#how? *shrugs* father's perspective

[gonzodangerfeels]

I need to remember the pimps come from the slums and shouldn't be looked at directly.

[gghostwriter]

Death of a Love Affair

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times you understood and the final time you couldn’t.

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: this felt oddly personal to me this is my first time writing in the Y/N perspective and in a one shot format so please be kind. I kinda left a possibly for p2, not sure about that yet, but let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Main masterlist || Part 2A (happy end) || Part 2B (sad end)

The first time it happened, you completely understood. 

You had an inkling as to what you were getting into when you started dating a 187 genius who graduated at a young age and who was scouted straight from college by the FBI. It wasn’t hard to comprehend these external circumstances mixed with his internal need to prove himself worthy of belonging with the big boys would result in missed personal events. It was a given, you expected it.

You just didn’t count on him missing your graduation. After all, he gave his word that he’ll be there to see you walk the stage and receive your diploma. He promised you and yet, as you scanned the crowd of loved ones hugging the attendees, there was no sign of his tie wearing, button up lithe form weaving through the crowd, no sign of his slicked hair, meticulously tucked behind his ears and no sign his doe eyed hazel eyes shining with pride as you joined the ranks of adulthood and unemployment.

You reach for your phone, now finally free from the nerves and adrenaline of going up the stage, with a single unread message from the one you wished to be here with you.

I’m sorry, angel. There’s a case and Gideon needs me. 

You sighed with a mild smile sprouting on your glossed lips as you sent back a reply.

No worries! We can celebrate when you get back. Be safe, I love you.

“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!” Your mom exclaimed, reaching for a hug. “You graduated and with so many achievements—I mean look at all these cords hanging around your neck!”

You laughed as you stepped out from her warm embrace and watched joyful tears gather under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom! Hopefully all these cords help me get a job soon, huh, or else I’ll be moving back home with you.”

“Oh honey, stop joking! As if I wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms,” she quipped back. 

A hand holding a bouquet of flowers shot up to your face. It was a bundle of your favorite, carnations, in ranges of different colors. 

“Congratulations, lil sis,” your older brother, Trevor, breathed out. “Do I get a hug too or is that just for Mom?” 

You giggled as you stepped into his arms, happy to be sharing this moment with your ever loving protector of a brother, no matter how busy he might be as a head chef for his own highly rated restaurant.

“Hey big brother, thanks for being here,” you mumbled in his tight grasp. “Did you pass along my invite to Dad?” 

You felt him subtly shake his head causing your smile to slightly falter. You knew better than to expect the man who gifted you half of his genes to show up—a workaholic, absentee of a father whose love language was to deposit checks to your bank account from his fattened pockets as a lawyer for the rich. It was the cause of your parents’ separation when you were five years old. The matriarch tired from taking up the mantle as both the paternal and maternal figure for both you and your brother. Your mother exhausted from repeatedly believing broken promises uttered to herself and to her babies.

Having seen first hand how each lie wrapped as an oath chipped a piece of the loving and bright woman who gave birth to you and your brother, you vowed to never let that happen to you. It was a cautionary tale engrained in your mind. A fable—a curse really and in hindsight, you should have seen the markings of history repeating itself.

“Now, where is your nerdy pipe cleaner of a boyfriend?” He asked as he scanned around the vicinity for a sight of Spencer.

You shrugged, genuinely alright with your FBI agent of a boyfriend missing this milestone in your life. “Duty called. But that’s okay, we’ll celebrate when he gets back.” 

A pair of eyes, similar to yours, inquisitively studied you as if making sure there was no hidden hurt behind those words uttered. “If you say so,” he stated, turning to your mother who was smiling at the both of you—her greatest treasures. “Mom, let’s get out of here. I had John prep the kitchen for a feast.” 

You and your mom chattered excitedly at the passenger back seat as Trevor backed the four-door navy sedan out of the parking and drove off to his restaurant for the promised lunch graduation.

———

It was well into the night as you were settling in bed when the tell-tale signs of the main door being unlocked echoed through the dark green walls of his apartment. 

“Spence?” You called out, letting him know that you were there instead of in your own apartment, 30 minutes away. 

More shuffling was heard before the object of your love and affection rounded the bedroom door with a set of his own flowers on hand. He breathed out your name in reverence as he went for a kiss, pleased that he had still caught you awake.

“Congratulations, my love,” he smiled as he pulled away from your soft lips. “These are for you and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

You smiled back, gladly accepting his apologies and flowers. “It’s all good, Spence. I know how demanding your job is. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I told Gideon and Hotch that’ll I’ll be unavailable this weekend. It’s just you and me,” he said as he went in for another kiss, unable to resist any longer. Not long after, his outside clothes and your sleepwear were strewn all around the bedroom floor as both your bodies merged into one and reached a mutual crescendo with your gasps and his groans as the choir. 

***

The second time, you moderately understood.

You noted that the BAU was back in full swing with Gideon being brought back to the saddle after what happened in Boston. As his birthday treat, you both agreed to fly in for the weekend to Vegas to visit his mother at the facility. He never would have gone alone should it not have been for your enthusiasm to come with. You loved talking to Diana about Spencer’s childhood during her good days and you also loved being in her presence still even when she was lost in her teaching past—acting out as a student as you got to hear her lectures about literature. 

The bustling at the airport had you tip toeing up to catch a sight of Spencer, your flight departing in about an hour. It was a late Friday afternoon, travelers were piling in for a weekend trip, and he promised to head straight from the Bureau to the airport to meet you by the entrance. Your head swiveled from left to right, biting your lip as the minutes ticked by with no sign of your boyfriend running towards you.

The phone in your jean pocket rang and your heart slightly dropped at the sight of the caller ID.

“Hey pretty boy,” you greeted, naively wishing that this phone call wasn’t a bearer of bad news. “Are you almost at the airport?” 

There were muffled voices heard in the background. “Uhm—actually—”

You sighed, understanding what he wanted to say. “There’s a case,” you stated as a matter of fact. “It’s alright, Spence. I’ll tell your mom something popped up. No worries.” 

“You—you don’t have to go alone. We can always reschedule,” he suggested, the timber of his voice going up an octave as if he was in a panic at the idea of disappointing you.

“You and I both know Diana’s excited about this trip,” you chuckled as you recalled how her doctor had described his mother’s face lighting up every time she was reminded of the visit. “I’ll go and spend some time with her. Maybe even get her to tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about her perfect boy.”

He lightly laughed at your joke to ease the tension and remorse he was feeling. “I could have told you all of it if you just asked.”

“Well, does it include pictures of you too?” You teased as you were checking in at the counter.

There was a stern voice calling for his name in the background, it was Hotch, you silently guessed. 

“Listen, I have to go. The team is about to give the profile,” he rushed out to inform you. “I’ll see you when we both get back. I love you.” 

The call ended without so much of a chance for you to say it back.

As the plane got ready to take off, your mood continued to further dampen. He promised to go—to you and to his own mother via the phone. An ivy seed of doubt was planted in your mind. Did he try to excuse himself from the case to his boss as some sort of birthday gift? It really didn’t work that way, you knew, with how of a high demand his job is but still, you wondered if his team was informed about the plans for this weekend or were they purposely kept out of the loop. That notion wouldn’t surprise you at the slightest, thinking back. The profilers weren’t even aware of his mother’s state and condition. Hell, they didn’t even know that you existed, a girlfriend of two years, until well into his first year at the BAU. 

Deep down you grasped why he keeps Diana a secret. You were aware of the shame and embarrassment he felt for himself, having had to have her institutionalized by the time he reached the age of eighteen. You got that, didn’t mean you understood it but nonetheless, you respected his decision and was even proud of him for reaching out for professional help no matter how much he viewed that action of his cowardly. But what you weren’t really privy to was really why your relationship was kept in the dark. It could have saved him from Morgan’s incessant ribbing of his inability to pick up women.

During one night where your insecurities got the best of you, you asked in a small voice if he was ashamed of the relationship. He vehemently denied it, repeatedly saying that he just wanted to have a secret solace—a happy home to return to that was untouched by the worst human terrors that he encounters on the daily. That was what you were, he explained, a sunlit luscious reprieve filled with flowers and laughter where he could rest his weary bones from the ravaging, dark waves. His own piece of heaven here on earth. He then kissed your fears away that night, hugged you tight into his chest—the vibrations from his humming lulling you to slumber.

———

“I always knew it would take a special girl to understand my special boy,” Diana mused out loud as you plated a slice of cake for her. 

You blushed, sitting down beside her with your own. “He’s perfect. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” 

She affectionately combed through your hair, similar to how her son would. “Thank you. For visiting and being understanding of his erratic schedule.”

“It’s no problem at all, Diana. I love him, I knew what I was getting into when we started dating.” You stated as the ivy seed of doubt sprouted in your mind—did you really? Did you really understand what you were getting into?

***

The third time, you still tried to understand.

There you were surrounded by the purest celebration of love and matrimony, sans your long-haired, sweater vest wearing plus one. Your brother was getting married to the love of his life, vowing himself to be with her for better, for worse and your other half was in another state catching criminals. Fiddling with the diamond engagement ring adorning your finger, you recalled how you ended up alone, dateless, in this joyous occasion. 

You RSVP’ed with a date when the invitation arrived four months ago. Your brother even calling in to make sure that he, your well-celebrated FBI fiancée, will be able to attend a month before the wedding. You internally scoffed at his repeated checking but in retrospect, maybe he saw the end well before you did. You promised to him, as Spencer did to you, that he’ll be available to watch the union and to save all the slow dances with him. But the day before the wedding, the phone rang for a case in Dallas and you knew what it meant. Without so much of a fight, you kissed him goodbye by the door of his now shared apartment and let the dreary silence enveloped you as you think of how to inform your brother of the new change without hearing the pity and patronization in his voice. 

Nursing a glass of red wine, you watched your brother dance with his newly wedded wife and in your peripheral, you spotted your mother approaching you at the table. 

“Now why are you being such a sourpuss during this festive event?” She chimed out as she pulled a chair beside you. “You should be out there, dancing and getting to know our new extended family.” 

You shrugged, unsure on what to say. She was right, of course. All the guests were enjoying themselves and basking in the warm, infectious glow of the happy couple but you didn’t have the courage in you to mask the despondent emotions inside of you.

Your mother sighed and took your left hand in hers. “You know, when your dad and I were going through the proceedings of the divorce, I had moments when I wanted to back out from it. I loved your father, still holds a piece of my heart till this day, and I thought the small moments of happiness when he was around would be enough to tied me through the days when he wasn’t. I thought those times and our love for you kids were sufficient to keep our love from wilting. If I poured out affection and devotion to the home we once built, it wouldn’t crumble surely. But you know what I forgot—”

You turned to face her somber eyes, looking into yours as if searching for something that seemed to no longer be there. 

“—I forgot to take care of myself. I gave a pieces of me away so willing and so many times that when I reached the end of the marriage, I no longer knew who I was. Where the piece of me started and where it ended. You’re withering, my flower. The vibrant life that I once longed to protect in your eyes is slowly dying. I don’t want you to reach the finish line and not know how you got up there. How you ended up giving all yourself away with not a flower bud left to blossom just for you.” 

You felt your hackles rise to defend the relationship. In hindsight, this was you denying the truth that was staring you right in the face. “It’s not like that with Spencer, Mom. It’s just—the job is hectic and it’s been his forever dream. He had finally started to gain his footing when Gideon and Elle left and then the kidnapping happened and that pushed his progress back a bit. But he’s getting there now. We’re stabilizing and we had a discussion—there’s less broken promises. It’s just that this recent case in Dallas was urgent and they needed the team to solve crime. I don’t want to take him away from the country and the people who needs his help and from his dream of solving crimes. I love him, Mom, in all of his entirety and he deserves all the respect and understanding from me as his partner.” 

She squeezed the hand in hers—the left hand adorning the ring, the material manifestation of his vow to you that you had happily accepted. “I‘ve grown fond of Spencer. I see him as another son of mine but darling, sometimes the love you feel for each other is not enough. A relationship takes continuous work—a task that both individuals must pull in the effort and prioritize. Just think about it,” she stated as she stood up. “Now, no more of this depressing talk and this serious energy from you. Go around, dance with your brother, and enjoy.” 

You mustered up a smile as you proceeded to do just what you were told until your feet were sore from all the dancing. But no matter the joyous occasion, it didn’t stop the realization in the form of ivy from taking roots and slowly covering all corners of your mind. 

***

And the final time, you could no longer understand.

The grandfather clock stationed at the corner of the dimly lit apartment struck at two. Your figure was still dressed in your purple fitted dress as you waited for your soon-to-be other half to walk through the door. It was another night of getting your hopes up and broken promises and you were no longer sure how much you could take before the love you held in your heart festers and turns into resentment. 

You promised yourself you’d never be in a situation that you had seen your mother once be in. You became the careful daughter of a careless man who gave little to no effort to cherish the love a woman had freely given to him. You thought with all your cautiousness and logical thinking, the mistakes of the mother would never be repeated. That was naive thinking—you realized now. By actively being aware of the past, you’d forgotten to look ahead and fell deep into the pitfalls of doing the same as your mother did.

Spencer once mentioned that there was a high divorce rate in his line of duty. How he worried and vowed that you both will never join that rate. And that was a promise he’ll be able to keep, you scoffed to yourself, as you spun the ring on the table.

Another shared piece of information floated to the forefront of your mind. How Haley had recently served Hotch, his unit chief divorce papers. You’ve grown close with her over the years, being the only two constant partners to someone working in the BAU. You’ve seen first hand all the missed milestones in Haley’s and Jack’s life as her husband flew around the country with the cavalry, saving the innocent one case at a time. Never taking the time to realize that the once solid foundation of their marriage was crumbling down with every flight he took. Similar to what was happening in the doctor’s own home. 

A set of keys unlatched the mahogany door and a fresh batch of florals were the first that entered through, followed by Spencer looking sheepish as he noted your presence by the sofa. “Angel, I’m so sorry I missed your promotion dinner.” 

Silence greeted him as he stumbled to get to where you were. “Carnations for you.” 

Tears started to form under your eyes. You didn’t want to break but the reality of your decision was setting in. You wanted to falter, to change your mind, to give him another chance but you knew you couldn’t. You’ve given too much of your understanding away and you doubted you have any more to give to this beautiful man who once promised to make you his top priority. 

“I can’t accept them, Spencer.” 

His eyebrows furrowed and his body tensing as if sensing the finality behind your words. “Why not? They’re your favorite.” 

“They are but—” you took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “—I think we should stop.” 

“W-what? No. No, please,” he stammered out as his own set of tears started flooding his eyes, blurring you from his vision. “I’m sorry I missed the dinner. I’ll make it up to you—I promise just—”

The dam of your emotions broke causing you to freely sob out all the sadness and anger that had collected in your heart. “I’m tired, Spencer. You can’t promise anything to me anymore. You’ve broken so many promises that you’ll only end up breaking them again.” 

He took your hands into his, letting the bouquet fall crushed on the hardwood floor, recognizing the ring missing in your finger. “This time, this time it’ll be different. Please, don’t leave me.” 

“The country needs you, the BAU needs you. But I need you too, Spencer. I love you, I really do but I can’t be your third priority anymore. I don’t deserve that—don’t I deserve to come first before the country and the job?” 

He tightened his hold on your hands as if afraid that you were slipping through his fingers, denying the reality that you already had. “I love you so much. I don’t want to live without you by my side. Tell me how to fix this. Do you want me to leave the BAU? I’ll—I’ll do it, just stay with me, please.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to leave the FBI. Your ambition and integrity is one of the facets that I loved about you and you might end up resenting me down the line if you leave now. It’s not yet your time to leave the BAU, you and I both know that,” you pulled your hands away and slid the ring in front of him. “This belongs to you, I’m giving it back.” 

His shoulder caved in on itself, the weight of it all too much for him to carry. “I don’t want this to be our end. I just don’t.” 

“I don’t want this too, but I need to,” you whispered as your hand reached out to push shoulder length hair out of the way. “Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe in the future we’d meet again and continue the pages of our love story but for now, I have to do this Spencer. I can’t keep giving a piece of me every time your top priority needs you, I’ll end up hating you if I stay.” 

You leaned in for one final kiss. A salty, tear filled kiss of death to a future you had once envisioned with the beautiful boy before you. A white picket fence with children laughing at the backyard—the American dream fading into nothing as you start to pull away.

“Goodbye for now, Spencer.”

He stared at all the curves and dips in your face one last time as if etching every detail into his already perfect memory.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[warnersister]

Personal Space (two Bradshaws like it now)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: A sequel in which you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space. Even more so now you’ve had a baby, apparently.

Can be read as a part 2, but doesn’t have to be. Read Personal Space here

You really didn’t know when it all happened, when you and Bradley became a thing. At first he was just an annoying crew member you couldn’t shake off your tail. Then he was your wingman. Then you got accidentally placed into marriage accommodation and the two of you played it off so you could get better housing. Then you actually bought a house. And then somewhere along the way you got married.

“Where shall we have the wedding?” Bradley asked and you raised a brow “register office” you shrug “what you don’t want a wedding?” He asks, hand on his chest as he feigns offence. “You do?” You ask and he nods vigorously. You huff. “Fine” “so shall we do it on the beach?” He asks “okay” you just go along with it, hardly even entertaining the idea at all.

“So? What do you think?” Nat asks as she makes you pivot in a white gown “I think I look like a roll of toilet paper” you said, crossing your arms “maybe it’s just not the dress for you?” She reasons and you shake your head “just not really into the whole idea of this wedding. I kinda thought we’d just sign papers and get on with it” you said “well you picked Bradshaw, he’s a drama queen at the best of times” she says and you him in agreement; your consultant leading you back to the fitting rooms “let’s try another”.

You’d left with a sleeved dress; hating the idea of having a low cut dress, and begging Nat to just let you leave. Sure, you loved the dress - but you loved the idea of getting out of that suffocating shop more.

“Hey honey” Bradley had said, hearing you walk into the house and set your keys on the kitchen counter. “Hi” you reply shortly, moving to fill your cup with water from the sink. “How was your day?” He asked, moving to rest his head on your shoulder and holding you from behind. “Good. Bought a wedding dress” you say simply “you did what?!”

Then on your wedding day, you’d stared at yourself in the mirror far too long. “You look gorgeous” Penny whispers, squeezing your shoulders comfortingly “I look like a fucking pin up doll” you huff, not necessarily believing yourself - just not used to being such a central perspective of attention. “Wow” your dad says, walking into the room “you look gorgeous” he whispers “is there an echo in here?” You mumble, but smile at him “thank you” you say, wiping the tears from under his eyes. “C’mon, Bradley’s nearly about to come get you himself”

You showed up to the beach-front wedding right on time, completely dead against the idea of being in any way, shape, or form late. Your father gave you away, Bradley in floods of tears at the end of the isle by the time you’d gotten there. “You look incredible” he whispers, lips quivering as he stares at you “shut up you’re going to make me cry.” You grumble, but smile. “It’s okay to cry.” He says, as the ceremony begins. “You may now kiss your bride” and Bradley dipped you and kissed you sweetly, drowning out the cheers of those around you. “I love you, Bradshaw.” You say, smally, “I love you more, sweetheart” he says and kisses your forehead “you’re crying” he points out “shut up”

And then you looked at the two lines on the pregnancy test two years later. You hummed “okay” and looked at yourself in the mirror, knowing nothing else other than the fact that you had to tell Bradley right that second. You marched downstairs, where he was sat playing with some keys on the piano you’d bought him last Christmas, stopping next to him. “Hey baby, y’alright?” He asked, and you just held out the stick to him. “What’s this?” He asks, taking it from you and looking over it once. “You serious?” He asked, looking at you; smile growing from ear to ear “you’re pregnant?” He almost whispers “unless the other four lied.” you say and he jumps up and pulls you into his arms, kissing all over your face until you shouted at him to stop.

He knelt down and looked at your stomach, kissing it gently then moving to put his ear against it “uh huh” he hummed “Bradley what are you-” “shush I’m talking to em” he says and you stand, unimpressed, but let him nonetheless. “Oh yeah baby, I’m excited to meet you too” he coos “yeah, yeah, I’m your dad” and you audibly giggle. He looks up at you, eyes wide “you done?” You ask and he nods “yeah little one was done talking” he smiles, and hugs you close again. “I need to get the baby clothes out of the attic” he mumbles, kissing your temple “the what?” You ask “I bought them when we started renting the house!” He says, dragging you excitedly up the stairs “but we own the house, Brad” you him “no, no, the one we had during the mission!” He says and you gasp internally, realising how long the two of you had been together without even noticing it.

“Hey dad” you say, as you and Bradley head into the hangar he and you owned “hey honey, hey Brad” your dad greets, wiping the oil from his hands to come over and talk to the two of you. He kissed your forehead and hugged you, then your husband before walking back over to the aircraft he was working on. “Thought you needed a new picture for your pinboard” you hum “oh? I just added the wedding photo!” He says, excitedly, showing you the filled gap. “Okay, guess you don’t want the sonogram of your grandchild.” You say, turning to head out before Bradley hurriedly grabbed you and turned you back into the situation, pulling the strip of photos from his breast pocket. Your dad stood with his jaw wide open “you’re-” he breathes “you’re really pregnant?” He asks as his eyes well with tears “well I wouldn’t lie-” you say but he just pulls you into a big bear hug, pinning Baby Bradshaw’s picture onto his board.

You head to go look at the part of the engine your dad couldn’t quite fix while Bradley held back with Maverick. He turns to him and shakes his hand “your dad would’ve been so proud.” He says, smiling at Bradley “I know you are.” Rooster smiles, wordlessly being pulled into a hug with his father-in-law.

Then one evening you were sat up in bed, Bradley sound asleep beside you as you look down at the barely visible bump. Bradley had sort of a sixth sense, somehow knowing you weren’t asleep beside him. “Hey, baby what’s up?” He croaks, immediately moving to sit up with you when he sees his senses were correct. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Bradley.” You say, staring ahead at the wall “what do you mean?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I mean I’m a fighter pilot, I was raised by a single father, I never had that maternal instinct, what am I doing?” You whisper, and when Bradley managed to finally pull your face towards him you were crying “oh sweetheart” he hums, pulling you into him gently “you’re gonna be the best momma ever, and the fact that you worry proves that. I love you, okay?” He comforts “I know. I love you too.”

You were stubborn the whole pregnancy. You thought it was ridiculous that people just stopped when they were pregnant, and Bradley was trailing you trying anything to get you to just relax. “Hen, please!” He begs as you head out for your morning run “I’m three months pregnant, Bradley. I’m not incompetent.” You snap, as he begrudgingly pulls on his running shoes and follows you out the door. He pulled you back anytime you went quicker than a 10 minute mile “Bradley, if you slow me down one more time I’m going to pull your arm out of your socket” you snap and he holds his hands up “message received.”

Then one day, at around the sixth month mark you walked into the house and slammed the door so hard it rattled. “What’s up?” Bradley asked, as you practically threw your stuff on the floor. “They’re putting me on the desk.” You grumble, anger evident in your eyes while his soften “oh baby we knew that was gonna happen” he soothes, rubbing your arm reassuringly “no! No we didn’t! I was perfectly fine hiding the bump, but no!” You huff “I’m Bradley Bradshaw and all of California has to know my wife’s pregnant!” You imitate him but he just smirks “oh I’m so sorry that everyone needs to know you’re taken and carrying my baby” he says, smugly. “Don’t you smile at me Bradley-” you wag an accusatory finger at him, but he heaves you over his shoulder, and towards the stairs “c’mon, let’s help you blow off some steam” he reasons “y’know it’s possible to get pregnant while pregnant, right?” You ask and he cheers “woohoo! Two for one deal, sounds great!” He says and you can’t help but smile.

Then came your maternity leave, Bradley picked you up in his bronco. You were quick to head outside, and he kinda hated how well you hid the bump. “I’m done.” You huff, settling into the seat beside him “if that bitch from accounting asks me one more time if I want her herbal teas I’m going to knock her teeth out” you complain and Bradley chuckles “well, just me, you and Baby Bradshaw now” he says and you hum in agreement.

But when you approached your street, you rolled straight past your house and straight to the Hard Deck ‘congratulations on your baby’ banners plastered all over “welcome to our baby shower!” Bradley grins as you pull up “is this really necessary? They aren’t even here yet.” You tell him and he shrugs “thought it might take your mind off maternity leave” you smile at him “thanks, Brad”

And at one point in the evening, you sat Natasha and Bob down separately. “Hey Phoenix, can we borrow you?” Brad asked, pulling her away from her conversation “yeah of course guys!” You took a seat at a table and Bradley forced you to elevate your feet against your will. “What’s up?” She asks “how’d you like to be godmother to little Bradshaw?” Her eyes lit up when Bradley asked and she leant over the table to hug the two of you “oh I’d love too!” She announces, excitedly.

Then you head over to Bob, but Phoenix holds Rooster back “they have a special connection, let her do this”. You sit on the stool next to Bob and he offers you some peanuts which you refuse, and you stay sat in silence for a minute. “Bob can I ask you something?” You ask, as he pulls your calves up to rest in his lap “of course, hen” he says, brushing some crumbs off his top “what’s up?” “Well, the job we’re in isn’t an old job” you say and he laughs and agrees “it’s also dangerous” you say, and again - he nods. “So if anything happens to me and Brad, can you be there for little Bradshaw?” His eyes widen and start to swell with tears “will you be our godfather?” You ask and he nods, moving to miss your cheek “of course I will, hen. I’d be honoured.”

Bradley and you had started putting together your hospital bag at the 8 month mark. You were both premature so had a bit of superstition, especially with only being a few weeks off of the 40 mark. You’d placed the bag by the front door, along with a baby carrier in the middle seat of his Bronco.

It was week 38 when you were both putting together the crib beside your bed, two spare bedrooms and still you only wanted your baby beside you. “Okay all done, baby” your husband said “okay. My water broke three minutes ago” you say as calmly as he had, he nods, then whips his head back round “your water broke?” He asks and looks down, and indeed, your water had broken “oh my god your water broke?!” He announced, picking you up bridal style and carrying you out to the bronco, picking the hospital bag up on the way. “Ready to have a baby?” He asks, giddily. “Am I supposed to be?” You ask and he shakes his head with a smile “no”

You were dead silent during birth and it scared the shit out of Bradley. “Do you want an epidural, honey? They’ve offered-” “no.” “Can I get you more ice?” “No.” And he tried everything, even when it was time to push. You held his hand and your mouth was zipped shut. “Is she supposed to be this quiet?” He asked the doctor who just looked at him nonchalantly “it’s normal, all mothers react differently to birth” he said. “I’m a fighter pilot Bradley. I’ve had worse.” You grit. “Breathe baby” he tells you “I think you need to.” You say “stop being dramatic” you say as you push again “honey-” “either shut up or get out.” You tell him and he glues his mouth shut, at least until the baby comes.

Bradley cuts the chord and they hand you your baby, and your eyes widen as you stare at the baby on your chest “welcome to the world Nick Bradshaw” you coo at the baby and Bradley raised his brows “Nick?” He asks, voice cracking “what? Got a problem with that? You and your stupid dick” you grumble and Bradley laughs and shakes his head, kissing your forehead.

“Hey mom, shall we take baby so you can get some rest?” The nurse asked, leaning to take Nick from your arms “excuse me?” You asked, pulling your baby closer. “So you can sleep?” She suggests “I’ve carried him for nine months and now he’s here you’re taking him away?” You ask “well, some mothers like to sleep” “I can sleep when I’m dead.” You deadpan, and she realised that Nick wouldn’t have been pried from your hands even if you were dead, so she left you all alone.

“Taking you away from mommy? Who does she think she is?” You whisper to baby Nick. “Welcome back to the world, Bradshaw.” You say and Bradley can only smile and hold the two of you close.

You’re going to be just fine in this mommy role.

——————————

Part 2-ish? I know it was really well liked and I enjoyed writing it so hope you enjoy this one too!

-> @rosiahills22 here’s another one!

[leonastarry]

Hiii! Can I request some hcs about sung-jinwoo x goo gunhees daughter. Lol I don’t have much to it. Or maybe a fix if it’s easier

[ Req 10 ] Headcanons ✧. ┊    s.jinwoo x goo gunhee's daughter!reader

Relationship Beginnings:

Meeting Through Work: As the daughter of the esteemed Chairman of the Hunter's Association, you often crossed paths with Jinwoo during critical association meetings. At first, it was purely professional—polite greetings and a few words exchanged during debriefs.

The Turning Point: Jinwoo’s quiet demeanor caught your interest, and while he respected you as someone connected to Chairman Goo, it wasn’t until he saw you in action during a gate cleanup that his admiration truly bloomed. Watching you protect civilians while holding your own against high-ranking beasts left an impression on him.

Subtle Crushes: Jinwoo, being as reserved as he is, didn’t act on his feelings immediately. Instead, he found himself offering to escort you after meetings or checking in on you after particularly dangerous missions, using excuses like 'making sure the Chairman’s daughter stays safe.'

Dynamic:

Supportive Yet Independent: You’re fiercely independent, which Jinwoo admires, but it also makes him worry. Even as an experienced hunter, he can’t shake the instinct to shield you from harm.

Playful Banter: Despite his serious exterior, Jinwoo softens around you. Your quick wit often draws out rare laughs or teasing smirks from him, much to the astonishment of his shadows.

Shared Responsibility: You both take protecting others seriously, often exchanging strategies or sparring together to improve your skills. It’s during these quiet moments that your bond strengthens the most.

With Chairman Goo:

Protective Father: Chairman Goo initially felt conflicted. While he trusted Jinwoo’s integrity, the idea of his daughter being close to someone as enigmatic and powerful as Sung Jinwoo made him wary.

Earning His Trust: Over time, seeing how Jinwoo treats you—with respect, patience, and unyielding devotion—wins over the Chairman. Though he’s still prone to making subtle 'dad jokes' about keeping an eye on Jinwoo.

Shared Respect: Jinwoo holds Chairman Goo in high regard, not just as a leader but as your father. He often takes extra precautions to ensure the Chairman’s safety during crises, knowing how much he means to you.

Romantic Moments:

Protective Instincts: While Jinwoo respects your strength, he can’t help but step in if he senses you’re overwhelmed in battle. You often scold him afterward, reminding him you’re capable, but he just shrugs with a small smile. "Can’t help it."

Gentle Gestures: Jinwoo shows his love in quiet ways—slipping a warm drink into your hands after a mission, pulling you closer under his jacket on cold nights, or silently shielding you from stray attacks during a raid.

Dates Amid Chaos: Finding peace in a world of gates and monsters is rare, but you make it happen—whether it’s stargazing on top of a building after clearing a gate or sharing takeout in Jinwoo’s apartment.

Reassurance: You’re one of the few people who can ease Jinwoo’s doubts about his overwhelming power. Your steady presence reminds him that he’s still human, still deserving of love and happiness.

The Shadows’ Perspective:

Beru’s Approval: Beru, in particular, adores you, referring to you as 'my liege’s radiant companion.' His over-the-top praise often makes you and Jinwoo exchange amused glances.

Igris's Loyalty: Igris is more reserved but subtly protective of you, always ensuring no harm comes your way when you’re near.

Shadows Gossiping: The shadows are deeply invested in your relationship, with smaller ones sometimes gossiping about your interactions. Jinwoo often silences them with a glare, but you secretly find it endearing.

Long-Term Vision:

Power Couple: Together, you and Jinwoo become an unstoppable duo in the hunter world, your combined strength and strategic minds earning respect and admiration.

Balancing Lives: Despite your dangerous lifestyles, you both make time for each other, knowing how fleeting peace can be. You anchor each other in ways no one else could.

Legacy of Strength: Should you ever have children, Chairman Goo is the proudest grandfather imaginable, spoiling them while Jinwoo secretly trains them with his shadows.

Hope you like it ❤

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Chapter

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[sycamoregirlsworld]

Wildflower and Barley- L. Castellan

luke x fem! psyche! reader

“my coffee black, in my bed at 3. you’re too sweet for me.” -hozier

She was too good for him. Luke had realized that since the first day she had come to camp, but he still couldn’t help but want her.

She was impossibly beautiful, inside and out. She was brilliant, and she was a good fighter.

She was one of a kind. Psyche had no other demigod children, and while (Y/n) swore up and down that she inherited no powers from her mother, Luke thought otherwise.

She was intoxicating, she could fill your head with only thoughts of her until you were sure that your soul belonged to her. Everyone wanted her— either as a friend or a lover. Whenever she passed by, heads would turn to follow her.

And that included Luke. For awhile, he was content just being her friend. He couldn’t have her like that—he wasn’t good enough for her— but he was content to just be in her presence.

So he would watch from afar, want building up in him every time she’d smile or even just glance at him.

From an outsiders perspective, you would’ve thought the pair were dating. Luke flirted with her—(Y/n) flirted back too—but to Luke it was just a friendship, she was just being friendly.

And it was staring to drive him crazy—he saw the way girls and guys looked at her—Luke wanted to be the only one who could stare at her like that.

But he wasn’t hers, so it was just a stupid pipe dream.

I mean, she was perfect in his eyes. How could anyone so perfect like someone like him?

While he stayed up at night cursing the gods (more specifically his father) and put on a false show of confidence, she walked around with no worries or doubts following her, only butterflies her mother had undoubtedly sent.

She hadn’t been broken down by the world like he had, so he had decided that he would do anything for her to not be.

(Y/n) told him so many times that he didn’t need to protect her, but he never listened.

Which is how he found himself in the infirmary.

Luke scowled as he looked up at the ceiling, wincing a bit as it pulled at his split lip. (Y/n) was going to be so pissed at him, but he didn’t care.

‘They deserved it.’ He kept repeating to himself as he counted down the seconds until (Y/n) came and ripped him apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the door to the infirmary burst open, frantic footsteps following it.

“Luke!” (Y/n)’s worried voice called out as she hurried over to him. “Annabeth told me you were in the infirmary.”

The brown haired boy opened his eyes and smiled at her, patting the spot beside him. “Hey, beautiful.”

(Y/n) frowned at him as she sat down, scanning his bruised face as she anxiously cracked her knuckles. “What happened?” She mumbled. Luke frowned as she tentatively reached out for his face, before hesitating and letting her hand fall back beside her.

“You can touch me, y’know?” He smirked as he grabbed her hand and rested it on his face. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad.”

“Jus’ don’t wanna hurt you..” She averted her gaze, but she kept her hand planted on his cheek.

Luke rolled his eyes fondly as he grabbed her free hand. “I don’t think you could ever hurt me, princess.” His brown eyes twinkled in triumph as she turned her head to glare at him, cheeks burning red.

“Don’t call me that.” She grumbled before pointing a finger at him. “And you’re evading my question! What happened to you!?”

Luke sat up straighter as he smiled bashfully, biting his cheek awkwardly. “Okay, so don’t get mad!”

“That’s an awful way to start this.”

“No— seriously, (Y/n).” He laughed. “Just let me explain.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at him but shrugged, indicating for him to continue speaking.

“During sword training today, these two Ares boys were talking about you.” Luke sighed. “They were saying gross things— and y’know I couldn’t let them talk about you like that.”

“Man, I don’t know why she hangs around Castellan.” Luke heard one of the Ares boys sigh. His ears perked up at the mention of his name. He crept closer to the two boys, wanting to know what they were saying.

“I could treat her so much better—do her so much better.” The other snorted and winked at his friend. “She looks innocent but I bet she’s hiding some freaky secrets.”

Luke felt his face grow hot in anger as he realized the conversation was about his bestfriend—not to mention that they were talking about how they wanted to fuck her. It made him feel sick.

“Hey guys.” He frowned as he walked up to the boys, his hands grasping onto their shoulders. He could feel one of them tense up as he heard Luke’s voice, and it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction.

He didn’t think he was all that scary, but if he scared these guys enough to back off (Y/n), he would take it.

“Oh— hey, Luke.” One of them swallowed thickly as he turned his head to look at Luke.

His friend on the other hand, didn’t look as scared as he turned towards Luke with his chest puffed out.

“Hey man.” He smirked as he looked Luke up and down. “How’re you doing?”

“I was doing just fine, until I heard you talking about (Y/n) like that.” Luke crossed his arms with a glare.

“Don’t be so jealous, dude.” He scoffed as he ‘playfully’ punched Luke in the shoulder. “Just because she let you fuck doesn’t mean—”

And that was all it took for Luke to pull back his fist and connect it to the boys nose.

(Y/n) stared down at Luke with a small frown as he finished recounting his story. “Luke..” She began.

“I know, I know— you don’t like it when I get in fights.” Luke sighed and looked up at her with soft eyes, silently pleading her to not tell him off this time.

“I really don’t.” She mumbled as pulled on her necklace, it was a nervous habit of hers. “Especially fights about me.”

“Well, I’m your bestfriend.” He shrugged. “If I’m not going to defend you from creeps, what am I good for?”

(Y/n) frowned as she stared down at him, her eyes softening. “It just makes me feel bad when you get hurt because me.”

Luke sat up in the bed and tugged her into a hug. “M’ not getting hurt because of you.” He mumbled into her hair. “And anyways, you know I would do anything for you.”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around him tightly. “I don’t care what other guys say about me, I’ve got you.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and Luke was sure she could feel his heart beating erratically.

‘Did she just… is she saying what I think she is?’ Luke pinched himself, this couldn’t be real.

“Luke?” Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts. She moved away from his chest and looked up at him, her cheeks bashfully red.

“Most guys wouldn’t get into fights over their best friend…” She trailed off, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Luke swallowed as he looked down at her, he could feel his mind clouding with want.

She was right, most guys wouldn’t beat someone up because they wanted to fuck their bestfriend.

“Maybe.. it’s because I want to be more then your friend.” He breathed out as he leaned his head down. His breath fanned over her face as their noses brushed. He was so close he could taste it, but he’d never taste her without permission.

“Maybe I want you to be more then my friend.” (Y/n) smiled as she moved closer. Her lips brushed against his and it took everything in him not to take her right there.

“Please— kiss me.” His face burned red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

In an instant, (Y/n) had her lips firmly pressed against his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid his injuries, as she tugged him closer.

Luke felt his breath hitch as her lips moved against his in a frantic pace. Gods, he had been wanting this for so long and now he finally had it.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his lap, lips still attached to hers. He could feel himself start to lose his composure as she gasped into his mouth. She was so beautiful, he just wanted her—

“Luke.” (Y/n) pulled away from this kiss and stared down at him, wide eyed and breathless. “We’re in the infirmary.”

“And..?” Luke tilted his head as he squeezed her thighs.

“And you’re hurt!”

Luke smirked and grabbed her chin, bringing her down to him once more.

“Good thing we’re in the infirmary.”

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt.3

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: Wednesday drags you into the woods during the harvest festival.

a/n: I'm starting to get tired of writing in 3rd person so I'm going to be experimenting with perspectives this part. If I enjoy it I might go back and change the previous two parts to first person.

"Are you sure you can trust that normie?"

Enid and I are watching as Tyler is arguing with his father. Y/n left after the Tyler's appearance.

A part of me wished she stayed, she doesn't pretend to get along with me.

"I trust I can handle myself." I say, thoughts of you lingering in my mind.

The festival illuminates the dark night, the lights of the attractions drawing shadows of the people walking by. The colors stabbing needles in my eyes.

I usually enjoy that sensation.

"Well, good luck and safe travels." Enid reaches out for an embrace. I take a step back, evading her touch.

"Still not a hugger, got it." Enid lowers her arms before heading towards the attractions.

I notice Weems from afar, watching my every move. I am going to need a way to distract her.

After a moment of exploring I find an attraction where you throw darts at balloons attached to a wall, the prize lacks colors. Not that I want the prize anyways, I just need it to be believable.

I throw the first couple darts, balloons popping in quick succession. Xavier approaches, resting his elbows on the counter.

"Jeez, if you get any better at this you'll be taking home a whole pack." He says while I throw another dart, followed by the pop of another balloon.

I am unsure of how to feel about Xavier so far. All I know outside of me accidentally rescuing him years ago is that he's friends with Y/n.

"Panda's don't travel in packs, they prefer solitude."

I say, the sound of a balloon popping annunciating the period.

"Alright, subtle hint taken." His eyes shift from me to the board.

I look at him for a moment. "You should know I'm waiting for someone." I say, not realizing the possible implication of the statement.

"Oh yeah? Who's the lucky guy? or girl." He has a hint of hope on his face, but not for himself.

"What does it matter to you?" I say, Tyler approaching from behind. The hope on Xavier's face was replaced with annoyance.

"Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not." Xavier says, walking between Tyler and I, the energy radiating off him.

With him and Y/n being friends and having similar reactions to Tyler, it makes me wonder if he's done something to them.

I look to Tyler for a moment, possibilities forming in my head. It doesn't matter, I'm just using him anyways.

"This is gonna be trickier than I thought." Tyler's voice pulls me out of my head.

"Dad hit me with a curfew. We need to go if I'm gonna make it back in time."

"I've got some dead weight I need to lose first." I look over Tyler's shoulder to Weems who is eating a burger.

"Meet me behind the parking lot when the fireworks start." I say, Tyler nodding before walking off.

The man running the attraction approaches with a panda stuffed animal. "You see that sad, lonely woman over there?" I take out twenty dollars, holding it between my index and middle fingers.

"She needs this pathetic validation more than I do. Would you mind distracting her?"

The man silently agrees, bringing the stuffed animal to Weems. When she looks away from me I sneak off towards the parking lot.

I'm hanging out with Enid when Tyler and Wednesday pass by.

"So she's actually leaving?" I say, disappointment in my voice. I'm gonna miss her existing with me in the dorm room.

"I mean, that's what the plan is." Enid takes a sip from her drink, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Why?" Enid's eyes glisten, wanting to know everything about everyone.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know."

"You sure you don't know?" Enid wiggles her eyebrows at you.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "What does that even mean?"

"I just think you might, y'know, like like her. No one misses a new roommate after one day." Enid says, fidgeting with her straw.

I feel a wave a heat rush over my face. "No! what are you talking about."

"OMG you so totally do!" If being a werewolf came with a tail, Enid's tail would be wagging so fast she would be flying.

"No! I just think." I pause for a second, flustered by the accusations.

I haven't thought about it yet, do I like her? I mean she is pretty, but I don't know her.

"Just think what?"

"I don't know, she's just pretty that's all!"

Enid's face beams. "Ah! that's so cute!"

Enid was going to continue speaking until we get distracted by Wednesday and Tyler running past us.

"Wednesday?" I say, looking back to Enid who is gesturing me to go.

I started to run after her, hearing Enid shout from behind. "Go get her girl!" She might as well have painted my face red.

I finally catch up. "Wednesday!" This causes her to turn to me, bumping into Rowan as she enters another vision.

Tyler and I are quick to grab her as she falls. "What just happened?!" Tyler asks before she comes back to reality.

Wednesday stands, readjusting her balance before staring at Rowan.

"Wednesday we need to go." Tyler says urgently. Wednesday's eyes shift to me before she starts chasing after Rowan, grabbing me by the wrist.

"What's happening Wednesday?" I say, trying to keep up with Wednesday's speed as she drags me.

"Rowan come back!" Wednesday let's go of my wrist after my feet catch up.

After a few seconds of running, Wednesday turns to look at me.

"Do you have your wand?"

"Yeah, I always do."

Air quickly fills and leaves my chest, my legs burning at the sudden activity.

Soon we both catch up to Rowan in the woods. My eyes take a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness.

Rowan brings his inhaler to his face, taking a deep breath in.

"Rowan, wait!" Wednesday's steps lessen as we get closer

Rowan groans, annoyed. "What do you want? Why are you following me."

I look at Wednesday, wanting to know what's happening. I know she had a vision, but what did she see?

"I don't have time to explain, but you're in danger." Wednesday responds with a serious tone. This is the first time I've heard her this serious, she usually has a sarcastic tone to her voice.

Rowan chuckles for a moment. "I think you've got it backwards." He looks between us, deciding what to do.

I start to reach for my wand, his eyes following my hand.

Rowan reaches a hand towards me. I start flying through the air, it feels like an invisible hand is twisting my body controlling how I'm landing.

"Y/n!" Wednesday shouts before I hit my head on landing. My hair fading to white as I lose consciousness.

I wake up in the nurses office, quickly sitting up and instantly regretting it. My snow white hair in my face while the world spins around me.

The office is filled with daylight, what time is it?

I realize my hair is white before moving it out of my face.

"Shit." I mutter to myself, looking around to see if anyone's around before trying to stand.

When I stand, I almost fall as I stabilize my feet. I see my wand on the night stand.

I grab my wand, gripping it tightly as to not drop it.

As I approach the bathroom, I stumble onto the wall before practically falling through the doorway.

I meet my own gaze in the reflection of the mirror, my hair white and messy.

I rest one hand on the sink, putting all my weight on it, as I bring my wand to the top of my head.

The color y/h/c starts to fade back into my hair, starting from the roots to tip.

Now that looks more like me, well besides how out of it I look.

I go to leave the bathroom, falling to the ground past the doorway.

"Y/n!" There are quick steps as the nurse approaches me trying to stand.

"What are you doing out of bed?" She grabs my forearm before guiding me back to the bed.

"Wait here a moment, I'll bring your medicine." The nurse walks to a closet as I stay sitting up.

My head was throbbing, the world spinning around me.

She leaves the closet after a moment with a small bottle that is rapidly bubbling, some sort of steam emanating from it.

"Drink every last drop and you should be able to attend some of your classes today." Our nurse was the only other witch in the school, most magic parents aren't too keen on sending their child to a town that is known for burning witches in the past.

I start to drink the potion, the liquid bubbling down my throat, causing me to gag.

"It doesn't taste too good." I say, as I finish drinking the potion. The nurse grabs the bottle from my hand.

"Well it's not grape-flavored, I'll tell you that." The nurse gives me a smile before going to return the bottle.

The world soon stabilizes around me, my head no longer throbbing.

I stand, finding it ten times easier.

"Fascinating isn't it?" I hear the nurse from the other room. "I've always loved healing magic."

I look towards her. "I would say it's just like magic, but it literally is."

The nurse smiles at me. "If you're feeling better you may head to class."

I walk into my carnivorous plants class, everyone already in seats as class was already going on.

"Ah Y/n! glad to see you're okay." Ms. Thornhill interrupts herself to bring her attention to me. "Go ahead and take any seat like usual."

I was going to find my original seat next to Xavier until I see Wednesday sitting alone.

I take a moment to decide before taking the seat next to her, meeting Xavier's eyes as he gives me a knowing glance causing me to roll my eyes.

My glance moves to Wednesday as I find her looking at me, more specifically my hair.

"Hey Wednesday." Her gaze moves from my hair to my eyes.

Her look has concern in it, as if she's asking 'Are you okay,' through her eyes. Too scared of the intimacy of actually asking.

Ms. Thornhill was helping a student independently giving us a moment to talk.

"Why did your hair turn white last night, after you lost consciousness."

I look at Wednesday, thinking about what I should share.

"That white is my natural hair color, I was just raised to hide it so I guess I still do it out of habit."

Wednesday stares off to the side for a moment.

"What does it mean?"

After a moment of silence I decide to tell her, I open my mouth to explain until I'm interrupted by Ms. Thornhill addressing the class.

"Wednesday." Both of our heads perk up.

"We are thrilled to have join us on our journey into the world of carnivorous plants." Thornhill walks in front of her desk, next to a plant in a glass case.

"Now, who can tell us the name of this beauty?"

Thornhill addresses the flower in the case with her hand. Bianca is the first to raise her hand.

I'm also not the biggest fan of Bianca, she supposedly used her Siren Song on my friend Xavier to manipulate him. I don't really know too many details about it, but I know she hurt my friend and that's enough for me.

"Dendrophylax lindenii." Wednesday answers without raising her hand, trying to get ahead of Bianca.

Bianca slowly lowers her hand, with a little bit of attitude. "Otherwise known as the Ghost Orchid."

"First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1854." Wednesday says, not even a moment after Bianca is done speaking.

Thornhill looks surprised at Wednesday's knowledge. "Very good, Wednesday!"

Thornhill turns her gaze to Bianca. "You may have competition for first chair, Bianca."

I find myself smirking at the annoyance building up on Bianca's face, shifting my weight onto my elbows on the table to get a better view.

"Wednesday, perhaps you can identify the Ghost Orchid's greatest qualities."

Bianca shifts her expression from annoyance to confidence. Moving her gaze to Wednesday with that emotion written on her face.

"Resilience and adaptability." Wednesday remains unmoved, her posture as perfect as ever. "It's able to thrive in even the most hostile environments."

"But it's mere presence can change the ecosystem, causing the established plants to reject it." Bianca butts in, trying to one up Wednesday.

"Usually because the native species is allowed to thrive unchecked. Nothing a weedwacker couldn't fix." Wednesday states, definitively.

"You can most certainly try."

I can feel the tension between the two, meeting Xavier's eyes for a moment.

"Are we still talking about flowers?" Xavier adds, causing the class to release a light laugh. Alleviating a bit of the tension.

"Thank you ladies, for those, illuminating insights." Ms. Thornhill brings the attention back to her.

"Clearly the plants aren't the only carnivores in class today."

I look between Wednesday and Bianca, sensing the rivalry building between the two.

I'm with Enid helping with the boat for the Poe Cup. It's a beautiful fall day, the air slightly chilly, the leaves in the trees different shades of red, yellow, and orange.

Wednesday starts approaching from the school, heading to our team's boat. Specifically to Enid. "I have to get back to the woods, but Weems has been watching me like a vulture circling a carcass."

"And you want me to cover so you can go back to the crime scene that didn't happen?" Enid asks, teasingly.

"Crime scene?" I break my focus from painting the boat. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh you don't know? Wednesday has been saying how Rowan was killed by a monster while he now walks around the school. Y'know, very much alive."

Wednesday scowls Enid with her eyes.

"What if she is telling the truth?" Something glistens in Wednesday's eyes when she looks at me. "We go to a school with vampires and werewolves, but this isn't possible? Plus, I don't think Wednesday is the type of person to lie for attention."

Enid shrugs while she continues painting. "Why don't you ask Y/n to be the distraction?"

Wednesday looks back to Enid. "That's because she will be coming with me to investigate."

I turn my head to Wednesday with a slightly confused expression. Am I? I wasn't aware of this.

Wednesday sees my confusion, I can see her asking through her eyes as I take a deep breath.

I can't say no to her.

Enid looks back to Wednesday, taking her eyes off the boat. "Okay then, why don't you ask Thing? Oh wait you can't because he's mad at you."

"Why's he mad? he's the one who screwed up."

Enid goes back to focusing on painting while shrugging. "All I know is that we spent an hour giving each other manis, and he really opened up. He feels you doesn't respect him as a person."

"Technically he's only a hand."

"Wednesday, he's your family! And he would do anything for you. Go apologize and I'll reconsider helping you."

Wednesday looks around for a moment before meeting my eyes, gazing into them for a moment before walking away.

Part 4.

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: happy holidays :))

[little-wicked10]

Let Me Make You Juno (Ian Malcolm Smut)

Summary: When Ian returns from Jurassic Park, he has a new perspective on some decisions he’s been contemplating. Like the need to lock down the love of his life. (Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s song Juno)

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY!!! Breeding kink, Ian being the silver tongued devil he is😏, cursing

Notes: Yes, I’m aware that the movie Juno came out several years after the original Jurassic Park BUT this is inspired by a song that was inspired by a movie (most likely I’m just assuming).

//

She was there the moment the helicopter touched down.

She was there as they gurnied him into the hospital to be treated.

She was there to take care of him every step of the way.

From his Costa Rican hospital bed, Ian would watch her sleeping form slumped in a chair in the corner. He observed her as he was lost in his thoughts. Almost dying had a way of making you reassess your life and decisions you’ve been dancing around. Like the one sitting in a velvet box back at his apartment.

Ian bought the ring before he’d made up his mind. There was a lot he was considering before asking her to marry him. He often joked he was always on the look out for the “future ex-Mrs. Malcolm”, but he was hesitant to add her to that list. She had changed his life. She had encouraged him to start carving out more time for his children, albeit a slow process since he had to become civil with their mothers. No one had pushed him to better himself quite like her.

Staring death in the face with all its sharp and bloody teeth was when he made his decision. Ian prayed (for the first time in who knows how long) he’d make it off that island so he could finally ask her that all important question. She WAS the future and last Mrs. Malcolm. No matter what, he’d be with her until his heart stopped beating.

//

“What?”

Ian smiled at her shocked expression, “Will you marry me, my wonderful and beautiful goddess?”

Her eyes stared at the ring in the box he held out to her. The diamond shined in the candlelight of their romantic dinner. “You’re…are you serious?” her heartbeat a million miles a minute.

“Of course I am, my darling. You’ve changed my life in such an…exponential way. You’ve made me uh…a better man, a better father to not just my current kids but for our future kids,” Ian pulled the ring from the box and held it between his fingers, “So…what do ya say?”

“You want…with me? Yes, Ian! Yes!” happy tears fogged her eyes as she grasped his face between her hands and kissed him.

Ian almost dropped the ring as he wrapped his arms around her, her tears wetting his cheeks. The restaurant goers that had been watching erupted in joyous clapping. She pulled away from their kiss and held out her left hand. Ian gently took her hand in his, carefully slipping the ring onto her finger. Their joy was infectious. He knew in his heart this was meant to be, he’d made the right decision.

//

Light flooded their apartment as the door swung open. Ian’s large hands held her close to his body tightly, clutching her silk dress and walking her backwards. Her fingers were woven into his curls as their tongues fought with one another. A swift kick shut the apartment door before he released her body to shrug off his leather jacket. Gently clutching her wrists, he pulled them from his hair as he delicately pushed the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her hands worked on unbuttoning his already halfway unbuttoned black shirt.

The silk pooled at her feet as it finally cascaded down her body leaving her in her panties and heels. Ian was in awe of her, a lustful look in his eyes as he threw off his shirt to swagger towards his prey. The moonlight shining in from the windows made her look ethereal.

“You are a goddess,” his eyes slowly took her in, “And I must…no, need to worship at your alter.”

“Ian,” she whispered, her face flushed.

The man stopped before her and fell to his knees, large hands running up her legs as he kissed the top of her panty line. Her body shivered as his lips ran across the sensitive skin. Her fingers threaded into his hair once more as he squeezed her thighs, dark eyes staring up into hers.

“I want your touch for life, darling. Love you right until you bless me even more with something beautiful. I want to put my child right…here,” he kissed her stomach gently.

Ian’s eyes watched her breasts heave as she began to pant, “I’m so fucking horny, Ian.”

“I know,” dexterous fingers wrapped around her waist band, pulling her panties down her legs.

He aided her in stepping out of the garment before he stood up, picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. They smashed their lips together as he carried her to the bedroom in long strides. He moaned into her mouth as she ran her nails across his shoulder blades. They fell on to the bed, Ian being careful not to land on her too hard. An animalistic groan vibrated in his chest as he felt her hips roll against his.

Her needy whimper made him feral. His lips trailed down to her jaw line and neck, exploring her body with the drag of his lips and scrape of his teeth. He sucked on the swell of each of her breasts before running his tongue down her stomach. Ian could only imagine what she’d look like once their child grew inside her. Growling at the thought of her round belly and swollen breasts made his stomach twist in anticipation to make her his in every way possible. Ian suddenly sat up to gently remove her heels.

“I adore you, Mrs. Malcolm,” he kissed her left calf before reaching down to strum his thumb over her clit, “I adore every part of you…, Mrs. Malcolm.”

The way the title rolled off his tongue and his fingers slipped inside to begin massaging her sweet spot caused her to arch her back. When she reached out to him with a desperate whine, Ian leaned over her to look deep into her eyes. His hand moved faster when she reached up and bit his lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. Her body writhed desperately, toes curling as she felt electricity began to burn from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes. “Please, Ian!” the way she begged may have been pathetic, but she didn’t care, “I want you inside me! Put a baby in me!”

Ian’s chuckle was dark, “I will, darling, but uh…you have to cum first.”

The fire in her belly burned even hotter when she heard his words. He had such a way of speaking, it flowed from his lips like honey and heightened the pleasure. The hot coil snapped and she came on his frantically moving hand. Ian showered the side of her face and neck with loving kisses as he helped her ride out her orgasm. Her arms lazily wrapped around his neck to press their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Removing his fingers, Ian pulled away from the kiss to suck his fingers, “Mm. Your taste is divine. I could explore you all night.”

“That won’t make a baby, my love” she smirked as he began to pull at his belt.

He chuckled and stuttered over his words at how quick she with his belt and pants, “You…uh…Darling, you’re…uh, uh…insatiable.”

“You bring it out in me, Dr. Malcolm,” small hands pushed down his slacks.

The curly haired man stood up off the bed and chucked off his slacks and boxers. Crawling on to the bed, he watched with predatory eyes as she moved up to lay at the head of the bed. They wrapped up into each other’s arms and legs. His large hands roamed her body as he thrust his hips against hers, teasing them both. A hand slipped behind her onto her lower back. He made her arch her back and angle her hips up. There was no warning when he slipped his long dick inside her. Her moans were music to his ears as she dug her nails into his back. “Oh my god,” Ian groaned as he picked up his pace, “Fuck this feels so right!”

Up until that point, they had always used condoms. The feeling of him being inside of her with no barrier, just raw, brought out something feral in her. There’s no way she could go back to rubbers after this. Her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, urging him to keep going with her heels against his ass. His arm wrapped around her hips helped him continuously spear her over and over again, free hand gripping the sheets next to her head. He suddenly switched their position, pulling out to flip her onto her stomach with her hips angled up.

Ian was back inside her once again as he pressed his chest to her back; his hands traveling up her sides before one tangled into her hair and the other slipped under her hips to her clit. His thrusts were deep and deliberate. Holding her head back enough for him to leave open mouth kisses along the side of her face and neck, whispering in her ear. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she desperately tried to move her hips to meet his thrusts.

“I feel you clenching around me, my love. I can hardly pull out. Not that I’m going to,” his smirk was pressed to her ear.

A desperate sound slipped from her throat as she felt pleasure building from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes.

“One of you is cute…it’s wonderful, infact, but two?” Ian growled and thrust roughly and bit her earlobe.

“Fuck, baby! Mark your territory!” she pushed her hips toward him more, if it was possible.

His fingers circling her clit and his animalistic pounding was enough for the coil to snap. She screamed as she clenched down on his thrusting cock and came. Her orgasm washed over her like a brutal wave and only lasted longer as her fiancé continued to fuck her into their mattress. Just as the high from her first orgasm subsided another quickly built and crashed over her. Ian admired the way her body writhed underneath him, unable to decide if she wanted more or less of his ministrations.

“D-don’t stop! Don’t stop! Cum inside me, baby!” she begged in her delirious state.

Ian’s brow creased in concentration and he bit down on his lip as his hips began to falter. The most wonderful cry left her lips as he thrust himself as deep as he could inside her to spill his seed. The feeling of him filling her to the brim would be burned into her body’s memory forever. A hand reached behind her and tangled into his hair, whimpering as she felt him rutting his hips into hers until he was fully spent. The only thing heard in the room was their ragged breaths.

He kissed along the side of her face and neck down to her shoulders, all the while whispering to her how good and beautiful she is. She whimpered as he slowly pulled out, feeling both their orgasms leak out of her. Ian laid on his side beside her before pulling her towards him. She gently turned over to face him and snuggled into his embrace. “You ok?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m perfect,” she lovingly kissed his neck, “Planning a wedding and a baby? You’re truly a chaos magnet, Dr. Malcolm.”

“Chaos is unpredictable, my love. It might take one, two, or multiple tries to get you pregnant. Either way, I’m-uh more than happy to keep trying,” he smirked down at her.

Her felt her stomach jump in anticipation, and she gave a playful nip to his jaw line, “Then I guess we have a lot of work to do.”

[metalomagnetic]

I re-read "it runs in the blood" and am now absolutely obsessed with the Bella/Rodolphus and Sirius dynamic. I definitely need Rodolphus' perspective on Sirius and Bella's relationship. How he would come to Lestrange Manor as a little boy just for Bella. Somehow, it feels like Rodolphus was a very distant older brother/role model (anti-role model) for mini-Sirius. If the age difference between Sirius and Bella/Rodolphus was bigger, they would really be like a very dysfunctional family (they do, but there is still a sibling relationship system there)

Not exactly what you asked for, but here is a little funny something:

----

As soon as he enters the manor, he hears loud, shrill laughter over the blaring music.

Rodolphus already has a headache, he doesn’t need this on top of it.

He makes his way towards one of the living rooms, the noise getting louder with each step, irritating him.

“Control your temper,” Orion just told him after the Wizengamot session that took forever, testing Rodolphus’ patience. “You are no longer a child.”

His brother is a child, however, a fifteen-year-old fool, and when Rodolphus peeks through the partially open door, he sees Walden’s sister perched on Rabastan’s knee, bottles of alcohol all around them.

Other little fools are drinking and dancing all around, and-

Fuck it, Rodolphus thinks, deciding against going inside and scolding them.

Fuck it. He’s tired of attempting to guard Evelyn’s virtue, or the Macnair’s good name, when clearly no one in that family bothers to do the same.

What a disgrace. The only girl in a gathering of boys, sitting there on his brother’s lap.

Bella used to be the only girl in-

Yes, but Bellatrix never behaved like this. Oh, she’d sit in a room full of men, but she commanded respect, with her back straight, her eyes narrowed, and she was interested in talking politics, not climbing into boys’ laps.

With a shrug, he decides not to waste his breath anymore, and he turns around and heads upstairs.

It’s already close to midnight, the session took hours, boring old farts loving to hear themselves talk, arguing over nothing. Even Lucius looked half asleep at Abraxas’ side by the end of it.

He heads to Bella’s room, instead of his. He rarely uses his own room, Rodolphus hasn’t stepped inside it for at least a few months, since the wedding.

Blissfully silent few months, with his brother at Hogwarts. Rabastan has only returned home for three days and already Rodolphus wants to strangle him.

He discards his annoyances, replaced with the anticipation of sneaking into Bella’s bed and holding her close.

Perhaps if she hasn’t fallen asleep, they could engage in more pleasurable activities.

Alas, when he carefully opens the door, and the room is shrouded in darkness, he doesn’t feel disappointed.

Just holding her close as he drifts asleep is a pleasure he still can’t believe he has the right to.

He walks to her dresser, where half of his clothes are, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He discards his clothes, decides against searching for a sleeping shirt, and heads to the bed.

Bella’s sleeping form, her back turned to him, her hair all over the pillow, already makes him smile.

Until he gets close enough to see she’s not alone in bed.

On her other side, snuggled into her-

“Fucking Blacks!”

Bella blinks awake, shifts her head, though her arms remain around her cousin.

This was sweet, two years ago, when Rodolphus would risk his head, and sneak into her room in her father’s manor, only to find her there with Sirius in her bed. It was sweet. He was a child, and it filled Rodolphus with longing, imagining what a good mother Bellatrix will one day make to their own child.

But Sirius is no longer a child.

He’s grown a lot since the wedding, it seems. When he pulls the sheets of them, Sirius looks closer to a man than a child, long limbs intertwined with Bella’s, twice as thick at her, his jaw, nestled into her neck, is sharper now, had lost all pretence of a boyish form.

At least he’s dressed.

Bella smiles at him, and half of his anger melts. Well, all of his anger melts, but the annoyance doesn’t.

“He’s a grown man!” he snarls, and Bella shushes him, as if her cousin truly is a baby, not to be disturbed from his precious sleep.

“He’s thirteen!” she argues, in a whisper.

“He’s as tall as you are!”

“Shh!” Sirius stirs, but doesn’t wake, only tightens his hold on Bella.

My Bella.

This is worse than Evelyn in Rabastan’s lap! This is a married woman in bed with another man. Man-child, fine, but Sirius and Bella walk around calling each other soulmates.

That was sweet, too, years ago, when he only came up to her bellybutton.

“I haven’t seen him in months,” Bella whispers, with a pout. “I missed my sweet boy!”

“I didn’t!”

“Shh!”

“Stop shushing me!” he demands, but to his embarrassment, he does so in a whisper, too.

“Climb in,” she offers, carefully extracting an arm out of Sirius’ hold, patting the mattress behind her.

“I’m not-! Kick him out!”

“He’s drunk. Your brother let him drink half a bottle of fire whiskey!”

“So what?”

Rodolphus cannot believe he’s made to whisper in his own house, so as not to wake the boy in his wife’s bed.

“What if he throws up in his sleep?”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“Shh! Come on, climb in!”

“I’m not sharing your bed with him!”

She shrugs. “Then leave and let me sleep.”

Unbelievable.

Rodolphus stomps out- though he takes care to do it silently. Oh, how he’d love to slam the door behind him, but…he doesn’t.

He sulks, once inside his own room. His bed looks cold and uninviting.

Perhaps he should go downstairs and yell at his brother. It’s his fault Sirius is in Bella’s bed, after all, if he got the boy drunk.

What he should do, is hunt Orion down and drag him here, to get his son.

But Orion is also probably in a bed he shouldn’t be in, and he wouldn’t be best pleased with the interruption.

He lectured Rodolphus enough in the past few hours, no need to expose himself to that cold glare of his for more than it is needed.

Twenty minutes later, Rodolphus carefully climbs into Bella’s bed.

He’ll just have to pretend it’s like two years ago, and that Sirius is still small and cute, and not this horrible tempered teenager he’s turning into.

He was never cute, he remembers. Always a little shit. But it was easier to suffer him back then.

Bella giggles when Rodolphus settles at her back. “You’re such a baby,” she whispers. “Men never grow up, it seems.”

“Shh,” Rodolphus admonishes, mockingly, and she only giggles harder. “When will he be gone?”

“He leaves for Greece in two days.”

Thank the gods. Now Rodolphus has to find a way to get rid of his brother as well, send him to visit some of their relatives in France, maybe, and he can have his wife and his manor and his peace back.

His irritation is gone, however. If he doesn’t think too hard about it, it’s as if Sirius isn’t there at all.

He rests his head against Bella’s shoulder, and he falls asleep relatively fast.

In the morning, he wakes with Sirius grinning above him. “You snore,” he informs Rodolphus, and before Rodolphus can throw him out of the bed, Bella comes out of the bathroom and gives him a warning glare.

[thewulf]

Undying Love || King Thranduil

Summary: Request - Are you taking King Thranduil requests? If you are taking... do you write with a human reader? The reader may be a Dúnedain. Or even Aragorn's aunt or older sister. She is someone who can overcome Thranduil's solid walls and sharp borders. Considering human age (although the Dúnedain lived longer) this results in sadness, as we all know. But these two can find comfort in each other, amidst their complicated relationship.

A/N: Not sure how much I like this one. It's really sweet and of course ends well. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: King Thranduil x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k +

TW: LOTR Warnings

As you walk through the dense, towering trees of Mirkwood the ancient sentinels of the forest whisper secrets of the old world with every rustle of their leaves. Accompanied by Legolas and Gimli you stride purposefully down the leaf-strewn path, your eyes alight with curiosity. The fabled woods which were spoken of in many a tale and song unfold around you with a serene majesty.

Beside you Legolas moves with an effortless grace that seems almost like a dance. His elven heritage clear in every step. Gimli who was ever the stout and steadfast companion keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the seemingly endless trek through the trees.

As the elegant spires of the elven king's palace glint through the dense canopy of Mirkwood Legolas turns towards you with a distinctly worried expression. "My father can be... quite the traditionalist," he warns in a low voice. His clear blue eyes searching yours for understanding. "His views on the dealings of elves with humans and dwarves can still be quite rigid."

You simply shrug with a slight smile playing on your lips. "I've dealt with stubborn royalty before," you reply confidently recalling countless negotiations and meetings with leaders across middle earth. "I can handle your father Legolas."

Legolas hesitates. His gaze lingering on you a moment longer. His concern not entirely abated. "It's not just his traditional views," he adds before lowering his voice as other elves pass by with graceful nods. "He has rarely opened his heart or mind after my mother's passing. He guards himself, sometimes too fiercely. Be cautious still. He is not easily swayed or impressed."

Acknowledging his words with a nod you feel a spark of challenge light up within you. "Thank you, Legolas. I appreciate your concern, but these challenges are not unfamiliar to me. I’ll tread carefully but I won’t back down. You know me well enough by now." Your response seems to reassure him slightly though he still watches you with a mix of admiration and apprehension as you approach the grand threshold of the palace.

As the three of you step into the grand hall the air shifts, filled with the soft melodies of elven music and the fragrance of exotic flowers. The elven king himself stands tall and imposing at the far end of the room his sharp eyes locking onto yours as you approach.

"My Lord Thranduil," you greet him while bowing your head slightly in respect yet holding his gaze firmly. You knew exactly how to deal with his type.

Thranduil's initial surprise at your directness quickly gives way to intrigue. He steps forward. His regal bearing unmistakable. "I am told you are the King of Gondor’s elder sister," he states looking from Legolas back to you. His voice deep and resonant. "It is rare for a Dúnedain to tread these halls."

"The rarity makes it all the more worthwhile," you quip back not missing a beat. Legolas who was standing a few steps behind raises his eyebrows in surprise at the ease with which you banter with his father.

Thranduil lets out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. A sound few have heard. "Indeed," he replies. His eyes reflecting a spark of amusement. "Let us hope your journey proves beneficial for us all."

You meet his gaze with a steady, confident look. "From what I’ve heard Mirkwood could use a fresh perspective. Perhaps I can offer one."

He does not look offended only amused. "An interesting assertion," Thranduil remarks. His tone still cool but tinged with curiosity. "Many have come claiming the same, yet few have left their mark. What makes you different Dúnedain?" You knew what he was doing. Throwing your mortality in your face but it didn’t change your stance.

"My heritage might be human, Thranduil. But my experiences are as varied as the leaves of your forest," you respond smoothly. "And like the leaves I believe in change and adaptation."

Thranduil studies you for a moment. His expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You speak boldly for one so young by elven standards. It is refreshing... and rare."

Gimli who had been quietly observing the exchange, leans over and nudges Legolas in the side with his elbow. He whispers just loud enough for Legolas to hear, "Seems like your father might have met his match, eh, lad? Better keep an eye on these two." His chuckle breaks your concentration with the king. Legolas shoots Gimli a slight glare, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. He couldn't deny the intriguing dynamic unfolding before him. His friend's words carried a hint of truth that piqued his curiosity even more even if they were whispered in jest.

The king's demeanor remains composed yet there’s a glint of respect in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Very well, Lady of the Dúnedain. Let us see what changes you bring to Mirkwood. For better or for worse… it shall be interesting." Thranduil watches you closely. His initial skepticism slowly morphing into a newfound curiosity about your presence. Your ability to hold your ground in this ancient and enigmatic court hints at the intriguing days to come.

In the following days your interactions with King Thranduil shift from formalities to more substantial exchanges. You find yourselves often walking together through the lush, verdant gardens of the palace. The air filled with the earthy scent of moss and the distant sound of a waterfall. Thranduil who was typically reserved with his emotions began to open up under the canopy of ancient trees that have seen the passing of many ages.

One afternoon Thranduil shares with you the tale of his wife. The love he lost to the shadows of the past. His voice which was usually so commanding and steady, carries a subtle tremor as he speaks of the battles fought and the peace that never came. "Time has a way of healing, yet also of deepening the scars," he says quietly while looking out over a mist-covered lake.

You listen intently. Your heart softening towards the elven king who has borne much grief. "Even the mightiest of trees were once just seeds, my lord," you respond gently, touching his arm. "They grow, they endure, and sometimes, they too must learn to thrive anew after a storm."

Thranduil's gaze meets yours. The usual frost in his eyes thawing slightly. He nods slowly. A silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words. In these shared moments a mutual understanding blossoms between you. Both of you were shaped by loss yet you were still standing. Still reaching towards the light.

On a quiet evening a few days later you and Thranduil find yourselves beside the silver-threaded streams that lace through the forest. The conversation turns to the philosophical, exploring the ephemeral nature of beauty and life itself. "All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes," Thranduil muses. His gaze distant, reflecting the shimmering water.

"I know the pain of loss, too," you share softly while meeting his eyes. "But I also know that every moment of joy we find after loss is a treasure." Your words seem to strike a chord in Thranduil. His usual reserve melting away slightly as he considers your perspective.

In the following days the air between you grows warmer. It was filled with a quiet understanding. Legolas watches this growing bond with a mix of hope and worry. He approaches his father one crisp morning with caution in his voice. "Father, do you not fear the heartache that may come? She is mortal you know this. Her years will not touch yours."

Thranduil's response comes after a thoughtful pause, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion rarely seen by others. "Indeed, Legolas. I am aware of the shadows that time casts. But should we forsake the warmth of the sun for fear of the night’s chill? The joy she brings… the companionship we share, I find it to be a balm for many old wounds."

This acknowledgment marks a turning point. Thranduil begins to openly cherish the moments you share whether in laughter over a shared meal or in quiet solidarity during council meetings. He learns to embrace the present, the here and now with you by his side. He was learning to find joy in the everyday moments that life offers. Your presence brings a light to Mirkwood that had not been seen for many years. And brought to Thranduil’s heart a renewed sense of hope and happiness however transient it might be.

It was on one of these seemingly standard days that you and Thranduil find yourselves walking along a secluded path beside the murmuring streams. The serene sounds of the forest envelop you both. A gentle symphony that seems to slow the passage of time.

As the gentle evening breeze stirs the leaves, Thranduil stops before turning to face you with a look of resolve mixed with a hint of vulnerability. "The time is nearing when Legolas and Gimli will continue their journeys, exploring lands beyond our borders," he begins. His voice low and tinged with a somber note.

You nod with a sense of impending change hanging in the air between you.

Thranduil takes a deep breath, his gaze searching yours. "I find myself at a crossroads of selfishness and reason," he confesses. "Every part of me knows I should encourage you to see the world with them. To experience all that life has to offer. Yet..." He pauses while looking at you, his eyes reflecting the soft starlight. "Yet, I find myself wishing you would stay. Here. With me."

The honesty in his words touches you deeply, and you reach out, taking his hand. "Thranduil, I..."

He gently squeezes your hand. His other hand coming up to lightly touch your cheek. "I know it is much to ask, and perhaps it is more for my own heart's ease than for your good. But you have brought light into the shadows of these woods and into the shadow of my heart. If you would stay, I would have us spend every moment that fate allows us together."

You feel the weight and warmth of his words wrap around you like a cloak. "I have wandered through middle earth to its extent and seen many wonders, Thranduil," you reply softly. Your decision clear in your heart even before he asked. "But here with you, I have found a wonder that surpasses them all. I will stay. Not out of duty. Not out of necessity. But because I want to, my lord."

A smile that was as rare as it was radiant breaks across Thranduil’s usually composed face. "Then let us not count the days but make the days count," he says while drawing you closer. "For however long we have."

The decision to stay in Mirkwood was sealed by the simplicity of your shared love. It casts a new light over your days together. Despite the challenges that remain your acceptance of each other, and the transient nature of happiness only serves to deepen the love that blossoms between you. It enriched every moment you share amid the timeless woods.

As the seasons change in Mirkwood so too does the nature of your relationship with Thranduil. The initial sparks of curiosity and mutual understanding kindle into a deeper, more profound connection. You find yourselves often lost in conversation, or simply enjoying the peaceful silence that only true companionship can afford. Despite the knowledge of inevitable parting due to your mortality you both decide to embrace the present. Instead letting your affection for each other grow into love.

The palace gardens that were once a place of solitude for Thranduil become a frequent meeting spot for the two of you. Surrounded by ancient trees and the gentle sounds of the forest you share stories, laughter, and plans for the future of Mirkwood. The joy and peace you find in each other's company seem to breathe new life into the still-recovering woodland realm and even the elves begin to notice a change in their king. A lightness to his step and a warmth in his eyes that had been absent for ages.

However, your blossoming love does not come without its challenges. Thranduil's fears of loss are never fully quieted, echoing in his moments of solitude. The differences between your races occasionally give rise to tensions. Moreover, political pressures mount as not all in the elven court or beyond are pleased with a human holding such influence over their king. Rumors and skepticism swirl through the corridors of the palace adding a strain to the harmony you both cherish.

Despite these hurdles the two of you find strength in your unity. Thranduil had grown inspired by your vitality and strength. He learns to appreciate the present like never before. Savoring each day he gets to spend with you. One evening under a canopy of stars, Thranduil speaks words that both acknowledge the reality of your situation and celebrate the beauty of your bond. "Life is fleeting for some, enduring for others, but it is the living of it, the moments we share, that truly defines its value," he reflects. His voice steady and sure.

You nod as your hand found his, an unspoken agreement passing between you. The both of you decide to make the most of the time you have, regardless of its length. This acceptance brings a new depth to your relationship, allowing you both to live fully in the moments you create together whether they be marked by laughter or contemplation.

The acceptance of the transient nature of your happiness does not diminish it; rather, it enriches the love you share. Making each moment more precious. Thranduil finds a new perspective on life, one that values the joys of the present over the fears of the future. The love that blooms between you, against all odds, becomes proof to the power of embracing the now, whatever may come later.

But even time has a way of catching you. As it weaves its inevitable tapestry the lines of age begin to grace your features, each one a mark of the vibrant life you've shared with Thranduil in Mirkwood. Thranduil who was ever timeless in his elven beauty watches the subtle changes with a mix of admiration and a deep-seated fear of impending loss. The thought of a future without you by his side casts a shadow over his heart. One that grows with each passing day.

Driven by a love that has transcended the bounds of time and race Thranduil seeks a way to keep the two of you together. In a move born of desperation and deep love, he reaches out to Galadriel, one of the few with the power and wisdom to alter your fate. His plea is heartfelt: to allow both of you passage to the Undying Lands where time could no longer claim its toll on your mortal soul.

Galadriel who had observed the sorrows and joys of middle earth for ages was moved by the depth of Thranduil's love. She consents. "Let there be no more heartbreak," she declares, granting Thranduil the rare opportunity to vacate his kingship and travel to a land of peace with you.

The days that follow are bittersweet as you and Thranduil prepare for this final voyage. Legolas understood the significance of this decision. He steps forward to assume the role of king. His pride and readiness to lead assure both you and Thranduil that Mirkwood remains in capable hands.

Your farewells are heartfelt and tearful. Legolas embraces you both. His eyes shining with unshed tears but also with pride and joy for the new life you will start. "Go with peace, my father, and my friend," he whispers. "May the shores of Valinor bring you the tranquility you deserve."

Your brother Aragorn and his queen, Arwen, come to bid you goodbye, their faces a mixture of sorrow and happiness. "Sister, your happiness has always been my own," Aragorn says, clasping your hands. "May the stars shine brightly on your path."

As you stand beside Thranduil waiting to board the ship that would carry you to the Undying Lands you feel a profound sense of peace. The sea's openness echoes the vastness of the journey you've undertaken together. From the courts of Mirkwood to this final, eternal embarkation.

As the ship sails away, you stand beside Thranduil, his hand in yours. You watch middle earth fade into the distance, a land rich with memories and echoes of ancient songs. Turning to face the horizon where new beginnings and timeless shores await, you find solace in the shared silence that speaks volumes between you and Thranduil.

Looking up at the eternal stars glittering in the sky Thranduil speaks softly, a deep reverence in his voice. "Beyond the furthest shores, under the watch of the undying stars, we find our path anew."

You nod. The profound weight of his words mingling with the sea breeze. "Let the stars guide us as we journey forth into this ageless night." Together you sail into the undying light of Valinor, where the bounds of time no longer tether your spirits. In this new realm your love finds its place among the eternal sustained by the timeless peace of the undying lands.

(Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @dnfhascorruptedme 

[anyarose011]

One More Reason to Control Myself {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Angus Tully knows she's hiding something. Why else would she lie about where she was the morning of Christmas Eve?

Part 5 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, and mention of exploitation of a minor.

We get an Angus POV chapter, motherfuckaas!! I had fun writing from his perspective while also giving him a little more backstory as well. Also, considering I want to try and eliminate the Y/N effect, anytime there's a she or her (italicized) it's you, dear reader. Shoutout to me forgetting there was a character named Danny in the movie, so I have to cover my ass for naming the creep "Daniel". Also, part 2 of an Angus/Reader coded song (what do you mean it breaks my heart? No it doesn't!)

Word Count: 7.1k

“So, why’d you miss supper last night, and why is little miss Jane Bennet missing breakfast now too?”

That was what Mary asked Angus and Paul Hunham at Christmas Eve breakfast. Mr. Hunham glanced around, trying not to show his nerves, but failed. “Oh, we went into town on some uh, school-related business. As for my daughter…I do not know; she wasn’t there when I woke up, have you seen her, Angus?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Mary hummed. The door opened, and in came Danny, the janitor who, even in the below freezing temperatures of winter, somehow almost had a smile on his face. Carrying in a mop and bucket, he greeted. “Good morning, everybody.”

“Good morning,” Mary pointed to the kitchen. “you can go on in and fix yourself a plate.”

He nodded. “I just saw something funny. I walked into the gym, and someone had vomited in there.”

Angus stilled as he drank his orange juice. Mary looked at him and Mr. Hunham, and the two of them looked at each other.

“You don’t say,” it was Paul who spoke first. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Angus answered loosely.

“No, uh, I’ll look into that right away. Thank you.”

Mary raised one of her brows. “I see how it is.”

Danny shook his head, walked over to Angus, and placed the bucket and mop by him before walking away. “You’re out your mind.”

Angus sighed, fiddling with the eggs on his plate. It had been a week of a frozen hell for him (perhaps not so bad…he made a friend. A friend who, despite there being billions of nerves in the body, she still managed to get on every single one of them; yet, he knows he does the same to her). Still, as Christmas Eve was supposed to be a time of excitement for the holidays, Angus Tully felt nothing of the sort.

He had no idea if it was because he was getting older, or because his father wouldn’t be there after Christmas mass, carrying him out of the car when he pretended to fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because he didn’t live in the same house anymore where the Christmases he used to love took place…

Fortunately, his moments of wintertime dread were gone once the doubles doors from the outside were opened. He watched as Mr. Hunham’s daughter entered, pulling off her gloves and unwrapping the scarf that was brought up over her hair and around her neck.

“And where were you?” Mary was the first to interrogate, sitting beside Angus, still smoking her cigarette.

She smiled, approaching the table. “Out.”

“Out where?” Her father then questioned.

Chuckling, the girl pulled out a chair by her father and sat down, taking an orange of the fruit basket, peeling it. “Just on a walk. I gotta clear my head from you people sometimes.”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, not necessarily shocked by her response, but still bewildered. “Clear your-? How long were you out?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I woke up around seven-thirty, read for a bit, then went out. So…maybe eight? Not for long, that’s for sure.”

Angus knew she was lying. He didn’t mean to peek into her room when he woke up (genuinely he didn’t, no matter what anyone says). Even though Mr. Hunham decided not to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn since Angus was the only holdover, the boy’s internal clock wouldn’t let him sleep in. So, the first thing he needed to do was go to the bathroom, and as he passed by the doorway to her room, she wasn’t there.

He didn’t think anything of it until he was eating breakfast at eight-thirty, and he still didn’t see her.

“I see.” Her father furrowed his brow, but then shrugged, going back to lunch. “Well, please at least eat something other than fruit.”

She took the whole bowl. “But it’s the candy of the good ol’ days.”

“And what are the good ol’ days?” Mary huffed,

“Ancient Rome and Greece,” she popped a grape into her mouth. “also when women had less rights than they do now.”

Angus snorted, trying to then cover up his amusement with a cough. He didn’t find women not having rights funny (please believe him), it was just unexpected of her to say. Still, he felt all eyes on him, and refused to meet any of them as he picked up a piece of bacon.

He likes to think Mr. Hunham’s daughter was smiling at him when she stood up. “Fine, I’ll get real food.”

She went to the kitchen to grab a plate, and Mary hummed. “Never thought I’d see that girl ever be happy this early in the morning.”

Angus finally looked up. “She usually isn’t?”

Mary smirked, placing her cigarette between her lips. “I don’t think you’d last a day with her if you were both ten.”

There was nothing else to do after Mr. Hunham lectured Angus for an hour about the aqueducts in Rome. What was usually two and a half hours was only one, since the teacher claimed: “I’m feeling a little generous because of the season.”

Not because he wanted to drink alone in Dr. Woodrup’s office reading mystery novels (Don’t be ridiculous).

So, that brought Angus Tully back up to the infirmary, to do what, who fucking knows? He glanced into the other room and saw Mr. Hunham’s daughter laying on the middle bed, reading. When she looked up, sensing his presence, he instinctively hid behind the corner.

“You don’t have to be creepy anymore.” She spoke with the sarcasm he knew so well. “We’re friends, remember?”

Angus, playing it cool, entered the room, leaning against the wall. “Who says I was ever creepy to begin with?”

“I did.” She placed a bookmark in her book before setting it down and sitting up. “And you know, ordinary people just enter a room; they usually don’t bother checking.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “maybe you’ve convinced me there are ghosts here and I just want to be safe?”

Not because he was hoping she was in her room and had a reason to go talk to her (Don’t be ridiculous).

She rolled her eyes yet smiled anyway. “Took you long enough to figure out I’m always right.”

“I said ‘maybe’. What’re you reading?”

“Just now or in general?”

“Yes.”

She held up The Two Towers. “You ever read Tolkien?”

Angus sat on the spare bed across from her. “I read The Hobbit my freshman year; one of the only books I liked reading in school.”

His eyes fell to the stack of books on her nightstand. Little Women, Sense and Sensibility, Giovanni’s Room, andThe Count of Monte Cristo.  

“You’ve read all of these?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah.” She then pointed to The Count of Monte Cristo on the bottom. “Well, I actually tried to read this one when I was fourteen but got bored with it; I’m trying again.”

“Right after you reread everything else?”

“Shut up.”

She tried to sound serious, but he watched as she turned her head to try and hide her smile. He wasn’t ashamed to show her his. Angus’ eyes went back to the stack of books, and he took out Little Women, flipping to the first page.

“‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.’ Grumbled Jo.” He read aloud, then looked up from the book. “Now I know why Mr. Hunham calls you that.”

“Are you saying I’m selfish, Fitzwilliam?”

He shook his head, going back to reading. “No, you just complain a lot.”

She scoffed. “Just wait until you meet Amy. I love her, but I’m glad I don’t have sisters.”

Angus’ didn’t respond, his eyes trailing over the words on the pages. He didn’t truly know why he kept reading; whether it was out of boredom, or perhaps he was already hooked on the story, he would never tell.

“Wait,” he heard her. “are you still reading?”

“Damnit, you made me miss my spot.” He glared at her.

She already knew he didn’t mean it (that much). Still, the girl giggled, laying back down on the bed and opening The Two Towers, going back to her own reading. They were like that for ten minutes perhaps? It was a strange time that went by fast and slow. No, Angus Tully wasn’t even doing this to think of what to say to her, he was genuinely engrossed by Louisa May Alcott.

Then, it was when he was more than half-way done with the first chapter, that he asked. “Where were you this morning?”

She looked over at him. “I’m guessing you hate the book?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He sat up. “And no, it’s actually tolerable.”

“Tolerable for it being written by a woman?” She sat up as well. “And for your information, I just went to the woods. What, were you worried about me or something?”

“Maybe…I don’t know, maybe.” Were the only thoughts behind his eyes, but his mouth moved differently.

“No. Wait, you’re walking around the woods, and you’re calling me creepy?”

“What’s so creepy about walking around the woods by myself?” She questioned. “If there was someone following me, then they would be creepy, dumbass.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know anyone who spends their time frolicking through the woods for fun.”

“You didn’t really know anyone, but neither did I, so we’re even.” She stood up, going to the window to look out of it. “I also prefer frolicking through flower fields, but this isn’t the best season for that.”

Angus hummed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

He debated on asking her why she was out there for an hour and a half; if she was in the woods, or if she was even outside. Just as he was battling with himself and wondering how to ask her without her biting his head off, he saw her tremble.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he asked.

“Come over here.” She commanded without looking at him.

He stood up immediately, and as he was halfway to the window, she giggled; a sound he had heard before but…not like this, somehow. Angus stood beside her at the window and watched as Mr. Hunham walked on the sidewalk by the quad, stretching.

“Look at that sad, little man.” She tisked.

Angus asked without looking away. “You talk about your dad like that?”

“You would too if he was yours.”

“Point made.”

They watched as the teacher picked up a stray football on the ground, and with perhaps the worst technique ever, threw it. Both she and Angus, as if her father would see them in the window, backed away from it, laughing at the absurdity.

“I almost feel bad now.” She said through her enjoyment. “That’s a lie, I don’t.”

Her honesty only caused Angus to laugh even more, and he can’t remember when the last time it was he had ever laughed this much. Especially over something so stupid.

“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t play football in high school.” He said.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “he’d go on and on about being president of Latin and Chess club.”

That’s where Angus’ amusement ceased. Even if it was at his own expense, he didn’t mind it at all since he could see just how wide her smile could get.

“Angus Tully, don’t tell me-.”

“-What’s wrong with Chess club?”

“I knew it!” She pointed at him. “You nerd!”

“You’re the one that knows all of Roman history and mythology like the back of your hand, and you’re calling me a nerd?!” He teased.

The girl snorted, crossing her arms. “Not all of it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So why have I lost to you twice now?”

 “I just got lucky.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m serious!” He tried to brighten the strange air that settled in the room. “Your dad didn’t drill it into you for nothing.”

 “Yeah, you’re right about that.” She hummed, sitting back on the bed. “So, you’re good at chess?”

He shrugged, taking a risk and sitting next to her (with about two feet of space of course). “I guess so. My…my dad taught me how to play, and I never beat him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, nearly losing himself in the memory. “I was like nine when this snowstorm hit, I was out of school for almost a week, and my dad and I just played the whole time.”

“So, you played without bathroom breaks, and you still didn’t win?”

“Okay, smartass.”

She smiled. “My dad tried teaching me chess and he beat me every time too.”

“You still play?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“I always cussed at my him whenever I lost, so probably not a good idea to keep going.”

Angus snickered. “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You were cussing at seven?”

“He was an asshole!”

“Yeah, I’ve met him.”

It was almost horrifying how her face dropped at his comment. One where it was like the words themselves shocked her. Then, before Angus could fully register what had just happened, she was laughing.

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I’m just imaging what you looked like as a kid.”

He tried to laugh it off with her, but that odd tension crept its way back in. “I was weird.”

“So was I. You should’ve seen me when I was twelve, my father drilling Roman knowledge into my head, proclaiming how, if I wanted to be better than all of the boys in my class, I had to work for it.” She grinned. “It’s like he tried to make me a small version of him, which was impossible from the start.”

Angus nodded, not exactly knowing how to respond. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t mean to, but I feel like he sometimes forgets I might want to wear ribbons in my hair, put on makeup, girly things like that that I almost called stupid, but they’re not. But could you imagine it? My father wearing makeup and…okay, he doesn’t have much hair for ribbons, but you get it.”

“I do.” He smiled.

She nodded, and they fell into another beat of silence. It was almost a competition as to who would speak first, and in the end, she surprisingly lost. She stood up from the bed.

“I uh…I promised Mary I’d help her in the kitchen.” She walked backwards. “You’re more than welcome to keep reading my ‘tolerable’ books written by women.”

Angus hummed, trying to shake off her abrupt exit. “Yeah, I got nothing else better to do. Maybe I’ll meet you downstairs and keep harassing you?”

“Yeah sure.”

With that, she turned on her heel and scurried out of the infirmary. Angus always found her to be strange; from the moment she stepped into Mr. Hunham’s classroom in September, to her just then. Still, it was a strangeness he couldn’t help but be intrigued by. Not the same as how a scientist would study a foreign species but…he had grown quite fond of her.

He already had a liking for her that first day he met her (despite her harsh and course attitude towards the others in class). Not a liking enough to have it be a crush per say (he was still annoyed with her). Then, the whole catastrophe of him being stuck with her over Christmas break only added fuel to a fire.

A fire that has both warmed and burned him all at once.

What kind of shit was he going on about? He read half of a chapter from Little Women, and now look at him!

Not knowing what else to do with himself, Angus slid The Count of Monte Cristo out from the bottom of the stack of books. It had been one of his favorites as a kid; ironic in both a sense that he read it as a child, but also his mother of all people recommended it to him. Before he could even flip it to the first page, he saw a small gap in the middle as if there was a bookmark. He opened it and found a letter; an already opened letter.

Angus’ blood ran cold at the sight of it, and as he took it onto his hands, he turned it over. It was addressed to her, and the stamp was a toy train. He had only gotten a glance at the first letter when Teddy stole it, and he recognized the stamp.

Sighing, it almost felt like the envelope was burning in his hand as he hunched over himself. He could’ve read it…it was right there, and it was already opened so it’s not like she would’ve ever known.

But he would’ve. And he knew there was no going back if he read whatever Daniel wrote to her, and even if it wasn’t bad (how could it not be), then he knew she’d be able to sniff him out like a rat that he’d read it.

Wait…Daniel…Danny…The janitor.

“Shit!” Angus hissed, almost falling off the bed, then sprinting out of the infirmary and running blindly though the school he has gone to for months.

He ran outside without a jacket on, looking around for Mr. Hunham. When he already saw his fingers beginning to turn white in a matter of a minute, he ran back into the school and navigated the halls as if he were a bat out of hell.

It took him quite literally running into Mr. Hunham for him to finally stop.

“God almighty, Mr. Tully!” He gasped. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Angus, trying to catch his breath, said. “Mr. Hunham, I have to tell you something.”

Immediately upon noticing his distress, the teacher’s harsh demeanor and voice dropped. “Well…alright, what is it?”

“Can-.” He looked around, feeling suddenly exposed in the hallway. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Sure, sure.” Mr. Hunham nodded, looking around as well until his eyes landed on the first door he saw. “Let’s uh, is there fine?”

“Yeah.”

They both entered into a classroom that neither had been in before. It was smaller in size, more than likely meant for honor’s classes, but it looked like it hadn’t been dusted since the beginning of the year when parent’s would visit. When the door was shut, Mr. Hunham turned back to him.

“Now, what’s going on?”

Angus said her name. “Someone’s been sending her letters.”

“What kind of letters?” He asked, his face a mix of confusion and even a hint of denial.

“I…” Angus looked down at the one he had in hand and held it out to the teacher. Mr. Hunham took it, slipping his reading glasses out of his pocket. Angus continued. “Someone named Daniel sent her one days ago, Kountze stole it and read it aloud to everyone back in the woods. I think it’s Danny, the janitor.”

The moment he said ‘Daniel’, he’d already seen Mr. Hunham’s entire demeanor change. He saw him visibly tense, as he read the letter what must have been a million times. As time stood still in the dingy classroom, the teacher swallowed thickly.

“You said she got another letter a few days ago? Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Mr. Kountze read it aloud, what exactly did it say?”

“I…” Angus paused, trying to remember just what was written so he wouldn’t miss a thing, “He asked her to send a picture of herself to him, and wished her a Merry Christmas. He sent her thirty-five dollars too; did he send more?”

Mr. Hunham shook his head, obviously bewildered at the amount of money. “No, he didn’t. Mr. Tully, did you even read this?”

“No.” His response was instant.

“Why not?”

Angus’ eyes trailed to the side, somehow finding the blank chalkboard much more appealing than Mr. Hunham. To be honest, anything at the time was more-.

“Angus,” His voice was stern, but not mean. It was enough to catch the boy’s attention, but not enough to scare him. “I need to know what you know, so we can help her.”

He took a deep breath. “Teddy made a joke that she…she…has pictures of herself in a skin mag.” It was absolute hell to watch Mr. Hunham sigh, so Angus looked away as he continued. “She didn’t say that she did, but she didn’t deny it, and I didn’t want to know whatever creepy shit Danny sent-.”

“-First off,” Mr. Hunham interrupted, rubbing his face. “this isn’t Danny the janitor.”

“How do you know?”

“Daniel,” He tried to say the name like he was a historical figure and not someone who made his skin crawl away from his body. “was...a family friend of some sort. That is all you have to know about him.”

Angus nodded, but couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest, and how his stomach began to tie itself into knots as he asked. “Why did he stop being a family friend?”

“I said that’s all you have to know about him.” He said with more of a bite, then calmed himself. “I’ll speak to her about this the next time I see her, and rest assured, I won’t mention you.”

“She’ll know it’s me.” He shook his head. “I found it in one of her books when she left the infirmary after we talked.”

Mr. Hunham clutched the letter in one hand while removing his glasses with the other. “Regardless of details I cannot share with you, this little incident should not effect on how you view my daughter-.”

“-It doesn’t! I just-!” He lashed out unexpectedly at even the assumption of him finding any shred of blaming her for what was happening to her. “I just…I want her to be okay. That’s it.”

The teacher all but froze at his response, it is apparent that he was not expecting him to say that. Still, after regaining himself, he nodded. “You’re a good man for doing this, you know that, right?”

Angus scoffed, shrugging. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me ever again.”

“She may not,” he nodded. “but she also might. I won’t force her to do either. Again, thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure.”

The two of them walked out of the classroom in silence, and with Mr. Hunham’s “See you at dinner?” and his student’s nod, Angus Tully was left alone again in the grand halls of the school.

 A fate that has somehow always caught up with him ever since he got there.

Angus read the same Popular Mechanics magazine three times over since he found it the night he was the only one left behind at Barton, and he’d gotten sick of it after the second time.

So, with nothing else better to do, and with it starting to get dark, he went down into the kitchen, where apparently everyone but Danny was, helping Mary cook. Including her. She was washing vegetables in the sink while Mary was preparing a roast, both of them laughing at someone one of them said. Mr. Hunham was just at the table, peeling potatoes like his life depended on it.

“Mary.” Angus greeted, smiling at her. Mr. Hunham’s daughter immediately turned back to the sink upon seeing him.

Mary looked up. “Speaking of…”

Deciding to ignore the strange tension in the room (He has a knack for doing that, doesn’t he?), Angus’ eyes traveled around until they landed on a dish beside him. “Oh, brownies? God yes, I want all of these.”

“Ah, ah!” Mary scolded when he took one. “Just take one. The rest is for the Christmas party tonight.”

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He said her name. “Did you know there’s a Christmas party?”

She didn’t turn around, and only responded with. “Uh-.”

“-Yes, at Miss Crane’s house.” Mary interrupted her. “She and I are only going for a little bit, show our faces, and say we were there. Well, she might stick around since her little friend is there. You know, Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

Angus furrowed his brows, looking over at Mr. Hunham. “I want to go to the party.”

He stammered. “She-she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

Mary shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take him.”

“Mary can take me.” Angus reiterated.

“No, that’s not how it works.” Mr. Hunham raised his voice a hint. “You’re under my supervision.”

Angus frowned. “So, your own kid isn’t under your supervision, but I am?”

“Don’t even think about pulling me into this.” The ‘kid’ in question shook her head, not even turning around.

Still, he scoffed, bringing his eyes back to Mr. Hunham. “Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around here and read books all day,” he turned on his heel, beginning to walk out. “but I’m losing my goddamn mind, Jesus!”

“Hey!” Mary yelled at him once he threw the brownie across the room. “Watch your mouth, young man! Not on Christmas Eve.”

Angus ignored her, storming off back to the infirmary. He didn’t even make it to his room and a bed to dramatically throw himself on and scream into a pillow. He rested his back against the wall before sliding down it. Now sitting, his shoulders still tensed at what just happened. He’d been stuck in the school for a full week, only being able to go out when he dislocated his entire shoulder.

Who the fuck did that piece of shit think he was for holding him captive?!

Closing his eyes, he thought back to what Dr. Gertler told him. Sure, the guy was a quack, but once or twice he actually had a few things that helped him. Angus breathed in, counting to four, held it for three, then released it for another four.

He repeated that until he felt the tension (mostly) fall away from him, and there was even a hint of calmness in his head.

Which was then lost when he opened his eyes, and she was peeking from around the corner.

“Jesus!” He gasped, and she immediately hid. Once his heart stopped beating so damn fast, he said. “Okay, now who’s being creepy?”

“…Me.” She said after a moment’s silence, still hiding.

Sighing, rested his head against the wall. “I’m sorry I yelled earlier.”

She finally showed herself, standing in front of him now. “I don’t think I’m the one you should apologize to but thank you. My dad said you can go to the party with Mary and I.”

That got Angus to sit up taller. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but he’s going with us, so it won’t be that fun.” She joked.

He snickered along with her, before asking. “What about dinner?”

“We’ll probably just have it at Miss Crane’s. We’ll just have a nice lunch or something tomorrow instead of tonight.” She explained before walking into her room.

This was what caught Angus Tully off guard. She wasn’t exactly acting like her father had just confronted her about the letters, she was being too nice to him…so did she know it was him? She had to; or was he just overthinking it and getting in his own head (Something he did frequently)?

“When are we leaving?” He asked.

“In an hour!” She yelled, her voice somewhat muffled. “So, get on it, Fitzwilliam.”

“Anything you say, Amy!”

He ran off before she could storm after him (like he assumed she would), and went back into his room, which had darkened quite a bit. He went to his bag and took out the razor and shaving cream that he had only opened a few times since the beginning of the semester. He shook the can and applied the cream to his face before bringing the blades of the razor up to shave.

There was honestly no need to. It’s not like he even had “sawdust under his nose” as one would put it when talking about the mustache men would try to grow after watching Top Gun, which didn’t exist at this time, but that’s beside the point.

Even so, as he wat attempting to shave what was not there, he heard a knock, and her voice asked. “Are you decent?”

“Yep.” He answered, not even bothering to glance at the hall of lockets she had knocked from.

She came into his eyesight and stood so close to him in the mirror that he could feel the heat of her skin on his. “Move over.”

“Why?” He scoffed playfully, yet still did so.

It was only then he noticed the small makeup bag she had in her hand, and she placed it on the sink before opening it and taking out a sponge and small jar of liquid that matched her skin tone (it was foundation; he’d heard the word before but didn’t know it was that until perhaps a year later).

“The lighting’s better in here.” She answered, getting close to the mirror and dabbing the liquid on the sponge and upon her face.

Angus took a second (and only a second, if he took any longer she’d yell at him) to look at her entire self, and saw that she was wearing a dress. A dress that he would never have imagined on her. Her hair was almost the same as always...but there was something more to it he couldn't quite verbalize.

She was still herself, and it was silly to Angus Tully that it took a different dress and perhaps some makeup (something he’d hardly see her wear) to realize just how…just how…

“You look…” His mouth trailed off faster than his brain before he could stop himself.

After finishing her foundation, she took out a powder and brush. As she applied the powder, she glanced up at him through the mirror, a smirk on her face that was holding back a laugh. “Yeah?”

He couldn't call her ‘pretty’ (both because she’d never talk to him again, and that would be belittling her), and he couldn't call her ‘beautiful’ (she just wouldn’t talk to him again period; and he’d probably be scaring her off). So, apparently, the best thing he could think of in a limited amount of time was-.

“-Like a girl.”

Oh, how attractive it was to open one of the windows and jump out of it. If it wasn’t the fall that would kill him, it would certainly be freezing to death in a foot of snow.

Instead, to his surprise, while she momentarily scowled at him (as she should have), she giggled. Shaking her head, she said. “I would say you look like a man, but there’s nothing about you to prove that.”

As his heart began to beat again from her apparent lack of offense, he took the towel off the rack and wiped the residue cream off his face. “Oh yeah? What am I then?”

“A boy.” She set down the brush and took out a small tube of liquid, shaking it. “A tall, little boy.”

He snorted, walking away from the mirror when her gaze became just a little too much. “You said you were friends with Miss Crane’s niece?”

“Yes.” Her tone changed somewhat (or was he just overthinking it).

“Do you think I could-?”

“-Should I put on eyeshadow?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You know,” she turned over her shoulder. “the color that goes on the eyelids?”

“I know what eyeshadow is. I’m not that big into makeup, so I don’t know.”

“Really?” She teased. “You aren’t into makeup?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned back to the mirror, opening the tube. “Nothing.”

Angus’ eyes scrunched as he smiled at her playfulness. “Well-.”

“-Shut up.” She interrupted him.

He scowled. “Huh?”

She had the pen (it was eyeliner; he actually knew what that was) hovering over her right eye, and she was glancing at him again through the mirror. “I’m doing the most important part, and it’s the one I’m horrible at, so I need complete silence.”

Angus Tully merely nodded, looking away. He didn’t know how long she took, but she knew she was finished when he heard her gasp.

“I did it!” He looked back and saw that she turned to him with the biggest smile on her face, and blackened wings kissing the corner of her eyes. “I did it!”

He could only nod. “Yeah, it looks good.”

She grinned from ear to ear before turning back to the mirror, setting down her eyeliner and getting out an eyelash curler. “Could I ask you a question, even though you’ll feel stupid afterwards?”

“Do your worst.”

“Why ‘Amy’?”

Angus felt safe to smile at that. “Does that bother you?”

“Why, on God’s green earth, would you say I was like Amy?!”

“Well,” he shrugged. “it pisses you off, that’s the first reason. Second is…she grew on me.”

She scowled, turning to look at him. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“I mean…you made her out to be so annoying, and someone who complains a lot which, yes she does. But she’s funny, and she sticks to herself like Jo does, but…I don’t know, I just like her.”

Her face fell for the second time that day; but not like it did that afternoon when he made a joke about her father. No, this time, he knew it was because she truly didn’t think he would say anything like that.

And, for the first time since he’d known her, she almost looked shy.

Something he thought would be the thing that terrified him the most that entire Christmas break.

So, when she didn’t respond, and wanting to disrupt the awkward silence, he then asked. “Wait, why was your dad so against going, but now he’s fine with it?”

She looked back at the mirror, looking at him through it. “Besides the fact it wouldn’t be fair that you’d be stuck here while I’d go, he has a crush on Miss Crane.”

Angus snorted. “Figures.”

She shrugged. “I kind of always knew. I mean, she’s worked here for five years, but I think he only started liking her last year. I’m also not sure what he’s more afraid of; how I’d react to him liking someone after Mom died, or him just liking her period.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“My mother’s been in the ground for six years.” She decided to take the eyelash curler back in her hand, then brought it up to one of her eyes. “We still visit her of course. She wasn’t selfish either, and it’s been so long, so I don’t think she’d mind. Besides, I’m going to technically graduate next semester, and I don’t want to be stuck here, but I also don’t want him to be alone. Mary’s really his only friend so…yeah, I think I’d be okay if he was with Miss Crane.”

Angus nodded. At first, it felt almost invasive and even wrong for her to tell him all of that so effortlessly. But…he leaned into it the more she went on. She’d been vulnerable with him before (whether she thought it or not, she had been), but this time…it wasn’t a huge confession, it was just a simple conversation.

“I don’t…” He found himself saying.

He didn’t what? What was he going to say? Something about his father? His mother? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her something.

She took the curler away from herself and turned to look at him. Her eyes…her damn-no, they weren’t damned; they were kind, gentle…but still he felt damned just as she looked at him in a way he hadn’t ever seen her look at anyone before. She was waiting for him to say something.

Say something.

Say something.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t done anything but stare at him, but he was suddenly twelve again. Angus Tully, with his hair that was just beginning to have out of place curls, walking into his parent’s room at two in the morning. He woke his mother up, who gasped when he touched her. After she calmed down, she was appalled to see him crying.

It wasn’t a bad dream, it wasn’t because something had happened to him at school; he didn’t know what was making him weep, but he was doing it anyway.

He could barely say anything, he babbled like a baby learning to talk, and all he could get out was “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

His mother tried her best (he liked to himself that), but she could only say “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

Didn’t she hear him? He didn’t know.

Even now, at seventeen, he didn’t know what to say to her.

“I don’t know how you can use that.” He glanced at the eyelash curler.

She furrowed her brow upon the change in tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it looks like a torture device.”

Scoffing, she looked back to the mirror and curled the lashes of her other eyes. “You’ve just never tried it before.”

 “And I never will.”

She looked back at him once she was finished. “Are you scared?”

“No, I just don’t see the reason to.”

She shrugged. “I think you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Okay, then let me put mascara on you.”

He scoffed. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you’re not scared then you’ll let me stick something in your eye. You don’t have to wear it to the party, but I think it’d be fun.”

Angus was at a loss. She was a good actress, so how was he supposed to know she wasn’t messing with him? Well…he didn’t; he just had to trust her. To be fair, he had been weird around her this whole time, so…

“I’m not doing the torture device, just the makeup.”

Her face lit up, and she took the mascara out of her bag, setting everything else inside of it. “Get over here.”

He followed, leaning against the wall by the mirror. Suddenly, as he stood in front of her, he was nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was (whether that was because of her wit, her confidence, or even her meanness), it was because it was just her.

“How uh,” he stammered. “how are we doing this.”

“Lean down first of all, fuck why are you so tall?”

“Not one of my favorite qualities.” He joked, pressing his hand against the sink for support as he lowered himself slightly.

“Meh,” she shrugged, unscrewing the cap of her mascara. “girls usually like tall guys.”

His heart flipped. “Yeah?”

She froze momentarily before continuing. “I guess. Elise told me.”

“Right.”

“Okay, close your eyes. You’re going to want to open them when you feel something touch your eye, but I promise you, you don’t want to do that.”

“Sounds good.” He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling of discomfort. He could feel the heat of herself hover around him, but the pain from the mascara never came.

He heard her sigh. “This isn’t going to work.”

Angus opened his eyes when he felt her draw away, and he saw her sit on one of the beds. She titled her head. “Come here.”

He didn’t know if his heart was still or was going to beat itself out of his chest. Obviously, he sat by her before but…he had to be closer to her. Angus did his best not to make a big deal of it, but he felt like he was almost watching himself outside of his body as he sat beside her and closed his eyes.

“Do you want to know what my mom called me when I was younger?”

She was trying to distract him and he knew it. “Sure.”

“Ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He tensed but soon relax when she rested her hand on his cheek; it felt like she was burning him, but the way that he felt whenever he had a fever. Somehow…it was comforting.  Breathing shallowly, he answered. “Greek? Kind of.”

“Well,” he cowered away a little when he felt something brush his eyelashes but kept calm as she continued. “where my father loved Roman history and mythology, my mother was more into the Greeks. They’d go back and forth debating on which was more influential, and that was more so how they became friends. She…before I was born, she talked about naming me Eurydice because it was her favorite story. My dad was obviously against it, so that was a no. So, that’s when she’d just call me Eurydice at home a lot, just to piss him off which was funny.”

Angus hummed, paying attention to her words, but having to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded from losing himself within her touch. “What’s she like in the story?”

“Not much to her.” She moved onto his other eye. “Well, what it gives us anyway. I always had my mom tell me their story, and Eurydice kept changing. It was always who I was like growing up.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was shy around the other kids when she first told me-.”

“-You, shy?”

“Shut up, I’ll mess up your eye if you make me laugh. But yeah, so Eurydice was quiet and shyer. Then, when I’m like nine, I’m a bit more outspoken, angrier even, so she became that.”

He didn’t move his head, scared that he’d mess her up. It was then, after she stopped speaking, he could feel her breath on his face. Her hand was still warm against his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it more and more. He had not felt this sense of peace since…he couldn’t recall.

“Done.”

With one word from her, she took her hand away and he opened his eyes. She was still so close to him, and while he saw her smiling at what he assumed had been her work, it was him staring at her that made it drop. Still, she didn’t look frightened nor upset, she was just…looking at him.

The moment his eyes dropped to her lips for only a second, it was all over.

He’d thought about it, of course. He wanted to. But…like with everything about her, he froze.

She didn’t.

“You…” She stood up from the bed, straightening the skirt of her dress. “you should probably wash that off after taking a look.”

Angus didn’t have time to respond before she grabbed her makeup bag and ran off. He just sat there, trying to process if he was waiting to wake up from a dream, or if it had been in fact real.

When nothing happened, he sighed heavily, getting up and walking towards the mirror. His eyes looked different, and he felt weird. He could not tell if it was from the makeup, her, or both. Still, what he did know, was that he made a fool of himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | six

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: fighting, mentions of ptsd, just some fluff, enemies becoming friends and becoming lovers

Days and weeks passed, and Nimue found different ways to entertain herself and pass the time.

She had learned to appreciate Nesta's company, Feyre's older sister, with whom she spent long hours in silence, reading, sitting side by side in the library. She was a rough and direct person, but there was something that made them understand and fit together, like two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it was the fact that both had been inside the Cauldron that made Nimue understand her attitude, even though the others didn't.

She also spent long hours sitting with Rhysand. Sometimes Feyre, Morrigan, Amren, Cassian were present. Never Azriel.

They asked questions, and she answered the best she could: where the bulk of Hybern's forces were located, how many troops it had, who supported the King among Prythian's courts, what he was going to do with the Cauldron...

For many, she didn't have the answer, and she couldn't ignore that feeling of uselessness when she shrugged at their questions. She should have known all that. Her father didn't trust her in the slightest, not even to entrust her with the most absurd of information.

She had also started spending time with Amren, with whom she could spend hours and hours talking about the world, about magic, about how everything was related. They shared their own perspectives on the world, as Nimue found in the small female an equal: two ancient and powerful minds trapped in bodies that were too small for them.

However, the knowledge that Amren transmitted to her about Prythian's history was incredibly vast. Yes, Nimue had knowledge of the things the Cauldron had transmitted to her, but she still had so much to learn that she couldn't help but tremble with excitement.

On the other hand, Nimue also felt drawn to the fragile Elain. Like with Nesta, she felt a connection with the female, due to her relationship with the Cauldron. The Cauldron itself had said it, it had given her two sisters, and Nimue felt her chest swell just thinking about it.

According to Nesta, the Elain she saw now was a mere shadow of what she had always been in reality: a sweet and bright girl, warm like the spring sun, but extinguished by the traumatic experience of the Cauldron.

However, on rare occasions, when she and Nesta sat in silence reading in the company of the quiet and lost Elain, Nimue would look up from the book to find the middle sister smiling at her, a smile that the princess gladly returned.

On the other hand, she had begun to forge a sweet and slow friendship with Feyre: they sat together to have tea (Cassian had taught her, what a wonderful beverage), and the brunette told her story, from the harsh poverty and through Tamlin and the Spring Court, to Rhysand and the Inner Circle.

Nimue couldn't help but marvel at seeing Azriel through Feyre's eyes, as she told her what she had experienced with them.

She was gaining everyone's trust little by little, building it day by day with small demonstrations. However, Azriel kept slipping away.

Sometimes she felt a flash of something on the other end of the bond: joy, anger, disappointment, surprise. She supposed it was moments when Azriel let his guard down and his emotions escaped through the invisible thread that connected them.

When she crossed paths with him in the hallways, he simply looked away and walked past. When everyone in the house gathered for dinner and they coincided next to each other, Azriel didn't open his mouth all night or engaged in conversation with whoever was on his other side.

Nimue wanted to get closer to him. She wanted to know him, to see him with the eyes with which Feyre saw him: a loyal and good male to the core, willing to sacrifice everything for his people and with incredible insight. A trained warrior with a dark past that Feyre didn't tell her much about.

So she began to get up before the Sun shone in the sky. She dressed appropriately and cheerfully made her way to the training field that Cassian had shown her. There, every morning without fail, she found the two Illyrian males training: with swords, with spears, with daggers, with fists...

Every time Cassian saw her cross the training yard's gate, he couldn't help but burst into laughter. On the other hand, Azriel rolled his eyes and was already in a bad mood for everything he had left to do that morning.

But he couldn't help but think how funny the situation was, seeing Nimue arrive there morning after morning, sit and watch them train with a sweet smile on her face, sometimes with her gaze lost following some birds flying around her.

Azriel wanted to be angry. He wanted not to trust her, he wanted to see her as an enemy, he wanted to convince himself that she wasn't clean.

But it was so, so difficult for him.

It was so difficult for him to convince himself that she was a spy for her father. Especially when he caught her alone in the hallways of the house, asking out loud for any kind of sweet or cake and eating it as if it were the first in her life. Especially when he saw her reading silently in the library, next to Nesta and with a smile on her face for whatever she was reading.

Especially, when at dinners he caught her staring at him, with furrowed brows. Azriel pretended not to notice. But he always saw her on the other side of the table, oblivious to all the conversations around her, gripping the knife and fork and staring at him, with that expression of incomprehension that reminded him so much of a sulky child.

He wanted to maintain that facade and not give in. But it was so difficult for him to ignore that feeling, that pressure in his chest every time he saw her, every time he perceived her scent of sea salt and belladonna poison in the house's rooms.

Especially at night when he got into bed, he found it hard to ignore the emotions that slipped through the bond: half asleep and with his guard down, Nimue let out such waves of loneliness and melancholy from her end of the bond that sometimes Azriel felt like he was going to cry himself.

So, one morning, amidst the thick morning fog and the singing of the newly awakened birds, he headed towards Nimue on the training field, under Cassian's surprised gaze.

"Why don't you show us how you fight in Hybern?" he said. Nimue stood up like a spring, her face tinged with excitement. Azriel had to take several deep breaths to assimilate the amount of joy that went straight to his chest. He cleared his throat, "Just to know what to expect in case of a battle."

"Of course."

Nimue walked up to Cassian, who volunteered to fight against the princess first.

"No magic, just hand-to-hand combat. I must also add that I don't usually fight against women, but it doesn't mean I'm going to–"

Cassian hadn't finished speaking when Nimue gave him a series of blows so fast that not even Azriel could register: first stomach, then knees, neck, and finally a finishing blow that left the Illyrian lying face down on the ground and groaning.

Azriel let out a laugh almost without thinking, and when he felt Nimue's gaze on him, he did everything to hide it.

"For the Mother," Cassian coughed, getting up as best he could from the ground. "Warn before."

"If I warned you, it would lose all the fun," she said, smiling. She turned to the Shadowsinger and pointed at him with her finger, "Now you, pretty face."

Azriel felt a chill run from his heels to his crown, and swallowed to prevent his thoughts from wandering further.

Around his shoulders and wings, his shadows fluttered as they laughed softly.

How funny she is.

Yes, very funny.

And pretty.

Yes, we want to touch her and smell her. She smells really good.

Azriel clicked his tongue and shook his head, heading towards the princess. He positioned himself at a safe distance to avoid a surprise attack like the one she had used with Cassian, and in a defensive stance, he couldn't help but give her a wicked smile.

"You'll see what this pretty face is capable of."

At a speed only a fully trained soldier could move, Nimue traced a parabola towards Azriel, approaching from his left side and crouching to avoid any counterattack. He prepared to receive the blow, contracting the muscles of his abdomen.

But the blow never came.

Nimue fell to her knees, fists raised just an inch from Azriel's body.

"I can't," she whispered. She dropped her arms to her sides and stood up, face to face with Azriel. "I'm physically unable to harm you. I can't."

Azriel frowned, internalizing every feature of the female: the arch of her eyebrows, the angle of her eyes, the light of the first rays of the sun reflected in her iris, that slight tremor on the left side of her lip that he had noticed occurred when she was tense...

He never had the pleasure to be this close to her, the only times such a thing happened he was so blinded by rage that he couldn't appreciate such a raw beauty.

He snapped out of his reverie and entered back into that mental state of combat.

Taking advantage of Nimue's distraction, he prepared to aim a direct punch at her jaw.

But just an inch away, his body stopped completely, as dictated by a greater force.

Stop.

His hand immediately unclenched, and under his own gaze, he saw how his body acted alone and by instinct: as if drawn by a magnet, his own hand rested on Nimue's cheek, who buried her face further in that sudden contact.

They held each other's gaze, unable to act upon that pure and raw instinct. Azriel's hand on Nimue's face, his thumb tempting fate on the corner of the princess's lip.

Even through the leather glove, he could feel the warmth emanating from Nimue, like that of a bonfire on a cold winter night.

The princess raised her right hand, gripping the Shadowsinger's forearm and ensuring he didn't stop touching her.

She didn't want him to ever stop.

No one had ever touched her like that, with pure warmth. She felt like she was burning wherever the male touched her.

She didn't want Azriel to ever stop touching her.

But Azriel snapped out of his reverie, again, and as fast as lightning, he moved away from the female, breaking all physical contact.

At his side, the hand that had felt the sweet touch of her skin kept clenching, as if asking for more.

Such soft skin.

Let's touch it again.

He had gone too far, letting himself be carried away by the raw instinct that bond imposed on him.

Yes, it had to be that.

He definitely didn't want to get lost again in the gray eyes of that female, clear as the light of the brightest star in the sky.

Definitely not.

Feeling the heat rise to his face, he hurried to leave the training field before his own shadows came up with the Mother knows what, leaving behind a confused Nimue.

What had just happened?

What had all that been about, why had it felt so natural, so good?

Cassian had watched the whole scene, apart, with his mouth shut and thinking about who he would run to tell first: Feyre or Morrigan.

Maybe both at the same time.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator

[carolmunson]

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool. 

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old. 

“What’re you doing?” Van asks. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?” 

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.” 

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty. 

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.” 

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.” 

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.” 

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.” 

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.” 

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.” 

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.” 

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face,  “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”  

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red. 

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands. 

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie. 

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera. 

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.” 

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?” 

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again. 

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter. 

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.” 

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?” 

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face. 

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.” 

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.” 

“She’s very special,” he shrugs. 

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes. 

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.” 

“Still had my chef make them for me though.” 

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame. 

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?” 

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.” 

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.” 

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest. 

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.  

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare. 

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.” 

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.” 

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?” 

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you. 

“It’s in my purse,” you call out. 

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door. 

“The pink Kelly!” 

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out. 

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!” 

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.” 

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.” 

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.” 

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.” 

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.” 

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

[storiesofmyhead]

Little Kitty - Neteyam X OC

Summary: Neteyam the rising Olo'eyktan. All he wanted to do was make his father proud. Well, that and to protect his human. Takala. The only human he would go out of his way to protect. Meeting the girl at a young age proved to be quite the achievement in Norms perspective. No matter how much Neteryi told Neteyam to stay away from the girl, he would ignore her and leave during the night. Neteyam's protectivness and need to be with Takala shows quite the problem when it comes to his family being in harms way.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Laying in her bed, the little girl curled up in the blankets searching for any warmth she could find.

"Takala." Spider yells opening curtain that separates her room from the rest of the lab. 

The three Na'vi kids standing behind him watching in curiosity at the other child they hadn't seen before.

"Shh. Spider." Norm whisper pushing him out of the make-shift room. "I'll get her." He grabs the blanket and pulls it carefull off the sleeping girl. "Time to wake up, Takala. There's people who want to see you."

Groaning softly, the girl turn her brown hair sticky up in all different directions. She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and hum.

"It's cold in here, Norm." Her soft voice says.

The three Na'vi kids ear twitch and turn towards the girl voice, watching the curtain waiting for her to come out. 

"I know sweetheart, Ill go find our sweatshirt, while you meet the kids. How about that?"

"Ok." She hums, standing up out of her bed. Her curly hair a mess.

Pushing back the curtain Norm steps out walking off to find her sweatshirt.

"Takala." Spider whines. "Come onnn."

"I'm coming." She snaps, walking out from behind the curtain.

Smiling at the three Na'vi as they look her up and down. "Hi." She waves, causing them all to wave back, finding the small girl cute.

Smacking the back of Kiri's leg, spider runs off causing her to chase after him, Lo'ak following, wanting to cause trouble like always. Leaving Neteyam by himself with Takala.

Norm walks back, sweatshirt in hand. "Here you go sweetheart." He says. "Now just call if ou need anything else." Nodding she takes the sweatshirt and pulls in over he head, nuzzling into the warmth.

Her eyes move to the tall boy in front of her. "What's your name?" She smiles. The boy's eyes never seeming to leave her.

"Neteyam."

Smiling more she repeats. "Neteyam." He nods. "Why didn't you go with the others?"

Shrugging. "I'd rather get to know you." He crouches down, now sitting on the ground so she doesn't have to look up anymore.

Gasping. "Really!" He chuckles at her excited form.

"I'm Takala. How old are you?" Her head tilts watching his ear twitch.

"I'm Eleven."

"I'm turning 10 in a month" The girl smiles up at him. Her eyes grow wide as his ears twitch a bit.

Gasping softly she slowly reaches up towards them.

The blue Na'vi boy pulls her into his lap allowing her to touch his ears.

"You're like a kitty cat." She smiles, Neteyam smiling back not knowing what a ' kitty cat' was.

Rambling on about cats, she knows he doesn't understand though it felt nice to have someone actually listen to her.

"I love cats. They're so cute and small and fuzzy. I wish we could have a kitty here. I wouldn't be so alone all the time."

The boy watches her, unknowingly quietly purring. His chest slightly grumbling, his eyes closed in ecstasy at the feeling of her hands rubbing his ears. 

Takala's ears pick up the purr's causing her to giggle. "You're purring." She smiles.

Embarrassed his cheeks go red, opening his eyes to see her giggling. Her small body slightly shivering at the cold.

"Cold?" Neteyam asks wrapping his arms around her body tighter.

"You're s'warm." her voice mumbles as she nuzzles her head into his warm neck.

He chuckles starting to quietly purr again feeling her small breaths on his neck. He didn't know what this feeling was, but he liked it, now suddenly feeling very protective over the girl.

"Neteyam! Let's go!" Spider yells as Lo'ak, him, and Kiri run outside.

Sighing the blue boy picks Takala up and places her on the floor. Her lips form a pout as she looks up at him.

"You're leaving?" Disappointment clear in her voice.

The young boy slightly chuckles and nods. "Yes. But I promise I will visit you again."

Her pout deepening. "Ok."

He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. "Goodbye kitty."

"Bye." She waves watching him leave the lab.

Norm watches the two from his desk smiling as he continues his video document.

"Neteyam is growing an attachment to Takala. I wonder how he will react if she disappears for a few days. I'm going to try something new. I'm going to watch them for 3 weeks together and then take her away and not let him in for a week to see how he will react. If he reacts how I think he will I will have to tell Jake about his attachment before it is too late."

Walking outside, Neteyam catches up with Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri. Looking down at Spider he asks.

"What's a kitty cat?" Confusion clear in his voice.

Spider laughs nudging Neteyam's shoulder. "It's a small warm-blooded animal with pointy ears like Na'vi. They're very cuddling creatures."

Neteyam hums. "Is it good when someone calls you one?"

"What? A cat?" Spider laughs. "I don't know." Before running to catch up to Kiri. Neteyam now by himself he sighs, confused at the new feelings he's feeling. 

Walking back into the lab Spider sees Takala looking through the glass chamber at the young avatar girl.

"Did you like my friends?" Spider asks causing Takala to jump up and down excitedly.

"Yessss. Especially Neteyam. He was very nice. He acted like a cat." She giggles. "He said hell visit me again. So, I wouldn't be alone."

"That's nice." Spider says walking away.

[fishfooddude]

i saw you’re open to requests right now, and i love how you write carmy!! i was wondering if you could do anything about him teaching r how to cook? helping them with a recipe? i love ur work!!🫶

Stop you're gonna make me blush 😭

But, yes, I take requests. I took some creative liberties with this one, but I like how it turned out.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Soft jazz filled Carmy’s cozy apartment as the two of you stood in the kitchen. Carmy was next to you, trying to make sense of your Dad’s sloppy cursive writing. “I - this man… what the fuck does he mean by light brown chicken?” he mumbled, getting more confused by the second. “And to think the three Michelin star chef can’t figure out what this is BUT had the gull to taunt his non-three Michelin star chef partner for being confused.” Carmy rolled his eyes at your rebuttal and playfully nudged you, “Shut up baby.”  you laughed and handed him the card. “They never taught us about ‘Daddy soup’ in culinary school.” you shrugged and took another sip of broth, gagging at the taste. “I don’t know how I fucked up that soup so bad.” Carmy laughed. “Describe it to me- I will figure it out.”

With the recent passing of your father, you’d found yourself desperate to find a way to connect to him, hence the need for ‘Daddy soup’ growing up; whenever it was cold out or whenever you or your siblings were upset, he’d make ‘Daddy soup’ it was the cure to everything. You attempted to explain it to Carmy, “It was chicken? Maybe turkey? There was carrot… celery? I don’t know- it just tasted like love.”

Carmy spent weeks cross-referencing cookbooks and online recipes. He made stock after stock after stock. He called both of your sisters to get a new perspective on what he should do. After weeks of eating only soup for lunch and dinner, Carmy thought he’d figured it out. “Hey, you doin’ anythin’ tonight?” Carmy asked when you answered the phone, “What you cookin’ me?” “Don’t make me say it…” Carmy awkwardly chuckled, “I’ll come over at 7.” 

“Okay, can you chop these for me while I shred this duck,” Carmy explained, handing you one of his knives. “Be careful, Syd, and I sharpened our knives last night.” you shot him a confused look, “The fattiness of the duck was what my first and fourth attempts were missing- it’ll be good, I promise.” You shot Carmy a quizzical look but started chopping onions and carrots as he’d instructed. He helped you cook the garlic, making sure it didn’t burn this time around. 

“Okay. Try it.” Carmy said, biting the inside of his cheek. As you brought a spoon up to your lips, he swallowed nervously. He stared at you intensely as you tasted the soup. You licked your lips and took another spoonful from the pot. You stood there momentarily and thought, “Well, it’s not Daddy soup but Carmy soup.” Carmy frowned at your criteria, “I thought I had it-” “Carmy, I don’t think anyone can recreate my Dad’s soup, but this is delicious and tastes like love. Thank you.”