#not to worry! it's discussed in the upcoming chapter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soapybutt17 · 10 months ago

Text

Baby Mama

Summary: Downtime was rare and far in between, but with your maternity leave now done and over with, your husband thought it would be a good time as any to invite everyone to your shared home for a mini celebration. It should have also been a good idea to let everyone know about the small little fact that not everyone was made aware of your relationship or the fact that there was a sleeping baby upstairs that hated Soap’s boisterous laughter for some reason. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Farah Karim. Alex Keller. Kate Laswell. Word Count: 2,313 Chapter Warnings: None.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist

“Sit down, Rookie. We’ve got it covered.”

You wanted to glare at your husband and the rest of the taskforce that had made it their mission to ensure you were not in-charge of handling meal preps for the upcoming party you and your husband had decided to start in celebration for both your return back to the base as well as the success of their previous mission.

“Why do I feel like a guest in my own home?” You playfully questioned as Gaz placed a cup of tea in front of you. A reassuring smile rested on his lips.

“You’ve been wide awake until the early morning taking care of the little girl sleeping upstairs. Quite frankly, we’d prefer you to sleep instead than deal with the rest of us here.” Gaz explained as he returned back to helping Soap with prepping for the marinade for the barbeque.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You pouted, ignoring the pointed look on your husband knowing they were right.

“Just because you’ve dealt with it on missions doesn’t mean you should deal with it in our home, Darling.” John sighed wiping his hand to come sit beside you on backyard patio.

Since your maternity leave and your husband’s own paternity one, you’ve somehow gotten enough money and time to make some new renovations to the home. One that you were proud of the most was the patio that would not only be a place for you and your husband to enjoy for yourselves, but for the guest he was slowly but surely becoming welcome to inviting—especially now.

With Soap and Gaz prepping the marinate and vegetables and Simon dealing with most of the meat (surprised by the fact that he was once a butcher before joining the military), you and your husband were left to your own devices for a while.

“Little Katherine still asleep?” He inquired.

You turned your attention towards the baby monitor, seeing your daughter thankfully still asleep in her crib.

It still amazes you that this little human was a product of your love and devotion to your husband. Even with her arrival an unplanned surprise for the both of you, you’ve both taken it to stride and made the most out of the experience. Your husband hoping for another few along the way but you made him promise to wait until little Katherine was a little older first.

“Asleep for once.” You sighed resting your head against your husband’s shoulders as you two continued watching the boys helping out for the party. “Why are we letting them help us with our own party again?”

“They did this to themselves surprisingly. When they heard we’re having this party, they immediately worried about you and the baby and adding the mess of the party to the mix. You’ve got those boys wrapped around your fingers and it’s worrisome at times.”

You giggled nudging him slightly at this comment.

“Speaking of people wrapped around your fingers, Alejandro and Rudy will also be coming tonight.”

You smiled, happy to know more of the friends you’ve made during missions have also come to visit. Having missed your time on the base, having them here for a get together would be a treat. You would also be ignoring the implication of your husband’s words towards Las Almas’ Colonel and Sergeant Major.

Somehow, it had become a topic of discussion for the rest of the boys how the Colonel had a little crush on you which you thought was ridiculous. Alejandro Vargas was nothing but professional to you and to the rest of the team. As far as you know, the man was just a little appreciative of the help you had given to them during Grave’s takeover of his base all those months ago, nothing more.

“You think Kate, Farah, and Alex would be able to visit too?” You inquired.

“They’re already on their flight here.” He smiled arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Kate’s been bugging me about the house when I told him about the renovations.”

You shook your head already imagining how much teasing Kate probably needed to do for him to finally relent in having the party here instead of renting a place.

A sudden thought had popped into your head as you turned directly towards your husband.

“Hold on, aside from the three boys, who else knows about our relationship?” You inquired.

He blinked only realizing himself that he hasn’t gotten around and told anyone about the two of you. Everyone had become aware of him having a wife and the paternity leave he had to take meant everyone was also aware that he was a new father, but no one not even Kate was made aware that you were the wife and the mother of his six-month old daughter.

“John did you not tell them yet?” You questioned.

“I may or may not have forgotten to tell everyone.” He grinned sheepishly.

Before you could give him an earful, the sound of your daughter’s cries halted you from your actions. You’ve all but noticed the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Oh you’re going to get back at him for this somehow. You just know it.

“Rookie, it’s good to finally see you. How’s the leave been?”

Captain John Price was a lot of things. He was a patient man. He could be a brash man. He was a man that commands respect and authority. But in this very moment as you wore his favorite sun dress on you, he knew he could not be all of those things.

He was being punished. It was a certain and each and every single men of his Taskforce knows about it as well. It had honestly and genuinely slipped his mind, with both the past mission and his need to finally be back at home, he never had the time to orient everyone and anyone involved at base about his relationship and marriage to you until now that is.

“Good to see you and the wife too.” You smiled turning your eyes towards your husband pointedly before beginning an animated conversation with Kate and her wife.

John and the rest of the boys were in charge of grilling and giving everyone refreshments. You had decided it was your job to be a good host to everyone as people were slowly but surely filling his home.

“Someone’s sleeping in the couch tonight then?” It was Simon that pointed it out and John could only glare at the man as he continued on with flipping the steaks.

All three of the boys had become aware of the pettiness you could dish out towards their Captain. It wasn’t so often that it happens but the paradigm shift of their Captain not truly being in charge as soon as he was in the confinements of his own home.

“Happy wife, happy life.” John found himself speaking as his attention was still set on the grill.

His own anxiety somehow spiked up the moment an all too familiar Spanish endearment had escapade from the Las Almas-native. Alejandro Vargas was fashionably late as ever.

He had ordered Simon to continue on with cooking as he made his way towards where Alejandro was now in a full discussion with you. It didn’t escape John’s eyes the smoldering look the Colonel was giving his wife. What annoyed him even more was how much you were unbothered—or rather, unaware of it on your own end. Giving the man a smile and those warm gaze that was somewhat always reserved for him and the rest of his men.

“Good to see you, Alejandro.” John had interrupted your little conversation.

“Price. It’s good to see you again, Hermano.” The man chuckled enveloping him into a hug for a moment.

Even with the conversation that now began between him and the Colonel, It didn’t miss his gaze how the both of them would glance right at you as you now stood beside John and joining in on the conversation. It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice how your hand held onto his arm, showcasing the often concealed engagement ring and wedding ring he had gifted you all those years ago when he proposed and made you his wife.

“I see you’ve gotten married while on break, it seems congratulations are in order.” Alejandro finally acknowledge the elephant in the room taking everyone’s notice as well.

“Actually,” You trailed off turning your head towards him, a playful smile on your lips almost waiting for him to make the acknowledgement instead.

“We—we just had a baby.” John finally admits at the same time the sound of the baby monitor going off.

Everyone was silent aside from Soap and Gaz’s cackles. With a relieved smile you excused yourself to get the baby for everyone to meet leaving John on the hotseat, especially at the hands of both Kate and Farah.

“Hold on, since when have you and Rookie been in a relationship?” Kate questioned, a big smile playing on her face. Oh he could already see the array of torment that was to come during missions with this tidbit about his personal life.

“Since I was a Sergeant and she was a newly appointed Lieutenant.” John sighed scratching his beard and knowing full well you were taking your sweet time with your daughter leaving him to the wolves. “Married for fourteen years.” He added, being all too reminded of the fact that as soon as he had finished up with the mission that saved both Farah and her brother all those years ago, he knew it in his heart that there would never be a perfect time for the two of you to marry but in that very moment in your humble apartment in the heart of London all those years ago.

“Fuck, I lost the bet then.” Alex interrupted the moment of shock still resting on everyone as he handed Farah a few quid which she happily took with a smug smile on her face.

“Well I appreciate the bets being thrown around about my personal life.” He muttered.

“I’ve always knew something was going on with the two of you, Old man.” Farah pointed out. “It was just a matter of determining what status the two of you were to each other at this point.”

So much for acting low key about his relationship.

The hot seat was now away from him as you walked back out with the prettiest little baby he had ever seen in his life (he was bias definitely as this was his child after all). Woken up from her nap, John could see his daughter still cranky as you continued to coo her.

“Just woke up from her nap.” You excuse immediately handing the baby to him. A smile resting on his lips now as how easy it was to calm his daughter in his hands. How quick it was for her own similar blue eyes to lock onto him for comfort and safety. It was all he could ever give and more to both of his girls.

“Looks just like you, Cap.” Alex pointed out earning a snort out of you and a proud chuckle out of John.

It was an ongoing banter between the two of you, how you complain about carrying your daughter for nine months only for her to look just like him. But his daughter has your eyes and he was all too certain would be used against him when she learns how to do the puppy dog eyes when she grows up.

“Cries like him too.” Simon quipped earning a pointed look from John and giggle from you and laughter from everyone else.

At the booming laughter of one Soap MacTavish, the first line of tears had burst out of his daughter and you and John had given the man a glare as he began to coo his daughter from her tears.

To say freely acting like a husband and wife in front of most of your coworkers was awkward but a little refreshing to say the least. With your daughter pawned off to her uncles for the next hour or two, it meant you and your husband could freely socialize with the rest of the team in attendance.

“Still can’t believe you two were able to keep it hidden for so long.” It was Kate that finally broke the ice.

“Less hassle for either of us.” John shrugged off, pulling you closer to him.

It was all the more refreshing to see this side of him that no one usually sees. With you sitting on his lap on the love seat as you continued on with your conversation with Kate. How he would do anything and everything in his power to have you close to him, touching any skin he gets his hands on—at this moment it was his hands on your thighs as he held onto them to support you.

“That the reason why you dragged her along with you the TF?” She inquired, playfully.

“One of the reasons, but not the top reason.” John assured.

It was still much of a surrealistic moment when you were called one day by Kate about the Taskforce your husband was forming. You, of all people knew that he wanted to make sure that your lines of work and personal life were separate. But somehow, your capabilities overrode those principles you both have made to each other.

You did your job, quiet well too, so it wasn’t much of a worry that your relationship and association to the man would be also place under scrutiny now when all was said and done. It wasn’t much of an issue when most, if not all of the people in the base had already been calling the both of you as work spouses to each other.

737 notes · View notes

jellyjuicer · 8 days ago

Text

Jinx x Ekko (College AU!)

Compromise

(Ch. 1.)

Chapter 1.

In the dimly lit dorm room, Jinx flopped onto her bed, surrounded by piles of dirty laundry and empty energy drink cans. Her grades had just been posted, and she was less than thrilled. A big, fat 'F' stared back at her from the screen of her laptop, mocking her. Except it was not an F, it was a C+; but at this point they’re equals. She let out a loud sigh and tossed her phone onto the bed, where it landed with a soft thud. Ekko, her roommate and fellow student, poked his head into the room. "Hey, Jinx, what's wrong?" he asked, his eyes scanning the messy space.

Jinx groaned and buried her face in her pillow, “I mayyyy or may not have failed my psychology class. Again."

Ekko chuckled and sat down beside her. "Well, you can't exactly blame yourself., You did spend most of the semester pulling pranks on Caitlyn."

Jinx lifted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, that's not the point, The point is I'm a freaking genius and I shouldn't be failing anything."

Ekko raised an eyebrow. "A genius? I mean, love the confidence but from where I'm standing, it looks like you're more of a..creative problem solver…”

Jinx shot him a sarcastic grin, but Ekko just laughed and ruffled her hair. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get 'em next time. Now, want to come with me to the cafe and grab some dinner?"

“Fine, but you’re paying.”

As they walked to the cafeteria, they ran into Vi, who was sitting at a table, downing a cup of coffee. "Hey, guys! What's up?"

Jinx plopped down beside her, still looking sulky, “I failed my psych class. Ekko's being annoyingly cheerful about it."

“She got a C+, it’s not that serious,” Ekko chimed in. Vi snorted, “Well, someone's got to balance out your negativity, Jinx. Besides, it's not the end of the world. You can always retake the class..or just bribe the professor with one of your infamous pranks."

Jinx perked up at the suggestion, but Ekko shot her down. "No way, Jinx, you're not bribing anyone. You're going to study hard and pass that class the honest way."

Jinx pouted, but eventually, the three of them got into a lively discussion about everything from their favorite video games to their plans for the upcoming summer break, which was another 5 months around the corner, but hey, who’s counting?

As the night wore on, Jinx found herself stealing glances at Ekko, who was laughing and joking with Vi. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, or the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. As they left the cafeteria, Ekko turned to Jinx and said, "Hey, I want to show you something that might help you with your schoolwork."

Jinx raised an eyebrow, intrigued

“What is it??”

Ekko grinned. "It's a game, but not just any game. It's an educational game that can actually help you with your psychology class."

Jinx snorted, "A game? You really think a game is going to help me pass my class?"

Ekko chuckled. "Hear me out, hear me out, this game is actually really helpful, and it's fun too. It's all about interactive simulations and puzzles that teach you about different psychological concepts."

Jinx shrugged, but her curiosity was piqued. "Okay, fine. Show me."

*•*•*•*•*•*•*

They walked back to their dorm room, the tension between them still palpable. As they entered the room, Ekko closed the door behind them and booted up his laptop.

"Okay, so this game is called 'Mind Loop'," he explained, opening up the game on his laptop. "It's all about building and navigating different mental landscapes, and it teaches you about different psychological theories and concepts."

Jinx watched, fascinated, as Ekko showed her the game. She was surprised by how engaging and interactive it was, and she found herself actually enjoying it. As they played, Ekko sat next to her on the floor, their shoulders touching. Jinx felt a flutter in her chest, but she tried to ignore it, focusing on the game instead. And as the night wore on, they got more and more into the game, competing with each other to see who could solve the puzzles faster. But as the hours passed, Jinx started to feel her eyelids getting heavy.

Ekko noticed and smiled. "Hey, you're getting tired. Why don't we take a break?"

Jinx nodded, and Ekko closed the laptop. They sat there in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer.

Then, without thinking, Ekko reached out and wrapped his arms around Jinx, pulling her into a hug. Jinx felt a rush of emotions, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she hugged him back, feeling a sense of comfort and security that she hadn't felt in a long time.

As they hugged, Jinx felt her eyes getting heavier and heavier. She rested her head on Ekko's shoulder, feeling his warmth and his heartbeat. And before she knew it, she was falling asleep, Ekko's arms still wrapped around her. She felt him relax, his body sinking into the floor as he fell asleep too.

#fanfic #jinx x ekko #arcane #ekkojinx #jinxekko #fanfics #fanfiction #timebomb #league of legends #ekko arcane #jinx arcane #jellyjuicer #Spotify

55 notes · View notes

melluvsuu · 3 months ago

Text

“ 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 . ”

CHAPTER 01 ──── GOOD ASSISTANT ! ‹3

characters : gojo, makima, megumi, nobara, yuji

context : you start to meet this strange lady, odd enough she takes interest in you, and this random white haired guy too. sooner or later you a 'jujutsu sorcerer' and meet sukunas vessel. twins!!

authors notes : this better blow up or im crying...

warnings : ooc, male!reader, male pronouns, reader referred as 'you', chapter takes place in ep 1 of jjk, plus extra non canon stuff, mistakes probably..

,, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓. 𝜚

UNKNOWN LOCATION

JANUARY 7 , 2009 04:32:18

You wake up to the cool sensation of grass beneath your fingers, soft and damp from the night air. It’s dark—so dark that you can barely make out your surroundings. A thick, inky blackness stretches out in every direction, swallowing the horizon. The sky above has doors—different shapes, sizes, and colours, each standing upright without walls or frames to support them. Some are tall and imposing, carved from dark wood with intricate patterns.

“[Name]-kun.”

You blinked, trying to process the voice. “Who is this?”

A figure stepped into view, you can’t make out the details. It’s human, or atleast looks human. Feminine body, and glowing spiral yellow eyes, “My name is Makima. I assume you're [Name]? Correct.”

You narrowed your eyes, “Yes… Where are we.?”

“My ‘domain’. Hell. There’s really nothing here but us, don’t worry about that white albino paintbrush listening in. Let’s chat!”

She sits down near your head as your body automatically seem to get closer to her lap. She rests her hands on your hair, gently stroking it.

“Let’s make a contract–binding vow, shall we? We’ll discuss this topic at a different time, but for now we can just get to know one another.”

You considered her words, the weight of the offer sinking in.“Alright.”

TOKYO METROPOLITAN CURSE TECHNICAL COLLEGE

JUNE 14, 2015 , 07:27:02

“Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey~!” The white-haired, blindfolded man exclaimed, turning toward you with a playful grin.

Who is this guy? You thought, feeling the tight ropes binding you and surrounded by a chaotic mix of talismans. As your vision slowly cleared, you studied him closely—he seemed oddly familiar. Why?

“Why am I here?” You managed to ask, still trying to regain your bearings.

The blindfolded man flashed an infuriating smirk, ” Great, just what I needed…” You thought, annoyed.

“For your execution, of course!”

“My execution?”

“Yup, yours! But…”

“But?” you echoed, your confusion deepening.

You watched as he stood up, crossing his arms with a confident air. “You won’t be executed if you agree to be my assistant, [Name]-chan.”

“What—who the hell are you?” You asked, tilting your head slightly to get a better look.

“It’s me, Gojo Satoru. If you accept my offer, you can live. What do you say, hm?”

You sat in silence as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I really need a strong assistant, [Name]-chan.”

“Ugh, fine! Just don’t touch my ear, you weirdo,” you replied, instinctively leaning away from him.

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

YOKOHAMA , SANKEIEN GARDEN

JUNE 5, 2018 21:48:29

BANG—!

You stepped down hard on the curse’s head, the sickening crunch echoing in the stillness of the night. Disgust twisted your features as you felt the remnants of the creature’s essence ooze beneath their boot.

“Gross.” You spat. You glanced up at the sky, now draped in deep shades of indigo and very few shades of orange.. It was a beautiful scene, the upcoming stars twinkling like distant memories. You could enjoy this scene…

“[Name]-chan, look here!” Gojou shouted.

Nevermind.

“Gojo-sa—”

“Call me Satoru, silly!” he interrupted.

With a resigned sigh, you replied, “Satoru-san, why did you let me exorcize such a weakling?” They removed their black coat, using it to wipe the blood splatter from their face, feeling both exhilarated and slightly exasperated.

“Well, I like seeing you like this!” he said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Noticing a streak of the curse’s blood on Gojou’s cheek, You pointed at it, a playful glint in their eye. “Something wrong, [Name]-chan?”

Gojou looked at the finger pointing at his cheek, and it suddenly clicked for him—you wanted a kiss! Of course, who wouldn’t want to kiss the great Satoru Gojo? He leaned down, dramatically pressing his lips against the spot, a teasing grin on his face. “Is that what you wanted?”

Annoyance flashed in your eyes as they rolled them. “No. There was some blood on your cheek.” You wiped the blood away, their voice steady. “And we have another ‘mission’, we found Sukuna's finger.”

“Well then, let’s get going! Ooh! I also want to stop by a famous mochi restaurant on our way!” Gojo exclaimed, grabbing your wrist and leading them away with an eager tug.

As you walked toward the train station, you felt a sudden presence behind you. A familiar weight settled as someone clung their arms around their neck.

“[Name]-kun,” Came the sultry voice, dripping with irritation. You recognized it instantly—Makima, she was not pleased. “Why did that man kiss you?” She rested her head against his shoulder.

“I… didn’t expect him to do it, so shut up...” You mumbled, swatting her away with a half-hearted gesture

JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL

JUNE 5, 2018 22:02:01

“Under Jujusten Regulation, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcise you as a curse!” Megumi declared.

“Hold up, I’m fine!” Yuji replied, raising his hand in a gesture of reassurance. “Besides, both of us are kinda beaten up,” he added, glancing down at his body where the tattoos—symbols of his connection to Sukuna—began to slowly fade away, like shadows dissipating at dawn.

“We should go to the hospital,” Yuji suggested, his tone shifting to one of concern.

Megumi hesitated, his mind racing, ‘I can’t tell if it’s really him or if it’s the special grade object influencing him, he thought anxiously. Damn, what should I do?’

Just then, a white-haired figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s the situation?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just materialised from thin air.

“Gojo-sensei? [Name]-sama? What are you both doing here?” Megumi stammered, momentarily caught off guard.

Gojo chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes, although hidden by the blindfold, you could sense it. “Well, I heard from a little birdie that Sukuna’s finger was in the area,” he explained, his tone teasing as he reached for his phone.

He was interrupted as you snatched the device from his hands. “Plus, the higher-ups wouldn’t stop nagging about a missing special-grade object!” Gojo continued, unperturbed. “And I dragged [Name] along while I was out sightseeing. By the way, did you manage to find it?”

“Uh… I ate it,” Yuji confessed sheepishly.

A stunned silence fell over the group. “For real?” You and Gojo echoed simultaneously, eyes wide in disbelief.

“For real,” Yuji and Megumi parroted back.

Gojou strode over to Yuji, bending down to examine him closely. “Hmm, you really did merge with it?” He chuckled as he straightened up, clearly amused by the situation. “Is there anything wrong with your body?”

“Nope,” Yuji replied.

“Can you swap out with Sukuna?” You interjected.

“Sukuna?” Yuji’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, the curse you ingested,” You clarified.

“Oh, right! I think I can do that!” Yuji said, giving a thumbs up.

“Alright, give him about ten seconds, then take control back,” You instructed, offering a half-hearted smile to lighten the mood.

“But—” Yuji started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry; I’m the strongest,” Gojou smirked, his trademark bravado eliciting groans from both you and Megumi.

“Megumi, hold this!” Gojou tossed a bag into his hands.

“What’s this?” Megumi asked, perplexed.

“Kokufuku from Kikusuian! It’s Sendai’s specialty, and it’s absolutely delicious! I highly recommend the Zunda and Cream flavour!” Gojo exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

As Gojo continued to yap on about his trip and the delicious treats, [Name] couldn’t resist the urge to snag a piece of his Kokufuku. It was every bit as good as he’d claimed, the flavours dancing on your tongue.

“Hey! [Name]-chan, don’t eat my food! That’s really rude!” Gojo whined, eyes wide in faux betrayal.

“Hey, behind you!” Megumi shouted, you pulled him back by his collar just as a special grade cursed spirit lunged at Gojo. You instinctively tensed, knowing all too well how this would end—Gojo would emerge victorious once again because, as he liked to remind everyone, he was ‘the strongest.’

“Look, that kid is still alive after being thrown into a building,” You said sarcastically, feeling the exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“Yeah, it’s about time,” Gojou replied, as if on cue.

As if in response to Gojo's words, Yuji’s tattoos faded once more, his body slumping as Megumi let out a sigh of relief. “Colour me impressed!” Gojou exclaimed, hovering above Yuji. “You can really control it!”

“Yeah, but he’s kind of annoying,” Yuji muttered, aggressively patting his own head, “I can hear his dumb voice in my head.”

“It’s a miracle that’s all he’s doing,” Gojou remarked casually, poking Yuji’s forehead with two fingers, which caused him to immediately pass out.

“What did you do?” Megumi asked, his tone a mix of exasperation and curiosity.

“He knocked him out, Megumi-kun,” You replied, leaning back against the nearby railing, fatigue washing over you. “Can I go home, please? I’m tired.”

“Not just yet, [Name]-chan. If he isn’t possessed by Sukuna when he wakes up, he might have potential as a vessel,” Gojou said, the seriousness of his tone cutting through the lighthearted banter.

“I have a question for you! What should we do with him?” Gojou turned to Megumi, his expression contemplative.

After a moment of thought, Megumi replied, “If he is a vessel, Jujutsu regulations demand that Itadori be executed. However, I don’t want him to die.”

“Is that a personal opinion?” Gojou raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading slightly.

“Yes. It’s a personal opinion. Please do something about it,” Megumi insisted, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“Well, if it’s a request from a precious student, leave it to me! Now, someone carry Yuji. It seems my beloved future husband has fallen asleep!” Gojou declared with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Megumi turned to you, noticing that you had indeed succumbed to fatigue and drifted off, your head lolling to the side. You must have been really tired—or just really lazy.

“—Wait. Future husband? [Name]-san doesn’t even like you,” he deadpanned, disbelief etched across his face.

“Nuh-uh! He does! He let me kiss him before we came here,” Gojou retorted proudly, a goofy grin plastered across his face. Megumi’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, and he couldn’t help but feel a strong urge to punch Gojou right then and there.

additional notes : if it has mistakes idc,, uhm yeah woohoo

word count : 1.7k

dont steal or repost my stuff that makes me go crazy!

#❛　　𝒞　　⏖　　melluvs writing.　　𝜚　　𓈒 #jjk x male reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x ftm reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk gojo #jjk yuji #jjk x csm #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu itadori #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu nanami #chainsaw man #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man x male reader #csm makima

81 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 11 months ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, heavy suggestive themes, lots of kissing, intimate touching, domestic!Simon

Word Count: 8k

A/N: Part Nine of Ink & Needle

Evie fractures. You spend the evening with Simon in his apartment. An unwanted caller makes contact.

Chapter Eight // Chapter Ten

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The excitement of the day is starting to set in. Everything was a whirlwind this morning, and only now, in the quiet of the kitchen in Evie’s Cambridge home, is it all beginning to catch up with you.

The continuously growing list of things to do is as messy and vast as the scattered assembly of carryout boxes on the kitchen island. Most of it is Chinese takeout boxes—which, to your disappointment—is not like American Chinese takeout at all. Evie thought it hilarious when you began opening boxes only to discover multiple containers of curry sauce and mushy peas. Greasy burgers were ordered and consumed instead. Now, as you begin sifting through the mess, tossing containers into a trash bag, exhaustion is showing its teeth, reminding you just how hectic it’s been.

Outside the patio doors, the sun is low, it’s beams hardly breaking over the natural hedge fence along the property line. The lights above the kitchen island and stove are on, adding to the low, warm glow of the evening sun. Scattered across the countertop behind you are various stacks of paperwork. You and Evie need to go through all of it, but you’re unwilling to burden her with too much.

Evie is still grieving, and she’s eight months pregnant, quickly approaching nine. The only thing Evie needs to worry about is getting plenty of rest and the upcoming labor. She doesn’t need to fret over conversations with the estate agent or Archie’s solicitor. Not to mention the fact that the solicitor brought up potential troubles with Archie’s family, indicating a barrister might be needed if they decide to fight over Archie’s money. That did not reach Evie’s ears. Those people have already done enough, and if you can, you’ll keep their poison away for as long as possible.

No. The main concern is Evie’s pregnancy. With the move to London, all of Evie’s medical history has to be transferred to her new hospital and doctor. It’s incredibly close to the due date for everyone’s liking, but it can’t be helped. Evie won’t be giving birth in Cambridge.

Sighing, you toss yet another empty container into the bag, purposefully keeping your back to the stack of papers. You offered up the idea to the estate agent of selling the place fully furnished to which you were quickly dismissed. Frustrating, because it means your job becomes much more difficult, but understandable. People want to make new memories. They don’t want to cling to someone else’s old ones.

Over dinner, you and Evie discussed how she wanted to clear out the house of her belongings. Sell it? Donate it? Put it in storage? Take it with her? There wasn’t a true decision but there was an agreement on beginning the process.

It’s a start. It’s something.

Tomorrow, Friday afternoon to be exact, you and Evie are heading back to London. It’s a quick turnaround, but you’re eager to return and see your wraith. Just thinking of him, speaking his name in your mind, is enough to swirl the quietly simmering heat in your belly to a healthy boil. The warmth that arrives with Simon’s name spreads to your toes and throughout your limbs.

Smiling, nearly giggling, cheeks fevering with the memory of his kisses from Monday, you lightly press the tips of your fingers to your lips, floating in the memory of how they tasted his skin.

Then, you remember where you are. And what you’re supposed to be doing.

“Get a fucking grip,” you mutter under your breath, stuffing the last of the takeout boxes into the trash bag.

When you return from tossing the bag into the outside bin, you wash your hands before reaching for your phone. In the group chat with Jade and Sam, you give them a quick update, silencing your phone afterward, plugging it in to charge for the night.

Evie is upstairs somewhere, likely rummaging around in things she shouldn’t be. She has a knack for that, doing things without asking for help, believing that doing so is a sign of weakness. It’s that American Midwest can-do attitude. Independent and self-sufficient. A good ole’ Missouri girl. That’s Evelyn Green.

Rubbing at your right temple, you head upstairs, aiming for the master bedroom. The door stands open, and as you approach, you stop short the frame when you hear a choked, strangled sob.

“Evie?” you call out.

You listen intently, not sure if you’ve misheard. But you hear it again, a pained sound that sounds more injured animal than human.

Cold fear twists your stomach, drags it down to the floor, stomps all over it and grins.

“Evie!”

Shoving through the door, you don’t find her anywhere. Scanning the master bedroom, you notice the scattered clothes across the bed and the rumpled sheets. But the room is dark. The only light comes from the walk-in closet. Its angles are sharp like a blade and you fear the worst. What if she’s fallen? Surely, you would have heard the crash, or a solid thump?

Heading toward it, the rising fear intensifies until it lodges in your throat, waiting to emerge like a striking snake.

You step into the beam of light.

Sitting in the middle of a large pile of clothes is Evie.

She’s bent over, at least, as bent as her belly will allow her to be. Her pale cheeks are slashed with red and tear-stained. Her shoulders shake with every sob, each one appearing painful. And, in her hands, she cradles a little beige box.

The lid is off. The white ribbon on the top is yellowed and brittle. It rests to the left of Evie’s right foot on one of Archie’s button ups. Within that little beige box is a boutonnière. It’s Archie’s boutonnière. The one he wore on their wedding. It’s dried out now, more potpourri than flower, a silent witness to Evie’s suffering.

“Oh. Evie,” you sigh, going down on your knees in front of her, your hands outstretched but not touching, unsure of how she’s needing comfort.

She glances up. Chokes. Hiccups. “He’s gone,” she whimpers, and all you want to do is absorb her pain.

“I know,” you murmur. “I know, Evie. I’m so sorry.”

“He—he’s gone.” Fresh tears form in the corners of her eyes. They quickly compound on each other, rapidly filling the bottom of her eyelids. “He’s gone and I—”

A gut-wrenching sob rips from her. Like someone is reaching down her throat to tear out her vocal cords.

With extreme gentleness, you place one hand on her shoulder. The other cradles her hand holding the small beige box. “Evie—”

“He’s gone!” she wails. “And this is all I have left!” Evie gestures around at the clothes.

“You have so much more than that,” you soothe, lightly rubbing her shoulder in slow circles.

But Evie is shaking her head, sniffling hard, sucking up all the phlegm that threatens to slip from her nostrils. She’s a mess. A cacophony of a storm.

She glances up. Stares at the ceiling of the closet. “What happens when I start to forget his face?” Evie turns her gaze to you, the defeat and sorrow there sharp enough to shred the soul. “What happens then?”

“You won’t,” you insist, grasping the sides of her face. Strands of her dark hair stick to her tear-stained skin. Your brush them out of the way. “You love him, and the memory of that love is enough.”

Evie keeps shaking her head. “I can’t do this,” she murmurs, cradling her belly with one hand. “How do I do this without him?”

“You can, Evelyn Green. And you’re not alone. You have me. And Amelia. Jade. Sam.” With the pad of your thumb, you remove a few falling tears from her cheek. “This baby will be surrounded by love. She’ll never be without. She will always be safe. And when you tell her stories of her father, all she’ll know is how much you love him, and how much he wanted to meet her.”

Tears spillover to paint Evie’s cheeks as she leans into you. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, offering your shoulder to rest her head on. Neither of you talks, and this isn’t your place to say anything at all. This is for Evie, and whatever she needs.

Keeping one hand clutching the beige box, Evie reaches up with the other, fingers wrapping around your forearm. Digging, digging in where they land and are sure to leave little half-moons behind. Fuck it. You hardly care. You’re too focused on keeping her aloft, on being Evie’s anchor where she has none.

You won’t allow your friend to sink.

You stay like this until your knees hurt and your lower back aches. You stay like this until Evie signals she’s ready to let go with a gentle squeeze of your arm. As she pulls away, Evie wipes at her eyes. She still clings to that little box, but she needs rest, and you know she’ll never forgive herself if she takes it to bed with her and crushes it.

Placing both hands around the box, you silently implore her to let go. Evie does, hesitantly, and you lay the precious cargo on the ground. Presenting your hands, you put Evie to bed, keeping watch until you’re certain she’s truly asleep and not faking it for your benefit.

Only then do you return to the closet. Only then do you lift the little box from off the floor to carry it downstairs and set it next to your charging phone. Going to the mantel over the fireplace, you select your favorite photo from Archie and Evie’s wedding day. It’s a simple one, but the love oozes from it, sticks in between your teeth to blissfully rot away the enamel.

In the photo, Archie and Evie look at each other and not into the camera. It’s not staged. Just a moment caught when they thought no one was looking. A moment special only to them. Taking it to the kitchen, you rest it next to the box holding Archie’s boutonnière.

By the time you crawl into bed in the guestroom, it’s close to morning.

The few hours you manage to snag are not nearly enough. And when you awaken, you realize quickly that there is no amount of coffee in the world that can save you. Dragging yourself from bed, you clean up the clothes Evie left on the floor of the closet without disturbing her. Down in the kitchen, you make breakfast and place several phone calls. Nearly all of them are to Archie’s solicitor and the estate agent.

You’re exhausted. Fucking gone, but you have to do this for her.

Evie doesn’t drag herself out of bed until almost noon. By that time, the two of you need to start heading back to London. You take the driver seat, and Evie sits passenger with the little box holding Archie’s boutonnière and the framed photo resting in her lap.

“Simon came to see you,” are the first words out of Amelia’s mouth when she greets you.

“He did?” you squeak, nearly dropping the bag you just removed from the trunk of the car. Excitement and giddiness blooms in your chest.

Simon came to see you. He came…to see you.

But why would he not? He chased you down. Pursued you. Looked for you relentlessly. Of course he’d come by. You know this.

After visiting him at 141 Ink on Monday morning, you stopped to grab some groceries before heading home. Amelia and Evie nearly tackled you when you came through the door, both of them eager, pecking like annoying hens, seeking information. Too embarrassed to admit that you’d straddled him in front of the big window and sucked on his neck, you glossed over the more intimate moments much to their frustration.

Amelia had popped open a bottle of wine afterward and asked you if you knew anything about his history in the military. In all honesty, you know very little, just what he mentioned that morning. Thinking about it now, you truly don’t know anything concrete about your wraith. Physical chemistry is a good thing to possess, but that won’t last if there is nothing else to connect to.

Amelia already appeared to know this, and mentioned that you might want to take a delicate step with him in that area. “A bad injury” is what she said, but Amelia didn’t know any of the details. Then again, Amelia might know, and was only considering Simon’s privacy.

“Oh, yes. He was here. Burst through the backdoor and yelled at me for forgetting to lock the front one.”

Evie’s head pops up above the top of the car. “He yelled at you?”

You glance at Amelia, unbelieving that someone like Simon would raise his voice at her.

“Oh, posh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Perhaps yell is a strong word. Growled. Said with irritation. Better?” Amelia shrugs one of the bags over her shoulder.

You and Evie exchange a knowing glance.

Could you go see him tonight? You consider the options. You could stay here and have dinner with Amelia and Evie. Or, you could go see Simon. Enter his shop while he’s working, observe him in his elements. And afterward—

“Are you all right? You look like you’re about ready to faint.” Amelia’s voice snaps you back to reality.

Shit.

Evie stands slightly left and back to Amelia. She’s grinning, knowing exactly where your mind drifted off to.

You smile awkwardly. “I’m fine. Just surprised.”

Amelia makes a face like she doesn’t believe that for a second. But she shrugs, not commenting about it. “You should visit him. It’s Friday. Make a night of it.”

“Are you sure?” you ask hurriedly, not wanting to sound too eager.

Amelia scoffs. “Evie and I will be perfectly fine.” She turns to Evie pointedly. “Won’t we?”

“Perfectly peachy,” winks Evie, shimmying her shoulders suggestively at you before following a cackling Amelia inside.

Your grab several more bags as if one less trip will truly cut into seeing Simon time. Then it’s done, and you’re nearly sprinting up the stairs for a shower and a change of clothes.

“How do I look?” you ask around your toothbrush, turning slightly so Evie can see every angle.

Evie glances up from her phone and grins. “If Simon isn’t all over you the moment you walk through the door, he’s a fucking idiot.” She points at you with her phone. “And you can tell him I said that.”

You snort, and then cover your mouth quickly. Evie laughs too but it’s more of a wheeze and that only makes the strangled, airless sounds you both make that much worse.

“Oh shit,” hisses Evie. “I peed. Thanks, bitch.” She half-rolls, half-flops out of the bed and starts waddling toward the bathroom.

“You’re welcome,” you call out to her retreating back.

Evie holds out her middle finger before shutting the bathroom door. Pulling on your coat and grabbing your purse off the top of the dresser, you head downstairs to slip on your boots.

Every step you take toward 141 Ink is light. Unhurried. It’s easy. Yes, you’re anxious, but that’s only because you’re eager to see Simon, to feel his hands on you, and forget yourself for a bit in his embrace.

As you near, that nervousness starts to slither up, blooming like a poisonous flower. Beautiful, but deadly, waiting for you to consume it. The black and eggplant-purple exterior come into view and that only amplifies what is already screeching under your skin.

“You’ve got this,” you tell yourself. “It’s fine. Calm. Down.”

Your heart and brain and limbs won’t listen. It amplifies further as you reach for the door.

Pushing it open, you’re met with warm air and the scent of pine underlined with the faintest hint of sterile cleaning solution. There is no soft chime when the door opens, but it might have been swallowed up by the music. Heavy metal rushes out from the speakers. It’s not overly loud, nothing that would damage the ears, but it’s certainly loud enough to muffle a conversation. You’re curious if this is Simon’s choice, or if it’s the customer currently in the tattoo chair.

Your glimpse of Simon and his client is brief. Immediately upon entrance, an all-black German Shepard leaps off the couch and greets you, tail wagging so fast it stirs up the air creating a breeze.

“Hello, Bravo,” you croon, scratching under his chin and then between his ears. Bravo leans into it, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in perfect contentment. “Good boy.”

When you straighten your back and glance up, you notice Simon in the back of the room next to the tattoo chair. He sits on a small stool with a black cushion on wheels. The person receiving their tattoo is on their stomach, back presented to Simon as he works. He hasn’t noticed you yet. He’s completely lost in his craft.

You take this time to observe him, standing there in the entrance of his parlor while Bravo aggressively licks the inside of your hand. Simon isn’t wearing a jacket, only a black t-shirt with short sleeves. It fits him snuggly, clearly hugging every muscle. Both tattoo sleeves are on full display. One is solid black. The other consist of various images and symbols that all interweave around each other. Other than the black t-shirt, Simon wears black joggers and sneakers.

Simon sits up a bit, rolls both shoulders. The muscles in his arms flex with the movement. Your wraith is all power. There is so much strength there, and your brain conjures up the memory of Riot Room when Simon lifted you effortlessly, held you aloft as he brought your bodies together over and over again.

He dips the tip of the needle into the ink, bends forward, returning it to the skin. Returning to his work. You desire closeness, to admire the art as he’s creating it on the man’s back, but also don’t wish to disturb his concentration. Watching him in his natural elements is peaceful. All that earlier anxiety is suddenly gone.

When Simon reaches for the ink again, Simon finally glances up. The moment your gazes lock, he freezes, hovering in a moment of stasis. It breaks, and Simon starts to stand, his arm extending outward to turn off the tattoo gun.

Nope. No. This is not what you want. You’ve disturbed him, throttled his concentration.

You shake your head vehemently, holding up both hands, pointing at the couch in the waiting area. Bravo lightly headbutts your thigh, clearly upset that you’ve taken away your hand for him to lick.

Simon holds his position. Knees slightly bent, legs just starting to extend like he’s ready to leap up at your request. Moving quickly, you settle yourself on the couch, Bravo jumping up next to you, snuggling down onto his belly, his large head plopping into your lap.

Only then does Simon sink back onto his stool.

The distance between the two of you is too much for your liking, but you know the feeling is mutual. Simon’s gaze is heated, and his body, which at first faced the client in the chair, is turned in your direction. Those dark, gorgeous eyes of his linger. They drag up your body, and back down again. Simon is taking his time, and under that wanton stare, you feel bare. Exposed. Chest cavity broken up and strewn out. Vulnerable.

It's unnerving. And yet thrilling. It’s how you felt when you first accepted his offer at Riot Room, when you off-handedly brought up the proposition and Simon made sure to end it.

His gaze remains a few seconds longer before Simon finally returns to the man lying face down on the chair. With one hand on top of Bravo’s head, you press the other hand to your cheek. It’s hot. Feverish. And you suddenly notice the growing slickness between your thighs.

Attempting to shift focus, you give most of your attention to Bravo, talking softly to the dog about your day, lulling the massive hound to sleep.

Even like this, you can’t help but notice all the times that Simon consistently glances up from his work, gaze focused in on you like you’ll somehow disappear. Sometimes it’s a quick one-two and he’s right back in it, set in on his work. Other times, he draws it out, as if silently telling you that he sees you. Those glances seize your heart, wrenching it right down into your stomach.

Once Bravo falls into a gentle snooze, and you have nothing else to direct your attention toward—except Simon’s lingering stares—you opt for productivity. With no idea how much longer Simon has with his client, you slip your phone out of your coat pocket and start catching up on work emails. Several deadlines are approaching quickly, and you’re terribly behind. You need an afternoon to yourself to simple work without interruptions. But that’s been difficult, especially when most of your time has been devoted to Evie.

“Done.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of Simon’s deep timbre. The client stretches, half-rolling half-stumbling to his feet.

Simon gestures for them to turn around. “Back to the mirror,” he instructs.

From off a rolling cart, Simon snags a hand mirror, presenting it to the client. It allows the man to admire Simon’s work. You have a clear view of the mirror. It’s just an outline, but it’s massive, covering the man’s entire back.

“Color and shading will take a couple sessions,” says Simon. “What do you think?”

You don’t catch what the man says, but you do hear Simon’s amused chuckle. He takes the hand mirror and places it on the tattoo chair. The two of them talk for a bit as money is exchanged and Simon hands him a care packet. The client shrugs on his shirt and coat, heading for the door.

As he approaches, he slows, noticing you on the couch. The corner of his mouth turns upward. He pointedly takes his time opening the door, a flirty smile on his face aimed at you as he steps out onto the street.

When the door clicks shut, you glance at Simon. His fists are clenched, hanging at his sides. Those dark eyes of his are bullets, ready to kill, completely fixated on the shut door.

“Simon,” you call out softly, a little of your worry slipping in. His gaze immediately adjusts, moving to you, softening entirely when he takes you in.

He tears off his black latex gloves and tosses them into the trash, already striding toward you as he does so. Bravo grumbles a protest as you bolt upward and off the sofa. You don’t even make it halfway to Simon before he’s on you, grabbing at the back of your neck and your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

There isn’t a chance for you to push up the balaclava. And Simon doesn’t appear to care. He kisses you through the rough material, and you giggle against his cloth-covered lips.

“Simon,” you laugh, pushing lightly on his chest with your palms, voice slightly muffled from the balaclava.

He pulls back just enough to give you the faintest bit of breathing room. Then, he’s shoving his balaclava up to his nose, revealing those gorgeous lips of his. They are there and gone quickly, Simon already reclaiming what is so rightfully his.

You open and Simon slips his tongue inside, fingers digging roughly into the back of your neck, drawing you closer. This kiss is desperate. Needy. And so full of emotion that when he draws back, you’re momentarily breathless.

Simon’s smile is soft and you easily match it with one of you own. “Amelia told me you stopped by,” you murmur.

“You went to Cambridge,” he states. It’s not a question, and that gives you pause.

You nod. “I did.” You do not elaborate or give him an explanation. The situation with Evie is…complicated. While you wish to tell Simon everything, you also don’t want to unload, to dump all your worries onto him without warning.

“Do I have you for the evening?” he asks, hopefulness laced within the words.

A creeping sadness wiggles in. Simon cannot have you for the whole evening even though you’d love nothing more than to stay the entire night. But you won’t allow the disappointment to make a home. You are still here, with him, and that is enough.

“You have me for a few hours,” you answer, waiting for the discontent on his end.

It does not come.

Simon’s thumb traces the length of your throat. His smile is still there. Unchanged. “Do you want to join me upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“To my flat. For a drink.”

“Oh.”

“If not it’s fine,” says Simon quickly. “I understand. Quieter than one of the pubs.”

You nod eagerly, popping up on your toes. “Yes,” you breathe. “I’d like that.”

Going upstairs to his flat means that you and Simon will truly be alone. And that singular thought, one that speaks to uninterrupted pleasure, starts a thrumming in the lower recessives of your belly that only moves farther south with each passing second.

“Good,” he sighs with relief.

Did he think you’d say no? Is Simon just as nervous, just as eager to want to be with you?

Have you not thought about me? Not once? Because I’ve thought of you. Every day.

And what if I wanted it to be more? What if I still want it to be more?

Of course he does. Of course.

“Just need to,” he gestures to the room. “Close up.”

“How can I help?” you ask.

Simon thinks for a moment. “Floors?”

“Done.”

The two of you work in tandem, moving through the motions in a natural, domestic dance that seems so normal and so routine that it doesn’t feel odd. It’s comfortable. Cozy. Like you could live this life easily and not regret a single moment.

When the floors are cleaned, and surfaces are sanitized, Simon shuts off the main lights, locks the front door, and arms the alarm system.

Simon doesn’t say anything. Just overs his hand to you, palm upward.

There is no hesitation on your end.

Gently, you take his offered palm, admiring the little tattoos on his fingers as they fold over your hand. Simon guides you to a door you’ve never noticed before. It’s blocked off by a curtain, and when Simon opens it, the two of you step into a narrow hall. To your right is a door that leads out to the sidewalk. To your left is a staircase heading up to a landing.

Simon’s grip on your hand tightens as if you’ll make a run for the street. He does this sometimes. You’ve noticed these tiny gestures where he seems to cling a little too tight, and you question whether it’s a need to feel close to you, or anxiety.

Remembering what Amelia told you the other day, that you may need to be gentle with him, that Simon had a bad injury, you consider how that might influence someone. How it might change their perspective on things.

You return his tightened grip with a gentle squeeze of reassurance, silently prompting him to take the lead. Simon does, bringing you to the top of the landing. The front door doesn’t have a traditional lock but a passcode. Strange. Completely odd. But, then again, Simon is ex-military. Old habits?

Simon punches a series of buttons and the little red light on the top righthand side turns green. The audible sound of gears turning and locks—definitely plural—unlatching reaches your ears. Simon pushes down on the handle, and then you’re inside, Bravo right on your heels.

You’ve never thought about what Simon’s space might look like. Perhaps you figured it would be like any other bachelor pad. But Simon’s home is warm, and has a similar feel to the tattoo shop downstairs.

The interior is industrial with brick walls and exposed grey-black pipes running along the ceiling. The floor is hardwood, a deep, rich brown. To your left is a kitchen and dining area. All the cabinetry is black, the countertops butcher block, and the appliances stainless steel. To your right is the living room. The television is massive, and the sofa is large. You easily picture yourself and Simon snuggled on it, watching a movie.

Directly ahead of you is a short hallway. It branches left, disappearing to a place you cannot see. But you do notice an open bedroom doorway to the right of the end of the short hall.

“I have whiskey.”

You glance away from the doorway and find Simon. He nods toward a small bar next to the dining table. He’s right. There is only whiskey there. “Then whiskey it is.”

Simon laughs softly and grabs two rocks glasses. His gaze scans over the various bottles. Finally selecting one, Simon lifts it from its perch. Removing the cork, Simon pours a double on both. He brings your glass to you, and you take it with both hands, glancing down at the amber liquid.

This will hit you hard. You haven’t eaten since lunch.

“Are you hungry?” asks Simon, as if reading your mind.

“What?” you blink, looking up.

“I can order us something. Or I could cook.”

“You cook?”

“I’ve perfected a few meals.” Simon shrugs. “And instant ramen.”

“Instant ramen?” you ask, deadpan.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, the whiskey in his glass sloshing slightly as he does. “And other things.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says automatically.

He wants to do this. He wants to do this.

“Okay. Yeah.” You nod. “You pick. Cook’s choice.”

Simons starts to turn away, but promptly returns, holding up his hand like he’s about to say something. He pauses, and sets his whiskey down. “Hold on.”

“Holding,” you say to his retreating back.

Simon disappears for a minute and reappears clutching a stack of papers. At first, you’re confused, but as he draws closer, you recognize them for what they are.

They’re pages out of a sketchbook, and there isn’t just a handful. Simon has to be holding as least a few dozen individual pieces of paper. And that’s not even the most startling thing. It’s the way he’s holding them, almost nervously, his thumbs rubbing the pages in an anxious tick.

Simon presents the stack to you. “Couldn’t decide on what I liked best.”

Your whiskey glass is on the dining table in an instant. Fingers itching, you gently take the papers from him. Already, from the very top sketch, you’re awed by the artistry. You don’t even look as you sink down into a chair. Placing them on the table, you begin to fan them out in a wide arc.

“These are lovely, Simon,” you murmur, captivated by how creative his mind is.

“You don’t need to select one today. Take a look and pick what you’re leaning toward.”

Quickly, you sift through them, spreading them out across the table, dividing them up to make the process easier. It’s almost overwhelming. Some of the pieces are similar, but most of them are entirely different. Completely unique.

As you start through your first organized stack, Simon is already in the kitchen, a large pot of water on the range. Before him on the countertop is a small pile of flour. He makes a well, cracks three eggs into the center, and the smallest splash of water. Taking a fork, he starts to whisk.

Is he—no.

You hold a paper in each hand but you’re not even looking at the artwork. You’re watching Simon make pasta. Fucking pasta. From scratch. And he’s not breaking a sweat. He looks so goddamn casual it’s almost maddening.

Bravo sits at your side, but all of his attention is on Simon. He licks his chops periodically but is otherwise statuesque. Your wraith wraps up the dough and sets it aside, quickly cleaning up his mess before retrieving a large frying pan, cutting board, and sauce pot.

Glancing between the artwork you pick up and Simon’s movement in the kitchen, you start to see a different side of him. Garlic, onion, fresh basil, and grape tomatoes are tossed into the sauce pot. Oil is drizzled into the large pan. Chicken breasts are pounded out, made thin, and then coated in breadcrumbs.

You at the table. Him in the kitchen, cooking you dinner. Nothing planned. Just present and existing, content with each other’s company.

By the time you’ve sorted through all the sketches and selected ten you’re leaning toward, Simon is rolling out the dough, cutting it into long strands, depositing the homemade spaghetti into the salted boiling water. The chicken cutlets are finishing under the broiler, topped with chunky tomato sauce and cheese.

Bravo’s no longer sitting but laying down. He’s still alert to everything happening in the kitchen, but Simon is meticulous, dropping nothing for Bravo to vacuum up.

“Simon?”

“Hm?” He briefly glances at you over his shoulder before returning his attention to the pot of cooking pasta.

You lick your lips, pausing before asking the question. “How did you get the tattoo shop?”

The tongs Simon holds hesitate before dipping into the water. “Part of my retirement,” he answers. Cooked pasta and leftover sauce are tossed together.

“Military retirement?” He nods but says nothing. You’re not sure if this will be too sensitive to ask, but you’re curious, and Amelia’s words from earlier in the week keep grating on your mind. “What did you do to earn you an entire tattoo shop at retirement?”

Simon divides the pasta up between two plates. “Early retirement from an injury. Got me this flat, too.”

Early retirement? An injury? What the fuck happened to him that the government would give him enough money to afford all this? That is unheard of, at least by American standards. You couldn’t say for certain what it’s like here, but it couldn’t be much different.

You sip on your whiskey, the amber liquid burning smoothly on the way down. “So you didn’t plan on becoming a tattoo artist originally?”

Simon shuts off the broiler and removes the breaded chicken cutlets. Placing them on a fresh cutting board, Simon slices them quickly, transferring one cutlet to each plate. “I was military.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But—did you ever think about after?”

Opening a nearby drawer, Simon grabs two knives and two forks. “Sometimes.”

Why is he being so evasive? Was the injury that bad? Thinking on it, you do recall several scars. There is the one running along the edge of his jaw. That one is clear to the eye. The other scars you noticed were hidden under the ink.

Simon picks up the plates and you hastily clear away the sketches, piling up the ones you didn’t select.

“Find anything?”

“These.” You gently push a small stack toward him.

Simon doesn’t even look at them until your plate is in front of you and you’re holding the silverware. Social norms and general social expectations might say to be dainty when with a new romantic partner, but the food in front of you is begging to be devoured. Simon made this for you to enjoy, and you’re going to do just that.

And Simon doesn’t appear to give a shit anyway. With one hand, he’s cutting through his chicken. The other is spreading out the sketches you selected, his gaze entirely fixed on the paper. He takes a bite of his food. Chews. Lifts a sketch up to study it.

You tuck in, eating but silent, observing every twitch and change in Simon’s expression. There are few of note. You have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he conjuring up new sketches already? Is he itching to pick up his pencil or charcoal or whatever he enjoys working with and starting immediately? Is Simon surprised by your choices?

The strongest reaction you pick up on is the arch of a singular eyebrow.

Eventually, he nods, seeming satisfied. With one hand, Simon neatly situates your selections into a stack, setting it aside. Your plate is nearly empty at this point, inhaling the meal like an addict.

Simon settles into his chair, his gaze fixating on you. “Why’d you go to Cambridge?”

Does Simon mean to make it feel like an accusation?

“I went for Evie,” you answer.

“Your friend.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“In London? Yes. I am.”

You don’t know how far you can take this conversation before crossing into territory you don’t want to discuss. It’s not that you don’t want to discuss it with him, you simply fear the idea that you might unload on him. You are fully aware how stressing the entire situation with Evie is, but Simon doesn’t need to hear all of it at once. There are some things that are private. There are some things that if spoken to another, might break Evie’s trust in you.

Simon twirls his fork in his hand. “She’s pregnant.”

“Very pregnant,” you add.

“Married?”

How the fuck do you answer that?

“Widow,” you decide, because it’s the truth, and there isn’t any reason to hide it.

“How recent?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“She buried him a week ago.”

Simon stops twirling his fork. “A week?” You hear the surprise in his tone.

“Dead two. Buried one.” Saying it like that makes it sound so final. Archie is gone, and Evie is alone in that regard. She’s lost a piece of herself. A pillar of support.

This whole time, Simon’s gaze has been locked on you. But it drops down toward the floor for a brief few seconds before returning. Sometimes you really wish he’d take that balaclava off so you can get a full picture of what might be happening behind it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Simon doesn’t press for more, and you nearly sigh with relief.

“I’m helping her for a bit. Easy for me since I work remote.”

“What do you do?”

Oh shit. Simon doesn’t know. All this time, and it’s never come up in conversation.

“Freelance mostly. Technical writing and editing.”

Simon swallows and takes a sip of his whiskey. “And what is that?”

“User manuals, medical documents, press releases.” You list a few more things and as you do, Simon’s lips stretch into a smile. “What?” you ask.

“That sounds incredibly boring.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you try not to choke. “Pays the bills. Wouldn’t call it exciting.”

This is easier conversation. This is what a normal back-and-forth is supposed to be between two people. Isn’t it?

But what is normal about this dynamic? The two of you met and hooked up in the basement of a club. You ran and he chased, kept chasing for three years, and when you finally appeared before him, you ran again and he followed after you without hesitating.

“Can you stay?” asks Simon, and you hear the silent plea in his voice. It draws up every needy thought simmering beneath your skin.

“For a bit,” you reply, purposefully being non-specific.

He inclines his head toward your plate. “Finished?”

“Yes.” You start to pick it up, standing with the intention to take it to the sink. Simon is having none of it. He whisks it out of your hands before your legs have a chance to fully extend. You plop your ass back in the chair.

Simon rinses out pans and cleans knives. Sitting in a chair and doing nothing is not something you’re accustomed to.

“Would you like me to help?”

“I’d like you to relax.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmur, finishing off the last of your whiskey.

He washes his hands and dries them on a towel. As he strides toward the dining table, he snaps at Bravo. “Kennel.”

Bravo’s ears droop, but he complies to Simon’s command.

Simon watches the German Shepard disappear down the hallway. He turns toward you, offering his hand. When you place your hand in his, Simon’s fingers take hold, drawing you out of your chair, pulling you against his body. His other hand cradles the side of your neck and lower half of your jaw. His thumb traces over your bottom lip.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, voice slightly husky with need. His thumb returns to your bottom lip, lightly pressing on it. “I want to kiss you. To touch you.” Simon is still holding on to your hand.

Not sex then? Just kisses. Touches. Even the thought of that is sending you into overdrive, every nerve in your body firing at once until your heart thuds loudly in your ears.

“Take me to bed,” you whisper, hardly believing you managed to get the words out.

Slowly, Simon’s hand falls away from your face. It is a gentle release, one that speaks of desire but doesn’t feel so primal and raw as when the two of you first came together. Walking backwards, Simon leads, entering into the dark of his apartment, heading down the hall, and entering the bedroom you noticed earlier.

You don’t even glance at your surroundings. You’re too focused on Simon, and the way he guides you around, easing you onto your back upon the bed. He drapes himself over you like a protective cocoon. One knee slides between your legs, forcing them to apart. The other digs into the bed just shy of your thigh.

Simon rests his forearm just above and to the side of your head. His other hand immediately goes to your waist. You are pinned in. You are under him, and it’s deliciously perfect. Better than what you’ve conjured up in your head. Beneath him, you feel protected. Safe.

Your fingers are already on the balaclava, pushing it up further, seeking him. You know not to go past the eyes, and while it pains you to not see Simon fully, you respect the boundary. That will fall away eventually. As will your uneasiness about being completely open and honest with him about Evie’s situation.

These things will happen. They have to. You want them to.

The moment you have full access to his lips, Simon is on you. Your hands fist the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. Simon lowers himself, his pelvis slotting perfectly with yours. Each kiss is slow. Measured. Every stroke of his hand along your waist, hips, and thighs sends a wave of rippling heat straight to your core.

It grows and grows, melting your resolve into mush. Your legs fall open wider, and Simon instinctually moves in. You clearly sense his needs. It’s fucking poking you. And fuck—what’s a few more hours? You can stay. You can.

Your hand slides between your bodies, slipping beneath the waistband of his joggers, your fingers finding him, wrapping around his hardness.

Simon swallows down a groan as his hips reflexively press against your palm. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, his teeth finding your throat.

Simon gently bites your neck, his large hand squeezing your thigh in warning. “Keep touching me like that and you won’t leave this bed until morning.”

The intensity of his delivery zaps you right out of your haze. “Sorry,” you gasp, withdrawing your hand quickly.

Simon’s answering growl pins you to the spot. He snatches your retreating arm, encircling the wrist, only to draw your hand back to him.

“Never apologize for touching me. Never.” His lips and teeth trace over your skin. When he finds your lips again, there is nothing chaste about the way he tastes you.

“Simon—”

“Not tonight. I—Not like this.”

Your hand that still rests on his chest slides upward. One finger delicately traces that scar you know so well.

“Will you walk me home?”

“You never have to ask.”

Simon guides your hand away from his groin. In the next moment, he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting up and off the bed, and onto your feet.

He’s smiling down at you, and it’s full of joy. You don’t know how to receive it. It’s almost too much, and you slightly feel undeserving of it.

“I’ll grab my coat.” You start to move but Simon’s arms around your waist tighten.

“Wait.” You glance up, find an intensity in his stare. “Can I take you out?”

“On a date?” you blurt.

“Movies. Dinner.” He shrugs. “Normal things.”

Your lips part slightly in confusion. There is nothing normal about Simon. “You don’t want to take me out for normal dates,” you say slowly.

Simon’s jaw clenches. “No.”

You grin, knowing you’ve trapped him. “What kind of date would you actually like to take me on?” Leaning forward, you rest your chin on his chest.

“Take you for a ride for starters.”

“On a bicycle?” you ask with mock innocence.

Simon sharply lands a slap to your ass. “I’ll put you back on that bed.”

“Promise?”

His answer is a growl, and a firm squeeze. “I’d take you to the coast. Or the country. Maybe up to Manchester. Show you where I grew up. All my favorite spots.”

“Go on,” you entreat.

“I’d show you the Highlands. Stay in a little cottage on a friend’s family farm.”

“What else?”

Simon’s brow softens, and then he’s bending down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. “I’d make new memories with you,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Promise?”

“That’s a fucking guarantee, love.”

For several minutes, the two of you embrace just inside his bedroom door. For several minutes, the two of you almost return to the bed, to fall right back into each other’s arms. But Simon has far more control than you.

Coats are collected. Bravo’s leash is found and attached to the dog’s collar.

The two of you don’t hold hands on your walk to Amelia’s. Instead, the two of you loosely intertwine a few fingers. There is no rush. No need to arrive quickly. And while there is silence, it’s a contented, peaceful thing.

Reviving. You are reawakening with Simon.

At Amelia’s front door, your parting kiss is not a kiss at all. With both hands, Simon cradles your face, closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against yours. You match him, closing your own eyes, placing your hands over his, simply breathing in his presence.

You’re practically skipping up the stairs to your shared bedroom with Evie. You expect to find her asleep. But when you open the door, you don’t find her tucked under the covers. She’s sitting up, resting against the headboard, wide awake, and crying quietly.

“What is it?” you ask, panicked, dropping your purse and coat onto the floor, crawling onto the bed to reach for her.

Evie wipes at her eyes, smirking through her tears. “Shouldn’t you be in your man’s bed right now?”

“Oh hush,” you mutter, waving her comment off. “What is it?”

Her smile falters. “Archie’s older brother called.”

The panic disappears. The contentment and peace that clings to you from your time with Simon evaporates instantly. All of it is gone. Poof. Like a popped balloon.

In its place is a seething anger.

“What the fuck does he want?”

“He wants to meet.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @theshrikeandcanary @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @c0pernicus @josephquinnschesthair @corvusmorte @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @carma-fanficaddict @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @tiredmetalenthusiast

281 notes · View notes

aldryrththerainbowheart · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - Security breach

Note: My very own addition to Arkhamverse fics. The chapters would only loosely follow each other, so consider them to be more standalone ficlets. The reader is Catwoman's sidekick/adopted family with a bit of a background of her own. Special thanks to @thinkingofausername for discussing this fic with me. Adding @heavysighing-dreamyeyes @thesandsofelsweyr and @deimks post-posting.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and torture

You stalked through the dark and eerie corridors of Arkham Asylum. Weeks you have waited for this opportunity. After weeks of preparations, intel gathering and scratched furniture you’re finally here. You waited long for the perfect night, and it came today. The Arkham staff was busy locking Joker away and preening in front of Batman. They won’t even notice a small intervention. Funny, usually people would give everything to get out of Arkham Asylum. Not you though. There was someone locked away in the endless halls of the psych ward that you need to get out.

How could Selina be so careless?? Getting caught by Batman is one thing, but to get locked away in Arkham when usually she would outsmart the cops long before that would happen. Either she’s getting sloppy, or there’s more to it than meets the eye. More than worried though, you’re offended that she’s keeping things from you.

You were thieves, sure. Lying, stealing, conniving bitches… but you always had each other's backs. Ever since she found you curled up in a wet cardboard box in one of the nameless alleyways of Gotham City. The thought of her keeping things from you had you feeling uneasy.

You slinked through the vent into the much nicer corridor than the rest of the hallowed rooms in Arkham. This was a hallway leading to the director’s office. technically, you should have taken a different route through the ventilation system, but there was something you needed to take first. You’re sure Sel would more than appreciate this.

With the cameras momentarily disabled, you needed to be quick but as you walked through the corridor you heard voices getting closer. Quick as a wink, you leaped onto the ceiling, claws holding onto the wooden pilaster. You hoped the guards were stupid enough to not look up, you don’t have much time to play with them today.

Thankfully, the men armed with rifles stalked through the corridor pretty briskly, almost as if in a hurry.

Once the coast was clear, you dropped down onto the red carpet and looked around once more. Your tiny fleshlight dancing on the glass showcases.

You smiled in triumph once you found what you were looking for. The headpiece, the glasses, the gloves. All places are carefully arranged like a museum exhibit.

“Oh, a pressure-sensitive iron mantle, whatever shall I do?” You whispered to yourself dramatically before drawing a quick circle in the glass with your claws. You quickly watched the newly made glass disc as it fell out and started stuffing Selina’s belongings in your bag. Your pointy ears were perked for any upcoming sounds of danger but the place grew eerily quiet.

A shiver went down your spine. Something’s off. You couldn’t tell what but it was like a quiet before the storm.

Just as you were to hop on the ventilation bus once more you heard a voice through the speakers, and you’re as hell not one of the directors.

“Ladies and maniacs, I apologize for this interruption in your regular entertainment…”

Ah, fuck.

What seemed at first like the best night at infiltrating Arkham soon chose to be the worst. The asylum was on fire. There was no better way to say it. Joker took over the place and soon there were madmen everywhere. To your dismay, the shitstain also took over the security gates.

You kept running through the dark halls full of ingrates of the asylum and SWAT members, you weren’t particularly thrilled with meeting either of those. You sidestepped the bodies, trying to not ponder too much about the slaughterhouse you found yourself in.

Finally, you enter the Decontamination room, holding cells should be closed now. You hear some yelling as the room fills with prisoners.

“Oh, we’re gonna have with you, kitty cat.” One of them gives you a slimy sneer.

You smirk, “Oh, so do I.”

They all run up to you expecting and easy fight. Soon the room fills with their wails as your claws slice their flesh to ribbons. A well-aimed kick to the chest of one sends you flying onto the head of another. You use his head as a lever from which you kick everyone standing close. You bounce back off of him and let on your feet with grace. You straighten up hands raised but they’re all lying down. How disappointing…

A shadow passed over you and you recognize the bat-shaped cape. Shit, hopefully, he didn’t see you there. Relfexivelly you roll over to the next sliding door. The deeper you progress into the asylum the more you encounter green glowing graffiti of smiling faces.

Ugh. This is bad.

Thankfully she’s not in Extreme Isolation. Let’s see… section B2…section B2…

Your ears pick up on the sound of quiet, ragged breathing. All night, you heard the blasting of sirens, the thudding of boots, and maddened shouting. This is a new one. You keep listening to the stranger's stumbling steps, accompanied by strange shuffling. He must be leaning up against the wall.

You lower your head and raise your hands in a fighting posture, whoever it is they better not try anything funny. You hear them stumble, followed by a loud thud, then a small pathetic whine. You roll your eyes and round the corner. Whoever it is, they are more likely to threaten rats scuttling around than you, you just quickly knock them up and head to…

The moment your eyes lay on the stranger splayed on the floor, your stomach churns. It’s a man, rather small and frail one if you had to guess by the way the asylum uniform hangs on his body. A mop of matted, black hair sits on top of his head. Whatever skin you can see is either red or purple. You tentatively step closer, almost scared of what horrible things will closer proximity give you. At the sound of your heel clicking against the iron flooring, the stranger shakily pulls his head up, one blood-soaked eye staring at you in horror. He starts writhing uncontrollably, probably trying to shuffle away from you, but his body is so brutalized that all he can do is fumble in place.

“Hey…hey…calm down.” The soothing edge to your tone surprises even you, but it's hard to be intimidating when the man is so beaten up he might as well be a corpse.

Your words do not make him settle down, if anything, they agitate him even further. His movements get more erratic a quiet sobs that almost sound like a ‘no’ fall from his mouth.

You sigh. I don’t have time for this.

Nevertheless, you crouch in front of him, carefully placing your hands under his armpits to at least sit him against the wall. He tries to fight you, but there is no strength behind it. When you hold him so close, you note how bony he truly is.

“What the hell happened to you??” You mumble more to yourself than him, because at this point, you gave up hope of any conversation with him.

You grasp his chin, angling his face to get a good look at him. You try to keep your cool as you look upon a black eye so swollen you doubt he can see something, a broken nose, split lip, and sunken, bloodied mouth.

Your stomach lurches and you have to look away for a second, but then only draws your attention to the scarred arm desperately pawing at you. You notice a bloodied fingertip and upon closer inspection, you realize that this man’s nails were ripped off.

You have to squeeze your eyes for a moment, doing your hardest not to throw up or run away. You’ve seen your fair share of violence as Gotham’s criminal, but you’ve never encountered such blatant brutality.

The man’s ragged breaths bring you back to the present. Without further thinking, you put down the small backpack you brought with you and start pulling out the first aid essentials. You brought those for Selina, in case she’s roughened up from Gotham’s inmates, but whatever state she’s in, you doubt it’s as bad as this guy.

He’s mostly calm when you start wiping off the blood. No, not calm, unresponsive. He’s whole body is slack and he’s looking miles away, as if he’s mentally in a different place. Considering the naked fear in his eyes, it’s probably not a good place.

But you can’t do anything about that. You’re not a trained therapist. Hell, you’re not a trained medic, but here you are, wasting away precious resources on someone you don’t even know. Maybe he even won’t survive this night.

Yet, you continue. You find the reason behind his fall. His ankle is badly twisted. Thankfully you have experience with this type of injury.

“Uh, hey… your ankle is broken. I have to set it back. It’s uh…gonna hurt bad.” You shrug hopelessly because there’s no point in lying to him. Still, he doesn’t respond. You carefully lift his foot and place it against your thigh. You firmly grasp his ankle in one hand and his instep in the other and as quickly as you can, you twist. The bone falls back with a pop and he chokes out a painful wail. He tries to, at least. His scratched throat won’t allow more than broken wheezing. He probably wrecked his vocal cords from screaming and groaning.

You swallow bile in your throat and instead of dwelling on these thoughts, you start hauling him up. As you walk, you decide to drop this dude off somewhere safe, as safe as anywhere on Arkham island could be, and then speed off to Selina. Just a small detour. She spent two months at Arkham, she could wait another hour.

A bunch of criminals drop from the ceiling.

Or two.

Jason wasn’t sure if the girl was real, or if she was just another hallucination born from his broken mind.

This whole day could be just a dream. When the clown didn’t show up for his usual bound of torture, he assumed that the inmates of the asylum would take their turns with him. He had presented a perfect opportunity for anyone to have fun with him, with the injuries he sported from his last torture session, but the inmates he met on his way from his wing of the asylum, just passed him without even a glance. For whatever reason, that made his eyes sting with fresh tears. He’s not worthy of even that after all. Batman left him for dead, and so did Joker. What had kept him from curling up in a ball and waiting for death?

Because he waited for death for months now, and it didn’t come. Only pain pain and more pain on the top of sick games the clown played on him. He hoped that if not freedom he might as well end it on his own ends. Jason will greet the grim reaper halfway.

Instead of a skeleton with a scythe, he met a small girl with cat ears. And now said girl is throwing his barely functioning body onto a nearby hospital bed while Gotham's worst is running towards her with raised fists. Jason had to suppress the involuntary whimper that dragged its way through his throat. Too many times they walked up to him, tied to a chair, itching for a fight. This time, it wasn’t his nose getting smashed in or his head put in a swivel.

He watched as you beat up every single man who approached you, body fluid, and shoulders relaxed. Like a dancer, or a cat. One man that got too close to him got his throat garroted by your whip and thrown away like a rag doll.

A glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention. One of the prisoners feigned unconsciousness while he pulled a knife, drawn to stab you in the back while you were preoccupied with his friends. With the strength he didn’t know he had, Jason tackled the man with a yell. That surprised the ruffian enough to drop a knife, and he threw Jason to the ground like a pesky fly. Jay grunted in pain when his back hit the floor. The man stood over him but before he could do anything, a well-aimed kick pinned him to the wall beside Jason, and then he dropped to the ground.

“Nice work! We’ll make a sidekick out of you yet.”

Your voice was sweet. The amused and carefree lilt was so out of this place. No one has spoken to him like this since the Clown caught him. No one has touched him without intent to hurt him. Yet here, you are, pulling him flush to your soft body and once again walking him somewhere.

“You…real?” He looks at you through the bruising of his eye.

You adjust him against your side as you sneer down at him, “Your knight in black leather, sweetheart.”

That was the last thing Jason heard before he lost consciousness.

Carrying an injured man is fucking hard. Carrying an injured, unconscious man is even harder. You seriously considered dropping him off multiple times, but every time, you decided against it considering how much work it took to get him so far.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The network stopped working a while ago, so you had to rely on orientation signs and a few screens that still worked. You rounded the corner at the utility room. Once you make it there it should be easy. Based on what you remember from extensive studying of Arkham infrastructure, you should appear at the east of the island. You were a few feet from the door when the speakers blasted the voice of that disgusting clown. His bullshit didn’t phase you, the same can’t be said about your companion. The moment Joker’s deranged laughter reaches his ears, he completely freezes, and then starts trembling uncontrollably. It gets so intense he slips out of your grip and slides down the wall.

“Hey! No no no, not now!”

You tried to tug him up, to get him moving. But it was like his soul left his body. His breathing grew more ragged, the trembling got even worse, and a thin sheen of cold sweat coated his entire body. The man was losing control right in front of you, and you were hopeless at what to do.

Sudden frustration rose in your chest. Sel is somewhere out there, maybe hurt, definitely scared, even if she wouldn’t admit it. And you’re losing time with a man who can’t even…

Because the guy decided to lose it right under the corridor lightning, it’s the first time you see his face properly. His head lols down in defeat and that’s when you notice the letter J branded on his cheek. Fresh blood oozing from the wound, the flesh around it red and puckered. Suddenly things clicked into place. What other sick fuck would brand their name upon their victim's flesh? Several actually, at least when it comes to Gotham. But you knew only one whose name started with J. Your frustration went away.

“Listen to me… erm… what’s your name again?” No answer.

You grasp his shaking shoulders and shake him gently.

“You need to knock out of it. We’re almost out.” You try to sound as encouraging as possible, but he’s not moving or saying anything.

Instead of shaking him, you opt for taking his face in your hands.

“Look at me. Breathe.” He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t see you, eyes glazed over, bloody mouth slack-jawed.

You’re looking at this man, this boy, and wonder if he’ll ever get over the horrors he experienced in this place. If there’s even anything you can do to bring him back at this point.

Hopeless about what to do, you resort to the last thing that comes to your mind.

You kiss him.

It’s not fun, with all the blood and missing teeth, but despite it all, you notice his lips are stupidly soft and plump for an Arkham inmate.

At first, nothing happens. The shaking and labored breathing stops. You think he lost consciousness again, but when you pull away, his eyes are clear and present and he’s staring right at you.

“Now. Lets. Go.” You growl firmly as you wipe his blood from the corner of your mouth and the boy is in too much stupor to protest. He lets you take his hand and drag him towards the door.

When the cold, salty air hits your face, you almost collapse and your feet from relief. But at least one of you has to be the stable one. You take him by the shoulders and sit him on one of the concrete blocks lying around.

“Have you any idea how much time I lost because of you?!” You nagged him even as you pulled a water bottle out of your bag and pressed it to his lips.

“If you get out of here, you owe me big time.”

The guy is probably still recovering from that kiss because he was unresponsive again. At least this time you knew he was sane.

You sigh. No point standing there bitching.

“Either hide till sunrise or go to the port and sneak onto the boat. Think you can manage that? Scratch that, you don’t have any choice. I can’t coddle you anymore. I’m not here to be someone’s savior. I mean I am but not… you.”

You turn around if you take a shortcut over the buildings roofs, you should drop down to Selina’s cell unit. Hopefully, she hasn’t met Crock or Clayface on her way out.

Of course, the moment you turn away is the moment he decides to speak.

“Your… name?”

Your name? You do have one of those. The one you use as you scale rooftops and lockpick safes and break out dumb cat burglars.

With a cock of a hip and wink you blow him one last kiss.

“Stray.”

#jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #batman arkham asylum #arkhamverse #stray!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #ak!jason todd x reader #ak!jason todd #arkham knight jason todd #arkham knight jason todd x reader

82 notes · View notes

freesia-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Ch 11: Farmer's Market

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 3.1k

The Town Square Farmer’s Market was a glorious cacophony of colors, sights, and sounds, and nearly everyone on the island crammed into the large cobblestoned area to peruse the various wares for sale, to snack from a plethora of food vendors, and to socialize in groups both large and small. There were breads and baskets, fruits and flowers, and vegetables of all kinds. Local artisans displayed their creations, and various opportunities and upcoming events were advertised at informational tables.

One of these tables was occupied by Echo, who had commandeered Hunter and Crosshair to promote a new class that would soon be offered at his Defense Training Academy. While the school as a whole was a rigorous and in-depth program with the goal of preparing a makeshift military to ensure the island’s safety in case of invasion or attack, he’d received repeated requests for smaller-scale civilian opportunities. After a bit of brainstorming and discussion, the brothers had agreed to offer some one-day workshops for personal self-defense. There was very little crime on the island, mostly consisting of young scallywags trying to exert premature independence by stealing or vandalizing, but Echo firmly believed that there was no such thing as too much precaution, and he wasn’t alone in the sentiment.

It was an uncharacteristically warm day, providing a nice reprieve from the chilly weather of late. Cheerful music drifted across the plaza as people milled about, occasionally stopping at the DTA table to ask questions or enroll. When a sufficient crowd had gathered nearby, Echo announced that a quick demonstration was about to take place, catching the attention of other passersby. He explained the benefits of knowing how to protect yourself against a variety of attacks, then gestured to Hunter and Crosshair for the first scenario.

“I hope this makes you happy,” Hunter muttered, playing the part of the assailant. He was better at hand-to-hand by nature and by engineering, and they both knew it. So it took a particularly bitter amount of humility to intentionally allow himself to be bested by the sniper, although the tables would be turned in the next example.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle,” Crosshair hissed beneath his breath, blocking a sudden swing and twisting Hunter around with an awkwardly bent elbow, pulling him against his front and pausing while Echo narrated. They stayed that way for a moment before breaking apart, preparing for the next encounter. This time it was Hunter who would be defending, and he caught a somewhat malicious glint in Crosshair’s eye as they squared up to each other.

Echo described the setting and approach, then the brothers moved into action. But what was supposed to be a simple surprise attack from behind turned into a swipe of the legs, dropping Hunter on his butt with a less-than-graceful thump. Crosshair was on him in a flash, but he was ready, twisting in a catlike motion to launch his brother backward with a well-placed foot. Springing to his feet, they were on each other immediately, swapping blows and blocks with lightning-fast precision. Perhaps it had been a rough week, or there had been some built-up angst in the silver-haired soldier, but Hunter could sense his frustration rising.

A flashback came unbidden, transporting Hunter to the training facility on Kamino, where he had tried to convince Crosshair to leave the Empire and rejoin them, but their chat had been interrupted by the sudden activation of wave upon wave of droids. They’d grappled then as they did now, with Crosshair’s attacks being messy and scattered whereas Hunter’s were tight and precise. A particularly wide swing gave Hunter an opening, and he charged, wrapping both arms around Crosshair’s waist and bringing them both to the ground, where he pinned him quickly.

“What is wrong with you?” Hunter panted, tufts of hair falling in his face as he looked down at the narrowed eyes of the sniper. But a wry grin curved across Crosshair’s thin face in response, and he jerked his chin toward the crowd. Following his gaze, Hunter noticed that they had attracted quite an audience, all of whom were staring at them in hushed amazement with wide eyes and open mouths.

“Thought we’d give them a real show,” Crosshair muttered, pushing Hunter off as he released him. Echo was glaring daggers at the two, having been left out of this particular plan, but his indignation was short-lived as his table was immediately flooded with awestruck onlookers clamoring to learn how to do that. Hunter rose to his feet, brushing off his shirt and extending a hand to Crosshair, who took it with a satisfied grin, then rested a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Good job.”

“You could have told me,” Hunter huffed.

“What’s the fun in that?” came the provoking reply.

“Hot dang, that was awesome!” a bright voice rang out, distracting the two from their lighthearted stare-down. Luciana had pushed her way through the crowd, clapping her hands together as she beamed at each of them in turn. “Where did you pick up all that?”

“It’s all from Echo’s magnificent teaching,” Crosshair said with affectionate sarcasm.

“Man. I’ve gotta get me some of that!” Luciana giggled. “Those were the fastest moves I’ve ever seen.” Her congenial pat on Crosshair’s shoulder slowly shifted into a slow stroke down his spine that momentarily threw him off his game with a confusing mixture of aversion and flattery. He sniffed disdainfully, repositioning his shoulders before leaving to join Echo at the table without another word. Unaffected, Luci turned to Hunter, rosy cheeks framing her winning smile as she continued, “Want to try me?”

“What?” Hunter hadn’t the slightest idea what she was asking. Surely it wasn’t an invitation to fake an attack on her, after what she’d seen? Perhaps this was more of her flirting? She reached up to carefully remove her colorfully beaded earrings, one at a time, and tucked them into her sling purse before tossing it off to the side. Pulling a stupefied Hunter onto a grassy knoll, she tightened the bandana that was tied around her messy red curls atop her head before squaring up to him.

“Come on,” she said playfully, “Get me.”

“Get you…?” he echoed, still dumbfounded. She was wearing flowy white pants and a small, white crop top with lace sleeves that rested below each shoulder. A golden piercing sparkled in her belly button, accentuated by the low-rise of her pants, and she moved forward, pushing him in the chest in an impish challenge. Hunter’s mouth went dry, hands awkwardly clasping and releasing at his side.

“I can take you, Xyrgio,” Luci goaded, making a kissy face at him. “Unless you’re afraid of messing up your hair?”

“I mean… alright…?” Hunter said, calculating the swiftest way to end it with minimal risk of hurting her… or touching something he shouldn’t. He really didn’t see a point to all this, but she didn’t seem to be inclined to let him off the hook anytime soon. Better to get it over with when it seemed inevitable.

Without warning, he leapt around her side, bringing an arm up to brace it across her collarbone, his entire focus centering on avoiding certain areas and being gentle. But she wasn’t so soft, moving far too quickly as she steadied herself with a foot behind, grabbing Hunter’s forearm with both hands and throwing her torso forward, using a calculated pivot point to catapult him over her shoulders. He landed on his back in front of her, too shocked to be insulted as the wind whooshed out of his lungs, and he stared up at her with an open mouth as she stood over him, upside down in his slightly blurred vision.

“Told ya so!” she chirped happily, giving Crosshair a wiggly-fingered wave as he clapped loudly from the table behind them. “Sorry, was that too much?” she asked, reaching down to grab both Hunter’s hands and attempting to pull him up to his feet. It took him a second to be anything more than dead weight, but he eventually stood up, regaining his composure with a slightly flustered grin.

“Looks like you know a thing or two,” he muttered, rubbing the small of his back. She adjusted her top, scooping her breasts up to restore the perfectly-curved cleavage, and neatly tugged her sleeves to lay gently across each bicep.

“When you’ve been as many places as I have, you’ve got to have a few tricks up your sleeve. Especially in my lines of work,” Luci said, giving him a suggestive wink before moving to cup his cheek. “But don’t worry, I won’t beat you up anytime soon.”

Hunter chuckled absently, still not sure what to do. Fortunately, he was spared from any further humiliation by a sudden hug from Luciana, a pat on the chest, and a chipper goodbye as she darted off to buy fruit, or meet a friend, or whatever she’d said as she disappeared. Not a second had passed before Crosshair appeared with the biggest smug grin Hunter had ever seen, and that was saying a lot.

“Maybe she should be teaching the class…” he remarked, dodging the elbow Hunter threw at him.

“What was I supposed to do with that?” a flustered Hunter asked, more genuine than rhetorical. Crosshair shrugged in response, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and lazily tucking it into the corner of his mouth.

“I would have kicked her ass.”

* * *

Early afternoon found the team packing up, the Market dwindling as everyone’s commerce and conversations finished. Hunter and Echo remained, putting the last of the table supplies into a cart drawn by one of the island fathiers, which were used frequently by the locals for everything from farm labor to recreational riding. The two clones paused by the cart, Echo giving Hunter an unreadable look.

“What?”

“You and Cross alright? That seemed a little heated.”

“I never know,” Hunter sighed. “He’s been a little edgy since he started at the observatory. He said it was just to impress the crowd.”

“Well, it worked…” Echo noted with a dry chuckle.

“Meh. He’s always got something up his–”

“Hello!” Echo interrupted, nodding behind Hunter to Lyra, who had approached from the last stall of the market. A large canvas bag slung over her shoulder was full of flowers and fruits, providing a pop of color against the loose sage green jumpsuit she wore beneath a long beige cardigan.

“Hi,” Lyra said sheepishly, offering a small wave to both. “I was told I had to come see the fighting.”

“Oh really,” Hunter said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “And who told you that?”

“I don’t even know,” she chuckled, “But it sounded like the showdown of the century.”

“It felt like the cheap shot of the century,” Hunter grumbled, hand returning to his back where his spine had hit a particularly hard patch of dirt.

“Aww, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, “You hurt?”

“No.” His answer was almost too fast, and Echo bit back a smirk at the thinly-veiled indignation.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can barely walk after yesterday,” Lyra offered, patting her own backside. She was of course referring to the tumble she’d taken down the beach cliff, landing squarely on her tailbone on the rocky shore beneath, but Echo knew nothing about that, a loud guffaw bursting out of him.

“Oh really?” he said, turning toward Hunter with an overly-dramatic tilt of the head. If looks could kill, he would have been dissolved on the spot, but he was free to waggle his eyebrows and nod enthusiastically. “Sounds like you two have been having some fun!”

Lyra may have been a little awkward, but she was no spring chicken, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, face turning bright red. It was endearing enough to distract Hunter from the eighteen different ways he was considering how to skewer Echo alive, and he shook his head to clear the thoughts as she spluttered.

“Oh gosh, no, not like that, I just meant…” she paused for an incredibly nervous laugh, “I fell when we were hiking, and landed on my butt, and… Geez. Well, nice to meet you.” She finished by burying her entire face in her hands for a moment before lifting it to look at Echo.

“At ease, soldier,” Echo teased, ignoring Hunter’s suddenly sharp look. But Echo had an excuse for the potentially-identifying language that the others didn’t, with the Training Academy and what he’d shared about his own history of being in the private military of some abstract, remote planet. It was Hunter who remained paranoid in comparison, still carrying his lifelong vigilance to protect his family in any situation. Echo offered her his hand, which she shook as weakly as she smiled, “The name’s Echo. And you must be Lyra.”

“Yes. Echo. Hi,” she offered. “Hunter and I are just friends,” she blurted out, causing Echo to do his best to stifle another laugh. The phrase created an odd sensation for Hunter, but he pushed the thoughts away.

“Yes. I’ve heard,” Echo nodded. “It’s good. Hunter could use some friends.” The aforementioned (ex) Sergeant took advantage of Lyra’s distraction as she shifted her canvas bag from one shoulder to the other to swiftly stick an elbow in Echo’s ribs, dropping his arm back to his side as Lyra straightened and nodded to both of them.

“Well I’ll add this to my list of wildly successful introductions,” she said with a self-effacing sarcasm that brought a little grin to Echo’s face. “And I’ll see you both soon, perhaps?”

“At the first self-defense class, right?” Echo said in earnest. “It could be quite useful, you know. Especially hanging out with these types.” He jerked his head in Hunter’s direction. “Although he did get thrown by a girl earlier so maybe it would be unnecessary…”

“Ooohhhh-kay. Thanks Echo. Lyra, you’ve met him. Echo, this is Lyra. Both of you, nice to meet each other… All that... Time to go,” Hunter burst out, having had as much as he could take of Echo’s merciless ribbing. The mischievous brother and Lyra shared a smile and wave as Hunter gently took her by the elbow, steering her back toward The Market, which was almost entirely cleared by that point. “Sorry. He’s an idiot,” he muttered, letting go of her arm quickly as though just realizing he was touching it.

“It’s alright,” she chuckled, “I kinda set him up for that.”

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed, giving her a warm glance before returning his eyes to the path ahead. “He doesn’t need much ammunition to take it and run.”

“He sounds like fun,” she said sincerely. Then, more quietly, “It seems nice to be surrounded by family.” There was a wistfulness to her tone, and a heaviness settled on her shoulders that Hunter wanted to ask about. But her body language was clearly closed, so he didn’t press.

“Most of the time,” he quipped.

They shared a smile, then continued walking toward the business district called The Cobbles, weaving their way through the tall structures of town on the wide paths that zig-zagged down the side of the hill. It was somewhat steep at times, but the locals had built everything cleverly into the side of the land, taking advantage of the gentler slopes and trees to nestle each home and apartment building along the trails. The Town Square wasn’t much higher than The Cobbles, since both made up the relative center of the village, and they were passing the central garden in about fifteen minutes. It was a small, stone-walled community area full of flowers, vegetables, herbs, and a few trees, with a large fountain in the middle that contributed a soothing sound.

Lyra paused at the gate, wrapping both hands around the strap of her bag. Hunter followed suit, glancing at her in curiosity as he’d assumed she’d either join him to his butcher shop or continue past The Cobbles to her cottage.

“I bought some flower bulbs today, mostly for my garden, but I thought a few would be a nice addition here,” she explained.

“Got it,” Hunter nodded, absently running a hand over his dark, tousled hair. He’d left his bandana behind him for the most part, except on occasion, and with Omega’s insistence had sometimes opted for a man bun atop his head, with scattered pieces still falling around his neck and shoulders. “Uhh, you going to the lunar festival?”

“Yeah, for a little while at least. It’s… quite the party…” she said, clearly conveying her distaste. It wasn’t judgmental or dismissive, just an acknowledgment of something they both shared – an aversion to excessively loud, raucous situations with large crowds and lots going on. “You?”

“We’ll all be there.”

“Okay, well if I see you, there’s one particular food stand with goodies from Plata that you absolutely have to try. If you want.”

“Deal.”

She rummaged in her bag, seeking the bulbs she’d mentioned, and it seemed as though neither of them could bring themselves to walk away. Hunter shifted his weight, tucking a hand into his pocket, and then finally took a deep breath, giving her one last smile and nod, and turned toward his shop.

“Oh, Hunter?” she said softly. The way she made his name sound surprised him through and through, sending a wave of warmth and tingles through him with its smoothness and the slight grit in her voice. He swung around to face her again with an inquisitive look.

“Yeah?”

“You got thrown by a girl?” She said it so simply and innocently that he couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before lifting his eyes to the sky.

“Yeah. The bartender from the tiki bar on the beach… uh… She wanted me to try to attack her, or something… Because Echo was advertising his classes and Crosshair and I were displaying some techniques.. And I… Well, she… She was insisting, and I didn’t…” His increasingly flustered attempt to explain was as frustrating to him as it was adorable to her. “I was trying to be gentle and careful and… well, she wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyra said, lips pressed together somewhere between a smile and a smirk.

“I should have known better,” he admitted dryly.

“Bah,” she shook her head, her usual warm self. “Women can be treacherous.” With a grin and wave, they went their separate ways.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

Join the tag list via the discord server link or filling out my form.

@lightwise @have-a-hiddles @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

@solstraalaa @skellymom @photogirl894 @youreababboon @anything-forourmoony

@reader6898 @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo

@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78 @hunter-lvr

@baddest-batchers @yunggoblin @sweeticedtea @imperfectxprincess @ivyyyyy

@callsign-denmark @leotawrites

58 notes · View notes

infinitefolklore · 8 months ago

Text

Fanfic Master Post

*request a fic through Ask Me Anything*

Elucien

In The Darkness Before the Dawn, Leave a Light On

About: Elain is sent to the Mortal Lands to live with Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa to work on her Seer abilities, find a way to break Vassa's curse, and try to discover information about Koschei. Elain and Lucien are forced to live and work together, and get to know one another along the way.

Status: In Progress

Tropes/Tags: Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining, Lust, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Canon Compliant

A Little Bit of Light Reading

About: Elain is all alone at the Town House and Lucien makes a surprise appearance. They decide to "explore the mating bond," but for how long can they keep it a secret? And what happens when the Inner Circle starts meddling in their business? Note: This fic became slightly AU towards the end!

Status: Complete; 43 Chapters; 120,896 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Dirty Jokes, Secret Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Drama, Banter, Library Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Shenanigans, Sneaking Around, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Fluff without Plot, Drama Llama, Fist Fights, Jealousy, Love Triangles

Little Dove

About: Human!Elain and Fox!Lucien. This is a slight canon divergence deleted scene. After Feyre is taken to Spring Court, Tamlin sends Lucien to go check on the Archeron Estate. Lucien finds Elain all alone and offers her some company. Elain discusses her upcoming betrothal to Graysen, and Lucien tries to convince her to change her mind.

Status: Complete; One Shot; 10,895 words

Tropes/Tags: Alternate Canon, Deleted Scenes, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, One Shot, Fox Mask Lucien, Flirtatious Rake Lucien, Inexperienced Elain, Flirting

Healer in the Night

About: Lucien has been away on the continent on a mission. No one has heard from him in over two months. Elain is worried. On a dark and stromy night, he shows up bloody on her doorstep. Elain nurses him back to health.

Status: Complete; 5 Chapters; 12,750 words

Tropes/Tags: Healing, Injury, Injury Recovery, Angst, Fluff, Elain takes care of Lucien, Lucien is a gentleman, And a flirt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mating Bond, Eventual Smut, because everyone convinces me to write smut

Meet Me On The Battlefield

About: Lucien is captured by Koschei and our poor fox boy doesn't think anyone is coming to save him. He's wrong.

Status: Complete; 6 Chapters; 12,022 words

Tropes/Tags: Dungeon, Prison, Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Mention of torture, blood and injuries, don't worry this will have a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Final Battle, Lucien is hopeless, Then he changes his mind, I don't want to give too much away in the tags, Lucien Vanserra-centric

Four Minutes

About: The Night Court attends a party in Dawn Court. Lucien finds out some information and turns into an absolute flirt. There's ballroom dancing, except hot. Elain can barely contain herself.

Status: Complete; 4 Chapters; 12,425 words

Tropes/Tags: Ballroom Dancing, Forced Proximity, Regency Romance, Lucien is a flirt, hot and bothered, Lust, Longing, Drinking, alcohol use, Gossip, Song Lyrics, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Teasing, Smut Obviously

Solstice Traditions

About: Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

Status: Complete; 3 Chapters; 16,198 words

Tropes/Tags: Winter Solstice, holiday fluff, Gift Exchange, Cute, Fluff, Mating Bond, Smut, Honestly was not planning smut but you all asked for it, absolute filth, Elain wears lingerie

Gwynriel

Beautiful Can't Begin To Describe You

About: Azriel and Gwyn take a bath together.

Status: Complete; 1 Chapter; 5,590 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Bathroom Sex, Bubble Bath

ENJOY <333

92 notes · View notes

uniquexusposts · 8 months ago

Text

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fan fiction, fluff Story type: novel Part: 3/? Word count: 1510 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 1. A New Role, A Nervous Start

Matilde entered the meeting room with an apologetic look on her face. She was holding her laptop and notebook under her arm, having a cup of tea in her other hand. "I'm sorry, I walked to the wrong truck," she said and sat down.

"No worries."

As the team principal settled behind her laptop, the other people in her team got ready for the pre-race debrief. They all were eager to discuss the strategy for the upcoming race, the first race, but also talk about track limits, and other information. Yesterday, after qualifying, they talked about the outcomes and the possible strategy for today. Today, it was time to finalise it.

It was the first time Matilde was about to witness the pre-race briefing at her new team. She had been at the briefing yesterday and the day before, but this was different. She still had to figure out how the briefings at Ferrari worked. Matilde was nervous; what could she expect later today? She decided to let the team lead the briefing, since it was them who had to lead their drivers through the race.

"Just like last year, we are considering a two-stop strategy with a soft-hard-hard combination for plan A," Carlos Galbally, Head of Tyre Science, announced after discussing other key points.

Everyone nodded in agreement; they agreed on this yesterday, and it seemed like the right tyre strategy. However, Matilde looked doubtful, keeping her opinion to herself. She listened to the other plans, but none of them felt right to her.

"Do we have other options we are looking at?" Matilde then asked out of curiosity.

The room fell into a brief silence as everyone pondered the options. Matilde could sense the tension, it was like she had said something out of place or that was too personal.

"Just asking," she added, attempting to ease the atmosphere with a soft smile.

"At the moment, not really. Why?" Xavi, the engineer of Charles Leclerc, asked.

"The data shows that the C3 has shown a strong pace," Matilde said. "I suggest we do soft-soft-hard. Gain a safe advantage, perhaps even perform an under or overcut and gain a few spots."

Ravin Jain, Strategy Director, looked at the only woman in the room. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted, but before he could continue, he got interrupted.

"The softs may have shown a strong pace, but they won't last long in these higher temperatures," Charles said, leaning forward. He was confident in understanding how the car felt with different tyres.

Matilde nodded, acknowledging his point. "They won't last long indeed, but they are great to push and gain some positions," she responded. "We expect everyone to start on softs, except Magnussen, and we have seen everyone fly away. If you get the softs in the second stint and push even more, the second stop may be free. And it brings you to the front of the field."

"The hards allow us to postpone the pit stops."

"But you have to stop eventually whether you have softs or hards under your car," Matilde brought in.

Charles sighed and looked at his laptop screen, visibly frustrated by the discussion. "The softs won't last long. It's great to start with them, but the hards give us more time," he said. You should know that, he thought. Charles looked up, gazing into her eyes.

Eyes shot from Charles to Matilde. She felt a hint of dislike in his gaze. "I suggest to pit around lap 15 for softs and then pit around lap 35 for hards to finish it. You both have shown that you can extend your stints on softs to twenty-five laps. I believe we can build a gap early on and keep it growing after the first pit stop."

It became silent. Both the Strategy Director and Head of Tyre Science were considering both approaches, weighing the risks and benefits of each strategy.

Charles didn't hesitate to reply to the suggestion. "I will stick to plan A. I know this track better than anyone, and I'll make the call if I sense an opportunity."

Matilde wished she could protest his decision, but she knew she couldn't change his mind because the entire team stood behind the plans. Carlos agreed with Charles, admitting he preferred the first strategy better.

"Then we will go for those plans. Thank you for your input," Matilde then said. "But if we see an opportunity to make a change, we will go for it. Whether you sit in the car or not, we will go for the opportunity," she said, determined to start with a podium this season.

With the strategy decided, the briefing continued, discussing various other aspects of the race. Matilde made sure to hear everyone's input and ensured that they felt valued and motivated.

The briefing ended, and all the staff left, heading to their respective duties. Matilde made some quick notes for herself and looked in front of her, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and emotions. It felt so unnatural to her to lead a team instead of being part of the plan. She had to think of so many other things now. It felt unnatural, but also cool.

Matilde got up and left the room, ready to attend media meetings. All eyes were on her, her first race as principal. During the interviews, she was asked about her thoughts on the race and the results she expected. Everyone remembered the disappointing results of last year like it was yesterday. Matilde refused to promise anything, but she would try and do her best to get the best possible results. She told the media that she was excited to see the race and that she was looking forward to seeing what her team could do with her as principal for a week.

After some time, every car lined up on the grid. Matilde finished up the last interview and made her way to the grid. At first, she walked to one of the red cars in the third position. Charles was standing with his engineers, going over some last-minute details. As she approached them, she wondered what she had to do here. What was Christian always doing on the grid? When she was a strategist, she sat behind in the garage, observing the footage. Now she was facing cameras and a lot of people. Matilde put on a professional smile.

"Good luck, Charles," Matilde said and smiled warmly.

She guessed she could wish her drivers all the best.

"Thank you," Charles replied, his eyes avoiding hers.

Mathile looked at the engineers and gave them a nod before walking over to the other side of the track: P4 and one of the other red cars. "Good luck, Carlos," she said.

Carlos looked gratefully at her. "Thanks, Matilde," he said.

When she wanted to walk back towards the garages, she got stopped by Martin Brundle. A polite smile came on her face.

"How are you holding up, Matilde?"

"I'm pretty nervous," she replied. "It is the first time in over a year since I am back on the grid, and of course, the new role at Ferrari."

"How do you think it will go?"

"Realistically, it won't be a winning race. Of course, we all have hope, but Red Bull is just immensely strong. We have a new team, we have to see if it all works out and how we react to it. But I think we will get a decent race, we are well prepared, and we have the pace," she replied.

Brundle smiled and nodded. "How does it feel to see your old mates work in a different team?"

"Weird," was her first response. "I must admit, I walked to the wrong garage this morning when I was in my own mind," she laughed. "And seeing them work, I almost want to go over and stir into the conversation. But those are habits that need to wear out. I am excited to start this new chapter and fight against them."

He nodded again. "Thank you. And good luck."

"Thank you," Matilde replied and briefly looked at her assistant next to her. Galileo looked satisfied.

As the drivers got ready to step into their cars, Matilde walked back towards the Ferrari garage. She still observed the mechanics performing their final checks on the screens in the garage. It was a tough first week. She got along with Carlos pretty well, but she knew she had to earn Charles' respect, and it wouldn't be an easy task. The team reacted well to her, but it had only been a week. The media and some fans weren't sure about this decision. Matilde had encountered similar challenges before in a male-dominated sport, but this felt different.

Matilde sat down at the pit wall, taking the middle seat. This was new to her, but a dream came true. The formation lap came to an end, and the cars lined up. She took a deep breath and felt her heart race in her chest as the lights popped up one by one. The lights went out, and the race began.

Next chapter

64 notes · View notes

waywardxrhea · 3 months ago

Text

Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 10

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader

installment list / previous chapter / next chapter

word count: 9,844

content: anxiety, Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Fred being a cheeky git, drinking, some slightly suggestive moments between Reader and George, Unforgivable Curse use, and then it just gets sad… whoops?

The last week of July rolled around and anxiety filled the forefront of your mind. Not even George’s most potent calming draught seemed to be working to bring your nerves down for more than thirty minutes at a time. The week before you had overheard Fred and George discussing something in hushed whispers as you ambled into the dining area for breakfast at their flat. Your presence was met with instant silence and George’s worried eyes landed on you, flicking down to the ring on your left hand before he stood up and pulled you into his embrace. Your eyebrows furrowed together before you had asked, “What’s going on?”

George sighed. “Can’t give details, it’s about a mission for the Order, top-secret,” he informed you as he pulled you closer.

“Why do I feel like this is something super dangerous?” you asked quietly, your voice muffled in George’s chest. You were met with silence and that threw your mind into a slight panic, so you reiterated urgently, “George?”

He looked over your head to Fred who nodded solemnly, so George told you, “It is. More risky than any other mission we’ve taken… There’s a brilliant plan in place but it’s dangerous. But that danger is something we’re willing to risk.”

“Of course…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion that you tried to hide from the twins. It wasn’t your place to question what the Order of the Phoenix did nor to try and deter George from participating in a mission for your own peace of mind. It was something you had come to accept during your time together. Not that these increasingly dangerous missions still didn’t scare you though.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he mumbled into your hair, giving you the time he knew you needed to gather yourself before pulling away from the embrace. “Fred’s about to head out to get potion ingredients for the shop but in the meantime would you like to go to Regent’s Park? Try and get our minds off of it? We’ve never been to the cafe in the morning and I’ve always wanted to try their breakfast menu.”

“That would be nice,” you told him quietly, your voice as steady as it was going to get for now.

So you both made your way out of Diagon Alley and into Muggle London to head to your favourite date spot. After tea and breakfast pastries, you took a stroll hand-in-hand through the park, basking in the warm summer air. You played a people-watching game that you always played with your parents when you were younger and you were fully convinced that George somehow cheated at. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth as you told him, “You’ve got to be reading their minds!” This statement was prompted when a stressed out looking man stalked by on his phone shouting about getting let go from his job.

“I’d have to be a highly skilled occlumens in order to do that, which I can assure you I’m not!” George told you with a chuckle as he pulled you closer into his embrace and tucked an extendable ear away into his trouser pocket.

You two spent the rest of the free afternoon trying to stave away worries about the upcoming mission, but that happiness only lasted so long.

Because of the secrecy of the upcoming mission, it was agreed upon that every day at some point before nightfall George would send you an owl telling you about his day, and the day that he did not send one would indicate that he was away on business for the Order. That night came on July 27th, mere days before Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

While you were eating dinner with your parents and trying not to show them your worry, because of course you couldn’t tell them why you were worried, the news on the telly in the sitting area rang out for a special broadcast. “What’s going on?” your mum asked, her eyebrows furrowing together as she craned her head to see the screen.

“Breaking news,” rang out the female reporter’s voice, “there have been multiple downed power lines on the outskirts of Surrey this evening. The outages caused by this incident have affected most of Surrey and are expected to affect some of the greater London area as well. The cause of the damage seems to be a freak lightning storm, and witnesses say that it left just as quickly as it came. We have reached out to the electric company but have no response back so far. We will keep you updated on when power may be restored.”

“You know what they need to do? Find a way to make those towers smaller so they aren’t so easy to topple and take out a whole city’s power,” your dad said as he speared a piece of his meat onto his fork.

“Well if they did that then that means a lot more wires and towers in the individual cities. That would take up a lot more space and make it more dangerous,” your mum countered thoughtfully. “You know how kids are these days, they’ll do nearly anything on a dare.”

“What do you think?” your dad asked as he looked toward you. He noticed that you had a worried look on your face as you pushed your food around your plate. When he didn’t get a response, he called out your name in the form of a question to get your attention.

“You okay sweetheart?” your mum asked, her eyes softening as she looked at your barely touched plate.

“Just stressed…” you fibbed, sighing quietly as you put your fork down.

“About?”

“Lots of things…” you replied vaguely. You reached down to scratch behind one of the cats’ ears and added, “There’s just a lot I’ve got going on right now…”

Your mum smiled sympathetically and said, “Well if you aren’t hungry right now we can save your food for later. Why don’t you practise how you’re going to do everyone’s makeup for the wedding on me? That’ll get your mind off of whatever’s bothering you, love.”

“Sounds great,” you replied, forcing a small smile on your lips.

As you made your way to your room, you tried to push aside your worry about what the Order was getting up to that likely caused that power outage… You didn’t know any details about the mission, but you could piece together things based on what you knew of the war going on. Surrey was where Harry lived, and you knew that he was basically the centre of this war. So whatever the mission was, it likely had to do with him and getting him out of some sort of trouble. What sort of danger were they in though? You knew that there had been a mass breakout from Azkaban recently and likely there were more Death Eaters than ever involved. Who all would be there to protect the younger adults? Did the Order teach the twins defensive magic that George hasn’t had to use around you? Did George arm himself with some of the defensive products from the shop?

These questions and many, many more ran through your head as you gathered all of your makeup supplies and began to clean the brushes and sponges to use on your mother. Your mum could tell there was something weighing on you, but knew that sometimes the best way for you to get out feelings was to sing. So while you got ready, she grabbed a bluetooth speaker from her room and hooked her phone up to it. She opened a playlist that had all your favourite songs on it, from heartfelt pop anthems to screaming metal to musical numbers you loved to belt and dream of singing on stage.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lit up when you heard the first notes of Defying Gravity playing as you sat across from your mother, so you whispered, “Thank you, Mum,” as you got started. You willed away your anxious thoughts as your hands steadily worked on how you would be doing Ginny’s makeup for the wedding and let your stress out via belting the words to every song on the playlist with your mum. Once you were both laughing and singing to Sincerely, Me from Dear Evan Hansen the stress had started to melt away and was only a thought in the back of your mind as you lost yourself in the music.

“Please don’t freak out…” Fred told you urgently as he guided you through the now nicely tended to garden of the Burrow where George was. Your fiance was apparently ‘still too weak’ to apparate to get you for Harry’s Birthday dinner which was coming up in a few hours time. It took quite a bit of convincing to get Fred to tell you what happened during the mission for the Order, but when he did, your blood had run completely cold.

“Fred, you just told me that George’s ear was cursed off with dark bloody magic and you expect me to act like everything’s normal?” you asked with a bit of snip in your tone.

“I mean he sure is,” he replied as he pointed to the backyard area where a small group of young adults were flying on brooms, George taking his position as Beater as they played a game of Quidditch. “Oi! I thought I said no Quidditch til I got back!” Fred shouted.

“Well when someone accidentally lets out the Bludgers you can’t wait anymore,” George said with a broad smile on his face as he skidded to a stop on his broom beside you and Fred. “Speaking of-” he added, a grunt of effort leaving his chest as he hit the incoming ball back toward the field of Weasleys and friends.

“You scared the hell out of me!” you scolded George as you threw your arms around him the instant the Bludger was gone. George tossed Fred the bat and handed over his broom for the time being and motioned for him to take his place in the game as you continued your anxious rant into his chest. “I haven’t heard from you in days! For all I know you were dead after that mission! I was worried sick!” You took a breath to steady yourself before finishing, “Then I’m getting ready to go for a walk to clear my head and Fred calls for me from our Apparition spot saying that you lost a bloody ear?! What happened? Why didn’t you contact me?”

“I’m sorry, darling, I wanted to contact you, I really did, but everyone was worried about mail getting intercepted,” George muttered into your hair as he ran his hand up and down your back to comfort you. He sighed before telling you, “The Death Eaters and You-Know-Who somehow knew details about the mission, so they’ve been trying to figure out who leaked the information. Since I had been sending you letters every day besides the day of...certain people suspect someone was watching either the shop or your place and put two and two together…”

“I’m so sorry, George, I should never have suggested it-” you quickly apologised, but stopped short when you processed the statement. “Wait…you said someone might have been watching my house…?”

“That isn’t for sure, just a theory that’s been thrown around,” George assured you. He quickly changed the subject, saying, “As for what happened, I was disguised as Harry via Polyjuice Potion and flying with Remus to a safe house. You see, the plan was to have seven Harry’s so they didn’t know who the real one was. But, like I mentioned, the Death Eaters got the jump on us and Snape cursed my ear off with some dark magic… Remus and Dad keep telling me that it was an accident to make it look like he’s the real deal to the other Death Eaters, but…”

“Gosh I’m so sorry, love…” you whispered as you pulled away finally to examine George’s face and the place where his ear used to be. It looked good all things considered, surely due to some healing spells on Mrs. Weasley’s part. You smiled softly at him and said, “Still as handsome as ever,” before cupping his face and gently kissing him.

When you pulled away, George smirked before saying, “Well, hey, now you’ll for sure be able to tell me and Fred apart.”

“That was one time!!” you chastised as you laughed and gently punched his shoulder. “It was early in the morning and I was still half asleep!”

“Still happened,” George teased as he took your hand and guided you to the yard where the Quidditch game was taking place.

As George grabbed another broom from the small equipment shed, he pointed to a man on one of the brooms zooming past and said, “That’s Charlie, the last brother you’ve yet to meet.”

“He’s the one who works with dragons right?” you asked as he passed by again in search of the Golden Snitch.

His broom stopped in its tracks and he turned toward the two of you. He landed before asking, “I heard someone mention dragons?” A wide grin fell onto his face as his eyes landed on you. “You must be George’s girl! I’ve heard a lot about you! You’re a Muggle, yeah?”

You quickly looked to George who told you, “The members of the Order who are going to be here for the wedding know, don’t worry, they’ve all been sworn to secrecy.”

With that reassurance, you nodded to Charlie and told him, “Then yes, that’s me, it’s nice to meet you. I must say, working with dragons seems like a dangerous job!”

“Oh it is, but it’s all worth it! They can be some of the most gorgeous creatures in the world, especially the Opaleyes!” Charlie gushed, his eyes lighting up as he began to talk about his job.

Something behind him caught your eye at that moment, so you cocked your head before pointing and saying, “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for that?” It was the Golden Snitch right behind him!

“Right!” Charlie said as he remounted his broom and started after the ball, Harry Potter right on his tail as they shot off across the property.

“Looks like they could use my help,” George said as he mounted his newly acquired broom. He kissed your cheek before he took off, telling you to enjoy the game.

Later that evening it was nearing time for dinner to begin. After the Quidditch game ended, you were introduced to one of the Aurors who was a member of the Order: Tonks, who was newly married to Remus. You were absolutely astounded at her ability to change her appearance at will, and the young woman spent the better portion of an hour entertaining you and Ginny with the ability. Right now though, as you watched Fred and George enchant purple lanterns to float above the tables, a larger-than-life man with a shaggy beard and equally tousled hair ambled into the Burrow garden. Seeing as you were the only one he didn’t recognize, the man came up to you and gently shook your hand as he said, “I don’ think I’ve seen ya aroun’ here before! I’m Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid!”

You smiled up at the man who looked at least half giant, gave him your name, and said, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“I see you’ve met my lovely girlfriend, Hagrid!” George said cheerfully as he made an appearance beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Girlfrien’ eh? I hope yer keepin’ this one in line young lady, he’s always been a han’ful, ‘specially when he was in school!” Hagrid said with a warm chuckle.

“I do my best,” you said with a laugh and affectionate look in George’s direction.

“Why don’t I show you where Fred and I have been working on drinks? We got something just for you,” George told the man who nodded before they walked off to where Fred had what was practically a barrel that looked like it was filled with wine.

Without George’s company, you wandered over to where Ginny and Hermione were chatting and smiled in greeting. When you approached, you heard Ginny saying, “She’s been on my case all day, I only escaped because she decided to cut Charlie’s hair…”

“I’m sure she’s just stressed,” Hermione said to Ginny before greeting you brightly.

You greeted her back before asking Ginny, “Your mum?”

“Yeah, she’s been on one today…”

“Hence why I’ve stayed outside at a respectful distance,” you said with a quiet laugh. “After what George told me about the suspicions about his letters to me, I’m sure I’m not in her good graces right now…”

Before anyone could respond to the comment, you all heard Mrs. Weasley announce, “I think we better get started without Arthur, he must have been caught up at - Oh!”

What stunned her into silence was a streak of blue light that flew across the garden and into the middle of the dinner tables. The light turned into a bright silver weasel that stood tall and spoke in Mr. Weasley’s voice, saying, “Minister of Magic coming with me.”

Fear once again consumed your entire being, just like it did on Christmas when the Minister visited with Percy. The same sort of fear seemed to strike Remus and Tonks, you noticed, as the pair of them quickly took off and disapparated upon hearing the news, throwing a quick apology in Harry’s direction. Hermione looked over when she saw you tense up and noticed that your eyes were wide and searching for George through the crowded yard.

Thinking quickly, Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped it against your shoulder. When she did, you felt as though an egg had been cracked over your head, the sensation travelling down from the top of your head all the way to your toes. When you looked down you let out a gasp because you couldn't really see your legs as they had turned the exact shade and texture of the ground you were standing on. “Stay here,” Hermione whispered as she grabbed Ginny by the forearm and walked toward the table, wanting all attention away from where you stood camouflaged into your surroundings.

At your distance from the table, you couldn’t hear what the Minister was saying once he made his appearance with Mr. Weasley. You felt the slightest bit of relief though when he was taken into the sitting room of the Burrow by Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Once he was inside and distracted, George and Ginny walked over, the former looking in the general direction of you as he said, “Come with me.”

Silently, you grabbed George’s arm and he hurried you past the table filled with party guests, walking you to the larger shed that you remembered him telling you once held a flying Ford Anglia. Once safely inside, George took out his wand and mumbled, “Finite incantatem.” When you were revealed to his eyes, he smiled softly and pulled you into his arms before saying, “Stay in here. I’ll come get you as soon as he leaves.” You silently nodded as he turned back toward the door and slipped out.

When the door shut behind him was when you finally looked around at the contents of the shed. You were surprised to see that you actually recognized many of the trinkets lying around. It looked like a Muggle workshop more than anything. This must have been where Mr. Weasley worked on his passion projects away from Mrs. Weasley’s prying eyes. As you turned toward the middle of the space you saw a worse for wear motorbike that had a barely hanging on side car attached to it. For a few minutes, you ran your fingers along the surface, admiring the older style of bike. It was something your parents would own, and that made you smile.

“You like it?” came a voice from behind you. You jumped and your eyes went wide as you turned to see George and Mr. Weasley stood in the doorway of the shed, the latter with his hands up apologetically for not announcing his presence.

“It’s a beautiful bike,” you told him once you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that it was just them.

“It’s magically enchanted, you know? An old friend spruced it up, but now I’ve come to be in possession of it.” Mr. Weasley’s eyes lit up as he added, “Your parents own one of these don’t they? Do you know how they work? I would love to know how the brakes function!”

You smiled as you said, “Now motorbikes I know about. I’m still working on the aeroplane thing, that one’s still a sort of mystery to me.” Turning your attention back to the bike in front of you, you had Mr. Weasley and George's attention. You pointed to each part as best you could as you told them, “So when you’re in motion and want to stop, you pull on this handle here. There’s a chamber here that has fluid in it that compresses when you pull on it. The fluid travels to the pistons down here which in turn pushes on the brake pads and causes the bike to stop.”

“Absolutely brilliant!” Mr. Weasley said with a gleeful clap and a sparkle in his eyes as he followed the trail of your finger down to the corresponding parts on the bike. When he was done looking, he straightened up and said, “I think we should be getting back to dinner now that the Minister has gone. Molly wouldn’t be happy if we stayed in here discussing the bike… Which she doesn’t know I have, so if we could keep that between us.”

“My lips are sealed,” you told him with a nod as George took your hand and the three of you joined the table to finally celebrate Harry’s birthday dinner.

Later, a few people including you, George, Fred, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all laying out in the garden on blankets just looking up at the stars. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be in deep conversation while you couldn’t help but giggling as you snuggled into George’s side with possibly one too many glasses of wine in your system. You ran a finger along George’s jaw as you said, “You know…you’re like fine art, George. Just like Van Gogh!”

“Who?” George asked with a chuckle as he pulled you close.

“He’s a Muggle artist who was famous for cutting his ear off,” came Hermione’s voice as she temporarily abandoned her conversation. “He painted some of the most beautiful art pieces in Muggle history.”

“I wonder if he was a wizard and we just didn’t know it…” you pondered out loud.

“I don’t believe so, but you’ll never guess who was!” Hermione told you.

You sat up upon hearing the excitement in her voice and asked with wide eyes, “Who?”

“Shakespeare!” she replied enthusiastically. “There’s always been those theories that the name William Shakespeare was just a single name for various artists to write under and that’s how he was able to write so many plays, but what really happened was that he was a wizard with what’s called a Time Turner. It can take you back in time! I used one in year three at Hogwarts to take extra classes, and I did a ton of research before I was allowed to use it.” As she rambled these facts out, you could tell it was something she always wanted to talk about but didn’t have anyone to talk about it with. So you listened with rapt attention as she finished with, “Turns out Shakespeare had one and just used it to spend more time writing and perfecting his plays which is how he has so many works credited to him!”

Your mouth opened in shock at the news and you breathed out in astonishment, “The man’s a bloody genius…”

With a content sigh and a smile on your face in response to the new information, you began drunkenly telling George all about your favourite Shakespeare plays and some of the roles you’ve had when you did more stage acting than musicals. Your ramblings began to take up most of the night, and even though he was tired, George didn’t mind staying up listening to you talk about what you were passionate about.

Eventually both of you fell asleep on the blanket you were on, and Mrs. Weasley came outside to get you both. When she saw how peacefully you were in each other’s arms though, she smiled and opted to wave her wand and conjure up a couple of pillows and blankets for the two of you. She cast an enchantment to protect you both from the elements before making her way back into the house for the night.

The next morning rolled around, and while the Weasley men were outside helping set up the tent for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, you were inside assisting with makeup. “You are really good at this!” Hermione told you as she inspected her full face of makeup in the mirror Mrs. Weasley had summoned into the sitting room.

“Thank you,” you told her with a smile. As Hermione waved her wand to clean off the makeup brushes and sponges before they were to be used on Ginny, you said, “A lot of the younger girls in my theatre program in secondary school never learned how to do their makeup, so I got plenty of practice.”

“Just make sure they won’t outshine the bride!” came the thick French accent of Madame Delacour as she floated into the room with Fleur who wore a silk robe and a delicate smile on her lips.

“Of course!” you replied as you began working on Ginny’s makeup. “I am sure Fleur will be outshining everyone here! It is her big day after all!”

“As long as there is no unexpected guests I will be ‘appy,” Fleur said with a slight bitter undertone in her voice as she waved her wand and summoned a box of jewellery to her hand. She examined the contents before saying, “Let’s go back to the room, I would like some privacy to get ready.”

“Did you want me to do your makeup Fleur?” you asked off-handedly as you concentrated on Ginny’s eye makeup.

As Madame Delacour left earshot, Fleur tsked before telling you, “I will be ‘aving my makeup done with magic, thank you very much.” Your mouth opened slightly in shock at the statement before you quickly closed it and ducked your head to hide the red tinting your cheeks as you searched for the next bit of makeup you needed for Ginny.

Was it Fleur who was accusing George’s letters of being the information leak? Up until now you had thought it was Mrs. Weasley, but after the bite that Fleur spoke with, you weren't sure anymore.

Sensing the tension in the air, Ginny scoffed and said, “Don’t worry about her…”

You blew out an anxious breath before telling her, “Yeah…”

Hermione offered a small smile as she said, “She’s probably just stressed, it’s only one of the biggest days of her life. We all say things when we’re stressed.”

“Right…” you agreed, forcing a smile onto your lips as you finished Ginny’s makeup quickly.

“All right, now that the girls are done, are you ready, dear? Like we discussed?” Mrs. Weasley asked you as she pulled out her wand.

“Yes ma’am,” you replied as you closed your eyes to let Mrs. Weasley perform what small transfigurations she needed to in order to disguise your true identity.

“Remind me again why she’s got to be disguised?” Ginny asked as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. “She and George are engaged, isn’t that enough for him to have legally revealed to her that he’s a wizard?”

Hermione was the one to answer her, saying, “Unfortunately with how the Ministry’s been acting lately, they’re likely following every law to a T, and that means that the only reason a wizard should expose the truth about the wizarding world to a Muggle would be if they were married or if she was with his child.”

“And seeing how they aren’t married and she isn’t pregnant, I’d rather be safe than sorry,” Mrs. Weasley said as she finished up the transfigurations that shrunk your nose as well as changed your hair and eye colour.

As you looked into the mirror insecurely at this different version of yourself, the door behind you opened and in walked an older woman, shouting about having a tiara for the bride. “Aunt Muriel. Just keep your head down…” Ginny told you. You simply nodded and began sifting through your makeup bag to grab what you needed for yourself.

“Molly dear, what’s this I heard outside about George dating a Muggle? Surely these old ears misheard that!” She waved the box in her hand around as she added, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that one’s always been trouble! If they get married don’t bother inviting me, not just because I don’t prefer to have another dungbomb under my seat but because I’d rather not witness him tainting this family’s long line of blood purity! Only twenty-eight families left that can consider themselves pure, and call me old-fashioned but I’d rather keep it that way!”

Upon hearing these words, you froze in place, your grip on your lipstick tightening as you tried to fight back the tears that suddenly started pricking the backs of your eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ginny open her mouth to defend you, but were shocked when the one to get her words out first was Mrs. Weasley who said, “Muriel, it isn’t our place to judge who the children choose to have in their lives. If George were to choose to court a Muggle girl, then so be it. As long as he’s happy.”

The kind words and the subtle smile Mrs. Weasley sent in your direction were what made the tears fall, and you were grateful that Mrs. Weasley noticed and started guiding Muriel to where Fleur was getting ready so she could give the bride her tiara. When the pair were gone, you wiped the tears from your cheeks as you laughed quietly and said, “I think that’s the first nice thing she’s said about our relationship…”

“About time,” Ginny said with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. She looked toward the staircase they had retreated up and mumbled, “Someone’s got to modify that woman’s memory. If there’s one thing she loves to do, it’s gossip.”

“On it,” Hermione volunteered as she stood up and walked in the direction of the staircase, intercepting Mrs. Weasley to propose the offer.

Before you all knew it, the wedding was upon you and after George finished guiding guests to their seats, he wrapped an arm around your waist as he walked the pair of you to the seats you would be taking for the ceremony. As you waited, George kissed your temple and ran his thumb absentmindedly over the ring that sat on your right hand for the evening. “I love this colour on you,” he told you quietly as his hand wandered, toying with the fabric of your dress.

“Why thank you…” you whispered back. You leaned into his embrace as you said quietly, “You’ll never guess what your mum said earlier.” But right as George was about to ask you to elaborate, the wedding march began playing and the crowd got to their feet to show their respect to the wedding party.

The ceremony was beautiful and by the end when the little wizard officiating the ceremony waved his wand, showering the couple in silvery stars, there were few dry eyes in the tent. George subtly wiped away the tears that escaped his eyes before loudly whistling his appreciation for the couple. He took the pocket square out of his dress robe and handed it to you, dabbing at your eyes so your makeup would be spared. “Just think, that’s gonna be us next!” George told you with a wide smile as he helped you stand when the officiate called for the guests to.

“I can’t wait,” you told him, your smile widening at the thought. You would be lying if you said during the ceremony you weren't picturing yourself and George getting married… So far there had only been a few details ironed out such as location, as well as a wedding band, but the upcoming event still excited you every time you thought about it.

All around you, the ceremony tent began to transform into its form for the reception and you couldn’t keep up with it all as your eyes darted from the dance floor assembling itself to the tent canvas vanishing to reveal in its stead a canopy supported by golden poles. Your eyes drifted next to the beautifully lit countryside and a smile settled onto your face as George wrapped his arms around you from behind. You sighed contentedly before telling him, “I love magic…”

“And I love you,” George mumbled into your hair before kissing your temple. He squeezed you once more before saying, “Now while they get ready for the first dances I’m going to get us something to drink. Champagne or Butterbeer?”

“Oh now you’re asking the real questions,” you told him thoughtfully, a quiet giggle leaving your lips. “The champagne’s the real deal, yeah?”

“Only the finest from the Delacours.”

“Then champagne, I’ve never had the real stuff,” you told him. So George took off across the reception area to grab both of you a flute.

“You think I’ve got a chance with Fleur’s cousin over there?” came a voice from beside you.

You glanced over to see Fred beside you before turning your attention to the beautiful blonde in question. “What happened with you and Angelina?”

“On again, off again, it was hard with her being at Hogwarts while I wasn’t,” he replied. Snatching a flute of champagne from a tray floating by, he prompted again, “So?”

“I mean if you use that good old Weasley charm I don’t see why not,” you told him. You laughed quietly before joking, “Just in case have a love potion handy.”

“Right, and I’ll check that it’s the right one first,” Fred said with a playful elbow to your ribs, a smirk teasing his lips.

“I- We- That- George!” you sputtered out as George returned with a glass in each hand and a smile on his lips.

“What did you do?” George asked his brother, an eyebrow raising into his forehead as he noticed the furious blush peeking through your makeup.

“I thought that night with the potion was supposed to stay between us!” you whispered at George sharply.

“It happened because of a potential shop product gone wrong, of course I had to tell him,” George told you gently. He handed you the glass of champagne and wrapped his free arm around you, saying quietly, “The details are just ours to know though…”

“I may have a reputation for having a very curious mind, but that is where I draw the line,” Fred assured you with an exaggerated shudder which earned a crude gesture from George as he laughed. Fred drank his champagne down quickly before pushing off of the table he was leaning on, saying, “Wish me luck!”

“Break a leg!” you called behind him, unable to help the laugh that escaped your lips as you watched him approaching the Veela.

After a few more glasses of champagne, you began to lose your sense of better judgement and danced with George in a way Mrs. Weasley would not have approved of if she saw. Lucky for you the moves were hidden from Mrs. Weasley’s eyes by the crowd surrounding you both on the dance floor. “How about we sneak out of here for a little bit?” George asked as he leaned down so his words could only be heard by you.

“I think I like the sound of that,” you replied with a giggle, lacing your fingers in his.

“Brilliant,” George said before leading you off the dance floor, telling Fred along the way, “Don’t come looking for us!”

“You got it!” Fred replied as he pulled the beautiful young woman in his arms closer.

“I guess it worked,” you told George. “I wonder if he had to use a potion…”

“Fred? Please,” George said with a chuckle as he gave his brother a thumbs up and a wink.

Once you both dodged away from family and friends in the crowd, George took you to the shed where he had hidden you the night before. The second you shut the door gently behind you, George captured your lips with his and kissed you like a man starved for your love. You giggled into the kiss before returning the favour. If you didn’t know better, you would have guessed that the love potion from before somehow got into both of your systems again.

The minutes felt like seconds as the two of you lost track of time in the other’s embrace. Lips clashed and hands wandered... George’s outer dress robe was discarded on the floor and the buttons lining the front of your dress had started to come undone one at a time. The possibility of being caught by an enraged Mrs. Weasley was the only thing stopping the pair of you from taking it further any faster. As the latest shot of Fire Whisky began catching up to you and dulling your rational thoughts though, you hooked one of your legs around George’s and pulled him closer, your hips meeting as you whispered, “George, I-” Your sentence was interrupted though as the door to the shed flew open unceremoniously.

A noise of frustration clawed its out of George’s heaving chest as he started to say, “Blimey Fred, what did I tell you, can’t you see we’re in the middle of-”

“Party’s over, I’m not your bruva!” came a deep voice from the doorway.

“Who-?” you asked but were quickly cut off by George squeezing your hand to shut you up as he untangled himself from your body.

“Death Eater…” George informed you grimly as he looked at the masked figure staring the pair of you down.

“That’s right. Now what you’re going to do is follow me,” the masked man growled.

“At least give us a second to get decent, mate. You didn’t exactly catch us at the best time…” George said with an air of annoyance in his voice.

“No funny business!” the man snarled as George picked his coat off of the dusty floor and you began to rebutton your dress. “Now give me your wands.”

As he picked up the coat, he let two wands fall out of an inside pocket. Picking the set up, he handed one to you before you both gave them over to the masked man. Judging by the golden “WWW” etched on the side of the wands, you knew that these wands were joke wands from the shop, and hoped that the man didn’t know enough about wands or the twins’ joke shop to discern the difference.

Your hands shook as you handed the wand over and you heard the smirk in the Death Eater’s voice as he asked, “Nervous, pet?” You didn’t reply though, staying resolutely silent as he marched you two into the Burrow at wandpoint.

You both were met with a momentary glare from Mrs. Weasley when you entered the usually cosy and welcoming home. It didn’t last long though because the current threat of the Death Eaters seemed to be more of a concern than the two of you sneaking away.

When you got into the sitting room, it was even more crowded than it had been in preparation for the wedding, what with the Weasleys and the Delacours plus three Death Eaters. Seeing the masked figures amped up your anxiety and your hands began to shake as you looked around at the terrified faces dispersed throughout the room. George took notice and grabbed the hand nearest him and squeezed it reassuringly.

What came next was hours of interrogation wherein the Death Eaters tried to get information out of everyone concerning the whereabouts of Harry Potter and his plans, whatever they may be. During these interrogations, you chose to drum up your best southern American accent, the same one you used when you played Abilene in The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane in your Uni’s production this last semester.

After a few rounds of this questioning, one of the masked figures approached you and George. They studied the two of you for a moment before asking one of their fellows, “The Muggle we’ve been surveilling was dating this one wasn’t she? One of the owners of the joke shop?”

A shorter one replied, telling them, “Yeah, but she doesn’t look like that.”

“What can I say, us Weasley men have charm,” George smarted off.

“Honestly George, why is everyone so obsessed with this ex of yours? I’m startin’ to think they don’t like me around here!”

“Where’s that accent from? What’s your blood status, girl?” barked a woman’s voice behind the mask. She must not have been paying attention to you speaking to the other Death Eater before.

“My accent’s from the great state of Tennessee, thank you very much! And I come from a long line of pureblooded witches and wizards!”

“Hey!” says who you could only assume was the Death Eater who caught you and George in the shed. He walked over and told his fellows, “She didn’t have that accent when I caught them.”

You tried to show no signs of your ever rising anxiety at the claim, but knew that your momentary slip up could blow your cover completely. The female tutted at you for a moment before saying, “How about we try this? Finite!”

And just like that, your cover was blown. In an instant you felt your face return to its normal shape and what tendrils of hair you could see all reverted back to their normal colour. “Oh bloody hell…” you muttered under your breath as you closed your eyes.

“I knew it!” the woman shouted. She got close to your face, the mask nearly resting against your forehead as she growled, “You Muggle filth, you thought you were so clever, using our magic to disguise yourself!” Before you could even process the statement, you were suddenly grabbed by the arms and dragged to the middle of the room where you were forced down onto your knees with a wand pointed to your temple.

As you were dragged off, George went to put up a fight, but was stopped when the third masked figure pointed his wand at George's throat. “Now!” shouted the female in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to her. “Now that we have proof of your deceitfulness, I want the absolute truth. Where is Harry Potter and what is he planning?”

“How many bloody times do we have to tell you we don’t know anything?” George snapped, his chest beginning to heave with frustration and anger.

“I can say it in a few other languages if you’d prefer,” Fred smarted off, though his voice was laced with a deadly sharpness.

The woman’s voice turned silky as she looked around the room and said, “Well since we all know that this family is full of blood traitors, why don’t we test that loyalty right now? See if this’ll loosen any lips! Crucio!”

What followed was a scream that George wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.

Horrible, burning, excruciating pain wracked your body as the Cruciatus Curse was cast upon you. There wasn’t a part of your body that went untouched by the curse, and as you writhed in pain, you wished that it would all end. Thoughts of the sweet release of death creeped into your mind as you screamed and cried on the floor.

Above you, the Death Eater shouted questions at the Weasleys while the others laughed at your pain as if it was some sort of sick game to them. “That’s enough! Expelliarmus!” George shouted as he pulled his real wand out from the inside pocket of his dress robes. The relief from the pain was instantaneous as the curse lifted from your body, but you remained on the floor in a heap, afraid to move and cause more pain.

Bill caught the wand that flew into the air and pointed it at the oncoming Death Eater as Fred did the same, telling them, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“You kept your wand on you too?” George asked Fred as he continued to glare at the Death Eaters.

In that instant, three of the wands sitting in the pile on a nearby table turned into rubber chickens and Fred told his brother, “You’re not the only one who keeps fake wands on you for this exact reason! You know what Mad-Eye would tell us.”

“Constant vigilance,” George affirmed with a nod, his grip on his wand tightening as he pondered his next move.

Not wanting to listen to the banter anymore, the two remaining Death Eaters who were armed shouted curses that were blocked by a well placed shield charm by Bill. He quickly took it down and he along with the twins sent hexes flying! The combination of spells caused large tufts of fur to sprout out of one Death Eater’s robes, another suddenly grew tentacles in place of arms, and the third placed her hands around her throat as she began sputtering out choking sounds. Without a further word, the third grabbed her fellows and turned on the spot. The three disappeared with a loud crack and the tension in the air lifted instantly.

Fred and Bill were met with claps on the back from family, but George dodged away from them, instead rushing to your side. He gently pulled you up and into an embrace, kissing your forehead before whispering over and over again, “I’m so sorry…”

Within moments Mrs. Weasley was by your side wrapping a warm blanket around your shoulders and ushering the two of you to one of the cushiony couches. No words were exchanged for a few minutes as tears continued to stream steadily from your eyes. When you finally found your voice, you whispered, “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? For what?” George asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“I let my accent slip…” you whispered, a fresh batch of tears falling from your eyes.

Mrs. Weasley said your name softly as she sat beside you on the couch, handing you a piping hot cup of tea. She held her sympathetic tone as she said, “Nothing that happened is your fault.”

Mr. Weasley came up behind the couch and he sighed before saying, “The Death Eaters were simply under the impression that we all knew what the kids were planning, but none of us do.” He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking his head as he added, “I think they knew that too… They just were looking for an excuse to torture someone.”

“Bastards…” Fred muttered with a disgusted look on his face.

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Weasley said something that George had been dreading for months. “George… I think it’s time.”

George tightened his hold around your shoulders and replied, “Dad, can’t we just-”

“No, son. Do you want this to happen again?” Mr. Weasley asked quietly but firmly. “It’s time,” he repeated.

“Dad, please-” George pleaded, his voice breaking. Mr. Weasley sent his son a sad look with a shake of his head and George sighed, holding you closer than before.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly.

“Can we have the room?” George asked the Weasleys and Delacours, who obliged, spreading out to their rooms for the night or else going back out to the backyard to survey the damage done in the chaos following the Death Eaters’ entrance onto the grounds.

You could sense the tension in the air once more and asked firmly, “George, what is going on?”

George tried to start, but words failed him time and time again. Finally he closed his eyes and whispered your name followed by, “I love you, you know this, but…” His voice broke, but he cleared his throat, powering through by saying, “You aren’t safe being with me anymore.”

“Are…are you saying what I think you are…?” you asked quietly. You could practically feel your heart shattering into a million pieces as a feeling of breathlessness filled your chest and your limbs suddenly felt numb.

“I…kind of…” George told you sadly. “Dad and I have discussed it and…we’re going to have to alter your memory. Make you forget about magic. Forget about me…forget about us…”

“No!” you cried, your shaking hand going to cover your mouth in shock. “What if I say no? W-what if I don’t want to forget?”

“We don’t have a choice… They’ve shown that they aren’t afraid to hurt you. They knew what you looked like for Merlin’s sake! To me, that says they've been following you! And I wouldn’t put it past them to…to…” he couldn’t finish the sentence though as his voice broke and he pulled you close. “If there was any other way I would do it, you know I would, but…”

“But this way you and your family are safe,” came the voice of Mr. Weasley as he re-entered the room wearing a travelling cloak. “Please don’t blame George for this, dear, it truly was my idea. When this is all over I’ll restore everything and things’ll all go back to normal, but for now… You-Know-Who is gaining too much ground and murdering too many Muggles just for fun. You’ll have an even bigger target on your back considering your ties to us. It’s safer this way.”

Feeling completely numb, you simply nodded, unable to form words because of the sudden influx of information hitting you. As white noise flooded your ears, you listened with half an ear to Mr. Weasley’s plan as you leaned into George’s embrace for what could be the last time for all you knew…

Within minutes Mr. Weasley had given you the gist of the plan and told you that he would explain again once you all got to your house. Once he was done speaking, George helped you get to your feet and you began to follow the two of them numbly to the door. Before you all left, Mrs. Weasley gave you a lingering hug before whispering something you couldn’t quite make out because her voice was muffled by not only your hair, but also the white noise that continued to flood your ears.

The three of you walked out into the garden and Disapparated into the grove of trees near your house. Soon after, you all entered the house, meeting your parents in the sitting room. Your mum paused the movie they were watching and greeted you all with, “Oh, hey! Arthur, George, it’s nice to see you! To what do we owe the pleasure? How was the wedding?”

No one spoke for a moment, but Mr. Weasley was finally the one to break the silence by saying, “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Is everything okay?” your dad asked, sitting up straighter on the couch.

“Not exactly…” Mr. Weasley informed him.

“What’s going on?” your mum asked, worry seeping into her voice.

“Oh where to begin, where to begin?” Mr. Weasley asked aloud, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I guess I’ll start with the fact that George and I are wizards. There’s a war going on against Dark wizards right now and it’s starting to get worse. They’ve taken over the Ministry of Magic and have been murdering Muggles, non-magic folk, for fun and have very recently targeted your daughter with what we call an Unforgivable Curse.”

“What?!” your parents shouted at the same time.

Your dad held up his hands and said, “Okay, okay, okay, hold on! You’re telling me that you two,” he motioned to George and Mr. Weasley, “are wizards? Like magic and potions and flying broomsticks wizards?”

“The very sort,” Mr. Weasley replied with a nod.

“I knew magic was real!” he muttered under his breath. After that shock wore off, he got serious again asking, “And you say there’s a war going on right now?”

“Yes. You-Know-Who, we don’t like to say his name, is on the warpath against Muggles. He strives for a pureblood society where Wizards rule over the non-magic. Any inexplicable murders you see in the news? That’s him. All the strange weather over the last year? That’s because of him. That hurricane, which was actually giants? You-Know-Who.”

“And you said our daughter got cursed?” your mum asked, wringing her hands together as her eyes flew to you, scanning over your body for any visible signs of trauma.

Mr. Weasley could see you cringe at the memory of the pain so he said softly, “Why don’t you two go have a few minutes together while I explain everything?”

“Sure,” George said before taking you by the hand and leading you up the stairs to your room.

The two of you sat on the bed against the wall, enjoying each other’s company in silence for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say even though you both knew that your time together was limited. You never thought that your time with George would come to an end and now that it was here it didn’t feel real.

Stopping his scratching of Angel behind her fuzzy ears, George finally broke his silence, kissing your temple before asking, “What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

“How much I hate all of this…” you mumbled, tears falling from your eyes again. “How much I’ll miss you…”

“Well if it makes you feel better, once Dad places the enchantment on you, you won’t have to worry about missing me. You won’t remember any of this until we come find you and restore your memories. It’ll be like we didn’t lose any time,” he assured you, giving you a squeeze. “Now I, on the other hand, will miss you every bloody day… I hate this a lot more than I’m probably letting on, I promise you that…”

You snuggled into his chest a bit more before asking, “And you promise you’ll come back for me?”

“I promise,” George told you while fiddling with the ring he put on your finger last Christmas.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Mr. Weasley popped his head in, giving a solemn nod to George who stood up hesitantly with you.

You both got down stairs and the reality of it all started to set in, causing fresh tears to fall from your eyes. You threw your arms around George and whispered, “I love you, Georgie. I don’t wanna forget you…”

“I love you too,” George replied, holding you tight. He pulled away for a moment and took the engagement ring off of your finger, saying, “You’ll get this back when I see you again, okay?”

“Okay…” you said with a nod, your voice breaking once again with emotion.

Mr. Weasley took a shaky breath and said, “It’s time. When I count to three I want you all to close your eyes, that’s when I’ll cast the enchantments on you. Ready?”

“I love you,” George told you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied after the kiss ended, but you wished it never had to...

George took a step back as you went to stand between your parents, grabbing each of their hands and closing your eyes. “Three…two…one…” Mr. Weasley counted before waving his wand. Once he finished, he grabbed George by the arm and Disapparated before any members of your family could open your eyes and see them.

When the three of you opened your eyes, your dad clapped his hands together and said, “All right! Now that that decision is made, I’ve just got to get looking for a nice house to rent and then apply for the job in Poughkeepsie! I’ll start in the morning!”

“While you do that, we will start packing up the house,” your mum said excitedly. “We can just pack our personal effects and use this place as a rental property! You know what they say about renting in the neighbourhood!”

“Great idea, love!” your dad said before kissing his wife’s cheek.

“Are you excited, Bug?" your mum asked. “We just have to talk with your school counsellors about transferring you over to the New York branch of the university and everything’ll be set! The school itself is in the Big Apple, you’ll be on Broadway in no time flat!”

“I can’t wait!” you replied with a smile. “I’m gonna miss Abbie and Jaz, but it’ll be good to spread my wings a little bit.”

“Things are looking up for this family!” your mum cheered before pulling the two of you into a hug.

George on the other hand had the opposite of a gleeful night. When he got back to the Burrow, he refused to speak to anyone, even Fred who tried to get him to laugh in all the ways that usually did him in quick. He stayed back only long enough to help clean up the mess the Death Eaters caused before Disapparating to the flat above the shop where he sat on the edge of his bed rolling your engagement ring around between his fingers. Relentless thoughts pounded through his mind, all of them coming to the same end: Why did you ever think it was a good idea to endanger her like this?

Over the next few days, Mr. Weasley made the trip to your house to cast protective spells on it to deter the Death Eaters if their plan was to get to you out of revenge for what the twins and Bill did. The trips didn’t last long though as he saw your family leaving with trunks packed for the States a short five days later. As he watched the car drive off for the last time, he sighed and hoped that for George’s sake this war would be over soon. He had never seen his son so upset before, and even though he tried to hide it in his day to day work at the shop, Mr. Weasley could tell that his grins weren’t quite reaching his eyes and his laughs weren't as loud as usual. It was going to be rough in the coming months…

a/n: well that was a tad depressing, now wasn't it? as sad at this chapter was to write, it was also very fun to write with all the different character interactions! i also got to put in my little Shakespeare headcanon because i've always thought that was a fun one! also we finally got some good comments from Mrs. Weasley, only for this to happen 😭😭 and now you all see why i needed a couple little fun chapters before this monster of a depressing one! the Muriel interaction was just ahhh!

anyways! like and comments are appreciated as always! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss @v1ckycheesue @superduckmilkshake

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #harry potter fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

ssouhekii · 1 year ago

Text

ʲᵉˡˡʸᶠⁱˢʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵇˡᵃᶜᵏ ᶜᵃᵗ - ☆ .° • . °

☆ ˢⁱᵍᵐᵃ & ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ!ᵒʳᵃᶜˡᵉ!ʸ/ⁿ - * ☆ . °

wc - 4.4k ☆

Sigma didn't go into this month's Decay meeting expecting for them to induct a new member. He really didn't expect this member to be a little kid. He really, really didn't expect this little kid to be staying with him.

warnings: implied/referenced child neglect & experimentation, nothing too serious though, yet, kind of uneventful because it's the first of a series, nobody will tell poor sigma y/n's name and there's lots of awkward pauses

a/n - I haven't written in a very long time, so sorry if it's a bit dry. i promise the next chapter will have more interesting interactions and dialogue. I only wanted the conversations to be stiff for this chapter so that you can feel the tension between sigma and the reader. also, i know the word oracle is used incorrectly. more on that later

The Decay of Angels sat around a white plastic table in white plastic chairs. Behind each of them lay a beige wall, and under their feet a tan carpet.

Fyodor had perhaps chosen the blandest room to ever exist for this meeting, and the worst part was he couldn't even complain.

Sigma had spent their last meeting at Nikolai's elegant Oakwood dining table, stepping over streamers and stray cards scattered everywhere. Each member had taken a seat in a wildly abstract chair, ranging from Fyodor in a bean-bag on wheels to Nikolai, in his dramatic red velvet throne at the center of the table. Sigma had taken his place at a plastic folding chair that he was sure had been taken from a wrestling gig.

So, he had felt a sick sort of relief walking into the most unsettlingly mild room known to man. He listened to a hung-over Fukuchi drone on about that month's objectives, their current business affairs, financing updates, and upcoming social events. Each member of the Decay stood and gave a rushed report of their activity for the previous month, Sigma noting his Casino's gains, Nikolai his undercover diplomatic efforts, and Fukuchi his outlook on the political environment. Bram had nothing to share, and closed his eyes once again in his coffin as Fyodor stood from his chair. He gave a calm glance around the room and closed his eyes, beginning his proposal.

"As you all know, news of a certain ability user affecting affairs with underground organizations have been circulating as of late."

Sigma cast a worried glance to Nikolai, who seemed invested in his dear friend's speech.

"It has come to my attention that this ability user is completely unaffiliated with any organization, and is quite out of control. Thus, we must take control of them before another group has a chance to do so."

The casino's manager set his elbow on the table and looked at his fingernails. They were glazed white and slightly pointed.

Sigma hadn't quite expected Fyodor to initiate inducting another member to the Decay. He had a habit of coercing Fukuchi to let talented people slip out of their hands and into the palms of the Rats. Despite the losses, Sigma could never help but be relieved at the Decay's stable member count. Four was enough for him.

Fyodor continued.

"While we already have this ability user in our grasp, it may be difficult to keep them in our hand, so to speak. It is confirmed that the subject has difficulty controlling their ability. However, that should not be a problem for Fukuchi and I to address."

Fyodor opened his eyes slowly and flicked his lashes while glancing to his side, making eye contact with Fukuchi before looking away.

"The difficulty in inducting this.. person into the Decay lies in controlling their temperament."

Sigma's calmness and relief shook itself off immediately. For Fyodor to express trouble with controlling someone meant they were stubborn as a stone, or even a genius on the same level as him.

"A discussion between Fukuchi and I has taken place, and we believe the best course of action should be for a member of the Decay to welcome them into their home. This would be convenient for surveillance, as the subject cannot be left alone for long. It would also benefit training."

The casino manager became even more nervous. It was precisely with his luck they'd announce it was him who had to take in a new member with behavioral issues.

"The subject may also not live alone as they are not... of age to do so. The ability user in question, a child of six years, cannot be trusted to manage their own household properly."

A lump formed in his throat. Deep down, there was a part of him that almost begged to recieve this child. That begged for that almost ill-concieved notion of a family. He pushed that notion down in favor of disdain, and to any unassuming citizen he would almost look sick at the thought of taking in a kid with behavioral issues.

Fyodor continued.

"It is known that some members-" Nikolai came to mind, and Sigma noticed Bram glance to the clown too. "-cannot sustain an environment suitable for a child either."

Sigma was nearly sure this would be him.

"Given Fukuchi's alcoholism, Bram's lack of... appendages, and Nikolai's.. preferred environment, that leaves two options out of the Decay," Fyodor and everyone else eyed Sigma, and he felt like this attack was premeditated. "However, given my circumstances involving myself and those currently living with me, I cannot guarantee the safety of a young child in my household."

"So, you'd want me to take the child in?"

Fukuchi rose from his chair and stood beside Fyodor.

"If you'd be willing to take on this job, it'd benefit the organization greatly. We're willing to use the Decay's funds to pay for any living costs for the subject, including recreation. You are not obligated, but the subject's safety is of utmost importance towards our future plans."

Sigma was pretty sure that "recreation" just meant toys.

"Paying for living costs is no problem. With all due respect, the casino allocates for about three-fifths of the Decay's income, while also sustaining itself. However," Sigma paused, searching for his words. "However, I am in no way prepared to handle a child. I have no prior experience."

"Well, Sig, you can learn! You got a hold of the casino in no time!" Nikolai had broken his silence, no longer entranced with Fyodor's little speech. His encouraging words only set Sigma off.

"Yes, Nikolai, the casino is a whole other issue! I cannot be expected to manage an entire business while watching over a superpowered child with supposed behaviour issues! While I am fine covering financial management for the Decay Of Angels, I was never in any way propositioned to join for babysitting. I do want to stay professional here, but you can't just spring a job like this on me!"

Sigma finished his little rant. The entire table remained still, exactly the same as they had been before. Sigma wasn't even sure when said child would arrive, but he was sure he required some sort of notice before they even mentioned it to him.

He should have known Fyodor would see through him.

"No, Sigma, you were never "propositioned for babysitting" or anything of the like. However, we may very well compensate you-" Nikolai cut in. "Yeah, yeah! We'll raise your paycheck and find more people to cover the casino! We've already got ya covered, Sig!!"

"Thank you, Nikolai," Fukuchi grumbled, clearly holding back a sigh. "We will indeed compensate you and cover both your costs and time lost. As for experience, none is needed."

"Fukuchi, I can't be expected to raise a child with no guidance or skills pertaining to.. to children."

Fyodor made eye contact with Sigma, chilling him to the bone. The rat's sickening smile curled upwards.

"You haven't got to raise any child, Sigma. Just make sure the subject is alive long enough to complete training. Once that is finished, they will sustain themself."

It wasn't until later, much later, that Sigma had realized why the idea of training a living weapon for the Decay made him so, so ill.

"So you expect me to, what, keep a six year old under lock and key?"

"Sure, as long as that works for you."

Sigma, much more unnerved but slightly less opposed to the idea, decided he'd need to shoot more questions. One, in particular, ached in his mind.

"Why is this child so important? What plan is so dire to you that it involves keeping a specific ability user so close?"

Fukuchi leaned forward, and Nikolai whipped his head towards him. "Again, this ability looks to be a danger if not controlled, and an even bigger danger if controlled by a group other than us. As for our plans with her in the future, those remain private."

"Well, what's this dangerous ability, then, and why am I subject to deal with it?"

"As said, you are the only one with a household safe enough to keep a child alive and healthy. As for the ability.." Fyodor narrowed his eyes as Fukuchi finished talking, taking this as his turn to convince Sigma.

"The subject's ability is called, quite simply, Oracles. It can be supposed that she is able to see any place and hear any word without actually being in the area. However, this ability may only view what is going on at the exact moment. In addition, it has been confirmed that the subject cannot control nor will a vision at any given moment, making them completely unprompted."

Sigma cut in as soon as Fyodor paused.

"So how is that dangerous?"

"You know very well how, Sigma."

He had only asked the question to stall a little further. This conversation, the way these people spoke about this child, made him sick. He didn't want to answer their question.

Nikolai tapped his feet, while Fukuchi and Fyodor eyed him cautiously. Bram was asleep. Quietly, Sigma uttered the only question he could think of.

"What will happen to her if I refuse?"

Fyodor's smile faded slightly, but there was no malice in his eyes. Fukuchi's gaze narrowed and Nikolai frowned.

"Sig, don't do that. We kinda need you to do this!"

"It's alright, Nikolai," Fyodor hummed. "I can keep the ability user myself. Though, Ivan hasn't reacted well to their arrival, I'm sure he can adjust. He may not trust their ability now, but he'll warm up as they.." Fyodor was tuned out as Sigma recalled what he knew about Ivan. The tall, unsettling man whom Fyodor had done brain surgery on, making him into some sort of passive servant. Sigma almost shuddered. The thin man had been almost violently obsessed with Fyodor, though not in the way Nikolai was. In fact, Ivan had outright threatened Nikolai more than once for even grazing against his beloved master.

Sigma was sure he understood now why Fyodor hadn't wanted to keep a child near someone like that.

Damn Sigma for being so mild.

He decided to use his last resort before declining the offer. The child would simply have to deal with Ivan's distrust.

"Would it be alright if I could... meet this girl first before allowing her into my home?"

Though Sigma had completely cut in, the room remained unresponsive for a passing moment before Nikolai jumped up onto Sigma and let out some sort of high-pitched squeal. "AHH! I KNEW you'd give her a chance! Thanks for doing us such a favor! I'll go grab her right now!!"

Nikolai disappeared before he could even hear Sigma mutter something about not having said yes.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

The strange tall man with a white braid and striped pants unlocked the door to the room and strutted in, humming a tune. He, not even looking at you, grabbed your wrist tightly and began to drag you somewhere yet again. You'd been in that little beige room for almost twenty minutes now, but it'd felt like you had barely sat down.

"Time to go, kiddo!" He chirped as he almost lifted you out of your metal folding chair with a single tug to your wrist. You had tried not to budge, but the man proved to have incredible strength. So, you walked out with him, struggling against his grasp even though it was futile. In fact, he ignored your muttering and wriggling, continuing to almost skip down the hall.

At last you two arrived at a door, and the strange man squatted down to meet your eyes. You thought he was unsuccessful, as the card covering his own left eye prevented him from looking into both of yours at once. He compensated for this by quickly darting his right eye back and forth.

"You're gonna go meet the man who's gonna take care of you, okay? Yeah? Make sure to be re-e-eal nice, alright? Let's put on a big smile, okay?!"

You continued to stare blankly ahead as the excitable man pushed open the doors and again dragged you into the room. There were more tall men, and your blank stare dropped into a scowl.

While being pulled forwards, you stopped struggling in favor of analyzing the odd characters before you.

Your eyes were first drawn to the pale, grey-haired man, asleep to your far right in a large wooden box. It was lined with some sort of soft-looking red texture, which you were sure you could've fallen asleep in too. However, what caught your attention the most was the man's striking lack of appendages and a sword where his stomach should be. You were sure it must've hurt a lot, and were glad he was getting rest.

You still scowled as you looked to the left of the sleeping man, you spotted two other figures you'd seen before. The grey-haired man in the red coat and the eery black-haired man. The grey-haired man annoyed you. When he had first caught you, scampering around in a forest near the abandoned cottage you had made into your home, he had picked you up and slung you over his shoulder like a sort of package. You had been incredibly frustrated and screamed until your voice gave out, pounding your fists against his back. He hadn't ever responded, and only spoke in short commands like "Stop" and "quiet." Worst of all, his breath smelled sour and dry, like those fermented drinks that the adults always had on rough nights.

You disliked the black-haired man too, but for different reasons. Where his grey friend paid almost no attention to you at all, you could always feel the dark man's eyes on you. He spoke in a saccharine tone and called you things like mishka and little one. His gaze almost felt full of contempt, and he kept physical distance from you like you were some sort of beast.

Looking around, you didn't see the black-haired man's other friend, the one with the bandages around his head. You were glad, because you didn't like him. He had said if you spied on his master he'd throw you out, and then spied on you himself the whole night.

Finally, right in front of you, was a man with choppy hair in half-purple and half-white. The inside of his coat sparkled like the sky when it was dark, which caught your attention. Being speedily pulled towards him by the man with the striped pants, you noticed the half-and-half's gaze on you.

You weren't surprised at his stare, as that tended to be a common reaction to your appearance. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was because your hair hung in your face like vines on the fence of an overgrown house, abandoned for years with no care. Maybe it was because your nearly-empty eyes had deep bags under them from all the times you'd lost sleep after seeing a vision. Maybe it was because you had only ever wore a musty hospital gown, if only for lack of better clothing options. Or maybe, maybe it was just because everyone thought your visions were the most important thing about you, and that you were some mystical oracle that knew their fate.

You gazed up at Mister-two-tone, not noticing his friend mouth "introduce yourself" to him before he knelt down and looked into your eyes, and glanced to the floor briefly before slowly offering his hand to you.

"My name is Mister Sigma. What's your name..?"

His voice was deep and serious, but gentle. You looked at this strange Mister Sigma's hand. You weren't sure what he wanted you to do with it, so you ignored it and kept staring into his eyes. Silence overwhelmed the room. Over a minute passed without your response, and Mister Sigma retracted his hand while you continued to stare him down.

It wasn't that you were shy, or that you'd forgotten your own name, or even that you didn't ever have one. You had been little y/n in your town until the people in white coats took you away and started calling you Subject Oh Thirty Eight, or Zero Three Eight, or even just Thirty-Eight. Then, the sterile white building had been flooded and you had run into a nearby forest, and suddenly you hadn't got any name at all. Or maybe you had, but it didn't really matter that much.

You were drawn out of your thoughts by that Mister Sigma interjecting again.

"So, I uh.. What's your favorite animal, kiddo?"

You had often enjoyed the company of feral cats in your town, and had seen some strange, fat striped-tail ones in the woods you occupied. However, you didn't understand why he would need to know, so you kept silent.

After about fifteen seconds of still staring into his eyes (you counted yourself), you were brought back into focus by his voice breaking the room's silence a third time.

"Is it true that you can see anything, anywhere?"

Oh, you knew the answer to this! Everyone who met you had asked. You noticed the eery black-haired man behind Mister Sigma narrow his eyes at you.

"I can't see the visions you want at will. I'm sorry."

Your voice was scratchy, both from the screaming you'd done the day earlier when the grey-haired man caught you and the fact that you barely talked anyways. This response, however, was easy to say after dozens of live practice sessions.

The two-toned Mister Sigma's eyes softened and he glanced to the side with an almost nervous look before looking back at you and smiling.

"That's alright, I don't need anything. I just wanted to know."

You continued to stare at him as he stood up and motioned his colleagues to come near. Card-face dropped your arm and sped over to the two-toned man along with everyone else, and they huddled around you in a whisper.

You stood silently and continued to stare.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

It was at that moment Sigma swore he wouldn't get attached.

Hearing the first words from a glassy-eyed child be "I'm sorry" formed a new feeling of contempt for the world around him. He almost felt angry, hearing someone so young apologize for being unable to be of use.

Damn Fyodor for picking a child he saw so much of himself in.

Though the little child had seemed a little cold and almost feral, they seemed considerably easier to handle than what Sigma had expected. He'd almost expected a younger Nikolai. However, he wasn't relieved to find that their preferred form of conversation was a cold glare.

"So, Sig? Whaddya think, whaddya think? Don't keep us waiting any longer!!"

Sigma felt his colleagues' eyes on him. He glanced at his feet, then at the child (who made eye contact with him through their messy, overgrown locks. Sigma almost shivered.) then finally moved his eyes across his coworkers.

"I will take in the child," Fyodor and Fukuchi smiled while Nikolai nearly burst into joyful laughter. "Provided that the Decay covers all costs, time lost on the casino, and training efforts. This is my only offer."

"Ah, Sig, we knew you'd take her! Great, great!!" Nikolai sprang onto Sigma and hugged him, while Fyodor clapped politely. Fukuchi gave an almost half-hearted bow, clearly tired from this indecision.

"Thank you for doing this, Sigma. Route me your receipts every month and you'll be compensated. I'll have any documents needed for a front mailed to you soon."

Fukuchi took his leave soon after. Bram was carried out with him. Sigma pushed Nikolai off of him and looked to Fyodor.

"I'm glad I could convince you. Good evening, Sigma." Fyodor also left quickly, clearly wanting out before Sigma changed his mind.

Sigma turned to Nikolai, who had made his way to the little child and was shaking their hand furiously. They squirmed and grumbled.

"Bye bye, kiddo!! Have fun with Sig, okay? I'll drop by soon!"

He leaped up and trotted to Sigma, grasping his hands and staring into his face almost excitedly.

"Hey, Sig, good luck!! Congrats on your first kid!" Nikolai skipped out like some sort of madman, leaving Sigma and the child alone, watching each other.

He couldn't believe what he'd just agreed to.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

As the strange white-haired man finally left, you were left alone in front of the table with Mister Sigma. He turned and stared at you. You kept watching him as you had. The way his hair moved was interesting to you. Every time he turned his head, it made a swishing motion. It was like some sort of fish you'd seen in the aquarium a long, long time ago. You couldn't remember its name.

"Well, it's getting late. I guess we'd, uh, better get going, yeah?" He asked, seeming slightly unsure of himself. He stepped towards you, and you instinctively stepped back.

He held out a hand to you slowly. You weren't quite sure what to make of it. Did he want you to take it? You weren't sure whether he knew that he could just take your hand himself, but you didn't tell him that. You'd had enough manhandling for two days.

He retracted his hand and let out a slight huff, glancing toward you before turning away towards the door.

"Come on, let's go home."

Mister Sigma walked towards the door, and you passively followed behind him. Leading you down the hallway, the only sound he made was the soft clack, clack, clack of his shoes on the floor. The two of you twisted and turned down the halls past several bland brown doors before exiting the building through a set of large glass sliders.

The twilight glistened, though not as beautifully as the inner liming of his coat that swayed along with his hair as he walked. The man pulled out a ring decorated by a large plastic button and a few metal keys. He clicked the button and one of the cars in the lot lit up and let out a quick honk. He turned to his car, a small white Toyota with sleek lights on the front and the back. Its interior consisted of grey leather seats, and a pair of red plush dice hanging from the mirror.

You followed him to the left side of the car, and he opened the front door before looking at you in confusion.

"You can sit on the other side, unless you'd like to sit in the back. This is the driver's seat, though, and I have to sit here."

He spoke cautiously for some reason, stepping over each word as if simply telling you to go sit on the other side was a mortal offense. It wasn't that important to you, but you did appreciate the explanation. You hadn't been told why you had to do something in a very long time, so it was a breath of fresh air.

You paced to the other side of the car, and mimicking how he did it, took the door handle in one hand and pulled it. The door barely budged, and you pulled again. On your third try, you set both palms on the handle and heaved it open.

You stepped into the car proudly, and sat down.

"Could you close the door, please?" Mister Sigma interjected, interrupting your sense of accomplishment. You pulled the door shut with both hands and glared at him. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he squinted a little at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm."

Your mild frustration was dissolving quickly, and you relaxed your gaze. He looked down beside you and raised his pointer finger.

"Could you, uh, buckle your seatbelt?"

You weren't quite sure what that meant. You'd seen cars before, but any memory of being in one was hazy. Lightly tilting your head, you opened your mouth a bit.

"Do you need help?"

You shifted in your seat and nodded. He slowly reached over, watching you all the while, and dragged a large grey belt out of the seat and reached over you, placing it into a button on your other side. It made a little click, and he retracted his hands.

"Now we're ready to go."

Mister Sigma set his keys down beside him and started the car. It made a hum as he pulled out of the parking spot. You watched him closely, paying special attention to how his hair moved as he looked around. You could only see the white side right now, but it didn't matter that much to you.

You continued to watch him, his reactions, his movements as he drove. Whenever another car got in front of him, he seemed to purse his lips. Whenever the big light on the road turned red before he passed it, he'd let out a little sigh before relaxing his grip on the wheel. Whenever he stopped, he nervously glanced to the side. As soon as he met your eyes, he turned away, his hair swishing after him.

About halfway through your little drive and almost a dozen awkward glances, he parted his lips while looking forward towards the road.

"Why are you watching me so closely? Do you need something?"

You continued to watch him.

"No."

"Alright.. if you do, please let me know."

"I don't need anything, thank you."

He kept driving and looking ahead. You kept watching him, and at the next stop he turned to you and met your eyes in an uneasy gaze.

"I'm sorry, it's just... it's a little unsettling to have you watching my every move and I..." he trailed off.

"I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"It's alright, you're not in trouble, it's just that.. I'm just a little confused about why you're watching me so much. We've passed plenty of interesting things on the road, but you haven't taken your eyes off me since we started driving." He looked intently at you.

"Your hair."

"What about my hair? Is it the color?" He seemed to grow a little more nervous.

"It moves. It goes swish, swish when you move."

"Yes, I suppose it does..."

"Are there many people with long hair where you're from?" He seemed to pause at the end, searching for what to call you. The space in his words was filled with another long glance. The car continued moving.

"There aren't many people at all."

"Oh, I see."

The long drive continued in silence.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd sigma #sigma bungou stray dogs #sigma x reader #sigma x you #sigma x y/n #strictly platonic but you get the idea #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd fanfic #x y/n #my writing ☆

144 notes · View notes

maple-seed · 1 year ago

Text

Thrown - Chapter 43: A Perfect Fit

Summary: You and Loki discuss the upcoming ball.

Word Count: 1,251

Author's Notes: I was hoping to keep the once-a-week schedule up at least through November, but the days have gotten darker more quickly than I expected. May be switching to every-other-week. Will decide in the next several days.

Thrown Masterlist Loki Masterlist

"This neckline, I believe, would most suit you, my lady." Elof held up the bodice of a dress as an example. You nodded. "I'll trust your judgement on that." "Excellent. Now, if you please?" The tailor gestured to a riser near a set of mirrors. You gingerly stepped up and he bustled about, taking measurements with his tape and writing on a pad.

Loki stood nearby, leaning against a table and watching you intently. The preparations for the Midsummer ball were moving along on schedule. This meant Elof certainly had all the work he needed, but he had been adamant that you were not to wear a dress made by anyone else. Then, when he found out you would be attending on Loki's arm he insisted on a fitting immediately. A grander dress was called for, was the reason given. You had tried to protest but he wouldn't hear it. It was a scenario Loki had seen play out a few times now with Æsir who were determined to repay your kindness. You were often reluctant to receive any boon, but you were met with the same dogged generosity that you had surely shown them. A smile turned up his lips as he watched you now. Your expression was somewhat awkward as Elof circled you and made notes on each of your dimensions. Loki's mind was already swimming in the image of you in an Asgardian gown. He couldn't wait to see it.

"So, my dear, what were you thinking for the color?" Elof looked up from the pad, his eyes cutting to Loki. "I was thinking red?" You kept your expression perfectly level, but Loki knew better. "Maybe a nice crimson?" Loki set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "Never entangle yourself with a mortal woman, Elof." He warned as he pushed off the table. He kept his glare fixed on you as he approached. "She will try your patience at every turn." You were doing your best to rein in your smirk as you looked down at him from the riser. Elof chuckled while he scribbled something on his pad. "I would expect nothing less from your match, sire." Your eyebrows rose in victory. Loki took your hand and considered it for a moment before placing a kiss to it and meeting your eyes again. "I suppose you're right." Elof waved toward another room. "I have some very lovely green fabrics in my inventory, if you would like to come take a look." "I guess that will do." You sighed dramatically as Loki helped you step down.

Upon leaving the tailor's shop you immediately took Loki's arm and leaned into him as the two of you walked down the street. This garnered a few stray glances. Contrary to what Thor might have led him to believe, the shared feelings between the two of you had not been known by the entire population. Though the gossip seemed to be spreading quickly and he had yet to meet someone who seemed surprised at the revelation.

"Tell me again what I can expect at this ball." You squeezed his arm as you walked. "Food and dancing. Wreaths of flowers. Outside there will be bonfires. Plenty to drink. For the Æsir, even. I hear that Asbjorn and his sons are building up enough stock of their Asgardian spirits to drown half the town." He looked down at you. "The food and drink will be the main draw. And the dancing." You bit your lip. "I'm a little worried about the dancing." Loki waved away your concern. "Nonsense. You're a beautiful dancer." You looked up at him skeptically. "That's not what you told me before." "Well, you dance beautifully when I'm leading you." To illustrate his point he stopped, took your hand, and spun you away before drawing you back to him. "And I will be leading you." You laughed as you regained your footing. "And what if someone else asks me to dance?" "You are welcome to make a fool of yourself with another partner." Your laugh was light and you tucked yourself against him again.

He took you on a leisurely stroll through New Asgard. Tonight's dinner was to be held at his home, so there was no need for any hurry. The weather was fair, spring was bringing gradually warmer weather each day. The two of you meandered down the streets until you reached the building site of the hall and found Thor at work managing the efforts there. After some coaxing --and a stern look from you-- he was eventually convinced to take his leave and join Loki for their evening walk.

Thor turned to you. "I understand you were making your own Midsummer plans today?" An uncertain nod from you. "Yeah. Elof just won't take no for an answer. I'm still convinced I'll be completely out of place at a ball, but at least I'll be dressed for the party." Loki was about to object when Thor did it for him. "Ridiculous! You would never be out of place. You belong at the ball. It is your place." He opened his arms to gesture to the town before him. "Just as this is our place. Our new home, where we didn't belong but now we do." He clapped you on the back. "That's precisely what we are celebrating." "Okay, okay." You put your hands up in surrender. "You don't have to weaponize the unity of our people." Loki smirked and gave his brother an approving nod when you weren't looking.

"Elof asked me what color dress I wanted." You glanced up at Thor. "I told him I'd like red." Thor's eyes immediately lit with a teasing mischief. "Ah. A superior color, to be sure." Loki glowered. "I thought so too," you continued with a wry smile, "but he seemed to think I should go with green instead." "I think I can explain. You likely don't know this, but red is considered to be my color." He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. "It would give people entirely the wrong idea about the two of us." "Oh, I see." "This charade is beneath the both of you." Loki muttered. "Could you imagine?" Thor bellowed a false laugh. "A prince of Asgard, courting a lowly mortal?" You were grinning, and feigned a gasp. "The scandal!" "That is really quite enough." Loki interjected. "Well I would hate for you to lose face like that." You didn't appear to hear Loki at all. "I'm glad Elof set me straight." "I will have to thank him for saving the crown from such shame." Thor nodded. "It would be no trouble at all for me to drop the both of you in the harbor." Loki scowled. You and Thor subsided, but not before indulging in a laugh at Loki's irritation.

The walk ended at the brothers' house, where Valkyrie was already waiting with dinner from a restaurant in town. The four of you sat down to share a meal and it occurred to Loki what a strange party this was: the rightful king of Asgard, his brother from another universe, a warrior lost and returned, and a human who had simply decided it was her business to help. Still, somehow, nothing could have felt more natural.

When the night drew to a close you bid goodbye to Thor and the Valkyrie. Loki walked with you to your home. You reached down to lace your fingers with his. Even your hands fit together perfectly.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Thrown Tag List If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.

@mischief2sarawr, @imalovernotahater, @norestfortheshelbywicked, @purplekitten30, @ozymdias, @pdraxxi, @goblingirlsarah, @chantsdemarins, @n3rdybirdee, @marvel-love24, @lokiprompts, @ladymischief11, @gigglingtiggerv2, @lilmilkbun, @huntress-artemiss, @ellooo0ooo, @femme1fatale, @clairewinchester14, @glitterylokislut, @psychospore, @ladyloki3, @skinij3fx, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @lunarnights95, @callxmexnadine, @lilibet261, @valeave, @f2mhg2lt2rta, @fruit-caught-on-camera, @ladymischief11, @paetonnn, @confusedpanda-777, @honeyrydernot, @sarcastic-siren, @wolfsmom1, @lokisgoodgirl, @cakesandtom, @unlucky-number-13, @rinnwylde, @javagirl328, @josiedoesdoodles, @rose7420, @ultrasnakesona, @vickie5446, @superficialdomina, @ireallyneedtherapy, @weirdowoody, @hotmesshobbit, @buttercupcookies-blog, @km-ffluv, @mrsbarnes32557038, @tallseaweed, @leothecat97, @soulpiercing, @axen-gers, @im-a-slut-for-fluff, @jainaeatsstars, @whattwhoo, @xxfaithlynxx, @thisisew, @rvautomatic, @herdetectivetheorist

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #mcu loki #loki fanfic #loki mcu #reader insert #loki thrown

146 notes · View notes

toomanythoughts4myhead · 1 year ago

Text

Where my sorrows went to die

Summary: The prologue to my story: Ballads never end happily and neither do we.(based on my prompt).What if Coriolanus hadn’t managed to kill his lover back in district 12? What if the face haunting his life for the past three years comes back in flesh and bone? Will things be different this time or will he repeat the same mistakes? Giving you the gist of what Coriolanus has been up to since his return in the Capitol and how the story starts.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow (the walking red flag), mentions of death, mentions of grief and pain, the usual egomaniacal inner monologue Corio has (tell me if I missed anything)

Pairings: young!Coriolaus Snow x reader

A/N: Gave this man too much backstory out of nowhere, next chapters will have more action I swear. I just HAD to explain some of what was running through my head as basis of the plot. Hope you enjoy!

[Masterlis] [Next chapter ->]

Word count: 2.8K (around)

The oak trees in the fireplace were burning up, turning black and runny. The pleasant barely heard cracking from burning bark was long gone. The fire was dying, its life extinguished.

It felt familiar.

Coriolanus barely noticed the change in light or temperature, too engrossed in the paperwork that came along with his new working position. It wasn’t the boring cushiony job that he had envisioned back in his academy days, but it was better. The scribbling of pen on paper came to a halt, as the smell of burning wood turned to coals. Coriolanus didn’t much favor the smell of coals, or the cinder they left behind everywhere.

With an almost frustrated squelch of the expensive chair, he had for his study desk, he stood up and called for someone to clean up the fireplace.

He had won his way back to the Capitol, back to wealth and power, back to his true highest form. He didn’t need to breath in the cinder in the air anymore.

He didn’t need to return back to her.

In his upright position he opens one of the windows of his study, the one that overlooks the Capitols center. The cool December air hits him just right, the smell of snow heavy in early morning. The freshness clears his mind and sooths his newfound tenseness which he makes sure to correct as an avox scurries into the room. He doesn’t have to tolerate their filth anymore.

A lot of things have happened in the past 3 years. After his return from duty in district 12, he went on to university and finished his studying under Dr Gaul’s keen eye. Most of his time had truly been spend hauled up in her laboratories, discussing and going over ideas for the games before he was officially made into a part of the game makers. Youngest of them all he had acted on the same manners and sweet-talking he had used for his teachers in the Academy. Old people’s need for respect and admiration made them easy to flatter, it was almost funny.

Back in the days where he had to fear of the upcoming day, he had worked with whatever limited resources he had, running himself dry to hide his families fall from prosperity. Now that he had the Plinths grief-stricken minds, open hearts and fat wallets he could allow his mind to focus solely on whatever web he was spinning this time around. It felt good not to worry for money. Even if it was tarnished by the fact, he had resorted to taking it from districts. But who better take the money of people not belonging in this world than the future president of Panem? It was in everyone’s best interest.

For his 20th birthday the Plinths had bought him his own penthouse. He remembers it well, it wasn’t exactly a surprise, or a well-hidden one at that. Ma Plinth had been looking at him all teary eyed and smitten at the annual Friday dinner he had to sit through, blabbering on and on how he was becoming a fine young man and needed to settle in his own nest, to spread his wings and fly to a new horizon. What was with district people and their birds?

Granma ‘am always looked disdained at best by Mrs. Plinths company, but that night in particular seemed truly to be a new high. Seeing Mrs. Plinth rave about her Corio as if she had been the one who raised him must have rubbed her the wrong way, judging by the poisonous glances. She would never truly be able to stomach knowing that their way of life was supported by lucky district bumpkins, but at her old age she couldn’t complain too much. Her hair was thinning and her eyes were losing their focus, not to mention her aching knees. Thankfully with some of Plinth’s money the elevator was fixed and she could actually go out, rather than sing the hymn all day and water her roses. She was getting older, it always stuck out to Coriolanus, and he always almost immediately focus on the smiling figure of Tigris next to her.

She was able to quit her dead-end job as a seamstress, or more like the cleaner of the cloth shop. She could take life easier, even if her good heart and hardworking soul didn’t let her indulge too much in the luxuries their new life brought along. She never wanted to bother the Plinths, she didn’t like that they were leeching off of them, despite knowing it’s the best thing to do.

She had mentioned it to Coriolanus once, over a glass of some fancy alcohol Strabo Plinth had brought over after the main dinner had ended. The Plinths had returned to the apartment above them and grandma ‘am had retired to her room. With a creased brow and wine-stained lips she had mentioned it didn’t feel right to suck so much money out of the grieving minds of the Plinth’s, that it just didn’t sit right with her to see the poor family crumble so much so that they would turn Coriolanus into their pseudo son and project all their ruined dreams on him. Coriolanus had thrown her a glance over the rim of his glass, expression plane and unbothered, even if faint disdain could be read in his eyes. Not feeling like going in detail over the matter he had simply asked what should they do instead. They continued to drink in silence into the late hours of the night.

Despite this she now worked in a respectable position at Strabo’s Ammunition enterprise. She made a decent paycheck, way better than the scraps she was offered before. The weight of the family’s survival had been lifted off of her frail, still too young shoulders and it seemed that her youth had returned. Coriolanus always knew that their age gap was small, but he also knew how much Tigris had sacrificed: her education, wellbeing, personal life all to provide for him and Granma ‘am. Now her face shone with delight and beauty, lighting every room she entered. She has formed friendships at work, most of which Coriolanus approved, she was even seeing some girl, it made her happy. Coriolanus was glad to see her live the life she was always meant to have, despite everything. She was always the most deserving one, the kindest, the most compassionate, untainted by the same hate that seemed to be rooted in the family line. The one he seemed to be burdened to carry. Some days he envied her, most days he pitied her.

The gifted penthouse was luxurious and spacious, no surprises there. Most of the walls were bare except for a recent portrait the Snows had gotten as a gift from Ma Plinth, actually almost everything was bare, Coriolanus supposed that it was part of the “wing spreading” process for him to design his living space. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor for a few days until his furniture came, brought back some memories certainty, but in the end, he was able to decorate as he pleased rather than deal with the sentimental cluttered nonsense he had witnessed on many occasions at the Plinths. It screamed of people who weren’t used to having money and that’s the last thing Coriolanus needed.

Now he had it all, lavish furniture, a private study, a grand bedroom, personal avoxes to take care of it for him. All colours, items on the walls, tables, shelfs and their clearly expensive prices, it all created the image of the person Coriolanus wanted to be perceived as, all people should know of him. It made him fit in enough with the rich snobs, but shine apart from everyone else with his own personal taste. He would take pride in inviting possible work partners and sponsors for the games over.

Between balancing his position as a game maker, his shares in the Plinth business, he would no doubt inherit in a few years, and his personal relations with family and possible allies, he was spread thin in the best way possible. He was busy building his empire, his legacy, he knew he would achieve what he wanted in the end.

Not because he was blatantly arrogant, not only at least, not because he was charismatic and silver-tongued, not because of how the population of Panem seemed to swoon for the charm and looks he presented himself with. It was all because there wasn’t a price, he wasn’t willing to pay to achieve what he desired. That was the truest form of power, to have the control over your own attachments, the things that rendered everything and anything important. When you have none of that, what will stop you?

He has learned his lesson, he had felt the sting of powerlessness because of his stupidly naive love. Coriolanus Snow will never love again, he would be the one sinking his poison and manipulating this time, pulling the strings of other people’s attachment, but he would never hand over the reins of his heart again.

The angular clean shapes created by the Capitols buildings were smudged by the fast pace of his personal car and the falling snow. Dr Gaul had managed to haul him out of his warm home and call on him to personally visit her.

Coriolanus must admit that he did not miss this side of his new obligations. As he had begun to climb ranks in the social rings Dr Gaul had also stopped breathing down his neck as much, seemingly satisfied by his choices. Back at University when he was basically her apprentice he would have to see and act on her whims every single day. He respects her and her realistic views on humanity and society, but her unpredictability has always made him uncomfortable. He could feel safe knowing he was needed in her future plans but he could never be fully sure what they are exactly. Her mind seemed far too outlandish and out of the box, possibly mad even, for him to decipher and it always put him on edge when he got a call out of the blue.

The car rolls to a stop and his expensive boots leave marks in the snow as he climbs the stairs to the Citadel. The building had always been rather extraordinary and over the top in the way the Capitol seemed to love, so it had faced no renovations or changes in the past years. The same couldn’t be said for most structures in the Capitol. It seems that people have grown tired of seeing all the damage done by the war on the streets and buildings. Especially as the success of the past few hunger games had got the population of the Capitol more hyped, the nationalism seems to have grown.

Most simply enjoyed the games as a really bloody reality TV show at this point, but the older people who still felt the burning hatred for the districts were left satisfied and made big donations, satisfied by the cruel blood baths. Donations were made for rebuilding too, people wanted to drive home how truly better the Capitol was, how its reign would last forever. That was a sentiment Coriolanus was very satisfied to contribute to, he wanted to feel everyday how much better he was than those animals.

The acidic warm air of the labs underground makes him feel a bit better, winters seem to have grown harsher in the past years.

Good.

The staff directly assisting Dr Gaul hadn’t changed much, a few new unimportant faces but most knew him well enough not to even ask what business he had there. He made his way down the narrowing corridors, unbothered by all the abominations that were crying or wailing in their cages. He had seen them too many times to pity them and had watched them rip to shreds a few too many tributes in the newer editions of the games to feel remorse.

He opened the white heavy door to Doctor Gaul’s personal labs and searched for the woman with his gaze. She was waiting for him in her preferred red robes, purposefully stained, it always gave her a sinister aura, especially when she was wearing that unpredictable smile to match. Nothing friendly or even sadistically happy, it was all teeth and that unpredictable glint in her eyes.

She always looked at people like they were her little test subjects, thrilled to find out if they will die or live another day at her hands.

“Snow is falling heavily on Panem this winter, it seems to be overtaking the city by a storm. I am wishing you the same fate Mr. Snow.”

Coriolanus really hadn’t missed her little word plays and he had missed even less having to rake his brain for possible answers.

“Dr Gaul you requested to see me for something important, as I understand?” – Coriolanus asks calmly, making sure his impatience to return back home wasn’t too obvious, as he fiddled with the petals of the white rose tucked in his suit pocket.

“Young Mr. Snow you have been doing well, it seems you are putting what you learned back from District 12 to good use. You have realized the way people’s puny brains work and how attachment controls them, your ideas based on this thesis have helped raise the Hunger games to the civilian’s interest. For that I applaud you.”

The click clacking of her heels sounded oddly hollow compared to the deafening silence created in the laboratory.

Where was she going with this?

“But I often wonder if you yourself are able to withstand those powerful emotions within yourself. If you truly have been cured of it as you claim to have been.”

“Doctor Gaul I don’t understand-”

“Then perhaps we should test it to be sure. Follow me, Mr. Snow”

And with that she was walking away and deeper into the secluded laboratories down the hall. Coriolanus had no other choice but to follow her, even as his mind was running lightyears ahead of him.

What did this crazy woman intend to do? Flashes of Clementina’s fate flash before his eyes from all those years back and he knows that Dr Gaul would do whatever she pleases and stop at nothing. If she meant to test his attachment then that would mean she would harm Tigris? Granma’ am?

Flashes of strung up corpses accompanied by screams of birds fly through his mind and almost dull his vision. Thankfully he doesn’t walk head first into the wall at a specific sharp turn. He stands up straighter and slows his step, he is Coriolanus Snow, he is in control.

As he follows the menacing figure of Dr Gaul around a seemingly endless corridor of small rooms, that had a striking resemblance to a medical wing, they came to a gradual stop in front of room 278. No words were exchanged as they wordlessly stepped inside. He realized with a baited breath and fastening heartbeat, that his assumption about the medical wing had been correct. The room consisted of white walls and a simple medical bead that lay in the middle of the floor, currently hidden by drapes. The clinical acidic smell and lack of corpses at first glance made his shoulder untense under his red vest, just a little.

Dr Gaul walked over with the same unshakable calmness she always carried and went to stand next to the bed, just inches from the curtains, signaling for Coriolanus to come and open them. She observed him unblinkingly, the spark of interest never wavering.

If something gained such a strong response from doctor Gaul, Coriolanus was ready to sign his loved ones’ obituaries.

His heart was beating out of his chest and he hoped his breathing hadn’t intensified, as his hand took a hold of the rough material. He knew that he wasn’t visually showing anything, years of play pretend and weaving lies had made him an amazing subconscious actor, but he also knew that nothing escaped Dr Gaul’s gaze.

He pulled back the curtains with a sharp tug and for a few moments he didn’t know how to respond.

He felt almost naïve relief as he witnessed sprawled out body, so foreign from his family’s. And then it all came back cascading onto him as his mind cleared and he looked past the stress induced haze.

The image he had been seeing every night, the ghost haunting everything beautiful, the job he never finished properly.

It was you.

92 notes · View notes

safely-in-vhagars-belly · 1 year ago

Text

Ashes Burn: chapter one

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, gore, blood

🔷Summary: Your hometown will soon fall, and you become noticed by the one-eyed Kinslayer who lays siege to it.

🔷Author's note: Dark!Aemond is not something i throw around lightly. It is not something i take lightly as a warning. Just so you know.

🔷Wordcount :7036 (THAT CANT BE RIGHT THATS HUGE)

Warnings below the cut but mind your step!

🔷Warnings: Gore, AABFR, She/her pronouns, murder, warcrimes, mentions of non-con but no descriptions of it, Dubcon (aemondxoc) and overall a very very dark Aemond. Childabuse? (A child gets slapped)

All but ash

The skies have blackened with smoke in the distance. Fires keep the courtyard warm where multiple children and women shelter for the upcoming battle. They hope for a victory. They hope for a happy ending.

You stand on your balcony and overlook the city you were conceived in, born in, and perhaps even will die in: DolkBurg. A small city, almost a village, but not quite, located in the Riverlands.

Your family, the Dawreyn, have been ruling this seat until the beginning of the Seven Kingdoms; perhaps even before that, according to some ancient texts. Yet you are not a full Dawreyn. You are a bastard. Your father is Samwell Dawreyn, but your mother? You wouldn't know.

From the distance, you notice horses riding up to the city gates. That is when you stop watching. You close the door of your balcony and head downstairs.

When you pass halls, men and women alike are preparing for the battle. Servants carry food, supplies, and weapons around in quick passed steps. You see your father and your brother adjusting their armours before going to meet the Greens head-on. And you see Lady Fyona Dawnreyn, who clutches her youngest child, your brother Maas, on her lap. Her eyes are big and full of worry, and she mumbles prayer after prayer.

You ignore her for now, as she would ignore you as usual. ‘’Where are Annalysa and Diandra?’’ You ask your father, Lord Samwell Dawreyn. His heir, your half-brother Karst, is busy sharpening his sword, preparing for battle by slashing down imaginary enemies. You hope the battle ends as good as he imagines it. You doubt it, however. Karst has never seen a real battle. None of you have. Perhaps your father did. But he is old and weak. You would be a fool to deny it.

Your father speaks in an annoyed, snappy tone that betrays that you have outstayed your welcome in his presence already for today. ‘’Annalysa is in her rooms. Diandra is busy preparing her crossbow.’’ He does not even glance at you.

And that kills you faster than any arrow or sword ever would. Diandra has always been very spirited. ‘’Don't tell me she is stupid enough to fight.’’ You huff. Diandra thinks she is the greatest archer who ever lived, but how much damage can one 12 years old do?

Your father turns on his heel, glaring at you. ‘’I'm glad that one of my daughters is doing something useful. Instead of sending good suitors screaming for the hills.’’ You absently touch your scar by your face before glaring at him.

He leans in closer. ‘’We will soon discuss the matter of your future, Y/N. I will no longer have you under my roof. Not when bastards are hunted.’’ You know what he is referring to.

King Aegon II has decided that all bastards holding titles and lands must turn it over to the Crown. You have never heard of a more foolish rule, but you understand why he did so. His nephews are bastards. The rightful queen might be pure of blood, but her children are not.

You would be a risk for your family to keep. You would endanger the life of your siblings. You would endanger everyone here. You would rather stay, but not at the costs of their lives.

Your father leaves the hall with Karst, and you watch the two of them walk outside, to where their horses await them. Karst climbs on the saddle before waving to you, following your shared father.

Diandra, out of breath, chases after them with her bow. ‘’Wait! I can fight!’’ She shouts into the dust and the shadows they leave behind.

You feel sympathy for your youngest sister. You gently lay a hand on her shoulder. ‘’They're men, Di. This war started because they were too shortsighted to see what we women are truly capable of.’’

Di drops her bow defeated. She was born eight years ago. You two are different in so many ways. ‘’I just wish I wasn't a woman. I wish I could…’’She looks wistfully to where the smoke clouds have gotten worse and is gathered above the hills surrounding the city. Even if she was born a man, she would not be able to fight for several years to come.

You take one of her hands and try to drag her away from the gates and back to the safety of your home. ‘’We need to prepare the castle.’’ You tell her with a smile. ‘’It's a great honor and duty to prepare the castle when battle is afoot. We must -’’

A horse lets himself be known. A familiar horse. The majestic creature almost walks right to Diandra, who greets her horse with a pat on his neck. Balyrion, her loyal horse, lowers his head in greeting.

Diandra grabs her bow, walking her horse to the stables where it escaped from...

You turn your back, but keep watching her. In the moments that you do, you see your sister climb on her horse and dash off into the city, to where the warzone becomes closer and closer to the place you call home.

You let out a shriek before grabbing your own horse from the stables, chasing after her in madness and desperation. ‘’Diandra! Come back here!’’ You shout, following the little girl as you avoid villagers and smallfolk alike.

You follow her through the village where the soldiers are holding up near the gates of the city. Two or three laugh when you two approach in your dresses and another scoffs, but you ignore them all.

Diandra has taken position by a crack of the gates. She has leveled her arrows through the hole, ready to impale her target from her horse.

She is aiming.

She is waiting.

You see a man approach the gates. He has dark hair, and you see a terrifying large creature behind him that eclipse the sun. A dragon is waiting back on the hills.

You heard rumors that she is the biggest dragon alive but rumors and seeing her with your own eyes are two different things. ‘’Let's see how easy you can bother villages without your eyes…’’ Diandra mutters, and you see her switch her bow to the man that approaches your town.

You have a split second to act.

So you do.

You tackle her to the ground, slamming the bow out of her hands and throwing your body on hers to protect her.

‘’No!’’ Diandra groans as the arrow misses him by a mere inch. The arrows land in the grass right beside his left feet. The man pauses and takes the arrow from the ground, as if he picks a flower.

He takes out a horn and blows it.

One time.

Two times.

Three times.

You feel an uneasy feeling grow as the little dots in the distance become bigger and bigger, and the army approaches your city.

‘’Are you mad?! He was going to offer us mercy!’’ You shout at Diandra.

She spits in your face before taking her bow back. ‘’There is no mercy from killers. You always were meant to be slave but I sure am not!’’ She shouts.

You don't even give her time to rethink her actions before you hit her across her face. She doubles over and clutches her face furious. She tries to attack you, but you simply step aside, letting her stumble. ‘’You're an idiot. That man came to offer terms. We will all die now!’’ You scream at her.

Two soldiers are needed to keep you both from hurting each other. Your father approaches as his soldiers hold you both apart, clearly disappointed.

‘’Diandra. What are you doing here?’’ You huff a bit. Of course he only cares for her wellbeing.

She has stupid hopeful eyes that fill you with pity. A stupid hopeful girl that never learns that men would never see her as an equal. ‘’I can fight, Father.’’ She speaks, easily freeing herself. She looks at him with big, hopeful eyes. ‘’I almost killed the man! I can fight. Let me fight.’’ She begs.

Your father scoffs, insulted and hurt that you both ruined this mission. This final chance at peace. ‘’You're a woman. Go home. You embarrassed me enough for one day.’’ You feel angry. Isn't he even a tiny bit proud?

You both get onto your horses as the army with the dragon banners reaches the final gate. Within a few mere moments, they have broken through the walls and gates. You watch as Diandra silently cries, tears of rage and broken dreams leaving her eyes… Until you follow her gaze to the open gate.

Diandra understands this is her chance.

And her moment.

Instead of running home, instead of retreating, the girl of 12 summers old, your sister, runs through the open gates into the battlefield.

She takes her crossbow and aims it, but before she can even kill one soldier, she is surrounded. You overhear what she is saying to the soldiers. You show your empty hands to the men who try to stop you. ‘’Please. That's my sister. Show me your honour, and let me try to save her.’’ You beg.

You fear they will kill you on the spot but the man that Diandra tried to kill, the man with the kind brown almost dark and certainly Dornish eyes speaks for you, protecting you. ‘’Very well. We will push the attack, so don't expect to return.’’ He warns you.

You don't listen to him and run past soldiers on foot and horse alike, past slayed soldiers and those who are still moaning in pain to where your sister is surrounded.

You hope you are not too late.

You hope your mission is not in vain. You approach your sister and overhear her insulting the soldiers that keep their weapons aimed at her. ‘’Who leads you, you disgusting pigs? Take me to him!’’ She demands as if this is her army.

You will kill that girl if she gets out of here alive. What is she even thinking? ‘’Diandra!’’ You shout, and she blushes as a little girl being scolded by her mother. A few soldiers turn their heads to you, surprised by your entrance.

The commander escorts you to her. ‘’Pigs, huh?’’ He says dryly. ‘’And who are you, little lady?’’ You thought you knew, but you aren't sure anymore. Who is your sister?

Diandra ignores him.

‘’Well? Are you deaf? Who commands you? I wish to speak to him. Now!’’ She shouts, causing one soldier to even flince. The commander sighs deeply before nodding to a man who approaches.

The fighting for the walls continues. The army of the Greens outmatches the army of Dolkburg greatly. You can even see the outcome for this point of the war. It won't even take a day. Perhaps three hours, that is if you are all lucky.

From the corner of your eye, you take in an all black dressed character with long silver hair, wielding an impressive long silver sword. A Targaryen. You almost instantly back away from him, stepping on the toes of the commander. ‘’Pardon me, Ser.’’ You mutter, but he didn't even feel your feet. His iron shoes protected him. The commander bows his head in respect for the Targaryen.

The Targaryen in question is a terrifying creature that looks as if he came walking straight out of a historic book about the first conquest of Westeros. You become aware of your increased heartbeat, and you avoid drawing attention to yourself.

You heard rumours.

You all had.

There are three green Targaryens with dragons. One is the king. He is a modest threat if he comes. One is the last born prince, he too would be a modest threat. But the second one, he is the deadliest with the biggest dragon of them all. He is known as the Kinslayer or one-eye.

And unfortunately for you, and your beautiful hometown, your family's lives and the lives of your friends and everything else that matters to you, that you hold so dear, this man is clearly covering up a missing eye with a black eyepatch.

The one-eyed Targaryen grins at your sister. ‘’I am right here, little lady.’’ He speaks full of mockery in a deep raw voice that sends chills down your spine. There is no humanity or kindness in his eyes. Only bloodlust. Madness. Insanity and rage. You know that all attempts at peace are lost.

Diandra seems taken back for a moment. Perhaps she is even truly afraid for a moment. But Diandra has never learned to live on her knees. She would rather die standing than live on her knees. She looks the prince up and down slowly, as if he’s a cow on the market. ‘’You're even uglier up close.’’ She says, shocking a few soldiers and even the commander.

The prince glares at her.

‘’I am flattered.’’ He speaks, not giving a damn. But his curiosity gets the better of him anyway. ‘’Who are you, and why do you wish to die so badly?’’ He speaks, taking out his sword.

Your sister lifts her chin. ‘’I am Diandra of house Dawreyn. You're attacking my home. It's you who is going to die.’’ You close your eyes quietly, praying. If he wasn't planning on killing her...

He sure is now.

The prince laughs in her face as some of the surrounding soldiers join in.

‘’Am I now? O, my. How unfortunate.’’ He speaks, eying his men with amusement in his remaining good eye. His men chuckle or laugh. Then that laugh vanishes, leaving behind a beast. He suddenly jumps forward, causing Diandra to stumble backwards. He grits his teeth at her. ‘’I have a dragon, you foolish cunt. Perhaps I'll keep you alive as entertainment for my men. You are too young to have sex with, but we can cut you up or make you a target practice. I do warn you: I can’t see very well..’’ He warns Diandra with those words.

You must interfere. ‘’That would be foolish. My sister speaks-’’Before you can finish talking, Diandra pushes you roughly aside, walking up to Aemond before taking out a small sword.

She exhales before speaking. So loudly that everyone can hear her. ‘’I challenge you to a duel.’’ She says, her voice unshaken, her eyes burning with hatred. ‘’That is, if you are man enough to face me.’’

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You hear cold laughter of the men. ‘’No! Diandra, no.’’ You tell her strictly. ‘’Diandra stop being foolish-’’ Diandra coldly turns around to face you.

The prince snickers as well, amused by this development and very eager to spill blood. ‘’'You? You want to duel me?’’ The prince wonders outloud. ‘’You have more balls than the other men, I give you that. But I can't hurt a little peasant girl as yourself.’’

Diandra spits at the genuinely disgusting few men. ‘’Yes. I will take your other eye and send it to your brother.’’ She groans, insulted and impatient. You don’t think she is even scared. That is not a concept she’s familiar with.

The prince sighs almost as if he's bored with the entire idea of fighting your sister. ‘’O, I'm not going to do that. That wouldn't be fun for me.’’ You suppose that is true. It would be boring and a very short duel. One-sided too.

Diandra is let go of by the command of the prince. She charges at him with her sword. ‘’Do it! Do it, you coward!’’ She shouts as the guards restrain her once more.

The prince continues his dramatics for quite a while, moaning about his boredom when behind him, near the gates your people are slaughtered as pigs. ‘’I was told there was going to be a battle, yet here I am with two annoying hostages. The one a mute, the other a talkative dumb child.’’ He murmurs as Diandra screams and kicks her attackers. You are frozen and can't move a single finger.

Another person rides into the battlefield. Karst. You see he is covered in blood and has fought his way to the frontlines.He rides up to the prince and glares at him. ‘’I assume you are the Kinslayer?’’ He spats. You are glad and fearful your brother is here.

The prince's good eye narrows. ‘’I am named Aemond.’’ And just like that, the demon has a name.

Karst nods. ‘’Aemond. Good. I'm Karst of house Dawreyn. My father demands the return of my sister, Diandra.’’ Your eyes roll, but you carefully compose your face. Of course he only cares about Diandra. ‘’Release both her and her septa and we can discuss the terms of your surrender.’’ You know that Karst only protects you by lying about who you are. Bastards aren't safe under Aegon's rule. But to call you a septa? That is a lie that even a one-eyed man will easily see through.

For a moment it's silent.

Birds chirp in the distance.

Clouds roll by.

Screams are the only thing you hear.

Screams and prayers.

Until that moment passes and the laughter, that stomach twisting laughter returns. It sends shivers down your spine, and if hell had a sound, that would be it.

It would be funny. Perhaps if the roles were reversed, you would laugh too. ‘’My surrender? I see stupidity runs in the family.’’ The prince comments. Perhaps it does.

Karst does not even blink. ‘’If you won't face a woman, surely you will face a man. Or are you a craven?’’ He grins at Aemond, taunting him by taking out his sword. ‘’I heard you are one of the youngest dragon riders out of your family.’’ You never heard that story.

The prince smirks, barely hiding his pride.

‘’You heard correct.’’

Your brother comes even closer. ‘’Yet, I heard your sister, the Queen Rhaenyra was even younger.’’ You bite your lips to avoid laughing at Aemond’s enraged face. Not only did Karst remind him of a old wound, but also made clear who your family is loyal to in the same breath, when pretending to praise the Prince’s ego. Karst cleans some blood of his sword, blood you know that belongs to Aemond’s men. ‘’Do us both a favor, and duel me so we can stop this unnecessary bloodshed.’’ He speaks, as a true leader of this town.

To that the prince nods. ‘’Very well.’’ He speaks. To his men he nods. They grab you and your sister before cleaning a large space for the duel.

Karst speaks with the words of a true hero. ‘’Whoever wins this duel, takes Dolkburg.’’ He says, making a very big gamble. A too big a gamble, perhaps. But Karst is a good fighter. He is skilled. Efficient. He is enough. He needs to be enough.

He continues as the prince remains silent. ‘’Three steps. Agreed?’’ So they will take three steps back before attacking.

The prince shrugs again that bored tone of his coming out. ‘’Tis fine with me.’’ He speaks.

Karst counts out loud as he takes steps away from the prince. You watch anxiously. You focus on Karst's metal boots. You see one step. And a second one.

But before he can place his feet down for the thirth, his feet stop moving, and you watch him collapse for your own eyes.

The prince stands behind him with his sword drawn where blood still drips from. ‘’And that would be three.’’ He grins at your brother. Aemond is speaking to a corpse.

Grief is a funny thing. You, for one, are horrified and frozen and clutch your throat to silence the cries that come out. When Diandra, screams at Aemond before her small legs pick up the pace and approach him quickly. Aemond simply turns, his sword in his dominant hand and waits with a grin for her to approach. Before he can chop her head off, the Dornish commander picks Diandra up by her hips. ‘’Let me go! I shall have my revenge!’’ Diandra screams, when kicking him. You are the commander very thankful. ‘’You are a monster!” She shouts at Aemond. He was staring at the corpses of his men and although you can’t quite tell what is going on inside his head, you can see he did not appreciate that comment.

‘’Diandra, shut up.’’ You beg her as the prince is reminded of you both. He already finds her annoying. He already is tested and challenged by her.

He sees you. Perhaps he did before. But now he acknowledges your existence. You shelter your sister, aware he will kill you both.

Aemond looks at the corpse of your brother. He smirks at your trembling legs and the way you cling tightly to your sister. ‘’My. You're a pretty one.’’ He speaks, surprising you. He takes in your simple gown approvingly, treating it as a seductive cloth made of silk.

It's a compliment. You aren't used to men flirting with you. You aren't used to any of this.

‘’I am not.’’ You say instead, shielding your sister by tightly holding her against your chest.

The prince chuckles, staring a little too long at your lips.

‘’I quite disagree.’’ He murmurs to himself. He steps closer to you and you can smell a permanent almost stench of rotten meat and dead bodies as he comes closer. ‘’I have never known a septa to dress in such a way. And I have met a lot.’’ He says.

You can’t imagine where a man like him met a septa.

‘’I have recently converted.’’ You hope he buys the lie. ‘’I chased her the moment I heard her ladyship was gone.’’ You tell the prince, nodding to your sister.

He does not seem to care about Diandra's noble lineage. And that scares you. He must care, if he is to keep her alive. Diandra will be a difficult young, useless hostage that insulted him countless times already. He must see her value. ‘’That's Diandra of house Dawreyn. She is worth a lot if you were to ransom her.’’ A ransom would mean he can't hurt her. Not too badly. And you know your father too well. He would pay soon and get Diandra back, ensuring her safety once more.

For a moment, a brief moment, it seems likely that Diandra will protest. Perhaps even call you a traitor. She is close to ruining it all. But instead, she likely understands that you know the best way to save you both.

The prince takes in Diandra's glares and silk riding gown. He sighs as if he has to admit to himself that you indeed tell the truth. You are thankful for the simple beige gown you picked out today. A simple gown without any stitches or designs or patterns who won't give away that you are a Dawreyn as well. He speaks, wettening his lips with his tongue. ‘’A woman of great schemes and great beauty. You are interesting.’’ There it is again. That gentle soft tone when he speaks to you. Yet it feels like a fox trying to lure a bunny out of its den. You know it's nothing more but a facade.

Yet you try to negotiate with him. You try to get on his good side. A tiny bit as much as your heart allows. ‘’I know she made a fool of you, and I know we insulted you both. Yet I beg you to let her be. She is still a child.’’ You hope he likes the dramatic touch of your begging. He seems to like dramatics.

Instead of giving you his word as a gentleman, he stares off into the distance of your hometown. You become uncomfortable and turn your gaze away from him. ‘’Are you betrothed?’’ He asks as his men are busy fending off soldiers that try to keep coming to you and Diandra.

‘’No.’’ You respond as you watch a single soldier be beheaded brutally. He survives the first attempt, and the blood splashes down his armor, and you can hear his screams before he bleeds out. The agreement remains. He won. Dolkburg is his. ‘’M-my prince, you can stop the fighting. We’ll let Lord Samwell know that you and Karst made an agreement-’’

His lips curl into a smirk as he briefly looks up from the moaning and screaming soldiers that beg for death and mercy. ‘’I have no intention to stop this battle.’’ He sounds almost happy. Glad, delighted and peppy. Not how you would expect.

You don’t understand. Why waste good men and resources on a fight already won? Why kill innocents? ‘’But..why ever not? You are clearly on the winning side. What good will it do?’’ You sound like a little foolish girl.

He grins, amused. ‘’You’re a woman, so I don’t expect your innocent and pure mind to understand the way I think. These men are traitors. They defied my brother and his reign. They will answer for their crimes with fire and blood.’’ You need to stop this. Now. You watch his sword, where the blood of your brother still drips down. This is insanity. ‘’Most men didn’t deny Aegon. You know this! Most men simply follow their lord. They don’t choose to die-’’ they don't even choose to follow their lord.

You might see it that way. But he does not. ‘’They made a choice. And they choose wrong. If you like, you can give them proper burial after since you are a septa.’’ You nod, unsure as to how you would even do so. You don’t know anything about septas or burials. And he knows it too, you can tell he was sarcastic.

‘’Married?’’ The prince asks as a casual follow-up. You ignore him as your father comes through the lines, pushing an army of soldiers through the broken gates. They fend off the first few guards. And they slay whoever is on their path. As they push forward, the other half of the army is riled up and follows them, with a powerful battle cry. Even the smallfolk has come out, rallied to their cause, with whatever weapons they could find. Some grab swords from fallen soldiers, others just use pans and knifes.

More and more soldiers on Aemond’s side die as the battle seems to turn.

Your lips begin to smile hopefully as Diandra applauds. Annoyed, Aemond glares at her. You are quick to stop her. ‘’I asked you something.’’ He groans when he grabs you by the throat. You are not choked but understand by the rage and insanity in his remaining good eye he is very close and tempted to do so.

‘’Are you married?’’ He repeats, almost spitting at you.

You are not sure why he asks. You are sure you don’t want him to know that you are unwed.

And you won't become his.

So you lie.

The word rolls easily over your lips as you pretend to think back of a love long lost. ‘’Widowed.’’ You speak your voice soft. ‘’He went to the Reach to fight. They say he was burned alive.’’ You know he was there. You know he killed and blazed dozens in the Reach. You hope he feels terrible about it. Yet he begins to smile again, careless and pleased.

‘’I can live with that.’’ He chuckles in your ear. ‘’A woman as gorgeous as yourself is too pretty to be a widow forever. It's past time you moved on.’’ He lets go of you, pleased you answered him but annoyed it took you so damn long.

You absently nod. Until you have the eerie feeling that he might be referring to himself.

Your father fights well and bravely. But to think he would win is a foolish thought. And eventually, he is captured and brought forward. ‘’Daddy!’' Diandra yells as they take him closer to her.

Almost happy with her, Aemond perks up and whispers something in the ear of a soldier close to him. The soldier runs off.

Aemond approaches Diandra and grabs a handful of her dark locks, causing her to cry out. He throws her on her knees and forces the blade he carries on her neck, ready to behead her any moment. ‘’That is a child!’’ You seem to be the only one disgusted by this.

He glares in your direction and another soldier grabs your arms. ‘’Do not harm the septa.’’ Aemond growls, warning him. The soldier lets go of you instantly. He turns his head to your father. ‘’Bend the knee or see your daughter die the way I killed your son as well.’’ Realization hits your father as the soldier brings Karst's head to him. Your father tears up helplessly as he nods. The head is tossed around between soldiers, before Aemond takes the skull of your brother and inserts his sword into the right eye of Karst.

Your sister is the child, the small one, the weaker one. You must protect her.

‘’Look away, Diandra!’’ You warn her, but it is too late. Diandra watches with her mouth open as Aemond cuts out one of the eyes of your brother, proudly as if its his trophy. Aemond laughs, taking in the eye.

Karst’s blue gorgeous and bright eyes.

‘’He had gorgeous eyes. I bet he fucked a lot of women, didn’t he?’’ He asks your father, and you are appealed at the audacity of him. Your father does not respond, silent tears running down both his cheeks. Aemond chuckles, before kicking your father against his kneecaps. ‘’You can be silent all you wish, I like silence. Helps me think.’’

‘’I bet he had his eyes set on the Septa here.’’ Aemond continues, gesturing to you. ‘’That’s why he rode into Battle, that’s why he challenged me. Not for his useless brat sister, but because he had a hard one for her.’’ Your own brother. You know he is lying. But just that thought, makes you sick. He sees your disgust and your glare and smirks. ‘’Does that disgust you? My apologies.’’

Your father croaks out. ‘’And my other daughter? What will you do with Y/N?’’ You close your eyes in fear as cold sweat breaks out. You hear Aemond's boots turn around to face you and you open your eyes. When you do you are confronted with his rage and his displeasure. You helplessly tear up. ‘’Please, I know she's a bastard but she is my daughter. Certainly you can make an exception for once. We can even pay you.’’ He offers. ‘’We have gold, plenty of women, animals for your dragon, you can even burn me, if you like. But not my children. She is good, so is Diandra. They are sweet kind girls-’’

You don’t know Aemond very well. But he does not seem to care even a bit about money. He cares about justice, about honor and revenge. Gold is not important to him.

Disgusted as if he burned himself or as if you are a disgusting thing, Aemond pushes you in the dirt next to your sister. The blade switches necks. You feel it cold in your throat. ‘’You shouldn't have lied to me.’’ He hisses in your ear, forcing you to feel the blade taunt and slightly touch your neck. You whimper. You don't want to die.

‘’Y/n!’’ Diandra cries.

Aemond ignores the protests. ‘’I've come to a wonderful conclusion: I will take this city, and I will take it in the name of my brother, King Aegon II.’’ That was to be expected. ‘’So, since you are the ruling family, you will all bend the knee to me and I’lll decide what I’ll do with you traitors later.’’ You can’t imagine he will let your father live. Diandra has one final thing to say.

‘’You are a coward! You attack our home, you harass my sister and you kill my brother and for what?! Because we wouldn’t bend the knee to your drunken cunt of a brother?! You Greens claim that Rhaenyra’s children aren’t true Targaryens, but at least they aren’t true monsters!’

Aemond takes a deep breath once she has finished speaking. ‘’The little brat annoys me. Perhaps she needs discipline.’’ You freeze and watch as a soldier grabs Diandra before hitting her multiple times across her face until blood streams from her nose and tears roll down her cheeks. He smirks, folding his hands on his back. ‘’Much better.’’

You are horrified, still on your knees as Aemond presses you further down in the mud. You make a wordless prayer to the gods. ‘’As I said: I will take this city. I will bestow mercy on everyone who bends the knee.’’ Aemond says, and you can’t help but frown. Part of you know he is lying to the masses. He is lying and playing them. You’ve seen earlier that Aemond does not care about the people he kills. Your father nods, hestiant at first but understands you don’t have a choice.

You finally get up from the ground, carefully looking at Aemond for approval. He does not seem to care nor notice you at all anymore.

He gives his soldiers instructions.

‘’Escort them to the bricks until I've decided that they can be released.’’ He speaks. ‘’Treat them with utmost respect. These people are nobility.’’ He warns the guards. A few nod, and your family is escorted away from you. Diandra cries your name when she is escorting to your home, where she will be held as a prisoner. ‘’Y/n! No!’’

Aemond sighs. The commander comes up to him. ‘’We rounded up around 300 survivors. And around 800 wounded men.’’ That is a joke compared to the troops that Aemond has. You don’t know his exact numbers but one glance behind you, and you don’t have to. You can count.

The prince thinks.

‘’Hm. Put the wounded out of their misery. And bring the survivors to the city gates.’’ He is going to kill the survivors. You know he is. That is why he wanted your father gone, he pretended to care so your father would go quietly. Since Aemond is distracted with the surrender of your hometown, you easily slip past a few guards, quickly putting distance between you and him.

You are almost at the gates when a hand grabs your arm, pulling you back. ‘’No! No, I don't want to go back!’’ You beg whoever holds your arm. You look straight into the face of the commander. He has a sorrowful pitiful look in his eye as he drags you back to Aemond who is waiting where you left him.

‘’On your knees.’’ He commands you the moment you are in front of him. He takes out the same sword he killed your brother with. He will kill you the same way.

‘’Why?’’ You whisper as a craven. ‘’I don’t want to die.’’ You confess softly.

His good eye rolls again, and he hisses at his soldiers. ‘’Help that simple woman.’’ He tells his guards and soldiers. Two men eagerly force you on your knees in front of the prince.

‘’I was so disappointed when I found out you had left my side.’’ He speaks the moment you are pushed on your knees. ‘’I thought you were smarter than to run away from me.’’ You are shocked for a brief moment. No one ever called you smart before. No one.

You huff, insulted and perhaps it helps that you know you will die: You have nothing left to lose. There is nothing you can say to hurt yourself even more. ‘’I saw the way you let go of me. You don't find me attractive anymore. I'm just a dirty bastard. Why waste your time with me? You’ll kill me eventually.’’

He chuckles, in a light, delighted manner. ‘’Kill you? No, no. That would be a shame of a pretty face.’’ Your face is touched, almost gently caressed and you are confused and terrified. You rather be with your family in a cell, than here. ‘’Now, I'm afraid that there is a punishment due for you.’’ He says, and he can’t hide his smirk.

You open your mouth to protest. Aemond takes the sword he killed your brother with, and makes sure that fresh blood is stained on the blade by running the sword, almost coating it in the blood of your brother by slashing open his corpse. The blade is now covered in crimson, red dripping blood. Aemond brings the blade to your face. He gently tilts his head and when he looks you in the eyes you know you have two choices. Submit or die. ‘’Lick my sword.’’ He says.

You hesitate. ‘’That is my brother. That is…disgusting.’’ You protest. Licking his blood, disrespecting his corpse and tasting his blood: it is all too much for you. You burst into tears.

Aemond sighs. ‘’As a Targaryen, I don’t quite see the issue.’’ He jests, causing the commander to chuckle, as well other soldiers. ‘’You can lick this sword or you can get on your pretty knees and die.’’ He says, carelessly.

You hope he does not cut your tongue out with it. You lick the edge of the blade, softly careful not to hurt your own tongue. Aemond watches, his breath stuck in his throat as you gently lick the blood clean of his blade. You feel disgusted and sick after it, and you must to all you can to avoid throwing up. Aemond moves the sword,into his seath.

‘’You see that, men? These women have no self-respect, no dignity, no value. They are as sheep in the meadow, ready for a good ram to fuck them.’’ He speaks to the masses of the army he commands, using you as a example. You whimper when Aemond grabs you by the throat.

He throws you on your knees in front of him.

‘’Kiss my boots.’’ He hisses. ‘’Show me your obedience and you won’t be killed.’’ He promises you. ‘’Kiss them, or I will fly my dragon over your hometown and burn everything and everyone that you hold dear to ash.’’ You bend your head and leave two kisses on each his boots. You recoil when you taste the disgusting mud he walked through.

Aemond grabs you from the ground, by the throat and roughly kisses you. You protest and try to flee him, but he holds you too tightly to escape. You are made a spectacle of. This is not desire, this is power. ‘’Tell the men this one won't be hurt or touched without my approval. She's mine.’’ He barks at the commander and leaves with a posessive smack on your ass. You flinch, whimpering.

You understand your fate very well. The prince lifts your teary cheeks and kisses your lips, gentle and soft this time. A horse is brought to you both. ‘’You’ll ride with me.’’ He tells you. ‘’When we are riding through the city, you’ll hold your brother’s head for me. You hold it above your head, you show it around and you make sure that every fucking villager in this piss-forgotten-shithole understands who’s in charge now.’’ He groans in your ear.

You nod, terrified. His face and voice softens. ‘’I am so glad I found you before I sacked this place.’’ You hate that word with a burning passion. ‘’You might have gotten hurt.’’ He makes his voice soft when speaking to you, almost seductive and sweet. ‘’I might be staying a while. I hear the nights are dark and cold here. I need someone to keep me warm.’’

You don’t respond, not thrusting yourself to not cry. ‘’And who’s better fitted for that, than a nameless, bastard who dared to lie to me?’’ He lifts your chin so he can count the tears in your eyes, before they fall and roll down your cheeks.

‘’Get on the horse.’’ He says, commanding you. You clumsily climb on the horse, waiting for his further instructions. He climbs on the same horse, and wraps his bloodied hands around your waist, staining your dress. He takes the reins of the horse and directs it to where the majority of the survivors are rounded up.

You hold the head of your brother as a few soldiers from your father’s troops recognize you. Your hands shake yet you won't let go of your brother’s head. Aemond makes sure that you are surrounded by guards loyal to him before leaving. You remain alone at the castle gates, under guard.

Aemond finally returns, with his dragon. He commands the survivors to be brought outside. You are forced on your knees in the grass, between bloodied bodies, missing body parts and arrows. Because he wants you to see and to remember well what comes next. He starts with the survivors who are the most injured. An old man around your father’s age can’t walk because of his bleeding legs. ‘’Let me help with you that.’’ Aemond offers the man a hand. The man smiles, through his pain. Aemond quickly takes out his sword instead, slashing at the injured leg until the plain muscle holding his leg together as thin threads is cut and the man screams. He collects the leg and feeds it to his dragon. After that, he feeds the man the leg belonged to.

Aemond forces around dozens of people to his dragon. Some are roasted first, screaming as they burn in their armor. Some are chopped up, cut up, slashed up, everything to make the meal sweeter for Aemond’s beloved Dragon. You remain on your knees, sobbing with every new victim for mercy by Aemond. Instead of doing so he grins, leaning and gives you his even more bloodied sword to lick clean. ‘’Save your voice, little Y/N. You are going to need it badly once we are alone.’’

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''But Vhagar didnt you already publish-''

I did rewrote it. Aemond did not took the eye in the orginal one.

I found that a ...neat little addition:))

95 notes · View notes