#i love those two as well your honor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yueebby · 5 days ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐢) – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips, 7.2k words of gojo unable to process his feelings

notes. sorry for leaving everyone hanging after the prologue (make sure to read or reread since it's been a hot minute!) TT but here it finally is!!!...not proofread soz :x

series masterlist | chapter 1/2

You haunt his dreams, he’s sure. Gojo never believed in superstitions or the supernatural despite what all those old geezers preached. That was until your figure started to appear every time he closed his eyes.

The familiar scene of you gets cloudier every time it appears in his dreams, but he knows it is still you. It’s nearly comical how even his subconscious knew of your everlasting beauty. Everytime, the same sequence replays: a grand celebration he had hosted in the palace in honor of a prosperous year of his reign. The two of you were overlooking the guests, seated at the head of the room.

You’re wearing court attire that was altered to fit solely you (it hugged your body in such ways that made Gojo’s head spin), fabrics and dyes all originating from foreign lands. In your hair sits beautiful hair ornaments, swinging with every movement you make.

However, Gojo knows it is not the materialistic items that make you beautiful, no, he knows that it was simply you.

“Has anyone told you how unnerving your eyes are?” You quietly comment, eyes still trained on the party in front of you. Satoru cracks a slight smile, not ashamed in the slightest that he was caught ogling you.

“I thought you said you loved them?” He blinks at you, attempting to lean closer to show off his blue orbs. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, beloved.”

You purse your lips, subtly leaning away before he can initiate improper conduct. He does not take your action well, snaking an arm around you to firmly cage you in his hold. Normally, you would welcome his advances but you’d rather not be publically humiliated in front of the entire Imperial Court and all of the influential clanheads of Japan.

“Please have mercy on me, Your Grace,” You whisper, eyes flitting across the room, making sure there were no eyes on you. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed with the luxurious goods Gojo had imported for the occasion. It was the anniversary of his coronation, after all.

He makes a noise of disapproval, “Can’t. Must let these people know that you’re mine.” Gojo closes the gap between you and sniffs your neck, softly moaning at your scent. He knows that if the geezers looked up from their silver spoons they would have a heart attack at his public display of affection. Not that he cares. His unorthodox ways may make them livid, but Gojo knows they won’t do anything. He was going to pave the way for the Golden Age of Japan— with you by his side.

“Your Grace!” You giggle at the ticklish sensation left by his warm breath. Any attempts of shying away from him are fruitless.

“Don’t run away,” His other hand firmly places itself on your clothed thigh, restricting your movements. All of this is hidden by the table that sits in front of the two of you.

You’re looking at him with those shiny eyes of yours, silently pleading with him. “Can’t this wait until tonight?”

He huffs, “I have suffered enough today without your presence. Ijichi kept begging me to finalize the preparations, but who am I to care? My flower was too busy having fun without me.”

“You and your dramatics. I was only away to tend the gardens in the Consort’s Pavilion. Which, might I remind you, is fading by the moment because someone refuses for me to stay there.” You tut, picking up your chopsticks to eat the delectable fish placed in front of you.

Gojo’s stare never falters as he watches you pick up a small piece, eyes shining as if he were watching a spectacle. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“And I, you.” You pop the piece inside of your mouth, chewing happily at the flavor that fills your tongue. “You know, I–” You began, but were cut off by the sudden seizing of your throat.

The chopsticks in your hands clatter loudly with the porcelain they are dropped on.

Gojo's breath hitched, his eyes wide and trembling with horror as he watched you struggle for air. "My love?” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of rising panic.

Your hands immediately travel to your neck to alleviate the sudden burning feeling that blossomed in it.

“[Name]!” He shouts, large hands quickly rising to cup your cheeks. In a desperate attempt, he squeezes your cheeks to get you to spit it out.

"Poi–poison," Your voice was hoarse, your face losing its color by the second. Satoru was frozen with fear. “Don’t eat it…Satoru.” With those parting words, you lose consciousness.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s hoarse voice can’t stop repeating your name like a prayer, hands lightly tapping your cheek as if it was going to bring you back to life.

Gojo wanted to laugh. Even when you were dying, you worried about him. Not that it mattered. You weren’t going to die. He refused.

Sometime during your struggle the chatter had stopped, and all eyes were on you. Satoru looks up from you to bark orders to the guards he had placed around the room. They leave to summon the Imperial Physician while Gojo is left clinging onto your limp body, praying to the Heavens above that they will grant him one more miracle.

—

Back in his chambers, Gojo’s head pounds, but he’s not sure whether it was the speed he shot up from his bed or the dream itself. He feels hot, sweat running from his bare chest that heaves to bring oxygen to his quickly pumping heart. He’s nearly certain his chest is going to cave any second with the way it constricts with pain. It was like he was a geezer, he humors silently.

“Your Grace?” A delicate hand cups his cheek.

He follows the direction of the hand, eyes slowly trailing up the feminine body it belonged to, barely covered as a result of the thin silk nightgown that highlighted her natural curves. “Are you alright? It was only a nightmare.” She cradles his face, moving slowly in his vulnerable state.

Satoru breathes heavily, eyes widening as they travel from her breasts to her face, beautifully illuminated by the sparse moonlight leaking from the window. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, obscuring some of his access to her skin. His beautiful mistress. He’s sure that she is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but the images of his memory keep replaying in his mind, occupying it from functioning properly. ”Himiko, how did you–”

“I heard you and I couldn’t bear it.” Her finger softly caressed his flushed cheek, trying her best to ignore the bewildered look on her lover’s face.

THE PRESENT —

The journey to the Inner Palace was a blur. After a long goodbye, a horse drawn carriage was sent to the front of Yaga’s estate the very next morning. Your mind was elsewhere the entire time, too busy mulling over your past and now damned future.

That is why when the carriage comes to a complete stop in front of the servants’ quarters, you are startled to meet two awfully familiar faces.

The two are silent, eyes carefully watching you exit the carriage. The purple set of eyes steps forward first to take your bags from you.

“Ah thank you Mister—“ Your voice trails off, eyes looking up from the dark robes in front of you only to be surprised with a familiar face. “L-Lord Geto?”

His lips quirk up slightly upon recognition. “Welcome back, [Name].” Your heart throbs at his indifference from the last interaction you had. It is quickly concealed by the excitement in your voice when your eyes spot a comforting pair of eyes.

“And Kento?” You light up.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at your familiarity with the Imperial Chancellor. He knows he should be relieved that you held no malice towards himself and Nanami, knowing the struggle you were subjected to when banished. However, there was a foreboding feeling gnawing deep within his soul. Guilt? Fear? It was hard for Geto to put a finger on it.

Nanami simply nods in acknowledgment, but stays silent under Geto’s watchful gaze.

“[Name],” The black haired man starts. Your eyes return to his face. “I wanted to be the first to greet you here, but I suppose Lord Nanami must have had the same idea.” He chuckles lightly, but the mirth never makes it to his eyes. You don’t notice Lord Nanami stiffening up.

“To say I am flattered would be an understatement, Lord Geto.” You return the same sugarcoated pleasantries.

Geto must have noticed your unease, reminding you, “Please, there is no need to keep your guard up around me. I don’t bite.” His voice has a teasing lilt. It does little to soothe you.

“Can you blame me, Lord Geto?” Your eyes meet his purple ones that narrow at your allusion.

“I suppose not.” He hums. “Though I must tell you that the incident was out of my power. I must carry that burden everyday, so I implore you to forgive me, [Name].” He throws out your given name once again like you were familiar.

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I know, it is easier said than done.”

“You don’t say.” You bite your tongue as soon as the words leave your mouth. He fails to acknowledge how your last interaction was your banishment, served just by the man in front of you.

A sigh escapes Geto’s lips. "As a gesture of my accountability, I place myself entirely at your disposal. Simply name a favor, and it shall be fulfilled." You can’t detect anything but sincerity in his words, leaving you speechless. “Of course, it had to be within my power, but I shall grant you one request in return for your forgiveness.”

“I—” You were too shocked to form a thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle, "Our last encounter may not have been pleasant, but I still consider you a dear friend, after all.”

“I am flattered to say the least that you had decided to grant me such honor,” you gape.

Geto shakes his head softly, “You shouldn’t hold me to such high regard. I could hardly bear the weight of your disfavor.”

“You know I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards what happened,” you say softly. It wasn’t Suguru’s decision what happened that night.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise,” the black haired man in front of you pushes. You relent. Perhaps you should just bite your tongue and accept the opportunity presented. “Please. Just think about it.”

You watch in silence as Geto turns around to walk away. His sudden offer leaves your mind racing. A man of his caliber, second to none but the emperor himself, would be able to grant any of your desires. Perhaps you should ask to import Western literature, tales of great fantasy— or, you could think bigger and ask to move back with your clan. Though you highly doubt he will entertain the latter, considering your indentured servitude to the Inner Palace.

Your racing thoughts are diverted when you hear someone clear their throat to capture your attention. You perk up when you realize that Lord Nanami was still here, and you have completely ignored his presence.

“I am just as surprised to see your immediate return to the palace.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his face, sympathetic eyes never leaving you. You flush under his gaze. It was quite embarrassing knowing the entire palace probably had caught wind of your incident with the emperor.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips.

“It wasn’t my intention,” you mumble. “But I suppose if fate has decided, there is not much I can do.”

“You truly believe that it was fate that brought you here?” Nanami asks, the hold he had on your arm tightening enough to catch your attention but not enough to hurt.

“I-” You begin, words failing to conjure. “I’m not sure.” You had thought that your banishment was fate, but now that you had been brought back, it felt like you were simply at the mercy of something cruel.

Nanami watches your eyes staring wistfully at the blue sky above, his own flickering to each of your features. He wonders if you know that your expressions gave you away. It’s more endearing than anything, from the flutter of your eyelashes, the wrinkle of your nose, to the furrow of your eyebrows. Only a blind man would deny the fact that you were easy to fall in love with. However, it would make a foolish man to dare to pursue you.

He’ll appreciate you and your charm from afar where his head may stay attached to his body.

The comfortable silence shared between the two of you is disrupted by a flock of handmaidens passing by. Nanami tenses his jaw when the voices become audible.

“Is it really her?”

“It’s said that she tried to sneak into the Emperor’s chambers.”

“Is that Lord Nanami? My, we must warn him about that whore that tried to seduce the emperor!”

“Poor Lady Himiko.”

Anger swells in your chest. Though you’re not sure what tale had managed to escape the servants’ quarters, but you pray that they may never reach the emperor’s ears. It was simply profane to the beloved consort, an offense that you know Gojo would never forgive you for. You can deal with nasty gossip, having previous experience, but you doubt you can handle being beheaded for conspiring against the emperor and his consort.

“I’m afraid no matter how much time has passed, the palace rumors seem to never die.” Nanami sighs, exhaustion evident in his gravelly voice. “I advise you to brace yourself. Within these coming days, the fire will only get hotter.” He doesn’t bother elaborating on his words, choosing to lead you to your new chambers.

“Thank you for the advice Nanami,” you exhale. “However, I am sure I’ll be able to manage on my own. After all, I’ve been doing it for quite some time.” The moment the solemn words leave your mouth his eyes soften. You quickly look away, flustered.

“I know you can, [Name]. I suppose my anxieties are misplaced, forgive me.” You can feel his stare bore into the side of your face. He sighs, “it is a habit that comes natural to me.” He worries for you. The words go unsaid, but you are able to decipher his double meaning.

Your heart flutters at his kind implications, eyes too shy to meet him once more. Instead, you choose to fix your gaze on the doors to the servants’ quarters. The blonde man beside you takes the liberty to open the doors to your new room.

At the sight in front of you, your heart lurches.

Before you stands a familiar head of white hair, standing tall with his back turned towards you. His head was tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing something unseen, before he slowly shook it. Then, with an unsettling calm, he turned to face you, his gaze heavy with unspoken intent.

“I’ll take her from here,” Gojo’s icy voice breaks the silence that had overtaken you and Nanami.

“Of course,” Nanami bows deeply. You turn to bid the man goodbye, but he leaves hurriedly without sparing you so much as a glance. You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, eyes longingly watching your old friend walk away.

The moment the shoji doors close behind him, Gojo clears his throat.

“[Name],” he tests the waters, his movements deliberate as he takes a slow, tentative step toward you, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension.

“Your Majesty,” You respond shakily, retreating a step as your breath catches.

“Please,” Gojo mutters breathlessly, his voice trembling with unspoken desperation, his eyes pleading with an intensity that only deepens the pit in your stomach. He takes two deliberate strides forward, the gap between you vanishing as though drawn by an invisible force.

“No,” You shake your head, pain flashing across your face. You won’t let him waltz right into your life after carelessly tossing you away, not without consequence. It is to no surprise that words seem to go unheard to the man in front of you. His eyes glistened in the dim lighting, fixed intently on your face, tracing each feature with a quiet focus, as if he were trying to burn them into his memory.

The world seemed to stay still just for the two of you. But it only lasted for just a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo mutters, a strong hand flying to the back of your neck tugging you towards him for a searing kiss. The instant his lips crash against yours, he lets out a soft whimper, as though the very act consumes him. Despite the passage of time, your body responds instinctively, like it was always meant to be this way.

It felt like the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was right in front of you, your fast beating hearts making contact with the way he had your chest pressed to his. All while pushing you against his body, Gojo allows his hand to trail down your back, revisiting every valley that he had once memorized.

“Mph,” your traitorous hands find their way into his head of white hair. He smiles into the kiss upon hearing his name leave your mouth.

“Yes?” He leaves a wet kiss at the base of your throat, bending down to continue his frenzy.

“This isn’t right,” the words came out of your mouth in a whisper, as if you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

“You’re wrong.” He inhales deeply, attaching his mouth onto your collarbone, ”I was made solely for this.” A small whine leaves his mouth when you hesitantly try to push him off. He uses his innate strength to fight your attempts.

“May I ask something of you?”

A kiss was placed on your jawline. Another on the base of your throat.

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Do you..” Your voice falters. “Do you love her?” Like you loved me?

The trail of kisses come to a complete stop. For a second you fear you may have overstepped. The emperor’s silence was palpable. The only sound that filled your ears was the harsh thuds of your own heart.

“[Name]...” he slowly stands up to tower over you with his height. The distant look in his eyes forms a pit in your stomach.

“Answer me,” you whisper, the pit deepening.

“I am just a man,” he reasons. Your heart drops at his answer.

“You could not even take an oath of monogamy,” you spit. “You are nothing but a weak man.”

His eyes shoot up from their trance frantically. You fear that the lust he had been tempted with had worn off, and now you were left with nothing but wrath.

“I understand that I was nothing but a spoil of war, but you could have done me one last favor by allowing me to leave on my own accord. You did not have to cast me away,” your vision starts to waver with the tears that puddle in your eyes. “If I knew your heart had yearned for another I would have left.”

The set of blue eyes that stare at you are no longer the lively shade that you had grown to love. They have been replaced by an uncertain stormy grey. It was almost laughable. A man, so big, who had the world in the palm of his hand looked so small.

A cruel part in you enjoyed seeing the turmoil in his eyes after the events that had transpired.

“Had I known the tribulations I put you through, perhaps I would have put a second thought before choosing you.” Gojo exhales, pinching in between his eyebrows. “But I must assure you that you weren’t the only one suffering.” And for a moment you think you see lightning strike in those stormy irises of his.

Your eyes widen at his confession.

He lets out a deep sigh, “The head maid will be here any minute. I bid you farewell. I pray that with our next interaction, your heart learns to soften.”

Ever for dramatics, Gojo leaves before you can get the last word.

—

True to his word, the head maid soon comes to assign your duties. You’re not surprised at your new set of responsibilities: tending to the emperor’s garden, sweeping the floors to his chambers, and overseeing his meal preparations.

It is nothing out of your skill set, and you’re more than willing to accept your predicament rather than being burned alive for offending the emperor on numerous accounts. You suppose even Gojo was kind enough to spare you from that cruel fate. It almost softens your heart enough to decide to forgive him of his transgressions. Almost.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud clang of a pot. When you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you’re met with the head maid’s stern gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the wooden spoon you had been mixing in the broth.

Ah. She wanted you to perform the mandatory poison test before serving the food to the emperor.

However, just as you bring the spoon to your lips, it is violently swatted from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your eyes sadly linger on the spilled broth before snapping to the culprit, your gaze filled with disbelief.

"There were strict orders to ensure that the task did not fall to you," the head maid, Ogami, declared sharply. The elderly woman, with silver hair neatly tied in a tight bun and skin etched with the marks of years spent in service, raised a wrinkled finger in your direction.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden reprimand, the sharpness in her gaze leaving you momentarily frozen. It didn’t make sense—there had been no mention of any such orders, no one had informed you of any changes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the weight of her unyielding stare.

How strange.

Days pass by like a blur, your routine falling into place. When dawn arrives, you’re up to prepare the emperor’s garments for the day. Your mid-mornings grow even busier as the palace comes alive with activity. Whether mending torn hems or ensuring the ceremonial robes are free of imperfection, you move like a ghost through the corridors with hopes of going unnoticed. The emperor’s unusual antics, however, make it nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed. He seems to have a knack for drawing your attention. His antics often begin at ungodly hours, long before the sun graces the horizon, as he attempts to coax you into sharing the first meal of the day with him. You decline each time, yet his persistence never wavers, a boyish grin always accompanying his invitations. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, Gojo finally departs to attend to his imperial duties. It’s only then, in the quiet lull of his absence, that you find the chance to make real progress with your work.

“To say I am relieved because of your presence would be an understatement, [Name].” Nanami and you overlook the palace’s main courtyard.

You smile, hands filled with silks that needed washing, “I could say the same.” The emperor’s outrageous requests were driving you mad. Your mind flashes to earlier that week when he had insisted on hand feeding you honey! You wonder how he survived without a personal servant before you took the position.

“His Majesty is as eccentric as ever, I assume.” Nanami’s eyes crinkle.

You laugh, “You know him too well!”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he shakes his head, smile ghosting his lips. “We’ve known eachother since our youth.”

You perk up at the news, your curiosity piqued. The confusion must have been written all over your face, prompting Nanami to offer a quick clarification.

“It was brief, our time at the academy. But we were both under the instruction of Yaga,” he elaborates. Huh. What a small world, you think as Nanami paints an unexpected connection.

“I am struggling to imagine you and him studying under the ever serious Yaga,” you giggle.

“I was in the year below him. It was Lord Geto and Shoko who were first hand witnesses to his nature.” Nanami tells you.

You nearly dropped all of the emperor’s clothes, “Shoko?” The revelation that your own friend was acquainted with the emperor stopped you dead in your tracks. Had she known him personally all along? If so, she made no effort to reveal it. Instead, she appeared almost disgusted by him, though you had chalked it up to her disdain for the new ruling dynasty rather than a personal vendetta against the man himself.

“I am aware you were well acquainted with her in your time in the Outer Palace, no?” “Yes, but–” you pause, before eyes snapping back to Nanami. “How did you know?”

Nanami blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth as if to explain, but then falters, his words stumbling.

Before he can say anything, a soft, familiar voice drifts from behind you.

“[Name]!” A servant of Lady Himiko calls urgently, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. You turn to face her.

“Yes?”

“The emperor requests your presence in the ceremonial hall. He says it is of great importance and that you must make haste!” The girl exclaims, grabbing your only free arm and tugging you toward the hall.

You glance back at Nanami, your eyes silently promising him that this conversation is far from over. He gives a small nod, acknowledging your unspoken words as he bids you farewell.

“Ah, may I ask what the emperor requires of me?” you ask, trying to maintain some control over the situation.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her tone clipped. Without sparing you a glance, she pulls you forward with determination, clearly focused on her task.

Like a lamb heading toward slaughter, you find yourself helplessly being dragged through the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, your thoughts swirling with questions you can’t yet answer.

The expansive room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to its usual grandeur. The sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long beams of light that danced across the polished floors, illuminating the intricate tapestries and the grand pillars that lined the hall. But your gaze soon shifted, focusing on the emperor’s seat at the very end of the room.

You had expected the usual scene: Gojo slouched in his throne-like chair, whiny and complaining about the mountain of paperwork he despised. But what greeted you instead was something far more unexpected.

A figure stood poised at the head of the room, commanding the space with an elegance that was undeniable. Anyone familiar with the court could recognize her signature choice of kimono—the rich plum silk embroidered with intricate gold patterns, delicate yet striking. Her hair, black as midnight and flowing like a river of silk, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a stark contrast to her porcelain-like complexion.

It was Lady Himiko. Her beauty was legendary, whispered about among women across the nation, often compared to a living work of art. The rumors of her grace and poise weren’t exaggerated. Standing there, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who remained perfectly still and attentive at her side.

Her eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, your breath was stolen. The stillness of the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but wonder why she was here, in the emperor’s seat, with not a whisper of Gojo in sight.

“Ah, just the one I was looking for!” her eyes light up when she sees her servant return with you in her hand. The gleam in her eyes fill you with unease.

“Lady Himiko, it is an honor,” you bow.

“There’s no need for that! Please, stand.” She waves her slender fingers at you, or so it seems, but at her silent command, her ladies-in-waiting begin to move toward you.

You take a step back, instinctively using the emperor’s garments, still damp from your earlier washing, as a shield against their sudden movements. The soft rustling of fabric is almost deafening in the silence that follows.

Lady Himiko’s eyes narrow at the motion, her sharp gaze flicking to the garments you hold between you and her. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays at the corners of her lips, but it does nothing to ease the tension thickening in the air.

“I understand the unspoken animosity between us,” she says, her voice smooth, but there's an edge to it that sets your nerves on edge. “I pray you will accept my humble apology.” She clasps her hands together, but her eyes remain calculating, never leaving yours.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I had not expected the emperor to kindle such… passion for me so suddenly. It was neither of our intentions that fateful night we reunited after the days of our youth.” She shakes her head softly, laughing nervously. "How rude of me, I doubt you of all would want to hear about Satoru and I."

Your breath hitches, caught between surprise and a tightening knot of discomfort in your chest. The weight of her words presses down on you, and you struggle to maintain composure.

“I do apologize for bringing you here on such deceptive terms, but I had to get your attention somehow,” she continues. “As one who has been a former concubine, I wanted your counsel on how I should navigate this delicate matter.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say she was mocking you. But you knew Himiko wasn’t one you wanted to offend, so you bite your tongue.

Instead, you nod, steeling yourself against the discomfort crawling up your spine. “What is it that you need from me?” you ask, your voice betraying none of the wariness you feel.

Himiko’s ladies-in-waiting close in around you swiftly, subtly guiding your every step toward the emperor’s stand. The grand hall feels even larger as you’re led deeper into its heart, each step reverberating through the space.

At the end of the room stands Himiko, watching you approach with a distant gaze. The soft glow from the nearby windows catches on the polished surface of the wooden desk before her, where inkstones, brushes, and stacks of paper lie in disarray.

You pause, your gaze falling upon the desk, and that’s when you notice the manuscript she’s pointing to. Her perfectly filed nails trace the edges of the paper with deliberate slowness. Though you cannot read the characters from this distance, the emblems that adorn the papers are unmistakable. They belong to some of the most powerful clans in the empire, each one a mark of authority and influence.

As your eyes skim across the paper Himiko’s hand rests on, the characters seem to leap off the page in a rush of realization. It’s a proposal– one written by the notorious Zenin clan. You can almost feel the air grow heavy as you piece it together. The words speak of demands for more autonomy—an increase in their power, more control over the lands they already possess. And you know, instinctively, that if this were to pass, everything Gojo has fought for, everything he’s struggled to protect, would crumble into dust. His fight against the rigid clan-based hierarchy would be for naught.

For a moment, your mind reels. This is no mere conversation or request for guidance. This is a game of power, one where you’re being used as a pawn. Her eyes lock with yours, and the air between you thickens with unspoken understanding. She must’ve taken you for a mere tool to execute her own plans.

But you’re no fool, and that realization comes like a slap to the face. You straighten your posture, eyes hardening as the weight of the situation settles in.

“These seals...” Your voice falters as you stare at the emblems, your hand hovering over the manuscript as though touching it might implicate you further. The weight of the realization crashes down on you like a cold wave. You look up at Himiko, bewildered, your heart pounding in your chest. Meddling with state affairs, let alone tampering with the emperor’s documents was a crime punishable by death.

“Does the emperor know about this?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. “This—this could be considered treason!”

“Careful with your words,” she says softly, her tone calm. “It is not treason when it is for the betterment of the empire.”

Your mouth opens as if to respond, but no sound escapes.

“The emperor has always held you in high regard,” Himiko says with a wistful sigh, her eyes narrowing on your figure. “I’ve no doubt he would find it impossible to refuse any command spoken by you.”

Her cryptic words linger in the air, their implications sinking into you. You’re left reeling, unsure of whether her remark is meant as flattery or a thinly veiled mockery of your banishment.

She scoffs, her delicate façade cracking as her tone turns venomous. “The emperor may not know, but I see right through you. Seducing him to claim yourself as some spoil of war and twisting his mind to lead our nation to ruin—it’s sickening. Truly, a shame the assassination attempt failed.” Her words lash out like a whip, her civil mask shattering entirely.

You gasp, her implications cutting deep even as your heart hardens against the venom. Had she known–?

“Perhaps that is what the entire Court believes of me,” you manage, your voice trembling yet steady enough to carry your conviction. Months of whispered rumors and vicious gossip had thickened your skin, and you refused to crumble under her scrutiny. “But I will not allow you to sully the emperor’s reputation.”

As much as you detested Gojo, your disdain for the corrupt elders burned hotter. They had plotted your downfall, attempted to take your life, and now sought to undermine everything Gojo was fighting to build. You could not allow them to gain any more power in the Court than they already held.

Himiko’s lips curl into a cold, triumphant smile as she picks up an inkstone and brush from the emperor’s desk. “As his Honored Consort and future Empress I command you to hold this for me while I pave the way for a greater future.” Her words are laced with mockery as she extends the inkstone toward you.

You recoil instinctively, shaking your head. “No. I refuse—” Your rejection is firm, your voice sharper than you expected, as you pull away, clutching the emperor’s garments protectively against your chest.

The next few moments unravel in slow motion, as though fate itself had decided to humiliate you. Himiko’s gasp pierces the air as your sudden movement causes the inkstone to slip, spilling its dark, viscous contents over her elaborate kimono. The silk, undoubtedly crafted from the finest threads in Japan, drinks in the stain, the deep black spreading like a wound across the fabric.

“My lady!” Her servants rush to her side, their collective cries of alarm startle you. They push you aside as they fuss over her, their movements frantic as they attempt to salvage her now-ruined garment.

You stumble back, staring in disbelief at the disaster you’d unwittingly caused. “I—I am truly sorry—” you begin, but your words falter under the weight of the situation.

“What is going on here?”

The booming voice echoes through the hall like thunder, freezing everyone in place. You whip your head toward the source, your pulse quickening as your eyes land on the figure now standing in the doorway. The emperor himself, Gojo, commands the room with his presence, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury as he takes in the scene before him. By his side stands the owner of the voice, an elder, with an expression carved with barely restrained anger piercing through you.

Himiko lets out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with a convincing mix of distress and indignation. Gojo reacts instantly, rushing by her side, his features hardening with concern.

“I found her forging His Majesty’s signature,” Himiko exclaims, her voice wavering just enough to sound genuine. “When I tried to intervene, she lashed out and attacked me.” She trembles as she buries her head against the emperor’s chest.

It hits you—the full realization of her calculated scheme. This was her plan all along.

“I-I didn’t!” you stammer, your voice raw with desperation. “That wasn’t what happened at all– she was the one tampering with imperial documents. I tried to stop her!”

Gojo’s piercing blue eyes snap to yours, cutting off your explanation. His gaze, once warm and teasing, now burns with unrestrained fury. The bile rises in your throat as you see it. Anger, disdain, and worst of all, disbelief.

“Himiko,” he murmurs, his arms tightening protectively around her trembling form. Her soft sniffling only adds to the spectacle.

“To be caught tampering with imperial records is one thing,” Gojo finally says, his voice icy and cutting, “but to stoop so low as to accuse Lady Himiko? Was this an act out of jealousy? Spite? How pathetic. This is beneath even you, [Name].”

You feel your knees weaken, the tears you’ve fought to hold back beginning to pool in your eyes. “Please, you have to believe me,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of his words.

His expression darkens further, the light in his sky-blue eyes replaced by thunderclouds. “Why would I believe you?” he sneers, his tone laced with contempt.

A single tear escapes down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you can no longer stop them. The dam of your resolve breaks, shattered by his cruel dismissal.

“Why?” Your voice trembles, breaking as the tears come freely now. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Gojo’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he says coldly. “How could I ever believe in one as base as you?”

His words cut deeper than any blade, piercing through the walls you’d built to protect yourself. You’d convinced yourself you were immune to his indifference, but the searing pain in your chest proves otherwise.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice sharp and final. “Do not look back. Your very presence stirs nothing but disdain within me.”

You stagger back, his words striking harder than any physical blow. He might as well have drawn his sword and ended it here. The infamous tales you had heard about Gojo were once glorious images that were painted of your beloved. You had never thought you would be on the other end of his blade.

Without a word, you turn and run, your vision blurred with tears. The emperor’s garments slip from your hands, forgotten in your haste to escape the suffocating anguish. You don’t look back, even as the echoes of his disgust chase you out of the hall.

If there was one undeniable truth that Geto Suguru knew, it was that his best friend, Gojo Satoru could be an utter fool. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of a youth stolen too soon, replaced by the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. The brilliance that made Gojo a formidable emperor rendered him hopelessly inept when it came to navigating the labyrinth of his own emotions.

And as his closest confidant, bound by loyalty and friendship, Geto Suguru couldn’t help but feel the urge to shake some sense into him—to force him to confront what he stubbornly refused to see.

That is why, when your trembling form hurries across the courtyard, tears streaming down your face, Geto Suguru can’t help but halt you in your steps.

“I’m leaving.” you declare, your voice raw, your eyes red and swollen. The words, so resolute despite your trembling tone, catch him off guard.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“My favor,” you say firmly, though your voice wavers. “I want to leave this place.”

For a moment, Geto says nothing, his sharp mind scrambling to process the abruptness of your request. Then he shakes his head, his expression softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

Your incredulous gaze snaps up to meet him. “So you lied to me?”

“No, not at all,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I meant—I can grant you time off. But as someone under the emperor’s direct supervision, I can’t allow you to leave permanently. What I can do is give you one lunar cycle away from court.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer before giving a sharp nod. “I’ll take it. Just let me leave,” you reply, sniffling.

Geto watches you for a moment longer, his chest tightening at the sight of your despair. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he says gently. “I’m sorry we seem to meet only under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, your tone hollow.

He hesitates, searching for the right words to offer some semblance of comfort. “Whatever he did, I’m sure—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice colder now. “He made his disgust for me perfectly clear.” You march past him, your steps resolute despite the trembling in your shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, though I must beg you to keep this between us. Who knows what might happen to either of us if he finds out.”

Geto exhales slowly, his composure steady but his mind racing. Just what, exactly, had his best friend done this time? Gojo’s antics always seemed to leave Geto cleaning up the aftermath, but this—this was something else entirely.

Just as he promised, there is a carriage waiting for you outside of the servants’ quarters. With heavy bags in hand and an even heavier heart, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with reluctant resolve. The irony of the moment doesn’t escape you, a sense of déjà vu washing over you, as though life had played this scene out countless times before.

You turn sharply, your bleary eyes meeting the calm, hazel gaze of someone you hadn’t expected to see.

“Nanami?” you breathe, disbelief coloring your tone.

He inclines his head in a polite nod. “Forgive the intrusion, but I insist on accompanying you,” he says, his voice as composed as ever. “The roads beyond the palace can be dangerous, especially for someone traveling alone.”

For a moment, you simply stare, caught between gratitude and confusion. The warmth in your chest battles against the ache that lingers from your earlier ordeal. “And what of the emperor?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Would he not throw a fit in your absence?”

Nanami lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. “Perhaps,” he admits, adjusting the luggage in his hands with ease. “But he was never one to share, was he?”

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rockingbytheseaside · 7 months ago

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✦ How you have contrasting personalities but they drop everything for you anyway

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche (separate)

They say love can change anyone, but you have yet to agree with this statement. You never wanted anyone to alter themselves for you, especially if that someone is your beloved. Instead, you always believed that people should stay true to themselves while maintaining mutual love and adoration for each other. And that's how you and your beloved were - contrasting in looks, attitudes, and habits. Yet it made your beloved cherish you all the more, even if it caused unsuspecting passers to raise eyebrows in shock… Maybe it's because your beloved is actually a dreaded Fatui Harbinger, and people didn't expect him to be head over heels whenever you’re in the same room. But what can you say? He always was a softie for you.

✧ Pierro doesn’t attend public gatherings. Period. Ask any of the high-rank Harbingers and they would tell you how lucky it would be if he were even present for a Harbinger’s inauguration, like when Arlecchino was declared 4th or when Tartaglia received his Delusion. Nevertheless, it is clear that The Jester does not squander his time with social events or benign pleasantries; he’s present only on important occasions.

If you can define what’s important in his book, that is.

An example being was a certain Fatui party. It is not uncommon for the Regrator to organize lavish evenings, especially in recognition if a Harbinger obtained a gnosis, or if another significant mission was masterfully accomplished. The grander was the task, the bigger the event would be. Of course, Pierro never attends those either.

During one of those organized events - you, of all people, decided to come. Dressed in your finest, glittering lotus flower silk and white silver adorned your figure while you timidly stood amongst the high nobles of Snezhnaya. Your presence was not an unwelcome sight, but you did not strive to bring attention to you either. Expensive parties with Fatui diplomats and Snezhnayan aristocrats were not your usual cup of tea.

Your presence did not bring awning gasps, but Pierro’s did.

Unannounced, the Director arrived at this sudden party, bringing hushed murmurs amongst the crowds of subordinates and colleagues. Likewise, he wore his most exquisite suit, a mantle-like cape flowing elegantly over his broad shoulders. Before guests and attendees could greet his arrival, The Jester marched straight ahead, not bothering to gaze at whoever tried to initiate conversation.

No, the man’s attention was focused straight at you, as he passed through everyone and swiftly approached you. With an outstretched hand, a knowing gaze was cast upon you, as he spoke:

“If I may,” - he brought the back of your hand closer to his lips “Would you honor me with a dance?”

You obliged. Now everyone in the gala was gaping at you two with grandiloquent murmurs.

“My most cherished, why did you not warn me you’d attend the ball?” - The Jester whispered to your ear, his gloved hand intertwined with yours as the two of you waltzed elegantly.

“Well, I just thought it would be futile to bother you. You usually hate such occasions.” - you muttered back, overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting his icy gaze; a gaze that only looked at you in tender love and yearning.

“Then may I inquire on why you decided to attend this one? You avoid them as well.”

“Okay, just please don’t laugh,” - you whispered. As Pierro kept a hand on your waist, he danced with you across the ballroom, using his broad form to shield you from the unwelcoming gazes of the guests. “You gifted me this fancy attire that I kept hiding in my closet for many months… I simply didn’t have a reason to wear it. So I forced myself to go out just so I could have the excuse of wearing something nice. U-um, that’s it.”

“And that’s it, love?”

“...Yeah,” - you nodded defeatedly “Also because I didn’t want to busy you from work.”

“Oh, my most beloved.” - The Director emitted a hushed chuckle as you two conversed and danced, making sure his words were heard only by you. “I can make all your attires gala-worthy if you so desire. You do not need to be coy, ask and I shall accompany you on any grand occasion."

Thus, the jester may not attend social events, as he only frequents important ones - the ones you're in, that is. As he whisked you away with a dance and a dip, he kept his hand delicate around you to escape the company of noisy guests who wished to bother you two. But what would be a ball with his lips gently grazing your cheeks at the end of each dance, telling you:

“Besides, I cannot allow other attendees to assume you are available, now can I? Not while you look so stunning tonight.”

✧ When Il Capitano was first spotted with you during workout practice, people didn’t even fathom you were his beloved, the only person equal to the Captain. The two of you were simply so… opposite. The Harbinger was big and imposing, while you were smaller and approachable; which isn’t even a fair comparison, because Capitano just towers over anyone. Everyone looks small next to him!

Nevertheless, when Capitano had his usual daily practicum along with his rumored significant other, some Fatui soldiers tried to sneak glimpses. Yet what a jarring spectacle it was to see the immovable, assertive Harbinger dismiss his commanding tone in favor of being patient and attentive.

“My dear, you’ve already run a set of laps and tried to outbeat me during pushup exercises. You are putting too much strain on your ankles after your previous training. We should-”

“No, we can still go for another round! Fight me!”

“But, my love-”

“Fight me!!!”

Anyway, the fight abruptly subsided. Not because you lost, but because Capitano swiftly lifted you into his arms the instant you launched yourself onto him, consequently refusing to put you down. Therefore, you find yourself being carried by your partner's muscled arms while your feet dangle.

“Aw man, not fair…” - you mumbled, settling to rest on Capitano's forearms. “It's not even a duel if you're just lifting me like a toddler. Set me down, Cappy!”

“It’s an effective tactic, one that easily neutralizes a hotheaded opponent like yourself.” - Capitano explained calmly. In reality, his body moved with pride as he held onto you securely, as if you were his prized reward for today's training.

The captain set you down, his armored hands trailing down to your leg, sending a tingling graze onto your skin. And indeed, his punctilious gaze spotted how you tried to hide a limp when exercising.

“You sprained your ankle,” - Capitano stated.

“Listen, it's not a big deal. Just a strain, I had worse happen.”

You tried to defend yourself, but The Harbinger already expected your excuses. The man knew better than to argue with you, and instead settled on removing your footwear and gently checking on your injury.

“This is no condition to continue training, my dear. If I let you continue, you'd stubbornly reach Celestia with bloodied knuckles and broken limbs.”

“Yeah! And you bet I'd win!’” - you retorted brightly. At the sight of your confident smile, Capitano chuckled deeply, his pitch-black helmet pressing into your forehead with tender motion.

“I am certain you will, my love. You'll drag The Heavenly Principles by the ear, and have them weeping by your gaze alone. But now, we should get you to rest and apply some ice to your ankle. Shall I carry you?”

You sighed deeply, having no option but to let your beloved's experienced hands help you with your soreness. “Oh well… fine.”

Capitano's training could wait. There was a more crucial matter at hand, literally. With his massive yet calm form carrying you away, your gaze remained fierce but forbearing.

If some Fatui soldiers witnessed today's event, they'd have to conceal their inconspicuous glances and smiles. After all, the sight of Il Capitano being the big, loving teddy-bear, while you being a menacing gremlin was undoubtedly shock-inducing.

Nonetheless, who else is worthy of being carried by the 1st Fatui Harbinger and pampered by him? Only you, of course.

✧ Il Dottore is a destructive, stern man. Hunched over the examination table, his gloved hands were tainted in blood while his jaw clenched in aggravation. His hours of working in the lab easily make him irritated, and this irritation further increases whenever certain scientific experiments do not bear fruit. A tense air of suspension was now lingering in his lab; a sign of an upcoming violent outburst.

“Lord Harbinger…” - one of Dottore's lab assistants began, trying to muster the courage to speak without shaking. “This experiment requires another round of testing, w-we might need to start over,”

The Doctor remained still, but the dangerous clutch of the scalpel in his hand didn't go unnoticed. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear?”

He straightened his shoulders, his masked expression gleaming with malice and murderous intent with each syllable hissed.

“I have given you one simple task. Bring me the results. If this experiment is not completed by tomorrow at the earliest, I will have to remind you how brittle, and puny your useless bones can be-”

Suddenly, the lab door slams open. From the heavy metal doorway, a hasty but familiar person quietly saunters in, unknowingly saving the poor soul that was about to be Dottore's next target. Of course, the person in question is - you.

“Dottore?” A small murmur escaped you. You stepped closer to Dottore and tugged at his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I can't sleep…”

An abrupt silence settled in the lab.

The unnerving tension of the lab was diverted as if a switch was flipped in Dottore's brain. The man swiftly set his scalpel aside, discarded his bloody gloves, and turned into a softer tone when talking to you.

“Hm, is it so late already? I apologize dear, time must've slipped past me. Do you want me to brew us some tea and join you in bed?”

“Yes, please… Chamomile. if you're not busy, of course.” - you nodded, a tender smile settling on your face.

The sight was fascinating. The eccentric, mad scientist was instantly replaced by a doting partner, who would lower himself to kneel before you and put his hands on your shoulders as if all his lab work and blood-stained messes were already forgotten. Dottore's assistants were indeed quite baffled when you entered the lab. But what was more confusing is that the sudden change of attitude was so drastic, that they all froze in silence and subordination. The poor, unfortunate underlings; one minute dealing with their Lord Harbinger's harsh demeanor, and the other witnessing him hugging you and gazing at you like a lovesick puppy.

“Perhaps it’s time to wind down for today. I was about to finish for today, anyway. I'll make your tea as you like it and accompany you in bed, dearest.” - Dottore's hand gently rested on your back, as he leisurely ushered you to leave with him.

“And as for the experiments,” - just before the Harbinger could leave with you in his arms, he sent an ominous glance towards his assistants, one that even through a mask portrayed lethal resolve - “deal with it.”

Oh well. Someone is staying overtime in the lab. That's how The Doctor was with his work - cruel and unattached. However, unbeknownst to people, when he's back with you in bed, that man is clinging to you throughout the night, groaning about his research while burying his head against your chest. His face takes refuge against the warmth of your body, arms encircling you in a needy embrace around your torso.

Sometimes, he just needs a good squeeze from you when you cuddle him, that's all.

✧ A day cannot be concluded if there wasn’t a single instance where Scaramouche’s grumbles weren’t accompanied by your bright grins. Scaramouche has a reputation for his sour disposition whenever he is discontented, that much is known. What isn't known is that the only person who tolerates his cynicism is someone as bright and cheerful as you. Like two sides of the same coin.

“Hmph, Pathetic. Just because some flowers are blooming doesn’t mean it requires a whole festival to be commemorated for.”

“Oh, come on, Scara. You accompany me to every Hanami event.” - you smiled back in response to the Harbinger’s scoffs, but the 6th crossed his arms.

“They are no different each year. Same cherry blossoms, same food stalls you drool over.”

“But Scara…! The Dango!”

That’s how the two of you wind up in a narrow cobble street, protected under the soft shadows of cherry blossom, while cascading pink petals gently fall around you. Well, that is how you wind up here, while Scaramouche was naturally dragged by you. Arms linked with one another, the Puppeteer kept his iconic look of displeasure, a huge contrast to your joyous one. One would assume The Harbinger could easily flee your torment and make you scram, but on the contrary:

He is the one who makes sure your hand is intertwined with his, says “To keep you from running away like a child in a crowd”.

He is the one running his thumb over your skin, his hand squeezes yours, and says “Don’t get too excited over the food stalls.”

He is the one rushing with you to find a good secluded spot, away from the crowd, while his hand pulls you closer by the waist, and says “It’s too loud. Here, stay closer.”

And of course, he is the one buying your favorite Hanami Dango and says “You asked for it so you better enjoy it. And make sure to chew it properly - dango is sticky.”

For someone who underlines his disapproval vocally, he sure pampers you with no objection about your interests. You’d muse and tease, saying that it was his way of enjoying flower viewing without saying it. However, before you could utter the words, a strong gust of spring wind blew past the street, sending a plethora of flower petals blowing into everyone’s faces. You shielded your eyes, whereas Scaramouche gently tugged at his ichimegasa hat, pulling you closer to further shield you.

“See? I told you this yearly custom is a nuance.” - he lamented, but his words came out more as a murmur than a groan, perhaps because he held you directly in his proximity. Your faces were closer, and the veil of his hat served as concealment from any public eyes.

You’d smile. He sure complained a lot, and Scaramouche didn’t like sweet deserts like you did. But whenever the opportunity arose, he’d make sure he had you under the veil of his hat, pressed flush by the hip to him. And if he was lucky, he might taste the sweetness of Dango through your lips instead.

Listen, I'm a sucker for fluff, okay?

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foreverdolly · 10 months ago

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part I 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. (needs to be edited, so please excuse any temporary errors!)

word count: 5.3k

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The ancient walls of Castle Caladan were a fortress, the long winding halls a labyrinth to those unfamiliar with its layout. You had tried feigning sleep when you had been made aware of the surprise guest’s arrival, a one ��reverend mother”- as your mother referred to her. The cool air from the hallway nipped at your exposed arm, which currently hung limply over the side of the bed.

“She’s even smaller than your son, Jessica.” The voice sounded more like a wheeze- and it certainly didn’t belong to anyone you had ever met before.

“As I’ve already said, the Atreides are slow to grow.” Your mother’s tone didn’t hold even a semblance of a bite to it, not like you expected. She was usually fiercely protective of you and your brother.

Your finger twitched, causing the woman to stifle whatever disapproving comment she was about to make. Being caught eavesdropping like this certainly wasn’t ideal, but you found it impossible not to be curious.

“She really is just like her brother,” More like he was more like you. You’d always been the rowdy one of the two. Paul must have been listening in as well, and you imagined that he was more insulted at the comments of his lack of height and muscle than you were. “The little rascals.”

There was a beat of silence before the woman began to crone again. This time you opened your eyes just a sliver, staring into the dark abyss of your room so that you could make out the shapes of your mother and the stranger.

“Rest now. Both you and your brother need to be prepared to meet my Gom Jabbar.” The reason couldn’t be pinpointed, but there was something about her tone that filled you with dread.

Your mother woke you up the next morning, bright and early.

Not even the breathing exercises that your mother had taught you had been able to calm you down last night. The darkness had swallowed you whole, which resulted in a dreamless sleep that left you feeling just as unrested as you had felt the night before. Your mother noticed your hesitations, the skirts of her dress dragging against the stone floor as she moved in the direction of your closet. The dress that she picked out for you was one of your more official garments, the red hawk of the Atreides crest proudly sewn onto the right breast.

“Did you sleep well?” She questioned as she laid the dress neatly onto the edge of the bed, urging you to stand once her hands were free.

You blinked at her, nervously brushing your hands along the soft cotton of your nightdress. Your voice felt stuck in your throat, but you still managed to lie.

“Yes, of course.” Your tone was flat, and for once she didn’t question you on the reasoning. She knew exactly what had you feeling so uncomfortable in your own home.

Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar.

What exactly did the old woman want from your family? Lady Jessica was a Bene Gesserit, which could only mean that this woman was a higher up, sent to pay you and your brother a visit. You knew nothing about any “coming of age” rituals.

Paul barged into the room, dressed in his finer clothes as well. He leaned against the wall of your room, lips pursed as if he was deep in thought. You tilted your head to the side, leveling him a worried glance. He simply shook his head, and you knew at once that he wasn’t trying to dismiss your worries.

‘Not here. Later.’ His expression told you, and for once you obeyed.

“The reverend mother is waiting on the both of you. Paul, get out of your sister’s room so she can get ready.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for whining or disobedience.

He groaned, pushing himself off of the wall so that he could head back out and into the hall. You shrugged out of your dress quickly at the hurried insistence of your mother, allowing her to do up the clasps of the dress for you.

“Who is she?” You asked simply, brushing your hair to the side so that she could get a better grasp of the dress.

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school and now she is the Emperor’s Truthsayer.” Your mother sighed out your name, turning you quickly so that you were facing her. “You need to do exactly as she says. There is no room to be prideful today, do you understand?” Her eyes were pleading, and you knew that she had your best interests in mind.

You and your mother walked wordlessly out into the hall, catching up with your brother who was busy running his fingers along the uneven stone walls. You flashed a quick look at your mother before jogging to catch up with Paul, taking the hem of his sleeve into your hand.

“What do you know?” You whispered, turning your head so that you could look at your mother. Much to your surprise she seemed to be in no hurry to separate the two of you.

“I’ve had dreams about her before,” He whispered, and you had to pick up your pace to keep up with his strides. “And mother told me this morning that I have to tell her about my visions.”

Your mouth went a bit dry at the realization that this woman truly was here just for you and your brother. What is the Gom Jabbar and what did it entail? There was no telling.

“She’s in my morning room, you two.” She called out after you.

Jessica caught up, leveling the both of you a disapproving motherly look that had the two of you slowing your strides to match hers. She seemed a bit hesitant, eyes flickering between you and your brother and the closed door.

The “reverend mother” sat in one of the tapestried chairs, her arms perched on either side of the armrests as she watched the three of you come in. The view behind her was beautiful, the sprawling, green farmlands of the Atreides family holding on full display through the large windows behind her. You glanced at your brother, eyes widening when you realized that he was already looking at you. He bowed in her direction and you followed his lead.

“They are a cautious bundle, aren’t they?” The witch-like woman croaked, looking between the two of you.

“As they have been taught, your reverence.”

In this room, here in front of this woman, Jessica was no longer the Duke’s concubine nor your mother. She was reduced to that of a pupil in the face of her teacher. You kept yourself from fidgeting, clasping your hands in front of you. You fought the urge to reach out and grab your brother’s hand, as the two of you so often did when faced with anxiety as children. Fear hadn’t regressed you to that of a blubbering child in years.

Your mother also seemed to fear the woman before her. There was something in her tone that led you to believe that whatever she was here for, it surely wasn’t a pleasantry. Your brother was tense at your mother’s other side, jaw tense as he stared the reverend mother down.

“Teaching is one thing, but there are some things that cannot simply be taught,” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and as if she was dismissing a servant of the castle, she waved your mother off with a flick of her wrist. “You and your daughter leave us. It will be her turn soon.”

For the first time that morning your mother hesitated, eyes softened as she looked upon her son.

“Your reverence, I-” She began, but was cut off before she could finish whatever it is she was going to say. Surely it was meant to be an objection.

“Jessica, you know that this must be done.” Her voice held a tone of finality. There was no room for your mother to try and wiggle the both of you two out of this trap.

“Yes. . . of course.” Your mother straightened, turning towards both of you.

“This test. . . It’s very important to me, you two.” She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes still fearful.

“Test?” The two of you questioned at the same time, looking at one another in concern. You were confused, even more so than you were before.

“Remember that you’re the duke’s son.” And with that your mother was grabbing your arm, pulling you in the direction of the door.

“I suppose that it is my turn?” Your voice shook with anger as you practically tore the door off of its hinges, anxious to take your brother’s place. His cries and whimpers did not go unheard, even with the thick wood separating the two of you.

Looking at him now, his right arm still shaking from the pain, was like being slapped across the face.

“Right you are, girl. Jessica, please escort your son out of the room.” There was a silvery glint in her bright eyes- a challenge. She could sense it in you.

Your mother didn’t interrupt this time, and without any words exchanged the door closed. Your brother was too shaken up by whatever had taken place in that room to fully comprehend that the same thing was going to happen to you. He tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder at you just before the heavy doors closed. The sound of it echoed around the room, pulsing in your chest as you tried to steady the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Your future. . . do you know what is expected of you?”

You eyed the black box that sat next to her as you began closing the distance between the two of you. The question she had asked. . . it was a touchy subject with you. Of course you knew. A day didn’t go by that you weren’t mortified by the prospect of your future. You only had three short years to live and enjoy before you would be forced to abandon your family to join hands with another one.

“Of course I do. It is my duty to marry.” Your voice had a bite to it, your eyes unwavering as you stared her veiled face down.

“It is your duty to marry a Harkonnen. It is an honor to be the only reason that these two great Houses are allies. Your heirs will be powerful beyond comprehension.” The way she spoke. . . she truly believed the shit she was spouting.

It was impossible to consider marrying Feyd an honor. It was an ever-present looming threat.

“Put your right hand in the box.” She commanded, nodding her head in it’s direction.

It seemed harmless enough, nothing more than a metal box. You bent your head ever-so-slightly, trying to have a look inside. It appeared to be a pitch black, endless void. No beginning or end in sight.

You did as you were told, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from muttering anything too disrespectful under your breath. If Paul’s screams were anything to go off of then this was going to be painful. Still, you were shocked by how cold the box was. You wiggled your fingers a few times, feeling the metal encasing them. Slowly a tingling sensation began, almost as if they were falling asleep.

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.”

The tingling sensation somehow melded into. . . heat. No, not heat. Burning. It felt as though you had your hand held up to a bright flame. You flinched, but froze when you finally noticed that the reverend mother was holding something against your neck. Your eyes flickered the best that they could to her hand, not wanting to turn your head.

“What I hold at your neck is the Gom Jabbar. The tip of the needle is dipped in poison. Remove your hand from the box and I will plunge it into your neck.”

The palm of your free hand began to sweat, the gravity of the situation finally landing on your shoulders. You would be forced to endure the pain and there was nothing that anyone outside of the doors could do. No guards had come to protect your brother when it was his turn, and no matter how emotional your mother had gotten whilst hearing his screams she still hadn’t rushed in after him. You could truly die here in this room.

“Why are you doing this?” You urged, wincing again as the burning continued to worsen.

Now it felt as though you were almost touching a flame, fingers dancing dangerously close. It wasn’t just uncomfortable now but painful. “To determine if you’re human. Now be silent.”

Meant for greatness, yet stifled before her prime.

It was impossible for your clipped wings to take flight. The Bene Gesserit had instilled in you your purpose from a very young age, letting it be known that you were little more than cattle to be sold off to breed. The whole arrangement was dehumanizing, but this was the way of galactic high society. Every House had been developed by the close, watchful eye of the Bene Gesserit. Your mere existence was a result of a centuries long breeding program, so how could you ever expect for your own life to be any different?

Every child, especially in their naive youth, dreams of greatness. There was a point in time where you had hoped to mean something. There were differences to be made, rules to be broken, wars to be raged- but you would never be at the helm of any of it. But Paul. . . Paul was different.

“You know something that I don’t.” You weren’t asking Paul, rather telling him what you already knew.

Where you were used to your brother pulling no punches, he had been overly cautious with his treatment of you during training today. For a second he just stared ahead blankly at the wall, and you wondered whether he would try to lie. The older you’ve gotten, the stranger other people’s treatment of you has become. Women were little more than something to be owned. It was a hard lesson to learn and was one you were still grappling with.

Your femininity were the chains that bound you. And what of your ambition? It was currently acting as the flames licking at your boot heels. Soon you feared that it would fully engulf you; become your undoing.

“Tell me.” Your lovely features crumpled, and as childish as it was you found yourself giving his arm a slap.

He jumped at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he turned to face you after what felt like an eternity of prolonged silence between the two of you. The hard flooring felt cool beneath your legs as you stretched them out beneath you, and for a second you found it hard to keep yourself up in a sitting position. The world felt unsteady beneath you, both literally and figuratively.

Paul didn’t have to say anything at all. You looked, you saw, you felt, you understood. Your shared connection had nothing to do with your genes, rather it had to do with your likeness. Two bodies, two minds, but one soul. Your twin’s features crumpled, mirroring that of your own as he pushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.

“So there is nothing I can do? My fate is sealed.” Your lips felt numb as you spoke.

Your brother’s visions were more frequent than they had ever been before. “Horrors”, he’d described them.

“If there was something I could do. . .” He started, turning quickly to face you, tucking one leg beneath himself. “My hands are tied. Mother and father’s hands are as well.”

Hiding you away or knowingly allowing you to escape your duties would be seen as an act of treason. You’d be putting your parents and their status in danger, and no matter how desperate you were to get out of any sort of marriage pact, it was far too late. Since the very moment you were conceived, this was what you were meant for.

“When will the orders come down, you think?” You pulled your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly.

You wished that you could stay like this forever, protected from the rest of the world. If only you hadn’t been born as twins at all. You wanted so badly to be like Paul.

But the galaxy didn’t work like that. You were not fortunate enough to get what you wanted.

“Soon.”

You felt comforted by the hand that he placed on your shoulder, and even more so when he kept it there until you felt as though you were able to stand up.

You were to marry into House Harkonnen. That was your purpose; to unite the feuding houses and birth powerful offspring. You had met Feyd once before, but only for a fleeting moment. It hadn’t been awkward- no, back then the two of you hadn’t cared enough to pay any mind to the looming threat that was your betrothal. You’d been too young back then to fully grasp the severity of the situation.

You remembered being shocked by his size. He towered over Paul, appearing to be years older than he really was. His hair had been dark back then, thick and slightly curly.

He had only just been taken under his uncle’s wing at the time. The environment of Giedi Prime had yet to fully sink into the young boy. The Harkonnen’s looks had always been startling to you, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to it. They were dark creatures, brooding, hairless with skin as pale as milk- not to mention violent.

The desperate way that Paul had clung to you was not lost on you. You let him squeeze you as tightly as he needed, your arms locking around his back. This meeting would change everything. In a matter of moments your life as you knew it would be taking a drastic turn, and not for the better.

You’d made that very same trek to the parlor room a million times. This was your ancestral home- had been in your family longer than you thought was conceivable, and yet this felt new to you. Wrong. The shadows from the windows were casting strange lights on the wall beside you, and your footsteps sounded muffled in your ears as your pounding heart nearly deafened you. Your father’s hand brushed against your palm a few times, his attempt at showing you physical comfort without causing any sort of scene. You knew that this was Feyd-Rautha’s right.

You were Feyd-Rautha’s right. That simple fact alone was enough to send you reeling, that morning's breakfast churning in your stomach.

“It will be fine.” Your mother’s fingers shaped the words at her side, a comforting and silent presence.

Your parents had always protected you. They had taught you well in all aspects of life. She was right. You had to trust yourself just as much as you trusted them. This will be fine. You will survive.

But god, you wanted to live.

Your worst fear was being locked up like a caged animal, only taken out to be played with or paraded around. You didn’t want to be somebody's little wife; you were no homemaker or bed warmer.

‘I am better than this.’ You thought to yourself, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

As the double doors began creeping open, you felt the sudden urge to run the opposite direction, your parents be damned. The feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely become deadly if you were to turn your back on the promise now, and that was the only thing that steeled your feet. You stood, back straight and hands clasped tightly at your front.

You looked to be a pillar of strength, but oh- you were so close to crumbling. Your father took a step past the threshold, eyes hard as he bowed his head respectfully in the Baron’s direction. There was still time to turn around. The door was right there, and you were sure that you could commandeer a ship. You’d piloted a few times before in your life, and while you weren’t the best, you were certain you could get yourself the hell off of Caladan. You shuffled your feet, eyes wide as you looked up and caught your mother’s gaze. Her lips were parted, and you could tell that she was trying to decipher your expression.

“What are you doing?” Her hand moved quickly at her side, the flowy gauze-like material of her skirts hiding her frantic movements from the visitor’s view.

Nothing. You were doing nothing. There were no options yet. If you fled then the insubordination would fall back on your parents. If you downright refused then the outcome would be the same. There was nothing you could do but keep your mouth shut and try not to show the Harkonnen even a semblance of vulnerability.

Disdain rolled off of you in waves as you breezed into the parlor, eyes locked on the side of your father’s face as he conversed with the baron. Tensions were high, even now. No pleasantries were being exchanged, that you were sure of. The Harkonnen’s stark black attire was a startling contrast to their pale skin. There, in the middle of two other men, whom you were sure were present for reasons of protection, was Feyd.

He looked the same as the rest of them. Hairless, blue eyes dripping with something that could only be described as malice. Gone was the curly haired child that you remembered. In his place stood someone unrecognizable to you. You wanted to question what the Baron had done to Feyd, but you already knew. Perfection was expected on Geidi Prime.

He had shaped Feyd into the very likeness of perfection. The once dark haired boy was now a walking, talking machine; not even a dead leaf echo of the boy you met all those years ago.

You tried to map out every single one of his microexpressions, searching desperately for any sign that he might disapprove of the predicament the both of you had found yourselves in. He tilted his head to the side, observing you with a horrifying level of concentration. The Baron began to speak, saying something that you didn’t care enough to listen to. You were too distracted by the terrifying man before you.

“She will come back home to Geidi Prime with us. No objections, correct?”

You were marrying him out of an obligation, this he was already privy to. He had seen the reluctance written plain across your face as you’d entered the room. You’d wanted to run. Away from him, away from your responsibilities- and he could not blame you for it. His understanding stopped there though, simply because this proposal wasn’t going against his own wishes.

“The wedding isn’t taking place for another week.” The Duke didn’t seem to like the idea of his unwed daughter leaving his side.

Feyd fought back a smile, having known that the Baron’s sudden request would have this effect on the Atreides family. He watched you squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, your hand moving at your hip. For a second he thought that you might be tugging at the seam of your dress, writing it off as nothing but a nervous tick- but then he saw the way your mother’s eyes followed those movements.

The two of you were communicating.

“That may be so, however I think that it is only right that your daughter,” Baron Vladimir motioned in your direction. “Becomes better acquainted with Feyd. You don’t agree?”

His uncle decided that it was best to test the boundaries of this alliance. He was pushing the Duke, seeing how far he could get. Leto’s lips twitched, his eyes flickering thoughtfully towards you. Feyd was finding it hard to pay attention to anyone else other than you in the room. He’d spent years imagining what you would look like as an adult- dreamt about it. He’d eagerly been awaiting this moment, counting the days that he could finally be reunited with you.

It wasn’t just because he had been promised powerful heirs. It was the thought that someone was fated to marry him. Since before he was even conceived, you had always been promised to him. That idea had been put into his head since childhood. You were the constant topic in his mind, a person that was unavoidably meant to be in his life for the rest of his days.

In a strange way he had loved you since he was but a child.

Seeing you for that first time had been better than he had anticipated. You were a beautiful little girl, but now? The child that he had met all those years ago did not hold a candle to the grace and brilliance of the woman that stood before him. Nobody else could ever compare. You didn’t have to fall for him right now, he was content with that. Hell, you didn’t even have to tolerate him. He would find pleasure in wearing you down. He was going to make you love him.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The adrenaline had run its way out of your system, leaving you cold and alone on a planet that was so incredibly alien to you, you weren’t sure how you’d ever be expected to adjust. Even the oxygen felt different in your lungs- the sweet, acrid smell of chemicals tinging the air around you. It was nothing like your home on Caladan. Your home was a stone castle, but this? This was a cold, black fortress.

You weren’t sure if it was meant to keep people out. . . or in.

You thought back to that fateful day with the reverend mother.

You couldn’t chew your leg off to be free of this. No, you had to lay in wait. Only then could you strike if the situation called for it.

“Striking” could wait until tomorrow though. For now you wanted to rid yourself of the anxiety. Sleep was the only cure you could think of.

“Is the room to your liking?” That husky voice of his was already grating on your nerves.

Feyd had only attempted to speak to you a few times and already you were sick and tired of his presence. He was a constant reminder that you would never know what it was like to be free. Then again, was anybody in the galaxy truly free? Feyd sure seemed to be carefree in his current position.

His tone felt off, like he was toying with you.

“I would be far more pleased about my new living quarters if you were to leave.” You said simply, pulling the slate gray blanket up and over your chin.

You weren’t sure if it was due to his ill-breeding, but he didn’t seem to care that you were in nothing but your night dress. He walked into the room in long-legged strikes, letting the door shut behind him. Never before had the two of you been alone together, not since you were children at least. If you were back in your family home you would feel safer during a moment like this.

You were in his territory now, meaning he had full reign over everything. Your father and family name couldn’t protect you on Geidi Prime.

“You’re in quite the rush to be rid of me,” He didn’t falter for even a second as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the plush mattress with a small sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you didn’t like me.” He didn’t seem upset at the notion of you disliking him. In fact, there was a glint in his eyes. That same sort of silvery glint you’d seen in the reverend mother’s eyes all those years ago: a challenge.

This was nothing but a challenge to him. You were a conquest, and you detested that. Your stomach soured, your face becoming pinched as you glared at him. This was all too much too fast. You were in the comfort of your own home not even four hours ago, and now you were expected to make small talk with the source of your life-long discontent.

“And what of your concubines? Could you not pester them tonight and give me a moment's peace?”

“I dismissed them from their duties, permanently, weeks ago.” He said simply, his fingers running along the cotton of the comforter.

“What?” You’d never heard of such a thing.

“Spending time with them would be a waste.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet your eyes. “Acquiring concubines had just been a show of status.”

It took you a few moments to process what he was saying, the burning hatred you had felt just moments ago flickering out into a dull flame.

“Why would spending time with them be a waste? Am I expected to spend that much time with you?” A horror, truly. You had hoped that you’d be able to get away with spending a night or two a week with him, if only to achieve the Bene Gesserit’s goal of siring an heir.

“A waste of time. A waste of seed,” He looked at you pointedly, his lip pulling up into a smile that revealed more of his black teeth. “And both of those things are important to me.”

Your stomach hollowed out as you were once again reminded of what was expected of you. You had a week to prepare mentally for your wedding night, which you weren’t sure was enough.

“And what happened to the concubines? Are they still being housed here?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” He was smiling even wider than he was before.

A shiver ran through you as you noticed how predatory his body language was- you felt like prey under his haughty gaze. It was hard to believe that Feyd had been administered the Gom Jabbar test and passed.

This man was no human. He was an animal, that you were certain.

“Wickedly.” Your tone was flat and noncommittal. Even now, you never saw Feyd as a potential lover.

The man that was your so-called “destiny” was also your jailer.

“Well then you’ll be happy to know that they no longer live here. . . or anywhere, for that matter.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch his broad muscles.

The blood drained from your face as you stared up at him from your spot on the bed. He must have felt the weight of your gaze and turned his head, his eyes alight with. . . pleasure. Violence was as ingrained in him as breathing was. It was his life. Standing before you was the prince of death- pale, striking and terrifying.

Animal, indeed.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

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A/N: this chapter was plot heavy, I know, however it was crucial to give you guys some background information so that I can better build tension. the beautiful dividers were created by @ kitsunecafe!

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months ago

Text

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you.

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough.

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes.

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement.

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment.

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them.

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up.

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you.

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie.

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can.

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks.

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy.

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft.

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly.

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait.

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest.

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back.

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow.

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly.

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.”

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you.

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features.

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table.

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness.

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum.

Spencer doesn’t respond.

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy.

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks.

You do it again.

Another squeak.

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can.

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won.

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding.

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one.

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile.

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you.

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously.

“You’d be surprised.”

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him.

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you.

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago.

But you don’t bring those up.

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth.

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face.

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?”

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently.

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that.

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine

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harrysfolklore · 1 year ago

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tom blyth being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation

this was inspired by @astranva’s famous blurbs, love you and miss you novs <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

It seemed like the entire world was crushing on the same man: Tom Blyth

Unfortunately for those who watched The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and came out of the theater in love with the man who played Coriolanus Snow, he was happily taken and loved to talk about his girlfriend any chance he got, which lead to fans making several compilations about the times he was a simp over his girl.

The most popular video was a 10 minute and 33 seconds compilation, which had around 445k views.

It started with Tom's interview with Good Morning America to talk about Billy the Kid, the interviewer asking about how he prepared for the role.

"It was during the pandemic, like any actor during that time I was just hoping that the world came back to normal so I could start making a cent," everyone in the set laughed at this, "I was living with my girlfriend YN in a barn house and we were like chopping wood every morning and visiting my friend's ranch. So when I got the part I kinda felt like I was ready for it."

"Your girlfriend, you say," one of the interviewers said making Tom smile right away, "Did she help you prepare for the role too?

"Of course she did, she's my biggest supporter ever."

The video moved to show some behind the scenes of Songbirds and Snakes footage, Tom dressed in his peacekeeper costume and dancing around while Rachel recorded him.

"See this moves?" he got closer to the camera, "I used them to charm my girlfriend."

"And I doubt they worked." Rachel laughed behind the camera.

"She loves me so I'm pretty sure they did."

The next thing shown was Tom sitting next to Hunter as they did an interview for Rolling Stone, the crew just asked about their thoughts on Olivia Rodrigo's single for the movie.

"I love Olivia Rodrigo," Hunter cheerfully said, throwing her arms up to the air, "The new album is so good."

"I'm a big fan as well," Tom joined in, "My girlfriend YN, she's obsessed with her, plays her songs all the time."

"Just so everyone knows, YN is like the coolest person ever," Hunter said, making Tom smile, "She brought us snacks on set so many times, such an angel."

"She's the best."

The following footage was Tom and Rachel's rapid-fire questions with Vogue.

"Can you guess where this is from?" Rachel asked holding up a card that showed a zoomed in picture of a suit.

"That's my Prada suit from the London premiere," Tom asked confidently, Rachel confirming that he was correct, "My girlfriend YN loved that suit, that's why It's one of my favorites."

"Oh I miss YN."

"So do I, so do I."

Next clip was Tom's interview Stephen Colbert, who just asked him if he was a fan of the books growing up.

"I was such a huge fan, I grew up watching the films. My mom and sister used to go to opening weekends to see the movies," the audience cheered at that, "Actually, for my third date with my girlfriend I took her to see the last movie, so getting to play a young president Snow is a real honor."

The video quickly moved to show the lat clip, one of Tom's interviews at the London premiere of the movie.

"Are you here on your own? No date?" The interviewer said once Tom finished answering the previous question.

"I'm here with my girlfriend, actually," his face beamed as he spoke, "She's probably somewhere taking selfies with Hunter, those two are like best friends."

"Is she close to your cast mates?" the interviewer asked again.

"Definitely, they try to steal her from me and I can't blame them, she's the best."

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ghostfacd · 1 year ago

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MR. AND MS. SNOW | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. where you’re one of the main characters for the ballad of songbirds and snakes and fans ship you with your co-star, tom blyth!

part two ~ part three

ynuser snow would be so boygenius cottage girl core if he wasn’t crazy!

tagged @/tomblyth, @/rachelzegler

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tomblyth boygenius what now?

user1 YES QUEEN INTRODUCE HIM TO BOYGENIUS

user2 she’s so unserious i love her hello

rachelzegler if only he wasn’t crazy 😔

iloveyn miss girl saying this as if she wasn’t his literal girlfriend and as crazy as him in the movie

➥ ynuser afraid you ate me up with that one 💔

➥ iloveyn OMG HI

tomblyth thanksgiving

view all comments

ynuser 🦃🦃

user3 hi bae

user4 are those.. yn’s hands.. in 3rd pic

➥ user5 WAIIIIT CAUSE…

yndaily miss yn in her new video with vogue! here are all the times yn mentioned tom blyth (you’re welcome) 🤭

view comments

user6 girly was mentioning tom like 100 times in this video

user7 imma be sick

user8 if they’re not inlove i dont even know what they are

user9 they’re INLOVE YOUR HONOR

iloveyn HIM CALLING HER? HER TELLING US THAT HE TRIED CHEERING HER UP AFTER SEEING HER IN TEARS?

user10 yn avocot try not to mention tom blyth challenge failed

ilovetomblyth they never beating the dating allegations

ynsboyfriendreal who is this white man of the month and why is he with my gf

➥ iloveyn LMAOO REALL

tomblyth well, the jig is up! mr and ms. snow. dating this beautiful girl not only in the ballad of the songbirds and snakes but also irl (p.s yes, it was me calling her during the interview! sorry love!)

tagged @/ynuser

view all comments

user11 “love” im crying

user12 siri remind me to book a therapy appointment

user13 time to listen to phoebe bridgers and cry. a LOT.

ynuser “jig is up” you old man

➥ tomblyth well u love this old man

➥ user14 OH MY GOD???

rachelzegler finally! no more secrets!

user16 everyone going insane over this is so real

user17 casually drops bomb like rebels did at arena

➥ user18 SICKKK😭😭😭

#coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #Coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fluff #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games

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tsukiflwr · 4 months ago

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ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 .ᐟ ENHA REACTING TO YOU SUDDENLY STUFFING YOUR FACE IN THEIR NECK

𝓅airing ∿ maknae line! enha x f!reader ᰔ 𝒽eadcanons ; fluff, established relationship 𝓌: skinship, kissing?, pet names 𐙚 𝓌c 811 ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓇oro's note. tysm for all the love on the first part omg!! enha my loves >.<﹒ ꒰ 𝓁ibrary ꒱ + 𝒽yung ver ᰔ

KIM SUNOO

“ahh what are yo-” sunoo cut himself off when he broke out into a fit of giggles, finding the feeling of your breathing hitting his neck ticklish. you hold back your own laughter and try to move closer to your boyfriend who was moving away from your touch, the blanket draped over the two of you moving with him. “stop moving” you whined playfully as you tighten your hold on his waist trying to keep him close.

“I can't help it, it tickles” sunoo laughs, giving you a triumphant smile as he detangled himself from your hold, your arms dramatically flopping down on your bed. “just say you don't want to cuddle me” you pouted dramatically as you moved to lay on your back, looking up at sunoo who was now sitting up and looking down at you with a smile.

“wow and people say I'm dramatic,” your boyfriend teased you, adjusting his position so he could lay down on his side facing you, not ready to leave the bed and go on with his morning. He opened his arms for you “c’mere cuddle bug” he chuckled at how fast you moved to cuddle back into his side, this time you were careful not to tickle him. sunoo wrapped his arms around you in a hug, pulling you closer to him, mumbling into your hair as he felt you yawn against his neck “ahh cute”

rest of the maknae line members below >.< !!

YANG JUNGWON

“do you think you are close enough?” jungwon teased you once you settled in his side, your body flush against his. your boyfriend wasn't surprised by your sudden touchiness, he knew you all too well and he could tell by the eyes you were giving him for the past ten minutes meant something, so he continued to look for a movie for the two of you to watch. your nose rubbed against his neck as you nodded gently, your hum sending chills down his neck “mmhm you smell nice”

“thanks, i used your body wash” as soon as those words left your boyfriend's lips you were quick to remove your face from his neck and sit up on your elbow, looking at him with an incredulous look. he looked away from the tv when he felt move away, giving you an innocent smile once he noticed the look on your face. “what? you should be honored that I want to smell like you” jungwon smiled sweetly as he pulled you back down, this time you laid on your stomach with your feet in the air.

“stop trying to sweet talk your way out of this” you narrowed your eyes at him as you poked his chest, a cute noise leaving him at the feeling. jungwon took your hand in his and rested it on his chest, caressing your hand with his fingers as he gave you a flirty smirk “we both know you love it when i sweet talk you” your roll your eyes and let out a loud groan of disgust at your boyfriend's poor excuse at trying to flirt. you rested your head down against his chest, hiding your flustered smile from him. jungwon laughed and held you closer, an identical smile gracing his lips.

NISHIMURA NI-KI

“oh – uh are you okay?” he awkwardly chuckled, a red hue on his cheeks at your unexpected touch, his fingers freezing on his switch, the last thing on his mind now was his game. you mistook his awkwardness for him being uncomfortable, so you quickly let go of his arm that you were holding and retracted your face from his neck, mumbling shyly “sorry, i just wanted to be close to you” he quickly found himself missing your touch and warmth that came with it.

“wait no come back” ni-ki rushes out as he drops his switch on the bed and pulls you back against him, eager to have you back in his arms, this time moving to lay on his side as his arms hold you flush against his chest. your eyes widen slightly at the sudden and quick movement, but you find yourself just as quickly relaxing in his arms. he tangled his legs with yours, a shy blush decorating his from having you so close, he muttered deeply “and don't ever apologize for that”

“okay” you whispered with a smile, your eyes fluttering close as you snuggled your face into his clavicle. you slipped your hand under his shirt, softly scratching at his back. he let out a pleased hum at the feeling, his own eyes closing “i guess i could get used to this” you missed the teasing lovesick smile on his lips, and pulled away to look at him with a raised eyebrow and a playful pout, repeating his last words “you guess?” ni-ki chuckled and leaned down to place a lingering soft kiss on your forehead “definitely”

𝓇oro's note. I will have a enha taglist, so send in an ask or comment if you would like to be added, or to my perm taglist!! i am so excited for my journey on this new account ☺️ this was glitching so muchh in my drafts so I hope it looks better when I post it!! so I’m posting the links down here just in case if the don’t work on top!! ᰔ ꒰ nav ꒱

𝓁ibrary + 𝒽yung ver

likes, reblogs, comments and feedback are heavily encouraged !

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entitled-fangirl · 4 months ago

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Flames in snow.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Summary: the reader and Jace go to Winterfell to gain the support of the North. Cregan is not the same little boy they met all those years ago. But his son is quite similar to his father: his hair, his eyes, his love for the reader.

A/n: based on an ask! also... part 2 in the future?

Masterlist

..................................................

"Prince, Princess," Cregan acknowledged as the Valeryon siblings entered the Hall.

Jace grinned, his sister trailing behind him.

Cregan had not seen the family in what felt like eons, when they were small children. Now, they were adults.

Though life had been cruel to them, it did not show.

"Lord Stark," Jace said in a cheery notion. "I thank you for your hospitality. We are most grateful that you have housed our dragons."

Cregan nodded, stepping to them. "The honor is mine. It is not often that the future of the realm steps through Winterfell's threshold."

Cregan didn't miss the way the young woman's brow quirked up at his choice of words.

"We come in the name of Queen Rhaenyra," Jace clarified, not bothering with small talk again. "The rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

Cregan looked confused, and Y/n finally spoke up.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen II has usurped our mother's throne."

"And you are asking me if I will help fight your war, Princess?" Cregan quirked.

She nodded.

"Let us not discuss such heavy matters while the dragon riders remain weary. Rest, and we will discuss further on the morrow."

…

The Princess walked the long halls of Winterfell, exploring it herself as the sun began to set.

She paused her steps when she heard a small cry.

Though she was no mother, instinct kicked in, and she began to locate where it was coming from.

And she found it.

On the floor of the corridor was a young boy, not older than four. He sat and cried, the smallest bit of blood running from his knee.

She moved to him, lowering herself to the ground, "Let me see."

The boy looked up with puffy eyes, letting the woman help.

A servant rounded the corner, her eyes widening at the sight, "Princess, please… allow me-"

"-That is quite alright. I have it handled." She declined politely. She turned back to the boy, "And what is your name?"

The boy sniffled, "R…Rickon."

Rickon.

She'd heard that name before.

In her studies from childhood.

Rickon Stark, the past Lord of Winterfell.

This was Cregan's son.

She let out a breath, "Oh… that's… that's a lovely name. My name is Y/n."

She helped the boy stand and the two walked slowly to the boy's chambers.

"Am I going to lose my leg?" He asked with a sniffle.

"Heavens, no. It takes much worse to best a Stark. Do you believe a mere scrape would take down your father?"

He shook his head, "Papa is strong." He gained a sudden enthusiasm, "One time, he fought a wolf! And… and he took his sword," he mimicked the motion, "and he drove it through its heart!" He looked back up to her. "Have you ever done that?"

She shook her head, "I can't say I have. I don't have a sword."

"Oh, yeah." He said glumly. "You're a girl."

She tilted her head, "Well… I may not have a sword, but I have my own weapon." She paused dramatically, "I have a dragon!"

The boy's eyes lit up, "A dragon?! Papa does not have a dragon."

"Only children with dragon blood get a dragon. You, young Stark, have wolf blood in you. That's something of importance as well."

Finally at his chambers, he slumped in one of the chairs, "But it's not like a dragon."

"No," she countered. "But if everyone had the same blood, what would make each of us special?" She grinned as she kneeled in front of his chair. "You know, dragon blood gets quite cold up here. Do you get cold, Little Lord Stark?"

He frowned and shook his head.

"Exactly. Wolf blood does not get as chilled."

"Is your dragon here?"

She nodded.

"Can I meet him?"

"Her, sweet boy. Silverwing is a girl."

"Can I meet her?"

She tilted her head, "Maybe before I leave. Until then, let me clean you up and put you to bed."

So caught up in the conversation, he had forgotten his little scrape entirely.

…

"Might I be curious enough to ask why the Princess is roaming the castle at so late of an hour?" Came a voice.

She jumped, turning to see Lord Stark standing with a small grin on his face. "Pardon me. It's not my place to wander."

"It's quite alright. My home is yours for as long as you'll have it."

She nodded, unsure of what to say to the man.

"You've grown," he finally said.

A soft giggle escaped her throat. "We are not children anymore, my lord. I'm afraid we'll never be."

"Aye. But I dare say that is not a bad thing." He tried to hide the way his eyes flit over her frame. His body naturally stepped towards her.

"I… I was quite saddened to hear of the loss of your wife."

Cregan nodded, taking another step. "I know. You wrote me. Remember?"

A warm smile came across her face. "I'm starting to. I do not remember what I said-"

"- 'May there be warmth in the cold, and flames in snow. May you be bundled in comfort anywhere you go. If not, I will ride with my dragon high, to bring it myself when the time is nigh.' "

Her smile faltered a bit, "You remember that so clearly?"

Cregan's felt his heart jolt. "I've always remembered you clearly."

An involuntary breath left her throat.

The two stared at one another, an obvious tension coming over them.

"I… I shall return to my chambers," she finally whispered.

Cregan snapped from his trance and nodded, backing away from her, "Aye. Sleep well, Princess."

"Good night."

…

Things seemed to repeat themselves, because she found Rickon again in that same hall as before.

"Lord Rickon?"

Rickon's head turned and his face lit up.

Y/n sat next to him, looking at what he had to play with.

It was wooden horses, through beaten from its time in the little boy's hands, they were carefully carved.

Someone made them with care.

"Might I play with you?" She asked nicely.

A horse was thrusted into her hand.

"Papa does not play with me. He does not want to," Rickon finally said.

"That's not true, boy," she tried to reason. "Your father is just… needed by many people."

"I need him."

She felt a pain in her chest at the boy's honesty.

She understood the feeling very well.

"One day, little lord, you will be just as needed as him, and you will understand. Until then, I'm afraid there's little to help ease the pain."

"You help."

A noise almost escaped her throat. "Yes, but… I am not here forever."

The young boy sighed.

"I wish you could be."

…

The three stood around a table, trying to come to an agreement on an alliance.

"I have troubles of the other side of the Wall to consider, my prince. I cannot afford to turn my back to it with winter approaching."

Jace sighed, "What good would guarding the Wall do if there is nothing to protect?"

"Jace," Y/n butted in, "Be reasonable."

Jace turned to her, "Sister, the queen needs an army."

"So does the Warden. He knows his people's needs better than us."

"Thank you, Princess," Cregan offers. His gaze stays on her for a second too long. "I have 2,000 graybeards at your disposal. They've seen far too many winters."

"And you'll not march with them?" Jace asked in frustration.

"I will stay until the time is right," Cregan countered.

"Stay with Rickon, you mean?" Y/n asked softly. "You're staying behind for him, yes?"

Cregan's eyes mixed with confusion and surprise. "You…"

She flushed. "Perhaps that was too forward of me, my lord. Forgive me."

"No, you…" his eyes softened, as well as his voice. "You are the one he has been discussing so gleefully?"

The confusion shifts to her, "I'm sorry?"

"Rickon, he," Cregan lets out a soft scoff. "He has been completely enamored with someone. I didn't know who it was, I assumed a servant."

Jace turns to her, "What is he speaking of?"

"I have indeed interacted with the boy, but it has not been that life changing for him surely-"

"-My Princess, Rickon speaks of no one but you."

Rickon ran through the doors, going straight to Cregan.

Cregan abandoned the table to catch his son, raising him up in the air, "Good morning, my boy."

Rickon giggled and squirmed in his father's hold.

Cregan let him down and ruffled his hair, "Go on, Rickon. Your papa has business he must discuss."

"You will not play with me?" Rickon pouted.

The tough lord of Winterfell let out a soft breath. "Forgive me, son. Not this morning."

Rickon's eyes flit to her, and they brighten, "Will you play with me?"

"Son, that is the princess you speak to. She has little time for such things."

"No, my lord," she interrupted. "I'd… I'd quite like the change of scenery. This talk to war is getting to my head. Perhaps chats of horses will be better."

Rickon's eyes light up, and he quickly grabs her hand and drags her from the room to play.

Jace is left in bewilderment. "I had no idea."

"Neither did I."

…

A few hours later, Cregan came to collect the two.

He found them in the courtyard.

"Rickon!" He called out.

The boy's head shot up and he gathered his things and ran to his father.

Cregan ran a hand through Rickon's hair, noting the way the princess watched the interaction from afar. "Go wash up."

Rickon went to move, then paused.

"Can princesses live in Winterfell, Papa?"

Cregan froze. "Why do you ask, boy?"

"The princess should live here."

Cregan smiled, "You like to play with her that much?"

"She's my favorite." And with that, Rickon went into the castle.

The princess stood, seeing Rickon leave and Cregan approach. "My lord."

"Please, princess. I would prefer you call me by my name."

"Yes, my lord."

He tilted his head.

"Cregan."

He grinned at her correction, "Much better."

Her gaze moved downwards towards the object in her hand.

Cregan followed and his breath hitched.

One of Rickon's horses.

"He ran off before I could return it," she admitted.

Her fingers ran over the mane of it, and Cregan felt a fire ignite within him, but he pushed it down to speak. "There is time to return it."

"You carved it."

Cregan's head tilted, "What?"

She held it up, "You carved this. Surely you did."

He reached up and took it from her, sucking in a breath with their fingers brushed. He studied the beat up toy, as if recalling a memory. "Aye. I did."

"It's beautiful work," she commented. "You've always… been gifted."

He felt his ears turn a shade of pink. "I thank you, Princess."

When silence fell over the two, Cregan continued. "When I leave Rickon, and I journey to the Wall, I whittle these little things. It gives me something to do, and in turn, gives him a reason to want me home."

"He wants you home regardless."

Something in him broke.

"I know."

She placed her hand over his. "You're doing the right thing."

"Then why is it so damn difficult?"

She wasn't sure what to say to that.

But she didn't miss the way his fingers shook under hers, and his eyes taking her in as if something had dawned on him.

…

The two had avoided one another after that, only speaking when necessary.

But it all came to a close on their last day in Winterfell.

"I have a final proposition, Prince Jacaerys."

Jace's head shot up, "Name it."

"I remain Warden, the North keeps its independence as is…"

Jace was on the edge of his seat. "And?"

Cregan smiled. "I have the princess's hand."

Y/n's shoulders stiffened from beside her brother. "W…What?"

"I want your hand, Princess."

Jace was just as confused. "You… You've not stated these intentions before."

"I understand that, but that does not mean they were not there. She would make a beautiful Lady Stark."

"Cregan," she reasoned. "I could not possibly-"

"-These are my conditions." He said it persistently.

"Cregan, this is my sister we speak of, do not-"

"-Jace. Let me speak with Lord Stark."

Jace looked between the two, then excused himself.

When the door was closed, she began to speak. "What are you doing?"

"I am being sincere, my princess. I want you as my wife."

And sincere he was. Hope shone in his eyes as he looked to her. She gave a hinted smile, "And you're sure?"

His eyes shone brightly. "I've never been more sure of something in my life. You bring a light to my boy, and you're a light to me."

"Cregan, this war-"

"-You will fight with your mother, as you wish, and return to me in Winterfell when the time is right."

She studied him for a while, making him sweat despite the constant chill of his home.

"I'm happy to marry you, Cregan. For our houses. For your son," she paused to take a breath. "For you."

A wide smile spread across his face. "You've done me a great service."

"It is not service to me," she smiled. "It is not a duty or sacrifice. It is what I want."

"Rickon shall be overjoyed."

"I'd rather you be the overjoyed one in this moment."

Cregan grinned again and moved to her, wrapping his arms around her. His voice lowered, "Trust me, I am." He paused, "You've come through on your promise, you know."

She tilted her head to look at him, "And what is that?"

" 'Flames in snow,' " he grinned as his lips brushed against hers, "You've brought me comfort in multitudes."

......................................

A/n: I have some good ideas for part 2

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

#fanfiction #cregan stark x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #cregan stark x y/n #house of the dragon #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x targaryen reader #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #hotd x you

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wolfiihoney · 4 months ago

Text

Nanami is the type of husband who… ᧔࿔᧓

︶︶⊹ ୨ I love writing about nanami ୧ ⊹︶︶

Part 2 of my “the type of husband who” series.

Unedited, srry loves <3

Nanami is the type of husband who refuses to text you and will call you just because you texted a simple "hi."

Nanami is the type of husband who makes sure to learn how to perfect your favorite coffee or tea, so when you wake up in the morning it’s already there waiting for you.

Namami is the type of husband who can communicate his feelings VERY well and will help you with yours.

Namami is the type of husband who always yearned for marriage so when he got it, it became somewhat of a badge of honor. (Gojo also got him a “The Best Husband Ever” shirt for a wedding gift because he knew Kento wanted to be a husband and Nanami wears it as a bedtime shirt😭).

Nanami is the type of husband who doesn’t show public affection, but he will hold your hand with the occasional little back rub.

Nanami is the type of husband who wants babies and a lot of them. He always knew deep down that he wanted little ones running around but pushed the thought away because of his job (that’s until he met you).

Nanami is the type of husband who loves nicknames and rarely calls you by your real name. He prefers "darling" and "love".

Nanami is the type of husband who likes to wake up early but hates waking you up early because he knows how much you love to sleep, so he’ll just lay in bed watching you sleep, rubbing your hair. (He’s a super, loving man).

Nanami is the type of husband who works way too hard and needs a vacation every so often. he always lets you pick the destination though. (he took you to Malaysia for the honeymoon of course).

Nanami is the type of husband who LOVES to cuddle and will randomly grab a book and your hand to go out and cuddle in the big hammock in your backyard (just imagine that seriously).

Nanami is the type of husband who loves giving you what you want and struggles to say no. Do you want those nasty chips that have too much red food dye? Go grab a bag baby. Want to spend all night watching princess movies and eating candy? He’ll go fetch the blankets.

Nanami is the type of husband who adores the colder seasons and will randomly come home with 4 bags of fall decor (he’s so wholesome).

Nanami is the type of husband who is oblivious to how adorable he is. he does the cutest things throughout the whole day and when you bring it to his attention he’s just like “Oh”.

Nanami is the type of husband who you will hear in the next room bragging about how “smart and amazing ” you are, You'll randomly hear him say “My wife made the most lovely bread today” to one of his co workers.

Nanami is the type of husband who gets shy when his students ask to see a picture of you because they can’t believe he actually got married. (he shows them a thousand pictures of you lol).

Nanami is the type of husband who loves back scratches. He doesn’t like to expect anything from you but he will expect back scratches.

Nanami is the type of husband who holds your legs up so he can vacuum under where your legs are (he’s way too strong).

Nanami is the type of husband who starts a little book club with just the two of you and he looks forward to it every other week.

Nanami is the type of husband who will secretly feel betrayed when you take a nice bath without him because that’s something he likes to do with you.

Nanami is the type of husband who loves to take care of you but also loves when you take care of him. (He likes being babied and you are the only person who will ever know that information)

Reblogs are definitely appreciated ♡♡♡

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nebulaafterdark · 5 months ago

Text

Marry Me

Summary : Rhaenyra’s daughter is off limits, but Aegon won’t allow her to marry anyone else. Based off this request.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Princess Y/N Velaryon is easily the most beautiful woman to grace the seven kingdoms, by all counts of every Lord and Lady.

Alicent reminds her son often, “she cannot speak. There is more to it than the King lets on and we’ve no way of knowing if the same condition will be present in her heirs.”

“Y/N has plenty to say, to those who will listen.” She does not speak with her voice, but through written word, through her eyes, her laugh and her smile.

“I’ve said no.” Alicent snaps, “it is out of the question.” She slams his chamber door shut behind her.

Still Aegon makes it a point to check in with the Princess, to be kind. Even if they cannot marry, surely they can be friends.

This day, she is nose deep in a book when Aegon spots her in the gardens. “What book is that now?” He asks.

Y/N smiles, lifting the bound pages to present the spine.

“A Tale Of Two…” He cocks his head to the side to make out the rest of the title, “Dragons.“

She nods.

“Is it any good?” Aegon wonders, taking a seat beside her in the grass.

Y/N slides the open page into his lap, pointing to a passage on the left.

“A love story,” he realizes.

Y/N stares down at her hands.

Aegon taps a finger to her chin, “you should write a book.”

She shakes her head.

“I would read it.” He tells her truthfully, taking in the full effect of her peach colored gown in the afternoon sun.

The princess returns her attention to the book pages.

————————————————————————

Some weeks later, Cregan Stark arrives from the North, on behalf of his house, to negotiate a potential alliance with the Riverlands which the King has the final say in.

Viserys hosts a feast in Stark’s honor, followed by festivities in the grand hall.

Aegon is polite enough when Cregan comes to collect wine from the table.

“I could not help but notice the Princess while you were dancing.” Stark says, making harmless conversation.

“Y/N,” Aegon smiles, fondly.

“She is beautiful.” Cregan is equally entranced, “I must speak to her.”

“She does not speak.” Aegon reaches a hand out to stop him, with a forced grin.

“To you or to anyone?” Stark continues staring at Y/N over Aegon’s head.

“To anyone,” Aegon tells him. If she did speak, it would be to him first. Not some stranger.

“Well that’s no matter.” He pats Aegon once on the shoulder, “I’m going to introduce myself.”

Aegon stares, eyes wide as Stark crosses the room to Y/N.

Taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “Cregan Stark, your grace.”

Y/N smiles, nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“This is my darling daughter, Y/N.” Rhaenyra says, proudly. Brushing dark waves behind her daughter’s ear.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” Cregan says, “I was wondering if you might like to dance.”

Y/N nods, allowing him to lead her out onto the floor.

Aegon reaches for another cup, drowning his sadness in it.

“That is a fine match.” King Viserys says, watching them from his chair.

“Indeed, Husband.” Alicent agrees.

“Mayhaps a betrothal, in time.” Rhaenyra beams at her father.

————————————————————————

Each day Stark comes to Y/N with an offer of courtship, a new way they might spend time together. He appears to her with flowers, and little gifts he’s acquired from the North. He tells stories of his homeland and the things they might do together, as Aegon plots his murder.

Squeezing his glass so forcefully at supper that night it shatters in his grasp.

“Aegon!” Viserys shouts, as the red wine bleeds onto the dinner table.

Y/N pushes away from the table, rounding the line of chairs to his side. Plucking shards of glass from his skin, with her bare hands and covering his bloody palm with the pristine white fabric of her napkin. She stares at him, expectantly.

Aegon sighs, with a shake of his head. Leaving the dinner table, quietly. Sometimes, it is best not to speak, especially when no one cares what you have to say.

————————————————————————

In the week that follows, Aegon becomes more withdrawn.

Y/N can’t help but think it is something she’s done. Mayhaps their friendship is not something that interests him any longer. Which will make it easier now that Cregan has asked for her hand.

When Alicent gathers her children to break the news that the official betrothal will be celebrated that night, Aegon nearly refuses to attend the procession.

Do they truly expect him to sit there and be merry as Y/N is given away to a near stranger?

Y/N taps her mother’s hand anxiously, before the announcement is made.

“It’s alright,” Rhaenyra assures her, “there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Y/N shakes her head.

“You must marry, sweet girl. Cregan is a good man, he will treat you well.”

Her eyes plead with her mother.

“Who then?” Rhaenyra sighs.

The woman’s gaze flits to Aegon across the room, staring at her with clenched fists.

Aegon inhales sharply, moving toward her on unsteady legs.

“Don’t you dare.” Alicent catches his arm, but it is too late.

Aegon tears his arm free, Y/N is already moving toward him. Pulled together by some invisible force, neither one can explain. “Y/N, I first wish to apologize for the distance between us as of late.”

Y/N’s eyes soften, alight with a fondness reserved only for Aegon.

“But I do not want some Stark bringing you flowers. I want to do it. I cannot stand the sight of you dancing with him when I want to dance with you. I do not begrudge you happiness but I…I love you and I’d like you to be happy with me.” Aegon drops to his knees, “marry me.”

“Aegon!” Alicent protests, only to be silenced by her husband, the king.

“Please.” Aegon says, ignoring his mother’s outburst.

Y/N tugs at his hand, until he stands. Her eyes searching his.

Aegon cups her face in his hands, chest heaving with nerves. “You will want for nothing so long as I live, I swear.”

Y/N rests her hands over his, nodding.

“Yes?” Aegon stammers, “you’ll marry me?”

Another nod and blinding smile.

He pulls her into his arms. “Thank you.”

Y/N holds him just as tightly, tapping at his back a moment later.

“What is it, my heart?” He pulls back, ever so slightly.

Y/N presses her lips to his, sealing the deal.

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon imagine

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good-chimes · 1 year ago

Text

THE DIVORCE OF THE CENTURY

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS BETWEEN GRIAN AND GOODTIMESWITHSCAR, DAY 1:

His Hon. Judge BdoubleO100: Silence in the court!

[Court is not silent]

His Hon. Judge Bdubs: Silence in the COURT! I can have you all HANGED!

[The court falls as silent as is possible with a dozen Hermits present]

Judge Bdubs: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—

Cleo: Ahem.

Judge Bdubs: WHAT?

Cleo: That’s for weddings, Bdubs. We’re not doing a wedding. In fact, if you think about it, this is about as far away from a wedding as you can get.

Judge Bdubs: Fine fine FINE. Dearly beloathed, we have all been dragged here today because SOME PEOPLE can’t get ALONG. Grian, step forward!

Grian: Do I— is this the podium for witnesses? Who built this and why did they make it out of nothing but trapdoors? So. Okay. I’m filing for divorce.

Scar: Wait, I thought I was filing for divorce.

Judge Bdubs: LET THE DEFENDANT SPEAK.

Ren: Bdubs, my man, that’s the petitioner. The court hasn’t accused Grian of any crimes.

Cleo: [darkly] Yet.

Grian: I haven’t done any crimes! I’m filing for divorce from Scar, obviously. As my lawyer will tell you—

Judge Bdubs: Do you have a lawyer?

Grian: Yes, your Honor. This is my defense lawyer Mumbo Jumbo Esq. [Waggles a hand behind his back and hisses] Mumbo!

Judge Bdubs: Mumbo’s your defense lawyer? Aren’t you supposed to have a divorce lawyer?

Mumbo: [steps forward and bows nervously] Well, I’ve never divorced anyone, but I have got a lot of experience in defending, er, mainly myself, come to think of it, and also my valuables. From Grian, as a matter of fact. So I think I’ll stick with ‘defense lawyer’ if that’s alright with the court, thank you.

Judge Bdubs: [leans aside to confer with Cleo] Is that alright with the court? Ask Joe.

[Court Scribe JoeHills confirms this is probably alright with the court]

Judge Bdubs: Good, good, next! Scar, do you have a lawyer?

Scar: Oh, absolutely. My lawyer is this cat I found outside.

Judge Bdubs: Not Jellie?

Scar: Jellie doesn’t believe we’re really divorcing and wouldn’t come.

Judge Bdubs: Is this cat a qualified divorce lawyer?

Scar: She’s a—let me look at those markings—she’s clearly a personal injury attorney.

Cleo: Have you been personally injured, Scar?

Scar: Why, thank you for asking, I have. My feelings have been very hurt!

Ren: Uh, Bdubs, maybe the court should establish some facts. Why they’re divorcing, what the court can do for them, that sort of thing.

Judge Bdubs: YES. Let’s start with the facts. Now, we all know why you and Scar got married in the first place. Don’t stand there and make that innocent face at me, Grian, I know all the secrets. You got married because Etho and I had the WEDDING OF THE CENTURY last month and you were JEALOUS—no, don’t talk, THE JUDGE IS TALKING—you were jealous of us. [aside] Bdubs and Etho had the wedding of the century, Joe, are you writing this down?

Court Scribe JoeHills: Yep, your Honor, I’ve written that down.

Grian: It wasn’t that good.

Judge Bdubs: YOU TAKE THAT BACK.

Grian: Etho had his bouquet wrapped in a Kleenex box.

Scar: [sentimentally] Don’t you listen to him, Bdubs, I thought the flower arch was lovely.

Judge Bdubs: Thank you, Scar! I—

Cleo: You can’t find in favor of Scar because he said something nice about your own wedding decorations.

Judge Bdubs: [with dignity] —was NOT going to do that. Ahem. So, you and Scar got married because you were jealous—

Grian: We didn’t! It wasn’t like that!

Judge Bdubs: —and now you want to get divorced. Why?

[At this point Petitioner Grian and Petitioner Scar, who have been studiously avoiding each other’s gazes, appear to lock eyes by accident. They both jerk away like they’ve touched a blaze rod. Grian immediately swivels to face the bench, and this scribe has to note that at normal times Grian’s stare is disconcertingly like two soulless voids looking back at you, so it’s even worse when he’s attempting a poker face. Scar becomes very interested in his cat defense lawyer and doesn’t look at Grian at all.]

Grian: The thing is, you see, this marriage was a scam from the start.

EVIDENCE #1

[Dramatization by Court Scribe from participant testimony]

One month previously, a note landed in Scar’s bedroom attached to a firework rocket with a red bow and rose. This was very romantic, or at least it would have been romantic if the rocket hadn’t lodged in the rafters and set itself and a chunk of the surrounding wall on fire, but in any case it was clearly Grian making an effort, so Scar deciphered the coordinates scribbled on the charred note and set off to find out what was going on.

They pointed to a spot in the middle of nowhere. In Scar’s long experience of Grian, this meant an equal chance that they were going to make out or he was going to get inventively murdered, but this was always a gamble worth the odds.

But when he arrived, on a green hill in a quiet spot of the server, it was neither. The top of the hill had been leveled off and covered with birch wood, on which Grian was industriously spelling out something with white wool, though Scar couldn’t make out the words from his low angle of approach. Grian stopped when he spotted Scar and launched up to meet him. His wings beat so fast they were nearly vibrating.

“Scar,” Grian said, “Scar.” His grin was one of a cat who had stolen not only the cream, but the milk, the cow, and everyone else’s cows for good measure. “Scar, I’ve had an idea.”

This was clearly a planning-a-prank type of meeting, which probably meant no making out, but Grian’s pranks were not to be missed. “I’m in,” Scar said. “Do we get fancy costumes? I want a fancy costume.”

“No, Scar, that’s not the point—wait, yes, actually.” Grian angled his wings to carve tight spirals around Scar’s coasting flight, always a sign of excitement, and nudged the angle of their joint descent to land on top of the white wool scrawls. “Yes, fancy costumes are a big part of it, but that’s not—listen, this is my big gesture. Just look down.”

Scar looked down. The wool said, WILL YOU MARR.

“I ran out of wool,” Grian said. He flapped a hand. “Just because it’s a big gesture doesn’t mean it has to be finished.”

“What was it supposed to say?” Scar said innocently.

“Scar!” Grian shifted from foot to foot when he got agitated, which was always funny. “Fine! Okay! Stand there.”

The hidden trapdoor beneath their feet gave way as Grian pressed a switch. Scar yelped for form’s sake, but nothing exploded, and the only thing at the bottom of their tumbled slide was an underground bunker.

It had a table, and two chairs, and a huge corkboard on the otherwise blank walls. Grian had always had a thing for bunkers.

“This,” Grian said, with a flourish, “is the Wedding War Room.”

Scar looked around the bunker and asked the important question. “Are you going to decorate it?”

“Am I going to—no, listen, that’s not the point either. You can decorate it, if you want. The point is, you know how Bdubs and Etho got married?”

“It was beautiful,” Scar agreed immediately. “That wedding chapel? Incredible, honestly, Bdubs is a true artist. Oh! Remember the part where Etho put a river of lava through the chapel roof and glitched it into a heart?”

“Okay, but, you know what Bdubs and Etho got?

“Eternal happiness?”

“Scar.”

“No, what?”

“Bdubs and Etho got royal diamonds,” Grian said impressively. “From the vault.”

“Are they still royal diamonds if Ren’s not king anymore?” Scar said. “I thought we blew up the vault, anyway. You blew it up. I was there.”

“Do you pay any attention to anything that’s not Scarland?” Grian said. “Mumbo didn’t know what to do with the diamonds so he and Iskall built a new vault. I think Mumbo and Iskall and Impulse are the only ones who really know how to get into it. Anyway, everyone got so warm and fuzzy about Bdubs and Etho’s wedding that they all decided to open the vault up and just gave them diamonds.”

“Free diamonds?” Scar said thoughtfully.

“Free diamonds!” Grian’s eyes glittered. “Think of that vault. Stacks on stacks on stacks of diamonds. Thousands of diamonds! We could have some of those, for nothing, just by saying some words. And that’s not even mentioning the wedding presents! We’re out here spending days and days grinding resources and stocking our shops when we could be swimming in it! That could be us, Scar.” Scar had entirely forgotten the lack of interior decorations; he always did, when Grian got on a roll as mesmerizing as this.“And so,” Grian took a deep breath and held out his hand, “Scar, will you marry me?”

Scar took his hand with an enormous wave of affection. “Grian,” he said sincerely, “I have never, in my whole life, wanted to marry anyone more.”

EVIDENCE #2

Mumbo took the news more earnestly than Grian had expected.

“Oh,” said Mumbo. “Oh, haha, wow—seriously? Scar said something and I thought it was just a joke, but you guys actually… Wow!” He cleared his throat. “Grian, mate, it’s been a long time coming. I’m so happy for you.”

“Don’t get sappy,” Grian said. “It’s just a wedding. I mean,” he clarified, “it’s a very important wedding, obviously, because it’s my wedding, but I don’t need you to get sappy about it. I don’t even need you to talk about it. I just need you to bring diamonds.”

“I didn’t even know you were going to ask him,” Mumbo said, ignoring the very clear instructions Grian had just given him. “Or did he ask you, or—mate, that’s just brilliant. This is brilliant. Is it because Bdubs and Etho had that wedding? That was really beautiful, I don’t mind saying, I got a little bit teary.”

“This has nothing to do with any weddings anyone else had,” Grian said with dignity. “Our wedding will be better, but that’s unrelated. I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came here to ask you something.” He took hold of Mumbo’s hand in the most meaningful grip he could muster. “Mumbo, we’ve been friends for years, right?”

“Of course,” Mumbo said nervously.

Grian gave it a second’s pause for the sake of drama. “Mumbo Jumbo, will you be my best man?”

“Ah,” Mumbo said, which was not what Grian had expected. “Ah. Er. Might be a problem there.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, you see, five minutes ago, Scar…”

EVIDENCE #3

<Grian> scar

<GoodTimeWithScar> yES?

<Grian> my base.

<Grian> now.

<GoodTimeWithScar> On my way

GoodTimeWithScar hit the ground too hard

<GoodTimeWithScar> oNE MINUTE

<Grian> come in the back door

GoodTimeWithScar hit the ground too hard

<GoodTimeWithScar> Was that a trap??

<Grian> mumbo is mine

<GoodTimeWithScar> No he isn’t, Mister!

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Ravager

Grian was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [HoTgUy]

<Grian> MUMBO IS MINE

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Vindicator

GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Ravager

Grian was shot by GoodTimeWithScar using [HoTgUy]

<Renthedog>: :o

GoodTimeWithScar burned to death

<Renthedog> Everything okay there, gentlemen?

<Grian> best man debate

GoodTimeWithScar was poked to death by a sweet berry bush

<Grian> all settled now

<Renthedog> wait

<EthosLab> Wait

<BdoubleO100> WAIT

<TangoTek> are you two…?

<Grian> invitations dropping tomorrow. wedding gift mandatory.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Come one, Come all!

<Grian> only diamonds will be considered real presents

<PearlescentMoon> huh

<impulseSV> omg finally! So happy for you guys!

<PearlescentMoon> be honest Grian, is this because Bdubs and Etho got married and you had to one-up them?

<Grian> NO IT IS NOT

EVIDENCE #4

The bachelor party negotiations were even more hard-fought than the best man.

They held the impromptu negotiations in the Wedding War Room, which was now covered with loving maps and hundreds of bits of paper that neither of them had read since putting them up there. They looked good, though, so Scar kept adding more.

There was a pile of paper strips on the table in front of them. Scar and Grian sat facing off like two negotiators at a ceasefire.

“Mumbo’s my best man,” Grian said, picking the first name off the pile without breaking eye contact and moving it to his side of the table, “so he comes to my party.” Scar gave in with a modicum of grace. The possibility of having bachelor parties at different times had been wordlessly considered and then summarily dismissed by both combatants.

Scar escalated it to a blood sport as he picked up the next bit of paper. “Pearl’s coming to my party.”

Grian yelped and grabbed Scar’s wrist. “She is not. I knew her first!”

“I know her better,” Scar countered. “Or at least,” he added, “I know her building style better.”

“You can’t just steal my friend because you like her building! That’s not how that works!”

“I think she’d enjoy it,” Scar said meditatively. “I’m going to have champagne. Glitter. Razzmatazz.”

“I will have more champagne,” Grian said mutinously. He hadn’t taken his hand off Scar’s wrist. “And more razzmatazz. You can’t have Pearl.”

“Oh, all right then,” Scar said, since Pearl was one of Grian’s oldest friends and he’d never had a chance of getting her anyway. Grian plucked the piece of paper out of his hand and put it on top of Mumbo’s paper. “I get Bdubs, though.”

That was a given. Grian didn’t seriously dispute it, though he opened his mouth to try. “I—yes, fine. You can have Bdubs.” Scar swept the piece of paper to his own side of the table.

“And that means,” Scar proceeded, with the grand momentum of a train starting to roll, “that I get Etho, as well.” He shuffled through the bits of paper and displayed Etho’s name like a magic trick.

He watched Grian calculate his chances of getting Etho if Bdubs was going to Scar’s party. “…okay, yeah, you get Etho.”

“Also that means I get Cleo,” Scar said. “She’ll come if Bdubs does. We don’t want to split up friends.” He drew Cleo’s name towards him, sliding another couple of slips underneath it at the same time. “Oh, and Joe as well, if Cleo’s coming.”

“What’s that other one?” Grian said suspiciously. He trapped Scar’s hand and pried out the third name. “What—no, you can’t have Ren.”

“Okay, okay, okay,�� Scar said in his most reasonable voice. “Hear me out. I have Cub, right?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I have Cub, and Bdubs, and Cleo, and Joe, so, by royal decree…”

“You can’t have Ren just because the five of you were in a royal murder cult with him!”

“Excuse me, mister, that wasn’t a cult. That was the royal court!”

“It was too a cult,” said Grian, a man who had once persuaded Ren into living in camper vans in the woods with him for weeks in order to break into a military base and steal a magic box.

Ren’s name was already safely on Scar’s side of the table. “And if I have Ren, then I have to have Doc—”

“Look, Scar, if you get all of Bdubs’ current and former exes—”

“—what’s a ‘current ex’—”

“—Etho and don’t interrupt me, if you get everyone Bdubs has ever had a relationship plus their plus ones you get ninety percent of our friends.”

“Is it my fault I throw good parties?” Scar protested. “Look, you can have—”

“I’m having Impulse,” Grian interrupted, pulling his name out. “I need more redstoners.”

“What for?”

Grian waved a hand. “You just need them around.” Scar nodded, unable to find a flaw in the logic. “Also I get Joel. And Martyn. And Timmy.”

“I built Jimmy a train,” Scar objected. He put his fingertips on the other end of Jimmy’s name while Grian attempted to steal it.

“All right, this is the ‘disputed’ pile,” Grian said, pushing it to the side. “Who else?”

Now they had a disputed pile, it started filling up. “If I have Cleo,” Scar said, “then technically I should have Scott—”

“You can’t keep using that trick!”

“Then how are we going to fix it, Grian?” Scar’s tone was eminently reasonable. “I think we should just let people be friends.”

“They are friends,” Grian said. “They’re friends with me.”

“They could be friends with me.”

“Tell you what,” Grian said, a warlike gleam coming into his eyes. “We’ll ask them.”

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Bdubs: So that’s how the split started?

Cleo: You weren’t even married at that point.

Grian: Right! Exactly! We weren’t even married and Scar used underhand methods to steal my friends!

Scar: Excuse me. You went around the server threatening everyone who you didn’t think was coming to your party. Talk about underhand methods! I just offered them a good time.

Grian: Your bribed them! You bribed them to come to your bachelor party! [stabs a finger at Judge Bdubs] You even bribed him, so I don’t know why we put him in charge of this divorce.

Judge Bdubs: Nobody is allowed to question the integrity of the judge! I am as PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

Scar: That’s a good point. I gave you netherite, Bdubs, you should be ruling in my favor.

Judge Bdubs: You gave me ONE netherite ingot, I’m not giving you a ruling for that.

Scar: Grian, I think this judge is biased.

Judge Bdubs: HOW DARE YOU.

Grian: Scar is right, this judge is corrupt! I can’t believe we were forced into this farce of a trial and the judge is corrupt! Joe, I demand a new judge.

[Court Scribe JoeHills indicates that he is pretty sure this whole divorce trial was Grian’s idea in the first place, and also that judges cannot usually be replaced just like that, and the Court Scribe personally does not have a reserve list]

Judge Bdubs: I refuse to SIT HERE and be SLANDERED! You’re both guilty! [slams gavel] TAKE THEM TO THE DUNGEONS.

[Court Scribe JoeHills confirms that the petitioners have not actually been accused of anything—despite obviously having committed many crimes, Cleo would like to me to record—so cannot be found guilty, and in any case we don’t have any dungeons]

Judge Bdubs: Fine! I give up! CLEO, YOU’RE THE JUDGE NOW.

Judge Cleo: Wait, am I?

[Judge Bdubs forcibly transfers the judicial wig to Cleo, upon which the snakes in her hair make a spirited attempt to eat it.]

Scar: Can we get on with it?

Judge Cleo: Yes, you can shut up. You can all shut up! Thank you. That’s better. Are you sure you two can’t just settle it out of court so we can all go home?

Grian: No, we can’t. Me and Scar have [checks his notes] undergone an irreparable breakdown.

Scar: Sure, we might have had an eruptable breakdown, but you can’t say it was my fault. I tried to make it work. I built us a honeymoon island! It had palm trees and deckchairs and everything. I’m coming here in good faith and I deserve to be the innocent party.

Grian: I want all the diamonds Scar has.

Judge Cleo: Joe, is he allowed to ask for that?

[Court Scribe diligently references the law summary he found on the internet, suggests that at this stage the judge can grant temporary financial orders on petitioner request]

Grian: Fine, I want half of Scar’s diamonds.

Scar: I need all my diamonds for Scarland materials!

Grian: They’re not your diamonds! They’re my diamonds!

Scar: Then I get half of all your dark prismarine, thank you very much, that will be amazingly useful.

Grian: You’re not touching my dark prismarine! I’ll sell it all if you try!

Judge Cleo: Nobody is touching anyone else’s anything! Ren, stop laughing, this is a serious courtroom. Grian, you’re not allowed to sell your dark prismarine. Scar, you’re not allowed to hide any of your diamonds. Everyone is going to keep things exactly as they are until this trial is done.

Grian: Do you trust him? Look at him, look at his face, would you trust that man? Of course you wouldn’t! All the diamonds should stay in my base while we’re having the trial.

Scar: This is outrageous! This is an outrageous demand! You can’t just question a man’s honor like that!

Judge Cleo: Well, put them somewhere safe. Joe can keep them.

Grian: [grudgingly] I suppose we could put them in the Royal Vault.

Judge Cleo: You want to put your valuables in escrow?

Scar: I don’t see what birds have to do with it.

[Short pause while the concept of ‘escrow’ is explained to both petitioners]

Scar: Well, I’ll do it, but I think Grian should put all his resources in nestcrow. Seeing as it’s all his fault.

Grian: I did everything right! I was the perfect groom!

Judge Cleo: You know, Grian, somehow I have my doubts. Go back to your marriage testimony. What happened next?

EVIDENCE #5

“Ahem,” said Mumbo. “Ahem.”

Grian rolled his eyes, jumped up on a table, decided that wasn’t good enough, flew up and perched on the light fitting, and yelled, “Everyone! It’s happening! The best man is speaking!”

Silence fell.

“I was actually going to announce you,” Mumbo said. He cleared his throat. “All right! So! This… is a bachelor party!”

The bachelor party–all three of them–looked at each other.

“Woohoo!” said Iskall.

“Party time!” tried Pearl gamely.

“I was promised champagne,” said Scott, who had been lured through the portal with one bribe only.

“There will be champagne,” said Mumbo. “As best man, it is my job to plan the bachelor party, and to plan a party that is… appropriate, and thoughtful, and informed by my long friendship with Grian, so,” he coughed, “if everyone could check the boxes under their chairs for supplies, we do have an event. Sort of thing. Kind of a party game.”

“Er,” said Pearl, checking under her chair. “This is… quite a lot of...”

Iskall started to giggle.

“Seriously, I was promised champagne,” said Scott.

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that,” Mumbo said. “First, we’re going to sneak into the other party and blow them all up.”

“...so many ender crystals…” whispered Pearl.

“Look how they sparkle!” said Iskall.

“What about the—”

“And! When they’re all dead,” said Mumbo, “we can take their champagne.”

Grian flew down from the light fitting and landed in front of Mumbo. His eyes were shining. He took Mumbo’s hands in his. “Mumbo,” he breathed. “I’ve changed my mind. Can I marry you instead?”

“Er,” said Mumbo. “No?”

“Did you even order any refreshments?” said Scott.

“Listen,” Mumbo said, “it’s Grian’s party, we were going to end up doing this anyway, and it’ll be fun.”

“Dibs on blowing up Scar!” said Grian.

“We understand, Grian,” said Pearl.

“I suppose that’s sort of romantic?” said Scott in an undertone. “You’d think he’d have more trauma about it, after all the–”

“This is going to be so funny,” Grian said, scooping up handfuls of ender crystals. “Best–best man–ever.”

EVIDENCE #6

The actual wedding was a subdued affair.

The wedding venue had just about survived, by virtue of being several hundred blocks away from either bachelor party, though the smoking craters were visible in the background. From the front, the building was a charming mansion with flowers in every window. From every other angle it might be a gray shell, but Grian was a very busy person who was getting married and he couldn’t be expected to get to everything.

On the morning of the wedding, when Grian finally pieced himself together and dragged himself back from respawn he was met by the two Best Man candidates: Mumbo, who was sitting on the step of the venue dismally trying to piece his scorched suit back together, and Cub, who was completely unruffled and appeared to be doing a crossword.

“Oh, Grian, you made it.” Mumbo abandoned his scorched hems in relief. “Some people haven’t even respawned yet. We really do need Scar, though—”

“I’m here! I’m here!” Scar, impeccably dressed in a blue morning suit, swooped in from above, trailing flowers and losing his top hat in the process. “Gosh. Nobody else made it, huh?”

“I don’t believe this,” Grian said. “None of them?”

“Weren’t you supposed to open the portal again for the Empires people?”

“I forgot,” Grian said. “But we can’t focus on that. We have to focus on the fact that at least twenty Hermits promised to come, and now they aren’t here.”

“I, um,” Mumbo said. “I take full responsibility for the original idea, but I think the seventh time you blew up Bdubs and Ren and Doc and Zedaph you did blow up all their stuff as well. And I think some people got hit so hard they won’t respawn for a week.”

“That was their fault,” Grian said. “For being in the way of my ender crystals.”

“Seven times?” Cub said.

“Oh, as if you’ve never blown up someone and all their stuff seven times and pushed their respawn into next week.”

“So, what?” Scar said. “Do we just…not have a wedding?”

Mumbo coughed. “I think you should still get married.”

“What?”

“I just think,” Mumbo gestured vaguely. “You know, your whole thing. And Jevin made you the suits and everything. It would be a shame. You could have an intimate wedding without any guests, you know. I’m just saying.”

Grian attempted to trade a skeptical look with Scar. This didn’t work, as Scar had gone faintly red and wasn’t looking at him. “An intimate wedding, you mean, right here?” Scar said. “Now? Oh, yes, of course, but you know, now I come to think about it, I don’t know I can get married.”

This smelled like weakness. “What’s wrong with marrying me?” Grian demanded. “Are you backing out?”

“No, I—I need my top hat! I can't get married without my top hat!”

“Are you scared, Scar?”

“Of course I'm not scared!” Scar said indignantly. “We’ll do it right now! Who’s marrying us? Oh—Joe’s still respawning, isn’t he? Cub, you can do it, can’t you? Cub’s an ordained priest, you know.”

“That’s right,” Cub said agreeably.

“Is he?” Grian said suspiciously. “Which religion?”

Cub’s faint smile didn’t change at all. “Don’t worry about that.”

“You don’t want to think too hard about it,” Scar said breezily. “But he’s very official! Very well-respected in the community.”

In all their planning, Grian had given no thought at all to the actual wedding. He was nearly certain that the chanting from the officiant was supposed to be pleasant and inoffensive, about, well, love and stuff, and he was also fairly sure the officiant’s eyes were not supposed to turn black as a flaming rift appeared behind him spewing an unknowable sense of dread, but at that point Scar kissed Grian thoroughly, and that lasted so long that Mumbo had to break it up after a few minutes with a polite cough, and by that time Cub had finished chanting and gone back to his crossword.

“That was very touching,” Mumbo said, apparently relieved they weren’t still kissing right in front of him. “Shame about the guests, but you can’t have everything.”

“Shocking,” Scar agreed. “Do they still have to give us presents? Maybe if we waited a week and did it again? I have to say, I could use a little more time to get the trees right on Honeymoon Island.”

“We’re not having a honeymoon, Scar, I told you,” Grian said. “This wedding is just business, and we don’t have any business without the presents.”

Mumbo was wearing the expression that Grian had always vaguely compared to an accountant breaking the bad news about something unspeakable going on in the stockmarket. “To be honest with you,” Mumbo said, “I don’t think many of them were in a present-giving mood. I think, um, you might have to write off the presents.”

“Are you telling me,” Grian said, “that this whole scheme has been a complete failure?”

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: So, let me get this straight, the plan was to scam all of us—

Scar: Scam is a strong word. More like a trade, if you think about it! A trade where we get presents and you get a warm sense of fuzziness and wellbeing.

Judge Cleo: —exactly, to scam us, and it all went wrong, and you realized the marriage was a mistake? That was weeks ago, though. What happened between that and the divorce?

EVIDENCE #7

LIST OF POST-WEDDING WRONGDOING COMMITTED BY GRIAN AND SCAR, VARIOUS (condensed from two hours of court arguments)

i. “Well, then I took some deepslate from Grian because I needed it for Scarland, which is just borrowing, if you think about it.”

ii. “Scar really owed me diamonds because it was his fault the scam didn’t work.”

iii. Lengthy descriptions of the damage from ensuing weeks-long prank war.

iv. “He should honestly have expected me to put chickens in his storage system.”

v. Evidence received from Xisuma that this lagged out the entire server.

vi. Evidence received from Grian that Scarland lags out the entire server anyway and this is probably a crime so why can’t the court do something about that.

vii. Strong representations from both sides that the other one snores and hogs the covers and this probably ought to be a crime.

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: [face down on judicial bench] Have they stopped talking yet?

Court Scribe JoeHills: No, they’re still going.

EVIDENCE #8

FURTHER LIST OF WRONGDOINGS COMMITTED BY GRIAN AND SCAR

viii. “Yes I did blow him up after that, but it’s not illegal if it’s funny.”

ix. Complicated debate about whether ensuing sabotage was funny enough not to be illegal.

x. Representations from Grian that everything is Scar’s fault with absolutely no legal backing at all.

xi. Representations from Scar, ditto, with the addition of fake law he says his cat defense attorney told him.

xii. At this point, Court Scribe JoeHills has given up attempting to make sense of the petitioners’ ongoing argument.

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 1 (CONTINUED):

Judge Cleo: Enough! ENOUGH! No! Shut up! If I have to listen to one more attempt at utterly specious reasoning from either of you I am going to pick up this gavel and I am going to drive its handle through my own skull. This is definitely both your fault, you are terrible people, and I hope you get divorced harder than anyone has ever got divorced in history.

[Mildly stunned silence in the court]

Judge Cleo: Right. Good. I am about to quit. But before I quit, because Joe asked me nicely to come here today, I am going to order one of you to serve the other with divorce papers before tomorrow. That’s the next thing on the list: one of you has to formally divorce the other. No, I am not going to hear any more arguments, I’m done with this whole thing, you can find a new judge. Yes, Scar?

Scar: [lowers his tentatively raised hand] How do we know which one divorces the other one?

Judge Cleo: [looks blank] Well… I suppose it’s who serves their papers first?

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: SCAR

Body of complaint: Grian wont accept divorce papers and keeps avoiding me.

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: GRIAN

Body of complaint: scar didn’t take a single copy of the papers despite the fact i filled his bedroom with them

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: SCAR

Body of complaint: Grian paid impulse to make a divorce paper printing redstone machine. It feels like this, should be Illegal!

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: GRIAN

Body of complaint: scar employed my best man to make him a rival printing machine. this is sabotage.

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: ZEDAPH

Body of complaint: Er, I know you’re doing a whole trial thingummy, but I would really like to be able to move around my base without swimming through mountains of divorce papers. Does it look like this is going to be possible any time in the near future?

COMPLAINT TO COURT:

Submitter of complaint: DOCM77

Body of complaint: WHY HAVE SEVENTY THOUSAND BADLY-PRINTED COPIES OF DIVORCE PAPERS BEEN SHOVELED INTO THE PERIMETER! I AM HOLDING ALL OF YOU PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE! I WILL RAIN DOWN FIRE AND BLOOD!

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 2:

Judge Mumbo: Right, so, apparently I’m supposed to be ruling on who served who with papers.

Scar: Excuse me! Objection! This new judge is clearly biased.

Grian: No, he’s not. This is all completely fine. Mumbo can be the judge now, and he can just wear a different hat when he’s being my lawyer.

Judge Mumbo: I am a bit biased, I have to admit.

Grian: No you’re not, Mumbo.

Scar: Admit it, there can’t be a fair trial for Grian under these circumstances!

Judge Mumbo: Uh—

Scar: Because I know Mumbo, and he can’t resist these…HoTgUy abs!

[Minor chaos as the court attempts to enforce a dress code]

Judge Mumbo: [removes his wig] Sorry, Grian, he’s right. Scar’s papers are accepted.

Grian: TRAITOR.

Mumbo: Scar, can I have another calendar?

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3:

Judge Ren: Court is called to order! Where’s—oh, there you are. Scar, you’re late.

Scar: Sorry! I was working on our honeymoon island.

Grian: What do you mean, our honeymoon island? Scar, we’re divorcing.

Scar: That doesn't mean you can just abandon a build, Grian. Some of us don't leave our backsides unfinished.

Cleo: Someone please get Ren a glass of water, I think he’s going to choke.

Judge Ren: Ahem. Now, gentlemen, I understand Scar is filing for divorce from Grian on the grounds of [checks his notes] desertion, abandonment, and unreasonable behavior.

Grian: Excuse me, what! If I’ve been unreasonable, what about him?

Scar: I have been a model of rationality and recti— rectic— ridiclitude.

Judge Ren: Indeed. I have heard Scar always finishes his backsides.

Grian: I’ll give you unreasonable behavior! This whole thing is your fault! If your bachelor party hadn’t been so badly defended I wouldn’t have been able to blow you all up.

Scar: Well, mister, if you hadn’t overthrown Ren in the first place he might have shown up to our wedding in spite of it!

Grian: If you’d been better at your job I wouldn’t have been ABLE to overthrow him!

Scar: You—you—oooh, I oughta—

Grian: [tauntingly] Ought to what?

Judge Ren: Scar, no, not in court…!

Scar: HOTGUY! [Retrieves bow from improbably small pocket and summarily murders his co-petitioner on the witness. Chaos ensues. Trial name hastily changed.]

TRANSCRIPT OF TRIAL PROCEEDINGS FOR THIRD-DEGREE MURDER, DAY 1:

Judge Ren: Listen, Scar, did you, or did you not, kill another petitioner right in front of me?

Scar: What? Oh, yeah, I just shot Grian.

Judge Ren: You can’t just—My dude, this might have been a crime of passion, but you understand this is a court and that was murder, right?

Cleo: Objection.

Judge Ren: Yes?

Cleo: We can’t start prosecuting for murder now.

[Pause as the court considers the comprehensive history of all Hermits present.]

TRANSCRIPT OF TRIAL PROCEEDINGS FOR THIRD-DEGREE MURDER, DAY 1

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3:

Judge Ren: [once Grian has returned from spawn] You’re going to have to come to some sort of agreement, gentlemen. It’s been days.

Grian: I think we should fight.

Judge Ren: This court does not do trial by combat. I refuse to be witness to such barbarity.

Cleo: I mean…if you think about it, it would stop them arguing.

Judge Ren: …

Judge Ren: I think I could stand to watch someone else compromise their morals. From a distance. Who wants this wig?

Judge Pearl: [settling in at the bench] Right! I think you two should fight. To the death.

Grian: LET’S FIGHT.

Judge Pearl: Riding ravagers.

Scar: What?

Judge Pearl: It would be funny.

Scar: Ravagers, though—

Grian: Don’t listen to Scar, he just murdered me. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Scar: Alright! Alright, we can fight, but I’m only doing it if it’s somewhere dramatic.

Grian: …What do you mean, dramatic?

TRANSCRIPT OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS, DAY 3 (CONTINUED):

[The court has moved proceedings from its custom-built courthouse to a location considered ‘acceptably dramatic’ by Petitioner Scar. We are now in the dim, cavernous monolith of the Royal Vault, where the walls are sheer deepslate lit only by flickering lanterns, and mountains of diamonds and chests gleam softly in the shadowed gloom. The court is gathered here to watch the petitioners fight symbolically over their own escrowed valuables, which are piled in the middle of a stone platform built by Grian and Pearl, and see a final conclusion to this bitterly-fought split. At either end of the platform are pens with two enraged ravagers donated by Tango, salivating at the buffet of violence and blood about to—]

Judge Pearl: [leans over the edge of her observation chair] Joe! What are you doing down there scribbling?

Court Scribe JoeHills: Oh, I’m just adding narrative color.

Judge Pearl: Well, stop doing that and pay attention to the fight! We’re about to start!

Bdubs: FIGHT!

Cub: Let’s go!

Mumbo: Grian, mate, you’ve got this.

Bdubs: RUN HIM THROUGH, SCAR. TEACH HIM TO MAKE FUN OF MY WEDDING DECORATIONS.

Doc: What happens if they both die? I would like them both to die.

Judge Pearl: Contestants! Mount your steeds!

Grian: [has succeeded in landing on his ravager’s back, something Scar has not yet managed] I want you to know, Scar, that whatever happens—

Judge Pearl: Scar! You can’t just stand there, you have to TRY to ride it.

Grian: —I think we can count this as a—

Bdubs: FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

Scar: [his head comes up to look at Grian] —a double victory?

[As if this is a code word, Grian and Scar’s gazes meet. The Court Scribe feels obliged to note that when Grian and Scar smile at the same time, history suggests something terrible is about to happen.]

Scar: Well, hello there, Mister Ravager! Would you like to get out of that pen?

Bdubs: Wait, what’s he—Scar, you ain’t supposed to break the wall that lets them at us! SABOTAGE!

Judge Pearl: GRIAN!

Grian: [shrieking as his ravager swerves into the crowd of spectators] Scar! The switch!

[Your trusty Court Scribe hurriedly dives out of the way as Scar flings himself into the pile of his and Grian’s valuables, where the tell-tale glint of redstone has been hidden under the piles of chests.]

Ren: Why do both of them have all those empty shulkers?

Cleo: Wait, wait, did we just give Grian and Scar unfettered access to all the diamonds in the vault?

Judge Pearl: WATCH OUT, THEY’VE HIDDEN TNT UNDER THE—

[Scar slams a switch. The world explodes. The Judge and most spectators are instantly blown up. The only survivors are your Court Scribe, who managed to get behind an obsidian pillar, and Cub, rising above the chaos on pre-equipped elytra wings with the philosophical serenity of someone who saw this coming.]

POSTSCRIPT

It’s a beautiful day, the sky is a clear and serene blue, and Grian and Scar have gotten away with everything.

Grian coasts joyfully ahead of Scar on outstretched wings, loaded down with boxes and boxes of ill-gotten diamonds, looping head-over-heels only when he can’t contain the energy bubbling through him. “We are the greatest, Scar. We are geniuses. We are the greatest geniuses who ever lived.”

“Oh, we are,” Scar agrees instantly. A lesser person might have pointed out their first plan failed spectacularly and their hasty second one only succeeded by luck, but this is why Grian married Scar specifically. Only he’s not married to Scar any more, is he? For one shining moment Grian had forgotten that.

The crater of the Royal Vault is far below and receding, the debris scattered like little jeweled toys. Grian is recalled to the present gleeful moment in which they are geniuses who have pulled the whole thing off and are richer than every other hermit put together. “Where are we going?”

“I was following you,” Scar says.

“I didn’t think this far ahead! I only planned up to the part where we stole everyone’s diamonds!”

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” Scar says confidently. “Change course to Honeymoon Island!”

Grian doesn’t have a good argument against that, and anyway, he’s too happy and diamond-dazzled to argue. Scar strikes out to the azure ocean and Grian dips into his wake and soars behind.

Scar has outdone himself, as usual. Honeymoon Island is just one long crescent-shaped beach with crystal seas, golden sands, palm trees, deck chairs, and—somehow—little iced coconut drinks that keep reappearing and each have a little paper umbrella. Naturally, Scar hasn’t thought of including a safe room for all their new valuables, so Grian has to dig out a makeshift bunker for all their ill-gotten gains, but when all that excitement is done, Grian throws himself onto a deckchair with a coconut drink and closes his eyes.

“So?” Scar says, in the expectant tone of someone who has spent three weeks fiddling with the palm trees that are currently casting an exquisitely-latticed shade over Grian’s eyelids, despite the fact they were technically divorcing all that time. “What do you think?”

“It is very pretty,” Grian admits grudgingly. “We can’t use it for a honeymoon, though. We’re divorced.”

“Are we divorced?” Scar is thoughtfully making origami out of his paper umbrella. “We did ditch them all before the trial officially finished.”

“Oh, we’re absolutely divorced. Super divorced.”

“I suppose you’re right. No honeymoon for us, then?”

An idyllic silence falls over the palm-fringed beach. The sea laps at the shining sands, creating a soft music from the shells and pebbles. The leaves rustle. This coconut drink in Grian’s hand is surprisingly good.

“Scar—”

“Hey, Grian—”

There is a pause.

“Go on,” Grian says impatiently.

“No, no, I think you should ask.”

“I asked last time!” This is ridiculous. It’s a shame Grian has been enchanted by the ridiculous for years now. “We’re probably not even talking about the same—”

Scar interrupts, which is rude, but unfortunately he’s picked his most golden and unfair voice, like the sea caressing the sand, and Grian is momentarily helpless. “Will you, Grian,” Scar says, “do me the great honor of marrying me? Again?”

Grian throws a paper umbrella at him. “Scar,” he says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

#fic #long post #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #bdoubleo100 #zombiecleo #joehills

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serpentandlily · 6 months ago

Text

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!!

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission.

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him.

She haunted him.

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court.

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed.

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had.

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today.

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence.

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to.

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days.

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry."

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again.

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too,

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend.

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond."

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you.

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half.

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too."

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued.

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself.

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway.

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her.

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that."

And it was his fault.

All of it was his fault.

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely.

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death.

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby."

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?"

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her.

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain.

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?"

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite.

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving:

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me."

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind.

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through.

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight.

You had always been far more special than you knew.

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself.

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you?

And he could never hate you.

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined.

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either.

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze.

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again."

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart.

Until all life was spilled from inside of him.

Until his final breath carried with the wind.

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar fanfic #shadowsinger x reader #Spotify

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mermervi · 20 days ago

Text

mission accomplished

✎ Leon's a certified manwhore, really. You know that, but you can be worse than him. So what's the most that can happen in a hotel room with a reputedly flirtatious womanizer like Leon after an onerous mission? ID LEON SUPREMACY.

cw: getting it in a hotel room, cunnilingus, d in p aka mating press yay, creampie, size kink size kink size kink, protection? forgotten. fem! reader, he's just silly therefore beware of the corny lines, biting, MDNI

“You wanna get dinner when this is all over?”

You couldn’t say if it was worth nipping in the bud at that juncture, but this whole little odyssey with Leon definitely starts with that very query. It wasn’t a figure of speech; you really got him down on his knees in a random hotel room.

The lavender air of the hotel room, the gunpowdery whiff, notes of old spice emanating from the tender curve of Leon’s neck, is still wreaking havoc on your brain after the shared kisses. Your legs buckle, and you’re in sackcloth and ashes, all thanks to wearing those mean machines, Jimmy Choos. But you feel sexy when you’re close to his reach, and you adore the vamp of your stilettos—the panorama of him sinking between your legs as he nudges you down on the edge of the mattress.

“Panties off, pretty.” His singsong cadence is cajoling; of course, you get the gist of it.

“Demanding, are we?” You flout, pixilated and all mawkish. Lifting your hips only slightly, you hitch up your legs and pull down the panties that have been eclipsing your love-starved pussy for hours, and with a sloppy thud, the only piece separating Leon from your lovely cunt thumps down on the linoleum floor.

“Well, now you know why I said nay to dessert at dinner.”

Such corny, coquettish platitudes only serve to draw a slumberish smile to your lips. You have no idea how men with such beautiful faces can be saddled with a palate full of sophomoric slapstick. But a dick is a dick, and something tells you that Leon won’t let you go empty-handed on this one.

“Fuck...” You tilt your head, tracing a moony arc, and your chin is high, all the while splaying your hands over the fluffy, freshly laundered sheets.

How you got here and his current vanishing in the viscosity of the caudle in your pussy is a great mystery (well, not really, except that it’s a story about two horny agents renting a hotel room on the condition that they make it safely back from their mission in China), yet you love the tender lips pressed to the plush of your juicy slit.

Leon couldn’t leave you untasted, albeit the foreplay feels superfluous. Skipping the foreplay would be a felony. It’s a rule not to skip it in cadaver: A manwhore has got to know how to eat his girl out. This is precisely why Leon Kennedy is a well-known and beloved whore in the DSO and the femdom.

He puts you in his mouth and eats you ‘til his teeth rot.

He loves it when you pull his hair—what a slut—sometimes even honoring you with groans that sizzle your ears ambrosially. In this case, Leon’s priority is to gorge on you and perhaps make you cum more than once during the course of the night. But what about himself?

Of course, by the time he pulls down the indigo jeans he’s wearing, he will already be drenched in thick globs of precum.

He has a couple of minutes to spare to reflect on that issue, as all he does in those enchanted split seconds is to lap at the dripping amrita from your hole that exudes for his benefit.

“Too fucking sweet.”

His mouth, which has been yapping non-stop since he was assigned to the assignment alongside you, is apparently very well trained at the eating-pussy phenomenon, and he can’t help himself, clawing at your thighs and pulling you into his mouth; you’re half too thunderstruck to even buck your hips closer.

His tongue is sugar-coated. Even more delish as he drifts on and on, on your pussy, maybe even romantic, no matter how many times he says he’s a typical man for your average overnight, the lies are unfolded, and he gets all the more addicted.

“Leon. I’m—’m fuck.”

You’re so out of it that you’re babbling whatever pops into your head and out of your mouth. Insidious blues lock on you when you push your eyes open, expecting to see that he’s got it, that you’ve grasped the notion of his generosity. Of course, he has to make it all about himself.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Comes between each of his licks, and you can’t muster the strength to even hold your own fucking head. His mouth heats up a beatific pulsation within you when he rises up to your face, and he puts his business on your lips. Kissing on a first date (if fucking can be excused as a reason for a first date) is idiotically discouraged, but this man isn’t going to listen to such absurd dictates when he’s drunk on your essence.

To which you are more than up for, so you sweetly reciprocate his kisses.

Thwip. Thwip.

It grates on your ears, and you know what it is. Leon hastily tugs at his belt, wary of missing a second. Free yet? Ha, it’s not in the cards. His boxer briefs are still in the way for both of you.

“I wish men wore panties too,” you bitch up, purpling your pouting lip. Leon almost lurks still. Is the absurdity of your words, the functioning of your brain catching up with his, or is Leon high on scotch and pussy?

Or are you already the pot calling the kettle black?

The possibility of the former, however, is an assumption that is fraught with misconception when you pull down Leon’s boxer ‘cause he’s already in the same boat, but with a hole in it. If the room had been bathed in those bludgeoning fluorescents, instead of the hazy dim lights, you would have seen that his boxers were more profusely soaked than your panties. Viva the dim lights... or the fact that you don’t even care how wet he is.

“What?”

The anticipatory look he gives you can only signal that he would like you to soar onto the covers.

“Legs up, roll over.”

“Nope. Missionary is for sore losers.” You mumble it in a faux, patronizing tone, and you’re a fucking liar. As nice as it sounds to track his face in missionary and stab your fingernails on his back—despite the fact that you broke two of them in the line of duty—you want to ride him more than anything else.

“Losers, huh?” Leon grabs your wrists nicely and stamps you on the bed. “Sleep with losers, you’re as good as a loser, gorgeous. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, yeah?”

Your head, sunken into the pillow, floats slowly on lint clouds. To watch him from below is like setting foot for the first time on an unearthed planet made of exploded blues. Fuck. You’re so high that the man has turned you into a slam poet.

He hoists each calf of yours and hooks your legs over the frame of his shoulders, leaving your pussy bared, and the December cold seeping in makes your insides flutter. If it weren’t for his pelvis pressing against you on the corner of the bed, you could very well trip on your ass and break a pretty serious bone.

“Keep your legs like this.” He prelects you, very laconic.

You feel so giddy when the raw head of his cock, which he rubs in the palm of his hand, slithers and mellows at your entrance as he works himself in with assiduous thrusts.

“Tight as hell,” you hear him croak, but you aren’t quite in the zone enough to pay it any mind. Your bleary eyelids are only half-lidded, if at all, not fully opaque—so that you can catch a glimpse of him over the nebula blurs on his visage under your batting eyelashes.

“Shit, baby, you can’t even take the fucking tip.” Leon’s whispers are eulogies of the lovely cunt he first got drunk on the tang of and now will drool on the tightness of. He gives a roll of his hips, but never the thing you so need—he harrows you so blatantly.

Barely you lift your hips, humble and tentative, and meet his impish prodding, but his splayed hand on your ribcage forbids you from venturing and fucking yourself on his cock any deeper. The loss of levity on your face and the line of your eyebrows knitted in frustration is absolutely delicious to behold for an asshole cheeky fuck like Leon.

“Stop trying to fuck yourself and use your words, would you?”

For no apparent reason, his voice haunts you as if you’ve heard the last announcement of your fleeing plane.

“Come on, girl. Get it out.” Leon whispers again and layers all the clouds of discord in your head one by one. Those humiliating clouds of thoughts in your head poof, pan, flake, and evaporate from your slightly ajar lips in a single cry.

“Leon. Please. Gulp. Please. Fuck me.”

Ouch. These words will always conjure up visions of shooting yourself with your own gun when the alcohol drains out of your veins in the morning, especially after these foul entreaties.

This chain of events, in which Leon has pulled a rabbit out of the hat on a night that was already in his favor, is capped off with your fuck-me-please beggary. (Propaganda even.)

“You got it, beautiful.” He nuzzles you—metaphorically speaking—with a cloying coo, albeit with an ardent clench on your hips. The purple shadows that will mark your skin for a few weeks are right in his wheelhouse.

The normal you go like, “Oh no, I can’t be such a slut overnight, and for a man? Humor me, bitch,” you’d be taking the mickey out of yourself.

Leon’s dick, however, is just divine. He’s inside you, and he’s hard, a diamond in the rough, balls buried deeply recessed.

The kisses you share are sporadic, wet, and perhaps absurdly romantic for such a ‘trivial’ night. In Leon’s mind, the blinking light bulb recalls a blaring alarm; the realization that something so good is manipulating a distorted reality comes to him in the seconds when he’s already hammering away at your cervix, but without violence.

“Fuck.” The kiss breaks abruptly, like a tape rewinding inside both your collective heads.

“The condoms.” Hits Leon square in the head, but what’s the big deal? Your legs are up, in the air, bless the yoga gods, just like the image of that chick in her heels getting knocked up by Patrick Bateman in that movie, but the guy twitching inside you is preaching condoms to you.

“Leon.”

You’re on the last rung, and his lips are saliva-lidden mess, melded with the cherry tinge of your lipstick. You really should’ve dabbed it off.

He blinks at you, and he owes it to you to correct his mistake immediately, filling you to the hilt with a lingered and deep-seated thrust.

“Leon!”

Your cry strikes him rapt, and he savors that familiar, sinful tightness around himself. So needy, he relishes the feel of you squeezing his cock. You sharply suck in the breath upon the touch of his teeth as he bites a bruise under the delicate flesh under your throat, where it smells deliciously dulcet. He’s drunk on you, drunk on the saccharine moans and whimpers that spring from your lips, and to be honest, he’s been dreaming about this the whole time.

Men grow wiser as they get older, but as Leon grew older, he indulged in one-night stands where he devoted himself to pretty, pretty women making love to him.

It’s bitter that you’re one of those women, but you still want him to use you, use you so badly and carelessly.

You don’t know how much longer your fuck-drunk head can keep up, but he knows very well that you’re getting close. He pulls back slightly, releasing your ankles and reaching between your legs with his gun-wielding hand to work his thumb on your clit. You’re so desperate for his affection, and tonight, he feels too lavish not to deprive you of that dazzling bliss.

Your moans echo in the hotel room like complaints with a hissy pitch, as this painful overstimulation will drive you mad if he persists for even one single minute longer.

“’s okay, let yourself go, cum for me, pretty.” Leon’s gruff sighs ebb and flow as he brings you back from the abyss; his pace slows and the he so randomly brushes that spongy spot inside you.

And you listen dully, your eyes almost rolling out of your sockets, but you give him what he wants.

Everything is hectic, wet, warm, extravagant, and that’s the humble reason why he keeps going. Forehead to forehead, you both wind up panting, but Leon still gets an A+ for looking good when he fucks you. Your glazed eyes are riveted on his night-blue shades of pupils in the darkness. You both know what that lock of eyes signifies.

Before you can say a word, Leon pulls his cock out of your slickly coated pussy with the most obscenely slick sound.

Something inside you frantically pleads that he should be still inside you, what a loss, but Leon takes your hand in his. He’s in need, after all.

“You’ve got this. Go on. Make me cum.”

Give his cock three or five sloppy strokes, and he cums on your stomach. Easy.

You slide your legs down; there’s no way you can hold them up any longer, and he groans when you let go of his softening cock by memory, as if you are discarding an object that is no longer of use to you. Your legs dangle over the edges of the bed, and Leon closes his eyes, if only fleetingly, to soak in the moment, his cheek buried in the crook of your neck.

Too long or too short; you don’t know how much time stretches by; you’re so wired that your brain feels like it’s melted and fucked as though the chunks of it are oozing out of your ears. It’s almost cozy. Disgustingly.

But all good things come to an end.

So at the end of the night, still lying in the topsy-turvy bed like it’s your own vaulted coffin, you watch Leon slip his jeans on with the rolls of your restless eyes. He’s sitting next to you.

When he’s done, he turns and flashes you the cheesiest wink in the world before rolling out of bed. It’s always shocking you that how corny he can be. Just in the past few minutes, he was fucking you into this very mattress. Spread your legs kinda shit, fucked your brains out kinda shit.

“Man, this room stinks of sex.” Leon makes a wry face and cups the tip of his nose.

“Get your ass up and take a bath, or I’ll never set foot in here again.”

You can hardly raise your hand and shoo him away. Mentally you can no longer shield yourself from these crank antics. He knows it all and snorts a long sigh.

“You’re a total goner, beautiful. Well, you’re a big girl. You’ll be fine.

Before he closes the suite door, he takes a quick glance at the digits of your phone number that he had you write on the palm of his hand; he has to verify that it’s still written there.

“I’ll give you a weekend wake-up call.” Leon swears up and down and closes the door behind him.

Whump.

Mercifully, the next date is a shoo-in, but it only means that you will have to slog through another evening of seconds, minutes, and hours of listening to his blathering and off-color in-jokes.

Is it really worth it?

The answer to that, given that you still can’t bring yourself to get up and wash the drying cum off your stomach, can only be one simple answer. You might as well call Hunnigan and let her know you can’t make it into work for tomorrow.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil infinite darkness

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