#but like. i think sometimes we forget that she was a child forced to do these things as a trade off for her own life

[eileensdress]

Long live Abigail Hobbs.

[Hannibal (2015)/What Was I Made For-Billie Eilish]

[luveline]

hotch sister idea-- convincing hotch to take you out to dinner with the whole team because you "want to properly meet his friends" (i'm a sucker for team dynamics) but then being shy and cute with spencer the entire time to the point that hotch notices and gets a tad protective...but ends with spencer getting her number or something

thank you for requesting 💌 —you attend a party with your older brother in a not so secret plight to see Dr. Reid. You fawn, Spencer flusters, and Hotch drinks a tad more than usual. fem, 2.3k

cw for mentions of past child abuse

The car is quiet besides the tread of the tires on asphalt. You click and unclick the clasp of your shoulder bag, checking for your purse, getting worried your purse isn’t in there, and checking again.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, you can ask me.”

You move your gaze to your brother. His quietness can make you nervous, a reflection of your father but with none of the cruelty. “I don’t want you to get mad at me if it’s stupid.”

“Well, I won’t. I promise.”

You know he won’t, but sometimes the fear remains. Even when you’re far from being a kid. “Do you remember when I got suspended for, um, disrespectful behaviour? My senior year?”

Aaron turns the wheel with care. “I do.”

“And we went for ice cream.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.”

That’s the point you’re trying to make, maybe. That tenderness sewn into the middle of his sentence. If your dad knew you’d been suspended again he would’ve made you feel it. You remember the sinking sensation in your chest waiting for him to pick you up, having written the speech he’d give you in the car ride home in your head ten times over, the sting of his palm grazing your cheek before you’d even seen his hand. So you waited in a total violent panic, head rush, wondering if anything was worth anything, when Aaron arrived to pick you up.

How did you know? you’d asked.

I changed your emergency contact. I hope that’s okay.

“You asked me what I wanted and…”

What flavour did you want, honey? he’d asked. Honey, like he loved you, the only person in the whole world who’d bother asking. The only man who’d take you for ice cream at seventeen years old to cure a bad day.

“And you burst into tears,” Aaron says.

He’d sat down opposite you in his suit, torn from one of his trials, and you can’t remember anymore if he was an attorney or already in the FBI, but you can’t forget how he’d taken your wrists into his hands and asked you not to cry.

“When you took me home, Haley asked me if you’d upset me, and I didn’t know how to explain it so you said yes. And she shouted at you for a whole half hour.”

“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asks.

Maybe because college is over and you’re forced to move on. Aaron asked you to try hard and you have, but now you have your degree and you don’t know what to do with it, you’ll get a job, and then what?

“I’ve been thinking about… my love life.”

“Oh. And you have to talk about this with me?” he jokes.

“I don’t have anybody else.”

He tears his gaze from the windshield. “That’s not true.”

“But…”

He turns into the parking lot outside of Dan’s Fine Wine Bar and pulls into a tight space with ease. He hesitates before he flicks off the engine, turning to you with a smile. “You’ll always have me,” he says, “and we can talk about your love life. I want to. God knows you’ve heard enough about mine this last year.” You both grimace. “But if I have to listen one more time to you talking about Spencer–”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Honey.” He takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’m not mad. But imagine your younger sibling comes to you one day to tell you they have feelings for your employee and try to find some sympathy for me!”

He clambers out of the car. You rush after him, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly smashing your door into the car next to you. The air outside is cold, and you didn’t bring a jacket even though Aaron told you to twice, so you can’t mention it aloud. “I don’t have feelings for him.”

“You have a crush. You’re too old for it.”

“I am not.”

He gestures for you to walk in front of him as he clicks the fob for the car and the doors lock automatically. “I don’t understand what this has to do with your suspension.”

You chew on your cheek. Neon from the wine bar mottles your skin as you pass under it and through the door, air quickly turned from cold to temperate, the smell of old rain replaced by carpeting and beer. When you lift your head to his gaze, he’s still waiting for your answer. “You told me things wouldn’t be that hard forever. I was just wondering when it’s safe to say you were right.”

He grins at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to give you a rough hug. “Right now. Be happy right now, honey.”

“There they are!” Penelope calls from a table near the back. Suddenly, Aaron’s entire team of work colleagues stand up where they’ve dominated a whole row of tables and booths alike to greet you. “Oh my gosh, I missed you!”

You met Derek a long long time ago, and JJ around the same time, but everybody else is basically new. College was busy and Aaron busier —there was hardly ever time to visit, and when you did it was to see him and Haley. Meeting his friends was somehow put off.

You’ve since been introduced to Emily and Spencer, so Aaron directs you to David Rossi first. That’s the main team done quickly. But then he has to introduce you to Anderson, Sweeney, Kelly, Cory, Davidson, etc. So many agents for one man’s birthday. Anyone would think Derek Morgan was a celebrity.

“Happy birthday!” you say, when you finally get a moment to speak.

Derek reaches over the table to hug you quickly. “Thank you, gorgeous. We’re thrilled you’re here.” He pulls back, elbowing Penelope lovingly. “Aren’t we, mama?”

Penelope squeals and jumps for you. “So thrilled!”

Aaron touches your back, as if to say, I’m here, before taking a seat opposite Rossi. You hear snippets of a conversation about whiskey and when, but you’re distracted, because suddenly Penelope’s forcing you to sit down in her vacated seat, smack bang between Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.

Dr. Spencer Reid. “Hi,” you say quietly. Can’t help it. You remember how you’d reacted when you met him the week before last and wonder if it’s too late to pretend you’re cool —you’d gotten so worked up about him. He wrote a bunch of papers you had to read for your degree, some of the most sophisticated theory on elliptical math you’d ever read, and you’re supposed to act like he’s just a normal guy?

It doesn’t help that he’s model pretty. You’d never have thought of him as he is now over email, his huge brown eyes, pale skin, the flicking curl of his hair behind his ears. When he turns his head, he has indents on his nose from a pair of glasses you wish you’d seen. You clear your throat.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Spencer asks.

“I’m gonna go get a drink now,” Aaron says. “What do you want?” he asks you.

“Um, anything. I don’t really wanna drink.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says with deliberateness.

You feel heat like a rash on your neck. He’s embarrassing you doing his dad routine.

“You look pretty,” Spencer says.

You hide your hands under your thighs. “You think so?”

“You look beautiful,” Penelope says from across the table.

“Didn’t inherit that Hotchner scowl,” Derek says with a grin, “I thought it came with the name.”

“I learned how to do it the day they signed the adoption certificate,” you nudge in, “I just keep it to myself. I think Aaron has it down.”

Everybody within hearing distance laughs at you, to your relief. To your left, Spencer’s shoe hits your heel.

“So weird to hear his real name,” Emily says, tipping her drink to the side, ice and sugar on the surface. “I thought for sure you’d have to call him Hotch too.”

You look around in surprise. “He can’t be that bad. Does he really frown so much?”

You’re told vehemently that your brother is a grump, which is something you were aware of, just not experienced in. Sure, he’s had his unhappy moments, no one can smile every second of the day, but if everyone is to be believed he’s the sternest man alive. Eventually things drift into storytelling. Aaron brings you your drink with a straw and a napkin wrapped around the base, and you find yourself listening to a graphic rehash of Derek’s first case with the BAU.

Spencer’s leg is a coal at your side.

Your self preservation runs out. “You don’t drink?” you ask, nodding to his glass bottle of coke.

“I– I never did. I never had the opportunity. I’ve never even been to a party.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“I didn’t go to parties either,” you say, overjoyed to find common ground so quickly.

“I mean, I was never invited, but highschool parties didn’t seem like my thing. And, you know, I was twelve.”

“You were twelve in highschool?”

He’s doing that thing you noticed the day you met, where his lips move before he’s ready to talk, his emotion clear. “You weren’t?” he asks, not quite smooth but enough to make you laugh suddenly.

“I wish! I could’ve been done with college years ago.” Your brows pinch together. “Wait, so did you go to college as a kid?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“What? No wonder you didn’t go to any parties, that must’ve been insane. When I was twelve I was still setting my Barbie’s up for dance parties. Aaron has a photo of me dressed up in mom’s old clothes.” You lean forward for a sip of your drink.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s a photo of me just like that when I was twelve, too.”

You laugh so hard you almost choke.

A cup comes down hard somewhere behind your turned head.

“You okay?” Emily asks.

She wears a smirk you don’t understand, a joke you’ve missed. You peer past her to look to Aaron for advice and find him rather sullen, hand curled tightly around his drink. You try to give him a signal to ask if he’s alright, but it’s to no avail.

“I’m fine, sorry, just a joke.” You turn back to Spencer. “That’s adorable.”

You’re breathless talking to him. He must notice, but Spencer doesn’t say a word.

If someone asked you why he caught your attention, you’re not sure you know the answer. He’s pretty, undeniably, and it’s fascinating that you used his theory while you were in school, but fascination isn’t endless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. No ones ever given such a clear sense of awe; he gets stuck on you, his eyes tracing your cheek and your nose and your lips. It’s noticeable, but it isn’t unwanted. You keep coming back to his smile as he talks, the flash of his teeth.

“I honestly didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Spencer says.

“He was keeping us apart for a reason,” you say insistently, “I just don’t know what that reason is yet. He must’ve known you were the Dr. Reid I’d been reading.”

“It makes it sound like you’re reading me,” Spencer laughs. “Like, my hands.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Do I want you to what?”

“To read your palm?”

“You know how?”

“No parties, remember?”

Spencer gives you his hand. He has nice hands, big but slim-fingered like a pianist’s, though if he plays isn’t something you know. You angle it flat careful, your thumbs to either side of his open palm. “What do you want to know?” you ask.

“What can you tell me?”

You hum gently. “You have your life line, your head line, your heart line– your love line.”

“What does that– that mean for me?”

You press your thumb to his mount Jupiter, a soft hill of his hand under one of his fingers where the heart line begins. “Your desire for love, and your capacity for it. See how deeply curved it is?” you ask, drawing along his heart line gently. “It means you’re warm, and loving. That you could have a great love.”

You look up, his hand held gently between yours. “But I could be really wrong. I haven’t done this in so long, I might just be making stuff up.”

You sound insecure to your own ears, cringing away from his hand, but Spencer ducks his head just a little to keep your gaze, and he smiles at you softly. “It’s okay. I like your reading, even if it’s wrong. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Aaron would buy me any book I asked for growing up, he…”

Your brother, sitting only a few seats away, can’t find it in himself to regret that particular generosity even if the sight of you holding Spencer’s hand isn’t one he wants to see. It’s odd. You’re fully grown up, and it’s not like Aaron thinks Spencer would ever hurt you purposefully, but it’s hard to see anyways. He can admit to feeling like a father watching his daughter finding a first love; he can’t keep you forever and he doesn’t want to, but it’s still hard to watch as you descend into giggles that border on dizziness.

“This is a good thing,” Rossi says. “You’ll never have to worry about her being out past curfew.”

Aaron laughs, it’s funny, and then he knocks back his drink.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʀᴏᴍᴇs ʀᴜʟᴇ

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 10k | Proof read : NO | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Summary: The deeper levels of both you and Marcus are revealed to one another

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage), ANGSTY, gladiator battles, gore, blood, PTSD, scars, injury, corrupt people, exploitation

A/n: Hey everyone, the new part is finally posted! I've been really busy lately. For those who don't know, I'm a teaching assistant and I also coach cheer and dance at our school. I've been busy getting stuff done for that, so sorry for the wait. Please enjoy! P.S. Sorry, I didn't have time to proofread. (i combined your asks in my own way but sadly there no smut @theamunsonsworld?)

The last day of your honeymoon dawned with a soft, golden light that bathed the villa in gentle warmth. As you and Marcus made your way back to your father's villa in a horse-drawn carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the cobblestones filled the silence. Marcus watched the passing scenery, his eyes distant and thoughtful.

Breaking the silence, Marcus turned to you, his brow furrowed. "You know," he began, his tone serious, "when your father brought up that ridiculous expectation over dinner, I had to stop myself from laughing."

You looked at him, surprised. "Laughing? Why?"

"Because," Marcus said, leaning back against the cushioned seat, "the idea that we could just decide to have a child on a whim as if it were that simple, is absurd. Your father lives in a world of his own making sometimes."

You let out a bitter laugh, the weight of the conversation settling in. "He’s always been like that—demanding, controlling. It’s as if he forgets I’m a person, not just a means to an end."

Marcus nodded, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "The expectations of Rome can be suffocating. But we can try to live differently, take our time, even find ways to see your mother."

A spark of hope flickered within you. "It sounds wonderful, but it feels like a distant dream."

Marcus shifted closer, his voice firm yet gentle. "It doesn’t have to be. We can make it a reality, bit by bit."

Your gaze fell, the words heavy on your tongue. "I’ve been rebellious my whole life, Marcus. But the truth is, as a woman, I have no choice. I’m trapped in these roles."

His hand found yours again, squeezing gently. "You’ve always had a fire in you. That spirit is what drew me to you."

A wave of emotions crashed over you, frustration mingling with gratitude. "Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. Fighting, resisting, when it feels like nothing ever changes."

"You’ve already changed so much," Marcus reassured you. "And together, we can push further. We can find ways to see your mother. She deserves to know you’re thinking of her."

Your heart ached with longing, the image of your mother vivid in your mind. "I want that more than anything. To have her back in my life, even if only for a while."

Marcus smiled, his expression softening. "We’ll figure it out. Maybe we can travel under the guise of visiting trade routes or exploring new markets. There’s always a way."

You looked at him, a smile breaking through despite everything. "You always find the silver lining, don’t you?"

He chuckled, his eyes bright. "Someone has to. Besides, it’s easier with you by my side."

You felt a surge of gratitude for Marcus, for his understanding and support. "Thank you, Marcus. For everything."

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "We're in this together. No matter what happens, we'll face it together."

As the silence settled between you, Marcus’s gaze turned contemplative. "Have you ever thought about having kids? I mean, not now, but in the future."

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the question. "Kids? I suppose I have, but not for a long time. I'm only eighteen, Marcus. There's so much I want to do first."

Marcus nodded, understanding but curious. "What do you want to do before that?"

You sighed, the weight of your dreams pressing against the confines of your reality. "I want to see the world, and experience things beyond the confines of my father's estate. I want to spend time with my mother, and really get to know her again. And... I want to build something with you, something that’s ours, without the shadow of my family's expectations hanging over us."

Marcus's curiosity was piqued. "An addition?"

You nodded, a determined look in your eyes. "I want us to live in the villa. The one where we honeymooned and where I spent my childhood. It holds so many memories, and it's the one place that feels like home to me."

Marcus's expression softened. "The villa? That place is beautiful. I can see why you'd want to make it our home."

"It's more than just beautiful," you explained. "It's where I felt happiest, where my mother and I had some of our best times before everything fell apart. It feels like a safe haven, and I want to create new, happy memories there with you."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes searching yours. "And you think having kids would interfere with that?"

"Not interfere, exactly," you clarified, trying to articulate your feelings. "It's just... I want to be ready. I want to be in a place where I feel secure and happy, where I know I can give them the love and stability they deserve. And right now, I'm not there yet. We’re not there yet."

Marcus tilted his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "So, you're saying you need more time to figure things out? Typical."

You narrowed your eyes at him, a playful glint in your gaze. "And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

He chuckled, his laugh a warm, familiar sound. "Just that you're always planning, always thinking ahead. Sometimes, I think you should just live in the moment a little more."

You huffed, a mock frown forming on your face. "Oh, and I suppose you're the expert on living in the moment?"

"Absolutely," he said with a grin, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. "I am the very definition of spontaneous."

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. "Right, because nothing says 'spontaneous' like planning out our every move on this journey."

"Hey, that was different," he defended, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. "I was being responsible, making sure we didn't end up stranded in the middle of nowhere."

You shook your head, laughing softly. "You know, sometimes I think you just like arguing with me."

He leaned forward, his expression turning serious but his eyes still warm. "Maybe I do. But only because I care about you. And I want to make sure we're on the same page about our future."

You softened, feeling the sincerity in his words. "I know, Marcus. And I appreciate it. I really do. We'll get there, together. But right now, I need to focus on the present, on getting my mother to the villa and figuring out our next steps."

Marcus nodded, his expression resolute. "Then that's what we'll do. Together."

The carriage came to a halt after the long journey. You were back at your father’s palace. The first person in your line of sight was Aurelia, standing tall and poised beside your father. Her presence always brought a mixture of emotions—resentment, bitterness, and a grudging respect for her unyielding confidence. Your father, ever the imposing figure, stood with his arms crossed, a stern expression on his face.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as Marcus helped you down from the carriage. His hand was a reassuring anchor in the sea of emotions swirling inside you. Your mind raced with thoughts—fear, anticipation, and a deep-seated dread. The memory of the villa, your mother's isolation, and your father's control weighed heavily on you. And now, the nagging worry that you might not be pregnant gnawed at your insides. You had to face them both with a facade of calm.

Marcus’s grip on your hand tightened slightly as you approached your father and Aurelia. He had always been your guide, your support, and now was no different. His presence gave you the strength to lift your chin and meet their gaze head-on.

“Welcome back,” your father said, his voice cold and detached. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”

“It was fine, Father,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you for asking.”

Aurelia’s eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and malice. “You look well,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “I’m sure the trip was good for you both.”

Before you could respond, your father turned his gaze to Marcus, his eyes narrowing. “Did you manage to fulfill your duties, Marcus? I trust you took full advantage of the... solitude?”

You felt Marcus stiffen beside you, his grip on your hand tightening. “Our trip was about more than just that, Sir,” Marcus replied evenly, though you could sense the tension in his voice.

Your father wasn’t satisfied. “More than that? Do you understand the gravity of your position, Marcus? My daughter’s primary responsibility is to produce an heir. Have you been diligent in your efforts, or have you been wasting time?”

Anger flared inside you, and you stepped forward, your voice sharp. “That’s quite inappropriate, Father. Our trip was about reconnecting and planning our future.”

Your father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Your future is already decided. You are to produce an heir. Everything else is secondary.”

Marcus intervened, his voice calm and measured. “With all due respect, Sir, building a strong foundation for our future is essential for the well-being of our potential children. It ensures they are brought into a stable and loving environment, which, in the long term, benefits your legacy.”

You bristled at your father’s invasive question, but Marcus’s reasoning was sound. Your father’s eyes flickered with a hint of consideration before hardening again. “Your pretty words won’t change the facts. An heir is needed. Quickly.”

Aurelia’s laughter cut through the air, sharp and vindictive. “Now, now, let’s not get heated. We’re all family here, aren’t we?”

You shot her a glare, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yes, family. How could I forget?”

Aurelia continued, her tone saccharine. “Your father only wants what’s best for you. We all do.”

Marcus stepped in, his voice calm but firm. “We understand the expectations, but we also need to live our lives the way we see fit. The stability and happiness of our family should come first.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed further. “You will do as you’re told. You owe it to this family.”

The tension in the air was palpable, and you felt your frustration boiling over. “I owe this family nothing. I’ve been controlled and manipulated my entire life. I won’t stand for it any longer.”

Aurelia stepped closer, her presence imposing. “Let’s not forget our manners, dear. We all have roles to play, and you must play yours.”

Your temper flared at her condescension, the years of resentment bubbling to the surface. “And what exactly is my role, Aurelia? To be paraded around like a prize, while you sit here on your high horse?”

Aurelia’s smile was icy. “Careful, sister. Your jealousy is showing. Not everyone is cut out for greatness.”

You took a step forward, hand twitching with the urge to slap her. “Jealousy? Of you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Before you could act on your impulse, Marcus gently but firmly grasped your arm, pulling you back. “Enough,” he said quietly, his voice a mix of warning and concern.

Aurelia’s smirk widened, sensing victory. “Always the temperamental one. It’s a wonder Marcus puts up with you.”

You were about to retort when a maid hurried into the courtyard, her face pale and anxious. “My lord, my lady,” she addressed your father and Aurelia, glancing nervously at you. “I have urgent news.”

Your father’s stern expression softened slightly. “Speak.”

The maid took a deep breath. “Lady Aurelia is with child.”

Aurelia’s triumphant smile was instantaneous, and she looked at you with smug satisfaction. “Looks like I’ll be fulfilling my role just fine.”

You felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath you. The news hit you hard, a mix of emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, and a deep-seated fear of being overshadowed.

Your father stepped forward, his gaze heavy with expectation. “I hope to hear the same from you soon,” he said, his tone a blend of command and disappointment. “But for now, I have work to do and a marriage to finalize with your mother. We’ll speak more of this later.”

Marcus tightened his grip on your arm, sensing your rising fury. “Let’s go,” he murmured, practically dragging you away before you could lash out further.

As you walked briskly away from the courtyard, you seethed. “How dare she? How dare he?” you muttered, your mind racing with thoughts of betrayal and injustice.

Marcus slowed his pace, his expression one of deep concern. “You can’t let them get to you like this.”

“How can I not?” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “She always wins, always gets the praise, and now this? And Father... he doesn’t even see me.”

Marcus stopped, turning to face you fully. “I see you. I’ve always seen you. And I love you for who you are, not for any role you’re supposed to play.”

His words were meant to comfort, but the pain of your father’s disregard and Aurelia’s gloating was too fresh, too raw. “It’s not enough,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “I need to be more than just... tolerated.”

Arriving at your bedchamber, you muttered under your breath, “He wants to finalize the marriage with my mother. To bind us even more to his plans.”

Marcus closed the door behind you, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination. You stood there for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on you, before the rage started to build. The anger that had been simmering all day erupted like a volcano.

“Gods, Marcus, I can’t take this anymore!” you screamed, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. “Every single thing he does, every decision he makes, it’s all about control. He treats us like pawns, like we’re nothing more than pieces on his chessboard!”

Marcus watched you, his face stoic, but his eyes were full of understanding. He knew you needed to get it all out, to release the torrent of fury that had been building for so long.

You began to pace the room, your hands clenched into fists. “He wants nothing to do with my mother, and now he’s probably scheming to marry her off to some other noble. It’s like she’s just another tool to be used! And Aurelia—gods, I hate her. She’s always gloating, always scheming. She thinks she can replace my mother and secure her own power. And now, she’s pregnant before me. Pregnant! Not that I want to be pregnant, but she’s doing it just to spite me, just to rub it in my face!”

Your movements became more erratic, your pacing more frantic. “And my mother, what will happen to her? She’ll be left with nothing. Nothing! While Aurelia parades around, acting like she owns everything. She’s pregnant, Marcus, and everyone will fawn over her, praise her, while I’m just... just here. Expected to play a role, to be a good little pawn in his game.”

You stopped pacing abruptly, turning to Marcus with fire in your eyes. “And do you know what I want? I just want to be with you. I want to fuck my new husband without having to think about heirs and duties and all this... this bullshit! Is that so much to ask?”

Tears of pure rage welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You wiped them away furiously, refusing to let them fall. “I hate him, Marcus. I hate the way he makes me feel, the way he manipulates everything to suit his own needs. And I hate that I feel so powerless against him.”

Marcus stepped closer, his hands outstretched, but you waved him off, needing to continue venting. “And it’s not just him. It’s everything. The way Aurelia gloats, the way the servants look at me with pity, the endless expectations and demands. I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’m disappointing someone. It’s suffocating!”

Your voice broke as you continued, the tears finally spilling over. But they weren’t tears of sadness—they were tears of anger, of frustration, of sheer, unadulterated fury. “I’m so tired of feeling trapped, of feeling like I’m not good enough. I want to live my own life, make my own choices. I want to be free, Marcus. Is that too much to ask?”

You turned to him, your chest heaving with the effort of releasing all your pent-up anger. Marcus stepped forward and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. You resisted at first, but then you let yourself sink into his embrace, the fury still burning inside you but tempered by his presence.

“I love you,” Marcus whispered, his voice steady and calm. “I love you for who you are, not for who you’re supposed to be. You’re not alone in this. We’ll find a way.”

His words were few, but they were like a balm to your raging soul. You clung to him, letting the tears flow freely now, your body shaking with the force of your emotions. “I just want to be free,” you whispered, your voice broken but determined.

Marcus held you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “We will be,” he promised. “We’ll find a way to break free from all of this. Together.”

You cried into his shoulder, your tears soaking his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just held you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. Slowly, the fury began to ebb, replaced by a weary resolve.

“We’ll get through this,” Marcus said softly, his voice full of conviction. “One step at a time. And we won’t let him win. Not now, not ever.”

You nodded against his shoulder, the fire inside you still burning but now directed towards a purpose. “We’ll fight,” you agreed, your voice steadying. “We’ll fight for our freedom, for our future. Together.”

Marcus pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “Together,” he echoed, his eyes full of love and determination.

You took a deep breath, feeling a new sense of resolve. The road ahead would be difficult, but you were ready to face it. With Marcus by your side, you knew you could overcome anything. And you would—no matter what it took.

As you pulled back from Marcus, your eyes met his, and you felt a flicker of hope. But then reality crashed back in. “But what if things don’t change, Marcus? What if life in Rome is just more of the same? More schemes, more manipulation?”

Marcus sighed his brow furrowing in thought. “Life in Rome will have its challenges, no doubt. The politics, the power plays—it won’t be easy. But we’ll navigate it together. We’ve faced worse before, and we’ve come out stronger.”

The truth of his words resonated with you, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “I just wish we didn’t have to play these games. I want to live, Marcus. Really live.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “And we will. We’ll find moments of peace, places where we can be ourselves. Just like the beach. We’ll make our own freedom, carve out our own happiness. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I’m just so tired of fighting. Tired of always being on edge.”

Marcus pulled you close again, his embrace strong and reassuring. “I know. But you’re not alone in this fight. We’ll face it together, and we’ll find a way to create the life we want. No matter what it takes.”

You leaned into his embrace, feeling a mix of exhaustion and determination. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Marcus by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope. Together, you would face whatever challenges came your way, and together, you would find a way to break free from the chains that bound you.

“My lord, there’s—” the guard started, but you pulled away from Marcus, not wanting anyone to see you so vulnerable.

“What is it?” you snapped, your voice sharp.

The guard hesitated, clearly taken aback by your tone. “There’s a situation in the courtyard. Your father demands your presence immediately.”

You exchanged a worried glance with Marcus before standing. “Fine. Tell him we’re coming.”

As the guard left, you turned to Marcus, your earlier anger rekindling. “This never ends, does it? He won’t even let me have a moment of peace.”

Marcus squeezed your hand, his touch reassuring. “We’ll handle it. Together.”

As you walked with Marcus toward the courtyard, the weight of unspoken words hung between you. Your frustration bubbled up, manifesting in a sharp, sarcastic tone. “Another grand announcement from my dear father. How thrilling.”

Marcus squeezed your hand gently, trying to calm the storm inside you. “We’ll face it together.”

In the courtyard, your father stood at the center, flanked by Aurelia and a handful of stern-faced servants. His piercing gaze locked onto you and Marcus as you approached.

“Well, isn’t this just a picture-perfect family moment?” you said, your voice dripping with irony.

Your father’s expression hardened. “Enough. This is a matter of utmost importance.”

You sighed, preparing for yet another lecture, but your father’s voice turned icy and commanding. “We’ve received correspondence from the Emperor. He demands your and Marcus’s presence at the palace immediately.”

Marcus’s calm demeanor shattered as he took the letter from your father’s outstretched hand. His face paled as he read the contents.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to peek over his shoulder. But Marcus remained silent, his eyes fixed on the letter, brows furrowed in concern.

Your father’s voice cut through the tense silence. “You are to leave at dawn. Be prepared.”

Marcus nodded stiffly. “We will.”

As you turned to leave, Aurelia’s mocking tone echoed behind you. “Do try not to disgrace the family.”

The knot in your stomach tightened with each step you took away from the courtyard. “Marcus, what’s in the letter?”

He didn’t respond, his silence only amplifying your anxiety. When you reached your chambers, he finally turned to face you, worry etched into his features.

“Marcus, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “The Emperor has summoned us. This isn’t a polite request; it’s a command. Refusing isn’t an option.”

Your heart raced as you processed his words. “But why? What does the Emperor want with us?”

Marcus’s expression darkened. “It’s about the gladiators. He wants my insights on the performance of the newest recruits.”

You blinked in disbelief. “Gladiators? Why does he care about your opinion on that?”

Marcus’s laugh was bitter, a sound you rarely heard from him. “Because I wasn’t always a general. I was once a gladiator. The Emperor thinks my perspective is valuable.”

Sarcasm bubbled up as you tried to cope with the mounting fear. “So we’re just part of his entertainment now? I know how gladiators work, Marcus.”

His eyes flashed with a sudden coldness, his voice slicing through your sarcasm. “No, you don’t. You’ve never been in the arena, fighting for your life. You’ve never faced that horror.”

You recoiled at the intensity of his response. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just...”

“Just what?” he snapped. “Think it’s easy? Think it’s something I want to revisit? The Emperor wants to parade my past, to judge others as I was judged. It’s a matter of life and death for those men.”

Your anger melted away, replaced by a creeping fear. “Marcus, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”

He cut you off, his voice low and fierce. “I want nothing to do with that life. But I’m not foolish enough to disobey the Emperor again.”

You stared at him, your own emotions swirling inside you. “So what do we do?”

Marcus was like a stone wall as he spoke, his voice steady and unyielding. “We go. We play their game. The upbringing you despise, the training that shaped me—it has to be on full display. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are not kind rulers. They won't hesitate to use anyone for their own gain.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “You just saw me scream and yell. I’m not exactly the epitome of grace and strategy.”

Marcus’s expression softened for a moment, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “You’re more than you realize. But we need to be careful. They’re not just rulers; they’re predators. We have to show them strength, unity.”

You shook your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Marcus. I won’t let them drag you back into that life. I won’t let them take you away from me.”

He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “I love you,” he said, his voice filled with fierce tenderness. “But we have to be smart about this. We need to present a united front, show them we’re not to be trifled with.”

You nodded, your resolve hardening. “Together, then. We face them together.”

Marcus pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth grounding you amidst the turmoil. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered. “We have to.”

As you and Marcus entered the grand hall of the palace, the air was thick with tension. The towering pillars and opulent decorations did little to mask the underlying menace that seemed to permeate the room. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla sat upon their thrones, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of Marcus and you approaching.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our esteemed gladiator,” Geta drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “And his rebellious bride. How charming.”

Caracalla’s gaze was colder, more calculating. “It’s been some time, Marcus. I trust you’ve found civilized life to your liking?”

Marcus’s face remained impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body beside you. “I serve as I am commanded, Your Majesties.”

Geta smirked, his eyes flicking to you. “And your wife. How interesting that you chose to marry someone with such a... colorful history. Tell me, my dear, do you still harbor those rebellious thoughts?”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, and you forced yourself to remain calm. “I am loyal to my husband and to the throne,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray your fear.

Caracalla leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “We shall see. Loyalty is tested in the most unexpected ways.”

Your mind raced as you tried to gauge their intentions. The emperors had made Marcus a gladiator, using him for their entertainment and power. Now they were testing you both, probing for any signs of defiance. You knew this was more than a mere audience; it was a test of your loyalty and a way to ensure you posed no threat to their rule.

“I understand your concerns, Your Majesties,” Marcus said, his voice steady and controlled. “But I assure you, we have no intention of going against the throne.”

Geta chuckled the sound grating on your nerves. “Intentions can change. We simply want to make sure you remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a surge of fear. This was your chance to protect your mother, to ensure she wasn’t caught in the crossfire of political games. If you could gain the emperor’s favor, perhaps they would leave her alone. As the conversation continued, your mind churned with thoughts of her. She had always been a pawn in these power struggles, and you couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering because of your actions. You needed to be careful, to play their game and show them you were no threat.

But despite your efforts to remain composed, your nerves betrayed you. Your hands trembled slightly, and you felt a cold sweat break out on your forehead. You glanced at Marcus, hoping for some reassurance. His eyes met yours, and in that moment, you found an unspoken comfort. His presence was a steady anchor, grounding you amidst the storm of your emotions.

Marcus noticed your fear, and though he didn’t say anything, his hand subtly brushed against yours, a silent promise that he was there for you. His strength and unwavering support bolstered your resolve, giving you the courage to face the emperors.

Caracalla’s gaze shifted between you and Marcus, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “We shall see how well you fare under scrutiny. Your loyalty will be tested, both of you.”

Geta’s expression darkened. “Do not forget, Marcus, that we made you what you are. And we can unmake you just as easily.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he remained composed. “I am aware.”

The emperors exchanged a satisfied glance, clearly enjoying their display of power. “You are dismissed,” Geta said, waving a hand dismissively. “Remember, we are always watching.”

As you and Marcus turned to leave, your heart pounded in your chest. The encounter had been a stark reminder of the precariousness of your situation. You were walking a tightrope, balancing your need to protect your family with the constant threat of imperial retribution.

Once you were outside the hall, you let out a shaky breath. Marcus pulled you into a quiet alcove, his hands gently cupping your face. But instead of finding solace in his touch, you saw the fear in his eyes, a deep-rooted terror that mirrored your own.

“Marcus,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “are you alright?”

He tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, but the lie was thin, transparent.

You took his hand, feeling the tremor in his fingers. “No, you’re not. You’re scared.”

Marcus’s eyes darted away, his shoulders tensing. “I can’t go back to that life,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t be their pawn again.”

You felt a surge of protectiveness, the same anger that had fueled you the day before now burning on his behalf. “We won’t let them do that to you,” you said fiercely. “I won’t let them.”

His gaze snapped back to you, a mixture of fear and desperation in his eyes. “How can you be so sure? They’re the emperors. They can do whatever they want.”

You squeezed his hand, pulling him closer. “Because we’re stronger together. And we won’t let them break us.”

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to go back to that place,” he said, his voice breaking. “The things I did, the things I saw...”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. “You’re not alone, Marcus. I’m here with you.”

For a moment, he clung to you, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. Then, he pulled back, his eyes haunted. “Sometimes, it’s like I’m still there. Like I never left.”

You felt a pang of fear for him, a deep concern that he was showing signs of something you couldn’t quite understand but knew was serious. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “But right now, we need to get to our room. You need to rest.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. Together, you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Once inside, you closed the door and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Talk to me,” you urged gently. “Tell me what’s going on in your mind.”

Marcus’s eyes were distant, as if he was seeing something far away. “It’s like... like I can hear the crowds again. Feel the sand under my feet, the weight of the sword in my hand. The fear, the anger—it all comes rushing back.”

You knelt before him, taking his hands in yours. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “But I’m not, am I? I’m always going to be that gladiator to them. A tool to be used, a spectacle to be enjoyed.”

Your heart ached for him, for the pain he was reliving. “Marcus, look at me.”

His eyes met yours, and you saw the depth of his fear, the scars that ran deeper than you had realized.

“You’re not just a gladiator,” you said firmly. “You’re my husband. You’re a general, a leader, a man with a future. And we’re going to get through this together. We’re going to show them that they don’t control us.”

He took a deep breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“You are,” you said, your voice unwavering. “And when you feel like you can’t go on, I’ll be here to hold you up. Just like you’ve always done for me.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “You’ll never have to find out,” you murmured. “We’re in this together, no matter what.”

Marcus held you for a few moments longer, then pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. “Can we talk about something else?” he asked, his voice tinged with weariness. “I need to take my mind off all of this.”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Of course. Actually, when I was in the carriage, I was brushing up on my Latin. Just in case the emperors decided to make things even more difficult by not speaking English.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “The carriage? I was wondering what you were saying to the driver.”

A laugh broke through his tense demeanor, the sound lifting some of the weight between you. “Latin, huh? How’s that going?”

You shrugged, feeling a bit more at ease. “Not too bad, actually. Although, I think I might have accidentally told the driver that his mother is a donkey.”

Marcus chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, I’m sure he appreciated the compliment.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “Hey, I’m trying here! Besides, it’s not like I had much else to do.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Come here,” he said, his voice softer now as he pulled you into his lap, guiding you to straddle him. His hands settled on your hips, and you could feel the warmth of his body through your clothes.

You relaxed against him, your arms looping around his neck. “I missed this,” you admitted, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. “Just being us.”

“Me too,” he murmured, his hands moving up your back in a soothing motion. “It feels like everything’s been so chaotic lately.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “But we have each other, and that’s what matters.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Always.”

For a while, you sat there in comfortable silence, the tension from the day slowly melting away. You exchanged light-hearted banter, your bickering and teasing gradually returning to the easy rhythm you both cherished.

“Remember when we first met?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

Marcus’s eyes lit up with the memory. “How could I forget? You were trying to run away from our arranged marriage and fell off the horse you were riding.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I was so determined to escape. I didn’t even realize how dangerous it was.”

He chuckled softly. “You were fierce, that’s for sure. Maybe I should teach you how to ride properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Are we still talking about horses?”

Marcus’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with playful intent. “Depends. Do you want a lesson?”

You leaned in, your breath mingling with his. “Only if you promise to be a very hands-on teacher.”

He kissed you back, his hands tightening on your hips. “Oh, I’ll make sure you get all the practice you need.”

You pulled back slightly, your expression turning more serious. “Marcus, can I ask you something?”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Of course. Anything.”

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “What do you think about kids? How many would you want? And… do you have any names in mind?”

Marcus looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’ve always wanted a big family,” he said slowly. “Maybe three or four kids. I think it would be nice for them to have siblings, to grow up with a sense of family and support.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. “I’d like that too. And names?”

He smiled, a distant look in his eyes. “I’ve always liked the name Alexander for a boy. And maybe Lucia for a girl. Strong names, with history and meaning.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment. “I like those names. They feel… right.”

He hesitated for a moment, then looked at you with a mixture of concern and vulnerability. “Is there something else on your mind?”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit nervous. “Actually, yes. I was wondering… could you stop cumming inside of me every time we… you know, make love?”

Marcus blinked, clearly taken aback by your request. “Why? Is something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… I want to make sure we’re both ready when we decide to have children. I don’t want to rush into it because of… well, an accident.”

He looked relieved, then thoughtful. “I understand. I just… I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way.”

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “I love you, Marcus. And I want us to build our family together when we’re both ready.”

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You’re right. We should be deliberate about this. I promise, I’ll be more careful.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

He kissed you back, his hands moving to cradle your face. “I love you. More than anything.”

You rested your forehead against his, feeling a deep sense of peace. “We’ll get through this, Marcus. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

He nodded, his eyes filled with love and determination. “Together.”

You sat in the coliseum, the roaring crowd around you a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The naval battle below was a spectacle of chaos and violence, the clash of cannons reverberating through the air, each blast sending shockwaves that you could feel in your chest. Ships collided with bone-jarring force, the sound of wood splintering and men shouting echoing through the vast arena.

The emperors insisted on your attention. Emperor Geta’s voice cut through the noise, a chilling command. “Watch closely, my dear. This is the true essence of power.”

You forced yourself to turn back to the spectacle. A cannonball ripped through the hull of a ship, sending debris and bodies flying. The water turned red with blood, the cries of the dying blending with the roar of the crowd. Your stomach twisted, and you clenched your hands in your lap, willing the nausea to pass.

You tried to focus on the details, finding yourself strangely drawn to the movements and strategies of the combatants. You rooted silently for the ship you wanted to see survive, your heart racing with each close call. The emperors watched you closely, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement. They seemed to thrive on the chaos, their power evident in the way they manipulated those around them.

Emperor Caracalla leaned in, his voice dripping with malice. “Do you see how they struggle? Like ants in a flood, all their efforts meaningless. Yet, it's so entertaining.”

You nodded absently, your mind half-focused on the battle. The cruelty of the emperors was a constant presence, but you found yourself oddly captivated by the sheer spectacle of the naval engagement. Each cannon blast, each desperate maneuver, drew you in deeper.

Marcus was away, speaking with the other generals, his face drawn and pale when he returned. He immediately noticed your distress. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.

You shook your head, unable to find the words. He took your hand, squeezing it gently, his own fear and worry evident in his eyes. “I hate this,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I can’t look away.”

Marcus’s eyes darkened with understanding. “That’s their power,” he said softly. “They make us complicit in their cruelty.”

Emperor Geta’s voice interrupted your exchange. “Ah, Marcus. Come, sit with us. Enjoy the show.”

Reluctantly, Marcus guided you to sit beside him, his grip on your hand tight. The emperors’ attention shifted back to the battle, their comments filled with a sickly admiration for the carnage. “Look at that,” Geta exclaimed as another ship went down, “such bravery wasted on a lost cause.”

Caracalla chuckled darkly. “Indeed. It’s fascinating how they cling to hope even in the face of certain death.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and sadness. He leaned in closer to you. “They won’t talk about the true cost,” he said, his voice barely audible. “The lives lost, the families left behind. To them, it’s all just a game.”

You nodded, your hand tightening around his. The brutal display below was more than just a show; it was a reminder of the emperors' absolute power and the fragility of your position. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the deafening roar of the crowd, a relentless assault on your senses. You could barely focus on the battles, your mind racing with fear and the need to stay strong for Marcus.

The next gladiators entered the arena, their expressions a mixture of determination and resignation. As they clashed, you tried to avoid looking at the bloodshed, but the emperors' voices cut through your resolve. "Watch carefully," Caracalla commanded, his tone devoid of empathy. "This is where men are forged."

Marcus’s hand trembled in yours, and you could feel his heart pounding as if it were your own. He kept his eyes on the fighters, but you could see the haunted look in his gaze, memories of his own time in the arena flooding back. His muscles were tense, every fiber of his being screaming to protect you, to fight against the fate they were trying to impose on you both.

With each brutal kill, the emperors’ excitement grew. They leaned forward, shouting encouragement and jeering at the combatants, their faces alight with sadistic pleasure. "Ah, there it is!" Geta exclaimed as a particularly gruesome decapitation took place. "Such skill, such beauty in the art of death."

You pressed closer to Marcus, trying to shield yourself from the horror unfolding below. "We have to find a way out," you whispered, your voice trembling. "We can’t let them do this to us."

Marcus nodded, his eyes never leaving the arena. "I know," he said, his voice strained. "But we have to be careful. They’re watching our every move."

The next fight began, even more savage than the last. You felt as if you were trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape the relentless violence. Marcus’s grip on your hand was the only thing keeping you grounded, a lifeline in the sea of blood and death.

The emperors’ voices grew louder, their laughter echoing around the coliseum. “You see, Marcus,” Geta said, turning to him with a predatory smile. “This is why we miss you. Your fights were always the highlight, full of glory and gore. These men… they lack your finesse.”

Marcus stiffened beside you, his grip on your hand tightening. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the barely controlled fear and anger simmering beneath the surface. His breath was shallow, his eyes darting nervously around the coliseum. The confident warrior you knew seemed to have vanished, replaced by a man haunted by his past.

Caracalla leaned in, his gaze fixed on the arena below where a mere boy, no older than twelve, was being led out. The tiger, a majestic and deadly creature, prowled on the other side, its eyes gleaming with hunger. “Tell us, Marcus,” Caracalla said with a sinister gleam in his eye, “who do you favor? The boy or the beast?”

A chill ran down your spine, and you found your voice. “This is madness,” you protested, your voice trembling. “He’s just a child!”

Geta’s gaze snapped to you, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Silence,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “Marcus will speak for himself.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking between the boy and the tiger. He looked like a man on the edge, torn between his desire to protect and his fear of the consequences. “Neither,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “This isn’t a fight. It’s a slaughter.”

Caracalla’s laughter was a harsh, grating sound. “Oh, but that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The unpredictability, the thrill of survival against impossible odds.”

You wanted to scream, to protest further, but the emperors’ power was absolute. You could only watch in horror as the scene below unfolded. The boy looked terrified, his small frame trembling as he faced the tiger. The crowd’s bloodthirsty roars grew louder, drowning out any semblance of reason.

“Perhaps,” Geta said, his smile never reaching his eyes, “Marcus should fight instead. Show us once again why he was the best.”

Marcus’s hand tightened around yours, the pressure almost painful. You felt his body tremble, each muscle tense with a mixture of fear and anger. His eyes were fixed on the boy and the tiger, a haunted look replacing the confidence you once knew. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, betraying the inner turmoil he was desperately trying to contain.

“No!” you exclaimed, unable to contain yourself. “He’s not your puppet. He’s not here for your entertainment.”

Caracalla’s eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto you with a predatory intensity. “Such spirit,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Marcus, you are a lucky man.”

The words seemed to cut through Marcus like a blade. He turned to you, his eyes wide and wild. “Stop,” he hissed, his voice low and trembling with fear. “Just stop. You’re making it worse.”

You felt a pang of hurt at his harsh words, but you knew he was scared. You squeezed his hand, trying to offer comfort, but he pulled away, his gaze flicking nervously between you and the emperors.

“Perhaps,” Geta said, his smile never reaching his eyes, “Marcus should fight instead. Show us once again why he was the best.”

Marcus didn’t protest this time. He didn’t argue or try to reason with them. He simply stood there, his body rigid, his face pale. You could see the fear in his eyes, the memories of past battles and bloodshed that haunted him.

“Marcus, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and desperation. “I have no choice,” he said softly. “They leave me none.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "What exactly are the terms?" you asked, your voice firmer than you felt.

The emperors exchanged amused glances. Geta leaned forward, a predatory smile on his lips. "If Marcus wins, he may choose any residence owned by us as a treat for his newlywed wife. A generous offer, wouldn't you say?"

"And if he loses?" you pressed, your stomach twisting with dread.

Caracalla's smile was a twisted mockery of kindness. "If he loses, he will fight for all of Rome again. But this time, he will take the place of the boy who is supposed to fight the lion."

Your blood ran cold at the thought. "This is madness," you whispered, barely able to contain your horror. "You're talking about a man's life as if it's a game."

"Everything is a game, my dear," Geta replied, his tone dripping with condescension. "And Marcus knows the rules better than anyone."

Marcus stood there, his face pale, his body trembling with a mix of fear and determination. He looked at you, his eyes pleading. "I will do what I must," he said softly. "For us."

“No, Marcus, you can't,” you protested, your voice breaking. “There has to be another way.”

He shook his head, his expression pained. “I have no choice,” he repeated, the words a hollow echo of resignation.

Before you could say more, the emperors' guards stepped forward, their grips firm and unyielding as they held you back, you struggled against them, your desperation mounting. “Please, don’t do this,” you pleaded, your voice rising in panic. “He’s not your pawn!”

Geta's cold eyes locked onto you, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Such fire,” he mused, almost to himself. “But Marcus knows his duty.”

Caracalla laughed, the sound grating and malevolent. “Watch closely, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “You might learn something about true power.”

You felt the blood drain from your face as Marcus turned away, walking slowly toward the arena's entrance. The boy and the tiger were being led back into their cages, the boy’s terrified eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before he disappeared from view. Your heart ached for him, but it was Marcus who now faced the same deadly fate.

As the gates closed behind Marcus, you were left standing at the edge of the arena, your hands clenched into fists. The crowd’s roars grew louder, their bloodlust palpable. You sank into your seat, your body trembling with fear and helplessness.

Moments stretched into an eternity, each second marked by the deafening cheers of the spectators. Finally, Marcus emerged, clad in armor and wielding a sword. His face was a mask of determination, but you could see the fear in his eyes. He looked up at you, and you mouthed silently, “I believe in you.”

The gate opposite Marcus creaked open, and the tiger was released. It prowled forward, its muscles rippling under its striped fur, eyes locked onto Marcus with predatory intent. The crowd’s cheers reached a fever pitch, a cacophony of excitement and anticipation.

“Look at him,” Geta murmured to Caracalla, his voice barely audible over the din. “Still has that fire in him, even after all this time.”

Caracalla nodded a twisted smile on his lips. “It’s what makes him so entertaining. Let’s see if he still has the skill to match.”

You clung to your seat, your heart racing as you watched the tiger circle Marcus. Every fiber of your being was focused on him, silently willing him to survive. The arena seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to the deadly dance between man and beast.

Marcus moved with a cautious grace, his sword held steady. The tiger lunged, and he sidestepped, bringing his blade down in a swift arc. The tiger snarled, more angry than hurt, and the battle truly began.

Each clash was a test of Marcus’s skill and endurance. The tiger’s powerful swipes and lunges were met with precise parries and counterattacks. The crowd roared with every close call, their bloodthirsty excitement a constant backdrop to the deadly struggle.

Geta leaned closer to Caracalla, his eyes gleaming with interest. “He’s slower than he used to be,” he commented, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“But still formidable,” Caracalla replied, his gaze never leaving the arena. “Let’s see how long he can keep this up.”

Your eyes never left Marcus, every movement of his sword, every step he took etched into your mind. You saw the strain in his posture, the weariness beginning to show. But you also saw his determination, the fire that drove him to protect you and fight for your future.

The tiger lunged again, and Marcus sidestepped, thrusting his sword into the beast’s side. The tiger roared in pain, but it wasn’t enough to bring it down. Marcus circled, his breathing heavy, his eyes focused on the next move.

You bit your lip, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “Come on, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crowd. “You can do this.”

The emperors’ eyes were fixed on the battle, their expressions a mix of amusement and anticipation. “He still has some fight in him,” Geta remarked, his tone almost admiring.

Caracalla smirked. “Let’s see if he can finish it.”

With a final, desperate lunge, Marcus brought his sword down with all his strength. The blade struck true, piercing the tiger’s heart. The beast collapsed with a final roar, its body twitching in its death throes.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their bloodlust satisfied. Marcus stood there, panting and covered in sweat, his eyes searching the crowd until they found yours. He nodded once, a silent promise that he would come back to you.

Geta clapped his hands, a smile of satisfaction on his face. “Well done, Marcus,” he said, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. “You have earned your reward.”

Marcus approached, his steps unsteady but his resolve unwavering. “We did it,” he said softly, his voice filled with relief and love. “We made it.”

As soon as he reached you, your emotions overwhelmed you, and tears began to fall. You couldn’t hold them back any longer. The fear, the violence, the constant threat—it all came pouring out. Marcus wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as sobs wracked your body. “It’s over,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “We’re safe now.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his embrace. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world outside fading away. But the respite was short-lived. The emperors, ever impatient, approached with their questions.

“What residence do you desire, Marcus?” Geta asked, his tone dismissive of your pain. “You must choose.”

Marcus looked up, his eyes hardening with determination. “A residence close to the villa near Calacari,” he said firmly. “It’s secluded and secure.”

Caracalla nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Very well. It will be arranged. Now, go and clean yourself. The blood is rather unbecoming.”

Marcus turned back to you, his eyes filled with concern. “Let’s get out of here,” he said gently, guiding you towards the bathhouse.

The bathhouse was a haven of calm, the warm steam rising in gentle curls, a stark contrast to the brutal scene you had just left. Marcus began to strip off his bloodstained clothes, wincing with each movement. You stepped forward to help, your fingers trembling as you undid the clasps and buttons. As his shirt came off, you gasped at the sight of new scars marring his skin.

“Marcus…” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “You’re hurt.”

He shook his head, trying to reassure you. “I’m alright. It looks worse than it is.”

You gently traced the lines of the scars, your touch soft and tender. “I hate seeing you like this,” you said, tears welling up again. “I wish I could take your pain away.”

Marcus smiled, a hint of his usual playful self returning. “You already do, just by being here with me.”

You helped him into the warm water, your movements careful and precise. As he sank into the bath, he let out a sigh of relief. You joined him, sitting beside him and gently washing away the blood and grime. The tension in his body gradually eased, though the pain was still evident in his eyes.

Despite the sadness, you couldn’t help but try to lighten the mood. “You know,” you said with a small smile, “I think I’m starting to enjoy taking care of you like this.”

Marcus chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could get used to it,” he replied, his voice low and filled with warmth.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Once we’re back in our own bed, I’ll take even better care of you,” you whispered, your tone both sweet and flirty.

His eyes darkened with desire, but as he tried to pull you closer, a sharp pain made him wince. “Maybe we should wait until I’m a bit more recovered,” he admitted, his voice strained.

You nodded, understanding and concern in your eyes. “Of course,” you said softly. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

Marcus smiled, his love for you shining through the pain. “We’ll have plenty of time for that,” he said, his hand gently caressing your arm. “Right now, let’s just be together.”

You sat in the bathhouse, the warm water soothing your tired bodies, the world outside momentarily forgotten. The future was uncertain, but as long as you had each other, you knew you could face anything. Marcus’s presence was your anchor, and together, you would find your way back to peace and happiness.

As you rested your head on his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The storm had passed, and now, it was time to heal and rebuild. With Marcus by your side, you knew that anything was possible.

After a long while of comfortable silence, you finally spoke, your voice soft but firm. “Marcus,” you began, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. “You can never, ever go silent on me like that again. Do you understand? The fear of not knowing what you were thinking, what you were feeling—it’s unbearable. If you ever do, you’ll have something far worse than a lion to face.”

He looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise, then slowly nodded. “I promise,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I will never shut you out again.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Good,” you whispered. “Because we face everything together, remember?”

“Always,” he replied, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

The weekend from hell was over. Between Aurelia's pregnancy and the gladiators, you and Marcus were emotionally drained. But one question still lingered. "Why the emperor's residence near Calacari?" you asked as the carriage rolled along the uneven roads, taking you away from the horrors of the coliseum.

Marcus looked at you, his eyes softening with tenderness. "It’s not just for us," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "It's for your mother."

You frowned, confusion knitting your brow. "My mother? Why would you care about where she lives?"

He took a deep breath, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "Remember when you told me about your father? How you feared he might leave your mother with nothing? I couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone, vulnerable. This villa isn't on the water but further inland, so it won’t worsen her fear of the sea. She can live there with or without him, and she can stay by us whenever she wants."

You blinked, absorbing his words. "You thought of all that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Marcus nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes. I want her to have a safe place, a sanctuary. Just like I want for us. Life under Rome's rule is too cruel, too unpredictable. We deserve a place where we can be happy, away from the chaos."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you fought to keep them from spilling over. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him passionately, pouring all your gratitude and love into that one kiss. When you pulled back, you whispered, "Never ever go silent on me like that again, Marcus. You scared me. You’ll have something worse than a lion on your hands if you do."

He chuckled softly, a genuine smile breaking through his weary expression. "I promise," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I won't go silent on you again."

The carriage hit a bump, jolting you both, and you clung to Marcus, who winced in pain. "Are you alright?" you asked, your concern immediate.

He nodded, though his face betrayed the discomfort he felt. "I’m fine," he said, but his voice cracked, revealing the truth. "I miss the days when our biggest worry was a petty argument or growing pains. Now, I can't even have my wife on my lap without feeling like my body is falling apart."

Your heart ached for him, and you placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "We'll get through this, Marcus. Together. We’ll find peace and happiness, away from Rome’s cruelty."

Marcus sighed, leaning into your touch. "I hope so. I dream of a life where we can wake up to the sound of birds, not the roar of the crowd. A place where we can raise our children without fear."

You smiled, the vision of that future giving you strength. "We’ll make it happen. We’ll build that life, one day at a time."

Marcus smiled back at you, his eyes twinkling with a glimmer of hope. "I believe you, but how soon are we talking?" he asked, a playful tone creeping into his voice. "I don't think I can stand another day in Rome's chaos."

You chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "Patience, my love. We’ll get there. But first, we need to survive the next few months."

Marcus groaned dramatically. "Months? You're killing me. I was hoping for days, maybe weeks."

You playfully swatted his arm. "Oh, stop it. You know it’ll take time to arrange everything."

He grinned, leaning in closer. "I guess I'll just have to endure your company in the meantime."

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. "Endure, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"

His expression softened, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "I wouldn't trade a moment of it, not for anything," he said softly. "Even if it means dealing with your father’s wrath when we get back."

You sighed, the reality of your situation creeping back in. "He’s not going to take the news well, is he?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, probably not. But we’ll face it together. Just like we’ve faced everything else."

You nodded, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "Together," you echoed, the word a promise as much as a reassurance.

[lovely-p-issues]

Fic idea - Astyanax in Ithaca

for times when my English will become acceptable because writing this in Polish feels not right sample of the story under the summary c:

Of course, I was thinking about Penelope's reaction to Odysseus showing up with a new kid (10/11 years old, give or take, Astyanax) at their doors.

I imagined it as the Game of Thrones scene when Ned Stark comes home and shows Catelyn a baby who, he claims, is his bastard. If I were her, I would lose my mind.

But I think that Odysseus explained himself chaotically, yet truly and Penelope didn't fight with the idea of raising the little prince as their own.

But Telemachus? Well, that's a hell of a different story.

He spent his childhood without his father, missing his presence and hoping to meet him one day. He lived in his shadow, as the problematic son of the absent king that everyone wanted to kill, or as a painful reminder to his mother that Odysseus wasn't around anymore and that she needed to be there for the two of them.

Now his dad is back but with a new child.

A new child who knows his father so well. Odysseus was his only parent for ten years (if we forget about 600 uncles, but they died after like 3 years? if I get it right?) and they just get themselves on an impossible level.

Odysseus knows Astyanax's nightmares (they share them).

Astyanax knows his father's past and doesn't need to ask many questions, and Telemachus does. He hates to do it because he sees Odysseus's pain, he sees Astyanax's reproachful look, like he is going to fight Telemachus if he doesn't leave their father, and-

and he sees the sad, concerned eyes of his mom.

So he doesn't ask much about those 20 years. And somehow it's even worse.

Because Telemachus doesn't know Odysseus. Because it feels weird and not home, like they are forced to be close, but they are not. Because he knew his father from songs, stories and legends, and this man is not who he heard of and he doesn't know how can he fix it.

Telemachus doesn't like to think about it but feels like he gives up on Odysseus. He spent the last 20 years of his life trying to reach that man and- Telemachus is tired.

Besides, Odysseus has another son anyway, right?

The prince of Troy, cursed boy, son of Hector, Astyanax, who also turned out to be a pain in the ass.

He knows that he can't blame the kid for his existence or even for the fact that Odysseus took him to their home.

For that Odysseus often takes Astyanax for horse rides to show him the island. The thing that Telemachus did alone.

For that, Odysseus teaches the boy how to use a sword and they laugh a lot during that. The thing that Telemachus did with strangers, got dozens of bruises, always trying to do everything he could to impress the person that wasn't there.

He doesn't blame Astyanax.

He just can't stand him.

But the boy seems to love the idea of going after him whenever Odysseus manages to pull him off for a moment. It's okay when Astyanax watches him during the trainings with eyes shining with excitement. However, it's bad when Astyanax starts to talk.

Father said I'm getting better at parrying-

When I was with father on Calypso's island-

Father does this completely differently-

Telemachus is a patient man. He waited for his father for 20 years. But sometimes he asks himself if Astyanax knows that all this talking about Odysseus, the man he missed but can't actually get to know, is such a trigger for him.

Maybe Astyanax teases him to show how much more of a son Odysseus is?

With every day Telemachus is more and more irritated. He does his best to hide it, but he can't ignore this fire burning him from the inside.

The reason for this fragile peace collapse is, relatively, very stupid.

Telemachus was tired after all day when he met Odysseus.

"The situation in the city is now calmed down,’ he informed his father, combing through his wind-tangled hair."

Odysseus nodded and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Telemachus. Well done."

Telemachus froze, not knowing what to say. He couldn't even move. Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of his every interaction with his father.

"Of course, father."

Odysseus seemed equally perplexed. However, the whole situation changed when Astyanax appeared in the courtyard where they stood.

Or, he ran into it, almost toppling over, just to get to Odysseus faster and embrace him around the waist.

"Dad, you will never believe what I found with mother in the garden!"

Telemachus watched with unhealthy interest as his father's face lit up with a smile as he listened to Astyanax's excited chatter.

A sudden anger, though senseless and petty, flared his veins. He had to avert his gaze and drive it into the ground so that no one could see his anger. His jaw was clenched tightly.

Twenty years of life based on a vague memory. An entire journey to find his father. His faith, his efforts and his devotion. All this to not be able to have one real conversation with his father. All this to watch both his parents melt down over his new, little brother. All this to stand by and watch his dreams fade away.

He no longer watched.

He walked away before he could do something stupid. Something that would distance him even further from his father.

He holed up in one of the cool and dark corridors of their palace. He concentrated on his breathing and massaged his temples.

He was an adult and knew how to deal with his feelings. Not that anyone had ever taught him that.

"Telemachus, what's wrong? You don't even know what we found in the garden, you went too fast!"

He didn't know shit about how to deal with his feelings.

"Could you, for five minutes, let me live as I lived before you came along? Five minutes without your constant footsteps and shouting behind my back. Five minutes of peace and quiet! That's all I'm asking for!"

But Astyanax took a few steps back as if frightened by Telemachus' sudden outburst. A grimace twisted his face and he squinted as if Telemachus was an extremely difficult puzzle for his quick mind.

"Why are you so angry? I don't understand."

"At this point? I'm not sure anymore. All I know is that I wasn't this angry even once before you dragged yourself home with father and decided to act as if it had all been yours forever."

Telemachus had to calm down. For bloody hell, he had just shouted at the eleven-year-old as if he was guilty of anything.

‘Are you angry about your father bringing me with him?’

Damn it.

It wasn't true. To be fair, he did not want Astyanax to die that night in Troy or be lost in the depths of the burning city.

Still, did he want him here? He let his thoughts wander before he could finally admit it to himself.

Astyanax, essentially, was not the problem. Everything else was. Telemachus was as well.

"No. There are many other things I'm angry about, but not this."

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the cool wall. He hid his face in his hands and let the anger leave him with his next breaths.

"Forgive my shouting. You got me at the wrong time, brother."

And he heard the boy slowly slide down the wall and sit down a few steps away from him.

"You should be grateful, you know?" suddenly said Astyanax. "He travelled all the world to see you and Mom."

You won't scream, Telemachus said to himself. He took a breath.

"Yeah, he didn't really know me, so. I don't know if that counts."

"That's even better. I mean, he loved you anyway. All this time, he was thinking about you"

This logic was wrong, but Telemachus doesn't find enough strength to fight over it.

They stayed silent for a few minutes.

"He didn't want me, you know? He just didn't want me dead and I reminded him of you. He was also scared of what I would become if he just left me alone. And you are so awful but he wanted you from the beginning and he loves you and he was so proud and-" Astyanax put his arms around his knees, his voice breaking as he spoke his next words: "You're a terrible idiot, you know. But he still wants you."

Telemachus needed a few seconds to see that every now and then, Astyanax would rub his wet eyes with his little fists.

He wasn't ready for this, even after months of training he wouldn't be ready. He stays silent for a moment. Slowly, he puts his arms over the crying mess and draws him to his side.

"And you think that father carried you all over the world because he doesn't like you?"

"Because he's kind and he would be ashamed to tell uncle Polites what he did."

"As far I know he wasn't so nice all this time, right? But he never turned his back on you. If you don't trust me, trust that. Odysseus came with you to Ithaca, because he wants you."

Astyanax did not reply but rested his head on his side. Telemachus let him.

Later that night, Telemachus carried a tired Astyanax straight to his parents' bedroom and knocked. When confused Odysseus finally opened it, Telemachus threw the sleepy child at him without hesitation.

"Hug your bloody kid."

And he walked away. This was his moment to avoid uncomfortable questions.

Let me know what do you think. And yes, Telemachus and Odysseus have a proper conversation about being father and son, but later.

BTW sorry for all the errors, I'm so sleepy right now I barely see my screen

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Change: Beau

Summary: Beau's having a normal Saturday night when he catches a strange scent in the wind...

The Change

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x omega!reader

Word Count: 8,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, minor violence/injuries, fluff, implied smut

A/N: Y'all wanted more of The Change and I thought what better way to fill in some of the gaps than by taking a peak through Beau's perspective! While not 100% necessary to read The Change to understand this story, it's highly recommended!

_________

Saturday Night

“Dad, are you okay?” I turned my head towards Em, forcing a smile. She raised an eyebrow from her chair nearby the fire pit, a blanket over her lap. “You look worried.”

“It’s fine.” Shit. I bit my tongue but she was giving me that look again. That “we need to communicate openly, remember what the counselor said, dad?” look. I slumped down in my chair, trying to ignore the strong whiff of omega floating through the breeze. 

I could smell Em by my side. All sugar cookies, lavender, fresh linen, with that oh so subtle hint of fresh rain that was baked into the Arlen pack. Scenting had it’s limits though. It only worked maybe twenty feet or so away. 

So why the hell did I smell an Omega with rain in her scent but nothing else? We had some land to ourselves, a good ten acres, on the edge of the neighborhood. There was no feasible way I could be smelling an omega all the way up here.

“Dad!” Emily barked. I shot upright, looking around for any sign of danger. “What’s wrong with you? You smell…weird.”

“Weird?” I lifted my jacket collar and sniffed, something certainly off about it. She shrugged.

“You smell, like you did when you found me at the mine,” she said quietly. “You know, way on red alert. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure…” I said, standing slowly. I was prepared to make up an excuse but Emily was watching with those big doe brown eyes and it made my heart clench. Communication. Right. “I uh, smell an omega which is weird when it’s only the two of us out here.”

Em smirked, a frown crawling onto my face. “Well there is one reason Alphas can smell an omega that’s far away when they aren’t in the pack. You know…soulmates.”

I blinked at her, cocking my head. “That’s not…your mom was-”

“Daddy.” I froze still, eyes locked on hers. “I mean this in the nicest way but you and mom are not soulmates. Your bond broke way before you got divorced and soulmates never get divorced. You care about each other but it’s not that soulmate love.”

“I thought you wanted me and your mother back together for the longest time,” I said quietly, slowly sitting. Emily slumped down, fisting her blanket. 

“Me too. But you’re happier here than I think I ever saw you with mom. What’d you tell me? Don’t settle for convenient and easy?” I smiled, reaching over to mess up her hair, earning a groan that made my heart happy. 

“Sometimes I forget my sassy child is full of wisdom,” I said.

“Going to traumatic murder camp and getting kidnapped will do that to you,” she said with a cheeky grin. I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I ruffled it one more time. She’d been pretty shook up after everything last year and Carla didn’t love Em’s dark humor but the counselor said it was a healthy way for her to cope and shit, I wasn’t about to stop her.

These days, it was hard to tell anything even happened to her besides the occasional nightmare.

“I’m going to run out real quick and pick up some ice cream. Flavors?” I asked. She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Go find this little omega of yours. I can handle being alone,” she said. I stared at her, Em rolling her eyes. “Fine. You can have a sheriff come over.”

“Thank you,” I said, kissing her temple. “Put the fire out for me please when you’re done. I’ll be back soon.”

“Have fun finding your soulmate!” she teased, not noticing the way my heart jumped up to my throat at her words.

Twenty minutes later I was walking around town, following the growing scent of rain when something else mixed in. Something sharp, painful.

Danger. Omega in danger. Your Omega is in danger.

I took off in a sprint down the sidewalk, following the scent and turning the corner to a dark parking lot next to a pharmacy.

“Get off!” someone muffled a shout under a large hand, that someone being my goddamn omega, my soulmate, my everything. 

I drew my weapon and fired a shot in the air without thinking, nearly pulling the trigger on the two scumbags pinning her down.

Calm down. She needs you more than you want to hurt them. 

I reluctantly took a breath, listening to the inner voice in my head. “On your bellies. Hands on your head or the next one goes through your spine.”

The two assholes rolled off of her and I quickly glanced at the omega. Her cheek was scuffed up and she looked sacred but damn, she knocked the breath out of me.

Hairs prickled the back of my neck as I inhaled her scent. 

Fuuuuuuck. She smelled like fresh rain, she had that Arlen pack scent. My vision swam for the briefest of moments as my heart thudded happily at finding it’s soulmate. Alright, I could be a pile of mush later. I needed backup and these guys restrained before I not so accidentally started shooting off pieces for touching her.

“Mam’, are you alright?” I asked. She nodded quickly and thankfully it looked like they hadn’t done more than knock her to the ground before I was able to step in. I pulled out my phone, shoving it between my shoulder and ear. “Dispatch, this is Arlen. I need two squad cars at the Rite-Aid pharmacy off of Main. Two suspects in custody. Attempted assault. Vic appears okay besides some minor injuries.”

“We’ll have two cars over in under two, Sheriff.”

“Thanks, Abby,” I said, staying on the line but shoving the phone in my pocket just in case. I secured one man with my cuffs but I needed something else unless I wanted to sit on top of this guy. Meanwhile, the omega was scrambling across the pavement, trying to pick up the items she’d bought into the plastic bag in her hand. She reached for a small pack of zip ties, slightly odd to pick up in the middle of the night but I’d hold off on my judgment.

“Mind if I borrow that?” She let me take the package and remove a tie, securing the second man, albeit he could get out if he really tried. “Thank you mam.”

She was clearly petrified and putting on a brave face. She shoved a bottle of pills in her bag as I asked her once again if she was alright.

“Never better!” She said in an abnormally high pitched voice. She popped to her feet before I could help her up, a slow sigh escaping me. “Uh, thanks.”

Be a calming presence for her.

But then she was trying to leave down the dark parking lot again and I grabbed her arm on instinct. Didn’t she realize the safest place for her was by my side? “Whoa, whoa. These guys can’t do anything to you. Backup will be here in two minutes tops. I know you want to get home but we need a statement and you should get that scuff cleaned up by a paramedic. Hell, I can do it for you back at the station.”

She just kept staring at me and alarm bells were going off in my head. Did she have a concussion? Did she hit the back of her head? Okay, she needed to be seen by a doctor right now. “Alright. I think you hit your head a little harder than we both realized when they knocked you down. Why don’t you take a seat-”

I was not expecting my dream girl to proceed to knee me in the dick so hard my life flashed before my eyes. I heard a sorry squeak out as she took off and I lay on the ground, trying to get my bearings.

“Nice one, sheriff,” snided one of the men in custody. I grunted, kicking him in shoulder as I sat up. “Fucker, you can’t do that!”

“If it were up to me, I’d beat the shit out of you, drop you off a cliff and let the animals eat you alive.” I rolled to my knees and got up as a squad car showed up, an officer running out.

“You alright, boss?” I waved him off. 

“Read these two their rights. I’m going after the victim,” I said, jogging past him and down the street, catching tail lights in the distance. I made it to my truck and was on the road just as she turned left about a mile away. I cursed as I lost sight but then I rolled down my window, taking a deep breath.

Her scent was subtle but I followed it down a dirt road and up a barely there path through the trees to a rundown looking cabin. There was a light on inside and I jogged up to the door when her scent was stronger. “Miss? It’s Sheriff Beau Arlen. We met just a short time ago. I’m doing a wellness check. Please answer the door.”

The omega ripped open the door, the fear from before replaced with etches of worry. 

“Hi. My dad fell earlier today. I think he broke his leg. He’s in the bathroom.” Oh, this poor thing. I nodded, giving her a smile. 

“Okay. We can call an ambulance and-”

“He’s terrified of public places. Of catching the…sickness.” Sickness? What the hell was she talking about? “I know he needs a hospital but is there any way we can limit the number of people he’s around? Like a doctors office or something?”

I breathed deeply, picking up on her father’s bland scent indicating he was Beta. But in her own home this Omega should have smelled like something more than fresh rain. Anything at all. 

Shit, she smelled like Emily had before she fully presented. Like a blank canvas. But how the hell had this woman in her early thirties that was presented as omega not smell like one?

“How the hell…” I shook my head. She simply hadn’t had a proper heat before which in theory was possible if she hadn’t been around an Alpha during her cycle before. Strange but not completely unheard of. A groan in the background had me straightening myself. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do to accommodate his…needs.”

She thanked me and attempted to have me leave but I was already texting dispatch, telling them I was about to have a first time adult heat. God, I remember when Carla had hers. She was bent over in pain one second yelling at me for existing and trying to jump my bones the next telling me how much she needed me. Even though I was struggling through a damn rut in exhaustive pain.

That should have been my first clue that her needs would always outweigh mine.

I sighed when our argument turned heated, the poor little omega in front of me overwhelmed with fear and hormones and likely a good dose of paranoia. She collapsed as I caught her in my arms, gently laying her down to the ground.

“What the hell did you do to my daughter!” shouted her father from a room off to the side. “You infected her you-”

“Hey!” I barked, placing a pillow under her head and brushing the hair from her face. I stood and stormed over to him, wincing at the nasty piece of meat that was his leg. “You are going to tell me exactly what has been going on around here with her, with you, all of it.”

“You got her sick!” I squatted down, narrowing my eyes. He returned it, breathing hard. “You nasty smelling mutt. You bite her and I’ll kill you.”

“So you do know a thing or two about this situation,” I said with a smile. “Now. Tell me everything or this nasty mutt with a gun and a badge will start thinking you’re keeping your daughter locked away and doing some very nasty things.”

“I would never, you perverted-” I snarled, the Beta biting his tongue.

“Do not disrespect me. I am here to help her and her alone. Now she’s going into heat, uneducated and scared. Her body is going to be in pain and she doesn’t understand why all because you have lied to her for a decade. I would never be so cruel to my daughter.” He swallowed, his gaze going to behind me where she lay on the floor. “She will be fine but you need to tell me everything. Now.”

Five Hours Later

“Good evening, Dr. Y/L/N. This is sheriff Beau Arlen of the Helena police department. I apologize for the late call but we have a situation here with your father and sister,” I said from the corner of the hospital room where Y/N laid fast asleep. She’d awoken confused and more than a little…primal a few hours ago. I could only imagine what it felt like to go through your first heat with your soulmate sitting eight feet away. 

She smelled delectable, enough so I had to ask for some scent blockers for myself so I’d stop getting so damn horny around her. 

“Please call me Emmet. Are they okay? I haven’t heard from my sister in a decade so any news-”

“She’s alright Emmet. She’s currently at our local hospital being treated for her first heat. Your father broke his leg badly a few days ago and is in the ICU recovering from surgery.” Emmet swore on other line and breathed deeply.

“My father is paranoid, Sheriff. I called him on the night of the Change years ago and told him to take my kid sister out of the city for a few days until we knew what was going on. I called him five days after and told him it was okay to go back but they never did. I’ve explained to him over and over again that she is perfectly safe. I could never track him down.”

“They appear to be staying at an old cabin on the edge of town here,” I said, Emmet groaning.

“They went to grandpa’s hunting cabin? Jesus christ. I forgot that place existed. Is Y/N alright?” 

“She’s fine, Emmet. She’s a strong woman, her body just needs to catch up a little is all.” Emmet huffed.

“She was supposed to work at a big accounting firm. She got a really good job out of college and then she disappeared with him. The paranoid fucker’s probably kept her locked up there for years.” My heart skipped a beat. “Sorry. He wouldn’t hurt her. Dad’s just…always been overprotective of her. Always. Something happened when she was young and…yeah, he’s always been afraid of her getting hurt again.”

“Emmet, any information you can relay to me might help me understand your father better. I need to know if your sister has been at that cabin all these years of her own free will or not.” 

Emmet was quiet for a beat, a chair creaking as if he were sitting down in the background. “Our father was a lawyer. A prosecutor. He put away a killer…for a very dangerous and powerful family. I was in college at the time. They broke in one night and killed our mother and kidnapped Y/N. She was maybe four? I don’t think she even remembers. It took a few days to get her back and that was only because she bit one of them and ran away and out a window.” I smirked, closing my eyes.

“Always been tough as nails even when she’s afraid, huh.” 

“Yeah. Dad was different with her after that. Always blamed himself. Way too protective. She tried to appease him but she always wanted to live her own life too. The idea of her being claimed by someone-”

“He literally can’t handle it,” I finished. Emmet hummed. “Thank you for the information Emmet. I’ll speak with your sister more but I doubt we’ll press charges.”

“Mr. Arlen, I’ll be down in a few days. I need to speak to my sister, and father. I’m in Seattle these days and I think it’s best if she stays with me for the time being.” I cleared my throat, walking out of the room and to the hallway. “My father will need intensive rehab if it’s as bad as you say and then in-home care, both of which will be much easier to provide if I’m there-”

“Emmet, there’s not an easy way to say this so I’ll just spit it out. I got involved tonight because I was able to scent your sister from my backyard over eight miles away from where we met. Now, you’re a doctor. You tell me the only scenario in which that is possible.” Emmet was quiet, my heart hammering. “Dr. Y/L/N-”

“Are you a good man?” he asked. I sat down on a hall bench, glancing down.

“I’m divorced, I got ten years on her and a teenage daughter. I am by no means perfect. If she wants to go to Seattle, I will not stop her.” I crossed my arms, leaning back against the wall. “But I can promise you, she will be safe with me and free to live her life. I do not intend to hold her back.”

“I seriously doubt my sister’s going to want to leave your side once her heat calms down and she realizes who you are to her,” he said with a hum. “Sheriff.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll take my dad off your hands once he’s ready for in-home care. Let Y/N live in a town without him for a while.” 

“What’s she like?” I asked, screwing professionalism for the moment. “You said she wanted to be an accountant?”

“Pft, god no. She would have worked at a bakery if she had her choice but you know how parents can be,” said Emmet. “You said your name was Beau, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well Beau, considering this is likely the first of many conversations we’ll have throughout our lives, a word of advice. If she wants to work at a goddamn bakery, let her. If you guys ever need help, just tell me. I got more than enough. I just want my baby sister to be alright.” I smiled, relaxing my shoulders.

“I appreciate it Emmet but I do alright on my own. Like I said, I will not be the one holding her back from whatever it is she wants to do.” I could feel her scent pick up, twitchy, wanting me nearby. “I got to run but I appreciate the talk and I’m looking forward to meeting you. I’ll make sure she gets a chance to talk to you tomorrow.”

I hung up and slipped back in the room, pulling my chair closer, her scent calming. My phone dinged and I frowned. What the hell was Emily doing up at 2 in the morning?

How’s the soulmate search going? Pop says hi by the way. We ordered pizza. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you ever come home tonight. Please tell me you’re not stalking some woman in the middle of the night. 

“This child,” I grumbled, typing a long message before my phone pinged again, eyebrows raised.

I can talk to her. I know more about being an Omega than you do to be fair. She’s probably scared. I can dig up those Change puberty books from the basement.

Thank you, Em. We’ll talk in the morning. Now get some sleep..

I frowned, shooting off another text.

Tell Pop if he eats all my mint fudge ice cream again I’m firing him. 

Too late. Night dad!

I sighed, resting my phone on my chest and sliding down in the chair. I kicked off my boots and propped my feet up at the end of Y/N’s bed. 

“So. Not how I imagined my first night with my soulmate,” I said quietly. “How about you, darlin’? Everything you dreamed of?”

She snored lightly in bed, rolling over on her side and staying in a deep slumber. 

“Well don’t chat my ear off, I’m trying to sleep,” I chuckled. She scratched her belly absently, breathing deeply. “Goodnight, omega.”

The Next Day

Despite an albeit awkward start to the day, the smile on Y/N’s face as she and Emily shared the far side of the booth and devoured a brownie sundae was putting a big on on mine. Y/N hadn’t had much of anything besides basic foods for ten years and she was ordering every greasy, fatty, sugary thing on the menu. 

It was kind of adorable the way she guzzled down a pile of poutine on her own and then asked for seconds.

“Is Y/N coming home with us?” asked Emily a little eagerly. I lightly kicked her shin under the table, Em pouting. “That’s child abuse.”

“Child abuse is you hitting me in the nuts with a baseball bat when you were four. Pretty sure you were trying to make sure you were an only child from the start.”

“I wouldn’t mind a sibling-“ I kicked her again, Emily glaring back. Y/N looked between us with a goofy smirk, gravy at the corner of her mouth.

“You guys are really cute. I wish I’d had that with my dad,” she said, her face falling momentarily. She cleared her throat though and wiped off her lips, glancing at me. “Your dad and I have to talk about a lot of things but in the meantime he said he had an idea about where I could stay. You guys have a trailer on your property?”

“Dad used to live in an air streamer when he moved here,” said Emily, smirking at me. “If you need a love nest-“

“Do not tell her about nesting,” I growled, Emily grinning like a Cheshire cat. Y/N blinked at both of us, her head tilting. I cleared my throat when I sensed her…fuck, she was horny as fuck.

Cool it with the Alpha voice bucko.

“Nesting is um, well…” I trailed off, Emily pipping right in.

“It’s when the Alpha goes all crazy and makes you a comfy bed with pillows and blankets and stuff so you can pass a heat surrounded by their scent. And to fuck in a lot but the scent stuff too.” I dropped my head to the table, a low whine escaping. “They teach us in health class.”

“In my health class all they did was show us pictures of STI’s,” said Y/N, her fingers grazing my scalp. I raised my head, heart skipping at the feel of her touch in my hair. Her face was so soft, so unlike the fearful one of last night. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere and Emily’s bluntness is appreciated.”

Emily glanced at Y/N and then myself, making an excuse to use the restroom. Y/N’s hand dropped to the table, a pout forming on my face. She giggled though, the sound calming me. “Can you…smell me, Y/N?”

“Sure,” she said coyly, laughing when I rolled my eyes. “I think so. I don’t quite understand it but I know you’re nervous. You like when Emily teases you but there’s something a little on edge with you. I’m still trying to figure all this out to be honest.”

“It’s okay,” I said, reaching a hand up and gently taking hers in mine. My thumb stroked over the back of her skin and I held it up, closer to her. “You won’t be able to do that with most people. Only your mate can you tell certain things. We don’t exactly understand that part of it yet.”

“I imagine it gets a bit complicated when you mix advanced evolution with metaphysical souls,” she said, tilting her head, turning my hand over and stroking my palm. Her big eyes stared at my skin, nose twitching when she inhaled. “Everything in my head says I’m a moron for trusting a strange man, that you could hurt me or worse. But then I do this…”

She tugged me closer, pulling my hand to her warm cheek, her skin velvety soft. Her bond pulsed hard under the skin of her neck, so subtle no one would notice but I could see it thumping away like it had it’s own heartbeat. Y/N’s eyes searched my face, looking for an answer to a question she didn’t know how to ask.

“There are some people that don’t believe in true mates. They think it’s just hopeless romantics making shit up,” I said, pulling my hand down, grazing her bond with my fingertips. Soft lips parted, Y/N’s eyes dewy at the touch. “Touch my neck.”

She tentatively reached across the table, letting me guide her hand to the left side. “My gland is much smaller but it’s there. Now push down on it.”

Y/N didn’t look convinced but gently nudged two fingers against the skin. I jerked back just as she did, a bolt of peacefulness shooting through my body. She rubbed her own gland, breathing hard. “What the fuck was that?”

“Think of it like there’s a rope connecting our souls. We just tugged on it,” I grinned, rubbing my chest. “So we can’t get lost from each other ever again. True mates form that bond even without the physical connection being met yet which is why you could tell I was nervous.”

Y/N smiled, placing a hand over her bond. “So that’s why you don’t feel so strange. Huh.”

“We can take this as slow as we want to,” I said, taking out my phone, checking the time. Y/N shoveled one last scoop of ice cream in her mouth before sliding out of the booth. “Where-“

“Emily has school in the morning. We should head out,” she said, catching Emily returning from the bathrooms. “We’ll meet you out front?”

“Y/N.” I hopped up quickly. Shit, was I making her nervous? I opened my mouth to speak but she was right there, placing a finger to my lips.

“It’s okay, sheriff,” she murmured, grazing her knuckles over my beard. “Just need a little girl talk.”

“About what?” I asked quietly.

“About…just trust me?” I held up my hands, Y/N backing away before popping outside with Em. 

“Sheriff,” said a deep, monotone voice. I spun around, Donno standing there with a styrofoam box. “Rhubarb pie.”

“I didn’t order-“ Donno shoved it forward, my hands barely catching it. 

“She wants it.” I raised my eyebrow, glancing outside to where Y/N and Emily were leaning against the truck. “She wanted pie and this is all we have.”

“Uh, thanks Donno,” I said. He half growled and I handed him my credit card. He grumpily took it behind the counter, handing it back with a grimace. “How’s things with Tonya?” 

He grunted and I chuckled. 

“Later, Donno. You and your girl stay out of trouble.” I ducked outside with the pie, the girls giving me a smile. “Everything all set?”

“Never better.”

“Hey, Em?” I asked after showing Y/N the airstreamer when we got home. She was downstairs talking to her brother, all sorts of giddy scents coming off her. “Got a sec?”

She put her phone down, frowning when I pushed it away and set it on the charger. “First off, it’s bedtime. Second, is everything okay with you and Y/N? I know everything’s been moving fast and if you want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

“We’re fine,” she said softly, giving me that look I’d seen in therapy too many times. I pouted, Em sighing. “She was…her body did something at the diner. She said you guys touched bonds which made her…you know…down there…”

“Oh.” I sat on the edge of her bed, holding my hands on my lap. “Was she embarrassed? I shouldn’t have-“

“No, she just wanted to make sure it was normal to…get all…slick and fuck, this is as bad as the sex talk.”

“I thought we did a good job with it,” I said, ruffling her hair. “Are you okay with her being here?”

“Duh,” she said, sitting upright and giving me a hug. “She’s your soulmate, dad. Of course, I want her to stay with us.”

I tucked her head under my chin, giving her a deep squeeze. “Dad. Too tight.”

“Alright,” I said, releasing her. “I’ll make sure Y/N understands you already have a mom and-”

“We kind of talked about that when you were paying.” Em shrugged. “Y/N said she didn’t want to overstep anything and said it’s probably best right now if we’re more like friends? Until we figure out what we want.”

“I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with you two staying ahead of me,” I chuckled, hearing a loud crash downstairs. I stood up, Em pouting. “Stay. Go to bed.”

She grumbled as I left and jogged down the steps. Y/N was bent over in the kitchen, her scent stressed but not in pain. 

“Y/N?” I asked. She popped her head up, swallowing thickly as I saw she’d dropped her bottle of heat medication and the pills had gone all of the floor. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

I knelt down and started to help pick them up, Y/N moving farther away to pick up the scattered pills. I reached out and caught her wrist, Y/N’s breath hitching. She looked over her shoulder, body tense. 

“It was an accident,” I said softly. She looked down and I frowned. “Hey. I can smell you’re upset but we still need to talk. What’s going through that head? Did your brother say something?”

“No.” She shoved the pills in the bottle, waiting for me to deposit mine inside. The cap snapped on and she shot up, stepping past me for the front door. I caught up to her on the front porch, not touching her but holding up my hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temple. “Please move. Better yet, take me back to the cabin.”

“...If that’s where you want to be,” I said. She went straight to the truck, barefoot, climbing inside. I got in after her, leaving my keys in my pocket. I could sense her agitation rising, especially when I turned towards her. “What did your brother say, Y/N?”

“He told me he contacted my dad right after the change. How dad would call him every few years. He didn’t know I thought he was dead all this time,” she breathed out. She shook her head, wrapping her arms tight around herself. “You have an idiot for a soulmate.”

“Now I don’t believe that’s true for a second. I-”

“Beau.” Y/N glared at me but her eyes were more watery than anything else. “You have a teenage daughter that knows more about how sex works in this world than I do. I’m…a child. You deserve so much better than me. I’ve never had a real job. I’ve never had my own place. Shit, my longest relationship lasted two months. J-Just throw me back in the woods so I can be alone.”

Omega in pain. Omega in pain. 

She moved as far away as possible, staring out the window as a primal urge in my head was trying to take over.

Protect her. PROTECT HER. Do your job. 

“No.” She shifted in her sheet, making her eyes as hard as she could. “I don’t care if you hate me. I will never abandon you. Ever.”

“I’m a fucking project, not a soumate,” she scoffed. 

“You think I’m perfect?” 

“Um, have you met you because yes, you are,” she grit out. I growled, her scent shooting through the roof as I leaned over and cupped her cheek. Her lips parted, breath mingling with my own. “W-What are you doing?”

“I don’t like when you’re mean to yourself,” I said, my voice lower than usual as I kept a tight control on letting my Alpha out. Y/N shivered under my touch and she looked away embarrassed. “Don’t you dare be embarrassed for making slick. You are in heat next to your true mate. I’d be concerned if you weren’t.”

“I don’t know anything,” she whispered, still not looking at me. “I don’t know how to be an adult or have my soulmate be someone way out of my league or what you want me to be to Emily. You have an ex-wife and you have such an important job and you’re single dad and it doesn’t matter how nice you smell or if you give me lightning bolts. I am and will be a burden to you.”

I sat back in my seat, breathing hard. Y/N sniffled, keeping her head low. “I know I’ve upset you, I can smell it.”

“I’m upset you’re upset. I’m not upset at you,” I said quietly. Every instinct I had said pull her into my lap, bite her neck and press the magic fix it button to flood her full of so much ooey gooey good feeling crap she’ll never remember why she had doubts in the first place.

Talk to her.

I swallowed, closing my eyes. “My partner died two years ago. He was my best friend.”

“Beau.” She unfurled her hands from her body surely because one of them was interlacing with my own. “I’m so sorry.”

“I blamed myself for a long time. For too long. For something out of my control,” I said, opening my eyes, finding her misty ones. “It drove my ex away. It drove Emily away too for a while. I’m so scared of loving someone else and losing them. Y/N, it took everything in me to not kill those men that attacked you last night. I am not fucking perfect and you are way way too hard on yourself. News flash, nobody knows how to be an adult. We’re all just pretending and a smart woman like you, hell you already are thinking of my daughter before I am. You are not behind. You are right where you’re supposed to be.“

“I…” She sighed, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry that happened to your friend.”

“Did you get any of the rest of that?” 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “So we both need to take it easier on ourselves.”

“I got faith in us.” She wiped off her face as she nodded, her scent turning calm and gentle. “Come on. It’s been a long day and you’re at the tail end of your heat. You need to get some rest.”

“Dad!” I bottled upright in bed, groggy and reaching for my gun when Emily burst in the bedroom. “It’s almost seven. Move your ass. I’m not getting detention for being late again because of you.”

“Good morning to you too,” I mumbled, setting my gun back on the bedside table and flopping back against the pillows.

“Pro tip,” she said, whacking me with a pillow. I groaned, growling as I sat back up. “Maybe go make you and your new omega girlfriend some coffee? Not like she talked about coffee for like a solid thirty minutes with your coffee snob ass last night.”

“Someone’s got a mouth on her this morning,” I said, tossing back the covers, Em rolling her eyes as she left. “What?”

“I’m so going to be late,” she muttered, jogging downstairs. I grumbled, padding into the bathroom and getting ready for the day. Em was in a mood when I found her by the front door waiting for me but it was no big deal to me if she was late a few minutes. For one, that school started too damn early at 7:30. She had freaking study hall first period of the day which was just plain stupid. Plus that principal of hers had more than a few unpaid parking tickets I could leverage. 

I whipped up a cup of coffee and poured the rest in my thermos, tossing some half and half in the mug before whistling on my way outside. “Dad!”

“Five minutes, pumpkin. Why don’t you lock up and I’ll meet you at the truck?” I slipped outside, Em muttering again as I walked across the yard. WIth two knocks on the door of the airstream, it opened, Y/N half-asleep as she answered in last night’s clothes. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” she mumbled, perking up when I held out an orange mug. “Is that-”

“Coffee. Two tablespoons half & half. Hold the cream and sugar.” Her eyes welled up as she took the mug. “You really missed coffee, huh?”

“You were paying attention to what I said last night,” she whispered. I cocked my head, leaning my hip against the door jam. “Thank you for the coffee, Beau. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries.” The truck horn honked and I rolled my eyes, Y/N smirking. “I have to run before that one hotwires the car without me but I’ll be back and we can go shopping for whatever you need. Food. Clothes. Whatever you want. I’ll be back in about thirty.”

“Thanks, Alpha.” She stepped forward and pecked a kiss to my cheek, grinning when I blushed. “That’s adorable.”

“I’m from Texas. We don’t blush,” I said despite feeling the radiating heat on my face. She raised an eyebrow, her smile turning a hair darker. “Omega…”

“You know that only makes me want to find out how to make you blush more, right?” I pouted but didn’t mean it, Y/N seeing right through it. “All that for a peck on the cheek. I wonder how red I can get you when I properly kiss you.”

“Down girl,” I purred, adjusting myself and in desperate need of one of my scent blockers again. “Let’s cool our jets. Once we start playing around, it’s going to be hard for either one of us to not want to bond.”

“Sorry,” she said, not looking it one bit. She pressed the mug to her lips, eyes closing as she took her first sip. “Wow. Yeah, I’m so keeping you. This is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Well that’s a relief,” I chuckled, the horn honking incessantly in the background. “I’m sorry about the sassy child.”

“It’s fine. Take her to school. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll be right back, darlin’.”

Four Weeks Later

Y/N was tucked against my side, resting her head on my shoulder and draping her arm over my chest. Soft, slow breaths left her lips, nose buried against my pec. Oh so carefully I thumbed over the fresh bite mark on her neck. Ordinarily I’d think the best thing to do would be not touch it but instinct was telling me to gently soothe the ache away and her pain would be gone by the time the flood of hormones in her body dropped.

“How we feeling, Omega?” Y/N tightened her hold on my body, snuggling harder. 

“Fuzzy,” she mumbled, a smile on her lips. “You?”

“Fuzzy’s a good way to describe it,” I chuckled. “You did so well.”

“Not so bad yourself,” she laughed, eyes closing. “You smell even nicer now if that’s possible.”

“I know the feeling.” I stroked my fingers up and down her bare back, tracing patterns against the soft flesh. “So…would you maybe want to move into the house?”

“You really know how to pillow talk, babe,” she said against my shoulder, smirking against it. “And yes, I’m tired of being away from you guys.”

“Okie dokie.” Y/N snorted, lifting herself up onto her palms to look at me. “What?”

“You’re way too hot to be that adorable.” I shrugged, smirking as I gripped her waist and pulled her tight against my chest, earning a gasp. “Oh you want to play?”

“With you? Forever.” I grasped her chin with my thumb and finger, pulling her into a deep kiss. “Who’s ready for round two?”

Three Months Later

“Emmet!” Y/N squealed and jumped into her brothers arms the second I had the front door open. He laughed deeply, dropping his luggage on the porch to catch her.

“Fuck Y/N, I’m forty six years old. You’re going to throw out my back if you keep doing that every time I visit,” he laughed, spinning her around. “How you doing, kiddo? Keeping your Alpha in line?”

“She wishes,” I said, giving him a brief hug when he set her down. “Where’s Max?”

“She’s coming up on Saturday. Covering a double at the hospital,” said Emmet, giving Emily a hug when she popped out of the kitchen. “Em, mind helping me get the presents?”

She threw on her coat and boots, following Emmet outside as I saw Y/N’s father putter around their rental car. Emmet said something to him, the man giving Emily a brief smile before he carefully walked across the shoveled driveway.

“Darren.”

“Beau.” Y/N frowned at him, his jaw clenching when he saw the faded mark on her neck. “Emmet’s right. You really did claim her.”

Y/N stepped onto the porch, waves of powerful scent washing over us. “This is my house, dad. If you’re going to be a dick, you can go sit in a hotel room by yourself for a week while the rest of us celebrate the holidays. As a pack. Beau’s family is coming in tomorrow and you will not-“

“Down omega,” I purred, Y/N allowing me to pull her back a few steps. “She’s a tad defensive of me and Emily is all. Darlin’, why don’t you help the Em’s.”

A moment later Darren and I were alone. I nodded, walking him around the wrap around porch to the side of the house where a pair of rocking chairs sat. I took a seat in the far one, Darren hesitantly sitting in the opposite.

“Y/N and I like to sit out here in the morning and have our coffee together.” Darren grunted, lips pressed into a thin line. “How’s the leg?”

“It hurts,” he grumbled. 

“But you can walk on your own on it. Emmet says that’s a good sign.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Arlen, enough with the small talk. Say what you mean to say away from my daughter.” I leaned back, rocking a few times, enjoying the chill breeze.

“Your daughter didn’t want you to come. The only reason you are invited is because I asked her to give you another chance.” He scoffed. “You were pretty nasty when we showed up at rehab a few months ago and saw she was claimed.”

“You manipulated her into being with you. She doesn’t know it yet but you’ll turn on her. I know cops like you, especially cop mutts. Don’t blame me for seeing exactly who you are.”

“Well fuck you,” said Emily, appearing around the corner. 

Back off, pup. I got this.

Only she ignored the warning in my scent, the clear line she would have picked up in favor of storming over in front of Darren. “You’re an asshole.”

“Em-” 

“The mouth on you,” said Darren, frowning up at her. “You learn that from your father?”

“If anyone’s the manipulative asshole around here maybe it’s the guy who scared his kid into staying in a cabin for a decade,” she spit out. Darren opened his mouth, Emily holding up a hand. “My dad’s not perfect but thank god I have him. Bad stuff happened to both of us but he doesn’t keep me locked up. So maybe stop being an ass to the guy that makes Y/N happy for the first time in ten years.”

“Emily,” I said as she started to walk away. “Em!”

“Ground me but I am not apologizing,” she said, walking off back around the corner. I sighed, side eyeing Darren.

“You know what, you say and think what you want about me but don’t you dare speak ill of my daughter,” I said. “She has been through more shit than you could ever know so do not blame her for being defensive of her family which includes your daughter.” 

I stood, putting my hands on my hips, looking out over the barren yard, a light layer of snow dusting it.

“It’s not personal,” said Darren after a beat. “I’d hate any man that tried to take her away. I’ve hated all of her ex’s.”

“I know something about having a daughter that was kidnapped.” I turned over my shoulder, Darren’s face paling. “You didn’t keep her safe. You squashed her. From the moment I met your daughter, I’ve had to help her learn that she can have goals and dreams of her own. She lived her whole life trying to appease you. She will never do that with me. Never. So I understand the fear and pain of dealing with your little girl being taken and feeling like a failure as a father. But we have to let them go because our little girls are a lot stronger than us fathers give them credit for. Let them show us. The only person my kid mouths off with is me, her mother, and Y/N. Her parents. For her to do that just now means you really ticked her off. So stop protecting Y/N for one second and get to know that strong kid of yours.”

He was quiet, no words spoken between us as he rose.

“Your daughter reminds me of Y/N when she was younger.”

“Em adores Y/N…aside when Y/N goes mom mode and makes Em do her chores,” I chuckled. Darren cleared his throat. “The girls are still figuring out their roles but Y/N’s gotten more comfortable stepping into that parental role. They’re friends more than anything. Family.”

“Right,” he said quietly. “How angry is Y/N with me?”

“Oh, pretty mad,” I laughed. “She’ll forgive you eventually. Probably. I’d stop calling her mate a manipulative mutt, though. Might help out there just a tad.”

He lowered his head with a nod. “Let’s go in before you freeze.”

“Alpha,” Y/N murmured from beside me in bed late that night. I had my face shoved into the crook of her neck, arms bundled under her maroon sweatshirt, formerly our sweatshirt, formerly formerly my sweatshirt. “Noooo, get your greedy hands away from my fleece.”

“No can do, darlin’,” I murmured, arms shoved under the soft material, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to cop a feel.”

“Sure you won’t,” she teased. “We can play in a minute. Real talk right now.”

“What’s up?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her waist, lifting my head. Her fingers raked through my hair, massaging my scalp. I hummed, resting my chin on her shoulder. 

“I don’t know what you said to my dad earlier but thank you. He was different.”

“Well, Emily should really get the credit. She stole my thunder,” I said, Y/N’s scent swirling around the room. “Our girl really loves you, you know.”

She flushed, smiling when I kissed her jaw. “Thank you both then.”

“You’re welcome. Now,” I said, grabbing the ends of the sweatshirt, pushing them up her body. “I think you stole this.”

“Going to arrest me for it?” she murmured, pulling me into a chaste kiss before rolling to the far edge of the bed and out of my grasp. She sat up with a fake pout, batting her eyes as I crawled over. “That’s a good look for you, Alpha. On all fours for me.”

“For fucks sake, Omega,” I growled, grabbing her ankle and yanking her body underneath mine as she giggled. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Alpha Boy.” I laughed into her neck, kissing over her healed mark. 

“For you, Omega, anything at all.”

___________

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire—all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 3

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 3: Movie Premieres, SNL and Quarrels

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Otherwise known as the One in New York. What do you guys think about R and Jenna's dynamic so far? 👀 (taking a break for a few days/maybe a week after I post this, I think I've kept you all fed for a bit while I'm gone lol, in the meantime, send asks I'll try to answer all of them!😋)

Word Count: 6.4k+

“You get on that plane and I’ll drop you as a client.” Jake’s voice rings out from your work phone. 

“What the fuck, Jake, are you serious?!” You seethe, practically red in the face. 

You have been on the phone with Jake for the last hour – Liv refuses to pick up your calls after you blew up the group chat, rehashing your argument with Jenna. Desperately pleading to fly back home because you couldn’t stand being in the same city as the actress, at the moment. 

You couldn't even think about her words without it making your blood boil.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious. Do you know what time it is here?”

Glancing at the clock it read 3:46 A.M. EST, you roll your eyes. “It’s just past midnight in L.A. You won’t die if you don’t get eight hours of sleep.”

“Be quiet. I don’t wanna hear another word from you.” He nearly shouts and you imagine that one vein popping through his forehead. You liked to stare at it when Jake goes off on his shouting tangents at you. 

He never notices that you're not paying attention.

“Maybe we should get Liv on the phone or maybe Sarah?” Link glances at you worriedly.

He hates seeing you so riled up, so he often played the middle-man with your quarrels against Jake and Liv.

“Liv says she doesn’t wanna hear it. Sarah says forget it and I’m saying, I’m not fucking around this time Y/N, this is your last chance. I’m over your shit.” He hangs up the phone, leaving the line dead.

You jump face-first into the stiff bed, groaning loudly.

“Looks like you’re outta luck.” He pats you back, leaving you to sulk alone as he shuts the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

There was no way you ended up in this situation. 

You guess, it was fair to acknowledge your recent streak of bad behaviour. First, it was tame — ignoring your phone, running away to party, getting mixed in the wrong crowds – eventually, Link had to start dragging you out of bed by the legs (sometimes kicking and screaming) just to make it in time for a gig.

You’re not sure when all of this started. All you knew is that you were so tired. You just wanted one second to breathe; to feel like that young child again, with hopes and dreams. But no, someone was always hovering over your shoulder ready to drag you away to another event you could care less about. 

You close your eyes, allowing the jetlag and exhaustion to set in as your body moulds into the mattress.

– 

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of Jenna’s hotel room. The large double door looks menacing and faintly, you can already hear a bustle on the other side. You really didn’t want to knock but you know what was on the line so you swallow your pride and raise a fist to knock. 

But before you can knock, the door is opening revealing a girl, with dirty blonde hair bearing a semblance to a certain actress. “Oh, hi!”

“Hello.” You greet warmly.

“I’m Aliyah. Jenna’s younger sister.” She holds her free hand out.

You shake her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m–”

“I know who you are.” She smiled then laughed, “Everyone knows who you are.”

You chuckled, shyly nodding. “I guess.”

“Are you two done?” Jenna suddenly appears, yanking the door wider so you can see her. Her makeup complements her well; the green bustier two-piece looked expertly crafted just for her; and the way her hair fell in soft waves framed her face nicely. 

“Hi…” You say a little vacant-sounding.

You don’t say anything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see her sister’s raised brow but you think you’re imagining it because you can’t keep your gaze off of Jenna. The actress raises her brow at you, impatient.

“What did you need?” She asks.

“Uh—I wanted to talk, about last night."

Jenna watches you momentarily before rolling her eyes; pulling you inside with a rough yank. “Get inside before someone sees you — Aliyah close the door.”

You stumble, still a little dazed but the smaller girl’s nails are gripping your arm painfully making you snap out of it.

“Ow, ow, ow.” You whisper, not inattentive to the multiple people scattered around the large room.

“Guys, this is Y/N.” She ignored your complaints and pulled you past the foyer into the living room – her entire team had taken refuge in the room to get the star ready for a day of press interviews.

Various echoes of your name and greetings are sent back to you but you certainly don’t miss the awkward tension in the room started by your sudden presence. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can just go.” You point behind you.

“Nonsense.” An older woman that looked kinda like the actress waves off. “It’s great to have you here, Miss L/N. Jenna was just talking about you.”

“Oh please, just Y/N is fine.” Shaking your head bashfully, briefly wondering what she could be telling her family and team about what kind of person you are.

“I’m Jenna’s mom. That’s her dad, her other sister Mia, and her brother Markus.” She points and you try to keep up with the names of the people she’s throwing at you; Jenna’s family and team included.

“It’s so great to meet you all. It’s not hard to see that Jenna is so loved.” You say sincerely.

“We try our best.” Her dad says looking appreciative of your words. You smile at everyone and it seems to ease a bit of the tension in the room.

You didn’t see Jenna rolling her eyes again (her favourite to do around you) disregarding the encounter; she hides the surprise she feels from your genuine compliment.

Last night's argument with you, still burning in her brain.

“What did you want to say?" She says a little bluntly.

Watching as everyone turns to go back to what they were doing, you look down at Jenna. “Um… I wanted to apologize for last night. And call a truce, maybe over dinner?

She looks surprised not expecting you to be the first one to give in. “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

“I appreciate it.” Jenna cuts in, “I’m sorry too… a truce sounds good. Sarah got mad at me too, for what it's worth. She even said I was whining.”

Jenna jokes, dropping her walls a bit.

You rub a hand on the back of your neck, chuckling, “Good to know.”

“I can’t do dinner though.” She shuts her eyes as if remembering something. 

“Oh, that’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“Or maybe… you can be my date to the Scream cast dinner?” She offers, looking a little hopeful.

“Are you sure?” You chew your lip. Ignoring the word date.

“Yeah! Totally, you can meet everyone, it’ll be great. Not to throw anyone under the bus but they’ve been trying to meet you.” She says sheepishly.

You laugh, dropping your walls just a tad. “Sure I’ll be there.”

She smiles warmly, satisfied with your answer. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I guarantee there’ll be paparazzi, so it’ll be good for publicity. They’ve been hounding me since I landed, my dad nearly pushed a guy in the airport. I couldn’t even walk to the door by myself at the SNL dinner cast party.”

You lose a bit of the smile but Jenna doesn’t see, laughing at her memory of the paparazzi. You blink around, making sure no one saw you, it might give them the wrong idea. “Uh, yeah sure. I’m good with whatever.”

“Okay, cool.” She shoots a thumb up, walking away from you. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mhmm.” You smile, waving goodbye to everyone and booting it out the door. 

Unsure where the tension in your chest is coming from you swiftly walk to the elevator; aggressively tapping the button as if the elevator would come faster that way. And practically throwing yourself in the metal box as soon as it opens.

You miss the entire pandemonium that implodes in the room when you leave.

“Holy shit?” Mia exclaims.

“Language.” Her mom chastises. 

“No, holy shit, indeed. Jenna oh my god what did you do to that poor girl?” Aliyah walks past Jenna to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“What are you talking about?” She looks at her sisters confused.

Mia’s rolling her eyes, standing up from the couch. “Did you not see the way she was looking at you?”

“No? How was she looking at me?” She turns to her mom who had a hint of a smile on her lips as if she knew something. Jenna was starting to feel left out. 

“She likes you, Jen.” Her brother speaks up, not even bothering to look up from his phone. 

“What? You guys are crazy. We barely know each other.” Jenna starts shaking her head furiously, turning to Enrique, her stylist and close friend. “Enrique, tell them they’re being crazy.”

But he shrugs, sharing that same Cheshire grin her mom had. “God, not you too.” She clamps her eyes shut with her hands.

“Hey! Watch the eyes!” Her makeup artist warns. 

“Dad?” She drops her hands, pleading at the silent man, who, she knows is listening. Why do Dads do that thing where they let everyone argue, only stepping in when the Mom asks for backup. 

He remains in character – staying silent.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. She was literally here for five seconds. How could you possibly think she likes me from that.” Jenna turns to everyone else.

“I don’t know, Jen. The eyes never lie.” Mia says, privy to the way your smile fell when Jenna mentioned being spotted for publicity tonight. 

“I’m– I’m late for interviews, I need to go,” Jenna mutters, grabbing her purse and walking to the door. 

–

“This is gonna blow up.” Your producer says from beside you. 

“I don’t know. I still think it’s missing something.” You sigh, sliding the headphones off as you slump onto the plush leather seats. 

You sneaked off to the studio not too far from the hotel in lower Manhattan. See you would have told Link or anyone really, but you were trying to be discreet. And Link is one ‘ol snitch and the personal fun police. 

It seems after your fight with Jenna, Jake and Liv put you under strict instructions not to leave the hotel unless accompanied by someone from your team. 

You’re not a fucking child. You don’t need a babysitter. So here you are, with your producer in the studio trying to record this damn song you’ve been stuck on for three months.

“Maybe it’s time to scrap the song then.” He offers. “It’s never gonna be done before Coachella.”

Immediately you are shaking your head. No, this song is special, you can feel it. If only you can get your head out of your own ass long enough to find the damn words. 

“No, just– just put it on hold. Let’s work on something else.”

He sighs, clicking the screen to pull up another file. “Your call.”

The buzzing of your phone against the wooden table echoes into the silence that grew as you waited. “Ah fuck.”

Reaching over, you grab the phone and are bombarded by a flurry of texts and missed calls. 

Some from Jenna, some from your bodyguard and driver, most from Link.

Jenna’s is the first one you click.

The phone rings three times before it gets picked up. Muffled, loud voices are all you hear at first before she eventually speaks up, “Hello?”

“Hey, I am so–”

“Where the hell are you? You’re ten minutes late. We’re all waiting for you.” Her tone is sharp and snipped. 

You had fucked up.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I’ll be right there– there was…. uh.” You stand, gathering your jacket and silently bidding your producer goodbye as he looks on confused. “There was a lot of traffic. I am so sorry, I’m trying to make it as fast as I can.”

She sighs through the phone, “It’s…fine. Just get here as soon as you can, please.”

A little white lie never killed anybody.

You make it to the restaurant in record time. Pushing through the paparazzi camping outside the restaurant doors. Do they have no shame? Clearly not as they shout Jenna’s name at you; asking if you were there to see her, trying to get their piece of the scoop. Thankfully, the security guard had seen you and personally ushered you to the cast‘s table. Someone must have informed them that you were coming.

You’re still blinking away the spots in your vision from the camera flashes when you feel an arm pulling you down to sit. 

“What took you so long?”Jenna asked assertively, scanning you.

“I told you. Traffic.” You plaster a smile at all the eyes on you, subtly shrugging Jenna’s arm off yours with a little bit of attitude.

You don’t miss her clenched jaw. Plastering a smile in front of her costars who were trying their best not to gawk at you. "Well, where were you then? No one could get a hold of you, we were worried."

You tried your hardest to school your genuine surprise at her worry. "Sorry. I was working. My phone was off."

“Hi! I’m Melissa, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.” A brunette extends her hand from across the long table – interrupting Jenna before she can say anything else.

You make the usual greetings, introducing yourself to Jenna’s costars and colleagues. You felt a bit like a trophy wife if you were being honest. Like eye candy on her arm, serving only to make her look good. Upon that realization, you feel a little flushed. You’re not sure why, that is the whole point of this whole thing. 

Her castmates have been sending you two knowing eyes over dinner — giving Jenna inconspicuous smirks and smug grins as if you couldn’t see. You keep your head down after the pleasantries are over and the main courses are brought out. 

Grateful, you don’t have to talk about your upcoming projects any longer.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge her elbow, noticing how she was pushing away some pieces of food on her plate. 

“I don’t like apples.” She mutters. 

You can’t fight the smile that creeps on your lips but you don’t tease. “Just push them off to the side and I’ll eat it.”

She looks at you. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You shrug taking a sip of your wine. 

“That doesn’t gross you out or anything? I know some people are weird about that sort of thing.” Jenna explains. 

“Dude, I’ll eat your apples, chill.” You laugh.

“Okay, thanks…” She mumbles, still looking at you but you turn, talking to Mason and his girlfriend.

Jenna feels a nudge on her side. “What?” 

“You two are cute.” Jasmin smirks. “And Y/N L/N? Not a bad catch at all.”

“Stop.” Jenna blushes. Unsure if she feels uncomfortable that some of her close and respected friends believe this lie so easily.

–

“Hey, give them some space!” The security guard shouts as the paparazzi come rushing toward the door as soon as the cast steps out. 

You were standing in the lobby waiting for Jenna. “Shit…” You hear her mutter, watching as she searches for something in her bag. 

“What’s up?” You ask.

“I forgot my sunglasses in my room. The flashes hurt my eyes.” She frowns. Wordlessly, you fish the pair you stashed in your jacket. 

“Here, wear mine.” You hold the glasses out, watching as she just stares at it. Rolling your eyes, you push it toward her. “Dude, just take it.”

“Thanks…” She mumbles, sliding them up her hair. 

You walk ahead of her, holding the door open as everyone trickles out. You’re regretting giving Jenna your only sunglasses cause the flashes are bright and it’s making your eyes water.

“Go ahead,” You usher, only leaving once everyone’s gone ahead of you. You trail behind ignoring the various men with large cameras chasing you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

“Y/N over here, please! Just one photo.”

“Y/N, just one photo of you and Jenna, please!” 

“What do you have to say about Vegas?”

You ignore them keeping your head down trying not to fall behind. 

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear over the sea of nameless faces. 

“Right here.” You say, sliding in beside her.

You miss the subtle sigh of relief she lets out.

“You can’t just walk behind everyone like that.” She grits, frustratedly.

"I tried to keep up." You mumbled like a scolded husband.

The shouting increases when you stand beside one another; practically rendering you blind with all the flashes. “Dammit.” 

You place an hand on her back, pushing her forward. “Put on the sunglasses and walk.”

“Y/N, please over here. Jenna!” The shouting is constant and blurs altogether all at the same time. 

“Ow.” You feel Jenna tumble when someone bumps her side causing her to bump harshly against you. Firmly, you grab her arm to preventing her from falling and pushed back against the crowd to check on her.

“Are you okay?” you ask worriedly as she fixes the lopsided glasses. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hey. Watch it–” You grit at the closest person holding a camera. “It wasn’t me.”

The man insists, still shamelessly snapping flashes directly into your face and you begin to grow angry, slapping the camera out of his hands. “I said fucking watch it, asshole.”

You glare for a brief moment as the shouting gets impossibly louder. Knowing if you didn’t pull Jenna out of this, chaos would ensue. You link hands and drag her through the crowd, briskly walking to her castmates who shared looks of concern.

“Are you okay?” You ask, still walking but now barricaded by security and her friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I promise.” She squeezes your hand but then sighs, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You scoff, “Are you serious? That guy pushed you.” 

“It was an accident and you kinda overreacted.” She whispers lowly. 

You clench your jaw, dropping her hand — Not wanting to blow up in front of her colleagues, you walk swiftly ahead.

You don’t talk even when you are both side-by-side being driven back to the hotel. Her driver has the partition up halfway but you see the nosy glances he keeps making at the rearview mirror as you and Jenna sit in silence; acutely aware to the growing tension between you and the actress.

You refuse to speak, just looking out the window as other cars pass by on the street. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” She speaks up but you still don’t want to talk. “Seriously?”

“Y/N all he did was push me. A little shove, that’s all. I’m okay. What’s not okay is the phone call you know we’re going to get from Liv and Sarah about that guy’s camera.”

“He deserved it.” You mumble through the palm holding your head up. 

“I’m not saying he didn’t but you can’t just be aggressive to paparazzi like that. It’s exactly what they want.” She reasons, turning to you. Hoping you’ll finally look at her. 

“I know…”

“Look at me, please?” She places a hand on your arm.

You turn, keeping your face impassive.

She sends you a shy smile then laughed. “I mean it though, thank you for having my back. My Dad is gonna think this whole thing is hilarious.”

“Why?” You can’t help but join in.

“He’s a cop, so he’s a little protective. He’s been waiting to shove away a pap for the longest time. He’s gonna be so mad you beat him to it.” 

You laugh imagining her father’s reaction. 

–

“You haven’t seen Scream? Not even the original?” Jenna turns bewildered like it was the most blasphemous thing she’s ever heard. You were in her hotel suite, watching movies. For some reason, Jenna invited you over to her room after being dropped off at the hotel. “How? You’re an actress.”

You couldn’t think of a good reason to say no so you accepted.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeez. Way to sound like a film snob. I didn’t know there was a checklist of movies to watch before becoming an actor.” You snort reaching for more popcorn from the bowl beside you. 

“Shut up.” She hits you with the remote. “How have you not seen any of the Scream movies? You’re literally going to my premiere tomorrow.”

You hold up your hands in surrender, throwing a couple of kernels in your mouth. “Sorry, they’re not really my cup of tea.”

She rolls her eyes, snatching some popcorn from your hand, ignoring your protests. “Oh sorry, I forgot we have an action star in our midst.”

It was your turn to hit her arm, “Shut it. I just mean… I haven’t found the time to sit and watch them. They’re not exactly short films.”

“You’re in the MCU and Dune. Don’t talk to me about long movies.”

“Touché…” You can’t beat her there. They are ridiculously long movies. Probably why you’ve only ever seen them during premiere night and never again. “Well, put one on then. Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

She grins scrambling for the remote. “You’re on.”

You wait for her to pull up the Scream catalogue, chuckling at her visible excitement.

“Hey, why did you become an actress? and singer while we’re at it, Miss Grammy winner.” She nudges your shoulder.

You snort, shoving her lazily. “Shut up… Do you want the press interview answer or the real one?”

She raises a brow, immediately deciding. “The real one.”

You nod, feeling like she would say that.

“My mom... She was a rising star in the 80s but something happened and she never got to live out her dreams. When she had me she put me through all of the arts. I bumped and failed with most of them but acting and singing kinda stuck… I guess she saw those were the only two things I could stand so she pushed and pushed, it led to Jake discovering me and here we are.”

Jenna stays silent processing your story, she doesn’t miss the slight solemness your tone had taken. "Why do I feel like there's more to it than that?"

You chuckle, licking your lips. "Caught me... it's why I don't talk to my parents anymore."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. As soon as I turned eighteen I cut ties with them. She got too controlling, wanting money, wanting autonomy over my career so I took Link with me and moved to L.A. and did it on my own. I think... at some point acting became a spite thing with me because of her.

“Spite?” Jenna asks?

“Yeah… it was all I’ve ever known for a long time until I started making music. Probably the only time I’ve ever felt sure about a decision.”

"Oh..." Jenna finds herself saying again.

"Uh–sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. We can just forget about it." You curl into yourself, tugging the blanket to your lap.

Jenna blinks, feeling dumb that she's made you think her silence is a bad thing.

"No..." She grabs your wrist. "Thank you for sharing with me."

You look into her eyes, feeling a bit small at her kind eyes. You know it's not out of pity but you couldn't help but want to close up again.

Pulling your hand away from her grip, you cough. "Of course, we're friends now."

"Oh, are we?" Jenna ignores the drop in her chest when you pulled away like that. “Okay, what’s the press answer then?”

“That I watched the movie Cabaret when I was younger and wanted to be like Liza Minelli.” You admit.

Jenna scoffs, “That’s literally my answer.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah except, it’s Dakota Fanning in Man on Fire.”

You chuckle, “doesn’t Denzel die in that one?”

“Yeah and what about it?” She raised a brow.

"But see, don’t fight it we’re meant to be friends... we even share the same answer."

"Shut up, dummy. Every actor has some sort of answer like that.”

Eventually, the two of you start a marathon of the Scream franchise. Which in hindsight, is kind of a bad idea seeing as it was way past midnight and the other actress still has a long week ahead of her. It seems like the events of the day catch up to her cause you feel a head slipping on your shoulder; distracting your focus halfway through Scream 3.

Jenna had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You fight the urge to tense up not wanting to wake her up. She looked like she needed the rest and you relate more than anyone to her exhaustion. 

“Jenna…” You lightly tap, “You fell asleep, you need to go to bed.”

She grumbles, whining in her slumber. You feels your cheeks warm when she unconsciously moves to snuggle closer to you, throwing an arm over your waist.

Fuck.

Really?

God, I am not your strongest soldier. 

“Jen, seriously. Wake up.” You shake her arm.

“What?” She complains, her words muffled by your collarbone.

“You need to go to bed.”

The feeling of her soft lashes brushing against the material of your shirt as she blinks sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh…”

Jenna mumbles mortified. Quickly pushing herself off of you, unable to look you in the eyes. “Sorry.”

You don't mention how she might have punched your stomach and that you were desperately trying not to cough.

“S’okay…” You shake your head softly. You couldn't help but notice the way her hair fell over her eyes messily. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks once she regains her senses, waking up from her short slumber.

Something tells Jenna she won’t be sleeping with how fast her heart is pounding; uncertain as to where her sudden anxiety is coming from. 

“Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you inside.” You stand gathering your belongings.

“Wait, you’re not walking the carpet with me?” Jenna pulled a face.

You raise a brow, “No? At least, I wasn't told I had to. They just said I had to show up.”

“Oh… okay.” She nods then sighed, long and profound.

You continue to raise a brow but don’t say anything. Not wanting to push her. You remember the last time you guys fought and are immediately turned off. No thanks, not trying to open that can of worms.

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” She leans against the door.

Her premiere is a success. After borderline shoving you inside a tinted Cadillac, Link brushes your vintage Prada gown down; making sure you are in tip-top movie-star shape. You don’t walk the carpet, instead heading straight inside – making headlines. 

Your every damn move is a headline these days.

Silently thanking whatever God was out there that you didn’t because the way your jaw dropped when you see Jenna was downright embarrassing. Your reaction would surely have been a running piece if cameras were around.

Your managers would love it though.

Link had to forcefully elbow your side as Jenna walks up to greet you. 

“Wow…” You manage to say. “You look stunning Jenna.”

Jenna was glad for the dim lights in the theatre, “Thanks.” She blushes, casting her eyes down.

“You look great too.” She scans you up and down, suddenly feeling warm under her gape. 

Maybe it was the way her makeup is done or the deconstructed tuxedo for a dress that she had on tonight but she looked more mature, intimidating? Like she could throw you around a little and you’d just gladly ask her to do it again.

Wait, what?

“Thanks… Link and I should head to our seats but I just wanted to congratulate you. This is seriously amazing.” You express sincerely.

Jenna flushes more, waving you off with a huff and a lazy hand. “Please.”

“Seriously!”

Link coughs loudly, interrupting the bubble you and Jenna found yourselves in. “Okay, someone’s a little impatient. We better go.”

A hand reaches out, grabbing you. “Do you wanna, maybe, I don’t know. Sit beside me?”

You turn, surprised. “Oh? What about Enrique?” You glance at her stylist standing just behind her pretending like he wasn’t listening; fiddling on his phone. 

“I’m sure he won’t mind switching to sit with Link, right Enrique?” She turns, asking her friend.

He grins widely, “Nope. All good with me!”

“Perfect!” She smiles at you, still grabbing your arm. 

“We’ll be down there!” Jenna calls out to Link and Enrique linking your fingers out of nowhere as you walk to beside her costars.

You still don’t say anything when Jenna wraps herself around you when you make it to your seats, waving as people cheer with a large smile before pulling you to sit down. 

Only then did she pull herself away, “sorry about that.”

“All good.” You mumble after realizing what happened; turning to face the large screen.

Perfect photo op.

“Hey is that sharpie on your dress?”

“Yes.” She sighs.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch but you can’t stop the growing unpleasantness in your chest. You decide to brush it off and save face for Jenna’s night. Your sulking and feelings can wait in the privacy of your own four walls and definitely not at a high-profile movie premiere.

By the time you found yourself at the NBC building in a random dressing room at the SNL studio, waiting for Jenna’s monologue you forget all about it. You lay lazily on a stiff and most likely old couch, scrolling through your phone. 

A knock on the door has you pulling off your headphones. “Come in.”

“Hey Y/N.” A head peaks in making you sit up briskly. “Aliyah, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just uh– Jenna’s asking for you.” She sends a sheepish smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Oh,” Your head perks up. “Is she okay?” You question, following the smaller girl past hallways that all looked the same; trying not to bump into the various stagehands buzzing around. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s kinda freaking out, though and… we can’t get her to calm down.” You both stop at a closed door. 

“Oh… why me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Uh… okay she didn’t exactly say you but I saw your episode and you were hilarious and who better to talk her down than someone who’s done it before.” She flashes a large grin before opening the door and shoving you inside.

The room is empty save for Jenna dressed in a short-legged suit. You force yourself to blink, reminding yourself that you are on a time crunch.

“Jenna.”

She snaps her head at your voice, and a noticeable tremble in her fingers is the first thing you see. “What–what are you doing here? I thought you’d be in your seat by now.”

“Your sister asked me to come.” You admit, walking forward.

“I’m fine. Go to your seat, I’ll see you after the show.” She turns her back to you, looking over sheets of paper with multi-coloured inked notes scribbled on every open space.

“Take a deep breath for me, Jenna.” You walk closer, slowly bringing the hand tightly clutching her notes down. The bones in her fingers relax as she drops the paper. She doesn’t say anything when you don’t disconnect your hands. 

You find yourself standing much closer to her.

“Take a deep breath.” You repeat.

Jenna closes her eyes, inhaling a long, deep and audible breath in then out. She clutches your fingers as she does so, unconsciously leaning back against you to ground her bubbling anxiety. 

She stays in your hold with her back against your chest: a death grip on your fingers. Your swipe a thumb over the skin of her hand. “It’ll be okay…”

“Thanks…” Jenna looks into your eyes, taking one last deep breath.

Briefly, you hold her gaze feeling tepid under the intense look in her eyes. You can’t tell what they're saying but for some reason, the way her dark pupils seemed softer under the fluorescent lights had you under a spell.

And for a fleeting second, you thought she was leaning in closer to you — eyes flickering to your lips.

“Don’t mention it.” You drop her hand immediately, taking wide steps back.

Not liking the way her eyes flickered down.

You don’t like what that could possibly mean.

Jenna’s turning rapidly, pretending not to notice as you take sizable steps away from her. “What did my sister say?”

You laugh, shoving your hands in your jacket. “That she liked my SNL episode and thought someone who’s done it before can talk you down.”

“Talk me down?” She scrunches her nose.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” You shrug.

“Your episode was okay.” Jenna turns away to face a mirror, brushing away her bangs.

You take the bait, glad she wasn’t trembling anymore. “Okay? I got the whole cast to break, it’s considered a classic. It was nominated for an Emmy that year.”

“It didn’t win though.”

You scoff playfully, “I’m leaving. You clearly don’t need my help anymore.”

She laughs obnoxiously as you stomp out of her dressing room. “Wait.”

You stop just before you open the door. “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for talking me down.” She tucks a hair backs, a little shy.

The small smile creeping on your face is hard to subdue. “Don’t mention it. Now, go. You’re gonna kill it.” You wink, exiting the dressing room.

“She’s all good.” You tell her team.

“That’s it? She hasn’t calmed down all day, it takes you – what, five minutes?” Enrique crosses his arms. Jenna’s mom smirks, patting his back then walked past him and into the room as the rest of her family slowly trickled in; her sisters staring at you intensely.

“Uh sorry?” You blush furiously, walking off in the other direction to find your seat.

Jenna kills it, but that was never a surprise. You can tell she’s nervous throughout her monologue but after Fred Armisen does his bit – from beside you, which had been a pleasant surprise. She begins to grow confident, feeling pleased with your embarrassment when the camera pans to you and Fred.

You’d get her back for that. Making a mental note to cook up a special revenge plan, just for her.

Eventually, she falls into the role naturally. Nailing her punchlines perfectly, working the crowd like an expert, and exquisitely performing her skits. It’s a shock to you when you overhear someone behind you say she’s never done live stage work before.

She's so natural at it.

It's a privilege to watch her perform.

You nearly die when she changes into a red suit as she introduces the musical guest of the night.

Actually, you begin to slide off your seat when she comes out in a pinstripe suit — a reference to the Addams family you overheard in passing.

When credits roll and the ‘LIVE’ sign turns off. You remain in your seat. Unsure if you are just admiring her or if it’s ‘cause your legs no longer functioned. You can’t fight that admiration as it grows when you see how supportive her family is as they cheer her on and celebrate this win as one unit. 

You smile, wishing you can relate. At least some people had that in their lives.

A part of you thinks it makes the whole world’s difference, having a support system like that. But you would never know.

Silently, you slip out the stage doors and back to the random dressing room you’ve decided to take refuge in. 

You narrowly miss Jenna trying to find you through the masses; her smile dropping a bit when she realizes you’re gone.

– 

You don’t get a chance to personally congratulate Jenna because Link was bursting into the dressing room — after complaining about trying to find you for ten minutes. Rambling on how you’re needed back in Los Angeles and there was no time to say goodbye.

When you catch the other actress it’s by pure stroke of luck. You're going through checkout at the hotel, waiting for Link to do all the work as you wait behind him. 

You feel slightly guilty that you're just leaving without warning.

You should send Jenna a text, right? But would she even care if you left so suddenly? She did want you out of the city just a few days ago.

But then, you two literally just, might’ve, maybe, almost kissed/shared a moment in her dressing room, so who knows what you should do at this point.

You feel a migraine forming at the base of your skull, the longer you thought about the other actress.

“Y/N?” A voice breaks your self-deprecating thoughts. You turn to see Jenna with her team and family trailing beside her.

Jenna’s smile falls when she sees your bags. Her family walks ahead but you certainly don’t miss their curious eyes as she stops in front of you.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes keep flickering between you and your bags.

Link avoids her sharp, accusing eyes.

“Back to L.A. sorry I was just about to send you a text, actually.” You confessed, a little ashamed. 

It felt like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing… like when you lie to your long-time partner about the real reason why you want some time apart.

“A text?” She raises an unamused brow not liking your answer.

“Yeah, Jake wants me back in L.A. Uh– sorry, was I supposed to tell you?” You ask, a bit confused.

“Tell me?” She scoffs, face dropping. “Yeah, you’re supposed to tell me. I was going to invite you to dinner to celebrate with my family and the SNL cast tonight. But you weren’t even in the audience anymore by the time I finished.”

“Sorry… I thought you’d want to celebrate with your family.” You shrug lamely, torn between feeling guilty and confused at her reaction to the news of your sudden departure.

She made it feel like you were trying to escape.

“Well, I thought–” 

She cuts herself off with a huff then looked back as her family waits for her by the elevator.

“Thought what?”

As if remembering she was still out in a very public setting, after hosting one of the most recognizable programs in America; Jenna blinks out of it. Shoving her feelings down.

“Nothing. Have a safe flight back to L.A. I’ll see you in a few days… or weeks” She mumbles with an edginess to her words, walking away before you can say anything else.

“Tough break, buddy.” Link pats a comforting hand on your shoulder as you were rendered speechless. Unsure if you should chase her down and apologize.

Damn can she walk fast in those heels.

But, why would you be apologizing for having to do your job?

But the way her brow creased like she was actually upset caused an unpleasant drop in your chest. Not enjoying how she was upset and that it seemed like it was all your fault. You? Nah. Maybe she’s still dealing with other stuff and is just taking it out on you. 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What. Just. Happened.” You turn, aggressively snatching your card from the hotel worker who definitely enjoyed the show.

“Are you blind?” He scoffs then walks away from you.

“What do you mean? Link… what do you mean?” 

-

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[astralnymphh]

Domestic!Ellie is my addiction.

I need more. You don’t understand. It’s not a want!? It’s a DESIRE A NEEDDDDD!!!!!! Just reading the hc’s, how sweet and soft she is under it all.

When she’s herself again, that goofy dorky nerd we all know her to beeee!!! AGHHH!!!

- 🩵

i see more domestic!farm!ellie than i do domestic!jackson!ellie, and i think the latter needs to be discussed more.

no cuz farm!ellie— as I've definitely claimed before, is very husband coded. on the other hand, a more early–lover, girlfriend who takes care of the child u got knocked up with. which is literally dina, but, i guess if ur' not obliged to the thought of getting knocked up in the first place; gamer dad. i grew up with one, not like he was present 24/7, but like.. ellie? same font alternate story. i also hc ellie does best with boys, idk. just feel it. okay, maybe cause of jj.

stopp staying over at ellie's place for the night n' you bring the lil' guy over swaddled to your chest— legit, sowing two steps upon her doorstep, darkening it, not even getting the chance to knock, nay cast breath over it, and it's swung open and the bundle of wrathful joy nearing the age of two once strapped to you is now ecstatically babbling in your auburnettes arms. tis' fucking magic; how whenever ellie comes in contact with that baby, skies are rainbow–painted and mourning doves are entrancing the whole of jackson with a birdsong. how ur sweet boy, blood of your blood and bone of your bone, weeps gutty murder in the hold of yours truly— but dries of cheek and whorls of smile with ellie, is unfathomable.

"heyy dude, hows my favorite lil' guy in the world doing?" baby–talks ellie, so ooey and cooey as she bounces at the knee, blocking the doorway, "whos' ready to watch mom play the turning? i know mama is, i know you aree." you are but a fragment to her now, a forgotten shadow at her door. that sounds grim but take it literally. she like, literally forgets to kiss you at the door sometimes.

"ellie." comically, you tap your foot, faking a downturned pout left to dry without her kisses, and the cruel wintry air.

snapping her fern eyes up, she jerks a dumbfounded visage— and an even dumber query, "what?"

"my kiss?"

"oh, right.. um," her face relaxes and turns lily–white of innocence, shooting scattered glances at the child as she slants her weight over to you, "hey babe." extending graceful as a swans neck yet devoting you only a measly peck on the mouth measured lesser than a second before she slunk her body back and spun inside, rambling chin–tucked to that child, "ellies' got a new record i think you'll really like.."

lips still baked to a dry, you stare in catatonic quiescence at the eclipsed circle of pale lamp–light streaking around her bun as she paces away from you. step, by step, by hurried step, eager to spill attention with the full force of her coos amusing the easy–to–please mind, garbiling a possible bravo! or huzah!— until nightfall would whistle through the crickets and quiet him to sleep. leaving you, an even larger, tatted up baby now whiny for your attention.

need to see angelgbc photos of jackson!ellie holding jj now

[crisiscutie]

Could you bless up with a prompt of fluffy Sephiroth helping milk his darling with his hands after she's been lactating so much?

pairing: 🐈 Fluffy Sephiroth/Domestic Darling 🐁

Content Warning: NSFW. Milk Kink.

This winter was the most blissful one you experienced in this region. It was cold, but not too cold. The snowfall was just right, enough for you and your family to enjoy playing in, yet it never became a burden when you had to make quick trips to the nearby village for errands or to restock groceries.

In your cozy cottage, you and Sephiroth were cuddled up on the futon near the fireplace. Given that there's four kids always vying for attention, being alone with Sephiroth was always a cherished moment. Tonight, your triplet boys wanted to run outside to enjoy this snowy evening and to take part in a snowball fight. Angealica, your eldest child, went with them.

You'd usually be with them, cheering them on, sometimes even joining the fight, but this time, you weren't in the mood for it. After all, your big pregnant belly would only weigh you down. And that's not even mentioning the colossal silver kitten of a husband currently snoozing on you. He rested his head on the curve of your swollen breasts, his arms tenderly cradling your pregnant belly. You've been lazily trying to break away from him for the past hour, but nothing is working. Just whenever you thought you had escaped his clutches, he swiftly caught you once more, his lips forming a playful smile. This cat won't let his mouse leave so soon, wouldn't he?

You sighed. It was all too easy to forget that your husband had an immature side, one that made him act like your triplets. It looked like the apple didn't fall far from the tree after all. Eventually, this petty game between the two of you came to an end, with your cravings emerging as the victor. As you stood up and waddled to the kitchen, he let out a groggy pout. He sat up on the futon, his heavy-lidded eyes opening. When his vision became clear, his pupils dilated as he quietly admired your curvy, waddling form. Soon after, he followed your lead, still wearing that playful smile on his lips.

"What are you making, ~?" he purred, leaning his head on your shoulder and nuzzling against your neck.

"Hot chocolate for us, sleepyhead. I've been wanting to make it for a while, but it was hard to get you off me. You're practically dead weight when you're napping!" You gently nudged him with your elbow, and he responded with a chuckle. As you opened the cabinet to gather the ingredients, he joined in, his larger hand aligning with yours as you set them out. But when you let out a soft groan, his smile faded and concern crept in.

"I'm fine," you said, "just been backed up with all of this milk..." He slightly raised his eyebrow, knowing full well that you had just expressed your milk. It puzzled him how you could produce so much already. A weak joke suddenly crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but giggle at it. "We don't have any milk left. Maybe I can use mine for this hot chocolate."

"Excellent," he said. "Allow me to assist you," just as you were about to question him, he unbuttoned your wooly cardigan and pulled down the undershirt, revealing your lace bra. He always admired the cute and graceful taste in the lingerie you wore. He gently grabbed your big tits, giving them a light squeeze to tease and make sure he wasn't being too forceful, knowing how sensitive they were.

"Ahhh~!" you moaned, pressing your curvaceous body against his muscular, towering one. "So this is how you'll do it..." A faint blush colored your face. You didn't think your sweet and pure husband would've initiated such an action, but here he was, playing with his food. You probably rubbed off on him, since you've introduced and explored more kinks with him in the past. He positioned a pot before you and unhooked your lacey bra. Your pillowy tits came bursting out of their confinements.

"Relax, darling..." He whispered. He kissed your neck and gently massaged the swollen flesh, rolling both engorged nipples with his fingertips. As they begin to leak droplets of milk into the pot, a quiet sigh escaped your lips. Sephiroth slightly increased his milking intensity in response, his fingers now gently tugged your nipples to release more milk. He also noticed your slumping form and removed one hand, to give you support to keep standing. His hardened bulge pressed against your clothed ass.

Fuck, this felt so amazing. The milk flowing from your breasts felt like a river breaking free from its frozen banks. Why didn't you think of this before? Your tits released more and more milk, and Sephiroth's lips found their way to your collarbone, leaving a cute lovebite. He finally stopped when there was enough milk to fill the pot.

"Better?" He had that damn playful grin again. Turning around, you tilted your head while running your hand along his bulge. It was rock hard now.

"Hm... not strong enough. Our silver kitten needs to do more intense milkings for the next time," you teased, poking fun at his high training standards. His playful grin remained on his face, slightly deepening as he helped you re-dress. He then briefly glanced out the window, noticing that a blizzard had begun and caught sight of the boys running towards the cottage. He leaned down, his warm breath and husky voice reaching your ear.

"You're going to regret testing me, Darling. Until next time..."

snow day. If this was "Fluffy" Sephy, he would've been squeezing Darling's tits like lemons xD

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/attackfish/155865674048?source=share

Thoughts on this pist? The three pillar theory of Azula?

I think it's a shame that it started out as a genuinely good analysis that wasn't neglecting either Azula's "evil" side nor her "good/innocent" side, and was quickly derrailed into nonsense that either lies about or grossly misremembers canon events.

Here are the five mistakes that ruined this analysis (and plenty of others).

1 - Unwillingness to accept that, while Azula is wrong about Ozai, she is 100% right about Ursa

Ozai was an abusive parent towards both of children. Ursa was a better parent - this does not mean she was perfect.

We see her spending time one-on-one with Zuko, and sometimes including Azula in it, and looking happy when her children are seemingly getting along. So far, so good.

But she doesn't spend one-on-one time with Azula, Bryke describe Zuko as Ursa's FAVORITE, and Zuko himself does not defend his mother when Azula says she loved him more. Not so good.

When Zuko throws bread at the turtleducks and hurts one, Ursa is horrified, but only reprimands him a little before hugging him and playfully explaining to him why what he did was bad. Through the rest of the episode, we constantly see her either telling Azula to not speak the way she does or scolding her harshily - without ever explaining the reason why. Zuko, the year-old, is the only person that bothers to explain things to Azula (like Iroh coming home early because he's grieving and how that's not weakness) and question her in an attempt to force her to put herself in someone else's shoes (asking how she'd feel if their cousin wanted their dad to die).

Ursa's 10-year-old son, even when in a fit of rage, did a better job than her at parenting her 8-year-old daughter.

And, finally, this person mentions the comics as "proof" of Azula just "not understanding" that her mom totally was treating her and Zuko the same, unlike their dad.

In the comics, Ursa ignores her daughter, even she's in the room. She wakes Zuko up to say goodbye when she's banished, so he'll know he was loved, but doesn't do the same to Azula, meaning their last interaction was a fight. She then willingly forgets her own children, and then she has her memories back she rarely ever bothers to mention that Azula, who is in the middle of a psychotic episode, is missing. There's no concern for her well-being, only "Oh, I wonder how my OTHER daughter is doing." Can't even say her fucking name.

Ursa played favorites and it damaged her daughter. The mirror scene is quitely literally Azula desperately wanting Ursa to treat her like she used to treat Zuko - explaining what she did wrong, how she can be better, and assuring her that she is loved. The only time Azula is treated fairly by her mother was literally a hallucination.

2 - Bizarre need to make every mundane thing Azula does be connected to/a result of some pathological condition

Azula is a manipulative person, no one in their right mind can deny that - but I gotta laugh when people act like her giving her mom puppy-dog eyes and repeating the line Ursa probably used to make her kids play together is on the same level of her manipulating Long Feng, or that her playing a prank on Zuko and Mai is no different from messing with his head in "Avatar State."

Just because she is villain, doesn't mean everything she does has an evil, hidden motive. We first hear "Azula always lies" when she tells Zuko THE TRUTH about their dad going to murder him.

No one believes someone who is NEVER honest. No one gets attached to someone that is NEVER kind. Not dick move is a result of someone's greatest flaws. A child telling a white lie is not the same as some crazy scheme to manipulate someone.

3 - Not understanding that unhealthy/selfish love is not the same as FAKE love

I don't think I've ever been more mad at a line in an analysis about Azula (which is saying a lot) than I was when I read this person claim that Azula didn't genuinely love Mai and Ty Lee and justified with the absurd sentence "People don’t fall apart the way Azula did because somebody they love leaves them."

Yes, they do. When you have a ton of problems, be it psychological ones or life-problems, having the people you care about turn away from you can absolutely make you spiral out of control. You don't even need some kind of unhealthy, excessive dependence on them for that to be the case. Losing people is very painful, and during low points a great deal of pain can fuck you up.

Azula's dynamic with them is not healthy, but that doesn't mean her love isn't real. And I don't mean it in a "It's real FOR HER", no, it's just 100% real, plain and simple.

If Azula didn't care about them, she would have never done things like not punish Mai for blatanly disregarding her orders in The Drill, or apologize after making Ty Lee cry, admit she was JEALOUS, and then ask advice. She'd sure as hell not have conversation with her "mom" (herself) about how she hurt them and abused their friendship/her authority over them.

She loves her friends, but she was never taught how to have a normal, equal relationship with anyone. She was raised to see things as a matter of who is in charge and who is subordinate. She is the princess, therefore it's her right to put her wants and needs before that of her friends. She even says to "Ursa" that she doesn't have the option to NOT act like that, because "fear is the only reliable way."

That is a key factor of Azula's tragedy, because her relationship with Ozai is the center of her universe, it is the basis of all other relationships in her life - and it is rooted in her never doing anything to displease him because she's terrified not only of the potential punishment, but of also losing that bond. So she uses fears to keep others close to her, not realizing that if she didn't do that they wouldn't WANT to cut ties with her.

(Also, fuck me, I nearly punched my computer when I read "Ty Lee ran away with the circus to be free of Azula." She literally tells us it was about her bad relationship with HER PARENTS AND HER SISTERS. It had nothing to do with Azula - what is it with people and this obsessive need of blaming my girl for things we KNOW weren't her fault?)

4 - Not understanding that Zuko is more than just Azula's rival/the exemple of what happens when you displease Ozai

Azula loves her brother. According to the lead writer of the show, Zuko is the person Azula loves the most (after Ozai, hence all the tension in their relationship).

Azula didn't know Aang had any chance of survival until Zuko let it slip - when they were ALREADY home, meaning the plan to blame him for everything if Aang survived could not possibly exist yet.

In the following episode, she warns him to be careful when visiting Iroh, otherwise people could think they were plotting together. Zuko asks what she's gaining by letting him know, and she says she's just looking out for him - and it never comes back, because she was not lying. She WAS taking care of him.

The Last Agni Kai hits so hard because they COULD have had a good relationship if things were different. If Ozai and Ursa hadn't played favorites. If Ozai wasn't abusive. If Zuko hadn't left after Azula brought him home, or if Azula had understood WHY he left.

Even in "The Spirit Temple", one of the few comics that are actually good, Azula says she wished their mom had let Ozai kill Zuko... yet we see that her ideal, happy life includes her loving, unscarred brother that is super proud of her. She spends the entire comic saying Zuko is weak and a coward who can't face her, yet when she sees "him" (an hallucination) directly confroting her about her own mistakes and the pain she caused, demanding her to apologize, it is Azula herself who runs away to hide from him.

Azula hurt her brother many times, and she knows that - and she is in denial about the guilt she feels over it because feeling guilt over hurting someone who is "lesser" is a weakness and an imperfection, and she needs to be strong and perfect all the time.

If you disregard her conflicting feelings on her brother, you disregard half her character.

5 - Forgetting that Azula is a child soldier under Ozai's orders

This is THE big one, guys. It's astounding how people just forget that Ozai isn't just Azula's abusive parent, he is the absolute monarch that can legally punish her if she displeases him.

Does she repeatedly fight Zuko because of their rivalry? Sure. But half the time she's doing it because Ozai literally gave her the mission to do so.

Does she threaten Ty Lee at the circus because she doesn't like being told "no"? Yes... but also because Ty Lee would be a valluable team member, and she needs a small elite team to properly do the task Ozai gave her.

Even the Last Agni Kai happens in the context of "Ozai just told Azula that he's trusting her to protect defend their throne."

There's a reason why, at "The Beach", she can handle pretending to be regular girl instead of a princess, but is CONSTANTLY on "battle mode", trying to turn a game into a war, praising a guy's outfit by sayind it'd make thousands drown at sea with how sharp it is, and why her flirting game consists of "We'll take over the world together!"

She grew up seeing violence be normalized and glorified every second of the day, to the point that things don't even register to her as being violent at all anymore.

Of course she's toxic and full on hostile in her relationships, no matter how much she cares about the person in question: All she's ever known is war, and Ozai deliberately blurs the lines to make his abuse of her and Zuko seem normal.

You can't disregard "Ozai will punish me if I don't do this" as a factor when talking about Azula.

[hardlyinteresting]

No request for this one but I was thinking about Aaron as a dad

Hotch does his absolute best to be a good example for Jack. He does his best to be kind, forgiving, and respectful of those around him. He tries to teach Jack how to be strong and resilient, but he never wants his child to grow up to be jaded or hardened to the world.

He promised Haley that he would tell Jack about them, but more importantly he promised to teach Jack about love. To show him love. Aaron never hesitates to answer any of Jack’s questions about Haley, or how they met. He appreciates the trip down memory lane too sometimes, regardless of the way they parted, Aaron is grateful for the opportunity to relive the good. It's a brief relief from the memory of the day she died.

Aaron also moves on. He finds love again. Haley had broken his heart long before her death. And that's the truth he has to accept to go forward in his life. He slowly but surely learns to let go of the guilt that he's been carrying. He tries to open himself up again. He's not the same as he was before Haley, but he's doing his best. He needs to believe that he's worth it, that love is worth it. Aaron is a firm believer in leading by example, and practicing what you preach. He needs to believe in love if he's going to teach Jack to do the same.

Aaron calls things beautiful. He calls you beautiful around Jack. He’ll say “it's a beautiful day” when he's out on walks or at the park with the boy. And on a regular basis he compliments Jack’s latest artworks “that's awesome, buddy. I like what you did with the blue paint over her. Another beautiful work,” he smiles at his son, “should we put it up on the fridge?”

If Aaron is lucky enough to be the father of any other children after Jack he worries about spending enough time with all of them. There never seemed to be enough hours in a day even when it was just Jack. He never wants his children to feel like they're wanting for his attention or his love. When he's home he belongs to his family and he wouldn't want it any other way.

Hanging out with kiddos and getting a chance to just let go and be silly, being subjected to childhood logics, (“ah yes, of course how silly of me, of course you have magically powers that help you see dragons, how could I ever forget?”), and seeing the world through eyes of his kids helps heal his own inner child. Nothing else matters for a moment outside of lightsaber battles, or tea parties. He's reminded of the innocence he once had. He was forced to grow up too quickly, and his career, and life since then have only stripped any last bit of science from him. he's proud to offer his kids a childhood where they can hold on to theirs.

Aaron is the number one bandage-er of boo boos and banisher of bad dreams. He buys fun bandaids. And he always presses a kiss to them after they're applied. (I don't make the rules. This is just 100% true). He always does voices when he reads bedtime stories, and there's not a single nightmare he can't scare away.

Send requests

[adventuringblind]

Church Girl

Oscar Piastri x Autistic!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Request: no (check masterlist for request status)

Summary: Church has a tendency to make people feel unwanted. When reader goes to visit her family, they convince her to go with them to the place she’s trying to forget. Good thing Oscar is there with her.

Warnings: toxic religious folk, religious trauma, creepy old men, panic attacks

Notes: okay so this goes out to my neurodivergents who were stuck in a church that didn’t understand them with peers who made them feel like they were an alien, adults who were always asking the wrong questions and judging their clothes, and were forced into the stereotypes they wanted you to fit in. Fire Drill by Melanie Martinez was on repeat while writing this.

This is loosely based on true events

Masterlist

Summer break is here which means it’s time to go visit family. She and Oscar board the plane to her home country, all smiles and laughs.

She’s missed them since being away. Her family hasn’t always understood her, but she loves them dearly.

When they arrived they were greeted with hugs and questions about the trip.

At the dinner table that night, Oscar was quick to realize that he didn’t fully realize how religious his girlfriends family is. It seemed to be their favorite topic.

The girl next to him was struggling with the conversation and he could feel her stimming under the table. She’d talked about her church experience a little with him. He didn’t want to push her so he didn’t know the full extent of everything that happened. He recalls her mom having to put up with some horrible people and the tears over how it hurt her to see her mom so broken in a place she should feel loved. How her sister felt she would never be good enough for their expectations. How her dad uses is to control them sometimes.

And yet they’d convinced them to go with. Well- more like she was trying to please and wants to spend time with her family.

In the lonesome of their room that night, she collapsed into him.

“I think I might vomit.”

He simply hold her. “Do you want to talk about it? We can always say we changed our minds.” He suggests. His attempt at reassuring her futile as she panics more.

“The people there judge so critically. It didn’t help that I was weird to kids my age and mature enough for the adults to ask me why I’m showing my shoulders because they’re a distraction.”

Oscar hums in understanding. Carful not to interrupt her explanation but still show he’s listening.

“They say it’s a stereotype, but it’s true. I’ve been teased and looked down on and made out to be over dramatic. My old youth pastor used to talk to my mom about my ‘behavior’ and how I argued with him to much. Then I yelled at him for getting in my personal space and saying things an adult should never say to a child, in my opinion. I was constantly told I talk to much about the wrong things and not enough about the right.”

Though Oscar’s shirt is getting wet, he doesn’t care. Her more harmful stimming habits are showing as he’s determined not to let that happen. She plays with his fingers instead. “I can’t do it Jack.”

The endearing nickname alerts him this is serious. He didn’t know how far this trauma had been rooted inside her. No wonder she struggles with her self-esteem, she was told her entire life she’d never measure up. She’d endured hours of countless awkward conversations and events she couldn’t wait to leave.

The worst part is that he knows it’s why she apologizes for everything. It didn’t matter how much she tried to look ‘normal’ she couldn’t get it right and people were mad at her for it.

“I will leave it up to you, but say the word and I’ll have us out of here in an hour.”

~

Oscar had half a mind just to feign sickness and tell them they can’t go. The girl pacing the room had yet to get dressed or pull the plug and say she doesn’t want to go.

“I say wear something comfortable and scandalous.” He leans back on the bed with a smirk.

“Since when are you so evil? And are you crazy? I’d get eaten by judgmental stares.”

“Let them stare. You deserve to be comfortable in whatever you wear without feeling judged and preyed on.”

~

They took a separate car from her parents. Partially because they wanted to leave early, mostly because in case of emergency they had an escape vehicle.

He could feel her trying to self soothe in the passenger seat. She’d finally settled for her favorite pair of pants and his sweatshirt. Comfort clothes for a hard situation definitely seemed like the best option.

He held her hand as they walked to the front door and stopped right outside. “Remember you’re not stuck. We can leave anytime you want.” She nods her head appreciatively, then they step through the doors.

He felt like the were underdressed. Which is an absolutely ridiculous notion because it’s eight in the morning and he’d rather be asleep. How these people look dressed for a ball at this hour is beyond him.

Oscar spots her family amongst the sea of people and weaves them into their vicinity.

“Y/N, hi! How are you? It’s been so long!” Chirps an elderly woman who awkwardly embraces the girl. She’s still as a board and yet the lady doesn’t get the hint.

“I’m alright.” She smiles politely.

“And who’s this young man?”

“My boyfriend, Oscar.”

He reaches out his hand to her and she shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you.” He offers his media coached smile.

“Oh are you two planning on settling down? Having kids?”

She shuffles awkwardly looking for a response. She hates invasive questions like these. Now would normally be where an inappropriate joke about Lando practically being their child would go but she thinks that might be wrong. But what’s even right in this situation?

“Not currently. I travel for work majority of the year so it would be difficult to start a family.” She’s grateful Oscar knows to manage conversation.

“Oh well… that’s to bad.” Then the woman shuffles away.

“I told you it’s bad.”

“I see your point. Did you know her?”

“No but apparently everyone is allowed to talk to you like that even if you just know a persons name because we’re a ‘church family’.

As they wait for the service to start, they pass the time by people watching. Snickering at the obvious fake smiles and perfect families people show off on Sunday mornings.

They are rudely interrupted by a male probably in his forties. “Excuse me, I have got to ask, are you two siblings?”

He must be newer, she thinks to herself, it’s not like she’s been gone that long. She shakes her head at the man, one hand in Oscar’s the other inside the sweatshirt pocket. “No sir, we’re dating actually.”

“That’s a real shock. He’s a keeper if that’s how you dress all the time and he still chose you.” His comment is directed at her. The social analysis kicking in. Is this sarcasm? Or maybe a joke she doesn’t get? Is he being serious?

“What do you mean by that?” Oscar is quick to ask back. Again, saving her from most likely saying something she shouldn’t.

“Most guys enjoy when a girl wears appropriate female clothing. I’m just saying she’s lucky to have you if this is what she wears all the time.” He eyes her up and down. “Would be prettier in a dress I reckon.”

“Nope. She’s pretty in everything she wears.” Oscar is dragging her off in the opposite direction before turning around. “Also, sir, I’m the lucky one.”

The service is long and boring. The two pass notes back and forth like they are in high school. Though they aren’t necessarily trying to hide the fact they are doing it.

When it’s over, they quickly tell her parents they are heading out because truthfully, the girl is in the verge of a meltdown from the over stimulation.

They get almost to the door before being stopped again by the last person she wanted to ever see again. Her old youth pastor.

“Y/N! I didn’t think you were ever coming back!” He goes to hug her but she steps back. Almost using Oscar as a barrier. “Awe don’t be like that.” He pouts.

“We were actually just heading out.” Oscar steps in. He didn’t like how the man is eyeing her. It’s uncomfortable for him and even more so for her.

“And you are…?”

“Oscar, her boyfriend.”

A look of shock spreads across his face. “That’s gooier to hear. I didn’t think she’d ever find someone.” Oscar doesn’t hesitate to use his sarcasm and over expressive facial expressions as he feigns curiosity.

“Why’s that?”

“I could never get her to shut up about things that weren’t important. And after the lengthy discussion we had with the board about her argumentative attitude with her male superiors, I just thought it would never happen.”

She didn’t tell him about that one. Oscar can see out of the corner of his eye how her head drops in shame. He doesn’t let go of her hand. “So you work with kids but when one doesn’t act the way you want you take to abusive behaviors? Glad to see a church full of people who are supposed to be loving are letting their youth get hurt by adults.” He says launder then necessary, but it gets his point across because people heard him.

He turns in his heels and places a protective arm around her waist as they walk to the car.

He knows she’s overstimulated, so he tries lets her go at her own pace when they get back to her parents house. The spare key still in the same place it’s been for years, so no need to wait outside.

In the safety of the room, she latches herself onto the Aussie. “I’m sorry.”

He holds her and does his best to soothe her. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Those people are sick, I swear. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“That meeting was the worst day of my life. Sitting in a room with a bunch of older men telling me how to behave. They made some jokes that they shouldn’t have and told me I’d never have a good life if I kept acting like I had been.” She’s wailing now.

Oscar can practically hear his hear shatter. How could people be so ignorant and blind?

“They said that my autism isn’t an excuse and that I need to try harder. Then they said maybe one of them can take me under their wing and show me how to treat a man right. I was barely eighteen.”

They spent the night like that. Her crying into his shoulder and him trying to calm her down. She fell asleep in his arms and he didn’t have the heart to move her and risk waking her up.

He couldn’t fathom someone telling her her brain being different means she’s not good enough. It’s what makes her unique in his eyes. How could someone not love the way her eyes light up when she talks about those interests that she never gets tired of. How her honesty and ability to stand her ground make conversations with her never dull.

Oscar leans down and kisses her head. “I don’t care who says you aren’t good enough, they are lying. You are for more then enough and I feel so special that you love me and are willing to share those pieces of yourself with me.”

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,220

Warnings | +18, Taehyung gives bad advice, Jungkook obsessed and manipulative, the protagonist increasingly confused with herself

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Have fun with this sixth chapter, let me know what do you think! 🥰

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts, @aiiselle90210, @fewercascade , @mageprincess7, @m00njinnie

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

For several days Y/N could not sit properly, to her shame she had the constant need for help from Jungkook, which each time led her to clam up. The boy applied ointment to her every night to heal her wounds, which, shortly after that abrupt sexual intercourse of theirs, had appeared even more painful than the spanking itself, Jungkook avoided externalizing his happiness every time he touched her, encircling her soft buttocks in his hands gently, because on the other hand he saw the girl's detachment and felt guilty. Y/N could not forget the pain of that punishment, just as she could not forget the sticky feeling of his cum on her face, as well as in her mouth, had been shocking and regrettable. But what really humbled the girl deep down was the fact that she had felt constant pleasure in every action of his, even the most vulgar and obscene. The moments before her orgasm replayed in her head, she had longed for it, unable to think of anything else, and god-sometimes even dreamed of it. What was happening to her? It was not normal to react like this, he was her captor and he had punished her, like some kind of rude child, she burned at reliving each moment, this forced her to distance herself even more from the young man.

On the other hand, Jungkook watched her pacing around the house like a soul in pain, and wondered if he had been right to punish her in that way. He saw the distance that, if possible, had increased since that night.

He did not feel good about her in that condition; he wanted to make it up to her, but he did not know how. He swallowed, coming to the conclusion that they had to talk somehow.

He headed to her room with that thought, knocking gently on her door.

He did not like the fact that they were still sleeping apart, but on that Y/N had been adamant. "Y/N? Can we talk for a moment?" he asked, hoping to hear her voice.

Unfortunately, the girl decided to play the silent game once again, Jungkook inhaled, "Y/N, I'm coming in," he warned her, before throwing the door wide open and crossing the threshold of the room. He aimed his gaze at the bed, there where a small bundle was pretending to sleep under the covers. He walked toward that spot, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I shouldn't have treated you that way," he said, regretfully. Yeah, he should never have treated her that way, but between his anger and lust, he had understood nothing more, hadn't masturbated since that time in the old Y/N house, having her that way had sent his self-control to the dogs. "I was angry, and you very indisposed ... I think it was a mix of everything," he whispered, embarrassed, "And you were so beautiful that ... fuck, you really don't know what you do to me," he chuckled unenthusiastically, the girl opened her eyes slightly, remaining well buried. "I'd like to apologize, promising that I won't let anger make me lose my mind anymore, not with you."

Y/N felt a strange grip around her heart; she knew what it was and gritted her teeth. She could not let herself be swayed by the part that still loved him, despite everything he had done to her. She was an incurable romantic in love with her professor, her psychopathic professor who had kidnapped her and declared eternal love for her. He was sick and she could not give in, even though her body, heart, and part of her mind convinced her that he really only wanted her good. She felt a caress on her shoulder; it was a light, quick touch, like the beating of a tiny hummingbird's wings. She said nothing and Jungkook did not dare to add anything else, just left the room in complete and heavy silence. He had failed again.

From then on things were strange, when she got up she would already find breakfast, lunch and dinner still steaming on the table, but no sign of the man. It was strange to eat alone, she was no longer used to solitude, by then it had become the norm to have another human being around the house, ready to look after her at all times. So, unknowingly she began to look for him whenever she could, around the apartment. And always with disappointment, she found that Jungkook was not there. Feeling damn lonely, she began to curse the boy. Hadn't he been the one to tell her that he would never leave her? That he was there for her? Sure, he would not leave her to starve, but Y/N felt hungry for more, it was a deeper, more intimate hunger, one that bound one person to another. A sense of forbidden need that she tried to silence, but could not.

Jungkook was not faring any better, with dark circles to rival a panda's, he threw himself headlong into his work. And he was not behind a desk in that case. He finished just then violently severing a man's carotid artery, blood splattered on his clothes and face, watched with a frown as the man's body trembled and slumped to the ground in mute pain, threw the knife next to the body and shouted angrily inside the warehouse. "You've doubled the load of your work and now you're risking an alarming nervous breakdown, what the hell is wrong with you, 'Kook?" the young man turned sharply toward his friend, Taehyung stared in disgust at the corpse on the ground, "Why are you looking at me like that? Namjoon had said 'clean job,' this looks like a massacre to me." Jungkook grabbed a towel from the cabinet in the corner of the room, dabbing the sweat and blood from his face, "He deserved it, do you know how many girls in our brothel he killed for his disgusting sex games?"

"I know, I analyzed the investigation request Namjoon sent us, but that doesn't take away from the fact that reducing it like this was not in the plans, now how do we pass off the murder of a wealthy Hispanic arms dealer as an accident?" he ironized, Jungkook in response kicked the corpse, as if to emphasize the fact that he couldn't give a damn. "You have piranhas yourself, don't you? Solution found," he tossed his now unusable shirt into a black envelope; he could not go home in that condition, it would definitely break down the precarious relationship that bound him to Y/N. Fortunately there was also a shower in that warehouse, he really could not risk coming back like that, he looked like something out of a splatter movie and the girl did not know his second - and definitely more illegal - job. "Things aren't going well with the girlfriend, huh?" his friend taunted him, earning a dirty look.

"More like they just don't go," he sat wearily on the ground, hiding his head in his arms as he did as a child.

Taehyung immediately regretted mentioning the topic, "Hey, Jungkook...it just takes time, each one has a different way of reacting," he tried to explain, although he could not say he understood it one hundred percent, his girlfriend already loved him before she started a serious relationship with him, he had not experienced the same wars as Seokjin and Jungkook, or worse, Jimin. He recalled with a shudder the girl who was now talking carefree with them, had discovered Jimin's arsenal and had taken the opportunity to stab him on the back and escape. Where Jimin had found the strength to chase and tackle her, Taehyung still could not explain. "It's different Taehyung, I don't have what you call an 'iron fist' with her, if she rejects me I suffer and feel bad, I feel like I'm going crazy." "Then you reject her!" exclaimed the other harshly, "You live together and you are practically the only human she can relate to, if you stop talking to her, paying attention to her or seeing her, she will wonder why, and she will come after you!" He stared at Taehyung with a strange expression, mulling over those words. Perhaps his friend was right, perhaps he had been too helpful and this had been taken as a sign of weakness on the girl's part. He nodded, already knowing what to do.

Y/N heard keys turn in the keyhole and the front door open, she widened her eyes to see that Jungkook had finally come home on time. She had not seen him for days and was beginning to worry. Yes, she was worrying about him. And it was absurd, how unnatural, but it was indeed so. Y/N got up from the couch, that same couch where that painful punishment had been carried out, followed shortly after by the sinful act, and went to meet the boy. She reached him in time to see him take off his jacket, his distraught face leaving her interjected for a moment. "Jungkook!" she said, watching him minutely. His wavy hair was damp and let free to go where it pleased, a thick sweatshirt covered his statuesque physique, and a jumpsuit and boots completed the outfit. For the umpteenth time Y/N actually felt small in front of the man, especially when his gaze fluttered over her briefly, without answering her. He passed her in two strides, locking himself in his room without saying a single word.

This made the girl freeze on the spot, and she did not understand the reason behind his actions. Jungkook had gotten angry a few times, but he was almost always sunny and sweet in her presence; that coldness was something new, something the girl did not want to get used to. She walked slowly in the direction of the boy's bedroom, knocked shyly twice, but received no answer. Her arm fell back along her side, she felt lonely. She felt even more lonely when, at dinner, Jungkook remained with his eyes glued to his smartphone, she swallowed a bitter pill when, trying to engage in a discussion, she asked him, "How are things going at the university? You've been working a lot lately..." and Jungkook replied with a quick shrug. She lost what little appetite she had left, but forced herself to finish, fearfully remembering rule number two, which is to finish her meals like a good girl. She finished her dinner sadly, Jungkook silently picked up the plates and cutlery, putting them to wash in the dishwasher, then without another word he locked himself in his room. He still did everyday things, but with a strange and cold attitude. It went on like this for two weeks, Jungkook always leaving before she woke up, and although present in the house, there seemed to be no one to talk to. Y/N was going crazy.

She wanted Jungkook's attention, she wanted the boy to come back for her, but she did not know how to tell him without making a bad impression. She felt so lonely, and she had to admit it, the boy's love-struck side of herself was bleeding, with moist eyes she continued to watch the television, venting those tears she otherwise would have tried not to shed out of shame. She missed Jungkook. What she did not know was that the situation was generating not one but two victims. Jungkook missed Y/N, he missed her like fresh morning air or like the wind in his hair, everything about Jungkook wanted to push him to give in, to come back to her with a thousand and more kisses to give her and demand for himself, but Taehyung's words were firmly rooted in Jungkook's head. The girl had to understand the importance of having him around, otherwise the dynamics between them would never change. She would continue to see him as a jailer, he as an untouchable girl. It wasn't fair; he wanted a relationship, not a constant tug of war. So he kept coming home later and later, of course leaving her meals to eat, that would never change, but he wanted her to finally decide to run into his arms.

Two days later, Y/N lying in her bed could not get to sleep. Jungkook still had not returned and she wondered what he was doing and who he was with, especially that last question was nagging her. There had to be a valid reason behind his detachment so suddenly, and the thought of another woman had made its way into her mind several times already, the more time passed, the more the thought grew, until it had made it impossible for her to rest well at night for some time now. A strange feeling was roaring in her chest, one she had never felt before, never had a reason to feel it, and now it was disturbing her like few things in the world. Jealousy. Yes, she was rotten jealous. The image of Jungkook kissing or fucking a woman who was not her was corroding her from the inside out. She would have given every pittance to know the truth, but then what would she have done? Would she have survived such pain? She pulled up her nose and only then, in complete silence, did she hear the door open and footsteps make their way through the house.

[lady-embers]

I think a lot of people continuously overlook the GOOD Nesta did during the series and only focus on her "hateful attitude". Sometimes actions show more than words and Nesta is an action girly.

ACOTAR- She tried to protect Feyre in the market. She went after Feyre when Tamlin took her. She essentially told Feyre to go and save Tamlin and not to worry about them. She was ready to marry someone to help have one less mouth to feed for Feyre. She chopped wood for two days in a row.

Also, I think this quote is important from book 1 from Feyre about Nesta:

"I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory.... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she HAD cared - beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps, loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally."

ACOMAF - She wasn't in here much but both her and Elain opened their home to Feyre and the IC for the war purposes when they were taught their whole life to be scared/fear the fae and ended up turned against their will for their efforts which is incredibly traumatic.

ACOWAR - Nesta helped with the Queens and the High Lords. She helped Feyre and the whole Raven attack thingy. She participated in the war and almost died trying to save Cassian and then beheaded Hybern. She then helped tend to the wounded and dieing. She really had no time to sort through her own trauma during this time either since she was looking after comatose Elain and in a place where she didn't want to be.

ACOFAS - We see her drowning in her trauma. She can't even take baths (which Feyre had said in ACOWAR she'd help with as she never thought about how the Cauldron affected them). She is invited to party with rent money held over her head (despite the fact she had a job as human emissary during the war so where is the money promised to her from accepting that job from Rhysand?) While there, Feyre remarks how uncomfortable Nesta is but doesn't both to wonder why, and come to find out fire bothers her because it reminds her of her father's neck snapping RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. Cassian runs after her and even though she wants to be alone she's hounded and is seen as the bad guy for not taking his gift. A gift he proceeds to throw away, like a child, into the water because she didn't take it...At this point she just wanted to be left alone and they kept hounding her and not respecting boundaries she was putting up.

ACOSF - She is still drowning..she is forced into the HOW (feyre said she'd be tied and thrown there essentially so it wasn't really a choice) where she has to walk down 10,000 steps (which she physically/mentally/emotionally could not do so she was essentially a prisoner since no help was offered by feyre and Amren own words and let's not forget those same steps were used as punishment for Rhysand and the bat boys)..she starts training though and finds her own found family in Gwyn and Emerie. She helps the IC multiple times with things in ACOSF to and even saves Rhysand, Feyre, and Nyx very lives. She even says sorry to Feyre and Feyre doesn't hold anything against Nesta, not even telling her about the babies wings because at least she told her. We also find out she tried to write letters to others to help during their poverty times and her boots weren't as new as Feyre made then out to be showing Feyre as an unreliable/biased narrator.

All in all, I wouldn't say Nesta is an absolutely terrible horrible nasty person that is beyond redemption or forgiveness.

She is a woman who has been traumatized from a very young age starting with her mother/grandmother to being turned fae to PTSD from war/her father and doesn't know how to cope so she lashes out (which is a VALID TRAUMATIC RESPONSE) to push others away because she HATES herself more than anyone else does. She knew lashing out was wrong but didn't have the tools/upbringing to know healthy responses. It's really not until Gwyn and Emerie came along and showed her UNCONDITIONAL LOVE that she began to change and learn better and new healthy coping mechanism to let go of the bad ones.

Now, I'm not saying her trauma response was good or acceptable or excusable, but I do think she deserves some grace and compassion given all she's been through herself. Trauma is not a comparison game after all and we all experience and cope differently. Just like these characters.

Artist is Crisol Crowling or crisolcrowling on IG!

[separatist-apologist]

thoughts on tog couples? do you ship rowaelin?

I definitely have thoughts. I don't ship Rowaelin- I KIND of liked it in QoS (I think?), but then immediately back peddled in the next book. My issues are this, you can take them or leave them:

Aelin is 18 years old when Rowan finds her on that roof. She's burdened with saving her home and her friends and feels responsible for the death of a friend, so she's not doing well.

Additionally, Aelin's whole life from 8 years old onward is about survival first- sometimes I feel like people forget that Arobynn KNOWS who she is and weaponizes this knowledge against a little girl before playing with her like a toy.

She also watches what could happen to her through Lysandra, should Arobynn ever change his mind about her. She's either violent tool or she's a submissive toy- but at not point is she EVER a person.

By contrast, when Rowan meets Aelin, he is an old ass man. And I'm sorry, but I'm tired of SJM telling me that these fae warriors have immaculate self-control but then everything we see is the opposite. Rowan is angry he's been assigned to train Aelin- which she NEVER asked him for. That's on Maeve. Every issue Rowan has is with Maeve, but because he lacks the power to punish Maeve, he punishes Aelin instead.

Aelin wishes his people die- this is always the line where people are like, okay well I understand he's mad- but like, again she is a child in Rowan's aging terms, lashing out because he's been a fucking dick 24/7 since picking her up.

Rowan is practically baiting Aelin into suicide and needs someone outside of his group of comrades/training to tell him that he is going out of his way to harm her, and can he PLEASE stop?

I'm not even touching on the whole face punching thing.

My issue with Rowaelin is that Rowan never really views Aelin as a person until she proves herself useful to him in battle, which nearly kills her (because Aelin is self-sacrificial to a point), and he sees what her homeland did to her. Only then can he find empathy for her, only then does he shift the way he treats her. If Rowan had been kinder from the start, Aelin might have had a better command of her magic that prevented the burning up to begin with.

But he lets all his own prejudices and emotions get the better of him for too long, and I never quite got over how they started. I don't think he ever deserved her loyalty, and I get tired of stans saying they were both equally awful because like, Rowan has a duty to Aelin to help her. It's not her fault Lyra was killed, or that he's enslaved to Maeve, or even that he was assigned to train her when all she wanted was to ask for help from a powerful relative.

Also, in later books SJM seems to realize that the age gap might be weird for some readers and instead of just leaning into the trope, she has Rowan thinking about how he "forgets" Aelin is only 19 because she's so much more mature and I wish she hadn't done that. I think most fantasy readers accept this age gap trope, so she forces us, instead, to keep acknowledging it and it makes him read a little creepy.

[phantomtwitch]

Masterpost

PhantomTwitch | 30-something | she/her

Hi! Welcome to my blog! It's only taken me over a decade to finally do this. I love cartoons and writing and all kinds of other things, and I have the kind of lame sense of humor that makes three year olds laugh hysterically and anyone older than ten roll their eyes most of the time.

This place is a disorganized disaster (kind of like my brain), with this post probably the closest thing to any sense of order I've tried to impose on it. Below are links to my various writings, as Tumblr's search bar sucks and most of you are probably members of the phandom that stumbled across one of my works somewhere and came looking for more.

(Though whether that's the case or not, you're welcome either way!)

I write a lot and genuinely love it. The only part of writing I actually hate is coming up with titles and summaries. Sometimes I get a decent flash of inspiration for a title, other times? Ehhhhh.

I'm happy to answer any asks and will, like many, happily ramble on endlessly about my fics.

I rarely post WIPs, so unless noted, all of the works below are completed as of this time and on AO3.

Danny Phantom Fanfics

Echoes

There was something wrong with Danny Fenton.

Nearly eighteen months after a lab accident left him hospitalized, his friends and family assumed he was still recovering from the side effects of his near-death experience. But after witnessing Danny do something ghostly, they begin to suspect something much more sinister is afoot and set out to save their friend from the clutches of the evil ghost possessing him.

As The Ice Begins to Crack

Little by little, as the public’s perception of him changed, Danny’s ghost form continued to reflect it. He looked more human every day, more confident, and more like the superheroes from the comics they used to read on the floor of Danny’s room as kids. As the months passed there was a moment when Tucker began to forget, to wonder if what he saw when Danny first stepped out of the portal that day was nothing more than a nightmare.

Inspired by this post on tumblr from paenling

Doubt Comes In

For InvisoBang 2023.

When Danny Fenton returns on the first day of spring after being kidnapped by the Fright Knight, something is off. His teeth are too sharp, his skin is too pale, and when he’s angry, the lights flicker as a harsh chill and the scent of ozone permeates the air as if heralding an approaching storm. There are moments when he is impossibly still, more statue than flesh, more ghost than human, and little by little everyone wonders if the child sitting in their midst is truly still Danny at all.

Scars He Hides

For Ecto-implosion 2023.

The portal accident left Danny with scars that glow whether he's Fenton or Phantom. He's done his best to hide them, but it's only a matter of time before someone finds out his secret.

Beyond the Grave

For Ecto-implosion 2023.

At the start of his freshman year, Danny Fenton disappeared. But much as Dash didn’t care and preferred to focus on football, it’s hard to avoid thinking about it after seeing Fenton dig himself out from an unmarked grave in the woods.

What We Have Been is What We Are

Based on this tumblr prompt from MadameTamma here

Maddie has a near death experience when an invention blows up on her in the lab. Her spirit is suddenly thrust from her body, and Clockwork appears to guide her down the Path, presenting her with a chance to learn from her past as her life flashes before her eyes. Little by little there are signs that she's missed something, that there's something off with Danny, and she finds herself risking her very existence to learn the truth.

So You Have Wished It

Something is wrong. Something has changed.

The signs start off so small, so easy to dismiss, but little by little it begins to spiral until Sam can't ignore it anymore and she's forced to face reality once again.

(This is a one-shot from part of a bigger AU I am working on currently)

My Body Is a Cage

For Angst Fest 2023

His friends aren't sure how much longer they can keep this a secret. Every time a ghost appears, Danny dies again. And every time Danny dies, they bring him back.

It doesn't help that no matter how much they try to explain to Danny what's happening, the truth never sticks.

Unnamed Electric Core OneShot

Currently on Tumblr only, now a bigger WIP, but this can still be read on its own. Another No One Knows AU with the ghosts being creepier than in canon.

Unnamed WIP

Currently on Tumblr only, this was inspired by yet another MadameTamma prompt where Danny does not remember being human. Body Horror fic and currently a WIP.