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sakkiichi · 1 year

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CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

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solarecliipse · 1 month

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it is canon that kuroo has an older sister, so let m’ just introduce…

look at me !

timeskip! kenma kozume x kuroo’soldersister!reader

you and tetsurō were just two years apart from each other, and were always really close, thus you’ve known kenma since he was a little boy, and he’s had a crush on you ever since. in the beginning it was kinda obvious, since kenma was more clumsy and tended to blush around you, so both tetsurō and you knew, but you thought of it as puppy love, he was just going to grow out of it.

later on their high school days, when you thought kenma was over his silly crush, he proved you wrong.

you were in the living room, painting your nails and watching a repetition of your favorite movie, when someone came downstairs, “‘m going to the mini market, want something?” your brother’s voice was raised as he took his keys.

“mm sure” you answered absentmindedly before looking up at him, “bring me a lychee soda and some chips please! i’ll pay you later”

as the door was locked you continued to paint your nails when someone else began to come downstairs, you looked up to see kenma, with his pants tucked into his socks and his hands in his pockets, he was standing on your direction looking at his feet.

“everything alright, ken-kun?” you asked, with a soft voice that made him shiver, getting back some sort of muffled response, “i’m sorry, i didn’t hear you, do you need anything?”

“I really like you kuroo-sama” he said then, in a voice still really low, but now recognizable, as he looked up at you, his cheeks a deep red. he wasn’t over it.

you opened your mouth, feeling unsure on how to respond, then looked back down as you thought of what to say, when his voice interrupted once more.

“look at me!” he said, now in a louder voice, thinking you hadn’t heard him, “I said I like you y/n-san!”

this time your face was slightly red too, and you finally couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, “i know, kenma-kun, since you were 8” his face turned redder, “but you're too young for me, maybe when you grow up”

you finally wink at him, making him blush even more, and before he can come out of his shock, tetsurō is back.

from then many years passed, in which you still saw him every once in a while, his college years along tetsurō meant you inviting them both over for dinner every other night, and he came most times, then he became famous and you barely saw him. later on, he went viral for a reason, a confession on stream, that’s what every single thread in twitter was named.

the video begun with him laughing, then reading another question from the chat, chosen randomly —or not?

we already know you don’t have a lover, but have you ever had one? he reads it and chuckles to then let out a sigh, “well, not really” he says, and contrary to what everyone expected keeps on talking, “but, there’s this person i had a crush- have had a crush,” he corrects himself as he plays with his hands, “since, like, forever? they’re really amazing, intelligent, kind” the chat is going crazy over the small smile on his lips and slight blush that creeps up his cheeks, “super hot, black hair, they’re kinda bossy too, and of course if they see this they know I’m talking about them” he know looks directly to the camera, “you thought it was puppy love, but i’m really still down bad for you, and i’m older” he chuckled as he said that, “so, if you see this, give me a call”

tetsurō laughed as he saw your blushed face, you were on a restaurant when he mentioned he had something to show you, “so? are you going to call him?” he said, in between laughter.

“w-wh.. how did- i don’t even have his number” you say in a breathless voice, making him laugh harder, and some people around look at you, “god! why would he do something like that? he’s really grown up”

as you ramble to yourself, tetsurō takes your phone and starts typing something, then gives it back to you with a snarky smile. it’s —you suppose— kenma’s number.

it’s not until later, when you go back to your place, that you finally decide to call.

one tone.

two tones.

three- “yes?”

you hear his voice, notice he might be doing something else as he answers.

“hey, ken-kun, it’s me y/n” you say, with a nervous smile that he can hear from the other side, making him smirk, “i’m calling for- well, that video is all over the internet.. what i meant to say, is if you’d like to have lunch, tomorrow?”

“sure, tomorrow’s perfect, i’ll pick you up y/n-san” and of course, the chat goes crazy at the honorifics, next day, every thread on twitter is called, kenma x cougar?, and, you’re not that old but, who cares?

i thought this was a really fun take in relationship with (timeskip) kenma. thank you so so much for reading, i really hope you liked it, once again english is not my first language so I’m really sorry for any mistakes.

pt 2.

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu fluff #hq kenma #haikyuu kenma #kenma x reader #kozume kenma #kenma fluff #kenma x you

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delicatebarness · 4 months

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cry baby | chapter three

Summary: Not your average day out, well, maybe for The Avengers it is.

Warning: Minimum Violence. John Walker.

Word Count: 1374

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A/N: JACKET. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

The aroma of coffee filled the small space of your kitchen, and the events at the restaurant and the fallout weighed heavily on your mind. As you stood by the counter, lost in thought, you heard a soft knock at your door.

Opening it, you found Bucky standing there, looking slightly disheveled. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay after last night.”

You stepped aside, letting him enter. With a grateful smile, you nodded. “I just made some coffee, would you like some?”

His eyes scanned the room as if he was ensuring everything was in place as he walked in. “I’d love some, please, Sweetheart,” he smiled, turning back at you. Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, the whites of them were threaded with red veins as his lids struggled to stay open. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

You poured two mugs, handing one to Bucky. “I know you told him about John,” you said softly, leading him to the couch.

“I’m not sorry about that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Steve should have done more damage,” he mumbled under his breath.

You sighed, sitting next to him and bringing your knees up to your chest. “I just wish it hadn’t come to that. Steve shouldn’t be in fights because of me,”

Bucky turned his gaze to you, softening at the thought of your worry. “That wasn’t your fault, Steve did what any brother would, and John… well, he’s not worth your time or concern.”

His presence helped steady your emotions, comforting you. He had a way of keeping you grounded, making you feel safe. “Thank you, Bucky,” you said, meeting his gaze. “For everything.”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Always.”

As you found a comfortable silence lacing itself between you, the familiar massage tone of both phones pinged together. Reaching for them in sync, you read the message. ‘They’ve taken Steve in, again.’ Your heart sank.

“Walker,” Bucky mumbled as he stared at his phone, sighing. You closed your eyes, a wave of guilt washing over you. “It’s not your fault,” Bucky reassured you, cupping your face, the cold metal soothing your flushed skin. “Let’s go get him.”

Nodding in agreement, you raised from your seat and settled your mug down on the coffee table. Grabbing your keys, you began to race toward the door. Bucky cleared his throat moments before you reached for the handle, grabbing your attention.

He held out his jacket toward you, gesturing toward your attire. The adrenaline coursing through you caused you to forget you had yet to change out of your nightwear. Mumbling a thank you toward him, you slipped into his jacket, letting the leather material surround your body.

The ride to the police station was a blur, your mind replayed the events of the previous night. Every what-if raced through your thoughts.

When you entered the police station, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda were already waiting inside for Steve. “Have you seen him yet?” you asked, as Bucky went over to the front desk.

Sam shook his head, concern shown on his face. “Not yet. They’re questioning him now. They haven’t given us anything, yet.”

Natasha rose from her seat in the waiting area, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. “He’ll be okay, we’ve been here before.”

Bucky returned from the front desk, his face masking a barely restrained anger. “Walker’s really pushing himself this time.”

A confused look washed over your features, “This time?” you asked, gazing up at Bucky, searching for answers in his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘this time’?”

Wanda put a reassuring hand on your back, “Walker wants what Steve has,” she spoke, and a heavy tension began to weigh in the air. “You know, the authority, the bar’s respect…” she continued as she gestured around the station.

“He’s just trying to provoke us,” Sam suspected, as his gaze met yours, you felt smaller than usual around your friends as you realized your part in this. “He knew getting to you would do that.”

Your gaze tried to avoid all of theirs, feeling humiliated. Wrapping Bucky’s jacket tighter around your body, you found an empty seat and sank into it.

The minutes felt like hours as you waited. Suddenly, the door to one of the interview rooms opened, and it wasn’t who you were hoping for. John emerged, looking smug and satisfied. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, a smirk across his face.

Before you could react, Bucky was across the room. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him against the wall with force, the entire station went silent. “Is there a problem, guard dog?” John spat as he tried to maintain his composure.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his voice a growl. “Listen, Walker. If you ever,” another slam, “go near her again, you’ll have more than just Steve to worry about.”

“Barnes!” Officer Fury, who dealt with your group on numerous occasions, called out as he approached. “Not here,” the man tried to squeeze himself between the two men.

Reluctantly, Bucky let go and took a step back. Fury placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder, guiding him out of the station. “Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

Straightening his collar, he shot one last venomous look at you before turning and walking out of the station.

Fury sighed as he turned to Bucky, shaking his head. “Keep it together, Barnes. You know the drill, don’t let him get the best of you.” Bucky nodded as he looked over at you.

Within seconds, another interview room door opened, this time, Steve walked out. You immediately rose from your seat and rushed over to him. He pulled you into a tight hug. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle with a lace of tiredness.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “Forget me, what about you?”

Pulling back slightly, Steve looked at you with a soft smile. “I’m good. Fury’s got our backs, letting me off with a warning.”

You glanced over at Fury, sending him a grateful smile as he gave you a reassuring nod. “Just keep it in the bar,�� he advised.

“Speaking of,” Sam smirked as he gestured toward the station door. “Shall we?”

A sense of relief washed over you and your friends. Following their lead out of the station, you suddenly remember you were still in your nightwear. The warmth from Bucky’s jacket caused you to feel fully dressed and covered the entire time.

Bucky walked beside you, sensing your sudden discomfort he placed a hand on the small of your back. “I’ll take you home first,” he gave you a small smile as you glanced up at him.

As you reached your apartment, Bucky followed you up the stairs, his hand never left the small of your back as he rested gently against it. The familiar scent of your home instantly put you at ease as you stepped inside.

“I’ll be quick!” you promised, as you turned to glance at him. He closed the door behind you and leaned against it as he watched you make your way to your bedroom.

“Take your time, Sweetheart,” he said, a playful tone laced his voice as he smiled back at you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Disappearing into your bedroom, the adrenaline that had carried you through the events at the police station began to wear off. You quickly change out of your nightwear and into one of your dresses, and check your appearance. The comforting weight of Bucky’s jacket still lingered on your shoulders as you replaced it with one of your cardigans.

Bucky had moved into your living room by the time you emerged from your bedroom, his expression softening when he saw you. “Gorgeous,” he said, a rush of heat spread across your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, as you avoided his gaze, and caught the sight of his jacket draped over your arm. “Oh, and thank you!” You gestured toward the jacket as you handed it back to him.

Bucky’s face fell slightly as he took the jacket, disappointment crossed his features. “It looked good on you,” he said as he reluctantly slipped it on.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#cry baby series #cry baby #bucky barnes x cry baby #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #steve rogers x sister!reader #biker!bucky #biker au

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mattsautumn · 1 month

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Pissed off - Matt Sturniolo

Summary; Matt is pissed off about y/n going to a party, but will she make it up to him?

Warnings; Sex, oral (!male receiving), swearing, use of y/n, idk what else.

A/N; THANK ALL SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 100 FOLLOWERS!! it means a lot, i love you all!!

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Matt barely had any bad days, but if he had one he would be pissed off. Most of the times when it would happen, you and him would argue and later forget about it, but now it was different. You went out with some friends and you didn’t tell Matt. Eventually a friend of you posted a picture online and he saw it. He didn’t like this, so he started ignoring you.

You walk into his room, noticing he’s busy with his playstation. It’s clear that he’s angry at you.

“Matt? Hey..” you speak up. His fingers clench the mouse tightly, his face red with anger.

“Im sorry for what i did okay..?”

He pauses the game and turns to face you, his eyes blazing with jealousy. “You think it's okay to just disappear without a word?” He says. You sigh, not knowing what to say.

His voice is low and dangerous, barely contained rage simmering just below the surface. “Did you even think about me once? Did you ever consider that maybe I might want to know where you are? That maybe I might be worried about you?” His hands ball into fists at his sides.

“Im sorry, i should’ve told you.” You apologize. He scoffs, not mollified in the least. “Sorry? That's it? Don't you think you owe me more than just a sorry?” He shifts in his seat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So where did you go?” He asks.

“Jim’s party.” You admit. Jim was someone you both knew from high school and he wasn’t exactly matt’s favorite. His eyes narrow, his jealousy turning into anger. “Jim's party? And why didn't you tell me?” He stands up, towering over you, the rage visible in every line of his body. “Are you trying to hurt me on purpose? Is that it?”

“No matt! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to have fun..”

A deep breath leaves his mouth. He’s trying to control his anger, but it's clear that he's still upset. “You wanted to have fun? And you couldn't even spare a thought for me? Was it really that hard to send a text?” His voice is tense with frustration.

“im sorry.. can i make it up to you, please?” You beg. Matt sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

A smirk forms on your face as you sink to your knees in-front of him. His eyes flicker down to you, and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Oh you know.. just.. this.” You say as you unbuckle his belt. His breath hitches as he watches you. “Oh, I see. You want to play that game, huh?” He leans back in his seat, letting you continue unbuckling his belt before he reaches down and brushes a hand through your hair.

You take off his belt, pants and underwear until his cock is in-front of you, fully erect. He lets out a soft sigh as you remove his pants and underwear, revealing his bare legs. He looks down at you, his eyes darkening with desire. “Alright, let's see how you plan on making it up to me.” He spreads his legs slightly, inviting you to sit between them.

You suck on his slit, making him shudder at the first touch of your tongue and letting out a soft gasp. He threads his hands through your hair, holding you close as you continue licking. “Y-yes, just like that...” He lets out a soft moan, his hips twitching slightly as you continue. A groan escapes his mouth as he leans his head back in pleasure as you take him fully into your mouth. He grips the arms of his chair tightly, his breathing growing heavier as you continue to move your mouth. “Ah, fuck... that's so good..”

You pump your head up and down his cock, determined to make him cum. He thrusts his hips up into your mouth, moaning loudly as he gets closer and closer to climax. He can't help but grip your hair tighter, rolling his head back in ecstasy. “God, yes... oh fuck, I'm gonna cum...” he moans out.

You keep going and going.

He suddenly bursts into a loud, desperate cry, his entire body shaking as he cums hard in your mouth. He grips your hair so tightly it almost hurts as he thrashes in his chair, his cum shooting down your throat in thick, hot spurts. “Fuck! Oh fuck!”

As he comes down from his high, you pull back, happy with your work. He collapses back in his chair, panting heavily as he looks at you with a dazed expression. He's still gripping your hair tightly, his heart racing from the intense orgasm. “H-holy shit...” He finally releases your hair, running a hand through it instead.

“Was that good, baby? You still mad?” You ask him. He looks at you with a mix of annoyance and satisfaction, his chest still heaving from his orgasm. “I'm still mad, but...” He trails off, his gaze drifting back to your mouth. “Maybe not as mad as I was before.”

“Do i need to show you again how sorry i am?” You look up at him, smiling innocently. He looks down at you with a smirk, his chest still heaving slightly. “i dont think im able to take it.”

“Oh we’ll see about that.” You say, biting your lip.

And that, that was the most memorable moment ever.

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sometimesanalice · 9 months

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Make You Mine This Season

Summary: It’s your second Christmas with Bradley and the holidays are always better with him by your side. After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: so much fluff and some allusions to smut and a cast that looks like a candy cane.

(Author’s Note: set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe, can be read on its own)

You can’t fight the smile on your face as you watch Bradley studiously stare at the Christmas tree with a delicate glass icicle ornament dangling from his long finger.

“I think it need to go a little to the left, Roos,” you say, watching the way the little golden thread attached to it gleams from the many strands of white lights he had spun around it earlier in the afternoon.

The contrast between your handsome Naval aviator boyfriend and the very large, very fluffy pink Christmas tree he had bought for you would never not thoroughly charm you.

“Here?” he asks, moving the dainty icicle to the left per your suggestion.

“Maybe just a bit up?”

Bradley moves it and holds it up to a spot near the little glass Hawaiian shirt ornament you’d gotten for him. He was so amused by it that he’d given it what he called a place of honor on the tree.

“Hmm, no. I think back to the right and down a smidge.”

He turns and shoots you a smirk over his broad shoulder, “Ok, now you’re just messing with me.”

And then he hangs it on the tree with a flourish.

You laugh when he steps back and gives a dramatic sweep of the hand that would put Vanna White to shame.

Ever the showman.

He had been so excited when he’d found the ornaments in the storage locker he’d kept in Virginia earlier in the summer when the two of you had taken a quick trip to there to pack up the remaining things he’d left behind and bring them home.

The sleeves on the flannel plaid shirt he is wearing are rolled up highlighting his forearms and that snug fitting tank and the ridges of his abs on full display. You’d taken the liberties to sneak in a few glances as he’d bent over to grab ornaments out of the large plastic storage container you keep them in.

It’s an easy choice to abandon the silvery glittery Fa-la-la-la garland that you had been working on hanging on that tricky bit of wall space beneath the stairs to come stand next to him by the tree.

Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders and drops a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his waist, the two of you taking a moment to admire the pretty twinkling tree in front of you with Bob Hope crooning softly on the background.

You love this tree.

And not because it is the most wonderfully ostentatious thing you’ve ever seen. Or because he’d surprised you with it when he asked you to move in with him the year before. But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you.

Bradley kept asking what you wanted for Christmas this year, but you’d been avoiding giving him an answer.

Because he was the only thing on your list this year.

You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever.

His allergy to pine trees had taken both of you by surprise last year. Before that chaotic afternoon last December, he had never had a real tree before, but it didn’t take long until his normally sunkissed skin has been covered in angry red hives.

And that gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir that you had selected from the Christmas tree lot had quickly become Jake’s gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir.

But you’ll never forget that magical moment when you had walked into his cozy living room to see that candy colored confection of a tree for the first time and how proud Bradley had been to be the one to make your dreams of a pink tree Christmas come true.

It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves.

Last year, the two of you had just picked up a couple boxes of basic multicolored bobbles to hang on the tree. But this year, your pretty pink tree has some new decorations that you’d collected along the way since then.

The sparkling frosty mug was something he’d found at the airport on the way back from when you’d taken him home to meet your parents for the first time. To no one’s surprise, they’d loved him. He’d had a lot of fun at the breweries you’d taken him to and you liked getting to see a tipsy and pink cheeked Bradley Bradshaw.

There was a blue miniature model toy Bronco with a bottle-brush Christmas tree hanging out the back was one you’d recently found at a Christmas market you went to with Nat and Bob the previous weekend. You’ve never handed over your credit card for something so quickly before in your life.

There was even a shiny shamrock that Jake had picked up to commemorate your first- and last- Leprechaun Run.

It was a promise you were coerced into making in exchange for Jake’s help and the use of his truck to move your things into Bradley’s place the weekend after you happily agreed to live in with him. You were planning on waiting until after the beginning of the New Year, but Rooster wouldn’t hear of it. You were able to hold off for a few days, but he’d made some rather compelling points with his mouth that had swayed your mind pretty quickly.

That New Year’s Eve, he’d kissed you properly and thoroughly surrounded by a dozen half-unpacked brown cardboard boxes.

You thought Hangman would have forgotten about it, but it turns out the only person that had forgot was a you, because you’d nearly spit out your beer mid-sip when he’d slapped down the race bib in front of you at the Hard Deck one evening in March.

It was just as terrible as you’d imagined it would be and worse. Not even the four-leaf clover bobble headband you’d worn had cheered you up even the slightest.

The term fun run was an oxymoron and you were willing to die on that a hill.

And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. The one he’d originally given you was a permanent fixture on your key ring.

“So what’s the verdict, sweetheart? How did I do? Is it fluffed enough?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you say grinning up at him.

You’ve loved his homey Craftsman since the first time you’d stepped inside it with all of its warm wooden paneling around the entryways and ceiling beams. The hand tiled fireplace was mostly for aesthetics rather than functionality. You’d filled it with a display of tall pillar candles, but there’d been a couple of occasions where the two of you had stacked it with wood picked up from the grocery store and had the sounds of its crackles and pops serving as the soundtrack to your cozy night in.

You loved it even more now that your books were mixed in with his on the bookshelf. On top of his upright piano there were framed pictures of you and him and of all your friends and family. On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his.

This was your home now too, pink Christmas tree and all.

“The best thing, huh?” he says, amused.

“Maybe second best,” you muse, sliding your hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans, “Those Danny Zuko shorts you wore last Halloween still live rent free in my head.”

“I’ve still got those short-shorts, you just say the word and I’ll go put them on for you anytime.”

You snort a laugh and pull him down for a kiss.

The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter.

Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Hello kisses. See you soon- never goodbye- kisses. Just because kisses. There you are kisses. Never stop kissing me kisses. All of them turn you upside down just like a snow globe.

He pulls away first, looking to the tree again contemplatively, “You know, the more I look at this the I feel like something is missing.”

You skim over the tree with its warm glow from the many strands of lights, the sparkling ornaments, the glinting icicles, and the delicate bejeweled snowflake tree topper. Short of tying on a few bows for the fun of it, there’s nothing more you think this tree needs.

“I might have tucked a little something in the piano bench,” Rooster says with a nod towards his well-loved upright, “Why don’t you take a look.”

You try and fail to ignore the swoop in your stomach as you walk up to the bench. You already know that you want to be his forever and the two of you are on the same page about it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. You’re trying to be practical, realistic.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and your heart wants him.

The seat creaks open as you lift the lid open with a not-so-steady hand, and sitting inside a small box filled with iridescent filler are the prettiest pair of ceramic ice skates you’ve ever seen. You lift the dainty ornament from the box to see that they dangle from a couple ribbons that have been tied together in a lovely bow at the top. They even have a little white fluff lining the rims of boot.

It was one of the things you missed most about home, your town had a little outdoor rink that was set up every year. You weren’t the greatest skater and it had been a few years since you’d laced up a pair of boots, but it had always been one of your favorite traditions growing up.

“Oh Bradley, they’re so lovely,” you say with a dreamy sigh, “I love it, thank you!”

You admire them for another moment taking in all their little details before hanging them up on the pink tree near his little Hawaiian shirt ornament in a place of honor on the tree.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says with a grin, looking very proud of himself.

“Oh? When did you become such a man of mystery?” you tease.

“Gotta keep my girl on her toes,” Rooster winks, sliding a finger through your belt loop to pull you closer before wrapping his arms around you. “You know how Hotel del Coronado has that ice-skating rink set up now?”

Of course you did.

The tickets went on sale a little over seven weeks ago and time slots had sold out in five minutes. You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, looking up at him skeptically.

Bradley has been on a training detachment at the time, so there was no way Mr. One Percent could have gotten them when you couldn’t. There’s just no way.

You must say that part out loud or think it loud enough for him to hear you because that gorgeous smile of his gets devastatingly self-satisfied.

“I sure did, sweetheart-”

You jump up and cut him off with a kiss, he is quick to get his hands underneath you for support while your legs wrap around him.

“Oh my god, Bradley, how?” you ask excitedly between peppering kiss across his nose and cheeks.

“Ok, I can’t take full credit. I had some help,” he admits, clearly happy with your reaction, “Nat has, and I quote, ‘fast fingers’.”

You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you.

“What do you say, want to make a day of it? I might have a few things in mind for our San Diego Christmas. We’re a couple weeks early, but I’m feeling festive.”

You get too distracted by his smiling mouth to give him your answer then and there, but you remember to officially accept later that night in bed after your heart finally stops racing.

Convincing you to move in with him might be the best thing Bradley’s ever done.

Those cool Winter nights last year had tasted like bourbon and were spent wrapped up together on the couch and under the covers.

Your first big fight had been over whose Super Bowl team was going to win. There had been a lot of trash talk that night, but eventually a peace had been brokered. And really, no one was a loser when it came to orgasms.

In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. He’d learned that he had a bit of a green thumb when it came to zucchinis, a fact that irked you to no end because you could never get them to produce anything. He didn’t know sunshine had a scent until he could smell it on your skin with your hands covered in dirt and a smile on your facec.

And he was not surprised to learn that he was also very much a fan of your sundress collection.

The golden Summer days were spent at the beach and taking road trips to nowhere in the Bronco then the long way home. Rooster burned more often than he cared to admit, but you started keeping a container of aloe in the fridge for him. He’d never say no to have your soft hands on his body, your touch more soothing than the cooling gel could ever be.

That Fall he’d finally been able to go home with you for Thanksgiving. He’d met your family earlier in the year, but you’d been so proud to show him off at the official family gathering as you’d sipped on your cranberry mimosa. And after a year of planning, the two of you had finally been able to enact your Stealthy Soufflé Scheme.

He had been determined to get his girl that closely guarded recipe no matter what.

Your Aunt Christine had been putty in his hands with all of his yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams and charming smiles and All-American golden boy aviator thing. You’d primed him on what things she was interested in and he had fully leaned into it, sweet talk and all. It didn’t hurt that she had been a big fan of the expensive bottles Syrah the two of you had brought with you.

You and your mom had been thrilled when he’d presented you with the handwritten copy of the coveted recipe. He had been happy to do it, but he didn’t mind the way you showed him your thanks later that night in your childhood bedroom.

He was the first boyfriend you’d ever had in there, and if he has his way, he’d also be the last.

Victory- and that not-so-secret-anymore corn soufflé recipe- never tasted so good.

The two of you had had a great first Christmas together last year, excluding the slight hiccup with the whole hives thing. And he knows he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but he wants to make this one even better.

He had let you sleep in as long as he could, but he was excited for all the festive things he had arranged for today.

“C’mon, sleepy girl. We’ve got plans,” he says, skimming a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“Do those plans involve coffee?” you mumble sleepily into your pillow.

He chuckles and brushes back a few of the hairs that are stuck against your forehead, “Of course, it’ll be the first stop after.”

You peek up at him from under your silk eye mask, he’s always liked a slightly fussy girl. You’d even got him one for his deployments to help him sleep better on the carrier.

“After what, Roos,” you ask skeptically.

“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.”

“Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning.

You look so alarmed, clutching the top sheet to your chest, that he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“No, I didn’t. I promise,” he says, trying to pull you into his chest.

You shove lightly at his shoulder, “That was so rude of you, Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

“Not the government name,” he smirks, leaning down to trail a couple kisses along your neck. He likes the way you always shiver when his mustache grazes that ticklish spot under your ear.

“Oh my god, I swear I just had a war flashback to that second mile when Jake tried to make me keep up with him,” you huff, leaning your head to the side to let him continue apologizing with his mouth, “You’re so lucky I’m even talking to you right now.”

“I am very lucky to have such a pretty, smart, and forgiving girlfriend. One who appreciates over the top Christmas decorations and brunch with themed cocktails.”

That piques your interest and you seem much more awake now for someone who usually needs at least two cups of coffee before becoming a fully functional human being, “Themed cocktails, you say?”

“Mhmm, they even have a Ho-Ho-Hot and Spicy Bloody Merry, spelled m-e-r-r-y,” he says with a smile, running a finger down the bridge of your nose. “But to get one, we have to get out of this bed and into the shower.”

“Sounds like it would be more efficient if we took one together, huh?” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Plus I’m all about preserving the planet’s natural resources.”

The two of you were a little late getting out of the house, having worked up an appetite, but still manage to make it in time for the reservations he had made.

The restaurant had been swathed in miles of frosted evergreen garlands with so many oversized ornaments dangling and ribbons woven throughout that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come crashing down off the ceiling. Not an inch of it was left undecorated, it was all stands of lights and shiny wreaths and giant cellophane covered candies.

Brunch had been complete with a couple of those Bloody Merry’s he’d heard about from Coyote, as well as an order of Santa pancakes topped with a hat of strawberries tossed with orange zest infused syrup.

The Christmas radio station was playing all of your favorites and you were singing along as he zipped along the highway to the next stop.

The Ocean Beach Christmas tree was beloved for being San Diego’s unofficial response to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Bob had told him he’d stumbled upon it on accident one day last year when he had been exploring his new city and learned about the tree’s forty-year history and had enthusiastically recommended that Rooster added it to his festive agenda.

Bradley loved the way your face lit up at the sight of it. The top of the massive tree was leaning to the right and looked straight out of Whoville the way it decorated with all kinds of blow up pool toys. There were beach balls galore, traditional ones and ones that looked like disco balls, a few parrots, and even one shaped like an electric guitar.

“Oh my god, look!” He looks up from the text message he was replying to and follows the line of your arm to where your finger is directing his gaze, “Another bird defying the laws of physics.”

And there tucked away up in the tree next to a blow-up globe is an inflatable rooster.

On the way back into town, two of you stopped by Mission Bay to grab some more coffee and walk around the marina to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. He’d heard about it from Penny, who had even participated in the event herself a few years ago.

You’d both agreed the one that had turned the tall mast of the sailing boat into a glowing Christmas tree was the clear winner.

The next stop was something Bradley knew you’d be really excited about.

He’d found out about the Christmas centerpiece floral arrangement class from Nat who had a crush on the florist who ran the little shop.

The class was filled with mostly women, but there were a couple other men scattered around. They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea.

Rooster was slipping his phone back into his pocket when you returned back to your little round table with an arm full of various flowers and different greens, with not a pine frond in sight. He’d even called in advance to make sure that there wouldn’t be any involved, just in case.

You were divvying up the things that you’d gathered from the long farmhouse tables in the front between the two of you when his phone pings again.

“Rooster, is everything ok? I feel like your phone is going off a ton this afternoon,” you asked, putting down the white berry looking things to look at him, a little crease there between your eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Fanboy decided to invite chaos into the group chat by asking if a hot dog was a sandwich or not. It’s getting pretty contentious.”

You give him a look but go back to dividing the pile in front of you, moving on from the berry things to some small roses.

“Also, for the record, a hot dog is definitely a category of its own. You don’t call a hamburger a sandwich,” you’d replied, not missing a beat.

“You won’t hear me arguing with that logic.”

“Good. Because facts are facts, Bradley.”

He pulled out his phone again to give it one last quick skim before turning the volume down, before noticing what flowers you’d just set in front of him, “Hey, are those dahlias?”

You hold up a stem with a large deep burgundy flower for him, giving it a spin between your fingers, “They are! It’s a little late in the season for them, so I’m surprised to see them here. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Those were my mom’s favorites,” he’d said fondly, remembering a backyard from decades ago that was lined with around the edges with the flowers.

“Were they? Well, I’m glad I grabbed them then,” you said with a soft smile, before handing him a few more to work with.

By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. He’d even gotten a few supportive thumbs ups from some of the other people in class.

“Seriously, Bradley. It’s so lovely! I mean, look at those pinecones you tucked in it. I can’t wait to put it on the dining table!”

You wanted to swing by Mav and Penny’s place to drop yours off for them, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to convince you that it could wait until tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait for the next part of your day together.

Bradley jogs around the front of the Bronco to open your door for you after he parks at the Hotel del Coronado. He gives you his hand to help you down from the car, instead you reach and pull his face to yours.

The kiss is like spun sugar, airy and sweet. He could taste the lingering peppermint from your latte earlier.

“What was that for,” he murmurs against you lips.

“I just really love you,” you sigh, nudging his nose with yours, “Today has been so perfect. I feel like I’m in one of my Christmas movies, except I know you’re not going to ask me to leave my job in the big city to help you run your grandmother’s failing bakery to only get paid in gingerbread and Christmas spirit.”

“Lucky for you, my grandma could barely make toast, so you’re spared from such a fate. You wouldn’t need that little Mini Cooper of yours in a town that only has one stoplight.”

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”

“We’ve still got one more thing on the list. You ready for this?” Bradley asks, holding his hand out.

You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.”

You can’t say you’ve ever expected to see an ice rink set up with a display of white sand and sparkling blue ocean behind it. But it was easily one of the most magical things you’ve ever seen.

The sunset has painted the skies a beautiful display of cool blues, soft pinks, and dusky purples. The palm trees lining the rink have been done up in strands of white lights that crisscross over it above your heads. The mixture of happy laughter, Christmas songs piped over the sound system, and waves crashing served as the soundtrack to the moment.

And you’re trying desperately not to fall and make a fool of yourself.

It was more than a little humbling stepping onto the rink after having not had a pair of ice skates on for more than a decade. It had been awhile since your family had indulged in this particular tradition, but you figured it would be like riding a bike.

It’s almost laughable now how wrong you were.

“How are you so good at this?” you jokingly accuse as you wobble on your skates, yet again. Luckily, Bradley’s sturdy grasp on your hand keeps you from falling.

He laughs, “I thought you said you did this all the time growing up?”

“I did! I just never said I was good at it.” A kid whizzes past you- a little too close, a little too fast- and Bradley shoots a disgruntled look at his swiftly retreating figure. “You come from a snow state, it’s in your blood. You automatically have the advantage.”

“Are you thinking of the other V-state? Vermont?” he teases, easily gliding around you swapping spots so that you’re closer to the edge of the rink rather than the middle.

“It snows in Virginia, I googled it.”

“I mean, yeah, but not a ton,” he says, “But it wasn’t like I was hitting up the indoor rinks either.”

“So you’re telling me you’re just a natural?” You roll your eyes affectionately at him.

He winks at you, “You said it not me, sweetheart.”

You’d nearly melted on the sight when Rooster had knelt down in front of you and looked up at you with such a boyishly charming smile as he’d tied the laces of your rented ice skates.

It took a moment to get your hummingbird heart back under control after that.

After a few more laps around, you’re starting to feel like you’re falling into the rhythm of it. You’re still keeping an eye out for people and the older kid who had earned himself more than one glare from people trying to enjoy their time on the rink as he erratically bobbed and wove his way through them. But your strides are getting longer and the shifting motion from side to side is getting smoother. You could almost claim to be gliding.

You’d forgotten how much fun it was, but then again, Bradley always made everything better and brighter.

Your cheeks ache in the best way from how much smiling you’ve been doing today.

And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. He’s already seen you at your best and at your worst, so you didn’t think your lack of skill standing on a quarter of an inch of metal was going to scare him away.

Rooster is a few feet ahead of you showing off some of his fancy footwork and maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted by his smile you would have heard the aggressive woosh of the kid’s skates as he sped up behind you.

It had only been a matter of time.

He collides with you but keeps his balance and propels himself forward, not slowing his pace in the slightest before taking off again. Your feet slip out for beneath you and before you know it you’re extending your right arm down to try and break your fall.

You meet the ice hard.

You feel pop.

A rush of warmth.

And then throbbing.

The next five hours pass in a twinkling blur of heavy guilt and aching pain.

Bradley had gone through so much effort planning such a perfect day for you and you feel terrible about how it ended.

The wait at the hospital had been miserable. The lights were too glaring and the noises too loud. The garish green and red garland draped on the desk seemed to mock you as you’d gone through the motions of getting checked in.

Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He’d tried to hide it, but you’d seen that deep furrow between his brows. You’d almost cried when he started stroking the back your pain-free hand with this thumb. It wasn’t until they’d brought you back for X-rays and had given you a light dose of painkillers that the world had shifted back into the dreamy soft focus it had been like earlier in the day with Bradley when he’d taken you on all those perfect dates.

You didn’t know if he had planned anything else, all you knew is that everything had unraveled so quickly.

It’s an odd feeling like you could float away at any moment. The painkillers made you feel buoyant and light, yet you can feel the weight on your shoulders just the way you feel the weight of the cast on your wrist.

Even now as the candy-colored lights that he’d put up along the front of the house bounce off of his still perfect curls, he’s wearing the softest of smiles for you as he works to open the front door. His dreamy brown eyes are reflecting nothing back at you other than warmth and affection and care.

Your wonderful, loving, perfect boyfriend. Your perfect Bradley.

You know it’s not entirely the drugs fault the way you’re struck by just how pretty he is. You’ve always thought so, but here and now you’re simply mesmerized by him under the glow of the Christmas lights.

“I don’t think I’ve been called pretty before, sweetheart. But thank you,” Bradley says with a little amused chuckle.

“Well you are. And your hair. Bradley, it’s not fair.” The words are tumbling out of your loose lips.

“My hair isn’t fair?” he asks with a tilt of his head, holding open the front door for you.

“No, it’s not! You just wash it and it dries like that?” He takes your purse from you and sets it on the entry table before helping to ease off the heavier sweater jacket you were wearing from your shoulders. “I don’t think you get it. You’re pretty, but you’re so handsome too.”

He squats down in front of you and smiles up at you before helping to slip off your shoes, “I’ll take handsome too if it’s on the table, sounds like a nice combo.”

“Please, you sound like Jake now,” you giggle.

“Oh no, we can’t have that now can we,” he grins, “But at least I’m pretty and handsome, hopefully that’ll cushion the blow.”

And you just love him.

You love him for the way he loves you and takes care of you and tries to make you laugh when he knows you’re feeling down. You reach up to pull his face to yours when you are distracted by the thick cast on your arm.

“This wasn’t the accessory I was hoping for for Christmas,” you say with a sigh.

The panic that electrifies your body is immediate as your spine goes ramrod straight. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. You can almost see the words swirl and twirl around him, and you know there’s no way you can snatch them back from the way they hang in the air.

“Ohmygod. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that.” You’re so flustered now, so embarrassed. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

But Bradley is looking at you with his eyes crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together like he is trying to hold back a laugh with the way his cheeks are pulling up.

“Oh, did you want a pair of earrings?” he teases, cupping your face in his hand.

“Bradley,” you whine.

“C’mere, baby,” he laughs and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him and wonder briefly if he can feel the hard plaster of your cast pressed against his back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “You know you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.”

“Don’t need anything,” you murmur into the warmth of him.

He’s already all you’ve ever wanted.

As you make your way up the stairs, glow from your pretty pink tree seems brighter than usual. Normally, you’d take one last peek back at it before going to bed, but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet. It’ll still be there waiting for you in the morning.

“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter from behind you.

“What’s wrong, Roos?”

“Ah- just stubbed my toe. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” The heavy tread of his footsteps is close behind you, you can almost feel the warmth of him at your back.

At you back. By your side. He’s the only person you’ll ever need.

They’d given you some of the strong stuff and he could tell that you were still floating in that sweet spot before all the gravity settles back into your bones.

The distal radius fracture in your right wrist meant that you’d be in the cast for the next six weeks. You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. While he wishes it wasn’t there in the first place, he thought the pattern you’d chosen was cute.

He’d quickly and quietly kicked off his shoes before he’d followed you into the bedroom. Hoping that you wouldn’t notice them, he’d take a disinfecting wipe to the floor and stairs tomorrow.

For as well as Rooster knew you, he felt a little out of his element because he knew you were hurting but he wasn’t sure what would make you feel better in that moment. When he offered to draw you a bath he’d instantly known it was the right choice by the look on your face.

So he’d made you one with all of your favorite products. The mound of bubbles he was able to achieve was truly impressive, if he did say so himself. He even dimmed the lights and lit a few candles for you.

Bradley had carefully wrapped up your cast in plastic wrap and secured the top with a rubber band. And the dejected pout on your face when you looked at it and called it an “unattractive arm condom” had nearly sent him over edge.

He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch.

“I really am jealous of your hair, you know. I’m sure there were a few of the girls at that floral class who were too.”

Your head is leaning back against the lip of the tub as you gaze at him, your hair wet from him washing it for you. He’d noticed the moment you realized how difficult it would be for you to do it yourself for the foreseeable future. But you brought out the optimistic side of him and he’d already come up with a solution, “I guess we’ll have to take more showers together then, so I can wash your hair for you. Plus, it’ll be good for the environment”. You’d laughed, and he was happy to see some of the light returning back into your eyes.

“I don’t know why when yours is so pretty,” he says, reaching out and lightly tugging on a lock of your hair.

“Did I tell you one of them asked me if you had a brother? She was honestly so put out when I said that you didn’t that I’m pretty sure she took the last of the dahlias out of spite when she saw me reaching for them. They didn’t even match her arrangement,” you say rolling your eyes, adjusting the way your plastic wrapped candy cane cast rested against the other side of the tub. “Like sorry not sorry, I’m not going to give you my boyfriend.”

“Was it the woman in the striped sweater?”

“Yes! It was her!”

Bradley had notice her checking him out a little too closely for a man who was clearly there another woman and happily taken.

“She had crazy eyes, I wouldn’t have wanted you to give me to her anyways.”

You snicker at that, “She did have crazy eyes.”

He makes a mental note to remember to grab the arrangements from out of the back of the Bronco before he goes to bed. He didn’t want anything to happen to them, but that could until after you were tucked in bed and asleep.

“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch. She didn’t put them on the table or anything for anyone else, just handed them over to me for us to use. It was a real girls supporting girls moment, we bonded.”

He’s struck by the fact that you’d already known about his mom’s favorite flower. That you had let him think it was happenstance when really you had grabbed them because you’d known it would mean something to him. That you wanted to make it special for him when he was trying to make it a special day for you.

He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but you were so good at making him fall in love with you over and over again.

“That was really nice of her, sweetheart,” he says, his throat a little thick.

“It really was. And better yet she’s single and likes women,” you say with a grin, “I got her number to get coffee, but I might see if I can play matchmaker between her and Nat. She looks like Nat’s type.”

“This was our instructor? You got all of that out of her in a few minutes of conversation?” he asks, impressed.

You give him a cheeky shrug of your shoulder, “Yeah, I’m efficient. She owns the shop too. I think I’m going to order something for Penny and Mav from her closer to Christmas.”

“You know what, I think you’re right, she does seem very much like Nat’s type,” Bradley smiles to himself, Phoenix is going to be very excited when he tells her about this.

“’m always right,” you hum.

“You sure are, sweetheart,” he says fondly.

He watches as your eyelids start to get heavy and helps you to get out of the tub, wrapping you up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and sits you on the bed as he goes into the closet to find something cozy for you to wear.

“What do you want me to grab you, baby?”

“Your shirt,” you call out sleepily.

He peeks his head around the opening, “Sweetheart, you’re not going to want hospital germs in bed.”

“No, not that one,” you say, scrunching your nose, “Your henley. The soft navy one with the little white flecks. ‘s my favorite.”

You look so tired, he doesn’t like the slump of your shoulders. He knows that feeling all too well and he hates that you feel so bad about something that you had no control over. It had been such a good day up until the end. But even so, you’re the only person he wants to go through the highs and lows with.

He strips down and puts both his clothes and yours into the hamper before grabbing the shirt for you. “Arms up,” he says gently, he pulls the sleeve wide to fit over your cast before threading it down your arms and over your head.

Rooster pulls back the covers for you to crawl into bed. He climbs in after you, cradling you against him as he reaches over for the remote to turn on your favorite Christmas movie channel for you to fall asleep too.

Your cast rests heavy on his chest.

The heroine just won the cookie cook-off and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you murmur quietly into the dark room, “This is the second year in a row, Bradley, I really think we should consider skipping Christmas next year. For both of our sake’s.”

“We’ve got too much Christmas spirit for a little pine tree allergy or fractured wrist to keep us down,” he tips your head up so that you’re looking at him, “Give it time, it’ll turn around. I promise, sweetheart.”

He seals that vow with a sweet kiss against your lips and a few minutes later he feels as your breaths even out and you fall asleep tucked against him.

You wake up the next morning feeling more than a little groggy and cotton-headed as everything from yesterday comes rushing back to you.

As does the aching in your right wrist.

You reach out for Rooster, but his side of the bed is already cold. He’s always been an early riser and once he’s awake he doesn’t know how to sit still. You wouldn’t have minded cuddling with him for a little bit, but knowing him he has probably already brewed a pot of coffee for you.

When you finally crack open your eyes, you see that he’s left out a bottle of the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had sent home with you on your nightstand and a note written in his slanted script reminding you to take one. Your sweetest boy.

You attempt to splash some cold water on your face with one hand, willing it to depuff your face a little bit and then try to fix up your hair so that you look and feel less bedraggled. It is one thing if Bradley is the one responsible for it, but that wasn’t the case this morning.

Before heading downstairs, you decide on a whim to change out of his shirt and into the cozy cream-colored fuzzy lounge set you’d bought on sale the other week. It takes three times longer to get dressed than it usually did, but getting yourself at least a little more put together made you feel a bit more in control. You knew the extra effort wasn’t necessary, but you felt cute and it was making you feel a little bit better about everything.

The pink and white cast was a bit of a choice looking at it in the morning light filtering through the airy curtains, but you thought you pulled it off well. It was cheerful and fun. And you weren’t going to let it affect you or your Christmas plans with your perfect boyfriend.

There is still some residual guilt you’re trying to shake off, you know it was a fluke of fate, but you’re already thinking about ways to make it up to him all the same.

You gingerly make your way down the stairs making a mental note to look up what other festive things were happening this weekend and call out to Rooster, “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

The raspy laugh that reaches your ears makes you smile for the first time that morning, “I’ve got one ready for you in the living room, sweetheart. It’s ready when you are.”

The painkillers, the coffee. The man is a saint and looks like a god. And he’s all yours.

You take those final few steps a bit faster, ready for the strong dark roast that only he seems to be able to make to just right and to thank him for taking such good care of you.

You lose all words when you walk into the living room.

It’s like you’ve walked into a dreamy pink forest straight out of a fairytale.

Your beloved very large, very fluffy, pink tree covered with all of your memories collected from the past year and Bradley’s mom’s sparkling vintage glass icicles is surrounded by two other very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas trees.

The newest additions to the living room glow with the hundreds of twinkling white lights. It’s ethereal and whimsical the way the light bounces and dapples on the walls and floors.

And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream.

You don’t think it’s the prescription strength pain medication kicking in that makes you feel like you’re floating as you walk towards him. You know it’s all him.

Bradley says your name with such adoration, such love that you swear you feel your heart reshape in your chest with his name on it.

“I envisioned this a bit differently in my mind, but the way I see it, we’re just starting the ‘in sickness and in health’ part a bit early,” he says, taking your right hand and dropping a kiss to your cast. Your eyes well up at the tender gesture.

And then you stop breathing when he sinks down onto one knee in front of you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love your big heart and the way you’re so kind and generous to everyone you meet. I love the way you can light up a room with your smile. The best parts of my days are when I am with you. You’re the only person I want to wake up to, the only person I want to fall asleep with in my arms, and the only person who I want a forever with.” He reaches out and takes your shaky hand in his warm one, “Last year, you let me give you more than a drawer and it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. This year, will you let me give you my last name too and marry me?”

You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory.

You had imagined this moment so many times. It was the movie you’d put on in your mind on those nights when sleep felt just out for reach. And like a snowflake, no two dreams had been the same.

But nothing you’d imagined could have ever topped the reality of this moment here and now.

Because there was nothing was better than being surrounded by three pink fluffy trees and looking forward to getting to spend a lifetime with Bradley Bradshaw.

“Well it’s convenient I fractured the right one,” you say with a watery laugh as a few happy tears escape from your eyes.

“I guess that is a lucky break,” he grins.

“Literally.”

You didn’t think it was possible to smile this wide. That you could be this happy.

“You still haven’t given me an answer yet, sweetheart,” he says, slightly squeezing your good hand.

“Haven’t I though?” you tease. There’s no what he doesn’t know what your answer is, not with the way you’re beaming.

“C’mon, let me hear you say it.”

You don’t make him wait for long.

“Yes, Bradley, yes I will marry you. It’ll always be a yes with you.”

You barely get to finish your sentence before he is shooting to his feet, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

Your Bradley. Your fiancé.

On Christmas morning, after all the presents are unwrapped, you find yourself sitting under your perfectly pink tree surrounded by scraps of ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper.

Even your striped pink and white cast looked particularly festive under the gleam of the trees.

Rooster is in the kitchen making another pot of coffee for the two of you to share. You can hear him singing along to one of the vintage crooner Christmas albums you had gotten him.

You’ll be hosting Mav, Penny, and Amelia for dinner tonight. You let yourself enjoy this quiet of the mid-morning before things get chaotic. The two of you had dressed the oval oak dining table yesterday afternoon. The centerpiece you’d ordered from Nat’s now New Year’s Eve date was stunning, there were even a few white dahlias tucked into the arrangement. Thankfully, with no pine needles in sight.

The tall pillar candles had been moved off to the side and a real fire was popping in the hearth of the tiled fireplace. And the sun streaming through the bay windows is bouncing off that sparkly silver garland that you’d gotten Bradley to hang up for you in a way that makes the shiny wooden floors look like they’ve been scattered with specks of confetti.

The swirling, sparkling, shimmering dots on the ceiling, however, were from your own ring as you move and tilt your hand admiring the way the sun illuminates it. You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as you Christmas gift are shining just as bright.

He still blushes whenever anyone teases him about forgetting to pull out the engagement ring he had got for you before he’d proposed. But you wouldn’t have changed anything about that moment for the world.

The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. It was easily the prettiest thing you’d ever seen and your heart still fluttered every time you saw it on your finger.

The two new trees are still only dressed with the many strands of lights that they’d arrived with. You learned that Bradley had enlisted Jake and Natasha to help him out with that particular surprise that day a couple weeks ago when he’d taken you on what you affectionately refer to as the 12 Dates of a Christmas Proposal.

Your favorite pink tree, the one he had gotten for you last year- the one you’re sitting under now- was also in possession of a new accessory. A shiny new pink ring pop ornament Bradley had gotten to commemorate the occasion of you saying yes and was hanging in a place of honor on the tree right between the little Hawaiian shirt ornament and the dainty, dangling ice skates.

Saying yes was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Yes to forever. Yes to him.

This season and every season.

You couldn’t wait to see what new ornaments would fill those trees by next year.

And the one after that.

And the next one after that.

Happy Holiday's! It's been almost a year since I've posted my very first story on here. I'm so thankful that a zoom kaboom plane movie has introduced me to so many wonderful people! Thank you for reading my stories and for all the support I've received over this last year! It has meant the world to me!

This story is set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe. If you missed the fic that started it all, you can read it here!

Many thanks to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for so, so many reasons. I hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction

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candycandy00 · 7 months

Text

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 1

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! I’m posting the first chapter just to check for interest. Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

The sky was red, and you hated it. You hated more the fact that you couldn't remember what it looked like when it was blue. The whole city looked like it was coated in blood. You saw enough blood already.

You walked along the littered, decaying streets of Gallica with a blue duffel bag on your shoulder. You kept the hood of your gray jacket pulled down over your head and your hands buried in your pockets. Standing out was never a good idea, at least not where they could see.

As you rounded a corner, you were suddenly sprayed with red liquid, and you only dared to steal a quick glance down the alley it came from. A body was tumbling to the ground, and you didn't even have time to see who it was or what sort of wound had drawn such a huge amount of blood. Your eyes had been drawn, in that brief moment, to the pair of black-clad figures standing frighteningly still beside the body. Their bi-colored eyes flicked upward, toward you, but you returned your gaze to the street in front of you and walked quickly away.

Your heart pounded and your hands trembled in your pockets until you were far enough down the street to safely assume they would not stop you. You knew what happened to those unlucky enough to somehow provoke the half-breeds, regardless of intention, so you hurried along toward the clinic without looking back once.

When you reached the small, rundown clinic, you were met at the door by a girl in a nurse's uniform who placed her hands on her hips and scowled at you. “You're late!”

You pushed by her and dropped the duffel bag from your shoulder, flopping it onto a nearby cot. You unzipped it and pulled out your own uniform. "My alarm clock didn't go off."

The other girl stood leaning in the door way as you stepped into an empty patient slot and slid the dirty curtain closed. "Terrian is gonna be pissed at you,” she said.

You emerged from behind the curtain in a white button-up shirt that was a little too tight and a skirt that was way too short. “He'll get over it."

"Yeah, as soon as he see's you."

You laughed. "You're jealous, Anna."

"Because that perverted freak lets you get away with anything?" Anna asked. She was so petite that even the smallest, tightest uniforms Terrian had given them seemed to fit her just right.

"No, because I look better in the uniform."

Both of you laughed as you laid out your supplies on rickety metal tables, organizing them neatly into categories according to how often they were used. The alcohol, thread, and needles were first in line, followed by bandages, then ointments and creams.

The door leading to the main treatment room flung open and a man with shoulder-length, pale blonde hair tied into a short ponytail walked in. He wore wide-rimmed glasses and a lab coat covered in blood stains. He looked angry as he approached, glaring at you, but suddenly froze when he rounded the metal tables and the full length of you came into view.

He smiled brightly, wrapping you into a hug. "You wore it today!"

Anna rolled her eyes and brushed her bangs, the longest part of her auburn hair, away from her face with her hand.

You pulled free from Terrian and adjusted your ill-fitting clothes. "It's the only uniform I had clean."

"And it's my favorite," Terrian said, then glanced toward Anna. "Stingy Anna always wears pants, even though I beg her to wear the skirt with the slit up the side."

Anna gave him a dirty look and he gave her a grin in return. He looked over the supplies then held out a thick stack of papers. "Look at all this. These are all patients who left the clinic in the last month and haven't returned for their checkups. Next week I'll be making a lot of house calls."

Both you and Anna frowned. You hated it when Terrian made house calls. He was the only doctor at the clinic, and you two were the only nurses. Things were hectic enough with the three of you, but when he was gone, the clinic was thrown into absolute chaos.

"Anyway," he spoke up, "we have a lot of patients waiting already. Let's get to work!"

You and Anna had no formal training, had not even finished high school, but you had both been living on the streets three years ago when Terrian approached you about working for him. He taught you two the basics, and the rest you learned over time. In this city, injured people couldn't be picky.

Together, you and Anna wheeled your metal supply tables through the swinging doors into the main treatment area of the clinic. Cots were lined up in two rows, facing each other, for the entire length of the large room. There was only enough room for one person to walk between each cot, and all but a few were occupied. People were moaning, screaming, crying, or unconscious. Anyone not in mortal danger was sent home after being stitched or bandaged up.

Illnesses were not often treated, as serious diseases were most often fatal no matter what the doctor did, but injuries were extremely common. Blood dripped from nearly every cot in the room, and a few patients were bandaged to the point of looking like mummies. You and Anna had both learned quickly to develop strong stomachs.

The two of you were checking on a patient that had been brought in last night with a chopped off leg when Terrian came zooming past you, pushing a stretcher.

"Emergency surgery!" he called, disappearing into the room you had just changed in.

You both dropped what you were doing and ran after him, then stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you were through the doors, staring at the figure on the stretcher.

"Doctor, that's... one of them,” Anna said, her voice almost a whisper.

The man on the stretcher wore an ornate military uniform - black pants and a long black jacket with golden buttons up the front and matching trim along the cuffs and collar. The uniform was instantly recognizable to every single person in the city, because only they wore them. His skin was ghostly white and his hair a jet-black mess scattered across his face.

Terrian was ripping that glorious black uniform from the man’s motionless body. "I know what he is, Anna, but he's still a patient. And right now, he's dying unless we can stop the bleeding."

You and Anna hesitated just inside the door, looking at each other and then back to the man. Anna shook her head. "I can't... I can't help him. Not after all they've done."

Terrian stopped and looked at her. At first, you were sure he would scold her, but he merely sighed and nodded. "I understand. Go tend to the other patients."

You watched the other girl leave, then turned to Terrian. He looked at you with a pleading expression. "He'll be dead within the hour if we don't do anything."

You took a deep breath, then rushed over to Terrian's side. He held out his hands while you poured alcohol over them, then rinsed your own. Looking down at the young man, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Almost human. His torso was exposed, revealing a long, deep cut across his abdomen that was gushing out blood. Funny how his body was absolutely impeccable, toned to lean perfection and resembling a stone statue, but marred by that huge red gash.

The cut was so long, and the bleeding so severe, that each of you began stitching on separate ends of the wound so that you would meet in the middle to tie things off. A sloppy job, yes, but the fastest route to closing the wound. He would heal faster than normal people, would probably be fine in a matter of hours, but only if you stopped the bleeding.

Once you and the doctor were finished, you again cleaned the wound and Terrian began bandaging the patient up. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asked when he was done, "It won't even leave a scar. Not on him."

You washed your hands in the nearby sink and thought of Anna. "It's not fair."

"Of course it's not," Terrian told you, wiping the blood from his hands on a stained towel. "Nothing in this world ever is.”

You dried your hands and walked again through the swinging doors. Anna was changing the bandages on a young girl's arm, but looked up when you approached. "How could you stand it? Helping that thing?"

"I didn't enjoy it, okay? But he would've died. This is a clinic, Anna. We're supposed to help dying people."

Anna stood up and stepped away from the young girl's bedside. "Yeah, people. Not them."

"But he's half human, isn't he? Isn't that enough?"

Anna snorted. "Was that enough to stop those creatures from barging into my house and slitting my mom's throat? Was it enough to stop them from crushing my brother's head under their boots? Was it enough to stop them from... from what they did to me?!"

You went silent. You didn't know what to say. You knew the half-breeds had killed most of Anna's family, but you had yet to hear any details before now. Finally, you reached out and took the other girl's hand. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm really sorry."

Anna pulled you into a hug. "I know. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. I just don't want to see you be hurt by them too."

"I don't think he's in a position to hurt anyone right now," you told her after you separated. "He's not even conscious."

Anna looked toward the swinging doors. "Be careful. Even when they look harmless, they're still dangerous."

You nodded, and wheeled your cart over to the other side of the room. You stopped at the bed of an elderly man who was missing both his feet. He was sweating and breathing heavily. You took his blood pressure and wrote the results in a tablet. He looked up at you with astonishingly kind eyes.

"If the nurses look like this, I'm gonna have to get my feet cut off more often," he said with a chuckle.

You pulled back the sheet to check his bandages. "You sure are a charmer, Mr. Renaldo," you said as you began unrolling the strips of cloth.

"Don't believe a word he says!" Anna called across the room, "I told him yesterday he could hold my hand while Terrian stitched him up and he said he'd rather hold my ass!"

Rhoswen stopped cleaning the bloody stumps where feet used to be long enough to lightly slap his shoulder. "You shameless flirt!"

He laughed and looked at the man in the bed next to him, who didn't seem to be in such good spirits. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

The other man gave a weak smile and looked away.

"Now now, let's not disturb the other patients," you said gently.

"Everybody's so glum. That's what those damn Pagoda want," he said.

You finished his bandages and patted him on the arm. You bent down and whispered to him, "Thanks for cheering us up, Mr. Renaldo."

The next few hours went by steadily but quickly, as you made your way around the room checking on people, giving out soup, changing bandages, and occasionally holding someone's hand while Terrian performed some sort of painful procedure.

Unfortunately, pain relievers were as rare and expensive as genuine jewels were in the olden days, when the sky was still blue. The only way to put a patient to sleep was to quite literally knock them out with a blunt instrument, which was a last resort.

The clinic was dirty and crowded and in shambles. The people were desperate, demanding, and understandably irritable. But you liked being there. You liked being with Anna and even Terrian, who could at least make you smile. You liked helping people who were suffering, because you enjoyed seeing a tiny flicker of hope in their eyes.

Because you could almost grasp a little bit of hope for yourself.

The clinic was all you had after your parents died. And everyday you dreaded returning to your tiny apartment where hope drained from every inch of you like red sun fading into black night. But at least you could always come back the next day, where you could laugh with Anna and everything else would fall away into dust.

It was almost time to go home, and all the patients had been taken care of. Anna left out the front door, not wanting to walk through the back room where she would have to see the lone patient on the stretcher.

You waved to Terrian, who was making one last run around the room to check everyone over, then walked into the back room. The young man was still unconscious and the rest of his clothes had been removed, a sheet draped over his body. You crept up to the stretcher and looked down, watching him breathe. After feeling certain that he was indeed unconscious, you walked into the empty patient slot you had changed in earlier and pulled the curtain closed.

You couldn't walk home in your uniform, as it was dangerous enough for a girl to be alone on the streets in the evenings, but wearing an outfit like that was a definite no. You quickly pulled it off, then reached for your jeans. But before you could even unfold them, you heard the curtain suddenly fly open.

You whirled around in anger, certain that perverted Terrian would be standing there grinning like an idiot. But you were not met with the smiling doctor, but the cold, expressionless face of the now conscious patient. His eyes, one blue and the other lime-green, bore into you, unblinking.

He was completely naked, save for the bandage across his abdomen, and you tried your best to keep your eyes on his face.

You suddenly realized that you were only in your underwear, and backed up until you bumped into a cot, holding your jeans in front of you. The man’s eyes never left you, and your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest. You had never been face-to-face with a half-breed before, not in this close proximity.

There was a pause, where both of you stared at each other for several moments, not moving. Then, in the blink of an eye, the man lunged forward and was inches away from you. You jerked backward, inadvertently ramming yourself into the cot where the metal collided with your bare back. You dropped to your knees, wincing.

When you looked back up, the half-breed was looming over you, and suddenly reached out one hand toward you. You had seen what the hands of half-breeds could do, had treated many a patient who had somehow ran into one of them. In fact, just today you had bandaged up a woman who's left arm had been pulled right off, like the wings off a fly, by a half-breed.

You curled into a defensive ball and screamed, your horrified voice ringing out through the clinic and undoubtedly to the buildings nearby.

#Alien x reader #alien x human #x reader #female reader #x reader stories #x reader romance #x reader smut #reader insert

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achaotichuman · 7 months

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Hello!!! I was wondering if you have recs for pro-Tamlin fics, fics where he gets a happy ending in general? Or where the Night Court get called out on their bullshit with a side of pro Tamlin bc I’d devour them but have a hard time finding them (I love your fics btw)

Sure do!

Pro Tam fics can be difficult to find. I found all of these scrolling through either the Tamlin redemption tag, or the different relationship tags on AO3.

I'll link all the fics here. I'll put all the summaries and the relationship that goes with them, if there is a relationship. This is a list of all my personal favorite Tamlin fics, but these creators make other amazing Tamlin fics, and scrolling the pro Tamlin tag can take you to some really cool fanfiction.

A Court of Threads and Daises by @shi-daisy. Tamlin/Lucien.

Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power.

Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves.

They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Modern ACOTAR AU – There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places.

Lovely and Lonely by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

"In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him."

**************************

Lucien Vanserra must come to terms with his sexuality, and his complicated feelings for High Lord Tamlin.

Wildflower by @mathiwrites. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Five hundred years before Feyre’s arrival in Prythian, the humans fought against Faeries, led by the King of Hybern, for their Freedom. Tamlin is only seven years old when the war begins, but his family’s involvement and a fated friendship with a handsome young Lord from the Night Court will change his life forever. This is the story of how he becomes the High Lord you know and love, and the redemption story nobody asked for.

TL;DR - before they were enemies, they touched butts.

A Court of Beasts and Chances by M4r0u_Mar. Tamlin/Tarquin.

About a Beast who must be prince and a Prince who wants to be beast. About a Prince who learns of second chances and a Beast who learns of redemption. About looking for love and finding it in the journey rather than the destination.

Or the one where I rewrite ACOTAR to make Tamlin and Tarquin mates.

A Court of Choices Made by Anonymous. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien decides to go after Tamlin to pick a fight after his first Winter Solstice with the Night Court.

I see red, I see nothing by AngryRamen. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien travels to Amarantha’s domain to try and bid for peace between her and the courts of Prythian. It doesn’t go well.

Still Beautiful, Still Mine by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. ACOTAR AU - In the weeks following his visit to Amarantha’s Court Under the Mountain, Lucien is still recovering from the loss of his eye. Nuan has made him a replacement out of gold, but the scars on his face are there to stay. When Tamlin comes to see him, Lucien cannot help but relive the events that brought them to this point, if only he could focus on what's standing right in front of him...

A Sunbeam Shining Bright Into the Night by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

After the Great Rite ritual is completed, Tamlin always goes back to the Manor to see if Lucien is waiting for him. This year he is.

Forbidden by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Calanmai has come once again, but Tamlin isn’t focused on the females waiting for him.

Breezing on by Sprighnt (SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

His focus was shattered when Feyre dropped onto the bench next to him with a dramatic sigh, “You won’t even say hi after you ditched us last week?”

Lucien rolled his eyes at her antics, “I didn’t ditch you, I was studying for math. The exam of a subject that I need days to prepare for, remember? I didn’t think you’d even notice me gone, what with all the ogling that takes up your time in our practices.”

“Shut up!” She shushed him, glancing around wildly for any eavesdroppers, “what if he heard you?”

——— Lucien has settled into a routine now. He’s finally able to go back to competing after an accident that had him wondering if he’d ever be able to skate competitively again, he’s out of his hellish childhood home, and has friends that make him happy.

By the Fountain by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin is tired of stuffy dinner parties, luckily, he has his best friend, Lucien, to make things more interesting.

———

Tamlin took the time to look at Lucien, who was staring at an elegant fountain nearby. He examined the dip of his nose, the scrunch of his brows, the slight part of his lips that indicated he was contemplating something. Then Lucien’s mouth set in a firm line, meaning he’d made up his mind on whatever the issue was.

Lucien glanced back at him and Tamlin startled at being caught watching. He placed his hand gently on Tamlin’s arm, “I don’t think my father will plan one for me either.”

New Springs by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

“I can’t be here for as long as you,” she clarifies, gesturing to the forest around them.

“You’re leaving?”

She shrugs, “It’s nice here, but my sisters, my father, they’re my only family. Even if they’re, a little difficult at times, and I don’t want to hurt Tam. I was really in love with him, but, to put it plainly, I’m not like you.”

“Like me,” Lucien repeats, confused, “what do you mean?”

———

In another universe, an alternate timeline, Feyre says “I love you”, before she’s sent off and therefore breaks the curse the way it was supposed to be broken. Things are different.

absolution by @praetorqueenreyna. Feyre/Mercenary Lady, Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Things didn't work out between Feyre and Tamlin. Years later, they both find love in unexpected places

Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by franklinarchive. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin heals and then he moves on.

Or, what if Sarah J. Maas hadn’t committed ‘character assassination’ against Tamlin?

When The Sun Came Up (I Was Looking At You) by pansexual_intellectual . Jesminda/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

There was a slight choking sound from the Night Court side of the room, but when you looked, Lucien was expressionless, adjusting his doublet.

It was the worst idea you had ever had. In the shreds of your manor you dropped to your knees. He was gone in the morning, as you knew he would be.

Burning Batter by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Rhysand. Rhysand comes over to make cupcakes with Tamlin for Feyre’s upcoming New Year’s party.

A strange thing happened the night of the High Lord meeting by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin shook his head, a small smile on his full lips. “You forget that we were closer than friends once. I know your face. Even when you think you’re being so clever, hiding behind that mask of impassivity, I see you.”

He snarled, even as his heart began to beat faster as the other male approached him.

“You think I didn’t see you? You couldn’t stop looking at me during that meeting.” He took another step closer, and his next words were tinged with playfulness, a hint of the Tamlin he’d used to know.

“Were you thinking of that night too?”

He froze. “What?”

In the Eyes of My Beloved by Alynaw66. Tamlin/Rhysand.

I promise, Rhysand sighs into his mouth; Then down onto the slight curve between his neck and shoulder. Tamlin shivers, feeling dazed. Overwhelmed.

“Another offer,” he begins, one hand sliding down to grip Tamlin’s narrow waist.

(Also fun fact about this fic, I was brought to Tumblr because of a link in the notes, so without this fiction I wouldn't be here)

Stay or Go? by SoulOfStars. Tamlin/Rhysand. Both of their families are dead. Rhysand decides to stay. They fuck in the second chapter.

heaven sent a hurricane by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Eris Vanserra. After his family is killed and he is crowned High Lord, Tamlin struggles to keep his Court under his control. (Un)Luckily for him, Eris Vanserra steps in to help.

A House of Flame and Flower by Mellowenglishgal. Nesta Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Azriel.

“Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Feyre. You and your new family believe yourselves superior: that anyone who is not deemed worthy by you must bow or be eliminated. I refuse to bow to those I do not respect: and I owe none of you any such obligation. Nor am I obligated to remain where my autonomy is threatened,” Nesta sighed, gentle yet commanding, her voice low and steady and unyielding. “I renounce all ties to the Night Court. From now on, you are no longer my sister.”

“Where will you go?” Feyre snapped, but Nesta saw it: the sudden realisation that Nesta meant every word.

“That is no longer your business. Goodbye, Feyre,” Nesta said softly. She rose to her feet, elegant as an empress despite her unkempt clothing. As she stared down her youngest sister, Nesta caressed the delicious power shimmering like slumbering embers deep in her heart, until her veins sang with silver fire, pure light, blistering heat, deadly yet silent.

Flame was silent: everything it met shattered and snapped, disintegrating, unable to withstand it.

She was flame. She was undiluted, unrefined, unapologetic power.

She told Feyre, “You will not hear from me again.”

(Side note, I just started reading this fic and it looks FREAKIN amazing) Edit- Anyone who saw that I changed the name of the author to a tag, ignore it, I was wrong.

A Court of Lies and Resurrection by @ashintheairlikesnow. Tamlin/Rhysand. AU: Feyre is dead, torn apart by Amarantha when Tamlin did not send her away in time. Tamlin, forced to submit to Amarantha's terms, finds himself looking for help (and finding affection) in places he never expected, while Lucien allies with an ancient enemy (and one of Rhys's closest friends) to save him. WARNING Extensive explicit adult content, sexual situations, violence, MA

In This Peace Series by @trshtffc, the first fiction in the series is completed The Sorceress . Tamlin/Original Female Character.

Seven years after ACOWAR, Spring Court is struggling to keep from falling apart completely. A mother tries to move on and keep her daughter safe in this chaotic world, but when the young female most needs a friend, she'll give the disgraced High Lord a chance to attone for the pain he has caused, and, perhaps, to finally heal.

TW for - mentions of suicidal thoughts - mentions of loss of a pregnancy - mentions of sexual abuse - mentions of emotional abuse (toxic relationships and toxic family dinamics) - colourism - LGBT+phobia

(This one was recommended to me in the replies of this post, and it looks so good)

A Ballad of Thorns & Roses: How the High Lord of Spring told his tale by @positivelyruined. Tamlin/Feyre Archeron

When Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court of Prythian, finds the clock counting down to his final battle with Amarantha — two things push him into action: the sudden death and bloody sacrifice of his friend Andras and the fierce vexation of his close friend Lucien. With no more time to waste, he offers shelter to the one person that he should despise the most — the girl who murdered Andras. His heart has been bleeding for a decade. Will their connection be enough to break the bond that holds the Spring Court captive, or will this burning love only spurn Tamlin’s heart? In this tale as old as time, only time will tell.

And finally, (shameless self-ad) A Court of Song and Desolation by me. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it

I hope you like these amazing fics as much as I do, anon!

Edit- If anyone has any recommendations for pro Tamlin fics, or anti IC fics, please let me know and I will add them to the list!

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blakbonnet · 13 days

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AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @soupbtch

Ever read a fic and go "they're so 😭" - that's every single Danny fic to me, aka today's second aotw feature, and god, what an amazingly talented author they are.

I'm so glad you decided to write and grace us with your lovely and bonkers fics, because I cannot imagine the OFMD fic world without your incredible Every Part of You series. I cannot imagine logging into this website without another incredible post from you. Every single thing you write (and do) leaves me in stitches and then, more often than not, you straight up chair your friends with your ultra soft way of writing how much they love each other - in between the much needed elbow fucking. You are such an amazingly kind person - hilarious, supportive, and the best cheerleader 💕 Thank you for answering my questions:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I start with a pretty detailed outline because if I don’t go in with a plan, I’ll drop threads and/or write myself in circles. Then I have my outline open on half of my screen while I have a separate doc open on the other half where I’m actually writing. I write in order from beginning to end.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing? (Things like Ed's sweet tooth, Stede's ability to bury his feelings etc)

I have a lot of fun writing angst, so I think any facet of that I can explore is a good time. Weigh them down with insecurities and see how far I can bend them with external factors like plot points, each other, or other characters before they snap. So things like Stede believing he ruins everything he touches, Ed believing he doesn’t deserve fine things, and how they both stand in the way of their own happiness because of these feelings. I also love exploring like, the horrible communication skills Ed and Stede have with each other when it comes to their emotions, and setting up story beats where that intercommunication can break down. Because they’re idiots (affectionate).

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

Ed for sure. I find him very easy to connect with, emotionally. All my favorite characters think they’re unlovable monsters and no, this says NOTHING about me personally, etc etc etc.

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

Red Skies at Night! It's modern au, but they're still on a boat! If you like slow burn, bitchy Stede, Ed with a tongue piercing, fun costumes, and a big dash of pining, I def recommend checking it out!! ❤️

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

The one that comes to mind is ‘blink.’ Kind of a funny one, but to me, it’s such a juicy way to imply so much while saying so little, so I know I use it frequently. Stede asks, “Do you trust me?” and Ed blinks back at him as he tries to work out why that question hits him like a truck (because the answer is a very easy yes). Ed says, “You make me happy,” and Stede blinks back at him in awe (because Stede? Making someone happy? That can’t be true). You get it.

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

Yes, Beedle (@sleepystede) and Connie (@spirker) have both beta read for me! They’ve helped me tremendously with flow and rewording awkward sentences, and I’ve improved a lot from their feedback. Connie has also been invaluable to bounce ideas off of for new fics and just generally pushing me to be more creative through her never-ending support and big beautiful brain.

Why OFMD 🥹

I loved season 1 when I first watched it, but as soon as I saw the season 2 trailer, something clicked in my brain. Where season 1 was slow burn, will-they-won’t-they, is this real or are they queerbaiting, season 2 was posing itself as very, very clearly queer. Stede is going to get his man. That’s it, that’s the show. Undisguised, unabashed, unapologetic gay yearning and gay romance. There are a million other things I can say, but I think it really all comes down to that. What a gift. No one does it like our show. 💖

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

#ofmd #our flag means death #aotw #author of the week #writing #soupbtch

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dc-and-arfrona · 1 year

Text

Night Time - Headcannons - Batboys

—

Bat Boys x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+

Masterlist

Summary: Your gifts to them after a night of patrol.

—

Jason Todd - Home Cooked Meal

After a long and exhausting night of patrolling Gotham City, Jason Todd, the Red Hood, returned to the sanctuary of his home, a mix of weariness and anticipation coursing through his veins. He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the enticing aroma of a home-cooked meal that filled the air.

As he entered the kitchen, he found you, the person who held his heart, standing there with a warm smile on your face. The sight of you preparing a delicious feast tugged at Jason's heart, washing away the fatigue of the night's battles.

"Welcome home, Jason," you said, your voice filled with affection. "I thought you could use a good meal after tonight."

Jason's lips curled into a grateful smile, his eyes reflecting his love and appreciation. "You always know how to make me feel at home, Y/N. Thank you."

He joined you in the kitchen, stealing a taste of the dish you were preparing. The flavors exploded on his taste buds, a testament to your culinary skills. With every bite, he felt nourished not only by the meal but also by the love and care you poured into it.

As you both sat down to enjoy the meal together, the exhaustion from the night's battles faded into the background. The warmth of the home-cooked food mirrored the warmth that enveloped the space between you, strengthening the bond you shared.

In those moments, Jason realized the true meaning of coming home—finding solace and comfort in your presence, in the simple act of sharing a meal together. The home-cooked meal became a symbol of the love and care you bestowed upon him, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, he had found a haven in your arms.

As you exchanged smiles and conversation, the weight of the night's battles lifted from Jason's shoulders. In your embrace and through the flavors of the meal, he found peace—a respite from the darkness he fought against. He cherished these moments, knowing that they were the threads that wove their lives together, creating a tapestry of love and support.

And so, in the glow of the kitchen, Jason Todd and you discovered that the simplest acts—a home-cooked meal and the shared moments around the table—could heal wounds, rekindle spirits, and remind them of the love that burned bright in their hearts. In each other's presence, they found a home—a place where they could truly be themselves, nurtured by the warmth of love and the taste of a home-cooked meal made with devotion.

Dick Grayson - Pillow Fort

After a grueling night of patrolling Gotham City as Nightwing, Dick Grayson returned to his apartment, his body weary but his spirit alive with anticipation. Little did he know that you, his partner and love, had prepared a surprise that would chase away the weariness and envelop him in warmth.

As he stepped through the door, he noticed a soft glow coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, he followed the light and discovered a sight that brought a wide smile to his face—a cozy pillow fort filled with blankets, fairy lights, and a collection of his favorite movies.

Dick's heart swelled with joy as he realized what you had done. The thoughtfulness and care behind the gesture warmed his soul, washing away the fatigue of the night's battles. He couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for the effort you had put into creating this haven of comfort and relaxation.

"You've outdone yourself, Y/N," Dick said, his voice filled with awe. "This is amazing."

You stepped out from behind the fort, a playful grin on your face. "I thought you could use a little relaxation after tonight. Come on, let's unwind and enjoy some movie magic."

Without hesitation, Dick joined you in the pillow fort, sinking into the softness of the cushions and reveling in the cozy atmosphere you had created. The dim lighting, the warmth of the blankets, and the presence of the person he loved turned the living room into a sanctuary—a place where the weight of the world could be momentarily set aside.

As you snuggled close, laughter and whispered conversations filled the air. You shared stories, whispered secrets, and basked in the comfort of each other's company. The movies played in the background, but the real magic was the connection between you and Dick.

In those moments, as they lost themselves in the embrace of the pillow fort, Dick realized the true meaning of home—a place where he could find solace and love, where the weariness of the night could be cast aside in favor of moments of pure joy and relaxation.

Together, you created memories—moments that would be etched in their hearts forever. In the gentle glow of the fairy lights and the soft whispers that filled the fort, Dick Grayson and you discovered the power of simple pleasures—a pillow fort and movie night became a symbol of their love and the sanctuary they had created together.

As the night wore on, Dick's weariness transformed into a profound gratitude for the person who had brought this beautiful moment into his life. With every laugh shared and every stolen glance, their love grew stronger, nourished by the comfort of the pillow fort and the magic of movie night.

And so, in the embrace of the fort, Dick Grayson and you found respite from the darkness of Gotham, a safe haven where their love could bloom. In each other's arms and in the flickering light of the movies, they discovered the true power of home—a place where they could be themselves, surrounded by the warmth of love and the gentle embrace of a cozy pillow fort.

Tim Drake - Coffee

After a long and demanding night of patrolling Gotham City as Red Robin, Tim Drake returned to his residence, a mix of exhaustion and appreciation coursing through his veins. He opened the door, expecting to find a familiar mess of books and gadgets scattered about. Instead, he was met with a pleasant surprise.

The house was impeccably clean, everything in its place. The sight instantly eased the tension in Tim's shoulders, a smile of gratitude gracing his lips. He could see your thoughtful touch in every corner, in the tidy rooms and the polished surfaces.

As he made his way to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Tim's senses awakened, and he spotted a cup waiting for him on the counter—a steaming mug of decaf coffee, perfectly prepared to his liking.

Tim couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and love. The consideration you had shown him, taking care of the chores and providing him with a comforting beverage after his patrol, touched him deeply. It was a testament to the bond you shared, a connection that extended beyond the mask and cape.

With a grateful sigh, Tim settled into a chair at the kitchen table, cradling the cup of decaf coffee in his hands. The warmth seeped into his palms, matching the warmth he felt in his heart. As he took a sip, the rich flavors danced across his taste buds, providing a moment of solace and comfort.

In that quiet moment, Tim's weariness faded into the background. The clean house and the cup of decaf coffee became symbols of your love and care, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, he had found a haven in your presence.

As you joined him at the table, Tim's gaze met yours—a silent expression of gratitude and affection. He didn't need words to convey his appreciation; the gentle smile on his face said it all.

Together, you shared a peaceful moment, savoring the quietude and the gentle companionship. The clean house and the decaf coffee became touchstones in their relationship, reminders that even in the face of darkness and danger, love could create pockets of serenity and understanding.

And so, in the gentle embrace of a clean home and the comfort of a cup of decaf coffee, Tim Drake and you discovered the true meaning of love—a partnership built on consideration and support. In each other's presence, they found a sanctuary—a place where they could recharge and find solace, nourished by the warmth of love and the taste of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.

Damian Wayne - Night Cuddles

After a long and challenging night of fighting crime as Robin, Damian Wayne returned to the comforts of the Wayne Manor. As he entered his room, a familiar sight brought a small smile to his face—the bed was made with precision and care, a soft glow emanating from the bedside lamp.

Beside the bed, his loyal companion Ace, the Bat-Hound, eagerly wagged his tail, sensing his return. Damian's heart swelled with warmth, knowing that you, the person who held his heart, had prepared everything for a night of peaceful rest and the comfort of shared cuddles.

As Damian approached, Ace jumped onto the bed, settling himself in anticipation. Damian couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your actions. The meticulously made bed and the calming ambiance set the stage for a moment of respite—a sanctuary from the trials of their crime-fighting endeavors.

Climbing onto the bed, Damian wrapped his arms around Ace, feeling the softness of his fur against his fingertips. He couldn't help but feel a sense of serenity, a calmness that washed away the weight of his responsibilities.

And just as he settled in, you joined them on the bed, a gentle smile on your face. Damian's eyes met yours, a silent expression of gratitude and affection. The world outside may have been chaotic, but here, in this moment, he found solace and a sense of belonging.

With Ace snuggled against his side and you resting against his other, Damian experienced a moment of tranquility. The warmth of the embrace and the comfort of shared affection brought a sense of peace to his heart. The trials and tribulations of their lives seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound connection—a reminder that love could thrive even in the midst of darkness.

As Damian drifted off to sleep, the bed made with care and the nightly cuddles with Ace and you became symbols of comfort and security. They were reminders that, no matter the challenges they faced, there was a haven waiting—a place where he could find solace, embraced by the love of those closest to him.

And so, in the gentle embrace of a perfectly made bed and the soothing presence of Ace and you, Damian Wayne and you discovered the true meaning of love—a sanctuary built on trust, understanding, and shared affection. In each other's arms, they found a respite—a place where they could recharge and find solace, surrounded by the warmth of love and the unconditional support of their loyal companion.

Bruce Wayne - Bath

After a long and relentless night of protecting Gotham City as Batman, Bruce Wayne returned to the solace of Wayne Manor, his body aching from the battles fought in the shadows. As he made his way to the master suite, he was met with a sight that filled his heart with gratitude and anticipation.

You, the person who had captured his heart, had prepared a luxurious bath, the warm water cascading from the ornate taps, filling the room with a soothing ambiance. Candles flickered, casting a soft glow that danced along the walls, creating an atmosphere of tranquility.

Bruce's eyes met yours, and a genuine smile played upon his lips. The tension that had gripped his body began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm as he realized the depth of your thoughtfulness.

"You've outdone yourself, my love," Bruce said, his voice filled with appreciation. "This is exactly what I need after a night on patrol."

You stepped closer, your presence comforting and grounding. "I thought it would help you relax and ease the weariness from your body. Let me take care of you, Bruce."

Without hesitation, Bruce shed his suit, the weight of the night's battles fading with each discarded piece of armor. He stepped into the warm embrace of the bath, the soothing water enveloping his tired muscles. As he settled, you joined him, the fragrant scent of bath oils filling the air.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the steady beating of their hearts. Bruce's eyes met yours, conveying a depth of gratitude that mere words could not express. In your presence, he found a sanctuary—a respite from the darkness that consumed his nights.

As you gently washed away the dirt and fatigue from his skin, Bruce allowed himself to lean into the tenderness, embracing the vulnerability that came with allowing someone to care for him. The weight of the cowl and the burden of Batman were momentarily set aside, replaced by the intimacy and comfort of the moment.

In the quietude of the bath, a connection deepened—an unspoken language of love and understanding. You saw beyond the mask and into the vulnerable heart of the man beneath, tending to his physical and emotional wounds with gentle care.

And as the warm water enveloped them, Bruce Wayne and you discovered the power of love—a force that could heal the wounds of the night and soothe the weariness of the soul. In each other's presence, they found solace—a place where they could truly be themselves, embraced by the love and care of the person who saw beyond the façade.

In the realm of tranquil baths and shared intimacy, Bruce Wayne and you found a haven—a place where they could find respite, supported by the warmth of love and the understanding that they were not alone.

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Aemond POV: Your return to the Red Keep

A/N: I saw that a few of you wanted an Aemond POV, and as I am a benevolent ruler, I thought I would give the people what they wanted. I wanted to do the the first couple of times he saw you after the years you were separated. This is all from Aemond’s point of view and from the time where you and your family all returned to the Red Keep.

This is a Dark!Aemond POV from the fic Smoke, Fire and Ash.

Enjoy !

TW: Aemond POV. Dark!Aemond. Murder, Incest, thoughts of violence, thoughts of sexual activities. 18+

Words: 4k

Character pairing: Dark!Aemond X Reader, HOTD characters. Dark!Aemond POV.

He swung his sword roughly at Ser Criston, who leant back to dodge the edge of the sharp blade, as he and Aemond moved in tandem in the training yard. Aemond was fast on his feet but knew Ser Cole to be just as quick.

Each swing was met by a duck, or deflection by the chain of the flail Ser Cole swung at him, the loud clanging of the chain and whistle in the air as it moved towards him, guided him back. And soon Aemond found himself dancing in a circle as he waited to make the next move, to swing the blade back down onto the knight and make him yield.

Ser Cole swung the striking head once more towards Aemond, and he dodged, before spinning to hold the tip of his blade against Ser Cole's neck, hitting the flail away. They both breathed deeply as they watched each other, and Ser Cole finally conceded.

Applause rang out from those who had gathered to watch the two men train, and Aemond felt the prickling sensation of three sets of eyes upon his form.

Ser Cole dropped the flail to the ground heavily, “Well done, My Prince,” Ser Cole breathed, “You’ll win tourneys in no time.”

Aemond did not lower the blade, “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He spoke, before allowing his gaze to roam the space to where he felt eyes watching him. Lowering his sword, Aemond let his eye land on a pair of brown headed boys, and the silver hair of a girl.

Who is she?

“Nephews,” He called out, enjoying watching the two Strong boys stiffen as they were addressed, faces suddenly uncomfortable, “Have you come to train?”

Jacaerys mouth opened and closed like a fish, as Lucerys looked up to the girl, no, woman, beside him. How she had grown. No longer the gangly limbed child, who’s hair could rarely be tamed, but now stood a woman of the court.

Her hair was braided neatly behind her head, as she wore a tight all black gown that hugged her curves. Grown, indeed. Her cheeks were dusted a light pink. He felt his lip twitch as he watched her, small excitement bubbling inside as he remembered fond memories of their youth together.

Was she nervous?

As he caught her gaze, she blinked, looking down and then back up at him, stoney faced and chin held higher. She looked down to Lucerys, whispering to him before moving the two Strong boys away with her, back into the Keep.

All those fond memories came crashing down, and the bitter rage in which Aemond had tried in vain to keep in order, bubbled up inside of him. There she was, the Princess who he had been so close to, his niece who he had shared so many memories with, so many secrets, once again choosing her brothers over him.

He could remember vividly, sitting in that room, as the Maester stitched his eye shut, feeling the sharp pain of the needle as it threaded through. No milk of the poppy was given to him. He was too young, it was too dangerous. And so instead he tried to seek comfort in someone he always had.

You.

And what had you done?

Stuck by Lucerys, checking his face for injury, and standing firmly alongside your mother, watching him as he was berated in front of all, by his father. That was when the love shared between the both of you died.

He would do well to remind himself of that.

Aemond could not believe how much she had changed. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched them walk away, the Princess throwing a curious look over her shoulder to glance at him one more time.

He supposed that he had grown too. His cheeks no longer held the plumpness of young adolescence, and his face had grown sharp and angled. Even the way he held himself was different.

He had changed, and so had she.

You were all in the Iron Throne room, listening to Vaemond Velaryon put forward a motion to be heir of Driftmark, questioning the four of you and your legitimacy, voice loudly ringing into the court.

Aemond would remember it for the rest of his days.

You stood, back straight, head tall, hair braided tightly up, with none flowing down. A black and red gown hugging your figure with an off the shoulder look, similar to your mother as you stood beside her, mouth turned down in the corners.

Such rage, Aemond noted.

He watched with glee as Vaemond argued with your mother, watching Jacaerys shake his head and mutter under his breath whilst his assaulter, Lucerys looked nervous. You had pushed Lucerys beside you, using your body as a shield to keep him out of Vaemond’s line of sight.

Still protecting him.

Aemond felt that bitterness curl through him as he watched.

“Her children... are bastards!” Vaemond yelled into the court, and yet despite it all, Aemond could not keep his eye off of you. As soon as the words left the Velaryon’s lips, he watched as your face calmed.

It was eerie, Aemond thought.

Your hand had moved the slightest of bits towards your side, and Aemond watched as you swayed forward, as though ready to pounce. There was no blush on your cheeks, no sneer on your lips, just a fire burning in your eyes as you watched your Velaryon uncle.

“And she…is…a whore.” The man sneered.

“I, shall have your tongue for that.” Aemond’s father called out to the court, standing roughly as he unsheathed the blade from his side.

Aemond would not give the old man a second glance, he knew that his father would do nothing, as he had done nothing for years. And would do nothing as he was too weak from sickness, and too faint of heart.

Movement caught Aemond’s eye, as he watched Vaemond Velaryon’s corpse fall loudly to the ground, the sound of a blade and the loud thud echoing through the chambers.

If Aemond could laugh, he would. But it would not be proper of him.

“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon purred, looking down at his handiwork.

Aemond flicked his sight away from the corpse and up at you. You had not jumped, nor looked away from the body on the floor. No. Instead you glared at it with rage, before suddenly your lips pulled into a small smile.

No-one else in the court would have witnessed it, too busy looking at the body of the man slain in front of them. Your lips looked as though they were fighting to hide the sheer joy and pleasure you got from watching him be killed. A small line of blood was flecked across your cheek, but you did not notice, or if you had, you did not wipe it away.

Such a beautiful smile.

And then suddenly your eyes were on him. And Aemond felt the air be sucked out of the room. You watched him in delight, no longer hiding your smile as you watched him. Such a smug and proud look upon your face. A threat some would say.

The sight made his cock twitch.

There she is.

Aemond felt awe as he watched Daemon move back, wiping his sword on his robes before he came to stand beside you. You took your gaze from your uncle, and looked up at your mothers husband, smiling proudly.

He watched as Daemon ran a finger along your cheek to wipe the Velaryon blood away lovingly, and Aemond felt a pang of jealousy.

Aemond noted that Vaemond was wrong when he said that they wouldn’t know what Velaryon blood looked like, because now the whole court did.

Aemond had been running late for his family feast, something that he had never done before. He prided himself in upholding his duty and being the son that Aegon should have been.

In truth, Aemond had gone straight to his chambers after the events at court, and had pulled roughly at his cock at the thought of you. He wished to touch you, to hold you, to claim you. He wanted to mark you so that everyone knew that you were his. He wanted to watch you swell with his babe.

He had never thought of you this way before and it maddened him. He found his release in his hand three times that day, picturing you on your knees before him, pleasuring him with your soft lips, or him thrusting deep into your cunt.

You had bewitched him.

He had brushed his hair more roughly than he should have, the frustration rolling through him as he prepared to walk down to the feast. And although he had brought himself to climax three times already, he still was not satisfied. He told himself as he walked to the Dining Hall to ignore you, to breathe, to not get caught in the trap of a bastard.

But he was already trapped.

When he entered the room, he noticed all were praying before the meal, his mother Alicent giving him a stern yet disappointing look. It made his heart sting to disappoint her. And this sting, he blamed immediately upon you.

As he walked to the table he let himself gaze at you.

You wore quite the scandalous dress, as though you were purposefully teasing him. No. He was sure you were doing it on purpose. To get a rise out of him. To tempt him into your space.

The neckline was plunging and he could not help but let his eyes linger upon the breasts you had developed. They looked so soft, and Aemond wanted nothing more than to run his tongue over them softly, or bite them roughly.

He could not decide which one he liked the thought of better.

Aemond asked his mother for forgiveness as he sat at his seat, at the opposite end of the table facing you. He held your gaze firm, and when he saw the light blush crawl over your cheeks, he let himself smirk in victory.

Perhaps he affected you the same way you did him.

He watched you carefully that evening, eye roaming your figure wondering if you had been spoiled yet by some man, or woman. He wondered why you had not been betrothed yet, surely a woman of your age should have been promised to some Lord by now.

And then he could not help but think perhaps the Gods were on his side for once, and the reason that you were not engaged yet, meant that you would be his.

Aemond found that he had no hunger that evening, except for a hunger for you. He could not bring himself to eat, nor could he bring himself to take his eye away from you. He still could not believe how much you had grown.

Your lips were fuller now, and had the softest curve to them, than you did when you were young, and the longer he looked, the more he found it difficult to look away. He wondered if you hated him. The way you caught his gaze and sneered, made him assume so.

How could she hate me? He thought.

What had he done to deserve this? She was the one who abandoned him. She was the one who chose her bastard brother over him. She was the one who let him take his eye, and did not care for his pain after.

He felt that anger prickle in the back of his head as he watched her.

He watched his niece dance, and laugh with his sister. He watched them break each other's cold masks and for one second, he thought he was looking back in time, from when they had all been children. Back to when Helaena and Y/n had been inseparable.

Or so he had thought.

He found that as he watched them dance and enjoy each other's company, he could no longer sneer. He could no longer hold such disdain and anger. It gave him a lick of hope. A disgusting, fickle piece of hope that perhaps one day, he could have her, and she would want it.

But then Jacaerys took Helaena to dance, and suddenly he felt that anger redirected.

How dare the dirty bastard touch her like that. How dare he make her smile. How dare his disgusting Strong hands touch Helaena so gently, hold her as though he knew her intimately.

He didn’t.

His nephew could never know just how beautiful Helaena was, just how beautiful she could be.

No one deserved her.

Not even Aemond himself.

And as he found himself scowling at his nephew he heard the soft, yet sharp call of your voice, turning his attention back to you, hackles on his back up and ready to fight from your tone.

You were mocking him.

“Prince Aemond, were you riding Vhagar this evening? I thought I saw her soaring up into the sky. When you didn’t arrive on time, I worried that a storm had come and taken you.” She inquired, fake concern lacing her venomous tongue.

You little bitch.

Aemond had to school himself, and so he reached out to hold his goblet, taking a sip of the spiced wine to give him time to think before reacting. He had been reacting to her all day, and found that if he did it again, he would have to take her, right there and then, before their family to show them who she truly belonged to.

“I was merely enjoying the night sky, dear niece.”

Lie. He was thinking of your soft thighs, and sweet lips and warm-

“It's not everyday you have the world's largest dragon, and I make a habit of reminding myself of that.”

And Gods, he could not lie that when your next words spilled from your lips, and the cruel smile you gave him, he had not really listened to your words. He had not even given thought to your attempt to goad him into a fight. Because he was ready, and he had been all too ready since the day you came back.

Since the day he saw you in the training yard.

Aemond had been ready to lash out at you for what you had done to him. For abandoning him. For choosing your bastard brothers and whore mother over him. For ruining what could have been. For what you had made him feel. For how weak he had become.

He was almost as bad as Aegon, and that was what made it so much worse.

He had planned to leave it, he had planned to not give in. To show who was superior, to show the grace of a true Targaryen, not a bastard of a disgraced whore Princess, who would never sit upon the throne. He clenched his teeth so hard in his mouth, that all he could do was hum in response.

But then the Gods were cruel, and fate was even crueler, and he watched in horror as a roasted pig was placed before him. He knew it was coming, he knew the cards that were about to be dealt, and he felt the slightest itch of his scar as his lone eye looked upon a stark reminder of his youth.

He listened as Lucerys snorted, just like the pig at his expense, and it all came flooding back.

The taunting, the mocking, the cruelty, his eye.

All of it.

But losing his eye did not hurt nearly as much as watching you abandon him for them.

“Is that not your first dragon, uncle Aemond? What had you named it again? The Pink Dread?” You teased, smirking at him and Aemond heard as the others giggled from the table, even Aegon.

Aegon was the worst of them all.

And despite everything he had done for his brother, the years of protecting him, the years of coddling him and allowing him to be the disgusting man that he was, it still wasn’t good enough. Aegon still called Aemond a twat, and mocked him. Made a mockery of their position as Targaryen Princes. Forcing him to a Pleasure house at ten-and-three, telling him it was ‘time to get it wet’.

But he hadn’t wanted to.

And there it was.

That anger that he tried so desperately to push deep within him. That anger his mother had tried to school out of him, the anger that only Helaena seemed to soothe with her kind words and comfort. She was the only one in the Keep who did not treat him like a monster. She was the only one he had left.

Fuck it.

Aemond slammed his hand on the table, feeling the wood sting his palm as he stood to his full height, holding out his goblet to her, watching her shit eating grin slowly fall from her face.

“Final tribute.” He began, directing that anger carefully into his next words.

He watched as she stiffened, eyes flicking about the table, gauging the other's reactions.

“To the health of my nephew's, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise,” He paused, watching her as she began to anticipate the next words, “Hm… Strong."

Watching her face turn to frown at him, to scowl at him, to burst with such hatred, made his blood rush through his body and into his cock.

And so he continued.

What a rush.

How good it felt to hurt her the way she had hurt him. To make her feel just as lowly as she had made him feel. How her brothers had made him feel for years.

He heard his mother say his name but he ignored it. He would deal with the repercussions later, though he doubted he would. She had never stopped him before, and in fact was brazen with discussing the illegitimacy of the Strong boys, so why start now.

“And to my darling niece, some cast doubts about her strength, but I can see that she is just as Strong as her brothers.”

She was simmering with rage by then and all he could think of was how glorious it would be to put her in her place. To bend her to his will, to snuff out that fire inside of her.

"Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys, and their Strong sister." Aemond purred, watching her clench her entire body, hands in fists so tight, her knuckles turned white.

Aemond heard the irritating growl of his nephew Jace, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond could not help but smile. This would be little challenge. Though Jace had grown, Aemond was still older and bigger, and doubted the younger boy trained as hard as he did with the sword.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Aemond felt the dull ache on his cheek, his head whipping to the side as Jacaerys laid his fist into his face. His hand still held his goblet, and he noted to himself with great pride, that he had not spilt a drop of wine on the floor.

Turning back, Aemond used little effort to shove his nephew to the floor, watching in his periphery as Lucerys tried in vain to help, as Aegon slammed him into the table by the scruff of his neck.

Down boy.

And then you did something that had not shocked him in the slightest. You grasped the fork from the table, calling out to him with a voice that was laced with venom.

“Say that again. Say that again I dare you!”

Seeing that tiny fork in your hand made him smile even more. He doubted you even trained yourself, and his size and strength could certainly overpower you.

And how he could not wait to bend you over the table and f-

“No. I want to hear what my uncle has to say.” She heaved a breath, “Speak Aemond, so that we may hear your treasonous lies again.”

My little dragon. Such fire.

He felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he watched you heave angry breaths, eyes wide as you clutched the pathetic fork. So proud in fact, that he found himself grinning.

He had only seen this side of you a handful of times as a child.

Defending Helaena when Aegon would question her intelligence or sanity.

Defending Lucerys and Jacaerys when he and Aegon would call them bastards together, or taunt them once their mother Alicent had told them of the threat of Rhaenyra ascending the throne and her bastard children.

Even defending him.

It made his lips pull wider.

It was not often that Aemond grinned. Sure he smirked, and occasionally smiled, but rarely did he show his teeth. Those sharp incisors that he would have no issue using to bite down on the soft flesh of your thighs, or the stiffened bud of your nipple.

As soon as he bared his teeth to the room, you were moving and he watched in awe as you charged straight for him, much like his mother had done to Rhaenyra all those years ago.

It was uncanny, the wildness in your eyes. Such devotion.

Such love.

And then you were before him, breasts pushing against the confines of your dress as you heaved angrily, eyes dancing across his face, demanding he answer you.

Commanding him to answer.

He felt the prongs of the fork underneath his neck and could not help but feel himself begin to harden under the tight confines of his pants.

You were so close to him, the closest you had been since you were children. He could see the purple of your eyes, and the blush on your cheeks from the wine and your anger. He could see the small freckles you had on your face, and smell the oils on your skin.

You smelt sweet, earthy, musky. It was addictive, it was arousing. It was everything he had hoped and dreamed of that day, cock in hand. It took all of his strength to not dip his head down and capture your lips with his. To taste the spiced wine that would surely be on your tongue. To drink down your essence and be full of it.

He wanted to be full of you, to taste you. To lick at your weeping cunt as you cried beneath him, begging him. More, more, please Aemond, please uncle, more. He wanted to drink your release as it leaked from you, as he brought you to climax, time and time again.

“Say. That. Again.” The little dragon spat.

If he did not preoccupy his lips with something, he would kiss you. He could not help it. You were magnetic. And enigma. A force to be reckoned with. The Gods had taken their time with you.

And so he lifted the goblet to his lips to sip, but your small hand swiped it away, causing the wine and goblet to spill onto the ground.

As soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt an electric jolt. It had been so long since you had touched him.

Touch me again.

And then Daemon was behind you, whispering in your ear and Aemond watched as your strength wavered, as contemplation flickered across your face. As all the emotions flashed quickly and disappeared as he continued to urge you to stand down.

How had his uncle tamed you so well?

How had this man made you so pliable? Aemond found himself more and more jealous of the relationship the two of you had. And the more he looked at you both, so close together, as you had grown into your face, the more he recognised certain features.

Certain mannerisms.

And then his uncle was staring him down, as he crowded his niece in front of him, whispering so lowly, that no-one else but the three of you would hear.

“Issa ñuha tala.” (She is my daughter.)

And then it all made sense.

That fire, that rogue air about you.

The way you held no fear around the Prince, the way you did not flinch, and leant into his touch. The way Daemon doted on you more than any of his other children.

You were his.

You were not a Strong bastard.

You were fire.

And that made Aemond more determined than ever to have you.

And he would have you.

No matter the cost.

Argh so here it is, a lil blurb of Aemond's POV from 'Smoke, Fire and Ash'. I thought it would be best to show you the beginning of his descent into pure obsession with the reader. Sure there had been a possessiveness from the start as children, but it had been innocent, until the reader came back to the Keep fully grown. The pair truly force each others hand, neither one knowing when to stop and only making things worse. It's beautiful :')

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @marihoneywk @snh96 @sanzu-s

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ladyluscinia · 11 months

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Izzy, Bottles, and Apologies

Izzy's arc in S2 has been a wild ride.

The S1 Izzy enjoyers are feeling vindicated as hell, many people are fully revising their opinion of him, and the people still hating him have a new criticism or off the wall theory daily. David Jenkins LOVES Izzy and is having the time of his life trying to make sure everyone else does too. They had Con O'Neill sing in drag!

And naturally I have thoughts.

This is gonna be a two part post, I think. First, as much as people are celebrating Izzy having realized his arc and come into his own - from the singing to the apparent BlackBonnet shipping - there are some threads they could pull on that might reveal more arc to come. And I am really hoping they pull them, so I'm gonna tell you why you should too!

And second, I have some minor points I dislike and concerns that this might be the end of the arc. Which would be disappointing but I think I get why, so I'm gonna discuss that too.

To start...

---

"How are you handling all this so well?"

Here's the thing about S2 Izzy - while I need to be clear his behavior is not OOC or inconsistent with S1, it is happening rather fast. I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with out of universe reasons I'll get into later, but in-universe it stands out. Now, he's hardly the only one operating on an accelerated schedule - the timeline for this season is an insanely fast not-even-two-weeks - but Izzy's defining struggle in S1 was fear of change. That was the cause of his friction with Edward, and what made him an antagonist in the first place.

In S2 he's gone through a lot of trauma, yes, but that fear is noticeably less present than I would expect.

Izzy in 2x06 has been cleaned up from his sobbing mess phase for just over 48 hours and he faces Edward with a joke, and then that night sings a moving French serenade to the crew. The next morning he's teasing them about finally hooking up and spends the day offering both Stede and Edward relationship advice.

He's a newly realized man... shedding repression and embracing who he could be. Accepting his breakup with Edward and trying to openly support the relationship that's better for him.

It's fun!

It's also, potentially, a bit of a flag. Maybe not a red one, not yet, but... pink-ish? A bit orange?

Let's look a little closer at those frayed edges.

---

"Well, you see, I have a system..."

There's an exchange from right at the start of the Pilot episode that has echoed through the entire series so far:

"Bottle it up?" -> "No, Frenchie! No, that's the worst thing you could do!"

Not talking to other people, not addressing your traumas... that's the kind of shit that just builds and builds inside you. When the cork eventually pops, the resulting damage can be a lot. Look at the finale of S1, where all of Stede's bottled up guilt and insecurities laid waste to his relationship with Edward, and then inadvertently became the first domino in the Kraken.

S2 is quick to bring this scene back into the forefront. The first time we see the Breakup Boat crew talking in 2x01, Frenchie reveals that "Bottle it up?" wasn't just a random comment he made, but a philosophy of his:

"Ah - well, you see, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box, in my mind, and I put the things in the box, I lock the box, and then I don't open it again. Works like a charm."

Apparently, Frenchie is the only one it actually seems to be working for.

Now, the show has been drawing some interesting lines between Frenchie and Izzy. From both serving as Blackbeard's First Mate to being frequently shown as a duo - tormenting Navy guys together on Sunday's raid, Frenchie holding Izzy's hand, Frenchie leaning on Izzy's leg in the cell, Frenchie behind him raising the flag in 2x05 - it's fitting that Izzy echoes Frenchie's preferred coping method. First he frames the non-acknowledgement of harm from Edward as just... part of piracy. He's a pirate, so he's fine with it.

And then we get Izzy's little whittled shark reveal and the conversation with Lucius about his leg:

"I don't know what you're talking about. Shark did this... dangling my legs over the side of the ship. Served me right, too."

Lucius calls him out on the unhealthy behavior, and Izzy concedes his point:

"O-kay, that seems healthy. Using a bit of fiction to help cover up your trauma." -> "Yeah, well... not moving on is worse. Twatty."

And to give him credit, he's right in his advice to Lucius. Filling his sketchbook with pages and pages of Blackbeard trauma is Lucius's form of bottling it up - thinking in endless recursive circles about his tumble off the ship and everything that followed. We already know chasing revenge instead of living is bad - Jim and Spanish Jackie established it last season, and Pete just echoed them. When Izzy advises Lucius to move on, that's what Lucius does.

But what Izzy is doing with the shark? That's not the same thing at all. He's lost a leg, grazed a bullet off his own head, and was snarling drunken accusations at himself in the mirror... he's not moving on from that. He's bottling it up with a nice dose of self-blame.

Cutting the legs off the unicorn for not doing it's job right and saying "served me right" about his fictional shark? There's a real dark knot of emotions there.

(Recall, too, that Edward deflected his hurt from Stede's abandonment into a "fictional character" during his chats with Lucius, and that delayed the explosion but couldn't stop it.)

So... Izzy's definitely coping with trauma in a way the show does not advise and often circles back to. Can we see any signs in 2x06 and 2x07?

---

The Weight of Things Unsaid

At the very start of 2x06, Izzy gets the thing he spent all of 2x05 mentally bracing himself to never hear - an apology from Edward for his leg. He walks up to initiate conversation and begins talking like nothing has changed. Edward is back in his leathers. Appropriate, given that his penance onesie was nothing genuine, just "how long do I have to wear this fucking thing for?" And Izzy is ready for them not to address the obvious hurt, to just smooth over a few jabs and go back to normal... but even Edward's mumbled little "Sorry about your leg" is so significant and difficult he flees as soon as he gets it out, leaving Izzy to sit, incredulous, with the acknowledgement.

It's still almost definitely not enough.

There was so much between them in 2x01 - 2x03. The writers literally did BlackHands love confessions on both sides. An apology from Edward Teach - a man who historically does not apologize - is a huge first step but still only the first step. The real things unsaid are so much bigger than a leg.

We get something else, too... Edward commenting on Izzy's drinking.

"Jesus. Really putting that away, aren't ya?"

Izzy has had booze a lot this season. He lost a leg and pain meds aren't really an option, so not surprising, but notable. Edward, advocating for substance abuse to deal with bad feelings, calls him a lightweight in 2x01. When they are found with the dead seabird in 2x03, Izzy takes a pointed drink from his bottle, and then 2x04 he spends the entire episode completely plastered. He seemingly sobered up for 2x05 - probably to focus on sword training and his whittling project - but now the bottle is back again before Izzy disappears for several hours.

And a little liquid courage might explain his going all in for the Calypso's Birthday performance.

I do appreciate that the performance on it's face is something completely unexpected for Izzy, but when thinking about it... it does make sense.

We already know music and performance were available on Blackbeard's ship even before Stede. Edward learned to play shanties on the piano somewhere, and singing is a common and encouraged part of sailing culture. Izzy's choice of song to perform is something a lot more emotional, but this is probably not his first performance for a crew.

Makeup, too, is in fashion for men and women at this time, and OFMD has shown it as such before. Izzy has never worn fashion makeup, or tried to be beautiful, but the concept wouldn't be alien to him. Wee John's description of a dramatic party look might even have intrigued him specifically because Izzy has actually done "looks" before - of the terrifying "theatre of fear" kind. The Kraken did have his whole crew in makeup for their raids. Taking the opportunity to embody something a bit more vulnerable and try to bring joy to this crew that took care of him is meaningful as fuck.

And it's still a drag performance!

It's a good pair of moments - before and after Ned. Proof that all this isn't just coping method - that's not what I'm arguing here - and even if Izzy's still bottling up a lot of feelings he's not doing the same full pressure bomb thing as he did in S1. There's been growth!

(This is why the flags are only pink-ish / orange-ish right now.)

Episode 2x07 though... I'm not so sure he's doing good as much as pretending it's all good.

Showing up to make his joke in the morning is a fun moment. I especially enjoy Edward's little "fuck off" with no bite to it 🤣🤣🤣 Reminder they do live together on a ship, so this is likely not even close to the first morning-after that Izzy has gotten front row seats to. But, at least to me, there's also a very performative feeling about it. Izzy being very Look how normal I can be about you fucking your boyfriend, Ed - and Edward picks up on it too. That's why he turns to Stede and whispers "He's jealous" as Izzy walks away.

Izzy continues to make jokes and give advice through the day to our main couple, but he's... subdued. I think his fake chill also disguises that he and Edward aren't on the same page about what they discuss at the docks, hence his poor advice to "listen to it" when the "it" in question is Edward's immediate desire to run away from Stede and become a fisherman. They are talking again, but haven't resumed communicating.

I also think it's relevant that Izzy goes to try and support Stede after Edward dumps him, because we're still waiting for Stede to stop bottling things up. He doesn't talk about Badminton or feelings of inadequacy or even the babiest little olive branch to Edward about "hey my dad kinda sucked too." Edward's two exes are sitting in the bar corner together, thinking about all the shit they won't talk to him about until it kills all three of them. Exciting!

The pressure is building. It has to circle back to Stede in S3. I'm hoping at the same time, it circles back to Izzy, too.

Hoping we get to explore some of his anxiety, and his internalizing negative self-image and blame. At the moment, I think Izzy might have less gotten over his anxieties and more just let go of the wheel of his life entirely, and fortunately had people around to steer him in okay directions. It would be really interesting to explore that more.

(Even if I have some concerns they may not.)

---

Subtle as a Cannonball to the Face

Izzy's character arc was always going to be a long journey - not because he was somehow morally worse than everyone else, or required particularly painstaking growth, or even because there was going to be some great need to "hold him accountable" for S1. No, it was going to be a long journey from an antagonist start for the same reason I mentioned earlier: Izzy's core struggle is fear of change.

OFMD opens with two protagonists recklessly pursuing change in ways that harm themselves, their relationships, and others, and a primary onscreen antagonist resisting change in a way that harms himself, his relationships, and others. There's no easy morality here - they all fuck up. And they all require the entire show to actually figure out the correct balance of change and growth and facing the past.

"I think the three of them are on an arc together that's pretty inseparable." - David Jenkins (Source, 9 Oct 2023)

So... why is there a chance that everything I've mentioned above is going absolutely nowhere and Izzy's arc has been wrapped up with a bow in S2?

Well.

It's late March 2022, the fandom's age is still only countable in weeks, I personally haven't even watched the pilot yet, had only even heard of the show 3 days before... and one of David Jenkins first post-finale statements is telling people to pay attention to Izzy's POV and his and Edward's love story on rewatches (Source, 25 Mar 2022), and then soon after comparing Stede to a homewrecker in Edward and Izzy's toxic marriage (Source, 15 Apr 2022). Lots of links because this stuff was available to the fandom from the start.

By the first half of May 2022 (while poor Mr. Jenkins is still anxiously trying to get his series renewed for S2, since the confirmation won't come until June 1) the takes on Izzy have soured a lot. It's not a "homophobic gay" joke anymore. Now it's "Izzy is the embodiment of colonialism who enforces a racist and homophobic ideal of Blackbeard on Edward" and "pretending Izzy could be canonically gay is homophobic" and "Izzy bought Edward as a slave from the British". Harassing anons have already started on tumblr. No first hand experience with Twitter but I've heard horror stories. These takes are spreading like wildfire through the fandom, with a heavy backing of white fans accepting and spreading anything that sounds vaguely racially-conscious as something they just missed in their privilege and need to listen to POC about. Or listen to other white fans that say they've been listening to POC.

The anchor hoist in 1x09 (that was a complete directing coincidence, as the crew confirmed in late May) is being taken as incontrovertible proof that Izzy is a violent racist, and the relatively small Izzy fandom pushing back against any of these reads is being likened to toxic fangirls declaring Kylo Ren a poor widdle victim because they think violent white guys are so hot their brains fall out. This is happening loudly and in the public forums of social media.

Can you imagine being David Jenkins right then?

This is one of your favorite little guys, who you wrote a silly little homoerotic pirate jealousy arc for. He's kinda cringefail and tends to be a dick, but you cast a guy who you think embodies him with so much sympathy and genuine emotion. You're so excited to explore his direct relationship to the main couple of your series even more. Unfortunately, you and a lot of the cast and crew are also engaging maybe a bit too much in fandom spaces, which very few of you have much familiarity with navigating as creators. AND there's still renewal stress!

If I were him, I too would consider that perhaps my intended Izzy arc was a bit too nuanced and drawn out, and maybe I needed to clear up some misconceptions as soon as I got the opportunity.

Enter S2.

MAX reduced the budget for the season significantly and it shows - particularly in the whole thing having to squeeze into 8 episodes - and I wouldn't be surprised at all if worries over a S3 renewal / S3 budget impacted S2 writing as well. Character arcs got pinched, goals had to be prioritized... and from the looks of the season, "make sure everyone knows Izzy is not a homophobic villain tormenting Edward as fast as possible" came out as a big goal.

I mean they open with a dream sequence that literally mocks the idea of a heroic Stede rescuing Edward from the dastardly Izzy. It's not subtle.

And the lack of subtlety is kind of what's concerning me.

Izzy's arc is (I think) leaving enough threads that they can extend it into S3 with the reveal he's not actually fine and done developing, but they also seem to want his S2 arc to end in a place where maybe he is. Lots of giant signs pointing to him and saying "Look! Everyone likes him!" or "Look! He's also gay!" at the expense of some of his cringefail or dickish charm. My guy had anxiety he dealt with poorly in S1, and I do think they are trying to frontload or adjust the arc so he's basically (or at least seemingly) over that before the next hiatus.

The best way I've seen it described is that the show no longer trusts the audience to pick up what they are putting down, and so they feel the need to really hammer it in. Not necessarily OOC, but definitely de-emphasizing any of his rough edges that were originally just written to not be any worse than the other characters.

This is why Izzy gets shot by Edward in the very first episode for a bunch of complicated reasons that are really good character work and not super hard to discern, but then later they have Izzy point out to Stede why he got shot twice. It's all very "look into the camera and say the themes", because to some degree they are afraid everyone is going to get easily convinced Edward shot him for calling him a namby-pamby that one time.

It makes me worried they are too afraid of misinterpretation to commit to the arc they originally conceived of, even with the finish line in sight in S3.

And, again, I get it, Mr. Jenkins. In October 2022 he made a funny quip and a boner joke on a tweet about Edward's blanket fort and the hordes descended to scream victoriously about how he was cutting down the Izzy stans for their racist infantilization crimes of thinking Izzy would *checks notes* help hold up a blanket. It's a very reasonable conclusion that this fandom cannot read and needs to be spoonfed Izzy's arc.

It just sucks that a toxic section of fandom's misinterpretations appear to have undercut a strong - and, honestly, not that complicated - character arc so much that S2's BlackBonnet arc can be about fuck ups and backsliding, but Izzy needs at least the illusion of having no flaws left come hiatus time.

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd meta #my meta #izzy hands ofmd #izzy hands #character arcs #ofmd 2x06 #ofmd 2x07 #and here's my associated izzy meta because i love to talk about both my blorbos lol #ladyluscinia #david jenkins

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