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drabbles-mc · 1 month

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It's Inevitable

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, pining, alcohol

30 Fic Challenge with prompts from This List: rubatosis- the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: i had the most ridiculous about of fun writing this for Bob. i adore him more than words can say 🥰

Bob felt like he had been living in a constant state of disbelief ever since he met you. From the day that the universe, or more specifically Bradley, put him into your orbit, all the events that followed felt like one little surprise after the other. He considered himself infinitely lucky for it.

When he mentioned to Bradley off-hand that they were going to have him stationed in California for a while, long enough for him to justify looking for his own place off-base, he had just been making conversation. They had just been talking about next moves and Bob felt like it was fitting, mentioning that he was going to be looking for a place, maybe even a roommate since it was going to be on relatively short-notice.

“If you’re cool with a roommate, one of my buddies actually kinda needs one,” Bradley mentioned off-hand as they racked up for another pool game at The Hard Deck.

Bob perked up slightly at that. A roommate recommendation from someone he knew seemed preferable than the alternative. He figured that Bradley wouldn’t have brought it up if it was a recipe for disaster.

“Yeah?” Bob tried to sound interested, but not too much so. There were no real guarantees, after all.

Bradley nodded before leaning down to break for the start of the game. “Yeah. Funny because we were just talking about how putting out a Craigslist Ad felt like signing up to be on an episode of a True Crime podcast.”

Bob chuckled at that. “Kind of does, yeah.”

Bradley watched Bob take his shot, not allowing the amusement he was currently feeling to show on his face. “I can introduce you guys. Wanna meet back here Friday? When Trace is done making an example out of you to the newbies?”

There was no malice to Bradley’s statement, so Bob had no problem laughing right along with him. When the laughter died down, Bob agreed to the meetup suggestion. There was a tentative feeling of hopefulness in his chest. After all, if this person was friends with Bradley, how bad could they really be?

~*~

You buried your face in your hands as you shook your head. When Bradley had asked to stop by because he had news for you, you didn’t think he was stopping by to tell you that he had gone out hunting and gathering a new roommate for you. You hadn’t asked him to do that—you hadn’t asked him for anything in regards to your living arrangements, actually. And that’s exactly what you’d told him when he said he’d found you a brand-new roommate.

“I don’t even know this guy.”

Bradley laughed and shrugged as he hopped up to sit on the edge of your kitchen counter. For how comfortable he was, you were surprised that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to move in after your ex moved out. He treated your apartment like it was his own house anyway.

“I know him. That’s not enough for you?”

You shot him a look over your shoulder as you went and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. “No. It’s not.” You tossed him his own can before getting one for yourself. “You saw what I went through getting the last man out of my apartment—why are you inviting another one in without telling me?”

He laughed as he watched you dramatically swing the refrigerator door shut. “Okay, come on, you can’t compare him to—”

“I can’t compare him to anyone because I haven’t met him.”

“Well if you’d let me get to the end of my story, you would have the solution to that problem.” He paused and waited for you to motion for him to continue before saying, “I told him we’d meet him at The Hard Deck Friday night.”

“I should flatten this can against your skull,” you said with a semi-affectionate roll of your eyes.

There was a long pause, one accompanied by a smirk on Bradley’s face that had no real right to be there. “I’ll pick you up?”

Letting out a deep sigh, you gave in with a nod. Worst case scenario, you wouldn’t walk away from the night with a new roommate but you’d at least get to throw a couple drinks on Bradley’s tab. That was worth a little bit of something.

~*~

Bob was checking the time on his phone, his beer on the bar barely touched. When he’d texted Bradley earlier in the day, everything was still going how it was supposed to, so now he just had to sit there and wait. He could do that.

When he heard the door to the bar open, he turned and looked out of habit. He saw Bradley walk in and he felt his shoulders relax in relief. When he focused enough to see who it was that Bradley had walked in with, though, his relief was almost immediately replaced by confusion. The two of you were talking, laughing as you wove through the other people in the bar, but it still didn’t sink in with Bob that you were the ‘buddy’ who was in need of a roommate. For a moment he was just assuming that you were a girlfriend tagging along that Bradley had failed to mention.

Bob almost got up out of his seat when the two of you stopped in front of him—the only thing that kept him in place was the lingering sense of confusion. He looked back and forth between you and Bradley. He had no chance at guessing what exactly your expression meant, but he’d seen the smug look on Bradley’s face enough times to know that there was something afoot. It wasn’t the time to ask, though. Not in front of you.

“So,” you broke the silence with an easy smile, “I hear that Bradshaw promised you my second bedroom?”

Your comment got a chuckle out of Bob, something to ease the tension a little bit, not that it did anything to quiet the chaos in his head at the moment. It did earn you a shoulder-bump from Bradley, who was shaking his head at you. “I didn’t promise him anything. He said he needed a spot, I said I had a friend who needed a roommate.” He shrugged. “All true.”

You gave a dismissive roll of your eyes before returning your attention to the man sitting on the barstool watching all of this unfold. As you introduced yourself, you wondered if the slightly bewildered expression on his face was a constant one, eyes a little wide behind the lenses of his glasses, nervous smile pulling at his lips.

The three of you made a few minutes of small talk before you ducked out for a moment to answer a phone call from work. Both men watched you as you walked away, and as you were bringing the phone to your ear, Bradley turned to try and pick apart the expression on Bob’s face.

“So?” he asked, leaving it as open-ended as possible.

Bob pried his gaze off you so that he was looking at the man standing next to him instead. He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t say—you made it seem like—” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he had yet to shake.

Bradley laughed. “C’mon, she’s not that bad.”

“I didn’t say she was,” Bob corrected him quietly. “She wouldn’t rather have…you know…”

It was impossible for him not to at least chuckle at the way Bob was skirting around the things that he wanted to say. “She just wants someone who doesn’t make a mess and who pays rent on time. And who won’t eat her leftovers out of the fridge.”

“Last one sounds like you.”

He clapped Bob on the back with a grin. “That’s why I’m not the one moving in.” He paused, and he could see the thoughts going at a mile a minute in Bob’s head. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think you guys would hit it off.”

Bob wanted to make a comment to the effect of, “That’s kind of what I’m worried about,” but you reappeared before he could.

You plopped down on the stool beside his, giving a quick apology to the both of them. Looking back and forth between them, you wanted to ask what they’d been saying in your absence, but you had a feeling that if you needed to know, Bradley would tell you in the car on the way home.

Moments after you sat down, Penny materialized with a drink for you, and she handed a bottle to Bradley as well. You thanked her, amused that Bradley actually was letting you rack up his tab. Once you took a sip, you turned to Bob.

“So, is this the part where we get to play Twenty Questions?”

He laughed as he shrugged, fingers drumming against his leg. “I guess so.”

You smiled as you nodded. “Alright.” You motioned for Bradley to sit down next to you. “Bradshaw can play referee.”

~*~

Three weeks later the moving truck was parked outside your apartment building and there were boxes piling up in what had previously been a spare room that was sometimes your office, but more often just a place for all of your clean but unfolded laundry to hang out.

Bob was timid those first couple of weeks living together. It was endearing in a way that you hadn’t expected—most of Bradley’s friends from the Navy didn’t seem to be wired like that. Bob was a nice change of pace from it all. Every time he wanted to move or add something somewhere, he always asked, always had that same little nervous smile on his face when he did. You never told him no.

The first month or so of living together was just a big old learning curve. You learned that the two of you ran on different rhythms and schedules. Bob was an early bird, whether that was by choice or necessity you never asked. You were a night owl, though. Always had been. Luckily, you also learned that Bob was a heavy sleeper and that he was quiet in the morning when he was getting ready, so the two of you didn’t infringe upon each other much.

You learned that Bob liked to cook, was good at it even, but still hadn’t mastered how to just cook for one. That was how he learned that you had no problem doing the dishes if he was okay with sharing his food. He never told you no either.

Bob learned that most of your spare time was spent with your nose in a book or a notebook splayed across your lap while you wrote. He only ever asked once what you were writing, and when you gave him the vague answer of, “Stories,” he gave you a smile and a nod and went back to ironing his uniform. You learned that the only times Bob stayed up late was when he was playing videogames with his friends. Most of them were from the Navy, some of them were from back home. You knew which ones were which because his Navy friends had their callsigns in their gamertags—so original of them. That was also how you learned that a good handful of his friends in the Navy weren’t very good at first-person shooter games, which was deeply ironic given their professions.

By the time the third month of living together had come and gone, Bob also learned that he was falling in love with you a little bit. Or a lot. The amount of it didn’t matter, he supposed. None of it was going to help him.

~*~

You enjoyed living with Bob more than you thought you were going to. You had been willing to settle for a roommate that you could at least tolerate. You just needed someone that you could exist in the same space with sometimes when necessary. But after those first couple of weeks, it felt like almost all the time that the two of you were home at the same time was spent in the same space. Or you’d be in the living room while he was in the kitchen. You’d been ready to hole up in your room a little more often, but it never felt like you had to.

Bradley was as incessant as ever, arguing that he now had twice as many reasons to drop by unannounced now that Bob was living with you. You both knew that it was an argument you’d never win, and it wasn’t as though you didn’t enjoy his company too. By the time the first month passed, Bradley had lightened up on his weekly inquiry of, “Is this guy givin’ you any trouble?” You all knew that he never was.

You’d been waiting for the day that the surprised look would fade from Bob’s face whenever you got home, or emerged from your room, but it never did. From surprised, to smiling, to going back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there. Round and round again.

Bob never thought about how many different names he had until the two of you really got comfortable around each other. Most of the time he was Bob, which was what he was used to both on and off the base. That was the status quo.

But every now and then you’d switch it up. Like if he startled you coming home from his early-morning run, or if you didn’t hear him walk into the kitchen from his room. Then you’d call him Robert, in that fake-chastising tone that always had you trying not to laugh. Or sometimes, when he was getting frustrated about something that didn’t really matter too much in the grand scheme of things, you’d hit him with a little pat on the shoulder and a, “Calm down, Lieutenant Floyd.” And in moments like that he could hear it in your voice how long you and Bradley had been friends. If you tried to get his attention more than twice and still didn’t have any luck, that’s when he’d hear a sing-songy callout of Bobby coming from the other side of the apartment. That one always got both of you laughing.

You could’ve called him damn near anything, though, and he would’ve come running. He wondered how long he’d be able to keep his mouth shut about it all.

~*~

The two of you had been living together for six months the first time he put his foot in his mouth about it. His only saving grace, if he could even try to call it that, was that he’d said it to Bradley and not directly to you.

It made Bradley completely miss his shot in their game of pool, but he didn’t even care. He stood upright, pointing at Bob from across the table with his pool stick. “What was that?”

Bob’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his face was turning beet red. He could feel the warmth racing up the column of his neck and into his cheeks. “N-nothing. I didn’t—nothing.”

Bradley’s grin was so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t crack clean open. “That was something.” He walked over, paying no mind to the fact that Bob was trying to look at anything but him. “She know? You say anything to her?”

Now it was Bob’s turn to miss his shot. His heart was beating fast enough that he thought it might short-out and stop working. If Rooster was trying to get some eye contact out of him, it certainly did the trick.

“No.” Bob’s answer managed to come out clear and timid all at once.

He leaned back casually against the edge of the pool table. “Why not?”

Bob shook his head, gaze dropping to the floor. “’Cause we’re roommates.”

“So?” Bradley let the look of disbelief on Bob’s face act as a response, and he continued. “You should tell her. Want me to tell her?”

Bob’s eyes popped open so wide that Bradley was shocked they didn’t break the lenses of his glasses. “Please don’t.”

“Want me to do some recon?” He stood upright again, no longer using the pool table for support. “Find out if she’s—”

“No.”

He chuckled, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. None of this was surprising to him, really. He knew it from the second that Bob saw you when the two of them walked into The Hard Deck that day. He was honestly a little surprised that it took this long for Bob to slip up to him about it. The kid looked like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

“She hasn’t dated anyone since you moved in, has she?”

Bob shrugged. “No one that she’s brought around, at least. But she also just broke up with—”

Bradley waved off the sentence before Bob could even finish it. “That was almost eight months ago.” He paused, knowing that he had the answer to the question he was about to ask but it wasn’t going to stop him from asking it. “You’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

The red in his cheeks got a little darker but he didn’t say anything, instead just shaking his head.

“So I’ll ask her,” Bradley said, like that was the only rational response to the evidence laid out before him.

“Don’t ask her.” Bob’s statement was somewhere between an order and a plea, not hitting either note quite right.

Bradley held his hands up in surrender, but the smirk still lingering on his face didn’t make the truce feel too believable. “Alright, fine. I won’t say anything. But, if you change your mind,” he lined up his next shot, “let me know.”

~*~

Bob never brought it up again. Truthfully, he was still kicking himself for letting any of it slip in the first place. He kept waiting for another comment, another question from Bradley. Anytime that he came over to the apartment, Bob felt himself get a little more on-edge. When he could hear the two of you on the phone, he couldn’t stop the way his heart started to beat a little faster. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Bradley to open his mouth and say something.

Weeks ticked by with Bob waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’d get home, or hang up the phone, and he’d sit there with bated breath. He’d try to look like he was focusing on his laptop, or the gaming controller in his hand, but he’d be watching you in his peripheral.

And, of course, you never said anything about it. Bradley apparently never said anything about it. For all the buttons that he liked to push, Bob couldn’t deny that he was surprised that his friend was managing to keep his mouth shut about this one. Maybe that was because Bradley had the feeling it was a lost cause. Bob tried not to think about it too much.

He definitely tried not to think about it on nights like tonight, when both of you were camped out together on the sofa. The original plan hadn’t really been for the two of you to watch a movie together—Bob had gotten home later than usual and you were already about ten minutes into the film when he walked through the door. He’d had every intention of just showering and going to bed, but when he saw you curled up on the couch, throw blanket across you and an oversized bowl of popcorn in your lap, suddenly sleep didn’t seem like such a big deal.

He’d leaned over the back of the couch, a smile stretching across his face as he said, “Gonna share that or should I make another bag?”

You yelped in surprise, nearly tossing the bowl full of popcorn in the process. “Robert!” You laughed, hand resting over your heart like that would get it to slow down. “You can’t do that when there is a serial killer on the screen.”

He cracked a grin. “Sorry.”

You held the bowl up for him to reach easier. “I will share though, despite your entrance.”

He’d grabbed a couple pieces of popcorn before walking off towards his room. “I’m just gonna get changed.”

“Okay.” You tossed a piece of popcorn up in the air and caught it in your mouth. “Hurry up before someone else dies.”

Now here you were, the only thing separating the two of you was the bowl of popcorn between you. Bob was paying enough attention to the movie to know what was going on, but he’d be lying if he tried to say that most of his attention was still going to you. Something about the fact that you’d chosen to put on a scary movie and yet you still seemed shocked every time something scary happened.

Like you were reading his thoughts, you spoke up as you half-covered your eyes. “I don’t know why I do this to myself.”

He chuckled. “We can put something else on.”

You shook your head. “No, no. I’m committed now. I need to know what happens.”

His smile grew a little wider, the rapid beat of his heart having nothing to do with what was happening on-screen. “Want me to tell you what happens?”

You looked over at him. “You’ve seen this before?”

He shook his head. “No, but I can probably still tell you what happens.”

You rolled your eyes but you were still smiling, still blocking part of your view of the television on purpose like that would stop the things on screen from happening. “Very funny.”

“I think—”

Whatever he was going to say next got lost somewhere between his brain and his lips because you were placing the bowl of popcorn in his lap and scooting closer to him. You leaned so that your head was resting against the outside of his arm, throw blanket pulled up to your chin. Your legs were pulled up onto the couch, half-curled underneath you as you situated yourself against him. There was no hesitation in any move that you made, and Bob was trying to figure out if he was dreaming, and if he wasn’t he was trying to figure out how to not spontaneously combust.

“If this gets any worse,” you said, looking up at him for a moment, “then I’ll ask for your predictions.”

He was glad it was dark enough in the living room so that you couldn’t see how red his face was. All you could really see was him nodding, the reflection of the television on his lenses. “O-okay.”

The two of you managed to make it to the end of the movie, but you were practically curled so far into him that Bob thought you were just going to melt right into his arm. He didn’t mind it—he wished that the movie had dragged on for a little longer.

When the credits started to roll, you let out a deep sigh of relief but you didn’t peel yourself away from him. Bob couldn’t help but to let out a quiet laugh. “This why I’ve never seen you watch a scary movie before?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Like, twice a year I try to convince myself that I don’t get that scared.”

“It’s working real good, then,” he joked.

You laughed, blanket still pulled up over your shoulders. “I’d say so.”

He reached for the controller. “Want me to put something less scary on?”

You nodded, reaching out of you blanket cocoon to grab a handful of popcorn. “Yes please.”

He was expecting you to pull away once there was a comedy safely playing on-screen. He waited for the warmth of you and the blanket you were buried under to disappear. But it didn’t. You stayed there just like that, casually stealing one handful of popcorn at a time till there was nothing but kernels left.

You made it halfway through the next film before you looked up at him again and said, “You’re up way past your bedtime.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Just as he finished saying that, he yawned. You smiled. “You sure about that?”

He felt his face heat up. “I’m good.”

“Slumber party rules, you know. First one to fall asleep gets it.”

He felt himself melting back into the couch cushions a little more, body finally starting to relax more from tiredness than anything else. “What’s the punishment? Sharpie mustache?”

You laughed, resituating against him as you did. “No, no. That’d be too mean—can’t have you walking around looking like Bradshaw.”

~*~

When you woke up in the morning, you were still on the couch. Alone. You had a pillow propped nicely underneath your head and rather than the throw blanket that you’d been using during the movie, you had a real comforter draped over you. It took a moment for you to put it all together.

You got yourself half upright, propped up on your elbows. Through half-open lids you looked around the apartment, the kitchen and the living room. You could see that it was empty but even so you called out a groggy, raspy, “Bob?”

When you were met with silence, you fell back against the couch again. Dragging your hands across your eyes, you tried to wake yourself up a little more. You stared up at the ceiling, watching lights and shadows fly across it as cars drove by your building. People who were up and about much earlier than you.

You weren’t sure how much time you’d spent simply lying there debating whether or not you wanted to get off the couch and attempt to salvage what was left of your morning. Just as you were getting ready to peel the blanket off you when you heard the sound of keys in the lock on your apartment door.

For a moment you about to sit upright, but then you could hear how quietly and slowly he was trying to enter the apartment. All those mornings sneaking in quietly after his runs so he didn’t wake you, and this was the first time you were not only awake, but ready for it. You heard him toe off his shoes, heard the rustling of a bag that you were desperately hoping had donuts or bagels inside of it.

You were so busy being excited by the sound of iced coffee rattling against its cup that you almost missed the sound of Bob murmuring to himself. You couldn’t quiet make out what he was saying exactly, only that he was whispering to himself as he set things down on the counter. Waiting a moment, you strained your ear in hopes to get a better idea of what he was saying.

When he stopped talking altogether, you sat upright. His back was to you as he pulled the drinks from the tray they were in, opened up the bag of pastries he’d grabbed. You smiled at the sight of him, a warm flutter in your chest.

“Got enough to share?” you piped up.

For once it was Bob’s turn to flinch, to spin on his heel in shock. His eyes were wide, paper bag clutched tightly in his hand. He was certain that if his life had been a cartoon you would’ve seen the outline of his heart beating in his chest.

“Um, yeah.” He nodded, holding up one of the coffees as though to prove he was telling the truth. “Yours.”

Standing up off the couch, you kept the blanket wrapped around you like the most oversized shawl you’d ever seen as you padded over to where he was standing in the kitchen. Reaching out, you took the iced coffee from him, a smile on your face as you took a sip. It was impossible to miss the way that Bob was looking at you, looking like he had something to say. You waited for it, but it never came.

“Rehearsing lines?” you asked casually as you reached for the bag he was holding.

It seemed to snap him out of the trance he was in. “What?”

You pulled out one of the donuts in the bag. “When you came in,” you took a bite, “thought I heard you talking.”

His eyes widened a little bit, cheeks starting to flush pink. “Oh.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “What?”

He picked up his own cup of coffee. He stared at it for a moment, swirling it around to buy himself a few extra seconds. His heart was beating so hard that he was expecting it to cause ripples in the coffee he was holding.

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, looking you in the eyes, “yeah.”

You set your coffee down, suddenly feeling a little foolish with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “You okay?”

He nodded. “I’m okay.”

Your smile was soft, warm. “You sure? Looking a little wistful over there.” You saw the way a few sentences started and died on the tip of his tongue. Your lips started to dip down into a frown. “Bob?”

“I really, uh, I really like…living here with you.”

Something akin to relief was creeping its way across your chest and you allowed yourself a small smile. “I like you living here.” You tilted your head slightly. “Why do you look so worried about that?”

He managed a chuckle of sort. “Because,” with each word he tried to get out, he felt like his heart was going to beat clean out of his chest, like his ribs weren’t strong enough to keep it in place, “I don’t want that to change.”

“Why would it?”

“I love you,” he blurted out. “I…I love you.” The blush on his face darkened and he gave a weak smile. “That’s not how I rehearsed it.”

You let out a laugh, one that was choked with emotion. It felt impossible to get the words out that you wanted, like they were all getting stuck in the back of your throat. You could see it on Bob’s face that he was trying to come up with the next thing to say.

Before either of you could implode, you collapsed the distance between you and kissed him. The blanket that had been around your shoulders fell to the floor as your lips caught his. There was a split second of hesitation, but once Bob realized that it was real, that this was all happening, he wrapped his arms around you. His hands splayed across your back, pinning you tight to him.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, leaning into him until he was snug between you and the counter behind him. Bob soaked it is, the way it felt to have the warmth of your body pressed against his. He was certain that this would be the time you’d hear his racing heartbeat, be able to feel it since you were so close. For once he hoped that you would.

You pulled away, just enough to be able to get a good look at his face. He brought one hand up to fix his glasses, the other staying on the small of your back. You toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck as you tried to commit everything about how he looked in that moment to memory.

“I love you too,” you said, voice soft when you finally had it in you to string the words together.

You saw the smile on his face and then you felt it as he kissed you again. It was all laughter and soft touches and wandering hands. Months of bottled up feelings starting to reach the surface. With your palm resting against his chest, you could feel the speed of his heartbeat, but he didn’t seem nervous now. For a moment you were surprised to find that you weren’t nervous either. Then you felt the pad of his thumb against your cheek as he pulled you in for another kiss and you finally felt like you were home. And there was nothing more comforting than that.

(divider by @firefly-graphics)

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of taglists please let me know!)

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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itostea · 10 months

Text

rings (gojo x wife! reader)

in which you want your arranged husband to finally give you a ring

warnings: arranged marriage au (part of the gojo's wife series), gojo calls you his wife, suggestive bc gojo is a menace, reader lowkey downbad, i'm back after 4(?) months oops & lmk if i’m missing anyone for the tag list

There’s a gentle breeze that escapes from the open windows of the cafe you sit in, the quiet chatter blending in with the bossa nova jazz that plays from the speakers. Only a few people reside in the building–some of which include students, friend groups, or strangers just hoping for a nice cup of coffee.

Your eyes flit to Utahime using a straw to make circles in her drink. She was the one who recommended this cafe, referring to it as an “underground” location–a phrase that you would’ve not expected her to use. Correctly at that.

“How are you doing with that idiot,” your other friend, Shoko asks. “Do you guys still sleep in separate rooms?”

You watch her reach for a cigarette and frown, your hand slapping hers lightly. “There's a ‘no smoking policy’ here. And to answer your question, no we’re not. We’ve been sleeping in the same room for a little over a month now.”

“On the same bed?”

“Yes?”

“And that’s it?” She drawls, arching an elegant brow as she puts her box of cigarettes away–taking another sip of her black coffee. “Nothing else? You know, like clothes gone, french kissing–”

“Yes that’s it! Keep it down here,” you hiss, shooting another glare at Utahime who stifles a laugh by pretending to drink her tea.

Shoko rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her coffee–this time narrowing her eyes at you. “So why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yes you are,” she retorts and you frown when you hear Utahime agree. They’ve always been so sharp. “Something’s bothering you so tell us.”

You purse your lips, gripping your cup a bit tighter as you heave a sigh. You’re avoiding their gazes, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s stupid.”

“We’re not gonna judge you,” Utahime gives you a reassuring smile, nudging Shoko who tries to take out her cigarette box again.

“Okay,” you start. “Something feels like it’s missing. Not that it’s ‘Toru–”

“You call him ‘Toru?” Shoko laughs quietly, rolling her eyes when you narrow your eyes at her. She sighs. “Continue.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘Toru and I feel like I’m expecting something from him. We’re making progress with the whole husband and wife thing but I guess I just want,” you pause. “I guess I’m just wondering when he’s gonna give me a ring…”

They both blink at you, with Utahime making a sound with her throat. “There’s no way that idiot’s that stupid.”

“But that makes sense. The wedding just happened on paper since the elders wanted Gojo to get married quickly,” Shoko adds. “So? What are you gonna do? Drop hints?”

“That’s not really my way of doing things…”

Shoko rolls her eyes for the nth time, frowning at the lack of coffee in her cup. “Things would be a lot easier between you two if you just communicated,” she says, holding a hand up when you’re about to respond. “But I say give him some time. Gojo might be a lot sharper than he lets on.”

You replay your friend’s words in your head as you dice the carrots mindlessly–throwing them in a bowl with chopped up potatoes. Ever since Gojo told you that he hardly has any time to cook with the sudden rise of curses, you’ve been wanting to surprise him with a home cooked meal: curry rice. After all, you were finally granted some leisure time after a mission so you were more than happy to set up a surprise.

Not that it was much of a surprise since he was home earlier than usual–not that you were mad since it was rare for him to arrive home just a little after you did. You perk up, catching a glimpse of his boyish grin that seems to spread across his face. “Oh? What’s this?”

You clear your throat, feeling a bit bashful at how pretty his smile was. “I’m making dinner for us since we haven’t been able to have a home cooked meal in a while.”

“Well, aren't I a lucky guy?” He ruffles your hair as if it were a habit of his, his eyes as soft as his voice the moment he leans down. “You mind if I take a shower first? I promise it’ll be quick.”

“Your shower’s are never quick,” you comment, giggling at how he acts as if he’s been caught. As he leaves, you feel yourself getting giddy at how wide his grin had been when he saw you. You wonder if he always looked at you like that and you have to mentally calm yourself down by reminding yourself to not get too excited.

By the time you set the plates down, you already hear the padding of his feet against the marble floor. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a pullover, sitting in front of you. He smiles again, murmuring a low “hello” as if somewhat shy.

You smile in return, observing him as he takes a bite of the food you made. Your heart stops for a few seconds, gauging his expression for any sign of disgust–feeling it explode in your chest when he eats it like a starved man. “Is it good?”

“So good,” he answers without hesitation, flashing another grin at you–the same grin that makes you feel warm inside. “My wife’s so talented.”

“It’s just curry rice,” you respond, feeling a bit sheepish at how easily he sings praises to you. You realize you’ve been watching him eat for a little over than a minute, your hands reaching to the utensils to try your own food.

The conversation takes off naturally. He’s asking about your day at work and you do the same; he teases you and you shoot another remark at him. It’s all good-natured until he pauses, looking a little hesitant. “Listen (Name),” his voice is lower, nervous. “I know I should've done this before but it really didn’t cross my mind…”

Your reaction is instantaneous as much as you try to hide it. The ring. Was he going to give you one? Your eyes flit to his furrowed brows and the way he pokes the inside of his cheek. If he’s this nervous, then it should be pertaining to a ring right? You’re already answering before he can finish. “Yes.”

He blinks, peering directly at you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, your smile wide as you lean a bit closer to the table.

He breaks out in a large smile, breathing a sigh of relief. “Wow I didn’t know you liked Netflix so much.”

All of a sudden, the delusions you’ve been building up topple like dominos. Your voice’s stuck in your throat as a wave of bemusement hits you. “Huh?”

“I was gonna give you my Netflix account! I completely forgot to give you it for a while and the kids have been on my ass about it.”

“Y-Your Netflix account?” You murmur in disbelief, wondering if sharing a Netflix account was a golden rule couples had to obey.

It was Gojo’s turn to be confused, his pretty blues blinking at you. “That’s what we’re talking about right?”

Disappointment drenches you from top to bottom but you quickly mask it with an easy going smile. “Yeah! I love Netflix…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, mentally applauding yourself for not mentioning anything about a ring. You take another bite of your food, not noticing the way Gojo looks at you–gulping as if hiding a secret of his own.

“I want to give you something,” your husband’s voice is gentle, velvety as he pulls you towards the couch.

He smells good, you think to yourself–earthy and fresh. It’s faint yet it’s enough to make you dizzy. “Something?”

“That’s right,” he coos, grinning down at you from the couch. Again, you have that undeniable feeling of hope choking you, trying your hardest not to show your excitement as he reaches in his pocket.

Yet, instead of a small, round object, you’re faced with a card. A black card. Not a ring. Your lips part in shock as the initial disappointment becomes surprise. “I can’t take this!”

You’re left with more disbelief at how his expression seems to fall dramatically. “Why not…?”

“Because I just can’t!”

“But you’re my wife and I wanna spoil you,” he tries to reason and you have to try not to swoon how he calls you his wife even though you already know it. You clear your throat, shaking your head rapidly.

“I can’t ‘Toru–”

“Yes you can,” he huffs, his lips falling into a pout that you would’ve found funny if he didn’t just hand you his card. “Trust me on this one. You’ll make me happy if you use it. So treat yourself, alright?”

You frown, murmuring another protest and stopping when he glances at you from under his shades, his lips curling into a coy smile once he sees the guilt in your eyes–his mind piecing things together. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” He ruffles your hair once more, making your heart do another jump. “Just take it. Please?”

You think he’s doing it on purpose–the way he looks at you as if you’re a diamond among rocks. It’s hard not to say no when someone looks at you like that–harder when it’s Gojo. You sigh. “Fine. But I’m not gonna use it often.”

He grins that smile you like again, his thumb grazing your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

You avert your eyes at his binding smile, ignore how he seems to enjoy teasing you a bit too much. You sigh, ignoring the way your heart flutters all over again. And with the way he watches you, you think his stomach’s doing somersaults as well

It’s early in the morning, dark in the room you share with Gojo–the sun barely awake just as you were. There’s the sound of quiet shuffling, the spot next to your empty. It must be one of those missions, you think to yourself.

You hear him murmur a low curse at the sound of something dropping, feeling amusement at how he tries to quietly put the item back in its original place. You think of falling asleep again but your gut tells you to stay awake, still listening to his quiet pacing.

You feel how the mattress slightly dips, his cologne filling your senses–luring you to sleep. Out of sheer willpower, you try not to react as his fingers reach down to graze your cheek–try not to open your eyes to see what kind of expression he wore. You wonder if he did this every time he had a mission so early in the morning, feeling an unfamiliar feeling tug at your heart.

His voice is barely above a whisper as he leans down. “I’ll be back home by dinner today. I promise.”

Part of you debates on falling asleep and it wins, until you feel him shuffle a bit closer. And just like that, you feel cold metal slip on your finger–your ring finger. The material fits perfectly around your finger and your hand twitches as you hear him stand up to leave.

It hits you a bit later than you’d expect and you would’ve never thought realization would sound like the front door opening. You scramble out of bed, tripping on the blankets as you smile so hard it hurts.

“Toru?! Wait! Don't leave yet! Toru come back!”

And like you hoped, he looks back, the metal of a ring similar to yours greets you.

tags:

@maliamaiden, @dookiemeshibear, @icarusignite, @padsgrlly, @katiaesmeralda, @mooncleaver, @jcrml, @istanuwow, @stilinskispjo, @hjjjbb, @delulusuga, @hellogoog, @scrumdillyyumyumpurr, @wordskeeper, @rampagingroses, @demiwizardvampire145, @haikyuusimpsblog, @esmeensheep, @msunknown911, @saebeary, @mysuperrainbow, @scarletevening, @tedbunny333, @tulips-ss, @primapoppy, @realboysrdumb, @ems-tumbo, @a-cloudy-dreamy-day, @evalynanne, @kaiisers, @trisisbasic, @luna0713hunter, @arisucat, @honili, @dovahkiinsbitch, @porridgesblog, @siennahsteaparty, @dee-dreams-and-stuff, @satoruskitchenrag, @moonmalice, @junglewoos, @thisbicc, @heartsoji, @mysticmyth, @phoenixforgotten, @sillygoosegoose, @the-mad-hatress, @kairuthewriter, @batmansleftfoot

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #fluff #arranged marriage #gojo’s wife series

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

Text

Arranged | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.

Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list

requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)

word count: 4.6k

tags: @firelightinferno, @achromaticerebus, @coopsgirl, @birbixo0912, @desert-fern, @ancient-rime, @lady-of-imladris, @weepingdreammarvel, @asianbutnotjapanese, @deadlymistletoe

“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.

"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.

Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen."

“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”

The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.

Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?

She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.

You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad, exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.

Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.

While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.

You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.

You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.

"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”

He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.

You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.

"Thranduil?"

"What?" He did not look up.

“Something troubles you.”

He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room.

As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”

Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.

Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.

He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.

Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.

Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.

When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.

Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.

Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.

She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.

This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.

You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?

After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.

Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”

He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”

“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.

Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway.

“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.

Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”

“What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”

Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.

“Well, you need something. You-”

“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.

“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”

“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.

You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.

She. Her. His deceased wife.

She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.

You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.

Thranduil did not see you for two days.

He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.

Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.

He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.

You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.

A silence followed.

You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.

“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.

Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”

Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.

You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?

“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”

You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.

Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”

You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”

Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?

His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.

“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”

Another silence filled the stable.

You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning.

You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.

“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”

You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...?

Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself.

In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.

“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.

Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”

You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.

When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.

“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true.

“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.

You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”

You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.

When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.

“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.

You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.”

There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.

“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”

You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction

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totaly-obsessed · 9 months

Note

would you be willing to write either an alessia x reader or a leah x reader who has ADHD? i loved your alexia piece. it made me feel super seen ❤️

Fitting In

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> A struggle day with Alessia - ADHD!Reader

-> @anon Makes me so happy to hear that you felt seen! These are things that actually happen in my day to day life - and adhd presents so different in people, please don't be offended if this doesnt fit you!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Baby?” Alessia's shout echoed through your shared home – the blonde had just come home from practice and was excited to spend a nice, relaxing evening with her girlfriend. But just a couple of seconds later she could see that the rest of the day would be a bit more chaotic than she had originally thought.

“Where are you?” Win, the Arsenal dog whined quietly booping her nose on Alessia's shin, trying to get her attention. With a sigh the striker took off the collar, letting the chocolate lab loose – just to see her race to the living room carpet where she dramatically flopped down with a loud huff.

“Bedroom!” Carefully Alessia opened the door, she never quite knew what to expect behind closed doors when it came to you. Maybe you would be dying your hair, trying her clothes on, or simply staring into the abyss. While she had been preparing herself for the worst, seeing you re-arrange furniture wasn’t so bad.

“Hi, Lessi!” The footballer did her best to ignore the heavy desk you were pushing around, instead giving you a kiss, melting at your huge grin and sparkling eyes.

“You’ve been quite busy huh?” You have been. The Wardrobe had been replaced by the bed and the bed with the desk – or at least your girlfriend guessed that you wanted it to go there.

“Help me?” She didn’t need much convincing, but the sheepish smile on your face certainly did the job.

With a gentle push, you were removed from the desk, as Alessia couldn’t watch your struggle any longer. With just a few expert nudges and lifts it was where you wanted it to be, with you directing the blonde.

“Done!” She brushed off her hands as if she were brushing off dirt from hard labor. With a smug smile, she saw you stare, particularly at her arms (still wearing her Arsenal training tank top), before she pulled you into a bruising kiss – large hands resting on your hips, fingers digging into your bum.

“Did you get groceries amore?” Oh right. There had been a reason why you had wandered in here, you originally had planned to get dressed and go shopping but all of a sudden you just felt an incredible urge to re-arrange the furniture. “Sorry, Lessi.”

With a soft chuckle, Alessia kissed your forehead, she knew that you didn’t do it on purpose, you never did. You just were forgetful. “How about we go out to eat?” That was the most brilliant idea you have ever had. Usually, you would order in because Alessia was too tired from training to actually go out – so it was a nice change. “That sounds fantastic baby. But it’s gonna be noisy and busy, you okay with that?” Your excited nodding was enough to melt her heart all over again. Bless you, so excited to go out with your girlfriend.

“I’m gonna have a shower, yeah?” You didn’t really realize what Alessia said until you heard the water running. “No Lessi!” As fast as you could you made your way to the bathroom, your girlfriend still in front of the mirror taking off her makeup. “Can I have it first? I’ll literally be ten minutes!” With one or two bats of your lashes, the blonde agreed, leaving you in the bathroom.

“Hey, google – play shower list! No, play Date playlist!” You had to repeat yourself, your Alexa was too confused with your wishes. The water was still running as you took Alessia's place, looking at yourself in the mirror. “Should I wash my hair? But I washed it yesterday – Shit. I didn’t do that washing did I?” There was no one to answer you, you were talking to yourself. On your way to the laundry room you nearly tripped over Win. “Winnie! You’re here! Oh, I love you so much!”

“Amore?”

No answer.

“Amore?”

With Win in tow, you climbed back up the stairs, already seeing Alessia with a big goofy smile in the bathroom. “Shit. I left the shower on.” The dog excitedly yapped once she saw the familiar blonde, her tail hitting your leg. “Yes, you did.” She wasn’t mad – she was laughing, and she had shut the water off. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry Less. Promise I’ll go now.”

“You haven’t had it yet?” Win was once again whining for attention but stopped once you leaned down to pet her head. “No, I want downstairs and I was doing the washing because I forgot to do it earlier.” By now you had eventually taken off your socks and outer layer, just in your underwear now.

“I just need to get my skincare stuff.” Why it was in the kitchen you didn’t really remember, however halfway down the stairs, you remembered the disgustingly cold showers. “Need the shower to warm up first!” Up you went again.

Now with your skincare, water warming up, the right music, and the laundry on – you were ready to actually get in, until you weren’t. Your sister had sent you a TikTok, which left you to doom scroll for a while before Alessia eventually came back up. “Are you done amore?”

She knew that you hadn’t been in yet, the half-Italian always knew when you were having a hard day, and today was one of them.

“I don’t know if I want to shower yet.” Your girlfriend could see the frustration building up in you, so she pulled you in a hug. “That’s okay baby. Can I go?” The defeated look on your face was all she needed, cooing over your sad little face before shoving you out the door after calling Win to keep you company.

Whilst the footballer was in the shower, you had tasked yourself with picking outfits for the both of you. Picking Alessia’s was easy, not only did she look good in everything, but all her clothes matched, so there was no bad choice.

When the blonde entered the bedroom she couldn’t help but laugh at you standing in front of the full-body mirror, wearing a cropped puffer jacket you had bought last week. Your lips in a pout and cheeks red in frustration – something was wrong.

“You okay baby?”

Boom, tears. Knowing that Alessia knew you and all your little signs meant the world to you. “I hate this jacket.”

“But you just bought it last week, what’s wrong with it?” by now she was standing in front of you, opening it up, closing it again, turning you around to get a better look, trying to figure out what is bothering you. “It’s the sleeves, look.” You thrust your hands out, the sleeves rising up so that your wrists were out.

“Maybe it’s the hood?” Your girlfriend pulled the zipper on the detachable hood, taking it off and abruptly throwing the hood itself on Win’s head. “What do you think? I think you look great!” You had to admit, that it was better, but the sleeve situation was still bothering you. “Nuh-uh. Wanna get rid of it.” With a final nod, Alessia helped you take it off, throwing the jacket on a pile of clothes. “Ella was looking for one of those.” That was that. Ella would get the jacket.

In the end, Alessia chose your outfit, as you were much too busy playing with Win, who was pawing at you when you had flopped down next to her on the carpet.

Whilst you were getting ready Alessia grabbed the rest of your stuff – that you would definitely forget and run back in and out again until you have everything, like your wallet or lip balm.

As soon as you entered the restaurant you regretted it. There was so much going on and such a wave of noise that greeted you that you nearly just walked back out again – but your girlfriend had already picked out a table in a corner.

“Less I don’t know what to get – I’m like overwhelmed by the options.” Somewhere a child started screaming and a hoard of adults kept laughing at it very loudly. “It’s like I can’t read the words that are literally right in front of me."

It started to beep everywhere in the big room. You had picked a popular restaurant in the area that had pagers that vibrated, blinked, and beeped when your food was ready so you could go and get it.

“What do you feel like amore?” You were zoned out, eyes empty staring at the menu, dead to the world around you. Alessia sighed, she knew that this would happen. “How about Pasta?” You nodded, she knew which one you would like.

A couple of minutes later your girlfriend came back, with one of these little devices in her hand, placing it under her thigh on the stool, desperately trying to soften the glaring noise.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and a birthday song was played loudly over the speakers. As well as you could you held your ears closed as most guests started to sing and clap along. Just as the song ended your food was ready and Alessia went to go and get it.

“How was training Less?” She could see your head swiveling around, overwhelmed by the lights, the noise, and the people – nonetheless, she took your bait, explaining what had happened at the Arsenal training center, appreciating that you tried to listen, and even asked questions.

Ten minutes into eating a children's birthday party sat down at the table next to yours, and as cute as the kids were – they were even louder than your thoughts. Screaming over the top of each other, begging for Ice cream for dinner and even yelling at the poor elders on their other side, trying to show them something.

“Amore? Are you overstimulated? Would you like to get this to go, and just go home?”

“Yes please.”

Alessia went up to the register with your plates, while you packed up all your stuff, grabbing your jackets and Alessia’s little bag that really only held her car keys.

In the car, you couldn’t hold it anymore, and the tears just burst out of you in streams that seemed never-ending. “I-I’m sorry Lessi, jus wanted to be like everyone else but I can't even sit in a restaurant.”. Your girlfriend cooed at you, gently stroking your thigh trying to calm you down a little. “We don’t need to be like anybody else. We can just be… Us!”

The rest of the evening was spent cuddled up on the couch with Win occupying one of the ends, stealing a blanket off of you, as Alessia covered you in hers as well. The wood was still warm when you ate it, even after changing out of the uncomfortable outfits and into big shirts and joggers.

“I love you amore. For you – you don’t need to be like anybody else.”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader

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mockerycrow · 8 months

Text

KARMA (Soap x Fem!HockeyPlayer!Reader)

soap masterlist

summary; you’re a hockey player, but you’re also johnny’s girlfriend. johnny comes to a realization after watching you get into a fight. 1.2k words!

authors note; this is not exactly what i envisioned, but it’s what i wrote. enjoy :-)

[WARNINGS: reader is implied to be a buff woman, violence, light blood and gore, suggestive content at the end.]

You and Johnny first met at a pub whilst he was on leave. He saw you from across the bar counter, looking up at a TV mounted above the bartender and sipping on something he doesn’t care to remember. What he does remember is you.

God, Johnny never believed falling in love at first sight and he still doesn’t, but holy hell did you stir something within him. Sitting there, back straight with your eyes glued to the TV, fidgeting with something circular, perhaps a coin, between your fingers. The way your bicep is bulging from the tight circumference of the short t-shirt sleeve…

Johnny wasn’t sure what exactly prompted him to talk to you, he definitely already came to the conclusion that you were likely going to just turn him away but holy shit, he’s damned if he left without trying to strike a conversation. Johnny ends up tilting his head, downing the rest of his drink for confidence before slipping into the seat next to you.

That day, Johnny learned that you were a pro hockey player for the professional women’s hockey team back in North America. Honestly, Johnny was surprised but more so by the sport and not the fact that you played one. You told him you were visiting someone here in Scotland, a friend—helping them move while your contract was being figured out. The more you talked, the more Johnny assured himself that it was absolutely a requirement to know you on some level.

Your voice captured his attention, your smile made his stomach tighten and bloom with warmth—even if he couldn’t convince you to go on a date with him, Johnny honestly would be just fine with being only friends. As long as he has a female hockey player in his contacts list, he’d be alright. You find out Johnny likes a bit of hockey himself, mostly paying attention to the international ice hockey federation. After learning that, to Johnny, he could see the way your eyes lit up.

Yes, you did agree to a date with this grinning man. Maybe quite a few dates.

Johnny found himself on his phone way more often whilst waiting with his team to be deployed. Constantly texting you, calling you, the whole nine yards. It earned him some glances and teasing from Ghost and Gaz, even his Captain—but he could tell his boys were happy for him. Johnny seemed more relaxed, laid back instead of his pent up self.

A couple months into the relationship, Johnny was finally able to file for vacation related leave. He was excited—secretly so was Price, as Johnny doesn’t really file for leave often—and you were ecstatic. It took a second to figure out arrangements, at the end of the day you insisted for Johnny to stay with you. Why stay in a hotel room when your spare bedroom is free? He was so reluctant, but you were so insistent with it.

“I have a practice game in a few hours,” You informed Johnny as you opened your refrigerator, taking out two cold water bottles stuffed somewhere in the door. You let the refrigerator door close by itself, and you tossed one of the bottles to Johnny. “Was thinkin’ you could come and watch?”

Johnny grinned, his lip curling ever so slightly where it exposes his top gum near his canine. “I would love to watch ye practice!” Johnny was enthusiastic with it; he’s being truthful, he’s been wanting to watch you in person. Johnny spent a couple nights binge watching the recorded games you played in on YouTube, which honestly was a slight mistake. You are a good player, great actually—but it always stirs something deep in his gut. Something about you bodying another player, even if it warrants a penalty… Gets him hot and sweaty, honestly.

That’s how Johnny found himself sitting in a seat right by the glass, a few feet away from your team’s bench. Tension filled his veins, making his shoulders rise to ears watching you, your team, and the practice enemy team skate around on the ice. The sounds of shouts, sticks slamming against each other as well as the ice, the collisions are harsh. Johnny’s been watching you for a while, keeping his eyes on that jersey of yours and he’s been noticing you’ve been slamming into this other woman.

Before bringing him to practice, you gave him a rundown of your team's roster, as well as the opposite teams. You overall had good things to say about nearly everyone, a smile on your face as you point to different people’s faces on the league’s website. Johnny watched the way your face contorted when you got to this one woman, though. He understands most beef stays on the ice, but the way you spoke about her? Johnny could tell there was something that remained on and off ice. You told him she’s “female Tom Wilson” which made him wince a bit.

So, when he witnessed you collide with that woman for the third time in one practice match, he wasn’t too shocked to see your gloves fly off. “Holy–” Johnny swears, standing up from his seat. His hands shoot to his head, holding it as he hears shouts and whistles blowing. Your hand is crumpled in the woman’s jersey, both your helmet and hers missing. Johnny’s heart is pounding in his chest, his arms feeling heavy as both you and the woman slam into the glass right in front of him.

He reaches forward and bangs on the glass, his eyes widening as he watches your fist make contact with her face square in the middle. Johnny winces as he nearly swears that he could hear her nose crunching under the weight of your fist through the glass. He’s not surprised when drops of blood splatter against the glass, but he still yells your name nonetheless. Part of Johnny is worried, knowing you’re against the woman who usually starts and wins fights, but.. You seem to be holding your own just fine.

Your fist pulls back and makes contact with her face over and over, blood smearing and snarls until a couple of your teammates pull you away from her by your arms. Johnny’s eyes are glued to you as your teammates skate you backwards from the woman, following the curve of the arena. The woman is on her hands and knees on the ice, a couple of her own teammates checking on her. Johnny just barely glanced at how there’s a dripping puddle of blood forming underneath her face because he can’t stop looking at you.

A feral snarky look on your face, your nose bleeding and bashed, blood dripping from your nose to your teeth, from your lower lip onto your jersey. Your left eyebrow is torn open and so is your upper lip. There’s blood splattered across your knuckles, which are surely broken open and bruised themselves.

Johnny hits the glass, his heart pounding but it skips an entire beat when you make eye contact. His breath stutters in his chest and Johnny’s cursing himself under his breath because his job must have caused wires to cross in his brain.

You look so.. Fucking hell. Johnny feels himself chubbing up in his jeans, a hot shot of arousal shooting down his spine. Your ferality is making his head spin and he shouldn’t be as turned on as he is from the way you spit a mixture of blood and spit onto the ice, being skated away and into the locker room, followed by your team’s medic and an angry coach.

Johnny presses his forehead against his palms, trying to calm his racing heart, his lewd mind, and his cock.

🏷️; @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @lieutenantlashfaz @fiveshotsofjager @queen-leviathan @eedwardss @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @live-love-be-unique @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp

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spiderbeam · 2 months

Text

CS55: NET POINT.

pairing: carlos sainz x tennis player!reader

summary: training at the gym doesn’t go as smoothly as you’d like—but at least carlos is there to come to your rescue.

warning: cussing, creepy behavior towards reader, one (1) creepy man that doesn’t understand the concept of personal space, overprotective carlos.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: technically a part two of match point but can be read as a stand-alone.

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

In the year you’ve become friends with Carlos, you’ve found there are plenty of things to like about him. He’s thoughtful. He’s committed. He’s unbelievably loyal.

And, most importantly, he’s a great gym buddy.

You’ve never been particularly keen on having workout partners other than your personal trainer—which, now that you think about it, probably doesn’t even count either. It’s nothing personal against others; you’ve just never found someone that could match your rhythm. Someone who would actually help you improve instead of dragging you down. Someone that could push you, but also understand and respect your limits.

Needless to say, you were a little wary of your first time going to the gym with Carlos. It was a spontaneous invite—both of you staying at the same hotel, both of you filled with too much energy that you needed to dispel before the next morning. Going to the gym seemed like the best solution given your situation. At the time, you won’t deny you dreaded stepping inside the gym alongside Carlos. You had recently started to become friends and, to your surprise, you had quite rapidly developed a fondness for him. The last thing you needed was to catch the ick irreversibly quickly and ruin the good momentum you had going with him.

Now, looking back on it, you don’t think you and Carlos would be as close as you are now if it weren’t for all the mornings spent together at the gym. You found that, with him, it was easy to fall into a comfortable routine.

Back then, your trainers hadn’t been exactly pleased with the new arrangement. And, sure, going to the gym with Carlos sounded a lot more appealing than going with Erica—but that didn’t mean you were willing to sacrifice your coaching for quality time with Carlos. Not when it could become damaging to your career.

The two of you didn’t go to the gym together all that often—not when you were scarcely in the same country at the same time. But that was the benefit of the off-season for Formula One, and the fact that you didn’t have any tournaments lined up for you in December.

It started out as an unspoken agreement. And during the single month both your schedules seemed to align, your trainers agreed to send you a list of workouts with the promise to absolutely demolish you every other week.

Now, the overlap between your workout routines is slim. Different sports mean different target areas. For instance, Carlos doesn’t have to do half as much footwork as you do—the same way you’ve never had to do neck workouts.

(And, really, the first time Carlos asked you to pull on the neck harness you feared his head was gonna snap off.)

But that’s not to say there’s no overlap. Strength and weight training, for starters, is key to both tennis and motorsport. And in finding that overlap, you started to enjoy training more than you ever had before.

“Spot me?”

You don’t need Carlos to answer—not really. He turns his head to you as he finishes with his cable pulldown. He gets off the bench and follows you without question.

There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead—one that you most definitely mirror. The first half-hour of weight training is always the most intense for you. Falling into rhythm. Starting and warming up your body. Carlos has told you it’s why he goes to the gym by bike—so that, by the time he arrives, he’s already warmed up for working out.

He’s not yet convinced you to do the same—though he doesn’t need to know how close he’s gotten. You refuse to let him find out just how much power he holds over you with his pretty eyes and his even prettier smile.

You blink and you’re balancing yourself against the weighted bench, the barbell placed over your hips to do your usual hip thrust exercise. Carlos stands besides you, lightly nudging and correcting the position of your leg with his foot.

“That’s good,” he hums.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, inhaling and exhaling. By the time you open them again, you find his gaze drifting off somewhere on the opposite side of the gym.

You watch Carlos’ faint smile and concentrated look shift into something darker, something foreign. His smile drops. His jaw twitches. His eyes narrow.

“You okay?” you ask.

His jaw clenches and unclenches. It takes you a moment to place his expression in all its unfamiliarity. Carlos looks pissed.

He takes a step forward, away from the bench.

You stop your workout, hips dropping to the floor. “Carlos.”

His eyes snap down to meet yours. That darker glint in his gaze dissipates, but his jaw is still set tightly.

“What’s wrong?” Your focus drops to the half-step he’d taken. You meet his brown gaze again, head tilted slightly. “Where you going?”

“Nowhere. Nothing.” He looks down at you, biting his tongue. He looks conflicted, eyes returning to something by the front of the training area. He bites his tongue before turning back to you. “You’re done, right? We should probably do some deadlifts over by the back.”

You furrow your brows. You let out a small laugh, intending to diffuse whatever weird tension has settled over Carlos’ shoulders. It doesn’t seem to work. “I don’t think I’m even halfway finished,” you point out with a poor half-smile. There’s a spark of concern in your voice when you ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yes.” You slowly turn your head to follow his gaze. Maybe there’s a paparazzi somewhere in the gym, or someone both of you are supposed to know—maybe someone he wants to avoid. But as you scan the room, you only see unfamiliar people going about their workouts.

He nudges your foot again, gently, but with more purpose this time. “Everything’s fine. But I think it’s better we go to the back, yes?” You don’t believe him. You can’t help but feel that something about his whole demeanor feels off.

You weigh your options. You can finish doing your hip thrusts after whatever weird thing has settled over Carlos eases. You set the barbell onto the floor. “Uh… sure.”

In the time the two of you do deadlifts and bench presses, whatever has been bothering Carlos seems to expand further and further. Carlos likes working out—nearly all athletes do. And yet, unlike most days, where there should be a relaxed expression on his face, his lips are pressed into a line, his jaw clenched. It reaches the point where it starts to influence his performance. And Carlos—Carlos Sainz Jr, who prides himself in the perfection of his technique—starts to mess up workouts as simple as kettlebell swings.

You’re about to comment on it, try to pry again, but he stops abruptly before you can try. “Can you wait here?” he asks tensely. He doesn’t try to hide whatever’s bothering him with a smile anymore. “I’ll be back in a second, I promise.”

You blink. “Um, yeah, sure.”

You watch as Carlos leaves his spot by your side with a somewhat regretful expression on his face. He jogs towards the front of the gym, quick on his feet.

The thought comes to you unprompted. Is it because of you? Are you the reason he’s acting so off? A sour taste sticks to your tongue. You shift on your spot. Maybe he doesn’t enjoy working out with you as much as you do.

You hopelessly stare down at the gym equipment in front of you. Why does the thought of that bother you so much?

“Hey,” a voice comes from behind you. “You need a spotter?”

You blink a few times, turning towards an unfamiliar man. You smile politely. “Ah, thank you—but I already have a spotter.”

“Really?” There’s a slight disbelief to his tone, and you watch as he takes a few steps closer to you and the machine. You don’t appreciate how comfortable he feels in your space.

“He’s coming back in a sec, but thanks.”

He tilts his head. “So, he ditches you, and you have to stop mid-session? That doesn’t sound fair.” Your face twists, lips parting to correct the man, before he starts clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “You’re doing this wrong.”

You scoff. You’re a world-class athlete—you’re not doing your workout wrong. But he doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s placing one of his hands between your shoulder blades and the other in your lower back.

“See? That’s better.” His voice feels too close to your ear. Too close.

You nearly recoil. You feel his hand slide further down, and your body locks into place. It’s like you’re unable to move, unable to react. Your heart constricts inside of your chest.

“I think I’m fine, thank you.” You hate how weak your voice sounds. Gone is your confidence, your grit. Do something. But your PR brain is scatteredly trying to assess what the best course of action is, leaving you frozen with possibilities.

His hand squeezes your exposed waist. “C’mon, I’m sure we can do much—”

“She said she’s fine.”

Hearing Carlos’ voice is like a winding breath of fresh air. You turn to him with lightning speed, like a moth to a flame. But he’s not looking at you. He has that same look he had earlier, except it’s deepened now. He looks pissed off. Angry.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry before.

“Hey man, I was just—”

Carlos narrows his eyes into a glare. His gaze drops to his hand on your waist, and he places his palm on the guy’s shoulder, setting himself between you and him.

What’s chilling is his voice isn’t angry—it’s leveled, deceptively calm. “Don’t touch her.”

The guy scoffs. “What, are you like the possessive type or something?”

“She doesn’t know you, and she’s clearly uncomfortable.” His jaw tightens. “So back off.”

The guy scowls. “What do you know? I’m just helping her out.”

The guy drops his gaze to look at you, but Carlos blocks you from him. “Don’t look at her. You’re talking to me now.” The guy’s scowl deepens, lips parting to add some other response.

“Excuse me,” You turn towards the man standing behind the three of you. Security. Carlos doesn’t tear his gaze away from him. “Sir, if you could just follow me.”

The man looks like he wants to protest. His lips twitch into a sneer. “Whatever. Not like I was interested, anyway.”

Carlos doesn’t look away from him until security escorts him out. You hear him mutter something under his breath, “Que puto asco.” Then, his glare dulls, and the contempt in his eyes melts into worry. “I’m sorry—are you okay?”

He’s sorry? “What?”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I didn’t think he’d approach you in such a crowded area—I thought finding security would take less—”

You blink up at him, struggling to swallow the bile down your throat. “Carlos, what are you talking about?”

He looks apologetic, regretful—surprisingly small for someone his size. “I saw him earlier, like, leering at you.” He gnaws at the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have left your side. Did he do anything, say anything to you?”

“Um.” You stand up from the machine. “He was—he was just being a creep.” You exhale deeply, as if trying to shrug a weight off your shoulders. “Why do people think they can just do that? God.” You shiver, stretching your limbs to shake away the feeling of his touch on you.

Carlos looks at you with a softer expression. “How about we finish here for today?” he asks. “We can hit the showers and go to that place across the street.”

“Are you sure?” You know the two of you are only three-quarters done with your workout at most. Guilt swims in your gut. “We can still…” but your sentence tapers off at the look Carlos gives you. He’s offering you his hand, and you surprise yourself by reaching for it without missing a beat.

You feel keenly aware of the fact that this is the first time you’re holding his hand like this. You like the feeling of the weight of his hand—something grounding, something comfortable. A small, quiet part of you hates how quickly it’s over.

The two of you split up at the bathrooms, with each of you going into your respective side for a quick shower. By the time you’re done, you’re surprised to find that Carlos is waiting for you right by the door of the bathrooms, checking his phone as he leans against the wall. There’s a spark of warmth in your chest at the gesture. Your hair is slightly wet, water dripping onto your fresh change of clothes. Carlos is in a similar state to you—droplets of water dripping from his brown hair, face slightly flushed. You can’t help yourself—and before you even realize it, you’re standing on your tippy toes to brush away a strand that hangs right above his eyes.

“There,” you say quietly. You smile up at him, and the furrow of his brows smooths out. After the shower with Carlos by your side, you think you can breathe a little easier. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Carlos says after a beat. The corner of his lips curve up into a hint of a smile. He gently nudges your side. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

translation: que puto asco — fucking disgusting.

a/n: currently considering making a series out of these two and their dynamic 😌 i may have a few more installments planned….. hm.

#—carlossainz!#one shot 🌨#🎾—ready set match!#cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr imagine #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #f1 driver imagine #f1 x reader

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starryylies · 7 months

Note

Hear me out now… ghost has a voodoo doll of you and he uses it to tease you in meetings and when you’re home and he’s at base😻

BEING SIMONS OBEDIENT LIL’ DOLL

Ongggg I love you and I love this ask so muchhhhhh ongggggg and I know I say this in every ask but sorry for replying late 😭

my finals start on Wednesday and these days I’m just clearing out my drafts for my recent posts in so sorry 😭😭

That’s like a plot from the webtoon I love (act like you love me, it’s soooooooo good)

goin to a shady ‘spiritual’ market with you was the last in his wish list buy when you were sooo insistent on buying crystals and quartz he just couldn’t say no :((

It was a chance meeting really you were just going home when you saw,

A shop in the corner of the market adorned with beautiful gems and red coloured leaves, it had no banner but the mysterious aura of the shop lured you in

Going inside you guys found an old lady selling dolls and you just couldn’t stop to look at one of them.

A doll that looked exactly like you

The skin colour, the hair, shape of your eyes.

it was exactly you.

Well a mini you,

While paying the lady told simon to keep the doll safe

He nodded along not thinking too much of it

That day When you and Simon were sleeping he accidentally slept on the doll which led to you feeling squished a suffocated

Waking Simon up with the sound of you choking

He quickly got up to see what’s wrong and the minute he got up from the doll you were fine

And You noticed that

You felt crazy ar first for believing that.

But proving it to Simon was hard,

he didn’t believe it until you made Him tug the dolls arm through which he noticed the pain caused on the exact spot

god he felt crazy too but he believed you

And the thing is your horny mind came up with a crazier idea-

An idea that stated that he has the consent to control you through the doll for when he’s gone for deployments and when he needs to go to the base

And what’s more insane is that he agreed.

So this crazy arrangement really ended up being a success

Whenever si went out he would take the doll with him, he would purposely use the doll to his advantage to tease you just slightly

The slight brush on your tits during your lecture?

That’s Simon

The sudden touches on your sensitive spots?

That’s Simon too

God he loved teasing you.

Especiallyyyy when you’re at home,

Telling you to wait and be a good girl till he comes back.

On one particular day,

He had been at the base all day to train the new recruits and you were at home and bored :(

Out of nowhere you felt a sudden caress and pinch on your nipples with your clit being rubbed in circles simultaneously.

It felt sooo good,

until it stopped.

You felt so frustrated.

You had to cum :((

So how could you not touch yourself :(

But before you could start you felt a restrain on your hands.

You couldn’t reach your hands further than your waist now

Just then you a got a message from Simon

An image of you, well mini you it’s hands tied around it’s waist

And a small text saying, “told you to wait princess, be a good girl f’ me”

That sly bastard

Really, visiting that store was a blessing curse in disguise.

But maybe giving Simon indirect control to your body wasn’t half as bad especially for those days when he felt generous :)

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haikyu-mp4 · 5 months

Note

hi omg i love your works sm !! each one is so cute and i love your dialogue for the characters 🫶 i've read most of them but i'll be going back to reread and reblog them bcos u deserve the love 🤍

i wanted 2 ask if ur requests were open ? it's okay if they aren't ofc !! but i had this idea earlier about dentist / orthodontist iwaizumi or oikawa ! and i've been looking thru the hq writers that i've reblogged from n u came up ! the idea is pretty broad but i was thinking more of a build up from patient-dentist (?) to lovers, smth like that ! idk if ure up for it then do ur magic but otherwise i hope u have a great day and i'm looking forward to reading more from u 💞💞💞

Unusual affection

thank you so much for your love!! I never wrote much AU before so this was such a fun idea and I hope I did it justice<3

word count; 1353 – gn!reader, dentist Oikawa AU, patient-dentist to lovers, suggestive

You're not so fond of going to the dentist. Luckily, your teeth didn’t give you many problems growing up, but your parents were urging you to get a check-up appointment after you moved away to a new city. Better to establish a dentist before the issues come up, they would say.

So you did, you made an appointment with dentist Oikawa Tooru and made your way to his office a few weeks later. His waiting list wasn’t exactly short. Not that you had to wonder why for long because…

that is one gorgeous man!

“You need to floss more regularly,” he added as if it just came naturally for him, which it probably did. You lay on the seat as he looked over all the basic stuff, rinsing and picking at your teeth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see yourself attracting him very much with your mouth wide open and lips scrubbed dry already, so you just accepted your fate.

“I’m not really a dancer but I’ll try,” Oikawa stopped what he was doing and the swivel chair he sat on slowly turned towards you. That’s like something Makki would say, he thought. And that’s not a compliment.

“How old are you, 10?” he asked but quickly cleared his throat when the secretary seemed to eye him from her desk. She always said he shouldn’t have an attitude with customers.

“Some would say I’m a 10 out of 10!” you responded, joyfully watching as his patience wore thin. Oh, how fun to find cracks in that perfect exterior.

He sighed, shook his head, and turned back to the monitor. You started looking at the ceiling, counting the dots and lines in the ugly pattern until you lost count and started over. Is that a headache creeping up on you?

Finally, Oikawa rolled back over. You blinked a couple of times to shake off the view of the ceiling and actually focus on him. “Open.” Wouldn’t mind hearing him command you like that in another setting, you thought, suddenly avoiding eye contact again but still doing as he said. Dentists are not supposed to be this attractive. “Your wisdom teeth on this side, do they hurt?” he asked, pointing to the cheek he was referring to.

You thought about it, humming in thought. “Yes, especially after eating. Lots of food gets stuck in there too.”

“We can set up another appointment to get them removed,” he informed you. “It should be mostly covered by insurance if I say it’s necessary.”

You nodded, licking your lips as they felt so dry from his gloved hands running over them. “Will…” he was about to stand up but stopped for a moment to listen to you. “…you be doing that?”

A small humorous sound left his lips, and it sounded so melodic you were in a trance. “That could be arranged.”

Two weeks later, you’re back at the reception of your dentist's office, asking for Oikawa. You agreed to do the procedure with a local sedative, as you didn’t have that many close friends in this city yet that could pick you up, so two assistants were currently making sure you wouldn’t feel anything around your mouth for the next hours. Unfortunately, this called for you to stay quiet, and you were honestly just excited to see Dr. Hottie again.

Your prayers were answered, and after they left you to soak in the numb feeling in your mouth for about ten minutes, Oikawa walked through the door. “Hey there, little dancer.” he greeted you.

“Hi!” you cooed, but it sounded odd when you couldn’t feel your lips. You frowned, trying to look down at your lips for a moment before giving up. Oikawa clicked his tongue from where he watched you, shaking his head before putting gloves on. Everything he did seemed so elegant, but you had a sense there was a dorky side to him.

“It might hurt a bit, but just tap me if you need me to adjust, okay?” he informed you, looking into your eyes for an answer.

You nodded, sucking in a quick breath. His eyes were pretty. Swirly, like chocolate ice cream. “Yes, I got it.” You bit your top lip, sheepishly continuing. “My safeword is toothbrush.”

Oikawa seemed to chuckle under his breath, he hesitated to humour you but still gave in. “Good to know. I was half expecting a stupid joke about tap dancing.” he hummed before picking up the first tool he needed and swiftly getting to it. It wasn’t very fortunate, to have him stare at your face as your cheeks flushed red, but it was worth witnessing the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

The procedure didn’t take too long. He struggled with the lower tooth, so an assistant came in to help him and the two conversed like you weren’t even there. When it was finally done, Oikawa pressed a button so you were adjusted into a seated position. You let your lips run frantically over your chapped lips, reaching for the small cup of water he provided you. And had you not been busy with the aftermath of the procedure, you would have noticed the way he watched you for a moment too long before getting up and throwing away his gloves.

Oikawa knew it was inappropriate. His breath shouldn’t have stuttered when he saw you in the waiting room for the check-up, he shouldn’t have sent you a small wave before calling your name to let you know he was ready for you, and he shouldn’t have put his hand on your back while leading you to his station. He just found you entertaining, that’s what he told himself, but he definitely looked off his game when you finally sat down for him to check the stitches from the procedure.

“Everything alright there, doc?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. Oikawa waved his hand as if it was nothing, laughing under his breath.

“No worries, I was just-” he pursed his lips before pointing at you with the little tool in his hand. “Do you like pasta?”

Your jaw loosened in disbelief. “Pasta? I guess I do, is that bad for my teeth or something?” you asked a bit awkwardly.

“There’s this new Italian restaurant down the street. You should go there,” he said. “With me, I mean.”

Oikawa’s penthouse apartment was pretty nice, so you two basically spent most of your time there after a couple of dates led to stumbling through your front door with your lips locked together. He had complained about the small bed and creaking floor of your apartment, which led him to take you home to his place the morning after.

Now you were sitting on the marble countertop in the bathroom with Oikawa standing between your legs, and it was similar to something you had dreamed up before when imagining life with a boyfriend. The difference was, you weren’t kissing or anything like that. No, your mouth was wide open as your handsome boyfriend checked your teeth before bed after you brushed them. “This is a bit unusual, don’t you think?” you managed to say, making him pout as you accidentally left a small bite on his pointer finger.

“You’re a bit unusual, but here we are,” he mumbled, but still hummed in appreciation at what he observed. “I knew the electric toothbrush would help.”

Finally, he leaned an arm on each side of you on the counter so you could have a kiss, which you’d say was a much better reward for being good at the dentist than the ones you would get when you were younger. “You truly are a genius, Tooru.” you cooed sarcastically. He kissed you again and hummed, savouring the aftertaste of your toothpaste. The expensive kind.

“Maybe I’m such a good dentist that my kisses clean your teeth,” he said, and it shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t be charming. It was cheesy, made no sense and created some disturbing mental images. But you savoured it nonetheless, accepting every kiss he gave you and returning it with the same sweetness.

Luckily, this dental nerd is all yours.

masterlist

#ask-mp4 #hq #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa toru #oikawa

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rafeandonlyrafe · 11 months

Text

kinktober: cuckholding/prostitution

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, males who are NOT rafe receiving oral, drugs, prostitution, kind of cuckholding, female receiving oral, p in v sex

it’s your third guy of the night, the third guy who shilled over the extra money to rafe along with paying for whatever drugs he also bought.

there’s a list of conditions they must agree upon, and it shocks you as well as flatters you every time how many men are willing to go for it.

first rule is the one that makes you agree to the whole arrangement: rafe must remain in the room at all times. there’s many others, like how the men can only use your mouth, how you can stop it at any time and they aren’t allowed to say a word.

you have learned to adapt quickly to the different men's styles, some prefer for you to to suck them hard and fast, some slow and deep, while others prefer you to simply sit back and let them use your mouth, like the man who is currently in the room with you, rafe sitting on the armchair, eyes on your face to pick up any signs of displeasure.

the man starts to moan and you can tell he’s getting closed, leading to your next rule: no cumming in your mouth. you give him one last thrust down your throat before you’re pulling away, letting him jack his own cock off into the trash can. it’s undignified, but they are paying to use you after all.

rafe stands once the man cums, handing him the drugs he paid for as well before showing him out of the room. rafe gives you a hand to help get you up off your knees, and you hurry into the bathroom, rinsing out your mouth and then brushing your teeth as you do after guy. you gargle with mouthwash before you head back out to rafe, giving him a kiss now that your mouth is clean.

“it’s so hot.” rafe says, hands squeezing your waist. “watching them pay thousands just to cum in minutes from using your mouth.” you smile at rafe, your greatest pleasure being from making him happy. “are there any more for tonight?” you ask, wanting your ultimate reward. while rafe spends every penny of profit from a night like this on you, it’s him fucking you afterward that you really look forward to, not the shopping sprees or lavish gifts.

“one more.” rafe says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “unless you want to be done now.”

“no, no.” you shake your head. “i can do one more. can i have another bump though?”

rafe nods, heading back over to the table and helping you take a bump. as soon as the drugs are in your system you let out a soft sigh, letting rafe pull you onto his lap. he will let you do drugs, afterall, it’s a bit hypocritical considering his chosen profession, but it’s always under his close supervision and he makes sure you don’t take too much.

you let yourself enjoy being on rafes lap as your mind wanders, the drugs taking you on a journey until it’s interrupted by a knock at the door. you stand up, knowing exactly how this plays out.

“come in.” you say with a sultry smile, letting the man into the room. he’s handsome, and you feel yourself getting turned on at the thought of sucking him off. rafe makes sure to be very careful about who he invites up to your room. it has to be men that you aren’t going to be disgusted by physically. you only do this about once a month, so he is very picky, running the potential men by you first.

you take your place back on rafes lap as they do the drug deal, the man handing over money for the coke and for you, grinning as you stand up and move to the plush rug. you kneel down, cringing slightly at how bruised up your knees are.

“god, she’s gorgeous.” the man says to rafe, running his thumb briefly along your lip before he goes to undo his pants.

your eyes turn to rafe, watching his reaction like you always do. while you make the men cum, it’s rafe who you really want in your mouth, who you want to be giving pleasure.

rafe nods in approval as you start to suck the man off, head bobbing up and down. you appreciate the loud moans of the man, showing clearly how much pleasure you are bringing him.

rafe usually stays composed throughout your encounter, but knowing that this is the last one of the night, that after the man leaves, rafe is going to take you, has him pressing a hand over his crotch to give him some relief.

you resist the urge to smile around the mans cock, pulling back to suckle at the head before ducking back down. you can tell he’s getting close when he starts to pulse in your mouth, and you almost don’t pull off in time for him to turn his body and cum into the trash can.

you don’t even wait for the man to zip up before you rush into the bathroom, taking care of yourself and then also getting undressed. you wait with your ear pressed to the door as rafe converses with the man for a moment, and then your cue to leave the bathroom is the door shutting as the man leaves.

you step out as rafe is counting the money, but he drops it onto the table and watches you with lust in his eyes.

“did i do good tonight?” you ask, moving to sit on the edge of the bed that sits in the corner of the room.

“you did amazing, baby.” rafe walks over to you, dropping down on his knees between your legs. you smile and spread them for him, and rafe is quick to lean forward, tasting your wetness on his tongue. “damn baby, did sucking off all those men make you this wet?” rafe asks, tongue quickly falling back out of his mouth and lapping at your clit.

“no.” you give your head a shake. “knowing that you were gonna fuck me is what made me this horny.”

“good answer, princess.” rafe says with a smirk, sucking your clit into his mouth. you let out a moan and tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing his face into your pussy. rafe continues to eat you out for a minute until he gets too impatient, needing to get inside of you. he hops up from his spot on his knees, freeing himself from his pants as you lay back, but leaves your legs spread towards the edge of the bed.

rafe smiles at your position, ready and pliant for him to fuck. he knows the drugs flowing through your system are helping relax you even more.

he presses his cock against your entrance, not even bothering to pull his pants all the way down but it just turns you on more that he’s completely dressed while you’re there naked.

“only one that gets to fuck this pussy, right?” rafe says, pushing his cock inside of you, but keeping his thrusts halfway as he doesn’t give you the ultimate pleasure of entering you fully.

“only one, only you rafe.” you moan out, trying to entice him to fuck you deeper by circle your hips and squeezing your cunt around him.

“that man offered me 10k to fuck you tonight, and you know what i told him baby?” rafe asks.

“hm?” you question, eyes rolling back in your head as rafe pushes in deep, bending his body over yours so his chest presses against yours, rough material of his button down shirt rubbing against your sensitive nipples.

“i told him that i wouldn’t even let him look at your pussy for a million dollars. that’s how special it is. do you like feeling that special?” rafes hips start to move again as you let out a little whimper, now fucking you deep and hard.

“do you like knowing how many men want to fuck you?” he asks, standing back straight so he can get good leverage to move faster. “how much money men are willing to pay just to be in your mouth?”

your hands fist in the bed sheets as rafe continues, bringing one thumb to rub over your clit. “answer me, princess. do you like it?” “yes.” you moan. “it makes me feel sexy.”

“you are sexy, baby.” rafe says, moaning when you squeeze around him as his thumb rubs just right. “you gonna cum f’me?” he asks.

“yes, i’m close.” you say, eyes rolling back in your head as rafe moves faster, and when you feel his cock swell inside of you, you can’t hold back any longer, cumming around him and triggering his own orgasm, his hips pressing deep into you as he cums, thumb slowing down as you work through it.

“shh, good girl.” rafe says when you whine as he pulls out, tucking his cock back into his pants and redoing them. “you did so good tonight, baby, i’m proud of you.” rafe leans over you and gives you a kiss.

“how about i get everything ready for us to go home while you rest on the bed, hm?” rafe asks, helping you slide up the bed and get under the covers. he never brings the drug business home, meaning you often rent out airbnbs for the nights that you let the men pay to use you.

“mkay.” you mumble, eyes already sliding closed now that you’re under the warmth of the blanket.

“love you.” rafe says, kissing your forehead.

“love you too.” you manage to say before sleep takes you.

#reupload!#kinktober #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron drabble #obx fic #obx x reader

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kckt88 · 27 days

Text

A Dragon's Heart III

Summary:

As Aemond struggles cope in the wake of Viserra's departure he makes a confession to Alicent and Aegon confides in Rhaenyra.

Warning(s): Angst, Arranged/Unwanted Marriage, Swearing, Family Drama, Dragons, Infidelity, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Oral Sex, Semi Public Sex, P in V, Revelations, Referenced Character Death.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 8,600

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0

The atmosphere in Storm's End was thick with tension, the sombre weight of the funerals lingering like a storm cloud over the ancient castle.

The discussions regarding the succession had been heated, with various lords and ladies voicing their opinions on who should inherit Borros Baratheon’s seat.

The halls had echoed with disagreements—some advocating for Rhaegar, others for the unborn child Viserra carried, some for Cassandra or Maris. But none had found consensus, and the shadow of uncertainty loomed over the castle.

Rhaenyra and Daemon, their faces stern and resolute, had stayed behind after the ceremonies, not just to pay respects but to ensure that House Baratheon’s future was secured—and their own interests protected.

The arguments had been many, and Daemon’s temper had flared more than once, his hand often hovering dangerously close to the hilt of Dark Sister.

In a private chamber, away from the prying eyes and ears of the castle, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Cassandra faced each other.

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out between the three of them.

Cassandra broke the silence first, her voice cold and biting. "I wonder what would the Lords of the realm think if they knew of Viserra's affair with the Queen's one-eyed brother? And that her children are really bastards?"

Daemon’s hand clenched around the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles whitening. The underlaying insult towards his daughter was almost more than he could bear, and it took all his restraint not to unsheathe his sword then and there.

Rhaenyra, sensing the rising tension, interjected calmly. "There is no need for anyone to know of anything, Lady Cassandra. We can keep this matter between us—if you agree to my terms."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed; suspicion etched into her features. "And what terms would those be?"

"In exchange for your continued silence, I will name you Lady of Storm’s End," Rhaenyra stated plainly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "Furthermore, I will arrange a marriage between you and Lorian Tyrell and your firstborn child, regardless of their gender, shall be named the heir to Storm's End, plus I will lower your taxes for the next two years-"

Cassandra hesitated, the offer tempting but the bitterness of her loss still fresh. "And what of the murder of my father and sister? Am I to believe that justice will be served?”

Rhaenyra’s expression remained composed, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes. "My council is investigating the incident, but as of yet, no conclusive evidence has been found."

Cassandra scoffed, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "It’s obvious who the culprit is—Aemond. He had more to gain than anyone with my father out of the way. He’s now free to marry Viserra, and by that marriage, he will be the future King Consort."

Daemon let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the absurdity of the accusation too much for him to contain. "Aemond? Do you truly believe he had the means or the opportunity? He was never been absent from his duties. There were countless witnesses who can attest to that."

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. "The notion is ridiculous. Aemond wasn’t involved. His every movement is accounted for."

Cassandra opened her mouth to argue further, but Daemon, his patience finally worn thin, cut her off. "Enough. You will accept the Queen’s generous terms in exchange for your silence, or House Baratheon will burn."

As if on cue, the castle shook with the echoing roars of Caraxes and Syrax, their fury filling the air, a reminder of the power Daemon and Rhaenyra wielded.

Cassandra stiffened, her face paling as she realized the seriousness of the threat.

Glaring at Rhaenyra, Cassandra finally relented. "I accept your terms."

As Rhaenyra and Daemon turned to leave, Daemon paused, leaning in close to Cassandra, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Mind your tongue, Lady Cassandra. Speak ill of my daughter again, and you will regret it."

Cassandra swallowed hard, her defiance faltering under the weight of Daemon’s words. She watched silently as they left, the door closing behind them with a finality that left her feeling as though she had narrowly escaped a dragon’s maw.

Outside the chamber, Rhaenyra glanced at Daemon, her expression a mixture of relief and irritation. "Must you always resort to threats?"

Daemon smirked, unrepentant. "Only when it’s necessary, my love. Now can we leave this fucking castle"

"I think it best-" replied Rhaenyra.

"Do you think perhaps we could make a stop on our return journey to the Red Keep?" asked Daemon smirking.

"To what end valzȳrys?" questioned Rhaenyra, as she straightened the golden crown on her head (Husband).

"I find myself wanting my wife-come ñuha idaña perzys. I know of an inn we can make use of" replied Daemon as he took Rhaenyra's hand and practically skipped his way back to where Caraxes and Syrax were waiting (My twin flame).

Another week had passed, and Aemond’s mood remained dark and volatile. The confirmation of Cassandra’s acceptance of Rhaenyra’s terms had brought little comfort; if anything, it only deepened his frustration.

Despite the successful negotiations, Viserra was still kept away on Dragonstone, and the distance gnawed at him, a constant, unbearable ache.

His frustration boiled over during a training session in the courtyard, Ser Erryk Cargyll had been his sparring partner that day, and things descended into chaos pretty quickly and it took three guards to drag Aemond off Ser Erryk before he nearly beat the man to death, leaving the seasoned knight bruised and bloodied on the ground.

After hearing about the attack, Alicent could no longer ignore the feeling of uncertainty that swirled in the pit of her stomach, she had grown increasingly concerned by Aemond’s behaviour and she needed to speak to him.

She found him the dimly lit library; the heavy silence of the room was only broken by the crackling of the fire.

Alicent approached him, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Aemond, we need to talk," she began, her voice firm but tinged with concern.

“About what?”

“I’m worried about you” replied Alicent

"I'm fine, Mother-" said Aemond not looking from the book in his hands.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "You are not fine. Your actions speak otherwise. Beating a knight nearly to death, avoiding your family—this is not you."

Aemond’s grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white. "I said I’m fine."

"Stop lying to me!" Alicent snapped, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "You're not fine, Aemond! You're falling apart, and I can see it as clearly as everyone else. You’ve always been the strong one, the composed one, but now-now you’re crumbling, and I don't understand why!"

Aemond’s control finally cracked, and he slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the library. "I can’t cope with being separated from Viserra any longer!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "I need to see her, to feel her and I want my son!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, her hand trembling slightly as she processed his words. "Your-what?"

Aemond scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, come on, Mother. Don’t act so shocked. Deep down, you knew that Rhaegar is my son."

Alicent shook her head, her voice faltering. "No-no, that’s not true. He’s Borros’s son, you couldn’t—"

“I was the one who lost an eye; you have no excuse to be so blind!" Aemond interrupted, his voice cold and cutting.

Alicent’s shock quickly turned to anger, her voice trembling with emotion. "How could you be so foolish, Aemond? To get involved with a married woman, to father a bastard—"

"Because I love her!" Aemond’s voice was loud, filled with a mix of pain and defiance. "I’ve always loved her"

Alicent stared at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "How long has this been going on?"

Aemond’s eyes were dark, filled with a storm of emotions. "Since the night of the Driftmark petition," he admitted, his voice low.

Alicent gasped, her face paling as the words sunk in. "You-you’re lying," she whispered, unwilling to believe it.

"I’m not," Aemond insisted, his voice steady. "-After the fight with Jacaerys, I followed her to her chambers, and I took her maidenhead. Then at Storms End after she offered her hand in marriage to Borros, I went to her room and spent the night fucking her. Then on her wedding day I fucked her before the ceremony, she spread her legs for me and it felt so good-"

Alicent’s hand flew out before she even realized what she was doing, the sharp crack of her slap echoing through the library.

"How dare you be so vulgar!" she spat, her voice shaking with fury and disbelief. "What happened to my dutiful son? The one who was always so perfect, so obedient?"

Aemond’s eye hardened, a cold smile playing at his lips. "I grew up" he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "I grew tired of being the perfect son who works for everything and receives nothing. So, I saw what I wanted, and I took it."

Alicent’s heart ached at his words, her mind reeling from the revelations. The son she thought she knew was slipping away from her, consumed by his love and obsession for Viserra.

"Aemond-" she began, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "This path you’re on, it will only lead to more pain. Please, think about what you’re doing."

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver. "I’ve thought about it more than you know, Mother. I will have Viserra and Rhaegar back, and no one will stand in my way."

With that, he turned and left the library, leaving Alicent standing there, her heart heavy with the weight of her son’s choices.

Aegon found Rhaenyra in her solar, the room lit softly by the afternoon sun streaming through the high windows. She was seated at a large wooden desk, a quill in hand, reviewing parchments with a furrowed brow.

He hesitated at the doorway, unsure of how to begin. Rhaenyra glanced up, noticing his presence, and offered a small, polite smile. "Aegon," she greeted him, setting the quill down. "What brings you here?"

Aegon stepped inside, his usual bravado replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. "I need to talk to you. It’s about Aemond."

Rhaenyra’s expression grew more concerned, her attention fully focused on him. "What about him?"

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his silver hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. "He’s not doing well. The separation from Viserra and Rhaegar-it’s tearing him apart."

Rhaenyra looked at him, her gaze searching. "Yes. I’ve noticed his temper has been worse lately”

"It’s more than that," Aegon replied, his voice strained. "Aemond’s losing his mind. Granted he’s always been intense, but this-this is different. He’s on the edge, and I’m afraid of what might happen if we don’t do something."

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair, considering his words. "I sent Viserra and Rhaegar to Dragonstone for their safety and to quell the rumours”.

Aegon shook his head, his tone more urgent. "I understand that, but Aemond can’t cope without them. He’s never known what it’s like to be loved unconditionally. Our mother, for all her attempts to be a good mother, isn’t as loving or nurturing as she should’ve been-"

"Aegon" whispered Rhaenyra.

"-Aemond has spent his life trying to prove himself, to earn love that should have been freely given. Viserra-she’s the first person who made him feel like he was worth something, that he was deserving of love. She completes him in a way no one else can."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened as she listened, her heart heavy with the truth in Aegon’s words. "I never realized-"

Aegon pressed on, his voice thick with emotion. "Aemond is falling apart without her. He’s been isolated and unloved for so long that when he finally found someone who loves him as deeply as Viserra does, it became everything to him. Without her, he’s lost."

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to the parchment in front of her, her fingers tracing the edges absently. "But the scandal—"

"Scandal be damned!" Aegon interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. "Aemond deserves to be happy! He deserves to have the love that’s been denied him his whole life. It’s too late for me—" He paused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "—but not for Aemond. He has a chance to have what I’ll never have. Please I beg you sister, don’t take that away from him."

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched at his words, the raw emotion in his voice piercing through her own concerns.

She had seen Aemond’s growing instability, but hearing Aegon’s plea, the way he laid bare Aemond’s pain and longing, struck a chord within her.

She nodded slowly, her resolve softening. "I never wanted to hurt him, Aegon. I just wanted to protect them all"

"I know," Aegon replied quietly, stepping closer to her. "But keeping them apart is causing more harm than good. If Aemond is kept away from Viserra and Rhaegar any longer, he’s going to have some kind of breakdown. And when that happens-I’m not sure if anyone will be able to bring him back."

Rhaenyra let out a long breath, the weight of Aegon’s words settling heavily on her shoulders.

She looked up at him, seeing the earnestness in his eyes, the desperate hope that she would listen and act before it was too late.

"I’ll send for them," she finally said, her voice soft but firm. "Viserra and Rhaegar can return to the Red Keep”

Aegon’s expression softened with relief, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Thank you. You’re doing the right thing."

Rhaenyra nodded, her mind already racing with the arrangements that needed to be made. "I hope this will be enough to bring him back from the edge."

"It will," Aegon assured her. "Viserra’s love will be enough."

As Aegon left the solar, Rhaenyra sat quietly, the decision she had just made echoing in her mind. She hoped, for Aemond’s sake, that it would be the right one.

Aemond stormed into his chambers, his mood as dark as the night outside. The maid who had been tidying up startled at his entrance, quickly bowing her head.

Before she could offer any words of welcome, Aemond snapped, "Leave. NOW!" His tone left no room for argument.

The maid quickly gathered her things and hurried out of the room, the heavy door closing behind her with a muted thud.

Alone at last, Aemond began to strip off his armour, piece by piece.

The chest plate, the pauldrons, the vambraces, all discarded with little care, until he stood bare in the dim candlelight.

He wrenched off his eyepatch and moved to the basin where a bath had been drawn earlier, the water still warm. He sank into it, letting the heat seep into his tired bones.

For a moment, he closed his eye, trying to shut out the world, trying to wash away the frustration and anger that clung to him like a second skin.

After the bath, Aemond dried himself off and dressed in a loose cotton tunic and sleep pants. He glanced at the food tray the maid had left behind, his stomach growling faintly. He picked at the food, eating only enough to quiet the gnawing hunger before pushing the tray aside.

He tried to settle down with a book, one of the many he had collected over the years, hoping to lose himself in its pages.

But the words blurred before his eye, his thoughts too tangled to focus. The strain in his eye worsened, a dull headache forming at the base of his skull.

With a frustrated sigh, he snapped the book shut and tossed it aside.

He lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing despite his exhaustion. His thoughts inevitably drifted to Viserra and Rhaegar.

How he missed them. The emptiness in his chest was like a gaping wound, one that no amount of duty or distraction could heal. He felt foolish for being so consumed by it, for feeling so dependent on their presence, but he couldn’t help it. They were his world, and without them, he was lost.

He thought back to the older women he had bedded before Viserra and he realised that whilst they may have taught him how to pleasure a woman, he himself had never experienced true pleasure until he was with Viserra.

The sex with the women felt good at the time, but after it always left him feeling hollow and empty to the point where he thought something was wrong with him, seven knows Aegon offered bragged about his conquests and the delights of the women he bedded, or sometimes the men if his drunken ramblings were anything to go by.

Aemond never truly understood it until Viserra. Fucking her was euphoric, and it always left him wanting more, no matter how many times he sheathed himself inside her, it was this feral need inside of him to possess her at all times.

Daemon told him that Targaryen's would often call to their own, their dragon's blood singing for one another. Maybe that's what is was.

Was it the reason why Daemon was so insistant in his pursuit of Rhaenyra, and why they would often be seen sneaking off somehwere, but then why wasn't Aegon or any of the others like that?

Did it only affect certain Targaryen's or did finding their perfect mate awaken something inside of them?

As he lay there, his thoughts began to spiral. What if something happened to them? What if Viserra fell ill again on Dragonstone, and he wasn’t there to protect her? The thoughts gnawed at him, feeding his anxiety until finally, exhaustion began to pull him under.

His heavy eyelid drooped, and he surrendered to sleep, hoping it would bring him some peace.

But peace was not to be found. His dreams were vivid, almost cruel in their clarity. He dreamt of Viserra and Rhaegar, holding them close, feeling their warmth, their love. For a brief moment, he was content. But then, it twisted into something darker.

He saw Viserra, her face pale and frightened, Rhaegar crying in her arms. Aemond tried to reach them, but his feet were stuck, as if rooted to the ground. No matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t move.

And then Borros Baratheon appeared, his face twisted into a grotesque mockery of life, his dead eyes gleaming with malice.

He wrapped a hand around Viserra’s throat, squeezing as he dragged her into the darkness.

Rhaegar’s cries for his mother echoed in his ears, desperate and filled with fear. Aemond fought against his invisible restraints, but it was no use.

Just as the nightmare seemed to reach its peak, Aemond suddenly felt a soft touch on his cheek. His heart stuttered as he heard a sweet, familiar voice.

"ñuha jorrāelagon" (My love).

He opened his eye, the nightmare dissolving into nothingness. Before him, sitting on the edge of his bed, were Viserra and Rhaegar.

Viserra’s hand was still on his cheek, her touch warm and real.

Rhaegar, with his bright eyes and innocent smile, threw his little arms around Aemond’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Kepa” exclaimed Rhaegar (Father).

Aemond sat up, shock and disbelief warring within him. "Am I dreaming?" he asked, his voice hoarse, afraid to believe what his senses were telling him.

Viserra smiled softly. "No, my love. We’re real and we’re home."

Aemond woke late in the morning, sunlight filtering through the thick curtains of his chamber.

He glanced down and saw Rhaegar, fast asleep, snuggled up to him with one hand curled against his chest.

A tender smile tugged at Aemond’s lips as he watched his son, peaceful and content in his slumber.

A faint rustling caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Viserra sitting at the table, absentmindedly picking at the breakfast foods that had been delivered while he was still asleep.

Her hand rested gently on the small swell of her stomach, a sight that made Aemond’s heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tear his eye away from her—Gods, how beautiful she was.

Even in the simplicity of the morning, with her silver hair loose and her expression relaxed, she was a vision of grace and love.

Noticing that he was awake, Viserra looked up and met his gaze. A soft smile spread across her face. “You looked like you needed sleep, so I didn’t want to wake you,” she said quietly, her voice laced with warmth.

Aemond carefully detached himself from Rhaegar, ensuring the boy remained undisturbed, and slipped out of bed.

He crossed the room in a few strides, his focus entirely on Viserra. When he reached her, he bent down and kissed her passionately, pouring all the longing and relief of the past weeks into that single, fervent embrace.

"I’ve missed you," he whispered against her lips, his hand cupping her cheek.

Viserra smiled, her hand coming up to rest over his. “I missed you too,” she murmured back.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to her stomach, his fingers following. He placed his hand gently over the small bump, his touch reverent.

“It’s only been a few weeks” muttered Aemond.

“I know-” replied Viserra softly.

“Mayhaps there’s more than one babe” whispered Aemond.

“Don’t even joke about that” said Viserra.

Aemond laughed softly before he leaned in and kissed her again, a tender kiss full of love and gratitude.

Then, an idea seemed to occur to him, and he looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Stand up for a moment,” he requested.

Viserra raised an eyebrow, curious but obliging. She stood, and Aemond took her place on the chair, patting his knee invitingly. “Come, sit,” he said, his tone serious despite the playful request.

Viserra let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t be serious,” she said, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Aemond met her gaze with unwavering intensity. “I’m deadly serious.”

Still laughing softly, Viserra gave in and sat down in his lap. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, pulling her close as he pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent deeply.

It was a sensation he had longed for, missed more than anything else in the world.

“Never leave me again,” he muttered against her ear, his voice rough with emotion.

Viserra turned her head slightly, resting it against his. “I won’t,” she promised softly.

Aemond held Viserra close, his arms wrapped securely around her as he pressed a flurry of soft kisses across her face—on her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

Each kiss was a whispered promise, a declaration of the depth of his longing. He breathed in her scent, letting it fill his senses, and leaned in to murmur in her ear, “What if I don’t attend to my duties today? What if we just stay here, shut away from the rest of the world?”

Viserra laughed, the sound warm and soothing, like a balm to his soul. “As tempting as that is,” she replied, her voice laced with affection, “I have matters to discuss with my mother, and I promised Rhaegar that he could play with Jaehaerys today.”

Aemond pouted slightly, the image of the two of them alone and undisturbed still lingering in his mind.

But Viserra placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin as she assured him, “We won’t be far from one another. And mayhaps tonight, Rhaegar can sleep in his own chambers, and we can have some time alone.”

He caught the mischievous glint in her eye, the subtle suggestion in her words, and his heart quickened. “I can’t wait,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with desire. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

Viserra’s smile widened as she nodded in agreement. “It was torture without your touch,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I spent many nights longing for you-my fingers never satisfying me same way yours do”

Aemond’s lips found hers again, a deep, passionate kiss that sent a surge of arousal through him.

He was lost in the feel of her against him, until a knock at the door broke through the haze of their shared desire.

Aemond growled softly, annoyed at the interruption. “What is it?” he called out, his voice tinged with frustration.

Ser Erryk’s voice came through the door, cautious and formal. “My Prince, I was concerned as you are late to attend your duties as Commander of the City Watch.”

Aemond huffed, reluctantly pulling back from Viserra. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m able,” he replied, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “I slept late.”

Viserra chuckled softly as she adjusted herself in his lap. “It’s just as well we were interrupted,” she teased, her fingers brushing his hair away from his face. “It wouldn’t do to indulge in our desires with Rhaegar still in the room.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smile at her words, leaning into whisper in her ear, “Tonight.”

Viserra nodded, her eyes sparkling with the promise of what was to come. “Tonight,” she echoed softly, sealing the agreement with a gentle kiss.

Alicent stood at the edge of the garden, her hands clasped before her as she watched the scene unfolding before her.

The sunbathed the Red Keep’s gardens in a warm, golden light, casting a soft glow on the vivid green of the grass and the delicate colours of the flowers in bloom.

Viserra was sat beside Helaena on a wooden bench, their heads close together as they spoke quietly, occasionally breaking into gentle laughter.

Nearby, Rhaegar was running across the lawn, his small legs carrying him after Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their high-pitched giggles filling the air.

Maelor sat contentedly beside his mother, playing with his toys, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The sounds of children’s laughter echoed through the garden, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.

Alicent allowed herself a rare moment of peace, letting the joyful sounds wash over her. For a brief moment, it felt as though the weight she had carried for so many years had been lifted.

There had been a time when such a scene seemed impossible. The realm had been on the brink of war, sister against brother, a brutal fight for a crown that now rested on Rhaenyra’s head.

Her father Otto had been so certain that Rhaenyra’s reign would mean the end for them all. He had warned her that Rhaenyra would demand Aegon’s execution, that she would call for the blood of her children to secure her succession.

But Rhaenyra had proven him wrong. She had been merciful, more than Alicent had ever imagined possible. Aegon had been spared, and so had her other children. And now, there was a sort of unity among them—a fragile peace that had taken root, nourished by the passage of time.

Alicent’s gaze drifted to Rhaegar, who had just tackled Jaehaerys to the ground in a fit of laughter. The boy’s silvery hair gleamed in the sunlight, and Alicent’s heart clenched with a mixture of emotions.

Rhaegar was Aemond’s son—her grandson. How had she not seen it before? The resemblance was undeniable. The sharp features, the intense gaze, even at such a young age.

He was his father’s son in every way that mattered.

Aemond’s choices had pained her deeply. His involvement with Viserra had been a scandal, one that Alicent had struggled to accept.

The son she had raised to be dutiful and restrained had acted out of passion and desire, entangling himself in a web that could never truly be undone. But now, looking at Rhaegar, Alicent saw beyond the mistakes, beyond the scandal.

She saw a future, a legacy. Rhaegar was a bridge between two worlds—between the blacks and the greens, between her son and Rhaenyra’s daughter. He was proof that something good could come from the chaos, that there was hope for a future.

Alicent sighed softly, her heart heavy with the complexity of it all. She had been a fool not to see it sooner, to recognize the bond between Aemond and Viserra, to see Rhaegar for who he truly was.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she continued to watch, feeling a warmth in her chest that had been absent for far too long.

For now, she would hold on to this moment, to the sound of children’s laughter, and to the hope that the future might be kinder to them all.

Later that evening, Aemond sat tall on his horse, the reins held loosely in his gloved hands as he looked down at Viserra, who was standing beside him with a curious smile.

With one smooth motion, he reached down and offered his hand to her. She took it, and he effortlessly pulled her up into the saddle behind him.

As she settled into place, her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his back. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice filled with playful curiosity.

Aemond glanced over his shoulder at her, a small, secretive smile playing on his lips. “You’ll see,” he replied, his tone teasingly mysterious.

With a gentle nudge, Aemond urged the horse into a trot. “Open the gates!” he called out, his voice commanding as they approached the main gates of the Red Keep.

The heavy iron gates creaked open, and the horse moved smoothly out onto the cobbled streets of King’s Landing.

As they left the bustling city behind, the sounds of the market and the chatter of the people faded away, replaced by the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves on the ground.

Viserra tightened her hold on him, feeling the warmth of his body through his leathers. She closed her eyes briefly, savouring the moment—the freedom and the closeness.

The road soon gave way to a grassy meadow, Aemond guided the horse through the tall grass until they reached the centre of the meadow, where Vhagar and Vermithor were resting side by side, their eyes following the approaching pair.

Aemond brought the horse to a stop and dismounted first. He then turned and extended his hand to Viserra, helping her down from the saddle. Once her feet were on the ground, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder.

“I thought we could use some time away,” Aemond said softly, his hand still holding hers as they stood before the dragons. “Just us. Somewhere we can be together without the world watching.”

Viserra smiled up at him, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, stepping closer to him.

“Helaena has agreed to watch Rhaegar for the night,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

“That was good of her-”replied Viserra, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” said Aemond.

With a determined nod, Viserra turned toward Vermithor and began the familiar climb up the rope ladder to the dragon’s saddle.

She moved carefully, the small swell of her belly making the climb a bit more challenging than usual. Halfway up, she paused to catch her breath, her hand resting lightly on her stomach.

Aemond, standing at Vhagar’s side, noticed her hesitation. “Are you alright?” he called up to her, concern lacing his voice.

Viserra glanced down at him and gave a reassuring smile. “I’m fine,” she replied, determined to reach the saddle.

With renewed effort, she continued her climb until she finally settled into Vermithor’s saddle, securing herself with the straps.

Aemond watched her closely, only mounting Vhagar once he was sure she was safely seated. He climbed the ladder with the ease of long practice, settling into the saddle with a sense of anticipation.

Turning his head, he caught Viserra’s gaze and gave her a small nod. “Follow me,” he said, his voice carrying over the wind.

Viserra took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt Vermithor shift beneath her. The powerful dragon roared, his massive wings unfurling as he prepared to take flight.

Vhagar was already in the air, her enormous wings slicing through the sky as she ascended.

Not one to be outdone, Vermithor followed, launching himself into the air with a thunderous roar that echoed across the landscape.

The two dragons flew side by side, the sensation of flying together, of being so high above the world, sent a thrill through Viserra. She could feel the exhilaration in her veins, her dragon’s blood singing with delight as the wind whipped through her hair.

Beside her, Aemond was similarly enthralled, the tension of the past weeks momentarily forgotten as they soared through the skies.

After an hour of glorious flight, the dragons began to descend, circling a secluded spot near the river Wendwater. The area was serene, far from the prying eyes of court and the pressures of duty.

The dragons landed gracefully on the soft sand near the riverbank, their wings folding as they settled down.

Viserra carefully unfastened the straps and began her descent down Vermithor’s ladder. Once her feet touched the ground, she looked around, her eyes wide with curiosity.

The peacefulness of the river, combined with the rustling of leaves in the trees, created an atmosphere of calm that contrasted sharply with the bustling life of the Red Keep.

She didn’t have to wait long before Aemond joined her, landing beside her with a soft thud. He smiled as he took her hand, their fingers interlocking effortlessly.

Without a word, he led her toward a tent nestled among the trees, its entrance partially hidden by the thick canopy above. The tent was simple yet inviting, a small sanctuary away from the demands of their world.

Aemond held the tent flap open for Viserra, his eyes never leaving her as she stepped inside. The interior was cozy, with furs and blankets spread across the floor.

It was a space meant for them, a place where they could be themselves without the weight of crowns and expectations.

“Is this where you and Aegon disappeared off to earlier?” asked Viserra.

“Possibly” replied Aemond smiling.

“I think it’s wonderful”

Aemond gently pulled Viserra into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Tonight, it’s just us,” he whispered, his voice full of promise and affection.

Viserra smiled up at him, her heart full as she leaned into his embrace. “Just us,” she echoed softly, feeling the tension of the past weeks melt away.

Aemond pressed a tender kiss to Viserra's lips, his touch filled with reverence and longing. "I want to make love to my wife amongst the stars," he whispered against her lips, his voice full of desire and affection.

Viserra's smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Then let's do just that," she replied softly, her heart fluttering in her chest.

Aemond nodded, brushing a stray strand of silver hair from her face before reluctantly pulling away.

“Wait here,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned and disappeared into the trees.

Viserra watched him go, her hands resting protectively on the small swell of her stomach, feeling the life that grew within her.

It wasn’t long before Aemond returned, his arms laden with wood for the fire. He dropped the bundle onto the ground not far from the tent’s entrance, his movements efficient yet filled with purpose.

Turning toward Vhagar, who watched them with keen eyes, he gave the command with a firm voice. “Dracarys.”

Vhagar, ever obedient, opened her massive maw and unleashed a stream of fire onto the wood.

The flames roared to life instantly, crackling and snapping as they devoured the dry branches. Aemond chuckled, waving his arms to ward off the intense heat.

"Little enthusiastic on the fire there, old girl," he commented, his voice light with amusement.

Viserra couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, her laughter filling the air with a melody that Aemond found irresistible.

There was no sweeter sound in the world than her laughter, a sound that resonated in his soul and made him feel more alive than he ever had.

As the fire settled into a warm, steady burn, Aemond turned his gaze back to Viserra. She stood near the tent, bathed in the soft glow of the firelight.

Her braided silver hair shimmered like moonlight against the backdrop of the darkening sky. She was dressed in her riding leathers, the familiar outfit clinging to her form, accentuating the slight swell of her stomach.

That small curve was a constant reminder that she carried his child, their second, and the knowledge filled him with a fierce, possessive pride, his blood growing hot under his skin.

Aemond’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of her, his pulse quickening with each step he took toward her. She was so beautiful, so utterly perfect in every way.

The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the softness of her expression, the curve of her lips, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She was his—completely, undeniably his—and the arousal that surged within him was impossible to contain.

With a predator's grace, Aemond stalked toward her, his single eye dark with desire. Each step was deliberate, filled with purpose, as he closed the distance between them.

The fire crackled behind him, casting long shadows across the ground, but all he could see was her—his wife, his love, the mother of his children.

As he reached her, Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. His hands were firm yet gentle as they slid down her back, feeling the warmth of her body through the leather of her riding clothes.

He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, pouring all his love and longing into the connection. He kissed her with an intensity that left them both breathless, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the heat of her body against his.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Aemond whispered, his voice rough with need. “I want you, Viserra. I need you.” His hands moved to her hips, guiding her closer to him, their bodies pressed together in a way that made his desire almost unbearable.

Viserra’s breath hitched as she felt the heat of his arousal against her, her own body responding to his touch. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervour, her heart racing with the anticipation of what was to come.

“Then take me, Aemond,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with a mixture of love and desire.

Aemond backed Viserra towards the entrance of the tent, their hands pulling at each other’s riding leather’s, removing them as quickly as they could until they were a heaped mess on the floor.

“-Aemond” moaned Viserra as he placed his hands on her shoulders and encouraged her to lay on the heap of fur blankets.

He gently covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Viserra moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Viserra as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

He paused at her breasts, his tongue taking turns to swirl around her rosy nipples.

“I can’t wait for these to fill with milk-” groaned Aemond as he pressed his face into the soft pillowy mounds.

“Me either” replied Viserra softly, she knew Aemond enjoyed tasting her mother’s milk, but she enjoyed the closeness and also the relief he would give her, as nursing often left her full and sore.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond as he lowered himself and pressed a series of gentle kisses to the swell of her stomach.

“T-t-tickles” laughed Viserra as the ends of Aemond’s long silver hair swept across her skin.

“Hmmm”

“Aemond” gasped Viserra as she felt him move lower.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her before he ran the flat of his tongue up Viserra’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Viserra her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”.

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Viserra.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Viserra, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Viserra. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Viserra; her chest heaving.

Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Viserra’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Viserra’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” whispered Viserra as she writhed against him (Please my love).

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and sheathed his hard cock into Viserra’s soaked cunt causing her to shriek in surprise.

“That’s it, take all of me” moans Aemond as he begins to move.

Viserra can’t think of anything but the deep penetrating thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond wanted to fuck her hard, but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t want to harm the babe.

But she’s testing his restraint as he feels her clenching around him.

“YES! YES! AEMOND! I CAN TAKE IT. HARDER. PLEASE” screams Viserra.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond.

Aemond lifts Viserra’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock a little harder into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Viserra.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

His wife always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

“I love you-I fucking love you” groaned Aemond as he moved Viserra’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” begged Viserra, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the soft fur blankets.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Viserra.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Viserra as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside his wife, his other hand taking his cock and sheathing himself inside her once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Viserra arched her back and screamed as Aemond thrust into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed through the air.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond, his fingers still curling inside her.

“P-Please. Valzȳrys” whimpered Viserra (Husband).

Aemond removed his fingers and grasped hold of her hips, thrusting a little faster then he was before, his stomach muscles tensing.

He then took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers in the messy braid before he slowly pulled her backwards, her back colliding with his sweaty chest.

Aemond held Viserra tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me Issa zaldrīzes” pleaded Viserra her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder (My dragon).

“Give me another-come for me again” whispered Aemond as he slid his hand under the swell of her stomach and used his long fingers to stroke her pearl.

“Oh-yes-oh” moaned Viserra as her peak suddenly erupted, her hands tangling in Aemond’s hair as she pulled him in for a messy kiss.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside her.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and laid on the blankets.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Viserra breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he manoeuvred Viserra on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Viserra as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it ñuha nūmio, take it. Take all of me” (My pearl).

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Viserra dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Viserra as he moved his hands to her breasts, rolling her rosy nipples between his long fingers.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me again” exclaimed Aemond.

Viserra’s thighs began to burn, as she felt another climax approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Viserra.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed-”

“Y-yessss Aemond, I want it-I want you-” babbled Viserra as he moved her back onto the ground his cock never leaving her warmth as he moved inside her, chasing his own end.

“God. I love you- I love you-” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed.

The morning sun cast a soft, golden light over the quiet landscape as Viserra stirred from her slumber.

Her hand instinctively reached out to the space beside her, but instead of finding Aemond, she was met with the cool, empty fur blankets.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon" she murmured softly as she pulled a blanket around her naked body and rose from the warmth of their bed (My love).

Stepping out of the tent, she noticed that fresh wood had been added to the fire, the flames crackling merrily in the early morning chill.

"Aemond?" she called out, her voice carrying through the still air.

Viserra scanned the area, her eyes falling on the slumbering form of Vhagar, whose massive breaths disturbed the loose sand around her. Vermithor, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Just as she was about to call out again, a sudden shadow loomed over her. Viserra barely had time to react before a heavy thud echoed through the air, and the body of a dead stag dropped to the ground in front of her, its blood spraying across her face and chest.

She screamed in shock, stumbling back as she tried to wipe the blood from her face.

Vermithor landed gracefully beside Vhagar, trilling affectionately as he folded his wings. Viserra grimaced, still wiping the blood from her skin, and shot a glare at her dragon.

"Thanks for that," she muttered dryly, and Vermithor cooed in response, as if proud of his offering. Vhagar, unimpressed by the disturbance, opened one eye, huffed in annoyance, and promptly returned to her slumber.

Aemond emerged from the sea just as Viserra was recovering from the shock, his naked body glistening with seawater as he approached her with a carefree smile.

"Aren't you a sight," he teased, laughter dancing in his eye as he took in her blood-splattered appearance.

Viserra scoffed, still a little rattled. "I guess Vermithor thought we needed feeding,"

Aemond chuckled, nodding in agreement. "He's not wrong. It's not good for you or the babe to go without food for much longer," he remarked, glancing at the dead animal "A stag, how fitting."

Viserra nodded, her initial shock fading as she found herself smiling at the situation. With a playful shrug, she let the blanket slip from her shoulders, revealing her bare form to the morning light.

She couldn't help but laugh as she noticed the way Aemond suddenly stopped what he was doing, his gaze fixed on her, captivated by the sight.

She blew him a kiss, enjoying the effect she had on him, and turned toward the sea. The water was cold but refreshing as she waded in, washing away the blood and grime from her skin. The chill was invigorating, waking her senses and leaving her feeling renewed.

When she returned to the camp, Aemond had moved the stag a safe distance from the tent. A large slab of meat now hung over the fire, cooking slowly.

"I didn't know you could cook," Viserra remarked, her tone light as she joined him by the fire.

Aemond grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he offered her another blanket "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," he replied, his voice laced with that familiar confidence.

"Indeed, you are," Viserra agreed, leaning in to kiss him gently.

After finishing their meal, Viserra and Aemond sat close together, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the comfort of each other’s presence.

Viserra rested her head on Aemond's shoulder, feeling utterly content.

But then, the tranquil atmosphere was interrupted by the first few drops of rain. They hit the ground softly at first, then more rapidly, until the rain began to pour down in earnest.

Viserra glanced up at the sky, expecting Aemond to suggest retreating to the tent, but instead, he stood and held out his hand.

“Dance in the rain with me,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“There’s no music-”

“We can make our own” whispered Aemond.

Viserra hesitated for only a moment, the warmth of the blanket tempting her to stay put. But the look in Aemond’s eye was irresistible, and she found herself smiling as she abandoned the blanket and took his hand.

The rain drenched them both as they moved together, their naked bodies swaying in the downpour.

They giggled like children, spinning and twirling, water streaming down their faces and bodies.

The cool rain on their heated skin was exhilarating, and they pressed kisses to each other’s wet faces, tasting the sweetness of the rain mixed with their shared laughter.

Then, without warning, Aemond stopped. He slowly descended onto one knee; his eye full of emotion as he placed his forehead against Viserra's swollen stomach.

The rain continued to fall around them, but it seemed like time itself had paused.

“Marry me” Aemond whispered, his voice low and filled with longing.

Viserra’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re already married,” she replied softly, her hand resting gently on his head.

“Yes,” Aemond agreed, looking up at her with intensity. “In the ways of Old Valyria. But after our babe is born, I want to wed you in the eyes of the Seven. I want the realm to see that you are mine and I am yours.”

Viserra’s eyes filled with tears, though whether from the rain or emotion, she couldn’t tell. “Yes-I’ll marry you” she said, her voice trembling with happiness.

“Y-Yes?” questioned Aemond.

“Yes-yes-yes” exclaimed Viserra.

Aemond stood swiftly, pulling her into a passionate kiss as the rain continued to pour down on them, soaking them both.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that perfect moment.

But then, the rain abruptly stopped.

They broke their kiss and looked up to see that Vhagar had extended her wing over them, shielding them from the rain.

The mighty beast huffed affectionately, her huge eyes watching them with a surprising gentleness.

“You big softie,” Aemond laughed, looking up at his dragon with affection.

“Just like her rider,” Viserra teased, her eyes sparkling with love.

Aemond smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I say we change that,” he said, taking Viserra’s hand and guiding it to his already half hard cock.

Viserra laughed, her voice a soft melody in the quiet of the night. “You’re insatiable,” she murmured, though her tone was full of affection.

“Only when it comes to you, my darling,” Aemond replied, his voice husky with desire.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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ahotmesswithprivilege · 13 days

Text

Happy Ever After - Chapter 4

paring: Jake Seresin x female!librarian!reader

wordcount: ca. 4500

synopsis: One could easily forget that behind all of Hangman's bravado and the cocky smirk there is an actual human with a beating heart. But Javy has been the one Jake ranted to. How he wished for women to see him, not the pretty face or the GQ body and the uniform. At Javy's suggestion that maybe Jake is looking for love in the wrong places he just throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes. That's when Coyote decides that it's about time for things to change. Sitting down with the rest of the dagger squad they create a profile on a dating website. One where the goal is finding a committed relationship. The general response to Jake's profile is overwhelmingly positive so now all they need to do is hand the account over and let Hangman do the rest...

note: Ok, I am posting this because I feel like I will keep fiddling with details forever if I don't. There are some heavier topics in here like body-shaming/s*xualisation/objectification by others, so proceed with caution. I hope you enjoy it still. The cliffhanger might be a bit nasty, but I promise, it'll be worth it down the line ;) Reblogs, constructive criticism and feedback welcome as always

And if anyone knows someone who is more graphically capable who would like to help a girl out here, I'd greatly appreciate the pointers or else I'll probably use the same 3 gif every chapter XD

Trigger Warning (for the entire series. Things can be added over time. If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, proceed with caution, you know the drill): kind of arranged date situation, talk of mental illness and disability, disabled!reader, plus-size!reader, service dog, accessibility issues, body shaming (self and others), self-deprecation, cursing, non-canon (not even sure if this is canon compliant so, take that as you will), nsfw/smut (later chapters. We'll get there), written by a non-native speaker, not beta read, reader is addressed by her nickname Belle (she's got the books, she's got the beast and she's got the kind heart), probably classifies as soft!Jake Seresin but you'll be the judge of that.

Chapter 1 || Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter

banner by @firefly-graphics divider by @sweetmelodygraphics gif by @pilvimarja

!!!Minors do not interact! I block blank blogs/without age/Minors!!!

All the other messages are long forgotten when Jake offers you to switch platforms and take the conversation to WhatsApp.

At first, you double and triple-checked and verify everything you send him, to make sure you give him always all of the information he needs for an informed decision. But with every message exchanged you feel the fear of overstepping boundaries and second-guessing every word you chose slowly melting away. It feels like he just gets you and maybe this questionable idea of Kelly turns out to be the start of something really special. He's charming and funny and he hasn't once complained about the long and overcomplicated sentences with too many commas and brackets for a normal human being to stomach. He also hasn't asked for nudes or sent you dick pics which, considering your luck with men, is a big win in your book. He's the perfect gentleman, respectful and kind. And he makes you smile so much that even your colleague Martha asked you who your new gallant was.

The thought that maybe you roped him into something he wasn't interested in with your museum date still lingered in the back of your mind but he didn't give that fear any reason to grow. You two even started talking about the must-sees of the museum and when you sent him a small map with different routes to maximise your time in there he hearted it.

When you agree to switch from the dating website to WhatsApp he is thrilled. That means he can put his profile on inactive and doesn't have to deal with a ton of women blowing up his inbox every day. And he had hoped that he could finally get a glimpse at you from your profile picture there, but not really. He is greeted by an aesthetic pic of a stack of old books and a quote that is so you that he cannot help but smile.

Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind. - Virginia Woolf

It feels like for you being a librarian is what being a naval aviator is for him. It's not a job, it's a calling and whenever you talk about the groups that you introduced to the place you call your home away from home, be it first graders who get their first library card or high schoolers who learn how to do proper research he feels the passion in every word. He would have never thought that he could spend so much time listening and reading about something that he himself had no real connection to, but with your infectious joy and passion, you roped him in each and every time and he cannot wait to hear you tell those stories in person on Friday.

It's during a quiet moment sorting books back into shelves that your mind does what it does best. Overthink situations that are pretty simple.

Jake seemed to genuinely like you. He still wrote to you multiple times a day, was interested in how your day was going, and listened to what you had to say. But you also noticed that when you started sending pictures of pretty flowers you saw on your way to work or food you made he replied with pictures of his own and in the first two he was right there in the middle and later his handsome face popped up occasionally smiling at you and it made you feel guilty.

He had still no idea what you looked like. It's not that you hadn't scoured your entire camera roll to find something that was adequate. Damn, you even asked Kelly, but you hated being photographed. It's something you carry with you for decades at this point starting with those stupid yearbook pictures they took in school. The thought of the often downright vile comments your classmates threw your way brings tears to your eyes. But Jake wasn't like them. He was caring and kind and he actually followed through on his promises. Fuck he even offered to pick you up for your date and you couldn't even bring yourself to send him a single picture. What if he saw you and then decided you weren't for him? That you weren't pretty enough to even meet him? Not that you wanted to think that he was such a vain person who only cared about looks. He wouldn't have sent you that first message if it were like that.

'Optimism is a lack of information'

The quote pops up in your mind and bounces in your skull like a bloody flipper ball as you make your way back behind the counter with the by-now empty cart and look down at Vakarian. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Jake is checking his phone on his way to his barrack after the mission debriefing. He had started looking forward to the little messages you sent, the pictures you added, like the one of the butterfly that landed on your finger while you had lunch in the park the other day. He knows at least what your hands look like now. They seem small compared to his and on your left index finger you wear a wide silver ring with something engraved that almost looks like leaves. Your nails are neatly done in a firey red and he caught himself wondering how they'd feel scratching at the nape of his neck, digging into his shoulderblade as...

He really had to get his mind out of the gutter before he'd meet you tomorrow. This was your first date after all and the entire squad couldn't stop giving him dating advice considering he hadn't had an actual day since before the Academy. He only ever picked up girls in bars and you were not just a random ONS, that much he was sure of. It had been Phoenix who told him with a sardonic smile on her lips that he would have to reign himself in because of the three-date rule.

He ponders sending you the picture he'd taken of the sky early this morning on his run, the sunrise turning it in the most beautiful shades of red and purple when he sees an audio message plopping up and his heart starts to hammer in his chest. This was the first audio message you sent him and he couldn't help but wonder if the voice he had imagined for you whenever he read your messages was anything like your real one. His finger hovers over the play button, his heartbeat picking up before he shakes his head. He was sure whatever your voice sounded, it would be lovely. Putting in one of his earbuds he starts the recording. There is a moment of silence before he hears the first words falling from your lips and stops in his tracks.

Fuck your voice is beautiful. A little low and rough. He sure as hell wouldn't mind listening to you talking for hours on end. Hangman is so lost in his thoughts that it takes him a while to focus on the actual text. So he rewinds to start over. When he sees how long that message is he decides that it's for the best to listen to this in his barrack, proper headphones and all. He heads there, ignoring any attempts of people talking to him while a fear settles in his stomach. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about tomorrow?

Once he is seated on his bed and has the big headphones on he presses play and this time your voice sounds even better with no other noise distracting him from your words.

Hey Jake. I am not sure if sending this is ok, but I am not sure if I can type everything I want to say, so I thought it would be easier. In case you need a transcript give me a heads up and I'll see what I can do.

This is one of the things that he got used to by now. You never assumed, you always asked, needed specifics and offered different options for him to choose from, fully accommodating whatever he asked for. And it was important to you to know that things were ok, that you didn't overstep and disrespect him. It's one of the things he likes most about you. You deeply care about him and since your means of communication is limited, you try to give him as much information as possible. He cannot remember the last time someone was so considerate of his wishes and needs and it's almost sad to think that basic human decency as you loved to call it was so rare these days. There is a pause and then he hears some rustling and a heaved sigh before you continue.

I wanted to apologise to you. I know I haven't sent you a picture and the one in my profile is not very telling either. It's not like I didn't try to find one I wanted to share but whenever my finger hovers over the button I... I just freeze. It's not your fault, please don't believe that, but... god I am heading straight into oversharing territory with this but I hand down cannot remember a time when people didn't either objectify, sexualise or shame me for the way I look or what clothes I wear. I mean the first time a grown-ass man talked to my boobs instead of me was when I was 12 and for the better part of my life, I never went for the tops I thought were pretty but rather checked if the neckline was too low or if it was too tight and then I got to pick from the sparse rest that was left over. And the experiences on social media aren't much better either. I mean even with a stack of books as a profile pic I got dick pics I didn't ask for because sadly it is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever there is a woman on the internet there will be an idiot who thinks she will surely jump his bones and tell him what a catch he is if he sends her a dick pic. As if they expect applause just because they get a hard-on. Congratulations I guess?

As heartbreaking as those words are to him, hearing the laugh bubbling up in your throat makes him want to hear your real laughter.

And then there are the guys who try to love bomb you into sending nudes and move on to harassment if you tell them no.... and please don't think that I think you are one of those guys. I mean you wrote to me before you even saw my face and ever since you've been the perfect gentleman. Always respectful and kind, not asking for pictures, nude or otherwise and I appreciate that. I appreciate that a lot but... my brain just won't shut up

Your voice turns raspy and he can practically see you in front of him, fighting back your tears. All he wants to do is be there, hold your hand and tell you that it's ok. That he'll see your face soon enough.

I would totally get it if you wouldn't wanna go on our date tomorrow after all of this. I promise, there will be no hard feelings. I just... I just wanted you to know that it's a me problem, not a you one. God that would have been so much shorter than this rambling but... I am sorry. I hope you understand. Just let me know, how you wanna proceed with things from here on out and I stop now before it gets even worse.

He rewinds the message again and again to listen to your voice. He wished that you'd be talking about something happier, something that doesn't bring you to the verge of tears. And he wonders if you thought that him sending you pictures of himself was a broad hint to send one back. For a moment he contemplates what answer to type but then he decides against it and lifts his phone closer to his face to record a message for you.

You are right about one thing, Belle. I don't expect you to send me pictures, I never have and never will. If I send you something I do it because I want to, not because I expect anything in return and when I saw your profile I decided to reach out because I wanted to talk to you, so please don't worry your pretty little head about it

He takes a deep breath before he adds the last part, unable to fight the giddy smile that grew on his lips.

Finding things is your speciality, Belle. You are a librarian after all, so I trust you to do alright spotting me in the crowd tomorrow.

The message was by far not as long as yours, but he hoped that it expressed everything that needed to be said. Not long after sending the two blue hooks appeared next to his message and he waited patiently until the audio recording symbol disappeared from chat and your reply came through. He hears you chuckle before your words fall from your lips.

I'm very much looking forward to finding you... And Jake. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.

When Hangman finally gets out of his uniform for the day he cannot deny his excitement to finally meet you. He’s been nervous all day and considering his state of mind, he got lucky that all they did today was theoretical manoeuvre discussions or else he probably would have gotten himself killed.

He had offered to pick you up at your place, but you insisted that it would be too much of a detour from base and he didn't want to put you on the spot especially since you've always been more than considerate of him. So you agreed to meet in front of the museum but today of all days heaven decided it had to pour down like the last days on earth began. Jake knew you had a habit of being early. You told him as much and he wanted to be there before you.

When he arrived at the museum he sprinted right into the big entry hall, eyes wandering around to see if maybe he could spot a woman in the crowd that could be you. He knew you had red nails, wore a silver ring on your left index finger and you had mentioned that you couldn't leave the house without your sunglasses. But there was no woman with sunglasses that matched the other tiny details he knew about you. So he shook his head a little to get rid of some of the water droplets that had caught on his hair and took off his leather jacket, checking his phone for a message from you before he locked the screen and put it back in his pocket.

The large clock above the entry to the exhibitions told him that he had 45 minutes until your official date time, so he took the chance that the queue at the counter was currently short to get the tickets in advance. When he got to the counter, an older lady gave him a reassuring smile. “First time here?” She asks him and he’s surprised at her question. “Is it that obvious?” “You’ve been fidgeting with your phone the entire time and you’re looking around like you are looking for something” He cannot help but smile back at her, placing his phone on the counter before he leans over as if he’s about to let her in on a big secret. “Someone rather than something”, he whispers, giving her his charming smile and a wink. He can see the realisation hit her and a wide smile spread over her lips. “Ah, I understand. So two tickets” “Yeah and the guide for the Islamic Art exhibit”, he adds. “Good choice young man. This place is great for a date”, she says, clicking with her mouse a few times,” I suggest the written guide. Gives you a great excuse to get close to share information while staying quiet enough not to bother other visitors. And even if you get through all of the Islamic art exhibit, there are 185 more rooms to explore, so you're not gonna run out of things to talk about”, the printer to her left comes to life, printing two tickets for him while she reaches under the table to pull up the exhibit guide. “And in here it’s not gonna rain on your parade either”, she adds, a knowing smile on her lips as she pushes everything over the counter. “That’s great to know”, he retorts, the smile on his lips widening even more as he pays and picks up the tickets and the book. "She's a lucky one. I rarely see people put in so much effort these days" "Nah. She’s giving me the time of day. That makes me the lucky one in the equation"

You are nervous, even a little jittery sitting in the back of the Uber, Vakarian tucked in between your feet, head resting on your lap while your eyes are glued to the scenery that flies by outside the window.

The last time you've been to a museum was in college and it ended with a sensory overload and a prof yelling at you for being an overdramatic brat when you fled the scene, only coming back to your senses when you were on your doorstep, desperately trying to get your key in the lock but having not a single clue how you got there. Since then whenever you felt the itch to go to the museum you resorted to watching documentaries. They allowed you to enjoy the beauty of the world from the comfort and safety of your own couch. And it was a lot more cost-effective than having to go to Paris, London, Berlin or even NYC in person. You start turning the silver ring on your left index finger, feeling the bumps of the silver leaves under your fingertips. It's a nice feeling, not painful but enough pressure to help you focus.

The more you think about it, the more you regret that you turned down Kelly's suggestion to shadow your date to make sure that the guy is a) who he claims to be and b) that someone was close by in the case of an emergency who knew how to react properly, but you couldn't bring yourself to make her join you. Even dropping you off at the museum seemed too big of a request, especially considering that her girlfriend got the afternoon off and they had the flat to themselves for a romantic date of their own.

"We are here", the Uber driver states and pulls you out of your thoughts with his voice. "Thank you", you reply, opening the door to leave the car. It was pouring down so you pulled your leather jacket over your head, threw your heavy backpack over one shoulder and ran towards the museum, Vakarian glued to your side. Pulling your phone from your pocket you see an encouraging message from Kelly, telling you that the guy got lucky winning a catch like you and one from her girlfriend, telling you to warn your date that she has no qualms about showing up with a whole squad of navy officers to teach him some manners if necessary. You cannot help but smile at those before your eyes wander back to the clock.

You have a full 30 minutes. Hopefully, that's enough to convince security that the ADA is a fucking thing...

Jake had found a nice, quiet corner for himself, leaning against the cold marble wall. He pretended to be engrossed in the guide, though every time the door opened, he looked up to see who was walking in, heart rate picking up in anticipation every goddam time, but it was never the woman he was looking for. Not that he actually knew what you looked like, but he liked to believe that once you came through that door he'd just know. With every person who cannot be you, he feels his heart sinking a little more. He checks the watch on his wrist. 30 more minutes until the date and it feels like time is dragging right about now. You said you are always early so what if you changed your mind? What if something happened to you?

He pulled out his phone again to check if he got a message from you but all he saw were the encouraging messages from the squad group chat. God, they were a wild bunch but they were his, as good as family and even if he struggled with showing it nine times out of ten, he truly appreciated their moral support. He was just about to type a short thank you when he heard the echo of a loud argument coming to him from the other side of the room. He looked up and saw a guy cornering someone. He was tall and buff, and considering the way he carried himself Jake wouldn't be surprised if the guy had served or was still active. The person he yelled at was probably right behind him and Jake's feet were moving before his brain could even properly compute the entire situation. Yes, he was here to meet someone, but he wouldn’t stand there and watch someone else get harassed while idle watching by.

Getting by security had been surprisingly easy. They very politely asked the two questions they were allowed to ask and then let you in after answering them. It was almost comical how easy it had been considering the time you spent playing every variation of this conversation through in your brain and how anxious it had made you to begin with.

Once you stepped inside you pulled your headphones off and allowed your eyes to roam the room. You knew you had almost 30 minutes left but you told him you were always early so maybe he decided to come earlier too? Moving along the wall you are looking for a place where you can towel down Vakarian and change his shoes before you can quietly watch the crowd looking for Jake when it suddenly gets much darker.

Eyes wandering up you realise it's not a spontaneous eclipse but rather a bear of a man blocking your way. For a second you wondered if you really had been catfished and the 50-something-year-old guy was Jake, but then he opened his mouth and you were suddenly very sure that this couldn’t be him. “Why the fuck do you think you can bring your mutt to a public place, hm?” That voice had a really nasty frequency as it was booming through the hall, echoes bouncing around like crazy and you immediately regret that you took your headphones off without instantly replacing them with the earplugs. The echo was enough to make your ears bleed but mixed with the volume and the frequency you just wanted to run and hide in a small, dark room. This would be a nightmare and as you let your panicking eyes wander around, you realise that there is no one in sight to ask for help. Vakarian who had been glued to your side positioned himself more to your front, attempting to shield you from the man who kept on invading your personal space. “He is a task-trained service…”, you tried to explain the situation, hands too clammy and fidgety to actually find the ADA cards you had always at the ready in pretty much every pocket of every clothing item you owned for situations just like this. The man took another step towards you, closing the gap between you even further as he towered over you. If he wanted to look intimidating he totally nailed that part. "Fuck he's not. A pet is what he is. I know real disabled people..." “Sir would you please step back”, your voice is rough and you feel the way your thoughts are racing and your hands start shaking. Your eyes wander over his face, searching for a spot to focus on that wasn't his eyes and settling for the space between his brows. It's a way to camouflage and had become your default reaction to people getting angry or loud to make sure you don't upset them any further by not looking at them. Not that the guy in front of you would bother to listen. People like him rarely do, no matter what you say. They already know who they perceive you as and attempting to change their mind is pointless.

The only way to de-escalate would be to leave, but you can't. You promised Jake to meet him here, so all you have left to do is stand your ground and hope that someone, anyone quite frankly, sees the exchange and decides to step up. It’s not often that you get lucky like that but considering how well things went with security today, maybe they’ll help. “You are just another snowflake who does everything for a little attention. It’s people like you who give actual service dog handlers a bad rep” he continues his rant. The ‘You don’t look disabled to me so you are pretending’ is a less common argument than the ‘Dogs shouldn’t be in public places. They are dirty and dangerous ', but nevertheless it’s an exhausting discussion to have. He tries to take another step, making you stumble back to avoid the imminent crash when you feel colliding with something behind you. Or rather someone.

“Would you please stop harassing the lady”, the calm voice behind you says, leaning a bit back so your back no longer touches his chest. You feel the warmth radiating from his body. Usually being so close to a stranger would send you spiralling, but you know that voice and you thank the heavens that he is here. “She’s pretending. People like her are the problem. They are the reason why real disabled people have access issues all the time", the voice of the other guy gets rough and for a moment you wonder who he thinks he is defending right now. Who in his life had faced such hardships for him to lash out at anyone who he didn't deem worthy of that kind of support? "No. The real problem is people like you", he retorts," People who think they have the right to go around and demand someone's medical record just because you feel entitled to play the judge who does and doesn't deserve help and protection" It feels comforting to have someone behind you who is so reassuring. Someone who stands his ground. Someone safe. "And who do you think you are, toe dipper?", you hear the man behind you chuckle, almost feeling the rumbling it causes in his chest. "Lieutenant Jake Seresin. United States Navy"

|| Next Chapter ||

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

for more stories you can click HERE for my masterlist

#jake seresin x reader #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x reader #my writing

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cryptidghostgirl · 7 months

Note

HOLY SHIT

I just got to reading the request you did for me

Aka Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

And I love it so much???

Like it's so good 😭

Don't wanna bother you with another request but could you do a part 2? I'm just curious on if the reader ever succeeds or if alastor ends up getting their marriage back lmao

A/N i’m so glad you liked it!! a number of people have been asking for a part two actually so of course :) Also this is my reminder that I am not a woman in stem but an enby in classics so I get science things wrong,, i’m very sorry.

Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2 (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Nothing I can think of please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,206

First Part: Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I can still be useful" Alastor told himself as he straightened the lapels on his jacket, "She still needs me."

Alastor leaned into the mirror, slicking his hair back just the slightest bit.

"Yes." he nodded to his reflection.

Taking a deep breath, Alastor stepped out into the hall. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Y/n had never caused anxiety to rule his being before, so why was it happening now?

Since her arrival at the hotel, she had stayed locked in her room. Two whole days had gone by and the demon avoided everyone and everything. It was not unexpected or out of the blue, she had always favored her own company above anyone else's but, Charlie was growing tense. She had asked Alastor to help bring their newest guest out of her shell, hoping their shared past would cause his attempts to be more fruitful than her own had been. For some odd reason, Alastor had agreed.

Fondness was the trouble. He was fond of Charlie, and he had always had a bit of a soft spot for Y/n. She had been his wife for christ's sake, there was no way he couldn't have fostered some sort of affection for the wildly brilliant and creative girl.

Before he really realized it, Alastor was at the door to Y/n's room. She had taped a sheet of loose leaf to the door. Keep Out had been written on it in all caps, in her familiar, messy handwriting. Alastor's smile softened slightly at the sight.

Y/n had not haunted his thoughts, had not been an obsession, since his arrival in Hell. While he had recalled her with warmth and a slight smile, even looked for her in Hell on occasion, she had mostly stayed out of his mind after his death. Alastor had had bigger things to deal with, more important occupations of his time. He had had plans. He still had plans but, everything had seemed to change the second Y/n had appeared and nearly flat out told him she didn't care about him.

Alastor was nothing if not prideful. His image, his sense of self, his power, it all played in to the idea of himself in his head. He had figured that through the years of their arrangement, the strange woman had come to harbor some sort of affection for him as he did her. He had figured she at least cared for him as a friend, that her irritation had been friendly, playful even. Clearly, he had been incorrect.

The door suddenly swung open revealing Y/n. She wore an cross expression, a lab coat, and safety goggles. Peering over her shoulder into the room, Alastor noted the way her hair was still continuing whatever she'd been working on before opening the door. He had never seen a demon with a form like hers before. It was perfectly suited, equally unusual as the soul it housed.

"I could feel you standing out here."

Alastor raised his eyebrows, bravado taking over.

"Really, my dear?" he asked, leaning on his microphone before him as if it were a cane.

"Yeah." Y/n flatly replied, lifting the goggles from their eyes and pushing them onto their forehead, "What do you want?"

"I..."

What did he want? Alastor was a man who always knew his goals, his aims. He was always working towards something, no deed without its purpose. It was only now he realized that he didn't really know what he wanted from Y/n, why he had really agreed to fulfill Charlie's request with nothing given in return. Alastor cleared his throat, banishing the complicated thought to another time.

"Charlie requested I come speak to you about your lack of participation in the hotel's group activities."

Y/n raised her eyebrows.

"And you care what I do with my time because...?"

She tilted her head slightly to the side, her hands still on either side of the doorframe, blocking him from entering the room. Alastor sighed.

"You're not going to make this an easy conversation, are you."

It was a statement, not a question, and a slight smile cracked across Y/n's tired face.

"You know me so well." she joked lightly.

Alastor was ready, preparing himself to have to force his way into the room to have this chat. He saw the way her hand on the door twitched, and prepared himself to have it slammed in his face. Much to his surprise, Y/n let go of her hold on the door and stepped to the side.

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to come in?" she asked after a moment, her head cocked to the side in a genuine curiosity.

Alastor nearly laughed. Always so inquisitive with regards to the world around her, always trying to fill the gaps in her understanding, usually at a loss when it came to what was considered normal interaction. He stepped into the room. Y/n's hair stopped what it was doing with the test tubes in the back and closed the door for her as she turned to face him. After a look of appraisal, she seemed to decide the atmosphere for the conversation and sat down on the bed, patting the empty space beside her at Alastor's continued hesitation. He sat down and she crossed her legs, watching him intently.

"You need to stop avoiding people, and the activities. You are here to be redeemed, aren't you?"

"Oh! I see what the issue is." Y/n smiled brightly, "No, I'm not."

Alastor's brow furrowed. He had thought it odd that Y/n of all people would seek redemption but, had figured the time had simply changed her in ways he had yet to grasp.

"Then why are you here?"

The little beast called hope clawed at the inside of his stomach, gnawed on his ribs. The want was unfamiliar.

"Because I need an angel."

Alastor froze.

"You need..." he watched her in confusion, "you need an angel?"

"Yep." Y/n nodded in earnest.

She smiled up at him, evidently satisfied with herself and her response. She had always been like this. Alastor sighed.

"Why?"

"Because I need to test my virus on one, duh."

"Y/n, what are you planning."

"Same thing as always. Actually, I could use your help. Maybe this isn't all so bad, can you get me an angel? Just at the next extermination or something. I already know it works on demons, I just don't want to actually let my little baby loose without knowing it will work on the angels as well."

"Jesus, Y/n." Alastor laughed lightly, unable to not.

He shook his head in disbelief and Y/n's smile slipped from her face. She was always scheming, always wanting, always doing what it took to ensure she got what she wanted. They were so alike in that way: complete and utter disregard for the world unless it served them.

"What? Did I do something wrong? Did this hotel already work? Have the exterminations stopped?"

"No, I... you really haven't changed."

"Well, I'm taking out the afterlife now instead of the living world, but sure." Y/n crossed her arms, evidently irritated by his remark, "I'm just the same. So are you, by the way. I've heard about what you've been up to since you died."

Alastor was silent in thought for a moment before he spoke again. He looked at Y/n with a determined gaze.

"Are you asking to reinstate our deal?"

Y/n was wrong, Alastor had changed, she just didn't know it yet. The hotel had changed him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He realized the answer to Y/n's initial question, what it was that he wanted, in that moment and there were only three things. The first was the same as it had been for the last seven years, to get rid of this damned contract he was under. The second? The second he had realized earlier, in his room when he'd been getting ready to come to Y/n, he just hadn't liked it and so, he had ignored it. Alastor wanted to be back in her good books. More importantly, for some undefinable reason, Alastor wanted her back at his side. The world, he had realized, had felt empty without her, no matter how irritating and distracting she could be. Though his motivations were muddy, figuring out the reason for the want was never the priority. The end goal was to fulfill by any means necessary. It always had been, for both of them. The third was that Alastor secretly wanted Charlie's crazy plan to work out. He wanted to protect these sinners, to protect this place they had all worked so hard to build.

There was a point of intersection to be found in two of these three things, if Y/n answered his question correctly. Taking out sinners, taking an angel, could let all hell loose on the hotel. Convincing Y/n to make a deal with him, to give Alastor her soul, well, that would be killing two birds with one stone. He would have his imperfect little companion in afterlife and he could stop her from doing any more damage to the hotel and its reputation than necessary to ensure the first thing took place.

"I suppose."

That was exactly what he had been hoping to hear. The first deal had been under her terms. Alastor had been hoodwinked into it, unable to turn it down due to the information on him she had uncovered. Now, the tables had turned. Alastor held his hand out towards her, grinning malevolently.

"How about this, let's make a new one."

"I don't see why not." Y/n shrugged after having thought it over, her hand meeting his, "Things are different, we're both dead. The old one wouldn't really work anymore."

"No, it wouldn't, would it?"

"Yeah so, you get me an angel to test this on. I start participating more in the hotel. Deal?"

"How about this." Alastor's grin widened, his antlers growing as well as his shadows ate away at the room's walls.

Y/n didn't flinch. Nothing in her expression changed save a slight twinge of intrigue as she watched him become more monstrous by the second, more all consuming.

"I help you get an angel. You stick by my side, like the old days. That would include participation in the hotel and all of Charlie's plans as it is where I work for now. A metaphorical taking of a soul rather than a heart, shall we say."

He was counting on her lack of interest in the world outside of science right now, counting on her lack of understanding of how things worked in Hell when an overlord offered a deal like this. He had chosen the words carefully, getting everything right while keeping the truth hidden.

"I'll still have time to work on my project?" she asked skeptically.

"When there is time."

Y/n smiled.

"Deal."

Green smoke wound its way out from the point their palms met. Y/n watched it, eyes wide with intrigue as it curled around them, temporarily filling the room.

"Is that what happens when deals get made in Hell?" Y/n asked as she let go of Alastor's hand.

"Only certain ones."

"Cool."

She got to her feet, snapping her goggles back over her eyes. Turning to the table, she began to fiddle with her test tubes once again. Alastor retook his normal form, watching her with a satisfied smirk. He summoned the chain, feeling the cool shadow of the mellow across his fingers. Y/n seemed not to notice as the collar formed around her neck. Alastor didn't like that, didn't like being ignored. He gave it a tug and she stumbled back a few steps, her hands flying to her throat and her hair catching the glass beaker she had nearly dropped.

Y/n noticed the chain now. It was impossible not to. As her hair set the beaker down, she turned to Alastor, eyes fixed on the glowing metal. Her gaze traced it from where she held it to his hands. Y/n looked up at him.

"What's this?" she asked, eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, "When did this get here? How..."

She trailed off and Alastor's smile grew wider still. He advanced towards her, wrapping the excess chain around the handle of his microphone. It clinked menacingly against itself, spawning a sudden deep seated dread in Y/n.

She held her place, her shoulders thrown back and feet planted firmly. Alastor couldn't tell if it was all a show or if she really was not at all scared of him in that moment. He didn't really care, it didn't matter. She stared intently up at him in defiance as Alastor came to a stop about a half a foot away.

"Well?"

"Oh my sweet, you really have no idea what you've gotten yourself in to, do you?"

It was better than he could have hoped, could have dreamed. She was entirely under his control.

"Welcome to the rest of your afterlife."

----

Next Part → Till Death do us Part pt. 3

A/N I wasn't super sure how to end this off, I hope you liked it!!

@marukun @nanami1chu @i-like-potatoes12533 @boogiemansbitch @apenasandorinha @almond-t0fu @mygoldtears @ahellborn @winterisholding @misty-melody @themetalbabygirl @trash-shoot

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everythingne · 6 months

Text

one to two (teaser, ls2)

Your father, the President of The United States, has decided the only way to keep you ‘tame’ is up have you married off… to a Formula One driver..?

logan sargeant x first daughter!reader, smau and short fic

tws: arranged marriage, nothing else really? if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this short series, please let me know by commenting on this post or sending me a message!

fc: laura lind (and random other pinterest found photos)

“He’s a wonderful guy,” your father sighs at your obvious distaste, “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I thought he was going to be bad for you, you know.”

“You didn’t even ask me, what if I had a boyfriend!”

“You didn’t.” Your brother says after a sip of his champagne, “and, if you did, Dad would’ve just had you marry the guy you were dating.”

“If he passed the dad test.” you complain, making your brother laugh while your father just rolls his eyes. You don’t have time to say anything else because he’s standing up to greet James Vowles, the team principal, and you follow suit.

"So this is the woman Logan's been keeping a secret?" James grins and you realize, yeah, okay now it's time to act.

"Sorry he kept you in the dark for so long, Mr. Vowles!" You smile, glancing over James' shoulder as you speak to see who can only be Logan approaching, "Logan does speak very highly of you."

"As he does you." James nods, stepping back to allow you to happily pull Logan in for a hug. None of this is rehearsed. None of this is planned. Logan's arms slot naturally around yours life he was sculpted from the same marble, and your head fits perfectly under his chin. When you both step back, you let out of a soft giggle with flushed cheeks and try to not see the obvious overjoyed expression on your fathers face.

Logan's drivers room is neat, tidy, but small. He lets you take up the somewhat comfy couch while he pulls his fireproof over his head with his back to you. You both have sat in silence for the past five minutes, your parents whisking you off to the 'comfort' of Logan's room so you both could bond.

"So." Logan turns around once he's fully changed, and you try your hardest to make sure your eyes don't wander because god damnit did those fireproofs have to be so tight?

"So?" You echo with a tad more curiousity in your tone and Logan pops down next to you.

"I was told we need to have a consistent story to not get caught." His eyes meet yours breifly before he's looking away, almost bashfully as his hand comes to toy with his hair, "but I have no idea what that should be."

"You were born in Fort Lauderdale, right?" You ask, and when Logan nods you grin, "Alright, here it is, we were neighbors growing up. Your brother and my brother were really good friends, since I think they're the same age? We tagged along with the older brothers. When you moved we lost contact, but, when you started racing in Formula I got in contact with you via Instagram and the rest is history."

"Childhood best friends seems American enough," Logan grins and a laugh barks out of you that you arent expecting.

#f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #logan sargeant x reader #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x you #fic teaser

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tj-dragonblade · 20 days

Text

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

#TJs Fics #Dreamling #Sandman #Dreamling Bingo 2024

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