#like sure be subtle while in front of the father if that's the direction that was given during shooting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 8 months ago

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i've been waiting for you

part three of daddy all along: part 1 here, part 2 here

pairing: older (dad's best friend)! leon x younger! reader

cw: brief mention of past suicidal ideations, oral sex, semi-public sexual activities, love

summary: the aftermath of daddy all along pt 2 (you had me at 'hello'). mild angst, mild smut, mild fluff. their trials and tribulations still have a happy ending

a/n: this is a commission for the lovely @porcelainseashore <3 !!

wc: 8k

title is a reference to the song of the same title by ABBA. (this story is best experienced alongside the song).

The kiss you shared was laced with the kind of love that was powerful enough to stop time. Until your father interrupted the sacred moment with a far-from-subtle “ahem”.

You turned to see him in the hallway, standing behind you. He’d just witnessed the spectacle. You weren’t sure whether to be angry that he interrupted you or that he wasn’t applauding your love, which had gone through trials and tribulations and come out stronger on the other side.

“I suppose I missed a lot while I was in rehab,” he said.

You looked at Leon, hoping he’d have an answer, but his mind was still hazy from the kiss.

“I think I deserve a briefing on this,” your dad said, nodding towards the living room, an order to follow him.

You silently did as he asked, but Leon lingered in the doorway, uncertain despite the simple directions.

“Leon?” your father called him back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, still drunk on the kiss.

“We’ve been friends for decades, don’t call me ‘sir’.

Leon had to resist the urge to say “yes, sir” again. He nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He followed you both into the living room and sat on the couch with you, placing a noticeable distance between his body and yours, in an effort to keep things appropriate in front of your father. Though it only served to make things more awkward.

“So?” your dad said, looking back and forth between the two of you, probing you both for answers.

“You saw what happened a minute ago. What more is there to say?” you said because you didn’t know how to tell the story. At least, not in a way that would be acceptable to him.

“I think there’s a lot more to say,” he said. “What happened while I was away? Did you two get together?”

You tried to be as diplomatic as possible, which meant being vague. “We got to spend a lot of time together while you were gone, and we realized that we have feelings for each other. Well, I already knew I liked Leon, but I didn’t know he liked me back.” You conveniently left out the part about having sex on your birthday.

Your father turned to Leon, looking for his explanation. It was about as revealing as yours. “I know it might seem a little weird, but I love your daughter, and I care a lot about her. I always have.”

Leon looked at you affectionately. He even dared to reach across the couch and grab your hand as proof of his love.

“Are you mad?” you asked your dad.

“No, I’m not mad. Like Leon said, it’s just weird for me… to see you two like this.” He turned to Leon, and said, “I know you’re a good man, Leon. I’ve always known that, but I know your history with women, and I need to know that you’re not going to use my daughter… as a hook up. I don’t want her heart to get broken.”

It pained you to hear your dad mention Leon’s past relationships, or lack thereof. Was it worse to think of him as a man with a history of one-night stands, or a man who’s truly loved other women before you?

Your dad played it as cool as possible, holding in all the things he wanted to say, until you decided to head to bed. You hoped Leon would come with you, but your dad asked him to stay downstairs under the guise of hanging out together for the first time since he’d been home.

Still, you sat at the base of the stairs to listen in on their conversation. You always did. Any information you had about Leon or your father – their lives outside of being your caretakers – was gathered through this method.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’re gonna break her heart, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You know I’d never let her get hurt.”

“She’s gone through so much lately… with the accident, me going to rehab, and now, coming home. It’s not fair to shake up her life even more.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re asking me not to shake up her life because she’s dealing with the problems you’ve caused?”

There was a pause, and you swore you could see the looks on their faces. Your father’s horror, Leon’s regret.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” Leon backtracked.

“Go,” your father said, stern, but not aggressive. “I’ll tell her you had to leave and you didn’t wanna wake her.”

You heard Leon’s heavy footsteps walking towards the door and you bolted up the stairs, slipping in your socks and falling face-first on your way.

Leon saw it happen, but didn’t move. He used to pick you up when you fell. His arms were strong, but the awkwardness weighed them down, and he couldn’t reach out to catch you. Your father heard the thunk-thunk-thunk sound and ran over.

You turned to them, realizing the option for flight was gone. You had to fight — for Leon, for you and Leon.

“You were just gonna lie to me? Both of you were gonna lie to me?” You were used to your father lying. As angry as you were, you weren’t surprised by his behavior. Leon’s near-instant agreement to go along with his lies was what made your heart sink. How many times had he done this? Was your whole life a series of your father’s lies and Leon’s willingness to cover them up?

“Listen, sweetheart,” your dad said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You only care about me now that you’re home, and all you wanna do is control me again,” you said. Holding back tears, you turned to Leon. “And you, you wouldn’t even fight for us? After you came here to confess your love for me? Is it all just bullshit to you?”

“No, I care about you,” he said, “just like your dad does.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Neither of you care about me,” you said, stomping up the stairs and shutting yourself in your bedroom. Nothing good would come out of arguing further. It was 2 vs 1, an unfair fight, you’d better quit before you embarrass yourself.

It was ironic, you realized, how — mere hours ago — you would’ve given anything to have your two favorite people here with you. Now, you got what you wanted — what you thought you wanted — and you would give it all away in an instant. Maybe you were right, back at the dinner table, when the realization came to you that you couldn’t have it all. You’d have to choose between leaving Leon and disappointing your dad.

It was wholly frustrating that you did have them both for most of your life – there didn’t have to be a choice, there was always dad and Leon. Leon was right, sleeping together was a big deal, and maybe you should’ve heeded his warnings.

Questions flooded your mind, all unanswerable. Is this what regret feels like? If you could turn back time would you change it?

Who can you cry to when the people you love most are the ones who hurt you?

When you snuck downstairs later that night to grab a glass of water, Leon was gone. He’d left hours ago. You weren’t sure who to be more angry with – dad or Leon. Their previous togetherness multiplied the amount of love you received as a child, and now it multiplied the loss.

You refused to speak to your dad for days. You didn’t have to refuse to speak to Leon, as he didn’t try to reach out. You learned how to draw and ripped up the pages, you started journaling and ripped out the pages. You called a friend and tried to avoid explaining what was going on. But it was hard to think about anything else. Your life was filled with Leon, Leon, Leon. Like always. Sure, you’d lived with him for months during your father’s rehab, but you had a life before him – no, not before him, but before his constant presence. But where was it?

Leon left. Clearly you weren’t in the mood to see him, and your dad had explicitly told him to leave. What’s that saying? “If you love something, let it go”? Leon tried that with Ada many years ago. He let her go, and she came back, and then she left again, sticking them in a perpetual cycle of what he perceived to be intimacy and completely ignoring the others’ existence. They’d been seeing each other periodically for decades. Leon’s love for her faded a little bit every time she left the morning after. He let her go and she let him go. If she wasn’t willing to fight for him, then he wouldn’t fight for her. But, you were different. The way Leon loved you made him consider the possibility that whatever he felt for Ada wasn’t love. More likely it was a deadly combination of admiration, attraction, and misplaced trust. Plus, the inextricable link that forms between people who’ve saved each other’s lives.

Usually, Leon didn’t give himself time to make mistakes in his relationships – he tended to leave the morning after, never wanting to be a nuisance. If a woman ever came home with him, he’d make her coffee in the morning and lend her a clean towel so she could shower. He didn’t think he had much else to offer.

He knew how you took your coffee and how you liked your eggs. He knew how to set the thermostat to your preferred temperature. There was always more in his heart for you.

A woman thought he was being considerate when she noticed that he had tampons under the sink, but really they were for you, not her. Another thought he was seeing someone else when you left your toothbrush at his apartment. How could he explain to her that you were the most important woman he knew, but no, he wasn’t seeing you. That was well over a year ago. It should’ve been easier after “I’m in love with you.” Who is she? She’s my girlfriend. A one-word explanation.

He tried to devise a plan to win you back, like the male love interest in a cheesy rom-com. He seriously considered the prospect of showing up at your house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel like Lloyd from Say Anything. It would probably give you second-hand embarrassment, he decided. If only he knew, you’d still take him back.

Leon knew you well enough to know your idiosyncrasies. You stayed up to watch American Idol on Monday nights. You’d be in the living room if he came over around 9. He could park around the corner and sneak up to your window. Your dad wouldn’t be watching unless he had a complete change of heart. (He’d refused to watch American Idol since the contestant he liked didn’t win in Season 2 – he was convinced from then on the competition was rigged.)

Leon got home from work, quickly changed, and headed over to your house on his motorcycle, hoping he could convince you to go for a ride with him. Something you’d never done before. Because he hadn’t allowed you to. Maybe he should have worried about the possibility that he was letting his protectiveness over you slip to accommodate his need to please you. As much as you used to beg him to do things he considered too dangerous, he’d never budge. Watching you throw a fit always pained him, but being a father figure meant protecting always superseded placating.

Had you broken down his ability to refuse you? Or was he a selfish man looking for love in a girl he should be hesitant to pursue?

Monday night came and he knocked on your window in the special pattern the two of you had established many years ago when you were afraid of letting a “bad guy” into your room by accident as a child. Knock – pause – knock, knock – pause – knock.

You immediately knew it was him. He could see in your face that you were ready to run out the door to him, so he held his finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Thanks to the summer weather, you could step outside without having to make a ruckus by putting on your coat.

Your teenage years weren’t far behind you, and with a former cop for a father, you knew how to sneak out. Under the porch-light, you were barely visible, but Leon could hear your smile when you spoke.

“You came back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

“Are you gonna come in?”

“I don’t think your father would like that very much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to come out with me, just for a little bit.”

You learned your persuasion from Leon. You’d watched him talk his way in and out of endless situations, from speeding tickets to free food. And those people were strangers. He already had you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay,” you said, “but I should leave a note, so my dad doesn’t think I went missing.”

“Good girl,” Leon said, and when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was trying to get you worked up. And he was succeeding.

“Wait- where are we going?” you asked.

“I was going to let you choose.”

“Can we go to the hill? I’ll get a blanket for us to sit on.”

Leon was ready to blow his salary on you, and all you wanted was to lie down in the grass. His worries about your safety riding on the back of his bike were no longer a problem, since the hill was within walking distance.

“That sounds great to me.”

You returned to him moments later with your hair tied up, cherry-flavored chapstick on, and a picnic blanket under your arm. Leon carried the blanket with one arm, and held out his other, offering you his hand.

Somehow – after sex, after a love confession, after knowing Leon for your entire life up to that very moment – holding his hand made your heart flutter. You hoped your hands weren’t too sweaty. His were warm and calloused with a scar on one palm. You discovered this long ago. His hands were the ones to bandage you when you fell off your bike, the ones that wiped your tears after a nightmare, the ones that rubbed your back when he hugged you. You knew them well.

You walked to the hill where you used to go sledding as a child. It was tucked into a corner behind a thin curtain of trees, a little neighborhood secret. Leon put down the picnic blanket in a secluded spot where the street lamps couldn’t outshine the stars. You laid on your back, unsure of where to put your hands. They remained awkwardly on your stomach. You could feel Leon’s eyes on you. You turned to him and he snaked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“No, not nothing. You’re nervous.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. Are you worried about your dad finding out? I’ll make sure you don’t get into any trouble with him. You can blame it all on me.”

“No, I’m not worried about him.”

“Then what’s got you all anxious?”

“This is gonna sound so stupid.”

“It might, but that almost makes me wanna hear it more.”

“You’re so smooth, like, you’re giving me butterflies and I don’t know how you do it. I feel so awkward and I wish I was better at this.”

He laughed, really laughed.

“See? I told you it was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, baby.” He put his hand on your arm before you could turn from him. “I was laughing because I am the exact opposite of ‘smooth’. Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I’m awful at flirting.”

“But you’re so good at it right now.”

“This isn’t flirting. I’m just having a good time with you. I’m not trying to get you in bed or whatever. I love you and I wanna spend time with you.”

Leon didn’t know that he felt that way until the words left his mouth. It didn’t miss him that you didn’t say “I love you” in return. He was old enough to accept the fact that sometimes people don’t say it back, or at least, to cover up whatever anxiety he felt when it happened.

“I love you” wasn't sufficient to describe how you felt in that moment. You grasped for words for as long as you could bear the silence. You ended up concluding that in this case, actions could substitute for words. So, you kissed him, letting your lips guide you unrestrained so that soon you were engrossed in a full-blown make-out session, hands in each other’s hair, grasping at each other’s shirts. Every time you pulled away to catch your breath, you thought you’d stop to talk – but you found yourself giving into the desire to kiss him endlessly. At least, until your breath was heaving. All you’d done was kiss.

“I want you,” you said, reaching down past Leon’s hips to find him hard.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, though you could see the intrigue in his upturned lips.

“No one’s around.”

“I’ve taken enough risks for one night. Your dad is going to murder me if he finds out I helped sneak you out of the house, and I think it’d be a lot worse if he found out from the one free phone call you’re allowed when the cops take you in.”

“What if we didn’t have sex? What if we just did a little bit more than kissing?”

“What does ‘more’ look like to you?”

“I wanna touch you. We won’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He sighed, and a bashful grin appeared on his face. He didn’t agree with words, believing he could do much better with his fingertips on your skin. Leon kissed you from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, even daring to place one on one of your breasts. It was risky to pull your top down to do it, but Leon wanted to mark you someplace only he could see it.

As soon as his hand reached the threshold between panties and skin, you unzipped his pants and started touching him. You locked eyes and stayed forehead-to-forehead until he kissed you forcefully, capturing your moans before they left your mouth.

You were left in a daze after your orgasm while Leon was hit with a moment of clarity that was much different this time than the last. He understood the risks clearly, and yet, had no second thoughts. There was nowhere he’d rather be than holding you under the stars.

When you arrived home from your date with Leon, you found your father in the kitchen.

He knew.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“With a friend.”

“Is your friend’s name “Leon”?”

“Don’t get mad. Please, dad.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before you went out?”

“Because I thought you’d say no.”

“At least you’re honest.” He picked up a can from the table and took a sip of it, and for a second, you thought it was beer, you thought you could turn the tables. You noticed it was a can of soda about a second before you opened your mouth to yell at him.

“I can’t stop you from sleeping with him, but you’re not doing it while you live under my roof.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us having sex?! It’s not the only thing we do.”

“Sure. You hang out. That doesn’t mean it’s love, nor does it mean that it’ll last.”

“You don’t know anything about love.”

“Maybe so. But Leon is a man in his forties who’s never had a serious relationship. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe he hadn’t found the right person.”

“All I’m saying is that I can’t remember the last time I saw him go on a second date with a woman, let alone have a long-term relationship.”

“And? You ended up being a single father because you fucked up so bad that mom left you!” And if Freud was right, then that’s why I have daddy issues.

“I will not have you talk to me that way.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll ask you to go upstairs and think about your words or you can pack your bags and go.”

The second option was hyperbole. He would never kick you out. But you took it as truth and grabbed your purse. You called Leon from the driveway.

Your father’s disapproval became the least of your worries once you began staying with Leon. What was eating at you was the comment your father made about Leon’s love life. Over dinner one night, you confronted him.

“You said you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He was sure of it. He liked Ada, liked having sex with her, but he’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago. That ship had sailed.

“How did it end?”

“What?”

“The relationship with whoever you were in love with.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship. There was nothing to end.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.”

“I don’t plan to, and that situation was entirely different than what we have. This, what’s between us, is much stronger.”

He looked you in the eyes, and said much softer, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t fall out of love with you. I tried to, multiple times. It didn’t work and that’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean you ‘tried to fall out of love’ with me?”

“I slept with other people… as you know,” he said, nearly wincing at the awful memory of you catching him with another woman in your living room. “And, the night I came to your house, I had just left a date.”

“So, you slept with someone before you came over and-”

“No, I went out to dinner, and she offered me… the opportunity to go back to her place, but I said no.”

“Was she ugly? Unfuckable by your standards?”

“No, wait- what?” He shook his head and tried to explain it the best he could. “I was thinking about that night in the hotel room when you said that thing about Celine and Jesse and I actually brought it up to the girl.”

“You told her about that night?”

“No, I just mentioned how I liked the movie.”

“And?”

“And she said she didn’t like it.”

“And that’s the reason you decided I was a better choice? Because she didn’t like your favorite 90s romance movie?”

“No, well, sort of, but no… I just started thinking about how you love that movie and how she’s nothing like you, and how I love you. And then I saw your picture in my wallet and… I just knew what I had to do.”

For a moment, you wondered if he was just trying to get in your pants. If he was, it was working. You gave in, telling yourself that his intentions shouldn’t matter because he wasn’t manipulating you, you were hoping he’d ask you to sleep with him anyway. You weren’t going to let your dad’s assumptions get to your head.

Leon scavenged the house but couldn’t find any condoms. “I think I’m all out,” he said, sounding very apologetic. “The drug store’s still open, though, so just gimme like 15 minutes, and I’ll be back.”

You beckoned him closer. “What if we just didn’t use one?” you asked, putting on your cutest face.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “and before you try to talk me into it, I’m serious.”

“But Leon…”

“No, that’s my final answer. I can go to the store or we can do this another time.”

“Or you could just pull out.”

“You went to health class, right?”

You nodded.

“Then, you know that the pull-out method isn’t 100% effective. Or did you convince me to pick you up the day they taught that?”

You actually had convinced him to pick you up that day, but you were still aware of the pregnancy risk if you didn’t use protection.

“What if I wanted to get pregnant?”

“You’re joking, right? This is a hypothetical.”

“Sort of, but you’re getting older – no offense – and if we wanna have kids, then maybe we should start before your sperm count decreases.”

“My sperm count is fine, and no, we are not ready for a baby.”

“You might not be.”

“Sorry, I meant you are not ready for a baby. I could take care of a child, but you’re 21.” Suddenly, your age-gap seemed to widen in Leon’s mind. He felt like he’d already raised a kid and you weren’t close to being ready to have one.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “But you wanna have kids someday, right…?” It was wishful thinking, and though you had no reason to believe Leon had the same idea in mind, you believed he did. In all your daydreams you were parents.

He was completely taken aback. “Uh…” The last time he’d been asked if he wanted to have kids it was a theoretical question, from Claire, decades ago. Back when they thought it might still be a possibility in this lifetime. “I don’t know…” He decided not to say any more, fearing he’d disappoint you.

“But, I do, and I think I’d be a good mom.” After the words left your mouth, it hit you, the horrible realization. No, you might not be a good mother, and in fact, if you had to put money on it, you wouldn’t bet on your success. If you were anything like your parents, you’d be terrible at it. It must’ve shown on your face because Leon’s expression shifted from stern to sympathetic.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think you could be a great mom one day, but let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and wiped them away with the back of your hand before they could fall. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. You tried to awkwardly laugh your way out of the discussion and Leon must’ve felt bad enough for you not to call you out.

Sex was no longer on the table – that conversation had gone stale. The idea was wholly unpalatable that night, for both of you.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping yourself before you could start your own pity party.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. If you were apologizing for being obstinate and trying to manipulate your way into unprotected sex, he’d take the apology, but he knew what you meant: I’m sorry for killing your boner and crushing my own dreams. It wasn’t your fault for hoping Leon could be more than the man he was.

You fell asleep quickly, as one does after crying. Leon’s arms around you eased your pain. Some things never changed.

When you were younger, like many little girls, you liked to play with baby dolls – you bottle-fed them, pushed them in a stroller, rocked them to sleep, but it was all pretend. You believed motherhood would be easy back then, and it wasn’t like Leon was going to crush a little girl’s dreams by telling her the harsh realities of being a parent.

When you were very little – little enough that this memory is one only Leon bore the burden of keeping – Leon mentioned something about you pretending to be a mommy, to which you remarked, “I don’t know how to play mommy.”

Sure, kids talk nonsense, but regardless of your intent, you didn’t have a mother figure, and you never would. Leon didn’t have the same delusional optimism that your father had in the beginning. He was convinced your mom would come back to him. Leon knew better than to get his hopes up, not that he had much at stake.

Ironically, the father you grew up with, the morbid, ever-pessimistic father, was a direct result of his prior optimism. He decided being a cynic would protect him from being disappointed. He never perfected the art of acting happy in front of the kid quite like Leon did. Then again, Leon knew depression, even suicidality, but he’d never been heartbroken to the extent that your dad had because he’d never given himself over to someone entirely. After watching your dad fall headfirst into alcoholism, Leon was being reasonable by keeping himself guarded. Or so he thought at the time. Now, he began to consider the fact that he may not have been as brave as he’d always thought he was. He was a hero, risking his life to eradicate the threats of bioterrorism worldwide. But, he didn’t choose that life, he fell into his position as an agent due to his own cowardice – at least, that’s how he felt when he couldn’t pull the trigger when he held his own gun to his temple.

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t gone through with his plan to off himself. Classify it how you want – cowardice for backing down or bravery for deciding to stay alive – Leon was still alive decades later. And before him stood another one of life’s toughest decisions, though the answer was much clearer this time. Would he let himself fall in love with you, knowing you could break his heart? Yes, though, he didn’t have much say in the matter by the time he realized what was happening. He didn’t choose to set his soul on the table in front of a starving woman. You pulled it out of him with every kiss, every laugh, every steady breath you took while you lay next to him in bed.

When Leon walked in the door, you were there to greet him like a pet who’d been left alone for hours, desperate for affection. Unlike a puppy, you didn’t pounce on him immediately. With his arms behind his back, he said, “I got you a present — pick a hand.”

As skeptical as you were, your intrigue was stronger. You tapped his right arm and he held out a box of condoms. “Surprise,” he said.

“I think this ‘present’ might be for you,” you said.

“You caught me,” he said, already leaning in for the kiss that would lead to the night’s escapades.

Leon planned to take you to the bedroom like a gentleman would, but you dragged him over to the couch, shoved him into a seated position, and stripped in front of him. He had to resist the urge to speak, knowing he’d say something stupid since the image of you in your current state had taken over his mind entirely, turning everything else to mush. The only organ still at work was the one in his pants, and that one was working overtime.

You straddled his lap once you were down to your underwear – a matching lace set. Since you and Leon had become official, you made sure you were always prepared. Not that he expected you to dress up for him. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that he’d been with other women. You had others to compete with for the top spot in his mind. He didn’t. He was your best and your only.

You had no idea how many women Leon had been with – romantically or sexually, and you were afraid to ask, worried that the amount would be high enough that he wouldn’t recall the exact number. He told you that you were the best he’d ever had, but people lie. All the time.

You tore off Leon’s dress shirt, haphazardly popping one of the buttons off. “I liked this shirt,” Leon mumbled, momentarily disappointed.

When you sank to your knees, all was forgiven. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him this was wrong. He should be taking care of you, right? You’re his baby girl, you can’t do this – not that he’s naive enough to believe that you’re the innocent little girl you used to be, he knew for a fact that you’d left that girl in the past for a woman who was looking at him bright-eyed, kneeling at his feet – but you could get hurt doing this, you could choke if you overexerted yourself.

You were teary-eyed and gagging before he could think of a way to protect your poor throat. An overachiever. Part of Leon’s mind was enraptured by the sight and begging him to let you continue. If you were any other girl, maybe he would give over all control to you. But the reasonable man he became the day he met you, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, remained stronger than the sex-crazed idiot he was before.

He pulled you off of him gently. Maybe it was just an illusion from your watery eyes, but you looked hurt.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, soft and sweet, “but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are.”

“But I wanna do more, I wanna please you.”

“You wanna please me, huh?” You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, but you hadn’t figured out its source yet.

“Yes, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He pretended to be astonished by your offer. You were being hyperbolic, he assumed – he hoped. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “c’mon.” He held out his hand for you to take.

You grabbed his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the bedroom. The tables turned the moment you entered the room when he pushed you down on the bed. He climbed atop you and kissed you forcefully, undoing your bra with his deft fingers.

With open-mouthed kisses he made his way down your stomach stopping only to remove your panties, only a thin layer of lace between his mouth and your core. He was more careful when he undressed you than you were when you did the same for him. He wanted to see you in this again.

His lips teased your inner thighs first. He placed soft kisses everywhere except the place you wanted to feel his mouth most. He only gave in when you started to squirm. The sound you made when his tongue touched your clit told him how much you longed for this.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said, words muffled as his mouth was occupied.

“Leon, wait-”

He looked up at you, with kiss-dark lips and a dazed expression, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I said I wanted to please you, so-”

“Trust me, I am more than pleased with what I’m doing right now.”

You were conflicted. Maybe he was a rare breed of man who truly got off on going down on women, or maybe he was lying. But if he were, he would be doing it because he wanted to make you happy. Because he wanted you.

And who were you to deny him?

You were multiple orgasms in when you finally got Leon to come up for air. His hair was a mess all thanks to your hands tugging at the strands. You were surprised he came up looking relatively unscathed when you’d worried you’d suffocated him with your thighs, maybe twisted his neck too. But, no, he met you face-to-face with a grin, only superseded in prominence by his hard-on.

You ran your thumb over his tip, through the fabric of his underwear which now had a small wet spot, and he groaned.

“My offer still stands,” you said.

His eyes flickered to your smile, which was wider than his and even his ever-bleeding heart couldn’t protest. His dick wasn’t the only part of him that wanted you.

Leon always had an acute awareness of his own mortality. From the moment his parents were ripped away from him as a child, he realized the harsh reality that death can never be fully anticipated and all too often it happens far too early in one’s life. He was aware of that fact, but hadn’t watched anyone die in front of him until the Raccoon City incident. It takes seeing to believe. And even after believing the truth, it took him years to accept it.

It took him until he was 40 to get to that point. Even then, every ill-fated day that Hunnigan called him while he was with you, he was confronted with the same unsettling feeling, the fear of death that he thought he’d gotten over.

If he had to leave unexpectedly, he’d wake you up before he did, give you a hug goodbye. Sometimes, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t remember him saying goodbye at all. You’d later accuse him of leaving without telling you, and from then on, he’d leave a note by your bedside to confirm that he’d been there.

You kept them in a box in your closet. They were the sad reminders of the fact that he was gone, but they smelled like him. You always wondered how it was possible for paper to absorb the scent of someone’s cologne so easily. As it turned out, it wasn’t magic or an obscure fact of science, but rather, Leon spraying cologne directly onto the paper because he knew you liked the smell of it.

In the beginning, you watched Leon get dressed in the morning just as you’d imagined back in the hotel room months ago.

Leon got up early while you stayed in bed, but he never left without kissing you goodbye. It was a bit of tradition and a bit of superstition. When he cupped your cheek, you felt the cold metal from the watch on his wrist against your skin.

Eventually, you became accustomed to the sound of Leon’s 6:30 AM alarm and the feeling of his weight being lifted from the bed. You could sleep through his morning routine until the goodbye kiss he always gave you on the forehead. Loving, but so sadly superstitious on his end.

You realized that part later.

You were awoken bright and early by Leon, which was generally a beautiful thing – though, that morning you could hear the apprehension in his voice. You were acutely aware that something was wrong. Sometimes it seemed his hyper-vigilance was wearing off on you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He held himself back from asking you how you knew. “Nothing major,” he sighed, picking his words carefully. “I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Based on his tone, you could guess that it wasn’t a tropical island vacation. He had business to take care of, and you certainly weren’t going with him. It didn’t really matter what city or country he was leaving for; it was all equally dangerous.

“Romania. I might be gone for a few weeks.” So, I woke you up early to spend as many hours with you as possible before I leave.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, though your voice gave way to something you wouldn’t say until hours later, when you were naked in the sheets together, having one last bout of intimacy before his flight: “I’m scared of you dying”.

Often, in the post-orgasmic bliss, you tell him how much you love him, how good the sex was, and infinite praises. That morning, you told him you were scared he was going to die, and the minutes before that meant something entirely different. While he was away, memories of you beneath him would permeate his mind. It wasn’t the first time you had affected his ability to focus in the field, but now, he was overcome with not only longing, but also sadness and an unprecedented wave of guilt. How could he leave you like this? You must be worried sick. Hopefully, you’ve patched things over with your dad.

While Leon was gone, you moved back in with your dad. You rung his doorbell, ready to beg for his forgiveness, something you never thought you’d have to do.

To your surprise, he opened the front door with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he pulled you into a hug. “I missed my little girl.”

You had convinced yourself that you’d made yourself immune to your father’s actions, that he couldn’t make you cry anymore. But, you broke down in tears. You were so used to apologies, excuses, and bargains. He rarely said he missed you, and never with such conviction.

“I missed you too, dad,” you said, refusing to let go of him. You had the shared knowledge that you didn’t mean that you’d missed him for the small period of time you spent at Leon’s, you missed the person he was when he was sober, the person who was standing in front of you. There was a significant period of your childhood during which he was sober, or at least rarely drunk, but you’d accepted that the man he was then had abandoned you. He was home.

He noticed your suitcase, and asked, “Are you planning on staying awhile?” He was trying not to get his hopes up. That was something you had in common.

“Can I?” you asked.

“Of course. I haven’t changed your room into a man cave just yet.”

He carried your suitcase upstairs, he helped you put the fitted sheet on your bed, he cooked dinner and sat across the table from you. It didn’t feel like a transaction or a placation either.

The topic was inevitably brought up.

“So, Leon…” he said, hoping you could fill in the blanks.

“I still love him, and I want to be with him,” you said.

His pointed gaze asked, why are you here?

“He had to leave for work,” you answered.

He nodded, accepting the situation. “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were gone.”

You braced yourself for impact.

“I think I was being too hard on Leon… and on you. I’ll admit, I still think it’s a little weird to see you two like that.” He looked up from his plate and made eye contact finally. “And I don’t want to find you two getting it on in my living room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But, as long as he’s good to you, I’ll learn to be supportive. I don’t want to lose either of you in my life, especially my daughter.”

“Me neither. I want to be with Leon, but I need my dad too.”

“I know.” He paused before saying, “Plus, I thought about it, and if you insist on dating a middle-aged man, there are much worse ones you could pick.”

Leon came home with a bloody nose, broken fingers and too many bruises to count. His clothes were torn and dirty, his eyes were tired, but his smile was warm as ever.

You wanted so badly to run into his embrace but you approached him slowly. Much like when he fell from the pedestal you kept him on the day you found him with another woman in the living room, his facade crumbled in front of you. His injuries were proof that he was breakable. He was made of skin and bone, powered by blood pumping through his veins just like you, not stardust or whatever angels are made of.

“I missed you,” you said, holding back tears.

“I missed you, too,” he said. He looked oddly well-adjusted to the situation. You wondered how many times he’d come home beaten up like this. Moreover, how many times there was a woman waiting for him.

This was the first time he'd tell you if you’d asked.

He headed towards the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby. I promise I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get it. You should sit.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, backing towards the couch. He was too exhausted to argue. It was emasculating to have you take care of him, but he’d have to get used to it. He realized, then, that you’d do this for him – you’d have to – if you stayed with him through his old age. If he made it that far.

You brought him some water and sat down on the couch next to him. You surveyed his injuries. You tried not to stare, but failed. Even if he wasn’t covered in blood, you’d stare – he was the love of your life, how could you not?

“What?” he said, turning to you.

“Just looking at you,” you said, trying to remain cheery, though your tone gave way to something sad.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been through way worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He shrugged. “You told me to come back alive, not to come back unscathed,” he said.

You frowned. He grabbed your chin and moved closer to you, going in for the kiss. “If you don’t want me like this, then-” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. You were lucky his lips weren’t injured. You could kiss him as hard as you wanted. And you did. When you pulled back, you said, “I want you like this. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

He tried to speak, but you put your finger to his lips, shushing him. “But first,” you said, “I want to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. I planned on taking a shower before getting into bed.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He took it and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way. When he noticed you were following him, he asked, “Are you coming with?”

“Yeah,” you said as if it should have been obvious. “Who else is going to help wash you?”

He sighed, and you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me take care of you for once,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t get used to it. When I’m all healed, I’ll be taking care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him strip and all of your thoughts faded – aside from one, which you spoke aloud. “You’re so hot. Your dick better not be injured.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I kept it safe just for you.”

He turned on the water and tried to adjust it to the optimal temperature, but he got distracted when your clothes came off. He whistled.

“Leon!” You covered up instinctively, feeling flustered by his whistling.

“Oh come on,” he said, “You’re gorgeous. I couldn’t help myself.”

His shower was not made for two – and it was further complicated by the fact that Leon had to bend over for you to be able to reach his head. But, you made it work. It felt emasculating, borderline humiliating, on his end to be so incapable of something simple, and to have to rely on his girlfriend to do it for him. But your soft hands washing his skin and your fingertips massaging his scalp, the way you made sure not to miss a single spot on his body, the way you cared – all he had was gratitude. And a whole lot of love for you.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader

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endwersed · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged in last week by the amazing @eevylynn ❤️

I'm currently editing chapter nine of the poets are right, so here is just a li'l snippet of that! Full chapter expected out this weekend 😊

“Hi!” Eli says.

Derek’s jaw clicks as it works around his thick swallow.

“Hi,” he echoes back, the single word coming out more than a little bit breathless. “I... I’m Derek.”

“I know,” Eli replies breezily, twisting his neck to shine his grin back and forth between his fathers for a second, settling onto just Derek eventually. “So. Do you wanna come see the backyard? I got a new lacrosse stick for my birthday a few months ago, you can help me practice?”

Stiles feels as though he could say with relative certainty that Derek would say yes to doing literally anything that Eli wanted right about now. Tossing a lacrosse ball around, letting Eli kick him repeatedly in the nuts, a literal demonic summoning ritual out underneath the old oak tree. If it was on Eli’s to-do list for the day, Derek would probably be agreeing to it in a heartbeat.

Luckily for him, it seems to be just a little light sports on Eli's agenda.

Clearing his throat, Derek nods his head jerkily, transfixed eyes never leaving Eli’s grinning face. Stiles does not miss the way that Derek's trembling hands are slowly flexing and unflexing at his sides.

“Of course, that sounds – that sounds great.” Derek blinks rapidly, like he is trying to shake off the escalating intensity of his stare. With a small tip of his head, he finally manages to tear his gaze away from Eli, sliding it across the room and over to the Sheriff. “It’s, uh – it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

As soon as today’s visit was pencilled in, Stiles made sure to have a very stern and very frank conversation with his dad. A clear talk to assert that, no matter what either of their opinions on Derek might be, they are not allowed to behave in any manner but perfectly civil and passably polite while in front of Eli.

The kid needs a chance to develop a relationship with his other father without Derek and Stiles’ history coming into play. This is about Eli, his dad had agreed, grumbling and eventual, after a hushed and heated argument ended only by Stiles’ proverbial foot stomping down onto the ground.

Which is the reason – Stiles thinks, at least – that his dad’s reply to Derek is simply a quick and only slightly clipped, “Yes. Likewise.”

Stiles tucks an arm behind his back to lift a subtle thumbs up in his dad's direction. His dad huffs in vaguely grouchy response to it.

“C’mon,” Eli says, wasting no time at all in wrapping his fingers around the crook of Derek’s elbow and beginning to tug him over to the door leading out to the backyard. “I’ve been waiting to test this thing out for ages. Grandpa can’t play with me anymore because of his back, and pops just plain sucks at lacrosse.”

“Thanks, kid,” Stiles deadpans as they pass him.

Eli does not even pause his steps as he throws a cheeky grin towards his pops.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but, just a second before he yanks the door open and starts pushing a still mostly bewildered Derek through it. “See you later!”

Low pressure tags ❤️ @raisesomehale @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop

#sterek #my fic

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unrefinedmusings · 1 year ago

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no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader headcanons

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, nasty situations, age gaps, dirty talk, strip clubs, threesome, mentions of infidelity, sexually forward behavior?, not proofread very well

a/n: blaming this one on ovulation and listening to hot stuff by donna summer on repeat. only one of the scenarios is told in second perspective, but feel free to think of all of them as you.

currently obsessing over a joel miller slut era

the outbreak never happened and sarah is off at college. being a father has been his greatest joy. he would not trade a second of his time with sarah for a more rebellious youth. but when joel is almost 45 and living in an empty house, he gets lonely. and bored. that's when he starts to notice. the fleeting glances. the overt stares. he never realized how much attention he got. so he lets his dick do the thinking for a while. who could blame him? people were throwing themselves at his feet. who could blame them?

some standout moments:

while shopping for a birthday present for sarah, joel walks into a boutique at the mall. it's a small store and a slow day. the girl at the counter perks up at the sight of him. she's not subtle, nearly salivating when he walks over to ask for help. she touches him way more than what is appropriate while giving an opinion on earrings. all he does is lick his lips in her direction before she's locking the front door and turning the shop sign to closed. he drags her into a changing room despite her suggestion of the back office. joel doesn't mind the size of the stall when it means he can watch her face while he pounds her from behind. when he finishes, he kneels to make her finish one more time on his tongue. "make sure to watch yourself, honey. look so pretty when you cum."

joel miller is neither stupid nor cruel enough to get involved in someone else's marriage...but that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. since entering the business, he's found that every bored housewife loves to flirt with the contractor. now he just lets himself flirt back. watch their cheeks flush when he winks across the room. see them turn their weddings rings around, as if not seeing a diamond will make him forget their husbands hired him. it gives him an ego boost knowing they'll think of him in their marital beds that night.

hank, one of the younger guys on his crew, is engaged and invites joel to his bachelor party. tommy insists he go, at the least so as to not come off as an unfriendly boss. the strip club is loud, and his beer is overpriced and watered down. none of that matters when he sees the little devil come out on stage. she's wearing a lacy red corset that's pried open, letting her tits bounce free. he palms his cock under the table when she spreads her legs wide for the audience, and chuckles when her horns don't fall off even when she's upside down. joel had always been impressed by the fancy spins and twirls, but what he loved most was watching a woman make love to the pole. she's gyrating against it like a cat in heat, even turning around and letting the smooth metal slide between her asscheeks. she saunters over after her show, slides into his lap and offers him a dance in a private room. the horns fall off while she's bouncing on his cock, chasing her orgasm as his fingers work her clit.

the one he should probably feel the worst about it is the least his fault. those girls were so eager. they zeroed in on him before he realized. joel wanted to get a beer after work, the two seniors from Texas A&M wanted to sow their wild oats. joel knew they were a little too young for him, but they insisted since neither had been with an older man or had a threesome before. both girls sidled up on either side of him at the bar, each slipping a hand onto his thighs. he can't feel that bad when he remembers what having two pretty young things kissing on his cock was like. what it was like lying in his bed, one on his cock and one sitting on his face. hard to feel bad about that.

his favorite occasion is the night he meets you. it's late. he's had an awful day. two guys on his crew called in sick and he had no time to eat. he stops at an old school drive in for a couple burgers. in his side mirror he sees you, sees your uniform: cropped white tee, short black skirt, and, oh fuck him, rollerskates. your tits jiggle as you come to a stop by the driver's side window of his truck. you catch him staring. he can't muster the energy to be inconspicuous. joel's gaze lifts to meet yours and sees the flirtatious smile you've got on. leaning against the door, you ask to take his order. "I'll get two burgers, some fries, and two shakes if you've got time, sweetheart. Only one if you got somewhere else to be." You take your break in his back seat sipping on a vanilla shake with his head between your legs. After you cum, he lifts your shirt up and jacks off on your tits. He makes sure to grab the panties hooked on your skates and tuck them into his jeans. When you ask for them back, he spanks your ass. "I'm coming back for another pair. When's your next shift?"

💕💕💕💕💕

Thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller headcanon #joel miller drabble #the last of us #the last of us drabble #joel miller x you #tlou smut

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ghostinacardboardbox · 5 months ago

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@averagecygnet-blog i accidentally deleted your ask about my opinion on the themes in Black Friday 😶 sorry bout that anywhere here’s my thoughts.

So like first of all, like you’ve already said, the critique of consumerism is incredibly heavy handed. You are right. It is not at all subtle. We’ve all heard Made in America. But I really don’t think it was possible to tell this story and have it be subtle; this was always going to be an incredibly overt anti-capitalist message.

Starting with the real life inspirations of the premise, the “Tickle-Me Wiggly” is already a direct reference to “Tickle-Me Elmo,” which was a toy that inspired real life riots ending in at least a handful of injuries and arrests. In the scene right after the Wiggly Jingle, Paul and Emma discuss Cabbage Patch Kids. The Cabbage Patch riots have their own wiki page. The idea of parents literally resorting to violence over toys on Black Friday is something that already happens. So this musical is really just looking at those events, saying, “Wow, capitalism sure makes people behave badly,” and then pushing that concept to its most exaggerated form. The fact that it isn’t subtle is not a bug, it’s a feature.

I also see people bring up this theme almost entirely in relation to the song Made in America rather than connecting it to almost every scene. As if this isn’t a show that doesn’t begin with an advertisement. The opening number is an ad.

(Apparently an effective one, considering how quickly Starkid sells out of the Lord in Black dolls whenever they sell them. People literally watched a whole musical about how the doll represents using the product of capitalism to distract from societal problems and then went and bought the doll. And I would have, too, if I had the money. But I think about the irony.)

I'm not going to go through every scene and the capitalist imagery in it, mostly because I don't actually have anything particularly unique to say about it. Like most of them are fairly self-explanatory and I'm not particularly good at analysis. But do want to specifically bring up the lyrics of "Our Doors Are Open" since they usually get overshadowed by people talking about how much cunt Corey served (it's a lot of cunt. Record amounts of cunt served), because the entire song is both satirical and foreshadowing. Also the bridge of "First of Famine" and the dehumanization of the worker, etc. etc.

I'm also fascinated by the social dynamics in Black Friday. Lex is basically raising her sister due to their mother's neglect; Tom is a single dad; Becky is a domestic abuse survivor; and while Linda's family externally looks very well-put together, she's had multiple affairs, and it's revealed in the Nightmare Time episode "Honey Queen" that she blatantly plays favorites with her kids and has a terrible relationship with her father. Lex is a poor retail worker, Tom and Becky are middle class, and Linda is very wealthy. Black Friday more than any other Starkid show acknowledges the implications of social class, I think. I wonder if part of why a lot of people don't like it is because it's not really escapism the way a lot of other musicals are; it's pretty clear about dealing with real life problems, in a very simplified but obvious way.

I think all the time about the scene where Linda tells Becky, in front of a crowd, that everyone knew her husband was abusive and chose to stay silent. It's such an important moment because it's directly showing the audience just how cruel Linda is. It had been implied before but this was on another level. And it also serves as, again, a pretty basic depiction of how society treats victims. Like, saying that "bystanders will always look away as long as there's plausible deniability to preserve their own comfort" is pretty simple, but that doesn't mean it's a bad point to make, and I think it's made well. The title song also has the lines "I don't want your half-baked sympathy, / When did it save those in need?" which reinforces a similar concept; expressing pity isn't the same as actually taking any kind of action.

And then, of course, there is all the religious imagery. Every time I watch this show I notice more of it, it's everywhere and it's so cool. The show takes place during the holiday season so there are a lot of references to Christmas, specifically. Wiggly keeps saying it will be his birthday, and Linda will "birth" him, so they are tied to Jesus and the Virgin Mary, symbolically (While writing this I had the thought that Wiley possibly counts as the angel Gabriel, then). And I think that using Christmas works because of how commercial Christmas in the US is. If your eldrith god is using capitalist desires as a recruiting tactic, having him bastardize Christmas for his own purposes is a pretty logical step I think. It's also not just that Wiggly is associated with Christmas thematically but also in a sense the iconography of the holiday becomes Wiggly. The garlands on the balcony turning into Wiggly's tentacles is one of the greatest set design pieces I've ever seen. Even apart from the functionality of it as a low-cost set that can go unnoticed until it's needed, it so perfectly evokes the imagery of Wiggly literally corrupting the holiday imagery. The first time I saw that scene I was amazed. I don't feel like checking rn who did the set design for Black Friday but whoever they are, they're fucking incredible. No notes.

And then the music. This is by far my favorite Starkid score overall. I love it so much. Partially because I, known 80's pop-rock enjoyer, am obsessed with a good synthesizer, but also just because of how well the songs suit this particular story. The synths are used most in the songs that show Wiggly's influence (Feast or Famine, Adore Me, Wiggle). Is "non-traditional instruments represent the unknown and otherworldly" the most unique special concept ever? No. But I like it and it sounds cool so like idc.

Jeff Blim is an incredible songwriter who is so talented in so many genres, and I'm always impressed with the songs he writes for Hatchetfield. I think sometimes we don't appreciate enough that all of these songs are by one guy (also Matt Dahan's musical direction for the entire series and the underscoring for both seasons of Nightmare Time that works in the melodies of previously used songs so incredibly). All of the Nightmare Time songs are so different, and all three of the stage shows have a very distinctive sound that really makes sense with the story that's being told. And one of the things Jeff does best in my opinion is the use of repeated melodies and leitmotifs.

Hatchetfield is full of them. There's been a lot of discussion of it in Nerdy Prudes because that show has so many motifs (i.e. the Nightmare Time riff, the "I'm not a loser" melody), and one of them actually comes from Black Friday. In The Summoning, right after Wiggly says "fwendy-wends," the keyboard melody that plays is the same as the part in the song Wiggle that goes "We will build a portal just for [when he comes]" (The last few notes fade directly into the chorus of The Summoning). I'm not the first person to notice this or anything but I thought it was so cool when it happened.

And Wiggle itself is using a different melody: The Carol of the Bells. Again, it ties into the idea of Wiggly completely taking over the idea of the Christmas season. The lyrics of Wiggle also include the lines "He will rise up with joyful noise," and I didn't realize that not everyone would catch that as a religious reference until a friend commented about it but "joyful noise" is a biblical reference (Psalm 100:1). It all ties back to the religious themes.

This last one may not be intentional, but the last song also really makes me think of another Christmas carol? The opening lyrics of What If Tomorrow Comes ("Do you all see what I see, / What I know, / What I see?") really reminds me of the song "Do You All Hear What I Hear?" The melody is different and only vaguely similar so I may be reading too far into it, but I always got the feeling that I'd heard something like that before and wasn't able to place it until last year.

Anyway TLDR Black Friday is heavy handed but I think it actually works better that way, and I like how strong the imagery throughout it is.

#This is probably way longer than you wanted and is just me talking about everything I like about this musical lol #ghost posts from their box #ghost gets asks #< genuinely so sorry about deleting the ask I did not mean to but it was two in the morning #black friday #hatchetfield #musical theatre #team starkid #tom houston #becky barnes #linda monroe #lex foster #uncle wiley #wiggog y'wrath

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haziwritesstuff · 10 months ago

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My little rose, part 2

"You are meant to be the love of my next life."

Pairing | Aemond and Aegon x reader Wordcount | 5.5k (lol oops) Warnings | Medieval misogyny

Part 1

Once you are far enough from King’s Landing, you feel calmer and more relaxed than before. Your head is clear and the air feels fresh and invigorating after flying for so long. As you look down at the landscape below, you realize that you have to return to the castle at some point.

The thought of going back to the castle fills your thoughts, you feel a small twinge of anxiety in your stomach. You know that you'll have to face people, and potentially face Aegon or Aemond. You continue to fly over the surrounding land for a few more minutes, enjoying your peaceful time alone with Silverwing. As you feel the tension easing up inside you, you suddenly realize that you've been flying for a while, and Silverwing needs rest. It’s time to take her back to the Dragonpit. As you turn toward the castle, you see that there are still people out and about.

Your heart skips a beat when you see your father waiting for you below and you feel a rush of anxiety fill your body. You'd rather not face him at the moment, especially not after last night. As you descend towards the courtyard, you notice that he is staring at you, his expression cold and unreadable as always. You think about just turning Silverwing around and flying away, but you know that you'd only be putting off the inevitable. Considering your options, you realize that it would only be temporary relief. Daemon would come looking for you later, and you'd have to face him eventually. You feel like it would be better to get it over with now, rather than drag it out for longer.

You guide Silverwing to a safe area and land in the courtyard. You notice that Daemon is still watching you, his expression cold and stoic as he stands there waiting. You feel a shiver down your spine as Daemon's gazes bores into you. He looks like he's in a mood for a confrontation and that's the last thing you want to deal with right now. You slowly dismount from Silverwing, and make your way towards Daemon, feeling the tension growing with every step. He remains motionless and expressionless. You can feel the tension building between you as he stares at you with his cold, unwavering gaze. You don't know how to read the situation, but you get the feeling that this is not going to be an easy conversation. When you're finally in front of him, Daemon's eyes narrow a bit as he looks at you. He waits for you to speak, and you can feel the silence hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the tension building with every moment of silence.

"Did I disappoint you last night?" He looks at you silently for a moment, like he's weighing his words. When he finally speaks, his expression is still impassive but there's a subtle hint of anger in his voice. He doesn't sound overtly upset but you can tell that he's not happy about your interaction with Prince Aegon. "I had expected more from you," Daemon says sharply, looking away as he does so. His tone is sharp and blunt, his words like arrows directed at you. You can't help but feel hurt and embarrassed as you hear his words. "I'm sorry," you reply softly, feeling embarrassed and defensive. "Do you think you were acting appropriately?" Daemon asks sharply, still looking away. His tone is still cold and hard and you can feel the distance growing between you as he refuses to meet your gaze.

"He deserved it..." "So you enjoyed embarrassing him?" Daemon asks sharply, his eyes narrowing in accusation. "You enjoyed calling him a dick and making him look like a fool in front of everyone?" You weren't sure if you should answer that honestly, "No... I did not." "No?" Daemon asks, raising an eyebrow with slight amusement. The anger is still in his voice, but he seems more amused than angry now. "And what exactly did you get from mocking him then? I can't say a single good word about Aegon, but we don't need you mocking him. Understand?"

"I'll apologize to him, father." "Yes you will." Daemon says curtly. "But that's not enough. I expect you to start acting more maturely from now on." "Yes, father," you reply, feeling like a child. You aren't sure how to respond to his remarks and you're already feeling very self-conscious and embarrassed. His gaze is still hard and cold, but he's no longer seeming very upset with you. It seems like he has moved on and is letting you off the hook, at least for now.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As you head in the direction of Aegon's chambers, you can't help but feel nervous. You’re uncertain as to how he'll react to seeing you again, especially after last night. But you're also determined to apologize and make things right. Finally, you arrive at Aegon's chambers. You knock softly at the door and wait for a response, feeling nervous and unsure as you wait. You wonder if you should just leave if he doesn't answer right away. After a moment, you hear a soft, low voice come from the other side of the door. "Come in," says Aegon in his characteristic mocking tone. You open the door and walk into his chambers. You see him sitting on the edge of his bed, a cup of wine in his hand. The chamber is rather dim, with the curtains pulled over the windows. You see Aegon glance up at you briefly before looking away and taking a sip from his wine cup.

You hesitate as you step into the dimly lit room. The atmosphere is rather cold and aloof, and it seems like Aegon has no interest in talking with you. He's not even looking at you now, just taking a drink of his wine and staring off into space. You feel awkward and uncomfortable and you wonder how you are suppose to begin the conversation. "I was hoping we could talk..." When you speak, Aegon simply looks over at you for a moment, his face an impassive mask. He doesn't say anything in response, and just continues to stare off into space, seemingly ignoring you. He takes another sip from his wine cup and places it on the table next to him. You feel a wave of frustration and agitation rising within you, as if you're trying to speak to a wall. "I wanted to apologize," you say softly, feeling like you're speaking into a void. You're not sure that he's listening to a single word you're saying and he doesn't seem to realize how hard this is for you. Aegon's expression remains as cold and aloof as ever, offering no hints as to how the conversation is going. He simply continues to stare off into space, paying no attention to you or your apology. It's as if he's ignoring you completely, which only heightens your growing frustration. "I'm sorry for how I acted last night," you continue softly, trying to maintain your calm. You can't help but feel like you're just giving a monologue to someone who's not even listening to you. You just hope that he'll say something soon, or at least look at you...

And finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon finally breaks the silence. He sighs softly and stares at you for a moment, looking somewhat more serious now. Your heart skips a beat and hope begins to flicker inside you. "So you expect me to just forgive and forget what happened last night?" Aegon says sharply, his tone still mocking and condescending. You can feel the familiar surge of anger and annoyance rising inside you and it feels like you're right back where you started. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. It's clear that he's not going to forgive you easily and you know that you need to tread carefully here. You try your best to maintain your composure and not give into your emotions, but it's difficult in the face of his mocking tone. "No. I don't expect you to forget anything, I do hope you can forgive me though."

"So you think that your cute little apology is enough?" Aegon says mockingly, his tone still sharp and sarcastic. You can't help but feel like he's taunting you and it's starting to push your buttons. "I'm just being honest," you reply softly, feeling your temper starting to flare up. "I'm just... Just trying to make things right. Isn't that what I'm suppose to do after making a mistake?" "Is that what your daddy taught you?" Aegon says in a scornful voice. "You think that you can make things right just by saying a few pretty words and waving your sweet little smile in my face?" "Yes, that's what my father told me," you reply sharply, angry now. It feels like he's being dismissive and he's not taking you seriously at all. "He told me that being honest and trying to make things right after making a mistake is the mature thing to do. I guess that’s a lesson you never got."

"I mean, it's such a sweet little apology. Your precious daddy trained you well." Aegon says mockingly, his tone still sarcastic and condescending. "But you're forgetting one thing." "What's that?" you ask softly, wondering what he's about to say. You're feeling agitated and angry now, and you're tired of his sarcastic tone. "Your apology means nothing unless you actually mean it. And how can you mean it when I know you don't even care that much... All you want to do is get me to forgive you instead of thinking that you actually owe me an apology. So if you want to be forgiven by me, then start acting like you're actually sorry." "What else do you want me to say? I've already apologized and admitted my mistakes. I can't say things that I don't believe in." you reply softly, feeling frustrated and annoyed, but also realizing that he may have a point.

"If you believe you said sorry then why aren't you looking at me in the eyes and giving me a proper apology?" Aegon asks mockingly, his attitude becoming more and more mocking the longer the conversation drags on. It feels almost deliberate, like he's trying to push you to your limits. Before you can reply, Aegon stands up from the bed and walks closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours. He stares intensely at you, as if waiting for a response. Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself staring into his piercing blue eyes, feeling your throat suddenly becoming tight around the words you want to say. "You see Princess, if you want to be forgiven... You have to try a lot harder."

"What do you want me to do? Kneel or prostrate myself?" you ask sharply, feeling increasingly annoyed by the situation. You can't help but feel like he's enjoying this exchange, like he's taking pleasure in seeing you struggle. "Oh, no... No, no, no. I would never ask you to do that. I'm just asking for a proper apology." Aegon says with a mock smile. "A proper apology should always come with an honest expression of remorse and sincerity. But I'm not seeing that here." "I already said I'm sorry and I meant it. If you don't want to accept my apologies, then so be it." you reply sharply. You feel like you're being treated unfairly and you can't help but feel like he's trying to deliberately piss you off. "That's the thing though, dear Princess. I don't think you are sorry. Your apology sounds like a bunch of empty, meaningless words. You don't actually show any remorse or sincerity." Aegon says mockingly, his tone becoming even harsher now. "So is that what you want? For me to break down in front of you, begging you for forgiveness? Do you want me to cry and tear my hair out for you?" you ask angrily, feeling like you're at the end of the rope with this conversation. "Let's be honest, I would be rather amused to watch you cry and beg for forgiveness. It sure would break up the dullness of this day." Aegon says, his mocking tone now becoming outright cruel and mocking.

"You're an utter jerk, you know that?" you reply angrily, your temper getting the best of you. You storm out of the room, feeling frustrated and angry as you slam the door behind you. You can't believe that your apology was met with such mockery and condescension. It's clear that you were just a pawn in his cruel little game. You feel so angry and humiliated, you don't think you'll ever speak to him again.

The rest of the day passes by, and you try your best to pretend that you're not still annoyed by the whole thing. No matter how hard you try, you can't help but replay the conversation over and over again in your mind. Evening finally arrives and you finally get to relax and retire to your chambers. You're feeling mentally exhausted and drained and all you want to do is curl up in your bed and be alone with your thoughts. You try to distract yourself by doing some reading. However, you can't focus on your book for very long, as someone knocked on the door of your chamber. It breaks you out of your mental spiral. You wonder who could be knocking at this hour, and you get up from your bed to go check. When you open the door, you see Aegon standing there.

He's just standing there, his expression cold and indifferent. It's a far cry from the mocking and condescending tone you heard earlier today. You can't help but wonder why he's here. Without saying a word, Aegon simply walks straight in, his icy blue eyes locked on your face the entire time. You can't help but feel uneasy in his presence as he crosses your chambers. He walks over to your bed and sits down on the edge, his eyes still watching you intently. Instead of saying anything, Aegon just stares at you for a long moment, his eyes never breaking away from yours. The silence is deafening, until finally he speaks. "I have a condition for your forgiveness." Aegon says in a solemn and serious tone, his eyes never wavering from your face. "Oh yeah? What condition is that?" you ask sharply, feeling angry and irritated again. You can't help but feel like this is a continuation of his cruel mockery from earlier today. "You have to kiss me." Aegon says bluntly, his gaze finally breaking away from yours as he stares off to the side. The quiet tension returns to the air as you stare at him, feeling surprised and confused. You can't help but wonder if he's joking or not. "You heard me." Aegon speaks, staring back at you with the same serious and solemn expression. "You have to kiss me, and if you do, then I will forgive you."

"Kiss you? You're joking right?" you ask sharply, feeling shocked and confused. You can't believe this is a legitimate condition for forgiveness. "Dead serious," Aegon replies firmly, showing no hint of humor in his expression. "You kiss me, just once, and I'll consider forgiveness granted. But you have to really mean it, not just a quick peck on the cheek. I want a proper, long and passionate kiss. If you do that, then and only then will the slate be clean."

You stand there for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. The mere thought of kissing him is making you feel uncomfortable, but at the same time, you can't help but be intrigued by the idea. His icy stare is unwavering as he waits for your answer. You can't help but feel slightly attracted to him, you feel the tension rising with every passing moment and your heart is beating faster as you consider the idea of kissing him. It's not something you'd ever consider under normal circumstances, but there's something about him that's making you feel... intrigued. You find yourself taking a step toward him, your body almost moving on its own.

"You don't deserve a kiss." "I think I do." Aegon says softly, slowly stepping toward you as well. The tension between the two of you grows by the second, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to him. There's almost no distance left between your faces now, your lips almost touching. "Kiss me if you genuinely feel sorry, if you truly want to be forgiven.” he adds softly, his eyes still locked on yours. You can't help but feel your heart beating faster and faster. The heat of the moment is making it hard to think rational thoughts or to even remember why you're supposed to be mad at him in the first place. Your breath becoming hotter and faster and you finally gave in. It's a passionate and intense kiss, and you feel a wave of excitement rushing through you like never before. You find yourself pressing into him, feeling his body tightly against you as the warm touch of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. You feel like you're on cloud nine, the tension of the interaction melting away as you're swept up into the passion and emotion of the moment.

"That wasn't so hard, was it Princess?" Aegon pulls away after a few moments, watching you breathe heavily and catch your breath. Your lips are still moist and warm from the kiss and you feel like you can't remember anything else other than the feeling of his lips on yours. You feel flushed and disorientated as you stare back at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. "I accept your apology." he says teasingly before leaving you alone in your chamber. You stand there for a moment, trying to catch your breath and make sense of what just happened. You're still feeling flushed and disorientation, and the taste of Aegon's lips is still lingering on your lips. You can't help but feel slightly embarrassed and confused, but at the same time, you can't deny that it was one of the most thrilling experiences you can remember. You feel like you're floating on air.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Morning arrived rather quickly. You finish getting ready and step outside, feeling a bit exhausted but overall in a good mood. You can't help but feel giddy from the exchange with Aegon last night,and you can't wait to see him again. When you step outside, you see Aemond landing Vhagar. You stare at him, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. You look at Vhagar in awe and admiration, the sheer size of the dragon is truly breathtaking. It's like looking at an enormous mountain made of scales and teeth and claws. She is truly a majestic sight to behold, and you can’t help but be intrigued by her presence. You notice that Aemond is giving you a small smile as well.

You feel your heart beating faster as you stare at each other. The tension between you two be felt and you find yourself feeling slightly overwhelmed by his presence. Your stomach starts to feel like it's doing somersaults. Aemond breaks the stare first, glancing at you briefly and then looking away. He seems slightly shy and you feel like you caught a glimpse of some emotion you weren't meant to see in his eyes. You watch him dismount from Vhagar, your eyes following him as he walks towards you. Your whole body feels like it's on fire, every nerve in your body tingling with excitement. He stops right in front of you, standing close enough to touch. You hold your breath as you wait for him to say something, hoping he'll break the silence. The tension between you two is almost unbearable, as you feel like you'll explode at any second. His intense gaze doesn't let up either and it feels like he's staring right through you.

"You're up early." You realize that you must have been staring a bit too enthusiastically, because Aemond looks slightly amused by your expression. You start to grow a bit self-consciousness when he calls you out like that, but you also feel a bit smitten as he stares at you in amusement. "I... didn't sleep well last night." You reply anxiously, not sure what else to say. You feel like Aemond's gaze is looking right through you. The silence hangs heavy between you two and you can't help but feel a little awkward. You aren't sure what to say next. You can feel your heart beating faster than normal, and your mind goes completely blank trying to think of something to say.

"Fly with me." You are startled by the sudden request, but you find your own response coming out even before you realize what's happening. "Really?" "Afraid you can't keep up with little Silverwing?" "I..." you struggle to find the right word to describe your anxiety, feeling like you're struggling to gather your thoughts. The truth is that part of you would love to fly with Aemond, but another part of you is so worried about being a burden on him that you find it difficult to say yes. You also can't help to be slightly hurt that he referred to Silverwing as "little Silverwing", even though you know he likely meant no offense by the remark. "I just..." you still can't find the right words, and you find yourself growing slightly irritated by Aemond's amused expression. He seems to be looking at you with a smirk, as if he knows exactly what's going on in your head and is just enjoying teasing you. "I'm not really sure if I should..." you reply hesitantly, not wanting to feel like a burden to him. He seems to be enjoying the whole exchange immensely and you feel like he's enjoying watching you struggle with your words. "I... I would love to..." you suddenly find yourself saying, your eyes widening in surprise at your own answer. You feel like you've been drawn in by his charm and playful manner and your heart is beating even faster now as you realize you've suddenly agreed. You can't help but feel a bit dizzy and overwhelmed by the sudden change in atmosphere, but you're also excited and looking forward to the experience of flying with Aemond.

You mount Silverwing swiftly, your heartbeat increasing with each moment. As you look around, you see Aemond already flying away, waiting for you to catch up. You take off on Silverwing and fly after him, your heart pounding in your chest as the adrenaline rush fills you. You feel a bit giddy as the winds whip past you, your heart filled with anticipation and excitement. You feel like you're flying in a dream, the world around you becoming a blur as your thoughts become consumed with the flight ahead. As you look ahead, you see Aemond's figure getting bigger and bigger, the sight filling you with wonder and amazement as you approach him.

He flies higher and higher into the clouds, your heart pounding harder and harder as you follow closely behind. The landscape grows smaller and smaller beneath you, and your breath starts getting shorter and shorter as you fly higher and higher into the sky. You feel like you're floating on a cloud, the only sound in the world being the buzzing of the wind in your ears. You can almost feel like the air itself is singing to you as you fly, and you feel a sense of euphoria and peace like you've never felt before. You continue to move forward, flying higher and higher until eventually the air starts to become thinner and thinner. You feel your breathing become more and more labored, and you start to feel the effects of altitude on your body. But the view is like nothing you've ever seen before, the sky a deep blue and the clouds turning a light shade of white. You feel a feeling of exhilaration and awe as you marvel at the sight, taking in each moment with a sense of glee and joy.

The breath coming in shorter and shorter as you go higher and higher. You're no longer able to hear anything clearly, and your body feels like it's being weighed down by the thin air and altitude. You continue to marvel at the view, feeling like you're floating in a dream-like state where nothing else matters but the sight in front of you. But you feel your body giving way, the altitude taking its toll as you start to feel lightheaded and dizzy.

You feel a sudden rush of relief as you see Vhagar moving down towards you, the sight of the land coming into view once more as if by magic. Your body feels a bit heavy and dizzy, but you feel thankful for Aemond's presence and guidance. As you land, you are able to get off Silverwing without too much difficulty, and you're feeling better as you begin to feel the ground beneath your feet once more. Aemond dismounted Vhagar as well, coming over to you. He looks at you cautiously, checking your wellbeing as he sees that you are still a bit wobbly. "Are you alright?" he asks gently, placing his hand on your shoulder to ensure you are stable. You feel a bit flushed and embarrassed at the sudden gesture, but you can't help but feel thankful for his concern. It's like he can always see what you're feeling and that makes you feel safe and comforted in his presence. "I..." you find yourself struggling to find the words again, still a bit disorientated and dizzy from the experience. You feel like you're still breathing heavily and your heart is still racing. You feel slightly embarrassed by your reaction. Aemond notices your hesitation and he sighs gently as he pulls you close and gives you a hug. He holds you tightly against him, and you can't help but feel reassured by his presence. You feel like he's wrapping you in his arms, and you find yourself feeling oddly relaxed and safe in his protective embrace. As close as you are, you find yourself noticing his heartbeat as if it's your own. You feel like you could stay like this forever, lost in a bliss of comfort and closeness.

He lets go of you gently, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nods in understanding. He seems to recognize the emotions of embarrassment and flusterment that you feel, and he gives you a gentle smile before stepping away. Aemond has such an intimate and understanding look towards you, and you're filled with a sense of affection for him that is beyond words. "T-thanks..." Aemond smiles warmly at you, letting his gaze stay on you for a moment before he glances away in amusement. You don't know what it is about his gaze, but there's something so intimate about it that makes your heart flutter. You feel like there is a deep connection between you two that goes beyond just words. You barely know him, but something about him draws you in completely.

"It's my pleasure." he replies softly, his smile a mixture of amusement and affection. You look into his eye and you find yourself feeling a bit overwhelmed by the depths of his gaze. You feel like there's so much to explore, as if there are infinite possibilities within. You also feel like he's reading you perfectly, like his eyes are an open book to your soul.

"Well, I should-" he starts to say, but you can't help but feel a feeling of wanting to stay near him a bit longer. "Don't leave yet." you find yourself saying, your voice slightly hoarse from the excitement and nerves. You're struck by a sudden feeling of desperation to stay close to him, feeling like you're losing something precious as he starts to move away. You feel like you have to say something to keep him nearby and you realize how badly you want him to stay. Your words caught him off guard, he glances at you thoughtfully, seeming slightly flustered by your words. "I..." he starts to say, but you can't help yourself from suddenly moving closer to him, placing your hands softly on his shoulders. It's a gesture done almost instinctively.

His eye widen a bit, his breath hitching ever so slightly at the unexpected gesture. You can sense his surprise at the sudden closeness between you two. You feel like you're stepping over a line, but you find yourself feeling drawn to him and wanting to be as close as possible. As you lean closer, a sudden draconic roar fills the air, breaking your concentration and the intense feeling of intimacy that had built up. You feel your heart dropping as you pull away, realizing it was a different dragon roaring in the air. You look around anxiously, trying to spot the source of the sound.

The source of the roar becomes more clear, as you see the golden glimmer of Sunfyre's scales rising above the trees. You can sense the intensity of the moment building, as you watch Aemond's gaze narrow more and more. You feel like a storm is about to be unleashed and you feel a bit of a jolt of fear run through you as you realize that something is going to happen. You watch as Aemond's gaze track the progress of Sunfyre, as it flies across the sky and grows closer and closer. The golden dragon's roar fills the air, its wings whipping the wind and sending swirls of dust flying as it approaches. Aemond doesn't take his eyes off of the dragon, and you feel like a conflict is about to erupt. You watch as Sunfyre lands on the ground, its golden scales glistening brightly in the sunlight.

You watch as Aegon dismounts from Sunfyre's back, his expression stern and serious. You can feel the tension building in the air, and you can see the muscles in Aemond's frame tightening as he gets ready to engage in combat. The intensity of the moment is building, the air is growing thicker with the sound of the dragon's roar and the sight of Aemond and Aegon facing off against each other. You feel like you're a bit of a bystander now, watching as the conflict between the two men intensifies. "Running off with my girl, brother?"

"I was merely escorting her back to Dragonstone. She was our guest. Nothing more." Aemond replied crisply and calmly, not taking his eyes off Aegon’s face. You could tell that although his tone was level and even, there was a hint of tension under the surface that could burst out at any moment. "That's not what it looks like." Aegon responds sarcastically, his face tightening in anger. He seems to have taken offense to Aemond's response. The two men continue to stare at each other for a moment, before Aegon suddenly breaks out into a grin and steps towards Aemond. You can't help but feel a sense of surprise and anticipation at the switch in tone, which seems to have caught Aemond off guard as well. Aemond doesn't back down, however, and meets Aegon's gaze evenly and calmly. "Stop! I am no one's girl!" You hear your voice ring out, and you suddenly feel yourself stepping between the men as they stare at each other with sharp eyes. Relief washed over you as the tension between the two seems to diffuse a bit, as they both turn their eyes to focus on you instead.

Shivers running through you, as you become the center of attention. You stand between the two men, facing off against each other, as their eyes look at you intently from both sides. "There’s no need for this..." You find yourself whispering to yourself instinctively, a bit unsure of what to say or how to defuse the situation. The air is still thick with tension, and neither man seems ready to back down or de-escalate the situation. "I know how to handle my own affair." Aemond replies, and you find yourself feeling a bit of tension when he speaks. His tone is crisp and direct. "Do you? By having a showdown with your brother?" "This is between me and my brother only. Leave us." he replies curtly, and you feel like there's no reasoning with him at this point. You nod at him, "As you wish." You quickly mount Silverwing and take off into the air, escaping the tense atmosphere between the two brothers. You feel like you've just survived a near-miss, and you can't help but feel a bit relieved as you fly away on your dragon. The air is a bit cleaner now that you're away from the tension-filled environment, and you feel like you're able to breath easier once more.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x y/n #aegon x y/n

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doiefics · 1 year ago

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he could never

pairing: jennie x gn!reader

prologue: jennie is set to marry a suitable boy but she thinks it's never too late to run away

genre: royalty!au + angst

wordcount: 723

warnings: none

"You have to marry well." The words found their way out of your mouth for the nth time again, it was almost as if a toy has been winded up with a key.

Regardless, they could never convey what was buried inside your stupid organ, the heart.

Perhaps sometimes, things were better off in this manner.

"Why do you keep on telling me the same thing over and over again?" She voiced, never sounding irriated.

Everything she ever said to you lingered in your memory like a cherry mist.

"Because that is exactly what is going to happen!" You tossed her black pleated hair to her front, resting your arms on her shoulder as she faced the exuberant mirror.

She possessed what everyone desired. Expensive metal, imported perfumes, dresses in every colour of the rainbow, none of those could ever overpower her, for she was the most beautiful soul you had ever come across, and you were sure as hell you would never again.

"How do I look?" She asked, her gentle gaze fixed at the mirror's reflection.

"Beautiful, as always."

"More than beautiful to get his attention." You said as you pointed out the window.

Your speech was uninspired. At this point, you would not dare look her in the eyes.

She observed the boy as she tilted her head toward the window side.

There he stood with the untamed cocoa hair, dressed in linen slacks, added a black waistcoat, and a white puffed-sleeve button-down shirt. He was the son of one of her father's faithful lords, wealthy enough to satisfy her every wish at the blink of an eye.

This was the boy Jennie would marry.

You finally got the chance to look in the direction of the mirror while her arid eyes were still concentrated on the male.

Her appearance was mystical, the deeper you knew it, the more you craved for. A subtle smile that never parted ways with her rosy lips, similar to the natural blush of her cheeks. Her eyes, black, hypnotising, yet deep like the ocean.

In a flash of a moment, she looked at the shiny surface again, two eyes glanced for a moment but you were quick to avert.

Again, you could not dare meet them with hers, the fact that she was a princess was still the last reason though.

"He could never take your place." She moved as she proceeded to stand and you naturally bent down to fix her gown.

"No doubt. He wouldn't ever put on makeup or style your hair." You replied, grinning.

"You know very well what I mean is not that." She went on, hinting.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at." Your response was stern, willinglessly.

Jennie grabbed you by the arm to bring you to her level, her touch was hasty but never harsh.

"This is wrong." You worded.

"Why?" She questioned.

And you had no answer to her ask.

Your heart seemed to be the only organ present when you raised your head to meet hers as if you were trying to catch a butterfly before it flew away with her seductive lips serving as the other half of a broken magnet.

You kissed her. And she kissed you back.

With just one kiss from those lips, all of the uneasiness melted like honey in the royal kitchens.

The scorching yearning was like a flame, but it felt gentle like a cloud cushion.

You pulled back, tucking the little side fringes of her hair behind her ear, oh ever so delicately!

"He could never." Your eyes beamed with joy.

Jennie returned to your lips, this time shorter, as she kissed you through your smile.

"Let's run away." She whispered next to your ear.

"What? How? This- this doesn't suit a princess." You protested.

"Don't tell me it's wrong this time again or I will.." She was stern but not serious.

"Or else, you will?" You teased further.

"Oh, lord! I can't even be mad at you!" She gave herself away in the laughter, putting her arms around your neck. You hugged her back.

"What about him?" You murmured through her embrace.

"Let's see." She turned to take a closer look.

"He could possibly marry one of his lovely horses or his father's wealth." She chuckled.

This was the Jennie who was yours, only yours.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

have a request? prompt fic game is OPEN!

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thefangirlfever · 9 months ago

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DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 2)

Summary: You are finally back in your hometown and get to meet your father's friend, Miguel O'hara.

Tags: fluff, angst, slow burn, F/M, age gap, taboo relationship, mention of death and grief, reader is a woman of color

Notes: English is not my first language.

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« I tried to tell your uncle I was fine, but you know him… He immediately panicked and never left me alone after that ! »

« You broke your leg, dad... », you reply in a soft voice to him. Well, his body has changed but his wit is definitely the same and it even seems like his tongue has grown sharper. He doesn’t stop complaining to you about his cast, the hospital and how frustrating it feels to be stuck at home all day, unable to do what he actually likes… and you patiently listen to him. It’s comforting to think that he has enough energy inside him to rant about such things.

But all the while he keeps talking, your eyes never leave the other man. Miguel. You remember your dad telling you about a friend he met at his hiking club and the more you think about this, the more intrigued you get. You’re trying to be subtle about your looks as you glance at him from time to time. His large body looks squeezed inside the small flowery armchair he is sitting in. He almost looks awkward sitting there, out of place as if someone tried to squeeze him inside a doll’s house. His wide shoulders slouch down a bit and he almost looks sorry to be there, as if he was trying to make himself disappear into these plush pillows on top of the chair. There’s something almost funny about a man of this size acting this way ; with his hangdog look. You almost chuckle at the sight and you can’t hold back a smile. His eyes flash in your direction after watching your father for a long time, deep chestnut eyes with a hint of crimson inside them. It’s a very unlikely shade that just increases the intensity of his gaze by a tenfold. You find yourself unable to hold his gaze and looks back at your father. But even if your eyes are not focused on him, your thoughts bring you back to the man sitting across you. Did he find you impolite for staring ?

Your father seems to realize something and changes the topic of the conversation as abruptly as he did before :

« At least, there are a few good things coming out of this. You’re finally back home and you got to meet Miguel. Remember him ? I told you about him already. »

You’re not sure what to think about these two things. This place you’re inside of, is it really your home ? You don’t remember the wallpaper being this bland and the sofa looks too big now. Too empty. Maybe it’s the rain outside that makes you feel this way, as if everything was blended into different shades of gray and sepia. Everything except him, the man sitting in front of you, with his deep brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and the bright red of his corduroy shirt. You don’t know what to think about him for now. After your father mentioned him, he slowly sits up straighter. One of his hands rest on top of the armchair and to avoid his inquisitive look, your eyes drift down to this hand. A few black hair run down his arm to his knuckles and a delicate watch girds his wrist. No wedding ring in sight.

« Yes… I remember. Miguel from the hiking club ? My father talked a lot about you.», you finally stutter and your father doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. Is the man in front of you feeling it ? It doesn’t seem like because he replies :

« He talks a lot about you too. I was looking forward to meet you. » A subtle heat reaches the back of your ears and you don’t know if it comes from the fact that your father has been talking about you, or the sudden attention from this stranger. A witty comment would have usually left your lips and you wondered if somehow you lived up to his expectations.

“Oh...really?”

An awkward silence fills the space between the two of you, broken by your father again. It seems like he can’t stop talking as if he had kept all these words inside of him, waiting for you to let them come out. That’s how you learned that Miguel was not only found of hiking but also a doctor. The last one in town apparently. If not for the lack of health Service in the region, he would have already retired but he decided to stay. That was admirable of him but the way your father told you about his devotion to the city made you feel awkward. It sounded like a reproach for your own departure. You squirmed uncomfortably on your seat. Surprisingly, Miguel saved you by asking a new question:

“Your father told me you were working for a publishing house?”

You were glad for the change of topic and you slowly nodded your head, finally daring to look back at him. Under thick brows, his eyes were carefully studying your every motion, how you squirmed on the chair, crossed your legs or played with the hem of your sweater, anxiously pulling on a small thread. You could imagine what his patients would feel under his scrutinizing gaze and you found yourself looking at his hands again while searching for your words.

“I do. I am proofreading most manuscripts we get.”

It’s been almost ten years since you left your hometown for college. You still remember the day your parents dropped you at your dorm, their arms full of your boxes. And the way you cried like a baby the night after their departure even if you tried to play it cool in front of them. That’s how your life in the city began, by crying.

Since you weren’t saying anything else, your father told Miguel with a contrite tone in his voice that was unfortunately too familiar:

“Y/N studied English literature in college. She could have been a teacher, you know.” Before you could say anything, Miguel asked you an other question, acting like he didn’t hear your father:

“Do you like that?”

“What?” You tilted your head up, finally looking at him.

“Your job. Do you like it?”

That was a rather unexpected question for you and you didn’t know what to say at first. Did you like your job? Well, to some extent yes. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it. But you had to admit that when you knew you would have to take a break to come back home, you weren’t feeling sad. You wouldn’t miss your office, nor the pressure of the deadlines. An awkward silence fell on the three of you and when you felt the eyes of your father back on your face, you hastily replied:

“It’s interesting.”

You were glad that Miguel didn’t ask any more questions, only giving you a small smile as if he was trying to make you feel at ease, to show you that he understood. This was a judgment free look but something about it made you feel strange. He seemed curious. You could tell he wanted to ask you more questions but something was holding him back and so, he only nodded to you before saying that he should probably leave the two of you alone. After all, you probably had a lot of things to tell each other.

The idea of Miguel leaving you alone with your father in this large house that you didn’t recognize, made you panic. You knew that as soon as he would leave, you wouldn’t have any way to escape your father’s questions. Memories of many lonely evenings with him after the loss of your mother flooded your mind. The awkward silence, the non-said, the tension...you were too tired to face this tonight. When your father asked Miguel to stay for dinner, he seemed to hesitate and when his eyes met yours, it seemed like something shifted inside him. The two of you seemed to have a silent conversation because after a few seconds lost in each other’s eyes, he finally accepted your father’s offer to stay.

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< previous chapter / next chapter >

Notes: Chapter 3 will be a headcanon and will come out soon. I know this chapter may not be the most interesting but I'm still crafting the story and the character's background. Hope you liked it!

Taglist: @safixiovi

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #fanfic #spiderverse #dbf!miguel

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alektowrites · 2 years ago

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Hymnus Throni (teaser)

PAIRING: Foreign duchess! Irene x Princess! Reader _______________ WARNINGS: Light Royalty AU, marriage of convenience, bickering, foreign royalty Irene! Let's pretend Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome didn't beef with one another (Troy oop), S2F2L, somewhat Roman-descent! Y/N, somewhat Russian-descent! Irene, mommy - I mean IRENE HAS A RUSSIAN ACCENT, mentions of war, minor character death, tension, mentions of war, Percy Jackson and The Crown reference, smut in the future scenes so more warnings will come because come on, Irene's the MAIN warning 🥴🥴🥴 _______________ A/N: Hymnus Throni means The Throne's Hymn in Latin.

And I'm sorry this took so long 😭, my circuits were fried while I drafted this one-shot.

This is requested, by the way.

Enjoy <3333

________________ Terminologies:

Moja koroleva - my queen Dorogoj - darling

"I'm sure you've heard of the Baskovanian Kingdom from the North, where a lord who goes by the name of Alexie Gavriil; saved my life during the war, and in return for saving my life, I grant him one wish." He paused, "What did he wish for?"

Your stomach churns as an answer pops into your mind. You refuse to believe it.

No, no, no.

It can't be true-

"Marriage, between the two families." The guests gasped.

"Today," He declares, "You all will bear witness to a political arrangement between two influential empires!" He gestures a hand in front, and the crowd immediately parts except for the captivating woman. "Between Empress Y/N Valeria and Grand Duchess Irene Gavriil. Bow before your new rulers!"

The resplendent woman, Irene Gavriil, strides toward you like a lioness stalking her prey. Her eyes hid her scrutiny and annoyance well. As she approaches, the guests go down on one knee to bow before your bride. Their heads ducked as she took confident strides toward you and your father.

The emperor steps away from you to join the witnesses, smiling from ear to ear as the grand duchess stops in front of you. Her sapphire-blue eyes swirl with enigma and intelligence before she too, goes down on one knee, her eyes never leaving yours as she takes your right hand, her gloved hands gently holding your hand. You can hear your blood drumming against the back of your ears. How the temperature of your body drops from her intense gaze and how your stomach churns at her proximity. Your knees almost gaze out when her plump, pink lips press a kiss against the back of your palm. She never broke eye contact in doing so, and the crowd squeals as she stands.

And finally, she spoke. Her voice is raspy but sultry and alluring, with a hint of a soft accent that leaves your spine shivering.

"We finally meet," The side of her lip curls to a cold smile, "Moja koroleva."

Her icy gaze pierced through you. You reply with a smile, but your eyes harden, and your face stings with anger, annoyance, and frustration. Your smile drops to a venomous scowl.

Marriage never appealed to you. Even at your age, you never thought of marrying. You saw it as a means of tying someone down to a forced commitment, made to be caged inside a tower and squeeze out heirs.

You don't want this.

You'd rather travel around the world and paint the wonders you've seen than be bound to someone you haven't met.

Political marriages are damned, all of it be damned. Irene moves to the side. You were snapped out of your raging stupor when you felt her lean to your side and snaked her arm around your waist.

Her touch prickles your skin as she pulls you close to her side to face the guest who cheers for you two. You instantly stiffen at her proximity, allowing you to inhale her subtle but sweet scent.

She directs her head to your ear, her eyes never leaving the crowd as she whispers in your ear; her cold breath fans the outer lobe, and her raspy voice fills your ears.

"Smile, dorogoj." She commands with an icy, hushed tone, "If you want to fool them, including your father, I suggest you smile and pretend to be happy with this god-forsaken arrangement."

Begrudgingly, you catch on but you are unable to match the excitement of the guests with the declaration of your union. You cast a side-eyed glance at the foreign grand duchess, her gaze is just as hard and seething as yours.

At least you're not the only one who's not happy with the arrangement. That's what you can both agree on.

You're royally screwed.

Coming soon!

#irene x reader #red velvet x reader #red velvet irene #kpop oneshots #kpop imagines #kpop gg #fem reader #gxg imagine #gxg #alektowrites #red velvet joohyun #Hymnus Throni

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forgottenarthur · 6 months ago

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The Eagle & the Raven | Arthur & Edmund

It could easily be said that Edmund brought out the worst in Arthur. In truth, it wasn't any particular quality of either boy that made this so but, rather -- at least in Arthur's case -- what his brother represented to him. While Guinevere also offered a challenge to Arthur's own imperial hopes (and, indeed, needs -- Arthur did not believe he would survive his bid for the throne, should it fail), it was Edmund whom Arthur saw as the genuine threat.

Edmund was a collection of powers Arthur could not hope to contest, not really. Edmund was sharper, more calculating, and more educated. He was surrounded by witches, and heathen kings and gods were to be counted amongst his ancestors. He was subtle and slippery and Arthur rarely saw his barbs coming, till he came apart, all unprepared, the sharp sneer of his witnessing father clouding over Arthur's vision like the bright after-image of a blow to the head. But perhaps, indeed, Edmund's most formidable weapon was the one to which Arthur had the least resistance: he was Arthur's brother, and Arthur loved him. He knew that one day he must harm him, if he wished to survive, but Arthur had no desire to strike that blow.

Today, though? Today, he maybe did wish to hurt him. He couldn't say why, precisely, but the mere thought of Edmund pushed Arthur towards fury, and it was a fine feeling. This was how he ought to feel about him: his life would be easier if he did. The boys had bandied their usual barbs, that morning, and while Arthur was still smarting from them (these intellectual blows were always beyond his power to overwhelm), he'd caught the image of Edmund chatting with Aria from the corner of his eye while Arthur worked the practice yard. He'd been so absorbed in watching Aria's smiling eyes, locked on Edmund's, bloom into joy, that he'd not seen his opponent's blow coming, leaving Arthur staggering to the ground at the last moment. He'd lost the round -- and they were still talking as Arthur limped away.

It truly was a wretched day.

Arthur had been doing nothing but stewing since the event, but perhaps the thing that he regretted most of all was that he'd walked away from the fray -- not the practice yard: that was the only responsible and honorable move after his loss: but he could have walked up to Edmund and Aria, might have given a go at making her smile, himself, but instead he'd limped off to go nurse his wounds alone. So sure was he that Edmund's clever tongue would only leave him looking foolish in front of Aria, he'd not even given him the chance -- or taken the chance that perhaps (unlikely though it was), the matter might have gone another way, entirely. In truth, it wasn't Edmund's fault that Arthur had retreated before engaging -- but it was Edmund at whom he directed his anger.

His leg was still sore, but it was well enough, but still when he saw the opportunity approach -- he took it. As Edmund approached to take the last available chair, which happened to be beside Arthur, Arthur swung his leg up into it.

The ministers and generals were gathering, as they often did, for a conference with the emperor following the riots that week but -- they each of them in the room knew -- the emperor would leave them all waiting for hours till whatever time he decided he was quite ready. With the other ministers and generals all cahtting amongst themselves, no one noticed as Arthur beamed at his brother.

He gestured to the chair, grinning smugly to himself. "You don't mind standing, do you? My leg hurts like the blazes. But those're the risks we take, those of us brave enough to enter the training yard."

This was his go-to jibe, but it didn't satisfy him the way he wished, and he swallowed hard, glancing away from his brother in anger. Did she think he was more handsome? Funnier? More kingly? He was cleverer, Arthur knew that, he was quicker, and she liked high intellects. Aria was brilliant, really -- she knew everything about this place, its people, its rivers and its skies. She knew how to make the people love her, too. It was easy to love Aria -- quick wits and sharp tongue and spirited discourse, all. He couldn't blame Edmund if he'd set his sights on her. And he couldn't blame her, either, if she thought him a better match. Edmund was quick wits and sharp tongue and spirited discourse, too, in a way Arthur could never be. But it didn't stop the idea from making Arthur angry. Spiteful. It was an iron band around his chest.

All he did was try his best -- and it was never, ever enough. It made him sad. It made him angry. And it made him glare at Edmund, too, made him glare and cover it up with a glib smirk as if it mattered nothing to him.

He hadn't expected to feel this way, and he didn't like it. He didn't like what it meant. Didn't like how it felt. Didn't like that he'd likely lose this to Edmund, just as quickly as his father's crown. He was about to lose her. He could feel it. Just like he'd lost Eithne. Just like he would always lose.

"Or maybe you were too busy flirting with captives to join us, this morning?"

#the eagle and the raven #the eagle & the raven #comment #edmund varmont #itd been so long since i replied and sm has happened i thought id start these two anew <3 #(lbr we know arthur was losing that argument anyway -- and he knew it too ;D heehee)#anyway im sorry about him as always alksjdfkljdsf #hed lowkey be so embarrassed if he knew they were just fighting #but then he'd ultimately circle around to feeling insecure again bc that's how things started w him and aria too #facepalm #this got so long alkjsfkljsdkjf

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whenyoulosesmallmind · 11 months ago

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I fratelli Karamazov 1969 [EP1] - Ivan & Smerdjakov + at Katja's, the beginning of the three thousand rubles affair

As a farewell to 2023 and to a happy new year, I bring you... some more Karamazovian dramatics!

part one | part two | part three (you are here!)

Some sparse notes before the translated transcripts start under the cut: 1. usual disclaimer that I'm not a professional, just an amateur, and am doing this out of pure insanity -- if you want to discuss translation related things or have some corrections, my inbox is open and your thoughts are welcomed <3; 2. mild trigger warnings for (time appropriate): strongly implied slut shaming and more vague possibly mysoginistic remarks made by Smerdjakov about Grušen’ka -- i feel like Smerdjakov himself is sometimes made to fit into the evil gay "advisor" stereotype and that might not be everyone's cup of tea -- while I don't think these bits take anything away from the writing and actually contribute to paint a more vivid picture of the society and the time the work is set in, we must keep in mind that this is a 1969 adaptation of a 1860s novel and that there are things about it that might squick some nowdays; 3. I'm actually really sorry that this took me so long to finish, I've had the dialogues written down and a rough sketch of the translation sitting around for months and polishing it turned out to be an harder task that what I thought it would be. There's still some sentences I'm not 100% sure about, but done in this case is better than perfect, and it doesn't matter how much I mourn the formal you in english, I gotta learn to work without it; 4. that said, this time I relied in a couple of scene on a lot more stage directions than last time, I felt that some more prominent acting/staging choices, especially in the Ivan & Smerdjakov bit, were important enough to warrant a description -- Katja and Dmitrij's interaction I feel instead it relies on more subtle choices for its effect, that are harder to describe, especially on Katja's side, so left it more barebones to give the dialogue more space (so you should watch it to get the full effect, wink wink nudge nudge); 5. enjoy the insanity <33

Interpreters: Umberto Orsini as Ivan Karamazov, Antonio Salines as Smerdjakov, Neda Naldi as M. Chochlakova, Maria Grazia Antonini as Lisa Chochlakova, Carla Gravina as Katerina Ivanovna and Corrado Pani as Dmitrij Karamazov.

Original script by Diego Fabbri, directed by Sandro Bolchi.

You can follow watch the drama here on YT or here on RaiPlay -- I suggest the latter, it's free and it's the original source, but youtube's still there if you prefer.

[INT. – AT THE KARAMAZOV’S/IVAN’S ROOM] min. 14:19

(Ivan snaps his fingers from behind a screen – Smerdjakov enters: he’s here to help Ivan get dressed)

Smerdjakov: (with a servile tone – to keep in mind for all his dialogues: he never drops it) I’m not allowed to say certain things, as I’m just a servant who should only thank his master’s benevolence, but if I may risk a word it’s only because I’m devoted to you, Ivan Fëdorovič…

Ivan: (with a harsh tone – emphasis on devoted; he keeps up the commanding/angry tone until stated otherwise) I sincerely don’t understand why you should be devoted to me! – As you put it.

Smerdjakov: I like to hear you talk, Ivan Fëdorovič… when you’re arguing, downstairs, with your father–

Ivan: That’s rare!

Smerdjakov: (cont. – must note: as Smerdjakov is helping Ivan button the back of his waistcoat, they are talking in front of a mirror and the last piece of this line is spoken while they’re both looking at their reflection) Well, those times I… I never miss a word. Sometimes I even hide, I must confess, to not lose the flow of the conversation… and I can say that you don’t converse: you reason.

Ivan: Is the frac ready? – Did you iron the frac?!

Smerdjakov: Ironed, Ivan Fëdorovič: I overlooked the ironing myself because I don’t trust that muddler, Marfa, nor that hick Grigorj.

Ivan: (amused/sardonic – he’s putting on the cuntiest little round glasses) What is it – what would you have told me if you were allowed to speak freely?

Smerdjakov: Well, now maybe… I wouldn’t dare…

Ivan: You’re allowed! And don’t make me beg you…(grabs Smerdjakov by his hair and pulls him close) you’re cunning.

Smerdjakov: But maybe you already know, Ivan Fëdorovič–

Ivan: What should I know? (he releases Smerdjakov)

Smerdjakov: Dmitrij’s new sudden infatuation for Agrafena Aleksandrovna… they’re talking about it, in town, because Agrafena Aleksandrovna – Grušen’ka, you understand? – she has her own history, and those who have their own history are on everyone’s lips.

Ivan: It’ll be my brother Dmitrij’s usual whim.

Smerdjakov: Well… It may be something more. Certainly something different.

Ivan: Dmitrij has a fiancée.

Smerdjakov: The noble miss Katerina Ivanovna.

Ivan: (with a softer tone, almost dreamily, clearly he’s thinking about Katja) …and there is not a girl more fine nor fascinating – (back to the harsh tone; note that after this rise he softens a bit) so?!

Smerdjakov: And who might say the contrary… but this Grušen’ka, as those who know her say, looks like she might have other… other requirements. I’ve told you she has a history and, for a man as intelligent as you are, it’s all said.

Ivan: (laughs) The shoes – get the bone shoe horn, the long one.

Smerdjakov: (kneeling to put the shoes on Ivan, who is sitting on the bed) And then there’s more that’s riling Dmitrij up, there’s almost a challenge.

Ivan: The gossiper that you are…

Smerdjakov: (laughs) If it were gossip, I wouldn’t speak, Ivan Fëdorovič, but I can always stop here, if you prefer.

Ivan: And speak, then, say what you want to say.

Smerdjakov: For… this Grušen’ka has, how can I say it – given his age, fallen in love is a kind term, is it? – the master fell for her, too.

Ivan: What master?

Smerdjakov: (Smerdjakov looks up to Ivan) Ours – (he looks at the shoe he’s putting on Ivan) mine. Fëdor Pavlovič, you father, sir. (laughs) He’s fallen madly in love!

Ivan: (as he kicks Smerdjakov away, sending him sprawling on the ground) You’re a reptile!

Smerdjakov: I swear on everything I believe that this is the truth!

Ivan: And since you don’t believe in anything, you perjure!

Smerdjakov: (as he gets up to his feet) I guarantee you, Ivan Fëdorovič – the master confided in me, and I already had to run some tasks for him at that lady’s… I don’t badmouth: I confide in you, if you allow me, of course… Fëdor Pavlovič, despite his age, is gone for her to the point he even wishes to marry her – (reaching for Ivan) to this, we’ve come!

Ivan: (he gets up, puts distance between him and Smerdjakov again) Do the two know?

Smerdjakov: The two? – you mean, the father and the son? (as he gets Ivan’s frac and helps him wear it) I believe so, and this is, I think, the true reason for the hatred: no more the heritage. And it’s not yet said that the older one won’t have it his way, Dmitrij’s impetus notwithstanding – and I find him a handsome young man, a young man who should be liked, on the contrary: who is liked, undoubtedly; but this time, in this challenge, eh!, who knows? Because it looks like this Grušen’ka lights, how can I say, lights the amorous fantasy in more mature… elderly men; it’s one of her particularities, they say.

Ivan: (angry) Stop it! – (then, distraught) I have no more need for you, I’m ready.

Smerdjakov: The coat is downstairs, in the wardrobe. I’m sorry I upset you, Ivan Fëdorovič.

Ivan: (still distraught, upset) I’m only thinking about poor Katerina Ivanovna; ignorant, I suppose… (he scratches at the door frame with his fingernails) that upsets me.

[INT. – AT KATERINA IVANOVNA’S/BALLROOM] min. 19:52

(the scene opens with the camera following a waiter carrying a teacups tray through a moderately crowded ballroom; he stops by M. Chochlakova and Lisa)

Waiter: Please, madame.

M. Chochlakova: (takes one of the offered teacups) Thank you.

Waiter: Some tea, miss?

(Lisa shakes her head; the camera returns to following the movement of the waiter amongst Katja’s guests, until he passes by Katerina herself and Ivan and focuses on them – note: Ivan isn’t wearing his cunty glasses anymore, but he’s cuntily holding a cigarette)

Ivan: Yes, I am… I am worried for Dmitrij, the argument with my father over that damned heritage is exasperating him: he withdraws, he hides; we can’t find him for days and days. Do you see him?

Katja: I was hoping to have him with us today, I had a note delivered to his domicile but… who knows if he’ll show up. However, you don’t have to worry so, Ivan Fëdorovič: I know Dmitrij, I know what is troubling him at this moment. We need to let his agitation placate naturally. Why did he target his father so intensely – because now he needs money and he doesn’t have any, and he’s so proud he won’t borrow from anyone: and so he gets exasperated.

Ivan: So you think, Katerina Ivanovna, that money might pacify him.

Katja: No, it’s not the money that gives him peace. Dmitrij is the most generous man I have ever known, money obsesses him only because it lets him act fully free.

Ivan: (smiles) Mh, I admire your intelligence and your… extraordinary lucidity; I did not think that a woman in love could see with such clarity the man she loves.

Katja: I believe it is love that makes me see so clearly, for Mitja’s sake. I know the situation I find myself in.

Ivan: Do you know about… the news, too?

Katja: I know the news, too. (she spots Dmitrij, who just entered) There he is! (she turns back to Ivan, their faces are very close) He came.

(the camera cuts to Dmitrij, standing very still; at Katja’s aunt’s call he comes towards her and kisses her hand)

Katja’s aunt: Dmitrij Fëdorovič, don’t pretend to be a statue, come closer!

Lisa: I hoped you would bring along your brother Alëša…

Dmitrij: Don’t you know he walks a different path than us? And he’s serious about it, my little brother – he’s not like us, he doesn’t mistake the devil for holy water (he spots Ivan and Katja sitting together) Anyway, I see another member of the Karamazov family already preceded me, and is already here.

(to Katja’s aunt) You really want us all, eh?

Katja’s aunt: We would really like to have you all – because you’re pleasant, you Karamazovs.

Katja: (she stands up and walks towards her aunt) Aunt, I’ll let you have him all for yourself later, but may I speak to him for a moment first?

Katja’s aunt: Youths and feelings’ rights, I’ve always respected.

Katja: Dmitrij Fëdorovič, if you’ll follow me. (she exits with Dmitrij following)

(the scene cuts off with a shot of Ivan pensively about to take a drag of his cigarette, he seems to be following Katja and Dmitrij with his gaze)

[INT. – AT KATERINA IVANOVNA’S/KATJA’S ROOM] min. 23:07

Katja: Come, Mitja, come.

Dmitrij: Will it be a long talk? Maybe an explanation?

Katja: (rummaging through a vanity) No. No, I just have a favour to ask you Mitja; you should send this parcel to Moscow for me, to my sister Agaf’ja Ivanovna. It’s not urgent but… you really must be the one doing it, Mitja, because no-one in the house should know.

Dmitrij: Would it be a secret, then?

Katja: There are three thousand rubles inside, my sister needs them, or her husband does, I didn’t understand very well. In any case, I’m sending them personally; there (she hands him the parcel) I told you you can do it at your leisure, then you’ll give me the receipt, but… it has to remain between us, understood?

Dmitrij: I’ll do it right now, I’ll bring you the receipt immediately – (he makes for a side door) can I leave from here? I’d rather not pass through the ballroom.

Katja: But why, Mitja, what are they going to say about this sudden escape?

Dmitrij: They’ll say… they’ll say you asked me to tend to an urgent and delicate matter. Isn’t it the truth, Katja? And then, you won’t be alone: someone from the family will keep you in good company – actually, I’m wondering, why didn’t you ask Ivan for this favour? He would’ve been happy to make himself useful.

Katja: What you’re saying isn’t worthy of you, Mitja. Maybe you don’t even really think it, but… you want to hurt me, I feel it.Dmitrij: Is there anything I’m not worthy of? What is it that’s not worthy of me? Come on, Katja, you know very well how low I can go. I’ll do what you asked me to, and without anyone knowing. (he leaves)

#the brothers karamazov #i fratelli karamazov #mitya karamazov #dmitri karamazov #ivan karamazov #katerina ivanovna verkhovtseva #pavel smerdyakov #sam.exe

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