#margaret white x reader

[multifandomfix]

Trick or Treat!! I'm sorry for the last minute request but I happened to see which OC fic you're working on and now this thought won't leave me alone... Margaret White + revelation, please? 🐈‍⬛

Margaret was a troubled woman, and her faith had kept her going, if not altogether sane. In many ways she was closed off to the world as it was today. But you, you were her revelation.

You provided a comforting presence, a balm to her fears. She didn’t change overnight, but you didn’t expect her to. She started to trust you, however, and that was enough.

In time, her fears became less of a driving force in her life, and she started to see more of the good in the world. She accredited that to you, and your positive influence on her. She was still a broken woman, but with you, she could begin to heal.

The Trick Or Treat event is now over. Thanks to all who participated.

[bvttoneyes]

"They Say Home Is Where the Heart Is" (charming and snow's daughter! reader's version)

sum! being snow and charming's daughter after the curse (hc's)

tw! uhm poorly written, the ouat family tree

uh the lore is gonna be confusing ngl

-They see you haven't aged and want to cry. (your older than emma obv).

-BIGGEST HUGS THOUGH WHEN THEY SEE YOU OMGGGG

-Emma is very confused cos you look like 14 but you're 42, HUH?!?!?!?!?

-Uhm they don't let you out of your sight, for like 3 months (they only give you more freedom because you snapped and yelled at them)

-Henry loves you so so so much. You're a family member sorta close in age to him!!

-uh snow and charming treat you like a wittwe babyyyyyy (killing myself omg)

-no privacy. none. 0%. 0/100.

-you live with snow and charming too!

-doing dumb shit with red (she's the fun aunt fsss)

-granny makes you sweaters and blankets!

-you and henry are the kingdoms/towns baby, cos they missed out on emma being a baby. (yea you were the baby once but you never outgrow it 🤷)

-lwk i think you were regina's daughter when you were under the spell so it now makes the family line more confusing 😈😈😈😈

-also pissed off snow and charming more that SHE was your mom while under the spell.

-(FAMILY TREE/CONFUSING) js fyi you're technically henry's step-sister and aunt, emma's aunt and sister, snow's daughter and step-sister, regina's step-granddaughter and daughter, etc etc

-Belle is the only one that treats you normal. THE ONLY ONE.

-jiminy tries to give free therapy sessions because of the confusing family tree and everything that's gonna happen/is happening in your life.

-zelena HATESSSSSS you. with such a BURNING passion.

-overall big (confusing) family that mostly loves you very very much!

[bellarkeselection]

Could you do a king Henry were he has a fight with his mother and y/n mother about her haveing a child

England’s Romeo and Juliet

“Henry, we can’t hide this anymore. I must run off because my family name has already been shattered when I laid with you.” I told the love of my life the King of England Henry Tudor. I was a highborn lady sent to find a husband but instead I fell for the already married king and lost my virginity to him ending up pregnant. Staring at myself in the mirror he came up behind my wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder since I was shorter than him unless I wore heels but right now I was just wearing some flats since they were more comfortable. I was wearing one of his loose tunics since my dresses we’re getting tighter. “You don’t have to worry Y/n. I am the king of the England now. And I want you. I don’t care if I am married to that York daughter. I want only you.” He declares turning me around in his arms so I was staring up into his bright brown eyes.

The door to his chambers suddenly opened the moment I leaned up on my toes kissing him. He tugged me closer deepening the kiss until his mother’s voice rang through the quiet room and she yanked him back by the collar of his shirt. “Henry Tudor, how dare you have a romantic affair with a random highborn girl that isn’t your wife!” He stumbles backwards before she stomped up over to me grabbing me by shoulders eyeing my grown belly. I wasn’t full term but enough for someone who was once with children could clearly notice. “And you’ve put a now bastard babe in her belly…You are a disgrace to your name and family. I should place you in the dungeon for this-“ Henry stomps over to us braking his way in between us glaring at his mother. He glanced over at me seeing that I was on the verge of bawling tears at her words.

"I choose her, mother. I wish to marry Y/n and take her as my wife, queen and mother of my children." He spoke towards her seeing her face turn into a look of disgust at the thought. His marriage to Elizabeth was arranged before he took her father’s throne. And I didn't feel worthy of being his queen sometimes. Margaret glared at me throwing her hands up. "You had a destiny to be from the moment you were born. Don't you dare throw it away on some half witted noble whore!" Wrapping my arms around myself I headed towards the door grabbing the door handle until I felt Henry grab my wrist halting me in my tracks. He spins me around with my hair falling in front of my eyes where he cupped my face in his hands crashing his lips onto mine. I gasped gripping the fabric of his tunic shirt in my fingers deepening the kiss until we were both breathing heavily and he turned to his mother. “If you want me to remain on the throne then you will undo my marriage to Elizabeth of York. Then allow me to wed Y/n and declare her your queen.”

She gasps nodding her head yes heading around us and towards the door with only few words. “Yes, your grace.” She bowed her head and once the door was hit behind her I spun around to Henry flinging my arms around him. He wrapped his arms around me burring his face into the crook of my head kissing my cheek a few times. "See I told you there was nothing to worry about my darling future queen." He nuzzled his nose with mine making me giggle and lightly blush feeling nervous about ruling. "You were right but...what if I'm not a good queen?" Henry shook his head suddenly picking me up bridal style sitting me down on the bed ditching the shirt I was wearing alongside his own pressing his lips deeply onto mine. "You will be the greatest queen ever and I intend to please you until you see yourself the way I do. I love you." He pushed me down onto the bed with over top of me while my fingers knotted into his curls bringing him in for a hungry kiss. "I love you too, Henry."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[suraemoon]

"When you're good as gold, 'cause when you know, you know"

[countrymusiclover]

44 - Love is the most powerful magic of all

His Golden Princess

Thank you all for reading ❤️ This is the end of Astrid and Rumple's story

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @icefrye19 @lover-of-books-and-tea

Shooting awake up in the bed holding my stomach with my hands tightly. Frantically looking around I gasped. Fumbling over to my nightstand I dialed the first phone number I could think of. “Em, ah! I need your help. The baby…”

“Ast, what’s wrong?” Even though she wasn’t happy I used the sword to save her life and made her a Dark One she still cared about me.

It had been a few months since I had told her and Rumple the truth. Throwing my head back against the pillows I gripped the phone in my hand. “I think the baby’s coming. I….ohhh. I need Rumple.”

“I’ll come get you.” She said quickly.

Biting my lip I drew blood feeling contractions. My heart was beating faster. “Emma, there’s no need. I can just magic there….ah what the hell?” Looking down to my arm I gasped seeing some dark veins rising up through my veins.

“Astrid, tell me. What’s going on!” My sister declared through the phone hearing the panic in my voice. We could always tell the difference in the other person's voice when we were terrified. Before she gave birth to Henry I visited her in jail and could see she was horrified.

Tossing the covers aside I stumbled out of the bed. Standing on my feet I winced holding a hand over my heart feeling it burning in pain. "Emma, I need Rumple. Ohhh! Call - call Ella…call Ashley. Whoever she's going by. Cinderella!"

"Okay I'm calling her right now." Emma hung up where I stumbled down the stairs in my sleep clothes trying to not panic. Leaning against the wall I knew that Ashly or Ella would be there for me just like my sister.

Walking into Ashly’s hospital room Emma said I should be the one to tell her we convince Gold to let her keep her child. Shutting the door behind me I smiled seeing her holding her daughter. “Hey, how’s she doing. What’s her name?”

“Alexandra. Sean came to see her.” Her smile dropped thinking back to Gold and their deal. “Will he be taking her from me now?”

Sitting down on the edge of her bed I placed a hand on her leg. “Nope. Emma and I got him to let you keep her. My sister will owe him a favor but it doesn’t matter as long as you’re happy.”

“Thank you, thank you both so much.” She began crying, bouncing her baby girl in her arms.

Sending her a grin I tilted my head sensing she had more to say. “What is it, Ashly?”

“I noticed Emma, your sister said she had a kid. But you don’t. I just thought that if you ever have children I’ll be there for you.” The blonde grinned and we would later learn she was Cinderella. “You and Emma gave me a chance to raise my child. And that is something I will never forget.”

Sniffing through tears I didn’t expect that from the single mother. “Awe thank you, Ashly. I will remember that. You have my word.”

The blonde princess pulled up outside my house and her husband Thomas came inside seeing that I was holding my stomach. Throwing my head back I winced sharply. “Sean!”

“Did someone call a prince to the rescue? Come on, we'll get you to the hospital.” He wrapped his arms around my waist lifting me up bridal style carrying me out to his truck.

Ashly was in the front passenger seat holding her daughter in her lap. But she reached behind the seat taking my hand in hers. “It’s going to be okay. Emma said she is going to get Rumple.”

“Okay…” I nodded, biting my lip, shutting my eyes as we flee to the hospital which thankfully wasn’t far in the small formerly cursed town. Once we were there her prince came back with a wheelchair and the nurse got a room ready.

Laying in the bed I gasped seeing the dark veins making their way through my whole arm. I didn't know why it was happening but it had to be the reason I collapsed and saw my daughter in a future vision. “Ah Mrs. Gold. I am praying that this pregnancy I perform is actually normal this time.” Dr. Whale came into the room with a set of nurses.

“You and I both…urgh!” I bared my teeth down before the lights in the room flickered off and on like crazy. I had a blood pressure cuff on tracing my vitals that started sounding off like crazy.

Whale came over reading the level my heart was going. “Woah, that isn’t good. Your heart rate is way too low.”

“It probably has something to do with these.” Holding my forearm upwards he caught sight of the dark veins. I coughed some blood on my shirt when the door burst open and I saw my sister and husband. “Emma - Rumple!”

My husband rushed over to my bedside as quickly as he could with the limp and cane. He takes my hand in tracing his thumb over the veins that were growing my palms now. “Astrid, I’m sorry. There shouldn’t be this much stress on the baby. But don’t worry I’ll fix it.”

“Rumple ... .no you take the power back.” I gasped through tears seeing him draw the Dark One dagger from inside his suit jacket.

He shook his head clutching the dagger handle tightly in his hands. He began crying heavily where I could see his brown eyes welling with tears. “I can’t let the darkness kill you and our daughter. You are too important to me, lass. You are my heart and soul. If you die then I won’t have my happy ending. You have changed me to be a better man and know love when I didn’t think I deserved it. So let me take the power back please.”

“But if you take it back it will kill you, Rumple. That’s the whole reason why I took it from you….I don’t want to lose the man I love.” I sobbed heavily through tears clutching the bedsheets in my fingers. “Please don’t leave me, Rumple. I need you….you are my life!”

He placed the dagger in my right wrapping his hand around mine where he winced shaking through the pain feeling how stronger the darkness had become in my bloodstream. “Then we will split the power between us. Together we share a heart. So we can share the power too.”

“How…I thought only one person could be the Dark One.” I croaked, squeezing his hand in mine beginning to feel more scared than before.

Emma stepped forward taking the dagger in her hands raising it up to the two of us all the while Dr. Whale was jumping standing there watching. “I found a way to control my light magic over the darkness that is keeping me alive. I know what to do. You have to each have light and dark magic inside of you.” She focused sternly on us before the dagger glows brightly and we both gasped.

Shifting my gaze to Rumple I saw he was watching me too. Suddenly the dark magic came outside of me and split into two separate strands. The magic shot back into our hearts and the same thing happened with my golden light magic. “That should work….oh my gosh.” My sister sighed with a smile.

“It worked, Rumple.” Leaning my head against his chest I sighed in relief intertwining my hand with his gently. His brown eyes watched the darkness veins disappear from my arms a few seconds after.

Dr. Whale looked at my screen showing the baby getting my legs up and open to push. “Now that your heart is good we need to get this baby out for ya.”

Rumple moved around to the side of the bed so I could hold onto his hand. The contractions started coming closer together when I gave my first few pushes. My heart started banging against my chest and I already felt tired. "It's starting to come out, Astrid. Just a few more big pushes." Dr. Whale said back.

Rumple winced sharply when I squeezed his hand even tighter. My freehand was turning white while I gripped the handle of the dagger. Sweat was sticking to my forehead with the white hair falling over my shoulders appearing to be a mess. "I can't do this, Rumple…I can’t!"

"Yes you can. Astrid. I've seen you overcome things that have been much harder than this. So I know you can do this." He replied, squeezing my hand in his even though I had nearly broken his hand at this point.

Nodding my head slowly I bared my teeth doing one final push that took the last of my energy that I had left. An infant's cry filled the room where I threw my head back onto the pillows. Gulping a lump down my throat I slowly controlled my breathing while the nurse wrapped the baby in a blanket handing them to me once I had sat up again. "Congratulations, you have a baby girl. Have you thought of a name?"

“No….ah what the hell!” I gasped, feeling more contractions breaking through my body.

Emma whipped her head around in panic. “Whale, what is happening to my sister?”

“It’s okay. Uh….she has another baby coming.” He dropped down in his rolling chair frantically getting prepared again telling me to push again. “You have to start pushing again, Mrs. Gold.”

Sucking in a breath Rumple squeezed my hand tightly knowing that I was beginning to panic rapidly. He pushed hair out of my face when I started pushing as much as I could. “Ahhh!”

“There it is. Congratulations again you two. You have a baby boy now too.” Dr. Whale held up the baby in his arms, handing it to the other nurse.

The nurses handed the girl to me and the baby boy to Rumple. He sent me a teary grin and I chuckled, not expecting that we would have two kids at once. “Rumple, I know the name for the daughter. Marigold Ella Stilskin. But you can name the boy.”

“Gideon Baefire Stilskin.” He declares leaning forward kissing me gently. Leaning into the kiss I smiled when he whispered back. “I love you, Astrid. I always will. You are my golden princess.”

Breaking the kiss we both stared down at the infants in our arms. No matter what we had faced, these little joys were all worth it. “I love you too, Rumple. You are my dark prince.” I would never forget that Henry bringing us here to break a curse changed everything for the better.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Something I need to know

[infiniteimaginings]

〔𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵 - 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦〕

Started: February 18th, 2024 Updated: February 18th, 2024

All my writings for Mary Margaret Blanchard (Snow White) - Once Upon a Time

None yet

[rumannwrites]

Made to Kill pt.2

A/N: Well, yikes. It’s been a while. Truth be told, I had a good amount of it done but I must of have forgotten to save because when I tried to find it, it was gone. It always happens to me. Anyways, sorry for the wait, here is the second part to ‘Made to Kill.’

Please don’t copy or translate my posts to other sites or own accounts. Thank you.

Summary: Storybrooke you are surprised to the punishment Mary Margaret gives you and Brock as the you in the Enchanted Forests tries figure out more about this dark curse the Evil Queen plan to use on everyone.

Word Count: 1,911

Warnings: Some swearing and mentions of food. Not too graphic though.

GIF credited to the creators.

Walking down the long and quiet hallways as everyone has gone home is the only peace you find in your repetitive life. It is one of the very few reasons you like after school detention. It gives you the privacy you look and crave for. It’s a time for you to think and reflect, like what happened in Mary Margaret’s classroom.

“So,” Mary Margaret says, sitting down at her desk across from you and Brock. “I want to hear what happened out in the hallway from both of you in your own words.”

“Easy enough.” Brock says, sitting up in the chair from his slouched position you were in before. “She attacked me.”

“Did you provoke her in any way?”

“Yes.” You answered as Brock said “No.”

You whip your head over at Brock. “Don’t paint yourself so innocent. You shoved my head into my locker door. How is that not provoking?”

He shrugs his shoulders at you. “Didn’t hurt you too much, did it? Still as messed up as you were before.”

“Brock!” Margaret scolded.

“Don’t tell me you think differently, miss.” He replied, turning his head to the teacher in front of you. “We all think it. I just have the gall to say it.”

“That is enough out of you.” She replied, her small and warm smile replaced with a stern glare. “Brock, you have detention for three days after school. You may leave.”

“Finally.” He says with a dramatic sigh, getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “See you around, L/N.”

As you hear the door click shut behind you, you look up to see Margaret already looking at you.

“Y/N,” she sighs.

Here it comes, you thought.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what is happening in your life.”

You stiffen at that, sitting up straighter in your chair. “What?” You breathe out.

“Clearly, something happened between you and Brock a long time ago that created this rivalry between you two.”

You scowl, leaning back in your chair. She doesn’t know. “Nothing happened.” You spoke. “He’s been a pain in my ass for as long as I can remember.”

“Language, Y/N.” She scolds. You sigh, looking out the window next to Margaret’s desk. “Whatever the case is, though,” she says, trying to make you look at her, “you can’t let him get under your skin. He does this because he knows you get angry faster than the usual person.”

“God, you sound just like Jason.” You mumble.

“Oh, I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We aren’t.” You say, turning your attention back to Mary Margaret.

“Well, Y/N, I’m gonna let you off with a warning. But next time, I want you to hold back your anger. If you don’t get that under control, this cycle of yours is just gonna keep repeating.”

“That’s easier said than done, miss.” You reply looking down at your hands.

“I know.” She whispers. “I know.”

Silently walking across the lawn of your house to the front door, you didn’t see your father’s car in the driveway. Right, you thought. He’s coming home late tonight. You didn’t really care though. It gives you more time for yourself.

As you unlocked the front door and took off your shoes, you took out your phone and texted your father when he’ll be home. Not even a minute went by when he replied.

Father:

7:30. Have dinner ready then.

You sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket and heading up to your room. At least you can get some homework done before he comes home.

But it was hard to focus. Your mind couldn’t help but fall back to the conversation with Mary Margaret. More specifically, the lack of punishment she gave you. From what you could remember, no teacher let you off with just a warning. You couldn’t help but feel wary about it.

Why did she not give me detention? Surely she would think I would have started it. What was she playing at?

Questions kept nagging at you even when making dinner for your father. You couldn’t shake them. To you, it made no sense.

Before you knew it, you heard the front door open and slam close. Not a good first sign, you thought.

“Is dinner ready?” Your father materialized in the kitchen as he asked, his shirt wrinkled and tie loose. Or a second.

“Yes sir.” You replied, setting his plate before him as he sat down. Feed him first and wait for him to let me eat, you remind yourself. As he took his first bite and swallowed, he looked up at you and nodded. You started to fill your plate before you heard him say “Ah, ah.” You looked up at him as he stared hard into your eyes, looking down at your plate and back up at you. Too much.

As you returned some food back onto the serving dish and sat down, you heard your father ask “So, how was your day?”

Short and quick answers, Y/N. “It was fine.” You replied.

“You didn’t get into any trouble today? You didn’t achieve any more detentions?” He raised a skeptical brow at you, pausing his eating.

He doesn’t know about the ‘fight.’ The school didn’t call him. “No sir.” You replied, staying cool with your eyes trained to your food. “I kept my head down like you said.”

“Hmph.” He replied. “Good.”

The rest of the dinner stayed in silence, which you both hated and liked. You were not one for idle chit chat, but you hated the silence a bit more. Feeling and hearing every sound around made your skin crawl. Your mind wandered back to Mary Margaret and, yet again, you questioned her actions. Why did she not call my father, or better yet, tell the principal who would have then called my father. It doesn’t make sense.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of your father’s chair screeching against the floor. “I’m heading to bed early tonight. Finish and clean up dinner. Then you can go to bed.”

“Yes sir.” You replied with a slight nod, finishing off the last bites of food on your plate.

And your father left for bed. No 'goodnight', no 'see you in the morning'. Just gone. You sighed, standing up from your chair and cleaning everything up.

And still, heading up to bed, you question Mary Margaret and the choices she made today for you.

Snow and Charming had just called a meeting for everyone. Jiminy Cricket, Red Riding Hood, her grandmother, Geppetto, a couple dwarves and a couple knights as well as you, your two lieutenants, Snow and Charming sat around a big table discussing your next plan of action. Snow and Charming had just come back from seeing Rumpelstiltskin alone, something you weren't keen on them doing without you, even though he is locked up in the dungeons.

"I say we fight!" Charming stood up, slamming his hand on the table, drawing everyone's attention to him.

"Fighting is a bad idea. Giving into one's dark side never accomplishes anything." Jiminy spoke up into the little megaphone placed in front of him, the magnifying glass placed in front of him so everyone could see him better.

"And how many wars has a clear conscience won?" Charming shot back. "We need to take the Queen out before she can inflict her curse."

"Can we even trust Rumpelstiltskin?" You spoke up, leaning forward in your chair. "We've all had a run in with him and every time we listen to him, it ends poorly for us."

"I've sent my men into the forest. The animals are abuzz with the queen's plan." He replies, leaning on his forearms, eyes locked with yours. "This is going to happen unless we do something."

"There's no point." You heard Snow mumble. You look over at her, seeing her lean back against the chair, her stomach, which was once thin and flat, now rounded out to hold the baby she carries inside her. It was the first thing she said the whole meaning, giving you a wary feeling in you. Snow, for as long as you have known her, was not one to give up or think poorly, especially before she even tried. You lock eyes with your two lieutenants, Jason and Hector, who sat between you and Snow. Their eyes show the same hesitation and nervousness as yours from Snow's comment. "The future is written."

"No." Charming shook his head, eyes focused on the table. "I refuse to believe that. Good can't just lose."

"Maybe it can." Snow turned her head away from Charming, staring at one of the stained-glass windows instead.

"Snow." You whispered. Her eyes looked towards you. You can see the bags under eyes showing days of restless nights. From the baby or the curse, you didn't know. "This is exactly what the Evil Queen wants us to feel. Alone, hopeless. But it won't happen."

"Not as long as we have each other." Charming grabbed her hand and kneeled in front of Snow. "If you believe him about the curse, then you must believe him about our child. She will be the savior."

Just then the doors burst open, revealing some of Charming's knights walking through. You stood up immediately, hand landing on the hilt of your sword. ready to be drawn if needed. "What the hell is this?"

"Our only hope of saving that child." Over all the knights flew a tiny blue fairy, conveniently called Blue.

"A tree? Our fate rests on a tree?" Grumpy called from across the table. He turns back to you and Charming, a determined look on his face. "Let's get back to the fighting thing." From the corner of your eye, you see Jason smirking a little at his comment, but hiding it behind his hand, pretending to scratch his face.

"The tree is enchanted. If fashioned into a vessel, it can ward off any curse." replied Blue. Snow's face lit up with hope once again as she followed Blue fly around the table. "Geppetto, can you build such a thing?" She turned to the oldest man at the table.

The older man smiled at her. "Me and my boy, we can do it." he says, placing his hand atop the mess of curly ginger hair playing with wooden toys behind him.

Blue smiled, turning back to the Charmings. "This will work." She whispered. "We all must have faith." You looked over at Snow and Charming seeing smiles spread across their faces, their hands clasped in one another's. You feel something tough but gentle slide into your own. Looking down, you see Hector's hand holding yours, but his eyes were on the Charmings, a slight smile dancing on his lips. This moment of hope didn't last long, though, as Blue spoke up once more. "There is, however, a catch. The enchantment is indeed powerful, but all power has its limits, and this tree can protect only one."

Everyone's face in the room dropped, realizing that only Snow or Charming can use the tree and not both. Your mind raced to predict their next move. Surely, Charming would force Snow to go in, since she is pregnant with the savior, but would that even work? If Snow were to go into the wardrobe, would it even take her? She isn't one person anymore. She's carrying another one with her.

Part 3

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In Which Gojo Satoru Commits Regicide.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 0.7k.

TW: Mentions of Consensual Sex and Off-Screen Violence. I Am Coping, But I Am Also Pissed. Be Patient, I Beg of You.

Live Dove: Tender and Sweet.

You’d been a little confused when Satoru came home uncharacteristically giddy in spite of the bitingly cold February weather, and a little more than confused when he said he had something to show you, took you by the arm, and teleported you out of your apartment entirely (after waiting for you to give your clear and enthusiastic consent, of course). You had no idea where he was taking you, but it only took a single second of whipping your head in either direction, a single glimpse of those awful bright yellow curtains and tacky eagle rug, to know where you were.

“Satoru,” you gasped, and his grin widened. “Is this the oval office?”

“The one and only.” His voice was low and smug, his tone more than enough to prove that he already knew you like your surprise. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he swept the content the presidential desk in the floor with his free hand and lifted you onto its outer edge, placing himself in the space between your open legs as if brought there by a gravitational pull. You draped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss as sweet as apple pie, or funnel cake, or other true symbols of American culture that were formed through a broad, grassroot endearment rather than a bunch of gross old men deciding they’d look cool on a flag three-hundred years ago.

Reminded of gross old men, you pulled away with another sharp gasp. “But, ‘toru, what if he catches us?”

You had no problem with getting your back blown out by your loving boyfriend in one of the most sacred rooms in the United States, but if that lead-paint poisoned geezer happened to walk in (if he even could walk on his own, anymore), it’d totally ruin the mood. Satoru only laughed. “Don’t worry, baby,” And then, flashing you a quick wink, “I made sure to clear the place out for us.”

“Satoru, you didn’t!”

“Guess some fascists just can’t handle their blunt force damage,” he said, shrugging. Suddenly, your expression dropped, and Satoru noticed right away. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Well, it’s not that the racist, senile felon didn’t deserve to have his skull caved in by a bisexual transgender man – since, y’know, we’re both bisexual and transgender.” Satoru nodded, affirming the fact that you two were similarly transgender and also bisexual, which you were. “It’s just – now that misogynistic white supremacist who jerks off to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale every night before fucking his couch is going to be president, and that that kind of sucks too.”

“James David Vance?”  Satoru asked, refusing to use his initially and therefore highlighting how stupidly pretentious his name was. “You think too little of me, sweetheart.”

Possibly for the third time, you gasped. “Is he…?”

“Mhm. Took care of him right before I came home, got him right as he was coming out of his filler appointment. Beat him to death with a copy of his own book and everything, after leaving it a one-star review on Goodreads, of course.” Again, he shrugged, but smile gave away his self-satisfaction. “It’s all in a day’s work for the world’s strongest and most politically active sorcerer, I guess.”

“But, if that pathetic old man and his castrated lapdog are both dead, then who’s the president?”

“Check the news, baby.”

You fished your phone out of your pocket as Satoru sucked hickeys into your neck, obviously waiting until he had your full attention to go further. Again, you gasped. You were starting to lose count of how many times that’d happened, so far. “Abortions and insulin are provided upon request and also free now?!”

“Oh, wait, are they?” You turned your screen in his direction, and Satoru hummed in approval. Everyone’s quality of life had gotten a lot better since your good friend, Nanami Kento, was placed onto the Supreme Court in the final days of Biden’s term. “Sick. Not what I was talking about, though – scroll down.”

You scrolled down, and gasped once more. Your throat was starting to hurt. “Everyone in the country’s unanimously ellected the first female president?”

“Not just any female president,” he said, smirking and tapping on a trust-worthy article from a reliable and non-partisan source. “Say her name for me, baby.”

The final gasp you gaspt was the loudest and most gasp-like of all.

“Hatsune Miku?!”

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [1]

series masterlist part one -> minium || part two -> woad and weld

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you become the unlikely treasure of two vikings who raid your convent looking for gold w.c: 4.3k tags/warnings: religious themes (DLDR), minor suicidal ideation, mention of viking raids (slavery, violence, death), kidnapping, threats, dubcon bathing + touching, mean simon (ish), established goap, reader is underfed and beaten in the convent (corporal punishment), difficult travel, some food description

Near the coast the wind scratches at you when it blows, full of sand and salt.

Once, you'd imagined this as your calling; committed to asceticism, married to God, serving under the abbess. Enclosed, you find yourself stifled more than devoted, pressing your face to the stone barrier that blocks the convent from the outside world.

Isolation, never being quite full, the slow and steady stripping of your identity. This is your life - hollowed out, like meat sucked from a crab, cracked open and used and hollow.

You couldn't have predicted Christ to be such an inconsiderate husband.

"Girl!" the voice is the crack of a whip in empty air. You don't jump, but the hair on your body raises, the welts on your thighs sting.

"Yes, mother?" you put your chin down to your chest, turning, pressing your back to the wall. Demure, submissive, utterly devoid of fight. And still, her grip finds you hard as iron and rough as the rock you'd just been touching, pulling you hard enough to make your shoulder ache back toward the heavy wood doors of the dormitory.

"You shirk your duties again, child? Leave your sisters to pick up your slack?" you didn't mean to, truly. It's only that you ache so deeply you're afraid you might never recover from the feeling.

"Please forgive me, mother, I lost track of time," you murmur. Your uniform is damp from the spray outside, and you relish in the scent and feel of it. Freedom, that's what it is. "Allow me to make up for-"

"Hush!" spit touches your cheek. You don't wipe it away. "You'll finish the tapestry tonight. No matter how long it takes you."

Desperately, you wish for God to strike you down. If you're there, father. You close your eyes. Please, please kill me now.

He doesn't listen, and the abbess pushes you to supper.

Dark bread, boiled turnips, fish and wine. Average, filling, but you'd hoped for more of the crumbly white cheese from yesterdays supper.

You know not to complain. And truly, you are grateful. With your family, it had been gruel upon gruel, often bear, and rarely flavour. Salt kisses your tongue now, and the wine makes your sore muscles relax.

The monks have it harder; you'd visited them once as a girl with your father to pray, but there was still labour to be done here. Cooking was often your job, as was doing the washing and the tilling for the vegetable garden.

Today sister Colette had assigned you weaving so that you wouldn't be out of practice. The muscles in your back and fingers ached from it already, and dread made your stomach sour to the food you ate at the thought of more work.

Mealtimes were quiet, as required. The other women eat mousily, looking down at their plates and pulling their food apart into small little bites, trying to make it last. Obedience, poverty. How silly it was now that you'd dreamed of this.

"Sister?" a whisper, next to you. Margaret was almost a friend, too pious to really confide in but so kind it was impossible to ignore her. "What were you doing?"

"I felt compelled," you shrug, lips oily from the fish. "I felt confined."

"Oh sister," Margaret pushes her bottom lip out, dark eyebrows pulling up. "You should never feel confined here."

You knew, and yet you did. It was like living in a stone coffin. All the work felt pointless since your heart had strayed from God. Even now, touching Margaret's elbow to comfort her in her worry for you, you're sick to death of even clearing plates.

There was one secret they hadn't found. None of the sisters, not even the abbess, had found your secret booklet.

Paper was more valuable than gold since the church needed so much to copy and produce texts. The writing room at the very top of the convent, where you were so seldomly asked, was full of it and guarded by lock and key.

Over months, you'd scrounged, stealing enough to make a booklet. In it, you felt sustained. Free. Titillated, sometimes, when your hand found its way beneath your soft worn blanket under your shift and you drew indecent drawings of men coming to save you. Of the farmboys from your village.

They were nothing like real art, not so detailed, but they lit inside you a spark of life. Without them, you'd be snuffed out.

Candles line the hallway toward the workroom, where you'll likely spend the rest of the night. It's near the very entrance of the convent, so that visitors may see the sisters hard at work and find reason to donate.

Really, it's a temptation. Those massive doors, ready to open and let you free.

But what could you do, really? If God were a kind man and Christ a good husband, they'd turn you into a horse so that you might run, might feel your hooves beating the earth and the coarse air on your skin.

Regrettably human, you sit to work on the tapestry. Curse the abbess and let the holy father hear your thoughts. This is worse than hell, you think. Your fingers cramp and the chair is hard, flat wood. It's made to be uncomfortable on purpose, everything is. After you finish you only have a thin mattress to look forward to, even thoughts of drawing hunky carpenters doesn't draw you out of the misery that is embroidery in the dark.

Is this string strong enough to hold you, should you hang yourself? You're being dramatic, but you feel you've earned the right.

Footsteps walk down the hall towards you. They're sure, heavy. Maybe sister Catharine, tall and splendid, is coming to release you from torment?

"Hello," you say jovially. Please be sister Catharine.

"Look what we've got here, Ghost," it's a male voice. You freeze. The accent is unfamiliar. Had you missed the visit of a monk, an abbot, a priest? "Darlin' little lass, all by herself."

Shivers overtake you. It hurts to straighten from your hunched position, but you have to do it to see properly.

You come face to face with a skull, towering over you from the doorway.

A scream builds, filling your chest, hanging off the tip of your tongue.

Stopped only by the glint of candlelight against a blade, and the quickness of the another man reaching you.

You shake, all sound stuck in your throat, feeling arms as strong as petrified wood circle your arms and pull you toward the door. The pressure, the scrape of rock against your feet, it's unreal and barely registered against the terror that builds when you look to your left and see the skull, sewn into cloth, with the soft clank of bones hanging from his waist.

His eyes find yours, dead and mellow in the eyesockets, piercing through you. Blood rushes through your ears, deafening you, until you leave the room and reality sets in.

Devils, come to sack the convent.

Who will likely kill you and all your sisters. Even the abbess, with her punishment cane and severe face, doesn't deserve that.

You shriek, finding your voice, twisting like a cat in a bag. Their hands tighten against you, growling orders at you to be still, girl.

It's then that you hear the cries, the crashes. Sounds of chaos, a cacophony of harsh voices and the search of the convent. Some of the women weep, some pray, you scream.

"Hey!" Skull snaps, shaking you hard. "Behave and we won't kill you." You comprehend that, but the animal urge to struggle for your life still has a grip on you.

The other man twists towards you, lips snarling. "Ye want to die, then? I'm not opposed to slitting ye open throat to cunt, if that's what ye prefer."

You still, sag, mouth turning downwards in misery. Sweat sticks to your skin, from fear and exertion.

"Good girl," Skull says.

The nuns have been crowded back into the dining room, cowed and cowering, trembling lambs against the storm of awful armoured men ravaging the sanctity of the space.

Some have already found gold, crosses and busts of saints and reliquaries. The abbess weeps to see the bust of Mother Mary, thrown so roughly to the ground that baby Jesus snaps off.

You watch it all happening, eyes wide, shaking despite yourself. Adrenaline makes your legs cramp in their position, curled, back to back with another sister.

"Cap," a younger man runs up, hands full with an ornate chest. "What'cha think of this one?"

"Lookit this one," the man from earlier is giddy, slapping the young one on the back. He holds St Augustine, gilded in gold and jewels. "Not too shabby, eh, Gaz?"

"Not too shabby at all," Gaz grins back at him, turning towards the third man.

"Good job, boys," he says. He's mustached, tall, steadier and calmer than the rest. A leader, clearly.

It smells of smoke, or blood, but you can't see anyone bleeding.

Maybe that's their natural scent, violence clinging to them cloying like they'd bathed in it before coming.

"Soap," Gaz calls. He's run through the library, tossing shelves to the ground, taking one or two books. Walked through the dormitories, throwing open the chests at the ends of each bed. "Take a look at this one!"

A little booklet. Your booklet, tiny in the hand of the devil.

Anxiety crawls up your spine. There's no way they'd know it was yours, but you're still afraid of another kind of raiding, should they discover your sin.

The men laugh, looking with hungry eyes, glinting, mouths stretched and wet.

Look at the ground, be quiet, be still. You want to survive, you want to draw again and feel the air against your skin. You're scared of these men, huge and muscled as they are.

They wear furs, leather, clinking chainmail, wrapped shoes. Weapons hang by their sides and are clutched firmly in hands, though no nuns nor abbesses have been harmed.

Yet.

"Gold ain't the only treasure, eh?" Soap looks down at you while others use pillowcases for bags, stuffing their bounty inside with loud clangs.

His foot nudges your thigh, and you shift away as much as possible, still looking away, still scared.

Skull comes back. Soap calls him over and calls him Ghost, so you switch the name in your head.

Ghost is big, but he glides through the air.

"See that, Ghost?" Soap nudges him, the way he nudged you. Eyes crazed.

"Mm," Ghost grunts. He hasn't looted, not like the others. Just walked through the halls and gathered one or two other stray nuns shuddering in various corners. "You want 'er?"

You blanch, breath leaving you.

"Can we?" He looks back at you and leans down, thick fingers finding your chin, tilting your face up. "Pretty little hen, so scared, aren't ye?"

"Take 'er."

With Ghosts permission, Soap moves his fingers from your face to the meat of your arms, dragging you up, using your stupor to help him.

"Dinnae worry, hen, we'll take good care of ye," it's not reassuring. You think you feel your knees hitting each other from the force of your shaking. "Awe, don't cry."

Two rivers have sprouted form your eyes, tracking searing hot salt down your cheeks, hands twisting in your habit.

The men regroup. You were right about the mustached man being a leader, and learn his name is Price. He commands them like any armyman you've ever seen, clearly holds a lot of authority.

You're the only nun that's a part of the spoils.

The only one tied with coarse rope around the wrists, chafing, tossed between Soap and Gaz through the convent until you reach those big wooden doors.

Those doors you'd dreamed about opening, those doors that you dread opening now.

"Keep walking," Gaz says. He's mellower than the others, but you'd be a fool to underestimate him.

Or ask him for help.

Reality hasn't set. You're in purgatory, stumbling across the wet grass in just wool socks, growing wetter by the minute from mist and dew. The men hoot and cheer and clank their gold, throwing fists and weapons in the air.

A bloodless victory, unless they change their mind and decide to kill you.

Soap jumps, accidentally pulling you forward in a jerk that brings you to your knees. The tears come back, and the pebbles nearing the beach digging into your knees makes you sob.

"Careful!" Ghost barks. Behind you, he reaches under your armpits and helps you up. His hands are still rough, but he lets go of you quickly to yank the rope out of Soaps hands. It doesn't help that it's still near-pitch outside, not yet morning, hard to see.

"Ach," he rubs a hand behind his head, watching you cry and walk like a deadwoman. "Got a little over-excited, darlin. Forgive me."

"I'll be better to ye, don't worry," he falls in beside you, using a knuckle to brush away your tears.

When you reach the beach, you see a few boats, supplies, but that's all. No camp, nowhere to sleep. Did they jump straight from the boats, marching up the hill to the convent to pillage?

God, they're so big. Warriors. Why just you?

"Right," Price calls them to attention. You're stuck next to Ghost, sniffling, shivering a little, praying mentally for the first time in a long time. Dear God, please help me, please strike these men dead and let me run back up the hill.

You miss what Price says, whispering under your breath with your eyes closed and palms together until Ghost puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you forward again.

"Walk, then get on the boat," his voice is a growl.

"Dinnae worry," Soap chips in. "We brought meat."

They did - dried fish hangs like your laundry across each boats. The gold is loaded alongside you, stuffed to one side, and you're left trying to avoid the men tossing things in your direction.

Ghost ties your wrists to a wooden loop on the side of the boat.

It was built for this. For prisoners, slaves, taken in conquest.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Price shouts, the men answer. It's loud, a cacophony of voices and waves and the scrape of the boat against the sand.

You're going, going, gone. Floating. Adrift. Tied to the side of a viking ship with nothing but your thick, woolen habit and woolen socks. At least they provide some warmth, the air colder over the water.

Eyes look you up and down, not just from the two that took you. Gaz smiles to himself and punches Soap in the thigh, then they play wrestle.

You wonder what will happen to you- are you being taken as a slave? A prize?

The positive side to your time spend as a nun is that you know how to work, and you know that if something awful happens, you could find a way to meet God early and put yourself down.

Blood rushes in your ears again.

You register from somewhere outside of yourself that you're panicking again, caught wanting to run and having nowhere to do it. Tied down.

A hand touches your nape, and you turn with wild eyes and desperation all over your face to Ghost.

"Take a breath," he says, low enough that only you hear it, firm and commanding. "In and out, girl. Do it."

You do, if only to save yourself passing out. In and out, in and out, you breathe.

"That's it," he leans down, brown eyes finding yours. The skull is bleached yellow, old, but you try to ignore it. "You're alright."

"No I'm not," you shock the both of you by speaking, voice high and wavering. "I'm not, you're going to kill me or worse-"

"You think we'd take you just to kill you?"

"You're a heathen, aren't you?" you gasp again, wiping your face on the fabric of your sleeves. "Sister Catharine says heathens sacrifice virgins. Please don't."

He startles you by laughing, a ragged thing ripped from his chest.

"Not gonna sacrifice you, lamb," his hand squeeze your nape, his thumb rubbing the edge of your jaw where he can reach. "Gonna be a long journey, you'd better settle now."

It's hell. You were mistaken before, and you'd do anything now to go back to embroidery. You'd let the abbess cane you bloody, you'd kneel and pray with the passion of Christ himself if it meant you could come off the boat.

The boat, the men. The godforsaken fish, too-salty, not much better than the biscuits Soap insists on feeding you by hand.

"Your hands are tied, pretty lamb, how are ye gonna feed yourself?" He breaks it up, wiping crumbs from your cheeks.

You hope Ghost will step in, but he doesn't. He watches, a specter, still wearing that mask on his face. You wonder if it's because of you, or if he's just like that. Private, hidden. Intimidating.

"Open wide," Soap seems fond of holding your face, squishing your cheeks and puckering your lips. He's extra zealous since catching a sea-bird, keen on making you taste it.

The thought makes your stomach roil, despite being sick of the fish and biscuits. You turn your face, trying to avoid him, whimpering when he squeezes a little too hard.

"Come on, hen," he leans closer. "Fresh meat is good, no?"

"Johnny", Ghost saves you again, finally. Pulls on Johnny's shirt until he's sitting back on his heels. "Let her be."

"Awe, just wanna giv'er my catch, Si," if a heathenish, kidnapping devil could whine and pout like a child, it would look like this.

Horrific, is what it is. You tuck your face into your elbow and close your eyes.

You've been doing that most of the journey, closing your eyes and breathing deeply like Ghost taught you. Or Simon, what you've heard Johnny calling him.

Dread sneaks in every once in a while, wakes you up from fitful sleeps or seizes your ability to speak. Nobody else has spoken to you, not even Gaz who keeps glancing at you. Nobody but Simon and Johnny.

"Here," Simon says. You look up.

In his hand, an apple. Your eyes go wide, prickling, and you look even further up to him.

His eyes reveal nothing. Brown, flat.

"For me?" you ask.

"You see me offering it to anyone else?" from the corner of your eye, Soap is staring at you, smiling.

"I can have it?" an apple. You could dance. Days and days of travel after living in the same town and then the same convent to taken by force on a boar. An apple.

"Take it before I give it to Johnny," he grunts.

Suddenly, you feel a kinship with Eve.

Seasickness luckily doesn't affect you, and the melancholy is kept at bay by the apple. You think of it when you think you can't take anymore, remembering it's sweetness.

Simon becomes the safest person, and often if you feel scared your eyes find him.

When a minor storm rocks the boat, pelting rain, waves beating against the front, you tuck yourself close to his side and let Johnny take your hands into his.

Too easy to lean into them, to accept Johnny wiping your face gently with a cloth and eat fresh fish from Simons fingers. You're exhausted, and Simon doesn't push.

He just remains steadfast against chaos, even when Johnny fights with another one of the men and he has to pull them apart by their shirts.

"Si'down!" he barks, the loudest you've ever heard him. It makes you flinch, hiding again, until he sits heavily down beside you and you scoot as close as possible again.

"Not the smartest, are you?" he looks down. That hurts. You're just scared, is all. "Doesn't matter who's there, you'd cling right to them, wouldn't you?"

No, you want to say. But you just hide your face in your arms and cry again. You want to tell him the apple was special, that you know nobody else has one or got one, but you don't.

Your heart beats hard against your ribcage, that dread coming back again, feeling heavy and small under the weight of your predicament and his judgment.

"He didnae mean it," Johnny croons. He strokes your hair away from your face, thumbs finding your tense brows and smoothing them out. "We know you're a good girl. S'why we took ye."

You sniffle. The rocking of the boat has become both maddening and soothing.

You wonder when this journey will end.

Your clothes are stiff with salt, wetted and dried and re-wetted. Your skin itches, wrists burning, welts unhealed from before when the abbess has caught you sneaking mead.

She had accused you of indulgence, of trying to get drunk. Truthfully, you'd just liked the taste of honey and missed it.

Nuns didn't eat honey, at least not there. Cheese and wine were already over the top, God forbid anyone ate anything sweet. That's why you loved the apple, had held each bite long on your tongue, letting the sugars sit there a moment to savor them.

"Hey," someone nudges you, bringing you out of your half-sleep. Easier to be less conscious, less aware, trying not to feel your anguish and your physical pain. "Come on, get up. We're here."

"Hmm?" You're so tired, hissing and whimpering when your wrists are jostled.

Untied. They're being untired. Your head lifts too quickly, making you dizzy. Gaz is squatting in front of you, holding your leash.

"You awake?" he squints, tilting his head. "You look rough, sorry 'bout that. You good to stand?"

Too many questions. You're forced to lean on him heavily to try to stand. He's as solid as the others, just leaner. Kinder, honestly, as he mostly carries you off the longboat.

Muscles like a new foal, you take a seat on the soft wet sand and slump onto a crate. It's a struggle to walk on solid ground.

Men move around you, dumping and lifting and talking. Less excited than the last time they were on the beach, but there's still a buzz aflutter.

"Can I bring'er up?" Johnny is looking at you, his hand on Simon's forearm. Their affection is the quiet kind, something you only noticed the last couple days of the journey. Small touches, murmurs.

"Go ahead," Simon touches him back, moving towards Price when Johnny comes towards you.

"Awe, lamb," he coos, hauling you up with an arm around his shoulder. His other arm goes to hold your waist, squeezing. "Dinnae worry, I'll get ye in a bath soon 'nough."

He's not lying - after a painful, difficult walk, you make it to a wooden cabin. Looking around, there are a few of similar make, a little town.

"Go on in then, sweet hen," he pushes you just enough for you to shuffle your feet in the door.

Modest wooden furniture greets you, a one-room house with a large bed, fireplace, and table. The rest is beyond you once you spot the tub.

"Sit, let me get it ready for ye."

You nearly fall asleep, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes Johnny has steaming water filled to halfway in the tub, wooden slats fragrant. He's crumbling a dried flower in as well, humming to himself.

"Alright, s'ready," he helps you up again. Modesty is forgotten, you're too tired and weary to care when he slips the woolen habit off and leaves you in a plain shift, finally untying your wrists. "Pretty girl." He says it under his breath, like he can't help it.

The water is better than the apple. You hiss when it touches your wounds, your sore muscles.

You're tired to your marrow, could weep about it, eyes still opening and closing. Around you, Johnny searches through various bags and chests until he finds a bar of soap.

The soap is better than the water.

"Feels good?" he whispers, dipping his hands in and lathering up. How he's up and about, you have no idea. Even his hands near your bare breasts don't phase you - that's how wiped you are.

"S'good," you mumble. "Thought I ws'gonna die."

"We wouldn't've let that happen, sweet girl. Too precious, our treasure," a kiss, on your shoulder. He rubs the soap on your skin, your arms and down to your fingers, washing them each one by one.

"N'ver want to do that again," and then, because you forget he's your captor. "Please."

The attention is soft, patient. The soap washes away salt and dirt and sweat, even tears when he wipes your face with a rag. This is a second baptism, a better one, with gentle hands massaging your scalp and the barest brush against your nipples.

"Sit up," he pushes you forward, rinses your hair, washes your back while you're there.

The rag swipes over your cunt when he gets there, once, twice, eyes boring into you. Your exhaustion mutes the squeeze of anxiety in your chest, closing your eyes to avoid his gaze.

"Right, all done," he helps you back out and into a long, thin shift.

The bed is soft, so soft, covered in furs and actually stuffed enough to cradle your body. You sink into it immediately, just barely registering the door opening again.

"She asleep?" It's Simon, carrying luggage.

"Aye," Johnny says. You hear them kiss, wondering if they think you're asleep. "Anything else?"

"No," he's gruff, to-the-point. Drops bags in the corner with a clank and a chest by the door with a thud. "She give you trouble?"

"Sweet as a lamb, our girl," he sounds proud.

You open your eyes, one last attempt at self-preservation, and see them looking down at you.

Simon swipes a thumb over your cheek, under your eye, still wearing the skull.

"It's alright, go to sleep," he murmurs. Johnny leans his head on Simons shoulder. "Perfect girl, knew we did good takin' you."

[shadesoflsk]

YOUR? OUR MARGARET

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x Single mom!reader

SUMMARY: Life slowed down when Leon first saw those tiny rays of sunlight. But he didn't think he would fall in love with the whole sun. Or: Leon falls in love with a single mother.

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of alcohol, government, leon's traumas, love confessions, Leon is a bit insecure and awkward but he's also a sweetheart and has a soft spot for kids, cheesy and corny type of love, this is just fluff believe me!

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I had a nickel for every time I've written about Leon's transition from vendetta to death island I would have two which it isn't a lot but it's funny it happened twice. If you wish to know what song Leon played this is the one I had in mind. As always, I hope you like it. This is my Valentine's Day fic for today!

MY MASTERLIST

Gruesome scenarios and depressive states of mind have tainted Leon's path in life. However, the grizzled and gloomy agent has had a rather rough patch this last year in which he was left alone to die in his own sorrow—Raccoon City, Spain, China and his already-known addiction took a toll on him.

He doesn't have anyone to blame, nor does he want to. Yeah, he could blame the government for stripping him of his innocence and his genuine wish to help people but he felt like he had failed his nation, not the DSO, not the FBI, just him.

Behind closed doors, in the white house and for everyone else he's Agent Leon Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, and if someone were to ask the president he'd say he's the most trusted weapon the country has. 

He has grown accustomed. His shield has hardened to the point he's numb to most things he should find disturbing or annoying yet he couldn’t help but wish someone would see him the way he really is. 

A bittersweet feeling grew in Leon’s system. Alcohol no longer brought the same dull sensation that’d put him to sleep even in the loudest and sleazy bar. So, slowly he grew out of his addiction. Not alone, though. Alongside him were a couple of therapists which he reluctantly confided in. Not because he didn’t believe in mental health, but because he thought it wasn’t for him.

Also, his friends made his life a bit better. Spare the man the embarrassment, but friendship does indeed make you see the world more colorfully. It was nice hearing his name slip out of his friends' lips. Leon, Leon! Aww, Leon. 

However, life didn’t prepare him for the moment his name was replaced by a:

Dada.

Therapists had told him he should look for a hobby, something that’d fill those moments where boredom or monotony would push him to fall back into his deadly addictions. And he completely understood, he ought to follow the experts’ advice in order to actually improve.

It was rather easier, he was not a complicated man. 

Even before the Raccoon City incident, he loved exercising. Whether it was lifting weights, cycling, or plain running he’d always be found doing something. The mere thought of just lying in bed was something he’d never engage in, especially not now that he’s getting better. 

So, he combined two things. One he was familiar with and a second one he hasn’t been able to really connect with: nature. 

Near his current apartment, there was a small park in which he goes jogging. Usually, his schedule would only allow him to go there in the early hours of the morning where the only people he’d find were retired grandparents who danced to some Spanish music he couldn’t understand.

Peaceful, he liked it. 

But when he was getting used to his daily morning jogging, a call from work told him they needed him ASAP. So, his little detoxicating activity would be postponed to the afternoon. 

After dealing with the usual stress from work, calls from Hunnigan, and a rather bothersome headache, he got to his apartment and decided to get ready and not skip his so-needed jogging. 

The afternoon sky was painted with a hue of blue mixing with the slightest orange color, the gentle breeze hitting Leon’s face as he jogged around the park. His tempo never missed a beat not even after an hour or so between his physical training and some pauses. Sweat fell from his forehead and onto the ground with each step he took, meaning that he was reaching exhaustion.

At last, he found solace under a tree that cast a shadow, perfect for Leon to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he let his lungs inhale as much air as they could.

His peaceful moment was broken when a tiny voice called out for him. Or rather, mistaken him for someone else.

“Dada!” A little girl came walking to where he was seated, wobbly steps trying to reach him. 

“Margaret!” You appeared out of nowhere before the toddler could reach and hug the stranger. The giggling and excited kid seemed to have heard “run faster” by the way she didn’t stop at your call.

A hint of confusion washed over Leon as he watched the scene develop with rather curious eyes. A mop of curly hair running away from your grasp. The white dress turned into a slightly brown color, Leon guessed the child must have been playing in the dirt.

And then a glimpse of a faint smile replaced his previous bewilderment as his eyes fell on you. As you tried catching your daughter, he observed her antics and your patience. 

Finally, your hands lifted the little one as her tiny legs kicked in the air, ready to run in the air. 

You fixed Margaret’s dress and messy hair while her bright eyes continued being focused on the man sitting on the grass. Her hands doing the typical “grabby” motion to Leon. Sighing in defeat, you spoke to the man.

“Sorry, don’t know what happened.” You sheepishly said as you offered the man an apology for your daughter’s previous mischievous actions. “She usually doesn’t call random people dada I assure you.”

“She gave me quite the scare.” Leon chuckled as he got up from the grass. “My past actions flashed before my eyes.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry.” You repeated your words while your daughter tried wriggling her way out of your arms. When she saw that her mother’s grip wasn’t budging, she took matters into her own hands.

She started crying.

You weren’t letting your daughter play with a stranger, that much you knew. 

“My name’s Leon, by the way.” Leon said, extending his arm, but he pulled back as soon as he saw that you were too busy handling the tantrum your daughter was having. 

You told Leon your name which easily fell from his lips to confirm he heard you well. “Do you normally come here?” You asked.

“Yes, but just in the mornings.” He responded, watching the little one pouting. “Something came out today so duty called. Cops don’t rest.”

“Wait, Are you a cop?” You seemed to relax at the revelation and he couldn’t help but get a Deja Vu from this little interaction. A friend of his asked him the same question, but at least now he wasn’t surrounded by zombies.

“A cop…” A whisper came out from Leon’s lips, a playful yet gentle smile formed on his face. “Kinda.”

“I’ll assume you’re way more important than that.” You adjusted Margaret in your arms when she finally calmed. Although she kept on staring at Leon, her bright eyes focused on him. “Because if you were indeed a cop or a chief you’d be puffing your chest out.”

“Are they always like that?” He acted surprised.

“Here, in New York? I don’t know… you tell me.”

It’s been a while since he last spoke with someone this freely. Surely he has talked with his friends a lot. But they were people he had previously known and shared the same past as him, a connection to the outside world seemed impossible and even greedy in a way.

Soon, both of you found yourselves unable to stop talking, even Margaret chirped from time to time, making her opinion loud and clear. He got to know a bit about you, and you got to know little fragments of his life. The ones who wouldn’t lead him to share more than necessary, obviously.

Despite the rough exterior, his constant frowning stopped as a soft expression replaced it. Margaret's chubby hands absentmindedly held one of Leon’s fingers as he spoke with you, blabbering and being overjoyed by his presence. 

However, her cheerful mood slowly turned sour as soon as she got hungry. Glassy eyes and sobs warned you that the conversation would come to an end.

“Yup, I gotta go.” You murmured trying not to bring more stress to your already distressed baby. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise.” Leon kept his hands in his pockets, unable to come up with anything else. He wanted to say that perhaps they could repeat this. But then again, he’s been so deprived of normal social interactions that he no longer knows if that would sound creepy. 

“Have a good night.” He decided it would be the wisest thing to do. He watched your soft expression as you took your little girl’s hand and waved goodbye. 

Ever since that little interaction, his schedule changed. His morning routine was long forgotten. An excuse was made, something between the lines that his shift changed so he has to work in the mornings. 

And he was delighted to spend time with both of you. The highlights of his whole day would be getting to hear about you and Margaret. 

Each day that passed meant new memories being made. From the way he got to know Margaret’s favorite ice cream flavor to your childhood dreams. Every detail mattered for him because he could now see how simple life could be.

He took—both of you mostly— on little dates. Let it be to try a new cafeteria near the park, drinking an americano while Margaret drank from her sippy cut which was filled with chocolate milk. 

However, there were times in which Margaret would stay with a friend of yours. Allowing you to be alone with Leon. And while he appreciates the joy and happiness your daughter brought, he also loved the moments in which he could focus just on you. 

Sadly, years of training didn’t prepare him to man up and make the first move. When he thought he would brush away every insecurity and second guesses, something would come up. 

He wanted to grab your hand, the waiter would come at the worst time. He wants to compliment you, he'd almost choke with his own saliva. He wanted to give you a goodbye kiss after driving you home, someone would call him.

It was as if the universe was against him.

Thankfully, you had picked up those hints. And if Leon wasn't the luckiest man out there, you can help him in his predicament.

On a usual afternoon, as Margaret played with the leaves that had fallen from the trees, you shot him a question.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Huh? Yes, it sounds nice.” Leon absentmindedly replied, thinking it would be like the rest of your dates.

“I mean… In my house. I don't think I've invited you yet.”

In the meantime, Margaret had grabbed some leaves which she placed on Leon's hair. The man didn't even react to it, already used to her antics.

“I wouldn't like to intrude.”

“You wouldn't. See it as a friendly meeting.”

Friendly meeting, of course. He couldn’t be so selfish.

“If you insist.” He says as the little one giggles, her smile just showing two teeth. “When would it be?”

“Are you free this 14th?” 

He nods, he doesn't even remember if he's in fact free. But he'd make time. 

Besides, who works on Valentine’s Day?

     ⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

He wishes he would've realized about the implications of the day sooner.

The other dates have been nothing but platonic. Of course he had been nervous, biting his nails to the point where had to put on clear nail polish. 

But this one is for Valentine's Day. Day where people confess their love in dramatic ways. Some lucky people even propose on this date. 

Leon has been out of the dating game for years. He believes he'll mess it up somehow, especially as he sees the reflection of himself in the mirror. 

Of course, he knows he's getting better. But his appearance tells everyone otherwise. His hair continues being dark, a big contrast from his past self whose blond hair would be the talk of some people.

The palm of his hand brushes over his stubble cheek. The sensation of those tiny hairs is similar to blades. He looks at his watch, there is no time to shave. The last thing he wanted was to be late on his first date.

He sighs and walks toward the table, on top of it are two bouquets. One has multiple red and pink roses, that one is for you. The other one consists of a single white rose, for Margaret. Even if he has forgotten the basics of dating, he wouldn’t go empty-handed to your home.

The drive to your house isn’t an easy one. Not because he lacked driving skills, he is pretty much proud of how well he could drive when he is not facing life-or-death situations. 

He takes his car, just for today. He knows he has to be himself and show you his love for bikes. But he would be lying if he wasn’t a tad scared about coming to your house driving his usual motorbike. What would you think? Surely you’d dump him for risking his life or something like that.

But he is so damned anxious. He turns on the radio, trying to muffle his thoughts but the first thing that comes up is a Valentine's Day advertisement. ‘Don’t mess up your date today! Try our newest product and—’ He’s trying, he doesn’t know what the ad is talking about but he needs no product for this date to be a success.

He turns off the stupid machine. After all, today’s music sucks. Nothing personal, he just doesn’t like it. He’d prefer if the radio played real music. Some Deftones and Korn would do. 

But right now he’d dance to anything. Valentine’s Day, after all, should be a romantic getaway from the normalcy of life. Even though years had made him a corny individual, if it’s with you, romanticism should never die.

He’s rambling, his head is a mess. He sees himself slow dancing with you, Somethin’ Stupid playing in the background. He foresees a future in which he could paint next to your daughter, suns and trees never looked so pretty as he imagines that scenario. 

Dating you would come with the whole pack, he knows well. But even at his age, he still feels like a broken child whenever he sees himself in the mirror. Memories of his innocence being stripped away of him and his present still clinging on to the faint threads of hope. 

So that’s why he made the promise of taking this relationship seriously. No matter if you end up being nothing more than friends. People often say that you just know when you meet the one. And he saw the beacons of lights announcing the whole sun when he met you and your little one.

Eventually, he reaches your home. Double-checking the address you had previously sent him over text, he confirms this is the place you live in. A modest house, enough for you and Margaret. 

He switches off the engine and takes out the key from the ignition. Placing his hands one last time on the steering wheel, he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. And with a newfound conviction, he grabs the two bouquets and gets out of the car.

When he walks towards the door, he immediately knocks. If he dared to wait just a second just to calm his anxiety, he’d spend at least 5 minutes staring at the wooden material. So, he sacrifices that priceless time in order to face reality.

A ‘coming’ is heard by Leon a few seconds after he knocks. Eventually, the front door opens and you welcome him with Margaret in your arms. “Hey.” You greet him, Margaret doing the same as she waves her hand.

“Hey, you two.” Leon says with a warm smile, trying to hold back the fact that there hasn’t been a better image than this. “I couldn’t come empty-handed to your house so I took the liberty to bring you these.”

Leon then hands you the bouquets he had brought—the bigger one for you, and the smaller one with a single rose for Margaret. 

“Are these for me?” A dumb question, of course. But there’s no harm to ask and surely it would get a nice reply from Leon who has been dancing around the idea of flirting with you. Too scared to come off as awkward and silly.

“I don’t see another pretty woman around here.” It slips so smoothly out of his lips. Leon Kennedy, you still got it, he mentally praises himself. 

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, satisfied with the answer you received. “Please, come in.”

Leon nods and enters your house. The living room was nicely organized, and the way some toys blended in with the decoration brought a smile to his face. The perfect balance between the sober expected room with the colorful and childish playthings.

You set Margaret on the floor not before giving her the rose Leon gifted her. She absentmindedly walks toward the couch and sits down to inspect what an amazing thing the funny man brought.

“Well, looks like she likes them.” Leon hums as he watches how Margaret starts happily tearing the flower into tiny pieces. Her antics filling Leon’s heart, he could get used to this feeling.

He wants to.

“Yup, definitely.” And your eyes meet Leon’s, his piercing blue eyes are not cold as he often thinks. They remind you of the beach sea, of the gentle waves and the gentleness they carry. 

And he sees himself in yours. In your eyes, he isn’t a cold and depressed agent who is fighting off the odds. He admires the man he’s becoming. The man who despite everything he has experienced, wants to do better.

“I haven’t told you yet but…” Leon trails off as he gathers the courage to do this simple yet nerve-wracking action. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses your knuckles. A gentleman through and through. If he could win your heart, he’d do anything to protect both of you.

Although he was lying, even if he weren’t to win you over, you have already gained a friend who would literally save the world for you to live in with your most beautiful miracle. 

“You’re sappy.” You shake your head laughing, but you don’t push Leon away. In a way, your teasing comes off as a thank you. 

“And you break my heart.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand which falls to your side.

As it does, your eyes fall on Margaret. While she continues playing with torn pieces of the flower, you see her head swaying slowly from side to side, as if fighting off sleep. 

“It’s nap time for little Margaret.” You break the silence as you walk toward Margaret whose tiny fingers still try to tear up the already destroyed rose. 

You pick up Margaret and with the way she isn't getting fuzzy, your assumption was correct. She is fighting against Morpheus, sadly losing.

You glance at Leon who is standing in the same place you left him. Admiring the scene of you carrying your daughter. 

“Would you like to help me?” You murmur. 

Of course he does, he wants nothing more but to embark on this new life. He has seen so much horror and for once, he wants to indulge in this domestic dream of his.

“If you let me.”

Humble, timid, and definitely not showing how enthusiastic he was about helping you. 

You nod and guide him upstairs. Margaret’s room was just next to yours, even though you prefer to sleep with her, still too nervous about her getting tangled in her own blankets.

As both of you reach the room, shades of pink and white greet Leon. Some toys are scattered around the floor too. Proof of Margaret’s wholesome behavior. 

Margaret shifts in your arms, her previous peaceful demeanor changing given the frustration of not falling asleep yet. She is pretty much easy to handle when nap time comes, but today is one of those days.

“You told me I could help.” Leon's hushed voice reaches you. His eyes express the need to assist you in a task like this. 

“Sure…” Your heart flutters as Leon steps up to help you. You indeed asked him if he wanted to come with you. But the fact he had so eagerly accepted the role made you appreciate him even more.

If that was even possible.

As Margaret starts letting out soft cries, you hand her to Leon who is quick to catch her. At first, Margaret is held rather awkwardly which brings a smile to your face before her cries get really serious.

You help Leon by moving his hand. That gains a quiet ‘ok ok’ meaning that he got the hang of it. 

He positions Margaret on his chest, her face seeking the crook of his neck as she continues letting out tiny sobs. With his hand supporting his back, he rocks her.

If anyone were to see him, they'd think he's a father holding his daughter. But in his mind, he's holding your world, his world. 

Oblivious to it, Leon started humming a song. He doesn’t know where he had heard it before. Maybe it came from his mother, a memory he thought was deeply buried in his mind.

Eventually, your baby falls asleep which definitely boosts Leon’s mood as she grins. He's built for this! He thinks.

He lays Margaret in her crib. The little one breathes slowly as she drifts off to dreamland.

Both of you slowly and quietly walk out of the room making sure not to make any loud noise and wake the sleeping princess. 

As you slowly descend from the stairs and are once again in the living room, Leon’s mind is filled with expectations.

What's next?

What is he supposed to do now? 

As if on cue, your words break the silence.

“I forgot to order the food.” You sheepishly admit as you nervously laugh. Between cleaning the house before Leon came and taking care of a toddler the fact that a dinner without food wouldn't be a dinner slipped out of your mind.

“I'll do it right now just give me a second to search for this one restau—”

“Hey, it's okay.” Leon reaches for your arm before you can walk toward where the phone is. He takes this opportunity to do all the things he has wanted to do with you. To accomplish each one of those silly yet endearing wishes of his.

“Besides… this is a great excuse for us to bond more.”

He lets go of your arm but instead, his hand takes out his cellphone. Your eyes curiously watch as he types something.

For a moment, Leon doesn't utter a word and you can see how his fingers are slightly shaking.

Leon looks up from the phone and gives you a gentle smile before he sets the phone aside. After a couple of seconds, the slow and wistful chords of a piano announce the beginning of a song.

“May I have this dance?” Leon extends his hand toward you. 

You opt to accept his hand. In the back of your mind, you wanted to tease him one more time. Just like you did when he told you happy Valentine’s. But you feel this is way more important than those simple words.

As your hand locks with his, he pulls you closer to his body. His free arm finds its home in your lower back, not too low to keep it PG and not to discomfort you in this intimate dance.

Letting him guide you, you sway from side to side. His past self wouldn't have imagined that he could reach this level of serenity and tranquility. The simple thought of having a family was like a faraway dream.

Your head rests comfortably on Leon's shoulder, the scent of his cologne being your new favorite aroma. The one that brings you memories from the time you met him to all the dates you had that led to this very moment.

The song continues its course, and the outside world is forgotten for a moment. No words are exchanged as both of you drown in the homely feeling of dancing in each other's arms.

After a while, without lifting his head and allowing his lips to ever so slightly graze against your ears, Leon's voice cut through the peaceful melody.

“Let me in.” He whispers, his hands ever so slightly tightening around your middle section. His words brush against your ear like the soft melody that plays in the background. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Let me in, in your life. I don’t want to ask you to just be your partner.” The weight and truth of his statement turn your head in a messy place. “I want to be part of your life and Margaret’s.”

He wants to stick around, he wants to be greeted by you and Margaret each time he comes back from a mission. He wants to give Margaret the childhood he never had. And, he wants to fulfill every little dream you and he may have. 

“I want to wake up next to you each morning. To Margaret telling us she's hungry in her own way.” He's always been a man of few words, but in this moment he could recite the whole bible if he wanted. 

“I want to put Margaret to sleep every day just like I did today. And I want to sleep next to you every night, knowing that you're safe.”

“I don't want you to be a memory.” His lips move to the side of your face, daring to kiss your cheeks in a sweet manner. “I want you to be my whole life.”

Smoothly and with ease, his words fall from his lips while his tempo never falters. His thumb now softly rubs your skin, where his hand is located to support your back in the dance.

He'd want to take pride and tell you he's that good with words. However, many times he has rehearsed this speech that if he had stumbled on his words he'd have let the earth swallow him.

And as the song came to an end, so did Leon’s confession. 

A few seconds of silence create the worst nightmare in Leon's imagination. He could already hear your words telling him you don't feel the same that you're already in love with someone else or—

Your knuckles caress Leon’s face, feeling the growing stubble on his cheek and jaw. The sensation of being touched like this has been a long-distance memory that he's completely forgotten what being loved felt like.

He now feels both of your hands cupping his face, prompting him to look you in the eyes. His blue eyes lock with yours and admire the softest of expressions drawn on your face.

As he gazes into you, he can only think how in love he is. And what a good life awaits for him.

And what feels like both an eternity and a split second, your lips connect with his in a tender yet meaningful kiss. One that he's been expecting after all this time.

The one is indeed not a myth.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I had so much fun writing this. There's something about found family that makes me all soft and sappy lmao. And sorry if my despiction about cops is wrong... I've never set foot in the US so spare your writer the embarrassment. Anyway, I hope you all have a beautiful day! No matter if you spend it with your lover, friends or alone. (Dividers are from: @/cafekitsune)

💬 SHADESOFLSK: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

[elfy-elf-imagines]

— Elven Instinct | Legolas Greenleaf *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~2.1k

▹ Summary: When you know, you know. There's no other way to explain it.

▹ Note: I listened to Margaret by Lana on repeat while writing this, 10/10 recommend. Also, unedited because it's 2am and I want to SLEEP.

You’d met Legolas early spring when the winds were still bitter and the frost was beginning to melt. 

The moon was high and the chatter was mellow, the defeat of Sauron still fresh in everyone's memory. He’d been wearing his ceremonial armor and you a white dress. The jewels you wore shimmered like stars and your eyes shone like moonlit water. A human woman from a minor noble house, you never expected catching the eye of the elven prince that helped save the realm.

Legolas’ eyes followed you intently, entranced by your sweet voice and the slight creases around your eyes when you smiled. It had been three times your eyes had met and after the third time, Legolas found the courage to approach, downing his glass and leaving it behind. His hands trembled and a lump formed in his throat, but he’d kick himself later if he didn’t try. The pathway to you seemed miles long, the rest of the crowd blind to Legolas; it was as if a single light was guiding his way to you. His blood rushed and his heart raced; tingles lit his body up.

It was no shock when Legolas was a few feet away. You noticed him approaching, of course, you were entirely too aware of him and his lingering eyes. Liquid courage was found in a glass of wine that was sweet and tarte all at once. The alcohol caused your cheeks to flush but you knew the prince's presence would make them flush brighter. The alcohol would be a good excuse for the blush you’d soon have.

The noise in your mind grew hush once the elven prince stood before you. He smelled warm and fresh, well groomed and oiled with a hint of a woodsy scent. The smoothness of his features were nearly off putting, but the shy grin on his face was anything but unnerving. The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fabric of your dress and Legolas’ hands were clasped in front of him. Nervous and awkward, neither of you were sure how to proceed.

It was silent for a moment, replaced by the fumbling of the two of you speaking over each other. With the realization, the words were cut short and silence fell over the air. Your eyes fell to the floor and your teeth worried your lips while Legolas’ cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. 

“Apologies, my prince--”

“I insist my lady, you first--”

Another bout of silence. Neither of you could remember how casual conversation worked. You peeked at him through your lashes, a small giggle slipping past your lips. It made Legolas ease his stiff posture, melting into the sound of your voice. 

“May I have your name, my lady.” He couldn’t recall being so shy when speaking with a woman. All the confidence age and skill brought was drained from his body; he was an elfling fumbling over his own feet.

“It is Y/N. I would ask for yours, but I believe that question is redundant.”

“Am I so well known?”

Your grin widened in a way that would make your mother grimace. 

“One of the heroes who saved Middle Earth and the son of the King of the Woodlands?” There was a hint of teasing in your tone, lips curled into a slight smirk. “I perhaps heard your name a time or two.”

Legolas laughed, eyes shut and head slightly tossed back. A stray ray of light hit his head, illuminating him with a halo above his head. “I suppose my reputation does precede me, but I feel like we’re standing on uneven ground. You know more of me than I do of you.”

Some of the nerves that made you feel fluttery and sick began to disappear. His easy and smile and comforting aura felt as same as the childhood nativity you clung to. He put stars in your eyes in a way no one else ever had.

“I’m afraid my life is dull in comparison to the other attendees of this party.” 

The half smile on Legolas’ face contorted into a much softer appearance. Eye bright and voice low, it sent shivers down your spine.

“I dare say you are more so memorable.” 

Your lashes fluttered and your breath got caught in your throat. Subtly, you pinched the side of your thigh, sending a prayer of gratitude to whatever god led you to this moment. A shy giggle bubbled from behind your closed lips. Emboldened from the haze the wine created, you leave a feather light touch over Legolas’ shoulder. 

“A bold statement considering you’ve hardly known me a day.”

Legolas smiled at your quick retort, leaning towards your body, his head tilted down to see you better. 

“They say an elves' instincts are never wrong.” 

You raised a single brow in response, a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. All thoughts of formality and proprietary thrown out. 

“And your instincts say I’m memorable?” 

Legolas paused for a moment before continuing.

“Well when you know, you know.”

Unsure of how to react, a small bout of laughter left your mouth. The rest of the night was spent with Legolas at your side. Even as nobles singing his praises and vying for the favor of an elven prince, Legolas never strayed too far. With a polite smile and nod of the head, he would quickly dismiss the well-wishers in favor of returning his attention to you. 

The night passed far too quickly, and with the blink of an eye you found yourself in the isolation of your room with your blankets pulled to your chin. Behind your closed eyes, your thoughts and dreams were nothing but Legolas and a life you were certain was too far from your grasp. 

---

The crisp spring air was traded for balmy, long summer nights. The world began to return to normal, all that Mordor and Sauraman destroyed slowly being rebuilt. The coronation of the king was approaching, the heroes of Middle Earth lingering in Gondor, including Legolas.  

 You hadn’t spoken since your first meeting, but he was everywhere you looked. Walks through the city, visits to the Keep, or wandering through the gardens; it didn’t matter where you were, he was everywhere. To his credit, he made it seem as if he was a subject of fate and not the mastermind setting the chess board. 

And the board was currently being reset in a small nook overlooking the city. The queen sat in front of a stone table with a book while the king lingered around the edges, unsure of how to approach. 

“I began to think you were a ghost I’d imagined.” You spoke quietly and wet the tip of your finger. Flick. Your eyes began to scan the new page of your book. 

From the corner of your eye you saw Legolas take the free chair directly across from you. His hands rested on the table, fingers intertwined. 

“Why’s that?” 

A slight smirk appeared on your lips, barely visible over your book. Finishing the sentence you were reading, you shut the book and set it on the table. Eye to eye, you took in Legolas’ appearance. His casual leathers had been traded in for formal attire, a delicate silver circlet resting above his brow. Gods did he look beautiful. 

“You seem to be everywhere I am, yet this is the first time you’ve approached.”

Legolas stared at you a moment; a slight furrow of his brow in response to the tilt of your head and sly grin. “I approached you at the celebration.” 

“The first and only time, if we don’t take this moment into consideration.” 

Legolas narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, a grin pulling on his puzzled expression. 

“You seem perfectly capable of starting a conversation and entirely aware of when we were in a room together.” The implication of his words weren’t lost on you, a slight flush betraying your embarrassment. You were entirely too aware of him. 

“And how improper would that be?” You feigned a scandalized appearance, lightly swatting Legolas’ hand. “A minor noble woman approaching an elven prince? My mother would die from the embarrassment that scandal would cause.” 

Legolas laughed; a short and sweet one that made his eyes turn to crescents. There was a flutter in your stomach and a misbeat of your heart. For a moment your eyes glazed over, not aware what Legolas was saying if he was speaking to begin with. He looked entirely too beautiful, his eyes too blue to be natural. Elves were supposed to be supernaturally beautiful, but none of the other elves wandering the keep were as beautiful as him.  

“Ahh.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound pulling you from the spell he cast. “How foolish of me to overlook that detail. In the future I will be sure to start all conversations, lest the public get the wrong idea.” 

“A relief to hear you have agreed to stop silently stalking me. And they claim chivalry to be a dying behavior.” You rolled your eyes, the grin on your face dulling any snark in your words. 

Your eyes returned to Legolas, the easy silence hanging over the two of you. The air was calm, sans a nervous fog over Legolas’ eyes. What was there to be worried over? The war was over, Sauron was defeated. You tried to remember what could be a cause of worry, but your mind came up empty. Even the remaining orcs were being hunted down and slain.

“But I’m sure that reassurance isn’t why you’re here.” You broke the silence, Legolas’ attention snapping back towards you. “What worried you?” 

“I am to return home soon.” 

Your mouth was parted, unable to hide the disappointment on your face.

“Oh.” The word was uttered so quietly you weren’t certain it was actually said. Of course he would go home, he’s a prince with duties to his people. It’s not as if there would be anything to keep him here after the King’s coronation next week. 

“I wish you a safe journey.” 

The tips of your fingers tapped against the smooth stone. 

“You mistake me. It is expected of me to return home shortly after Aragorn’s coronation, but I am unsure if it is what I want to do.” 

A slight furrow of your brows betrayed your confusion, but before you could open your mouth, Legolas continued to speak. 

“We have not spoken nearly as much as I would’ve liked during my stay here, a predicament I understand to be a making of my own, but I--” He cut himself off, eyes lowering to the ground as he shook his head. 

Oh.

The realization came with a bright red hue painting your cheeks. All this time, you never once considered the elven prince had affections for you. Each time you’d been in the same room, same hall, or same street, it never occurred to you he was building the courage to speak with you again. Had your first meeting had such an effect on him? Could he possibly get as fluttery and nervous as you do?

“I would like the chance to get to know you, Lady Y/N, and in time perhaps court you.” 

Like a starstruck idiot, you stared at Legolas with wide eyes and parted lips. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears and in the distance there were birds singing, or maybe you’d just imagined that.

Legolas began to drum his fingers against the table, nervous eyes unable to meet yours. You’d been silent for too long, you realized. He may be getting the wrong idea. To assuage whatever fears were building within his head, you reached your hand out and placed it over him. It brought his attention back to you; wide eyed and flushed face he looked ages younger than he really was. 

“I would love for the chance to get to know you beyond the surface level.”

Like dawn brightening the landscape, Legolas’ face lit up. Any petty fears or worries were banished from his expression. He brought his free hand to rest it atop your other free hand. He squeezed your hand three times before pulling them away. After a moment you hear the soft pad of footsteps on the ground. 

A chair skids across the ground as Legolas stood from his seat, outstretching a hand towards you. “Perhaps the lady would grant me a walk through the halls?”

Gently, you stood from your seat, placing your hand in the crook of his arm. 

“Lead the way my prince.”

[bvttoneyes]

ok so all of you fake?

i told you to send OUAT reqs and you didn't....

anyways. now y'all get to vote who and ill js come up with my own plot. (im hyperfixating on it and i need something to do other than character ai)

theres also some non-ouat characters

with the after the curse yall can dm/comment/inbox which would be best as her role. whether a daughter, fairytale character, partner, sibling, etc.

[bellarkeselection]

A Child Will Come From Love

Request from @supernaturalgirl30 King Henry short where its his wedding day and its the ball and y/n is a bit nervous to give him a child cuz his mother was pushing that on her (Really enjoyed writing this one only a few more hours left before I close requests again❤️)

Brushing my fingers over the golden dress staring at myself In the mirror seeing the tiny golden crown sitting on top of my head with a red rose jewel in the middle of it. Henry and I were wed in love surprisingly enough since I was born a few seconds after my twin sister so he still got a York wife like he needed to keep the throne of our family. But with that came the pressure from his lady mother about me needing to produce a boy to ensure the reign would last. Crossing the hall the ball for tonight was in full swing but Henry rose from his throne no longer bored at seeing my presence breaking through the crowd intertwining my hands with his. “My queen, these things are always boring until you come.” I smiled leaning up on my toes feeling his mother watching us closely so I whispered as I broke the kiss. “Can we talk in private about something, Henry?” He nodded leading me into the hallway where the loud sounds of the party died down through the stone walls grateful that he would give me anything if I simply asked him even before we were crowned and wed this morning.

“So what did you want to talk about, darling?” He asked watching me drop my hands from his eyeing him up and down admitting to myself that the golden crown sitting on his brown curls standing in the light radiating off the torches made him even more attractive than before. “Your mother has been pressuring me in the weeks before we were wed this morning that I must provide you an heir and do nothing else but that. She says over and over again that you must be given a boy, an heir for the throne of England. And I’m just - I’m terrified of the pressure - I mean what if we try and I can’t - it is what I was born to do-“ He cuts off my crying of panic crashing his lips onto mine cradling my face in his hands feeling me barely kiss back before he broke it. He wiped tears away for me before he softly spoke back. “Forget whatever worries my mother may have put in your head. The future doesn’t deserve to worried about. We will have a child not for duty but for love.”

Gripping the fabric of his cloak I wanted to believe what he was saying but his mother hadn’t left me alone she was there every time after I talked with my mother or Henry. “Henry, what if I can’t conceive though. I mean it has naoto some women. I love you and I want a child.” I started rambling again until he wrapped his arms around my waist tugging me closer to him kissing me deeply. Wrapping my arms around his neck we broke the heated kiss seeing he had a playful smirk on his face. “You once told me that you feared the consummation then anything else so stop worrying about something you can’t control Y/n. Just be in the moment with me. In fact let’s retreat from here before they realize we are gone. It’s just you and I now, Henry and Y/n. No king or Queen, just us.” Grinning up at my husband I wrapped my arms around his neck once more finally kissing him where he kissed me back suddenly dragging me into our room and locking the door. Knowing we would worry about an heir when the day came but for now it was just our love that matters most.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[awritesthings1]

Midnight Interlude

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: You try to convince Tommy, your husband, to come back to sleep.

ao3 link

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You awoke quietly in the middle of the night, feeling the weight of your slumber resting beneath your eyes. Too tired to lift your eyelids, you shifted in the bed, searching for the comforting cradle of your husband’s arms, only to find the space beside you cold and empty.

Weakly, you opened your eyes to the dark bedroom. Blinking sleepily, you waited for your senses to adjust while attempting to recall if Tommy had mentioned anything about going on a business trip. Your head ached. Where was that Tommy of yours? You weren’t even able to think because your brain was still buzzing from a peculiar dream. Regardless, you were freezing, and without Tommy to keep you warm, you wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. You cursed, pressing a cold hand to your flushed head. Your nose squirmed at the bitter air.

You weren’t sure how many sleepless nights you could endure without your husband. Lately, he had been going on more business trips than usual and staying up late in his office. You went to sleep before him, and by the time you woke up, he was usually already going about his morning. It was if you married a ghost.

The sheets rustled when you swung your feet to the floor. You stretched your arms awake and rolled your neck to the side, receiving a satisfactory pop in return. Wrapping a silk night gown around your body, you left the bedroom, stifling a yawn as you reached his office, where you heard the cackling of candles and the amber hum peeking through from the crack beneath the door. You twisted the nob slowly, careful not to startle Tommy, and entered the room.

“Tommy? You’re still up," you croaked, rubbing at your tired eyes.

Your toes curled as a shiver passed through your body. The wooden floors of your husband’s office were always deathly cold. And where was that ambitious old soul of his? Hunched over his messy desk, squinting through his glasses as he appeared to be reading over a letter. His marble contours were more sunken each night. His thumbs twitched and fiddled with a fountain pen as if they couldn’t bear to do anything but work. The top buttons of his white blouse (that you were always sure to iron the night before) pealed back to reveal a sliver of skin that you would stare at some nights to ensure he didn’t die working himself to death.

You loved him. God, you loved him. You loved him in a way that certainly would disgust the wives from the country houses down the lane. They loved their husbands in a plain and simple way. Margaret had gushed to you about her marriage and how she had fallen into a timely routine with her husband, dancing around the clock until they fell asleep on a wonderfully fluffy mattress. You stuck your tongue in your cheek. That wasn’t love; that was what men told women love was—a choreographed routine. Tommy was different. He loved you hard. Not just because he was a man and that’s what men were supposed to do, but because he lived and breathed everything he did, even if it killed him.

“I need to write something down." Tommy cleared his throat, too distracted to look up from the letter.

If you were any other woman, you would mistake his tone for annoyance. Not you. The hollow under his eyes spoke for him. Your poor husband never knew when to rest. Even when the moonlight poured in from the window and his hands were stained with ink, that mind of his clicked away into a world only accessible to him. It must be a burden, you think, to have the intellect Tommy had—to be three steps in front of everyone else. Talking to the ladies at the country club exhausted you sometimes because all they seemed to care about was the latest silks and décor from an exotic country or babies with chubby cheeks. It had to feel something like that, like sugar rotting your teeth.

“You’ll have time in the morning,” you insisted, leaning against the doorframe and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

The candlelight began to flicker as it neared the end of its wick.

Tommy wet his lips. “I have an early meeting out of town.”

Your shoulders fell. You knew who Tommy was and the priorities he had to balance. His work was important to him, and he did it for his family. That included you, too. But at hours like these, when your nightgown wasn’t enough to keep you warm, you craved the comfort of his arms.

“Come back to sleep,” you whispered, crossing the threshold of the office to stand behind him, where he was hunched over on his chair, writing something down.

Tommy relaxed as you began to massage his shoulders. Those eyes that painted you blue on winter nights fell closed for a moment. His hand itched for his whiskey, resting on the icy glass but never raising it to his lips. Several cigarette butts were discarded on his ash tray, some still puffing smoke. He smelled like a mixture of the two. You remember when you were younger how your nose would scrunch up at the scent of his cigarettes. Now, it was oddly comforting.

“I need to finish writing this letter,” Tommy drawled, reaching for the cigarette case that was buried under a file of papers.

As he pinched one out, you grabbed the match box that had been sitting on the windowsill and struck a match to light it as he perched it between his lips. When the end of it lit up, Tommy took a deep drag.

“You’re a man, Tommy, not a god. You need sleep,” you sighed, squeezing his tensed shoulders.

“Not yet." Smoke escaped his mouth in light puffs as he spoke.

You blinked slowly. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.” It was a half-truth. You were never able to fall asleep after waking up in the middle of the night, especially without Tommy by your side.

Tommy’s rough palm covered your hand, which was resting on his shoulder. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

That was never true. Every time Tommy was gone, the room stank of it. His presence consumed Arrow House; it was as if the walls were made from his flesh and bone. And when he was away, it felt like you were living in a stranger’s home. The paintings on the wall were of a random family, and his office sat as if it were abandoned in a hurry. It was only when he returned that the colors bled back into the walls and you realized you were home.

You leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on his sharp jaw. He inhaled sharply through his nose. You noticed his attention had drifted from the letter and was now focused on the chandelier.

“Where’s that husband of mine? Hm?”

Tommy continued to take large drags from the cigarette while the both of you bathed in the crackling of the dying candlelight. Eventually, it burned out, and Tommy tapped the butt of his cigarette into the ash tray before setting it down to lean back on his chair. Now dark, he let you slip your hand from beneath his as you straightened your back and ran your nails through his scalp.

He groaned deep and nasally, fluttering his eyes closed. The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip, and when your pupils adjusted to the dark, you saw the cogs in his head shutting off.

“Come back to sleep.”

“Alright,” he nodded with a grunt.

Most women would have said it was a miracle, not your Tommy. There was no holy spirit that possessed him to say yes. He chose to do so on his own account.

You rode that thought with a smile, turning his head to the side so you could lay a kiss on his forehead.

God, you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

He sighed deeply, blinking lazily at his hands, which rested on his knees, before standing up. Both Tommy and his chair groaned at the movement. You hushed him and walked him to your shared bedroom, hand in hand. There, you carefully unbuttoned his blouse and slid his suspenders down his broad shoulders. Slowly but surely, you undressed him while his tired eyes watched you.

When you were younger, those eyes terrified you the same way a duck feared a rifle. What you never saw was the love they held behind glaciers of blue. Tommy made sure you saw it ever since. The ink on his hands was dry by the time they came to cup your face. His affectionate touch made more than your heart throb, but the both of you were too exhausted to do anything about it.

You settled for a kiss that he pressed against your lips. It wasn’t passionate or hungry like it usually was, but tender and firm. You loved it all the same.

“I love you." His breath settled on your skin like a warm blanket.

You closed your eyes and leaned forward, letting Tommy carry the weight of your head between his hands. You hummed when he brushed his knuckles gingerly across your cheekbones.

“I love you, too. Now, let’s get to bed before the sun rises,” you smiled, blinking up at him.

He kissed the top of your head, winding his tired arms around your frame to hold you against his chest. He hummed agreeably into your hair, letting his eyes flutter shut. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist as he held you. You treasured small, fleeting moments like this. It wasn’t often that Thomas Shelby left his boots on the office floor and melted into a puddle. You think that made it all the more special. Your Thomas Shelby, the decorated soldier, the family businessman, and the hardened gangster could step away and become your favorite thing—a loving husband.

By the time you had both settled into the bed, the sheets were still warm, and the moon was still out. Tommy was resting on his side, with his arm draped around your waist as he snored lightly into your neck. Outside the window, the wind howled and crashed against the pane like winter waves. You felt none of it. Tommy’s body acted as a heater, protecting you from the numbing chill that waited at the edge of the covers, threatening to nip at your skin. You smiled, nuzzling deeper into his embrace. Here in the cradle of his arms, nothing could touch you.

[countrymusiclover]

42 - What to Fight for

Part 43

His Golden Princess

Finally managed a OUAT update 🤗

@fanficismydrug @misskitty1912-blog @dragonixfrye @lover-of-books-and-tea

Rumple’s POV

Stumbling against a tree in the woods I hated not having magic to help me walk. I had gotten quite used to having it back in my life. But it hurts more to know that it has consumed the love of my life instead. She doesn’t deserve to let it drag her down. “Merida: Don't think about running. With that limp, you wouldn't make it 10 feet. Pick up the bloody sword and let's make a hero of you.”

I stutter to the curly red headed girl. “But I-I can barely stand, much less fight someone.”

She drops her sword looking around until she found a tree limb she cut making me a walking stick. “Now you can stand. All a man needs is a sword and one good hand. You've got both, so pick it up.”

“Look, t-this is useless. If she wants me to pull Excalibur, then... then let me try. When I fail, she can move on.” I scoff when she knocks the sword from my other hand.

Merida rolls her eyes at me. “When you fail, there's no moving on. You turn to dust.”

Shaking my head I didn’t understand why my wife was so concerned with pulling a sword from a rock. “What do you care what happens to me?”

“I don't! I care what happens to me! And my brothers and my kingdom... none of which I can help while this goes on. So whether you like it or not, you're going to get me home.” She declares with a fiery tone.

Gripping the wooden stick in my hands if she wanted my help she would have a better chance at using Emma. “I can never be brave.”

She muttered under her breath she pointed her sword tip in my direction. “Me whole fate rests in a coward's hands. It's really come to this? Yes, you will be. You have to.”

“You have the wrong man.” Dropping my gaze down to the dirt at my feet.

Merida stomps up forward drawing her sword around my head until I grunted getting knocked out by her hit dropping to the dust. “Well, if words won't drive you, we'll have to figure another way, now, won't we? There has to be something. And I'm gonna find it.”

Astrid’s POV

Sitting down my grilled cheese I watched the curly red head stomp into my house. Pushing my chair away from the kitchen table I raised a brow at her not seeing my husband wasn’t with her. “Where is my husband. I told you to make him a hero not abandon him in the middle of the woods!”

“Don’t get you kilt in a twist, dark princess. He won’t fight with words. So I need your help in giving him something to fight for. What does he care about besides you?” She whipped her head around grumbling at me.

Tapping my fingers on the table there was very little Rumple cared about besides me. I couldn’t see our baby as leverage since it wouldn’t be born for a few months. “Well at first it was just his son Bealfire and his shawl but he’s dead. Now there’s me and our babe. That won’t work…yet there is one other person who got close to his heart under weird circumstances.”

“Does he have another weakness or not?” She stomped her boot on the wooden floor getting frustrated.

Raising my hand I froze her in her place with my magic where she grunted watching me rise to my feet. Holding my hand so she couldn’t move I waved my other hand revealing my dagger necklace that hangs from my fingers. “There is one girl whose name is Belle, but we will need her for something else. As for right now…” Reaching inside my chest I sat the necklace down on the table drawing out my half of heart.

“How can you survive with only half a heart?” The Scottish girl asked me.

Placing my heart in her hands once I unfreeze her body I slipped the necklace around her neck too. “It’s a long story that isn’t important right now. When you see him show him the necklace first and if that doesn’t work show him the heart.” Waving my hand I transported her back to my husband knowing that one of those objects would trigger him.

Rumple’s POV

Blinking my eyes open once more I saw that it was nightfall right before a sword was pointed into my throat making me gasp at the red head being back in front of me. “Well. Glad to see the bears didn't get ya.”

“Please. Please. I-I... I can't fight.” I gulped when she cut the ropes on my wrists tossing me a sword once more.

Merida shouts at me swinging her sword in her hands. “No. You won't fight. Big difference. You know, my father used to say, "if you want a lad to fight, give him something to fight for."

“W-what are you doing?” Pressing my back against the tree trunk she pressed the blade tip to my throat making me nervous of what she was about to do next.

Merida reached into her dress showing me a necklace that I recognized clearly. “Oh. Reminding you what you have to fight for.” The tiny necklace was a little rusted but the shape of the dagger was still clear as day.

“Where did you get that?” I asked her leaning forward trying to grab it but she rose to her feet quickly.

She held it on the tip of her finger taunting me. “Oh, means something to you, doesn't it? Oh! If you want it, you're gonna have to fight me for it.”

Attempting to get to my feet I grabbed the sword throwing the necklace almost into my reach. But she swung her sword knocking mine from my hands when I went to grab the jewelry. “Urgh…No, please. Please don't. Don't. Ohh!”

Merida teased me by hanging the necklace on a high tree branch. “So, what happened? Did your golden princess see the yellow-bellied man you really are? I bet you she did, didn’t she. Ohh! That had to sting!” She takes a swing at me while I stumble back to the red trying to grab it until she calls out to me again. “I didn’t believe that piece of jewelry would do you any daft good. I suppose that is why she gave me this.”

Whipping my head around I shuttered seeing a beating red heart in her freehand. I stumbled forward collapsing onto the dirt, eyeing her beating heart. “How dare you take that. She wouldn’t have given it to you!”

“Actually she did. She said that these two things would get you to become a hero. Now I think I understand why the heart is valuable since she has my own hostage and won’t let me live of my own free will. Now if you don’t want me to hurt her I suggest you start acting like a hero.” She spat swinging her sword when I reached for mine on the ground blocking her hit for the first time. “Oh! Did you feel that?””

“Feel what?” I questioned her shifting my gaze quickly onto her heart seeing that there was a flickering of black in the center that was new to me. It must have been from when she first decided to use dark magic.

Merida pushed me back lowering her weapon seeing the heart disappear in a puff of red smoke. She plucked the necklace, tossing the fragile jewelry into my chest. “That swing right there! You weren't thinking of yourself or the limp. You were thinking of her. That was an act of true bravery. Ready to try again? Eh? Eh?””

“I won’t face my wife…I won’t hurt…I can’t hurt…” I sniffled through tears clutching the necklace in my fingers. The sword lay at my feet where I looked up at her. “I can’t protect my wife from what the darkness wants. I will always be a coward even if I love her with everything else that I am.”

Merida bent down on a knee raising my chin with the tip of her blade. “That wee lass is pregnant with your child. My father would say to always fight for your family. If not for your wife then do it for the baby.” She yanked me to my feet leaving me out of a small campsite where I just slept with the necklace pressed against my chest.

Comments really appreciated ❤️