#like she literally only thinks of what's best for her

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Prologue: “Happy fifteenth birthday! (Again?)”

WARNING: Mention of blood and death.

My memory had never been the best, it was good, but not exceptional. Nothing out of this world.

I wasn't as smart as Damian or Tim, I wasn't as strong as Jason or Dick, nor was I as sharp as Bruce Wayne.

I wasn't exceptional, but I was good, but not good enough for them. For him.

God, I was so focused on getting his attention, playing sports, try to pass every subject with the highest grade, join any club like debate or math.

Anything, but all that never leads to anything.

Well, almost nothing, everything I did only caused Damian to see me as a desperate for attention, which, he wasn't wrong.

But still, it didn't make it hurt any less, every insult, malicious insinuation even the occasional threat flying through the air, each one was the result of three years of trying to get someone to look at me.

Sometimes that attention only appeared with Dick, on the few times that he came to visit and came across a scene of me with Damian, He immediately stopped him.

Forcing him to apologize, spoiler, he never apologized.

The first time it happened I thought that my attempts had finally yielded good results, but no, I dare say this was worse.

As if he gave me hope and then suddenly he snatches it away without any fanfare.

Oh wait, that's literally what happened.

And about the others, I didn't even have the chance to talk to them, simply because I was already tired and also because if Damian continued he would have more reasons to screw me.

And let's face it, nobody wants to feed the wolf because you know it bites.

In this case, the bird.

It didn't help that almost the entire family was going on patrol, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in being part of that, but then I remember Jason...I immediately got that idea out of my mind.

Mm, but if I stop to think, or rather, remember, another thing that I learned in my attempts to get my family's attention, I fell in love with dance.

It was the only class that I didn't drop like the others, I genuinely loved it.

Once in her class, the teacher made us all dance with large, long, and thin fabrics. She made us dance what we wanted, in her words: “Dance as if you were free”.

My companions danced with joy, I just stayed silent for a few moments watching them without knowing how to start.

But then I sighed to close my eyes, letting my body move as it wanted.

“Dance as if you were free” I thought, I started to imagine the music in my head. It was nice, I love it.

I went from knowing what the hell to do to starting to laugh with my classmates, I turned around and then curtsied, feeling how almost all the fabric covered my body.

I open my eyes and see my entire audience applauding, not just me, but also the rest of the dancers.

As soon as I turned eighteen I followed my teacher's advice. I didn't do it before because I was a minor, I needed my tutor's permission and blah blah blah...

Contact with my family at this point was zero, except for the new member, Duke, a sweet and kind boy.

Just looking at him made prayers come to mind for Bruce.

“If you let this kid end up like Jason, I’ll take care of throwing the Joker at you myself, you unhappy idiot.” I was thinking but also listening as Duke energetically told me what his first patrol had been like.

I used to have a certain respect for Bruce, I mean, he's Batman and he does everything in his power to make sure Gotham isn't in such a shitty place.

But then I remember that he keeps adopting children as if they were dogs to give them "A better life" by turning them into human weapons.

Sooooo, yeah, I wish that every day he wakes up with a backache and a headache.

"[Name]"

"Yes dear?" Through the mirror I watched Duke looking at me hopefully as I put on my makeup for the upcoming performance in an hour.

Oh no, I already know what he's going to ask.

"Why do you never come to the mansion?" God, I swear he does that look on purpose, brat.

I sigh as I turn around to look at him.

"You already know my answer, I have no reason to do it and I don't want to either." I said as I turned back to the mirror to continue.

"Yes! I know, but why exactly don't you want to?"

A silence reigned in the room, putting on my makeup but at the same time thinking about what to answer him.

As much as I resent the Waynes, they didn't do anything to Duke, until now, they treat him as he deserves and the last thing I want is to plant that seed of hatred towards them in Duke.

Because I know him, as soon as I tell him what my childhood was like in that mansion and those responsible, the first thing he will do is complain.

And at this point in my life I don't want any unnecessary drama with them.

I lowered the lipstick and looked at him.

"I never liked being in that mansion, since I was little I was always afraid of those giant, dark hallways, and I still am."

Duke stared at me in bewilderment. "Is that the only reason you don't want to come to the mansion?"

I nodded. "It sounds stupid, I know, but every time I walk down those halls it brings back bad memories."

That wasn't a lie.

Duke was silent for a few moments before coming up to me and hugging me.

"Aww, honey you are such a sweetheart sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah, because you can be a brat sometimes too." I laughed as I ruffled Duke's hair until it was disheveled.

"A white lie won't hurt anyone." I thought while Duke laughed and tried to pull my hand out of his hair.

Without realizing it, it was already time to start. I said goodbye to Duke, telling him to go back to the mansion, but he insisted on staying.

Something I allowed, GOD, I should have begged him not to do it.

Because from one moment to the next while I was dancing, all the lights went out and when they came back on I felt like blood was flooding my mouth, like everyone was screaming in fear.

What happened? Why am I bleeding?

Duke, he was next to me trying to keep me awake, to not close my eyes.

It got to the point where I couldn't hear anything he was saying, it was complicated while I felt like a part of my body was bleeding non-stop.

I hate to see him cry, please look away... leave me here.

Please...

I don't want the last thing I see to be you crying...

Please...

She opened her eyes calmly and confusedly, all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. She thought she was in a hospital because of the light.

But when her vision stopped blurring, she realized that the light was not from a hospital spotlight, but from the skylight in the wooden ceiling.

"Wait...Skylight?" She muttered, feeling her voice raspy and her throat sore.

The bed wasn't that soft, it was really hard and uncomfortable but still [Name] didn't want to get up, after almost dying...

[Name] sat up in bed right away.

"I ALMOST DIE!" She literally jumped out of bed and ran to the closet to get her clothes.

She needed to see how Duke was doing, his desperate face and the way he held back the urge to cry and couldn't, broke her heart.

But it was when she pulled out a t-shirt that she realized.

"This isn't my size..." Confused, [Name] walked over to the mirror.

If Duke broke her heart, now she's literally having a heart attack.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" [Name] could swear that any living thing that was near her would have run away in less time than it takes a rooster to crow.

She touched her face carefully, as if it would disappear or break if she touched it hard, this is so weird...a woman in her late twenties trapped in her fifteen year old self, god, what a hell.

[Name] She stepped back without taking her eyes off the mirror while she sat back down on her bed.

On the other side of the door, she heard someone knocking on it two or three times. Accompanied by a soft but direct voice calling her name.

"Miss [Name]"

[Name] immediately turned around to stare at the door, for a few short moments no one said anything, there was only silence.

"Are you okay? You didn't come down to breakfast. That's not something usual for you." Alfred said once he got no response from her.

"Yeah, I'm fine Alfred...I just stayed up late last night that's all..." She didn't know what to say, obviously it wasn't okay, but she didn't want any more problems in her head, she just wanted to focus on the main problem.

She literally just got younger, which would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact that she also came back to this damn mansion.

"Okay, miss, I'll be waiting for you with your breakfast, you need to eat something before you start the day." [Name] was about to reply until Alfred stepped in. "Also, Happy Birthday Miss."

She didn't say anything, she didn't want to.

Alfred walked away from the door, [Name] could hear his footsteps moving away through the hallways and down the stairs.

"Was it always this quiet?" She muttered in her mind as she turned her gaze back to the mirror.

She thought about her life before coming back here, it wasn't good, she didn't earn much from dancing, but... it was her life, a life that took her time to perfect.

And now, I go back to the beginning? Shit, no.

"Alive or dead, I don't care, either way I'm getting out of here..." She said with some frustration and tiredness. "Happy birthday to me...that's new."

With nothing left to lose, she gets back out of bed to find some clothes to change into.

It was her birthday and she had to look good.

And hopefully, it would be the last birthday she would spend in this mansion.

NOTES: Hi, I hope everything is okay, even if it's better than me, I had finished the 'prologue' a while ago but I was feeling a bit unsure that something felt out of place or "weird".

I repeat and reiterate, I can understand English but in terms of speaking/writing it I am still learning. Until I feel completely confident for now I will continue using the translator (my savior).

But if there are any errors (probably some, I hope not many) let me know, I want everyone to be able to read comfortably and as long as I can I will make it happen.

Anyway, I hope you like it, I love you! Muak muak💋💋

TAGS:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864

[shy-writer-999]

How many dreams to say "I love you?" (ii)

Summary: Zoro can’t stop dreaming about you, his best friend and crewmate. When his dreams start to wander from themes of romance and tenderness, he finds himself splitting at the seams. How long can he keep up this balance of night and day before he starts to go crazy?

Part 2 of 3 (or 4). ~5k words. CW: Mostly smut / PWP! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Poor, pervy Zoro. Non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, toys, kissing. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 2: A double life is unsustainable.

As much as Zoro told himself that he learned his lesson—don’t eavesdrop on conversations that are clearly not meant for your ears—the dreams about you didn’t stop.

Days went by and he could find no reprieve from the phantom version of you at night. Torture wasn’t the word for it. Agony, more like. He was in agony. Every night.

While the swordsman affirmed to himself that the dreams were a non-issue, and that they’d inevitably stop soon, you were rapidly starting to infect every single facet of his life.

This duality was maddening—at night, he’d answer to a fantasy world with you, where you treated him like some precious thing, called him ‘baby’ or ‘honey,’ and kissed him. But during the day you were his crewmate, friend, and nothing else. He’d smile at you like usual, sit by you at dinner, and tell himself that nothing changed.

This was a half-truth. The only thing that had changed was Zoro. You were behaving typically, maybe a bit quieter than usual, but he told himself that he was overthinking it.

The issue was that you wouldn’t leave him alone at night, and each of your sickeningly heart-melting smiles during the day was making his heart do that twisting thing. He couldn’t stand it.

Zoro didn’t know why his brain wouldn’t abandon this fixation with you—it had almost been a week; how much longer would this keep up? How many more tender moments would he share with you at night before he went insane during the day? If he got to a breaking point, what would fix it?

The dreams were festering inside of him. Confounding this effect was that the quality of sleep he was getting was atrocious. It’s like he wasn’t able to rest properly at night because the dreams were so concerningly lucid—he felt like he almost wasn’t dreaming at all, just living in an alternate reality, a reality turned upside down, where you loved him and smothered him in affection. A reality where he liked that.

Zoro had no one to confide in about his troubles—you were the person who he was the most emotionally close to. If he could have told you, he would have. But he was worried that it would change something. What would blurting out his dreams and baring these hidden thoughts accomplish, other than make you uncomfortable?

If he did that, you may get the wrong idea. He wasn’t trying to come onto you, he wasn’t in love with you, didn’t have feelings for you, etc. Zoro didn’t think he was capable of romantic love, it just wasn’t in the picture for him and never would be. But that wasn’t the issue here, he told himself. In Zoro’s mind, the problem was that he was being tormented by you at night and couldn’t help it. He was at a loss for what to do.

You were one of the highlights of his days, even before the dreams started. Now he could feel himself, more than ever, looking forward to those moments and latching onto them during the day. He harbored the suspicion that his brain would memorize your face more each time. The dream version of you kept getting more lifelike, more brilliant, more real. It was uncanny.

After the first three nights, Zoro started to brace himself. He knew what was coming when he fell asleep. He knew you’d be there waiting for him in some new scenario.

DREAMS 5, 6, & 7: “You’ve been a bit spacey recently.”

The fifth dream Zoro had about you was one where you held his hand (literally, just you holding his hand, nothing else). Your hand was warm and soft—it felt like it was made for him, like you were made for him. You ran your thumb across his skin and squeezed his hand through your intertwined fingers.

It was a short dream. When he woke up, he could still feel your hand on his. If he kept his eyes closed, if he stayed still, he could feel your fingers, your weight, maybe even your breath against his neck…

When he woke up, he was befuddled. Seeing you on deck the following morning, he glanced down at your hands. Would they feel the same as they did in his dream?

The next night, in the sixth dream, you studied his face quizzically.

“What’s wrong babe? You’ve been a bit spacey recently.” Your eyes explored his face imploringly.

He said something in response. He couldn’t remember what it was, and it was of no consequence. After you studied his face more, you remarked, “Zoro, you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” He flushed even in his sleep and woke up moments later to a quicker heartbeat than was normal. This was seriously starting to concern him. As mundane as these sequences were, they were abnormal and confusing.

Were these dreams some subconscious manifestation of a nascent health problem? Or was he not training hard enough? Perhaps this was some form of self-performed punishment for being so distracted by your presence? Maybe he needed to double down on the stoicism and the ascetism.

The seventh dream was also mundane. You were wearing one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants; you kissed him and told him he smelled good. He had seen you wear his hoodies before, in real life. You always had an excuse (“mine are all in the washing machine, can I wear some of yours?) and he always looked at you more than normal.

There was something about you in his clothes that stirred him inside. He didn’t know what was up with that. Something squeezed inside of him at the sight of your face peeking out of his hoodies, your limbs filling up his shirts and sweats; he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The morning after the hoodie and sweatpants dream, Zoro woke up perplexed. His dreams, in the wake of the conversation he overheard, stayed relatively romantic. They weren’t straying from themes of tenderness and endearment (well, except that first dream, the shower sex one).

The romance is what baffled him the most—he had never looked at anyone with romantic intentions before, so why was his brain throwing it at him? Why you, in particular? It was mystifying, suffocating, and excruciating.

There were floodgates inside of him, pooled up dams of emotion, burgeoning romance, desires and fears, and your conversation with Nami sent a shockwave through those walls. They began to crumble, and new cracks showed every night.

Zoro tried not to worry, but he had an understanding that this odd trend of (what was it at this point?) six nights consumed by you was only sustainable so far as the dreams stayed this way—tender and, above everything, mundane.

He was a regimented man. He stuck to a clear and concise schedule, as far as waking up, feeding himself, working out, etc. But the dreams threw a wrench in his daily routine. The negligent quality of sleep he was getting, even after only six days, was starting to have quite the effect on him.

He was barely keeping it together by the six-day mark, dark circles deepening into sunken rings under his eyes. He concluded that he couldn’t handle anything farther than these dreams of kisses and cuddles. If the dreams changed—if they got explicit, he told himself—then he’d start to really lose it.

Emotional turmoil be damned, he could retain a sense of normalcy as long as his waking hours went on as usual and nothing else changed. He may be exhausted, but he could cope. He hoped the dreams would fade into absurdity, cease, and leave him the hell alone.

This was a self-deluding hope.

DREAM 8: Breaking point

The next night, Zoro dreamed that he was walking around the ship aimlessly. He did a lap around the deck, meandered lazily through the galley, and checked the crow’s nest. It seemed like the whole thing was empty. Where was everyone?

He sauntered to check out the sleeping quarters. All the doors were open, the lights were off, and the cabins were empty, except yours. Your door was ajar and the light was on—he felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity. As Zoro walked towards your door, time seemed to alter. He moved in slow motion, laser-focused on your cabin, approaching slowly with bated breath.

As he got closer, he started to hear something.

It was a mix of sounds. There was a wet sort of clacking sound, first, and when he got closer to your door, he also heard faint gasps and gentle moans. His heart beat faster. He reached the door—it was only a couple inches open. He knew way lay ahead.

The sounds were getting louder. He leaned in, staring through the miniscule gap between the door and doorframe, to see what was happening. His hand was poised on the doorknob, ready to push it open.

When Zoro saw what was happening inside, he froze.

You were lying on your bed naked, thighs spread, propped up on your pillows. Your face was contorted into an expression of bliss, mouth agape just slightly, brows pinched together, eyes closed. His gaze travelled down to fix on your breasts, a perfect pair in his opinion. But your arms looked like they were moving, so his gaze trailed down farther. He saw clearly now that you were touching yourself.

You were moving one finger very slowly in and out of yourself; your sensitive spots were red and inflamed, juices seeping out and covering your thighs and hand. He listened to your labored breathing and heard the messy sounds echo through the room.

When you stuffed another finger in yourself, he heard you murmur something, but he couldn’t quite make out what you said. He leaned closer, his proximity to the door threatened to push it open.

You let the sound out again. He heard it this time.

“Zoro.”

Your moan was quiet and needy. He was mesmerized—you moaned his name again and moved your fingers faster. Your pitch increased, your body tensed up, you were so wet that arousal was pooling beneath you, saturating and staining the sheets.

He thought you were about to orgasm when you stopped suddenly, drawing your fingers out of yourself with a gasp.

Reaching to the side, you picked something up. Zoro’s brain registered it with a considerable lag—that was a vibrator. That was your vibrator. He saw it once on accident, when he offered to grab some of your laundry and put it in with his load.

That must have been months ago. When he walked into your room and looked for your hamper, the vibrator caught his eye, sitting on your bed as plain as day. You had forgotten that it was there. He found himself blushing and pretended like he hadn’t seen it. But now it made an appearance in his dream—how sick and twisted.

You pressed the toy into your entrance, pressing it inside yourself with it for a few moments before you pulled it out again. Every thrust of your wrist was coupled with a keen of his name.

The vibrator was dripping wet. A string of your arousal connected the tip of the vibrator to your core and his eyes followed as you brought the toy to your clit. Pressing a button, the vibrator sprung to life, filling the room with a low whirring and pulsing sound. You whined his name again and pushed the vibrator back and forth on your sensitive nub, toes curling in pleasure. Your other hand crept down and snuck a finger back into yourself.

Zoro was hypnotized by the sight of you getting off with both your vibrator and fingers, evidently touching yourself to the thought of him. Your moans got louder again, along with the obscene sounds emanating from down there. He could feel his erection. He was painfully hard.

You started to writhe and squirm.

“Zoro, fuck,” you mewled, tone pathetic and desperate. “Fuuuucccck me, Zoro, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your thighs started to shake.

It seemed like you were about to cum. He wanted you to cum, wanted to see you cum from fucking yourself with your fingers and toy to the thought of him—but right when you started moaning the loudest, right when you were one good pulse away from screaming his name, Zoro woke up. Of course.

Upon opening his eyes, he was immeasurably frustrated. Any time that these dreams, sexual or not, seemed like they were coming to a climax, he’d always wake up. It was like his brain was telling him to go fuck himself. And he was about to.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it was like his mind was playing games, like it was edging him or trying to piss him off. He was rock hard, about to cry from frustration, wishing more than anything that he could just have you, but knowing that would and should never happen.

Zoro had been telling himself that the dreams were just an aberration, a mistake, that he could forget about them during the day because they only were a nuisance at night, and nothing really happened in them that would impact his day in any meaningful way. But the narrative of the dreams not impacting his day didn’t hold up when he started to fist his cock while thinking about you.

He was forced to face the facts—the dreams were getting worse to the point where they started to bleed into his waking hours.

The morning after Zoro dreamed about you masturbating, he had to step away. Seeing you walk around the deck, interacting with you and watching you walk away… it was too much.

He went to the bathroom, locked the door, and palmed his growing erection until he couldn’t hold back anymore. Unzipping his pants and sneaking a hand into his underwear, he started to touch himself.

Maybe it had just been too long since he orgasmed (or even touched a woman). Sure, that’s what all of this was. His brain was grasping for straws because he was too repressed, right? You were there in front of him every day, so his brain had to make do—this was just a matter of proximity, nothing more. This is what Zoro coddled himself with, soothing his worries for a few moments. It had just been too long.

While he squeezed and stroked his aching length, he could barely keep in the feral grunts and groans threatening to leave his mouth. He bit his lip. Every time his fist grazed his angry, leaking tip, his cock twitched. It felt so good, but it would feel even better, if only…

At first, he tried to not think about you while doing it. He felt guilty enough as it was, having explicit dreams about his closest friend. But when his hand was wrapped around his shaft and precum trickled down his fingers in clear rivulets, the image of you touching yourself seared in his brain, unrelenting and arousing.

“Zoro.”

His name had sounded otherworldly when it parted your lips, coated in tones of lust and desperation. Just like the dreamscape he entered every night, composed of only thoughts, his thoughts in this moment could stay internalized too, couldn’t they? Kept private? This could be a one-time thing, hell, maybe it would make the dreams and nagging thoughts go away altogether. It had been too long, after all. Against his better judgment, the swordsman indulged. Just this once.

Scattered scenes flashed through Zoro’s mind the instant he decided to let his thoughts wander. All of it thundered at once like a maelstrom.

First, the look of your eyes, glossy, rolling back in your head in ecstasy. Then, the image of him shoving his cock in your wet mouth and watching you choke on it. The feeling of scissoring his fingers inside of you, of pulling your hair, of listening to your whimpers while he wrenched orgasms from you, pushing his fingers into your mouth while you sucked on them and made eye contact with him, watching your body writhe and writhe and writhe… every morsel and droplet of your envisioned pleasure fueled the force that was Zoro’s fist on his cock.

It would be hot and sloppy. Filthy.

You’d tell him to “keep going,” you’d dig your fingernails into his biceps, drool from how good it felt, swallow up his inches like nothing—he revered you, craved you, and worshipped you. He needed all of you. Wanted to smell you, taste you, hear you, and have you. He was getting carried away.

What if you walked into the bathroom right now? The door was locked, obviously, but the mental image of you stumbling across him like this gave him some sort of nasty thrill. If only you approached him, sunk to your knees and opened your mouth, petted him and praised him—

When the swordsman came all over his hands, he felt vile. He felt like a hypocrite.

He always called Sanji a pervert and derided him for his lack of control around women, and now here Zoro was, getting off on a dream he had about his own friend and crewmate. And what’s worse is that he didn’t look away in the dream when he saw you touching yourself. He didn’t even try. (To be fair, it’s not like he had control over what he dreamed about, nor could he control what he did in them, but that was a nonfactor to him.)

Zoro felt like shit.

The next time you talked to him, he turned crimson. He seemed distracted. He had been working out more than usual, so you told yourself it was the post-workout glow. You’d never seen him blush a day in your life, but sure enough, it was creeping up his neck and slowly starting to take over his cheeks.

He tried to forget his trip to the bathroom, but your pretty face made his heart thump and his stomach turn. He tried to forget the mental images his brain conjured up in his rabid state of desire. It was futile. He felt like he was going to be sick.

In your brief conversation after dinner the same day, you asked Zoro if he’d grab a drink with you. “It’s been a while,” you smiled at him, same as ever. “Let’s catch up in the next couple days over some sake. Deal?”

He hesitantly agreed. He missed you—the real you, not the dream version of you. When he said yes, you beamed at him, and his mouth went dry. He needed to get a grip and figure out what the fuck his problem was.

Zoro gave up on talking to you about the conversation he eavesdropped on over a week ago. He felt like he missed his opportunity (which is arguable) and, more than that, he felt like he wouldn’t know how to approach that conversation. What would he say at this point? “Hey, I’ve been having vivid dreams about you and I’m going fucking crazy?”

No. So, he kept it inside. He figured that he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Would he ever admit that he heard the conversation? He wondered about this. Maybe he’d never fess up to it. Maybe he’d keep it to himself, internalize once again. But he was quickly learning that when he tried to stuff these huge emotions back inside of him, they got bigger, louder, more unruly. It was like psychological warfare, except the assailant was his brain.

At this point, the dreams felt all-consuming. He’d get so wrapped up in them at night that he felt like he was in a daze during the day. Perhaps he was being dramatic, or perhaps his brain was desperately struggling to regulate a whopping load of emotions he had never encountered before, or rather, that he had never let himself acknowledge before.

He worried that you could tell something was off with him. You could.

Later, you asked, “Hey Zoro, you doing ok?”

He stuttered out a response, flustered by your presence, falling apart in seconds. It was very unlike him. “Wha—? H-hey, uh, yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just checking on you. You’ve been a bit spacey recently.” Your expression was one of concern. He seemed off, not to mention those dark circles of his. Was he getting sick? Was the insomnia coming back?

Upon hearing your words, it was like a lightning bolt hit Zoro. “You’ve been a bit spacey recently.”

What an insane coincidence. You said those very words to him in a dream a few nights ago, after which you complimented his eyes. He froze for a second, then tried to play off his shock with a yawn.

“I feel fine.” He shrugged. It wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “Just haven’t been sleeping the best.”

The paranoia was coming—did you know that he was dreaming about you? Had he been acting weird? Could you tell that he was thinking about you every moment of the day? God forbid, were you starting to form the misconception that he liked you in some romantic or erotic way? Fuck. This was getting ridiculous. Get a grip, man, he told himself.

You tried to ignore how odd he was acting. If he said he was fine, then he was fine.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. He tried to wait it out and see that his attempt at convincing himself was effective.

It was not.

DREAM 9: A shocking revelation

Zoro’s dream the following night was delightful and concerning.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling with something. Maybe he was sharpening a sword, refitting a sheath, polishing his boots… something like that. That part was foggy. Behind him, Zoro felt a weight on the bed. He knew it was you.

You scooted close to him from where you were sitting and reached your hands under the hem of his shirt. Your fingers ran over his bare skin, relishing the feeling of his abs and happy trail, every inch of his taut, tanned skin. You reached around his front and wrapped your arms around him. Your palms were warm, and you moved closer, body flush on his from behind. It was not lost on him that he could feel your breasts pressing on his back.

“Zoroooo,” you cooed right in his ear. Goosebumps. “You’re no fun. Pay attention to me. I’m bored.” You were whining.

You tickled him, poked him, kissed his back through the fabric of his shirt. You were all over him and it felt like your hands were everywhere. You were begging him to put down what he was doing and give you his undivided attention.

“Fine,” he responded in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes and putting his things away. He turned, maneuvering his body so he was facing you. “What do you want me to do?”

You pouted. “I don’t know. I’m bored. Let’s lay down and cuddle. Please?”

The scene shifted. You two were lying in bed, facing each other. You were eye to eye, arms thrown over each other. Zoro tucked your hair behind your ear, breathless. He was enamored, entranced by your beauty and admiration. Your hand was placed under his shirt, resting on his side. The skin contact felt electric. You leaned in and started to pepper his face with kisses—a recurring theme in these dreams. He must have really wanted that.

He closed his eyes.

You first brushed your lips lightly over his, and then you moved to kiss all over one of his cheeks, all over his forehead, his other cheek, his chin, his nose, his eyes, his jawline, ending at his lips again. You nuzzled his nose, ran your fingers through his hair—it was like you couldn’t get enough of him. Your lips were soft, meeting his delicately. When you pulled away from him. You held eye contact, an affectionate smile playing across your lips. He smelled you, felt you, and felt enveloped by you.

Zoro leaned in and kissed your forehead. You giggled and pulled him closer.

He could feel himself starting to say something in the dream, working up the nerve to say something that made his heart feel like it would stop. The words were getting caught in his mouth, they felt like they were taking forever to form…

They were words he almost said to you once before in a dream. He forced them out through his cotton mouth and hesitation.

“I love you.”

When the words left his lips, that twisting feeling happened inside of him so intensely that it must have detonated something. Each piece of shrapnel sent bolts of lightning through his body; he felt like he was vibrating, euphoric, every nerve on fire. He couldn’t breathe.

The dream version of you looked into his eyes and nodded. “I know you do, Zoro. I see you.”

Buzzing, Zoro felt like he wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and give it to you. He wanted you to see him, to see every part of him, to bare his soul to you and say ‘look, here is everything in me, here is every part of me.’

You were about to pull him into another kiss before he awoke up with a start, sweating and practically shaking.

Zoro’s heart was beating out of his chest. He sat up. Immediately, his first instinct was to check whether or not you were really in his bed. You weren’t—to both his relief and disappointment. He checked the time—3:36AM. Far too early. But he couldn’t fall back asleep now, not when his heart was pounding like this.

Why did he tell you he loved you?

It would be an understatement to say that Zoro’s mind was racing. He recalled that in one of his first dreams he wondered if you would still feel lonely if he embraced you. But if he did more than embrace you, if he gave all of himself to you, what then? What would you feel if he did that?

Would you stop feeling lonely and sad if he gave everything to you, even his heart? Would you give him yours, in return?

He ruminated on the concept of giving all of himself to you. What did that mean, and why did the thought pass through his mind when he was dreaming?

To give you all of him, for you to see every part of him… was that love? Is this what it meant to love? If giving you every part of himself meant spending every moment with you that he could, kissing and caressing you, making you feel better, listening to every word you stored up inside, sharing every word he stored up inside… The realization hit him like a train.

He wanted that. He ardently wanted to fill in the hole that loneliness had carved out of your life. And he realized that there was one in his life, as well. A lacuna of would-be companionship that he had forever thought was out of reach.

Could he give you what you needed? Is that what love is? To share yourself with someone else, to want them, to cherish them, care for them, see them for who they are?

He wanted to give you all of him. He didn’t want you to feel lonely, sad, or distressed ever again. He wanted to always be there, he wanted you to know you could tell him anything, wanted to know you like the back of his hand, and he wanted you to know him like that, too.

Zoro understood now what that twisting, thumping feeling inside of him was. No, it wasn’t arrythmia, or indigestion, or anything of the sort—it had been lying low for months, boiling under the surface. It all clicked into place.

That stirring and twisting feeling? It was the feeling of that lock inside of him breaking into a million pieces. The lock around his heart that prevented him from wanting to love and from knowing how to… it was gone now, obliterated.

That impenetrable lock, the lead chains, the crushing weight of it…  He used to think that the key to that lock didn’t exist. But now that you were here, Zoro realized that you were the missing key. You were the one capable of ripping open that relentless opacity, that stoicism, that brick of pain that he tried to ignore and train away. You had ripped it to shreds, like it was nothing. You did it over the course of many months, many days, and even in his sleep.

Zoro realized that he was in love with you.

He wanted to recognize you completely and absolutely, and for you to do the same to him.

Zoro wanted to take showers with you and take turns shampooing each other’s hair. He wanted to hold your hand in public, feeling and seeing nothing else but you. He wanted to come home after a long day and hold you tight, kiss you and call you sweet names. He wanted to nuzzle your nose every day and drink up every smile like he was starving for it.

To think that you were so sad and lonely you cried? That shattered him. Hearing you be so vocal about it, seeing a different side of you that he never knew before—maybe he never felt this emotion until he met you for a reason. Now that the pieces were falling into place, he saw that it was you. It was always you. It was only you. It would only be you forever.

He did not have another dream about you for three nights.

< previous part | masterlist | next part >

taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996

a/n: thanks so much for reading! part 3 is going to be a minute - lmk if you want to be on the taglist! i have yet to write (most of) it.

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I apparently come across as the same age as my younger coworkers, possibly because I am holding the vestiges of my whimsy in a deathgrip and also because they are experiencing the highs and lows of marriage and I'm not (seriously, I once had a conversation with an old lady at an urgent care where she was talking about her kids, stopped mid-conversation and went "you don't have any, i can see it in your eyes" TTvTT). If i were a cartoon I might be failing the above person's character design test

a lot of people do NOT 'look like adults'. Hell, in my experience a lot of folks look about the same if they're between 16 and 25 depending on the person and the only real way to find out where they fall on that range is to straight-up ask them

on one hand, yes, fiction and character design in cartoons specifically is meant to convey information about the characters to the audience quickly and easily - that doesn't mean shorthand like this is a good idea

visually conveying important information about your characters to your viewers is one thing, catering to the members of the audience who become viscerally uncomfy with characters not fitting in the exact boxes they think characters (and usually real people) should fit in is another thing ENTIRELY. People are gonna surprise you and do backflips around your expectations in real life just by being themselves sometimes, and frankly fiction gets better when this part of the human experience is included (at least i think it does)

like this whole complaint could've just stopped at "I don't like it when writers/designers sexualize characters whose role in the story doesn't have anything to do with their sexuality or lack thereof" and most folks would agree - like anybody from the clone wars fandom remember what they decided to have ahsoka wear for the first couple of seasons for no real reason? but that doesn't actually have any bearing on the character themself, again, see young ahsoka running around doing jedi commander stuff and having character arcs that her clothes are coincidental for at best (girl was literally in a war zone with not only no protective clothing, but not clothing at all covering at least three vital organs hhhhhhhhh)

and also, since this seems to be about hazbin hotel, I'd like to point out that there's probably some overlap OOP is seeing between 'character is being sexualized by the writers and/or fans' and 'character is in a story that includes adult themes about sexuality, lust, etc, and is shown to visibly have a sex drive/sex life/sexual experience', as many adults do.

But i still don't really see this as a bug over a feature, i mean....yeah hazbin hotel writes adults whose lives include sex-related stuff in a very different way than other adult shows which include sexuality (gonna use arcane and castlevania here, because i just recently re-watched both), but they're also all very different kinds of stories.

hazbin hotel, while not being quite the same kind of show like say family guy or south park, where you might find over-the-top sex/profanity based comedy, is the kind of adult animation that decided to have sex be a more relevant part of the setting and sometimes plot. Characters make sexual references, innuendos, jokes, etc, all the time even when there isn't any actual sex going on, while the other two shows I mention simply have sex being A Thing Adults Do Sometimes and there isn't (usually, with a particular exception *cough cough Lenore + Hector*) anything majorly plot-relevant about it.

but as far as your audience goes, that's really a difference in preference than a sign of good/bad writing or character design. Like i'm definitely more of a fan of the latter style of including sexuality in stories about adults. The hazbin hotel take on writing adults and sex isn't my cup of tea, but neither is it a deal breaker for adult media in general for me. This may be because I am Not Going To Pay Attention To Whatever Nonsense The Horny Fans Are Doing Now. i'm just not.

like a lot of the above complains seem to be rooted in how members of the audience will see the character, which is really not the greatest way to judge a work of fiction. Inevitably, at least some fans will draw porn of any character regardless of canonical age or if the story they're from actually has any kind of sexual content or not (doesn't Disney have an official vault of porn of characters from a bunch of their kids movies/shows? yeah) and if that's an issue for you you may not be curating your own online experience as much as you should. Gotta learn to think 'Do i actually want to see/engage with this or will it just make me unhappy' before u actually look at something. I regret to inform u i dont know any way outside of experiencing the consequences of NOT doing that to learn when I should. I'm talking about the moment when i see a unfamiliar word online ending in 'philia' and i take a moment to notice my curiosity before pondering if i really care to look it up

in conclusion, trying to box actual adult's appearance/behavior into boxes on who should and shouldn't be allowed to have a visible sexuality is just kinda reminiscent on the aspects of western shame culture that presume you can stop people behaving badly by making the potential targets of that behavior act so as not to encourage it.

Understandable gut motivation. Poorly thought out reaction

Alright.

At First I Was Going To Make A Joke About How Stupid This Thing Is, But Now That I’m Thinking About It This Is Just More Gross, Infuriating, And Sexist Than It Is Stupid And Funny.

Adult Are Adults.

Fictional Adult Are Fictional Adults.

I Don’t Care What Height They Are, If They Have Curves Or Not, If Their Personality Is Childish Or Adultish, Or If They Look Like A Child Or A Adult.

They Are Adults No Matter What.

Also “ProShippers Take Her And Run”… Can You Just… Not Do Or Say Anything Ever Again?

Either That Or Change Your Ways?

[adragonsfriend]

Y’all Remember Ahsoka was Raised as a Jedi Right? Right?

Many things bother me but one of them is depictions of Ahsoka that act like she wasn’t raised as a Jedi for her entire childhood.

Idc if she left, or a was a “rebel” (and she really wasn’t) she is still emotionally regulating via regular meditation, still remembers her crèchemates and crèchemaster as the central elements of her childhood, still can never smother that deadly drive for compassion in all things.

Its the difference between seeing culture as a costume you can put on or take off, and seeing culture as what it is: the shared knowledge which shapes every aspect of our lives in ways we often do not even realize.

“But we’re never told who her crèchemates or crèchemaster were so I can’t write about them”

Skill issue. Literally a skill issue. Failure of imagination. Failure to look up namegenerator.com.

“But she likes fighting”

And? So do Obi-Wan and Mace. She learns multiple times why it’s important to temper her desire to solve everything quickly by fighting.

“But Anakin is her dad and Padme is her mommy and she wanted a trad family”

Well she met Anakin as a teenager and knew him for 2 years, whilst having several other much older adults in her life as well, and doesn’t treat Anakin as a father at all. Older brother is the closest analogue to our words, and the only useful label is ‘Jedi Master of unusually close age’. And she like, talked to Padme a couple times, mostly in professional capacities. Also at no point in any media I’ve heard of does she express a desire for any kind of nuclear family, parents, a romantic relationship, or to raise a kid of her own. Years removed from the jedi, she ends up taking a student. Not quite a padawan, but a lot more like a padawan than a child (in the sense of son/daughter/etc)

“But she left!!!!!!!”

Cool. Yeah. Leaving the place you were raised in and people you were raised with immediately removes all of the ways those things shaped you, everyone knows that. Get out

But seriously, even if you want her to leave, think it was the best decision she ever made (I, personally, have a decent argument that leaving was in that moment a far more mature and interesting decision for her than accepting knighthood would’ve been, and it had excellent narrative potential we’ll ignore whatever came after that in tcw, rebels, etc) she should still have a complicated relationship to the culture she was raised in. Something she misses about living there, some negative culture shock to living in another culture, people she misses other than Plo or Anakin. Making her into a caricature who thinks “meditation is boring and stupid” and some such nonsense, is not doing your argument any favours.

[iamsebastiansstan]

like one of your girls - NAC x fem!reader

summary - “Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in.

wc - 6k - MINORS DNI !

warnings - lots of dirty talk as always, crying during sex, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f), creampie, aftercare 🥹

A/N - I dedicate this chapter to @hoffmansgirl because he's literally doing it rn girl like literally !!! anyways, this update was fast but I probably won't be writing much for the next few weeks, I GOTTA STUDY lmao come tell me what you thought of this, any and all feedback is appreciated <3 enjoy!

taglist - @blackynsupremacy / @lalavenderangel / @nicholaschavezbby /

PART 1

Waking up next to him is like a dream she never wants to wake up from. She’s watching him as his eyelids flutter open, his nose scrunches up, as he stretches his strong arms above his head and groans adorably while looking at her through squinted eyes. 

“You been awake long?” he asks her, and she shakes her head no. 

He’d spooned her last night, she remembers, they both needed that closeness without crossing too many lines, and already she’s feeling withdrawals, missing having his body heat along her back. It isn’t awkward now, but the tension can definitely be felt in the air.

“Good. When do you need to get back to New York?”

She thinks about it for a minute, heart beating fast. Is he asking to be polite or is he asking so they can make plans to see each other? She hopes to God it’s the latter.

“On Wednesday. I made plans with some friends to hang out while I’m still here.”

He hums, scratches the back of his shoulder. 

“Wanna give me your number? I’d quite like to see you again.”

Trying hard to keep her screaming internal, she reaches over to the bedside table and hands him her phone, watching as his nimble fingers type in his digits before pressing the call button. 

“Think my phone’s dead but the call should’ve gone through. Now we can text each other.”

She smiles warmly. “I’d like that.” 

They don’t keep their eyes off each other as they get dressed, him slipping into last night’s clothes and her into some fresh ones, and she can feel the want for him pool deep in her stomach, bitter at everything they didn’t get to experience yesterday, glad about what they did get to do.

“Hey, just one second, (Y/N),” he stops her as she’s about to leave the room and she turns, looks up at him when he steps close. “I’m gonna take the advice you gave me yesterday, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re a second option, a rebound, anything like that. I enjoyed yesterday immensely.” 

Her heart flutters at his consideration, but she only smiles and puts a hand on his cheek, stroking his skin softly. 

“I’m not here to make your life more complicated than it needs to be, Nicholas,” she assures and means it. “I enjoyed it too, and I’d love to see you again if possible. If not, then no hard feelings. We can be honest with each other. Friends get to do that, no?”

His nod is slow, the relief basically radiating off of him as he grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles before opening the door for her, following her out.

Nicholas doesn’t stay for breakfast, but he kisses Cooper’s cheek and thanks him, hugs her with a quiet promise to text her, and soon enough she’s perched on a bar stool at Cooper’s kitchen island, spooning cereal into her mouth and doing her best to dodge his suspicious looks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says through a mouthful.

“Not looking at you like anything.” 

She levels him with a look, unimpressed.

“Ask what you want to ask or shut up entirely, Coop.” 

A slow smile spreads across his face, seemingly shy but his blazing eyes betray him as he asks, “Did you fuck him?”

She expected this, so she answers calmly. 

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question makes her stop for a moment, unsure how much she’s allowed to say.

“I think you know why. Are you mad?” 

He rolls his eyes, takes her hand in his.

“No, of course not. I’d be happy for both of you. But I know that you’re both,” he shoots her a meaningful look that she expertly ignores, “in a rough place in life right now, and I’d hate to see you take it out on each other.” 

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from.

“Is Nick going to get the same speech?” she asks, only half joking.

“A much stricter one, I can tell ya that!” 

She laughs as she gets up along with him to clean the mess from their breakfast up before she goes to meet with her aforementioned friends, heart fluttering the entire time at the prospect of Nick messaging her. 

*** 

She’s sitting in the park and sipping on her smoothie when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. Tuning out her friends’ laughter for a minute, she takes it out to see that it’s from Nick, making excitement bubble up in her chest. She opens it immediately, not expecting anything, when suddenly the words make her want to choke on her own spit.

not to be too forward but I just made myself come to the thought of how tight your throat would be around me. I’ll be thinking about that for a long while.

Two seconds later:

hope you’re having a wonderful day. 

Trying not to seem like the mess he’s turned her into within seconds, she does her best to fight off the mental image his message is creating in her mind and reply somewhat coherently. 

You’re a fucking dickhead, do you know that? I’m out and about and now I’m dripping. Thanks for nothing.

His reply doesn’t take long, has her taste blood from where she’s gnawing her bottom lip open. 

that’s how I want you baby, all the time. see you soon. 

She’s distracted for the rest of the day but when her friends ask her about it, she chalks it up to her stressful college courses and tight deadlines. Despite the butterflies dancing in her belly, she’s had a nice time, and when she walks into Cooper’s house later, she’s got a beaming smile on her face. 

“Honey, I’m home!” she shouts, taking off her shoes and hanging up her handbag by the door. 

“Honeys, please!” comes Stuart’s voice from the living room and she grins as she walks in, presses a kiss to the tops of their heads. 

“Missed ya at the party yesterday,” she says and plops down on the loveseat across from where they’re cuddled up on the couch. 

Friends is on. She hates that show.

“Yeah, I was sad I couldn’t make it, but Cooper is throwing a pool party tomorrow, so I’ll still get some fun in.” 

She’s surprised at hearing about yet another event, but she’s not complaining. 

“And drinks,” Cooper reminds him helpfully. “Lots of drinks as well.” 

They chat a little, watch a small part of some movie that’s on when Stuart switches the channel, stay up until it’s hard for her to suppress the yawning. Bidding them goodnight, she stands up to go into the guest room when Cooper calls out her name.

“He’ll be there tomorrow,” he lets her know, a kind little smile on his face, and she nods gratefully before ascending the stairs, ready for sleep.

The next morning, she doesn’t overthink it, mainly because she refuses to give up so much power so soon.

It’s just her usual routine; the shaving, the skincare, the comfy bikini, a midi dress over it. No make-up, just her necklace, she refuses to get dolled up for a pool party. From what she knows, it’ll be a much smaller affair than Friday’s party was, and she’s looking forward to it.

“I’ll handle the BBQ, could you just make the salad dressing and carry these out to the patio, (Y/N)?” Cooper asks her, and she obliges gladly.  

They set everything up rather quickly, the guests start arriving soon, and she tries her hardest not to stop in her tracks when she sees Nicholas walk out through the glass doors of the living room, hugging everyone he knows before he spots her. The way he rakes his eyes over her body before settling on her face makes heat creep up her neck, and she knows that it’s got nothing to do with today’s temperature. 

“Hey, stranger,” he greets her, wraps his arms around her to give her a good squeeze.

“Hey, you,” she smiles, inhales his fresh scent, enjoys having him in her arms again. “How have you been?” 

The breath he exhales as he pulls away is deep, it lets her know that things have gone down, but the private smile he gives her makes the oncoming worry in her mind disappear. 

“I’ve been alright so far, I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

She nods, cheeks warming. “Okay. Come find me.”

She allows herself to be open, truthful in her wants, and he chuckles at that, squeezes her shoulder.

“Always.” 

They don’t sit next to each other during lunch, but they keep glancing over the table and finding each other’s eyes, and every single time it happens, it makes the heat coil tighter in her stomach. He looks fucking good today, ruffled hair and a loose button-down that he keeps open, muscular chest flashing at every turn. At some point he puts his sunglasses on and turns his head straight in her direction, but she can’t tell if she’s being stared at or not, faltering during the conversation she’s trying to have with one of the girls at the party. 

When they’re all full and satiated, they go and find their own things to do: some go to swim a few laps or just cool off in the pool, some go to lounge by the grass and read, some stay at the table and keep drinking and chatting. She decides to walk over to the big tree at the back of the garden, finding a comfortable spot on the outdoor sofa under it and laying down, head comfortably resting on a small pillow. It’s not like she’s hoping he’ll find her there; she knows he is going to come and join her eventually. She just needs a little breather yet again, getting easily overwhelmed in big groups of people.

“And here you are, sneaking off again,” she hears his voice after Lord knows how much time has passed, and she can’t help the slow smile that spreads across her face. 

“My social battery empties quickly,” she starts to explain as she watches him sit down at the end of the outdoor couch, but what she doesn’t expect is for him to grab her legs and drape them over his lap, rubbing up and down one foot lightly.

“D’you mind?” he asks, eyebrow raised. 

“No, ‘s comfortable.” 

They sit in silence like that for a little, just looking at each other, and she can feel a lump grow in her throat. Never has she wanted somebody as badly as him, and the restraint she has to show is otherworldly at this point. 

“What happened, Nicholas?” she dives straight in, direct as always, watches him exhale deeply.

“Well,” he laughs, no humor behind it. “I had that conversation with her yesterday.” 

“Yeah? How’d it go?” she asks, heart in her throat. 

She thinks back on what he told her, that he’s scared to give in to his ex, that he might let her convince him to try one more time, one more moment, one more fuck, and she feels pathetic for how scared she is that he’ll tell her that this is it, it’s over between them before it even started. 

“She took it well. I hate hurting her, I really struggled, but she… she didn’t put up a fight,” he explains, and a wave of relief mixed with guilt washes over her, has her breathe easier. “She knows, I think. We both do.” 

“You still love her, though, don’t you?” she presses, winces when he grabs her foot and digs in, massages at a sore spot.

His smirk tells her he isn’t sorry.

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t mine to have anymore, and I am so okay with that.” 

“Do you feel bad about Friday night?”

He scoffs, pulls her foot up to his mouth and presses a kiss against it, has her gut clenching from the motion, so intimate, so familiar. 

“There’s nothing I’ve felt better about in a while, I’ll be honest.” 

She nods, at a loss for words. Wanting to jump him right here, but cautious considering their surroundings. Wanting to have him but wanting to keep building the tension to see what happens when he snaps. 

It’s hard having a filter in his presence, so she blurts out, “How many more times have you thought about me having you down my throat since you texted me yesterday?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas chokes and throws his head back, eyes shut as if it’s hurting him to think about it.

“I need to know, Nick.” 

“Last night again… then this morning, as I was getting ready to come here.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Last night before or after you went to see her?” 

His brown eyes are wide when she looks into them, they’re honest and sincere, which is why it hits so much harder when he tells her, “Both.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, sits up and pulls her legs to her chest, needing to collect herself. “You’re a bastard, Nicholas.” 

“I can’t help it,” he smirks, reaches out to lay a hand on her knee but not moving closer. “What about you? Did you have to help yourself out at all?”

She nods dumbly, unable to look away from his face.

“Last night, as well. Three times. I couldn’t sleep without it.” 

A bite to his lips tells her he’s imagining it, thinking about it.

“Did you give yourself any fingers? Or did you only play with your clit?”

“M-my clit, didn’t put anything inside of me.” 

She feels the increase of her pulse, feels the tingle in her core at the way he looks at her, devours her with his gaze.

“Why not, little girl?”

“I want the next thing to fill me to be you, Nicholas,” she confesses, lays herself bare and relishes in the devastation her words cause him, the way his jaw drops, his brows raise. 

It’s safe, she reminds herself, he’s safe. She can be vulnerable with him, can let him throw her against the wall and trust that he’ll pick up the shattered pieces to put her back together. 

“You’re killing me, do you know that? The things I wanna do to you…” he trails off, stares into the distance for a moment. “I’ve never wanted to do them to another person. I don’t even fucking know you.”

“No, but you see me. And I don’t need to know what those things are, Nicholas. I feel them. And I want them, too.” 

A harsh puff of air leaves his nose before he’s leaning back, gazing at her, face resolute.

“Go to the room upstairs and wait for me there, will you?” 

She nods, mind and heart racing, does as she’s told as she gets up on shaky legs, knees nearly buckling. Making sure her walk isn’t too fast as not to rouse suspicion but fast enough to show him that she wants this, so he can see- and he certainly is watching her ass as she’s leaving- that she’s on board with what he’s trying to do.

She meant what she said: she doesn’t need to know, she feels it. 

Arriving in the guest room, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, nerves getting the best of her and leaving her nearly dizzy. She splashes some cold water on her face before cupping her hands and letting the water from the tap fill them, bringing them to her mouth and swallowing mouthfuls before she turns it off. The image that greets her in the mirror is one she hasn’t seen often: a woman delirious with lust, eyes glazed over and cheeks blotchy. 

A sound from the outside makes her dry her face off quickly before stepping out, seeing Nicholas shut and lock the door, eyes dark.

They say nothing as he stands across from her and puts a hand on her cheek, runs his thumb across her lips, smiles when she takes the very tip of it between her teeth and bites down gently.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?” he asks, and she nods as he pushes his finger deeper into her mouth, presses down on her tongue and leaves it there. Her hands find his torso, his chiseled muscles to hold on to lest she loses balance, and she sucks his digit into her mouth deeply, hollows her cheeks as they keep staring at each other. “You’re a good cocksucker as well, though, hm?”

She shrugs cheekily, smiles around his finger when he chuckles. She pulls away, then, kisses the tip of his thumb. 

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?” 

The way he rolls his eyes playfully is so sexy, takes away some of the suffocating seriousness that has crept into their dynamic without breaking the tension, without diminishing the spark they have. 

Large palms frame her face as he looks at her deeply, anticipation forcing her mouth to open in a gasp, and that’s when he takes his chance, claims her mouth in a kiss so sensual that it has her moaning into his lips. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find hers and he licks at her muscle, lets her in and deepens the kiss, makes it dirty but so full of lust and devotion that she can’t help but stand on her tippy toes to chase after that sensation. 

His hand finds her throat, grips it lightly yet makes her feel breathless, a dirty chuckle against her lips breaking their moment.

“You’ll let me in there, won’t you, baby?” he rasps, drives his finger down the front of her throat. “All the way inside?” 

She nods, stupid with want. “Yes, please let me. I need to taste you, Nicholas, fuck.” 

He kisses her again, then, toying with her mouth as his hands unzip her dress, pull it off her body, leaving her in only her bikini.

“Kneel in front of the bed, with your back facing it,” he instructs, burying his head in her neck and nibbling lightly, grinning at her gasp.

She does as she’s told, has little control over it, kneels obediently and looks up at him with a wet pout on her lips. Remembering what he told her last time, that no woman could ever take his cock down here throat, believing him. Despite its length, what probably causes trouble is the veiny thickness of it, the very thing that makes cunts drip for him being the reason for locked jaws and hurting lips.

The walk over to her is deliberately slow, he’s letting her stew in her desire for him, but she can’t even complain, not when she gets to observe even his most miniscule movements uninterrupted. The first thing she does when he’s right there is fall forward and bury her face in his crotch, over the material of his linen shorts, inhaling deeply. His clothes smell clean but there’s a musky undertone, something so distinctly man that it has her mouth watering.

“Shhh, there you go, get your fill,” he whispers, drives his hands through her hair and she’s so grateful he’s letting her express her desperation how she needs to. 

The balance of her body barely allows her to get up on her knees, but she manages, presses open mouthed kisses along his torso, as far up as she can reach. She licks into his navel, kisses down his happy trail, moans as she traces her tongue along the waistband of his briefs.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry for it,” she breathes, “please give it to me, I need it so bad.” 

Nicholas chuckles, a sound that hits her right in the chest, and untangles the strings of his pants. She’s glad he’s decided to take his shorts off completely, wrapping her hands around his thighs as soon as he’s stepped out of them and mouthing at his hard cock through his briefs, tongue tasting a salty wet spot and groaning into it.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you’re like a woman possessed,” he growls, all pride and no disgust, and it spurs her on to reach up and pull his cock out, get his underwear out of the way so she can really revel in everything his manhood has to give.

He discards his shirt as well, then, and there he is: her personal Greek God in all his glory, naked flesh for her to devour. 

A tear makes its way down her cheek and she’s done with waiting, needs for him to own her. 

“Please,” she breathes and smiles wickedly as he grabs his cock, pumps it once, twice before holding it by the base and- 

And slapping it across her face, the hit harder than she anticipated, making her cry out with nasty hunger.

“Again,” she begs, and he obeys with a wide-eyed stare, slaps her one more time, two more times before hooking his thumb in her mouth and pulling it open, praising her when she automatically sticks her tongue out.

Nick traces the leaking head of his cock over her tongue, and she could cry when the salt hits her tastebuds, the warmth of his flesh mixing with the wetness on her muscle.

“This is what you were made for, baby,” he says, praises her, talks as if he’s far away. “You’re so fucking beautiful, just waiting for me to ruin you, huh?” She nods her head before shaking it, making sure his precome coats all of her tongue, moans when he orders, “Suck this cock, sweetheart.” 

Not needing to be told twice, she engulfs the thick tip in her mouth, sucks on it as she moves her tongue down to coat his length in spit, to ease the way, to make it easier for him to claim the depths of her throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses above her, hands not ceasing their movement in her hair, and she sees it as motivation to keep going. The louder he is, the louder she wants him.

Some men like a mix between a willing mouth and two skilled hands, she knows, but today she wants to show him just how hungry she’s been for his cock since she met him, so she works her lips around him, determined to not need her hands for this. She sinks deeper and deeper, lets the accumulated spit from her mouth coat him, doesn’t mind the strings of it escaping and dripping down her chin, makes sure she keeps her eyes wide and on him as he’s struggling not to squeeze his shut.

“Halfway there, baby, you’re so fucking good f’me,” he moans, “Messy little girl, just like that.”

She lays her tongue out and takes a deep breath before pushing down stubbornly, eyes screwing up as he goes deeper and deeper, watching his slack jaw and wide eyes marveling at something he’s always wished to experience but never could, not with the women he’d been with before. Relaxing her throat and feeling him push through that last bit of resistance as she fights against her gag reflex, fights to keep it deep within her chest, fights through the pain it brings her not to openly cough at the intrusion in her body. She can’t stand it, not for long, and she has to pull away with a chest-wracking cough, trying to collect herself but delirious with the need to prove her devotion to him.

“Baby, that was amazing, just-“

“Fuck my throat, Nicholas,” she rasps through the tears, gets in position again and takes his cock in hand this time, jerks him a little until she gets herself under control again.

“(Y/N), are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be stopping until you give me a signal, no matter how much you cry, okay?”

Jesus Christ. She nods, determined. 

“I’ll tap your thigh twice if I need you to really stop, okay?” 

He bends down and kisses her deeply, wipes at the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers before straightening back up, gripping her by the hair and growling, “now open that fuckin’ throat for me.”

It’s animalistic, the way he takes her mouth, pushes his cock deep and keeps snapping his hips up, moaning loudly as she chokes, as she holds onto her own thighs just to have something to grip while he uses her. Inch by inch he fucks himself deep, groans her name, “My good girl, that’s right, show ‘em how it’s done,” knowing exactly how to spur her on, how to give her the strength to fight through her body’s struggles.

She’s gargling out spit, face wet and messy, when he finally, fucking finally manages to bottom out, bury her nose in his trimmed pubic hair, almost doubling over when she then sticks her tongue out until the back of her throat starts burning to lap at his balls with the tip of it, just to show him that there’s nothing stopping her from satisfying the hunger she has for him. 

“Ho- oh my fucking- ugh,” he moans, the tightness of her sending him into overdrive, the way her choking and swallowing around his cock stimulates his sensitive head making tears spring to his eyes. 

He grabs her by the hair and rips her back roughly, letting her breathe heavy for a minute before diving down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss, in awe at this woman kneeling in front of him.

“Fuck, that felt good,” she laughs manically against his mouth, tears and snot dripping from her face, but they don’t care, they’re reveling in the way they can mess each other up.

“You okay, baby? Your voice is fucked,” he smiles as she nods eagerly, clearing her throat.

“More, please, fuck my face just a little more,” she begs, watching his eyes widen at her request, but she doesn’t care. Now that she’s gotten a taste, she wants more. 

One hand in her hair and the other one on her jaw, he pushes between her lips again, keeps pushing until he’s in all the way and pulls her off again, watching her splutter and cough for a second before reeling her in again. Nicholas seems to enjoy that, watching her struggle with her throat full, struggle to catch her breath after, but whenever her eyes meet his in a silent plea, she sees the fire in his gaze burn that much brighter before he goes in to fuck her face again.

“No more,” he pants, grabs her by the arms and pulls her into a standing position, steadying her as her legs give out from having knelt for so long. “Fuck, I almost came down your throat.”

“Why didn’t you?” she pouts, face a total mess but causing him to smile at her warmly regardless.

“Don’ wanna, wanna shoot my load inside of you,” he mutters, makes her cheeks heat up.

“Next time, though?”

He laughs, kisses her swollen mouth.

“Promise, baby.”

Nick makes quick work of her bikini and gets her naked and sprawled across the bed in record time, writhing under his heated gaze as he just stands here, cock hard and dripping with her spit, watching her.

“Spread your legs for me,” he instructs, eyes raking over her form, and with a shy bite to her lip she obliges, parts her legs and lets him look at where she’s sloppy wet for him. 

“Need you so bad, I’m all swollen,” she whines, watches as he positions himself between her legs, kisses along her stomach up to her tits.

The first nipple he takes into his hot mouth gets a quick bite shortly after, making her hiss, before he moves over to the second, giving it attention while she rakes her hands through his hair, lost in sensation.

It’s all she’s ever wanted and more, the fucked-out state of arousal that has her mind feeling honey sticky and slow, completely out of her own body. She focuses on his weight on top of her, the way his spit on her nipples paired with the cool air in the room gives her gooseflesh, and soon enough she’s whimpering as he trails his kisses in the direction of her center.

“Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in, licks her in broad stripes and has her throwing her head back in ecstasy.

All the blood rushes to her center and despite not even having been touched properly, the tension burns, makes her clit tingle where it’s being loved on by his clever tongue, and she can’t help but bury her hands in his hair and push her hips up into his awaiting mouth. Nicholas eats pussy like it’s the most decadent thing he’s ever had, like it melts on his tongue, the way he pushes between her inner lips and slurps at the very source of her arousal. By now he knows how much she loves the attention on her little nub, so he sucks it into his mouth, taps his tongue against it until she’s arching off the bed, only being held down by his bulging arms. 

“N-Nick, fuck, fuck no-,“ she’s trying to push him off, the buildup of her climax making every limb tingle, but he holds on, holds her steady until she’s crying, begging, “please, let me come for you, please, please, pl- fuck-“

A hum of confirmation, the vibration of it hitting her core, is all it takes before she’s coming hard, pulling his head closer and trying to bat him away at the same time, and the minute her high decreases and her muscles relax he’s on her, kissing her lax mouth, pushing his tongue deep and letting her taste her pussy on his sinful lips. 

“Y’taste sweeter than I could’ve imagined,” he’s breathing hard against her mouth, “sweetest pussy just for me to take, ain’t it? Fuck, I need to be inside of you.”

The “Please,” punches out of her, already wrapping her legs around his torso so he’d slip in easier, giving him all the access and shouting into his shoulder as he slides his cock into her in one go, fills her up until she can feel him in her lungs. She pushes at his chest so he’d pull away, look at her, grabs him by the face and hisses “What the fuck are you, who the fuck- what are you doing t- to me?”

Nicholas’ laugh is amazed, top lip curled over his perfect teeth as he focuses on drilling into her hard, watching her lose her mind under him, watching her give herself over to him without a care in the world. He angles his hips just so, pelvic bone brushing against her clit with every thrust, making her see stars.

“You’ll come for me like this,” he promises, voice shot, “you’re so gorgeous, fuck. Look at you, can’t believe you’ll come for me again, I’ve got you-“

“Nick, please,” she cries, terrified of what her mind is making her body do, “I can’t-“

“You can and you will,” he snaps, grabs her by the face and pulls her close, kisses her pouting mouth. “Come for me, (Y/N), I wanna see you lose it.” 

She doesn’t pass out this time but she kind of wishes she did, because the groans and moans and pathetic whimpers that rip out of deep within her are sounds she’s never going to unhear now. If it were with anyone else, she’d be mortified, but he just talks her through it with pride in his voice as if she were his girl, his to coach and use and fuck and lo-

But isn’t she? She sure feels like it. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl, that’s right, oh I’m gonna come, baby-“

“Fill me up,” she whispers, lax now, letting herself be used and moved like a rag doll, “I wanna feel you dripping out of my pussy for days.”

“Oh shit, (Y/N)-“ and that does it for him, apparently, as he pushes in impossibly deep and spills inside of her, moaning into her neck and holding her close, filling her body and mind and heart, and dear God, she’s a fucking goner. 

The room smells like their sex, like musk, heady and dazed, makes her head spin where she’s laying under him and wondering what the actual fuck just happened. Nicholas’ breathing is labored but he’s still pressing lazy kisses against her temple, arms still around her spent body.

After a moment, he peers down at her. 

“You okay, baby?” he whispers, like the atmosphere is something fragile.

She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods.

“Was it too much? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no.

He chuckles deeply, leans down to kiss her mouth and she can’t do much more than to let herself be kissed, can’t reciprocate.

“Talk to me, love, c’mon,” he requests gently, and when she hears that little nickname, hears the care in his voice, her lip starts wobbling and her tears start running freely down her cheeks. “Oh, baby,” he soothes, lets her cry in his arms, holds her through it.

She’s heard of people crying after sex, especially after intense sex, but it has never happened to her. Laying here, though, on these ruined sheets, face and body and her fucking insides sticky with him, after having been used so mercilessly and still having him hold her like she’s something precious, talk to her like she’s something to be cherished? She can’t take it, the turmoil of the last few days, the last few weeks, paired with the experience of his mere existence sending her into overdrive. 

“Let it out, I’m here f’you,” he whispers, shushes her, kisses her head, and soon enough she runs out of tears, only sniffles where she’s hiding in his neck. 

Nicholas pulls away, props himself up on one elbow as his other hand keeps stroking her hair, her face, anything he can reach. He’s got a small smile playing on his full lips as he looks at her, and she smiles back, exhausted but satiated.

“’m sorry for this,” she croaks, voice barely there.

Before she can say anything else, he interrupts her, shushes her with his thumb on her lips. “Please don’t,” he says, eyes kind, “I’m so honored that you trust me enough to fall apart like this. Seriously, (Y/N), this is not a small deal.” 

She clicks her tongue, eyes welling up with tears again.

“I know,” she whimpers, takes his hand in hers and kisses it. “I know it isn’t, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with this. I- Nicholas… What the fuck?” 

He brings her to his chest, holds her close, kisses the crown of her head.

“None of that now, baby,” he whispers, “Now I gotta give you some good aftercare and then we’ll clean up, okay? We can talk later, when we’re both in our right minds. That sound good?”

She nods, says, “I don’t wanna go back to the party,” but it’s muffled against his full chest. 

He hears her anyways.

“We don’t have to; we’ll just stay here." 

Cleaning up is a quiet affair, they keep each other close at all times, standing under the shower together and just washing each other, hands trailing across the other with no intent to take it further. It’s intimate, it’s connecting, and it’s exactly what she needs to come down from the rollercoaster he’s put her through. Nicholas rummages through the closets on that floor until he finds clean sheets and changes them while she stands next to the bed, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, watching with a small smile as he wrestles with the fitted sheet.

“Too many workouts today,” he grumbles as he pulls it over the corners of the bed, “I haven’t consumed enough calories today for this level of exercise.” 

She giggles at his silliness before she lets herself fall onto the bed, holding her arms open for him to crawl in, settling his head on her boobs.

“Naked cuddling is my favorite,” she whispers to him conspiratorially and he nods eagerly, agreeing.

“Same, don’t nearly do it often enough.”

She’s ready for a nap, she realizes as she lets her eyes fall shut, and soon enough she’s slipping away softly, clutching him tightly.  

Unsure if she's dreaming or not, she hears a soft, "I've got you, my sweet. Always got you."

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night

ꕥ series masterlist & taglist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ masterlist ✧₊⁺AO3

⟢summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

⟢pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

⟢warnings for this part: Mentions of dead bodies, Harrenhal visions, light gore, Ser Crispy Coleslaw, Aemond being jealous and horny.

⟢wc: 7,872

⟢gif credit: @peachysunrize but she deleted her acc so im sorry!

Chapter 3: Me and the Devil

She was doing her best not to lose her mind. She’s never been stuck in a situationship like this before. Or hardly knew anyone that had been. Stuff like this only occurred in…books. In which she was now in the middle of. 

She had so many questions yet no answers. 

She knew she had to come up with some sort of well thought out plan. But if she was being honest, she barely even had a pl. As Phoebe Buffay once said on an early episode of Friends. 

One thing was for sure, she was in the Riverlands. Harrenhal. Westeros. If she had her history correct, and she did, the year is currently 130 AC.

Rhaenyra Targaryen had just taken over the city of King’s Landing with the help of the Rogue Prince at her side. 

She recalls how this news caused Aemond to go on a seize of murderous rampage, killing the entirety of House Strong. The very same pile of dead bodies she saw in the outer yard, those were them. 

As much as she tried, she couldn’t get that horrifying image out of her head. Not now and perhaps not even the days to come. With every blink of her eyes, she saw them; bloody, decaying, eyes wide of what they felt before death: fear. 

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up. 

Not that there was much in her stomach to.

Shortly after Aemond had severed the guard’s head, she had literally thrown up just inches away from his feet.

He did not say much, only bringing a small green handkerchief from his pocket and wiped remnants away from her lips. Instead of being angry or disgusted, Aemond’s face exhibited only concern. 

Because of that she was escorted inside Harren’s castle with haste by Aemond’s orders. With the very little time she had, she tried to go against this but her words were swiftly overlooked and ignored.

She was brought into a medium sized room at the highest tower of Harrenhal. The room wasn’t much to look at. High stoned black walls with no decorations or personality. A canopy bed with multiple pillows and furs laid near the window with two nightstands on each side, holding lit candelabras. 

Facing the canopy was a vanity table with nothing but dried flowers and a dusted mirror that she couldn’t make out her reflection. It was obvious that no one had occupied this room in a very long time. The cobwebs, near all four corners of the ceiling, confirmed it. 

To the left of the vanity was a beige folding screen and behind it was a large white bathtub that she had been thrown in immediately upon arriving in the room by two older women.

After she had been bathed and dressed, a third woman delivered a hot cup of peppermint tea to ease the nausea. However, after they left she made sure to discard the cup, choosing not to drink anything, harboring feelings of distrust when she previously drank a cup of tea. 

The sound of the door being opened caused her to sit rigidly on the chair, thinking it was a particular one eyed prince entering the room. Instead, the knots in her stomach loosened as an elderly man made his way inside, offering her a simple smile before he set a leather bag he’d been holding on a nearby table. 

Her mouth opened, wondering who he was but as she assessed his gray robes and the several decorated chains hanging from his neck, he’d have to be a maester. 

Something close to a doctor in her world. 

“You have not touched the tea, my lady.” His voice was barely audible, gentle as he pointed out. “Are you allergic to peppermint?”  

“No,” she shook her head, her eyes landing on the medical supplies being brought to the rounded table. She recognized some of them such as the suturing kit, scale, gauze, scissors and a scalpel.

Her abuelo, Vidalio, had a collection of identical vintage medical supplies in his office that often as a kid she’d glance at in complete fascination. 

“Are you not partial to peppermint?” The maester questioned. 

“I’m not partial to drinking something that I did not see being made,” she added. After drinking that tea Alyssandra had given her, there was no way she’d risk doing that again. “Besides, peppermint is most known to target headaches. If you were to mix ginger and chamomile, then you have an accurate tea to treat nausea.”   

The maester lifted a bush eyebrow, cocking his head to side taking her suggestion into consideration. “Very well. I’ll bring a cup of boiling water—” He tried saying, only for her to sprint directly in front of him. 

“—there’s no need. I am well; as you can see.” She feigned a recovered smile.  

“I still am in need of boiling water to brew milk of the poppy, my lady.” 

It was her turn to gaze at him in wonder. “What for?” She inquired. She knew what milk of the poppy was. An opium made from the poppy flower to aid in severe pain and to anesthetize a person out cold in a deep sleep. 

It was also the same pearly liquid she read in A Game of Thrones that Grand Maester Pycelle used to treat Ned Stark after an altercation he had with Jaime Lannister, which gave the Warden of the North, strange dreams. ‘Poppy dreams’ otherwise known as hallucinations. 

As helpful as it was, it was also very addictive. Equivalent to morphine and fentanyl. As an intern at St. David’s Hospital, she’d seen how bad opioids took a toll on people. 

So it was safe enough to say she wasn’t going to be easily convinced to take it.  

The older man pointed at the swollen cut on her lower lip, where that asshole of a guard had slapped her hours ago. “The wound on your lip; I have to stitch it. I will use milk of the poppy to ease the discomfort when inserting the needle into your lip.” 

“I already said I’m fine.” She answers more firmly. She glanced at the multitudinous array of small amber jars on the table that contained different kinds of fine powders, liquids, dried herbs, seeds, and strange looking roots. 

She was able to make out a little bit of everything. Though, nothing of the sort would be needed for something so minor. Rubbing alcohol and perhaps a topical antibiotic ointment were as good as any. 

“Tis’ not what the prince thinks, my lady.” The maester abruptly murmurs out, fearfully looking at the door. If the prince were to walk into the room, seeing his guest not being properly treated as he demanded, he too would suffer the same unmerciful fate as his lord. 

“It’s a superficial cut! You can tell the prince, I don’t need tea or stitches.” What she needed was to get out of here and go home. 

“A topical amoxicillin ointment should be enough. Though, I don’t think it exists here.” In fact no modern medicine could be found here. This era was if not the same as medieval times, where people die everyday of infection or contamination due to the lack of antibiotics, antivirals, and vaccines. 

She felt lucky that all of her vaccines were up to date. 

Except maybe for her yearly flu shot. Fuck!

The maester tilted his head in surprise, “Are you a healer?” He asked, intrigued that she too knew medicinal practices. Most witches did not, if he believed the rumors around the castle.

She crouched down, eyeing the herbs that caught her attention.   

“Something like that. I know enough to know that I don’t need stitches. It’s just a little bit of swelling that will go down in a day or two if I ice it.” Though, she wasn’t sure how the maester would get ice in the Riverlands. If this was the North, ice wouldn’t be a problem. 

The maester, befuddled, nodded. Knowing that his endeavors to treat her lip were pointless, he slid her a small amber salve of bread mold.

She gave him a ‘what the hell is that?’ kind of look, in which he explained it was an ointment to prevent infections.

After a few series of questions, she realized that this bread mold was as close as what she was going to get to penicillin. 

A look of relief and ease plastered on the maester’s face as she delicately dabbed some of the salve on her wound. She was equivocal if the salve was meant to have a bitter taste or smell, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she wanted this visit to speed up. 

“What’s your name?” She asked while watching the man place his medical supplies in his bag with uttermost care. 

“They call me Maester Nywen.” He revealed. 

She pronounced his name repeatedly in her head, trying to remember if he was mentioned in Fire & Blood. Though, there was no record of him at all.

“I’m—” 

“I know who you are, my lady.” Nywen interjected. Everyone knew her name, including the walls of Haren’s castle. It was said she possessed otherworldly abilities unknown to men. 

In his many years serving House Strong, Nywen never came across her path. Never saw her in the flesh. Just tales and rumors. Some that he believed; such as her being his lord’s favorite out of his true born sons and daughters. Some that Nywen didn’t quite believe; like the rumor of her bathing in maiden’s blood to remain forever youthful. 

Looking at her now, her complexion differed from what he pictured. 

To her befuddlement, she had no idea how Nywen knew her name. She didn’t remember mentioning it to anyone, including the old ladies. 

This was all some weird mystery that was making her feel dizzy and unsettled. She only now wished she had some Ibuprofen or an Advil pill to dull the pain in her head. 

“If this is all, I must take my leave. Good day, my lady.” 

“Wait! I’ll go with you,” she called out, and the older man came to a halt before he exited the door. 

A look of sympathy came on Nywen’s face. “Apologies, my lady, but the prince ordered for you to remain here.” 

“Wait, what?!” She followed a close second after him, perplexed. Nywen gave her one last look of remorse, “I am sorry, my lady. You won’t be kept in here for long. The prince has some matters to attend to before he calls for you. Should you come in need of anything, ring the bell.” 

“Nywen!” She called out, but it was too late as the door was suddenly closed right in her face. The sound of a lock confirmed her fears.

She was alone again.

She wondered how abuela Selena was doing. The older woman, who’d been more like a second mother to her, had come across her mind a lot more now.

Had she known she was missing?

Of course she did; she was probably seriously panicking right now and sent out a search party to look for her. 

The pueblo was small, and it wouldn’t have taken her family long to figure out she wasn’t there or in any surrounding pueblos. She knew that wouldn’t hinder them from continuing their search for her. Her family were strong and brazen fighters and would stop at nothing to keep the family safe. 

She also wondered if her mother knew. Though, she already knew the answer to that. Her very overprotective mother, who calls every hour of each day, must have flown from the states the second she did not answer the phone. A heavy argument most likely would’ve happened between her mother and her abuela, Selena, for not keeping a close eye on her. 

Even if the fault had not been her abuela’s, she feared that her disappearance became a fresh new layer of conflict added on top of the decades long strife between her mother and Selena. 

She did not wish for that. For years, she’d attempted to push them together to communicate and get past whatever tension they had between them. She prayed that things would not escalate further between them in her absence. 

She could just imagine seeing them after all of this was over. 

But to pinpoint when? 

Now, that was going to be challenging. 

She was so high up in Harren’s castle that she wished she were some type of bird. A raven, perhaps. With great big and wide wings to fly to carry her away. 

Fly, a voice whispered next to her. 

Startled, she snapped her head up to the side in the direction of the voice. “What?” She asked with a shaky voice. 

You have wings. Use them. 

She glanced behind her shoulders, feeling for soft feathers but was met with bare skin and no wings.

“Liar.” She asserted back. And the voice responded something in return, though it was barely audible.

However, something in the room had shifted. It became darker, colder, and overall strange. The dark hairs on her arms stood when the flames of the candles blew out one by one by themselves while the hinges of the door creaked open. 

A thin curtain of light appeared at the end of the hall and her body seemed to sense some type of energy vibrating around the room, pulling her to leave now that the door was unlocked.

A part of her debated whether or not to take the risk and leave as this was exactly how people died in scary movies, by following strange energies. Another part of her said fuck it, sensing the energy as not evil or not good either. 

She let out a frightened gasp as the door shut completely from behind and the vibrating energy increased tenfold. The longer she walked throughout the corridor, she began to realize that the buzzing was actually a low humming sound echoing down the hall.

A song. 

Arrorró, mi niño 

Arrorró, mi Sol 

Arrorró pedazo

De mi corazón

Abuelo Vidalio would sing that exact song as a lullaby when she had trouble sleeping as a child. Which happened to be all of the time since she experienced very vivid dreams about strange people and creatures she did not recognize. Vidalio, with his soothing voice, would be there to sing the bad dreams away. 

Este niño lindo

Que nació de noche

Quiere que lo lleven

A pasear en coche

Could it be him? 

With trembling hands, she takes a peek through the slim opening. A large and nicely furnished room is set directly in front of her. It sort of reminded her of Vidalio’s private studio near the outskirts of her family’s home. Vidalio had a love for old vintage things like outdated medical books, scrolls, medical supplies, herb vials, maps, and furniture. 

Some of those things decorated the inside room. 

In the center, a man sat on a wooden rocking chair with his back towards her. She glanced at the carvings on the top rail of the chair; a three headed dragon, wolf, lion, some sort of sea creature, fish, falcon, stag, and a rose. 

Instantly, she knew who the rocking chair belonged to. 

“Abuelo?” She asks aporetically. Although she missed him terribly, she secretly hoped it wouldn’t be him. Since he, himself, had been dead for years. And it wasn’t like she didn’t believe in ghosts; she did. 

The humming impetuously ends before it begins, and so does the back and forth movement of the rocking chair. 

Purple eyes stare directly at hers like he’d been waiting a while for her to come in. “El niño no se puede dormir,” Vidalio addresses her in complete distress. (the boy can’t fall asleep)

His appearance made her halt on her tracks, he looked and dressed differently than what he normally looked like. She remembered him older, tanner, his light blonde hair styled directly away from his face, with more modern fitted clothes. 

Here he was younger with milky white skin that was untouched from the harsh Mexican sun; his hair slightly long and silver. And more importantly, his clothes were strange and old fashioned, almost aristocratic. 

The only way she knew for certain this was her abuelo, was by a polaroid her abuela took of Vidalio when he was young, were they both briefly lived in Cancun. 

How was it possible that he was here, in Harrenhal?

In Westeros?

How could it be?

Her lack of response causes Vidalio to continue humming the lullaby as he sways something tight on his arms. 

A boy, no more than eight, laid lifeless across Vidalio’s arms. Small cuts and bruises painted across the young boy’s small and delicate face and body. All while fresh blood dripped from the side of his chest, pooling down onto the floor.

He was bleeding out.

Yet, the boy was already dead. 

What was more harrowing of it all, were the boy’s eyes. They were a rich and dark violet color, wide, blinking and staring right at her.

Through her.

It was the only thing about him that was alive. 

Este niño lindo

Ya quiere dormir

Háganle la cuna

De rosa y jazmín

“We need to take him to a hospital,” she frantically suggested. Maybe the boy wasn’t completely deceased. Maybe all he needed was proper medical attention like a blood transfusion and a few stitches. 

“It’s too late.” Her abuelo pointed out. “All he needs now is the comfort of his mother.” Vidalio gives the boy one last hug before he stretches the body in her direction. 

“What?!” She exclaims, feeling the air in her lungs rapidly leaving her body. 

Surely, he didn’t mean the little boy was hers…

This didn’t seem possible. A mother is able to recognize the face of their own child. She’d hear on multiple occasions from mothers, at the hospital she interns in, how a sort of natural maternal instinct and intuition set in the moment they became mothers. 

She’d know if she had a child, but that boy was not hers. 

Or was it? 

“I- I need to go. This isn’t real. This-this isn’t true. You aren’t real. You are dead.” She says between ragged breaths, feeling a panic attack brewing in. 

She took a few steps back, only to be met with a cold hard chest. An older man, perhaps in his late sixties, with long silver-white hair and dark eyes, smiled warmly at her. Beside him, were six other men and a singular woman. 

She noticed that the two older men wore more modern clothes, while the others wore some sort of old fashioned clothes similar to Vidalio’s, embroidered by the same red design. 

“I’m sorry,” she let out an apology to the older man. The man, though, remained unfazed. He simply continued to look at her with tears in his eyes before he replied with a strangled voice. “Mama.” 

“No. Oh, no, no.” She shook her head, placing some distance between them. All of them. As if that would help them disappear. 

Yea she needed to get the fuck out right now. 

She eyed the door and ran towards the opening, leaving behind people that did not exist. For a moment, she believed she heard something but dismissed it as quickly as lightning. 

She saw people along her path but whether they were real or not she did not know or care for. Her goal was to leave. Leave this place, sapphire or not. 

Halfway into her sprint, she got the feeling she was being followed. So she ran into a solitary hallway and opened the first door she saw.

“You’re early.” 

She drew in a sharp breath as she came across the last person she wished to see right now, none other than Aemond Targaryen. 

The prince’s lone eye was practically sparkling when looking at her after being hours apart. She had been away for too long for his taste. 

Aemond would have preferred for her to come after everything– the wine, dinner, and dessert– were perfectly set up on the table as he had planned. 

Yet, she was here now. 

With the light blue with silver gown he specifically picked out. The colors itself reminded Aemond of House Arryn, a traitorous house that sided with the whore that was his half-sister. Though, the colors were at least better than that of House Strong. 

Aemond almost had the two women killed for even considering such bletcherous colors for his one and only to wear. 

Blind luck was bestowed upon them when another woman quickly brought an unused gown from her daughter’s armoire. Which was the one his love was currently wearing. 

She looked mesmerizing. Goddess like. The very Maiden in the flesh. 

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked as he noticed her out of breath appearance. 

Before she had a chance to say anything, a tall and dark haired knight came in; presumably after her as he was out of breath too. 

Aemond looked between Ser Criston and his one and only, and concluded that he’d been chasing her for some time. 

“Tis’ alright, Cole. No grave offense has occurred,” Aemond affirmed with a court nod. 

She blinked, assessing the man who was one of few to cause the civil war, Dance of the Dragons, between Aegon and Rhaenyra. 

He appeared just as he was described in the books.

Charming.

Though, she did not expect him to be quite so… short. 

Whilst Aemond stood exceptionally tall, Ser Coleslaw seemed no taller than five foot and eight inches. Perhaps that is one of many reasons he was such a misogynistic dick who couldn’t handle rejection. 

If she did the math correctly by the current year, he must’ve been in his late forties. Yet he had this youthful look about him that one wouldn’t have guessed he was reaching his fifties. 

Not that he would live to see his fifties. 

Days later he would die south of the Gods Eye.  

“Holy shit, you’re Criston Cole?!” She exclaimed not with fascination but with distaste lacing her tone. 

The Kingmaker placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, glaring at her with such vigilance. “I am. Have we met before?” 

“Not really–”

“Leave us, Cole.” Aemond snapped unexpectedly, causing her body to jolt at the intensity of his voice. 

Criston shifted his focus to the prince regent. “I think it would be wise if I stay, my prince. Wouldn’t want anything… unseemly to happen.” 

Oh. 

Oh.

At that, she took a few steps away from Aemond, placing as much distance between them as possible. 

The mere thought of her and Aemond together made her feel uneasy and very unsettling. He was a prince. Royalty. 

While she was the opposite of what he was. A simple commoner. 

Aemond kept himself from frowning at the space his love placed between. He clearly did not intend to take her today, as much as he desired to. 

His incessant desire and appetite would be sated the moment they were joined as one. 

Which would be soon, if everything went according to plan. 

“Leave us. It is a command,” Aemond said, tone much demanding and darker. 

Criston clenched his jaw in anger before he turned to leave. Just as he was about to shut the door he gave her one last look. 

There was no kindness in his cold green eyes. Rather he looked at her like the dirt beneath his boot that quickly needed to be swept away. 

“Do you always captivate this much trouble, my lady?” Aemond asks, just seconds after the door closes. 

She is only able to let out a hum as she feels all the words in her throat shrivel and dry up. 

Aemond’s white linen shirt hung loosely and unbuttoned against his chest; His pants were halfway unlaced. 

Aemond looked down at her silently, waiting for an answer from her. Yet she stood there gawking at the man in front of her, with his toned-pale chest on display, light silver trail of hair below his navel, leading to–

She apologizes quickly before rapidly turning around to grant him some privacy. 

Doing so caused Aemond to curl his lip into a smirk. She didn’t need to be sorry about her curious glances. Aemond thought to himself. Very soon, she’ll be well acquainted with his body; as well as he with hers too. 

Though, that day could not be any sooner. Much to his dismay, Aemond had to settle on that memory when she wore such sheer chemise. The same clothing he kept to himself after she was dressed, and used to pleasure himself with just moments ago.

“What makes you think that?” She added, her voice stammering a bit but she masks it with a cough. 

“You outran three of my guards, for starters, and managed to harm one of them. You also fled from your chamber without so much as a word,” Aemond breathed. “Will you hand me my doublet, please?” 

Her hands reached for the black leather doublet in front of the armchair, handing it back to Aemond with hands over her eyes. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t have run and let them have their way with me?” Anger, panic, fear and disbelief brewing deep in her stomach

“Seven Hells, no. That is not what I am implying,” Aemond expresses. “I am elated that you managed to defend yourself and run. But if your reason for fleeing was because you harbor any fear that it will happen again, I can assure you it will not.” 

She stilled for a moment, the hair follicles at the back of her head rose when she felt Aemond’s presence so close behind her. “As long as you are here, you’re under my protection. I will never let anyone or anything harm you. I promise you this.” 

The very gruesome image of Aemond beheading the guard that assaulted her, deemed his promise held true. 

Nevertheless, she was taken aback by the comment and the surface of her face felt warm. “Um thanks,” she nervously chuckled. It was the only thing she could say at such earnest promise. 

“You can turn around now, if you wish.” 

And she did. He looked well put together, dressed in all black from head to toe. The dark shade truly suited Aemond, giving him the illusion of a gothic prince.

In such proximity, she could smell something amidst smoke, fire, and ash emitting from his clothes.

Possibly from his dragon, Vhagar. 

Vhagar.

Being the bookworm that she was, she wondered what the oldest and largest she-dragon looked like. Or where she was currently nesting at. 

However, her nerdishness had to be set aside. 

For now, atleast. 

“Are you famished, my lady? The servants are to bring us dinner shortly, but if you’re hungry now I could ask them to speed it along.” Aemond asked across the room, his hand on the handle of the door. 

She was about to refuse his polite offer, unfortunately for her the mention of dinner provoked her stomach to growl so loud that even Aemond heard it. 

Damned traitor. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aemond said, his lips curling into a witty grin. She held up her hand in a way to prevent him from arranging dinner, she didn’t have time for. “That won’t be necessary–”

“The ferocious noise inside your belly says otherwise,” he quips as he instructs a nearby servant for some food. “I am starved from killing Strongs all morning and afternoon. I crave something more fulfilling besides shellfish and mediocre soups.” 

It was all Aemond ate at the capital after the Pretender ordered the blockade. At first, the small council had spent a remarkable amount on enough meat, poultry, grains, fruits, and vegetables for his family and guests. Subsequently, in a moon or so everything had run out. Fish, oysters, shrimp, and different kinds of soups were served.

Aemond did not mind, in the beginning, but after a while his appetite longed for his regular and satiated meals. He nearly took one of Vhagar’s goats for himself. Aemond knew he couldn’t as Vhagar needed her strength for upcoming battles and decided to let that foolish idea go. 

A few minutes went by when an array of servants arrived inside the room, carrying hot plates of food. She recognized two of the servants. Both of whom helped her bathe and dress earlier. 

One, she noticed, struggled to keep a ceramic bowl steady. Instantly, she took the bowl from her trembling hands. “The bowl is very hot, my lady. You must be careful!” The old woman warned as she tried to pry the plate off her hands. 

Although she was touched by her worriment, she couldn’t help but to chuckle. “It’s alright. I’ve been accustomed to touching hotter things, and this is not nearly as hot as you think.” At a young age, she more than often would help her mama make homemade tortillas de harina and would flip them by hand in the comal while scorching hot. On the weekend’s she’d help out at her uncle Belen’s restaurant. Often serving customers hot plates of food straight from the stove. (flour tortillas, griddle)

So heat never really bothered her. 

She placed the large bowl in the center of the table, adjacent to the other plates and pitchers. Then she proceeded to help the servants set the table. 

All while doing so she couldn’t help but feel Aemond’s eye on her the entire time as she moved. He stood silent near one of the windows, patiently waiting until everyone that wasn’t her, to leave.

“Will that be all, my prince?” A kitchen servant asked, her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Aemond waved the woman away, disinterestedly. Something about that irked her to her core, and it reminded her of the countless entitled customers who treated servers beneath them. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at the servants before they took their leave. They returned the smile and she couldn’t help but to think if they’ve ever been thanked before and she was content that she did. 

“Shall we dine?” Aemond gestured to the overly-filled table. 

She nodded, her stomach doing flips for food. Before she had the chance to pull out a chair, Aemond beat her straight to it with a smug smile carved into his lips. 

“In truth, I’m glad that you came now. I was to summon you for another hour while you had your rest but to my surprise the maester informed me that you refused treatment.” Aemond spoke from behind.

She sucked in a breath, shoulders tensing as the tips of Aemond’s fingers softly grazed around the exposed skin behind her neck. A spot where she felt insecure and anxious from anyone viewing. 

Even the two older women, who bathed her, halted their scrubbing when they came across the two deep vertical scars on each of her shoulder blades. A part of her was relieved that they did not say anything and continued their scrubbing, but the overthinker in her worried if they were secretly judging behind her back. 

Aemond pressed his lips together tightly, replacing a frown as she wiggled herself away from his touch. 

“Stitches are required for deep or gaping wounds, and surgical incisions. I did not necessitate it since this is a superficial cut. It will heal in a day or two if I clean it properly to prevent infection. Nywen agreed as well as I did and supplied me with a topical antibiotic.” 

She watched as Aemond slid into a seat directly across from her, digesting in her words. 

“Nywen?” Aemond arched his brow. 

“The maester.” 

Aemond hummed, content by her answer. “You speak as if you’re a maester yourself.” 

“I’m a nurse,” She shared proudly, though ignoring the fact she has not taken her NCLEX yet. Meaning she was not actually licensed. 

Aemond appeared to be taken back by her response and redirected his eye to her very glorious and plump pair of breasts.

Would she allow him the pleasure to drink from her chest as well?

The one eyed prince could only wish. 

Aemond could practically hear his one and only loudly moan and cry for him as he drank every last drop from her breasts, providing her with not only relief but also pleasure. 

The thought alone made his cock stir underneath his breeches.  

“Not a wet nurse!” She exclaimed, as she crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to cover her boobs. 

That, however, proved to be fruitless as the action alone caused her boobs to thrust upwards, revealing more for his eye to see. The violet in Aemond’s lone eye darkened and she swore she almost heard him… moan. 

“Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to cause offense,” Aemond softened his voice as he discreetly adjusted his hardness beneath the dining table, stifling a hiss at the throbbing sensation. 

“I never met a woman who practices conventional medical treatment; especially a young woman. Just old men. But seeing as to the maester being gone–”

Hearing that caused her head to snap up. “–Gone?” 

“Yes, he left shortly after he was done treating you. I bid his freedom in exchange for his services and you were his last patient.” Aemond briefly told as he grabbed a slice of some type of roasted meat onto his plate.

“Well, that’s good to hear. At least he is free to see his family now,” she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she held. 

Aemond hummed in agreement, choosing to spare the grisly details of him beheading the maester for treason against the crown. 

In a way, the maester did get to finally visit his family, along with his liege. 

“With him gone, perhaps you’d want to take his place?” Aemond offered coolly. 

It wasn’t like she would stay here long enough to help heal his people. She had a deadline to meet and follow, and the One Eyed Prince sure as hell wasn’t going to get in her way. So she chose to give him a little inconsequential lie. 

“Perhaps,” she shrugged as she began to assess the food upon the table. 

And boy, were there many to choose from. There was a variety of cooked meats, sauteed vegetables, hot stews, breads, cheeses, and fruits. 

It reminded her of an all-you-could-eat buffet. 

She ended up selecting the same type of roasted meat as Aemond, paired with a small slice of bread and a goblet half full of a golden liquid she believed was some sort of juice. 

By the way he was staring at her, she almost wanted to tell Aemond to take a picture to make it last longer but saying such a thing would be indecipherable to Aemond.

Rather it was better to say “paint a portrait.”

Now, however, was not the time to be comical. 

Aemond began shifting to a new topic of conversation when she took the first bite of what he said was ‘roasted duck’. Instantly, she scrunched her face at the off- putting taste. 

She always preferred her meat to be cooked well done and generously seasoned with garlic, salt, pepper, with a hint of rosemary and chili peppers for spice. 

Though this meat itself felt uncooked in the center, bland and not seasoned correctly. 

But what else could she expect from Westeros? 

Aemond watched from where he sat, disheartened by her dischuffed reaction, “Is the duck not to your liking?” 

No. She wanted to reply but she had a feeling that if she denied him, Aemond would try to convince her to take another dish.

“It’s good, thank you.” She lied after she forcefully swallowed the meat, smiling as she reached for her goblet to wash down the horrible aftertaste that lingered in her mouth. 

Aemond was not in the slightest convinced that it was or the wine judging from her disapproving reaction. “Here, have some Dornish red. It is what I’m drinking, much better than the shit from Lannisport you drank.” 

With hesitance, she took the cup. His fingers brushed with her own with a gentle caress that shocked her and almost pulled away from, if not for the goblet being nearly full. 

She examined the dark red wine carefully before sampling it. There was a sweetness blended with some sourness that had her wondering if she had it before. It wasn’t a bad taste but it was definitely strong. 

“Better?” Aemond queried, sitting straighter. 

“Well you’re definitely right about the other one tasting like shit.” She laughed as she drank more Dornish red. 

She's had some questionable alcohol before, but Lannisport wine definitely takes the cake. It was like drinking straight raw honey and cinnamon. 

Aemond joined in with her laughter. “Dornish red can be quite strong and can surely get a person drunk if they have not eaten. Mayhaps I can have the cooks prepare something you prefer eating. What would you like?” 

There were many foods she craved right now. 

Back home, her abuela was preparing the masa for the tamales that took hours to make just for the entire family. (dough)

Her cousins Sara and Valeria, planned to bring a very spicy pozole and mole from their side of the family. 

Tio Belen and tia Alicia were bringing their infamous chocoflan and caramel empanadas for dessert.

Those meals alone were what she wanted more than anything. 

Sadly, there were zero chances that Westeros had any of that.

Especially during a war. 

“I’m alright, thank you. I’ll stick to eating this, it’s not so bad now with the wine,” she reassured. Last thing she wanted was to waste food. Something she despised. 

Her answer, however, wasn’t what Aemond hoped for but he settled on it for now. 

“I do, myself, wish to know how exactly a lady such as yourself came to be wandering about in the woods, dressed in nothing but her shift.” Aemond implored, tilting his head to the side. 

Uh oh.

“The remaining guards confessed that you were wearing your shift when they found you. Prompting them to believe you were some mislead whore. It still doesn’t justify their actions against you and for that I sincerely apologize. But, I’d like to hear your side of the tale if you do not mind.” 

It all had been some unusual mystery, how she— the woman he had been expecting for ten years— came running onto his arms out of the blue.

Your life awaits

Was all Helaena said before he left to take back Harrenhal. 

The pounding of her heart increased tenfold. She knew she had to stick to the truth as much as humanly possible, only altering the details that had to be kept secret. 

She wouldn’t deny a part of her wondered if there was even a chance of coming clean to Aemond. 

Without proof, maybe he’d think she was ludicrous. 

If someone from Westeros came to the modern world, and extemporaneously said they’d been transported from a fictional universe, she without a doubt thought they were on some sort of crack. 

She clears her throat, blinking rapidly in search of the right words to say. “Earlier I was sent to pick out some flowers for my family. Along the way, a woman came across my path and robbed me of not only my gown and shoes but my belongings as well. I tried chasing after her but after several minutes my feet became tired and I was lost around the woods with nothing to go by.” 

“Your guards found me moments later. They insinuated that I was a whore, and I tried to tell them I wasn’t. That’s when things got violent and I was only trying to defend myself.” She explained transparently. 

Aemond redirected his gaze towards the cut on her lower lip, then to her hand noticing some bruising. He recalled how the first guard had a stain of dried blood on his nose right before he killed him.

“Again, I must say how truly sorry I am for the dishonorable actions of my men. And I applaud you for your braveness, my lady.” Aemond said as he raised his goblet before taking a sip.

“Oh, this?” She asked, gesturing to the hand that was bruised. “This is nothing.” 

Aemond let out a chortle. “It’s not nothing. You certainly broke his nose and damaged his foot by the looks of it. Who taught you to hit like that?” 

“My uncle, Aimon.” She answers. Though unsure if she should reveal details about her family. “Most of us, my cousins and I, are girls. He said it was important that we, as women, learn how to be self resilient and defend ourselves. He taught us with a practice dummy, at first. Then with some padded gloves. ” 

Aemond raised his brows, shocked by the notion that a man would allow their nieces to physically fight. His own father never bothered to teach his sister how to train in combat, not that Helaena would’ve wanted to or his mother allowed it. The Dowager Queen detested violence. 

It was only ever him that learned to train in combat. 

Not by his father, too sickly and yet too worried about Rhaenyra. Only Ser Criston Cole who shared the passion of the sword with him. 

“Your uncle seems progressive,” Aemond stated, watching as a sad smile set on her face. “Yea he is.” The reminder of Aimon made her reflect on how much she missed her family right now.

Especially since Aimon was coming home for Dia De Los Muertos, after being stationed in Mexico City for ten years. Alicia and her were the only ones that knew of Aimon’s surprise visit to abuela Selena. 

Though, perhaps now the only surprise her abuela was going to get was her disappearance. 

“Have I said something to upset you?” Aemond questioned. 

Her attention went back to the one eyed prince, who looked at her with concern. “No, no you haven’t. I just… nevermind.” She shook her head as she fiddled with the edges of her goblet.

Aemond leaned forward in his seat, desperately wanting to know what she had to say. “What is it? You can tell me—”

Just as his hand was about to reach hers, a knock interrupted them both. “Prince Aemond, the dessert you requested is almost done. Shall I have it straight delivered to your chambers?” A kitchen maid inquired from the other end of the door. 

Aemond made a sound of complete annoyance, causing her to give him a major side eye. “Yes, do so.” 

His reply caused her to be taken aback. Did that mean she had to stay longer with him?

She hoped not as there wasn’t enough time for dessert or any of his pleasantries. No matter how hard Aemond procures her to stay. There was a deadline she had to follow and a family and home to go back to. 

She knew that by now, her family already contacted the authorities; the police and even the fucking FBI. They’d even call the SWAT team if it were possible. 

Maybe she was being a bit too… dramatic. But was she?

There wasn’t anything her family wouldn’t do for her, including searching all of Mexico just to get her back. 

Sadly, she was nowhere near Mexico. 

Rather she was stuck in a world that up until hours ago, was purely fictional. A work of fiction that she received as a gift. 

Her first mistake of coming into this strange world was not thoroughly checking the cottage properly. Perhaps there, she could find some clues and answers that could help identify where this sapphire might be. 

So, now was as good a time as any to leave. More hours later and she’d permanently risk staying here forever, just as Alyssandra warned. 

As much as she wanted to explore and live through  every bit of Westeros, she already missed her home, her family, the food, internet, and comfortable clothes that weren’t medieval dresses. 

“Would you care for some more Dornish red as we wait for dessert to be served?” Aemond eventually asked, breaking her out of her stupor. 

Go.

“Actually, I can’t,” she nervously chuckled as she stacked her plates and swept leftover crumbs with a napkin. Even universes away she still had the decency to pick up after herself. 

Aemond felt his heart drop.

“It’s getting late and I must go. I’ve been gone for hours and my family is probably wondering where I am.” It was not entirely a lie. Her one way ticket out of here was to play her cards right by telling the truth.

“But the dessert—” The one eyed prince tried to explain but was interrupted. 

“— can wait or I’ll take it on a to-go box. Do you guys have one of those here?” She knew not but it was worth a try.

Aemond gave her a look of utmost bewilderment. “A what?” A box for a piece of dessert? 

She waved him off before she stood up, “it doesn’t matter. Thank you for letting me stay and for everything else you’ve done. I’m grateful, really. But I seriously have to go.” 

Aemond found himself standing as well and before either of them knew it, Aemond spun her around so that her back was pressed on rough stone and his chest just inches away from her glorious plump breasts. 

“You can’t leave,” Aemond said with a loud growl. 

She swallowed, her eyes widening in total disbelief. “What?” In a frail voice she asked. 

Aemond had to be gentle with his next choice of words. Last thing he wanted was to scare her off, like how he currently was doing so. 

The prince softened the darkness in his eye. “Well,” he sighed, “you’ve said so yourself, it is getting late and I don’t think it is wise for a lady to wander by herself in the woods again. Especially at night and with a mugger on the loose.” 

“I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is if I stay.” She stated, distancing herself away from Aemond. 

Though the one eyed prince was quick to act as his hand barricaded her point of exit. “You caused me no trouble, I swear this to you. Please stay a little while longer. I’ll send a raven to your family that you reside here with me.” Aemond begged, feigning a demeanor of woefulness. 

Although she did slightly feel bad, the deep voice in her head told her to stick to her guts; which was leaving. 

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head as she was quick to duck underneath Aemond’s arm towards the door. She felt the light graze of Aemond’s hand reaching for her but she pulled away before he could touch her, causing him to frown. 

Aemond yearned to have more time with her; to know every single part of her that made her so intriguing to him. She had haunted his dreams every night for far too long to let her go now. Considering how he had not yet voiced his affections to her. Aemond presumed, now was not the right time to declare his devotion. Time is what he needed. 

“Alys, wait!” Aemond called out. 

And she was sure as hell did wait.

A/N: sooooo I haven't updated this story for 8 months and for that I'm sorry guys 😩

but for those who are wondering: I live in an abusive household. so that should say enough.

and yes I am trying to get out, but I am currently unemployed.

the next chapter won't take 8 months I promise, but I am writing some smutty one shots for valentines day so I won't update this story until march!

also, if anyone can guess who Vidalio is, I will post a sneak peek of chapter 4!

[jinxedshapeshifter]

Why Kristoph Gavin Is Like That: An Essay

Alright so common sentiments I've seen regarding Kristoph are "Why is he like that" and "I want to study him in a lab" and I am a psychology nerd, so I decided to analyze Kristoph. Obligatory disclaimer: I am not a psychologist. Wanting to analyze Kristoph's behavior may or may not have gotten me interested in criminal and forensic psychology but I am not a psychologist. I am simply a guy who likes to psychoanalyze fictional characters from the most clinical perspective I can get to without actually being a psychologist. So let's begin.

Part 1: Diagnosing Kristoph Gavin

The thing about Kristoph is I think to fundamentally understand him, you need to diagnose him. In fact, I haven't posted my analysis of Kristoph's black Psyche-Locks because of it. As I said, I'm not a psychologist, but I do enjoy looking through the DSM-5 every once in a while, so I'm going off of that.

When you first look at Kristoph's behavior, you would (understandably) say he's a narcissist. From a purely colloquial perspective, this is absolutely true. However, I also think he very likely has narcissistic personality disorder. To be completely clear, I don't think his behavior is inherently a result of this. I think his behavior is a result of realizing he has a problem (even if he doesn't realize it's narcissism, he does acknowledge that he's fucked up because the reason he gives for killing Zak is "I am an evil human being") and not bothering to get help for it. In fact I'd argue he embraces it. So let's go through the DSM-5's diagnostic criteria for NPD (I don't need to explain where most of these are applicable but I'm going to anyway).

Criterion 1: Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements) - While I don't personally think the examples provided by the DSM-5 are reflective of Kristoph's behavior (although I think an argument could be made about him exaggerating his achievements, depending on if you think he was forging evidence before the Gramarye trial, which I personally do but I'll get into that later) I absolutely think he has a grandiose sense of self-importance because he canonically has a god complex, which is implied to be why he became a defense attorney; by doing that, he made people depend on him and literally had people's lives in his hands.

Criterion 2: Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love - I don't really know exactly how applicable this is, and it might've been more applicable when he was younger. However, he was so determined to get a win over Klavier in Klavier's first trial to forge evidence over it, so there's something to be said about him having a preoccupation with success not unlike Manfred I think.

Criterion 3: Believes that he or she is “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions) - He literally says this himself. He literally says the jury is made up of "ignorant swine" and says they're soiling the courts, I don't know what else to say on this point

Criterion 4: Requires excessive admiration - I will once again point you to the implication that he became a defense attorney specifically to make people dependent on him. The judge calls him the best defense attorney in town so I think it's safe to assume he's never lost a trial (which I will bring up again later). The nanosecond it's implied Apollo is turning on him and losing admiration for him, Kristoph takes it as a fucking betrayal, specifically saying "Et tu, Justice? You would betray me, your teacher?" Reminder, this is because Apollo decided to listen to Phoenix's testimony.

Criterion 5: Has a sense of entitlement (i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations) - Can I say his cell is evidence of this? No? Alright. He seems pretty fucking upset when he's reminded he's not the defense attorney in Phoenix's case. What does this imply? He acts like he's entitled to acting as the defense attorney during the case. This in comparison to the other defense attorneys who have acted as co-counsel at some point (Mia, Diego, Phoenix, Apollo, Kazuma, Athena) who let the acting defense attorney do their damn job. Like it might even be that no other lawyer acting as co-counsel has ever acted as entitled as Kristoph does that makes it feel like Kristoph comes off as entitled in the first place (in which case, I very much think Kristoph is meant to come off as entitled during Turnabout Trump).

Criterion 6: Is interpersonally exploitative (i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends) - I'm not explaining this. Phoenix's disbarment hinged on this, I refuse to explain this. I already made a post about it in regards to Apollo, I'm not explaining this here

Criterion 7: Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others - I think in order to be as horrible as he is, he would have to lack empathy. Idk. Like he obviously lacks empathy but I don't know how to explain it.

Criterion 8: Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her - Literally his motive for everything. He got Phoenix disbarred because he was upset over Zak firing him.

Criterion 9: Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes - I will once again direct you to him calling the jury "ignorant swine" in Turnabout Succession.

That is 8 out of 9 criteria he definitely meets and one that's debatable. You only need to meet five of the critera to be diagnosed. The only reason one is debatable is because we don't get into Kris's head. Conclusion: "Kristoph has NPD" isn't an unreasonable assumption. Kristoph having NPD is actually why I haven't posted the analysis on his Psyche-Locks; I didn't think I could explain Kristoph having NPD well in that post and having that explanation is crucial to understanding that analysis (which will be added to this one instead of it being its own post).

As I said at the start, I do not think Kristoph having NPD makes him a horrible person. I think he knows he has a problem, and instead of getting help for it, he embraces it. He chooses not to get help and that choice and him borderline embracing his narcissistic traits is what makes him a horrible person. This is yet another thing that makes Kristoph and Klavier so interesting; Klavier exhibited similar narcissistic tendencies at 17 (although not near as bad as Kristoph) but it feels like he recognized that he had a problem and got help for it. Narcissistic personality disorder can be caused by trauma, and it wouldn't surprise me if Kristoph and Klavier had very similar yet very different responses to whatever traumatic event they experienced. In Kris's case, this resulted in NPD that he didn't get help for and arguably embraces.

Part 2: Evidence Forgery & A Perfect Trial Record

The judge explicitly refers to Kristoph as "the best defense attorney in town" when he asks about Apollo's status as the acting attorney and Apollo refers to Kristoph as a "top-notch defense attorney" when he asks Phoenix why he wanted Apollo to be his attorney. In my opinion, both of these statements would imply that Kristoph has never lost a trial. Even Phoenix has lost trials, and he basically had Kristoph's reputation before being disbarred (which has some super interesting implications actually). This is where Klavier comes into play.

For Kristoph to forge evidence to guarantee a win, he's either not as good a defense attorney as his reputation would have people believe, or he was confident Klavier had a chance to win the trial. If we really think about it, I think the first option, that Kristoph just isn't as good a defense attorney as people think, is more likely, and this also leads into the evidence forgery discussion. He had no qualms about spending $100k on forged evidence. This implies one of two things; either he's forged evidence before or he's von Karma levels of rich. I think it's much more likely that Kristoph forges evidence to make up for the fact that he's not actually as good a defense attorney as people think he is.

He's a year younger than Phoenix, so if we assume he became a defense attorney at the same age as Phoenix (24), he'd already been a defense attorney for two years at that point. Going a bit further, if we assume he became a defense attorney at the same age as Apollo (22) instead, then he'd been an attorney for four years by the time Zak's trial was happening (and he had been an attorney long enough by Zak's trial to be well known, as Klavier says "Ah, figures my bro's more famous in this part of town" when the judge asks if Klavier and Kristoph are related). There's plenty of room for him to forge evidence there, as long as the decisive evidence doesn't require replication of something that would be unique, like handwriting. He could (probably) easily forge a murder weapon or a bloodstain. This would explain why he's so willing to pay $100k for a forgery too. If we keep with the assumption that he forged evidence his entire career but never had to do anything with something like handwriting, he'd probably pay an arm and a leg to get the evidence he needs.

Considering Kristoph is also willing to murder people over a seven year old case, I wouldn't be surprised if he defended people he knew were guilty. Depending on the case, he would probably have to forge evidence at some point.

Part 3: Black Psyche-Locks

Kristoph having black Psyche-Locks when he's asked about why he killed Zak is interesting. It makes a lot more sense if you keep in mind that he is a narcissist. To fully explore Kris's Psyche-Locks, we need to go back to something Spark Brushel mentions in Turnabout Succession's MASON system section.

Spark says that Kristoph started stalking everyone who could conceivably be involved in Zak's case out of paranoia. In Kristoph's brain, this was probably completely justified. His paranoia was specifically rooted in the belief that Zak would appear to someone involved in the case and expose Kristoph's forgery. Kristoph stalked Spark, he stalked Phoenix, he stalked the Mishams, I wouldn't be surprised if he (attempted to) stalk Klavier. If the fact that he forged the evidence that got Phoenix Wright disbarred ever got out, his reputation would be tarnished beyond repair, and to him, his reputation is the most important thing he has. He was so careful about how he handled the forged diary page that nobody suspected anything was even wrong with it except Klavier. All of this adds context to his Psyche-Locks being black instead of red.

I think it's incredibly likely that whether through paranoia-fueled delusion or just not being able to consciously acknowledge that he did kill Zak (which, if revealed and then investigated, could absolutely expose all of Kristoph's wrongdoings, something I think he would've realized), he genuinely didn't realize he killed Zak. I 100% think it's possible that Kristoph genuinely thought he'd killed some random guy on impulse. "But Jinx," I hear you saying, "why would he have gone after Zak if he didn't realize who he is?" As I said, I think it's possible that Kris thought he killed a random guy on impulse. He didn't plan to kill Zak. If he had, he would've been more prepared for it. I think some part of his brain recognized Zak which is what gave him the impulse in the first place, but he didn't become consciously aware of it until Turnabout Succession. Alternatively, he got so far in denial that he managed to delude himself into genuinely thinking he hadn't killed Zak, and he had just killed some rando named Shadi Smith. Phoenix didn't even recognize Zak when he introduced himself as Shadi. If Phoenix, who played poker with and defended Zak and has a picture of him in his office, didn't recognize Zak immediately, why would Kristoph?

It's also not impossible that there are multiple other murders Kristoph's committed that we don't know about. Hell, he tried to poison the Mishams after Zak's trial. At the very least I don't think that was his first time attempting murder. Kristoph's not an idiot, he's just careless (which doesn't surprise me, considering he is so convinced that if he ties his loose ends he won't get caught that he doesn't even tie his loose ends all the way, nor watch what he says in regards to murders he committed). That's not to say he's some kind of mastermind either, but he is intelligent. I don't think he could pull Simeon Saint levels of bullshit but he's very much capable of successfully and skillfully manipulating people. My point here being, if he has murdered other people before he murdered Zak and after he attempted to poison the Mishams, he probably wouldn't be surprised about having the impulse to kill some random guy, making him more inclined to believe he did just kill some guy.

I also think it's worth it to compare how Athena's Psyche-Locks broke in Dual Destinies to Kristoph's behavior. Athena was able to be eased into her Psyche-Locks breaking. She didn't have any reason not to trust the things Phoenix was saying. Kristoph is so paranoid that he doesn't trust anyone. He wouldn't have been able to have his Psyche-Locks broken because he would just deny everything that's being said until he can't deny it anymore and breaks down, something at least directly related to his paranoia, if not also his NPD. This is why I mentioned in this post that breaking Kristoph's Psyche-Locks would always be a bad idea. He'd never get to a point where he'd be able to mentally handle the truth. Kris's trust issues run so deep that he'd never trust anything anyone's saying until the damage is already done and the Psyche-Locks are broken. In Kristoph's case, there's no way to break those fuckers without causing the damage Pearl mentioned as something that'll happen if they're broken when they're not ready to be. I wouldn't be surprised if this is why Kristoph's breakdown in Turnabout Succession is so intense.

Part 4: Kristoph's Personal Relationships

For this section, I'm going to discuss each of Kristoph's relationships separately, then go into what his relationships say about him in general. So let's start.

Kristoph & Klavier

Kristoph and Klavier's dynamic is genuinely one of the most interesting in the Ace Attorney series to me.

Klavier doesn't really talk about Kristoph much, and the same sorta seems to apply to Kristoph. We don't learn anything about Klavier and Kristoph's dynamic until Turnabout Succession, and we know Kristoph didn't talk about Klavier because Apollo didn't even know Kristoph has a brother. When we do see what their dynamic was like in 2019, it's Klavier being used by Kristoph. Kristoph used Klavier to get Phoenix disbarred, and it weighed on Klavier's mind for seven years.

I also think it's worth noting the following exchange from Turnabout Succession:

Klavier: Let's clean out the family closet, eh, Kristoph? Kristoph: You're spinning out of control. Calm yourself before you say something you'll regret. Klavier: Spinning out of whose control? Mine? …Or yours?

Which implies that Kristoph exhibited some kind of controlling behavior towards Klavier. It doesn't surprise me because Kristoph's a control freak. I'd also be more surprised if Klavier wasn't afraid of Kristoph killing him at some point. Additionally, something I mentioned in my Klavier analysis is that in the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession, Klavier does have a good view of Kristoph and even seems to look up to him. He takes Kristoph at his word that Phoenix is going to present forged evidence despite (by 24 year old Klavier's account) finding it weird even then, and keeps him anonymous when he brings up the fact that Phoenix presented forged evidence. Another thing I mentioned in the aforementioned Klavier analysis is that based on Klavier's behavior, he didn't realize Kristoph was manipulating him until sometime after the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession. Something made Klavier realize he was being manipulated. Could be age or that Kristoph did something that made Klavier realize Kristoph was a piece of shit, but no matter what it was, something happened that made Klavier's view of Kristoph shift.

Kristoph & Phoenix

Kristoph and Phoenix are also really interesting to me because Kristoph's end of their friendship is fueled by paranoia, and Phoenix's side is fueled by a desire to keep Kristoph close and basically investigate him. It's toxic on both their ends, and that makes it really interesting. Their dynamic also has a really good example of "Kristoph will lash out if someone even minutely slights him" in both Phoenix's trial and Vera's.

During Phoenix's trial, Kristoph gets so upset over the trial even slightly alluding to the potential for him being present to kill Shadi that the judge has to remind him that Phoenix is his client. Phoenix is also so determined to get Kristoph caught that he forges evidence (technically twice) and revamps the entire justice system (and this was exclusively to get Kristoph caught). They're both incredibly petty with each other. I'm not really sure what to add here, they're just so toxic they should come with a radiation warning.

Kristoph & Apollo

Apollo looks up to Kristoph. Kristoph uses this to his advantage during Phoenix's trial, using the fact that Apollo is loyal to and looks up to both Kristoph and Phoenix to emotionally manipulate him. He then probably tries to use "You would betray me, your teacher?" to further manipulate him, but Apollo's desire to find the truth overrides his loyalty to Kristoph (something Apollo literally tells Kristoph).

Kristoph has one final instance of trying to emotionally manipulate Apollo; he gets Klavier to the point where he essentially shuts down then blames Klavier shutting down on Apollo. This doesn't work of course, and Apollo bulldozes on through anyway.

In general I think we can come to a pretty solid conclusion that Kristoph will either manipulate and gaslight people to get what he wants or stalks them out of an intense paranoia that's directly related to how he sees himself as a result of the NPD he didn't get treatment for. Instead of coping with things like a normal fucking person, he resorts to both physical and psychological violence and stalking.

Part 5: Conclusion

So here we are. Almost 3k words later. I do not want the takeaway from this to be "Kristoph's a manipulative, violent asshole because he's a narcissist" and if that's your takeaway you need to rethink literally everything I said here. The fact that Kristoph could be diagnosed with NPD has nothing to do with him choosing violence. NPD has nothing to do with him choosing to stalk everyone involved with Zak's trial instead of getting help for his paranoia. I want that to be perfectly clear. The thing with NPD is it can be hard for the person suffering from it to realize they have it and subsequently get help for it. Kristoph's problem isn't exactly that he has NPD. It's that he never got help for the thinking patterns the NPD caused. Had he gotten help I don't think he would've ended up stalking and murdering people. He'd still have NPD, but he wouldn't be near as fucked up.

It's why Klavier and Kristoph are so interesting as characters. Klavier has narcissistic traits but he evidently got help for them, as he's nowhere near as egotistical at 24 as he was when he was 17, although he does start exhibiting those traits again under high stress situations. He's still not completely okay mentally (otherwise he wouldn't regress like that), but he's also better than Kristoph at managing his symptoms when they do show up. Kristoph doesn't even try to get help for his symptoms, which leads to his downfall. Had he gotten help for his narcissism, he might've ended up a bit more like Klavier.

I hope Ace Attorney's prison system has a proper therapy program. I hope Kristoph's able to get help when and if he decides he wants it, because I am personally of the belief that everyone deserves help if they want it, and Kristoph's no different. I don't think he deserves to have Phoenix, Apollo, or Klavier back in his life, and I wouldn't blame any of them for never talking to him again, but that doesn't mean I don't think Kristoph deserves help. He would just have to realize he has a problem first, which I doubt happened soon after Apollo Justice and I'd frankly be surprised if it ever happens. But I hope the offer for help is there if he decides he wants it.

So why is Kristoph Like That? Untreated mental health issues that he's implied to realize is a problem.

*Again, please do not act like I'm saying Kristoph having NPD is an excuse for his actions. He chose not to get help. He chose to stalk people. He chose to kill people. Him having NPD isn't an excuse for that. My goal here was simply to answer "Why is Kristoph Gavin like that?" Do not misconstrue my intentions here or what I'm saying. Kristoph's NPD isn't what drove him to do what he did. Him choosing to embrace symptoms that hurt people did.

[slavicdolls4mangione]

Luigi’s wife!reader who has been constantly looking for him after he suddenly left. The media digging into her past, while she’s literally on the verge of a mental breakdown after finding out that her missing husband allegedly assassinated a ceo and is now in custody :(

this just made my heart squeeze omg :( before i get into wife!reader i can’t help but think of his parents, sisters but also best friends and how devastated and scared they must’ve felt when lu went missing. he obviously had his reasons and whatever they were they’re valid imo, i wish i didn’t relate to his actions but i do… anyways. i hope seeing lu again lifted some of their fears and worry even if the circumstances are horrible and hard to handle.

now as for wife reader, you’d obviously feel beyond devastated waking up one day to his side of the bed empty, some of his belongings gone, no trace left behind that could give you an idea of where he went; only thing he left you was a note saying he loved you more than anything and that he needed time away by himself and that you shouldn’t worry.

everytime you’d try to call him it would go directly to voicemail or even worse, you’d hear that robotic voice telling you the phone number you’re trying to contact doesn’t exist. his family, yours, your friends would try to comfort you but nothing they were saying would make you feel any better. you’d drive yourself crazy looking everywhere for him for months, it was draining the life out of you and your loved ones were beyond worried for your mental and physical state.

the day lu got arrested, you thought you were going to die. seeing his face plastered all over the news, social media, headlines calling him the shooter, claiming he unalived the ceo of uhc had you feeling like your entire world came crashing down in the snap of a finger. you were urged to make all your social media accounts private but it was too late, people had found your instagram and facebook through lu’s accounts before they got deleted and your mentions were blowing up like crazy. suddenly your photos were all over the internet, people were analyzing your relationship etc. you felt like you were living a nightmare but in that moment your sole wish was to see your husband as soon as possible and you made it your life’s mission to be by his side and fight for his freedom no matter what. lu would be a mess upon seeing you again after months of being separated, he’d hate himself for making you go through so much pain but he would vow to making it up to you for the rest of his life

[alkelkha]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐓. chapter four

relationship — jinx/powder x fem!blk coded reader

contents&warnings! : wc: 4.0k | post season 2 | lower-case indented | angst | heart to heart | just kiss already 🗣️ | non-sexual intimacy | fluff | mentions of them sharing the same bed | mentions of isha | these losers can't stay serious | yes reader has plot and yes i'm going through with it | not beta read | yes i am making this up along i go | author's note: i'm finally back after a month... don't come after me though! i'm literally in the middle of moving to a whole different state (not my choice).

❛❛ APOLOGIZE WITH FIREWORKS ❜❜

a careless toss of an envelope with this week’s paycheck slid off the desk. your eyes followed the movement. “you’re slacking, [name].” 

you’ve been slacking for the past two weeks. that’s how long it’s been since you and blue fought. you thought that she would come around and the two of you would hang out again like nothing happened, but of course, it didn’t. you were given straight radio silence, you even tried visiting her at her workshop and home. nothing.

she was your best friend and you hurt her to the point she’s shut herself in. was she even in there? was she ignoring you? did she run off? did she hate you now? did you just ruin everything? you couldn’t tell, it was like she locked herself in. this was killing you. 

every since she left it was like all the good things she brought with her did too. the endless laughter between the two of you, the satuation of the world. because of her you finally felt safe, your loan sharks finally stopped bothering you.

sometimes you think you see her (which you don’t). anything blue made you think of her, clouds too. you can’t bring yourself to eat the blue raspberry candy. 

the truth was that she was your good luck charm.

“do you want to lose this job?” big don’s voice rang in the office, snapping you back to reality. lose this job? this was the only job that could help pay off your debt that didn’t involve selling yourself, beating others half to death, and stealing. 

“i’ve been kind to you. i gave you this pussy job so you could pay me back with my own money.” he leans forward resting his clasped-together hands on the desk.

“but i see something,” the tall man raises from his seat. your breath got caught up in your throat and your heart quickened its pace. “…someone has made you sloppy. has taken your attention off of what is really important.” you knew what he meant and you couldn’t deny it. 

you have gotten sloppy with your work, clocking out a little bit early, and coming to work late more often— that was you when you and jinx started hanging out, but since jinx and you have gotten into that fight all of it got worse. “that new girl…” your eyes shot from the ground and straight to big don. the way he referred to her made your stomach turn. was he going to send his goons after her too.

“don’t—“ without thinking you stepped forward, you were about to walk up and slap him. good thing your mind caught up with you. yay, no bullet between your eyes!

“don’t what?” big don shot back at you, he stopped pacing and walked over to you. “run her out of flosnum? tie up the new girl in town? have some of my men give her a good beating? or maybe i’ll make you do that…” gulping at his implication you step back. you knew big don was sick, but surely not that sick?

right?

towering over you, two heads taller his dull dark eyes look down at you, his eyes make you feel so insignificant. you were nothing but a mere worker bee, “[insert sibling] may have escaped off to bilgewater. ixtal? ionia? who gives a fuck anymore. what matters is that one of you is here. one thing stands. your father’s debt.”

“get your act together or you’re on your own.” he then grips your hair, and with a harsh tug he pulls you closer to him. he smelt of cigarettes and mangos, “once you’re on your own i won’t care how and what you do to pay off the debt. sell your body for all i care.”

you left his office and went back to working at the bar. overtime. work for two weeks with no pay as punishment, which was mercy considering you've been waterboarded other times.

though you were starting to consider being waterboarded instead.

how long has it been? she can’t remember, there was no point in counting hours or days when she was in this state. 

her chipped painted nails scratched off her cuticles to the point they bleed. curled up in the middle of her room stuck in an unforgiving daze. a haze that consumed her mind and filled it with thoughts that pricked her brain as if they were needles.

she fucked up. again. and she doesn’t have the guts to try and fix it.

not that there was anything to fix, you were done with her. you hated her. you saw her as insane as soon as you saw her.

she was an idiot to show you that side of her. what made her think that this would be any different? danger or not, flosnum was not immune to her effect. 

her blue chopped hair now grown inches past her ears but not long enough to touch her shoulders, her bangs terribly long, and the purple dye worn out. the bonsai tree on her bedroom windowsill half dead. the irrigating bear under her bed where its voice is too far to catch. 

jinx. that’s who she was. she couldn’t fight it anymore. running from it has been deemed impossible even when she’s a sea away from piltover and zaun. 

metal and wood clanking against each other.

she could hear it, the small huffs, exhales, and sniffles. the light-weight pitter-patter danced around her.

isha.

jinx was greatness to isha. a haven. a symbol. someone worth protecting.

jinx could feel the vibrations from the floor bouncing back to her curled-up position. she had her knees to her chest and hid her face.

she couldn’t bring herself to look up. she was scared that if she looked up she would see her. if she did, she wouldn’t know what to do.

all those times she told off sevika that jinx was dead, isha was the one that kept the image of her alive. not a symbol of destruction— no longer just a loose cannon but a hero. 

powder was the one that died.

she thought that maybe if she could start over, it would all be from the beginning.

no jinx. just powder. the more she stayed on this tropical island she was reminded that she couldn’t be powder. 

to be honest, jinx liked isha’s version of jinx. the version that isha would play games, watch battles fight each other, fall asleep to her overly-dramatized exploits, graffiti on walls, and stargaze with. 

the careless dancing footsteps morphed into cautious ones and the steps were slightly heavier. 

step. step. step.

these footsteps didn’t seem as if they were sneaking up on prey, still, jinx refused to raise her head up from her knees, her eyes stayed shut. 

just ignore it.

she repeated those words, a mantra that got her through a handful of her episodes. unexpectantly, light fingertips grazed her shoulder, unsure if they could go further in the contact. 

hallucinations couldn’t touch her.

a low gentle voice “blue.” jinx felt all of her defenses fall. how pathetic that’s all it took.

you crouched down behind her. jinx’s back faced you, wearing only a pink tank top and wool shorts that showed off the blue clouds on the right side of her body.

the only reason you were able to get in was because you found a foolishly placed spare key sticking out from under a ceramic pot with a wilting flower.

you were tired of waiting.

“i’m sorry.” trying to shove down the heat rising to your face, you swallow. there was nothing more you hated than apologizing, which was ironic since you did it quite often. normally when you did it, it was out of fear or common courtesy.

sincerely apologizing on the other hand? the thought of you being the person in the wrong felt like a punch in the gut, but none of that mattered. 

the only thing you wanted right now was your friend back. “i’m so sorry. that day at the beach when i sighed it wasn’t towards you.” jinx was still. “that day was perfect and i ruined it. i made you feel that i didn’t enjoy it. i did! it’s just—“ you sucked in a breath before explaining.

“…i have a hard time living in the moment, i’m always thinking about my next shift. that i have my shift in this many hours, i’ll have to deal with rowdy customers in less than a day after, i have to pay off my debt.” she didn’t answer, it felt like you were talking to a brick wall.

“ever since you came into my life you have been what i look forward to.”

silence is all she gives you. not even a hum of acknowledgment. “blu—“ you couldn’t finish the nickname because of how shocked you were to see jinx finally turn her head towards you. you can only see her side profile due to the position the two of you are holding. 

the saturation of her vibrant red-violet eyes is now exhausted and dull. an alarm rang in your head. scrabbling from your knees you made it to in front of her to get the whole view of her. you needed to see all of her.

jinx’s closed-off position, her days-old makeup, unkempt hair, and lightweight. her head a bit more raised so she could look at you better as your eyes roamed around her body. 

her eyes.

her eyes were so doe and dull, the manic that she usually held in her eyes was nowhere to be found. this was the most vulnerable you’ve seen her yet there were still so many walls. 

she looked horrible.

you did this.

“[name]…”

her hoarse voice made your heart ache. gulping, pushing down the guilt. you slowly and carefully take her hands into yours. “let’s get you cleaned up, blue.”

the first thing you did was take off her makeup with a wet piece of cloth. you had no idea how long she had been like this, it looks like she had that same face of makeup for almost a week, probably more.

her cheeks were tear-stricken with dried-up mascara and eyeliner. her purple eyeshadow was worn out along with her smudged lipstick.

you washed her hair in the sink. she sat on a chair, her head leaned back as the faucet ran through her blue locks. your hands gently messaging her scalp, and then detangled everything with a brush.

the two of you didn’t talk at all. sitting on a stool your wrist moved in circular motions, washing her back.

she felt herself slowly come back to reality. the way you were being so careful with her as if she was worth being gentle to. were you doing all of this just to torment her?

surely you weren’t faking the affection in your touch? you wouldn’t do such a thing. you couldn’t. 

she felt her eyes burning up.

she felt the rough texture of the cloth exfoliating her skin, your hand carefully leading its way to her tattooed arm. your movements slow not wanting to have her pull away from your touch.

jinx lets out a ragged breath, louder than the scrubbing of her skin and water droplets. that was the first breath she let out since you came to her. your movement paused and went even slower. gentler. 

that’s when she bursts into tears. 

you froze up a bit hearing her choked sobs, “oh hon…” jinx’s shoulder shook as she leaned forward, away from you. her sobs only got louder and louder. saliva collected in her mouth and her face turned a pinkish hue.

putting aside the cloth you took her shoulders and pulled her back towards you, you wrapped your arms around her neck, and your head was right next to hers. “tell me what’s wrong.” you whispered in her ear, you didn’t bother hiding the tremor in your voice.

“please, talk to me. did i make you upset again?” you plead for her to talk to you.

“i’m sorry.” her sobs so broken that her voice cracks as she apologizes. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she just shakes her head repeating herself over and over again.

“shh.” you say rocking the both of you side to side in an attempt to lull her sobs. “it’s okay, there’s nothing you need to apologize for. we both messed up.”

“i’m such a child, i ruined everything!” she hiccups, her sobs only worsened. she leans on you like a child seeking comfort.

“stop that. you ruined nothing, okay?” you tried to keep your voice firm.

“i made something out of nothing again and i pushed you away and now you hate me—”

you cut her off, “if i hated you would i be here right now?” 

“you will once i mess up again.”

sighing, you pinch her cheek. “it was a silly little fight, we got through it.”

jinx winces at the pinch but she doesn’t pull away instead, her cries lessen and her face scrunches up a bit. “what if we get into another fight?”

not letting go of her cheek you kept speaking, “we’ll get through it. even when i get irritated or mad with you, i’ll always come back to you.” she turns her head and you pull away to give her some space to move.

her eyes were bloodshot, her pink irises sparkled as if she was begging you to confirm your words. “you’re my best friend, things like this will always pass over, i promise.” 

jinx’s sobs were no more and what was left was her small sniffles as you got back to bathing her.

getting back together with you made jinx realize some things.

number one: you would never ever ever ever leave her no matter what! 

this meant she could do anything without you leaving her. like sleeping together in the same bed and kicking you off.

number two: the two of you were practically made for each other!

she has been clinging onto every second of the day and you welcomed it with open arms. (well other than the times she’s stalking you, but you don’t need to know that!) has she gotten more childish with you? maybe.

it was your day off so per usual you were with her, instead of rotting together at her workshop the two of you went out for ice cream and window shopped. the two of you walked side by side in the blazing heat, jinx’s arm hooked on yours. 

usually, she would complain and complain in this weather and end up with sunburns which you had to tend to. these days she wouldn’t, it was like she grew up with flosnum. she wore a mismatched bikini top and stockings, low rise shorts black and pink shorts, and black boots with pink laces. “new style?” you raised a brow.

“just matching the weather.” jinx licks the dripping cotton candy ice cream from her cone. the undercity wasn’t hot like flosnum. it was humid at best but mostly cold. hell, she felt the warmth of sun on her skin more on her first week here than she did her whole life in zaun.

going on your route you spot a jewelry vendor, something catches your eye. mindlessly pulling away from her to go check it out jinx furrows her brows, she follows behind you. your eyes were on the turtle trinket. the jewels on it sparkled like no other.

stupid.

jinx’s finger hooks on the loop of your bottoms and pulls you closer to her side. she bends over a bit to get a better look at the stupid trinket. “oh come on, toots, you don’t need this. you already have that ugly turtle pendant.”

you smack the back of her head and she whines. “my necklace is not stupid!” you defend the bronze hanging around your neck. “besides, i wasn’t going to buy it….” your eyes trail to the price tag, the sight causes you to frown. “way too expensive anyway.” you turn on your heels and walk away from the vendor. 

she watches you walk away and back to the turtle trinket. it was ugly. tacky too. you wouldn’t look good in it.

jinx shrugs and catches up with you, she loops her arm with yours licking her ice cream once again with a stolen trinket in her pocket.

number three: she missed chaos.

because of that, she’s going to blow up at tonight’s festival. she’s been working on it the day after you bathed her, tucked her into bed, and fell asleep in bed with her. which was six days ago.

don’t worry. don’t worry. she’s not going to kill anyone. she was done with that, instead, these bombs were going to make a teenie tiny little mess.

today’s festival was in honor of the day flosnum successfully defended itself against bilgewater, many lives were lost due to the battle. which was an incredible feat now that jinx thinks about it.

anyways, that doesn’t matter! what matters is that she wants to ruin it. 

it’s the most jinx thing she can do.

somehow the paradise was infinitely more vibrant under the dark sky. maybe it was the twinkling stars, the glowing plants, and the fairy lights. everyone gathered in the streets, adorned in tropical garlands. the two of you held a stick, the tip burned bright, sparkling. 

normally, jinx’s mind would be on how gorgeous your smile was, but today she was too excited to even think properly. she was too happy to fuck the celebration up. she had already planted the bombs. 

the air was filled with a sweet and fruity scent of exotic flowers. your sweet laughter echoed in her mind finally snapping her out of it. “what’s got you so happy, blue?” she asked, pointing out her dumb smile.

jinx dropped the stick, “follow me.” she grabbed onto you forcing you to do the same and follow behind her. 

there was so much of everything. people, noise, lights, smells. you canvas through the streets and she takes you onto her workshop’s rooftop. though her workshop was placed in a shady alleyway, the view she had up top was breathtaking.

her rooftop was decorated with random cut-up fabrics, unfinished projects (aka junk but she won’t let you call it that), and colorful lanterns. the stars painted the night sky, the jinx sat on the rooftop ledge. being the more cautious one you tried not to, but she forced you anyway.

“we’re best friends, right?” jinx slowly turns her head to you, your eyes are on the ground, watching the people below. 

“i sure hope so,” you snort. realizing that it wasn’t the right time to joke you backtracked, “of course we are, the best of friends.” you didn’t look back but that didn’t make your response any less sincere.

her red-violet eyes trace your side profile. you were pretty like this, with the colors of the lanterns illuminating off of you. the color blue graced your brown skin and the coils of your hair. it was almost as beautiful as when the sunlight would kiss your skin.

jinx wasn’t sure when it started. “it” being when she became so attentive to you. maybe, it was the day she first saw you behind the counter of her now workshop. maybe, it was the day she crashlanded and you saved her.

the topic of the day she crashlanded was never brought up between the two of you. jinx wasn’t sure if you were aware that she knew.

jinx should’ve forgotten about you that day, her vision was hazy and smoke filled her lungs— her mind shouldn’t even have registered the details of you. but she did.

the key detail she remembered?

it was that stupid bronze necklace.

the ugly piece of metal that is still hanging around your neck. it looks as if it was handmade. well maintained yet specks of chipped-off green paint on the turtle’s shell.

“good,” jinx smiles at your answer. her hand reaches into her pocket and your eyes follow, her fist closed around not letting you know what it is just yet. “because i wanted to give you something.”

your eyes finally lock with hers. “i’m not good with words. i’m not good with my actions either.” her vibrant eyes shift away from yours, but she forces herself to keep eye contact with yours. “i fuck shit up. always. as soon as something good comes in my life it’s taken away, by my hand or something else.”

jinx couldn't find the right words, she didn't even know where she was going with this. “i ruin everything,” she laughed bitterly, her eyes searched yours to see if you were annoyed by your senseless rambling, but you didn’t. you listened, waiting for the next words to come out of her mouth.

“i’m jinxed. it’s in my name.”

jinx looks down at her hand, her fist is holding onto the mystery item tightly. then her fingers hesitantly open up her fist, revealing what’s in the palm of your hand. you look down. this feeling in your stomach, it flips and flutters. “blue, is this—“

“jinx,” she didn’t let you get a sentence in. “that’s my name.”

jinx...so that was blue's name. oddly enough, it fit her perfectly. she didn't look like a sasha, cassie, hannah, or kate. for someone as cool as her she should have an equally cool name.

“that’s so cool!” your eyes twinkle, filled with excitement, completely ignorant to the significance of this moment.

when the words left your mouth jinx left hundreds of degrees hotter. a warmth blazed through her body. no one has ever had this type of reaction to her name.

“so, you’ve been cool you’re whole life, huh?” you scrunch up your face in mock jealousy. “cool hair. cool talents. cool personality. cool name. you’re just a package, aren’t you, jinx?”

why did she like her name coming from your lips so much?

trying to hide her flustered state she puts on a cocky front, “enough of how cool you think i am. are you going to take my gift or not?” she dangles the trinket in front of your face. “you stole it.” you blink at her unamused. still you took it from her hand. “says who? you think i can’t afford something like this?” she tilts her head, raising a brow. 

“then what’s this?” you point to the tag. 

she looks at it and grumbles. after pulling it off she then put on a faux innocent smile. “what’s what?” seeing how your unamused expression didn’t waver she sighed in defeat. “i just wanted to do something for you, you deserve tiny luxuries like this. maybe it could bring you some luck too. a lucky charm.”

her words managed to make you loosen up. your face softens. “thanks, hon, but i already have a lucky charm.”

jinx’s squints her eyes at you, “wait, you do?”

"i'm talking about you, jinx."

jinx, a lucky charm? how ironic. se had always been the cause of trouble, never the solution. when she did try to find one it only made everything worse. but here the two of you are. you hailed her as your lucky charm. a good omen.

she lets out a bark of laughter, she laughs with her full chest. all of this was too surreal it was making her head spin. 

POW POW POW

with distant bangs a cloud of red, then purple, then green, then blue. the town square exploded with a flurry of colorful dust. the dust danced in the sky and fell back down onto the cobbled ground as if it were snowfall.

oh right. jinx forgot about those.

the two of you whip your heads to the noise to see the mayhem going on. 

their faces being painted with the colorful dye. the locals dance and twirl along with the ongoing blasts of the bright vibrant powder into the air. children rushed trying to catch the falling powder, some even making angles on the ground.

your eyes snap wide with amazement at the view, “oh my gods!” no way in hell were you going to miss out on something like this. you carefully get off the rooftop ledge and pull jinx with you. 

“get your ass up, let’s join the fun!”

screams, panicked voices, and people trying to take cover, that’s what jinx expected. not the sound of flosnum residents’ laughter and cheers. her plans to cause chaos failed.

she really was a jinx.

TAGLIST: @millie2point0 @powderbomb-jinxed @velvetinkbym

[verchante]

Chaand Baaliyan - LN4

cw: fluff, desi!reader, iitian reader, curse words, this is based of of me missing delhi and my frnds who are in kota rn, thinking of making this into a series smth like iitian diaries even tho i'm a commerce student 💀

lando norris was not the smartest person. it's a known fact. his girlfriend, however, was one of the smartest people he knew. she could do tough math questions within minutes! and that too without a calculator. afterall she graduated from iit-delhi, computer science branch. boosting an air of 4th (it's the red string of fate he believes).

however, she cursed alot, like alot to point even caught on her and incorporated into his vocabulary. words like bhenchod, bhen ke laude were just her regulars.

"it's because i graduated from iit delhi," she justifies. and there are instances even his fans caught him saying those words leaving the entire desi f1 community in a fenzy.

"i'm literally the best at this," lando says. he was on stream with max and his other friends. "mate shut the fuck up. we all know you're dyslexic. there's no way you're good at a maths game," max fewtrell rolls his eyes.

"no, i'm literally the best at this! i swear," he argued. "wanna check?" his girlfriend was sitting next to him, out of camera but the others didn't know that!

"you're on mate," max says at the game loaded. "79×66," lando reads out loud. "oh yeah what's the answer huh?" max asks. "let me calculate!" lando exclaimed.

"5,214," his girlfriend whispered. she was away from mic but perfectly close enough for only lando to hear her. he clicked on the correct mcq. "beginner's luck," a comment read.

as the game went on the calculations became harder than the previous one. I = ∫[0, ∞] (x^3 / (e^x - 1)) dx was one of the question, intergal calculus.

"mate you either you're googling it or you have a calculator. there's no way you can do that!" max exclaimed. "see even the chat agrees that you can't do .... intergal calculus. holy shit i didn't even know it was called intergal calculus," he said.

lando was just glad that max was buying time, it gave his girlfriend time to do the calculations. "I = π^4 / 15," lando answered, with a smug look. "bhenchod there's no way he's doing this," lando read one of the comment.

"jhand fakir behen ke laude, shut up," he replied equally agitated. and that's his girlfriend burst out laughing. the chat and max heard her laugh. "see there was someone else!" max pointed. "oh god," she mumbled between her laughs.

lando pulled her into the frame, showing off his girlfriend. "where'd you learnt that?" she asked. "from you," he shrugged, letting her sit onto his lap. "okay but i never taught you jhand fakir and all," she chuckled. "yeah what was that movie we were watching the other day? that's where i heard," he says.

"tamasha?" she asked as he just nodded, latching himself onto her. "we're practically one person at this point, it doesn't matter if she's doing the calc or i am doing it," he spoke to the chat. "don't insult her smart brain," max scoffed. "i genuinely don't know how you were doing all the tough calculations so quickly," he added.

"actually my girl went to kota to study for jee and she was taught how to do all the calculations within three minutes. you have the pick up the pen only when you're done solving in your mind. plus she scored 358/360 and an air 4 despite the advanced paper being the toughest that year," lando answered for her.

"she also taught me hindi," he bragged. "yeah and you got me in trouble for it," she rolled her eyes at him. "babe i didn't know bhenchod was a curse word. you say it often," he looked at her.

"weird indian parents logic that you can crack iit-d with air 4 and still can't curse 💀," read one of the comments. "behenchod i know right!" she agreed. "look at you! how will i not catch on these words," he says making her roll her eyes.

the game was long forgotten as the trio kept on talking to the chat. max left stream to the love brids. "di career tension, downfall and dperession ho raha hai what do i do?" she read. "bakchodi," lando asnwers. "look downfall mein bhi bakchodi nahi rukhni chaiye," he added.

making his girlfriend laugh. "it's the accent for me," she says, wiping her tears. "chup," he mimicked her. "you know you're completely desified at this point," she says. "reverse colonization," the couple laughed at his words.

the rest of the stream was filled with laughter, talks about latent and lando being more desi than his actual desi girlfriend.

[deswhomst]

If we have to classify the Blacks as good, morally grey, or bad, this is what it would look like:

Bellatrix: bad

Andromeda: good

Narcissa, Sirius, Regulus: morally grey

But I also feel like there are branches to being morally grey. Sometimes, a character who is morally grey leans towards being a good person more and other times, they are more bad (I do not mean to imply that morally grey characters have to be either good or bad but it’s not a 50/50 split, either).

From what I have seen, most people would say that the Black brothers are more bad—or, at least, Regulus is—and Narcissa is more good but I think it’s the opposite (some might argue Sirius is completely good but that’s not the case either, imo).

Sirius was on the right side of the war. He was in the Order of the Phoenix straight out of school. He accepted and helped his werewolf best friend. He definitely had his flaws, as in the prank and the bullying tendencies but it’s not enough to outweigh the good (especially when we consider how he was raised and that it’s not easy completely detaching from what you’ve seen all your life).

Regulus was a Death Eater and he willingly joined Voldemort. That rules out him being a good person in most people’s books, and that’s fair. Why I think he’s more good than bad, though, is that we genuinely have more proof of his goodness and only assumptions of him being an asshole. He drank the potion for Kreacher, he gave up his life when he realised what he had signed up for. He was 18 when he died, and he took the Mark at the age of 16. He talked about ruling over muggles and muggle-borns for years before that (had to be at most 13-14 when he started?) but never about hurting them. Many adults were wrongly influenced by Voldemort at that start, too, so it’s not surprising a kid who only had those influences went that route as well.

Now, Narcissa is loyal to her family. She is self-serving, too. She is not weak or defenseless but rather a genuinely strong woman who knows what she wants and ends up getting it. She is definitely not a coward, either. She literally lied to Voldemort’s face directly and then walked into the Battle of Hogwarts with her husband to look for their son, wandless. Narcissa did not care for Voldemort and his agenda at all but she made no complaints as long as she was in a powerful and comfortable position. She grew up as royalty and married into the Malfoys. She’s the only Black who made it out of both wars without losing her family (second family, at least). Narcissa is not nice or kind or sweet or innocent or weak or a coward. An interesting or good character doesn’t need to be any of those things. Some people portray her like such a loser who was forced into the life she was living when she’s literally a winner and did exactly what served her well. Make no mistake, if it meant her and her family’s good, Narcissa would let a thousand innocent people die.

This is not to say that she had an easy life with no issues!! Of course, there were huge problems that she went through herself and it’s okay to feel bad for her about those things but what I personally don’t like is painting her as a victim and watering down her entire character to make her a good person.

Age genuinely matters as well. Sirius was a reckless teenager but I believe if he had been given a chance to actually grow up, he would have matured out of the habits that made him bad. We can’t judge him by his behavior in the books as he had spent twelve years in Azkaban by that point. Regulus died when he was freshly out of school so he never got to grow up, either. Narcissa, however, was around forty years old by the second war so she had a lot of time (many war-free years in between) to change if she hated her life. She didn’t hate her life.

Again, this is not to say characters can’t simply be morally grey but rather to talk about the distinction between the Black brothers and Narcissa.

[aninipanin1]

GALA

Notes: Just wanted a little drama with a mix of reader being a silent diva yuhhh, A Noel Noa centric piece hehehe hope yall enjoy! PS: YES, this fic is a bit inspired by Cinderella RAHHH

"Hmm, that dress looks better than the first one. It matches your personality well." Anri said, her eyes looking at your phone screen where the photo of your dress was displayed. You nodded your head, taking into consideration Anri's opinion. You did like that specific dress personally, too, so you were happy that it fit you, at least in Anri's eyes.

"Yeah, I'll just buy this one then. It's actually on sale so I knew I had to get one of these for the Gala. Eepecially since my parents would definitely disown me if I do not wear anything proper, at least by their standards." Sighing, you pressed the order button on the app, shoulders sagging a bit. Your family was invited in a gala held by the company your parents worked in. Due to their high position, your whole family was invited, including your fraternal twin sister.

It's been a while since you met up with your whole family due to the Blue Lock project, but also because you did not have the best relationship with them, especially your parents.

"You know you can always not go, right? Especially since (S/n) is there. Geez, I still wonder why you put up with her. Nobody liked her in our class instead of the boys who just wanted to have a chance with her."

Anri sighed, remembering her college days where she shared a class with your sister. And needless to say, her arrogance in the subject which she almost failed at always pissed her off. It was really surprising as to how someone so...down to earth as you was related to someone like that girl.

You gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that. She's just like that because of our parents, I swear. And well, she's still my sister. I can't just abandon her like that, Anri."

The woman sighed and shrugging her shoulders.

"It's your choice, Y/n. But, personally, I would definitely cut her off. She's too toxic, especially for you, since we both know how she treats you even if you're older than her."

The conversation ended there as you both were thrust into silence, eating your food away on the cafeteria for both your breaktime when your phone vibrated. It was a text from your mother.

Mother:

Oh, and bring a date with you. Surely, as my eldest, you have at least a love interest and even better, a boyfriend by now. Make sure he's dressed appropriately, too.

"WHAT?!" You burst out, causing Anri to also spill the water in her mouth in shock of your outburst.

"Geez girl! Warn me next tim-...WHAT?!" She screeched too, as she read the text that you forced on her face.

"The gala is happening next week! How am I going to find a date so soon!? I...I don't even know any guys who can be a date." Sulking, you placed your head hopelessly on the table. Your mother thought wrong about you, just because your sister can pull guys does not mean you had the same charm and ability as well!

"Tell me, Anri-san! How will I charm a guy into at least agreeing to be my date for the night! Hmm, I wanna ask (S/n) so bad how she does it..."

Anri can only sweardrop at your words. Really? After all that you went through, you still think you are not charming enough to make a guy pay attention to you when you literally has world class players on their knees, just waiting for you to pay attention to them?

But then again, the lack of emotional connection you had with your parents as well as the absence of love from them may have messed up your perception of all types of love, even romantic love. And now, that made Anri a little sympathetic about your situation.

"Don't worry! I'm sure you'll find a guy who'd be okay with it soon enough-"

She comforted you until her eyes stopped on a familiar man who also entered the cafeteria, the white hair, and the tall build familliar to everyone in the facility, and probably the world, Noel Noa.

It was, after all, a few minutes after 1 p.m., and many of the staff and coaches took their lunches. Noa was one of the latest to do so since he was trying to come up with a better team to start in the next match of the NEL.

Anri knew that this maybe the only way to get you to solve your problem while also helping the guys to finally get over themselves and confess to you.

'I'm so sorry, Ego-san! But you all are legit slowpokes and I can't see her being stressed about this!'

"Why not ask one of the coaches to be your date?" Anri exclaimed, a little louder to make sure that the coach who was busy picking his food on the machine heard. You did not seem to notice Noa, as you tilted your head at her.

"Eh, I don't wanna disturb them, Anri-san! They're already busy enough around here. And the gal of me to show up with someone so famous like them! Besides, the gala is until 12 midnight, and they have training for the next day-"

"What about us coaches, Ms. Y/n?"

You let out a shocked 'eh,' before turning your head to see the Noel Noa, sitting on the table beside yours and Anri's. He was wearing his usual calm and collected face, but it was evident in his eyes that he was curious as to why you were quite distressed.

"Oh, its nothing, Noa-san...!"

"She needs a date on this gala, and she can't find one. She wanted to know if you guys would be fine with going with her." Anri said, trying her best to hide the mischievous grin on her face, and she succeeded to a degree, but the look on her eyes shout that she was plotting something.

"Eh? Anri-san! You don't have to answer that, Noa-sa-"

"I'm fine with it." He said with a straight face, making the nervous and embarrassed look on your face vanish replaced by one of disbelief and shock.

"Huh?"

"I'm fine with it. Just tell me when and what I should wear." He said, trying his best to remain passive, to keep his composure. Deep inside though, he felt happy. Finally! It was his turn to be with you.

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, Noa-san! I promise I will pay you back for this!!" You exclaimed excitedly, hugging the tall man out of pure glee and emotion, which made him become even more frozen in his place.

Luckily for him, you could not see the redness that starts to form around his neck, a moment of vulnerability and change from his usual no-nonsense personality. But, what he did not remember was Anri was still there, with her having a mischievous smirk as she watched the number 1 striker in the world blow a fuse just because of a hug.

'Oh, the power you have over these football nerds, Y/n...'

"Eh, where are you going, Noa-san?"

Some of the Bastard Munchen players were a little confused to see their master exit his office, but instead of doning his usual track suit that the facility provided, is garbed in a black and gold suit that complimented his features and build.

It was not the first time the striker wore formal attire (being invited into many famous events over the years, and the pictures of him attending are all over the internet) however, it was still a little weird to see him wear a formal attire in a sport setting.

The man's usual cold eyes turned to them, but there was a hidden twinkle in them. An emotion the players cannot decipher, and thankfully, they did not have to do that themselves as he answered their question.

"Y/n's parents have a gala in their workplace where her attendance is a must. And well, she needed a partner to go with her which is where I come in."

He adjusted the sleeve of the suit, not seeing the wide and open mouths of the players. Especially Isagi and Kurona, Yukimiya and Hiori meanwhile, just smirked at the unfolding scenes.

They are definitely telling the other stratums about this in hopes it reaches the other masters. For what? For the drama, of course.

"You? She could have chosen better..." Kaiser rolled his eyes. In his mind, the master was too serious and intimidating to be standing to someone like you, who in his eyes was like a twinkling star, gracung upon everyone with your warm light, yet not enough to blind or outshine them.

And he thinks all these idiotic masters do not deserve a woman like you. Yes, especially the man he wants to go against. After all, why would he wish upon someone who he thinks is not good enough for you? The person that he feels is the closest he got from a parental figure.

Even if the man is almost perfect, it was still a no. He has to be perfect in Michael Kaiser's eyes before he lifts his cold and domineering glare upon them.

But Noa was far from bothered, ignoring the boys' words, and was more focused on fixing his looks. He was not a man who cared about his looks, but he would be meeting your family along with the fact that he had to show the world that he was mlre than worthy being with you (my man forgot hes the number 1 striker in the world)

He looked down at his watch, squinting his eyes a bit to read the time.

8:48 pm

'Hmm, I wonder how she's doing now...'

"Stop moving for God's sake!"

"I'm trying...! But it hurts..." You said with animated tears as you squirmed in your seat while Anri helped you with styling your hair. You both were in Anri's office as she offered to help you style up for the night. Helping you with your more than tangled and messy hair due to the days of not caring for it properly, having to run around the facility to do endless chores, it was even a luxury to put it in a decent updo.

And well, Anri was less than gentle with how she's treating your scalp like it was a barbie doll that had no pain receptors.

"I'm almost done! And...there! What do you think?"

She spun you around the mirror to show you her masterpiece, and you were not going to lie, it was beautiful. Your hair shimmered due to the few products she put in your hair, but the main event was the braids that frame your head, almost like it was its own tiara with a few flower clips on it to make it even more sophisticated yet ethereal. (Decide your own hairstyle around this based off your hairtype:)

Your hair was for once a bit bouncy and not so tangled to the touch that it felt like you were arguing with your own strands, ready to rip it off from your head.

"Wow, from all the pulling you did, it came out really pretty!" You exclaimed excitedly, not believing that the girl in the mirror was you. Anri rolled her eyes at this.

"Told you. Never disturb a magician when she's working her magic. Now let's start with that makeup and change that tracksuit into your dress."

The makeup was really light, just enough to compliment your facial features and make it pop more (because you are lazy when removing makeup and pretty privilege does that to you, reader;), and well, it was not a surprise to see you already yawning at the boring procedure Anri was going through to fix your makeup.

"Geez, have you no like feminine bone to atleast have some sort of...reflex to atleast know the basics of makeup?" She asked jokingly, as she curled your eyelashes only for you to blink your eye uncontrollably.

"Um, I think I do. But its not like I don't wanna put makeup. Its just that, growing up, I was not allowed to." You said which made Anri confused.

"Really? But from what I can see from your sister's social media, she looks to be really good at it, even from her very old posts thatbwould pop up in her timeline."

"Yeah, well she is my family's treasure. She can do whatever she wanted or get what she wished for, I didn't really have any of that luxury growing up. I was the older sister, so of course I have to give up what I want to her if ever she wanted it. And that also included...my freedom to express myself, I guess."

Your voice grow even more quiet as you opened up about your past. It was thr first time ever that you did, atleast to Anri. But, knowing you, she is not surprised. You were always the people pleaser, always so ready to help others even if you cannot anymore. Even if you cannot carry the pressure anymore, you still would if somebody asked you.

Now, it made sense. You act this way because your parents conditioned you to be like that whilst spoiling your younger twin sister. The unfair treatment and lack of freedom you may have experienced molding you into what you are today.

A person who rarely cares about herself has trouble expressing your true self below that kind and caring nature, and does not believe that the people around her can truly love her for who she is.

And that hurted Anri. She loved you. You two have become the bestest of friends, almost sisters ever since this project started, and she hates how lowly you think of yourself, yet look at everyone else, even those who do not deserve it, highly.

You call everyone worthy of care and kindness, yet you were never kind to yourself. And now, she knows the root causes of this.

But, there was hope. There are people everywhere, even just in this facility alone that loves you dearly. The Blue Lockers, who view you like you are their older sister. Heck, even the foreign players like Kaiser and Lorenzo, and the rest started to view you as such too.

Then, of course, there are those you met who love you differently, viewing you in a different light. And Anri hoped that one day, the love of those people will change your mind about this thinking.

'Zwip!'

"There! All done...Oh my!" Anri cheered, her once dim expression brightening once she saw you in the beautiful silvery blue dress that sparkled under the light of the room. You had matching jewellery accompanying it too, but the dress really did make you look like a living princess as it hugged your figure, the skirt billowing to the ground elegantly as if it wanted to match your own elegant movements.

"Huh...it looks really good..."

"Why are you surprised?" Anri said, raising her eyebrow.

"Nothing...just...this is the first time I ever get to pick my own dress. My parents are always the one who buy our dresses for us, and well, I don't exactly get...a flattering one." You said meekly, Anri can only frown at that.

"But your sister's is?"

"I mean...I guess? But she's already pretty and charismatic...she can make an entire room focus only on her!" You happily complimented, just as Anri was about to add into your claim, your phone's alarm rang, telling you that it was already 9:00 pm.

"It's time..." you said nervously, as you put on the pair of clear heels before walking to the door, not forgetting to thank and say goodbye to Anri.

"Your taste in suits is so boring." Chris Prince commented towards Noa, who ignored him, causing the English coach to get pissed off.

"Why are you even wearing that?" Snuffy incquired curiously, rolling his eyes at Lavinho and Prince, who only questioned the man's style, failing to ask important questions. When Noa heard the question, however, he could not help but feel a little proud and smug, the ends of his mouth twitching slightly in a cold and unnoticeable smirk.

"Y/n is going to be participating in a gala tonight, but she needed a date. So, she asked me to be her date and partner for the night."

Crickets.

Well, until the information finally processed in their minds, and needless to say, the three other masters were less than happy.

"WHAT?! You, of all people?!" Lavinho exclaimed as he approached Noa, like he was ready to fight or debate him over the fact that did not deserve to be your date on that said gala.

"My poor Y/n, she doesn't deserve a man like you. I bet she'll be oh so bored in that gala." Prince said, not pretending to hide the fact that he was indeed jealous, as veins portruded in his forehead and neck about the fact that you went with his main rival instead of him.

Meanwhile, Snuffy remained quiet. However the fake smile, dead look in his eyes, and the portruding veins in his neck and clenched fist was enough of a story to tell. He was more than pissed off at what he is hearing.

With the green-face of jealousy leering at the three coaches, Noa knew he had a one up at that time. And needless to say, the faces the others pull made his ego boost up even more.

But, it reached its peak once you entered the cafeteria, all dolled up for the night in your dress. You greeted all of them so sweetly, not even noticing the effect you had on the four professional players. Noa felt proud that he got to be the one who would be with you for the night. That you chose him over the other three (he was just lucky that he was the one in the cafe at the right time, but we don't mention that).

"Umm Good Evening, sorry to interrupt..." You bashfully said noticing that the four masters were talking to each other, thinking that they were discussing something related to the Neo-Egoist League (they weren't).

"It's nothing. Let us get going, Ms. Y/N..." Noa said, dismissing the rest and taking your hand to guide you outside the cafeteria. He did not want you to get distracted by the others, wanting to look at your beauty by himself.

By the time the other three managed to find themselves catching their breaths, you were already waving goodbye as Noa tugged you to the exit of the facility to head to the gala.

"Wha- hey!"

"Tsk, that selfish robot."

Oh...

That's the only word that is repeated in your mind the moment you both arrive in the venue. Now, there were only a few people outside of the venue, and most of them were waiting to sign up to enter.

But, the amounts of stares and whispers that were already felt and heard the moment THE Noel Noa stepped out of the taxi and sweetly helped you out of the car was definitely palpable.

How can you forget that you literally invited the number 1 striker in the world to be your date in a company gala?

You turned so embarrassed and flushed at the attention, not used to it, unlike Noa, who remained as passive and emotionless like he always was, used to the attention someone of his popularity always experienced.

"I'm so sorry for all this trouble, Noa-sa-"

"Why are you apologising, Ms. Y/n?"

You were taken aback at the question, gulping before stating your reasons.

"The attention must be really uncomfortable...and I know you already have a lot on your plate due to your fame and all, and for me to add into it by inviting you here must be making it worse." But he just shrugged, offering his hand for you to take and for him to lead you.

"It's nothing. I agreed to it knowing what the consequences are, so you have nothing to apologize since I made the choice to say yes. Now, shall we get going?"

Blinking at the reason, you gave him a genuine smile before accepting his outstretched hand and headed for you to sign up.

Just as expected, you had the privilege of having a VIP entrance slot along with your plus one, due to your mother and father being one of the top executives of the company. But, as you signed up, a crowd formed around Noa, who looked quite annoyed at the attention he received before he sighed.

Leaning to whisper in your ear, he did not care for the gasps and whispers of a supposed relationship you two may have.

"Go in first without me, I'll deal with the crowd, and I don't want to inconvenience yourself any further. I'll find you inside."

At first, you tried to argue, wanting to help but looking at how he handled himself in front of a crowd compared to how you did, you knew that staying would just make it worse, so you just nodded with an understanding smile and sent him with a cheerful thumbs up before entering the place alone for now.

The venue was beautiful. The ballroom was quite larger than all the previous venues these events were held in. The chandeliers looked magical, mixing in with the gold and cream the whole place was decorated in. Classical music played and echoed through the whole place as well as small chatters from the people already inside. Speaking of the people, there were definitely hundreds of them already inside, some looked to be journalists too, as the camera flashes can be seen here and there.

You felt like a child in the middle of the huge crowd, a bit overwhelmed but at the same time excited. Mainly because of the food that you can already smell being prepared by the chefs and other staff in the venue. You were also quite happy that what you initially thought of being overdressed was proven wrong due to the many bedazzled dresses and suits that grazed the floor, and even better than your measly jewelry, were real minerals like diamonds, emeralds the size of a thumb was around the necks of the women or dangled from their ears.

It was a gala of opulence, a place where the rich people tried to outdo themselves, to compete with their fellow rich friends to become the star of the show.

"Well, well. If it isn't my lovely older sister grazing us with her...presence."

You turned around, already feeling dread at the notion of seeing her again. There she was, her hair in an elegant bun, wearing a bedazzled pink dress that hugged her beautiful features well, elegant black heels, opulent ruby necklace and diamond earrings only befitting someone of her stature.

Your younger twin sister (S/n) was the definition of elegance and power. The dream of every parent, just like yours. The moment she graduated in business school, she immediately entered the same company your parents worked in and rose the ranks quickly, now standing as a president of the company's media branch.

Yes, you had to admit, you were always jealous of her growing up. Being the smarter and prettier twin, since you both were fraternal twins, your features and every characteristic were different. She was always better than you, the bright sunlight to your measly starly twinkle.

But, nevertheless, you tried to be the best big sister that you can. Supporting her even if you felt jealous, and for a while, you two were close when you were kids. But as she grew up, she realized she was the favourite and something changed in her, turning around to try and destroy your life always. Probably because you were older, and she thought that you would inherit everything your parents had if she didn't try to be better and bring you down.

So she simultaneously did that. Better herself and brought you to your lowest. And the sisterly bond vanished.

You loved her, you did. But there was no way you would be fixing a relationship you did not break. You were kind, not a saint.

"Hi (S/n), how are you? It's been so long, huh?"

"I guess it has been. Everything has been better for me. Work has been hard but rewarding, though I doubt I can say the same with your...babysitter duties?" She smirked at first, then sneered at the thought of your job.

She, along with your parents never failed to bring down your role as a manager for a football facility the moment they heard of it. Sure, it got better when Blue Lock TV picked up ratings and was popular all over the world, but you were still viewed lowly. After all, you were not a player or its director or head, just a lowly manager/babysitter of the players, why is that important in their minds? In fact, it brought embarrassment to the family.

You always tried not to let it affect you, but it does hurt to be brought down a peg just because you did what you loved. But, you being you, you just smiled, not wanting an argument to form.

However, as if your day could not have gotten worse, your parents arrived along with a man you recognized for two reasons: he is a popular actor and model in Japan, and he was also dating your sister. You don't know much, but last time you heard from them, he already proposed to her which you were more than happy for her.

Just because you didn't like your family, does not mean you'll be a bitter Betty. No, you would not stoop low like that. Being raised in a toxic environment made you polish and garb a thick skin, after all.

Your mother immediately scrunched her nose at your appearance while your father just looked at you boredly and coldly as he always does.

"Mother, Father-"

"I told you to wear something that would not embarass our family. And what do you do? Wear this childish costume? Preposterous." Your mother sneered, squinting at the cheap fabric. After all, they did not give you any budget to buy a good one and so, you bought one out of your own money.

"This is why you aren't to be trusted with yourself, Y/n. This dress is unfit of someone in the L/n lineage." Your father said with a straight face, shaking his head. Meanwhile, your sister just snickered in the arms of her quiet fiance who did not want to get involved in the family mess.

You just nodded at their supposed advice, too tired of the day to even argue and embarass yourself infront of so many people.

'Tune them out, Y/n...like you always do, remember?'

"And to add to the mess you are, you do not have a partner with you? I specifically told you to bring one. We cannot afford to have our eldest daughter of all people to be gossiped about her future of being barren and alone." Your father continued and your mother seemed to realize the lack of partner beside you, and she became even angrier.

"Wait, I have one tonight, father. He just excused himself-"

"How many years have you used that excuse on us, young lady? Do not lie to us about your imaginary date for the night. You disappoint us with your fashion, we let it slide. But, not showing up with a partner? This is outrageous!"

"Mother, relax. I am sure there is a valid explanation for this. After all, Y/n over here is busy with her career of babysitting to even care about herself. Perhaps that lack of self-care is the reason why men rarely approach her." Your sister comforted your mother who was red in the face. Hearing this, your mother's anger turned into cold rage.

"I suppose. You have disappointed me and your father as usual, Y/n. And you question why me and your father did not pay for your college education in that foolish sports medicinal course? Because of this. You are irresponsible, and you lack anything noteworthy to you. Adding to that, you cannot even do the bare minimum of find a somewhat successful man and give us grandkids that can hopefully not get your genes and provide our family something to be prided by." Your mother sighed, her words breaking your heart. You heard of these words before, but it hurt nonetheless. But as if, the wound was not painful enough, your father decided to rub more salt unto the wounds.

"You are the eldest, Y/n. I already lowered my expectations on you the moment you talked soblate compared to your sister as an infant. Yet, you still wreck my already lowered standards. I gave the expectations of the eldest to your younger sister, who carried them gracefully and smartly, and that load made her better. I thought lowering the load on you would atleast make you a bearable daughter. Starting from now, if you do not have atleast a man to introduce to us of good name, then I would have no choice but to marry you off to the first man that offers to me."

Your eyes widened so big at this, like your worse nightmare was happening. Knowing your parents, they were serious about this. And you didnt want to be shackled in a loveless marriage just to produce kids that you cannot love fully because they were not out of real love. And besides, you were not ready for marriage yet.

"But father-"

"That's final."

"Finally, father. I am so tired of carrying everything in this family. Thank you for putting this...leech to use." Your sister sneered, liking the shock and blurry look in your eyes from unfallen tears. They were like snipers, hitting you in where they knew you were weak quietly. Even literally, as the rest of the gala participants were happily mingling, due to the fact you and your family were in a corner as they told you what they thought of you as privately as one can get in a ballroom.

But as if some sort of deity or god saw your struggle, you were saved by a hand touching yours as well as the silence of the whole ballroom. But the most telling and almost hilarious display of reaction was that of your family.

Your mother's eyes were wide as well as her mouth. Your father tried to maintain his composed expression, but you can see the shock in them, too. But, the most entertaining expression was that of your sister who had the perfect mix of angerr and shock in her face.

But, you wondered, why was everyone wondered. Well, that was until you looked up to find who held your hand, and it was Noel Noa.

The whole episode with your family made you forget the fact that your date for the night was a famed striker all over the world. Everyone knew his name and face, even if they did not know football well.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, but I am afraid she looked to be uncomfortable, so as her date, it is my responsibility to take her away from anything that may inconvenience or irritate her." He said in his usual cold and almost apathetical tone, if it was not for the fact that he held your hand and back quite intimately, a fact you did not notice because you were too tired from the mental beating from your family.

"O-of course...Mr. Noa, there is...no...problem with that." Your mother said, putting up her friendly and professional smile she uses when talking to those she knew was superior to her.

Your father stayed silent, but his usual cold, hard gaze softened. Of course, your parents were social climbers, so seeing a man of Noa's status and fame definitely humbled them.

Before anything, Noa guided you into the garden of the place and sat you down on the edge of the fountain.

"Sorry about the drama...Noa-san."

"Again, you don't have to apologise. You have to stop apologising for things out of your control and are not your fault." He said sighing, watching the beautiful colors of the water's reflection. You followed his gaze, as the water showed your face.

The face thay you hated all your life. Recognizing how it was not as pretty as your sister's face. That your sister seemed to have inherited the good traits of your parents while you get their least attractive ones (atleast in your parents' opinions and words), how you wished your eyes were the same shape as your sister's, or the way your nose looked, or even the size of your face. Everything.

You thought you moved on from the self-incarceration. But, the words they said to you made you revive the heartbreak you felt growing up as an insecured teen, a feeling that your parents and sister fueled even more, making you struggle with even the thought that you were deserving of attention and love growing up.

Then a drop fell unto the water's surface, then two, then three, until you were softly sobbing and hiccuping under the moonlit sky and the drowning sounds of the fountain.

Until you felt a soft yet calloused hand wipe a stray tear from your face. Realising that you were crying in front of Noa, you tried to turn your face away and hide it.

But, his reflex and pull were stronger and made you stay facing him. Pulling out a handkerchief, he softly wiped away all the stray tears that fell on your face as he finally spoke.

"You're an angel for the amount of patience you have with your family. I arrived there a few seconds before I stepped in, and from what I heard, I can just imagine what they have been telling you before I arrived. Or even way before that."

"Yeah...I'm used to it. But, that doesn't mean it hurted less, you know? It felt like...all the years of emotional and mental solitude and abuse came back. It played like a movie..."

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, just nodding his head at that. Truthfully, he was given a heads up about your family by Anri, and he was so thankful that she did. He thought it could not be that bad until he heard the hurtful words they told you as well as the preposition of them marrying you off to some guy that asked them first.

Like you were worth nothing.

Which just does not make sense to him. You deserved a man who would be willing to go through hell and back just for your hand in marriage, not some random man who just had to ask and would already get to be the one to see you in a white dress and veil.

But, that night, was definitely the night he knew that his feelings for you was more than attraction now. The first moment he saw your beauty and intelligence in the field, he knew he was interested in you.

But now that he got a deeper look into who you really were as a person, that you were kind, patient, and coolheaded enough to not burst in flames in front of your parents made him love and admire you for your strength even more.

He was a man who thought the saying "Kindness is strength," was foolish. Absolutely unethical. Sure, revenge is not always the best course of action, but getting back at the person can sometimes scare them off from doing the bad things they do again and again, so it is logical to a tee.

But, you gave him a new perspective. That maybe being the bigger person at times of extreme mistreatment leads to the more logical outcome. After all, it was not really you who embarassed themselves in front of the world's best striker that night, right?

By the time you managed to fix yourself and go back to the gala, the small program started. It was not that long, but as you sat beside him in the table where your family was assigned in, you both definitely noticed the new personality your parents immediately had.

Your mother approached him with a smile, sometimes lightly scolding you to fix your posture or your smile, but she was less brutal and she even used the loving mother tone she uses to your sister only.

Your father, on the other hand, was more discreet with his agenda. Asking him questions about himself and his relationship with you.

The two of them saw this as the first time you were being a good daughter. To be able to attract a man of his fame and status was a win in their eyes. They loved the attention that Noa brought to their table, the eyes of everyone, even the ones from the CEO's family was on Noa's.

You tried your best to tell your parents you both were not together, that he was just kind enough to be with you for the night. But, they did not relent. They want you to end up with him not because they want you to be happy, but because they just want the attention and power that having their daughter be the one Noa was dating.

But other than you both, your sister also noticed the attention on you and him and that pissed her off. Not used to not having the attention on her, she was muttering curses under her breath. Wondering how her ugly and incompetent elder sister attracted the number 1 striker in the world. Truthfully, she did not even love her fiance, wanting only his wealth and fame. So she thought that all the people's attention would only be at her's, but then her sister had to ruin it. Bringing a man who is known not just in the country, but in the whole world.

'She doesn't deserve him!' That was all that ran in her brain, to the point she even started to ignore her own fiance, in hopes that maybe, if she tried to act impressive enough, she would get the striker's attention away from you to paying attention to her instead.

'She did say they were just friends, and she doesn't look like she likes him like that. So, it'll be easy.'

Well, it was more of a struggle than she thought when the whole night Noa stuck to your side. With your sister's eyes being more susceptive to romance than yours, she can see the look in the striker's eyes when he looks at you or would do anything for you like getting your food for you, or even kneeling on the ground just to fix the ribbon that tied around your heels.

It was a one-sided love, where you were oblivious. A displacement that was disadvantageous to what she wanted to do.

As the night passed, you both were lucky enough not to be bothered too much, even if almost everyone at the party had some hidden agenda in getting close with him for business of sorts, it was definitely a fun time compared to the other times you attended their company's gala.

When you arrived back in the facility, before Noa can walk you to your room, Anri was already there and dragged you to her own room and helped you get out of your hair, make up and dress while urging you to tell her the juicy details of the night.

"It was a little embarrassing how much my parents wanted me to end up with him, probably just to widen their power of some sorts. And I felt so bad for Noa-san having to deal with (S/n) trying to flirt with him. Hmm, what do you think I should gift him for all his help tonight, Anri-san?"

Anri gave you some ideas while deep down, she laughed evilly at the reactions of your family, especially that of your sister. Of course, that was the reason she set you and Noa up for this as well, for you to unintentionally flex that your job was not for the faint, and that you were not the ugly sheep of the family.

'If only her sister knows it isn't just the number 1 striker after her at all. Ooh the drama that would be bring!'

No additional times for this one I'm afraid because this fic became TOO LONG THAN I EXPECTED LMAO. I don't even like Noel Noa that much yet this happened...I cooked too much I'm afraid chat. But anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this and yes I AM FEELING A LOT BETTER. This is also a bit of a character explanation for why I made Adult!Manager the way she is (like how she acts and all) so yeahhh, to all who relates to this YOU ARE ENOUGH AND LOVEABLE Dont let anyone tell you otherwise, mwah!

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[duskdog]

Wondering, vaguely, if Steph's age had any influence on how Bruce viewed/interacted with her.

She was 15 when he met her, and would have been 16-extremely-close-to-17 (I am personally a "Steph was 17" truther because the timeline doesn't actually work otherwise; I would call the 16 an error, but it's what's stated in canon, so...) when she became Robin and died. That's significantly different than Dick and Damian, who came to Bruce quite young, and even Tim and Jason, who were a little older but still not as old as Steph when they first came under Bruce's wing. (I think it's important to remember that, until adulthood, even just a couple of years can make an enormous difference in development and how a child views/interacts with adults. 16 can potentially be very different than 13.)

I imagine there must be a difference between working with a Robin who is literally a child, and one who's very nearly an adult. Particularly Steph, who had been parentified from a fairly young age and very likely felt much older than her actual years at times.

Honestly, we'll probably never know for sure because their time together as Batman and Robin was so short... and because of the other, bigger factors that influenced their relationship: namely the fact that she was disposable to him as Robin (not as in "he was okay with her dying", but as in "he was only using her as Robin to achieve a goal and wasn't at all concerned with her feelings or well-being in that respect"). And of course, her gender, because that would also have influenced how they interacted, regardless of whether either of them wanted it to or not.

More interestingly, though, is the method by which Steph became Robin. She and Tim were the only "proactive" Robins -- the ones who came to Bruce with knowledge/intent, rather than being children he chose to take in and eventually mentor (and Damian, who was raised for the mantle, but from Bruce's perspective just sort of got dropped on his doorstep). And Steph is the only Robin who had any experience operating as a vigilante prior to her time as Robin. Even before she became Spoiler, she already had knowledge and understanding of the world of masks and capes thanks to her father's shenanigans.

We know that Bruce is very stubborn and often single-minded, himself. Love him or hate him, I don't think many people would deny that he very much always expects to be the smartest and most capable person in the room. (After all, he often is.) He frequently clashes with his peers, and often refuses outside help, particularly when it comes to his own "territory".

The Robins have historically been different, because they're his. He inherently has a position of power over them due to their ages and his position as guardian/mentor/teacher. (Please note that I don't intend "position of power" to be negative in this case -- I intend it the same way that I'd say any parent or teacher is in a position of power over a child under their care.) He's the one in charge. He's the one doing the training. He's the one supplying the gear. And they're young. Psychologically, this is a very different dynamic than Batman interacting with, say, Green Arrow (using them as parallels because they are both normal human "just trained our bodies and minds to do amazing shit" heroes).

But Steph comes into this mantle as very-nearly a grown woman -- someone who has cared for her mother like a parent at times, someone who has taken responsibility for her father's crimes onto herself, someone who has had an actual literal baby and had to make the extremely adult choice about what would be best for that baby and for herself. She has never depended on Bruce Wayne for food or shelter or affection. She has never depended on him for training (he did train her for a while, and she was happy about it, but remember -- he approached her -- and when he ghosted her, she actively sought out training elsewhere, so she knows he's clearly not the only game in town). She started as Spoiler with nothing but her own homemade costume and gear she cobbled together, and she continued as Spoiler on her own in defiance of him. He definitely had power over her in a way -- that is, influencing how other Gotham vigilantes thought of her and treated her, to the point of trying to directly forbid Cass from interacting with her -- but not in the way of a father over a daughter, or an adult over a child, or even a hero over a sidekick (until she became Robin). Steph made Spoiler all by herself. And she stayed Spoiler mostly by herself, without much support (what support she did get was shaky and/or didn't last). And she came to Bruce and put herself forward as Robin, as a nearly-17-year-old who was already psychologically an adult in at least some ways.

That has to have a real impact on how they would interact. Steph is frequently described as stubborn and defiant as Robin, but she's operating as sort-of an adult with her own independence and agency in a way that the other Robins were not when they first became Robin. Meanwhile, Bruce is used to dealing with new Robins as children/fledglings. The initial Batman-and-Robin-as-partners growing pains for each of the other three Robins up until that point would have had a very, very different tone than that same growing pains period for Bruce and Steph.

Which is sort of a shame, because I think they would have eventually realized that they have a lot in common. And that even some of their differences could have actually been good for their partnership. (For instance, when Steph realized she had been chattering in his ear all night back during her first mentorship and was mortified, and Bruce basically told her it's fine, keep talking, he sort of liked it? I think he actually meant that.)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

It’s me again, the Norm anon. I wanted to build upon your recent comment about Norm and Hank’s dynamic in the show.

The thing that stood out to me in the show was when Hank put Lucy in the little closet when Moldaver and the raiders attacked. He said “you are my world” to her and I immediately thought to myself, well what about, Norm? You have a whole other kid that you don’t seem to be nearly as close to or even worried about after this absolute massacre.

I think he saw Lucy as being the perfect successor of what Vault Tec wanted for their descendants. She followed the rules, was positive to a fault, active and involved in various activities, clubs and the community. Maybe it was also because she reminded him of her mother because despite what all did, he did love her at one point.

Whereas Norm had problems wherever he went seemingly. Despite him having all the real qualities of a Vault Tec employee that you see behind the scenes, pulling the strings: someone who is perceptive, calculating to the point it is almost manipulative and has what it takes to make those gritty decisions that others would be shocked about (i.e. suggesting they kill the remaining raiders).

I honestly think that between Lucy and Norm, he is the one that is most like Hank. The real Hank that was helping take part in this whole Vault Tec experiment.

I just love seeing stuff with the Vaults and their community so it’s a shame that we didn’t get more of Norm in the first season and his dynamic with Lucy and their father. But he will definitely be a big player in the coming season. Definitely underestimated black sheep.

I think you’re gonna be bringing a level of angst and realism to this that’s gonna scream “porn WITH plot.” Super excited.

This got buried underneath newer submissions in the inbox, and I've been whittling away at like ten asks at once, so sorry for the delay in my reply, Anon. I seem to remember this being sent in just a bit before Shoot The Moon came out, so I hope you've gotten a chance to check it out since then! I really am very proud of it.

As to your comments about Norm's dynamic with Hank, I was really excited to dig more into it! I did try to keep it as more of a building, below-the-surface tension for most of the piece, because I wanted the focus to be on the romance and Norm's deep sense of self-doubt (largely accrued through years of being treated as second fiddle or literally forgotten about much of the time). I think that's what their whole relationship would be like: just a shit ton of unspoken resentments on both sides, swallowed down for the sake of nicety and appearances.

That line in the show really sealed that thought for me, honestly. Like, sir, what do you mean she's "your world"? Do you even know where your son is right now? Are you certain he's okay? Lucy was the person who hid Norm away to make sure he was safe because their father was too busy.

Hank absolutely sees Rose in Lucy, we couldn't agree more on that. I'd even go a step further and say that Hank sees Lucy as basically another version of her mother, one who he can control more easily and ultimately utilize for whatever purpose he saw for Rose. I highly doubt Hank MacLean views either of his children as full-fledged, independent people, only as potential means to meet his goals. Therein lies the root of why he treats them so differently; sure he may hug both kids, talk to them both, play dad. How bad would it make him look if he made it blatant just how much he favors one child to the other? He's supposed to be the upstanding leader of the Vault community, so he also has to appear to be the world's best dad.

However, at the end of the day, Norm's not as pliable, and therefore not as useful to Hank. He also isn't especially impressive on any front that his father cares about, so he also has no use for him as a way to make himself look good. Hank is completely blind to the fact that his son is more like him than his daughter will ever be (a dangerous underestimation of how calculating and tactical Norm can be when he really applies himself). Norm is essentially a son-shaped prop Hank trots out when he needs him. Make no mistake, though; the moment Lucy crosses him, she's demoted to the same position in her father's eyes. He only loves Lucy as much as he does because she's like a Rose who follows orders, and we all know what happened to the real Rose when she crossed him.

Like you, I'm definitely hoping to learn more about what folks' living experience in the Vault program is like in season two...honestly, if they're not gonna fill in the holes, I already have a ton of headcanons about Vault life ready to go. Every Vault is different, but it'll be interesting to see if they elaborate on how the "trio of sister Vaults" setup works, or was intended to work.

I hope Shoot the Moon was everything you wanted! I'd love to write more for Norm in the future. You and I seem to have a very similar vision of the MacLean family, so if you ever have more thoughts, don't hesitate to shoot them to me! Thanks for reading!

[folkwhoreberry]

I've a request for Percy Jackson as punishment for you deleting your drafts, something where Percy does little things for the reader? For example, drying her hair after she gets out of the shower, putting food on her plate, small and simple things, but things very cute😊↕️🤍

Mr. Jackson To Your Service

percy jackson x reader

or... the one where you’re obsessed with capri sun

word count : 969

warning : none omg who would believe that, english is not my first language!!!

🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🌙🍓🩵🌙🍓 🩵🌙🍓🩵🌙

🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊

lunch time.

who would’ve thought that getting hundreds of hungry teenagers with powers in one place is a good idea?

either way, it is what it is and you’re not planning on starving. but fate has other plans for you, like having the scary ares kids standing in front of your favourite food, blocking your path.

and that’s how you ended up sitting in a corner table with percy, your plate only carrying a few pieces of veggies with a side of capri sun.

“why don’t you have anything on your plate, angel?” he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion as he saw how little food you had on your plate. “uhh, ‘m not really hungry.” you mumbled, tossing one of the veggie pieces around your plate with your fork.

percy tilted his head, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “not hungry? I thought I saw you eating an entire pizza two days ago, no problem. what happened to that appetite of yours?”

you shrugged, poking at the broccoli. “I guess today’s just one of those days.”

he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “are you sure it’s not because you’re avoiding the ares kids? I mean, you did seem pretty eager to steer clear of them.”

you snorted. “it’s not that bad, percy. they’re just… uh, intimidating. doesn’t help that they think they’re better than everyone else.” you took a sip of your capri sun, trying to act casual.

percy raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “right. I’m gonna go get you something, angel.” he said, getting up before you can even react, leaving you sitting there, your face dumbfounded.

after a few minutes, he came back with a plate full of pasta with the white sauce, and yet another capri sun. just like he had promised.

——————

after the long day of activities, you finally made your way back to your cabin, completely drained. after a quick shower, you wrapped yourself in your towel and stepped out, only to see percy waiting in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall.

“you okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when he noticed your wet hair. “need a hand with that, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, but smiled. “really? you’re gonna stand there like you’re some kind of hair stylist?”

“well, I mean, I have a lot of experience handling water,” he said, gesturing toward himself. “being the son of poseidon and all. so, yeah. I think I can help.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you seriously gonna dry my hair for me?”

percy gave a dramatic sigh, as if you were making him perform some kind of great sacrifice. “I mean, I guess I have no choice now.” he paused. “unless you want to go to bed with wet hair. then I’ll leave you to your doom.”

you giggled, rolling your eyes again, but agreed. “fine. do your worst, seaweed brain.”

a few minutes later, you were sitting on your bed while percy wielded a hairdryer like he was in the middle of some grand mission. he was being unreasonably serious about it, and it took everything in you not to laugh at his overly focused expression.

“you know, percy,” you said in an exaggerated voice, “I feel like I’m in the presence of greatness right now.”

“you should,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m literally the best at this. I should add ‘professional hairdryer wielder’ to my resume.”

you couldn’t help it anymore, bursting into laughter. “you’re ridiculous.”

he grinned, proud of himself. “and don’t you forget it. all in a day’s work, saving the world and drying your hair. I’m a multitasker.”

when he finally finished, he gave a small bow, proud of his work. “there you go. all set, angel.”

you looked at your reflection in the mirror, surprised at how good your hair looked—no frizz, no mess. percy had somehow managed to do a better job than you could’ve hoped. “wow, you’re actually good at this.”

“told you,” he said, giving you a playful wink.

——————

you were heading to mr. d’s office to complain about something when you spotted percy walking towards you, looking way too smug for his own good.

“what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in twine. “I made something for you.”

you took it from him, unwrapping it carefully. inside was a tiny wooden necklace, the pendant shaped like a trident with delicate waves etched into the surface. it was small but thoughtful, and your heart skipped a beat.

“percy, you actually made this?” you asked, your voice soft.

“yep. I thought it might be… kind of cool? and, you know, I’m getting pretty good with a knife.” he scratched the back of his neck, his usual cocky grin replaced by a slight blush. “I know it’s not the best thing in the world, but… I thought you might like it.”

you were completely speechless for a moment, your heart swelling. “percy, it’s perfect. I love it.” you carefully slid the necklace around your neck, admiring it for a moment. “thank you.”

“well, you know… anything for you,” he said, his voice softening, and for a second, he looked so uncharacteristically sincere that it made your heart flutter. “I’d do anything to make you smile.”

“you already do,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “yeah, angel? I do?” he said with a smirk, making you him and nod.

“well, what else can I do to make you smile, m’lady?” he teased, putting one of his hands behind his back as he held your hand in his other, bowing down jokingly as he gave you a kiss on the back of your hand, just over your knuckles.

“mmhh.. get me a capri sun.”

————————————————————————————

a/n : hi hello I am currently craving capri sun but unfortunately it costs 0.5$ and I do NOT have that kind of money to spend in the school cafeteria💔

[chromatic-crooked-crocodile]

TLDR: Jackie and Travis have a lot of narrative similarities and it’s fun to look at that through the lens of Jackie’s quote from the Pilot, “if we’re each others firsts we will be linked forever, it’s more poetic that way.”

I think it’s worth wondering about Jackie’s line “if we’re each others first we’ll be linked forever, it’s more poetic that way” and how we can juxtapose Jackie and Travis since they lost it to each other.

It’s already interesting that to do what she thought was hurting Shauna, Jackie slept with somebody else’s boyfriend. Nat’s boyfriend. Interesting because it gives insight into why exactly Jackie was so hurt. Obviously finding out your best friend has been sleeping with your boyfriend would be Earth shattering for anyone but she turned around and did the same thing to Nat, so clearly the cheating wasn’t really the issue (and yes I think Jackie considered Shauna having sex with Jeff to be Shauna cheating on her, even if you aren’t a jackieshauna truther there is a possessiveness they have about each other that can’t be denied). The issue for Jackie in my opinion is that Shauna had those big life moments and secrets without her. Shauna kept a pregnancy from her. Was having a romantic affair and didn’t tell Jackie. If she wasn’t having the affair with Jeff, I’m sure these are the type of things Jackie and Shauna would have shared with each other. So Jackie in her infinite wisdom assumed that if this revelation hurt her so much, she could likely hurt Shauna by behaving the same way. She hooks up with Travis.

Travis was a virgin. He was anxious about having sex with Nat because she had more experience than him. He let that fear turn him into someone who than vilified Nat for simply having sex with other people prior to him finding out that Nat lied about hooking up with the guy who viciously bullied him back home. Nat simply withheld information that she knew would hurt him, she didn’t backstab him in such an obvious way like Shauna did to Jackie, but ultimately he felt lied to and betrayed.

So they hook up and she literally dies the next day. Very 1970s horror film of her. The both of them have the two worst nights of their lives, for Jackie the last worst nights of her life and for Travis it was only the beginning. Jackie was of course doomed by the plot and she set off a chain of events that leads to the Antler Queen and Travis dying 25 years later. I’ve seen before someone mention that the Wilderness didn’t give the survivors anything for Travis’ death. Maybe it’s because the Wilderness didn’t demand it, he effectively did just kill himself. No one drew a card, there was no hunt, and he died. The same happened with Jackie. There was no hunt, no cards, she had the situationship ending fight with Shauna and goes outside and freezes during the night. I’ve also seen people interpret her death as a suicide. Where they contrast is that Jackie at that point had no will to live, and Travis did. I can’t exactly remember what Lottie said he was hoping to say to the Wilderness when he brought it back by walking the line of life and death, or if she even said, but I can imagine he wanted atonement. Or maybe just wanted to prove a point. That feels a lot like what Jackie wanted when she lost her virginity to Travis.

I wonder if he thought of her during that experience? If he saw the connection between that first hunt he was supposed to be the victim of the night he lost his virginity to Jackie, and then her being cast out and dying the next night, and then the hunt Nat was supposed to be the victim of but the “Wilderness” taking Javi instead. Jackie was not part of the hunt for Travis, she was not part of the “Wilderness”. So she died. Travis lost a lot during the course of his time out there. He lost his dad, his brother, his mind, and then he comes back home and after 25 years he dies for the Wilderness but not at the hands of the Wilderness. The Wilderness basically took out Travis’ whole bloodline and he was doomed from the start. His mother wanted the boys to go with their father to Nationals, he otherwise would not have been there but Jackie was always there. We wouldn’t have a show without her. It’s all so tragic and human and interesting to think of Travis and Jackie as being just as bound together as any of the other survivors/victims were. Even if their friendship/relationship/whatever began and ended with them having sex. They were bound together, just like Jackie said when she thought she was talking about Jeff. It’s even more interesting to look at the inverse and compare and contrast Nat and Shauna. The way Jackie dying directly leads to Nat eventually pulling the Queen, and then Travis dying which indirectly leads to Shauna pulling the Queen. Nat is a clear leader and contender for Antler Queen and judging from the trailers we’ve seen for season 3, Shauna might be initiating a power struggle to overthrow Nat’s leadership so Shauna could be Antler Queen after all. Now with Nat’s death and Shauna’s drawing of the Queen maybe they will be bound in death too.