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lizzyiii · 1 month

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His Lady Love (4)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC ✨

word count | 4k words

summary | reader becomes lost in her thoughts. viserys dies, discussions with helaena, alicent, and aemond

tags | blood, violence, death, angst/no comfort (cuz no one knows she's a vampire), vampire powers, tensionnnnn, reader lowkey supports rhaenyra's claim, but she loves team green as if they're her family sooooo.

note | REMINDER: reader is just a teenage girl who wants her mommy, but is forced to be a blood-sucking vampire. also I haven't thought about the mikaelsons in a while and I just remembered how finn mikaelson was my favourite. #justiceforfinnmikaelson. he's so overhated for what?!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

You were engulfed in confusion—terribly so. Confusion swirled within you like the smoky shadows of the Keep's halls. The unexpected kiss from Prince Aemond echoed in your mind, a fiery spark that ignited a torrent of thoughts as you navigated the labyrinthine passages of Maegor's hidden passageways heading towards Flee Bottom. Cloaked in shadow, you traversed the dimly lit tunnel—one you discovered long ago during the cold, shadowy days of your arrival in King's Landing. But as you slipped through the ancient stone corridors, your thoughts remained anchored to that fleeting moment when Aemond’s lips brushed against yours—intense yet tantalizingly soft.

The kiss was a sudden tempest, and the weight of it left you breathless. His strong, musky scent lingered in the air, a potent reminder of his presence, while his calloused fingers cradled your face with an unusual gentleness. You couldn’t help the unbidden smile that crept across your lips. drawing you further from the gravity of your circumstances. In those fleeting seconds, you felt like a simple girl, unburdened by the Mikaelson curse. You imagined yourself as the heroine of a fable, where a gallant prince would pursue his beloved, proclaiming his devotion before stealing a kiss—precisely as Aemond had done.

As you pressed on, a tavern's raucous laughter and the unmistakable aroma of ale and smoke guided your steps. It loomed ahead, a warm beacon against the chaotic backdrop of Flea Bottom. You pulled back your hood, exposure blossoming as you emerged into the dim light. Almost at once, a rather rotund man stumbled out, his unsteady gait hinting at the heaps of wine he’d consumed inside. Fat and flush, with a beard flecked with remnants of his last meal, he teetered on the brink of inebriation, blissfully unaware of the trap that awaited him. With a bleary gaze, he locked eyes with you, his drunken smirk betraying the more unsavory intentions that lurked beneath his merry facade.

Your heart raced—not with fear, but with mischief. Blood would be spilled tonight, but not yours. You softened your expression into a sweet smile, a mask of angelic innocence that belied your true intentions, as you approached.

His dull gaze sharpened upon your arrival, eyes widening as if you were a vision from the Seven’s very own realms. “You’re a pretty girl,” he slurred, the words tumbling from his lips like the last drops from an overturned flagon.

A soft laugh escaped you, a sound like wind chimes in a summer haze. “Am I?” you replied, your voice playful and melodious,.

The man nodded with fervor, his expression blissfully captivated. Beneath the dim lantern light, you could see the way his thoughts scrambled like rats, floundering beneath the weight of both drink and desire. With a teasing tilt of your head, you gestured toward a shadowy alleyway not far from the tavern's entrance. “Why don't you show me how pretty I am?” you beckoned, your tone flirtatious.

His swollen features broke into a foolish, drunken grin as he stumbled forward, entranced, unaware of the peril that followed too closely in your wake. Such was the way of men like him—lost beyond recovery in the coils of their own indulgences, ripe for the taking beneath the watchful eyes of gods indifferent to their fate.

As you entered the narrow alleyway, the shadows seemed to swell around you, encasing you in an ominous embrace. Before you could even turn around, the man's grimy hands, reeking of sour wine and desperation, were upon you, grasping and pawing at your garments.

A wave of revulsion threatened to rise within you, yet you steeled your resolve. Summoning your vampiric strength, with a swift motion, you shoved him hard against the damp stone wall, his body slumping in surprise.

He let out a raucous laugh, the sound echoing off the walls like a jester’s overplayed jest. You grimaced at the foulness of his breath, the acrid scent assailing your senses. “Oh, you’re a strong girl, are you?” he slurred, a foolish grin plastered across his round face.

“Indeed,” you replied, your voice laced with disinterest. Your gaze sharpened, intensity pooling in your crimson irises as you began to weave the threads of your compulsion. “Be silent and remain still.”

With each word, you could feel his will wavering, his body succumbing to your command as his laughter turned into a slack-jawed stupor. The stench of his unwashed skin assailed your nostrils, but it barely registered now as your fangs elongated, sharp and glistening in the hopeless half-light of the alley.

Leaning in close, you felt the rush of your animalistic urges surge through you as your fangs pierced the delicate flesh of his neck, finding the pulsing artery with ease. The man whimpered, his feeble sounds mingling with the night air, yet he made no effort to resist; he was a mere vessel now, a source of sustenance for your insatiable thirst. The bitter warmth of his blood coursed down your throat, igniting a mix of satisfaction and despair.

As you fed, your mind wandered unbidden to Aemond—the fleeting memory of the kiss you had shared igniting a spark of longing that warred with your harsh reality. In that moment, the illusion of being a normal maiden, one capable of love and tenderness, faded into the dark abyss of your existence. The truth clawed at you like a ravenous beast; you were a creature of the night, bound by a thirst that rendered your dreams of affection but a distant whisper.

A wave of sorrow crashed over you, its weight pressing heavy upon your heart. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as despair settled deep within your soul. In a fit of anguish, you tore your fangs from his flesh, the act frenzied and primal, as you ripped through his throat. A sob escaped your lips, raw and aching, as you stepped back and allowed the lifeless form to crumple to the ground. Blood smeared across your jaw, a grotesque mark of your nature, but your thoughts strayed not to the corpse before you.

How cruelly fate had woven your path; Aemond, with his fierce spirit and brooding whispers, was a world beyond your grasp. Yet every stolen glance, every shared moment between you only served to deepen the agonizing contrast of your reality. You cast the dead man one last glance, his stillness a haunting reminder of your actions, before turning your back on the grim tableau. As you made your way back towards the Keep, you felt a solitary tear trace a path down your cheek—one more sign of your unfulfilled yearning, echoing in the vast silence of the night.

As you crossed the threshold into your chambers, the heavy atmosphere of despair clung tightly to your spirit. You searched for a damp cloth to cleanse yourself—tinged with the vivid crimson remnants of the blood you had once savored, now leaving a bitter taste in the pit of your stomach. Though the vampiric curse bestowed upon you allowed for days without rest, weariness prevailed, drawing you like a shadow toward your bed.

You felt the weight of your heart, heavy with sorrow and longing for the comfort of sleep—a refuge where you could escape the chains of your reality. Tomorrow, the court would buzz with intrigue and whispers, but you doubted you would leave your chambers. In those fleeting moments between wakefulness and dreams, perhaps you could imagine yourself as someone else—a maiden free of bloodlust, pure and deserving of Aemond's fierce devotion. In those dreams, you could be free. In those dreams, you would be whole.

As the lingering echoes of the previous night's woes finally faded, you stirred, your senses slowly awakening from a slumber that felt both unearthly and heavy with dreams. With a deep sigh, you pushed your head from the pillow, blinking against the fading light that spilled through the window. The sun had dipped lower on the horizon, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls of your chamber—a stark reminder that you had now squandered the day sleeping away.

With a reluctant grace, you rose from the silken sheets that embraced you, and wrung your hands through your tresses, managing to tame the wild locks that had battled against the weight of sleep. Yet, as you got dressed, a sense of urgency gnawed at you. You drew closer to the heavy oak door, intent on rejoining the world beyond its threshold. However, your fingers merely grazed the handle to reveal that it was stubbornly sealed.

Furrowing your brow in irritation, you exerted a bit more force, pulling at the handle, only to find it locked. A huff escaped your lips, and with a determined glare directed at the obstinate barrier, you pressed your hands against the frame, using your strength and pushed. The wood shuddered against your might, yielding at last, the door swinging open with a reluctant creak that echoed through the silence of the guest wing.

When you stepped into the hallway, an unsettling quiet enveloped you, the stillness stretching like an unseen net. You advanced cautiously, each footfall a reminder that something was amiss. Yet, you dismissed the haunting unease that prickled at your skin, shaking off the chill while you made your way forward, resolute in your purpose, as you sought Helaena’s chambers.

The atmosphere in Helaena’s solar was suffused with the same unsettling. The last rays of sunlight filtered weakly through the stained glass, casting muted colors that danced across the flagstones, but they did little to dispel the heaviness of the atmosphere. Helaena, draped in a gown of pale blue, sat by the window, her gaze lost in the distance, and her delicate embroidery forgotten on the chaise, threads of gold and silver glimmering like fleeting memories.

“Princess,” you ventured softly, stepping closer, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of the silence.

She turned slowly, her features—usually serene—now marred by a deep frown that spoke of profound grief. “Where were you?” Helaena’s voice, though devoid of accusation, dripped with a melancholy that made your heart ache.

“Confined in my chambers,” you replied, concern creasing your brow.

Her eyes drifted downcast, fingers twisting nervously together like the tangled threads of her abandoned work. “I am queen now,” she murmured.

Confusion washed over you, a furrow forming between your brows. “I don’t understand.”

“Father died last night,” she revealed, her voice hollow, as if she were reciting a grim tale rather than sharing a wound that plunged deep into the heart of House Targaryen. “Aegon’s coronation took place at midday.”

“Oh,” was all you managed, the weight of her words pressing down upon you like a winter frost.

You had never anticipated this so soon; the insatiable hunger for the Iron Throne had prompted a brutal and ruthless usurpation. The whispers of civil war—so distant and abstract until now—had materialized into a bitter reality. You settled beside her, the familiar warmth of your presence a fragile comfort amidst the tempest of her sorrow. Gently, you took one of Helaena’s hands in yours, your fingers intertwining. She squeezed your hand tightly, her grip a silent plea for strength, and you could feel the tremors of her despair ripple through the fragile connection that bound you together.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the Red Keep when you at last emerged from Helaena’s chambers. The weight of her weariness had pulled her into a restless slumber, leaving you with a restless heart. You meandered through the stone corridors, each echoing step leading you toward the chambers of the one whose counsel you desperately sought. Upon reaching the heavy oak door, you knocked gently, and a faint voice called from within, "Enter."

Pushing the door open, you stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The flickering flames of the hearth danced, casting a warm glow that played across the fine tapestries adorning the walls. Your eyes settled on the figure seated by the fire—The Queen, though perhaps now, the dowager Queen.

"Your Grace," you greeted, your voice laced with reverence.

Alicent turned, the light catching her features, her once bright eyes now shadowed with the weight of loss and duty. The depths of her large brown irises seemed to brighten with a flicker of comfort at your arrival, but the sorrow was unmistakable as she murmured your name. "I apologize for the constraints placed upon you. My father thought it best that all liege lords and ladies be confined to their chambers in light of recent events."

You nodded, empathy swelling in your chest as you took a seat beside her. "Helaena shared with me the tale of what transpired," you began cautiously, your gaze intent upon the queen's weary expression.

Alicent sighed, the sound heavy with grief. "The King," she spoke, pain sweeping over her like an ominous fog, “he spoke of Aegon, he named him as heir in his final moments.”

Your heart tightened at her words; skepticism gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could it truly be? "Yet, Your Grace," you ventured, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone, "the King had twenty-two years to declare Aegon as his rightful heir."

Alicent turned her gaze back to the fire, the flickering flames casting an ephemeral glow upon her face. The warmth that once radiated from her presence seemed dimmed, replaced with an aura of fragility. She drew a shaky breath. "Perhaps it is not a matter of time, but of choice," she murmured, her words weaving through the shadows of the room, "In that moment of despair, he grasped for certainty amidst the chaos.”

Certainty which embodied the drunken Aegon? A skeptical expression crossed your features, yet the desperation in the Queen’s gaze expressed to you that it was indeed the truth to her. Despite her conviction, you found yourself unable to fully surrender to her narrative. "Then why did Aegon’s coronation happen so quickly?" you challenged, the words falling from your lips like shards of ice.

For this, the Queen faltered. Her eyes slipped away, a slow shake of her head revealing the anguish that resided within. "If Rhaenyra were to ascend the throne, the lives of Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron would be forever in danger," she murmured, the words laced with the indoctrination of Otto Hightower.

You held a quiet disbelief in your heart. Rhaenyra, with her fierce spirit and benevolence, would not turn her blades against her half-siblings without provocation. Still, you understood the origins of Alicent’s dread. After all, Rhaenyra was married to Daemon, who was likely to see the children of Alicent as forever living threats to his wife's claim. Still, all thoughts of treachery were now ghosts in the face of Aegon's coronation.

“Will you accompany me to the Sept on the morrow?” Alicent's voice broke the silence, a quiet plea wrapped in a veil of vulnerability.

In that moment, you were swept away by a tidal wave of longing for your own mother. Before you embraced the demonic creature you had become, your mother had nurtured you with a love akin to that of a fallen star gracing the Earth. Now, you found solace in the fragile figure of Alicent Hightower, clinging to her presence as though she might fill the void left by your lost mother. With a gentle nod, you covered her slender hand with your own, "Of course, your grace."

The dawn’s light seeped hesitantly through the thick drapery of your chamber, casting a muted hue across the stone walls of the Red Keep. You stirred from restless dreams, where shadows danced ominously on the precipice of war. A chill licked the air, as if the very stones of Westeros mourned the blood that would soon be spilled. With a sense of foreboding, you rose before the sun had fully chased away the darkness.

Slowly, you donned a gown of soft lilac, the fabric whispering against your skin like the breeze that crept through the narrow window. You painstakingly braided your hair, arranging it delicately. Each movement was imbued with both purpose and trepidation, a ritual that anchored you amidst the chaos that brewed beyond the castle walls.

Before the winds of fate had cast you adrift in Westeros, you had known nothing of faith; the Norse gods of your childhood were mere tales spun by your parents, who were as skeptical of the divine as they were of the world outside their doors. In your past life, the gods felt distant, ethereal, and removed from the fervor of humanity. Yet here, in the heart of Westeros, how the world spun differently.

But within the regal presence of Queen Alicent, whose strength and grace reminded you of a lioness guarding her young, your skepticism began to erode. She embodied the devotion of the faith you had once dismissed; her prayers were filled with fervor as she sought to protect her kin and forge alliances among the houses of Westeros. In her company, you found solace in the faith of the Seven. To kneel before the Mother’s statue, adorned with offerings, was to partake in a ritual that tethered you to something greater, something almost palpable

You found solace in the quiet prayer sessions held in the Grand Sept, the flickering candles casting gentle silhouettes that danced like restless spirits against the stone. In the embrace of the faith, you discovered understanding of why mortals have always turned to religion: it was a way to combat the loneliness that often shrouded their hearts, a mechanism to find purpose and justification in their actions. Your fervent prayers often echoed the same request: a plea for safety—not only for the Targaryens, whose fates now intertwined with yours, but for the family you had left behind.

You prayed fervently for the Gods to soften Niklaus’ heart and lessen his wrath. You implored them to instill in Elijah the profound love he often failed to bestow upon himself. For Rebekah, you sought kindness; you yearned for her to see you not as competition, but her cherished sister. You called upon the heavens to grant Kol wisdom, challenging his rampant bloodlust that often clouded his judgment. And for your gentle Finn, trapped in the dark confines of a coffin wrought by Niklaus’s cruelty, you begged for respite—an end to his suffering and a chance to embrace his freedom at last. Your prayers extended toward your youngest brother, Hendrik, and for your beloved mother as well, who now resided among the stars in Heaven.

And even sometimes with a heavy heart, you whispered prayers for your father as well, pleading for mercy in the depths of his obsession, hoping that perhaps one day, he might find forgiveness before it consumed all the Mikaelsons.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at your chamber door. Puzzled, you rose from your vanity, the delicate scent of jasmine lingering in the air around you. As you approached the door and opened it, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of Aemond standing there, his presence a commanding force. In that fleeting moment, your mind drifted back to the night years ago when a thirteen-year-old, tousled Aemond had appeared before you—so innocent, so unrefined. But now, the boy had transformed into a striking man, confidence radiating from him.

Time seemed to stretch as the two of you locked eyes, an unspoken weight hovering between you, memories of the kiss you shared two nights prior flooding your thoughts.

“May I come in?” he asked, shattering the spell that had enveloped you both. You nodded, albeit with a hint of hesitation, stepping aside to let him enter. His musky scent enveloped you, a wild and intoxicating aroma that stirred something deep within.

With a small pout lingering on your lips, you inquired, “What brings you here?”

“I came to see how you were faring,” he replied, standing awkwardly in the center of your dimly lit chamber, like the sun caught in the shadows.

You huffed softly, wrapping your arms around yourself, a protective gesture that belied your ancient nature. It was strange—centuries of existence coursing through your veins, a vampire of untold ages; yet here, in the presence of Aemond, you felt like a naïve girl enchanted by the shadows that danced between you.

You spoke with a raw honesty that felt both freeing and heavy, “I’ll confess,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration, “I’m both surprised and vexed to find myself confined to this chamber all day, only to emerge and learn that the King is dead and Aegon has claimed the throne.” A sigh escaped your lips as you cast your gaze to the side, memories of your family washing over you like a forgotten tide. “I was always the last to know in my family as well."

Aemond stepped closer, a teasing smirk finding his lips, clearly amused by your candidness laced with sass. “I must take my leave shortly to secure Borros Baratheon’s allegiance,” he stated, his voice filled with formality, yet laced with something unspoken.

Your eyes locked onto his striking violet one, and you arched an eyebrow, “So?”

“In exchange for his support, the council has arranged my marriage to one of his daughters,” he murmured, letting the words hang between you like a dark omen, scrutinizing your reaction with utmost care.

"Oh," in that moment, it felt as if your heart had splintered into countless shards. You forced a nod, turning away to shield the tempest of emotions brewing within you, striving for a façade of indifference, “Such is your duty, then.”

“It is,” he admitted, positioning himself directly in front of you, a palpable intensity radiating from his presence. Yet, you continued to avoid his gaze, perhaps in a desperate bid to escape this reality. And as you remained steadfast in your gaze away from him, he added softly, “But when I arrive there, it is Daeron’s hand I intend to offer instead.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the pulse quickening against the cage of your ribs, yet you still refused to meet look at him, “Why?” you whispered, the question barely escaping your lips.

Aemond softened his stance, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he guided your face to meet his gaze. “Look at me, sweet girl,” he implored, his voice now a low, fervent whisper, compelling you to meet the intensity of his unwavering stare. “Because the only woman in this realm that I wish to call my own is you.”

Pain flashed in your heart, a flood of emotions crashing over you as you furrowed your brows, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “Aemond…”

He leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead, a benediction of sorts. “We will discuss this further upon my return,” he murmured, his breath warming your skin.

With that, he turned away, departing into the shadows that awaited him beyond the door. Alone, you pressed your palms to your mouth, constricting a gut-wrenching sob that echoed in the hollow silence of your chamber, a lament for the hope that quickly flickered out like a dying candle.

next up, Aemond coming back from Storms End

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader #ewan mitchell

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darklydeliciousdesires · 5 months

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Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Nine.

Huge thanks to those of you still reading this! It's so strange when I come to post, as in the writing we are well into part three of the story and currently six years ahead of this time, and so much is different to how it was back here! I can't wait to share that with you all :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,136

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Waking up in her bed, for a second his brain tricked him into thinking she’d still be there, Adrien reaching to find nothing but an empty space. He sighed a little, looking at the time on his phone. Eight ten in the morning. It’d be one twenty-five in the afternoon in England, where she’d flown to three days before to begin filming, his own five-week stint in France to film Midnight in Paris beginning the following week.

His flight was two days from then, but he had a few commitments in the city planned prior to leaving, so had stayed at hers since his place was such a haul to get to and from. Five hours drive, or an hour and a half flight and then fifty minutes by car from Syracuse airport. It made sense to stay put.

One particular commitment he was looking forward to took place later that day, meeting someone he hadn’t seen since before Christmas, someone who when she glanced up from the table as he approached, looked a thousand times healthier than she had before.

“Homeslice!” Jen spoke warmly, standing to give him a huge hug after he’d placed his tea down.

“Hey you. God, you look amazing! It’s so good to see you,” he replied, kissing her cheek. And hell, she truly did. She had colour in her face, her eyes were bright, and her smile lit up the entire room. It was about a million miles away from the pale, heroin sick mess he remembered seeing in the hospital back in Pittsburgh. Also, she’d gained a few pounds in weight, and it suited her. She was still slight in frame, but definitely less scary thin than she had been.

She was dressed so differently too compared to on tour Jen, wearing a pair of grey skinny jeans and an ecru coloured sweater that sloped off one shoulder, the only thing remotely rock and roll about her look being the reveal of her half sleeve of tattoos, as well as a smudge of smoky eyeliner.

“Thanks, man. Got that fresh outta rehab glow!” Indeed, fresh out she was, leaving the facility the week before, staying a little longer than she’d originally intended in order to feel completely certain that she was strong enough in her tentative recovery to do so.

She’d been in regular contact with Jade, also talking to him a lot over the phone as well, the pair striking up a friendship, much to his girlfriend’s joy. It was important her favourite people got along well. Truly, what had happened had bonded them on a very special level, Jen knowing she could never, ever repay such.

Sitting down, her face crumpled a little, waving her hand dismissively as she began to sniff. “Ignore me. I’m okay, I’m alright. I’m just so grateful to you. You saved my life, man. That’s like, the biggest deal there is.”

“Hey, come on,” he spoke, grasping her hand, his face softening. “I did what anybody would have done, finding you like that.” Gracious as always. Jen squeezed his hand tightly before letting go, picking up her coffee as he continued. “So, how are you finding being out in the world again?”

“Difficult,” she confessed, widening her eyes a fraction. “I’ve learned so many coping tools now though, how to get through situations that would previously have made me use. Still, doesn’t stop me from missing it.”

“I meant to ask you over the phone, but I take it that it’s nixed you being able to take opioids for your back now, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I can’t even risk using anything derivative. It’s a slippery slope, man.”

He could well imagine. “Do you mind if I ask you why you turned to heroin? Tell me to butt out if you want. I tried to ask Jade if she had any ideas, but yeah. She shut it down immediately.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “She handled it about as well as I expected her to. Is she still blaming herself for not noticing?”

“Oh yeah,” he revealed, eyebrows fluttering upwards as he scratched his chin. Trying to tell her otherwise had fallen on deaf ears, as they both knew it would. For him at least, it was becoming a concern. Her coping mechanisms for distress were not healthy, and it worried him, how much she internalised what caused her pain.

“She needs not to. I was a sneaky son of a bitch with it, man. As for why, yeah, you can ask. You’re the one who found me OD’ing, I fucking owe you that much, Adrien.” Sipping her coffee, she took a breath, ready to tell all to who truly was the first person outside of her immediate family and therapy circle. He made it easy, though. Jade was right; he was a fantastic listener, as she’d discovered through tentatively getting to know him on tour and over the phone while in rehab.

“Taking the pain pills, it wasn’t all about my gnarled up back, dude. It’s like, I have all of this crazy energy constantly whirling, I always have. It’s why my dad - may he rest - was the first person who put a set of drumsticks in my hand when I was six. I was always tapping, tapping, tapping, y’know? Except dad happened to notice it with a natural rhythm.”

Adrien nodded, listening without interruption as she took it back much further than he was expecting.

“He thought it’d occupy me, learning to drum, burn out a little of my zany energy, and it did to a degree. But nothing ever stopped the noise in my head, which I’ve since learned has been me suffering from high functioning anxiety for pretty much most of my life, man. The therapist I saw in rehab really helped me identify it all, dug to the root cause. Smack eventually became my outlet for shutting my brain off so I could fucking sleep.

“I didn’t make it easy on myself, snorting blow as much as I was to shake the sluggish feeling I had. At first, I was just shooting up a few times a month, when being drunk or naturally exhausted didn’t work. It was the classic thinking of not seeing I had a problem, because it was only once in a while, y’know? Addicts, they ain’t always like those dudes from that movie Trainspotting. It can look different. This chick I met at the centre, she was a fucking CEO of a massive company, shooting up at the weekends to just feel all floaty and nice for the afternoon before returning to her life.

“She was like me, though. Not a longstanding user, but got more regular, and then she fucked up and took too much. I won’t be fucking up again, because I fucking love my life and having been so close to leaving it, it frightened the shit outta me, man. Again, I am so fucking sorry for putting you through that. I know I’ve told you a million times, but I gotta make my peace with it, that it was a guy who I barely knew as you were back then, my best friend’s boyfriend, no less, who found me.”

God, she was such a force. Her revelations made him see her in a completely different light to how he once had. She still had that energy about her, but it was tempered now, probably down to her finally receiving the correct treatment for her anxiety, he guessed. “I think you’re really something, just seeing you had a problem and dealing with it so head on. No hiding, no denial, just like, ‘yep, this is what’s wrong, and this is what I gotta do to fix it.’ That’s a really admirable trait.”

A shy smile danced across her mouth, Jen running her hand through her long, wavy hair. “If my shit needs fixing, then I’m not gonna run and hide from it. Can’t do that and not expect the inevitable implode.”

He looked a little uncomfortable for a second, in indecision whether to voice what was on his mind. Luckily for him, Jen read him like a book. “She does it, we both know that she does, and yeah. You ain’t the only one who wishes she didn’t.” Taking a deep breath, she puffed her cheeks out, smiling thinly. “To be fair to her, it’s a behaviour she’s fallen into without much checking from those closest to her. We all did, man. Us girls, I think from a very young age, we didn’t hold one another accountable for our shit, y’know?”

“No, I don’t,” he smiled, a little baffled. “Explain?”

“So, you know how young we all were when we first started out. We were seventeen when we cut our first album, except for Jess at sixteen. We were kids, still. Children! And we got thrown into the machine, these five babies who were catapulted to huge fame so damned early. Too early, man.

“With every person who praised us though, there were another five wanting to cut us down, from critics even to contemporaries in some cases. It bonded us so tightly, protecting one another from it. I think we took care of each other so damned much, that we never saw our flaws, or we let each other get away with it more than we should have. I'm not saying it’s anybody else’s fault other than our own, like me and my addiction, Katie being very aggressive when she sets her mind to it, or Jade being a control freak who internalises her pain, but yeah. It’s what we did.”

He remembered back to how he’d felt at seventeen, and then tried to apply how he would have coped if his fame had begun right there and then, going from a nobody to someone effectively shot out of a canon into such huge prominence. It made him shudder. No wonder they’d bonded so closely. “That actually makes a lot of sense, that you’d protect each other to that kind of degree. I worry about her still continuing to do it though, at almost thirty-two. I know I haven’t been on the scene long, but your friend? She means the world to me.”

A happy grin illuminated her mouth, reaching to cup his face momentarily with both hands. “You’re such a good fucking guy, Adrien. I’m glad she’s found you, because some of her exes...” she trailed off, letting out a long breath through gritted teeth. “Ivan was definitely the worst, because of what happened, but yeah. There were some straight up douchebags for a time. Of course, she blamed herself for all of it going wrong, because that’s her.” Pausing she fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug. “There’re things I could tell you, but you should probably hear it from her, y’know? Except...”

“Except she isn’t likely to tell me until she stops panicking that she’s gonna mess up what she has with me, too?” he offered, watching her nod deeply.

She pointed a well-manicured finger at him. “Bingo, dude. I mean, she does seem like she’s settling to the idea. Probably because she can see that you’re not a douchebag like the rest were. You don’t have any red flags she’s actively ignoring. In fact, the only thing she’s mentioned so far that’s negative is that you sometimes give her tummy ache with that big ole’ cervix banger you have between your legs!”

It was an unfortunate moment for him to finish his tea, snorting with laughter into the cup and almost choking. “Oh, god,” he groaned, wiping a hand down his face as he felt his cheeks warm a little. “You girls, shit. You all probably know much more about my junk than I’m comfortable with.”

She barked a laugh, thinking how adorable he was, how easily embarrassed he got. “Yeah, but it’s all good, man. All good!” Pausing, her smile crinkled her eyes, cocking her head. “She thinks you hang the moon and stars, my gal. She’s really in it with you.”

He nodded. “I do know, yeah. It's nice to hear it confirmed from one of the people closest to her, though. I haven’t ever met anybody like her. She’s so ridiculously lovely, so down to earth as well. One thing I really like about her is just how normal she is. There’s nothing pretentious about the woman. Just before Christmas, she mentioned that she was going out for lunch with her friend Tony while I was heading to an interview. I opened her apartment door and there’s Anthony fucking Bourdain standing there! Or the time I came downstairs shortly before she went away and she’d just chilling on the couch, drinking tea with Iggy Pop like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

She shrugged lightly, playing with the little empty packet of sugar next to her coffee mug. “It is for her. She doesn’t see people’s fame; she just sees them.”

Of course, she did. It was what had drawn him to her so much when they first met. “That’s if she even knows who they are. I’m still not over the whole Dalai Lama thing. God, I nearly ruptured something when she told me about it!”

Throwing her head back, her laughed filled the space. “Ahh, shit, yeah, yeah. That was the best one I think she’s ever done! There I was, man, on the side of a dirt road in Kathmandu, crying with laughter at her.”

Their coffee date wrapped up shortly after, the pair moving to their next destination. They were heading to watch The Conversation, the film that Jade had taken a pause in touring from to film, and which had premiered in the US two days before, the lady herself attending the London premiere the previous evening. It was her first major role, playing Lydia Todd, a prolific serial killer confined to a psychiatric unit, starring across from Edward Norton, the FBI profiler tasked with conducting a series of interviews with her.

Adrien had been looking forward to it just as much as Jen, both taking a seat at the back, chatting quietly while they waited for the lights to dim. For the following ninety-seven minutes, they were glued to the screen, the performance of the woman they both adored absolutely flooring them. The way she played creepy, calculated, yet a little vulnerable wrapped up in a bow of somebody who was horrifically psychologically damaged was flawless.

“What we’re watching,” he leaned to whisper in Jen’s ear, “is the movie that’ll put our girl on the map.”

He wasn’t wrong. The critical acclaim Jade received in the weeks that followed had the industry buzzing, her name and status in the acting world elevated hugely. There she was, riding a huge wave of success, and he couldn’t be there to celebrate that with her by her side until March. He counted the weeks, then the days of Skype calls, phone conversations and hundreds of text messages keeping them both going, until before they knew it, she was jumping into his arms again.

“Oh, my life, I missed you even more this time around than the last!” she exclaimed, her bum being squeezed in his big hands as he carried her through her apartment, sharing kisses, thrilled to be wrapped around him again. “And I want to show you just how much, but I need a shower. I smell of armpits and plane.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll reluctantly put you down.”

It wasn’t for long, though. After washing and working shampoo from her hair, she was rinsing the conditioner out when she heard the bathroom door open. “Couldn’t wait, hmm?”

The shower door opened, his body pressing to hers, arms encircling her as his mouth buried against her neck. “Not even for another second.”

That hunger was matched, her arm winding back, hand sinking into the soft of his dark hair, hair she couldn’t believe had grown so much in two months. A sigh poured from her sensuous lips like wine as his hands gently squeezed her tits, nipples pinched to pebbles, his cock hardening against the small of her back.

Her skin skittered with the hum of reconnection as his hands lowered in an alluring glide over her wet skin, anticipation starting to melt down her spine. He didn’t leave her waiting on it for long, one hand descending to push into the heat of her folds, the other gently clutching beneath her jaw as he turned her head, leaning to plant a kiss of fire and honey upon her lips.

Tingly heat prickled as his fingers glided through her folds, the sweet dew of her pussy slicking against his touch, a shuddered breath fluttering from his mouth to hers as she quickly began to gush against his fingers. Their want spiralled like a tornado, kisses becoming more urgent, her body wracked with shivers as he rubbed tight circles over her clit, her walls stinging with the need to feel him inside her.

Turning, she wound her arms around his neck, Adrien lifting her, shunting her body against the tiles and without ceremony or warning, dropping her straight down onto his cock. He kissed the gasp the fell from her mouth, teeth nipping her lower lip, grunting low as her legs tightened around him. His fingers dug a hard clench beneath her thighs, driving up into her with force as the water cascaded down his back, lips sliding from hers to once again tease hot kisses against the column of her throat.

Panting against his mouth, she stared him in the eyes, nails dragging through his hair, fingers clenching to tug gently. “God, you turn me on so much. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Truly, he’d never felt as heavily coveted by a woman as he did the one who had completely captured his heart. She near constantly made him feel good about himself, not that he particularly suffered with confidence issues. It was always nice to hear how much he stirred her desire, though.

Rutting into her core hard, he groaned deep as his mouth found hers again, lost in the eye of her storm even though truly, he was the one driving it, all the love, longing and need for her mingling and sending him mindless. The blaze of him caught at her edges, sent sparks skittering within her blood, his hips driving like a piston against her.

It was too wild to last beyond pure, basic urgency, a heated fuck of primal need within the water and steam, sending them both soaring rapidly to their bliss. It ripped through her like a current, her nails clawing down his back, that feral edge toppling him as he spilled deep into her, teeth clamping upon the side of her neck. It glimmered through them gently in the wake of such intensity, tiny pin pricks suffusing, both panting hard as he set her back down to her feet, entwining as they kissed.

Once out, dry and dressed, they headed out for dinner, both catching up with one another properly.

“Seriously, do you have any idea how proud of you I am?” he began after they’d eaten, Jade moved to his side of the booth they’d been seated in, his arm draped around her shoulders. “Watching you as Lydia wasn’t like I was seeing you there. Jade was gone, it was all her, this complete other person.”

To receive such praise from her extremely accomplished boyfriend, a man whose talent was so renowned, it honestly bowled her over completely. “I was so nervous about it. I worried constantly that I’d overplayed her in some moments and fallen victim to underplaying in others. She was so complex, and I wanted to do the nuance of the character justice, so hearing you say that really does set me at ease.”

Kissing her head, he smiled widely. There was no bullshit with her, not false modesty. She honestly had fretted – and still was – over the performance that had earned her such critical acclaim. “You were amazing. I said to Jen that it was the movie that’d put you on the map, and I was right.”

Turning to him, she rested her forehead to his, nuzzling him softly. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you about a thousand times more, Moo.”

Crinkling her nose, she shook her head. “Not possible.”

“Yes, possible.” He kissed her softly, pointing at her. “Don’t argue with me.”

Laughing, she reached for her drink, leaning into him as she finished it, the simple happiness of that moment something she knew would be remembered for a long time. They headed back to her apartment after that, walking the twenty minutes hand in hand, enjoying the weather beginning to finally warm as winter made way for the imminent arrival of spring.

Once in her building, she checked her mailbox, Adrien telling her he’d forgotten to collect it for the last couple of days. As expected, it was full.

“Look at this!” she exclaimed, yanking the bundle out. “She’s nine months pregnant with post!” Her words made him laugh, finding himself playfully whacked upon the shoulder with the clutch of letters as they walked into the elevator.

Placing the letters down on the counter in the kitchen, she pulled a bottle of wine from the rack, Adrien disturbed from kissing the side of her neck by his phone ringing.

“It’s my dad, I’ll be in the lounge.”

She smiled, pouring a glass and placing it into his hand. “Okay, sexy mans. Tell him I said hi.”

He winked before turning, Jade pouring herself a glass before sorting through the pile. Invites to gala’s, functions, other celeb-type events all in the form of fancy cards sent in decadent looking envelopes, and amongst them, a handwritten one. The postmark stated Omaha, Jade frowning as she slid her thumb under the sealed join, trying to figure out who she knew in the Nebraskan city, the realisation suddenly hitting her when she took in the handwriting.

It was the neat scribe that had written three years' worth of lovely birthday and Christmas cards to her, from a woman whom she had been very fond of, once upon a time. What reason did Polina Kuznetsova have to contact her now, though?

“Dear Jade,

I am contacting you on behalf of my son, for of course he cannot. I truly do hope this letter finds you well. Ivan is doing great in prison; his father and I are very proud of his progress after being so very ashamed in the aftermath of the way he treated you. Please, do not think my words in this letter will ever condone what he did, for I do not, but you must understand a few things. The steroid use, it changed who he was. It did. You know that as well as I do. He was night and day in difference, the man he was when using and when he was not. He feels much remorse for how he treated you, and he wants for you to reach out and contact him. His details are included below.

You two made a wonderful couple, and he wishes to build something again with you in view to eventually reconnect and repair the damage he did upon his release. I think that you should consider this, I honestly do. He still loves you, and to be brutally honest, you both had blame in the relationship. You put your career before him time and again, and I cannot blame him for being hurt over that...”

She didn’t need to read the rest, the words from a woman who might have said she didn’t condone her son’s actions, but didn’t give a damn enough to even for one second consider what her letter would do to a woman who truly - not that she’d admit it - wasn’t over what had happened to her. Her words about the blame, too. It hit her like a knife to her chest...

“You never make time for me, Jade! Always this tour, or that movie! You on the move constantly, that’s why it happened! It was your fault that we...”

The panic of it, his voice in her head, everything she’d so tightly pushed down began to rise. It was too much. Her limbs felt light and tingly, the breath stolen from her lungs, turning to grab her bag. It was without stalling or thought that she ran from her home, back out into the New York night, needing to be alone as her emotions crashed within like a bomb.

It was beyond her completely that who she should have run to was the one she’d left behind in her apartment.

#adrien brody #adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody smut #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #adrien brody x ofc #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

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ringdabel · 9 months

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My thoughts on OP ships except I’m being 100% honest (P.3)

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE HEROINES ONE PIECE NOVEL

*LawBepo

- I don’t know about you but to me I’m neutral about it, if you ship this, good for you! If you don’t then okay!

- I do think it’s a cute ship though with their interactions, relationship between the two, etc..

- And it actually MAKE SENSE

- Like hear me out, Law would actually marry a polar bear because of how much of a freak he is and considering he’s a pirate, he wouldn’t care if other people think it’s weird, at least he has his fluffy boyfriend.

- I draw these two a lot in my sketchbooks, like every single one just HAD to have Law and Bepo together or else those sketchbooks are not mine

- he has a soft spot for Bepo, definitely Bepo. He hates everyone and everyone but his crew, Corazon and BEPO.

-In the SBS, Oda did tell us about how Law met Bepo (with Penguin and Shachi), at that time Law was a kid along with the three others so that means Law and Bepo knew each other since they were children and are super close.

- FUNFACT : You know how Law hates Umeboshi right? Well Bepo likes eating it with onigiri pretty much! I like to imagine that if someone ever gift Law some onigiri with umeboshi inside, he will give them to Bepo.

*Smoshigi

- Small girl with her gigantic DILF (idk what that means but I think it’s fitting).

- it’s the size difference isn’t it?

- I like their chemistry a lot! It’s pretty cute in my opinion.

- for some people, a 10 year age gap is too much (Shigi is 23, Smoky is 36, so that means it’s 13 year age gap then) but they’re both adults so I guess it’s legal? I mean Rayleigh and his wife has a 10 year age gap and they’re old now-

- this might be controversial but… Smoshigi is better than Zoshigi or Lawshigi in my PERSONAL OPINION.

Zoro is confirmed to have no interest in women by Oda and for Law i don’t think he’d date her or even taken interest in her in general.

(I telling all this like a hater I’m so sorry I don’t mean to sound like one DDDX!! If you ship Zoshigi or Lawshigi it’s totally fine and valid! It’s just my opinion!)

*Sanami

- MY FAV SHIP!!!!! I love them so much they’re so cute!!! <3333333333

- Theres this one part of the OP stage actors and actresses like an event or something?? And I saw a video of these two where basically Sanji is being a simp as always, drops on one knee and like hold out his hand to Nami

Nami holds his hand then blows him a kiss!!!!! IT MADE HIM STARTED BREAKDANCING ITS HONESTLY SO CUTE AGSHSVHSHSHSHWHHSHW

- They’re the DEFINITION of GIRLBOSS MALEWIFE FRFR!!! No 🧢!!!!!!

- wait did I already put this ship in part 1 or part 2? Man idc anymore I just genuinely LOVE this ship!! If it becomes canon I will become happy! (Even though it’s highly unlikely it’s fine!)

- I just love their moments together you know? When I was young I always wanted the two of them to kiss a lot, I have never change at all 😈

- Like look at the sad French man! How can you not kiss him!?!?!?! He makes you desserts you really like, compliments and swoons at you everyday, cooks for you, loves you for who you are, patient and will listen to you whenever you have a bad day, shows affection to you, a gentleman, IN A SUIT, ALSO WEARS AN APRON AS WELL, Respects you, etc… etc… he’s the only French I like <333/j

- They’re also both good with kids and have a soft spot for them! Oda stated that if Nami is ever kind to someone it’s women and Children, for Sanji he always has a motherly nature surrounding him, his interactions with the DK crew proves this!!!

- AGH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!! IM DYING!!!

*KozaVivi

- a HUGGGGEEE fan of childhood friends to lovers trope <3333333333

- I love these two a lot, I ship them a lot TOO! I want them to have more interactions!

- in the Heroines novel, I just love Vivi’s episode with Koza and the love letter (NO CONTEXT HEHEHE 😈) it’s so so so SOOO sweet it’s giving me diabetes

Like it’s so funny, full of sweetness and wholesomeness! I love them!

- I wish these two would be canon… if not it’s fine as well… because I have another ship up my sleeve… *takes out hand*

#lawbepo #one piece #KozaVivi #Sanami #Smoshigi #one piece ships #I’m dying please help me

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ashandquiet · 1 year

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My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 3: Picnicking and Parties

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: In which our titular heroine joins a picnicking party and gains new friends, information and intrigue abound. Thank you for your patience, I hope I haven't been away too long. :)

Read it on Ao3

The morning before the dreaded picnic, you snuck out in a simple smock of a dress and overcoat at first light. Having woken up incredibly early in a cold sweat an ever-present feeling of unease churning in your stomach.

You felt sure a walk would clear your head, though you were more than aware of what today meant for you. You would be expected to put on airs and behave the part of a lady most enticed by the prospect of marriage. As if it was something you wanted, to be married to a man. It sickened you, felt like the crushing weight of destiny lay before you, akin to an out-of-control carriage barreling headwards into a collision. You, the unwilling passenger with an indifferent driver and dubious footman. Barrelling ever onwards with locked doors that blocked out your cries for help.

Feeling quite woozy in the head and sick to your stomach you stopped on the path and sat down in a patch of soft-looking grass. You couldn’t even seem to bring yourself to care that it was still wet with morning dew.

The brisk morning air washed over you, and your thoughts slipped back through yesterday’s events, and it was as if every fiber of your being could still feel the deft yet temperate hands of the lady gentleman.

Upon returning to the magnificent manor house after your disastrous encounter in the fields, there was much fuss over your injured wrist and grass-stained dress. You had recounted your tale as clearly as you could in your flustered amorous stupor to your fussing aunt and her maids; yet when it came to the topic of the owner of the handkerchief tied round your wrist, you froze up. You had heard how they gossiped about the Lady Gentlemen that resided in the country, of Soma Guthrumsdóttir and her companions. If they gossiped so fervently about a Duke surely, anything less than that would be such a foul creature of scorn in their eyes.

So you had lied and stated that it was simply just a gentleman like any other, and when they pressed for a name, well there was no reason to lie, you simply forgot to ask. They dithered on about the joys of a mystery urging you to divulge any details of your supposed rescuer's appearance which you fruitfully ignored.

Once your wrist was treated for the soreness and bruising with chilled water and bound in place with bandages, with your head bowed in quiet shame you excused yourself for the evening.

While heads were turned you glanced at the lace-trimmed handkerchief that lay discarded on the side table.

Acting quickly you snatched it up and disappeared up the stairs to your room. There you had spent the rest of the evening in silent pity, occasionally glancing headlong at the handkerchief that you had neatly folded and placed on the window sill. It was embroidered with primroses of a pale yellow, and in one corner, stitched with a slate blue thread there were the ornate letters “ SG ”.

You held it now, the delicate fabric worn and so clearly well-loved was soft in your hand. A faint scent of perfume lingered in its threads, delicate like fresh lilacs and something smoky and herbal. Your head swirled with thoughts about the owner's preferred fragrances, and how she would adorn herself and her clothing with them. The embroidered letters brought you a moment of solace, having such a delicate, intimate object with you seemed to provide every comfort in the world.

Ever so carefully you tucked it away and rose back to your feet, the object's comforting presence enough to urge you forward into the day, fate’s cruel hand shaken from your spirits for just a while.

Returning to the manor house you dressed, with some assistance, in a simple country frock and tied a long white ribbon in your hair, swatting away the hands of the maids who attempted to even out the ribbons' tails. You even refused to acknowledge the looks from your aunt as you strode past her with a book in hand.

“You truly mustn't dress so plainly dearest, you’ll want to make a good impression!” She cried in vain as you walked out to the carriage, barely lifting your dress from the ground.

“Oh come come, my Love,” your uncle laughed heartily as he followed behind you beckoning for his wife. “It's a glorious summer day, let us enjoy the picnic, she has no need to be weighed down by frills.”

Your uncle smiled and offered a kind wink in your direction as you climbed aboard the carriage.

With a sidelong glance at your injured wrist he chuckled, “Perhaps, she should dress plainly to prevent another tumble.”

You huffed lightly sitting, laying the novel on your lap, and resting your injured wrist on its leather cover. You refused to glance your aunt’s way as she boarded the carriage and sat across from you.

“My dearest niece, how can you expect to find time to read when there are such friends to be met today,” She chortled, glancing from the book to your face.

“Perhaps dear Aunt, I have no intentions of meeting friends today, when there is such knowledge and friends to be met in a book,” You replied and glanced out over the front gardens.

Your aunt bristled and shook her head indignantly, surely preparing to snap back about an attitude most unbecoming of a lady, but uncle swooped to your rescue. He sat and commanded his driver to go, grabbing his wife’s hand in a shushing motion.

“It is a beautiful day in July, let us enjoy it how we please, and if our niece would like to spend it with a book, then that shall be her day,” He said in a firm and commanding tone, yet his spirits were light and he smiled happily to himself as if pleased with his proclamation.

The carriage ride was a jolting one, winding down from the manor into the parsonage beyond the grand estate. The picnic was to be held in the shade of a beautiful apple orchard belonging to the parish that your uncle presided over. When united with the larger group he chatted gayly with the men of the party about how he was glad to have leased it so long to a family of tenant farmers known as the Grants.

His prattling seemed like nothing but noise to you, but all the men nodded and chided along in agreement and admiration. Yet the chatter of the ladies as they talked of fortunes and matches made for ladies of the gentry, seemed even more foreign to you still.

You strode away from the group to better grasp your surroundings, looking for a comfortable place to sit just close enough to avoid scoldings, but far enough for a moment of blissful peace.

A low-hanging apple tree dense with young fruit seemed to call to you, its drooping bower a welcoming shield from the sun. Just as you were about to make your escape, there was a great commotion from the group. Turning around, you took stock of the situation. A young man, who looked to be no older than five and twenty sat atop a dusty-looking yellow horse that danced about on its hooves. He was dressed plainly in an olive green tailcoat, and he held his riding hat in his hand as a much older man attempted to catch the reins of the young horse.

“Hold the bloody bastard still Oswald!” The older man growled, his accent was Scandinavian in origin. Perhaps he was the younger man’s steward.

“I’m trying-” the young man, Oswald said as yanked the reins firm to his body. Patting the horse’s neck with his hand and drawing circles into its sweated fur. “Easy Diamond- Woah… there-there boy, that’s a good horse…”

With the yellow horse calmed he was able to dismount. While handing the reins to his steward he replaced his hat on his mess of golden curls. You watched him intently as he strode over to the rest of the picnicking party. Not so much confidently as ungainly, perhaps wobbly from the ride. The women inclined their heads to him and he gave each a polite nod and a “Hello”, the men greeted him with smiles and pats on the back.

Just as you were sure the conversation would turn to his deft riding skill and congratulations on taming such a riled-up horse, your aunt called out; “Oh (Y/N), come here dearest! Where did that girl go?”

For a moment you debated running, you glanced at the path between the trees, where the orchard gave way to meadows, and meadows to hills and streams. But the thought of obligation and strong wrestling feeling of guilt drew you back. Running would accomplish nothing, tarnish your name, and destroy whatever small holding in society you may have now. So you turned round and made your way over to the party at your own snail's pace.

“Oh, there she is!” Your aunt cried and made her way to your side grabbing your arm firmly, if not too roughly. “Now come come dearest niece you must meet Mr. Egerton, for he has ridden all this way to meet you .”

You bristled at the way she crooned out the last word, seeming to drip with ever the slightest it of disdain. You watched as Mr. Oswald Egerton turned his full attention to you, scrutinizing your every step, his neutral expression turned to what you hoped was a kind smile. He had the kind of eyes that seemed to expose his every thought and feeling. You dreaded the introduction but you knew, he was your intended suitor. He was on the shorter side, nothing about him was too handsome, and he appeared to be perfectly safe, if not a little plain. He gave a polite bow in your direction, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit smug that even in your poor fashions you had still managed to out-dress a gentleman.

“My niece, Miss (Y/N) (S/N),” Your aunt introduced you, and you gave a polite smile and nod. You hoped the smile didn’t look too forced.

“A pleasure to meet you Miss (S/N),” Oswald smiled kindly.

“Likewise sir,” You chided crossing your arms behind your back to hide your book and injured wrist.

There was an awkward silence that was quickly broken by one of the men, “Mr. Egerton, say how is your estate at Elmenham? I hope your tenant farmers are doing quite well.”

“Oh yes, quite well indeed,” Oswald nodded. “Everyone is doing quite well this season. But I can’t say the success is all mine, Finnr has been working himself to the bone keeping everything in order.”

The steward, Finnr waved his hand towards the younger man in a motion of dismissal with a grunt as he plucked an apple from the branch of a tree. He was a much older and gruff-looking man dressed in almost out-of-date fashions of the 1780s, his hair greyed and long. His facial hair was almost too long to be considered proper for a man of society, but perhaps the Scandinavian fashion was different.

You found yourself pondering the details of the lands across the sea, you had read somewhere about how Sweden once had a girl king who had refused to marry. Much like the lady gentlemen that now populated the country. Perhaps soon the whole of society would be populated with them, women holding positions of power and dressing like gentlemen, marrying women. You blushed at the thought, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach returning.

“Um, Hello…?” an apprehensive voice tore you from your thoughts and you jumped slightly. Oswald was standing to your left a small awkward smile on his face that morphed into one of concern.

“Are you quite alright Miss (S/N)?” He asked kindly.

You shook your head to dismiss your thoughts of women in waistcoats and breeches, “Yes I’m alright sir I appreciate your concern,” you tried not to sound indifferent to him, as he had been kind thus far.

He offered his hand palm up, “If you would be so willing, would you join me for a walk about the orchards?”

His smile was inelegant, brows knit with unease, and his hand trembled. You regarded it for a moment and spared a glance to your aunt and the other ladies. They stared hungrily at your hands like wolves regarding a sickly lamb. Minds likely swirling with tales of success to gloat about for hours, to talk of nothing but fortunes and houses, your potential bride clothes, and where you'd buy them. Feeling the weight of consequence you nodded with an inaudible sigh and offered the coltish gentleman your arm.

Oswald took your arm in his and you began to feel ill, it wasn’t that he was terrible to look at but the thought of any prolonged amount of time with the man sickened you.

He did not tug you forward so much as he suggested a slow and delicate gait, and you followed his lead to appease the party of older women who cooed about the match made between you two. Together you walked paces out of earshot of the ladies and he withdrew his arm from yours with a polite yet awkward smile. You paused but happily accepted the respite from his touch.

“Um,” he began. “You see, it is not that I wish to lead you on, or to let you down per se, but I am- have had, my eye on another young lady for some time.”

You paused and looked at him, “You have? Then why… why would you entertain the idea of coming to the picnic?”

Oswald’s face reddened and he fixed his collar walking ahead two paces, “Well you see, it is that the young lady was in an unwilling entanglement back in Denmark, before her brothers and she came to England at the behest of their cousin. And our amour is quite secret…”

You followed him resting your injured hand against your back, turning ideas over in your head, “So because it is secret, you must keep up appearances?”

He grinned sheepishly back at you, “Precisely, I planned to formally propose but I doubt her brothers would grant a blessing of the marriage. So to maintain appearances I entertain the whims of my patron until I can secure a firm answer. I had hoped, when I noticed your apprehension that perhaps you weren’t enthusiastic about the match as well…?”

You fought to hold in a snort of laughter, “No,” barely containing your smile you shook your head. “I had no interest in this match. No interest in any match that is.”

“Thank heavens,” Oswald let out a visible sigh, his shoulders relaxing and he touched his chest as if calming his heart. “I mean no offense of course Miss (S/N).”

You waved your hand at him lightly, “I take no offense, sir, you're quite alright.”

He smiled, “Perhaps we can be friends, I could help you avoid potential matches, and perchance, you could help me woo my lady?”

You strode ahead of him to gaze at the clover buds blooming in the grass. He made a good offer, friendship in exchange for matrimony. He was a young gentleman with an estate, and he likely had resources, resources enough to help you find the lady gentleman.

“I would like that, perhaps,” You tried turning towards him. “In exchange for helping you woo your paramour, you could help me with something.”

“Well of course! What can I do for you Miss (S/N)?”

“I need your help finding a particular gentleman,” You said pulling the handkerchief from your pocket with a smile.

ꕥ

You regaled Oswald as you walked about the orchard with the story of the lady gentleman and your romp in the fields that caused your injury. He made no attempt to interrupt your tale listening heartily his brows knit together quizzicakly. When you finished your tale you offered the handkerchief his way so he could examine the details of the embroidery.

“Well this is quite the conundrum,” Oswald puzzled brushing a thumb over the lettering before handing the handkerchief back your way. “The countryside is quite literally crawling with these Lady Gentlemen.”

You bristled feeling indignant, “You all keep saying that, as if they are mice. I have yet to see more than one. If the countryside was crawling with them you would think I would see more.”

Oswald laughed an awkward boyish laugh, “Perhaps you are right, but there are a noteworthy few. Most likely you have encountered a friend of the Duke of Cambridgeshire, her estate is near here, no more than a two-hours ride on horseback. I will see what I can learn for you (Y/N).”

You took back the handkerchief tucking it away in your dress pocket, nodding thanks. Perhaps if Oswald was successful in his promise, you could learn the name of your elusive savior who ceased to escape your thoughts.

“So,” Oswald drew out awkwardly. “You enjoy the writings of Sappho?”

You turned to him flushed with embarrassment and indignation, you had yet to voice this to anyone but the fatted and lazy tabby tom cat that patrolled the kitchens who seemed to only care that you were a human, and humans bring food from the heavens to fatten his belly further. And a cat, could not go about spouting to others about how you would rather divine kisses from the lips of another woman. Yet you supposed if he trusted you with his secret perhaps you could allow him this one of yours.

“And if I do?” You countered a bit more snippily than you originally intended which caused you to wince.

Oswald raised a hand in a show of submission, “Not to worry, your secret is safe with me. I am a friend of a lady who also prefers the company of other women, though I doubt she is the woman you encountered, she’s blonde. And I wouldn’t always count her among gentlemen, or women for that matter, but she is a friend of a great many other lady gentlemen.”

You couldn’t help yourself from smiling, “Is it possible that she might know who it is that helped me then? Your friend?”

“Oh, Eivor? Yes, I will write to her as soon as I return to Elmenham,” Oswald smiled and offered you his arm again. “Shall we return to the picnicking party?”

“If we don’t soon I fear they’ll have too many scandalous ideas swirling about their heads to even function,” You quipped taking his arm.

Oswald laughed and led you back through the orchard to the picnic. When you neared the party you were surprised to see a tall black horse had joined Oswald and Finnr’s horses that grazed lazily about in the orchard grasses. Another individual had joined the picnicking party and was heartily regaling the group.

As you approached you could see that the person was a lady gentleman. You felt your heart quicken at the possibility of it being your savior. But when she turned to face you and Oswald you could see that wasn’t her, this one was tall, her voice jolly and light, and she had a joyous smile that reached from ear to ear. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she was dressed smartly in an all-black gentleman’s suit, similar to the other lady gentleman you had encountered yesterday.

You came to stand near your uncle letting go of Oswald’s arm and avoiding your aunt's gaze.

“... we would happily receive you all in a week's time for a masquerade ball,” the Lady Gentleman finished speaking and beamed her eyes landing on you in particular. You could tell she was being sly as her eyes flicked from your face and down your body making you blush hotly.

She smiled and winked before waving, “I bid you all good day!”

The group exploded into whispers and exclamations of joy, the prospect of a private ball was all enticing, yet you had arrived too late to receive the name of your hosts.

“Uncle,” you tapped his arm lightly to draw his attention. “Who will be hosting?”

Your uncle folded his hands neatly against his lap and smiled, “Why Soma Guthrumsdóttir, the Duke of Cambridgeshire.”

#soma jarlskona x reader #soma x reader #soma jarlskona #soma ac valhalla #ac valhalla #austen inspired #regency inspired #regency au #my fics #i know it may be weird of me to pull such obscure characters from the game for the sake of the plot #but i like oswald and finnr #doesnt help that my cat is named oswald #anyway i hope you enjoyed it

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ran-orimoto · 9 months

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[ Incredible how I will always forget to keep up with my crossposting (?) on Ao3 and Tumblr. I promise you I love you all and you are important to me. It’s just my brain wandering and jumping from a distraction to the following one and so forth. You’re not the problem.

By the way, this is the first one-shot of the year, so I welcomed your request with open arms, fighting against my cringe feelings. I love my Junzumi fankids, they are so important to me and they are *cough* my precious grandchildren. So, like other people say, I should snap out of my silly obsessions and write about them as well, without fear, embarassment.

Now that I have said this uselss stuff, let’s dive into things that matter. Junzumi are in their early fourties here and it’s an Izumi-centered one-shot, set years and years after she manages to open her restaurant in Milan, her Brezzo Petalo. She has received a great news but one that also will place her in front of a hard decision, especially now that her life has completely changed and her dreams have as well in their nature.

To a year full of Junzumi! ]

• Il vento fa solo pisolini •

“È tardi, Tesoro.”

She turned to the pink trail of perfume, to the cloudy halo veiling a pair of brown eyes trying finding her in that colourful mist. She felt so alienated from the whole world at a touch impregnated with a sense of urgence. It came from upwards and gave a delicate yet firm shove on her shoulders, so she could part from a chilly iron bar she had been holding onto for almost half an hour.

Nevertheless, she found it so hard to detach herself from there, her eyes from the bustling sight of people going back and forth and blending in a mosaic of different dialects. She was so annoyed by them, but she wanted to stay there, wait for them to go away one after the other and clear out the panorama stretching outside. A view made of nothingness and everything at the same time. Kilometers of heath and that was it.

But…

But it was Fiumicino, part of Roma, part of her.

“ Izumi…Faremo arrabbiare Papà , se non ci sbrighiamo. Forza.”

The red-haired woman reached out again, this time piercing the smoky candy floss hovering in the air, swabs floating around mother and daughter and being noticed only by the latter. Due to the fact Izumi was feeling so ensnared by the sight of those slowly ascending to the celing, -hopefully, the child considered, to the sky too,- her dangling hand allowed itself to be caught more easily than it had the rest of that whole morning. It was no wonder the woman couldn’t help releasing an exhausted sigh when the success of her attempts finally arrived so unexpectedly.

Behind her hasty march, Izumi deeply sighed as well, which made her grow disgruntled and, most of all, extremely puzzled about the behaviour of her body. She could remember she had stayed up all night because she had had trouble falling asleep, as thrilled and restless as she was. She had also chosen her outfit after having almost thrown her entire wardrobe out of the boxes the clothes had been put in, - obviously driving her mother crazy and making her loudly yell despite the presence of the movers-. After all, not every girl on Earth, at the age of ten, has got the chance to start a new exciting life abroad, in the country they were born in but one they could barely recall: picking a special outfit was a must in that occasion and her choice had fallen on one giving her the appearance of the main heroine from a novel who is ready to set on a grand adventure, -large sun hat with a huge ribbon resembling the ears of a cat from a frontal perspective included-.

New house, new neighbourhood, new city, new breathtaking experiences, new classmates and friends: what else could she have ever asked to elicit the fluttering of her heart? To push her to run to the gate, so fast she imagined her feet leaving the ground, her trolley, her mother, her father in the horizon waiting for them with a shaking of his head, in contrast to his amused grin.

Maybe I don’t want to go, She gasped, but not because of that usual pressure of emptiness that will dominate your stomach whenever a plane takes off. It was because of a certain realization, of the fact it had just dawned on her she had already read that story way too many times.

And only during the first one she had happened to be an enthusiastic and, most of all, oblivious ten-year-old.

XXX

The day before she had received the best news of her life and yet…And yet there was she, sitting at the kitchen table, pensive, waiting for Junpei to come from their youngest’s bedroom.

It was early afternoon, the kids and him had just finished having lunch and she had just returned from the restaurant in a noisy hurry, right at the same time he was putting the children to sleep for their sacred nap hour.

“Give me five minutes,” He had winked at her on the stairs, his thumb on display with confidence, as if she had joined him backstage to plant a good luck kiss on his cheek.

Maybe she should have wished him buona fortuna for real, judging from those five minutes that became ten and then fifteen. Still, as strangled by her deep sighs as she was, she wasn’t paying that much attention to the speed of the running clock hanging on the wall. It was spinning continuously just like those nagging thoughts of hers that had been marching in her mind since that morning, since the first second her eyes had opened and met the ceiling.

“Uh, today has been hard, but there is nothing, I say nothing, a wizard can’t do!”

Junpei finally barged downstairs with his rumbling enthusiasm and a silly twirling dance.

She was already expecting him to approach her and pull her on her feet, but that correct prediction didn’t help her keep herself from striking a forced and fake smile at him. While he was holding a hand of hers and rocking it, pronouncing a bizarre formula he was clearly inventing on the spot, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed, even disgruntled.

Therefore, eventually, at the sight of a little pin shaped as a graceful lillac star appearing on her palm from nowhere, she could only stare at it with a grimace, an imaginary, too sweet smell dominating her nostrils.

“I-I…” Junpei blinked, but didn’t show any sign of disappointment, somehow. He mostly looked surprised about her behaviour, which still made her chest drown in a lake of guilt as that obviously wasn’t the right reaction to a present. “Have you talked to that dandy dude?”

“Yes, I have,” She nodded, averting her gaze. Her fingers flew onto her forehead, pressing themselves against its shifting skin. Of course, when someone has got a fantastic announcement to make, they won’t frown and feel so emaciated, but Izumi was, especially now that she was standing in front of pots of honey and their shiny glass. “He told me he wants me to go to Tokyo.”

“But this is the best day ever, Cara !” She had also foreseen the way his arms would extend forward to encircle her waist and lift her. As soon as she felt his big hug warmly conveying his excitement from her back to her whole body, she began wishing his clumsy movements could throw her out of the window, into the misty sky, far from her problems, from the upsetting emotions she was going to pour on that dear person of her life.

But she had to tell him and she was sure he would understand. He would, like always, because he was aware in her life she was the only one who knew what was the best choice for her. He would often give her precious advices, but he had never demanded her to follow them, take them in consideration, and she appreciated that so much.

“Maybe it would have been, if I had told him I will go.”

But the fact was that in that matter she wasn’t only making personal decisions.

“Oh.”

Agreeing to inherit a restaurant in Japan, take her, no, their Brezzo Petalo to a completely different world would have consequences involving their whole family, which she couldn’t allow to happen.

Junpei gently accompanied her to the floor again, his mouth opened and his brown irises pulsing with perplexity.

“I thought over his offer and I think it’s better if things stay the way they are.”

“Even if we are talking about your dream?”

“Even if…” At the sound of his blunt question, she struggled to find the right words to use and preferred to sit again. She was glad Junpei did the same, placing himself at the opposite end of the table, eye to eye with her and her vacillating…Lie.

The kitchen was an important place to her, to them. It was the area of the house they had painted of that soft violet she loved; that corner they had firstly shared in two, successively in five, -six if they didn’t want to ignore their cat-, that niche that had been trusted with their recollections made of laughters and tears. If she turned, she would find herself chuckling at all the drawings the children had hanged on the fridge, the sign of green Kou had permanently engraved near to the dishwasher, the pink butterfly sticker Ran had attached onto a chair, the train toy Toto had begged Junpei to put on the kitchen hood like an ordinary knick-knack.

If she was going to go through that conversation, there wouldn’t be any other room in which that was supposed to happen.

“Izumi, are you really sure this is what you want?” She hadn’t realized her orbs had really escaped onto each of those details of her beloved surroundings, led by petals of a fragrant breeze. She did only when the beats of her heart found an echo in his serious yet tender voice. “If it is, I will be fine with that, of course, but it’s just that…It’s just that you have wanted this for years, since we were in university. This is your chance to do that: to spread the colours and joy of your food with your own wind. Do you remember? You chose to call the restaurant Brezzo Petalo in honour of Fairymon.”

“I do, but I’ve realized I can do that by staying here, meeting tourists, attending to events abroad when I’m invited to them. It’s enough, it really is.”

Her tone had become way too loud for a house hosting three dormant children, so she regained her composure, also exploiting that mute moment to give some pats on her blonde bob, some caresses down her locks: it seemed the whirlwind infuriating in her bosom had managed to disastrously mess up her hair.

“I see…I guess I can say the wind has settled, can I?” Junpei absently commented while contemplating her waving gestures with affectionate enchantment. She had no doubts on Earth only her husband could relax in awe, in the middle of such a big chaos developing before his spheres.

“ Mamma !”

The only being that could quickly distract him from her gorgeous figure couldn’t be anyone else but a smaller, -more capricious, vainer, much more pigheaded-, version of her.

“Mimì-Chan, you told me you would sleep if I told you that story!” Now Izumi was the one growing agape after having assisted to that astounding scene: was he really scolding her over a skipped nap? This was so new to her and she found it hard not to smirk, amused.

“You didn’t tell me how it ends, though,” The kid started swinging back and forth, her arms partly hidden behind her fucsia overall, her green eyes almost seeming to be enlarging to look more innocent than a deer’s. “I can’t fall asleep without knowing how a story ends, Papà. You are unfair.”

“Ehh, in truth I would get so frustrated as well…” He nodded, bringing his index on his lips and looking up, before finding a solution with a cheerful and large grin. “I will reveal you that tonight, then!”

Izumi raised an eyebrow at him, at how fast he could change his mind after having been manipulated by their naughty gremlin. Why do I keep on fooling myself…, She shook her head in an attack of fond exasperation, their chattering continuing in the background.

“Su , Ran. What is it? You arrived here and called for me, not for Papà.”

“Oh,right,” She froze with her arms raised in the man’s direction, making his blissed expression fall when she suddenly ignored his splayed ones. “I want to wash my hair, so I was looking for the hairdryer. Where is it?”

“You aren’t allowed to use the hairdryer. And your hair is fine: you washed it yesterday. Of course it is!”

“It’s not true,” She pouted, crossing her arms with indignation and searching for a support in Junpei. “My hair looks like the fur on the head of the baby camel from the zoo, isn’t it true, Papà? All sloppy and ruffled.”

“Wh-What? Why would I say something so despicable about your beautiful hair?”

“Because she’s right.”

Junpei jumped on his chair and almost fell off it: a stout boy, who was sporting a nest of dark blonde strands and orbs matching his in colour and liveliness, had attempted to whisper in his ear, but had failed because of his hiccuping laughters.

“Why are you two not tired today? Not enough school?” The man muttered, feeling like a poor, unfortunate soul having been just caught by the storm. Both Izumi and him were in desperate need for an umbrella!

Actually, the kids jumped in another bursting argument, even worse, more tumultuous than the one they had had the evening before. Junpei and Izumi had no sibilings, so they weren’t used to those dynamics at all. With nostalgia, Junpei often liked comparing the bickerings between Kou and Ran with the ones that would happen between Izumi and Takuya in the past, with the difference that the Izumi from the new generation was younger and shorter than its Takuya. Nevertheless, the fights still felt so similar to him and to Izumi too, though she would get a bit embarassed about admitting it.

“Instead, your hair will soon receive visits from birds!”

“I love birds, so I wouldn’t care! Try again!”

“Well…A-A whole tree will grow on your head and you will become more stupid than you are now. Pirla !”

“Now, you two…” Izumi stood up and dragged Ran away from her brother. Her puffy cheeks had been washed by a visible red, the shade of those who were aware they had already been cornered at the beginning of a fight.

“ Basta , Koujirou e Miranda, ” Junpei reticently completed her warning and the kids fell tacit at once. Because when the thunder roared, it meant it was better to find a good shelter below which to hide and from which to look at the wuthering sky.

In silence.

Absolute silence.

At least, until that minute of initial scare passed and some brave traveller dared to challenge the might of unbridled natural forces, maybe to check if it was still raining.

“It’s late!” Thus, Ran melted the stillness with a scowling glance she gave at the clock. “It’s late! I have to go to my lesson!”

“What are you talking about ?” Izumi gave a playful slap on the girl’s tense shoulders, helping them sag along with the general mood of the room. “It’s still half past two, mia Fatina stupidina.”

“But I want to wash my hair and it always takes a lot! I don’t want to arrive at lesson late!”

Izumi plunged her chin in that meadow of sunrays, losing herself in the scenario of the ever flowing time. She was so endeared by Ran’s passion for ballet, by her excitement she would show them whenever she had lesson after school. That had been going on since she was three and Junpei had given her an illustrated book of the Nutcracker as a present. Four years that felt like an eternity to their spirits, as if their Ran was already a little star of the stage in her adorable tutu.

There was no way…There was no way…

“Listen,” She felt the impelling need to speak to clear her hoarse throat. “I promise I will make your hair look splendid in your chignon, if you try sleeping a bit. We won’t need to wash it.”

“Really?” Ran started marching on the spot. “And how will you do that?”

“What questions! Of course , with a pinch of magic!”

Despite her jovial answer, the girl seemed less convinced than before, so hesitant and suspicious.

“But you aren’t Papà.”

“I lent Mamma a bit of magic dust long time ago!” Junpei intruded in the conversation with an improvised melody.

“What?!” Kou pulled his tongue out and put his hands on his hips, pouring every single drop of his skepticism on his father. “If you can really use magic, give some to me too!”

“Maybe we will talk about it, when your grades at maths improve.”

The kid threw his tongue out of his mouth again, in utter disgust this time.

“I will need to find Doraemon or something similar to become good at that. And I will also ask him to show me your high grades from when you were my age”.

Junpei’s pallor got fortunately shadowed by Izumi delicately pushing Ran ,and now Kou too, in the direction of the living room. She didn’t seem too shocked when she found their youngest, Tomoki, sitting on the stairs with a bored fashion, ears of wheat lazily dozing against the wood railing. Who would manage to sleep with that ruckus coming from downstairs?

“You three. In your beds. Now,” She clapped her hands making the trio grumble, displeased.

“If Mamma wants me to take a nap, I will,” Resigned, Kou shrugged while suffocating a huff: he wanted to look like a well-mannered kid in front of her, after having disappointed her with his insults and teasing. “Mamma always says I will score more goals if I have my daily nap. No matter I’m nine and I’m a man now.”

Like that, after a fleeting hug, he brought himself on the stairs, followed by the little Tomoki who could only yawn and rub his drowsy emeralds. All of a sudden, though, Kou stopped, and looked back at his sister who didn’t seem that willing to leave yet.

“ Scusa, Ran ,” He said, scratching his strands because of a spike of abashment that made him rapidly flee, not caring about checking what the girl’s response had been or hearing his mother commending him.

“Ran, you promised…” Swiftly, Izumi’s focus took a nosedive on the remaining child.

“Will you really comb my hair and make me look splendid with magic?” Ran pressed, still not completely persuaded about what the woman had told her in the kitchen.

“If you go napping, the magic will work even better,” She snapped her fingers, wishing she could be as skilled as Junpei in that field of jokes and play pretend.

That was the reason why she was glad he decided to collaborate with her once more that day…By adding a theatrical aura to her speech.

“I’ll give her even more of that dust, if you are not convinced. Here, look,” She didn’t immediately recognize the identity of what he had found in some cupboard, but whatever it was, it ended up on her face and made her sneeze.

“ Davvero ! I will really look like a fairy princess today, then!” Ran squealed while hopping on the carpet, the motley butterflies printed on her overall seeming to be fluttering in harmony with her heart. “La Maestra Chiaki will be so impressed! Sogni d’oro, Mamma e Papà”.

And up she went, at a faster speed than her brothers, reaching her bedroom in less than a minute.

“She won’t close her eyes even for a second, I assure you,” Junpei commented, standing still in front of the stairs as if he was expecting the petite blonde to show up again, sooner than soon.

“ Really, Junpei? Saffron powder?” Izumi spat those minuscule granules that had attached themselves to her palate and glared at him, even when he promptly provided her with a handkerchief he took out from one of his many pockets.

“Oh c’mon, now you should have understood kids don’t need to see you flying like Peter Pan to believe you can take a stroll on stars at nights. You will see your chignon will turn a little camel into a little swan. Trust me.”

He had never lost that eccentric way to babble about such weird suff. Indeed, it had been worsening day after day, since that far past moment he volunteered to help her at the restaurant in his own style . Apparently, playing the role of a temporary waiter had never been that satisfying to him, so he decided to become the entertainer of the Brezzo Petalo; the saviour of the bored kids huffing at the tables ; the funny, friendly, always grinning man in a big apron, who would come up with something different everytime he was in Milan and could give a hand to the chef.

She had eventually got his same disease by dint of peeking out from the counter and watching his magical shows, listening to his whimsical tales about men turning stars on thanks to special, suspended light switches; curious cats studying from musical sheets below sparkling nights…

“So, have you found this pin on the Moon?” She hadn’t forgot about his present. She had just let it rest in a warm place on her chest, where it had been patiently waiting for her genuine appreciation.

“On Venus, in truth!” He exclaimed while straightening his back, as if he could give more emphasis to that answer by acting like some comical, plastered toy soldier. Until his well-know awkwardness got the best of his intents, at least. “Which is…Which happened to be…A shop forgotten by the world behind the Duomo. I’ve also bought one for Ran. It looks like a butterfly and I think I will give it to her as a lucky charm.”

“You can’t really resist the temptation to spoil her everytime you go out, hm?”

“I…I…I know what it means to stand on a stage, tremble in front of your audience. I want her to go there without too much anxiety, have something to look at that can make her feel only excitement and determination.”

Without adding anything for that instant, she grabbed his hand and beckoned him to join her on the sofa. She was aware he had noticed hers was sweaty and slightly unstable, but she couldn’t find a single puff of air around her that could allow her to speak. She had inhaled and was keeping them all inside her shaken spirit, allowing them to pinch her vocal chords like if they were harp strings. There was nothing else but a melody in there; an ambiguous one wanting to tell too many different stories at the same time and being unable to do so for a while. It needed the right notes. She needed the right words.

“I think the wind settled when we decided to have three kids,” She started, after an undefined interval spent looking at each other with a mix emotions. He was a bit confused yet he was prepared to discover what the missing puzzle pieces were. From experience, he had learnt Izumi liked opening up gradually, step by step, like shy gusts occasionally sneaking among the leaves of a tree, singing a very slow lullaby to the man having a snooze below it. Unlike when it came to him, she didn’t need a person by her side, a stubborn one extrapolating confessions from her throat. She only needed someone who was patient enough to wait for her to make up her mind, sit next to them and release whatever she wanted to get free of. Out of blue. “I can’t. We can’t, Junpei. They have got a life here, things and people they are affectionate to. Kou has got his football practice, Toto that trains museum he loves going to so much, Ran…”

“Ballet.”

“Not only that!” He risked to fall backwards because of the impetus laced with her desire to correct him. She wished that energy could have soaked her facial traits as well but, on the other hand, her eyebrows unfortunately started twitching, her lips searched for an intimate contact between their two sides, her orbs filled with a sea of contrasting emotions. “She has got La Scala and she has been working so hard to enter the academy. What kind of mother would I be if I clipped her wings like that?”

“Izumi…”

“When I lived in Roma, I used to go to rhythmic gymnastics lessons.”

“This is a news to me,” He encouraged her to continue like that, attempting to keep himself from slipping closer and hugging her, as she took the lid off the sealed jar.

“Well, it never bothered me. It never did until I got a daughter holding onto a precious dream. Mine wasn’t a dream, but I would have fun in there. In all modesty, I was also pretty talented.”

“This, instead, doesn’t surprise me in the least,” It was becoming even harder to restrain himself from cradling her in his embrace, but he endured because she wasn’t quite done yet. She would have slapped him with her usual “ Flatterer ”, if that hadn’t been the case.

“I don’t want Ran to give up on ballet because of me.”

“She wouldn’t, Izumi. If you decided to go further in this, we would look for a good school for her in Japan. The best one. Japanese ballet dancers exist: Chiaki is an example, isn’t she?”

He gasped when her following question broke in a row of segments. Izumi abruptly lowered her head and the wavering fist on her thigh clenched the pin he had given her.

“And what if…What if…I went further in this…? What if…They couldn’t make new friends in Japan or, even worse, got isolated by everyone? Just like…”

She might be tripping on the last shred of her externation, but he was certain it wasn’t necessary for him to press her to go on. She didn’t have to force herself to take herself there , either. It was enough.

The brief rest of his spheres and the sigh generated by who knew what kind of vision represented the ending of his enormous feat.

“We will be fine. They will, and do you know why? Because if you hadn’t moved back to Japan, I would have never met a blonde girl wandering in a station all alone, driving me crazy and making me want to follow her in a dangerous place of fantasy. If it is what is supposed to happen, us returning there so you can achieve a life dream, I feel…No, I know they would find something special there too, just like it happened to us. Trus-“

She abandoned herself in his chest without complaints, her arms stretching as far as they could go to cover his large frame with her whole thankfulness. He pressed her heart against his so vehemently she grew convinced she could transfuse the dream, the nightmare of what felt like hundred nights in some ventricle of its’.

And maybe she really managed to do that, judging from how tighter the hug suddenly got; from how his rotund cheek squished against her boiling ear and wet her ear like a solitary drop of rain.

“I honestly thought it had already done when you married me.”

“What?”

“The wind settling. Hadn’t it already done that when you married me?”

“It absolutely hadn’t,” At first she reluctantly stirred, but as soon as she met his lucid honey, she found the warmth she didn’t want to leave back. Indeed, it was an even more powerful one, engulfing her like the duvet of a bed. “ Because I desperately wanted to divorce you on our honeymoon, when you ate all the chocolate you found in the hotel. A whole plate of chocolate in a day!”

“They just were seven and were so small. It’s not that serious. The bread I ate on the plane made me gag. I needed something tasty in my mouth and I didn’t want to wait any longer”.

“Okay, fine, I won’t carry around this grudge any more, then,” Winking, her eye itched because of a salty feeling lying on its base. “ I will forgive you after years.”

“G-Grazie, Cara”.

“Prego, Caro.”

They blinked at each other. One, two times. The amount of rain still sleeping in the clouds above them finally woke up and began falling on lovely slopes.

Starete bene, The yawning wind in her spirit reassured her, before opening its wings and taking off.

The wind never settles. It just takes naps.

XXX

Italian notes~

• È tardi, Tesoro: It’s late, Dear

• Fiumicino is Roma’s airport but it’s also the name of this big suburb of its’.

• Izumi…Faremo arrabbiare Papà , se non ci sbrighiamo. Forza : Izumi, we will make Dad angry if we don’t hurry. C’mon.

• Buona fortuna: Good luck.

• Basta: enough

• Mia fatina stupidina: My little silly fairy (affectionate XD)

• Scusa: Sorry

• Maestra is our Miss/Sensei XD

• Sogni d’oro is used when we want to wish someone a good sleep. Literally it is “Golden slumbers (?)”

• Starete bene: You will be fine

#junzumi #junpei shibayama #izumi orimoto #digimon frontier #izumi #junpei #kou #ran #toto #I guess this is rapsodia yeah #so #rapsodia on the frontier #and yeah chiaki princess mentions because she’s in Rapsodia ofc #Junzumi getting kids that are a disaster of nature #I REALLY love them don’t I #and it’s nothing #zura writes

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devox2564 · 10 months

Text

In Your Heart: Chapter 6

In Your Heart

Jake Kizka x femreader

Wild by Kelsey Karter and the Heroines

Check out this song/band to get a taste of my vision for Wolfsbane's music.

Chapter 6: Alive

The energy of the arena, even backstage, is electric. Your body buzzes with nervous energy as you sit in front of the dressing room mirror. The lights cast a glow on your face and give off a heat that beats on your already warm skin. Tabitha is in the corner running through her warm up, as Anika and Liz go over the set list one final time. Your eyes are ringed in smoky black and your lips are painted a deep velvety shade of red. The long black jumpsuit you are wearing is cut low in the front and shimmers at the slightest movement. You'd agonized over this outfit for weeks when Tabby had finally broken and chosen something for you. Looking at your reflection, you're thankful to her for having such good taste.

A woman with a headset knocks on the doorframe and says "10 minutes ladies, let's get ready to go."

Your nerves intensify and you stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment longer, only pulling yourself away when Anika grabs you by the elbow and begins to drag you out of the room. "Come on beautiful, we can't do this shit without you."

"I'm so fucking nervous man." you say to her as the four of you exit the room and into the long hallway that leads to the stage.

"Yeah you and me both." Liz says with a laugh.

.....

You can feel the sweat beading on your brow as you tease the strings of your guitar. The crowd roars at the last line of the last song in the set. Your guitar rings out and you throw your head back, tossing your hair behind you and leaning into the final notes. Tabby's voice draws out in one final ghoulish drawl and the lights flourish and go out. She introduces the four of you to loud applause. "Thank you Nashville! We're Wolfsbane, now get fucking ready for Greta Van Fleet!"

You exit the stage to loud shouts and cheers. Your heart pounds like the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Your skin is aflame with white hot energy. You are, to put it simply, exhilarated. The four of you rush into the hall backstage. Breathing hard, the first face you see clearly amongst the commotion is Jake's.

His soft brown eyes are twinkling, set perfectly against his lopsided grin. You break out into a fast run and jump into his arms. He gives you a small spin before setting you back on your feet.

"You guys were fantastic." he beams down at you and even in the harsh light of the fluorescents his gaze takes your breath.

It's been about 6 weeks since the infamous kiss on the couch of your apartment. You were hoping that all the preparation for this leg of the tour would distract you from your growing attraction but it had done the exact opposite. When you weren't together, he lived tucked away in the warmest sweetest corner of your mind. The memory of his lips was almost torture. 'Friends for now'. Yeah right.

In this moment, his arms around your waist combined with the adrenaline of the stage make for a deadly combination of happiness and sexual frustration. You'd orchestrated moments like this before where he'd have the opportunity to kiss you again if he wanted but you hadn't been so lucky. You pull out of his grasp and turn around to find the girls retreating to the calm of the dressing room. Tabby looks at you over her shoulder and gives you a subtle (not subtle at all) wink.

"It's like, really being alive out there. Right?" you half say, half ask him.

"You're exactly right." he replies. "Come on back with me and we'll have a drink before I've got to go on."

You begin to walk ahead of him deeper in to the maze of hallways. Right as you reach the corner, out of sight of the stage staff, his hands grip your waist and gently push you against the wall. His lips are on yours before your brain has had time to process the movement. His lips are firm and moving with an urgency that you are completely unfamiliar with. You push back against him, kissing back with the fervor of the touch starved woman that you are. The fire on your skin travels to the pit of your stomach where butterflies have erupted, fluttering nervously in time with your heart. Time seems to have stopped around the two of you completely as you pull away and look into his eyes. They've lost their soft blurred edges and taken on an intensity that warms the space between your legs. "Do you know how incredibly hot it is to see you perform?" he asks you with his voice low and quiet for only you to hear.

"Do you know how annoying it is that it's taken you 6 weeks to kiss me again?" you fire back playfully, dodging his question.

"We're friends remember?"

"It's been close to 6 months since I've had sex and you expected me to hold firm on that?" you let out a laugh and attempt to pull his lips into another kiss.

"Ah, ah, ah-" he tuts and presses his finger to your lips. "We haven't even been out on a date yet."

"What the fuck does that matter?" your eyes roll. He's doing this on purpose to torture you. Old habits die hard you suppose. Maybe that's a con of being friends with a man before you get involved.

"You've got about..." he checks an imaginary watch "Two months and about 20 shows to go before we can go on our real first date."

"You've got to be kidding me Jacob." you huff.

"Hey, I'm not the one who set that boundary. That would be you my sweet sweet guitar goddess." he's still holding firm to your hips and gloating down at you.

"Get the fuck off of me." you peck his cheek and push him to free yourself.

"I'm being respectful!" he call after you as you walk away.

You throw him a smile over your shoulder and saunter away. When you reach the dressing room, the rest of your bandmates are getting ready to find their seats to watch the show. The guys had made sure that at least for this show, the four of you would have a seat to spectate from.

You settle into the hard plastic seat sandwiched between Tabby and Liz, with Anika seated directly in front of you. Before you've had time to even try to get comfortable, the three of them are on you.

"So, what the fuck was that about?" Tabby asks grinning like an idiot.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes and chuckle a bit, trying extremely hard to play it cool.

"Don't even play like something didn't just happen between you and lover boy." Anika is twisted around and smiling knowingly at you. Like she's lived your exact scenario a hundred times before.

"Yeah, I've never jumped into the waiting arms of a guy I was 'just friends' with." Liz chimes in elbowing you in the ribs.

"Its none of your business." you're really laughing now, knowing you'll have to tell them something.

"Your lipstick is fucked up." Anika gestures toward your face.

You scramble a bit to get your phone and take a look.

"Ha! I lied!" she exclaims "But I fucking got you! You guys were totally knocking tonsils back there!"

"Look, I'm still trying to figure it out myself." you lean your elbows down onto your knees and bury your hands in your hair. "We haven't even been out yet, really."

"Hey, I was with you that night out in Savannah, little Jakey's been down bad for you since then. Maybe even before that." Tabitha is leaning back in her seat, arms stretched to either side, talking casually like its nothing.

"I'll spill the details after the show. Until then. You three. Just. Shut. Up." your face is burning through your makeup.

.....

Watching Jake perform is near pornographic. Especially after your encounter in the hallway. His face is contorted in a sort of music driven ecstacy. Sweat beads on his brow and glistens on his chest in the hot stage lights. Hands moving as quickly as lightning, his fingers teasing the strings in all the right ways, riffing so naturally that it must be an extension of his soul.

You're only a few yards from the edge of the stage, so close that you can imagine what his cologne might smell like mixed with his perspiration. You lock eyes with him just as the song ends and it's like the two of you are the only people in the world. High on the buzz of the stage, they are heavy lidded. You find that the only thing that lives within them in this particular moment is lust. Even from a distance you can feel him exposing you.

His gaze shoots through you like lightning and travels straight between your legs. While extremely turned on, you're also extremely annoyed. It's going to be a long, long tour.

Thanks for reading this week! Things are heating up a bit right?

If you're curious as to what Wolfsbane might sound like as a real band, check out Kelsey Karter and the Heroines. I heard their music and knew the girl band I included in this story would sound like them. I also feel like they would be a cool choice to get a GVF crowd hyped before a show. Give them a listen and let me know if you feel the same way.

This chapter was a little shorter, so expect something nice and long next week!

-E

#greta van fleet #jake gvf #jake kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fic #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #slow burn #soft fic

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