the final notes rang in the air, the band roared in applause and cheers, some drunken bar-goers even going as far as to throw catcalls. As soon as the band finished and Vixen began addressing the audience while the others began loading off stage— "Be right back." Price put out his cigar and took one last swig of his drink before weaving his way through crowds with a small occasional "S'cuse me" or "Pardon me" just to get a chance to talk with you.

Sure she was as timid as a butterfly, but nothing some good practice and encouragement couldn't fix.

As Price disappeared into the crowd, Soap stood up to head back towards the bar to order some more drinks, leaving just Ghost and Gaz.

"So, what'd ya think, Si?" He smirked, his eyes flickering back up to meet Ghost's own gaze. Ghost stayed silent for a moment, avoiding Gaz's gaze slightly. He actually did enjoy the performance, though he would never admit that out loud. "T'was fine." He replied quietly, tapping a blunt fingernail against his empty glass. "Fine? That's all you can say? The girl gotta voice of siren. Bloody captivating."

He leaned back in his booth, the slight sound of denim rubbing against leather could be heard over the distant bar chatter. "Only the first band n' Price already has his eyes on a bird." Ghost subtly eye-rolled and met Gaz's brown eyes for a second, before drifting his gaze away as his eyes roamed over the crowds again, trying to find the girl Price went to talk to.

Meanwhile with Price, he managed to stop you in your tracks with his usual straight to the point charm, one that made you cock a brow subtly.

"Hey- I jus' wanted to say you hav'a lovely singin' voice, mate. A true talent." Price smiled respectfully, tucking a hand into his jeans pocket as his gaze stayed trained over you. "Ah... Thank you, sir." You replied with a small sheepish chuckle, idly fiddling with a loose string on the hem of your jeans at the compliment. Price could notice your unease and chuckled gruffly, finding it a bit amusing how sheepish you were. "Don' worry, lass. I don't bite." He reassured, a small amused huff escaping his lips. "Look, I won't sugarcoat this. I thin ya 'ave true potential, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in a little meeting, eh?" He pulled a small business card from his pocket and held it out for you between his rough fingers.

You glanced down at the card and could feel your face warming at the offer. "A business offer? Hell- I could barely hold a steady note..." You thought to yourself, before quickly snapping out of your stray thoughts and swallowed thickly, hesitantly reaching for the card. "We're currently lookin' for a secondary singer 'nd thought you'd fit in nicely. All of my details're on the card." Price added, handing the card off to you before folding his arms over his chest, watching your reaction.

You accepted the card in shaky hands, your eyes roaming over the "141" label in jagged fonts. "Right... I'll think about it." You muttered, before placing the card into your own pocket and looking back up at the man, exhaling deeply to release some nerves. "Thank you." You added quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"F'course, lass. Hey, you have a true talent. We could use s'meone like you on our side." Price hummed, satisfaction crossing over his face at your acceptance.

You both respectfully bid farewells and went your separate ways, Price returning to the secluded booths and you being left to stand against the wall with your own thoughts. You couldn't lie, the offer was something that definitely caught your attention, but then again you were still technically in a band. Would they even notice if you left? You were barely even noticeable on stage anyways... Maybe if you—

"Y/N!" A familiar voice snapped you out of your inner turmoil, that of Vixen; better known as Crystal. "Where were you? We're packing up for the night." She sneered, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at you, almost silently judging you. "You're lucky you didn't completely blow it tonight. Everyone was too focused on me to care, anyways." Her comments definitely tugged at your gut, but you decided not to say anything about it.

"Right, sorry." You sighed, silently resenting Crystal for her constant jabs, though you couldn't say you didn't expect it. "Damn right you are. Now hurry up, Jayce is paying our tab." She stuck her nose up subtly, before turning on her heel to walk away. Your expression stiffened as she walked away, a small exhausted exhale leaving your lips.

You took one last look around the bar, your eyes falling over the booths where 141 was currently sitting, laughing it up and sharing drinks and smokes while other bands were loading on stage, before your eyes returned to the front of the bar where Crystal and the others were waiting. You patted the pocket that Price's business card was in and let out a controlled inhale, before slowly weaving through the crowds to get to them.

Though the thought of the offer hadn't left your mind yet.

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nameless-jamie · 1 month ago

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TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

A/N: this might be the longest chapter I've ever written...

TW: Angst, Arguing, ALL THE DRAMA

Episode Three: Foul Play

The air at Carrow Road was charged with excitement as the referee blew the starting whistle. Richmond was eager to solidify their position in the league table, but for Y/N, her focus wasn’t just on the game—it was on Jamie Tartt.

The Norwich match should have been an easy, clean win for AFC Richmond. And for the first half, it looked like it would be. Two early goals, smooth passing, and Richmond’s usual chemistry on the pitch made it seem like a routine victory was inevitable. But when the second half kicked off, a certain striker seemed to unravel.

Jamie Tartt was still Jamie Tartt—quick on the ball, aggressive in his runs—but something was different. His passes were a fraction too slow, his decisions uncharacteristically hesitant. The crowd noticed. His teammates noticed. And Y/N, watching from her usual spot in the stands, noticed most of all.

It all came to a head in the 63rd minute. Richmond was comfortably up 2–0 when Jamie, frustrated after losing possession near the Norwich box, charged back toward the ball carrier like a wrecking ball. His tackle wasn’t just aggressive; it was reckless. The Norwich defender crumpled to the ground as the referee immediately reached for a yellow card.

The crowd groaned. Roy Kent’s roar of anger echoed across the pitch. Even Will the kitman, ever the optimist, wore a frown as he exchanged a concerned look with Coach Beard. Jamie stood there, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched as he accepted the booking without so much as a protest.

For the rest of the match, Jamie was a shadow of himself. He barely touched the ball, keeping his head down as Richmond saw out the game. They won 3–1, but in the post-match buzz, no one could stop talking about that tackle.

Back in the dressing room, Roy laid into him with his usual bluntness, calling him a “bloody idiot” and accusing him of playing selfish, stupid football. Jamie, uncharacteristically, didn’t fight back. He just sat there, staring at the floor and muttering a quiet “yeah, alright.”

Y/N hadn’t been surprised by the tackle—or Jamie’s subdued reaction afterward. She’d seen the tension in his body, the frustration in his movements. And she had a pretty good idea of what—or who—was behind it.

As Y/N jotted down notes in her journal, her mind wandered to the unease she's feeling about seeing Jamie tomorrow for their podcast breefing.

The next evening, Y/N parked outside Jamie’s house, clutching her notebook like a lifeline. She hated how her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him, especially after the way he’d acted during the Norwich game. She stood outside Jamie’s front door, fiddling nervously with the pen in her hand. She’d come over to plan the next podcast episode, as they always did before recording day. But this time was different. This time, there was an invisible wall between them, built from the events of a few nights ago.

Their night together in Manchester had been impulsive, fueled by weeks of flirtatious banter that had finally boiled over. They’d agreed—mutually, rationally—that it wouldn’t mean anything. No strings, no drama. Just a one-time thing. But since then, nothing had been normal. Jamie had been distant, brooding. And Y/N, for all her professionalism, was struggling to ignore the elephant in the room. The elephant being the love they have for each other. The insecurity that Y/N can't seem to get over. And finally, the disappointment Jamie felt after hearing Y/N's no-commitment-speech.

She knocked on the door and waited. Her notebook was tucked under her arm, her outfit casual, but she’d spent an unreasonable amount of time debating whether her hair looked “too put together.” Not that it mattered. This was about work. Just work. No strings whatsoever.

The door swung open, and Jamie answered a moment later leaning against the frame with an air of indifference. He looked... tired. His hair was tousled, and he was wearing a hoodie that seemed slightly too big for him.

“Good evening,” Y/N said briskly, trying to keep things professional.

Jamie didn’t smile, his expression flat. “Is it, though?”

She laughed awkwardly at that, no humor in it. “Dunno, you tell me.”

He just stepped aside to let her in, his jaw tight as he gestured toward the couch. The awkwardness hit her like a wave as she stepped into his living room. This wasn’t their usual dynamic—there was no playful banter, no easy camaraderie. Jamie seemed closed off, his arms crossed as he followed her inside. The tension in the room was palpable, the usual easy banter between them was nowhere to be found, and the silence stretched thin as Y/N settled onto the edge of the sofa, flipping open her notebook.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” he said, dropping onto the couch, “what’s the ‘grand’ plan for this week’s podcast?”

Y/N cleared her throat, trying to push past the awkwardness and his sarcastic attitude. “Same as usual. But this time we start with the Norwich match—key moments, goals, tactics. Then for the first time listener questions. And finally, a preview of the Chelsea game.”

“Aha, sounds rivetin’, ” Jamie muttered, lifting himself from his position on the couch with a huff. “Anything else, Miss Y/L/N? Or is that it?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened at his sassy tone. “Look, I don’t have time for your moodiness. We need to finish planning the episode.”

“Go on, then. Plan away.” Jamie muttered.

She opened her notebook again, determined to ignore his snark. “Okay, so let's start with the recap of the Norwich game. I’ll definitely ask you about the assist you did for Dani’s goal, then we’ll—”

Jamie cut her off. “Gonna ask why I didn’t score it meself?”

Y/N paused, caught off guard. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not? That’s what you’re thinking, innit?” he said, leaning forward. “Go on, say it. Say I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean I wasn’t-… playing good enough.”

“That’s not what I think,” Y/N said, frowning. “What’s that even supposed to mean?"

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t nothing. "Just wondering how you’re planning to spin me looking like a complete twat during the match."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “Jamie, you didn’t look like a—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Don’t do that thing where you try to sugarcoat it. I played like shit, and you and I know it.”

She set her notebook aside, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, fine. You weren’t at your best. But everyone has an off day.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t have been ‘off’ if certain things weren’t messing with my head. I’m Jamie fucking Tartt I don’t have ‘off’ days…”

She sighed. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty to say,” Jamie shot back, sitting forward now, his elbows resting on his knees. “But I’m guessing you’re not in the mood to hear it.”

"What the fuck is your problem right now, Jamie?”

“What’s my problem?” Jamie let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Bloody commitment issues.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s gaze met hers, sharp and challenging. “It means you’ve been acting like nothing happened between us. Like we didn’t—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “Whatever. Fuck. Doesn’t matter.”

Y/N stood as well, her temper flaring. “Don’t put this on me, Jamie. You’ve been acting weird too ever since we—” She stopped herself, shaking her head.

“Ever since we what?” Jamie pressed, stepping closer. "Was havin' sex with me so bad that you can't even say it out loud. Why the fuck do you want to forget this so badly? Is the dumb footballer prick not good enough for the famous little Podcast lady?"

No. The opposite. Y/N thought. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say it so plainly.

“You’re sitting there, pretending this is all normal, when it’s not,” Jamie said. “You don’t even want to be here right now, do you?”

“Jamie...”

“No, go on,” he said, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “Tell me I’m wrong. You can't.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten. “Jamie, we agreed—”

“Yeah, I know what we agreed on,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “No strings, no drama, just a bit of fun. But you know what? It’s not fun when you’re sitting here pretending like it didn’t mean anything. When you walk around the fucking pitch like nothing ever happened. It fucks with me brain. With me feelings too.”

She looked away, her heart pounding. “This isn’t about feelings, Jamie. I have feelings too. I just can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Jamie asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Her pulse quickened at that. She sat down again, trying to calm the situation and herself. “We agreed it wouldn’t be anything, Jamie. That’s what you wanted, also.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind,” he shot back, stopping to face her. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe I only agreed to it because I didn't want to put you under pressure.”

She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. "Please don't do this to me Jamie..." Please, I can't keep pushing you away, if you give me the illusion that this could be something...

“No, let me finish, I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I know what we said. I know we agreed it wouldn’t mean anything. But it did. It does. At least, it did to me. I can’t do this—pretend I mean.”

Her stomach twisted. “Jamie, I—”

She hated how exposed she felt. “What do you want me to say? That I feel the same? That I’ve been overthinking everything since that night? Because I can’t, Jamie. I can’t go there with you. ”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because it’s messy!” she snapped. “Because you’re Jamie Tartt, and I’m… just me. This was supposed to be simple. Just work. And now it’s—”

“It’s real,” he finished, his voice soft but steady. “I’m not good at this kinda stuff, but I— I think I might be in love with you, Y/N. There. I said it. I know it’s messy and complicated, but I don’t care. I’m in. All the way and I want somethin' real with you. Not just… whatever this is..”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She wanted to say something, anything, but her throat felt tight, and the room suddenly felt too small. It was all I ever wanted to hear from him, but at the same time everything I never deserved to hear. Or so she thought. Imposter syndrome, that's what it's called, I guess.

Instead of answering him, she stood abruptly, grabbing her bag, her fight or flight reaction setting in. “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, cutting him off as she grabbed her notebook. “I just… I can’t.” Y/N headed for the door, her hands trembling. “I’m leaving.”

Jamie watched her go, his chest tight.

The studio was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the recording equipment. The tension between them was unbearable. Y/N had barely slept, her mind replaying Jamie’s words over and over. I think I might be in love with you, Y/N. Now, sitting across from him in the studio, she couldn’t look him in the eye.

Jamie, on the other hand, was the picture of quiet anger. He didn’t say much as they set up, but his silence spoke volumes. Jamie sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk replaced by a tight, closed-off expression. Y/N was on the other side of the table, shuffling through her notes more than necessary, the silence between them thicker than the walls of the studio.

“Ready?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound steady.

Jamie gave a one-shouldered shrug, Instead of his usual 'Born ready' phrase he just gave her a short: “I guess.”

She rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t the usual warmth behind the gesture. Taking a deep breath, she leaned toward the mic. “Alright, here we go.”

Finally, they hit record.

Y/N revised her familiar introduction, a short burst of energy that usually set the tone for their episodes. But this time the usual spark wasn’t there.

“Welcome back to Striker’s Corner, I’m your host, Y/N L/N,” she said, her voice overly bright in an attempt to drown out the tension in the room. “Today, we’re breaking down AFC Richmond’s 3–1 win against Norwich City. A solid result, though not without its moments of… excitement, but as always, there’s plenty to dissect.”

Jamie scoffed softly, just loud enough for the mic to pick up. “Excitement. Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Y/N ignored his comment, keeping her tone professional. “And my current podcast guest Jamie Tartt, as you just heard, is here to unpack everything with us. Let’s start with the first half. Richmond came out strong—two early goals, great chemistry on the pitch…”

“And then things got interesting, huh?” Jamie cut in, his voice low and edged with sarcasm.

Y/N shot him a look, replying with his same sarcastic comment. “Interesting. Right. That is one way to put it.”

“Go on,” Jamie said, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Tell the listeners what you really think. You thought I was playing like an idiot,”

She sighed. “Well, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you were thinkin’ it,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Her grip on her notes tightened, but she kept her tone even. “Alright. The second half wasn’t as clean as the first. A few missed opportunities, some unnecessary fouls…”

“Some unnecessary fouls?” Jamie interrupted with a bitter laugh. “Say it, Y/N. You mean me.”

“Jamie,” she said through gritted teeth, “you know I’m not here to ‘sugarcoat’ things. That tackle in the second half was reckless. You’re lucky it was only a yellow. You could’ve been sent off.”

“Yeah, could’ve, but wasn’t, thanks for the reminder” he shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smile.

“If the shoe fits,” she said coolly, refusing to back down. “That’s not the point though,” she snapped. “You’re supposed to set an example out there. Losing your head like that—”

“Losing my head?” Jamie said, his voice rising. “You think I lost my head? That’s rich, coming from you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. He tapped a finger on the table, his jaw tight. “Just thought it was funneh, is all.”

Her patience was wearing thin. “Jamie, this isn’t about me. It’s about your performance on the pitch. You’re one of the best players on the team, and when you don’t play like it, people notice. I notice.”

“Oh, you notice, do you?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, thanks for that, Coach.”

“Jamie—”

“No, really,” he said, cutting her off. “I mean, you’ve got all the answers, don’t you? Sitting up there in the stands, scribbling in your little notebook, like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, his words stinging more than she cared to admit. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he muttered.

She took a deep breath, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Look, the point is—”

“The point is,” Jamie interrupted, his voice sharp, “you don’t know what it’s like out there. You can sit here and criticize all you want, but you’ve never been on that pitch, have you? Never felt the pressure, never had the weight of the whole f***ing team on your shoulders. Remind me again, Y/N—how many professional matches have you played? Must’ve missed your stellar career in the Premier League. ”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to play professional football to know when someone’s not giving their best.”

“Not giving my best?” he repeated, his voice rising again. “You think I wasn’t trying out there?”

“I think you let your emotions get the better of you,” she said, her tone cold.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Right. My emotions. And I'm sure you know all about em' by now, am I right?”

Her cheeks flushed from anger, but she forced herself to stay composed. “Let’s stick to football, shall we?”

Jamie leaned back in his chair, his expression smug. “Sure, why not? Football’s all we ever talk about anyway. Not like we’ve got anything else to say to each other, right?”

The jab hung in the air like a live wire. Y/N’s head burned, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’m just doing my job, Jamie.” she grit through her teeth.

“Oh, is that what this is? A job?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Good to know. Wouldn’t want to confuse it with something personal.”

“Let’s move on,” she said briskly. “Other than that yellow card, you seemed hesitant to take any shots in the second half. Care to explain why?”

Jamie’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Maybe I was just trying to be a team player. Or maybe I was distracted by, I dunno, other things. You wouldn't get it.”

She refused to rise to the bait. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s something you’ll need to work on before the Chelsea match.”

“Noted,” Jamie said sarcastically. “Anything else, boss?”

"Well, seems like Richmond's top striker isn't in the mood to talk about their successful game this week. Any other topics, you'd like to talk about Jamie?"

"Yeh, plenty..." Jamie scoffed.

"Football-related topics." Y/N corrected herself.

Jamie’s eyes locked on hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something. But then he shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a smirk and a huff that didn’t reach his eyes.

She stared at him, her heart pounding, she moved the microphone away from her face. “If you’ve got something to say to me, Jamie, say it.”

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but pointed. “You want me to say somethin'? Fine. Here’s my professional opinion, I think: You’re scared.”

“Scared?” she repeated, her voice rising.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “You’re scared of letting anyone get close to you. You're scared you'll finally have someone in your life who loves you. That’s why you’re so good at pushing people away. Because if you're lonely, it's easier to tell yourself you're not worthy of love.”

Her throat tightened, but she refused to let him see how much his words hurt because it was the truth. “You don’t know anything about me.” Lie.

“Don’t I?” he said softly.

Silence fell over the studio, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint buzz of the recording equipment.

Finally, Y/N cleared her throat, forcing her voice to sound steady. “We’re getting off track. Let’s move on to listener questions.”

Jamie didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said everything he wasn’t saying.

The rest of the episode was a blur of forced professionalism and underlying tension. Y/N powered through the questions, her voice crisp and detached, while Jamie answered with clipped, sarcastic remarks.

By the time they wrapped up, the studio felt like it was about to explode from the sheer weight of everything left unsaid.

“Thanks for listening to Striker’s Corner,” Y/N said, her voice hollow. “We’ll see you...when we see you. You want to say goodbye to the listeners Jamie?”

“Not really,” he said, his tone cold. “Think I’ve said enough for one episode, don’t you?”

Jamie didn’t say a word after that, he removed his headphones and stood, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without a glance in her direction, he walked out of the studio, leaving Y/N sitting there, her mind spinning, tears finally ready to fall.

Safe to say this week’s episode of Striker’s Corner took longer to edit than any other episode. Ever.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #jamie tartt x you #sam obisanya #ted lasso show #afc richmond #tartts corner

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 months ago

Note

I haven't checked in a lot lately (real life is busy as hell), but hi! hello! Do you maybe have some good fics where Sherlock and/or John are multilingual? <33

p.s. this feels sooo nostalgic.

Hi Lovely!

I do have a selection of fics on this post here... it's a bit messy so here are the fics on that post, plus others I know of :)

L'Instinct Suffit by Kate_Lear (E, 2,360 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Speaks French) – A shamelessly smutty fill for a prompt on sherlockbbc_fic that just said ‘Sherlock speaks French during sex’.

Coup de Foudre by prettysailorsoldier (T, 6,446 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager/University AU || Alternate First Meeting, Skiing, Winter, Sherlock Speaks French, Christmas Fluff) – When John and his friends decide to blow off some steam after finals with a holiday to the Swiss Alps, he's expecting a week of roaring fires, hot chocolate, and snow as far as the eye can see. He is not expecting to fall head over heels for a fellow guest--a young Frenchman known only as "Blue Scarf"--but John's not one to let a little language barrier get in the way, and, with the help of Google Translate, it might just be a Christmas to remember after all. Part 7 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Pardon my French by archea2 (E, 8,232 w., 3 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Language Kink, Voice Kink, John in Afghanistan, Fever, Drunk Sherlock, Paternal Lestrade, Clothed Sex, Drunken Confessions, Humour) – Sherlock's closet Jekyll resurfaces when he's drunk, making him tender, earnest and extremely talkative with John. It's all fine with John - or would be, if Sherlock's Subconscious bloody let him speak English on these occasions.

Not Your Average Roman Holiday by StarlightAndFireflies (M, 11,253 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Rome, Vacation, Flirting, Romance, First Kiss / Time, International Crime Solving, Language Barrier) – After his relationship with Mary falls apart, John finds himself on what should have been his honeymoon, alone and directionless. Then, a chance encounter with a handsome, intelligent stranger changes his entire outlook -- but this gorgeous man doesn't seem to speak any English... AU in which John is a tourist and Sherlock is working on an international case, and they meet by chance. Sparks fly.

A Gossamer Dream by CarmillaCarmine (E, 15,985 w., 4 Ch. || Writer/Teacher AU || First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Writer John / Teacher Sherlock, Fluff, London, Holding Hands, Online Friendship / Romance, Phone Sex, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, Alternating POV, Scottish John, Online Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, Hand Holding, Forehead Touching, First Kiss/Time, Texting/Sexting, Rimming, Toplock, Sherlock Speaks French) – Sherlock had never realised one could care so much about someone they'd never met in person. Now he is about to meet the friend with whom he's been chatting online for months and his anticipation is reaching a crescendo. Part 19 of Johnlock Smut (with Feels)

Common Tongues: Unassuming Brilliance by jinglebell (E, 41,174 w., 11 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Anal, Rimming, Snowballing, Language Kink, Blow Jobs, BAMF John, Size Difference, Height Difference, Sapiosexual Sherlock, Barebacking, Size Queen) – John may be predictably average in most things, but there are a handful of areas in which he knows he is uncommonly skilled. He can make a great cup of tea, for one. He's also good at patching folks up, putting bullets precisely where he wants them, and listening.The one skill that John is perhaps most exceptional in, though, is language. John is a polyglot.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

====

If anyone has any more, please do add them!!

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #polyglot fics #multilingual character fics #help steph find fics

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raccoonsrummagerostrum · 2 years ago

Text

Meeting the Clan

Part 3

Yautja x Reader

Word count: >1k

Warnings: loud noises, fighting, eating, drinking, nausea, light gore, alien blood, slightly drunk reader, short of breath reader

Summary: your lover's clan invites you to dinner and it just keep getting worse

A/N: sorry I've been gone for so long, all my creativity was put into another project. I've got a lot of wips and a few requests/asks to get too, so look forward to more writing comming soon ❤

Part 1 & Part 2

This was not anything like meeting the parents. Even in all the sitcoms and bad reality tv that you had watched, you had never seen anything go so wrong. As the two faced off with each other Amedha, your lover's worst rival, still took the time to look over at you and whistle. Your lover lunged and dug their mandibles into his throat. Amedha responded by digging his claws deep into your lover's side, causing them to scream in pain, and thus release their rivals' neck. You knew better than to get in between them, but you couldn’t just let your lover get beat up like this.

Amedha looked over to you again and winked. The food you had just eaten bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn't stop the disgusted expression from spreading across your face. However, this gave your lover the perfect opening to give their rival a hard right hook to the jaw. The crack of bone rang out around the room. They quickly gained the upper hand maneuvering to hold their rival down, holding his face against the floor. Amedha scoffed, earning a loud deep and angry growl from your love. They pulled his arm back until there was a sharp snap and a roar. You quickly shielded your eyes from the gruesome sight.

You liked to think that you had a strong stomach. You didn’t mind gory horror movies, and could handle most everyday ooman injuries. Broken bones, and bloody cuts didn’t phase you, but this. Between the sounds of injury, the reactionary screams of pain, and the sight of all the blood and backwards facing limbs. You struggled very badly to deal. But the uproar from the table encouraged you to look again.

Your lover now stood, one clawed foot atop their rival's head. They let out an ear splitting victory roar that rattled every plate on the table. The rest of the party cheered, and you added some meek applause.

They then returned to your side, placing a kiss on your head as they sat back down.

"Apologies, starlight. Such displays are not uncommon at these types of events."

"That's all right," you whispered back, "I was just worried." You reached out to the glowing green dripping from their abs. They chuffled in an attempt to calm you. It worked, but only slightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your lover's rival slinking off. The moment the door closed behind him the table roared again and the festivities continued.

After eating your weight in food, and more "wine" then you maybe could have handled, your lover, still somehow upright, guided you to their room. You tried to argue, suggesting you go back on the space plane and spend the night at your place, but your lover responded that space travel was not a good idea in your condition. They were right.

A panel on the wall slid open to reveal a small two room cabin. The first room was meticulously organized, every wall was covered in weapons, tools, and trophies. The next room was more homey. As homey as the yautja get. Furs covered the walls and floor, trinkets and personal items littered every surface, and you recognized more than a few gifts from you. A cubbie was cut out high on one wall.

You walked (stumbled) over and stuck your hands up to climb in, but didn't even come close. Your lover came up behind you and you noticed that the cubbie was even taller than them. You threw your hands up at them, demanding uppies. They chuffed at you in a way that sounded more like a laugh. That is when you noticed that they had a mask in their hand. It was much smaller than their usual helmet. They offered it to you, but in your inebriated state you still didn't understand. They turned the mask around and affixed it to your face. It was only then that you noticed that it had been getting hard for you to breathe.

You greedily sucked in the fresh air from the mask. Only now realizing how out of breath you were. Your lover took the time to remind you that 'the air on earth is different to what we are used to, and thus the air on the ship is different to what you are used to'. But you were far to drunk and sleepy to pay attention.

Without any more time to process, your lover scoped you up and effortlessly carried you up and into the cubbie. You very quickly found yourself surrounded by soft furs, and plush covers. Your lover wrapped themselves around you with their back to the entrance. Between the soft bed, the exhausting dinner, and your lover's purrs you struggled to keep your eyes open.

"We're gonna need to talk about what happened." You said fighting for consciousness. Your lover only replied.

"In the morning"

As your eyes opened you struggled to remember where you were. Eventualy the soft scratch of your lover's claws jogged your memory and you recalled last nights fight. And last nights announcement. You thought briefly about turning over and walking your lover, but you had now way of telling what time it was. But the second you stretched your legs your lover was awake anyway.

"Good morning starlight"

"How can you tell?" They turned the screen of ther writs gauntlet tword you, and using every ounce of yautja language skills you had you deduced that it was 9am. At that you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Are you all right starlight?"

"What happened last night?"

"Well," your lover began "we boarded my space plane, and then-"

"I remember what happened." You said, cutting them off and Flipping over. "I just don't understand what happened."

"What do you not understand?"

"Now your my mate? And that means I'm part of the clan?" They took a moment before awnsering.

"I do not understand either, but I am not unhappy. I am glad that you have been accepted so publicly."

"Honestly I am too, but what does this mean? Does this change anything?"

"Do you want things to change?" They asked tentively.

"No. That's why I'm worried."

"If you do not want anything to change, then nothing will."

"It just feels so official. Almost like were getting marrried."

"What is, getting married?" This earned another sigh.

"Its a ceremony where two people are joined In a legally binding commitment to eachother." Its a really big deal."

"Would you like to get married."

"Woah woah woah, slow down. I don't know about all that right now. I mean I do love you, but thats a really big commitment, and suddenly being called your mate and being part of the clan already feels like too much. I-I I just don't know."

"That is all right. I am happy with where things are now too."

#fanfic #writing #yautja #x reader #predator alien #gn!reader #yautja x human #yautja x reader #fluff #comfort

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aheckinmess · 11 months ago

Text

Weak Spot (Dad Sukuna)

(Part 1 of Cursed, Not Cute.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Dad Sukuna, OC Child, Mildly Out of Character?, I Mean I Tried, I Really Tried to Keep Him in Character, Given the Circumstances, But Just in Case, Sukuna's Daughter, And Yes She Has His Sass

Word Count: 1,021 words

Summary: After Ryomen Sukuna has complete control of Japan as the King of Curses, he has a child that he's determined to train into a vessel of villainy, just like him. Things don't exactly go according to plan.

Chapter 1: Weak Spot

Sukuna should have seen it coming the second the damned woman told him she was with child. A night of passion and lust had resulted in a child of his own. One that he knew would be hellbent on destruction, just like him.

“I will raise you to be stronger even than me.” Flames reflected in his red eyes as he glared over the crumbled city below. He rocked her in his arms to the cadence of screaming victims below. “You cannot be weak if you’re going to inherit my legacy.”

A little girl with pink and brown hair looked up at him, babbling and cooing with a radiant smile. A smile reflecting paternal affection, dependence, and unyielding trust.

These were emotions he’d always thought he’d easily dismiss when the child was born. But truth be told? She wrapped him around her finger a little more with every passing day.

“We will rule this world together, you and I.” He promised.

The moment he felt such buzzing warmth for her, he should have killed her. Hell, he should have killed Asuka as soon as she’d said she was pregnant. Killed two birds with one stone.

But now, looking into his daughter’s eyes, his resolve crumbled. Her dark, pleading eyes squeezed a part of his soul that should have been dead long ago. He grit his teeth, raising his hand again to slice off her head. She’s just another obstacle in my reign of terror and misery! She has to go!

So what stopped him?

Those eyes. Those wide, loving eyes. Eyes that still stared at him with trust and adoration even as he held her life in the balance. A respect for her father that stood unshakeable even in the face of death.

“Are you going to kill me, Father?” Her lip quivered, though he’d long since taught her to be brave and keep her head high during her final moments.

Sukuna, for once, found himself speechless. With a roar, he threw his hands down before pacing across the balcony. Four sets of knuckles gripped the railing until they turned white, flattening metal with his great strength. This damn child. This. Damn. Child!

“I apologize, Father.” Her soft voice floated over to him. “I never intended for my weakness to cause you dishonor.”

“Silence.” Sukuna’s throat tightened in his fury.

The sound of crackling flames drowned out the silence between them as she listened obediently. Perhaps that’s why I’m so remiss to end her life. She's strong. Strong and obedient. Sukuna’s eyes met the gaze of a frantic woman clutching her child to her chest on the street as a curse cornered both of them. He flicked his wrist and the woman and her child dropped in a bloody mass without a second thought.

“I raised you to carry on my legacy,” He growled, slamming his fist down against the damaged metal and turning to her. For once, his brows wrinkled with pain, something he hadn’t felt in years. “Yet you stand before me, unwilling to follow the path of destruction I’ve set. Do you think I would just support your path of good fortune to others?!”

Her second set of hands always gave her away. While the bottom pair stayed by her side, she hid the top pair behind her back, fidgeting as her eyes glistened.

“No, sir.” She whispered.

“Do you expect me to accept such weakness from my own flesh and blood?!”

“No, sir.”

“Then what do you expect, Besu?!” He snapped, digging his nails into her cheeks as his frustration mounted.

“I don’t know.” She admitted.

Blood marred the sides of her face as he tried one more time to use his great strength to bring her a swift end. But he could only watch the blood drip from her chin before he pulled his hand back.

“Well, I don’t know either!” He huffed, raking two hands through his hair as the other two rested on his hips. With a heavy sigh, he responded as softly as the Curse King had ever dared. “I know what I should do.”

She didn’t say anything, and neither of them needed to. Sukuna knew she was a brilliant child. She was his offspring, after all. So she knew he should kill her, as opposed to giving her a gentle ending. They both knew he lacked gentleness with everyone.

Everyone but her. Why her?! I killed Asuka as soon as Besu no longer needed her milk. So why? Why, why, why?!

“I love you.”

Those words. Those damned words! Only she had ever uttered them. He’d never found a need for them from anyone else.

He whipped his hand around and bruised her cheek with the flat of his palm. She barely flinched and kept her back straight.

She knew not to say such things. She knew. Words had power. Those three little words already drove him to his knees as he rubbed a thumb over the growing welt, healing it in seconds.

“Love is weak.” He hissed, looking directly into her eyes. “I’ve told you that time and time again, Besu. You know that love is weak and…and…” He paused, waiting for the anger to pummel relentlessly into her before he broke. “And…and dammit, I love you too!” He clutched her against his chest. “I love you and I hate it!”

For those few moments he could only hold her and wish she were a newborn again, reveling in the fallen world with him. He wished she were not this sweet and precious 7-year-old holding his heart in the palm of her hands as she told him she didn’t want to be evil. He wished he did not feel this overwhelming urge to protect her until his dying breath. He wished he did not enjoy the relief that flooded him knowing she still breathed against his chest, trusting him with every inhale and exhale.

No. He wished he did not have a daughter at all. Because for the first time in history, Ryomen Sukuna had a weak spot.

And he knew it wouldn’t take long for the world to notice.

Continue Reading -> Ch. 2

#jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #child oc #Dad Sukuna #Angst #Ryomen Sukuna's Original Form #Mildly Out of Character?#I Mean I Tried #I Really Tried to Keep Him in Character #Given the Circumstances #But Just in Case #Ryomen Sukuna Has a Daughter #And Yes #She Inherited His Sass

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ltash · 6 months ago

Text

Desert Rose

SimonGhostRileyxf!'Palwasha'Reader pt-1

Oh my love,

If you were at the level of my madness,

You would cast away your jewellery,

Sell all your bracelets,

And sleep in my eyes.

The air hung thick with dust and heat as Task Force 141 trudged through the crumbling ruins of the old Afghan village. Sunlight filtered through the jagged holes in broken walls, casting long shadows on the ground. Ghost wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes scanning the horizon with a soldier's instinct. His rifle slung across his back, but his fingers twitched with readiness.

"This place gives me the creeps," Soap muttered, kicking a loose stone aside as they moved. "Can't shake the feeling we're being watched."

"That's cause we are," Ghost said, his voice low and steady. "Taliban's dug in deeper than we thought."

Price, moving a few paces ahead, glanced back. "Keep your heads down. We're not here to take any chances."

Gaz's voice crackled through the radio. "Area's been too quiet, Cap. No sign of movement. Feels wrong."

Ghost clenched his jaw, feeling the same unease gnawing at his gut. This wasn't just another mission. Something about the village-the eerie silence, the way the air seemed to hum with tension-felt different.

"Stay sharp," he growled, his gaze sweeping across the ruins. "This is far from over."

They were closing in on the target when a flash of movement caught Ghost's eye-a figure darting between the rubble, moving fast and silent like a shadow. He froze for a heartbeat, instincts flaring, and his hand moved to raise his rifle.

"Got movement -" he started, but then it happened.

*Click.*

The unmistakable sound echoed in the tense silence, and Ghost felt the icy chill of dread crawl up his spine. His weapon jammed.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, yanking at the bolt to clear it. His eyes never left the figure, but they were already gone, melted into the ruins.

"Ghost, you good?" Soap's voice crackled in his ear, sharp with concern.

"Weapon's jammed," Ghost growled, slapping the rifle. "Got movement up ahead. We've got company."

Price was already on it. "Gaz, Soap, cover the left flank. We'll have to push through fast. Ghost, get that sorted and fall in."

Ghost cursed under his breath as he fumbled to clear the jam, the feeling of exposure gnawing at him. He couldn't shake the thought. Someone was watching them, and they'd just missed their chance to strike first.

And then she appeared.

The woman stepped out from behind a crumbled wall, moving with the grace of someone who knew this terrain as intimately as her own heartbeat. Her eyes blazed beneath the shadow of her Arabic keffiyeh, like molten fire against the harsh lines of the desert. Bronzed by the unforgiving sun, her skin carried the strength of the land, but it was her eyes that arrested Ghost. Dark, deep, lined with kohl, they seemed to burn right through him with a fierceness that was impossible to ignore.

She held an AK-47 in her hands, the weapon angled down but ready.

Their eyes met.

For a brief, electric moment, the world seemed to freeze. The roar of distant gunfire, the suffocating heat, the crumbling ruins around them-it all vanished. It was just her and Ghost, two warriors locked in a silent standoff.

His hand, still resting on his jammed rifle, didn't move. She didn't fire. The air between them buzzed with tension, not just of enemies, but something deeper, something neither of them could understand.

"Ghost, status?" Soap's voice cut through the silence, distant, as if coming from another world.

She stood her ground, eyes unwavering as she stared at Ghost. His heart thudded in his chest, and against his better judgment, he lowered his rifle slightly. There was something about her, a strength, a story he didn't yet know. He could feel it in the way she held herself, in the unspoken defiance between them.

She was unlike anyone Ghost had ever seen. There was an elegance to the way she moved, a deadly grace that spoke of a woman who knew the dance of survival all too well. Her face was mostly covered by the folds of her keffiyeh, leaving only her eyes visible. But those eyes, mesmerizing and sharp, held him captive. They were filled with a mixture of defiance, fear, and something else, something raw and untamed, that set his pulse racing in a way he hadn't expected.

Without lowering his guard, Ghost asked, "What's your name?"

For a moment, her gaze flickered as if deciding whether to answer. Then, in a soft yet firm voice, she spoke in Pashto, the words foreign but melodic. "Zama nom Palwasha Dah."

Ghost's grasp on the language was limited at best, but one word stood out "Palwasha." It lingered in his mind, an echo of something beautiful amidst the brutality of their surroundings. He couldn't fully understand what she had said, but the name... he liked it." There was something about it that felt right, like a piece of a puzzle he didn't know he was missing.

"Palwasha," he repeated, almost to himself, letting the name roll off his tongue.

For a split second, he saw the corner of her eyes soften, just a flicker of acknowledgement before the intensity returned. They were still enemies, still standing on opposite sides of a battlefield, but in that brief exchange, something shifted between them, an unspoken connection, fragile and uncertain, forged in the ruins of war.

They stared at each other, neither moving, both sizing the other up. Ghost could tell she was a fighter. There was a fierceness in her stance, a readiness in her every movement. But something in the way she looked at him, a flicker of recognition or curiosity, made his blood quicken. She wasn't just an enemy. She was something more, though he couldn't put his finger on it.

Before he could say anything, the sharp crack of Taliban rifles shattered the silence.

"Contact!" Soap yelled over the comms.

Ghost cursed under his breath, instinct kicking in as he dove for cover behind a crumbling wall. His rifle was still jammed, useless in his hands. The sound of footsteps and shouts echoed through the ruins. The enemy was closing in fast.

"Damn it!" he hissed, slapping his rifle again in frustration.

Palwasha didn't move, but her eyes flicked to the direction of the gunfire, then back to Ghost. For a moment, it seemed like she might vanish into the chaos, but she stayed where she was, her grip tightening on her own weapon.

Ghost looked at her, desperate but defiant. "We don't have time for this."

Palwasha's eyes narrowed as she glanced at his jammed weapon. Her body language shifted, like she was considering something. Then, as the gunfire intensified, she made her move, not against him, but away from him, slipping behind cover of her own.

Ghost's pulse raced, torn between the threat at hand and the enigma of the woman in front of him. "Palwasha!" he called, not knowing why he said her name but needing some kind of response.

For a heartbeat, she paused and looked back, her eyes meeting his once more. There was something unspoken in that look. Was it a warning or something else?

"Da badmaashan wosnai!" the Taliban fighters shouted, their voices growing louder as they advanced. The words echoed off the crumbling walls, urging each other to kill them all. Ghost's pulse quickened. He tried to clear his weapon, but the jam wouldn't budge.

Before he could even react, she moved.

Palwasha leapt into action with a speed and precision that took his breath away. In a heartbeat, she had her rifle raised, her movements fluid like water. She squeezed the trigger with ease, her shots crisp and deadly. Each round found its target with unerring accuracy, dropping Taliban fighters before they could get close.

Ghost watched, stunned, as she weaved through the rubble like she'd been born to this war-torn landscape. Her every step was calculated, her movements graceful yet fierce, like a dancer in the deadliest choreography. She didn't hesitate, didn't falter. Every pull of the trigger was perfect, her face steely with focus.

He'd seen elite soldiers in action before, but this was different. There was something raw, something instinctive in the way she fought. It wasn't just about survival, it was personal. Every shot she fired carried a vengeance he could almost feel in the air.

For a moment, Ghost was frozen, caught between awe and disbelief. She wasn't just good. She was terrifyingly good.

And she wasn't his enemy. Not right now.

He watched, stunned, as she dispatched the last of the Taliban fighters with terrifying efficiency. The final body hit the ground, and just like that, the chaos ceased. Silence settled over the ruins once more, broken only by the sound of her breathing, deep, steady, her chest heaving with exertion. Her eyes still burned with the same intensity, dark and unreadable as she stood over the fallen men.

Ghost slowly rose to his feet, gripping his jammed rifle, the weight of the moment sinking in. He hadn't even gotten a shot off.

"You saved my life," he said, his voice low, rough as gravel.

She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her rifle remained at her side, but her stance was far from relaxed. There was no trace of fear, just cold, calculated awareness. She didn't respond, but her gaze held his, never wavering, never backing down.

Ghost felt a tension between them now, something deeper than the battlefield around them. It was as if the air itself had thickened, charged with the energy of what had just transpired. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the closeness between them almost palpable. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythm that matched the pounding of his own heart.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. He was a soldier, trained to react to enemies and allies, but she was neither. She was something else, something he couldn't define. His fingers tightened around his useless gun as he looked into her eyes. There was no mistrust, only a quiet understanding.

He took a step forward, his voice softer now. "Why did you help me?"

For the first time, her expression shifted-just slightly, enough to make him wonder what was going on behind those fiery eyes. Still, she said nothing, but the connection between them grew stronger in the silence, a fragile, unspoken bond formed in the ruins of Afghanistan.

Her eyes flashed with an intensity that sent a jolt through Ghost. "You are not my enemy," she whispered, her voice soft but laced with fire. "The Taliban are."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. For a moment, they stood frozen, the world around them fading into the background. Ghost could hear the shallow rhythm of their breaths, mingling in the narrow space between them. His pulse raced, not from the adrenaline of battle, but from something far more dangerous-the pull he felt toward her.

The heat radiated from her body, warming the space between them, while the tension coiled tighter, like a live wire waiting to snap. He could feel something raw, primal, that neither of them could quite control. Her gaze never left his, eyes dark and burning, and he was drawn to her in a way that defied reason.

"You didn't have to save me," Ghost murmured, voice barely above a rasp. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand, to find the why behind her actions.

Her eyes still fierce but softened by the slightest flicker of something else-something vulnerable, just for a second. "You were not meant to die today."

It wasn't much of an answer, but in this strange moment, it was enough.

"Palwasha! Ta kha kari di? (What have you done?)" Her cousin's voice boomed from the other side, and Ghost’s pulse quickened as another group of Taliban fighters emerged with him. The tension thickened as her cousin’s eyes narrowed, taking in the scene before him. His gaze flickered to Ghost, and a growl escaped his lips as he raised his AK-47.

"Hagha khok di? (Who is he?)" he snarled, the rifle aimed directly at Ghost.

Before Ghost could react, Palwasha stepped forward, slowly moving in front of him, her body becoming a shield between the two men. Her stance was defiant, unyielding.

"Give him to us," her cousin growled again, his voice hard and cold.

"Over my dead body," Palwasha shot back, her voice fierce and unshaken.

Her cousin’s face darkened with anger. "Palwasha! You know what you’re doing? You’ll be stoned for this, or worse, buried alive for your betrayal."

"I don’t care." Her voice was steady, filled with a quiet but powerful rage. "How many "Palwashas" will you kill? Another Palwasha will be born in your home. You can’t silence us all."

Her cousin’s grip tightened on his weapon. "You’ve always been reckless," he spat. "We silence women like you, the ones who stand against us."

"Not today." Palwasha’s eyes blazed as she raised her rifle, her aim steady. "I won’t let you touch me, or him."

The tension was unbearable, the air between them crackling with danger. Just as her cousin opened his mouth to respond, the distant sound of boots crunching on rubble reached Ghost’s ears. The rest of Task Force 141 was approaching, their shadows closing in fast.

In the blink of an eye, chaos erupted. Gunfire rang out, and the silence shattered as both sides lunged into action. Palwasha fired first, and Ghost, still struggling with his weapon, watched in awe as she stood her ground, fearless and unrelenting. The battle had begun, and there was no turning back now.

Ghost and Palwasha ducked and dived as gunfire exploded all around them, the echo bouncing off the ruined walls. Dust kicked up from the ground as bullets zipped past, and Ghost’s heart pounded in his chest. Soap, Gaz, and Price charged into the fray, their weapons lighting up the battlefield in controlled bursts.

“Keep moving!” Soap yelled as he fired, taking down a Taliban fighter with surgical precision.

Ghost glanced at Palwasha, who fought with a ferocity that was mesmerizing. She moved like a force of nature, her rifle blazing as she twisted and turned through the gunfire. He had faced the enemy at their fiercest, but she moved with an elegance and precision that seemed almost unreal, like it was second nature. Her dark eyes were locked on the enemy, and despite the chaos, there was a calm determination in every shot she took.

"Covering fire!" Gaz shouted, laying down suppressive fire as Ghost and Palwasha advanced.

Ghost watched as Palwasha evaded bullets with ease that defied her size, her body moving fluidly, instinctively. Every step was calculated, and every pull of the trigger was precise. Taliban fighters fell one after another, including her cousin, who dropped to the ground with a grimace of shock etched on his face.

But then, just as the last of the fighters went down, Ghost saw it, a bullet grazed her arm.

A sharp scream tore through the air, her scream. Palwasha stumbled, clutching her arm as blood seeped through her fingers. She fell to her knees, her breath ragged, the pain written across her face.

“Palwasha!” Ghost yelled, rushing to her side as the firefight died down.

She was shaking, her hand pressed hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. "It’s just a graze," she muttered through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice steady, but her eyes betrayed the pain.

"Let me see," Ghost said, kneeling beside her. His hands moved gently as he assessed the wound, his jaw clenched in frustration. "You took a hit. Stay still."

She shook her head, her gaze still fierce despite the pain. "I’m fine," she rasped. "We don’t have time to stop. They'll be back."

Ghost glanced around at the fallen bodies, then back at her. "We’re not leaving you behind."

Price’s voice crackled through the comms. “Area’s clear for now. Ghost, we need to move. How’s she holding up?”

Ghost met Palwasha’s eyes, their intensity unchanged even through the pain. "She’ll make it," he replied, his voice low. "But we’ve got to get her out of here."

Palwasha nodded, biting back another groan. “Let’s go, then,” she said, her voice firm despite the pain coursing through her arm. She struggled to her feet, refusing to be anything less than a fighter, even now.

Ghost stayed close to her as they moved, every sense on high alert. He had seen bravery before, but this, this was something different.

Palwasha halted in her steps, her breathing laboured and uneven. Ghost turned back, eyes narrowing as he saw the conflict in her face. She clutched her wounded arm, blood seeping through her fingers, but the pain in her eyes wasn’t just from the injury. It was something deeper.

“I can’t do this,” she breathed out, shaking her head. “I can’t come with you.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened. He could see her fear, the weight of her choice hanging over her. This was her home, her people, even if they were the ones trying to kill her. But staying here would be a death sentence. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

"You’re going to die here if you stay," Ghost said, his voice rough but urgent. He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her, his presence steady in the chaos around them. “You have no choice. Come with me. Please.”

Palwasha looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face. For a moment, she hesitated. The world she had known was crumbling around her, and now, a man she barely knew was offering her a way out, offering her survival. The tension in the air was palpable, like the final beat before the plunge. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her mind racing.

Ghost extended his hand toward her, his eyes locked on hers, unwavering. "Take my hand."

For a moment, it seemed like time stretched between them. Then, with a shaky breath, Palwasha reached out and took his hand. His grip was strong, steady, pulling her out of the rubble of her past and into an uncertain future.

Without another word, they moved quickly, Ghost’s hand never letting go of hers as they evacuated from the crumbling village. Soap, Gaz, and Price flanked them, keeping the path clear as they made their way to the extraction point. The roar of helicopters sounded in the distance, the dust kicking up from the force of the rotors.

They flew through the arid sky toward the headquarters in Kabul. Palwasha sat beside Ghost, silent but alert, the weight of her decision settling into her bones. She had crossed a line, one she could never uncross.

Ghost glanced at her, the tension between them still humming beneath the surface. She had made her choice. Now, everything would change.

The mission had been a success, but it came with a bitter aftertaste. Palwasha had paid the price with a wound, and while the pain was evident, it didn’t break her. She wore it like a badge of honor, her face stoic and unbowed. Ghost couldn’t help but respect her, her strength, her determination. Even in the midst of everything, she carried herself with dignity, refusing to show weakness.

The debriefing room was thick with an odd tension. The lights flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the table where the team sat. Ghost took his usual spot at the head, but his attention was drawn to Palwasha, seated quietly to his right. Her bandaged arm was a stark contrast to the calm, unreadable expression she wore, and he found himself watching her more than he intended.

“Status report,” Price said, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Soap, seated across from Ghost, leaned forward, his voice rough from the day’s events. “The village is secured, but we lost two locals in the process. Taliban reinforcements were heavier than expected.”

Price’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Understood.”

Gaz chimed in, his tone more measured. “The intel we gathered was solid. We’ve got enough to push forward with the next phase, but…” He glanced at Palwasha, who sat silently, her eyes focused ahead. “We wouldn’t have made it out without her.”

Price turned his gaze to Palwasha, a look of quiet respect in his eyes. “You did good out there,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Saved more lives than we could’ve done on our own.”

Palwasha met his gaze but said nothing, her eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion. Ghost could see she wasn’t one for gratitude or praise, she’d done what she had to do. But it was more than that. She had crossed a line, betrayed her people for a cause she hadn’t fully chosen, and that weight hung over her.

Ghost broke the silence. “She’s more than earned her place here.”

Palwasha’s head turned slightly toward him, but she said nothing. The flicker of tension between them hadn’t disappeared, it had only deepened.

Price nodded. “We’ll discuss next steps tomorrow. Get some rest. You’ve all earned it.” He paused, eyes lingering on Palwasha. “Especially you.”

The team began to rise from the table, their movements slow and heavy from the exhaustion that set in after the adrenaline wore off. Ghost stood, but as the others filtered out of the room, he hesitated. Palwasha remained seated, her posture still tense, her mind somewhere else.

“Palwasha,” he said, his voice low, almost uncertain.

She looked up at him, her eyes still carrying that fierce defiance mixed with something softer, something guarded. “What?”

“You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

For a moment, she held his gaze, the weight of his words settling between them. She nodded, a slow, almost imperceptible movement, and for the first time since the firefight, Ghost saw a crack in her armour. Just a small one.

Without another word, she stood, leaving the room in silence. Ghost watched her go, the feeling of admiration and something else, something he couldn’t name, lingering long after she disappeared from view.

The debriefing had ended, but Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at him. Palwasha had left the room with her quiet strength, slipping out like a shadow, but something inside him was twisting, pulling him toward her. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper. Something dangerous. Obsession had crept into him, and he could feel it every time their eyes met, every time her name crossed his mind.

He found her alone in one of the dimly lit hallways of the base. She stood with her back turned, leaning against the wall, staring into the dim distance. Her long brown hair, streaked with golden highlights, spilled over her shoulders, catching the faint light as it waved gently.

The tension that had been simmering between them since that day in the village was now a thick presence in the air, nearly unbearable. Ghost didn’t think. He just moved.

“Palwasha,” he called out softly, his voice rough, but this time, there was something different in it, something possessive.

She turned slowly, her expression guarded, her face streaked with faint traces of tears. Her freckled cheeks, now lined with emotion, made her look vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen before.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice soft but tense, her eyes sharp despite the tears.

He took a step closer, his pulse quickening, his eyes locked on hers. “They want you to stay,” he said, his voice tight. “They’re making you part of Task Force 141.”

Her eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face before she steeled herself again, her expression hardening. “I can’t stay with you. I’m not like you,” she replied, her voice firm, but there was an undertone of hesitation.

Ghost’s chest tightened at her words, the thought of her leaving like a knot that wouldn’t loosen. Without thinking, without warning, he stepped closer and reached for her, his hand gently cupping her face. And then, he leaned in to kiss her.

But Palwasha recoiled, stepping back with a sharp breath, her eyes widening in shock. “What the hell are you doing?” she gasped, her voice trembling, not from fear, but from something deeper, something raw and uncertain.

Ghost didn’t retreat. He stood there, his hand still hanging in the space between them. “I can’t… stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice low, strained, each word pulled from a place he wasn’t used to acknowledging. “Ever since that day in the village. You’re in my head, and I can’t get you out.”

Palwasha’s eyes narrowed, but there was something in her gaze that softened an understanding, maybe even pity. “You’re obsessed,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “This isn’t right… You can’t just do that.”

“I know,” Ghost murmured, his voice rough, like gravel. His hand found her face again, his thumb brushing against her cheek, the contact sending a shiver through him. “But I had to.”

She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. It was as if she were trying to decide if this was real or just another chaotic twist in the madness of their world. “I’m not made for this,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I’m not made for you.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, but he didn’t move away. His hand stayed on her cheek, his gaze locked with hers. “Maybe you are,” he said softly, his voice almost pleading. “Maybe you’re exactly what I need.”

Palwasha’s breath hitched, and for a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. She closed her eyes, her body trembling slightly as if caught in a storm, she couldn’t escape.

“I can’t,” she whispered again, her voice filled with a quiet desperation. “This isn’t who I am.”

Ghost’s hand dropped from her face, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “It’s too late,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re already in this. And so am I.”

She let out a shaky breath, her body still tense, but something in her eyes softened, even if only for a moment. “Zama Janaan.” she said, her voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the hum of the base around them.

Ghost didn’t understand, but the way she looked at him said enough. This wasn’t something he could walk away from, and neither could she.

Part 3 "Last Part"

Part 2

Part 1

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newtonsheffield · 1 year ago

Note

If Anthony was bad during Kate’s tennis matches, I can’t even imagine how he’ll be during Charlotte’s.

Oh Anthony can barely sit down he’s that stressed.

Charlotte is an incredible player, even Kate laughed when a reporter asked her who was the better tennis player.

“I can’t beat her now, and I most probably couldn’t in my prime either. She is… yeah she’s incredible. World no. 1 in waiting.”

But still Anthony’s nervous. That’s one of his babies down on the court now, he wants to shield her from potential injury and hardship and there she is. He knows everyone is talking about how it’s like watching Kate play again but that makes Anthony laugh. They look very much the same, yes. Charlotte’s an exact lookalike for her mother, but their tennis games are so different. Kate was always impatient on the court. She was quick and aggressive and powerful. Charlotte is powerful and aggressive as well. But she’s patient. She seems to lure players towards the weak spot in the their game and then sit there comfortably while they tie themselves in knots. They’re night and day.

“Honey, please don’t stress. She’s doing great.”

Anthony huffed, his hand smoothing his mostly grey beard nervously. “I know she’s doing great. She’s the greatest. But this umpire’s got no bloody-“

“Fault!”

“Like fuck it was!” Anthony called out, on his feet as Charlotte made her way back to the baseline for a second serve.

Even from this distance Kate could see their daughter’s lips curling in a smirk, shaking her head at her father.

“Anthony, sit down.” Kate said firmly, tugging him back into his seat as the crowd roared with laughter.

“Quiet on court please.”

“THAT WAS IN!” Anthony yelled, huffing. “Game Bridgerton!”

“Mr Bridgerton, I’ll have you removed from the court.” The Umpire said into the microphone, glaring at him.

“Don’t worry!” Charlotte called out to the Umpire, “He’s an old man. His eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

The crowd roared and Kate watched as Anthony let out a begrudging smile. She kissed his cheek as he settled back beside her.

Anthony huffed, “We made very talented babies. You were right.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “I’m right about everything. Imagine if you’d just drunk your orange squash and left that day.”

“I do love an orange squash.”

“I literally had no underwear on.”

“Well, I was stressed!”

The crowd around them roared as Charlotte’s second serve cracked off her racquet and went straight down the line unreturned.

“Game Bridgerton!”

“Thank you!” Anthony roared, getting to his feet. He grinned at Kate as they cheered their daughter, just 17 and minutes away from her first grand slam. It made her heart flutter in her chest to see them there now and she got to her feet as well.

“We made good babies.” She kissed his cheek again. “We might need to get your blood pressure checked though. I’m worried for you old man.”

“I have the blood pressure of a fit 25 year old. I’ll prove it to you when we get home.”

#pumped up au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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dearharriet · 1 year ago

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About Time | Chapter 2

james potter x reader time travel au | 2.5K words | contents

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04:00 — 4 FEBRUARY

Rounding the corner down the back stairs, James came to the kitchen. It was all a deep, thick violet, blending with the world outside. That was a color that the sun wouldn’t touch for another four hours, if that.

He crept into the room, bare toes on cold terracotta tile, and got the electric kettle going. A tiny red dot rose against the dark expanse of cook-ware as the old thing jumped to life. James leaned back, slumping against the counter and retrieving his phone.

The kitchen gained new illumination as he pried it apart, jostling the center button to wake it. He’d done this song and dance every hour of every day since new years—even the ones he did twice—so it was second nature to press the handful of buttons that led to your contact.

The text exchange stared up at him the same way it always did, and he felt his frustration with himself bubble like the kicking kettle.

1 January

Me 14:14

| hello, this is james! (from new years) :)

Y/N! 15:17

| hi! :)

Me 15:20

| hiya. i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? this weekend, maybe?

Y/N! 15:35

| oh, that sounds so lovely, believe me!! but I actually live in london :/ i was only visiting for the holiday.

Of course she lives in London, he thought, she works with Marlene.

James never responded.

The thing about James was, he could go back and retry anything he failed at—which left a lot of room to do just that, and he was accidentally making the most of it.

The other thing about James was, he rarely knew when to quit. A month of no contact couldn’t be good, but a part of him wanted to see if he could make it work the first time. Every retry felt like a crawl through hell, having to do everything all over again, having to remember the way things were—the way things could’ve been forever.

No, he wanted to believe he could make something good without turning back. He’d done alright so far. It was just proving to be very hard because of you.

When the kettle was something around halfway done, James swung the phone closed, plunged back into darkness. He went to the press and took down a big mug with an odd decal over the front of it, and then looked to fish a tea bag out of the next cabinet. His hand felt around blindly, and he stubbornly persisted instead of seeking help from the house lights.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

In quick succession, James swung around and the overhead lights flashed on, and then his head whacked the cabinet door.

“Oh—fuck,” he swore, hand shooting up to cradle the throbbing area. The kettle was nearing the end of its duty, roaring as loud as the blood in James’ ears. Somehow too, the lights carried a sound of their own, one that you’d only ever hear when everything else is blissfully silent.

Something began thumping, and James peeked out of a watery eye to watch a middle aged man hobble over to the fridge. He was wearing a matching pajama set, blue and white striped and too soft looking for his very immediate brashness.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored James’ very feeble inquiry and opened the freezer, coming up with a cold compress. When he turned James’ way, the boy had to school his initial reaction.

Layered over the strange man’s face were deep-cut scars, spider-webbing across his features indiscriminately. His right eye was a shocking blue, and the corresponding eyelid was healed wide open, giving it quite a mad look. James wondered how he slept.

With the same thump thump thump-ing from before, the man approached James, and James looked down to discover a rickety prosthetic leg on one side of his gait. Then, his eyes were back on the scars, his jaw held firmly between thick calloused fingers.

“That’s the last time you’ll ogle at my leg, boy,” the man said firmly, a measured type of coarseness entering his voice. “You’ve seen it now, no need to worry about it any longer. Understand?”

James blinked, still groggy and disoriented, sleep waiting at the edges of his eyes to be wiped away.

“Can I know who you are? Or, why you’re in my house, perhaps?”

A grating laugh escaped the man’s twisted lips, chased by a wide, toothy smile that didn’t match it. Then he forced the compress in his free hand over James’ tender forehead, and a maniacal gleam in his big eye finally caught the light.

“Oh, ow!”

“The name is Moody,” James’ torturer finally revealed, disregarding the pained whines the boy was making. “Alastor Moody. That’s M-O-O—”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” James groaned rudely, feeling a headache come on. Alastor seemed to take kindly by it anyways, or as kindly as he seemed capable of. He snatched one of James’ hands to replace his over the compress and stomped away. James wondered how he’d missed the sound before, when Moody was elsewhere in the house.

Stealing the big mug off the counter and a second one out of the press, Moody set about concocting some tea for the both of them.

“Why are you here,” James pushed again, falling from the wrap-around counter to the butcher’s block island and folding over it.

Moody, pouring a steaming cupful of tea, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Thought I’m s’posed to shut up,” he replied, a small jest barely recognizable in the grit of it. James almost laughed, thinking it was something one of his friends might say.

“Touché,” he allowed, too tired to justify his earlier words.

Moody slid the piping mug under his nose, holding onto the handle to say, “I’m yer father’s student. Or, I used to be, at least.”

James took the tea gratefully, dropping a big sugar cube into it as his body fell into a tall bar stool. He glanced at the scarred man, who was settling in beside him and sighing at the pressure coming off his legs.

“You’re a businessman?”

The sharp gritty chortle returned, far too loud for the early hour.

“Fuck no, I’m not,” Alastor laughed, “I’m a sad playwrite in London. I took his class on a requirement.”

At that, James perked up.

“In London, really?”

Moody slurped his tea noisily, grunted, and then grabbed two sugars and stirred them into his cup with one meaty finger. After confirming the taste again, he replied, “Yes, really. And don’t believe what those townie twits say about it. London is a miserable barrel of oil I’d like to set on fire.”

James would’ve liked to agree with that, actually, except that he was the victim of a one track mind, and his mind had eyes on you.

Coincidentally, you were in London.

“So why not move away?” James hunkered further over the counter, shrugging in question. “What’s there for you?”

Alastor sighed long-sufferingly, the way someone sighs when they’ve fallen into a pit that they dug.

“A goddamn pipe dream, that’s what.”

“Seems the right place for that,” James said agreeably, pushing up his glasses to appear smarter, somehow.

Moody shifted to look at him.

“What about you, eh?” Alastor sat forward, peering at James oblong with his gaping eye. “I suppose you’ll sit around this cushy place until your old man keels over, won’t ya? Marry some other high-society lass, play out the whole family runaround…maybe pop down to the city for a few years, but not for any big plan, really. Certainly not because you need to.”

He shook his head then, grumbling and taking to his tea. James jutted his head back, slightly affronted, but mostly confused by the jarring flip in Alastor’s mood.

“I’m sure I could, if I had nothing else in mind,” James agreed, his mind focused hard on the one future he was sure of. “Thing is though, I’ve got a pipe dream of my own, sir. A girl I met.”

Exhaling through flared hairy nostrils, Moody glanced at James again, dubious.

“A girl, you say?” James nods. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s what takes all the good ones. Some girl they met once.”

“Thrice,” James corrected. Alastor shuffled his thinning hair about on his head, grunting in question. “I met her three times.”

Moody just tipped back the rest of his tea and wiped the straggling drops from his chin.

Twisting his lips, James persisted.

“This girl y’see, she lives in the city. And I’ve asked to take her out, quite obtusely, without knowing, and now I think I’ll just have to move to her because—”

A big fat hand came down on the counter, rattling James out of his rant.

“Get t’yer point boy.”

Swallowing, James finally asked, “Can I live with you?”

Alastor gave him a long look and then stood, dumping his mug into the big basin by the window. On his slow march out, he turned, casting a sneer over his shoulder that prefaced his following answer.

“Unless that girl is willing to give you a million chances, you’ve already lost her. That’s just the way women are.”

04:00 — 17 MARCH

It took four trills for you to realize the song in your dream was a ringtone, and that it was a real pressing matter in the waking world.

One hazy glance at the clock on your night stand told you it was far too early for a phone call, and a quick check on your throat came up dry and unpleasant, not ideal for talking.

You sat up, blinking blearily at the name scrolling across the notification window on your phone, and convinced yourself you were still fast asleep.

‘James :)’ shimmered loud and proud in the pixelated slot of space, perplexing your delirious brain beyond measure. You played with the possibility of going back to sleep, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your phone, you pressed the green answer button and held it to your ear.

“Hello,” you croaked out, more of a question than a greeting.

The other side of the line seemed to lag for a second, like maybe there was no one there, and then James spoke.

“Hel—hi.”

Even though he was only on the phone, hearing his voice made you sit up a little straighter, tamping your bedhead down with a flat palm.

“James?”

He sucked in a breath, and the way it cracked through the line made it sound like a cigarette pull.

“Yeah, um. Yeah. I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect you to answer. You sound so tired, I feel awful.”

“No, don’t be, it’s—” You caught yourself before you could placate him, because no amount of insisting it wasn’t early would change the hands on the clock, “—it’s fine, honestly. My boss is Irish, so I’ve got the day off.”

There was a pause and some shuffling, and then James said, “oh hell, it’s the seventeenth, yeah. I forgot.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “How could you? Everything’s been green for weeks now.”

James laughed, the sound muffled like it was coming from another room.

“I know, I’m sure, I’ve just been too busy to notice. I’m uh, I’m actually moving tomorrow. Or today, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” You bit your lip, smiling a touch and daring to ponder, “Where?”

Another long pause.

“The city,” James replied, and you thought you could hear him smiling, too. “London.”

Picking at your comforter, you felt your lips ebb and flow, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. You really liked James, perhaps even as more than a friend that you’d kissed once on New Years. He was sweet, and attentive, and he seemed to really like you; Texted you right away, unlike most guys you’d been with.

And here he was calling you, striking up a conversation in the early hours of the morning.

“That’s great,” you said, dredging up all of the joy in your chest to saturate your words with. “Where in?”

He seemed hesitant, thinking about it for a second. “Islington, I think? I’ve only ever been up two or three times, so I’m not really sure.”

You nodded, charmed to silence just by the way he spoke, by the number of things you’d rather have asked him—about his life, about that handful of trips to the big city. You were so involved in the thought that you forgot he couldn’t see you.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, I was nodding.” You laughed a little to lighten the tension. “Um, Islington is great.”

“Really?” James asked. “You’ve been?”

“Well, no.” You laughed some more, and James joined you. “But I live in Shoreditch, actually, so we’ll be really close.”

You hoped that didn’t come off too flirty, and then you hoped that it did, which made you feel terribly guilty. If being on the phone with James was dangerous, you certainly couldn’t be around him in person again.

Eyes closing, you cleared your throat.

“Um, James?”

The boy on the other line hummed in response, and then said, “What?”

“Is there a reason you called?”

It felt rude to ask, but you thought the early hour might cover for you. If you wanted to crawl back under your covers and sleep Saint Patty’s Day away, could he really blame you?

“Oh!” said James, and again your heart thumped hard and cruel in your throat, damming any words inside. “Yes, I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if you were free at all next week? For that coffee I mentioned after New Years.”

Fuzz overtakes the line for the next few seconds as your head falls into your lap. In part, you blame yourself, for being so naive as to think he’d call for anything else. The other part falls on you for different reasons, namely, being on the phone at all with someone you had undeniable feelings for.

For not turning him away in the first place, even though you knew his feelings were just as secure.

“Um,” you started, fighting the frog in your throat, “I’m really sorry James, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. I don’t think…”

You stopped there, because anything that came after would veer immediately into a confession that would hurt you both, and then some.

James was eerily quiet, so much so that you checked your phone to ensure he hadn’t hung up. Then, finally, he breathed out an, “Oh.”

It felt more like a punch to the gut.

For some reason, your face burned with acute embarrassment. Something about admitting to James that you were with someone else felt shameful, like some odd betrayal. Thankfully, he didn’t encourage the feeling.

“Well I hope he’s an alright guy,” James said fairly, and you told him he was. After yet another bout of silence, James just said, “good.”

And then the line clicked.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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#about time #james potter #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter au #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders au #maraders era #time travel au #time travel #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter

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