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kabuki-writes · 2 months ago

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The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

Tags:

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

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wrapped around your finger | s.r.

in which you come home to find spencer in peak girl dad form

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, girldad!spencer, nail polish, this is technically the family from cryptic, but you don't need to read cryptic to know what's going on word count: 578 a/n: this is for the anon who asked for dad!spencer! i always have some dad!spencer on retainer for when the people are in need! it's nothing crazy, but i was cleaning up my desk and found a sticky note that said spencer would definitely let his daughter paint his nails.

A little voice carries itself from down the hallway, and you follow the sound of it. The carefully chosen words of your four-year-old daughter make you wonder who she could possibly be speaking to. Slowly, you walk down the hallway, trying not to alert anyone to your presence.

On your way, you peek into the nursery, your younger daughter sleeping soundly in her crib as you pass her, finally ending up at the doorway of Eleanor’s room, “Do you like the color?” She asks gently, holding her father’s hand in hers and inspecting his fingers.

“I love the color, thank you,” Spencer says politely, “You know, purple is my favorite color.”

The smile that blooms on her face is so bright, it makes you wish you’d never left the house in the first place. “Mommy told me!”

Nothing in all of the parenting books you’ve read prepared you for your firstborn to stop calling you mama. The switch had caught you off-guard, and you found yourself mourning the little girl she had been while simultaneously prideful of the personality that she was developing.

You’d have to keep better track of it with Olivia, though you and Spencer hadn’t come to a consensus on whether or not you were done after two kids. The sight in front of you might just be enough to convince you to go for a third.

Her princess tiara slides forward on her head as she focuses on painting Spencer’s nails, your husband sitting in a chair that’s comically small for him as her small hands deftly apply the lacquer.

Catching sight of you in his periphery, Spencer gives a soft smile in greeting, not wanting to alarm Eleanor of your appearance. “You’re really good at painting nails,” he observes, reaching his free hand up to adjust her crown.

“I wanna do it forever and ever,” she responds giddily, putting the brush back into the bottle. You notice the way Spencer reached over to seal the nail polish bottle, preventing a tragedy before it strikes.

Spencer hums in response, “If that’s what you want, lovebug.”

She smiles, spinning around in her PJs until she sees you, “Mommy!” She squeaks excitedly, running over to you and giggling when you pick her up.

“Hello, Princess Nellie,” you greet her, hugging her tightly before setting her back down. Listening to see if the ruckus woke up the baby, you walk further into the bedroom when you hear no stirring from the room next door.

She smiles, pointing at Spencer with a proud look on her face, “I painted daddy’s nails.”

“I see that,” you took in the sight before you, Spencer’s nails had indeed been painted, along with all of the skin surrounding them. “They look great honey,” you tell her, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Nellie looks up at you expectantly, “Daddy said I can’t paint Livvy’s nails.”

You smile slightly at the pout on her face, “That’s right, she’s too little to have her nails painted.” Though you have to admit, you’ve been imagining mini spa nights with your daughters from the moment you found out you were having another girl.

Her eyes go wide as saucers, “Oh! Then it’s a good thing I have daddy.” She beams over at her father, and he looks at her with an equal amount of adoration in his eyes.

Grinning over at Spencer, you nod in agreement with her, “Yeah, it is a good thing.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #spencer reid dilf agenda

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thewidowsledger · 1 month ago

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Agent

Pairings: Undercover Agent!Natasha Romanoff x Mob boss!Female Reader

Word count: 693

Tags | Warnings: None, is the sexual tension in the room with us (?)

Author's Note: This is not a fic, more like a drabble👉👈 I hate how so many good ideas are running in my mind when I am heart broken, so just let me spoil y'all as long as I can :))

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

"Go home, get some rest."

Natasha lingers by the doorway, shifting uncomfortably. Her eyes darted around the room, and her clasped hands fidget behind her back.

"Nat." You called.

She sighs, leaning against the doorframe and stealing a glance out the window.

"Natasha." You called again, much firmer this time.

Ah, she's in shit now. She knows damn well she's in deep trouble when she hears her full name being used especially by you. "Sorry, boss, guess I'm…distracted."

"That much is obvious." You offer a brief smile from your desk, but it fades just as quickly. "What's wrong, Natasha?"

Oh well, the list goes on and on. Where to begin? First, she's an undercover agent walking a tightrope, knowing her bosses are ready to pull the plug on the operation. Second, she's not a very good agent, since she became too attached to her target, the woman she's been guarding for six months. Lastly, she's an agent, and she's wondering if she should be.

Not that the answer is to join organised crime, either. But she's probably not as…objective as she used to be.

"I'm not sure about tomorrow," she finally admits. She doesn't like lying to you.

"What makes you unsure?"

Tomorrow looms large. The brass is forcing her hand. Natasha already delayed delivering you to them three times, and tomorrow, in the middle of your biggest land trade in years, her fellow agents are going to storm the place. There will be chaos, and you're likely to get caught in the crossfire. And despite her divided loyalties, she knows she'll put her life on the line to protect you. Whether they will question her credibility if she's a traitor or not.

Well all because she's just the agent who fell for her target—the Romeo of the operation. She just hopes that the story doesn't end in tragedy.

"Are we sure the meeting place is secured?"

"You went with Bucky to secure it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but—"

"You're nervous," you interrupt smoothly. Your smile is as polished as your satin night dress and the faint, fabricated English accent you wear like armor. Natasha knows it's a front—like her own.

"Can't help it," she shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Your heels click on the floor. The sound haunts her in her dreams.

"I know you can't." You almost sound like you're soothing her. "But try not to let it cloud your judgement."

She nods, brushing a speck off her jacket. It's the best she's ever dressed in her life, all thanks to you. Steve loves to tease her about it, especially the set of black shirt she's never ran out.

You blink as she catches your hand before you can pull away from her completely. "Natasha."

"You," she begins, breaking the strict rule against using names—real or fake—in the office. But you had told her your name yourself, and it's been etched into her mind ever since, like a treasure on a pedestal. "Just…think about tomorrow again."

She meets your gaze, both faces unreadable. Natasha's mastery of concealing emotions comes from years of training, while yours seems effortless. "You're concerned about me?"

She inhales, squeezing your hand tighter. Finally free to tell the truth, she says, "your safety is my top priority."

Something changes in those eyes of yours, but she can't quite tell what it is.

Natasha blinks as you lean in, pressing a light yet deliberate kiss to her cheek. She fights to keep her composure, knowing that you, the boss, rarely shows affection—mercy even less so. But her focus is entirely on calming the storm of butterflies in her stomach.

Oh idiot Romeo, indeed.

You lock eyes with her, your hand steady on her cheek. "We'll be fine," you say with unwavering confidence.

She holds your gaze, resisting the urge to hope for another kiss. Slowly, she lets go of your hand. "If you say so, boss."

You arch a brow. "Back to boss, is it?"

She felt a smirk but more like a smile tug at her lips. "Would you rather I call you something else?"

"Hm, mommy sounds good or perhaps mistress..." A sly smirk crept in your face. Then your hand glides down her chest, skimming over her leather jacket until it rests on the concealed weapon at her belt.

"You tell me, agent."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff au #black widow

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sweetbans29 · 8 months ago

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Teach Me: The Tragedy of Conflict (vi) - PB

Pairing: Paige Bueackers x Reader

Previous Part & Next Part

Summary: You and Paige have been best friends for the last 6 years. You trust her completely. And it is because of that trust that you ask her a rather forward question. AKA - You ask Paige to teach you.

Warnings: suggestive, tiny pains, bigger pains

Word Count: 4.1k

Sweetbans Masterlist & Teach Me Masterlist

AN: You knew it was coming soon.

Over the next few weeks, Paige's internal battle continues to grow. If she thought she was struggling before, each growing day continues to add even more thoughts and doubts that she has when it comes to you. But that isn't the only thing growing, her craving for you has exponentially increased since the last lesson.

Paige thinks about how intimate the two of you were at the most inconvenient times. She pictures you lying on her bed, half naked when she is studying. Her mind replays the sounds you made when her lips were on your neck while she was conditioning in practice. She closes her eyes in class and sees your back arching and hears you saying her name over and over again and all she wants is more.

But the last few weeks have been dry. No lessons, no 'practicing' as you would like to call it, just Paige longing for any touch she could get from you. Even those felt scarce.

Paige is studying with Azzi when she feels like she is going to combust.

"I need something, anything. I have been itching for weeks now," Paige says. The same book has been turned to the same page for the entirety of their study session. Azzi on the other hand was making good progress on her paper.

"Paige. I have been telling you for weeks to tell her how you feel. You are the one who has chosen to ignore any and all of my advice." Azzi says.

"It is not that simple - we freaking live together. What if she doesn't feel the same? That is how many years of friendship thrown away?" Paige says in frustration. She is getting heated.

Azzi laughs.

"What could possibly be funny about this?" Paige says pushing Azzi's computer.

"It is that simple. Just tell the girl you love her and I am sure it will all work out." Azzi doesn't know how much more blunt she can be without flat-out saying that you love Paige. Azzi's suspicions were confirmed that night you walked out of the bar with tears rolling down your face.

"F-that, I will not be the one to talk first," Paige says fed up with the conversation she initiated. She begins packing up her things.

"Where are you going? You haven't even started your assignment." Azzi says as she watches her frantic friend.

"I am going home to change and then WE are going out," Paige says.

"Paige, I don't want to go out tonight," she says.

"Come on, drinks on me," Paige says trying to bribe her to come.

"Fine, drinks AND food on you," Azzi says as she saves her paper and starts to get ready.

The two of them go to Paige's favorite local spot and meet up with some other teammates. They are all having a blast - drinking a little (or a lot) more than they should be for a Tuesday night but no one cared. Practice the next day wasn't until the afternoon so they could sleep in and nurse their hangovers all morning.

It is just after midnight when Paige gets a call from you.

"Hey B, where-are you at a bar?" You say when you hear Paige pick up the phone with a lingering 'hello'.

"Indeed I am!" She yells. "You are the smartest," Paige says with a giggle.

"I am coming to get you," you say as you rummage around your room to find something to throw over your PJs.

"Okay, I will sit right here until you get here," Paige says as she sits on the stool of someone else's table. The people give her a questioning look. "Oops, maybe not there," Paige says moving. "I will sit right here until you get here," Paige says as she is sitting one seat over but still at the same table.

"Did you get that? I moved." Paige says making sure you know where she is at. It doesn't matter as none of what she is saying is adding up since you can't see her at all.

"Okay B, don't move," you tell her.

"Imma be a statue," Paige says as she thinks she is staying still as a pole but is actually swaying to the music.

You let out a little laugh, "I'll see you soon."

You hang up and find Paige's location on your Find My app. You head to the bar, parking right out front and leaving your hazards on. Walking in, you immediately regret the decision to throw on just an oversized sweatshirt of Paige's and wish you would have opted for some sweats as well.

As you make your way through the crowd - which is surprising for a Tuesday night, and find Azzi and Evina first.

"Have you guys seen Paige?" You ask looking around.

Evina shakes her head no. Azzi nods her head over to the little stage in the corner as Paige steps up to sing karaoke. You are also now shaking your head as you watch your best friend make a fool of herself. The more you think about it in the seconds before the song starts, you think it is better to have her upset with you rather than videos of her singing karaoke drunk in a bar circulating the internet.

You weave your way to the stage and grab her arm, removing the mic from her hand. She yells your name in excitement until she sees you are taking her away from the spotlight.

"Let's get you home B," you say as try to get her off the stage.

"No, I wanna singggg," Paige whines.

"You can sing in the car, let's go." You pull her off the stage then wrap an arm around her waist to steady her. "Trust me, you will thank me later."

Paige lets you guide her out of the crowd, her arm now around your shoulder as she waves to her other teammates. You just shake your head and laugh as the girls follow the two of you.

Once you get back to your car, three girls pile in the back as you stick Paige in the passenger seat. You drive them back to your apartment building and begin to part ways.

"Thank you for coming to get us," Evina says with a hiccup.

"Always," you say as you wave goodbye to them.

Paige is asleep and you know once drunk Paige is asleep, she is not the easiest to get to do things.

"B, wake up. We need to go inside," you say shaking her arm. She brushes you off and turns the other way.

"B. I want to go to bed, can you please get moving." You beg the girl who makes no movement to move from your car.

Finally, you get tired enough to grab her arm and pull her out of the car. Her eyes only open a little as she now has to hold her own weight Her arms come to wrap around you, hugging you and nestling her head into the crook of your neck.

"Hi B," you say as you rub her back with one hand and close the door with the other, making sure to lock your car in the process.

"Smell like heaven, favorite smell," she says as her breath tickles your neck.

"Thanks B," you chuckle as you try to shift her to one side of you so you can walk the two of you up to your apartment. Her head stays hidden in your neck as she is now sidestepping with you as you lead her home.

Once the two of you are in your apartment you take her to her room.

"No," she says like a little kid.

"B, you are the one who was just about to sleep in my car." You say.

"Want yours," she says with a pout.

You roll your eyes. At this point you let her go and she puts her hand out to steady herself on the wall. You walk away from her and remove her sweatshirt. When you do, your shirt rides up giving Paige the perfect view of your bare back before you pull it down and walk into your room.

Paige instantly follows you into your room and plops down on your bed - her mind tells her she wants you but her body is exhausted.

She rolls over as you come to her. You start by taking her shoes off and placing them on the ground. She then lifts her arms.

"Flip over," you tell her as she rolls back over so she is lying face down on your bed. You pull at the sleeves of her jacket and remove it. She is left in her pants and tank top. Good enough, you tell yourself as you go to turn the light off.

When you finally lay down you feel Paige shift over to you. Her arm comes to hang around your waist.

You sigh.

Paige's head comes to find the crook of your neck again, her lips painfully close to the sweet spot on your neck.

Little to Paige's knowledge, she has been on your mind as much as you have been on hers.

You lean in just enough to have her lips meet your skin and you release the softest moan. Paige's hand grips your waist as she brings you closer to her, lips starting to move on your neck.

You savor her movements as she begins to pepper kisses up towards your lips.

Before her lips meet yours, you snap back into reality and remember she is not in her right mind.

"We shouldn't do this," you whisper. Paige's movements continue - not hearing what you said.

You place your hand on her cheek and bring her face up to yours. She leans in wanting to feel your lips on hers.

"You're drunk, B," you say. "You should go to sleep."

She looks into your eyes with what you believe to be love but tell yourself it is the alcohol.

She holds your gaze then kisses your nose and curls back up into your side.

The next day at practice Paige struggles and Geno is not having any of it. By the end of it, Paige looks like she has taken a beating. Everyone goes into the locker room to shower and head out but Paige stays back to go through more reps.

"B, you need rest." You say as you walk back out to see her working on her midrange jumper.

You know she isn't going to stop until she is content with her shot so you stand there watching her shot.

After about 10 minutes she finally takes a break.

"Adjust your thumb, it is going to lax when you release." You tell her.

She goes up for another shot, making the change you recommended. It goes beautifully into the basket. She shakes her head.

"I still don't know how you do it," she says a smile finally dawning her lips. "And why didn't you say that when Geno was drilling into me, huh?"

You laugh. "Because then you wouldn't learn to not drink in the middle of the week."

She looks at you with disbelief. She throws the ball at you and you catch it, dribbling it then shooting it.

Paige watches you in awe.

"Do it again," she says. You shake your head no, not really sure why you put it up in the first place.

"Please," she says as she brings you another ball, stands right in front of you, and places it in your hands. "Please."

You close your eyes and proceed to do a shootaround, Paige feeding you the ball. She watches you, eyes never leaving you. When you are finished you are slightly out of breath. You didn't miss a single one which even you found impressive.

Paige walks over to you.

"That was incredible - why did you ever stop?" She asks, not realizing what she is asking.

You sigh and sit on the ground. Patting the spot next to you. She sits across from you, wanting to see you.

"Before we met, I was set on going to UConn to play ball - there was no doubt in anyone who saw me play. They all knew I was going to play for the best," you say referring to Geno.

Paige bites back the joke she wants to make about how much you are hyping yourself up right now - she doesn't want to jeopardize your comfort in this moment.

"And no, I am not just bragging about myself - you can ask Coach yourself. He came to watch me play when I was in 7th grade, already counting down the days until I made my debut here." You say.

"That all changed when my mom left us on my 13th birthday. I woke up that morning excited for the day only to walk downstairs to see a single piece of luggage and my parents fighting. They kept yelling about me and what was going to be my future. She said she was tired of losing her daughter and that I cared more about basketball than I did about her. It was ironic because it was her and dad that taught me how to play. She was my mother and she believed I didn't love her and chose the sport over her. To be fair, I loved the sport more than I loved a lot of things, but never her. She cursed out my dad for ruining my life, saying things about how he was going to break me and I would never make it under his pressure. She didn't understand the relationship my dad and I have. I destroyed my parent's marriage and was the reason she left." You say and quickly wipe away the tears. Paige has scooted her way to you and has taken hold of one of your hands.

"I watched her walk out that day - what was meant to be the best birthday turned into the worst. I was sitting on the stairs as she walked out. She turned to look at me but didn't say a thing. She had said all she had to say. And she walked out."

"My game changed after that - had me in my head. I quit shortly after that. Quit playing that is, started learning the why behind all of it. Behind every play, every move, as many players as I could. I thought understanding the why behind the game would help me understand why my mom left. It didn't of course, but I was still just a kid you know? I didn't understand it fully - I still don't understand it fully."

"My dad saw me deep dive into learning the game from a different perspective and saw how I was excelling in learning the game faster than I learned how to play it. We both sort of just threw ourselves into it - neither of us knowing how to cope. It is how we connect with one another."

"I have started shooting again - but it still hurts. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I am shooting that I don't think back to that day. It is like a blessing and a curse. I feel free when I have a ball in my hand but am reminded of the cost. It clears my head but also opens old wounds."

Paige sits there and listens to every word you say. Out of the 5+ years of friendship, you have only ever mentioned your mom once. Paige remembers when you told her about your mom in the park but you never mentioned this. She feels tears well up in her own eyes.

Her hands come up to hold your face. You can't look her in the eyes so you just close them. She pulls you in and holds you.

She doesn't say anything - not that she would know what to say. All she knows how to do is hold you.

Once the sun begins to set and the gym begins to darken, the two of you head back home.

The team decided to hit the town that weekend after the game. You tag along, knowing you could use some fun. You stick to your classic while the team does a whole variety of different shots and drinks.

"Take a shot with us!" Evina yells as she orders another round.

"You know she doesn't, she likes her classic," Paige answers for you. You push past her, already feeling the effects of your first drink.

"No, I'll take one," you say, already shooting it back before Paige can stop you. She just watches you in surprise. You grab hers and throw it back.

"Ok, I think someone needs to slow down," Paige says and tries to grab your drink. You just box her out and tell her no.

"Let me have some fun B," you say. "I need a little fun."

Paige puts her hands up and lets you do what you want.

You make your way to the dance floor and start dancing with anyone and everyone. Paige watches you from a distance.

"Go dance with her," Azzi says as she comes up to Paige.

"Nah, she can have her fun," Paige responds and takes another sip.

Paige hates seeing others hands on your body but she isn't going to do anything to stop them. Rather she is going to find her own distraction.

By the early hours of the morning, Azzi can't find Paige anywhere and takes it upon herself to make sure you get home safely. When she takes you to your apartment, she realizes you don't have your key and is forced to take you to hers. You sleep on her couch.

You wake up to a major hangover, wanting nothing more than to be in your own bed. As you make your way out of your friend's apartment and stumble to your own, you come across the same realization that she had last night. You are keyless.

You knock hoping Paige is home. You are about to give up when you hear the ruffling of the lock.

When the door opens you are not met with your best friend, but some girl you believe is on the cheer squad.

You look at her with confusion and walk right past her. Even in your hungover state you know the first rule you and Paige had about the apartment was to not bring anyone back after a night out. All flings were to be done anywhere but there. You are quickly sobered up as you walk into Paige's room expecting to find her asleep in her bed but she is not. You walk back out into the living room - she's not on the couch.

"She's in her room," the girl says as she wraps herself in one of your sweatshirts. She probably thinks it's Paiges. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. She points to your room.

You push the door open slightly to reveal a sleeping Paige, naked in your bed. Clothes scattered throughout the room.

You grab a few of your things, desperately trying not to look at her.

"I don't think she will want you to take her stuff," the girl says as sees you packing some things into a bag.

You ignore her and finish grabbing what you need.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" The girl says loud enough to cause Paige to stir.

"Babe, why are you yelling?" Paige's sleepy voice cuts through the air., as she turns in time to catch her eyes meet yours before walking out.

Paige begins to scramble to her feet, forgetting the fact that she is butt naked, and attempts to go after you but you slam the door and are long gone.

"Paigey, come back to bed," the girl says, already lying in your bed. She's ready for another round.

Paige tunes her out, as all she can think about is how royally she messed up.

Paige is pacing the apartment trying to figure out what happened the night before. She swore she and the cheerleader were heading back to her place. The thing is, Paige doesn't remember being that drunk. She can pretty much remember everything.

Paige sent the girl away after you had left, making sure to get your sweatshirt back from her before she did.

Paige knows she messed up - you guys really only had the one rule and she had broken that. Not only that but she has brought another girl back to your room. What the hell was she thinking?

She tried calling you multiple times but it went straight to voicemail. She then tries calling all of her teammates to see if you went to any of them - only two of them answered.

"Don't worry P, she's probably just sleeping off the hangover from last night - she was super wasted." That was the only real response she got.

Paige decides to go to Azzi's to see if she has seen you. Azzi peaks her head through the door. Once she sees it's Paige, she steps outside and closes the door.

"Azzi - I know she is in there, let me see her," Paige says.

"Paige, I don't think that is the best idea," Azzi's voice is soft.

She tries to go by her but Azzi grabs her arms and looks in her eyes.

"Just give her some time, okay?"

"I don't know what happened," Paige says in defeat.

"I know P, I've got her. Just go get some rest okay?" Azzi says.

You don't go to the apartment for the next few days. You avoid going to any place Paige might be - that includes staying away from the team. The first time you see her is at practice on Tuesday, seeing that you weren't there on Monday.

The team is in the gym and Paige is anxiously waiting to see if you will be there. When you walk in alongside Geno and the other assistant coaches she is relieved but also now extremely nervous.

You don't give her any attention throughout practice. Paige even tries altering her shot to get you to come over to tell her how to fix it but you never do. All she gets is Geno yelling at her to focus or he will make her do suicides.

At the end of practice, you slip out before the girls leave the locker. Little to your knowledge, Paige never went in and was waiting in the parking lot for you.

She calls your name. You hesitate but keep walking. She runs to you and grabs your arm.

"Don't touch me," you say pulling it away.

Paige is taken aback, losing her words.

You look at her waiting for her to say something, anything really. When she doesn't, you speak.

"Okay if you won't talk, I will. I told you the darkest part of me - a part of me that less than a handful of people know. I opened up to you because I love you. I love you, Paige. I thought you felt the same, I thought I saw it in your eyes but then coming home the other day and seeing you brought another girl home. There was a fire that burned within my veins that fizzled out leaving nothing but disappointment. It wasn't that you slept with another girl because that wasn't the issue. The issue was that we have one rule. One rule. Not relating to our lessons but to our home. Our one rule, thrown out the window. See it might have been different if I walked in and you weren't in MY bed. But that is the only thing I can see in my head Paige - what the two of you were doing in my safe space."

Paige wants to say something but nothing comes out.

You sigh. You feel defeated.

"I don't know what to say B, I don't have the energy to fight with you." You look at her for the first time in days - your eyes are tired. "I forgive you. But I need to make myself clear when I say I need space."

Paige wants to argue, tell you how big of a mistake she has made and how much she regrets it. She wants to tell you she loves you and has for years now. She wants to tell you she isn't going to leave you. That the girl meant nothing and all the girls over the years have been a distraction for her - a distraction to get you off her mind. But none of that comes out.

You nod and get in your car and drive away.

Paige watches you leave. She doesn't know what to feel more, the peace of knowing you love her or the pain in knowing you are so much better than she is. She doesn't deserve you - that is the thought that clings to her.

She doesn't deserve you but needs you to survive.

AN: It almost feels worse when forgiveness is given instead of asked for. Let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for all your love and support 💙

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers imagine #paige x reader #paige bueckers masterlist #teach me series

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yourprettylildoe · 29 days ago

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ℰ𝒸𝒽ℴℯ𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒹ℯ𝒸ℯ𝒾𝓉

yandere!husband? × wife!reader

The tragedy that has occured to your husband has suddenly undone, or has it? Things start to change and perhaps you have not been saved from a terrible fate, but destined to another.

Warnings: death, simple descriptions of a body.

You walked back home, carrying your bag and your heavy heart. It was nothing new, however — all evenings were the same.

How did things lead to this? You always asked yourself. A year ago, you were on top of the world. Marrying the love of your life, who wouldn't be elated? The first few months were a blur of loving kisses and happiness.

Then, everything crumbled. Not immediately, but slowly — agonisingly – almost like your heart was being chipped off piece by piece because of the stranger man you loved. A cloud formed over Dante's head. The more it grew, the more you drifted apart. Compliments turned into impatient responses and arguments. Closeness or intimacy turned into sleeping on other sides of the bed. If you asked him about leering at other gorgeous girls, he'd start spitting insults and telling you to "grow up and stop being so damn insecure."

And being the pathetic, lovesick woman you were: you stayed, hoping that maybe things would change. If it were any other person, they'd be filing the divorce and living their life free of the shackles that held them back, empowered. Even if you did, who would want you after that? The man who you thought was your soulmate didn't (but still tolerated you to some extent), let alone someone else.

So, what did you do instead? Drowned yourself in more work. The hospital was a form of escape from the cold silence that met you every time you walked through the door. All the decor you giddily picked out with Dante was indeed still beautiful, but there was no life to it anymore.

Clutching your scarf tighter around your neck, you shivered, and not because of the cold. It was due to the feeling. Something or someone was watching you. Suddenly, your footsteps felt too loud and out of place, echoing in your ears. You glanced over your shoulder warily.

Nothing.

Perhaps it was just the product of your silly imagination or a distraction from your thoughts. Either way, you weren't exactly comforted.

Finally, your house came into view. Just a few more minutes and then you'll-

A rustle came from the alleyway to your left.

You froze as your head turned in its direction. Quickly, almost imperceptibly, a shadow moved. Your feet moved before you could even think. Anyone watching would think you were a crazy woman.

Panting, you leaned against the front door of your house. Thankfully, your husband was probably home, and you would feel safer.

"I'm back," you said out loud like you usually did. No response came, unsurprisingly. He was probably in his office, typing away while rolling his eyes at the sound of your voice.

You reached the top of the stairs and approached the room, opening it. Your breath got caught in your throat.

There sat your Dante, slumped over and lifeless.

A scream tore through your lungs, almost as if a part of your soul was ripped from you. Hurrying over to him, you checked his pulse as tears blurred your vision.

"No, no, no!" You sobbed as you checked his pulse, heart dropping when there was no life. Glassy eyes that represented the stillness of the world stared back at you.

The rest was a blur of you screaming at the 911 operator as you barely managed to walk with your legs feeling jelly. You sank against the wall. He was gone. Quiet prayers played in your mind, hoping it was all a nightmare while you buried your face in your knees.

Multiple officers barged into your home 10 minutes later. Scrambling up to your feet, you led to them to the bedroom, bracing yourself for the sight of the tragedy. With your heart battering against your ribcage, you flung it open.

The thing is — the room was empty.

The men didn't know what they were looking at. Everything looked perfectly normal from the chair pushed back against the desk to the papers neatly stacked as if they weren't scattered all over the place. In all honesty, you didn't know either.

"W-what?" Your voice cracked, "h-he was right here, I promise."

One of them, officer Collins, stated the obvious, "there isn't anyone in this room, ma'am. Are you sure it was your husband?" He stepped forward.

Sniffling, you exclaimed: "y-yes, yes! He was right in that chair. B-but...where is he?"

At that moment, your head was spinning. There was no way you imagined it all, right? But with the lack of evidence, it looked to the others present that it was a good conclusion to jump to.

Officer Collins exchanged a concerned glance with his partner before deciding on giving you the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright, is there anyone else in the house who might've took the body?"

"N-no," you whimpered. "I-I don't know, but there could've been."

Before he could respond, someone beat him to it.

"Y/n?"

That soothing voice made you snap your teary eyes open as you turned in its direction.

There, in the doorway, stood your husband.

Your body froze all over. He looked exactly the same with his black curls, strong jaw, and those hazel eyes that you could drown in till tomorrow. Bile crawled up your throat as your lips quivered, all you could manage was a choked sob.

If you didn't feel insane before, you felt insane now.

Why?

Because a few minutes ago, Dante Virelli was dead.

How could this be? He was right there! You saw him, you couldn't have made it up.

His thick brows furrowed as he looked at your pale face and the unexpected comapny around you. Almost instantly, you threw your arms around his torso. His chest still had that warmth that made you feel all fuzzy inside. A hand lifted up your cheek, dabbing away at your tears.

"What's going on? What's the police doing here, sweetheart?"

Soon, all eyes in the room turned to you, looking at you like you were an alien. You couldn't blame them, honestly, you were confused too.

Finally finding your voice to defend yourself, you rasped out. "D-dante...you-you're alive?" Your chest was constricted with disbelief.

"O-of course I am," he tilted his head.

You looked up at him sniffling, "b-but I-I found you..." you pointed at the desk, "you...you were dead!"

"What?"

"He was dead! I saw him" You turned to Officer Collins, who also wore a perplexed expression.

"Maybe you need to sit down, ma'am." The police man suggested.

Dante exhaled softly, running a hand through your hair. "He's right, baby. You have been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe you were imagining things."

You expected anger from your usual husband who didn't ljke it when you messed up, but...not this softness. It was like the beginning of your relationship, the better times, if not more affectionate. Maybe he was keeping up appearances? Either way, you needed him to believe you.

"I was not imagining things! I saw you dead in your chair!" Frustration seeped into your tone. It was hard to actually trust you, especially with the living contradiction to your statements guiding you to the couch right now.

"Okay, okay, I believe you." He didn't, obviously. "Calm down, love. We're both okay, and that's what matters, right?" He was right. You were grateful that he was okay but that didn't ease your worries.

The police proceeded to explain to Dante what you told them. An occasional kiss was pressed to your forehead while you were cuddled into his side. You weren't listening, just thinking.

"— the house should be thoroughly searched, despite of this. There be somebody lurking there." Is what you heard. Suddenly, you curled into yourself, recalling that thing you saw went home. You thought of bringing it up, but from the way things were going, you doubted yourself more than ever and refrained from it.

Sensing your unease, Dante craned his head to look down at you. "You okay?"

You nodded. Though, your insides were far from it, twisting with dread.

♡

The policemen were ushered out by Dante, who reassured them that there was nothing to worry about. You stayed in your spot, contemplating.

A cold glass pressed against your lips, snapping you out of your stupor. Your husband's concerned eyes met yours.

"Drink, you need to stay hydrated." He smiled at you. Water running down your dry throat felt soothing. Then, he set the glass on the table and knelt down in front of you. A large hand placed itself on your knee.

A sigh left him, "this has been such a stressful night for you, I know, baby. Trust me, I was scared too. When I came back from work and saw the police and emergency car...I thought something happened to you."

Something was off. Sure, there was worry dancing clearly in his eyes, but something else lurked beneath it. Dangerous, almost concealing itself until you prodded too much. You could hear and see the genuine care for your well-being, but his words were practiced like an actor, that if he didn't be careful, his secret would slip.

Despite your silence, he continued. "You know I love you, honey. More than anything. You know that right?"

Nodding, you felt your belly fluttering. It's been a while since you heard those sweet three words.

"Yeah, I do. I love you too,"

His smile grew wider and he grabbed your knuckle, pressing messy kisses to it. "Don't want you to stress yourself out." Kiss. "And sometimes," kiss. "We don't know what we're seeing because we're so tired, don't we?"

Rage bubbled inside, replacing those butterflies. This was the nth time someone had told you this sentence tonight.

"I know what I saw, Dante. I'm not lying!" You hissed as you moved to retract your hand, but he held in his grip, placing it against his cheek as he stared at you from underneath dark lashes.

"Baby, I'm not saying you're lying. Why would I ever doubt my girl? Hm?" He cooed, "what you saw was definitely really scary, and I'll get to the bottom of this. I'm just happy that we're together, unscathed."

You agreed, that despite all of this, he was okay. Whether that body was real or if it was a hallucination, your husband was alive. Questions swirled in your mind but for now, you let them go due to the drowniess weighing on your shoulder.

"M'tired, we should probably sleep." You murmur softly.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, "Me too, love. Work was hell, let's go upstairs."

With a hand on the small of your back, you were led upstairs. Amidst your drowsiness, you failed to notice the intense hazel eyes fixated on you.

You both changed and got into bed. As you rolled onto your side, a hand hooked around your waist and dragged you back into his chest. Flustered, you peered up at his innocent grin, not used to the affection of your usually cold husband. Would he change his mind and push you away?

Hesitantly, you snuggled up to him, closing your eyes as you awaited repulsion. Instead, he reciprocated and brought you closer.

"Goodnight," you whispered against his chest, eyes already closing due to the fatigue.

"Night, baby"

Once your breathing evened out, he placed his chin on your head, pupils dilated.

He breathed out into your hair, "I finally get to be with you, my love. It was so, so painful to watch you, but now I can rest my hands upon your lovely skin..."

Slowly, he pressed his lips to your cheek, just shy of your lips. The feeling in him threatened to swallow you whole.

"...forever."

♡

What happens next? Why is Dante off? Did you imagine his death or was it really true?

Part 2 will be up in a week (a bit more if delayed but along that time). I had to cut it up into different parts because of the suspense.

Ty for reading.

𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓁𝓎

@yourprettylildoe

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #writing #original story #writblr #male yandere oc #male yandere #soft yandere #yandere x darling #writing community #story writing #yandere blog #yandere story

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irisfixation · 2 months ago

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it is generally understood within the adventuring community that some sort of contract should be preemptively made in order to protect oneself from an untimely death.

[original hypnosis fic, second-person narration from perspective of the subject. gender-neutral, little to no sexual content. please read accordingly, and enjoy.]

now, the act of seeking out such a contract, let alone the fact of its normalization, would have been taboo a few decades past. "we don't negotiate with pact-entities", the old elders crow; anti-demon and anti-fae rhetoric was accepted as the norm.

it only took looking at the rate of mortality, the expenditures of the local church, and getting over themselves to at last shake up the in-culture of heroics.

of course, that didn't mean they weren't diligent with their new protocols; information on prospective patrons was inscribed down in ledgers half phone book and half grimoire, noting the terms of agreement, the trustworthiness of pact-entity after pact-entity, any bargain a little too faustian struck through in red.

you'd watch your peers peer through the book, discussing the pros and cons of each. was an unlucky fate too much to pay? were compulsions too obstructive, did the bodily changes contrast too much with one's self-identity?

of course, they all ended up choosing sooner or another. better that than dying young and alone.

it was under this sort of necessity that you went to the house.

-------

it was closer to home than you expected, really - you anticipated some kind of ominous manor on the cliffs, or secluded cabin by the forest's edge, so the three minute walk from the town square came as a welcome surprise. its residence looked the same as any other lodging - you'd no doubt walked past it on your regular commutes countless times without batting an eye.

you knocked, and the door fell open, as if it had been awaiting your arrival; afternoon sunlight bouncing off the gossamer-thin threads adorning the hallway.

make yourself at home, she says. i'll be upstairs when you're ready to talk. you nod and ask if there's any consequences for eating any food or drink. i promise you this; all food i've set out here is yours to eat and drink without consequence comes the reply; perhaps a little verbose from anyone else, but necessary caveats for a pact-entity's trust. you oblige.

with throat wet and stomach sated, you ascend the stairs. the bedroom is small, humble even; you've seen more expensive homes by far from some of your more show-off rivals. more fit for a pauper than the-

"than Her Lady of Marionettes?"

yeah.

"i never cared all too much for the trappings of nobility. i'm satisfied simply living in peace here."

then why the contracts?

"it's mutually beneficial, no? i quench my thirst for control for a time, and you don't meet any horrible, lonely fates. it's no different from any other line of work."

more reasonable than any would-be evil queen you've ever met, let alone one considered an enemy to the hero's guild not so long ago.

"please. i never cared all too much for that arrangement."

she rolls in her bed to face you. despite her role, she looks little different from your sister or partner; eyes still closed, hands still set upon her crosses.

-------

you discuss business. she will string you up, she says; and then, if she were to find yourself in an otherwise fatal scenario, she will pull your body back, mend you, even clear your mind from any hostile entities trying to take it over.

what do each of you get out of this?

"i get to observe the world through your eyes. i get the joy of commanding a body beyond my own. you cede a small, negotiated amount of control, and in return you are freed from tragedy's grasp forevermore."

it sounded like a hell of a better deal than half of the faustian bargains you saw other contract-entities propose.

"if you'd like, we can provide a demonstration here and now. no permanent alterations, and you can back out any time you wish. is that amenable?"

it does indeed sound amenable.

-------

you're sitting by her side on the bed. she's set her crosses down in place of a needle she holds deftly between thumb and forefinger, pinched together like a bee ready to sting. "hold your left arm out, please? we'll begin now."

you do so, and she passes the needle through skin. you feel it travel up across the veins in your wrist, her other hand steadying you in place with the tenderness of lily-petals. your elbow twitches as it passes through; the nerves firing once in shock, but no more. up through bicep, then shoulder; and then out, a release in pressure from within as the needle finally leaves your insides, leaving a trail of silken fibres behind it.

she plucks the taut string left in its wake, and your arm twitches with it, pulled from within. "see? no pain at all."

next is the right arm, then the legs. she flutters around you like a sprite alighting upon forest blossoms, soft fingers and steel-precise nails moving you, adjusting your wrist or shoulders or rotation with studious diligence. the intimacy of being studied and guided like this is almost palpable.

"...and, done." she declares, finishing a line of thread across the shoulders and through the nape of the neck. "well, how is it? comfortable, right?"

"yes, miss", you are made to say; and then, immediately, recall the strings through your upper and lower lip alike, a third running through the seam in your tongue. right. you move your eyes to meet hers; she's smiling brightly, but it's more the naive smile of a child than the former evil queen's smirk you expected. the effect is equal amounts unsettling and genuinely cute.

"well, let's begin." she picks up her crosses again, and with one subtle rotation of a hand's balance, she guides you.

it's easy to follow through. your right arm raises with a poise and natural nature that shocks you, outstretched to one side. she returns her hand to neutral, and your arm falls back once again, more sudden and limp than you were expecting.

("excellent", she says.)

with that first test done, she guides you down the stairs. your eyes are still your own, so some reflexive part of you fidgets as your body glides down each flight of steps; you have no control over if you fall or not. she could throw you down the stairs now, and you'd be helpless; passenger in your own tumbling body.

but she doesn't. your hand remains firmly upon the balustrade, and your every footstep is delivered with care. by the time you reach the landing, your heart may be pounding, but you're just glad to have made it through.

("well done," crows her voice.)

the near-invisible threads all throughout your body continue to urge you forward - sometimes single strings tugging suddenly, but other times shifting in a steady unison, almost imperceptible from your body's natural movements save that no thought of your own guides it. you're in the kitchen, before too long - a rack of dried dishes shows that she, too, has been here recently. your fingers and palm grasp onto each bowl and glass, one by one, filing them away in procedure through the unfamiliar house.

with your body outside of your control, you'd think your mind would wander to idle thoughts; to the birdsong from beyond the window, perhaps, or to thoughts of how your companions are faring in their own attempts to find their own contracts. but all thoughts seem to be silenced by each consequent string's plucking, a resonance within yourself that numbs your brain under its force.

before you know it, the rack of dishes is clear, and you are ascending the stairs again. it's less scary going up, and she knows it; she takes each step faster now, with a fluidity of movement that your legs accept graciously. there is no joint pain, no hesitation - each step is placed with pinpoint precision, each movement following the next.

a puppet's dance, you think; then dismiss the idea just as quickly. you're just here to obtain insurance from danger, not to humor thoughts like that.

she's lying back down on the bed when you arrive - exposing her back to you, vulnerable. but her hands are still outstretched, each one holding those crosses linked to the many strings pulled taut across, within, and around you. "welcome back", she tells you. "i trust it wasn't too uncomfortable?"

"no," you say, "it was fine."

"i'm glad to hear it!" she says, turning to smile at you. "and you took to it so well, too! good doll."

there's something about meeting her eyes as she says those last two words that feels different from everything prior. something deeper, like the strings are mycelial network growing their own nerves to entangle around yours, setting them alight in a microcosm dance, your whole body twitching just subtly as you are affixed within her gaze, burning up from the inside out-

"oh, my apologies. old habits die hard it would seem."

she doesn't gesture you to sit next to her, but your body does so, so you can assume it was her will all the same. she turns to you and explains that the demonstration has concluded; that the act of forming a pact with her is something you can now think of on your own, that you can return to her any time you need and in fact she'll completely understand if she never sees you again. she snips off the strings, one by one, with a pair of ornate scissors - the ones within will dissolve organically, she notes, metabolized by your own body. nothing to worry about.

you're not worrying. you're not thinking much at all, in the aftermath of everything that's happened. but she is patient, and you have all the time you need to recover.

-------

she walks you to the door and waves you out with a flourish. you're reminded of how mundane the house is, and now you can see that same mundanity in the Lady's face; no different from any number of passers-by through the town square.

"safe travels~!" she says, and you walk out the door; your steps faltering just a little as you once more acclimate to control over your own body.

well, for a contract patron, that wasn't so bad. and she seems well-meaning enough. maybe you'll go back there sometime again, you think to yourself, and shrug as you make your way home.

#a humble actress speaks #semantic cognitohazards #we're experimenting more with trusting our gut and writing more self-indulgent fiction. we hope you enjoy it all the same #oh just realized this fits to be tagged as #empty spaces

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rootspiral · 2 months ago

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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

EPISODE EIGHT. fasten your seat belts, get ready for some turbulence, nobody panic. things are going to become fucking sad, but you're going to be okay. yay?

for a fleeting moment at the beginning of the episode you get the mad hope that alice survived - that rio is going to spare her, somehow

but the camera keeps spinning, keeps spinning, and we're upside down. this show is so good at evoking uncanny vibes with simple practical effects. not to mention the great callback to lilia flipping the room at the end of last episode. we are on the other side now, we're not in kansas anymore.

and this is of course rio collecting alice's soul, and it's where she disappeared to at the end of episode 5. I find rio's choices here so brilliant, because we know that she chooses the way she appears to souls. she is not being mean per se, she's woken alice up so gently and she's talking in a soft voice. but she looks fucking scary too, there is no questioning who she is or what she's doing here. indeed alice doesn't question her former companion being the grim reaper. it's like, rio is willing to go slow, but alice still needs to know right away that there is no escape.

alice's quiet devastation as she sees her own dead body. as much as I would have liked to see lilia walk away with her Death, I'm so glad we got alice instead. lilia died on her own terms and on such a high note. alice's story needed to take one last breath. literally.

this whole scene to me perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. beautiful, strong alice, alive one moment and gone the next, just like that. how can one come to terms with that?

words that sound mocking, but aren't. it's like accusing the ocean or the stars of being cruel. nature doesn't carry any ill intent, it simply exists.

but look what happens next. rio's smile fades at alice's despair. because rio is a willing agent of nature and balance, but also - and that's the brilliancy and tragedy of this character - rio is capable of love. she has an impossible job and she's damn good at it, but it takes a toll. she bent the rules of nature once, for the one person she loves more than the universe itself. she won't go that far for anybody else, but she has gotten to know alice, she felt true companionship with her - alice's loss is hurting on a personal level.

I've seen so many 'alice's death doesn't sit right with me' takes. YEAH, YOU THINK?!! alice's death is AWFUL. she lived all her life under this horrible curse and died one moment after liberating herself. all her hopes, all her goodness, all her potential, gone. it's MONSTROUS. it's UNFAIR.

it is monstrous that people (and children, dear god, children!) die all the time of disease, or wars, accidents, calamities. go scream at the sky about it. see if it answers back.

you died protecting someone. it's so matter-of-factly.

have you ever watched blade runner 2049? (if you haven't major spoilers ahead). ryan gosling's character, a replicant, believes he might be special, a chosen one, but turns out he was just a cog in the machine. he dies protecting harrison ford who is of course the real hero of the story. the bittersweet implication being that he didn't die in vain, that no matter how small his role in the overarching story, his life mattered and is worth remembering. but he still died alone and bleeding under the snow. it's a much bleaker message than the sweeping hero tales of old, but is not completely devoid of hope.

rio wishes to give alice's brief existence some closure, some meaning. alice died selflessly, doing something she truly believed in: isn't that worth something?

and yet. alice is still dead, all of rio's good intentions won't spare her. we do need to be kind to each other and uphold our humanity in the face of tragedy, even if it hurts like a bitch, even if it won't change a thing. be kind, if you find the strength for it. create meaning where there isn't. it's all we have in common. it's all we can do.

alice visibly recoils at rio's words. they're not enough, nothing is ever going to be enough.

and that's why I think rio had to look so damn scary in this scene, even if she's being patient and so gentle under the circumstances. her role as Death has to come before her personal feelings, that is her job and her choice.

oh, alice. my sweet alice.

lilia saw Death coming and went willingly. alice said no and cried as she stepped through the threshold. again, I am SO glad we were shown this. she wasn't as brave as lilia, but I dare you to call her a coward or to love her any less.

GOD jen's ear-piercing SCREAM. what did I just say about lilia's death being better? screw that. death is an equalizer. nobody is spared.

jen has held it together so far. eyes on the prize, no pity for anyone else involved. look at her crumble.

billy is speechless. this is the third time he has known grief in however many hours, and each time worse than the previous one. he has lost all of his innocence. and the light, the light. everything is green, it's rio, rio, rio.

remember when agatha was so afraid of Death in episode 3 that she tried to break a glass window, and everybody laughed? so funny, wasn't it?

and here she is, fucking terrified, running through green light.

and then she sees her.

your coven is shrinkiiiiiiing. oh it's so nice to finally see her with her crown. I pray and hope to see agatha wearing a crown some day.

first alice, now lilia. I love that it's so heavy, I love all the implications. it was never only about agatha trying to avoid an ex. it's what rio represents, it's what rio did to alice and lilia.

it's what she did to nicky.

except it wasn't her! she's just the ferryman! and if anyone, agatha killed alice and lilia! we just saw rio's heart ache for alice as she collected her soul! they're both lashing out at each other because they can't handle this impossible heaviness between them. agatha is being cruel because she's in pain. rio is being cruel because she's in pain. it's such a mess.

this is all I have in me tonight, fuck this show is too much. and we've just started the episode! there is a lot to unpack, the closer I look at things the sadder it gets.

go to episode 8 part 2

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #alice wu gulliver #rio vidal #agatha harkness #jennifer kale #billy maximoff #character study #death tw #grief tw #mortality tw

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thisischaostragic · 4 months ago

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okay....... so........ i think agatha all along is gonna have a happy ending....... walk with me here........

we know jac schaeffer is intentional about meta-commentary and structures very good character arcs. wandavision wasn't needlessly devastating; it was devastating because grief is devastating.

i was initially thinking that agatha all along was gonna be a redemption story with a general "selfish to willing to sacrifice" arc, but her morality doesn't actually seem to be the main narrative concern (which i think is cool btw). the story is about all of the ways in which agatha has walled herself off from vulnerability because she never wants to lose anyone again. so... whereas wanda needed to accept loss, agatha in fact needs to accept love.

and.... and... the decision to have this particular arc with a queer character, with a queer ensemble of outcasts, and calling the show a "love letter" to the community..... feeling like jac schaeffer and the very queer creative team might actually understand the dangers of writing queerness as perpetual tragedy...... if i am to take this all seriously............ then....... i am beginning to suspect that agatha all along may indeed be trying to say that it's not too late to find the people willing to love you as you are....... we will see.......

#agathario #agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #wandavision #jac schaeffer #gay gay gay gay #one thing i love about the wandavision agatha all along corner of the mcu is that like #i can actually analyze acting choices and writing decisions bc the quality is good enough that i trust it's intentional LOL

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ceoofglytchell · 26 days ago

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Butterfly II

| Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary: After getting caught by your mother and an argument that you will still remember in years to come, Rhaenyra chooses to leave the Red Keep again to ensure the safety of her sons, leaving her daughter behind, believing you to be the only one safe for the time being. However, in the night tragedy strikes and years of plotting come to a fulfilling conclusion in the middle of the Dragonpit and your love is once again put to the test. Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader  Word count: 6118 words (bear with me pls) Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong features, Reader is Rhaenyra’s and Harwin’s second child, minor character deaths, brief hurt/comfort, a lot of Hightower plotting and scheming, canon divergence, mentions of intimacy, no mention of Y/N  Notes: Alright now, I think I am going to make this into a series. Please, let me know if you would be interested in reading more of this pairing. Enjoy 💛

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"How could this happen?!" cried Princess Rhaenyra in horror as she paced the entrance to her only daughter's chambers.

You were still sitting in bed, the sheets wrapped around your body to hide your bare skin from the eyes of your mother and the queen, who had also rushed through the door a few seconds ago. Aegon sat next to you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist while the sheets hid the lower half of his body.

You had both been sleeping peacefully, snuggled up together, when a maid had apparently entered the chambers and found the princess in the arms of the eldest prince - a scandal in her eyes and in those of the gods.

Since then, your chambers have become the scene of a heated argument in which the two older women shouted at each other and your lover and uncle held you close to him because he would not let you out of his sight for even a second. Never again. Not after everything that had happened yesterday. You had been separated for six years and now you had made sure that you could never be separated again.

You had taken your fate into your own hands for once.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because your daughter couldn't stop fluttering her eyelashes at my son!" argued Queen Alicent, pointing an accusing finger at you, whereupon you turned your head slightly to the side, hiding your face in your lover's silver hair.

"Pardon me? It is more likely that your son couldn't stop pining after my daughter! Seducing her and corrupting her!" countered Rhaenyra, getting louder and louder with every word she spoke.

"Corrupting her? We both know she always was."

A cold shiver ran down your spine and Aegon immediately held you tighter when that one topic suddenly came up. That one topic that no one in the family talked about, even though everyone knew about it. It was an unspoken truth, something that everyone knew, even the people of the small folk.

"Careful. One more word, Alicent. One word," the princess threatened, taking a small step toward her former friend, but instead of affection, there was nothing but loathing in her own violet eyes.

"Rhaenyra..." The queen walked a few steps across the room, her gaze fixed on the floor beneath her feet. She shook her head as if she were waging war in her own mind, and she was. You were a bastard, unworthy of her son, and yet he seemed to love you as if you were made for each other. "They will have to marry."

A brief glimmer of hope appeared within Aegon and he looked at his mother with wide, pleading eyes, but his gaze - vulnerable and weak - only made her angrier.

His half-sister immediately shook her head as if she had made this decision years ago, and indeed she had. Since the birth of her daughter, she had sworn that she would protect you and do everything she could to make you happy, but she certainly had not expected you to choose him.

Just as Viserys had once been unhappy with her and Daemon, she was now angry with you and Aegon. It was the same situation, only years later, but even though she should have understood it better than anyone, she did not want to understand it. She did not want her daughter to find happiness with Alicent's son. Not when she was sure that the Hightowers were secretly planning to usurp the throne and put the boy on it. She could not and would not allow this to happen.

"No, they won't. I will betroth her, today, and we will pretend that none of this ever happened."

"Mother!" you protested immediately, your uncle having to hold you back from jumping up, as you were both still bare beneath the sheets.

"Mother, please, I beg you. He did not force himself on me or seduce me in any way. I wanted it. I wanted it because- because I love him."

For a moment, your chambers were enveloped in silence, an uncomfortable and long silence that felt like half an eternity, although it was only a few seconds, a minute at most.

"Oh, the gods punish me!" the queen said, wiping her face with a hand while your mother stared at the ground. Both women realized that this was not something they could hide or sweep under the carpet. It would become an open secret, as would the fact that you and your brothers were not Laenor's children.

“You are going to get married. As soon as possible and preferably by the end of this moon," Rhaneyra said firmly instead, whereupon she turned around and rushed out the door without hesitation, as if she could no longer bear to look at you, the spitting image of now two obvious disgraces.

The Green Queen, however, stayed.

For a moment the room was shrouded in silence and none of you three said a word, only your steady breathing could be heard. But then Aegon spoke up again: "I told you, we will survive somehow."

In less than a second, Alicent was standing in front of the bed and grabbing her son's face with one hand, pressing her fingers into his pale cheeks and an expression of pure anger and incomprehension in her eyes.

Your lover flinched and you too let out a slight gasp of shock, but otherwise you remained silent because you were too afraid that another word from you would make the older woman even angrier than she already was and you did not want her to hurt him under any circumstances. Never.

"I already told you then to stay away from her. Why, Aegon? Why do you always defy me? Tell me, why can you not be more like Aemond, have his sense of duty and his virtue? Of all my children you are the biggest disappointment."

Tears formed in Aegon's eyes and you could feel him starting to tremble. His cheeks were red and you could see him trying hard not to cry. What you did not know, however, was that he was holding back because of you. He had already sworn back then that he would always be strong for you and he would be now too.

"Answer me!" the queen demanded and pressed her fingers deeper into his soft cheeks, her sharp nails leaving small crescent-shaped marks in his flesh.

You saw the first tear fall and you could not bear it any longer. Instinctively, your delicate hand turned around the woman's wrist and you looked at her with a fire in your eyes that she knew all too well from your own mother. The dragon's blood was in your veins and for a moment the innocent butterfly turned into a bloodthirsty predator.

"Let him go, Your Grace," you said in a voice that Aegon did not recognize from you. Your tone was calm and measured, but your undertone dripped with anger and a silent threat that if she did not leave him now, she would awaken something that could never be put to sleep again.

Reminded of a time long gone, a time when she was carefree and unmarried, happy, Alicent Hightower released her grip from her son's face and took a step back from the bed. You were still a bastard, but you were definitely Rhaenyra's daughter too. You had the same fire, the same wildness that she had when she was younger. For some reason, she hated you even more now. She was so bound by her duty that she would never have broken a rule to prove her love for a man. Aegon and you were different, you knew no duty, no sense of honor, and you deserved no mercy under the gods' eyes. But mayhaps you deserved each other.

The prince breathed a sigh of relief, but you could feel him still shaking like a branch in the wind.

The queen breathed angrily, turned and hurried out of the chambers, the door slamming loudly behind her. The room was wrapped in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, as both of your minds were racing with the words spoken. You would marry.

"Thank you," Aegon whispered softly, looking to the side where you were sitting, but your eyes had already been on him, on the small red marks his mother's nails had left on his skin. You could not help but wonder how many times that had happened in the years when you could not be there for him. What else she had done. She may not have hit him today, but you knew she had. Otto as well, perhaps even worse.

"You are welcome, my love. I don't know what I would have done if she had not left. I would have... I would have-"

"Shh, butterfly. Don't worry about me. I am used to my mother's anger, but you should not have seen that." He tried to calm you and put his arm around your shoulders again, whereupon you buried your face in his curls.

His scent filled your senses and for a moment you could forget everything that had happened so far and you were reminded of a time many years ago when you were both young and believed in foolish dreams. These dreams would now come true, finally true. It took so long, but now no one would ever be able to tear you apart again. Never again.

"We will marry."

Your uncle pressed a kiss to your head and breathed in the sweet scent of your brown hair, which had always been a sign of your beauty. You did not need silver hair or violet eyes to be a Targaryen. You simply were, and he loved you more than anything else.

"Yes, we will. We will."

You did not get a chance to say farewell to your mother or your brothers as they mounted their dragons to fly back to Dragonstone. It was not that you did not want to, but you had other things to do. Better things.

Aegon and you were far too busy inaugurating your chambers and his. In bed, he had you lying on your back beneath him once more, his hips moving rapidly and desperately against yours, your fingers entwined with his as your loud moans and his deep grunts filled the chambers. Then, after you had eaten breakfast, he had pressed you against the hard wooden top of the table and disappeared beneath the soft fabric of your nightgown, taking up space between your warm thighs as he showed you how talented his tongue was.

At sunset, you sat on his lap with his face buried between your breasts, and he taught you to ride him like you ride your dragon. The evening ended with you lying on the soft fur next to the lit fire, his hand buried in your long hair while you slowly and intimately satisfied him with your mouth, which elicited noises from him that made you press your thighs together again, searching for that delicious friction that would take her to bliss eventually.

You had never been happier in your entire life than with him by your side and when he held you close to him that night, he knew that he would do everything in his power to never lose you again. Never again.

You had never slept as peacefully and comfortably as that night. Your future husband held you in his arms while your head rested on his chest and you listened to his steady heartbeat and felt safe and protected in his warmth.

What none of you knew, however, was that not far from your bedchamber, Alicent and Otto Hightower were already plotting new intrigues, because the queen had been awakened in the middle of the night by her chambermaid with news that had shaken her to the core - the king is dead.

King Viserys closed his eyes for the last time and only his wife knew his last words, his wish that Aegon should now follow him on the Iron Throne instead of Rhaenyra.

And who was she to contradict his last wish?

The council meeting took place in the early hours of the morning behind closed doors. The future king was unaware of the whole thing, as was half of the castle. Only the Small Council knew of the death of their ruler and of the seriousness of the situation they now had to learn to deal with.

Ser Criston Cole murdered Lord Beesbury in the name of his queen, the woman he was devoted to, and the leader of the Kingsguard resigned from his post. When the sun crossed Visenya's hill, all servants and maids were taken to the dungeons and the king's chambers were sealed.

You woke up alone in the bed in your lover's chambers. Sleepy and still tired, you sat up on the soft mattress and let your gaze wander around the rooms. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Where was Aegon?

Your hand slid to the side and you ran your palm over the fabric only to notice that it was cold, which meant that you had been sleeping alone for some time. You did not understand. He had promised you that you would have breakfast in the garden in the morning and that he might take you to see Sunfyre. After all, you had not seen the golden beast for six years and you and Silverwing missed the dragon. You might have flown together for a few hours.

Yawning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes before slowly getting out of bed. A soft gasp escaped you as your thighs still ached a little from yesterday's activities, but it was a sweet pain that you were willing to endure.

You reached for your thin white nightgown that still rested on the floor, and as you pulled it on and wrapped your naked body in cloth again, you noticed that Aegon's clothes were missing.

His breeches, his tunic and doublet, his rings and chains, everything was gone. Perhaps he had already left for breakfast?

However, the man usually slept like a stone and nothing but you could wake him. Where could he be?

A bad feeling spread in the pit of your stomach and you got the feeling that something was very wrong.

"Aegon? My love, are you there?" you asked just to make sure, because it could be that he was on the balcony or sitting in front of the fireplace, but you got no answer.

You slowly limped towards the door, not thinking about the fact that you were only wearing your thin nightgown or that your long brown hair was flowing wild and disheveled down your back. None of that mattered to you, because all you wanted was to have your beloved prince by your side again.

Your delicate hand closed around the golden doorknob, but when you tried to open the door you noticed that it would not move. It was locked. You leaned against the door with all your weight and began to shake the knob wildly, your breathing becoming more and more panicked.

You were locked in. Why in the Seven Hells were you locked in?

"Hello? Hello! Is someone there?! As princess, I command this door to be opened now!"

You were met with nothing but silence and a feeling of hopelessness slowly formed in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly the chambers felt cold and empty, when only the evening before they had been filled with passion and love.

"Oh, Aegon... where are you?" you whispered quietly and leaned your pale forehead against the wood the door was made of.

Suddenly you heard a loud crash and many screams in the distance. As fast as your feet could carry you, you ran to the nearest window and what you saw made your breath catch and your eyes widen.

Meleys, the Red Queen, flew out of the dragon pit and towards the sea as fast as her wings could carry her. Her destination was probably Dragonstone - where your mother and brothers were.

Smoke rose from the dragon pit and people ran panicked through the streets back to their homes. Something was going on there, something important.

You slowly sat down on the windowsill and buried your face in your hands. Yesterday had been such a wonderful day, such a wonderful evening, and now there was nothing but confusion inside you. Your lover was gone, your doors were locked, no one responded to your cries for help and Rhaenys seemed to have fled as fast as she could.

An hour later, when the sun was at its highest in the sky, you suddenly heard the sound of your doors being unlocked.

You immediately jumped up from your seat by the window and ran to the door, but you had not expected what would happened next.

Aegon came running through the door, the Conqueror's crown on his head, his sword at his hip, and she had never seen him wear such elaborately embroidered clothes before. Dried tears still glistened on his cheeks and his eyes were cast to the floor as if he could not bear looking at you.

Shame was eating him alive.

His name escaped you in a soft whisper and you watched as he began to tremble and new tears formed in his violet eyes.

"They made me king," he explained quietly, and if he had spoken just a little louder, his voice would have broken.

"What? No... no, you are jesting." Your words were a desperate attempt to avoid facing the truth, but you knew it was true. He wore all the symbols of the Conqueror on his body. The symbols of a man he could not care less about. It could not be a jest.

"I-I just wanted to get you some grapes this morning and-and then," the tears were now flowing freely down his cheeks and he doubled over as sobs escaped him as if they were being forced out of him, "Cole found me and mother… mother said the time had come."

Before you could react, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your hair, feeling the cold surface of the crown press against his neck.

"Father is dead."

A cold shiver ran down your spine because you knew it was true. It explained why your doors were locked, why no one answered you, and why Rhaenys had fled on Meleys. King Viserys the Peaceful was dead and now his firstborn son, your Aegon, was the next in line to sit on the Iron Throne.

“But what about my mother?” you voiced your thoughts out loud, and he found himself flinching.

"My mother said father had changed his mind. His last words... he said I should follow him on the throne."

Slowly you leaned back so you could look him in the eyes to see if he was telling the truth. His purple eyes were red from all the tears he had already shed, but you could also see that he was being honest.

There was a possibility Alicent may have lied, but he was telling her what he believed to be true. He was being honest.

"Do you think she was telling the truth?" you asked him quietly, cupping his face with your hands so that he had to look you in the eyes and couldn't look away.

Your lover shrugged and you could see his lower lip start to tremble as more pearly tears flowed down his pale cheeks like water of a waterfall.

"She and my Grandsire have always wanted to see me on the throne. I cannot tell you, my love.”

His chambers were silent for a moment before he cleared his throat again. “Am I a usurper?”

It was a difficult question. In some eyes he would surely be seen as a usurper, a brother who stole the throne from his sister without even consulting her or seeking the opinion of a greater council. On the other hand, there will be just as many voices saying that Aegon was the true heir, since he was Viserys' first male son and thus continued the tradition of House Targaryen.

You could not and would not answer that question.

All you knew was that you loved this man and that you knew that everything would change now. Nothing would be the same as it had been the day before.

Suddenly the door to the chambers opened and you looked up to see Ser Criston crossing the threshold. A serious expression darkened his features as he saw Aegon's face buried in your shoulder and how he held himself as if you were the last anchor that bound him to this world.

"You are expected in the throne room, Your Grace," said the White Cloak, bowing slightly.

The bow, the title, it made you understand that this was not just a terrible nightmare, but the truth. Your beloved was king. And you? The bastard he loved.

"Must I?" the young king murmured into the fabric of your dress, but the knight seemed to have heard him.

"There are some oaths that must be renewed, my king," the older man explained, motioning for him to follow him.

The silver-haired man sniffed and wiped his tear-stained face on his sleeve once, so as not to show any weakness to the lords of the court. He could not be weak. Not anymore. Never again.

Aegon followed Ser Criston out of the chambers, but you were not alone for long.

Maybe two or three minutes later, some maids ran in, curtsied, and quickly began to move you toward your dressing table, which made you look at them confused. You did not know what was going on, nor why they wanted to help you dress now and not two hours ago.

The women began to undo the strings on the back of your nightgown, and you just wished you had not looked to the side at that moment. Another maid had come in, but this one was holding a richly embroidered, beautiful green dress in her arms. Not red, not purple, not pink, but green. The color of the Hightowers. His color.

The fabric fell to the floor and you could hear the women's surprised gasps when they saw the red marks on your neck and hips. Heat rose in your cheeks because you knew that they knew what you and your lover had done last night. And during the day as well.

"By the Seven. That is not appropriate, young lady," said an older woman, whereupon you shook your head slightly. However, you could not think of anything other than Aegon and that green dress that you were going to get dressed in. But why? Why now?

The maids got you ready with a speed that surprised you. In no time at all they had brushed your hair and woven small pearls and gold threads into the brown curls. They also dabbed the juice of a strawberry on your lips so that your mouth appeared even redder than it already was naturally. There was something strange about this situation.

The whole day was surreal.

"What is the meaning of this?" you asked one of them as they helped you tie the green fabric- much tighter than you were used to.

"We are forbidden to tell you that, Princess," replied one of the younger ones, who was just pushing one of the long, transparent sleeves over your arm.

You furrowed your eyebrows together as your gaze slid over your reflection in the mirror. Admittedly, you looked beautiful. The green dress clung tightly to your form and accentuated your feminine curves. It was not quite scandalous, but you knew that you would feel a few more pairs of eyes on you than usual. You may be petite and delicate, but you were certainly not without allure.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do we, Your Grace."

"Your Grace?" you repeated, astonished, and you no longer understood anything. Your head was empty. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Is she ready?" A biting voice suddenly interrupted the still quite calm atmosphere of the room. Alicent Hightower, dressed in a long dark green gown, a veil and a large silver necklace in the shape of the seven-pointed star of the Faith of the Seven hanging around her neck, stood not far from you and looked at you with a look of pure scruples and resentment in her eyes.

"Yes, my queen," the servants answered in unison and looked down at the floor, but you didn't know whether it was with respect, awe or fear.

The Dowager Queen grabbed your arm roughly and began to pull you along with quick steps. The long corridors of the Red Keep seemed even colder and gloomy that day and you could swear your heart almost jumped out of your chest.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked her, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"The throne room," she replied, curtly and coldly.

"Why?"

"Stop questioning me, girl," she said, gripping your arm even tighter, which made you whimper quietly. Even through the fabric of the dress you could feel her fingers pressing into your skin.

The large doors of the throne room opened in front of you and in that very moment you could feel all eyes turning to you, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and the Dowager Queen of House Hightower. A murmur went through the crowd as the lords and ladies realized that you were dressed in an emerald green dress and that you were here, unfettered and uninjured, unconstrained and untouched.

The crowd parted and your eyes widened when you saw Aegon sitting on the Iron Throne, imposing and proud. The golden midday light fell through the windows behind the throne and enveloped the king in an almost angelic glow. He looked like he was made for this very place. A king as he would be honored in the history books.

In a way, it was even true that he was born for the throne. After all, he was the firstborn son of the king.

Otto Hightower's voice brought you out of your thoughts again: "And at the very end: The only daughter of Rhaenyra has come to swear eternal loyalty to our king under the eyes of the old gods and the new!"

Your lips parted and shock was written on your face as you finally understood what was happening here. Aegon looked down in shame because he could see that you knew. What they would ask of you could ruin everything. Your love, your bond, everything.

Your feet moved of their own accord as you approached the throne, whose shadow enveloped you. You could almost feel the executioner's sword hovering over your head, ready to strike.

At the steps of the throne, the queen pressed your shoulder, indicating that it was now time to kneel and swear your oath. The oath for your one, true king.

You had no choice. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were on you, Aegon was staring at you and you feared what would happen if you refused and swore allegiance to your mother instead. You couldn't do it. You were weak and your heart belonged entirely to Aegon. You were not blinded by love, but chained by it.

Your knees hit the hard stone floor of the hall and you mourned the pristine fabric of the dress that would now be soiled.

The silence in the throne room was oppressive and only the deep, pleading look of your lover saved you from bursting into tears of despair.

"In the name of House Velaryon and my mother the Princess, I swear to you, King Aegon, second of your name, eternal loyalty and faithfulness. I wish to live and remain by your side, to fight and die for you. You are the true heir to the Iron Throne and I am a loyal servant of the crown, of you."

Your sweet voice was music to Aegon's ears and his heart pounded strongly in his chest with every word that left your lips. He was aware of the fact that your oath of loyalty was a lie and that you only recited it because circumstances forced you to, but a small part of him wished you would truly see him as the true king.

You would. At some point.

"I, King Aegon of House Targaryen, accept your oath and dare to go one step further. Every king needs a wife who supports him and stands by him loyally, just as my mother had been with my father for years. Now I need someone similar at my side."

He rose from his throne and looked down at you kneeling before him and looking at him with large, uncertain eyes. A small part of him could get used to this image.

"In our childhood, dear niece, you always stood by me, gave me your trust and your heart, and now I ask for your hand."

A loud murmur went around the crowd and it was obvious that some of the lords thought this was a hasty, unwise decision.

None of them knew that you had already given yourself to him entirely and that your souls and bodies had already become one. You were already his and after today, no one could take you away from him. He just wished the circumstances had been better. He wanted you, he loved you, but - impulsive as he usually was - he had not expected your marriage to turn out like this.

Certainly not on the same day that he was forced to become something he never wanted. How bittersweet it was. He got something he never wanted, but he also got what he always wanted - you.

"Be my wife, my queen. Butterfly, I-"

"What is your decision?" his grandfather, the Hand, interrupted him quickly before he could say something wrong that would betray his insecurity as a ruler.

For a moment, the throne room was enveloped in a deafening silence. All eyes were on you and you could feel half of the room thinking this was a good idea, one that could save the realm from being split, and the others immediately regretting their renewed oaths.

Like him, you had never wanted the throne. It had never interested you and you had known from a young age that it would not be yours. But now your lover was sitting on it and you knew you could not leave him alone.

Oh, just what would you not do for love?

"Yes," your voice was quiet, but because of the silence that had spread in the throne room, everyone heard you immediately.

A wide smile spread across Aegon's lips and you could see that he was genuinely happy with your decision. To Otto and Alicent, this seemed a cleverly devised move, but to the young king, it was so much more than that. To him, you were not just a tool in a war that was slowly brewing on the horizon, you were his everything. You were the sun that brightened his days, that gave him warmth and strength, you were his moon that breathed light into the darkness of his soul, but most importantly, you were the sole owner of the key to his heart.

His beloved little butterfly.

Aegon looked to the side where an older man in a finely embroidered white robe held a velvet pillow in his hands, on which lay a delicate, fine crown. It was golden and jagged at the ends, as if it were rays of sunlight reaching out into the sky, and in the middle were a pearl on either side and an emerald in the middle. It was a crown fit for a queen.

The man, a High Septon, handed him the crown with a nod of approval, which in the same sense meant that this union had the blessing of the gods. It was an unconventional wedding, yes, but special circumstances called for special measures. Nonetheless, he had always imagined your wedding to be different. More peaceful and actually far away from King's Landing and the crown.

Now it was just another shattered dream that he could mourn.

He took the crown as if it were as fragile as glass. Just as you were a contrast to him, your crown was a contrast to the Conqueror's that now rested on his head.

Carefully and with a gentleness that no one else knew from him except you, he placed the crown on your hair, watching you try not to cry. He could understand that. Perhaps he understood it better than anyone else.

The walk to his own coronation that morning had been filled with the same feeling as if the executioner was already sharpening his axe or a rope that was already being tied. The crown was a death sentence.

"I am yours and you are mine, my queen," he said so that the lords and ladies present in the hall could hear, but at the same time there was a warmth in his eyes that was meant only for you.

He held out his hand to you. You took it.

"I am yours and and you are mine, my king."

Polite applause echoed through the throne room and even the Dowager Queen could not help but smile when she saw her firstborn lean towards you and gently press a kiss to your cheek. In her eyes, you might not deserve this title and she did not have any sympathy towards you, but this wedding was a long-planned move by Alicent and Otto Hightower after they had realized that you two could not be separated. You always found each other like a moth a light.

The advantage of a wedding was that you could no longer escape. You belonged to him now. A prisoner, rather than a queen, and the Blacks would know this. They would not be able to simply attack without risking harm to their most precious treasure.

Because the marriage and coronation were quite sudden, the festivities were non existent. The nobles who had renewed their oaths of loyalty had left and you and Aegon had returned to his chambers together - well, your chambers.

The silence after the door closed behind you was deafening and for a moment neither he nor you spoke a single word.

The crowns lay heavy on both of your heads and all you wanted to do was cry bitterly. He felt very much the same.

Aegon took the crown and laid it roughly on a wooden dresser. The black iron already had so many nicks that he didn't care if it had one more. He wanted to throw it off the balcony and hope it broke on impact on the ground.

"I'm sorry, butterfly. I'm so sorry," he whispered, bracing himself with his hands on the wooden edges of the dresser, his head facing the floor as shame flooded through him.

Your heart broke at the sight and you could feel a dam breaking inside you and the first tears streaming down your pale, ivory cheeks. As quickly as you could, you wrapped your arms around his middle and leaned your head against his back.

You were now trapped in a cage, trapped with him, and despite all of that, despite the hatred that was woven deep into your family bond, you loved him dearly and more than anything else.

This realization was the last straw for him and a jolt ran through him as he too began to cry bitterly and tremble like a leaf on a branch during a storm.

Without hesitation, he turned around, wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your hair, inhaling your familiar scent and wetting the strands with salty tears.

Your delicate crown fell from your head and landed with a dull thud on the stone floor of the Red Keep. Neither you nor he cared.

All you cared about right now was giving each other comfort and showing love.

Over and over he mumbled apologies into your hair and you whispered back that it was alright, that he hadn't made the decision and that you were grateful to be his wife.

You spent the night of your wedding holding each other and offering comfort, hoping that everything would turn out well and that Rhaenyra would somehow accept these new developments and come to terms with the fact that her only daughter was now queen.

You would never know the 'what if', because it was in this very night that the first act of the war was being carried out.

Prince Aemond had flown to Storm's End to secure a marriage alliance with one of the Baratheon girls, but he came back not as a betrothed, but as a kinslayer.

War, the Dance of Dragons, was now inevitable.

And you and Aegon found yourself in the middle of it.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x reader #tom glynn carney

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thicccshady · 2 months ago

Text

I Feel Like Fucking 2% Milk🤒

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

AI GENERATED IMAGE (still I spent far too long working on it)

Content: Fluff, Cursing, Vomit (800 Words)

It was a cold Michigan winter in 2003, and the king of rap, Marshall Mathers, was laid up in bed, defeated—not by his so called rivals or critics, but by the flu. His girlfriend of four months, Y/N, was about to experience the one thing absolutely no one could prepare her for: Sick Marshall.

Wrapped in a worn fuzzy Detroit Lions blanket, Marshall sat slumped on the couch, surrounded by a fortress of crumpled tissues and half-empty bottles of Gatorade. His nose was red, and his voice was hoarser than it had been after The Eminem Show tour.

"Y/N," he whined dramatically from the couch. "I think this is it… This is how I fuckin’ go." A sneeze loud enough to wake the neighbors snuck up on him.

Walking into the room, Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Bless you.”

“Fuck you.” He pouted.

She carried over a tray loaded with flu-fighting essentials: canned chicken noodle soup, a thermometer, some ginger tea, and—because she knew him too well—a pack of Skittles.

"Marshall, I promise you’re not dying," she said, setting the tray down. "You have the flu. People deal with this all the time."

He sniffled, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his chin. "I feel like fucking… 2% milk."

Y/N laughed as she handed him the tea. "Here, drink this. It'll help."

Marshall took the cup, inspecting it. "The fuck is this? It smells weird."

"It’s ginger tea," she said.

He eyed the cup suspiciously. “Nah, I’m not drinking this."

"Marshall."

He sighed dramatically, taking a reluctant sip. His face scrunched up. "This shit tastes like disappointment and hot water." He pause and looked at Y/N. His face shifting to a puppy dog look. “I mean, thank you. I love you.”

Y/N gave him a playful shove and grabbed the thermometer. "Let me check your temperature, Mr. Mathers."

As she tried to stick the thermometer under his tongue, he squirmed like a little kid. "Yo, stop! What if I choke on it and die? Then what? The goddamn tabloids’ll have a field day. 'Eminem Dies of… fuckin Thermometer Tragedy… Y/N to Blame.'"

"Christ Marshall stay still!," Holding his head she finally got the thermometer in place.

After a few seconds and a death glare from Marshall, it beeped, and Y/N read it. "100.4. See? You’re not even that sick. You’re just being dramatic."

"Nah, rounding up, 100.4 is basically 104," he argued. Marshall flopped his head back on the couch. "I’m lucky I can still talk right now."

Y/N smirked. "Yes, aren’t we all so blessed. God forbid you lose the ability to whine."

Marshall grumped but couldn’t hide the tiny grin tugging at his lips. He picked up a spoonful of soup and muttered, "You’re lucky I like you."

"You’re lucky I put up with you," she shot back, planting a kiss on his forehead before heading to the kitchen to get more tissues. As she turned her back, she saw the Lion’s blanket fly across the room then heard what could only be described as gagging from hell.

“Oh fuck,” she muttered and grabbed a trashcan. Turning around, she saw Marshall pale as ever and covered in his own vomit. She was too late. Grabbing tissues she cleaned up his face as he sat dazed. “Marshall? You alright?”

He looked up, eyelids half closed, “Can you get this off of me please?” Ironically, his sweater was indeed covered in vomit. Had he not been in such an obviously miserable mood, she would have made a terrible “Lose Yourself” joke.

Getting that out of his system, Marshall was feeling a little better. However he quickly blamed the vial ginger tea for his “upset little tummy”.

---

Later, Marshall’s mood seemed to lift—partly thanks to Y/N’s care and partly because she let him pick the DVD for their afternoon marathon.

As they watched Breakin’ for the millionth time, Marshall mumbled along, knowing it word for word. Towards the end of the film, he fell asleep leaning against Y/N. She sat still, hoping he could get some much needed rest. His eyes fluttered open as he snuggled up a bit more. "Yo, Y/N," he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for taking care of me. Even when I’m a pain in the ass."

She smiled, cupping his cheek gently. "Of course, Marshall. But next time, try not to act like a shithead over the flu, okay?"

"Mmm, No promises," he said with a mischievous grin, sneezing loudly right after.

Y/N just laughed, knowing she would never trade this chaotic, hilarious version of Marshall for anything.

✨️Want to know when I post? Click here to join my taglist!✨️

@crazycat-ladys-blog@ @tomdayaloveforever@ @4-ln4@ @hereforfun-31@ @watercolorskyy@

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#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader #slim shady #slim shady x reader #x reader

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finxwrites · 5 months ago

Note

strange & grimm, which btw sounds like an urban fantasy affectionately parodic hardboiled detective agency. probably queer.

It was a hot, muggy night in the Enchanted Forest. Everyone with a lick of sense was down in the fairy glens, hoping the Winter Court would put in an appearance and bring a breeze on with them. Lucky me, I’m the sucker who fingered the Snow Queen for the missing persons case last winter, so I’m persona non grata in the fairy glens these days.

Just as well. I couldn’t afford to leave the office, not when it’d been so long since my last case. Though on a night like this, I might as well not bother. It was too hot for crime. Even the leaves on the enchanted trees were drooping in the heat.

I was just about to call it a night when a dame walked in my door. Tall, blonde, legs for days, with an air of tragedy that could put an unloved stepchild to shame. I looked her over suspiciously for any cheery woodland creatures hidden in her golden ringlets. If she was a princess, I’d turf her right back out of the office, case unheard. Princesses paid well, but they were more trouble than they were worth.

No mice poked their adorable little noses out of her pockets as the dame sank into a chair and fixed me with a hard look. “I hear you’re the best in the business,” she said without preamble. “And I need the best.”

I leaned back in my seat. “Baby, I’m the only one in the business. It’s not a good genre for private dicks.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, far too child-friendly for any sort of dicks.” Before I could recover from that little gem, she went on, “It’s a child I’m here about. My sister. She’s…she’s gone missing.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, Detective, you’re my last hope. The royal courts won’t hear me out, they think she’s gone on the lam!”

I nodded grimly. “One of those Bo Peep situations, huh?” I get a depressing number of those. All it takes is one wolf in sheep’s clothing—you’d think the kids would learn.

The dame glared. There was enough cold iron in her gaze to put a fairy off her ambrosia. “On the lam, Detective. On the run. My sister has…something of a record.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Your sister the child? She some kind of crime prodigy?”

The dame fidgeted, looking away. “She’s…” She sighed explosively. “My sister is Goldilocks.”

I whistled, low and long. Crime prodigy indeed—Goldilocks was wanted in five kingdoms for the most impressive string of burglaries the Enchanted Forest had ever seen. No one could ever prove she’d done it, but the circumstantial evidence had piled up higher than mattresses on a pea. No wonder no royal court would take this case.

The dame’s shoulders hunched defensively, but she bulled on without trying to defend her wayward sister. “She’s gone missing, and I know it’s not another one of her sprees. Something is wrong this time.” She turned back to meet my eyes, her lovely features harsh with poorly-suppressed fear. “It’s her first crime come back to haunt her, I just know it is. They’ve always wanted revenge—especially the baby of the family, and he’s all grown up now. What they’d do if they got hold of her—“ She cut herself off with a watery gasp; her eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking about!”

I handed her a handkerchief and gave her a minute to compose herself. It gave me a minute, too, to decide if I was really going to be this stupid. You don’t tangle with the big predators, not if you know what’s good for you, and especially not a whole family of them. Families are a dangerous thing in any genre.

But I was her last hope, and I’m a sucker for lost causes. And if I didn’t get paid soon, this business would become a lost cause itself. I said a silent farewell to my good sense as it packed its bags and left for kinder climes. “Alright,” I told the dame, “Give me the facts. We’ll see what kind of a story they tell.”

#finx has friends on the internet #fairy tales #delivered to you on the stroke of midnight!#or pretty close to it anyway #only missed it by a few minutes

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mediumgayitalian · 9 months ago

Text

“Happy birthday!”

“Still not my birthday, Solace.”

“Eh. One day I’ll say it and it’ll be right.”

The flowers he’s holding — pretty, ruffled deep red, although Nico doesn’t recognise them — remains extended between them, clutched fist unwavering. Nico rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek, and takes them.

“Of course, you could also just tell me when your birthday is.”

“No.” A pause. He brings the flowers up to his face, pointedly ignoring Will’s wink, and inhales. They smell almost identical to the shampoo Will wears. “You’re such a loser.”

“And yet you spend all your time with me.”

“Not — all,” Nico protests, cheeks burning. “I spend —”

Time with others, he was about to say, and while it is indeed true that he does, in fact, socialize with more than one person, he realises with startling clarity that Will is almost always there.

Will grins, wide and cheeky and knowing. “Having some thoughts, there, Neeks.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Will gasps dramatically, and when that is not enough he holds up a hand, digs a string of plastic pearls out from his many pockets, clasps them around his neck, clears his throat, and gasps even more dramatically, clutching said pearls.

Nico laughs.

Unfortunately.

But he chokes it back last minute and turns it into a weird horse noise instead, so he’s victorious, basically.

“How dare,” says Will, indeed dramatically, “how dare, di Angelo, deride me, your closest friend, in such a way —”

Nico deliberates his options. Should Will have the space unimpeded to continue on than he shall do so, with increasing gusto. At the six minute mark he will graduate to elevating himself on whatever surface makes itself available, from an infirmary stool to An Actual Roof, and project his voice to make sure that everyone suffers his Elizabethan histrionics, not just Nico (or Kayla or Austin or Lou especially Cecil or Mitchell or Piper or or or or). At the nine minute mark he will be accompanied, magically, by intense background music, because Apollo deserves all of his trauma. Nico doesn’t know what the ten minute mark will bring, but frankly he’d rather walk on hot coals with open sores on his feet than find out, so.

“— good friends, sweet friends, from this group I hail, and to such a sudden flood of mutiny! To bend to the leadborn suffering —”

When Nico gestures he is graceful, obviously. And poised. When Will gestures he narrowly avoids smacking himself square in the face nine times out of ten, and sometimes, like now, he actually does smack himself in the face, but for some reason this does not deter or embarrass him. Perhaps because he, like most Apollo children, does not actually have the part of his brain that produces shame, and such gleeful shamelessness shows in his devastatingly wide eyes. Which are, Nico notices, beginning searching for the nearest climbable surface.

Ah. Level one has been exceeded.

“Hide not thy poison with such sugar’s words —”

Drastic times, drastic measures; in time of theatre kid, regress to caveman instincts. Et cetera. Nico knows the drill. He’s a twice-adorned war hero. He understands sacrifice. He understands betrayal. He knows timing, knows difficulty. He knows the burden of doing the right thing to prevent further tragedy.

He sets his flowers delicately on the ground beside him, ties his hair back out of his face, does a couple stretches, exhales peacefully, and tackles Will to the floor.

“Shut up,” he grunts, over Will’s screeching. Will, predictably, does not shut up, moaning instead about his spleen, his spine, pausing to yell, loudly, et tu, Brutus?!, moaning about his kidneys, and then once again wallowing about Brutus and betrayal.

“Someone should take away your Riverside,” Nico says solemnly, pinching Will on the arm one last time for good measure before crawling off him.

Will remains on the floor, arm thrown over his eyes. “I would sooner live without the lungs in my chest.”

“It’s gonna be me. I’m taking away your Riverside.”

Will lifts his arm, searching to meet Nico’s eyes before pouting. It is a remarkably well-planned strategy, because he has very pretty eyes, and Nico is a flaming homosexual who is openly weak to Will’s wiles. Will, who is a shit and judging by the smirk he is barely fighting back in favour of a quivering lip, knows this.

“Don’t you love me?”

“No,” Nico lies. He forces himself away from Will’s gaze, ears burning. “Go away, you walking annoyance. I never want to see you or anything about you ever again.” He scoops up his flowers and stomps off, smiling as Will cackles.

He carries around the flowers for the rest of the day.

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saintsenara · 2 months ago

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Do you think there is parallel between Peter and ron.

Fandom does Peter wrong. That is a fact. He is either absent or is present just for comic relief or is pure evil. But all those characterisation are simply cartoonish. As if written by a person who is living in la la land...

Peter, just like Lupin, we only know major things about him. But like not many people see lupin as a gray shade character only a kind fluffy guy, Peter is polarised to the bad one....

Ron similarly is often given the last place if how much of a good friend each person in golden trio was to be questioned. And that is a tragedy in itself because atleast for Ron we have so much material...

Infact for me, Ron will always be a person who has bigger heart than jkr's favorite mary sue-Lily Evans. She did what any good mother should do. But fandom never stops going on and on about it Or even Harry's sacrifice at the end is so much singed about...but then we have Ron, an 11 year kid who for the sake of defeating voldy, told his new Friends to leave him. He sacrificed himself at 11. Everyone was sure that he is risking his life...but no one i see ever gushes about that act of bravery. It is always about one Potter Or the other.

Peter too. I mean he won't have been friends with the other three for 10 years if they just tolerated him and vice versa. But making him evil kr stupid kr dumb Or hideous to look at in his childhood or teen years is like taking all his personality away and giving us just a shell of a person...

He did become animagi at 15 and that is quite a commendable magic. He is cunning to pull up his stunt as a spy....

Like war as sirius describes in gof is so dark and scary. And people forgot that big things make a person change.

Ron on the other hand had done quite a lot in his life time but often he is found to be judged for leaving his friends.

I believe that the only difference between them is that ron recognised his faults and made correction. Meanwhile pettigrew simply kept on walking on the wrong path he chose....

What do you think on this..?

thank you very much for the ask, pal!

i don't think this entirely works. ron gets cast by the fandom as a gluttonous moron who's also a bad friend primarily on account of the films - and as a bad person by people who want to ship hermione with other people but don't have the nerve to do this in a complex or interesting way - but the text never suggests that either harry or hermione think of him as being in last place in the trio.

indeed, when harry does think of himself as better than ron - when ron gets made a prefect over him in order of the phoenix - he feels horrible for his brief flash of jealousy and soon gets over it. on other occasions when he notes something about himself which could be seen as superior to ron - when he notes that ron got no outstandings at owl, for example - harry doesn't actually force a comparison which is designed to position ron below him. they end up doing the same newts, which is what harry - who sees ron as his partner in crime - cares about.

ron is also demonstrably harry's best friend, and harry tends to enable him and automatically side with him in conflict - it's an example of great self-growth that he doesn't cut hermione off in half-blood prince when ron does, since he's perfectly happy to do so in prisoner of azkaban. but he's also demonstrably hermione's best friend too. harry's relationship with her is, as he says, sibling-like, which doesn't just mean that it's not romantic, but that it contains a "you can't choose your family" vibe - he loves her fiercely, but he also finds her exasperating in a way ron doesn't, doesn't make any real effort to learn about her interests or include her in his, and is often quite harsh to her. ron - in contrast - does see his relationship with her as one of active choice.

this is why i never really like the idea that the trio and the marauders are meant to be parallels. on the surface, ron and harry should be the equivalent of james and sirius and hermione should be remus...

but they're not, because the clear dynamic of the marauders in canon is that they were a group centred around james. all three of sirius, remus, and peter clearly understood james as their best friend, and their relationships among themselves primarily depend on their understanding of their and the others' relationship to james. there is - i think - a credible case to be made that, if james was removed from the picture entirely, but not in a way that caused the profound trauma of the canon timeline [if he just moved away with lily, for example], the remaining three would drift apart.

james - of course - only understood sirius as his equal, his brother. peter is obviously someone he considered inferior to the two of them - albeit in a fond way, rather than a cruel one. he clearly thinks of him the way a teenager might think of their pre-teen sibling - someone you love and are happy to include in your social life if they do what you want, someone you also don't want to embarrass you in front of your cool teenage friends by letting them do what they want instead of following your instructions. remus is clearly someone he didn't think of as quite so socially inferior to him, but he also still seems to have understood him as peripheral to his and sirius' rampant codependence.

the trio doesn't have anything like this dynamic. even though harry is narratively unequal to ron and hermione - he is their leader, they are his disciples - the relationships across the three of them [harry's active choice to be friends with ron, harry's feeling that hermione is his sister; ron's active choice to be friends with hermione, his pseudo-familial relationship with harry] are much more equal than those among the marauders.

what i have been convinced by, however, is @whinlatter's belief that the best parallel for peter in the series is ginny:

#asks answered #ron weasley #peter pettigrew

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kurishiri · 6 months ago

Text

alfons sylvatica . . . episode.0

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: depiction of death.

I do so wonder, were I to say, “Life is but a tragedy,” would you disagree with me?

Well, in the end, it matters not if you agree or disagree.

Everyone is free to interpret what’s before them in their own way. Much like everyone is free to choose how they face reality.

By this, then, if I were to state my personal views on this, I would claim for certain that life is but a tragedy.

Ah, but by no means am I embracing a pessimistic perspective.

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape.

Even should an escape fail you, though——

madness will still remain your friend.

In the back alley, where twilight drew near, I happened upon an elderly man collapsed on the ground.

With my hands on my knees, I crouched down beside him. In response, the man’s hollow eyes, devoid of any sign of vitality, looked my way.

Elderly man: Ahh… it’s you.

Alfons: Yes, indeed, it is none other than me.

I do, in fact, have quite a large circle of acquaintances.

That goes especially for people like this man, who had been driven out from the light.

Alfons: Might there a final dream you wish to see?

Elderly man: ………My wife.

Elderly man: I………would like to say sorry………

Alfons: …Is that so.

For a miraculous, utterly unrealistic happening to occur in the finale, right before the curtain closed on a play, would be the universal joke of all comedies.

Alfons: See now, look there. Isn’t it great? “Your wife has come to see you.”

Elderly man: ………Ahh…ahh…

When I murmured this while touching the back of his neck, the man’s eyes widened, tears brimming slightly at the edge of his eyes,

and unable to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ until the end, he drew his last breath.

Alfons: Did she smile for you in your final dream?

A: …Or so I ask, but I can hardly say I’m very interested in the answer.

I gently closed his eyes before promptly leaving the place myself.

(Now, I say it’s about time to search for something new to kill off this boredom.)

Upon leaving the alleyway, I found myself in a twilight-colored London, filled with livelihood,

and the people, in their restlessness, couldn’t bother to pay heed to the fact that just a step in the alleyway would reveal quite a ghastly death.

That would make up the majority. ——However.

(…Oh?)

A postwoman passed me by, running the opposite direction as me,

and as she entered the alleyway where the man was lying, she suddenly stopped.

(So she realized him…?)

At first, I held no interest, but now I was curious to see what this postwoman would do, so in a daze, I stared after her.

She hesitated to step into the alleyway, which had begun to sink in the twilight,

instead looking around her before running toward some patrolling police officers who were some ways away.

(Aww, truly a fool she is. If only she simply feigned ignorance…)

(As the first witness of the body, she will be questioned and subsequently end up tardy for her deliveries.)

But if she left the body, either the police or the cleaners would have discovered it eventually.

(I take it she is the type to carry more burdens than she needs to.)

The kindest people are the easiest to hurt. Such habits are troublesome because it is much like walking into a bush of thorns.

(A pitiable soul she is.)

(Her naïve honesty will be her downfall and lead her to scenes that reek of blood…)

(Well, I suppose I can only hope this theory remains as such.)

Victor: You went out and used your ability again, didn’t you, Alfons?

The next day, the one who caught me in the hallway was the Queen’s Aide, who was laughing wryly.

Alfons: Well, now, whenever could that be? If you remain so vague like that, I’m afraid I will be unable to pin down exactly which incident you speak of.

A: You see, I am but a frugal soul who is simply using what is at his disposal.

Victor: Just as a friendly reminder, you guys’ existences are to be kept confidential, okay?

Alfons: Now, now, why so caught up in the gritty details?

A: After all, I reckon my ability is about as good as a plain old crook when put next to one like William’s.

Victor: Good lord, you naughty boy, you. It’s a no from me, I say, no!

With an air of jest surrounding his warning, his jewel-like eyes narrowed.

Although he was likely scheming a thing — or perhaps two, this respectable person’s true colors still remained ever unfathomable.

Victor: Anyway, all that aside, tonight marks the day of the mission. Have you made your preparations?

Alfons: Yes, but of course.

Crown, a villainous organization that used evil to fight evil, was going to condemn a target tonight.

It was just going to be like any other dull mission that gave me no room to show a sweet dream in one’s dying moments.

Or, that was what I thought.

As per William’s command, the target slit their own throat, and it was right after that.

The door opened, and in came none other than that postwoman.

Kate: ——!?

Drawing in a breath, I could hear the sound come from her throat.

(…Aww…)

(I know I had foreshadowed this, but even for a prediction, is this not much too soon?)

(Goodness, I just cannot help but wonder how that naïve honesty led you here.)

With blood staining her cheeks, she simply stood there, dumbfounded.

I could practically hear the sound of the cruel reality before her piercing through her gentle heart, even now.

(Oh, please, I would prefer anything over this serious air.)

A dull and boring mission turning into a stage set for a tragedy was much too common to hold an ounce of my interest.

(And if this is bound to become a tragedy,)

(why not simply make it a most amusing stage instead?)

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape. Even should an escape fail you, though…

Alfons: Well, well, to think we had an audience.

——madness will still remain your friend.

In the end, the lady, who introduced herself as Kate, was given a joke of a role dubbed as a ‘fairytale keeper,’

and it was decided that she would be staying in this den of evil for a month.

Alfons: She truly is hapless… I’m certain anyone would find themselves more at home in this world of darkness than a lady such as her.

Shrugging my shoulders while heading toward my own room, Elbert, who was walking beside me, turned to me with worry.

Elbert: …Are you alright, Al?

Alfons: Yes? Now whatever could you be referring to?

Elbert: Well… you seemed somewhat sad, if I had to say.

Alfons: Ahha! I assure you I am anything but.

A: Why, in fact, when will such an opportune moment arise again, where I will have a most interesting plaything for an entire month? Do you truly believe I have capacity for anything but amusement?

Elbert: …I see.

To me, this ordeal was naught but a new plaything, having stumbled in here, I can use to fill this life with amusement.

And to her, this ordeal was naught but the darkness of England that she did not have to witness, and a troublesome role that was pushed onto her.

(And for the both of us, if this can become an entertainment that can divert us, even for a moment, that is all it needs to be.)

Alfons: Truly… I do look forward to this.

Reality knows nothing but cruelty: it will only eat away at your heart before throwing you in the middle of the darkness.

So cease this folly act of trying to face it directly and getting yourself hurt.

(Now——may the time pass us by, much like a most amusing dream.)

← prev next →

NOTE: and this would mark the start of alfons’ route! i feel this route may probably be the least romantic-feeling out of the ones released so far; of course, that’s not to say there isn’t romance, but the way he expresses love is quite subtle and the romance may feel overshadowed by his issues. but i hope the high drama can make up for any (perceived) lack of romance!

truth be told, i feel this route may end up dividing the fandom when it comes to alfons, especially with his actions. and you may find yourself surprised at how kate ends up sort of toughing it out to the very end with him. but i do think, overall, it does take a read through of this route to really understand and delve into the parts of his character the other routes seem to only hint at.

i hope you enjoy this wild ride, if you choose to ride along with me!

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