#i tried to fit as much of her monologue as i could but there is just so much of it

[zevzevarainai]

video game challenge: [3/5] heartbreaking scenes/moments – Baldur's Gate 3 (2023), Karlach's Revenge On Gortash

All of it, so I could rot. Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil...! It isn't fair. I don't want it like this. I would do anything to change it, but I just can't. You could try. Haven't you got a Wish spell in that pack of yours? *sobs* What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter eight of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

The song they dance to is "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" by Russ Columbo and this should take you to the song. It's the song I named the series for, because I believe it encompasses how both the reader feels, but also how Soldier Boy will feel in a few chapters. I also believe that the song House of Memories by Panic at the Disco, fits the more modern parts of the series.

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Philadelphia 1938

The lights twinkled along the ceiling of the dance hall as the gentle swell of jazz floated through the air. Couples swayed on the dance floor clinging to one another as the soft tones of the music soothed the dull throb of the whispers of rising tension overseas. It was a Saturday night, and you and a few of your friends from the Dawson School for Girls had slipped away to spend the evening twirling in the arms of whomever caught your fancy.

Well, at least that's what your friends wanted to do. There was only one particular man who'd caught your fancy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The Dawson School for Girls was the answer to your mother's prayers, a boarding school in Boston, far away from Ben's "corruptive influence" as she put it. Ben was currently at boarding school number ten in Upstate New York. The last time you’d seen him was when you were on break and Ben had just left boarding school number nine for fighting with other students, but he wouldn't say what for. You’d sent him a few letters to tell him how bored you were including a few sketches and watercolor paintings, with minimal response, but it was like him not to write back.

You hadn't mentioned that Howard Stine had been coming on the weekends to take you out. Your mother was pleased with him, he checked all the boxes: wealthy, not Ben, educated, not Ben, from a nice family, not Ben, and of course most importantly, not Ben.

She was practically making wedding invitations and choosing the names of your children after only three months. However, it was nice to see her happy for a change, kept her from sniping at your figure now that someone was interested. Well, not sniping that much.

Howard was… nice, but he was one of the most boring people you'd ever met and he never understood why you always carried a sketchbook with you. When he'd taken you to Franklin Park one weekend, you stopped along the pond to sketch some of the ducks that were waddling on the bank, but Howard told you he didn’t have time to wait for you to draw them. Instead of telling him that he could just leave, you shut the sketchpad and continued to walk with him and quickly learned that it was better to leave your sketchpad at the dorm whenever he was in town. You also found yourself talking less and less, allowing him to fill the silence with his talk of the stock market crash and how the United States economy recovered due to the efforts of President FDR.

You hated that. You didn't recognize yourself when you were with him. You didn't feel like you.

And every time he was here all you could do was compare him to Ben. Ben would never tell you to stop drawing, yes he would tease you about it, but he always sat next to you while you were sketching, watching you work. You never understood that. Ben was so impatient with everyone else, but he was willing to sit with you for any inordinate amount of time if you were drawing while making you laugh the whole time.

I miss him so much.

"Can I get you a drink?" Howard puts his hand on the small of your back, leaning in to whisper in your ear. You try not to flinch at his touch. He had already been in town, walking you home from a dinner that was dominated by awkward silence and the clicking of utensils on plates when you'd run into your friends just as he was walking you back to the dorm. They had rounded the corner giggling and begging you to come with them. Despite your insistences for him to stay in and relax for the night at his hotel, he refused.

It meant that now you were stuck with him while all your friends got to twirl around with men that made them warm and giddy. Howard made you feel like you'd swallowed a lemon.

"I'm fine, but thank you." You force a smile.

Howard shrugs, before he walks away towards the crowded bar on the other side of the room and blessedly far away from you.

Your thoughts drifted to Ben. You missed your friend more than words could comprehend. Not just because you were far from your family in another city, but because it felt like you were missing apart of yourself when he wasn't there. You briefly wonder if he felt the same way when he wasn't with you.

Probably not.

You turn away from Howard's retreating figure, to watch the couples on the dance floor. You sway to the music, holding your arms around yourself and feeling your dark green dress swish around your ankles, one that you'd picked out yourself, not a monstrosity of pink tulle, but something that you believed accentuated the natural curves of your body that your mother used other dresses to hide. Your mouth turns down into a frown remembering how Howard had reacted to seeing you in it, when he tried to give you his jacket to cover up, but you refused.

You had wanted him to be stunned by how you looked in it, or at least, wanted someone to be. The same someone that was miles away and probably tickling the skirt of someone who caught his fancy.

"One of the most attractive men I've ever seen in my life is at the bar." Your friend Pearl stated looking behind you with wide eyes.

I've got you beat. You think to yourself to a sigh, wishing, again, that you were here with Ben instead of Howard.

"Very funny." You roll your eyes, thinking that she’s making fun of where Howard is sitting probably flagging down the bartender with both hands to catch his attention.

"I'm not talking about Howard. This guy is seriously a looker. And he's staring at you." Pearl says again.

"Sure." You continue to watch an elderly couple sway back and forth to the smooth jazz that ebbs from the band on stage.

Must be nice to be with someone for that long.

You watch how effortlessly the couple moves as one, how the man stares down at the woman with more love than you can comprehend. It makes your heart sink in your chest.

The way things were panning out, you were going to end up with Howard and you couldn't imagine looking at anyone like that other than Ben.

"You're about to see, because he's coming this way." Pearl takes a step back from you as if anticipating the stranger interrupting your conversation.

"He's not-" You begin to say, but you feel someone place their hand on the small of your back, turning you towards them.

"Fancy meeting you here." Ben smiles down at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Ben!" Your heart soars when you recognize your friend and you can't help but hug him so tight he laughs, the movement of his chuckle makes you feel alive for the first time in weeks. The sharp smell of whiskey and the familiar spicy scent of his cologne greets you.

"Guess you missed me." The rumble of his voice vibrates where your cheek rests against his chest.

"I did." You pull away from him reluctantly. "What are you doing here?" You can't help but smile at him, probably wider than what was attractive.

"Thought I'd stop by and visit on my way back to Philadelphia. Saw you walk into this place. " Ben shrugs. "What are you doing out so late?"

"Looking for trouble." You smirk.

"You found him sweetheart." Ben leans down towards you making your throat get unusually tight.

"Hi." Pearl says interrupting the conversation.

 Ben turns his smug smile on her. "Hi."

"I'm Pearl." She looks from you to Ben as if trying to decide that it's okay for her to introduce yourself.

"Benjamin." You watch him slip into the cool and smooth Ben, the one that charmed whomever caught his eye.

You can't help but feel a prick of jealousy against your skin. It was familiar, but every time it happened, it didn't make any of this easier. You knew that you shouldn't be jealous, you didn't have a claim on him, you were friends, just friends, only friends, best friends…

And now you were with Howard.

You let out a soft sigh watching the way that Pearl looks up at Ben and the way he leans towards her with the confident smirk you love so much on his face.

"Would you like to dance Benjamin?" She asks.

"I would." Ben's smirk turns into a smile.

Pearl steps forward to reach for his hand, expecting him to take it, but he doesnt.

"Come on sweetheart." Ben reaches out and takes your hand, twirling you ahead of him onto the dance floor.

"Ben-" You giggle, head spinning with the movement, but when he twirls you back into his chest, you feel your breath catch. This wasn't the first time you'd been pressed up against him and it wasn't the first time you recognized how perfectly you fit together. Your soft curves molding against the hardness of his muscles as you sway back and forth to the music. When you were pressed up against him, you didn't feel like you were too big, you felt perfect, because of the way you fit against him.

"You know I am here with someone-" You say, before you get too wrapped up in how good it feels to be with him.

"Yes. Howard Stine. Though I do believe you said he stepped on your toes." Ben smiles at you, eyes twinkling in the light.

"That was four years ago, and he's… sweet?"

"Hmph." Ben rolls his eyes. "You can't even say it with a straight face sweetheart."

"I have never said anything bad about your companions."

"Missy-"

"Besides her." You frown.

He laughs at your reaction, the hand clutched in your right seems to warm with his smile. "You've never said anything about them period."

Because I hate thinking about how many of them there have been. Because I hate that you don't see me as someone who could be with you.

"I try not to dwell on your numerous escapades."

"You sound a little jealous doll." He smirks at you.

"What was that you were saying about Howard again?" You tease, holding on to his shoulders as you sway back and forth to the music.

"Can't be jealous of someone I've seen get chased by a duck." Ben's eyes trace your body for a moment. Your cheeks blush under his gaze. "You look nice. Not one of your mom's I'm guessing?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't look like a cupcake." He spins you away one more time before bringing you back into his chest.

"No. I think she'd probably have an aneurysm if she saw me wearing this. Howard also thought it was a bit much-"

Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "What?"

You shrug, leveling your eyes on his chest to distract yourself from his hand placement. "He tried to get me to wear his coat."

"He what?"

You shake your head to dissipate the self-doubt and body-shaming conversation that was about to unfold in your head.

"It's nothing." You raise your gaze back to his, but you're surprised to see the anger that burns behind his green eyes.

"It's not nothing. He had no right to-"

"Ben." You soothe, rubbing your thumb over his shoulder to comfort him.

The song shifts to something softer, forlorn, a song that reminded you of the heartache you felt with Ben, but also a melody that eases your soul somehow.

"I don't understand why you're with him." Ben sighs, but you can still feel the tension in his shoulders beneath your hand.

"My mother is happy-"

"But you're not." The look in his eyes is unfamiliar, almost earnest, as if he's trying to get you to understand something that he can't say.

"Ben." You breathe.

"Fine. I don't want you to think about him when we're dancing to our song anyway." The look in his eyes shifts back to the playful green they'd been before.

"Our song?" The words make your heart skip a beat and you can't help but smile at him.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd smiled this much. Probably the last time I saw him.

"Yes." Ben dips you back, before bringing you up against him, the playful look in his eyes becoming softer as you come back.

You know that your own gaze is filled with love and you remember watching the elderly couple. The way they looked at one another warming your heart as you gaze up at Ben. The three little words tiptoe against your tongue, the three little words that you'd been trying to say forever, but you can't. You don't want to lose him, don't want to live in a world without him, because you know that it won't be worth living.

So instead you lean forward and lay your head against his chest, in the space between his neck and shoulder as the song continues. You think that you feel Ben's arms tighten around you, pulling you further into his embrace, but you chock that up to wishful thinking.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You hear someone yell, and all of a sudden someone's hand is on your wrist jerking you away from Ben.

What?

Howard is standing there his chest pushed against Ben’s, trying to look intimidating, but Howard's inability to reach Ben's shoulders made it difficult for him.

You rub your fingers over your wrist, where Howard’s bright red handprint stands out against your skin.

Ben’s eyes shift to notice your ministrations, darkening with the force of his anger at the thought that Howard hurt you.

“I think I was dancing with my girl.” Ben’s eyes narrow, skating back to Howard.

Your heart skips a beat when he says that, but you shake away the thought, knowing that Ben is only saying that to make Howard angry.

“Your girl?!” Howard sputters, his face growing red. “She’s not your girl!”

“Howie, buddy-“ Ben’s confident smirk slips over his features but you still see the anger beneath the surface. “Calm down, you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“Just because you think you have some claim on her because you’ve been stringing her along with the harem that usually follows you, does not make her your girl!” Howard fumes. “She’s with me.” Howard grabs your wrist again and drags you towards him.

“Hey wait a minute-“ You begin to say.

Ben grabs the front of Howard's tailored suit, rumpling the pristine fabric. “Don’t you dare touch her like that.”

“I will touch her however I damn well please! She's mine-"

The grip on your wrist is so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. “Howard wait-“ You try again to diffuse the tension, bringing your free hand to rest on his forearm to make him let go.

“Shut up.” He snaps, eyes flashing back to you.

Ben’s temper flares and the sharp crack of his fist against Howard’s face echoes through the room. Howard stumbles away, letting go of your wrist as he reels backward to the welcoming hardwood floor that catches him when he falls.

“Don’t you ever speak to her that way you arrogant son of a bitch!” Ben shouts taking a step forward. His shoulders are tense, fists clenched at his sides and his jaw is tight, as his anger burns through the air.

By now the band has stopped playing music and all the couples around you are watching with wide eyes.

I have to do something before he kills him.

You put yourself between them, your hands firmly planted on Ben’s muscular chest so your back is to where Howard stands fuming. “Ben. Don’t.”

But he’s not looking at you, his gaze is locked with Howard’s, eyes blazing, muscles tensing beneath the palms of your hands. You try to ignore how good his chest feels beneath your touch.

Damn it.

“Ben.” You say his name again.

His eyes snap back to yours. The soft green has hardened to an emerald with the force of his rage, so different than how he looked when the two of you were dancing. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Please.” You whisper. "Stop."

Ben looks from you to Howard, before he finally exhales. “Fine.” He mutters, and he turns and vanishes into the crowd of people without another word.

A minute passes and the music begins all over again, the band on the stage starting with a lively tune that makes the couples around you to move back on to the dance floor, but the tension of what just happened remains in the air.

Because what did just happen? Did Ben do that because he was protective of me? Or did he do that because he was jealous?

Your eyes trace where he vanished, longing for him to come back, but when he doesn't appear, you're left to deal with the aftermath. 

After numerous apologies to Howard, he finally relented and took you back to your dorm, leaving your group of friends at the dance hall. You knew there would definitely be a conversation about what just happened between you all when they got back, but even you were confused. Ben was always protective of you, but what happened seemed over the top. You think about how Ben called you “my girl," the way he said it sending a thrill down your spine. He’d never done that before and you wondered if it was because he wanted to get a rise out of Howard or because he believed it.

Not like he’s tried to do anything about it. You think to yourself stroking one finger against your bruised wrist. The discoloration was more prominent now, black and blue marks beginning to sprout like flowers in spring. Howard’s eye didn’t look much better when he dropped you off. You were surprised that he’d been forgiving enough to continue to see you, not that you wanted to see him, but you didn't think you could handle a letter from your mother.

Then again maybe she would pull you out of this ridiculous school.

A small tap at your window causes you to raise your head to look out the glass. Ben is sitting there, but he doesn’t smile like he usually does. Your dorm room was on the first floor, which meant that Ben didn't need to shimmy up a tree to get into it like he did when you were home. Then again this was the first time he'd showed up here and you wondered how he knew where your room was. You also weren't thrilled at his appearance because you didn't know when Pearl would come back and you weren't sure what your roommate would do if she came back and found Ben in your room. She was a stickler for the rules and despite your friendship, rooming with her was one of your least favorite things about the Dawson School For Girls.

“If they find you here I’m going to be in so much trouble.” You say helping him through the small window, putting your hand on the back of his head so that he doesn't bang it against the glass. "You might like getting kicked out of boarding schools, but I don't."

“They won’t find out.” Ben rolls his eyes. He glances at Pearl’s empty bed on the other side of the room. “Roommate not back yet?”

“No she was still dancing when I left.”

Ben frowns. “Where’s the asshole?”

“Ben-“

“What?”

“He left. And I don't exactly invite him up to where I sleep."

“Good.” Ben flexes his fist.

“How did you know which room was mine?” You ask. Ben had never come to see you before at boarding school and the fact that he was here probably meant that boarding school number ten was out.

“I might have guessed wrong.” He smirks.

“Uh-huh.” You sigh, but all you can think about is how he acted earlier. Your feet shift back and forth “Why did you hit him?”

Ben’s eyes darken. “He shouldn’t have touched you like that or said that to you.”

You stand there for a minute observing his reaction.

“He kinda deserved it." You say slowly.

You knew it was true. When Ben showed up Howard shouldn’t have lost it like he did, he definitely shouldn’t have grabbed you like that or called you his-

You stutter on that thought. But maybe he is right. I am Howard’s. We’ve been going steady… The thought of being his makes something curl up in your chest and die. There was only one man that you wanted to belong to.

"Yeah.” Ben sighs.

"Why did you call me your 'girl'?" You ask.

"Um." Ben shrugs. "Felt right in the moment."

"What?"

"I mean you are. You're my friend-"

"But that doesn't mean friend Ben." You say it gently trying to catch his eye, but Ben won't meet your gaze.

"Fine. I just wanted to mess with him a little bit." Ben frowns. "But I didn't like that he called you his, or the fact that he hurt you."

“But Ben I am his.” You whisper even though you don’t want to. “We’re going steady-“

“That doesn’t make you his!” Ben snaps, eyes flashing. “Just because he feels the need to say it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“But Ben-“

“And I never want to hear you say it.” He continues loudly.

What is wrong with him? I've never seen him this angry about anything.

“Why?”

“Because that means he has some claim on you. You’re not his, you’re my friend.”

"You're being ridiculous. You're saying that he can't have some claim on me but you're possessively calling me your friend!" You shout back frustrated.

Why is he acting like this? Does he really hate Howard that much?

"I am not! I'm just saying that you're my friend and you're not his!"

“I can’t be both?” Your words hang in the air between the two of you and you mentally beg Ben to answer. He was acting like he wanted you to be his, like he believed that he had some claim on you and you couldn't remember another time that he'd acted this way. Sure he teased Howard, but this was more than that.

It was almost possessive and it kinda scared you how much you liked it.

Ben doesn’t answer your question. His shoulders are tense, hands clenched into fists at his sides, while something lurks behind his eyes that you can’t identify.

“Ben?” You say it like a question, ignoring the urge to press your hands against his chest like you did earlier at the dance to calm him down.

His gaze drops to your arm, where Howard grabbed you, tracing the bruises and clenching his jaw together. Ben’s right hand comes to delicately pick up your bruised wrist, running his thumb over the discolored flesh with a frown. “Does it hurt?” He rumbles changing the subject.

“No. Does that hurt?” You breathe noticing his bruised knuckles and gently probe your fingers along them.

You hated the though that he was hurt and for you, no less.

Why did he have to intervene? Why did he hit Howard?

“It was worth it.”

You both stand there for a minute, with Ben holding on to your wrist, touch surprisingly gentle.

“I just don’t like that he hurt you okay?” He mutters raising his eyes to yours. You weren't prepared for the soft look in his eyes. You expected him to still be angry over Howard, but he almost looked, worried.

“I'm okay Ben." You whisper back.

You want him to answer your question. You think again about telling him those three little words you wanted to say when you were swaying on the dance floor together but you can’t.

He nods once before he looks around the room, eyes falling on your sketchpad where it lays closed on your bed. "Got any new ones?"

You knew it was Ben's way of asking if he could stay, trying to tell you that he didn’t want to go back to Philadelphia that night, and you didn't want him to either.

"A few. If you're not too tired-"

"I’m never too tired for you."

You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. “Okay.”

The whole time you sit together on your bed, Ben doesn't drop your wrist, in fact he continues to brush his thumb against it while you look through your sketchbook. And in a few hours when Pearl finds you and Ben curled up in bed together, you’re not embarrassed, because deep down you’re starting to believe that Ben cared for you more than he was willing to admit.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126

[lauraneedstochill]

The object of my desires

summary: You overhear Aemond making a snarky remark about the way you dress. You decide to teach him a lesson. warnings: friends to lovers (both are idiots), a dash of angst, a lot of teasing, things get very heated (NSFW), with a sprinkle of softness. words: ~6500 (it was supposed to be shorter but they started making out...) author’s note: the idea first popped into my head months ago when I saw this post. also, for the longest time I’ve been thinking that “you are the bane of my existence” monologue is a perfect fit for Aemond — and yet I haven’t seen a single fic* using that quote?! so I finally decided to give it a try.

If anyone asked you to describe your relationship with Aemond, you would’ve said that the two of you were almost friendly. The almost part was the trickiest one to explain because, even though both of you acted very content with the way of things, you still couldn’t help but think that you wanted something more, no matter how much you’ve tried to deny it.

You got to know him through Helaena who you befriended when you were ten and six. A year older than you, she was the weird girl no one wanted to talk to and you approached her out of curiosity but soon learned that she had a cheerful nature and quite a nimble mind. She loved your sharp sense of humor and energetic wit and the two of you became close, your contrasting personalities complimenting each other very well.

Your introduction to her brothers was brief and for a couple of months, you didn’t interact with either of them. She’s been married to Aegon for four years back then and even though he immediately didn’t strike you as a faithful husband — always a cup away from being wasted and shamelessly gazing at every maid’s legs — he mostly looked harmless. Aemond, however, was the exact opposite — guarded and collected, he kept his distance from everyone, making it clear that it was his choice. You could only get a good look at the prince when you were passing the training yard, and a couple of times you found your gaze lingering on him — on the lean body and tense muscles, on the way he moved the sword with ease. In those moments you felt the danger radiating off him, yet it never scared you away. But you knew better than to fawn over the prince who seemingly paid you no mind.

A significant change came on the evening of Aegon’s ten and ninth birthday which Helaena begged you to come to — you weren’t fond of big events but couldn’t say no to her. For the most part, the feast was tolerable as you’ve spent it by her side, making glib remarks about the guests, much to your friend’s amusement. But when the celebration died down and all the nobles began to disperse, Aegon, drunk out of his mind, decided to make advances toward his wife whom he ignored for the duration of the evening. His approach was harsh and unexpected, and the look on Helaena’s face shuttered your heart. 

“Your grace, your manners escape you,” you tried warning him, shielding your friend but Aegon was too wasted to notice your fiery gaze. In his inebriated state, he probably mistook you for a maid as he grabbed your arm in an effort to shove you aside. Next thing you know, your fist connected with his nose — and then Aegon was lying on the floor, eyes wide and blood gushing down his face as you stood next to him, fuming. Before he could think of an answer, Aemond appeared out of nowhere — just in time to drag his brother away, while the drunkard was hurling insults at you in a frenzy. Only when they left, it dawned on you what you just did. 

You expected for the king’s guard to come for your head in the morrow, but instead, a few surprising things happened. First, you learned that the boys didn’t rat you out, making it look like they were the ones who got into a fight. Aegon did apologize to Helaena and from that day, his temper softened as he never dared to repeat his mistake. But, most importantly, Aemond took a sudden interest in you.

Overall, his behavior stayed the same, but you regularly caught him looking in your direction, and every time you saw each other, he made sure to acknowledge your presence. He never initiated the conversation first, only sometimes curtly voicing his opinion, yet you noticed him paying attention to your chattering with Helaena — and you could swear that a few times he suppressed a laugh at your jokes.

The mystery veil that the prince was surrounded with sparked your curiosity, and you wanted to crack down his guard, to get a chance to know him. The opportunity presented itself one day when Helaena and you came to watch Aemond train. You saw him and Criston arguing as the prince was late to his studies but Cole refused to let Aemond leave until he wins the last bout. Whether he wasn’t in the right mood or had something distracting him, Aemond kept losing, and his teacher only pushed him further, relentless in his attempts.

“Ser Criston, you’re putting yourself in harm’s way,” you chimed in, making the man turn to you with a chuckle, while Aemond gave you a tired look.

“May it be that the finest swordsman of the realm is simply avoiding his responsibilities?” you suggested with a light grin.

“Mayhaps he is in need of some encouragement,” Cole teased. 

“Well, I would’ve volunteered to share the burden of learning with him,” you remark. “If only he could win this one bout,” you added, keeping eye contact with the prince.

It took Aemond about two minutes to knock his opponent to the ground which made Helaena gasp in surprise while you were trying to hide a smile. Without a word, Aemond came to you, and the two of you went to the library. On your way there, he kept silent, but you were not intimidated at all. When you walked into the room, Aemond hesitated as if giving you a chance to change your mind. But you boldly turned to him:

“If you mean to scare me with the prospect of studying, I should warn you that I’ve read more books than you can count,” you informed the prince.

It was the first time when you saw him smiling — widely and shamelessly, looking very smug.

“You are full of surprises, my lady,” he grinned. “Do you mean to challenge me?”

It turned out that Aemond liked challenges, and you enjoyed being one. Since that day, you got into the habit of joining him in the library and the prince would accompany you in his free time more often than not. You would dare him to read faster, to fight harder, to engage in conversations — or sometimes to simply have fun. Whenever you had a reason to disagree with him, he was always respectful and found himself entertained by your way of thinking, which made your discussions and even arguments span for hours.

As years went by, you kept playfully bantering back and forth, and Helaena told you that you were the only one allowed to act like that around her brother. You couldn’t understand what his motives were but it was hard to deny that his company was pleasant. Aemond grew up into quite an eligible bachelor and his attention did flatter you, even though he never crossed the line. Sometimes you even dared to entertain the thought that maybe — just maybe — Aemond had a soft spot for you.

Until one day things took a turn. Helaena’s twentieth birthday was meant to be just another celebration that you would’ve skipped if it wasn’t for her. The only way for you to pass the time was dancing which you’ve actually come to love in recent years, enjoying the rhythm of the music that helped to lighten your mood. Your dear friend mostly preferred to sit back so you were often compelled to find yourself a company that would be bearable, at the very least. That evening, you got acquainted with Jacaerys Velaryon, the boy being younger than you but almost a foot taller. He approached you with a small smile on the pretext of knowing Helaena, and you soon learned that he was a good dancer. But the best thing about Jace was that he spend most of his time talking about his betrothed, Baela, who he was absolutely smitten with. The girl sadly couldn’t be present as she had to stay with her dad, who recently sailed home, and the dark-haired boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All the time while dancing he was either gushing about her or asking your advice, which you found adorable and gladly chatted with him.

Throughout the feast, you felt Aemond looking at you, probably more than usual. You knew that he wasn’t fond of dancing and even though his gaze on you felt rather good, deep down you wished that he was the one you were spending time with. After a couple of hours, however, you saw his usual spot empty, and the prince was nowhere to be found. For some reason, you got a very bad feeling and, after leaving Jace to take a break, you went to Helaena. She informed you that Aemond left not so long ago, adding that it looked like her brother was upset about something.

That’s how you ended up roaming through the castle halls, giving in to the unsettling feeling churning in your stomach. Passing by one of the chambers, you suddenly hear voices and realize that it's Aemond talking to his brother. You don’t mean to eavesdrop and were about to turn around — but then Aegon mentions your name.

“You are foolish to wait for so long. You could’ve at least asked Y/N for a dance,” his remark is followed by gulping sounds. Is he ever without a cup? You hold back a giggle — which quickly disappears when you hear Aemond’s answer.

“I prefer not to waste my time on such futile activities,” and his voice is unexpectedly grim.

“You may want to reconsider when the lady has every man’s attention. Even the Strong boy was pretty much drooling,” he chuckles, and his words make your brows furrow as you are certain he has no ground to suggest that. You’re a moment away from drowning in doubts, but the younger prince brings you back to reality.

“I suppose it’s hard not to, with the way she’s been dressing lately,” Aemond deadpans.

He says it with a flat tone — yet it feels like a punch that knocks all of the air out of your lungs. There’s a brief pause — and Aegon sounds almost sober when he asks, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“And what about her dresses?”

“I found them to be... rather bawdy. Although I’m not impressed in the slightest,” Aemond forces out.

Your heart sinks at his words, cheeks heating up. You wait for him to say anything else, to give an explanation, at least one reason for his accusations but there is none. Aegon laughs — and you feel sick to your stomach, realizing that you cannot bear listening to their conversation any longer.

You walk away as quietly as possible, with cotton feet and your hands shaking. You rush past the hall and out of the castle, tears pricking in your eyes. Only once you are all alone, embraced by the silence of the night, you take a deep breath of air. Aemond’s words are ringing in your ears, loud and clear. You look down at your dress in disbelief: the neckline is basically non-existent, your arms are fully covered, and it barely shows any skin at all. And yet he thinks this is inappropriate? 

Your cheeks are wet and burning yet you feel anger bubbling in your chest. You never thought Aemond could be cruel — and yet it’s him, out of all people, who let those vile words slip out of his mouth like they meant nothing. Like you meant nothing to him. For years, you heard people calling him cold-hearted and arrogant but you were naive to believe that the prince made an exception for you. Out of all the mistakes you’ve made so far, this one might’ve been the most painful one.

Your outrage spreads like a wildfire as you think back to every interaction you’ve had with Aemond, his every glance and every word that fooled you into thinking that he cared. Was he secretly criticizing you the whole time? How many other jokes did he make behind your back? Who even gave him the right to judge whether your dresses are acceptable or not? As if he is any different from all the other men whose brains turn into mush when they get a glimpse of a female body.

You stop dead in your tracks when an idea suddenly forms in your head. It’s very uncharacteristic of you — at first, you hesitantly brush it off, thinking that it’s not wise to make any emotional decisions. And yet the idea keeps nagging at you for the remainder of the night and for a few hours you ponder if you should take such a brazen approach. But then his unkind remark pops back in your memory — over and over and over.

By the time the morning comes, you make up your mind.

He says he isn’t impressed in the slightest? There is only one way to find out for sure. On the very next day, you take Helaena for a walk in the garden, well aware that her brothers will accompany you as Aegon doesn’t have anything else to do and Aemond prefers to take a stroll after his training. Your dress is close-fitted yet modest, not an inch shorter than necessary. It is not about the dress but what’s underneath it — and the object in question clinks lightly with your every step. You show it to Helaena right away and she finds it delightful, the jingling only making her smile. Then her siblings come to join you, you curtsy but barely spare Aemond a glance. You don’t ask a single question about his day, instead taking interest in Aegon. The older prince gives you a suspicious side-eye but welcomes the chatting. It doesn’t take long before he notices the sound, too.

“Am I the only one who can hear the clinking? I am almost certain that it’s not just in my head,” he debates.

“Oh, it’s Y/N’s doing,” Helaena beams unsuspectingly.

“Apologies, my prince, it’s my aunt’s gift that caught your ear,” you slow down and take a few seconds to make sure you’ve got everyone’s attention.

And then, with one gentle motion, you pull up your dress — ever so slightly, just enough to show your ankle and the thin bracelet wrapped around it. The jewelry is made out of gold and it instantly catches the sunlight, casting warm sparkles on your skin. It’s decorated with tiny coins which make a jingling sound as you slowly turn your leg from side to side.

“I thought it was rather pretty. Don’t you think?” you only look at Aegon.

“Umm yes,” he gulps. “Rather pretty it is,” the prince mumbles, and then his gaze shifts to someone else. You don’t need to turn your head to know who he’s looking at. Instead, you continue with your walk without a care in the world.

“I should ask my aunt to bring you a similar one, my dear,” you suggest to Helaena and she eagerly agrees.

You have a few other gifts for Aemond, too. Next time you opt for a different bracelet — with no coins and no jingling, a simple golden chain. But your dress is a tad bit shorter and the jewelry catches everyone’s eye with ease as it looks like a ray of light curled around your ankle. You deliberately walk through the training yard, arm-in-arm with Helaena. You give Ser Christon the brightest smile, and he politely nods in your direction.

“Good morrow, ladies.”

“How’s your training coming along, Ser Criston?” you ask, and it feels strange to talk to him instead of Aemond. You bitterly remind yourself that you apparently overstated the value of those conversations.

“I’m afraid, we are hardly progressing. Mayhaps you will keep us company? I fear, we are in need of some cheerful words,” Cole shoots a glance at the prince who stands by, his eye fixed on you.

“Aren’t we all, Ser Criston,” you tilt your head at him. “But it seems like my pursuit of lessening your burden did nothing good,” and before he can ask anything else, you walk away, ignoring Aemond completely.

Helaena senses that something is off, giving you a worried look.

“Is there anything troubling you?”

“Not when I’m with you, my friend,” you reassure her and force your smile to look as believable as possible.

Partially, it is true as her company always brings you joy and you don’t want to sour her mood by recalling Aemond’s words that wounded your pride. You refuse to admit that he also grazed your heart. In a week, you accept Helaena’s invitation to join them for breakfast and you decide to up your game. It’s the perfect time of year for sleeveless dresses but the one you pick also has a daring addition: two thin cuts under your armpits. They are barely visible but when you put your arms up, it’s easy to distinguish the contour of your ribcage and the softness of your skin peeking through. You sit by Helaena’s side, easily keeping up with the conversation and not glancing at Aemond once. After the food is taken away and everyone starts wandering around the room, you get up to fix your hair, standing not too far away from the dining table as you raise your hands and run your fingers into your hairdo.

“May I offer assistance?” Aegon leans on the wall next to you, his mouth curling into a smile.

You roll your eyes and are about to shush him when he quietly adds:

“I know what you are doing,” you turn your gaze to him, and he winks at you. “From the look on my brother’s face, I can tell you that it’s working.”

You fight the urge to look at Aemond.

“I’m afraid I can’t share your concerns,” you are fiddling with hairpins absentmindedly.

Aegon shoots a glance over your shoulder and then back at you.

“He seems pretty bothered to me. Also pissed, but that may be my doing.”

“Look at you, my little helper,” you ramble as the cool air sneaks into the cuts of your dress, and you slightly quaver.

“Well, if you are ever in need of a helping hand...”

“I will not hesitate to stick this pin into your eye,” you cut him off.

“No need!” Aegon throws up his hands, cackling. “I’d like to keep them both. So I can have a better look at my brother’s reaction when you do... whatever you plan on doing,” the shit-eating grin on his face tells you that he is enjoying this.

But when you turn around and suddenly make eye contact with Aemond, your own enjoyment fades. You notice his frown and the probability of you being the reason for it doesn’t bring any satisfaction. You let Helaena lead you away, feeling his gaze on your back as you walk out. You do not yield to your emotions, continuing with your plan, as days turn into weeks, and then a month goes by without you as much as sharing a word with Aemond. Truth be told, you want nothing more than to stay away from him at all costs but you will not give him the satisfaction. He said he didn’t like the way you dress — and you make sure he sees every single dress you are in. You stay within the bounds of decency as you definitely have no intention to disgrace yourself, and none of your dresses are borderline scandalous, contrary to what any prince may think. You deign to let him see the curve of your neck with your hair up high, the bending of your shoulders and the sunkissed skin of your arms, the arc of your knees and mere glimpses of the upper part of your legs. You leave the rest to his imagination — granted, he has a good one considering how much time he spends reading.

During the second month, his patience starts running out.

In the years you’ve known Helaena, you learned all the ins and outs of the castle, so you manage to avoid Aemond at first, vanishing from his sight when needed. But, as time passes, you notice that he is tempted to talk to you, and escaping that possibility becomes harder with each day. One morning, when you walk into the yard, Aemond abruptly stops his training upon seeing you, and the two of you just stare at each other for a second, both startled and holding your breath. You are saved by Ser Criston, who calls for the prince, distracting him, giving you a chance to leave, and you all but run away.

After that day, you temporarily cease your visits to the castle, deciding to take a break and make up weak excuses to Helaena. Only now that you were apart, you realize how much you miss Aemond’s physical presence. His sudden, fleeting touches — to help you out of a carriage or to steady you after a fit of laughter, your hands brushing when you share books, his fingers sometimes lightly grazing your waist for the reason you are yet to know. You haven't talked to him for days, let alone felt him in your close proximity, and yet he's constantly on your mind. Somewhere in the midst of it all, you wake up at night realizing you yearn for him terribly. You wish you could go back to that damn evening of the feast, to confront him right away, to maybe get some clarification. But now too much time has passed and you’re too wrapped up in... whatever you plan on doing, so your ego insists that giving up isn’t an option.

When you receive the invitation for Aegon’s name day, you are ready to decline, but then begrudgingly decide to give it one last chance. You practice the look of indifference, the nonchalant tone, the proud gait, and you pull out your best dress. It’s green and the color is so bright, it dazzles the eyes, the material light and flowing — and yet, when you put it on, it feels incomplete. As you look in the mirror, the vivid tone of the fabric suddenly reminds you of something else. It’s a secret you once heard, a hushed conversation between the maids, one of which walked in on the prince when he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You only ponder for a minute and then reach for the jewelry piece that definitely will be hard not to notice. The castle is crowded, and you are one of the last guests to arrive. Bracing yourself, you pause at the door for a second. Ser Harrold, who stands there, lets out a surprised hum. “Should I take that as a sign of your disapproval?” you jest, watching his reaction.

“I wouldn’t dare to judge,'” he gives you a polite smile. “But I’m afraid all the men present are at risk of losing reason.”

His comment makes you chuckle and you step a bit closer, letting him take a better look.

“I thought it would match the occasion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ser Harrold, gods bless him, keeps his eyes on your face. “As always, it is, lady Y/N.”

It gives you enough confidence to walk in, appearing in all your glory.

The dress is a perfect fit, with a slit down your right side and an open back. The front neckline isn't deep but in the middle of it there’s a thin silver chain with a big, glittering sapphire — and the gem lays perfectly between your breasts. It’s only natural that everyone’s gaze is immediately drawn to the blue spark, all the men in the room gazing at it, voluntarily and not. But the effect their attention has is nothing compared to the wave of heat that warms your body when you feel a very particular gaze finally landing on you. You look right at him — and you catch him gawking, his lips slightly parted as he stares at the sapphire, too, almost in a trance. His hand is gripping a cup of wine with such force, you can see the whitening of his knuckles. When Aemond sharply glances up, your eyes lock for a second, and you look away first. So much for him not being impressed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jace waving at you to come sit with him, and you do not hesitate, letting the one-eyed prince out of sight.

You feel like his eye doesn’t leave you for a second.

You are barely able to sit still while dining and let out a sigh of relief when it’s time for dancing. You rush away from the table, thinking it will provide you with a distraction, and you will be glad for any partner if only he can move his legs and keep his mouth shut. You go to the end of the line, lost in your thoughts, and when you finally come to a stop and look to the other side — you see Aemond standing in front of you.

The tall prince with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing all black, stares at you in a way that makes the crowd around you disappear.

When the dance starts, you step toward each other, and he speaks up first. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your absence. I find myself wondering what is the reason behind it,” his hand briefly touches yours, your bodies following the music.

“Your question is confusing, my prince. As I was merely doing you a favor,” you swap partners but Aemond only looks at you.

“Your leaving hardly favors me,” the prince says when you’re in his arms again. You feel a flicker of anger rising inside but keep your voice down.

“I was actually counting on you being relieved,” you snort, not looking at him. “Since, as it turned out, you were so displeased with my bawdy dresses,” with these words, you step away from him once more.

A minute later you come back to his side but don’t let him say a thing. 

“I’ve always thought bawdy was just another word for a whore. So I suppose I should be glad that you at least had some decency to not stoop so low,” when your eyes meet, you think you’ve never seen him so hurt.

Before he can come up with an answer, you are out of his reach. Then you circle back to Aemond again, and this time your tone comes out hasher.

“I also wonder if you would be so brave to say all that to my face. But it seems that your bravery falters when confronted with the need to speak plainly.”

The rhythm of the music works in your favor, because whenever Aemond tries opening his mouth, you’re swooped away from him, and it gives you time to tighten your self-control. You think you should resent him for his silly words, for his heavy gaze, for him knowing how to dance even though he never once did that with you in all these years.

But you have no resentment for him. All of a sudden you realize what you are actually feeling.

And then the dance comes to an end.

You only curtsy out of politeness, averting your gaze.

“I will not vex you anymore, my prince.”

“Wait, I should —,” he tries to take your hand but you swerve away from him.

“I already promised the next dance to someone else,” you lie. “You are finally free of my company.”

At that very second, when you glance at him before leaving, he looks absolutely heartbroken. Or maybe you just imagined it in an attempt to ease your own pain. Your feet carry you to the library on their own accord, and you’re too distraught to notice until you are already inside, in the dusty silence of the endless shelves. You take a hold of the nearest one, trying to catch your breath. You barely get a minute of solitude before you hear footsteps approaching. And it’s kind of pathetic how easy it is for you to guess who it is. “Your tendency to run away from me is quite unnerving,” Aemond walks in with rapid strides, his voice laced with emotion you can’t read. 

His words, however, trigger your reaction in no time. 

“Maybe it is because I do not want to be in the company of someone who hurt me,” you turn to him, and he’s already only a couple of feet away. The dim lighting illuminates his silver hair, the outline of his broad shoulders, his eye is boring into you. He looks so beautiful in his frustration, your chest tightens at the sight.

“I would’ve apologized right away if only you let me speak,” the prince retorts.

“Did something hold you back from apologizing sooner? Or were you too preoccupied with being outraged by my clothing choices?” your heart skips a bit at the intensity of his stare but you refuse to break the eye contact.

“I never said I was outraged.” 

“You weren’t thrilled, either, you made that very clear.”

“You know nothing of my motives because you refuse to listen to me!” he raises his voice and it startles you. But he doesn’t sound angry.

Aemond is standing at arm’s length — and you can clearly see that his face expresses no signs of annoyance or hatred. Instead, he looks at you with longing.

The air in the room feels heavy.

You run your tongue over your lips to moisten them, and Aemond’s eye darts to your mouth.

“We can agree on one thing,” he drawls, his eye locking with yours again as he moves closer. You take a step back — and feel pressed against one of the shelves.

He speaks with his tone low:

“...You vex me to no end.”

With another step, Aemond towers over you, and when you look up, your faces are only inches apart, and his flaming gaze envelops you.

“You are the bane of my existence,” Aemond breathes out. “And the object of all my desires,” his voice breaks, and you feel him inhaling sharply.

His words are akin to a match that lights up a fire deep in you, the muscles of your stomach tightening involuntarily. With one finger he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your breathing shuddering.

“I’m haunted by your image everywhere I go,” he rasps, his nose brushing yours. “Night and day, I dream of you,” his index finger moves under your chin, close to the pulsating point on your neck. You feel the heat spilling into the pit of your belly, and you want nothing more than for Aemond to kiss you.

“I was raised to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread every minute I spend in your presence,” he whispers vehemently, his words hot against your mouth. 

You are dizzy, breathless — and craving him. Everything else is forgotten, erased, nonexistent. It’s just you two.

“You are all I can think about,” you confess with a strangled voice, looking at Aemond through your lashes — and it sets him off.

His lips capture yours in an instant, claiming and burning with need. He pulls you closer, his hands on your back, and yours go up his shoulders to lock behind his neck. Aemond kisses you deeply, hungrily, sweeping his tongue over your lower lip and then sliding it in, intertwining with yours. One of his palms moves lower, outlining the curve of your hip, glides over your leg — and into the slit of your dress. He grabs your thigh, his thumb landing on the inner side of it, and he starts slowly massaging small circles on it. Him touching your bare skin elicits a moan from you and in the heat of the moment, as your mind goes blank and you can only focus on the pleasuring sensation, you spread your legs, and his finger slips higher — to the place where you want him the most.

He breaks the kiss in surprise, and you wait for it to dawn on him. To realize that you are, in fact, completely naked under the dress. You can feel arousal pooling between your legs, your body prickling with anticipation.

“I was under the impression that you owe me an apology,” you unabashedly murmur, looking him straight in the eye. 

You don’t know if it’s a challenge or a plea — at this point, you do not care. Apparently, neither does Aemond, as he takes no time hoisting your leg up to his waist for better access, firmly holding it in place. Your respite barely lasts a few seconds before you feel his other hand cupping your sex, rubbing his fingers through your folds. You shut your eyes, gasping for air, as he unhurriedly smears your wetness — and then his finger dips into your core, the sensation making you shiver.

“Aemond,” you sign, your body trembling with desire.

Trying to inhale, you get a whiff of aroma, a mix of leather and salty ocean breeze — and all at once, you are surrounded by him. His scent, his warmth, his scorching touches, the taste that’s left on your lips. He leaks into your every cell.

Aemond nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses there, his finger picking up the pace.

“I’ve missed you,” he avows. “So fucking much,” he lightly nibbles the skin above your collarbone. “Missed hearing you say my name. Say it again.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice — and the interweaving of letters rolls off your tongue with each breath:

“Aemond”

“Aemond”

“Aemond.”

His name fills your mouth, leaving no space for air, your throat tight and breathing rapid. Aemond’s lips move down to your shoulder.

“Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he haltingly rambles, and the implication makes you clench around him, dragging a low groan from the prince.

He leaves a trail of kisses following the silver chain down to your breasts. The gem feels cold in contrast to your skin, and even though your head is clouded with lust, it triggers a memory. You move one of your shaking hands to his face, guiding it up to look at you again.

“I want to see the real thing,” you whisper, gazing at his eyepatch. “Let me. Please, let me.”

His hand between your legs doesn’t stop its movement but the one on your thigh trembles. You are too caught up in the moment to think straight, and before he can answer, your fingers roughly remove the leather patch.

The sapphire glows like a beacon, the cold blue of it is dazzling and piercing through your blurred vision. The tones and shadows are interlacing, cyan melting into azure and dark blue, and it’s mesmerizing. Seeing him like this, stripped of his restrain and his disguise, is the most intimate, precious thing in the world.

“Gods, you are divine,” you moan, panting.

You catch a flash of emotion in his eye — before you can take another breath, his lips are on yours again. This kiss is steady and fervent, and while his mouth melts into yours, Aemond adds a second finger. It slides in with ease, and he builds up the speed that makes you swallow air. He’s terrifyingly good with his fingers, with his every move, precise and fast. 

“Aemond,” you whimper in his mouth, but his lips keep chasing yours, and you can only follow, letting him take your breath away again and again. You lose track of time, lose yourself in his arms. His face is always close to yours, he breathes in every moan you make and keeps his gaze on you, watching you squirm, your cheeks flushed and lips quivering.

You helplessly whisper his name, and it comes out as a prayer, the coil in your stomach ready to snap. Aemond gives you a breathless smile.

“You do not need to beg me, ever,” he says in a husky voice. “I will give you anything you want,” with these words, he presses a thumb on your pearl, resuming the well-known circling motion, making you choke on air.

It takes merely a few seconds for you to come undone, the wave of pleasure blinding and crushing over you. His lips are at the corner of your mouth, ready to cover it should you make any loud sound, but you drop your head back, mouth falling slack in a silent cry.

His fingers slow the pace until you let out a quiet whine, and he removes them, carefully lowering your leg. You feel fuzzy-headed, trying to catch your breath, a few beads of sweat rolling along your hairline. One of his hands gently falls on your back, rubbing soothing patterns on your skin.

“I truly am sorry,” Aemond admits.

You chuckle lightly. “I think you already made it up to me.”

Despite the hint of humor, there’s an anxious feeling stirring in your abdomen, and you are afraid to open your eyes to meet his. You don’t know what’s to come and you dread the emptiness that will follow if he leaves.

Aemond tenderly cups your face with his hand:

“Mayhaps my intentions were not clear enough. I do plan to properly court you,” your eyes snap open at his words.

There’s a brief pause before he adds. “But I still need to apologize for my behavior because you deserved none of it. I was unfair with my judgment as I let jealousy get the best of me,” he sounds genuinely remorseful.

You glance at him in confusion, the gears turning in your head for a moment, and then you realize.

"You were jealous of Jace?!"

Aemond looks down at the floor, and there’s something endearing in his evident embarrassment. With your thumb and index finger you caress the jut of his jaw and make him look at you again.

“Aemond, I can barely consider him a friend. And the boy can only think about Baela, he speaks of her as if she is the light of his life.”

“I know that feeling," Aemond doesn’t hide his smile anymore when he’s with you. He brings your hand to his lips, and the sincerity of his words tugs at your heart. He leaves kisses on your knuckles, and you’re overwhelmed with happiness spreading in your chest.

“Do you get that feeling every time we argue? Or when I challenge you?” you inquire with a giggle.

His laugh vibrates against your skin. When Aemond meets your gaze, there are no doubts and reservations left, no room for denial.

“My biggest challenge was not to fall in love with you. I failed miserably,” he puts both of his hands on your waist, drawing you closer. “But I will humble myself before you because I cannot stand the thought of us being apart ever again,” Aemond presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t plan on it,” you trace his scar with your finger, giving him goosebumps. “But you do know there still will be days when we vex each other to no end?” your voice is barely audible.

He moves his mouth to yours and, before bringing your lips together, he whispers:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And neither would you.

the author doesn’t know how to shut up: — the dress is from “Atonement” (although I imagined her neckline a bit differently); — I haven’t written smut in a very long time so... I hope it was okay? any thoughts and comments will be very appreciated because I’m nervous about this 🥺 (not gonna lie, this was kinda self-indulgent so I hope that at least some of you will enjoy it, too!)

* I know there is an amazing fic called “bane of my existence, object of my desire” by @ jasonsmirrorball — I love it to pieces and highly recommend it! 💕 💚 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[fandomnerd9602]

Comfort Food

Avengers High series (High School AU)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Before you ever started dating the most popular and beautiful girl at Avengers High, your heart was chasing a girl in your science class: Shuri.

Wanda Maximoff was the most popular girl at Avengers High and she saw you as her closest and best friend. You enjoyed her company and watching Harry Potter movies with her. You did love her and wished that there could be something more there but she was popular and you were a STEM nerd.

So you redirected your focus to a fellow STEM student and good friend Shuri. She was funny and sweet. You could see going on a date or two with her. Her laugh and smile always brightened your day, not as much as Wanda.

It all came to a head one day when you approached Shuri with a little metal sculpture of a Wakandan herb flower. You knew Shuri loved them and worked all night to make it for her.

Any way you approached Shuri and she was absolutely floored by your little sculpture.

“It’s looks so spot on!” She giggled.

“I-I made it for you” you managed to say thru your blushing. “Shuri, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to- to go out with me sometime.”

Instantly her smile dropped. Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Her eyes filled with…pity.

“I-I’m sorry (Y/N)” Shuri tried to apologize, “you’re a good friend and all but…I-I do not view you in such a way. I’m sorry”

Your heart shattered. You manages to maintain your composure but inside your heart was breaking in ways you never thought possible.

“That’s fine,” you manage to say, “it’s good. I’m sorry.”

You managed to make it to the door and bolted out. You were lucky the school bell ring, signaling the end of another day but also a salvation of an excuse to leave.

You ran all the way across campus and nearly ran into Wanda and her clique of friends.

“Why the rush, Hufflepuff?” She manage to ask with a giggle. You didn’t answer, tears were already streaming down your face.

“(Y/N)?!” Wanda looked at you concerned. “What’s wrong? Who hurt you?!”

You ran all the way home and collapsed into your bed. You laid there in your bed for the next few hours. But time just felt irrelevant.

A few tears streamed but mostly your felt like you could only kick yourself. How much of a fool you felt. Of course she couldn’t like you in such a way. Your inner monologue filled your head with words of doubt and hurt, feelings of never being able to be loved. Who could ever love you?

And then came a knock. It wasn’t at your door. You tried to ignore it. Then came another. You turned to see Wanda at your window, a small pizza box in her arms.

“Hey Hufflepuff” she smiles, “want some pizza? I mugged a fellow Slytherin for it but-“

You rolled your eyes at her terrible joke. For being such a popular girl, Wanda still had the worst jokes you could imagine.

You opened your window and your best friend slipped right in, comfort food in hand. Wanda flipped on one of the Harry Potter movies and handed you a slice of pizza. Didn’t take long for you and her to scarf down that delicious meal fit for witches and wizards in no time.

“So…are you ready to talk?” Wanda asked you, a little concerned.

“I tried to ask out Shuri-“ you began to say.

“Ooh look at you” Wanda shocked you playfully.

“She turned me down.” You whispered. “Only saw me as a friend”

“Oh…” Wanda’s thumb moved gently across your knuckles. “Her loss”

“Her loss?” You asked.

“Yeah. You’re amazing. And sweet. And kind. Any girl would be lucky to have you in her life.” Your best friend tried to make you feel better. “I’m lucky to have you in my life”

“I’m lucky to have you too, Slytherin” you gave her a side hug.

“Cmon,” she settled onto your bed, “Quidditch is starting and I don’t want to miss it!”

You settled in, next to her. Over the hours, Wanda’s position shifted. From next to you to in your arms. Not that you or her noticed. You both had dozed off after movie three.

Pietro tried to come by to pick his sister up but he only smiled and left you be. He reassured your parents and his own that there was no funny business there. Just two Potterheads who fell asleep.

You and Wanda look back on that night in the coming years. Didn’t take long really for you and her to become a couple. By the time you and Wanda got to college, you completely forgot about Shuri. Your heart had already found its place: with the young witch named Wanda Maximoff, your best friend. And it all it took was a broken heart and a little bit of comfort food.

Tags: @natashaswife4125 @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @russianredassassin @mostlymarvelsstuff @ma1egamer

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[fallatyourfeet]

Swanky Suits (Arthur x Female Reader)

One Shot

Credit to Gif creator- sorry I don't know who you are

Summary: Arthur is taken completely by surprise after being sent by Ada to get a new suit

Word count: 1322

Warnings: Awkward adorable Arthur. He gets a bit nervous and anxious.

Author's Note: This was only supposed to be around 500-700 words. Big fail. Also, can't believe I've posted two fics in a week. What the hell is happening to me.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

This place seemed far too swanky for Arthur, he felt completely out of place, but Ada had insisted he come. “Trust me Arthur, they’re the best tailors in London… you won’t be disappointed.” Looking at himself in the mirror out front of the change room, he had to agree. The pants and shirt were the nicest things he had ever worn, and he hadn’t even tried on the jacket yet. But still, no matter how much money he had lining his pockets, this place just felt a little too fancy for a boy from Small Heath. Maybe Tommy could get away with it, but him? Not a chance.

Walking up behind him, jacket in hand, came the attendant who helped him with his fittings last week, his posh London accent and manner doing nothing to ease Arthur’s inner monologue. Walking in a circle around him, he looked him up and down and nodded, quite pleased with himself, “The shirt and pants are a perfect fit, they won’t need any alterations at all.”

Moving behind him, he held open the jacket so Arthur could put his arms in and slipped it up over his shoulders. Then walking back around, he adjusted the lapels and buttoned it up, before stepping back, looking slightly disappointed, “The jacket is going to need some tweaking.” Placing a finger to his chin, the attendant sighed with thought. “It doesn’t need much… I might get our seamstress to have a look, she’s out the back. Otherwise, our tailor’s back tomorrow if you want to wait.” Unsure how to gauge Arthur’s expression, he added, “She’s very good… you won’t be disappointed.”

Arthur sniffed, visibly rolling his eyes as he adjusted the jacket, had this guy been talking to Ada? Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “Yeah, alright, let her ‘ave a look.”

The attendant disappeared out back, leaving him in front of the mirror, and he couldn’t help but admire the cut and feel of the fabric. Arthur knew he was hardly posh and refined like ninety nine percent of the shops cliental, but he knew a bloody good suit when he saw one. And this was one of the best.

Moving to the edge of the store counter, he was flicking through a collection of swatches, taken completely off guard when to the side of him, someone spoke, “Arthur? ….. Arthur Shelby?”

An oddly familiar voice which Arthur couldn’t quite place, spoke his name. A voice from his childhood, only much more mature than he remembered. The edges to the Birmingham accent were a little softer, the volume somehow fuller, richer. A voice smoother than honey. ‘Hmmm’, he thought quite innocently, ‘a man could get used to a sound like that.’

Turning towards the voice, he almost jumped when he saw you. Dropping the swatches to the ground his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink, standing straight as an arrow like a naughty child being caught in an act of mischief. He recognised you straight away. Even if he were an eighty-year-old man that hadn’t seen you in sixty years, he’d still know exactly who you were. His childhood crush. The girl who made his heart fly whenever she was near. The girl to which no other could compare. The girl he wanted to grow up and marry… And the girl who up and moved to London with her family when he was barely fifteen. Moved before he even found the courage to ask her out.

Arthur spoke your name, “YN?” It was almost a whisper. ‘Fuckin hell,’ he thought, you were even more beautiful than he remembered.

You smiled in response, and if his cheeks were pink before, they must be bright scarlet by now. Not sure what to do or say, he fumbled over his words, before blurting out, “You… you’re the seamstress?”

Lifting your hands, you laughed a little, waving the measuring tape and pin cushion they held, “I am… and these are the weapons of my trade.” Moving towards him, you placed them down on the counter, taking in every inch of his face, turning his poor scarlet cheeks crimson. “It’s good to see you, Arthur. My goodness, it must be what…? Twenty years?”

You moved even closer. Slipping your hands inside his jacket you went about your work, pinning together the alterations when your hand brushed against his side. It almost made him freeze, and he thanked God that it wasn’t his pants that needed altering, your close proximity making it hard for him to think. But somehow, he managed, “Uh, yeah. It’s been exactly twenty years.”

Looking up at him, you smiled the sweetest smile, your eyes looking strangely humbled that he knew exactly how long it had been since he saw you last. And it did nothing to ease the building flutters in his chest. He was a grown man, and a few minutes in your presence had him acting like an awkward teenager again. Arthur’s thoughts were a mess, scrambling to find something else to say, “So, ah, how long you been workin’ here?”

Biting your lip, you looked at the ring on your finger, before answering, sadness gathering in your eyes and voice, “Since my husband left for France.”

Arthur wanted to kick himself for asking, needing no more explanation to realise your husband did not return. And his heart broke for you. The thought of you hurting, in any shape or form, made him uneasy, made him want to reach out and comfort you. Placing a hand to your arm, he gave it a gentle squeeze. No words needed to be exchanged, you knew what he was trying to say.

With a small nod, you smiled softly, distracting yourself by getting back to the task at hand, making a few quick adjustments with your pins and measuring tape. Seemingly satisfied, you took a step back to make a full inspection, announcing quietly, “That should do it.”

Slipping the jacket from his shoulders, you placed it over your arm before fixing the collar of his shirt, your fingertips creating a trail of goosebumps when they brushed along his neck, and that was when he knew he was in trouble. Just one touch against his bare neck and all those buried teenage feelings came rushing back, hitting him like a tonne of bricks. Never to be suppressed again. And he knew himself well enough to realise that if he didn’t act on those feelings today, he was going to end up with a whole god damned wardrobe full of swanky suits. When what he really wanted was you.

Breaking through his trainwreck of thoughts, you touched his elbow, your eyes searching for something in his, “Arthur, this will only take me ten minutes… will you wait? Or” You paused, your expression changing the slightest bit, “Or did you want to come back tomorrow?”

With a deep breath, Arthur cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling. “Ah, yeah, I can wait.” Feeling sick to the stomach, he shuffled on his feet, taking his hands out to run them through his hair, before returning them to his pockets, “Um, when do you knock off from here?” Clearing his throat again, Arthur worked hard to keep eye contact, fuck you were the loveliest thing he had ever seen. “I mean, if you want to, we could catch up… I could take you out for dinner or… or somethin.”

You answered with a smile. It was so sweet and warm, and genuine. And he dared to hope that just maybe you weren’t going to turn him down. With his heart beating in his throat, he waited for your reply. It was just a few fleeting moments, a few short moments that felt like an eternity. But your answer came, and he could barely believe his ears. “Yes, Arthur. Thank you. Dinner or somethin’ would be lovely.”

[screamforyani]

Can you do a GF! Chad x GF! Ethan x Reader where reader is in Tara’s place during the apt scene and after Ethan kills Anika him and Chad kidnapped and noncon her at the shrine while monologuing about how long they’ve been watching her blah blah blah

all ours

warnings: noncon

wc. 1.6k

you didn’t make it on time. 

your friends only had a split-second to react after quinn’s weight got launched onto anika, scrambling into her bedroom. you’d seen sam try to come back for you, but she didn’t have much of a choice when ghostface started to jab a knife her direction.

from the floor where you laid, having tripped trying to escape from the killers, you could faintly hear their voices over your ragged breaths, the sound seeming more distant that it was. 

“where is she?”

“i thought she was behind you!”

“she’s out there,” sam replied, tone laced with worry. 

you didn’t blame them for leaving you there. not when you could see ghostface throwing himself against the door, endeavoring to pry it open with his weight. 

one of them, at least. the other one crouched down to be eye-level with you, watching your chest heave through the tight-fitting tee you’d worn. “please don’t hurt me,” you begged, scooting back by your elbows while tears flooded your face.

he said nothing, but you could hear dark, deep chuckles under the white mask. it baffled you. you should have been dead already, or at least a little more injured. you’d hit your head when you fell, but that was less of their fault. you’d seen mindy, on the other hand, get stabbed on her arm, and heard anika’s screams when they dragged the knife up her abdomen.

in spite of the silver-red knife in his hands, he didn’t touch you with it.

instead, he lifted you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. you demanded to be placed down, but all you were met with was a little, “shh,” from the other ghostface who was now behind you, posing a finger where his lips should have been.

quinn’s room was splattered in blood, and it almost made you feel queasy, but you noticed your friends were no longer there. then, ghostface sat you in front of the window, and you saw them across from you in cute boy’s apartment.

all of them except anika. when your vision panned a little lower, you gasped at the sight of anika’s lifeless body, blood pooling from below.

all of their eyes were fixed on you with worry, and you heard their panicked shouts. there was an unsettling feeling in your gut when you felt one of them press a knife to your throat for all your friends to see, all the while waving to them with his non-dominant hand. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak. you were paralyzed with fear.

the other one started to roll down the curtains, leaving your friends to guess what was going to happen to you.

but they didn’t kill you for your friends to find like you thought they would have. someone pressed a cloth to your face and you forcefully inhaled the chemicals, your world turning dark.

when you woke up, you didn’t know where you were. your lashes fluttered, the room spinning to a final halt. that was when you took in all the glass displays - and all of the things in them. they looked like things from stab. 

you only had one thought. what the hell?

you tried to stand, but you quickly realized that you were bound down, not that there was anywhere for you to escape in this strange place. your hands were tied behind your back to the gate.

“look who’s awake,” you heard a familiar voice say, and your eyes darted around to find them. what you didn’t expect was to lock eyes on…

“chad?” you exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. 

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” said chad, wiggling his fingers at you. “on second thought, you can wear it out as much as you’d like.”

you had a feeling you knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to ask. 

you shook your head in disbelief. “you’re behind all this?”

“who else did you think had the muscle to carry you all around the city?” chad asked lightheartedly. “of course, i still needed some help with the rest of this. who do you think is my partner-in-crime?”

“no,” you whispered, still shaking your head. matter of fact, you could feel your whole being start to shudder. 

“oh, come on, baby. take a wild guess,” chad prodded, shooting you a wild smile. only now it was a little more unnerving than usual.

your heart raced against your thoughts. it had to be somebody who apparently wasn’t there during the attacks. it couldn’t have been anika and quinn, because they were dead. sam, tara, danny and mindy were all across from you while you were in the room with two killers. which only left one person. 

you gulped, dread in your voice. “ethan?”

“aren’t you a smart girl?” came ethan’s voice, making you jolt when he appeared out of nowhere. they both laughed at how jumpy you were.

the room spun again. you were starting to feel lightheaded, as if you were going to throw up. “i don’t get it.”

ethan laughed, glancing at chad. “you hear that? she doesn’t fucking get it, chad. i think we should break it down for her.”

“i think you’re right,” agreed chad, reaching behind you to undo the knots on your arms and bring you towards the mannequins, sitting you before them. “you see, baby, we’ve been watching you for a long, long time. the second ethan and i saw you, we just knew that we had to make you ours.” 

“it’s your fault, really,” ethan said, making you gaze at him in alarm and confusion. “you are aware that your bedroom window is right across from ours, right? anyone can see you naked, anyone can see you bending over to pick up stuff, and rather than simply close your curtains you give us that tantalizing view.”

that was when he started to tug at your shirt, and you swiftly attempted to swat away his hands and crawl away, but one wave of the knife chad pulled out his pocket and you immediately stilled.

ethan enjoyed the way you held his breath while he peeled your shirt over your head, continuing, “you’d be surprised at how many pictures chad has of you touching yourself.”

“what?” you stammered.

“that’s right,” chad said, chuckling to himself. “i thought about blackmailing you, but this was so much more fun. i mean, look at yourself!”

your eyes locked on your reflection in the glass case, watching yourself shiver in horror. you could hardly even breathe, and all of the hairs on your body were raised. then, you saw them hover over you, chad reaching for your bra and ethan reaching for your shorts and underwear. you seethed at how helpless you were, knowing you couldn’t fight back.

“you two are monsters,” you snarled, wiping tears before they could fall. “you killed quinn and anika, and those two kids in our film studies class for what - me?”

“oh, no, no, no,” ethan said, sporting the most demonic smile you’d ever seen. “not everything is about you, sweetheart. you’re just a small part of the larger fun.”

chad pried your legs open and gently pushed you down so that your back touched the floor, but his gentle touches betrayed the forceful, impatient way he shoved his size into your cunt, making you scream. “small,” chad said in a grunt. “and tight.”

“chad, stop! stop, it hurts,” you whimpered, tears spilling. 

“good,” chad hissed. “you know what really hurts? watching you talk to all those other guys while acting like i don’t exist.”

“i’ll take your mind off of it, baby. i promise,” ethan crooned, stroking your cheek with his thumb. he kissed your collarbone and neck, sucking into the flesh.

it didn’t help much. you could still feel chad flush against your walls, stretching you out more than you could ever imagine. you couldn’t wrap your head around how big he was. it felt like you were being split open, right down the middle. to say nothing of his roughness, all of his gentle gestures abandoned. his fingers bruised your hips with his strong grip.

“you’re so beautiful, you know,” ethan whispered, scanning your body. “you shouldn’t let any of them have you.”

“you’re mine,” chad groaned, picking up his pace.

ethan rolled his eyes. “don’t get too ahead of yourself, big guy,” he said, in spite of the fact that he was also rather big and strong. the thought sent you into panic. “she’s ours.”

you exclaimed, “i’m not some fucking object - i don’t belong to any of you sick fucks!”

ethan grabbed you by the throat, which shocked you. you would have expected it from chad now, but not him. you stared into his dark eyes, seeing how he’d switched on a dime. “you. are. ours. what don’t you understand? i’ll kill anyone that touches you.”

chad, spotting the fear in your eyes, chuckled. “i’ll fuck you until you get that through your head.”

ethan pulled back, abandoning the niceties. he’d tried to be compassionate, but you would have to work for that now. your heart raced with alarm when you saw him hop out of his own pants, revealing his hard cock. “i can’t wait to cum all over your face,” he said, much to your dismay. “that would make a good blackmail pic. wouldn’t it, chad?”

“damn right,” chad agreed, laughing at the thought. “fucking do it! i’m gonna cum in this tight pussy. can’t wait to record that.”

his words hit you like a truck and you immediately grabbed his arm, begging, “no, no, no. chad, please. i’m not on any-”

“shh,” ethan said, putting his finger to his lips. just like that ghostface did. that one was him. “you’re ours.”

their sick, twisted plan washed over you right then. ethan and chad loomed over you with wicked smiles, watching the realization tense your face.

chad could feel himself getting close, slapping his hips into yours harder as he grunted, “all ours.”

[holylulusworld]

Big girls don't cry (4)

Summary: You are no stranger to heartbreak.

Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, strong reader, mentions of former heartbreak, arguments, regret, fear of commitment, abandonment issues,

Big girls don’t cry masterlist

Part 3

“Stevie, go in there and talk to her,” Bucky groans. “I didn’t almost get killed by your angry girlfriend only for you to chicken out now. Go—”

Bucky shoves his friend toward the door.  

“What if she doesn’t want to see me? Y/N hates me now, and I can only blame myself. I let my insecurities and fear of commitment get the best out of me.”

“Yeah, you fucked things up big time, punk. Now go in there and fix things with your lovely lady. You love that woman, right?” 

“I had the ring, and the proposal planned and chose the easy way out. I got scared. Scared that she’ll laugh at me. Or even worse, say no. I saw her throw the ring in my face and run off. I’m not worthy of her love.”

“Y/N is a great person. She’s kind, smart and caring. I can’t imagine her doing such a thing. If you are honest with her, she’ll not break your heart,” Bucky smirks. “Maybe she breaks your dick with her baseball bat, though.”

“Buck,” Steve reaches for the door handle, “whatever happens now. Thank you for trying.”

“Just don’t chicken out or get your dick out,” the brunette chuckles. “I can tell, women don’t like it when you get it out after a fight.”

“What?” Steve side-eyes his friend. “What did you do, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs. “It was a case of miscommunication. I thought she wanted to have make-up sex, and she wanted to break up with me.”

“You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe I asked you for advice on relationship problems.”

“Hey, what can I say? The ladies love me?” Bucky grins. “But enough of me and my perfect face, and dick. You should go inside and finally talk to her. People are watching.”

“Hi, uh- thank you for letting me come here. Bucky said you will hear me out,” Steve awkwardly stands in the middle of the empty bakery. “Not many people around today.”

“We are renovating,” you quip, not even sparing Steve a glance. You practiced this conversation in front of the mirror and can’t show weakness. “I told you so a month ago.”

“I didn’t know it was this one,” he licks his lips. “You scared the shit out of Bucky.” He chuckles. “And I can tell, Bucky never gets scared.”

“He’s a baby,” you snicker. “Your friend almost peed his pants when I got the baseball bat out.” It feels awkward being around Steve again. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“Maybe…you could start,” Steve stammers. “I know you are angry and hurt. And you have every right to be angry. What I said was awful, and I know now that you went through so much in the past that you cannot forgive me. I just wanted you to know that I—”

He hesitates. Steve looks at his shoes, shaking his head. He takes a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I need…shit…” 

“What do you want to say, Steve?” 

“I-I love you,” he almost yells. It’s the first time he has said it with fear in his eyes. “I know that I said it before, but I wanted you to hear it one last time.”

“Steve, I thought we wanted to talk. This was more like a monologue. I wanted to talk about the things Bucky told me about your past. Why did you never tell me about the people bullying you.”

“I could ask you the same,” he gives you a cracked smile. “I-I was ashamed, I guess. I wasn’t always like this. Back then, I tried so hard to fit in. It was never enough, though. Not once was I good enough for anyone.”

“Boys always treated me like I’m not good enough to be seen with them,” you sniffle. “When you said all those things, I felt like the little girl who got her heart broken for the first time.”

“Y/N…” He fights the tears. “I was a weak and thin boy back then. Sick too. No one wanted to be my friend but Bucky. He was tall, cocky, and popular. They didn’t understand why he was my friend. I didn’t get it myself. He could’ve been friends with everyone.”

“He’s a nice guy,” you wipe your eyes and sniffle. “And a good friend. He almost got hit by a baseball bat for you.”

“When I liked a girl for the first time, she punched my nose and called me a loser. I was like six or seven.” He sighs deeply. “I know, this is no excuse.”

“It is not. I got rejected all my life too, but I would never do such a thing to you. I loved you so, and then you say something like that,” You push the tears away. “I was so happy, and you broke my heart.”

“I’m so sorry, doll. All my life I tried to forget about my past, and the weak boy from back then.” Steve takes a step toward you, holding out his hand. “In my teens, I fell in love with a girl. I believed she liked me too.” 

“She told everyone about it, didn’t she?” You softly ask. “Bucky told me about it. What was her name?”

“Peggy Carter,” Steve winces when her name leaves his lips. “I realized she only liked me as long as I helped her get better grades.”

“Same here,” you take his offered hand to squeeze it tightly. “I was twelve. At least I shoved the bastard against the wall and called him a dipshit.”

Steve grins. “I’m glad you did, doll.”

“Do you want to hear a fun fact?” Steve places your hand on his chest. “I met her two years ago. She didn’t even remember me. Imagine, Peggy was all over me and tried to get in my pants.”

“No way.”

“I turned her down, though. She got mad. I bet Peggy Carter never got turned down before. Well, I told her it’s payback for what she did to me when I was a kid.”

“Good for you. I mean, that you go the chance to pay her back.” You glance up at Steve, feeling unsure of how to proceed now. You’ve missed him so much, but you are scared to give in to him only to get hurt again. “Steve, I can’t go back to what we had so easily. I need…”

“I know, baby doll,” he wraps his arms around you to at least hold you one last time. “Please never believe you are not worthy of love, or that you should settle for someone who’s not worthy of your love. I wish you love. A love that will give you everything you’ll ever need…”

Part 5

Tags in reblog.

[papikyoo]

Fuck it, I will post whatever I want. Here's 10 kate bush songs that remind me of mithrun. I made a playlist so you can see the same vision: here

Jig Of Life: THIS is literally his theme song, Mithrun convincing his past self to fight for their shared life, the harsh wake-up call exhibits his critical view of himself, the lyrics are so vivid. The Irish folk instruments fit the dunmeshi settings as well, the outro feels a lot like him reviving from the death, "C'mon and let me live, girl!

2. Suspended in Gaffa: the desperate feeling of wanting something and not being able to have it right now, maybe he's after his own death or desire in this case. It's a beautiful song with a religious imagery.

3. Coffee Homeground: I think it captures his distrust and fear, which he thinks he's being poisoned(betrayed) by others, and the Demon also used that fear to drive him crazy.

4. The Infant Kiss: this is a very controversial song of Kate, but it doesn't glorify anything at all, but rather about being torn apart by a situation that seems innocent at the surface but there's a dark and evil threat underneath and to me, it feels a lot like Mithrun and the Demon's relationship, that the Demon presented itself as a baby goat, and Mithrun reached to pet it, even though the Demon granted him "gentle love", Mithrun as a canaries member likely knew that it's a threat, so this song describes that dilemma, the story of this song has Gothic elements which is similar to how I see Mithrun's backstory, isolated, mysterious and distorted.

5. Get Out Of My House: pretty much his experience in his own dungeon. TBH, The Dreaming is my favorite album of her.

6. The Fog: I share this song HC with Kabru because Kabru's feeling towards Mithrun is complex and protective, he tries to encourage Mithrun to grow, while his sense of navigation is as foggy. There's nothing to worried about, just put your feet down, Mithrun. In my opinion, Kabru is a bit preachy when he tries to give an idea what Mithrun should do so the lyrics about being taught how to swim by your partner is perfect.

7. Full house: this song is pretty personal, but again, I like to imagine it's an inner monologue of his past self.

8. The Red Shoes: the idea is being tricked to wear the shoes and not being able to take them off, he's being controlled and forced to perform for others.

9. Hounds Of Love: it's more like a Kabru's song to me, but I think it could apply to Mithrun too... I really like the drum that sounds like running footsteps.

10. Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God): Do I have to explain... this is the most popular song ever lmao

I have more songs but I will yap too much. thank you for the person who agrees that Mithrun is kate bush coded, I love you.

[clericsong]

sunday and robin ramblings 🕊

long post ahead containing some thoughts on sunday and robin because i'm really obsessed with them.

to start this, i want to talk about how self-sacrificial sunday is. even going past his plan where he literally intends to suffer to create paradise in true jesus figure fashion, robin mentions that while she confides in and receives support from sunday, he doesn't tell her anything. in her letter, we see her being concerned for him because she knows he's so overworked as well, taking on so much on his own, and from the robin pc, we see how much he tried to bear his loneliness in her absence. it's clear he didn't want to worry or burden robin, but i also believe he was doing this to prepare for his role past a certain point.

i headcanon that this self-sacrificial nature comes partly from witnessing his mother's death and having a survivor's guilt reaction to it, as well as a protectiveness for his last living family, robin- feeling guilt perhaps that his mother could not be saved, he's determined to protect robin from the same fate, at the cost of his 'unworthy' life; (once again, this is mostly inferred) the belief of this unworthiness may stem not only from wishing his mother had been saved instead, but also the way his inability to effectively protect robin as he wants- from her audience, from getting shot, then 'murdered'- is dangled over him time and time again, thus highlighting his failure properly parent her in their mother's place. this nature of his is then further cultivated by gopher wood to fit his agenda; i am also of the belief that he purposely encouraged the divide between the siblings, specifically robin's differing philosophy (it's shown he was indoctrinating sunday specifically with the teachings of the order as opposed to robin who was taught the odes of harmony), then her career and absence from her brother's side, in order to further isolate sunday so he could groom him.

and building off of that, i think it shows a paradox in sunday's sense of self-worth: with his monologue on it against the individualistic philosophy of the strong exploiting the weak, sunday is collectivist to the point of self-effacement, and yet he's extremely isolated in that he cannot trust in or rely on anyone, not even his sister. he's so ready to throw himself under the bus for "the greater good," and yet he also cannot believe in a world that isn't under his control.

and that brings me to robin, who embodies the very contradiction in sunday's logic: hope and kindness, the humanity in helping one another that ties us all together in true harmony. robin, who even in opposing sunday, cares for him so much that she asks him to reconsider his plan bc she does not want him to compromise himself. who embraces him in his defeat, and searches for him afterward. it feels as if when she challenges him during the boss fight is the first time it occurs to him that there's someone who would wish for his salvation and happiness as well, that robin loves him too much to let him do this to himself. he was ready to make a perfect world for her where she wouldn't need his support, a paradise where she would forever be shielded, but robin's core is helping people; she wouldn't be satisfied with an escapist fantasy where she's detached from the people she wants to help, and that includes him. she never stops reaching for him.

we have already heard countless times how despite robin's caged bird imagery, sunday is the truly caged bird in his isolation and ideology, along with the sort of world he seeks to create, emphasized further by his design elements (especially in contrast to robin): pierced wings, a set of wings that can't be spread, a more covered up, stiff, confined design, etc. but i'd like to add another inversion: in robin's teaser, we see that sunday is the one crying between them. i like to think this detail was intentional: even if sunday tries to be strong, and does everything to protect robin, he is resultantly the more vulnerable of the two siblings, or rather "the weaker": restricted by his position in the family, isolated without a support system, exploited by the strong through gopher wood's grooming, and made to suffer for the sake of a paradise for others. meanwhile robin is the stronger of the two: she comes out of her trauma with her own wounds, but rises from them with a renewed will to help others, she questions the role she's put in, she breaks out of her confines as an idol to do humanitarian work, and even wakes from ena's dream on her own. and once again, she never stops reaching out for sunday, embodying her very philosophy, whereas sunday contradicts his own philosophy in that to create his paradise, "the weak," in this case being himself, must suffer.

but sunday also contradicts his philosophy in a different way. he believes in a cruel world where the strong and individualistic take advantage of the weak, and yet there's someone who wishes to help others so much he is ready to damn himself for their happiness, someone who, despite being misguided, feels so much responsibility over helping the weak, someone who has unconditionally supported his sister without seeking anything in return. perhaps robin has such strong convictions in people helping each other because she witnessed it from him.

[madschiavelique]

Hello! May I request a drabble or headcanons for a poly romance with Astarion x Fem!Reader x Shadowheart? Perhaps taking place post-game or late Act 3? I’d love to see them trying to navigate their new lives together. It can be fluff or hurt/comfort, whatever fits best to you. Thank you! :)

hey there sweet anon !! okay so it wasn’t specified if Astarion was ascended in this or not so i’ll go the route where he is not ascended !

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : astarion x fem!reader x shadowheart

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : some hurt/comfort, mostly fluff (i am so soft for them), fem!reader (although i think it could be read as a gn!reader), no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 1.5k + bonus 400 words (around 1,9k)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

Shadowheart, depending on if her parents are still alive or not by the end of Act 3, would definitely want to visit them more with you and Astarion by her side. Not only because she wants them to meet you both, but definitely because she is frightened.

Frightened ? yes, because she has lost so many of her memories, and she fears that she might never recover them no matter how hard she tries. Yet somehow, you and astarion being by her side reminds her that the best memories are the ones to come, the one she will create with the both of you.

As for Astarion, he has never been much out of Baldur’s Gate during his life, being tied to Cazador and trying to escape wouldn’t have made it possible for him to get his freedom in any case. 

He had tried to escape, failed several attempts, and never managed to let his mind fully take in that he could taste freedom someday. He has probably dreamed about it though, this need for liberty, for a change of scenery, which he got from travelling all this time with you and defeating his master.

So one word would reunite you three on the matter : travelling.

Now that you had the title of heroes of the nation, or actually, heroes for saving the entire world, you had no worries for anything. You couldn’t wait to travel, just the three of you and see all the places you had only seen on maps, but you had to stick with a few activities in Baldur’s Gate.

Posing for hours on end for painters to make sure your heroicness would live through history, inaugurating monuments to your memory, and all sorts of reunions with bards and writers with each and everyone of you reciting your versions of your adventures.

Some receptions took place in Cazador’s now empty manor, Astarion having inherited the place, and some rings that would allow him to be constantly exposed to the sun if he wished. 

You were not accustomed much to big events like these. The last months had been made of exploring in various armours and dirty clothes, fighting and eating whatever you could find or steal along the way. 

And here you now were, all three of you in expensive clothing, a corset tightening your waist till you felt like breathing was the hardest fight of your life, buffet so full you thought the tables would crack under so much food at any moment, a flute of golden champagne in your hand as you had to boringly listen to whatever aristocrat lady was rambling about before you.

“I’m starting to feel like I miss wearing armour,” you huffed as you tried battling with the laces of your corset, struggling to untie them.

The evening was over, you had all retired to your quarters, undressing for the night.

Astarion’s cold hands came to stop your fingers from any more tie wars, taking the reins to undo them.

“I thought that woman would never stop talking, she could make Gale look like a debutant in the art of monologuing.” laughed the vampire, softly unlacing your cage and allowing you to breathe again, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck as his fingers came to massage your soft skin.

No matter how many times he did that, you always shivered. Your head fell back on his shoulder, sighing with contempt in his embrace. 

“When will we finally be off of here?” 

“Soon enough,” smiled Shadowheart with her hair down, wavy from her braid. “Pity you have to remove that dress though, I could get used to seeing you wearing more of those.”

Her smile was contagious, and you allowed it to place itself on your own lips. She came to help with your hair, removing the assortment of pins, pearls and other ribbons in them, kissing your temple and face from time to time as you giggled.

She was right, soon enough you three had gathered everything proper for a good trip. You didn’t have many belongings, moving from one region to the other during your adventures had taught you to not get too materialistic. 

This hero's-pass was however useful in many aspects. You were given goods for your travel, scrolls, alchemy necessities, and big fancy tents with comfortable futons. But the most interesting and probably useful gift were the three horses and the donkey given to you, the latter given to carry your belongings.

“Tell me this isn’t some sort of bad joke made by Halsin,” asked Astarion as he arched a brow, eyeing the dapple grey stallion that was about to be his new road companion.

“Scared of a different ride than us ?” you chuckled as you lifted yourself on the stirrup and pushed yourself on your mount.

“You’re hilarious,” sighed the rogue, biting the inside of his cheek as he seemed unsure as to the way he was supposed to handle this thing.

“Have you never been on horseback, Astarion ?” Shadowheart ended up asking.

“I think your clarity of judgement must’ve understood by now that during the last couple of centuries, I didn’t have the best scenery to ride those kinds of things.”

After convincing him numerous times that the horse would not stomp on him or do a rodeo as soon as he went on top of it, he finally accepted to get on it.

Thus, your trip began. It had no end in sight, just the beginning of something new with your two loves, and that was all you needed to know.

As you were about to take a path leading you to another region, Astarion stopped, turning towards the silhouette of the city for just a moment before following you and Shadowheart. 

“Is everything alright ?” you asked after a few minutes, Astarion lost in thought.

“Hmm ?” he asked as he raised his eyes to yours. “Oh yes, I’m fine it’s just… Odd.”

“Odd ? What do you mean ?” asked the Shadowheart.

“Well,” Astarion started, “I thought that some sort of magical invisible rope would tie me back again to the city and forsake me to leave. But the further we are from it, the more this feels… normal ?”

“I feel the same way,” she seconded, “my purpose was pulling me to it, and now I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly, but it doesn’t make me feel empty, more like…”

“Liberated ?” she smiled.

“Yes, liberated...” he hummed as he repeated the word with a satisfaction.

The journey went smoothly, the familiar sensation of resuming the adventure in a certain way taking hold of your heart, but the firmness of your saddle leather reminding you of the discomfort it could cause. 

It took Astarion barely an hour to start complaining, two before he finally decided to get off his mount and walk, and three to convince you to take your first break.

It was a pattern ready to be repeated for all the days to come. There were no itineraries, only discovery.

Passing through new areas meant that a few villagers and other locals would recognise you. You were offered food, asked to touch the heads of new-born babies as if you were saints, and children crowned you with daisy tiaras.

Some of the smells of the food revived in Shadowheart the ghosts of a past that was gradually revealing itself to her. You stayed overnight in villages, and she always listened to the stories told to children before going to sleep, hoping to recognise a character from one of the stories, or the feeling of the petals she pressed tenderly between her fingers, reminding her of such distant fragments of fields coloured by all sorts of flowers. 

You could see it in her eyes, every time the past pressed its fingertips to her temple and squeezed its hands across her throat when her voice broke, that glimmer of hope glistening in her eyes.

You took her hand every time, encouraging her to go back to her memories as far as she possibly could. She looked at you with such tenderness, each time.

Every morning, without missing a beat, Astarion would wake to see the sun rise from its slumber. The feel of it on his skin was an embrace he loved and cherished every single moment.

When the three of you shared the same bed, and he didn't want to wake you up by moving around, he'd just sit there, upright, waiting for the rays to pass through the curtains.

The first joy of the day was a ribbon of sunlight that wrapped itself around your hand and caressed your shoulder, and Astarion traced it with his fingertips without waking you up. He would never dare disturb your peace.

It was after visiting everything there was to see that you finally decided to settle in a pretty, dilapidated stone house that you renovated with your own resources. To this day, you receive your friends when they would be able to afford to come and see you, and you bask in your freedoms.

Bonus content for this : 

Several months into your travels, you had already received Gale's invitation to meet him in Waterdeep, so that he could find out more about your new life and see you all again.

You set off, and soon enough the realisation that you would have to take the boat to shorten the journey seemed to displease your two companions. 

‘Are you sure we can't make some better use of the horses ?’ interrogated Astarion.

‘We have mostly made them walk and trot a bit, we could surely make them galop just a little?’ Shadowheart rejoined.

But they finally gave in when the entire length of the journey by horse was compared to that by boat.

The two of them tried as best they could to stuff themselves with anti-seasickness potions, but as the effects of the latter were short-lived, they remained cloistered in the holds of the boat for the duration of the journey.

Back on dry land, you took the horses that had travelled with you for the last little stretch of the journey. Having finally reached Waterdeep, you asked the first passer-by where Gale Dekarios was staying.

You almost expected someone to look at you with round eyes of incomprehension as to whom you were searching for, but with a broad smile the passer-by gave you a precise indication of where he was staying.

Gale welcomed you with open arms, his new mage robes modest yet exuding nobility. 

‘I wish I could say otherwise but sincerely, the beauty of a cloth doesn't equal the kind of comfortability I had when we were in the middle of the Absolute's schemes. I sometimes grieve for these times, I never thought I would admit to it one day but I have got to say that ending the day with mud and whatever creature's blood we'd encountered on my robes sounds more thrilling than some of the books I now own.’

When Gale started a sentence, it was hard to stop him in his flow of words, and although it may have made you huff and puff at times, you had missed it.

It was while discussing Shadowheart's memory that Gale suggested a spell that he had been trying to master recently, allowing you to reopen memories buried deep in your brain.

During your stay in Waterdeep, Gale helped you to piece together Shadowheart's memory and restore as much of her past as possible.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seven of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

A/N: I know I've been kinda awol lately, so please enjoy this outtake that I never posted for "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love" as a bribe. It takes place between Chapter 6 and Chapter 8. Oh and yes I did name Soldier Boy's Dad, James, but only because I couldn't find it.

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

Philadelphia 1936

"Where the hell is he?" The snarl shakes your entire house and wakes you from a fitful sleep.

"Who?" You hear your father say back to the voice.

"Benjamin!" The initial voice shouts back and you recognize it, sending a chill down your spine. 

Ben's father.

Ben stirs in the bed behind you, the arm he has thrown over you waist in his sleep to secure you into his chest is heavy, unyielding. And if it weren't for the circumstances you would stay and pretend to still be asleep so you could enjoy your close proximity.

Boarding school nine had been the longest stint that Ben had spent in any school. You wondered if that was because he genuinely tried or because he knew you were still at the Dawson School for Girls and he didn't have anywhere to go. Of course now you were on break, and although you had been surprised when he showed up at your window the night you returned home, you were happy.

You had missed your best friend more than words and when he crossed the threshold through the window you had practically crushed him against you in a hug that, much to your surprise, he returned with just as much enthusiasm. The most you'd been able to do was send him a few letters, but seeing him in person made you feel like your heart was whole again.

 School for you was going as well as you'd think. The only thing you'd ever been good at was art, but you were trying your best. You'd actually been able to make a few friends, but none of them filled the hole that opened in your heart when you left Ben standing on the train station platform watching you leave through the window.

"He’s not here James." Your father's voice is calm, controlled. You’d never seen him lose control, he was always well composed, even in the most stressful situations.

"What's wrong?" You hear your mother say from the stairs. You can imagine her bathed in the soft light from the hall lamps, wearing her perfect dressing gown, and looking effortless, not like she'd just been woken from sleep.

Your eyes go to the clock on your bedside table. It was past two in the morning, which meant that Ben's father was probably halfway through his second bottle of whiskey.

Probably has it with him.

"Where is y/n?" Ben's father roars through the door so loudly, you flinch.

Ben’s grip tightens on your waist and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. His eyes are wide, and you can see a vulnerability behind the green that strengthens you.

"It’s okay." You whisper to him. Your hand drifts to his arm where it rests around your waist, to soothe him. Ben doesn't remove it. "I'm just gonna go tell him that you're not here."

"Don’t go out there” Ben’s grip is unbreakable.

"It’ll be alright." You breathe.

Ben’s eyes are wide and for a moment you see the little eight year old boy hiding from his father in your fathers study all those years ago.

"No." He shakes his head.

"Ben. It's okay. I'll be right back." You say as you pull yourself reluctantly from his grip and slide out of the bed beside him. When you look back at the bed, Ben is still watching you with wide eyes, his hair mused on one side from sleep, and it takes everything for you not to return back to him.

"I know that son of a bitch is here! He's always here!" Ben's father shouts as you exit your room, the force of his rage no longer muffled against your bedroom door.

"Mom? Dad? What’s wrong?" You rub the sleep from your eyes, looking towards the staircase at the end of the hall where your parents stand in the way of Ben's father.

Each time you see him, you're always reminded of how much Ben looks like him. They have the same green eyes, the same handsome features, the same dark hair. But there are differences- his father always looks worn, his hair slicked back over his head and streaked with gray, his eyes were like two coal black pits that did not hold the warmth that Ben's did, and his father's features, although handsome, made him look cruel, not the same boyish ruggedness that Ben possessed.

"You!" His father snarls, pushing past your parents to stomp up the final stairs towards you. His suit is rumpled and unbuttoned, his usual slicked back hair is hanging in his eyes in long greasy strands, with unshaven cheeks, and he carries a half-full bottle of whiskey. "Where is my bastard of a son?"

"Y/n, go back to bed." Your father says from behind Ben's father, but you ignore him.

“Sir you are unwell. Perhaps you should go home and sleep.” You say keeping your voice as composed as you can. A small shiver of fear travels down your spine, but you shake it away remembering the look in Ben's eyes when he heard his father.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Ben's father snaps, continuing to advance on you, but you hold your ground. "Where is he?"

"He's at boarding school." The lie is immediate.

"You're lying." He takes a long pull from the bottle hanging from his hand. “Get out of my way.”

“No."

The smell of the alcohol on his breath washes across your face causing your nose to wrinkle. His eyes are blazing with the force of his anger, face contorted in rage. By now his father is standing a few feet away from you.

Too close.

"Ben’s not here. And this is my room.” You're clutching the sides of your nightgown so tightly that your fingers are white. The fear that rises in the back of your throat is pushed away by the anger you have towards Ben's father and the need to protect Ben. You'd always protected him the same way he protected you and that meant that you were not going to let his father into your room.

His father raises his free hand to move you away from your door, but your father intervenes. Your father's hand fastens on Ben's dad's wrist. “James. Do not touch my daughter.” Your father says. It was the first time you'd ever seen him sound angry and that scared you a little bit.

It seems to do something to Ben’s father, who takes a step back from the door, eyes burning with rage.

"If you see my son," Ben's father levels his gaze on yours, his eyes soul-less and cold, sending another shiver down your spine. "Tell him that I'm looking for him." He wrenches his hand from your father's grip, stomps down the stairs, and out the door, slamming it so loudly that the picture frames that line the hallway shake.

You release the breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Are you alright?" Your father asks, putting his hand on your shoulder.

Your mother is still watching from the top of the stairs and you can only imagine what she's thinking.

Probably that it's improper for me to be out here in my nightgown.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna- go back to bed." You begin to say, but your father hugs you before you go.

"Tell Ben that he doesn't have to leave." He whispers in your ear before he releases you and gently pushes you towards your bedroom door once more.

"What?" You look up at him with wide eyes, surprised.

How does he always know when Ben is here?

"Go on back to bed." He smiles tightly, but you can see how angry your father is in the tension in his shoulders.

"Okay. Goodnight mother." You say as you open your door.

"Goodnight."

When you close your door behind you, you realize that Ben isn't in bed anymore, he's halfway to the door as if he was going to come out of the room but stopped.

“Ben?" You whisper looking up into his wide eyes. You can see his anger, frustration, and beneath it all, you see genuine fear. You'd never seen Ben afraid before, not since the night you met and it breaks something deep down. But before you can do anything, Ben closes the distance between the two of you and pulls you tight into a hug, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. Warmth explodes wherever you’re touching and it take a great deal of effort for you not to melt.

“Hey. It’s okay.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair. “He’s not going to come in here. He’s gone.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is no more than a whisper. “I was going to come out-“

“Yes I did. You’re my friend. And I’m glad you didn’t.” You wonder what his father would have done if Ben came out of your bedroom. Ben’s father never hit him, but it didn’t mean that what he did do was any less okay. Standing here with Ben is enough to make the anger and frustration you felt melt away. You’re not aware of anything else but Ben. The rapid beat of his heart against yours, the breaths he takes, and the way the warmth of his body floods through where you are pressed against one another. 

“I should go-“ He begins to pull away.

“Like hell I’m going to let you go home to be with him. Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”

Ben stands there for a minute. You’d never seen him look so lost.

“Ben?”

He blinks a few times. “Hmm.”

“Come on.” You gently take his hand and lead him to the bed, drawing him back under the covers with you.

Your hands go under his arms and you hold him to you, not caring that you usually didn’t hug in bed. But Ben doesn’t pull away, in fact he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead into your shoulder again.

“It’s okay.” You breathe, moving your fingers back into his hair. Deep down you know that this is different than all the other nights you’ve shared together, that you shouldn’t do this, but you can’t stop. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest and you desperately want him to be okay.

He sighs and tightens his arms around your waist, pushing himself further against you.

“I -um- missed you.” You hear him mutter into your shoulder.

You can't help, but smile, warmth blooming in your heart and making your heart flutter with his confession.

“I missed you too. No one annoys me as much as you do.” 

Ben”s chuckle is soft, but you love how it shakes your body due to your close proximity.

“What did you do to get out of this one?” You ask.

“Fight.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.” He rumbles.

He doesn’t embellish and you don’t ask him to.

“How’s yours?”

“Boring.”

“Hmm.” He sighs leaning further into you.

You feel yourself begin to drift, the comfort of Ben’s warmth lulling you into a soothing slumber as you fingers stroke through his hair.

And when you wake up, Ben is gone.

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

A/N: This was just a little outtake from the story, thought y'all would like it. I can't remember why I never posted it. Maybe because it seemed a little too soon for them to be this fluffy with one another?

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this story let me know :)

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[lichanicksstuff]

What books would characters from The Hobbit read?

This idea came up to me a while ago, but now I have to share it, so here me out ig:

I think Bilbo would read everything he can get his hands on. But mostly fantasy novels, history books, basically anything that would include a piece of unknown world. I just know that he would love Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne and I think he would enjoy Brandon Sanderson's books.

Here's a controversial one, but I think Thorin would mostly read poetry. Especially the Lake Poets. He would read poems about home, love, a warm place where people can feel safe. That's what he wanted, that's why he wanted to regain Erebor. (He would also read romance novels in his free time, but nobody knows about it. Fili and Kili would die twice if they found out. Of laughing and because Thorin would chase them with a knife).

Kili wouldn't read much. He would mostly watch films, but if he once in a while picks up a book it's usually a romance-comedy, or the worst and the most traumatising horror book, a person could ever read. He would recommend them to people by saying "It's a really good book! You will enjoy it!" and then laugh when they come back traumatised. He would like "Ring", "Haunting Adeline" and literally anything by Jane Austen.

Fili would read mostly criminal books or just contemporary fiction. He wouldn't have high expectations for books, but he would complain about every detail if he didn't like one. He would be the type of guy that says "the book was better" after he watched a movie based of a book. Even if he didn't read this particular book, he would say that, just to piss people off.

Porn.

Ori would read contemporary fiction, like Fili, and he would be the victim of Bofur's and Kili's recommendations. Poor guy. He would also read classic romance novels. I have a feeling that he would love Jane Austen's and Bronte sisters' works. I don't know why but it fits. Look at him.

History books and war literature. Do I have to explain myself? This guy would give you an hour long monologue about the emergence of the Balkan countries and you would listen to every word he says. After that he would make you a cup of tea and then asked what books you like to read. And somehow, even if you read a completely different genre, he would recommend you something that you would really enjoy.

Nori's the type of guy who says that he reads everything, even if that's a complete bullshit. He would only read criminal novels (he would have read all of Agatha Christie and killed you if you would say you don't like her work) and sometimes japanese classic literature. And by that I mean Edogawa Ranpo and his "The Human Chair" or "The Hornworm".

I just know that Dwalin would have read "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" like twenty times as a kid. When he was a little older, he tried classic literature, poetry, adventure, sience fiction, war literature, a few romance novels, horror books... He's the true "I read everything" guy. His favourite authors would be Dostoevsky, Karl Adolph Gjellerup (but he wouldn't be a fan of the femme fatale thing) and John Milton.

Cook books.

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Chapter 12 linked here

Chapter 14 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, mentions of blood, allusions to prostitution and mentions of being in a brothel

This is hopefully long enough to make up for being away for so many months! I hope you guys like where the story is going :) this part’s pretty dark but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for AOT itself! I promise we’ll get to some fluffy goodness soon!!

Where we left off…

You scooted closer to Levi, an uneasy feeling settling over you the further you got away from the safety of the lit up house you were previously in. The houses in the next neighborhood were all but abandoned, no sign of living beings inhabiting the dilapidated buildings surrounding you. Levi took charge, leading you through the shortest route toward the inn you’d be staying at. He was moving so quickly that you grasped the back of his jacket so you didn’t get left behind. In the blink of an eye, he shoved you into a doorway as you spotted the glint of a blade barely miss you; it would’ve sliced your neck if he hadn’t moved so fast. You were stunned by the force of hitting the wooden door but quickly recovered when you saw a group of men with various knives and guns surrounding you and Levi. The latter bared his teeth, gripping a knife he had tucked in his belt, as he began slicing his way through the group, dodging bullets and cutting necks. While they were occupied with Levi, you took the chance to run. You knew of his superhuman strength; there was no way you could match it and you being there would hinder his ability to take them all down. You weaved through streets, the labyrinth of houses becoming more convoluted as you sprinted, but you at least remembered the general direction of the inn. You knew you couldn’t afford to stop moving at top speed but your lungs were ready to give out from exertion. You pulled yourself into a vacated building, panting as quietly as possible. When your heart no longer felt like it was going to burst, you opened the door to make a run for it when all of a sudden, you felt a knife prick the skin on your throat and heard the click of a gun.

“You’re comin’ with us, darling.”

“What do you want from me? I’m just a charity worker,” you pleaded as the man who spoke to you harshly grabbed your upper arm and began dragging you away, the knife now tucked away in his pocket. You hated the idea of being brought to a secondary location because the chances of you being found before something terrible happened were slim to none. You desperately tried to stall as much as you could, hoping they would distract themselves with a monologue to your questions long enough for Levi to catch up to you.

“Charity worker? Yeah, right,” he sneered, making his other, taller buddy snort sarcastically as he holstered the gun that was previously shoved in your back. “We know who you are and what family you’re from. You’re worth a lot of money, you know.”

“Really, you have the wrong girl,” you told them, but unfortunately their intel was too good for you to fool them.

“You’re Y/n L/n, now drop the act. It ain’t cute,” the other man, equally as nasty looking as the first, spoke up.

“Neither are you,” you grumbled under your breath, crinkling your nose in disgust at the dirty men manhandling you. You were feeling braver without them brandishing their weapons.

“Why you little-”

The taller man slapped you across the cheek, the sting rippling across your skin doing nothing but angering you.

“You call that a slap? My grandfather can hit harder than that and he’s been dead for years,” you jeered, the same man snarling at you now. He angrily grabbed the front of your shirt, the ribbon bow adorning your collar falling onto the grimy ground.

“You listen here, girl. The only reason you’re not lying dead in the street right now is because we want the ransom money from your parents. Don’t push your luck.”

As you felt his grip release, a thought struck you. With their weapons hidden away and nobody holding onto you for the brief moment, would it be wise to run? If need be, could you fight your way out of this?

A few months ago…

“Those moves are so cool. I wish I was taught to fight,” you had said to Hange, hanging out with them as they oversaw soldier training.

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know how to throw a punch?” they asked in a half concerned, half curious tone.

“…I don’t,” you answered sheepishly.

“Tch. I’ll teach you,” Levi had said, joining the conversation. “It’s stupid to walk around nowadays without being able to protect yourself.”

And teach you he did. You had met with him every day for a few weeks at the training grounds after hours, showing you how to properly shape your fist and use your body weight to your advantage in a fight. He was a scrappy fighter, quick with his evading movements and even faster on the offensive, and you were eager to learn as much as you could from him, soaking up each tidbit of knowledge he passed along to you.

“I hope you’ll never have to use these skills,” he had said on the last day of your training, “but I’m glad you can defend yourself if needed.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Levi. Thanks for being a great teacher.”

He nodded and turned away from you, the tiniest, satisfied smile resting on his lips.

You prayed to whatever heavenly body decided to listen at that moment that your lessons weren’t in vain. Without a second thought, you punched the man square in the nose with all of your might and immediately started running. You didn’t dare slow down or look back, afraid of what you might see if you did. You were sure that the other guy would be hot on your trail at any second and you couldn’t afford to be in this part of town by yourself any longer. You heard the gravel fly up from underneath your quick feet, crackling as the tiny stones settled behind you. If you could just reach past the next big building in front of you, you’d be closer to the city center and more apt to find help. You couldn’t slow down, had to keep pushing-

You cried out as a searing pain split through your right leg, causing you to stumble. The sound of a gunshot registered in your frenzied brain after you felt the steady stream of blood pour out of your new wound, soaking your sock. You tried to keep running, not wanting to risk getting caught, but to no avail.

“No more runnin’. I won’t say it again or next time I’ll aim for your head.”

The shorter man pushed you to the ground, one hand pointing the gun toward your body, ready to take your life, while the other dug through his pocket.

“Here.” He threw a roll of gauze that landed limp in your lap. “Bandage that and make it quick. I’m not missin’ my chance at money ‘cuz you bled out.”

You angrily obliged, not wanting to risk an infection in your open wound. Surely Levi heard all this commotion; at least the one good thing about being shot was that it could hopefully lead him straight to you. When your leg was wrapped, the bullet having only scraped the side, you were yanked off the ground and kept in a vice grip with the gun shoved into your back as you were forced back into the proximity of the second man.

“I’m gonna kill her!” the tall man shouted, blood still gushing from his nostrils.

“I want to as well but we can’t make another permanent mark on her body. It’ll lower her price.”

Lower my price? You thought. Wouldn’t that make my parents raise the ransom to avoid more harm coming to me? Unless…

Oh no.

“Looks like she finally understood what’s happening here,” the short man laughed as he saw your eyes widened from fear. “Either your parents pay ransom in the next 6 hours or we’re dumping you in the Underground.”

You tried to keep calm, but it was impossible with the very real threat of being sold in the Underground looming over you. Your parents would pay the ransom, they had to. They weren’t so far gone morally as to allow their daughter to be taken by these disgusting creatures. They weren’t corrupt and greedy enough to let you rot in the most horrendous conditions possible. They loved you.

Right?

“Wait, I have money of my own to pay you with. However much you want,” you said, trying to reason with the men who were leading you to your doom. Unfortunately, they either saw through your lie or didn’t care to deal with your bargaining, opting to laugh in your face once more as the entrance to the Underground came into view.

“What happened to waiting for the ransom? Why are we here already?” you asked incredulously.

“We decided to skip a few steps. If we don’t get the ransom money, you’ll already be down there without causing any more trouble.”

The tall man smiled at you devilishly, looking eerily similar to the cold blooded expression of a titan.

“Please, please, I’ll give you anything you want. Just let me go, please!” you begged as the lantern above the entrance to the Underground steps became visible in the dark of the night.

“You have nothin’ we want. You certainly don’t have all that money on you right now and we like our payday instant.”

It was now or never if you were to escape your certain demise. Once you were forced Underground, there was likely no way of anyone finding you.

“No! No! Levi! Help me!” You pulled against the tight grasps on your forearm, hoping to break free, but your injured leg was causing you to be in a weakened state and unable to loosen yourself from your captors. “Anyone, please! I’ve been kidnapped! Help, please!”

Again, the men just chuckled. This was truly evil personified. You’d much rather take on titans than these heartless monsters. By the time you reached the Underground stairs, you were in a frenzied state. Where were the police officers who were supposed to keep you safe? The concerned citizens who had to have heard your yells or the gunshot? Did everyone leave their humanity behind when the sun went down? You screamed and thrashed around, clawing the men and trying to bite them, anything to make them let go of you for even a second, but nothing worked.

“Shut her up or the MPs are gonna catch wind of this and make us give ‘em a cut of the deal,” the guard at the steps said.

“Happy to do so,” smirked the tall kidnapper, giving you a swift punch to the stomach. With the wind knocked out of you, you were rendered speechless as the shorter guy pulled out his knife and sliced a large strip of fabric from the bottom hem of your shirt. While you were trying to catch your breath, the makeshift gag was forced into your mouth. You looked at the guard, wide eyed and trying to convey your distress as well as you could in one last feeble attempt at getting help.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, “money rules everything and I’ve got a good operation going here. Who knows, you make enough down there and maybe you can pay your way up to see me.”

The wink he sent you was the last sight you had above ground before rough hands shoved you into the abyss below.

As you made your reluctant descent, you were reminded why you did your work to help the people who hailed from here. The world under Mitras was an incredible feat, there was no debate about that. However, the condition it was in certainly left much to be desired. The stale, acrid air hit your nostrils and made you want to puke. You never thought a trip down here could get more dismal than your previous ones, but you had never been at night. The city was alive with criminals and creeps galore, hungry eyes and dangerous grins making you cower as you were paraded to a destination unknown. You were being weaved through copious amounts of foot traffic, the Underground citizens seemingly more active at night. Actually, you realized they probably didn’t care if it was day or night since it was about the same amount of light streaming through the cracks—none. With every person you passed, you tried to gain their attention and let out muffled pleads for help, but most didn’t dare to look you in the eye and those who did just sneered at you. You realized you really were alone in this giant city, filling you with a sense of dread and despair you had never known before. You were steered into a dilapidated building, your heart rate quickening at what horrors you would meet inside. You yelped as you were pushed into a small, windowless room, a broken bed with a singular stained sheet as the only furniture.

“Time to see if mommy’s and daddy’s pockets are as deep as they claim,” said the short man.

“Who knows, we might just take the ransom and leave you here anyway. Double the pay,” chimed in the taller one, both men cackling at your misfortune. You untied the gag from your mouth but the men were already long gone before you could scream at them. You decided now would be a good time to figure out exactly where you were so you could start planning your escape. You exited the cramped room, taking in your surroundings. Outside was a long hallway, doorways lining both sides of it with one end being a dead end and the other opening to another bigger room. As you walked down the hallway toward the bigger room, you were hit with a nauseous feeling and it wasn’t just from the lingering smell of uncleanliness. You had been here before, dropping off clothes for the women and the latest unfortunate newborn who was a result of their work.

You were in a brothel.

Emotion swept over you in an instant with the severity of the situation making itself abundantly clear. You slid down in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest as you cried in the empty hallway. You were grateful for the lack of clients coming and going so you could sob in peace. Too enraptured in your own suffering, you didn’t notice someone approaching you until you felt a finger tapping your shoulder. Your head shot up in an instant, afraid of who it might be. Your tensed body immediately relaxed when you were met with a worried face of a kind looking woman. To your surprise, her outfit wasn’t in tatters and her hair looked clean, free from lice; she looked too put together to be employed here.

“Are you alright, my dear?” she asked, looking at your injuries and bleary eyes.

“Not at all,” you confessed, telling her the traumatic events you were experiencing. “I got kidnapped from above and I’m being held for ransom. Not to mention I’m probably getting sold here in a few hours and no offense but I’m not ecstatic about that.”

“I’m so sorry,” she soothed, letting her hand rest on your shoulder to comfort you. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you croaked out, feeling a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill out.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up in recognition. “Wait, I know that name. You work with Mrs. Reimann, don’t you?”

“How… how did you know that?”

“You helped me. Many years ago,” she explained. “You brought clothes for me and my child. Without them, we wouldn’t have made it through the winter. It’s because of you that we survived. We were able to escape and now I work with Mrs. Reimann to pass along that same blessing to others like me.”

You used your last bit of strength to stand up once more, but you had to lean against the wall so you didn’t fall over. You needed medical attention for your leg and it was only going to get worse the longer you were down here in such unsanitary conditions.

“It’s my turn to help you like you helped me,” the mystery woman said, eyeing your weary body. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” you told her sincerely, wondering how you got so lucky. “What’s your name?”

“Mina.”

“Okay, Mina. I need you to find someone for me.”

Levi hated to see you run out from under his watchful eye but it was a smart move on your part to get away from the group of attackers and let him handle it. What he didn’t expect was the two men who broke off from the group early on in the fight. At first he thought they were cowards, scared of meeting their end with his blade. It was too late by the time he realized why they ran and when he finally disposed of the never ending men attacking him, you were gone, leaving no trace but your discarded ribbon on the ground. The gunshot that rang out was a huge red flag to him but your body wasn’t there and the men wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it that quickly, meaning you were alive. Keeping a cool head, Levi wracked his brain thinking of what those men could’ve wanted with you. You never mentioned your background and for all he knew, you could've been from the city. You were aware of the luxury of breakfast in bed which meant you must’ve had a wealthy upbringing. Levi sighed; you were most likely being held for ransom. Were the L/n’s a high profile family? He hadn’t a clue. But he knew someone who did.

Levi ran as fast as he could back to Mrs. Reimann’s, clutching the ribbon in his hand and rubbing the soft texture nervously between his thumb and forefinger. He never expected something like this to happen, especially not with him being your supposed protector. He was upset with himself at letting you get hurt and he was upset at having to be back in this shitty city in the first place. Nothing good ever happens here, whether it be above or below ground. Having you by his side made it less painful to be so close to where most of his worst memories took place, but with you missing, your life in grave danger, he now felt as lost as you were. Slamming open the door to the shelter, Levi surprised the older woman heading up the stairs to get some rest.

"Y/n's missing," he said as plainly as he could, not wanting any emotion to come through his voice. "I need you to tell me if there's people here who want to hurt her."

Mrs. Reimann halted her steps but stayed silent.

"Answer me," he urged, his desperation slowly seeping through. "Tell me about her family. Her upbringing. Everything you know."

The salt and peppered haired woman turned toward him, sadness etching over her features. "I can’t believe they actually went through with it.”

His eyes narrowed, waiting for her to continue.

"She’s been taken for ransom. By who, I don’t know. I heard rumblings but I didn’t think it would actually happen,” she explained, making Levi’s heart pound in his chest in anger. “She comes from a wealthy family and you know how it is—everybody wants their hands on money.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he seethed.

“Because there’s threats like that for people like her all of the time,” she replied. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it.”

Levi, raging on the inside, pried for more information. “Where do you think they’re holding her?”

“I don’t know. If I were to guess? A place where no one cares about you or your status. Somewhere someone could be easily lost and never found.”

A chill ran down Levi’s spine as he uttered the name of his next destination.

“The Underground.”

Chapter 14

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent @raginginferno267 @come-away-with-me87

[darksigns-exe]

My Endless Distraction - Nicholas Ruffilo/Noah Sebastian/OFC

Paring: Noah x Nicholas x OFC

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.1k

Note: Listen I am just the messenger. I can't stop these poly brainworms. If you find punctuation mistakes no you didn't.

Nick finds them on the sofa. He doesn’t get to see them like this often, there’s still something hesitant about Noah. But Nick thinks that it’s less shame and more insecurity. He knows that the younger is still struggling with accepting how he feels. It’s new for all of them, but he knows Noah well enough to know that it might take him a little longer to really come to terms with it.

Noah has his head in her lap and from what he can tell he’s fast asleep. An even rarer sight.

He watches them from the door for a moment. Her hand is carding through his hair, and occasionally her fingers drift across the skin at his temples. It’s such an intimate moment that Nick can hardly convince himself to disrupt them.

She does notice him eventually. She waves him over. Gently as he can manage, Nick manoeuvres himself under Noah’s long limbs. He grumbles a little but otherwise gives little effort to move himself.

“How was your day?” She asks, reaching out of Nick's hand with the one that isn’t tangled into Noah’s hair.

“Busy. Good kind.” He gives her hand a squeeze, “What did you two get up to?”

“We tried to watch Evangelion.” She draws her hand across his cheek, “I don’t think he’s sleeping much at the moment."

Nick has heard the younger roaming around the house in the depths of night for a few nights in a row now. He knows that Noah sometimes struggles with falling asleep, but this is a lot even for him.

They’re silent for a while, and Nick just allows himself to watch Noah and her. Sometimes he thinks that it’s easier for Noah to pretend that he’s just with one of them. It should make him feel bad, but he understands the turmoil that must fill his waking thoughts. He’s been there too, but he had her bounce his fears off of. Noah isn’t as willing to part with his inner monologues.

Speak of the devil the younger stirs and stretches his tired limbs further across Nick's lap.

They’re in suspension for a moment before Noah realises that it’s not just the two of them anymore. He doesn’t immediately remove himself from Nick's lap and instead sinks a little deeper into her embrace.

“When did you come back?”

“Just now.” Nick gives his calf a squeeze, “Didn’t miss much.”

Noah turns onto his back and properly stretches across their bodies. It’s a miracle that he even fits on the sofa, considering how tall he is.

“You two eat yet?”

The smirk that plasters itself across Noah’s face tells him that he’s at least eaten something. Nick smacks his thigh, “Something real.”

She shakes her head before Noah can dig himself even deeper into that hole, “Thought we could order something in?”

Noah finally, albeit reluctantly, sits up but remains pressed to her side as if he’s glued to her. Nick gets it. There are very few places he’d rather be.

They order enough to share among the three of them. Noah’s fork will find its way to their plates anyway, and she’s always adamant that she doesn’t want fries, but always ends up stealing Nicks. And so he orders a bit of everything, even the bits they don’t think about. No one’s going to tell Nick that he isn’t considerate.

She’s perched on the counter in front of Noah when he comes back into the kitchen with the bags.

“I just don’t know why you always assume the worst. I really hope that neither Nick nor I have ever given you the feeling that this isn’t serious.”

He pauses just before the last corner.

“No — it’s not that —" he pauses for a moment, “It’s just — if this goes bad, I don’t just lose one of you.”

“Then we don’t let it go bad.” Nick can almost see the soft expression on her face, “But you need to talk to us for that. This can’t work if we don’t talk to each other. Right, Nick?”

He’s sure the damned woman has some kind of sixth sense.

Noah lets out a laugh at that.

And when Nick rounds that last corner, he finds him with his head dropped to her shoulder, his own still shaking with silent laughter.

"You know that he tries that all the time, right?" Noah says, picking himself up again, "He thinks he's sneaky like that, but you can hear him from a mile away."

Nick wants to protest, but he knows it's true. And truth be told, seeing them gang up on him makes him feel all warm inside.

"Terrible liar too." she digs, throwing him wink "But to get back to it. If we want this to work, and I wholeheartedly want it to work, we need to talk. This hush hush stuff doesn't work." she looks directly at Noah then, who shrinks into himself just a little "I know it's comfortable, but it won't do us any good in the long run."

Nick sets the bags down on the table in the middle of the room.

"I think we can all work on that." he says with his back still turned to the pair of them, "Expectations, limits and all that."

He hears her hop off the counter, "I think we should have had that talk before you ganged up on me like that. Don't get me wrong, that was fun, but --"

"That should have been a conversation." Nick agrees, "Are we good to have that talk now?"

There'll be some uncomfortable things, he's well aware of that, but he'd rather have it out of the way and talked about than shelved for yet another day.

Noah is the first one to give his yes, and she follows shortly after.

And so there's some back and forth over dinner. They agree that it's easiest if Noah stays with them for the time being, he's between places anyway and one commute less can only make things less complicated. Noah doesn't feel quite ready to dive into things with Nick, but he wants to try, and that's enough for him. Things involving her are fine, Nick supposes it's easier for the younger because he's used to girls and everything else is so painfully new. But he's glad that it's not off the table entirely. All in all the conversation is less tense than he'd anticipated, and his shoulders feel, to his surprise, a lot lighter once they return to the living room.

He's sure that he won't remember a bit of whatever they're watching, but it matters little when he gets to spend the evening with the two of them. He's seen all of Evangelion often enough. But every little step they take here is new, and he'd rather watch them than the images that flicker across the screen.

Nick tries not to make it known that he noticed the tattooed hand that slithers up his leg and finds a hesitant home against his calf, out of fear that he'll flee like a spooked bird.

He's trying, he instead repeats in his mind, that's good enough.

[bucknastysbabe]

Criston cole x alicent daughter reader maybe aemonds sister and it be like when the dinner happens or something idk I just sadly love him

I SADLY LOVE INCEL KNIGHT TOO HE JUST— UGHGNGGNGNGBGNG ANGST

Immaculate - Ser Criston Cole

Ratings: Mature

Tags: Fantasies from Criston (no actual touch), his hateful internal monologue, anxiety attacks, weird pseudo Incest moments w Step daddy Cole, star crossed lovers type beat, Mentions of self-harm. This is just kinda angsty and strange

Criston waited outside the doors after the King was escorted away in a coughing fit, his disease taking over again. He was on guard for the Queen, always, as was his duty as sworn shield. Once the maesters were secured with the wasting king he had returned. Alicent had let royal guards stay on the inside of the room as his appearance may ‘unnerve’ some.

He knew what she meant. The cunt and her bastard seed. It made his chest swell with anger, bitterness, and that residual hurt he would never disclose to another. Just her whore he was. Years hadn’t quelled the ache when the knight thought back on it. So he tried not to.

Instead Criston spent the time attempting to overcome that eternal shame and stain on his once pristine white cloak and take care of the true born Targaryens, strange as they could be. He loved them all in their own way. An unsettled feeling sat in his gut from the ongoing dinner. There had been peace for too long and Viserys wasn’t there to hold up that invisible wall between the two clans.

As predicted, the dinner erupted into chaos. Criston entered from the back as Daemon was glaring down Aemond who simply swaggered off. Otto and Helaena stood awkwardly as the youngest princess watched with wide eyes. Rhaenyra and the rogue prince left immediately. Criston eyed Aegon who ambled back over to finish his cup.

The heir giggled at his sisters, “Wasn’t that grand?”

Otto sniped, “Extremely distasteful, shoving the lad’s head into the table and acting like children.”

Aegon, tongue rendered loose and bitter when he was in his cups began to argue with his grandsire. Criston locked eyes with Alicent, her own brimming with emotion. She ordered, “Take her to bed please.” He nodded dutifully and offered an arm to the second-born daughter, the poor thing grabbing him like a lifeline.

She would get overwhelmed quickly, not a good trait to have for a Targaryen. Alicent mused about sending her to be a Septa for years. Until the matter of the succession loomed ever closer. Septa had upgraded to a political pawn for whoever could offer gold and an army. Although the process had been stagnant. Criston didn’t mind that, much as he couldn’t speak of it, she was his favorite.

“There’s a war coming,” she warbled, doe eyes wide.

“Not yet sweetling, it may come to pass,” he hummed, squeezing her arm with his other hand as they passed through long halls. She shook blonde locks and pressed on, “No, no, I know it, look how we hate one another. That was dreadful. Mother’s going to sell me to a Lannister and make me take Gharion into battle.”

She whimpered at the end of her sentence, steps stumbling a bit. Criston looked down in concern, brows furrowing at his distressed princess. He wasn’t the best with comforting…still he would try. Rubbing her slim arm again he shushed, “Shh, hush now, you’re going to drive yourself up a wall thinking of things that haven’t occurred.”

Arriving at her chambers, he tried to dislodge her tight grip gently. The princess held on with a death grip, lilac eyes feverish as she begged, “Please don’t leave me alone, please Ser Cole.” He frowned, chest flipping and clenching at her cracking voice. The knight knew better, he just needed to get her to bed and leave. Last time he stepped foot in a Targaryen princess’ bedchambers it did not end well.

“I can’t sweetling, I’ll be out and about on patrol, not far away,” he said softly.

More tears leaked from gorgeous eyes. Criston was going to lose his already cracked willpower, he knew that much. “Please, please, I don’t want to be alone,” she wept, beginning to shake. He grimaced at her face going ashen and the tremors becoming worse, breath thinning into heaves. “Oh princess,” he sighed and picked the slip of a thing up.

She was having another fit, something the maesters said was due to ‘a hysterical temperament’. Shaking and crying and sucking in breaths until she received a couple drops of diluted poppy milk. He hated seeing them, made him want to coddle and pet her. Then he’d feel disgusting afterwards, emotions all twisted for the princess about less than half his age. The Seven cursed him for that.

“Where’s the poppy milk,” the brunette asked, laying her down on the impossibly huge bed. She managed to point a shaky finger at the large wardrobe. In two strides Criston opened it up and found the little glass bottle, swirling it around. Coming to perch on the bed he held the dropper out for the Princess, leaving two upon her tongue.

She relaxed soon after, but little hands were back tight in his cloak, twisted up. Criston clenched his jaw, unsure of how to navigate this. The princess asked sleepily, “Ser Criston, you’ll escort me to Casterly Rock right? And stay a bit? What if Lord Lannister is mean and awful to me?”

Criston would gladly rip the idiot’s throat out and present it to court if he put a hand on his sweetling. In the calmest voice possible Cole responded, “Yes I’m sure there will be Kingsguard present, knowing the Queen I’ll be there on watch for a bit.” She sighed softly, seeming more relaxed.

Silence enveloped the pair for a long time, Criston lost in his hateful thoughts. He needed to repent later. Drawing his sick blood would suffice. Shuffling and covers moving sounded from behind. The knight stiffened when she put her chin on his pauldron, hands finding his own. The princess murmured in a slight slur, “I love you Ser Criston. You always take good care of me.”

He wanted to cry but the brunette held her soft hands and hummed, “I love you too dear girl, don’t fret, I’ll protect you as long as I can.” She nuzzled into his dark hair, making no further moves, breathing in his scent. Scenes of stretching her pretty cunt flitted past his mind, her heaving pale body, melodic voice raw from crying his name. Dragging his cock along her innocent folds, the maiden incarnate.

Criston blinked and realized he needed to get out of here, very fast. He rasped to the princess, “I need to get on duty now sweet girl. I’ll be back later I promise.” She looked unhappy, begging a couple more times as Criston laced up and put on his helmet. He shook his head and shrugged her off, heart cracking in his chest.

“Ser please,” she whined, lilac eyes watery and so so achingly pure. Criston shook his head and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She gasped and stared, hands dropping. “You promise you’ll come back?,” she warbled. He nodded resolutely, beginning to shut the door. Criston wanted to beat himself black and blue doing his rounds.

The Seven constantly testing him by sending these abominable Targaryens, so impure yet there she was. He was weak and already failed once, he couldn’t fail again. Criston still came back to her chambers after the hour of the Wolf, exhausted. He sat down in a chair and watched her ethereal face, the moonlight casting a glow on perfect features.

Hatred boiling and churning in his chest Criston began to pull at his lower armor, what she wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt. He’d take that pain for the girl fifty times over. That’s what Criston was here for anyways. Pain. Tarnish everything that may have once been good on his body.