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acotarxreader · 2 months ago

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Hounded

Eris x Reader

Synopsis: Eris loves his dogs more than any other living thing and they love him but soon his eldest hound has found a new interest, you and your endless supply of bread rolls. An unlikely friendship begins to form between the Son of Autumn and one of Springs last border guards, Craos is just hoping to create some sort of parent trap situation.

Warning: Fluff, banter, blood, wounds, doggos, Eris shaming the dogs belly, poor editing

A/N: Hi friends! I orginally wrote this for @erisweekofficial for the Hounds theme however I've been really in the trenches recently and only got around to finishing it now, so I'm sad to have missed Eris week but still happy to be publishing my first Eris fic! Let me know what you think!

P.S Craos (cray-us) in Irish means blazing when referring to fire and Tine (tin-ah) means fire so I named two of the dogs after these words for a lil Irish flare

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The hounds were Eris’s greatest pride and occasionally his greatest pain in the ass. He fought with this very thought the day his eldest hound, Craos had managed to dip out of his view one walk. Eris blamed himself for losing sight of his favourite friend, so deep in the thoughts of worry about the Night Courts antics that threatened to expose his double agent status to his father. Actually, he blamed them for her escape, it was easier that way. The Autumn leaves crackled against the weight of his heavy boots, his voice getting lost in the whipping whirling wind of the forest far from his residence. Eris swung harshly around on his heels, just in time to catch Craos bounding up the hill towards him, mischievous as ever.

“You scared me half to death girl” He laughed down at her, running his thumbs over her ears in soothing circles she loved so much, his other hounds leaping around waiting for their turn. She seemed to wish to pull him in the direction she bolted from, something tethering her to the distant spot in the vast woods. “Come girl, leave that hare to its escape love, you’re getting…fluffy enough without the extra feed” he laughed, leashing her to him and taking her from her pointed stance. Eris made a mental note to closely monitor Craos food as she began to get rounder than the others in the pack, no doubt owing to the budding Autumn wildlife she’d snag unaccompanied.

The following weeks lead Eris down a rabbit hole of Night Court intricacy, forever walking the line between ally and babysitter. He took comfort in the daily strolls through the thicket of woodland, his beloved pack in toe. The days he missed the walks he noticed his own demeanour change, his interest in the tangled interpersonal mess the Inner Circle was weaving waning beyond even an ounce of interest. Eris checked his hounds daily and despite their own vast staff, he loved to take care of them and nurture the breed while nurturing something he wasn’t even sure he still had inside himself. Some care for another living thing. Not in a selfish way of course, but more in a self-preservation sense, what he loved had a habit of crumbling in his hands or being crushed in someone else’s.

Deep in thought, Eris ran a hand down the head of one of his younger hounds, Tine, who laid his head on the lap of his master as Eris tried to gain an understanding of the written correspondence on the desk. Tine grumbled against Eris’s thigh before stretching down to the ground.

“Its tough work being pampered Tine” he laughed to himself, casting an eye on the other 4 hounds, curled into their own worlds by the fire of the study. Eris smiled softly at the relaxed nature, would any other living thing find such comfort in the company he provided? He forced the ever-present question away from his thoughts, casting a look to the sofa where Craos would often take her rest. Empty. Eris stood abruptly, chair screeching along the slate enough to have Tine stand to attention once again. Craos had been there when the others came in from their dinner? Hadn’t she? Another attempt by the Night Court to swipe away Eris’s attention buried him in paperwork when the dogs were returned to him.

Quick on his feet, Eris and his pack found the staff of the kennels and after a brief and sharp discussion it was unclear if Craos was with the pack on return from her exercise. Following sharp threats, Eris took to the woodland again, his hounds hunting down their own with precision. His voice reverberated off ancient trees as their crisp golden leaves began to ink with lush green colour. Thoughts of the worst clouded the shrubbed path as Eris felt the border of Spring, his second least favourite place in the realm.

“Craos!” He echoed across a section of the stream border between Spring and Autumn. The mischievous hound leapt with excitement at the presence of her master, bounding through the shallow stream to return to Autumn and its son. He gave thanks for Spring's current instability as during time previous he wouldn’t have gotten this close to the Spring border without a visit from the furry High Lord. Eris couched into the silt of the streams bank, rubbing Craos's goofy face while quietly scolding her, knowing full well she wasn’t listening.

“Petal” Eris looked up from the rushes towards the call of the sing-song siren-like voice. Not in the mood for confrontation with Spring, Eris crouched further into the brambles, obscuring himself from the female across the watery border. Craos pulled against Eris’s gentle hold, eager to cross the border again and succeed with another call from the voice. Eris watched the most feared hound in all the realm, leap like a bunny rabbit to your shadow, jumping to lick your face as you crouched to allow her.

“Petal darling easy” You laughed, coating the clearing in an ease unfamiliar to Eris. through the thick river rushes Eris watched his much-revered hound roll to her back for scratches before leaping up to follow your hand as it dug through your bag.

“Okay, sit now” you laughed, Craos eagerly obeying and happily rewarded with a small bread roll you took from your bag.

“Easy easy” You beamed as she scoffed the lot, Eris watched the interaction with equal parts confusion and intrigue and at that very moment realised the most feared son in all the realm was acting like a bunny rabbit hiding from a fox in the rushes. That very son shot upright quickly from his burrow, causing you to leap slightly with fright as Eris pulled his shoulders back in a more becoming stance. The both of you looked across the crystal-like stream, Craos jumping at your feet eager to resume your undivided attention.

“Come” Eris called across the rushing water, only to have Craos not respond to him with obedience. You slowly ran your hand down the hounds head, not taking your eyes from the High Lord’s son.

“Forgive me sir but you have no business this close to the Spring border” You tried your best to project confidence, it slipping from your grasp in the face of Eris’s heated stare.

“You’re forgive” You fought hard to not roll your eyes at the obvious display of sarcasm. Eris lightly tapped his side, Craos’ ears snapping forward to attention before bounding across the stream to her master.

“Good”

“Don’t hurt her, she’s only coming home” You walked to the bank's edge, eyes scanning Craos for any sign of distress.

“Home?-” Eris found it hard to muffle his confused chuckle “-she is my hound, property of the Autumn Court-”

“Property!?-” You found the full strength in your voice “-she is a living being and she belongs to Prythian, she is more at home in the forest and with me-”

“-And who exactly are you?” Eris was quickly losing patience as Craos seemingly shrunk in stature at her master's strengthening tone.

“It matters little, leave the dog and return away from my border-”

“-Orders?” Eris’s laugh filled the clearing, his heavy boots now stalking closer to the perimeter “-I will not take orders from anyone.”

“I hear you take orders from the Night Court” You laughed, it now skirting along Eris’s nerves instead of soothing them.

“I do no such thing” The river water’s temperature began to rise as the son of the flame began to stalk closer.

“Really? I heard you even bend over when dear Rhysie asks” You laughed again, Eris now causing the very edge of the river to steam. You raised a hand before his boot fully slid into the refreshing stream, a long wall of water dividing up the middle of the lake, stopping him in his tracks.

“Ah ah-” you shook your finger towards him “-fire and water don’t mix sir” Craos ears pinned back at your words before she looked between the two of you, unsure of her own next move.

“Your name, tell me your name” He chewed out, examining the translucent wall in front of him for cracks.

“YN, the last keeper of my Court’s boarders” You smiled so innocently, it almost lured Eris back into that unfamiliar softness until he heard the soft sizzle of the dying flame at his fingertips, it turning to steam against the new border.

“The last? Perhaps you should take that as a hint and seek further employment at a market or something?”

“Is that where Rhysand bought you?” You smirked, with more playfulness than power and Eris fought away his own smile. Craos leapt forward, Eris going to catch hold of her before she could slam into the fortified border but to his surprise, she glided through it with ease unavailable to him.

“She can stay, you may go”

“She’s my hound, however, your supply of bread rolls certainly explains her newfound…plumpness” He heard her seemingly groan back in offesen and you looked from her to him.

“Now you’re annoying two females, you should potentially quit while you’re ahead” Eris scoffed at your teasing, the sound of the other hounds bounding behind him piquing your interest. The four looked to their eldest sibling across the water, heads cocked to the side in curiosity and some form of canine communication. The four followed suit of their leader and crossed to you and Craos with ease.

“Look at you lovelies” You beamed, crouching to meet the hounds as they reunited with their sister. Eris watched through the glistening border wall, his feared hounds reduced to cuddly toys under your touch. It was if he wasn’t even there. You interacted with them like they were never a threat and never would be, the way that he felt you might feel about him. A foreign feeling to a male whose reputation often goes before him.

“We-we must be going” Eris felt unsure of the ounce of guilt he felt towards separating you from his pack, some sense of something wrong flooded him when they all ran back to his feet, leaving you alone on the other side of the clearing once again. You looked down with softer eyes to the dogs at his feet, no ounce of fear from them giving you comfort.

“Don’t make a habit of feeding them all now” Eris smiled, bringing your eyes back to him.

“I thought she was stray, I didn’t know she was one of yours”

“They’re all mine, you say she belongs to Prythian but that is the very land that tried to eradicate the breed” You nodded lightly at his proud words. Silence returned to the clearing only to have Craos groan, receiving a knowing look from Eris.

“She can come back when she is not working and when I say it is okay but, the bread rolls end” another groan from his eldest hound “No more bread rolls” he reiterated to her, gaining a laugh from you.

“It's okay Petal, we’ll see” You smiled at her, the other dogs listening carefully and plotting their own access to baked goods.

“Her name is Croas, it means blazing, a more fitting name than Petal I think” he laughed heartily, the action surprising even himself a little.

“I’m going to stick with Petal, keep to your side sir” You returned the grin before dipping you head and evaporating into the very mist you built the wall from.

Eris jogged through the vast Autumn woods, desperate to crush the headaches the Night Court were giving him like the leaves under his boots. The hounds sprang into their own exploration, all staying in close proximity except Craos, who had gone to visit you. Over the past month, she began to spend more and more time with you in Spring, even missing a few nights away from home to keep you company. It didn’t bother Eris as much as he had thought, the bread rolls had stopped and Craos seemed happy, he had no reason to take away another living thing's happiness. He never wanted to do that, to begin with, it just became part of his image, his unfortunate brand he couldn’t wait to shed once he assumed power from his father.

Wartime plans swirled across his head, scenarios of defeat and success clogging his mind until he was snapped from focus by his suddenly wet shoes. He had once again jogged to the border of Spring and Autumn. This was the third time since first meeting you that his feet had taken him where his heart wanted to go and his head didn’t consent to. Unlike those times, however, he found you sat a little way up the stream by the river's edge. Eris watched Craos sprawled along your side, your hand drawing lazy circles on her stomach as you kept your focus on the book in the other.

“No wonder Spring is falling, when the border guards take such leisure during their worktime” Eris called across to you, throwing his weight into the trunk of a sinking willow, hands tucked deep in his pockets. You looked up from your deep study with a slight jolt, Croas leaping instantly to defend you and sinking back once seeing the perpetrator. Eris never thought one of his hounds would defend anyone without his instruction and yet here Craos was, delighted to be at your service. You looked at Eris's sinking shoe before tilting your head slightly, the wall of water reappearing with the movement.

“Threatened sweetheart?” Eris smirked, his hands now crossing against his chest in amusement as you stood.

“Why would I be threatened by someone who’s going to slip?” Before Eris could question further, the sinking willow slipped free a root from the crumbling soil under Eris’s weight, his full balance being thrown back to land on an equally shaky bank. Your laugh echoed off the Spring trees at the sight of the much feared Son of Autumn helplessly falling into the shallow water, it soaking him to his skin instantly. Eris felt flushed with anger, it mixing violently with embarrassment but the sight of your head tilting back with put amusement took it from him as fast as the bank took his balance and he found himself smiling.

“I don’t know how but you did that on purpose” He stood, a quick flash of flame drying him off as Craos crossed back to his side.

“I can’t be blamed for you being clumsy” You chuckled, tucking your book back into your bag, Eris catching a glimpse of the cover.

“I’ve read that, I didn’t think others would have?”

“So unique and mysterious sir, not like other High Lords” You teased, your hands finding your hips as the other hounds joined the scene, seemingly groaning to demand their dinner.

“Well, if you would let me cross this silly little water show, I could show you” You raised an eyebrow to his tone of possible flirtation. You blinked softly, a splash of water ejecting from the wall to soak Eris again as he recoiled.

“I can be blamed for that, little water show” You laughed loudly, Eris wiping the water from his face until another flash of heat dried it away. He thought briefly about how he’d killed others for less and yet no desire to do that to you.

“Maybe another time then YN, I just came for our girl anyways, come Craos better get you home for your dinner” He smiled at the obedient pup.

“She had a bread roll” You winked before dissolving away in the mist.

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Eris dragged his hands through his hair, his rings snagging slightly on his locks. The warmth of the study fire took away the chill from the perpetual Autumn but was unable to do the same to his sentiments about the Inner Circle. They kept him away from his home for the past three weeks and so kept him away from his encounters with you which had become more frequent in the three months since your first. Still, he stayed on one side of the watery wall, happy to exchange some stories with you across its shimmering surface. Craos was only too delighted that her newfound parents had seemed to cross the bridge between indifference to let's say tolerance.

Eris stood from his desk, taking a violet-coloured book from the vast library before stalking around the grounds of his hidden home away from home, his hounds in tow except for the usual conscientious objector. The sinking sun reflected beautifully off the crisp leaves of this secluded cottage away from both Autumn and Night Court headaches. He sank down into a well-rotting deck chair, it creaking under his weight as he cracked the spine of the forgotten book you had reminded him of two months prior. It wasn’t long before the sound of heavy panting snapped Eris from the world on the tea-coloured pages.

“Craos?” He called to the growing darkness, standing to his feet as the hound came bounding through the trees before barking frantically, stirring the other sleeping hounds.

“What? What’s wrong?” A flame came to Eris’s hand instantly as Craos took the cuff of his trouser leg between her teeth and pulled to which he went willingly. She released her grip before dashing back in the direction she came from, only stopping to make sure Eris was still following. The group leapt over tree roots and mossy burrows, all quick on their pursuit of Craos and her frantic nature until the familiar flush of Spring air rushed at them. Eris’s eyes shot to your weakening body across the familiar river, your groans of pain reverberating off the trees as you fought to stand. Craos met your side quickly as you procured yourself up on one elbow, the mud and moss obscuring you slightly from Eris.

“Hi Petal, it’s okay” You tried through tears to reassure her, taking your hand from your mangled leg to rub her reassuringly, your blood tinging her fur on contact. She yelped towards you before looking back to a pale Eris, you only notice him then. You tried your best to push from the ground, the screaming sound of metal on bone attempted to deafen your cries of pain. It became clear to him then, that the giant metal teeth of a trap designed to capture naga had found a new victim to lay claim to, its unforgiving mouth crushing through one of your ankles. Eris sank a foot into the river, your shaking hand instantly raising the wall of mist to block him.

“YN, let me cross” He pleaded, failing to hide the desperation in his voice.

“I-I can’t, he’ll know-know I failed to keep the-the border and he-he might come for you for-for crossing” Your rattling breath only pushed Eris closer to the wall, it solidly pushing him back despite your growing weakness.

“Let me deal with that overgrown badger, let me across, I need to help you” he continued to plea, his palms flat against the wall of water as the hounds cried out their own appeals.

“What-what if he comes for-for Craos” You cried, attempting to sit up, your pain threshold quickly being pushed to the limit.

“Then we’ll both kill him but you need to live for that, now please” His sterness finally had you giving in, the wall dropping with an uncharacteristically loud whoosh. Eris was quick to your side, his strong hands pried open the deathly grip held on your ankle as you cried out in almost deafening pain. The pressure released on your spraying arteries caused a new flood of blood to cover you both, the loss of blood pressure stealing colour from your face as well as energy. Eris took hold of the mangled joint, his hands gently heating.

“You’re gonna hate me for this YN”

“N-nothing new there so” You half laughed through gritted teeth, it taking some semblance of worry from Eris before he began to to heat his hands to molten levels. You screeched from the feeling of healing flame, your arms instinctively wrapping around Eris's neck to bury your scream in his shoulder. The cauterising was the easy part, the fractured joints and bones not so much. With your arms gripping around him, he sank his hands beneath your legs to pull you up from the ground, the sudden upshoot and loss of blood causing you to lose consciousness immediately.

The feeling of plush fur beneath your cheek was the first thing you noticed, then the smell of crisp cedar and smoke. Your eyes flittered open to the flickering of a well-established fire, Craos lying protectively up the length of your stomach on the oak-coloured leather couch. You rubbed her gently causing her to immediately react with large licks up your cheeks, the other dogs rushing to do the same.

“Easy everyone” Eris laughed, a large mug in his hand as you sat up from the overwhelming affection. You looked down to see your mangled ankle no longer resembling a horror scene, a pristine white bandage replacing the crimson blood and torn muscle.

“You’ll be okay, I had a healer here, you might be a bit sore” Eris spoke softly, watching you inspect the wrap before passing you the mug.

“Thank-thank you” You looked back to him before taking a deep drink from the ceramic.

“You didn’t even assume I poisoned that, we’ve made a lot of progress” He laughed, sinking into the chair across from you.

“If you were going to kill me it would have been at the sight of the first bread roll” You chuckled, Croas’s ears perking up at the mention of her favourite snack.

“Yes well, there's still time” Craos grumbled at her master's teasing, gaining another laugh from you. You looked around the small living room that had become your infirmary, noticing the vast collection of books, wooden figurines of great creatures and general Eris-ness about the place. The inspection made Eris shuffle slightly in his seat until you caught him watching you. You smiled back, swinging your legs to stand again, Craos moved from your side to the other end of the couch.

“Careful walking YN, I had to threaten the life of a healer to fix that ankle” He smirked but the worry was still written across his amber eyes. You took one or two shaky steps before stopping, Eris fixating his eyes on every movement as Craos seemingly decided to take things into her own hands…or paws. She suddenly jumped from the couch, knocking into the back of your knees, sending your shaking legs from under you. Eris was quicker to react than you, taking hold of your outstretched arms and saving you from imprinting your face on the coffee table.

“Saving you for the second time” He smiled down at you, allowing you to shift your weight for him to support you, his hands finding your waist to steady you.

“Maybe I’ll return the favour sometime and not drown you” You laughed again, your hands taking hold of his shoulders for greater balance.

“I have a weird feeling YN that you could save me in another way” He cut off any questioning you might have, your lips meeting his with a delicatness you didn’t know any male could have let alone one of the most feared. You were suddenly pulled away from him by the feeling of paws on your good foot. You both looked down to Craos who stood knowingly between you both, looking up with adoration at her two favourites fae, making you both laugh.

“Good girl Croas, very very good girl” Eris beamed down at her before looking back at you again, his new found salvation.

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What do you think friends?

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buckybabesonly · 2 years ago

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Nothing Breaks Like A Heart

Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫

Word count: 6.5k

A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️

Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.

He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.

God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.

It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.

Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.

You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?

It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.

Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.

When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.

You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.

“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.

“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”

He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”

You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.

“How come you’re awake?”

Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that.”

You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.

“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”

You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”

Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.

“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."

“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”

That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.

“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”

You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.

The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.

Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.

“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.

Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.

“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."

Online dating? What?

“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.

“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”

Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.

“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.

Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.

“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.

“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?

You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.

Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.

Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.

You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.

The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.

You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.

One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?

Maybe all of the above.

Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.

He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.

Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.

The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.

A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.

“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.

“Duh.”

“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.

“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."

Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.

“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”

“I know.”

“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.

“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.

“Forget what?”

You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.

“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.

Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.

“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.

“A long time.”

He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.

“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.

Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.

“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.

Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.

Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.

He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.

You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.

“Be careful - ”

“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.

Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.

You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.

You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.

“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.

You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.

Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.

“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.

You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.

“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.

He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.

“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.

“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.

“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.

“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."

You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.

"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.

Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.

His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”

The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.

He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.

He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.

“Okay,” you said faintly.

“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.

Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.

“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”

Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.

“Okay.”

You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.

You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.

But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.

You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.

It was horrible.

Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.

It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.

You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.

"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.

"Oops."

Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.

He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.

You think you may have hated him in that moment.

The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.

You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.

You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.

Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.

He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.

You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.

Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.

Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.

Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.

Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.

"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.

"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.

"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.

The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.

How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?

You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.

"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.

Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.

It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.

"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.

Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.

Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.

He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.

He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.

Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.

Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.

Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.

You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.

But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.

He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.

You fit that profile. He wanted you.

But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.

When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.

But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?

He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.

Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.

You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.

"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.

You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."

Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.

"Is this about Bucky?"

You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?

"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."

"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."

Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."

"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."

"Have you told him?"

"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.

"I think he would like to know."

“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.

Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”

Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.

"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."

You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."

"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”

Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.

"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.

"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.

You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.

Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.

You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.

With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.

Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.

You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.

You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.

You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.

You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?

You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.

Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.

You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.

"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.

A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"

Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.

"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.

That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.

He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.

"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."

"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"

You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.

"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."

"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.

"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"

Bucky flinched. "I never - "

"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."

He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.

"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.

"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"

Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.

"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."

Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.

"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.

He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.

"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."

You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.

"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."

You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.

"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”

You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.

"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."

A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.

"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.

He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."

Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.

"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.

Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.

"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."

"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.

"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.

"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."

"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."

Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.

Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.

Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.

"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."

You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.

"Let's go."

He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."

Chocolate milk.

You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.

"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."

He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #bucky oneshot #bucky fanfic

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago

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heyy! tom blyth is soo omg. anyways can you do young c.snow with 3 :)

‘’Don’t die in there. I expect a kiss when you get back.’’

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The moment he saw you on the screen at the reaping ceremony, Coriolanus knew he was fucked.

Falling for his assigned tribute wasn't part of the plan and could complicate his role as a mentor — or jeopardize his shot at winning the Plinth prize —, but as they say, you can’t help who you fall for.

The night before the games, Coriolanus sneaked down to the Capitol zoo to talk to you. It was risky to go there without any security after what happened to Arachne Crane, but it was night-time. He assumed the tributes would all be sleeping.

And he needed this last moment before he might never see you again.

You were sleeping as soundly as one could against a big rock when you heard your name. The voice was just above a whisper, not trying to wake the other tributes.

Stirring from your sleep, you frowned as you recognized the voice of your mentor. ‘’Coryo?’’ you whispered into the darkness, squinting to see through the shadows.

You heard your name again, this time clearer, and you stood to meet him at the gates where he was usually waiting for you with a sandwich or a cookie. But unlike the other days, his hands were empty as he waited for you.

‘’What are you doing here?’’ you asked, a small smile curling on your lips.

Even through the dark, you could make out the blue of his eyes. He was so beautiful.

‘’I apologize for waking you during your last hours of rest, but I needed to see you. To…thank you for saving me back in the arena.’’

You shrugged. ‘’If I want you to help me in there, I was gonna need my mentor.’’

Coriolanus nodded. Although he wished you had saved him because you cared about him, he understood that your mind was focused on the game. After all, it was your life who was on the stake, not his.

Sensing your worry and fear, his hands found yours through the gates, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb. ‘’Everything is gonna be okay,’’ Coriolanus promised. ‘’You will win. I believe in you.’’

‘’Some of the other tributes are stronger than me, Coryo. It’s not looking to be in my favor…’’ A tear fell from your eyes and he quickly wiped it with a handkerchief.

‘’Don’t think about what you can’t do and focus on what you can do. You’re intelligent, quick and small enough to fit in any of the vents. Never forget your best ally — there are cameras everywhere watching. Get the public’s attention and heart and they will send money to help you. I will help you, I’m gonna get you out of here.’’

He seemed sincere, so you believed him. He was the only person from the outside who could help you.

His hand, who wiped your tears, was still on your face, resting against your cheek. It felt nice, you decided. You never wanted him to stop touching your face.

Without realizing, you were both slowly leaning in. Your mouths were about to touch, but Coriolanus dodged your kiss.

‘’Sorry, I shouldn’t have—’’ you quickly apologized, breaking all contact with him. ‘’I misread the situation.’’

The blond shook his head. ‘’No. You have not,’’ he assured. ‘’I want to kiss you, I really do, but I’d rather kiss you after your victory.’’

You looked down, not as optimistic as him.

Coriolanus pressed his forehead against yours through the bars of the gates. ‘’Don’t die in there. I expect a kiss when you get back.’’

‘’I’ll try not to.’’

—

Hunger games / BOASAS taglist: @crossyourmindrights @ziggyneedsabreak @folkloreshorts @runningfrom2am

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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one-idea · 6 months ago

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Here's an idea: time travel fix it, but the time traveller is Zeff.

Casually fixing what he can for his Eggplant's future Nakama, like bribing Mihawk with a nice wine to mention what Arlong is up to to Jimbe.

I love a time travel fix it with an unlikely hero. Because the Strawhats have a lot of information about what needs to be fixed. Their time travel fix it’s make sense. But the fun ones are their allies who know major events but don’t know everything.

(I saw someone try this with Mihawk and like the man only knows major events that the strawhats get into. Also he’s way more likely just to show up and watch the chaos while drinking wine.)

Zeff being sent back is so fun. 1) he’s a great character who obviously loves Sanji and would want to do what’s best for him. But also 2) he has no idea what half the inciting incidents are! How will he ever know what to stop?

He does have some information though. So let’s say he gets dropped 21 years in the past. He’s still a pirate. Ohara was just burnt last year and Rodger died 3 years ago (fact check me)

Most importantly Sanji is about to be born. His little eggplant is about to be born into one of the worst family on the sea. Well not if he has anything to say about it. He’s still Red-Leg Zeff, the pirate captain.

He knows they can’t do a full frontal assault but some sneaking around gets him to Sora. And a quick “how do you feel about taking all the kids and running?” She’s in. Anything to get them away from Judge.

And it’s stupid easy because they are babies who are only a few days old. Judge only cares about their test results he isn’t watching them. So Zeff and a few of his crew just nab Judges wife and kids, and quite a bit of loot.

Zeff is booking it out of there. But not without kick judge through at least one wall durning the escape.

He makes the decision to quiet the pirate life early. He’s got Sora and the kids to worry about. They open the Baratie early. He knows exactly which cooking staff he’s hiring.

As he separated from the crew he tells them that if they run into a girl named Nico Robin to bring her to him.

He starts establishing the Baratie as a location for all to dine in. But this time he’s focused on making connections. Keeping his thumb on the pulse of both pirate and government movement.

Raising the five kids he’s acquired along side Sora, the genetic programming takes but without it being supported as they grow eventually gets out of their systems. Sanji being the most in touch with his emotions followed by Reiju. Their brothers struggle with emotions but are a lot better and more adjusted than they are in cannon.

About two years into this restaurant one 11 year old Nico Robin is delivered by his old crew. The girl is super freaked out but he sits her down and tells her that’s she’s safe, he’s got ears everywhere and will know if the governmental coming after them, and he won’t let them take her. Plus who’s going to be looking for her at a high class restaurant. It also helps that he’s got a gaggle of children already so she can stay off the floor hanging out with the kids. Sora also dyes Robin’s hair purple and that with age is enough to make people not immediately recognize her from her bounty poster.

5 years later the red hair pirates a bouncing around the East blue and Zeff waits. Waits until one day Shanks comes in one arm short and bragging about his son. (It helps that Sanji and his siblings are helping out so Shanks and Zeff are just casually talking about their kids.) He grabs the captain and pulls him to the side and tells him that Luffy is in danger and that there is another little boy on that island, a boy who is the son of his old captain. Shanks thinks he’s crazy at first but he knows things about Luffy. The scar under his eye, and other things.

Enough to make shanks curious enough to turn around and find Luffy and his TWO new brothers. He quickly collects three children and returns to the Baratie. (Kicks door open while holding three children “you were right!” Zeff surprised by the third child but not mad) (I don’t think he knows about Sabo)

Luffy and Sanji get on like a house fire with Luffy loudly declaring that Sanji will one day join his crew as his chef. And Zeff is standing there watching them with a proud smile, because somethings are just meant to happen.

Meanwhile Shanks as turned to look at Zeff

“anything else I should know about?”

Zeff just snorts “a lot. You still friends with Hawkeyes or have you to made it official yet?”

(With the Baratie around earlier he had to witness young Shanks and Mihawk flirting, it was painful)

Shanks gets sad “he’s mad about well you know…” the missing arm. And Zeff feels bad about that but he had no clue how the man lost it in the first place so there was no way he could stop it.

“If you run into him tell him there’s a crazy kid in the east blue gunning for his title. If he wants to keep things interesting he might want to train him.” (The Baratie is Mihawk’s favorite establishment Zeff could also tell him but he has a feeling the swords master would listen to Shanks over him.)

This is how Mihawk shows up at a dojo where a 10year old Kuina and 9 year old Zoro are training. (A year before Kuina’s death) he sees their skill and hears Kuina’s father’s opinion about females and training. He knows it’s an opinion that is also popular in Wano where this man is obviously from, but it’s not the way the rest of the world works. He approaches and offers to take over the training of the girl “who won’t make anything of herself” and the “feral gremlin using sword handles for teething.” Kuina’s father isn’t to sure about all this but he can’t really refuse the greatest swordsman in the world nor will Kuina or Zoro stay once they hear about the offer.

Mihawk has now obtained one verbally polite girl who will break every rule the moment his back is turn and one backpack leash gremlin.

He and Shanks are regulars at the Baratie for parenting advice. Luffy meets Zoro’s and again claims him as part of the crew. Years later Zoro and Sanji argue over who will be the first official member (Sanji: Luffy asked me first! Zoro: but I was the first one to physically join the crew!)

But currently the three run a muck on the Baratie pulling pranks on their older siblings (Ace, Sabo, Kuina, and Reiju are all the same age) or just Sanji brothers (they are still learning emotions and will sometimes join in on the chaos, other times they are a rival faction but if they ever get to mean Luffy and Zoro put them in their place)

but eventually Luffy runs into Robin (she tries to stay out of the way as much as possible to not get the Baratie in trouble. Zeff tells her she doesn’t have to but Trauma is a thing) Luffy loves her instantly. She quitely reading a book and Luffy joins her for story time and she never gets mad at his interruption and is so patient with him. He looks at her with a grin of a small sun and tells her “when I’m captain you’re going to be on my crew!” Robin is a little freaked out because she doesn’t want to bring the world government down on this little boy. But Zeff talks to her later and tells her that Luffy isn’t a force that can be stopped. It takes time but in the next ten years Robin comes around to the idea of being on Luffy’s crew with Zoro and her little brother Sanji. As soon as Luffy claimed her he told the others. Sanji was pumped! Zoro just accept it but he comes around to really love Robin.

At the same time that the boys are all being adopted Zeff is making some calls and contacts. The Baratie has been open for over 9 years he’s got some high connections. He eventually gets a hold of Jimbei and tells him that Arlong is in the East Blue and causing trouble. (Arlong has just started in the East blue, Zeff has no clue of the time clock) he points Jimbei in the direction of Cocoyashi.

Jimbei gets their right at the time of Arlong raid in the village. He walks in right as Arlong and Bell-mére are having their confrontation. I don’t know exactly what happens (I haven’t met Jimbei yet) but he’s able to stop it.

Bell-mére asks how he knew they were in trouble and he tells them about the Baratie. The village wants to thank the man who alerted Jimbei so Bell-mére goes (she is a retired Marine and probably the best sailor.) and takes Nojiko and Nami with her. Of course Shanks is visiting with the boys and Luffy and Nami instantly hit it off. “This is my Navigator!!!” Shanks is laughing because the kids going to have a whole crew before he has a boat.

Once Luffy is ready to set sail he meets up with Zoro and the two head to the Baratie to pick up Nami, Sanji, and Robin. Zeff points them in the direction of Suyrup village to “get a ship” where they pick up Usopp and save Kaya. (This absolutely does not make Usopp’s feeling of inferiority worse by the time they get to Water 7. No way. It’s not like everyone else on the crew until Vivi and Chopper have known each other for 10 years. He’s not the odd man out in any way.)

Zeff doesn’t have a lot of information about their adventures so he can’t truly stop anything but he does know some thing. (Nami leaving the crew. Luffy and Zoro being from the east blue and having connections with Shanks and Mihawk (Mihawk totally goes the the Baratie to drink during the time skip. Zeff knows Zoro is his kid) he knows Ace is Roger’s son and that he dies. But he doesn’t know anything that isn’t in Sanji’s letters or the news paper (which is full of lies)

He makes the best decisions he can for Sanji.

He saves Sanji from Zeff as soon as possible

Accidentally saving Sora, Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji

After Sanji set sail Zeff decides to expand the Baratie. It’s a chain

Patty and Carne take over the East blue branch

Reiju runs the one in the grandline.

Ichiji runs one in the west blue

Niji runs one in the south blue

The north blue doesn’t get one until Judge is dead they all agree on that

Yonji bounces from place to place helping as he is needed

Zeff and Sora open one in the New World.

Zeff might not know everything the Strawhats went through but he knows the major events and by having a home base in almost every sea he’s got ears everywhere. His old crew is still out there acting as ears for him and bring him news.

Anything he can help the Strawhats avoid or remove from their path he sends word

He tells Shanks about Ace.

Accidentally getting Luffy, Ace, and Sabo adopted

Saving Sabo from the Celestial dragons

Giving all three boys the chance to train with the Red Hair Pirates and learn Haki early while also getting a feel for the Grandline and New World

Ace’s death is prevented because he knows about Blackbeards plans and tells Ace to watch out for the man and to not trust him. It helps that Ace grew up with Shanks who never liked Blackbeard at all.

He tells Mihawk about Zoro

Kuina is accidentally saved

Both get to train with Mihawk far before their adventure. Mihawk loves it because the two are “trying to kill him” but they are also competing with each other and it’s MESSY they are so dramatic in their own weird way and he’s living for watching this gremlins fight while he drinks wine. When Perona shows up he finally has a goth child who wants to dress presentable and drink wine while making his other children. The family is complete.

He puts out feelers for Robin having no real hope she will show up

Accidentally gave her a loving home and help her feel safe while also preparing her for the adventure ahead.

He points Jimbei in Arlong direction. He has no clue what Arlong is truly up to.

Accidentally saves village

Saves Bell-mére’s life and kick starts the Strawhats.

The Strawhats still have a lot going on but because of advance trading some received as children and the stronger bonds.

He can’t do anything to Chopper, Franky, Brook or Usopp because their trauma is already passed Franky/Brook or he doesn’t know their stories well enough to intervene, Usopp/Chopper.

But he does make the safest home possible for his little eggplant.

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leon4nyx · 22 days ago

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Where My Affections Lie

CrownPrince!RE4R!Leon x AFAB!Maid!Reader

word count - 2.6k

tags - MDNI, not proofread, slight angst, p in v, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), fingering (f!receiving), soft dom/sub undertones, creampie, missionary, begging, aftercare, generally vanilla sex

the crown prince, Leon, grapples with his princely duty to marry the princess of the neighboring kingdom in order to secure a political alliance with both lands, even if his heart belongs to another− you.

Leon enters your quarters, shutting the door and sliding the lock in place behind him. He looks crestfallen and defeated, his dejected face worrying you. He takes your work-hardened hands in his smooth ones, pressing kisses and nuzzling his face into the warmth of your palm as he looks up at you with tear-glossed eyes. He sets aside the linens you were folding, recently picked from the clothesline first thing in the afternoon. Unlike your princely lover who could indulge in personal interests and other idle hobbies, nearly all your days in serving his family are spent busying yourself with chores and domestic duties; up until he had come inside to seek comfort in your presence, you were occupied with folding newly dried sheets before sending it upwards to their personal housekeepers.

“What’s the matter?” you gently ask him, cupping his teary face nearer to yours.

“The king and queen,” his voice nearly cracks. “My parents, they will marry me off to the princess of the neighbouring kingdom in a month. I am due to meet her at the end of this week and shall be gone for two nights.”

The breath never makes it past your lips, lodging itself in your throat to form an uncomfortable lump that accompanies the sunken feeling in your chest and the tears that begin to blur your vision.

“It is purely for the interest of politics, for the economic well-being of our kingdom,” Leon continues though he sounds far from pleased. “Father has cut ties with the trade of our previous ally, much to my contempt. No matter what I say and how much I beg, nothing will change their minds. A ship is on its way to deliver the message now.”

The king’s speak is the law and you know that there is no denying his wishes unless you wish to lose your head. If Leon, the crown prince, couldn’t get him to retract his statement, what more can a lowly maid do? You set aside the ache of your own heart, putting Leon’s emotions first in this gutting moment in both your lives.

“Leon, it’s all going to be fine. I’m sure she is rich and beautiful,” you point out with a feigned smile.

“That is nothing if I cannot have you,” he responds. “I care not for material riches when you are far more wealthy in the love you spoil me with. She is not you so I could care less about her. She will never be you.”

“The kingdom needs you, Leon. We are all relying on you for our prosperity,” you quietly say. “It’s best you follow the king, this is for the good of your people.”

Leon shakes his head, his blond fringe swaying along with the motion. He dips his head, eyes downcast to his bare ring finger.

“I don’t wish to stop loving you, my dove.” He confesses in a voice so broken.

“But you’ll hurt her,” you retort. “She is your wife, my future queen, and I am but an ignoble servant. She will bear your children so you must love her, as fiercely or more than you have loved me.”

He shakes and cries into the crook of your neck, saline tears leaving dark circles on the fabric of your garments as his arms hold you close to himself.

“It’ll be fine, Leon. I forgive you and I always will,” you whisper as you pat the soft hair at the back of his head. “It must be done.”

You had more words to say but it dies down at the base of your throat, the lump growing more uncomfortable as tears of your own descend as you both share your griefs in the tragedy of your circumstances.

After a delicate silence spent tearfully, Leon pulls back and stares into your eyes with fervour as if he is committing every blemish and groove of your face to memory.

“Fuck it,” he whipsers beneath his breath.

Light and careful hands cup your cheeks as if your face is made of glass, drawing your face near until your lips connect. The kiss is gentle and careful at first, no more than the tender smacking of lips and stifled noises accompanied by low smacks but the passion and desperation grows tenfold; his hands find themselves groping and grabbing, warm tongues coming to meet in the middle to engage in a passionate tango amidst hot puffs of breaths. Leon breaks away and plants damp kisses on the side of your lips, trailing it down your neck and making its way into your collarbones. His fingers fumble around behind you, fervidly undoing the laces of your clothing.

“Take these off,” he damn near growls. “Rip it, just rip it.”

You reach behind you to try and undo it swiftly but your lover has gone impatient, the sound of fabric ripping reaching your ears as your back is exposed to the air as he shoves the remainder of the torn clothing down, exposing your breasts.

“Leon!” You yelp in surprise.

“Need you,” he breathes in between clumsy pecks to your lips. “Need you now.”

He backs you into your bed, gently setting you down before climbing on top of your pinning you down with his enveloping weight. His kisses are bold and sloppy, desperate for more of you as teeth clack and grunts increase in volume. Your hands untangle themselves from his locks, gliding down the ripples of his muscled back and down to his trousers as you try to shove it down. Taking your hint, he rises up for a moment and undoes the button before shucking it down along with his underwear. His cock springs out, slapping into his abdomen right underneath his navel; his tip is flushed and glossy, covered in a thin layer of his arousal. Veins deliciously adorn the shaft like vines, the sight before you making you all the more hot and bothered. You sit up as Leon lies down, back resting against the headboard as you bend to eye-level with his erection.

“Please,” he begs. “Just…– ah, fuck.”

You interrupt his begging in the most heavenly way possible with your lips wrapped around his tip, gently giving cautious sucks before you take more of him into your mouth and start bobbing your head up and down. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth and glides down his girth, making Leon painfully harder if it was even possible.

“F-Faster,” he chokes out as his hips twitch. “Faster… yeah, jus’ like that.”

You pull away for a moment to catch your breath, a thin string of spit connecting you to his cock. You wrap your warm hands around him and form a tunnel, gliding it up and down his length at a pleasurable pace while you look at him through lidded eyes.

“F-Fuck,” he whimpers as his back bows from time to time. “Ah, ple–please, please. F-Fuck, faster!”

Shlicks resonate through the room, growing in speed as you pick up the pace with your hands. His face tightens and his balls flex, signaling that he’s right over the edge when you pull your hand away for a moment before replacing it with the wetness of your mouth again.

“Faster, faster–ngh–faster!” He chants in a whiny tone as his hands cup the back of your head as he urges you on. “Mine, y-you’re… hngh… mine! A-And I’m yours– all yours, p-please!”

He shoves your head down a little rougher, catching you off-guard as warm spurts of his cum shoots deep inside your mouth. Throaty whines and moans accompany his bliss, throat exposed as his head is thrown back in a white-hot ecstasy. He releases his hands from your head, letting you pull away as you take a breath. He’s still hard, angry cock pointing to the sky as it kicks in desire for more of you.

“Get on your back for me,” he pants in a low register. Sitting up, he crawls over you to lay down. “Let me return the favor, like a good lover does.”

You lift your hips up for him as he unbuttons your lower garments and slides it off of your legs before haphazardly tossing it to the floor as he focuses on his desire right between your legs. The sunlight filtering in through the window illuminates your soaked pussy, bathing it in a tantalizing glow.

“She’s crying for me and I haven’t even touched her yet,” he thickly chuckles to himself as he parts your soaked folds with his thumb, earning a weak mewl from you.

“Touch me, Leon. “ You admit in a hushed tone. “Please.”

“I’m going to need you to be a little louder for me, my queen,” he breathes against your inner thigh as he noses your sensitive clit.

“Leon,” you drawl. “Please! Please, just touch me.” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at hearing yourself beg but you’re given no chance to bask in it before he dives in and plunges his tongue. “Leon!”

He positions your legs to rest against his shoulders, his arm encircled over your hips to gently rub soothing circles against your skin as he laps and licks like a mad hound. He looks up at you, the throb in his weeping cock aching even more powerful as your cries of his name reverbs throughout the room with no regard for who could hear.

“Good girl,” he purred as he plunged his right index into your eager hole and used his left thumb to stroke your pudgy clit. “Good fucking girl.”

“H-Harder,” you breathed as your velvety walls clamped around his finger. “L-Leon…”

“Gotta give my girl what she wants,” your lover breathes as he withdraws his finger to add another one and plunge it inside again. “You hear yourself, love? How she’s so needy for my cock?”

“Fuck!” You curse, writhing due to the overwhelming pleasure that runs through your body. “Ah! T-there, Leon– there, don’t s-stop!”

Your moans increase in volume and pitch, growing more feral and raw with the need to chase after that high as he relentlessly rubs that gummy spot you love.

“That’s it,” you hear him say. “Don’t be quiet, have to let everyone know who I love. Let the princess know, yeah?”

You feel empty again, only for his mouth to engulf your wet sex. Your mouth parted to make way for a primal groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel that knot in your abdomen tense up for an incoming release.

“Louder baby,” Leon says with a smug smirk. “Let them know how good I treat you– ugh!”

He groans as his eyes shut as you tug on his face forcefully, shoving your pussy into his face as your body shakes with the shockwave of pleasure that crashed over you.

“Leon!” you breathe as you keep his head in place between your legs. “Leon!”

You chant his name over and over again like a prayer, screaming in pleasure as you feel his tongue kitten lick your clit. Your body relaxes, your fingers releasing its vice grip on his hair as your legs fall apart and free his head.

“Are you still with me?” Leon asks as he presses gentle kisses to your cheeks.

“Yes,” you pant as you direct his lips to yours. You hum with the taste of your slick, still not satisfied with being devoured alive alone. “Wan’ more, dove.”

“Good,” he darkly chuckles. “You want me now?”

You nod feverishly, coating his erection in your slick and his spit as you grind despite your overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he lines himself up. “Tell me you want me, please, love. Tell me you want me so bad.”

Your hands gently push his hips down to yourself, easing his hot cockhead into you. “I… want you so bad, Leon. So fucking bad.”

“T-That’s it,” he encourages you as he pushes himself in slowly. Despite having made love with him more than twice, his cock still stretched you out like you’ve never taken him before. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

He stills to let you adjust to being stuffed to the brim, occasionally huffing grunts when he feels your walls pulse and constrict around his sensitive cock. Once you give him the go-ahead to move, he moves his head to watch your face scrunch in pleasure as he begins to rock his cock in and out of your soaked pussy.

“I love your whines,” he chuckles. “Fuck, what a slut for me– only me. You’re mine,” he rasped.

“Yours!” You choke out as you drag your nails down his back, certain that it will leave red streaks that would certainly sting later on. “Yours, L-Leon!”

The grind of his recently-trimmed pelvis provided a delicious friction as he drove himself deeper into you, the bed creaking with each thrust.

“L-Love… you!” Leon keened, punctuating his words with harsh slaps. “So fucking much!”

Leon is temporarily taken aback by your hands moving to both sides of his sweat-soaked cheeks as you drew it nearer to yourself and captured his lips in a hungry exchange of passionate-fueled smacks as he delivered more thrusts of growing intensity. He felt his heart drop at the fact that he will need to consummate his marriage with the princess he will soon marry, a dark cloud coming back to trouble his mind, but the feeling of your teeth and tongue on his neck brought him back to the present so he pushed those negative feelings away for now, focusing on how snug your pussy envelopes his cock and how pretty the marks you’ve left on his neck and collar bones are. He does the same, moving your face to the side to paint your neck in reds, purples, and light indents of his teeth on the flesh.

“I’m g-going to cum,” Leon whines against your ear. “F-Fuck! This sweet pussy’s m-made just f’me.”

“Leon!” You exclaim as you cling onto him even more as if he’d be ripped away. “L-Leon, I-I’m going t’cum!”

He knocks the breath away from your lungs, back arched and chest pressed against him as your finger nails embed crescents into his shoulder blades. You weakly gush some more of your juices around his length, velvety pussy rippling around his cock.

With a throaty whine of your name, he holds you close against him as he delivers the last thrust before he shoots his warm spend inside you. He only puts a halt to his shallow thrusts when you tell him to stop as the pleasure is now bordering on discomfort. Ever the caring boyfriend he is, even in times of steaming passion, he looks after your wellbeing. He pushes hair away from your eyes, gently rubbing your cheeks as he adoringly whispers your name while he tends to you first.

“Does anything hurt?” He asks. “Did I cause you any pain?”

You laugh, tucking a long strand of sweat-dampened hair behind his ears. “No, my love. You made me feel happy today, like you always have. Stay with me for a little longer, Leon. I wish to rest with you,” you softly ask of him as you lift your covers to your chest.

“What about cleaning yourself up?” He asks.

“That can wait. I need you now,” you respond. “I meant it when I screamed that I needed you, Leon. I said it with my heart.”

His heart pinches in his chest, unfortunately brought back to the grim reality of his situation but that can wait so for now, he lifts the covers over both your bodies and stretches his arm to let you rest on it, stroking your hair until you fall asleep with no plans to leave despite what awaits him.

NOTE - hi guys!! i decided to try my hand at writing smut so if this isn't the best smut you've ever read, i'd like to apologize because this is my first time!! though it was certainly full of me giggling mid-writing coz i found my situation lowkey funny, i actually had fun but i don't think i'll be writing lots of smut :) i decided to post this to check out the flexibility of my writing skills so this is pretty experimental. i won't be super active in here because my main is @leonw4nter :) i also decided to start a ko-fi [still fixing some things up] in case anyone wants to drop a tip but please, please, please do not think that i'm forcing you to give me some money-- it's just there as a grander form of showing appreciation but likes and reblogs get me going already :) anyway, that's it and thank you for reading this <3 let me know what you guys think in the comments, i'd love to hear your thoughts <3

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aesteries · 1 month ago

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⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful? 〔incest, innocence and fantasies, romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

INTRODUCTION.

Queen Alicent Hightower’s last pregnancy proved to be the most difficult out of all - unlike what the maester had predicted, she had been carrying a female babe during the pregnancy. She started her labors two moons before the estimated time since conception, bringing worries about her health and fearing this child lost. The young queen of twenty-and-two, already on her fourth birthing bed, spent numerous hours with a high fever while laboring, screaming in pain as the maester and maids were sent into a panicked frenzy when they found that the babe was being delivered feet-first with the threat of the umbilical cord somewhere around the body, possibly restricting in one way or another.

When informed, King Viserys was faced with the same decision that had taken the life of his first wife.

it was either his child or his child-wife.

The Hand of the King and father to the Queen Consort, Otto Hightower, advised the King to leave the matter of women in the hands of The Mother, though it is reported that he demanded to bar the doors to his daughter’s chambers in case someone dared to approach the said room, fearing The Stranger wearing an ally's face.

By the hour of the nightingale, when the day had begun to seep into the night sky, an experienced nurse grew tired of the uncertainty of the situation and grabbed the babe’s feet to drag its body out of the young queen in a last attempt to save both of their lives, a small rip to the queen’s body in sacrifice for the life of the child. The babe was awfully pale, even taking into consideration her Valyrian heritage, with hair as white as cotton, and eyelashes as translucent as a ray of moonlight but no sound coming from her parted lips.

Otto Hightower sneered down at the silent child with obvious disdain while the old maester and his women rushed around the newborn, frantically trying to bring her back from The Stranger’s arms. The gender did not disappoint him as she had brought forth a daughter before, but it was the fact that she looked so different from her siblings that sent chills down his spine. She was different, and it was not acceptable for a daughter of the crown. They would whisper behind her back, just like Rhaenyra’s children, not for the truth of her heritage, but of the condition that shackled her future to uncertainty. Would this child be useful enough for a political alliance? or would other Lords reject the gift of the blood of the dragon in fear of the curse this child could bring to their House?

Alicent in a haze, still recovering from hours of childbirth, tiredly called out to The Mother for guidance and forgiveness, and in response, the babe let out a piercing cry as she drew her first breath, filling the birthing chamber with the sound of new life. Two of the Queen's children, Aemond and Helaena, were present to hear the ugly cries of the tiny princess.

The King named her Haera - after the stories of a forgotten Goddess of Old Valyria, who supposedly reigned over women and childbirth.

Life was an uphill battle for the young girl, as in her first few months of life, Princess Haera struggled to latch onto her mother’s breast or be comforted by a wet nurse, found it hard to sleep at night, and frequently suffered from delicate fevers that kept her young mother on edge. As her siblings had grown and developed, she found it increasingly difficult to keep pace with the milestones they had reached as she grew. They often found her crawling on her knees behind her siblings at an age where she should have been on her two feet.

The girl would be the first of Alicent and King Viserys’ union to have her dragon egg hatch in the cradle, a beautiful dragon of iridescent scales that was named Brightfyre, though Haera’s difficult life and condition seemed to have somehow infected her hatchling, as it found failure to thrive and passed in the young girl’s arms at the age of three. a sign, said one of the dragonkeepers, a sign of more tragedy to come.

Although from the same womb, her siblings did not find much in common with her, as she had spent most of her childhood in the safety of her bedchambers with maesters and nurses who would take care of her health. This limited her interaction with them and bound her to bed and her studies all day long. The only sibling who would constantly visit was Helaena, and even conversation with her proved difficult. Aegon was simply not interested in her existence and would even forget he had a second sister. To satisfy her curiosity and her need for adventure as the long days of sickness took over her childhood, she turned to books as companionship with her imagination being her only entertainment.

Aemond, the more emotional of the siblings and without anything to lose, would sometimes force himself to visit her during the late hours of the night, believing that it was what the young girl deserved. In a way, he avoided Aegon and their nephews’ teasing comments as he snuck around the castle to reach her chambers when everyone else had fallen asleep. Their talks would be short and very awkward, but she would be grateful nonetheless. Sometimes, he’d bring her books as she slept, and she would devour each one the next day.

On the eve of her tenth nameday celebration, King Viserys decided that his youngest daughter, Haera, would join Lord Osmund Hightower in Oldtown to be cared for by the maesters of the Citadel, who would strive to find a cure for her so-called illness that had only progressed from birth, now threatening to take her vision from her. That day, almost a week after the announcement, Queen Alicent had to be supported by her maids as she watched her daughter be taken away from her at such a young age, tears rolling down her plump cheeks as she cried for her mother.

Aemond did not feel the pain of her departure, somehow detaching himself from her, out of sight and out of mind. The remaining siblings watched from the top of their stairs as the carriage went out the gates and disappeared into the busy city.

Aemond suffered the loss of his eye in a fierce confrontation with his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon, a mere two moons after their separation. He would grow into a rough, seemingly emotionless man with no weakness, the memory of his younger sibling fading with time as the years went by without any contact whatsoever.

Now as adults, she returns.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

welcome to the sweetling universe! where instead of having daeron, alicent gave birth to another girl. i had planned to release this introduction as part of the first chapter, but it feels like it ruined the vibe in some way and i didn't really want to spend the first chapter building some backstory so the main character could be introduced so i thought a separate semi-chapter would fit better. i was trying to imitate maesters' writings in one way but of course i totally missed the mark.

haera targaryen is a character i have dreamed about so many times before, so i hope i can make her justice and write her just the way she is in my dreams. i have plenty of original characters created for my future fics, but she has her own special place in my heart for some reason, even if she's not my firstborn oc.

the ages are modified due to the nature of this story, and they are changed into this; aegon is twenty-two, as he is according to the books during the dance of the dragons. aemond is around twenty-one, helaena is nineteen, and Haera is eighteen years of age. jacaerys has been aged up to be around aemond's age, while lucerys is haera's age.

this story was originally a 'blink and you'll miss the plot' smut one-shot, but as haera came to be, i just had the desire to write more about her, so the mini-series was born. it won't be long, calculating about five chapters of 6k+ words each that won't go into the whole plot of the dance. it's taking place between season 1 and season 2, with different perspectives and more book!accurate characters.

that's it from me for now! before i continue rambling on. chapter one; Sunday 27th.

╰⪼ thank you for reading!

#ᡣ𐭩 #─ sweetling.#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #hotd #original character

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yandereunsolved · 4 months ago

Text

Killing Me Softly - ,, yandere Aegon w/ assassin general reader (part 2) (part 1)

cw(s): yandere themes, descriptive self harm (reader), descriptive self-degredation (reader), suicidal ideation (reader), mild suggestive themes (breeding), dark fantasies (aegon: sa-ing reader, forcing them into traumatic situations)

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were not able to escape by your own hand alone. You needed to enlist the help of Prince Jacaerys. So now, on dragonback, you sat, your hands tightly gripping his waist so as not to fall from such heights. He had shown you a manipulative tenderness that you had only seen from yourself. The shock was evident on his face as he saw the entirety of you for the first time.

It felt so jarring to be fully exposed to other's for the first time in many years. You managed to steal a pair of servant's clothes, so at least you were out of the skimpy lingerie Aegon had picked for forced you to wear.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You thought you may have grown to love him in that time. Neither of you were saints, as you were well aware. Somehow, that made it seem like a match made by the gods. You'd torture his psyche and break his libido, and he'd trail after you like the desperate whore he is. You saw his other side as well. The one that almost became as sadistic as yours. It was a beauty unlike anything you could have ever imagined.

Only now you know that he needed to lose his life. The embarrassment and shame from that moon and a half will always scar your mind. He did not only take your pride away, but he stripped you of your secrecy. The king will die at your hands. He saw too much of you, and now even The Blacks will know your identity.

It's time to come into the light and for Aegon's blood to be spilled within the darkness of the night.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It was quick—too quick, you thought. You were nestled away now in Dragonstone, with Jacaerys dotting over you like a worried older brother. He had given you a pair of cloth identical to his own, the targaryen seal pridefully showing itself off on the chest. Your physical wounds were attended to, and he even had the maids bring you multiple meals to choose from.

"You must be famished." He sighs in a way only known to those who have had too many burdens since birth.

You only had a few conversations with him before; you barely spared a glance his way.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

His head snaps up at such an unnatural angle you thought it would crack.

"It is my job." His words are eerily calm.

Your spine stiffens and you curl into yourself. You could feel your gut clench and push against your abdomen, urging you to approach with caution.

"Oh, yes, your job. Take care of the expendable asset whose cover has been blown." You hiss through your teeth in an effort to keep yourself from yelling. Jacaerys half expected a plume of fire to escape your throat.

"Be our general!" He blurts it out. His own face has surprise etched on it, with his brows raised and his cheeks fully flushed. "It has been something that has been talked about for many moons. I wasn't sure when to bring this proposal to you, but this is the perfect moment. Surely others must have seen your face and now know you are the feared assassin that makes every smallfolk want to cower and every noble want to open up their plentiful pockets. You'll win allies to our side."

The hairs stood to attention along your body as bumps of hesitation popped up right along side them.

"Yes, but on one condition." You smirk gleefully. You place your hands on your lap. You dig your freshly cleaned nails into your palms to ignore the tears that threaten to burst from the edges of your eyelids.

"What is this condition of yours?"

"After Aegon is dethroned, I want to be the one to keep his head. I need to mount it on a wall." Your voice cracks at the end—an embarrassing amount. You were suddenly all too aware of the anxiety that had filled your body as he stared into your eyes. It lasted a few moments, and you swear that bastard nearly took your breath away.

"Done. Welcome to The Blacks, general."

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were graced with a room close to Daemon and Rhaenyra. They seemed pleasantly surprised that you agreed to work with them. Rhaenyra complimented you on your beauty, and Daemon said that you were much more handsome than he could have ever imagined. They probably decided to mock you behind your back. Damn assholes. The nobles were all the same. They all kept the same lightly mocking tone at the edge of their voices. Their words were like poison slowly infecting your eardrums, entering from there, and slowly spreading throughout your body.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You awoke quickly once again—another night filled with memories of your time with Aegon. You could barely drag yourself back to sleep each night after your eyes flung open. You opted for either training until you exhausted yourself enough for sleep or chipping away at your scars with your own knife.

"Fresh blood to old wounds. Haha."

Drag the knife along your skin. Cut.

"You've become too weak because of Aegon."

Cut deeper this time.

"You stupid dick."

Deeper, deeper.

"You deserve it. Can you not take a little pain? Have you fallen so far that you hesitate to reopen wounds that have closed? Pathetic."

So deep you can nearly see bone.

"Aegon really got in your head. He really did. Are you cutting yourself for him? Are you doing it because you miss when he would do it himself? Tch—"

Your blood is now coating your nightclothes and the ground.

Like always, you picked yourself up and took care of your wounds. You don't let anyone see you bare, so it isn't as if you would have a need to worry.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You were hailed as the new general in front of crowds of The Blacks supporters. They had a ball, and although it was centered around you, you spent most of the night avoiding those congratulating you and hiding within empty rooms. Jacaerys tried to approach you numerous times, most likely at the order of his mother, but you managed to slip out of his grasp each time.

You were walking to your room an hour before the celebration was to conclude when you were bombarded by the squeaks of a messenger bird. You hastily snatched the rolled-up parchment out of the mourning doves anisodactyl feet, only to be met with the taunting seal of The Greens.

You tore the letter open, much to your own consternation.

𝘙𝘪𝘫𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘺𝘬𝘦āō𝘵. 𝘎ō𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢?₍₁₎

— 𝘈ō𝘩𝘢 𝘥ā𝘳𝘺𝘴₍₂₎

You had to find a book to translate what Aegon had written. You skipped your bath and bed and went straight to a secluded area to let your frustrations out.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The morrow arrived with your knuckles and knees bloody, having barely rested. Your demons taunted you, even while you lay awake. Shaking any stray thoughts from your head, you had your first order, stealing dragon eggs from the new clutch Dreamfyre just laid. It was simply a test of your ability as the new general. Your informants had told you that the clutch had five eggs. You were supposed to order those at your disposal to sneak into the dragon pit and grab as much of the clutch as possible.

It struck a bitter chord in your heart.

The ki—Aegon sends a letter just to irritate you. Now you must have some subordinates you do not know break into the expertly guarded castle.

No, that will not do.

You will put your second in command in charge while you retrieve the eggs. He's some loyal man to the family. He should be competent enough to fulfill your duties until you return.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You send a letter of your absence a moment before you leave. It will take at least a moon to get to Kings Landing with your travel route and transportation in mind. A more than a month it takes. It took two more weeks than you had calculated due to their improved security and unseen consequences. Your body has not fully recovered, and you are still quite weak.

You narrowly make it, your body shaking from all the energy you have had to exert.

Under the shadows cast by the moon, you sit on the king's windowsill once again. You were hoping to taunt him, just like old times. You even brought a dagger for your revenge. However, he is nowhere in sight; his wife is the only one in bed.

She's tossing and turning as the moonlight shines on her pale cheeks. You are able to see they are bright red. It makes you reminisce about all the times you left Aegon, all weepy and hard. You dare to get closer and sit on the edge of the plush bed. Streaks of tears stain her face, which looks as if it were crafted out of porcelain.

Your fingers lift her chin after she settles from her fit. She looks so similar to Aegon. She is his sister, after all. Your other hand lands on her throat. You squeeze it gently, gradually adding pressure. The hand lifting her chin slides over her mouth. You feel more safe the more you cut off her airway. It makes your chest release that breath it was holding in.

Helaena abruptly awakes and sleepily fights against the assailant holding her down. The hand on her mouth retracted as she managed to bite your fingers.

"Shit, shit, shit."

She was screaming for help. It was a momentary mistake, but it cost you your chance at making Aegon suffer that much more.

You didn't have time to finish choking her out or to pull your dagger and slit her throat, as the guards were already bursting in the door. You stumbled out of the window and crashed into the roof of one of the connecting buildings below.

Multiple somethings were broken.

You can't breath. You can't move. You were spitting up blood that took up what you were able to see because of your blurry vision.

This isn't you.

This isn't you!

Get it together you dumb whore.

You crawled to the edge of the roof and pushed yourself off. You rolled and fell. Your body was numb; you could barely move by the time you reached a dark alleyway. You lie there in defeat, as that never-ending cycle of critiquing comments fills your mind with hatred for yourself. You succumb to your injuries.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You spent six months stealing three out of the five dragon eggs. You used your connections to get yourself healed and fed and get more information on the greens. It wasn't easy by any means, and you were barred from going anywhere without at least one guard by your side. The Blacks were impressed, at least. It made you grin.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You sat near the eggs most days while planning. They were one of your greatest achievements recently. The smallest one was mostly white with shades of gray and iridescent scaling. The second medium-sized dragon egg was a pastel red with black speckles and a gray undertone. Now, the largest one was a sight to be seen for your eyes. You would often hold it in your hands and hope for it to hatch. It would be a mighty dragon for someone. Lilac coloring decorated the entirety of it, with splashes of light blue that reminded you of blood spatters.

Your admiring was cut short as you were disrupted by the squawking of a particularly dissatisfied bird. Peering up, you saw a red-tailed hawk circling above your head, its zygodactyl feet holding another letter. You could see the seal of The Greens plain as day.

Bastard.

𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺𝘴?₍₃₎ 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦? 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵.

— 𝘢ō𝘩𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘲𝘯𝘰𝘯 ₍₄₎

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon assumes the letter must have gotten to you by now. He laid bare while writing it, his mind filled with thoughts of capturing you once again. You seemed so fragile. That's how the guards described it when they saw you trying to murder his lovely wife. It was undeniably amusing. You are the great assassin, a commander of the blacks, yet you could not slit his wife's throat?

All of his frustration and fury seemed to melt after he received that report. He nearly drunk himself to the grave after learning of your escape. That damned strong bastard took you from him.

You two were meant to be.

Why couldn't he see that?

Why can't his family see that?

He brought up the possibility of capturing you once again, but they are unaware of your previous stay. When he did explain it to the council, they simply stated that you were too much of a threat to keep. alive. They questioned his sanity and his ability to lead as king.

So he did the only reasonable thing one could do. He cut off all their heads and ordered for new councilmen to be put in place.

It was lucky that Aemond was unable to attend the meeting. He would have raised his sword against his brother as well. A kinslayer dying at the hands of a new kinslayer. That would be poetic.

He just cannot stand it. It makes his blood bubble within his veins.

Aemond was your original target. It's no doubt that you still think of him.

You shouldn't.

You should be thinking of Aegon. You should be thinking about how much you hate him and how scary he is! You should be fantasizing about him, just as he does about you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 And the fantasies—they've only become more obsessive, yet domestic in a way he never thought possible. He imagines Helaena tragically dying due to grief. He would need a spouse and a son soon. So who better to marry than the one person who has been such a great enemy? He would be hailed as a peacemaker, a man who is able to tame even the darkest of hearts. He would also be feared, as he would have such a talented leader by his side.

You'd bear his kin. He'd force you to bear his kin, one way or another.

Then he'd take them away after you had given them life. He'd name them and pamper them all while you suffered with the lack of their touch and warmth.

Eventually he'd force you into spending time with your children. He'd be enamored by how paternal and hot you'd look while feeding and playing with them.

He'd always keep you round, full, and warm, so you wouldn't be able to escape. He'd make you replace the son you took from him with many more.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He was so irritatable without you. He had no outlet to simply be himself. Sure, his relationship with Helaena has improved, but it isn't quite the same without you. She doesn't listen like you do. She spaces out and starts mumbling random things! He just needs to use you. It makes him feel all fluttery and soft inside.

He misses being used by someone who didn't pretend as if they were holier than thou. Your hits and your retaliation felt so fiery and passionate. They felt like love. The antithesis of what the physical abuse from his mother and grandsire felt like. They were always so cold and callous. Even in your most biting moments, with your words that could cast Westeros into winter, he still felt warm.

"Sentys, jentys, issa jorrāelagon. Skoriot issi ao? Māzigon arlī naejot issa, kostilus. Nyke beg hen ao."₍₅₎ He'd whisper in the dead of night when only the ears of the gods were listening.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The pleas did not fall on deaf ears. However, the gods move at their own pace, which is usually agonizingly slow for mortals. What was also done this way was the war. Both sides took heavy losses, and while The Blacks were gaining ground, The Greens were supported by the smallfolk. It turns out that killing the opposing sides child and then attempting the life of the 'queen', is not exactly popular amongst commoners.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Jacaerys stuck by your side like tree sap through the planning and the battles. He was like his parents little watchdog. You would be lying if you said you didn't find him just the least bit amusing. He did surprise you with the one-hatched dragon out of the three stolen from Dreamfyre's clutch. The biggest, most extravagant one had hatched to produce a much smaller than normal dragonet.

By imprinting on you at a young age, Jacaerys was able to use his commands in High Valyrian to bond it to you. He did take his time teaching you the basic phrases as well. Daemon seemed miffed at Jacaerys teaching you, but Rhaenyra loved it. You felt like a fucking suffocated child most of the time, but it wasn't that bad. Jacaerys made you feel safe.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Your dragon was not large enough to ride, but they still followed you around. The dragonet was constantly at your side. They did have a bad habit of scratching you. So you often had to clean them up yourself. Just another set of wounds to heal. Nothing too out of the normal for you.

Until.

"General—" Jacaerys barged in unannounced. You were stitching a particularly deep cut the viscious rascal had given you on your lower stomach. You were not wearing any upper garments because of such. Jacaerys malfunctioned immediately to embarrassment, but his face only portrayed worry.

"Yes, Jacaerys?" You inquire while throwing a thin top on.

"Those scars." He states mournfully. "You have so many. I apologize that you have gone through so much." His words were genuine. They made your heart ache in a way that made you want to seek him out. Stupid. Don't.

"I hardly even notice them. They should not be any concern to you. What is it?" You question, more defensively this time.

"They are of concern. It is not my place but may I ask—"

"You're right," you cut him off before he is even able to finish the sentence. "It is not your place." You feel your throat close in; a cough escapes it. "You don't know what it's like to be a smallfolk, to be on the street and have to fight for scraps!"

"I have had hardships as well. I am sure I will be able sympathize with you." He states in the most friendly and loving voice he is able to muster.

An intense memory materializes in your mind from the one person who helped you in this world. A phrase that has stuck with you through all of your years, even into your mentor's death.

You snap.

"Those who have been served silver spoons with golden plates..." You can't speak for a moment. A handful of pitiful tears escape you. "They will always sneer at those who have been fed by hand and then take a plate from those who barely eat off it."

You shove him out of your room. You don't leave it for the rest of the day. You don't sleep, but you don't cut either. It's impossible in a way.

Your interaction with him is minimal after that. You actively avoid him and how he makes you feel.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He drove himself into battle. You only heard reports of it as you were busy on another field, being aided by your draconic companion. Vhagar and Sunfyre targeted Vermax, burning Jacaerys from the skies. You were told this by a messenger. You didn't have the lack of heart to kill the messenger either.

He only gave you a letter. He was told that if Jacaerys died in battle, then he was supposed to give it to you.

𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚. 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. 𝑰 𝒋𝒖��𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔.

— 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔 Jace ♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You could not take it any longer! Did you love Jacaerys back? Maybe. Did you love Aegon? Perhaps. Aegon still needs to die, love or not.

You had to rush back to Dragonstone and make sure The Blacks were not overtaken. You heard of the warpath the Greens dragons were making. It gave you a valuable opportunity. You could kill the king, Aegon.

You could finally win against him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You didn't.

The Greens overtook Dragonstone.

They killed all of the blacks dragons, including your own.

You failed.

You should have killed yourself when you had the chance. So many chances, and yet you were too much of a pussy to take one.

Now you are within Aegon's grimey hands again.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The last two remaining blacks, other than yourself, are dragged off somewhere, probably to be tortured. Tears almost left your eyes. Rhaenyra would be killed, Jacaerys's last connection to this world. Daemon, you didn't care as much. Still, he was quite brilliant in his tactical nature and taught you a few things here and there.

It's now just you and him, all alone in a secluded room far from his own.

"Ruo₍₆₎," Aegon purrs.

You don't dignify him with a response. You sit on the floor with a blank expression. You are simply a propped-up doll, leaning against the wall, getting ready to be played with again.

"Playing hard to get? Are you so torn that I killed your little boytoy?" He taunts. His legs are spread across the king-sized bed. His body leans down towards the edge of the bed, one of his hands bunching up the bedspread. He cocks his head to the side like an innocent child and grins.

"You—" Your voice trails off. All you are able to think about are those stupid fucking letters.

"Me?" He mumbles wistfully.

"You're dead."

"You won't kill me." He teases lightheartedly, his other hand pushing against his chest and pawing at the fabric of his top.

"Why is that?"

"Let's be honest with ourselves; you could have killed me the first time you saw me. Yet, you didn't. You have had so many other chances to kill me. You haven't. You love me."

"No."

"Kill me then." He lazily tosses you a fork that had been left on the edge of the bedside table. "Come on, it isn't much, but you've killed someone for much less. Avenge Jacaerys. Slit my throat, please." His last words come out in a begging tone. The hand pawing at his chest moves up to wrap around his throat. He squeezes gently and moans so prettily for you.

You take the fork. Your hand shakes vigorously as you stare at the piece of metal.

Why keep lying to yourself? You know he has called your bluff.

The cutlery slips from your hand and clatters against the floor.

You love him. You loved Jacaerys.

"I can't." You scoff indignantly.

"Then fuck me like how you've imagined. Take out all your hatred onto my body. Defile the king that defeated you. Paint my body with welts and hickies. Make my wife die within herself at the sight of her own husband thoroughly taken by the likes of you."

Well, who are you to defy your own king?

ᝰ translation(s) ᝰ.ᐟ

1. Rijes nykeāōt. Gōntan ao miss issa? = Congratulations. Did you miss me?

2. Aōha dārys = Your king

3. jentys = commander

4. aōha raqnon = your love

5. "Sentys, jentys, issa jorrāelagon. Skoriot issi ao? Māzigon arlī naejot issa, kostilus. Nyke beg hen ao." = "Killer, commander, my love. Where are you? Come back to me, please. I beg of you."

6. Ruo = baby

𓆝 𓆟 tag: ( @eexphoria ) 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

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2plottwist · 3 months ago

Text

All Roads Lead to Nan

Summary: After defeating Ketheric Thorm, Tav and her companions have finally made it to Baldur's Gate- her home. With nowhere else safe to camp, Tav leads them to a curious place on the edge of the city- her Nan's house.

Pairing: Established Astarion x Female!Tav relationship

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Characters: The majority of the companions

Word Count: 3.5k

Author: Emma:)

Pic Credit: Made by noctis_no on twitter

Despite the odds, Tav and her companions had managed to slay Ketheric Thorm. With the help of some unlikely allies and a whole slew of Harpers, the shadows were banned from the lands, which meant they could continue their trek towards defeating the Absolute. Towards her home.

Tav led her companions through the winding streets of Baldur’s Gate, the city buzzing with an energy that felt almost electrifying after days spent on the road. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and the distant clamor of merchants closing up their stalls for the night. The streets were crowded, people pushing past each other as they hurried to their homes, none of them paying any mind to the weary group of adventurers who had just arrived at the city’s gates.

The sky was darkening, the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the towering buildings. Tav could feel the exhaustion settling into her bones. It had been weeks since any of them had seen a real bed, and the prospect of finding a safe place to rest within the city seemed bleak. Every tavern they passed was full, every grassy knoll covered with displaced refugees.

Then, Tav had an idea. An utterly mad idea. She spun around, meeting the eyes of her expectant companions. “Listen, you might all hate me for this, but… I know a safe place where we can camp.”

She led them through the maze of streets, her feet moving with the ease of someone who had walked this certain path a thousand times before.

Astarion fell into pace next to her, with Karlach and Wyll muttering to each other close behind. “Ah, Baldur’s Gate,” the elf mused, gesturing widely to the street in front of them. “It never changes, does it? Still as… charming and full of questionable characters as ever.”

Tav chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Says the most questionable character of them all.”

Astarion smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Touché, darling. But truly, I stopped entertaining the idea of finding myself back here, let alone in such esteemed company.” He glanced back at their companions who were taking the city at their own pace.

Tav smiled. “It is strange, being back here. But, if it eases your mind, at least you’ve a whole slew of revenge-seeking fools ready to slice open the first fanged thing that walks your direction.”

“Ha! I suppose so,” Astarion agreed, though his tone didn’t seem quite as excited. “So, where exactly are you leading us? A tavern with decent beds and proper wine does sound appealing.”

“Don’t get too comfortable with that idea,” Tav teased. “We’re not exactly heading to an inn.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Where are you leading us, then? You’re being very mysterious, love.”

Tav hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

His eyes narrowed playfully, sensing her evasion. “Should I be worried?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly. “No- well, maybe a bit. It’s just… well, you’ll see. She’s a bit of a character, but I think you’ll like her.”

Astarion’s interest was thoroughly captured now, though a hint of apprehension flickered in his gaze. “She? Where are we going? A temple? A coven?” He gasped. “A brothel?”

“She, yes,” Tav confirmed with a knowing smile, refusing to give any more away. “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

The city grew quieter as they moved away from the bustling heart of Baldur’s Gate, the buildings becoming smaller, more residential. Finally, they reached the edge of the city, where the cobblestones gave way to a dirt path lined with wildflowers.

There, nestled between a copse of trees, stood a house. It was a modest cottage, its thatched roof and ivy-covered walls giving it a quaint, almost magical appearance. A soft light glowed from within, spilling out onto the garden that surrounded the house, where herbs grew in abundance.

“This is it,” Tav sighed. She pushed open the wooden gate. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

When they approached the door, Tav hesitated before knocking on it. Her companions could hear commotion from within the house before a woman’s gravelly voice rang out.

“Alduin, I don’t want to buy any more of your damned scrolls,” it shouted.

Tav groaned. “Nan, it’s me.”

“Nan?” Astarion whispered incredulously, spinning around to his equally as intrigued companions. “As in your grandmother?”

Before Tav had the chance to reply, the door swung open, revealing an elderly woman with stern eyes, her thin lips curled into a smile. Her silver hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore a simple dress, its pockets bulging with what Tav knew to be all kinds of trinkets.

“Tavara!” her nan exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You look like you’ve been to the Hells and back.”

“Nan, you have no idea,” Tav replied into her grandma’s shoulder. “Oh! Nan, these are my friends.” She stepped aside, allowing her eight companions to come into view.

Karlach offered the woman a wave. “Hello there, Nan!”

Nan snorted. “I don’t suppose you’ve all come to eat my food and fill up my beds, have you?”

Tav offered her an apologetic smile. “Have you?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Shit. Well, come in. You all look like you could use a good meal and a warm bed.”

They didn’t need to be asked twice. The group filed into the cottage, the warmth of the hearth immediately enveloping them. The interior of the house was just as Tav remembered. Family portraits lined the walls, stacks of books crowded every corner, and a long hallway split off into rooms- enough for all of her dad’s brothers and sisters.

Tav had spent many a day with her Nan. While her father was away on business, she was able to run wild under the watchful eye of her grandmother. Nan kept her entertained with unbelievable stories, mud fights in the garden, and enough baked goods to sate an army. Her nan could be stern, could offer tough love, but she embodied all the good things in the realm. She was kind, she cared. Not many in the city did.

Nan bustled about, her eyes taking in each guest with a discerning glance as she mumbled incoherently about dinner to herself. Karlach was the first to catch her attention. She gave a hearty laugh and said, “Sweet Avernus, look at you! A real powerhouse, aren’t you? I’m sure you could lift this house off its foundations if you set your mind to it. Are you hungry, dear? I’ll get stew ready.”

Karlach chuckles. “That sounds wonderful, Nan, thank you.”

“And you!” she called out, her eyes landing on Wyll, trailing up his head and focusing on his horns. “The son of Duke Ravengard, aren’t you? Oh, you’re quite the handsome devil.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Uhh, thank you, Nan.”

“Tavara, help me set the table! And please, everyone find a room! No armor at the table- the wood is ancient!” she called from the kitchen. Tav sat her pack down and grumbled to Astarion, “You survive the hells, kill a god, and you still have to set the table.”

Soon, Nan re-emerged from the kitchen, fussing over Tav’s remaining companions. She offered a whetstone to Lae’zel, who nodded her head in respect, and a jar of homemade honey to Halsin. To Shadowheart, she offered a hug, which she hesitantly accepted before melting into the embrace.

Gale received some sort of dormant arcane artifact that she had found outside the house. “You- you found this in your garden?” Gale asked incredulously, carefully taking the object. “Nan, this could charm half the city.” The woman smirked. “Well, then, you’ll benefit greatly from it.”

She warned the others to do as Jaheira had told them- “You’d do well to listen to your elders,” she stated proudly, eliciting a chuckle from Astarion.

Noticing him laughing, she turned to the pale elf, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I see why my Tavara keeps you around. You’re a real sweetie-pie, aren’t you?” she questioned, reaching out and tussling his hair.

“A sweetie-” Astarion stumbled, “I’m not sure wh-”

“She just adores you, dear. She told me so-” she fished around in her pocket before pulling out a sending stone, winking at Astarion.

If he wasn’t undead, blood would’ve rushed to his cheeks.

Soon, the party changed into casual clothes and took their seats around Nan’s massive dining table, which had been half covered in herbs and books before she had them float into the kitchen.

“You know,” she says, looking around at the group, “I’ve been cooking for Tavara’s family for years and never once had a gathering quite as large as this. Not every day I get to serve such an eclectic group. Just.. don’t go complaining about the food. I’d hate to think my stew’s become the stuff of legends for all the wrong reasons.”

Karlach, with a spoonful of stew still in her mouth, said, “I think this is the best food I’ve ever had.”

Nan’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Don’t worry dear. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

They spent their supper sharing stories about their adventures, filling in the gaps for poor Nan, who sat, mouth agape, in between Gale and Halsin.

“So there we were-” Karlach started, taking a large chunk of bread into her mouth, “in the middle of this goblin camp, right? Absolutely surrounded by the ugly little blighters, and Tav here-” she nudged Tav with a broad smile, “-goes right up to the guard and convinces him to let us through without so much as a scratch!”

Nan’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what, now?” She looked at Tav with a mixture of disbelief in pride. “And you lot lived to tell the tale? Goblins aren’t exactly known for their hospitality.”

Astarion leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, my dear Nan, it was hardly a challenge, really.”

“But it wasn’t just goblins,” Karlach continued, tone more serious. “We were in the Hells, Nan. I’m talking about the actual Hells. Escaping that place was… well, it’s a miracle we’re here.”

Nan was silent for a moment, her mouth slightly agape as she absorbed the enormity of the tale the tiefling spun. “I.. I don’t know what to say,” she managed. “You’ve all been through so much… and you, Tavara, led them through all this?”

Tav blushed slightly under her nan’s gaze, but before she could respond, Gale spoke up. “She did more than just lead, Nan. She’s inspired us.”

Nan’s hand flew to her chest, and she leaned back in her chair, smiling. “My sweet girl… I never imagined you’d be facing things like this. And you survived it all.” “With a little help,” Tav said, her voice tinged with affection as she looked around the table at her friends.

“You’ve always been special, Tav,” Nan said, tears glistening in her eyes. “And I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Tav reached across the table and took Nan’s hands, squeezing them gently. “Oh, I’m the same person, Nan. Just… with a few more stories to tell.”

“Oh, speaking of stories-” Nan began, sitting back in her chair again, “Did you know that when Tavara was 12 she-”

“Nan, please,” Tav groaned, facepalming.

“Oh, come now, Tavara, this one’s a gem. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Tavara decided that she wanted to improve my little garden,” Nan started, gesticulating wildly. “The little dear was so excited about trying out a new spell she’d just learned. However, instead of a charming array of colorful blooms, we ended up with an entire garden of gigantic, out-of-control flowers that were twice as tall as her father! We spent days cutting them back.”

There was something about the older woman’s presence that soothed Astarion. He noticed how she looked at Tav, the pride and love in her eyes clear as day. It made his chest tighten with something he couldn’t quite name. Was it envy? Longing? Or perhaps just the stark realization that he had never had someone look at him like that, at least not for the last two centuries.

But then, Nan’s attention shifted to him, and he straightened slightly in his chair, meeting her gaze with a hint of his usual charm. The other companions chattered loudly over themselves, and she leaned forward slightly. “You know, Astarion,” she began, “you’ve got the look of someone who’s seen more than his fair share of trouble.”

For a moment, he felt as though she was peering right into his soul. He offered her a charming smile, but there was a touch of vulnerability in it, something only Nan seemed to notice.

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug, trying to deflect with a bit of his usual banter, “but I’d say it’s made me all the more interesting.”

Nan chuckled, a rich, full sound that filled the room. “I’m sure it has, lad, I’m sure it has. But I see something else there too. You’ve got a heart, even if you’ve tried to bury it deep. And a good heart, no matter how bruised, is worth a lot more than you might think.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but Nan wasn’t finished. She smiled kindly at him, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re a handsome one, that’s for sure, but it’s not just your looks that matter. It’s what’s in here,” she tapped her chest, “and I reckon Tavara sees that too. So don’t go doubting yourself, or thinking you’re any less deserving of happiness. You’re part of this family now, whether you like it or not.”

Astarion blinked, genuinely at a loss for words, something that didn’t happen often. He glanced over at Tav, who was enacting something wildly to Jaheira, and smiled.

Finally, he found his voice. “Thank you, Nan,” he said softly. “That… means more than you know.”

Nan waved a hand dismissively, though her eyes were warm. “Just calling it as I see it, lad. Now, pass me that bread, would you? Can’t let it go to waste.”

The evening was filled with tall tales and even taller pints of cool cider. Nan had seemed to have taken a special liking towards Gale, who was telling her about some sort of erotic book they’d both read.. for some reason. Tav’s companions began to fight sleep from their eyes, but the gentle beckoning of warm beds was too powerful.

Before they excused themselves for the night, Tav spoke up, offering a final cheer.

“To my nan’s endless patience… and endless memory.”

The group toasted before heading their separate ways, of course, after Nan offered every one of them a warm embrace. Tav and Astarion were the last to approach.

“You’ll find your room just the way you left it, my little love,” Nan said, placing a gentle kiss on Tav's cheek. “Minus the cat, of course. He keeps my feet warm now.”

“Thank you, Nan. For everything,” Tav said before giving her Nan another hug.

“I should be thanking you, sweetie,” Nan replied. “This night has done more for me than you could imagine.”

She turned to Astarion then, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Goodnight, little star. Do mind the bowl of holy water I keep at the end of the hall.” She placed a quick peck to his cheek, too, and his eyes widened, startled.

Tav led Astarion up a narrow, creaky staircase to her old room. The walls, once bright pinks and yellows, now had a faded charm to them, but the space was still undeniably hers. The small bed in the corner was neatly made with a quilt Nan had stitched herself, and a bookshelf was cluttered with trinkets and keepsakes she’d collected over the years.

Astarion walked in, taking in the room with a curious eye. He let out a low chuckle as he spotted a small, worn teddy bear perched on the pillow. “Well, well,” he said, picking up the bear and turning it over in his hands. “Who do we have here?”

Tav blushed slightly, but there was a fondness in her voice as she replied. “That’s Sir Goodnight. Nan made him for me when I was little. He’s.. been through a lot with me.”

Astarion gave the bear an exaggerated nod of approval before placing it back on the bed. “Oh, apologies, good sir,” he said dramatically with a flourish. “I did not realize I would be sharing a bed with such an esteemed gentleman tonight.”

Tav chuckled, a bit embarrassed. Astarion moved to another corner of the room, where an old, faded map of Faerun hung on the wall. Multicolored pins stuck out of it. “Look at this,” he said with a soft laugh, tapping the map with a fingertip. “Is this where you planned all your grand adventures?”

“Something like that,” Tav admitted, smiling at the fond memories. “I always wanted to travel, to see everything Faerun had to offer. I never imagined it would turn out like this, though.”

Astarion turned to face her, leaning casually against the wall. “Life has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It does. But I’m glad for it, even with all the shit we’ve put up with.”

He crossed the room in a few strides and took her hand, lifting it to his lips for a brief kiss. “As am I,” he murmured, his eyes locking with hers. “I never thought I’d find someone like you, someone who makes it all seem… bearable.” He glanced towards Sir Goodnight again. “Sorry, sir. No pun intended.”

Tav felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She stood, her hand still in his, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, a promise of comfort and understanding, the connection they had built over time. Astarion responded in kind, his free hand resting on her waist as he pulled her a little closer.

When they finally broke apart, Astarion smiled down at her, a genuine, affectionate smile that was rare for him. “I’m lucky to have you,” she said, raking a hand through his curls.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made her heart flutter. “We’re both lucky, darling.”

With that, they climbed into the bed, the blankets soft and warm against the chill of the night. Tav nestled into Astarion’s arms, her head resting on his chest as he held her close. For a moment, they simply lay there in silence, the weight of the day slipping away as the comfort of each other’s presence took over.

As they drifted off to sleep, Astarion’s fingers traced soothing patterns on her back, and he pressed one last kiss to the top of her head. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. Tav murmured something in reply, already half-asleep, a contented smile on her lips as she let herself relax completely in his embrace.

The next morning, it seemed as if there was a palpable reluctance among her party. Even Lae’zel seemed to hesitate before stepping through the door.

Astarion lingered near the door, giving Tav an amused glance as she gathered her belongings, including some extra things Nan had given them for the day. “I must say, Nan truly outdid herself,” he remarked. “If this is what family gatherings are like, I may be able to get used to this.”

Nan, bustling around the kitchen and making sure everything was in order, caught his comment and chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Astarion! You’ll fit right in.” She approached him, giving him a warm pat on the arm before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “But know this- I’ve got my eye on you, so you better treat my granddaughter right.”

Astarion grinned, a touch of his usual mischief in his expression. “Don’t worry about that, Nan. I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble- though I can’t promise I won’t make a bit of it from time to time.”

They exited the house. When Tav went to push open the gate, her nan’s voice rang out again. “Oh, don’t forget, dear! We’ve got monthly lanceboard coming up in two weeks, and I expect you to be back in time for it. Wrap up your adventure by then, or be prepared for Calimshan rules!”

Tav laughed, shaking her head as she slung her pack over her shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten, Nan. I’ll make sure to be back in time.”

Tav and Astarion exchanged a glance. “Hells, back to it, then,” Astarion said, his tone light but his eyes reflecting the seriousness of their situation.

Tav nodded, her expression thoughtful. “We’ll finish what we started and be back before we know it. Nan’s right—we’ve got a lot to do.”

The road ahead was still fraught with challenges, but the thought of returning to Nan’s home, of enjoying her hearty laughter and warm embrace once more, gave them a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

And so, with the morning sun casting long shadows behind them, Tav, Astarion, and her chosen family ventured forth, ready to face whatever lay ahead, knowing that no matter where their travels took them, they had a place to rest and one happy Nan to welcome them home.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fluff #fluff

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago

Text

Demon-haunted computers are back, baby

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

As a science fiction writer, I am professionally irritated by a lot of sf movies. Not only do those writers get paid a lot more than I do, they insist on including things like "self-destruct" buttons on the bridges of their starships.

Look, I get it. When the evil empire is closing in on your flagship with its secret transdimensional technology, it's important that you keep those secrets out of the emperor's hand. An irrevocable self-destruct switch there on the bridge gets the job done! (It has to be irrevocable, otherwise the baddies'll just swarm the bridge and toggle it off).

But c'mon. If there's a facility built into your spaceship that causes it to explode no matter what the people on the bridge do, that is also a pretty big security risk! What if the bad guy figures out how to hijack the measure that – by design – the people who depend on the spaceship as a matter of life and death can't detect or override?

I mean, sure, you can try to simplify that self-destruct system to make it easier to audit and assure yourself that it doesn't have any bugs in it, but remember Schneier's Law: anyone can design a security system that works so well that they themselves can't think of a flaw in it. That doesn't mean you've made a security system that works – only that you've made a security system that works on people stupider than you.

I know it's weird to be worried about realism in movies that pretend we will ever find a practical means to visit other star systems and shuttle back and forth between them (which we are very, very unlikely to do):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

But this kind of foolishness galls me. It galls me even more when it happens in the real world of technology design, which is why I've spent the past quarter-century being very cross about Digital Rights Management in general, and trusted computing in particular.

It all starts in 2002, when a team from Microsoft visited our offices at EFF to tell us about this new thing they'd dreamed up called "trusted computing":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil

The big idea was to stick a second computer inside your computer, a very secure little co-processor, that you couldn't access directly, let alone reprogram or interfere with. As far as this "trusted platform module" was concerned, you were the enemy. The "trust" in trusted computing was about other people being able to trust your computer, even if they didn't trust you.

So that little TPM would do all kinds of cute tricks. It could observe and produce a cryptographically signed manifest of the entire boot-chain of your computer, which was meant to be an unforgeable certificate attesting to which kind of computer you were running and what software you were running on it. That meant that programs on other computers could decide whether to talk to your computer based on whether they agreed with your choices about which code to run.

This process, called "remote attestation," is generally billed as a way to identify and block computers that have been compromised by malware, or to identify gamers who are running cheats and refuse to play with them. But inevitably it turns into a way to refuse service to computers that have privacy blockers turned on, or are running stream-ripping software, or whose owners are blocking ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

After all, a system that treats the device's owner as an adversary is a natural ally for the owner's other, human adversaries. The rubric for treating the owner as an adversary focuses on the way that users can be fooled by bad people with bad programs. If your computer gets taken over by malicious software, that malware might intercept queries from your antivirus program and send it false data that lulls it into thinking your computer is fine, even as your private data is being plundered and your system is being used to launch malware attacks on others.

These separate, non-user-accessible, non-updateable secure systems serve a nubs of certainty, a remote fortress that observes and faithfully reports on the interior workings of your computer. This separate system can't be user-modifiable or field-updateable, because then malicious software could impersonate the user and disable the security chip.

It's true that compromised computers are a real and terrifying problem. Your computer is privy to your most intimate secrets and an attacker who can turn it against you can harm you in untold ways. But the widespread redesign of out computers to treat us as their enemies gives rise to a range of completely predictable and – I would argue – even worse harms. Building computers that treat their owners as untrusted parties is a system that works well, but fails badly.

First of all, there are the ways that trusted computing is designed to hurt you. The most reliable way to enshittify something is to supply it over a computer that runs programs you can't alter, and that rats you out to third parties if you run counter-programs that disenshittify the service you're using. That's how we get inkjet printers that refuse to use perfectly good third-party ink and cars that refuse to accept perfectly good engine repairs if they are performed by third-party mechanics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

It's how we get cursed devices and appliances, from the juicer that won't squeeze third-party juice to the insulin pump that won't connect to a third-party continuous glucose monitor:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

But trusted computing doesn't just create an opaque veil between your computer and the programs you use to inspect and control it. Trusted computing creates a no-go zone where programs can change their behavior based on whether they think they're being observed.

The most prominent example of this is Dieselgate, where auto manufacturers murdered hundreds of people by gimmicking their cars to emit illegal amount of NOX. Key to Dieselgate was a program that sought to determine whether it was being observed by regulators (it checked for the telltale signs of the standard test-suite) and changed its behavior to color within the lines.

Software that is seeking to harm the owner of the device that's running it must be able to detect when it is being run inside a simulation, a test-suite, a virtual machine, or any other hallucinatory virtual world. Just as Descartes couldn't know whether anything was real until he assured himself that he could trust his senses, malware is always questing to discover whether it is running in the real universe, or in a simulation created by a wicked god:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/28/descartes-was-an-optimist/#uh-oh

That's why mobile malware uses clever gambits like periodically checking for readings from your device's accelerometer, on the theory that a virtual mobile phone running on a security researcher's test bench won't have the fidelity to generate plausible jiggles to match the real data that comes from a phone in your pocket:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/01/google-play-malware-used-phones-motion-sensors-to-conceal-itself/

Sometimes this backfires in absolutely delightful ways. When the Wannacry ransomware was holding the world hostage, the security researcher Marcus Hutchins noticed that its code made reference to a very weird website: iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com. Hutchins stood up a website at that address and every Wannacry-infection in the world went instantly dormant:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#the-matrix

It turns out that Wannacry's authors were using that ferkakte URL the same way that mobile malware authors were using accelerometer readings – to fulfill Descartes' imperative to distinguish the Matrix from reality. The malware authors knew that security researchers often ran malicious code inside sandboxes that answered every network query with fake data in hopes of eliciting responses that could be analyzed for weaknesses. So the Wannacry worm would periodically poll this nonexistent website and, if it got an answer, it would assume that it was being monitored by a security researcher and it would retreat to an encrypted blob, ceasing to operate lest it give intelligence to the enemy. When Hutchins put a webserver up at iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com, every Wannacry instance in the world was instantly convinced that it was running on an enemy's simulator and withdrew into sulky hibernation.

The arms race to distinguish simulation from reality is critical and the stakes only get higher by the day. Malware abounds, even as our devices grow more intimately woven through our lives. We put our bodies into computers – cars, buildings – and computers inside our bodies. We absolutely want our computers to be able to faithfully convey what's going on inside them.

But we keep running as hard as we can in the opposite direction, leaning harder into secure computing models built on subsystems in our computers that treat us as the threat. Take UEFI, the ubiquitous security system that observes your computer's boot process, halting it if it sees something it doesn't approve of. On the one hand, this has made installing GNU/Linux and other alternative OSes vastly harder across a wide variety of devices. This means that when a vendor end-of-lifes a gadget, no one can make an alternative OS for it, so off the landfill it goes.

It doesn't help that UEFI – and other trusted computing modules – are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), which makes it a felony to publish information that can bypass or weaken the system. The threat of a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine means that UEFI and other trusted computing systems are understudied, leaving them festering with longstanding bugs:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#que-viva

Here's where it gets really bad. If an attacker can get inside UEFI, they can run malicious software that – by design – no program running on our computers can detect or block. That badware is running in "Ring -1" – a zone of privilege that overrides the operating system itself.

Here's the bad news: UEFI malware has already been detected in the wild:

https://securelist.com/cosmicstrand-uefi-firmware-rootkit/106973/

And here's the worst news: researchers have just identified another exploitable UEFI bug, dubbed Pixiefail:

https://blog.quarkslab.com/pixiefail-nine-vulnerabilities-in-tianocores-edk-ii-ipv6-network-stack.html

Writing in Ars Technica, Dan Goodin breaks down Pixiefail, describing how anyone on the same LAN as a vulnerable computer can infect its firmware:

https://arstechnica.com/security/2024/01/new-uefi-vulnerabilities-send-firmware-devs-across-an-entire-ecosystem-scrambling/

That vulnerability extends to computers in a data-center where the attacker has a cloud computing instance. PXE – the system that Pixiefail attacks – isn't widely used in home or office environments, but it's very common in data-centers.

Again, once a computer is exploited with Pixiefail, software running on that computer can't detect or delete the Pixiefail code. When the compromised computer is queried by the operating system, Pixiefail undetectably lies to the OS. "Hey, OS, does this drive have a file called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope." "Hey, OS, are you running a process called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope."

This is a self-destruct switch that's been compromised by the enemy, and which no one on the bridge can de-activate – by design. It's not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.

There are models for helping your computer bust out of the Matrix. Back in 2016, Edward Snowden and bunnie Huang prototyped and published source code and schematics for an "introspection engine":

https://assets.pubpub.org/aacpjrja/AgainstTheLaw-CounteringLawfulAbusesofDigitalSurveillance.pdf

This is a single-board computer that lives in an ultraslim shim that you slide between your iPhone's mainboard and its case, leaving a ribbon cable poking out of the SIM slot. This connects to a case that has its own OLED display. The board has leads that physically contact each of the network interfaces on the phone, conveying any data they transit to the screen so that you can observe the data your phone is sending without having to trust your phone.

(I liked this gadget so much that I included it as a major plot point in my 2020 novel Attack Surface, the third book in the Little Brother series):

https://craphound.com/attacksurface/

We don't have to cede control over our devices in order to secure them. Indeed, we can't ever secure them unless we can control them. Self-destruct switches don't belong on the bridge of your spaceship, and trusted computing modules don't belong in your devices.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/17/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

Image: Mike (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/stillwellmike/15676883261/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #uefi #owner override #user override #jailbreaking #dmca 1201 #schneiers law #descartes #nub of certainty #self-destruct button #trusted computing #secure enclaves #drm #ngscb #next generation secure computing base #palladium #pixiefail #infosec

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cherrrydragon · 5 months ago

Text

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside.

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #robin x reader #superboy x reader

192 notes · View notes

ashe-smash · 5 months ago

Text

Baby Talk | Chapter 1: Conception Ao3

Piccolo x Reader

Tags/ CW: Infertility, Themes of Infertility Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alien/Human Relationships, Namekian Biology, Piccolo has a Diccolo (Later Chapters) Oviposition, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Alien Pregnancy.

Word Count: ~2.4K

Summary: You’ve known Piccolo and you reproduce differently since the beginning of your relationship- before you were ever really dating. You thought it was fine until it’s not. Piccolo and Reader have to navigate their reproductive incompatibility. (Aka Writer takes some significant liberties with Namekian biology)

Big thanks to @ginrastandsby for beta-ing and the DB reader discord for support with my fics ! 🫶

FYI, this it technically in canon with another wip. I consider them the same Reader Character- for context 1) Reader is a childhood friend of Videl, shes Pan’s godmother. 2) Piccolo and Reader can have sex. He had an “appendage” that’s sheathes thats similar to a penis. It produces lubrication, but no genetic material/ sperm.

Piccolo stares at your sleeping form. He knows you don’t like it, but he’s feeling things he’s not quite sure how to process. It’s not like he needs sleep like you, so maybe if the Namekian stares long enough the puzzle will piece itself together.

Eventually you rouse from it, mumbling a reminder and beckoning him to join you under the warmth of your comforter. Ready to drift back asleep. He usually lies with you, meditating until you wake but he doesn’t feel like joining you right this moment.

“You want a baby.” Piccolo says flatly. It’s not a question, because he knows it’s true. He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on you or anything, he simply has very good hearing. Chatting with an old friend who’d just had a baby during a chance encounter earlier that day. Something about you wanting one of your own if the cards were ever right for you.

You’re much more awake now. “This isn’t a middle of the night conversation Piccolo.”

Piccolo knows that, he thinks. Navigating a relationship is new for the Namekian, while he’s been friends or allies with earthlings for two decades- most of his life- this is his first romantic and physical one.

But he knows he loves you. It feels a little foreign, unlike his love for Gohan or Videl and Pan and maybe that’s why this bothers him. He can’t even place the feelings he is having now: he’s not angry, he knows anger, he’s not scared- this seems a little silly to be scared over? Worried. He thinks he’s worried.

Piccolo touches his throat, it’s almost absentminded. “I can't … do that.”

“I know.” You sigh. Not disappointedly, he thinks. You’re just tired. “Lo I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.” He’s not quite sure why either. It’s just bugging him and he’s not used to that.

You huff, a little grumpy at being woken up. He acquiesces and crawls into the blankets with you, attempting to appease his slight of having woken you up. You curl up at his side, body warm with sleep. Piccolo always runs on the cooler side, not warm blooded like humans. You change that tucked into his side. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

When you do fall asleep, it’s restless. Even in the deepest parts of meditation he can tell you aren’t sleeping well. You can’t seem to get comfortable, nor does it seem you ever fully fall asleep.Eventually when the morning is still silver blue, you give up and wake yourself up. “You know, there are human men that couldn’t give me a baby right?”

“I don’t … want you to do… that.”

“I don’t want that either. I mean, even if we can’t have a baby together it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Even if I want a baby, I still love you.”

He turns his head and kisses the palm you tucked against the side of his face. You love him regardless, even if he can’t give you it.

You eventually roll onto your stomach to look at him.“Is it even something you want.”

For him, it feels very complicated. Very few Namekians ever reproduce. He thinks it sounds horrific. Not to mention his own relationship with his own father- or lack there of adds another layer of complexity.

You having your own child through whatever alternative ways would just mean there would be another human in his life that he would eventually outlive. However, he doesn’t want to take that away from you.

The two of you are reproductively incompatible. Technically, you’re both the egg bearers. Sex is only possible because Namekians still have vestigial appendages that are similar to penises.

“I don’t know.”

If he slept maybe he’d dream of it. Silence hangs in the air between you two. If his hearing wasn’t so good, he might think you were sleeping again.

“Are you sad?”

You take a deep breath before answering, which almost is an answer in itself. “A little bit, yeah. I knew you couldn’t- we couldn’t … do that since we first slept together. But I guess it feels different when we actually talk about it.”

You curl yourself back up to his side. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

You nod. “You can go meditate outside if you want.”

He usually does around this time in the morning while you sleep in. Piccolo shakes his head. He thinks he’d rather stay here with you.

He has a feeling this topic is only shelved for later. It’s not like you’re going to stop wanting it, even if you also love him. He wishes it was simpler, at least for your sake.

At least you sleep a little more peacefully after that.

…

It’s a few days later when Pan is over that it comes back up again. The two of them are training and you’re sitting under the big tree outside your home. Usually you’d sit in your office to work, but it seems there’s been a bit of unspoken clinginess between the two of you. Luckily you already work from home and can work from almost anywhere as long as you have your laptop.

“Pico, why is Auntie crying?”

Piccolo turns his head to see you slip back into your shared home. He doesn’t see your face though.

Piccolo ruffles a hand through Pan’s hair. “Go take a lap, I’ll make sure Auntie is okay.”

You’re in the kitchen and you duck your head so he can’t see your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I just-“ Your voice cracks, betraying your words. “Just need a minute.”

“Why are you crying?” He steps up behind you, but he’s not sure if he should touch.

You shrug. “It’s fine. Go- Go train with Pan.”

“She’s worried about you.” Maybe it’s a little cruel to play that card but if it will get you to tell him what’s wrong. When a fresh wave of tears starts, Piccolo can’t stand it anymore and tucks you against his chest. Wraps an arm around your crossed arms.

“It’s awful and I feel guilty for feeling it.” You sob.

This is the worst part- when he doesn’t know what to do. Usually you’re there to help guide him through it, but that’s wildly inappropriate at this moment.

“Deep breath, please.” It’s shaky but you manage it. He lets you take another one too. “I’ve heard some pretty awful stuff, I doubt you could say anything as bad.” He strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“It feels mean to say to you, Lo.”

“Do you intend to hurt me with it?” You shake your head. “Then please tell me so I can understand?”

“Pan’s an only child…” He’s aware of that fact. You take another deep breath. “T-that’s fine, I just… I always figured it’d be okay cause she’d have a cousin or two eventually.”

Goten’s still pretty young- by the time he might have kids, Pan will probably be a teenager… Oh. “Because you thought you’d have kids?”

He’d never thought about it. He’s technically an only child, Gohan and Goten are far apart in age- at least Goten has Trunks to play around with. Bulla and Pan are close enough in age but that hardly means anything.

You want to give her a playmate.

It makes sense. The two of you love Pan more than anything, probably more than each other.

“I'm sorry.” You say wetly. “I’m not trying to guilt you or anything… I’m just sad about it.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I really just needed a minute, Big Guy.” You squeeze at an arm that’s wrapped around you. “I think I might go lie down for a little bit?”

He holds you for another minute then lets you go upstairs. He waits until he hears you get into the bed before he leaves

When Piccolo comes back outside, Pan is sitting in the grass poking at a bug. She’s more like her dad than one would first believe by looking at her. “Why was Auntie crying, Piccolo?”

“She’s sad, bud.”

“Are you getting a divorce?”

“What? No, where did you even hear that?” Technically, the two of you aren’t even married. Can he even legally get married?

“One of my friends at school’s mom and dad are getting a divorce. Her mom is very sad when I see her.”

Oh, that makes sense.

“We had a grownup conversation recently and it made Auntie sad.” It’s hard because Piccolo can’t exactly talk to her about the truth.

“When Daddy makes Mom upset, he buys her chocolates and flowers! You should do that Picco!”

“Yeah? Auntie’s laying down right now, think we should go get her something to cheer her up?”

Pan nods enthusiastically. She hops up to take off to fly towards the nearest store. Piccolo glances back at your home before he takes off to join her. Hopefully you’ll be alright for a little bit by yourself.

…

It seems fine at first. Piccolo has an armful of treats (all picked out by Pan). She’s not worried anymore, eager to help Piccolo “fix” your sour mood.

Until they walk straight in front of the baby section. Rows and rows of pastel baby clothes. Bottles and pacifiers line the adjacent walls of the section.

Something curdles in Piccolo’s stomach. He’s assumed he’s been feeling this way because you’re feeling sad and upset about this. Maybe he does want a baby? As bad as you do. Especially with the realization that yours and his baby would grow up with Pan.

Pan tugs on his gi. “What’s wrong, Piccolo?”

He blinks. “Just thinking that Auntie’s up by now.” He shrugs the arm holding all of the snacks Pan picked out. “Do you think this is enough?”

It’s a bit early for him to be dropping off Pan but he feels it’s necessary. Videl seems a little concerned but mostly just surprised. He assures her that something just came up. He’ll make it up to Pan another day. Maybe you and him can take her out for a fun outing when you’re in better spirits.

He takes the plastic baggie of snacks and heads home.

You’re still lying down when he returns. Laying on your stomach, face practically smothered in the pillow- he really hates when you sleep like this. Based on your breathing, you’re not quite sleeping but not quite awake.

He crawls on top of you being careful to not put all his weight on you, but enough. You once told him about weighted blankets- that it’s comforting to have the extra pressure sometimes.

“I wish I could give you a baby.”

“We could.” You mumble. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and crying, probably.

The Dragon Balls? So you two could have a baby together? It feels ironic that Piccolo hadn’t thought of that. It’d be relatively easy- Bulma keeps them constantly collected and protected to be used if needed.

He lets you turn over but he doesn’t get off of you, his head resting on your belly. “Do you really want to do that?”

You shrug. “What if they were needed for something… more important?” ‘Something more important’ goes unsaid. Piccolo nods. That would be an awful thing for your baby to have over their head their whole lives.

“If you really wanted… what’s it called when another man fathers a child for someone who can’t?”

“Donor?”

“If you really wanted it… you could do that.” Piccolo really doesn’t like that. He’d love your child because they’re part of you but he’d still struggle.

“I… I want your baby, Lo.” You pout. “It’s selfish but I want you to get me pregnant and I want to have your baby. I know it’s unrealistic to want that but I do.”

“But we can’t do that and we can’t… make it happen other ways… So?”

You turn your face away. “I guess we just …don’t.”

He rubs your hip, he hates that you’re sad and he can’t really do anything about it. “You’re still sad about it though, right?”

“I might always be sad about it, Piccolo.” You sigh. “But we have Pan.”

He nods. “We have Pan.”

“And I love you. You know that right?”

Of course he does. It’d be awkward because the two of you are so interconnected in your lives but if you didn’t want to be with him anymore- he’d understand if you left him. Being with a man who looks like an alien has been quite the adjustment.

“Please don’t cry again.” He points to the bag of acquired goodies. It’s set on the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t move away from you to actually retrieve it. “Pan picked you out snacks.”

“Yeah? That’s where you went?” You giggle, a little forced but it lifts the mood. “Can I eat them in bed?”

Piccolo grimaces. He takes the sanctity of your bed very seriously, you sleep there after all. “... If you really want to.” That makes you laugh a little more genuinely.

Ultimately you decide to go eat your snacks downstairs during a movie. Snacks for dinner, though Piccolo will insist you eat something more substantial. You think maybe you’ll entice him into a warm bath later.

Your phone buzzes:

>> (Del) Pan said you were upset earlier? Everything alright??

You expected this. Pan’s still little and likely can’t keep a “secret” especially from her mother.

Truth be told, Videl and Gohan have been far too involved in your relationship with Piccolo. Sure, they are your respective best friends- Videl is the reason you’re together.

The first time you two had a serious argument, the married couple seriously meddled into getting you to talk to Piccolo again- even though you both really just needed some time to cool off. You know they were just trying to help but you don’t need that now.

You sneakily snap a pic of your partner. He’s sitting with your feet in his lap, holding a plate of your treats so they don’t spill while you’re texting.

>> (You) Just having a hard day. Nothing >> Sorry Piccolo brought Pan home early.

Maybe someday they’ll be told. Perhaps you’ll sob to Videl after one too many glasses of wine on your rare Girls Nights or Piccolo will confide in Gohan about it.

But for now it can just be between you and him. You’ll have to get used to that now, after all.

#ashesmash writes #dragon ball x reader #piccolo x reader #dbz #cw infertility #cw pregnancy #cw breeding #dbz x reader

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