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bangtanficsforyou · 7 months ago

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Hello, Love (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don't know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister's fiance wasn't it.

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

A/N: Based on a movie 😏📸. Also, here's a post explaining why I disappeared.

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“So you’re getting married tomorrow, huh?” the rhetorical question slips from your mouth with a smile. A smile that in every way looks, forced.

You don’t know what you were thiniking. But a part of you, just wanted to have a conversation with your sister. Maybe you had hoped for it to be like one of those conversations. The kind that you’d see in movies, taking place between two sisters, when one is about to hit a big milestone.

Maybe a little reminscing about the old days. A little recallation of the past times when you both got into trouble. Joking about the embarassing moments. A little laughter, a few tears and hearts filled with warmth.

“Yes, I am,” your sister replies without bothering to look up.

You linger at the doorway for a moment and then realise how stupid you were.

You nod, knowing very well that this is pretty much the end of the conversation–if you could even call it that. You let the door shut quietly and slip out of the room.

Tomorrow, your sister is getting married. Your elder sister, to be more specific.

She is getting married to the man she loves, to the man she has been in a relationship with for seven years.

The man, who unfortunately happens to be the one you have fallen in love with, in the span of these last few weeks.

Oh how did you get into this mess and expect it to result into anything other than heartbreak?

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The loud music playing through the speakers tempts you to join the ongoing celebrations. You look at the joyful faces of your family members and a smile appears on your face. Lord knows when you will be seeing them next.

“Please take care of yourselves,” you whisper, knowing very well that you should leave as quickly as possible.

However, your gaze lingers on one person in particular. Your father. Oh, how you wish you could just hug him once before leaving. But that might not be a smart move. Your resolve might weaken on feeling his arms around you. No, you cannot afford that.

You take a deep inhale and turn away from the wedding celebrations. You march towards the exit gate with hurried steps. Your feet however, come to a halt when you spot one of your friends chatting with some guy near the gate. Shit. You turn away immediately and flee the spot before she can spot you.

Once you’re sure that there is no way for her to see you, you release a sigh of relief. You have no idea how you’d have explained the bags and luggage you’re currently carrying, had she seen you.

The thought of that makes you feel more urgency to leave this wedding venue. You look around frantically hoping that there would be some other gate. You do spot one, however, there stands your father’s uncle’s son’s son, who has seemingly found this to be the ideal smoking spot.

A few moments later, you come to the conclusion that there is indeed, only one way to escape this place. You need to climb over the wall.

You find a quiet place, away from the crowd, that has very dim lighting. You throw your bags over the wall and wait for the thud to confirm that your bags have landed on the other side. Then, you roll the sleeves of your shirt up and get ready for the difficult part; the climbing.

Thanks to your experience with tree climbing, you somehow successfully manage to climb the wall at your second attempt. However, it’s that wired fence that causes you more trouble than you would have ever imagined.

Somehow, it gets stuck to the back of your shirt in such an awkward position that you cannot even grab a hold of it properly. The only way for you to get your shirt unstuck would be to pull the piece of cloth hard enough. But then you cannot do that. It will tear your shirt and boy, where will you go and change now?

Slowly, very slowly, you move the shirt, hoping somehow, it would get freed from the wire.

Okay, so maybe a little this side–a little on the other–no, wait this is not–

“Are you leaving or are you arriving?”

A voice speaks, startling you to your very core. You look up and feel extremely relieved upon realising that this man happens to be someone who’s completely unknown to you.

“Well as of now, I’m stuck,” you trail off, hoping that the guy would catch the hint and help you.

Thankfully, he does.

He gathers a couple bricks that were laying around and tip toes on them for his hands to reach the wired fence. Despite not being able to see how the wire has gotten stuck in your shirt, his hand somehow still manages to do the job smoothly.

Once you’re free, you’re quick to get down. Dusting off your clothes, you pick your bags up. “Thank you, for helping me.”

“Considering that you got down on this side of the wall, I’m going to assume that you’re leaving.” He observes.

You look at him for a moment and then nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you need help with the bags?”

A smile appears on your lips at his words, as you think this guy is a little too nice for his own good. “Sure, that’d actually be helpful!”

Nodding he bends down to pick up the bags. He’s surprised when he realises how heavy your luggage actually is. “Damn, these are heavy.”

“I know,” you glance at your watch. “Let’s get going.”

It takes him a split second to process as you start walking immediately after the words are out of your mouth, without so much of a second glance at him. Your quick movements make him trail behind you, as you make your way through the playground which connects to the main road.

Having given up on catching up with you, he looks around and sees a bunch of kids playing football on one side of the ground. While the other side remains occupied with kids playing cricket. The scoreboard catches his attention as it reads “6 required from 3 balls”. That’s intense, he thinks.

His eyes remain fixed on the match as his feet continue to move. The bowler bowls and he watches with excitement as the batsman flicks it for a single. As the strike rotates, the scoreboard now changes to “5 required from 2 balls”.

The second last delivery of the match and much to his surprise, it’s a full toss. The ball connects right to the centre of the bat and goes straight in the air. His eyes follow the ball and he watches with a bated breath as he waits for it to be either a six or a four.

His jaw drops open, when the ball is caught–by you. You aim the ball straight at the stumps and before the runner can reach the crease, the ball hits the wickets, dismissing the bails.

“OUT!”

A unanimous shout breaks out, celebrating the wicket. The tension breaks as the match is now in favour of the defending side.

Suddenly, the bags aren’t as heavy as they were moments ago and he rushes to catch up with you. “That was such a cool throw.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a smile.

“Do you play cricket?” He queries, his eyes shining bright with excitement.

“I once used to. Nowadays, I don’t really get the time to play.” You shrug. “I love watching cricket though.”

“Did you watch yesterday’s match?” His excitement heightens.

“No I didn’t, but I did watch the highlights.”

“You missed one of the greatest matches of all times,” he shakes his head, emphasising his point with a dreamy smile on his face.

“I just don’t like watching ODIs,” you comment. “I think cricket matches should be of twenty overs. Four hours and the match is done.”

“I mean sure, T20Is are good, they are explosive in nature,” he agrees. “But nothing beats the longer formats of cricket.”

“Well, i am yet to get the hang of them,” you muse. “Maybe someday, I will get the hang of ODIs.”

“Maybe a India VS Australia match would do it for you.”

“Oh! I live for the sledging in India-Australia matches.”

“But then, the real spirit of cricket is in test matches! Five long days for one match and yet the match might be a tie. It really does test a man’s patience,” he speaks, his hands moving animatedly with each word. “Maybe that’s why they are called test matches, you know?”

“Kudos to the players playing these matches, because I do not have the patience to watch a test match. Can’t imagine playing it.”

“You should try watching a good bilateral series sometime, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Oh, I have definitely tried watching test matches before and I remember in half an hour, the scoreboard changed from 243 to 245. That was pretty much it for me.”

Your words cause him to cackle. “Maybe someday, you’ll realise the beauty of test matches, who knows?”

“Maybe. Someday.”

A brief moment of silence falls between the both of you.

“Who’s your favourite player, right now?”

“Has to be Steve Smith!” You claim proudly, without a second thought.

“Dude has got a bright future in cricket, that’s for sure.”

“I love how smoothly he hits those shots. It’s a treat watching him,” you add, your admiration for the young player visible in your eyes.

He hums and lets the conversation die as you both approach the main road, which is from where he assumes you’re about to take some vehicle to continue the rest of your journey. His assumption is proved right when you start waving at a taxi approaching towards the both of you.

“Airport?” You ask and upon receiving a nod from the driver, you start loading your luggage in the car. Once everything is settled, you get in as well. Locking in the door, you wave at him and ask the driver to get going.

He watches as the taxi sets to motion with a small lingering smile on his face. He is about to turn around and leave when the car stops and you poke your head out of the window.

“You want to tag along?” You ask loudly to be heard through the newly made distance between the both of you.

He is bewildered on hearing your words. “But the wedding---,” he points in the direction where the wedding ceremony is being performed, instead of completing his sentence.

“Are you the one who's getting married?” You answer with another question.

“No,” he shakes his head, eyes wide with confusion. How on earth are you saying this so casually?

“Then come along.”

He cannot see the whole of your body as only a portion of it remains poking out of the window and he has only known you for a very brief moment, but for some unknown reason he feels so sure that you must have shrugged as you said those words. And for some odd reason, with how casually you’re treating the situation, he feels the oddness of the situation fade.

“I cannot just leave the wedding like that,” he replies.

“Okay, then. Have fun.”

You do not sound disappointed at all. You sound just as casual, he thinks.

“Have a safe journey,” he yells, as you retreat back inside the car.

A faint, i will, thank you, greet his ears and he shakes his head to himself. You are something, he thinks with that same smile as he heads back to the wedding.

“Dude, I met a 8.5 outside!” He tells his friend the moment he’s within earshot.

His friend doesn’t look at him as his gaze remains fixed somewhere else. “Forget about an 8.5. Look there, there’s a literal 10 right in front of your eyes.”

He follows his friend’s gaze and it leads him to one of the prettiest girls he has ever seen, in his entire life. A ten indeed.

“Wow.” The breathless one word sentence escapes his lips without his permission.

His friend smirks at the reaction. “She’s the bride’s sister. She’s a model but is soon going to feature in some short films.”

The words barely register in his head as the girl locks eyes with him. Maybe he wasn’t discreet with his gawking, after all. What absolutely leaves him speechless, however, is when the girl gives him a shy smile.

The interaction isn’t missed by his friend as he whistles slowly, before murmuring, “Here’s to hoping you’re smart enough to understand what that smile means.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook smut #Jungkook au #Jungkook ff #Jungkook scenarios #Jungkook series #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook bts #Angst #Fluff #Smut #Fic: hey

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idesofrevolution · 1 year ago

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Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #jockification #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #wrestler #ghost possession #familial transformation #father to son #himboization #himbofication #partial possession

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lilywastaken · 2 years ago

Text

⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't �� your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #ghost ansgt #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #cw pregnancy #— ménage

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crossfandomslut · 7 months ago

Text

At Peace in Your Fire (Pt. 1)

Summary: Y/n Archeron is an adaptable person. As long as there is a warm fire to breathe life into her soul, she can find strength. Even after all they've been through.

Pairing: Future Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 1,400

Notes: This is my first fic ever and it is hardly proof read haha I have a lot of ideas for this story, so it will have a few parts ! There is no Eris in this chapter, but he is coming ! What do you think the reader's gift from the Cauldron will be ? Please give me lots of feedback and I hope you enjoy ! Also if anyone has a better title suggestion I'm open to them !

Credits: @enchanthings created the beautiful text divider ! And @reveriesources made the gorgeous 'comment and reblog" banner at the bottom !! Thank you both !

Part two

Y/n Archeron has always been an adaptable person. When their father lost their fortune, when their mother died, and when they were forced to move into that shitty little cabin with only one bedroom, she had remained positive. Her and her twin sister, Feyre, learned to hunt together, forage for berries, and steal bread from the baker down the road. Y/n prided herself on being fast enough to never get caught, but if there was ever a close call, Feyre was standing by with a distraction- usually a rodent she would release to run into the house and cause chaos.

If ever the family couldn't find her, she could always be found by a fire. It made her an asset to the family, to be able to always start a fire and cook whatever meat her and Feyre caught, but it also made her “secret” hideouts pretty pathetic. As a child, when she was sick or sad, she would be by a fire. It was the only thing that seemed to sooth her. When she was happy after a good day of hunting and gathering or an afternoon of flirting with the baker’s son to get free bread, she would want to have a fire to celebrate. She would dance around its edges well into the night, even if there was no music to be heard.

That desperate need for warmth and comfort almost had her knees buckling as she and her sisters were ripped from their home in the middle of the night, blindfolded, gagged, and dragged to a land they had only heard of.

When the blindfolds and gags were removed, y/n looked around the large room, to her older sisters, Nesta and Elain, and finally they fell on her twin. Feyre looked to scared and helpless. Y/n had never seen that look on her face. Feyre was so brave and the last time they’d seen her she was so determined and fierce. What the hell happened?

Feyre was nervous about being in the mortal lands with Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. She hadn’t seen her sisters since before she went under the mountain and becoming Fae. She hadn’t seen her twin since she was dragged to Prythian by Tamlin. Nesta told her that Y/n has been going out to search for her, only stopping at home for a few days at a time to make sure Nesta and Elaine had food to eat. Y/n was out on on one of her searches the last time Feyre was here, and she desperately hoped she would be home this time. She needed to see her twin. Not only to have someone on her team against Nesta, but because she relationship with y/n was the most important one in her life, and she needed to tell y/n everything that’s happened.

Making it through what she thought was going to be the most awkward part, the introductions at the door, Feyre and her friends found themselves in an even more uncomfortable position. Sitting at the table silently, Nesta staring daggers at them, and waiting for y/n to get home.

“She might not show up today. You know how she likes to take her time on her hunting trips. She could be out all night and getting back home in this weather would be a stretch. Travelling isn’t as easy for us humans as it is for your kind.” Nesta stated coldly, refusing to look at Rhys, Azriel and Cassian, the two Illyrians standing cramped in the corner, trying to make their wings as small as possible. “We might as well start without her. Tell us what you’re doing here so you can leave. Y/n can get caught up later.”

Rhys opens his mouth to pick a fight when the front door slams open.

“Nesta I’m back! You won’t believe the size of the deer I got! Can you help me clear the table so I can drag it in here?” At the sound of y/n’s voice, Feyre lets out a sob. “Nes?” The sound of footsteps fill the hall as y/n rounds the corner into the dining room. Her eyes scan the room, making eye contact with Nesta before clocking the three strange males in the corner, and then finally at her twin. Y/n fell to her knees.

Feyre is up in an instant, running to her sister and holding her tight. Y/n holds her just as fiercely as sobs wrack both their bodies. Either Feyre doesn’t notice the blood covering y/n from the deer sitting outside, or she simply doesn’t care. When breathing is once again possible, y/n cups her sisters face in her hands and just stares at her for a long moment. Feyre holds her breath as y/n takes in the delicately pointed ears and the elongated canines. “Fey…you look so beautiful.” Her hands fall from her face as she suddenly realizes what’s happening. “Are you okay? Why are you here? How are you here?” The questions start to become frantic as y/n also realizes that none of the males in front of her are the one who took her away. The one who Nesta had told her Feyre was in love with and going to save. She studies them a second longer and takes note of the dark hair, the violet eyes, and then the wings of the other two males. Wait- wings!? Y/n’s eyes dart between them and then settle on Feyre.

“Y/n, this is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His Spymaster, Azriel, and his general, Cassian.” The three males gave Y/n a small smile and a wave as she and Feyre rise to their feet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Y/n looks just at Rhys then as she says, “Am I to assume that you are the reason my sister is glowing? Not that she wasn’t always stunning, but there’s something about you Faeries…”

Rhys smirks at Feyre as she rolls her eyes, but looks back to Y/n when he says, “I’m afraid so. But she is just as much to blame. Had to be the hero.” His eyes soften with the last part, almost something sad but proud flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by a self-assured, arrogant mask.

“Thank you.” Y/n says with all the sincerity she can conjure in that gaze, as tear once again form in her eyes, and she tugs her sister into another tight embrace. “I want every. Single. Detail of your story, sister.”

Now obviously being kidnaped was less than ideal, but again, Y/n is adaptable. She scanned her surroundings and tried to make sense of what lay before her. In the middle of the grand room, what looked to be in a palace, was a massive cauldron. Standing around the cauldron, on clearly opposing sides of the room, were Feyre, Rhys, and his Inner Circle as they called themselves, and on the other side stood who she predicted to be Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre had told Y/n the whole story. From falling in love with Tamlin, to going Under the Mountain. About Amarantha, the bargain with Rhys, Tamlin locking her away, Lucien standing by doing nothing, and their almost wedding.

With y/n and her older sisters standing at the front of the room, nearest to the cauldron, it was easy to piece the puzzle together. In a whirlwind, y/n fought back with Nesta to keep the Hybern soldiers from putting sweet, innocent Elain into the cauldron. Holding their breaths, they waited until a barely conscious Elain was tipped out of the dark waters. Feyre and the Inner Circle were in various forms of gravely injured, or being held down by the King of Hybern’s magic.

The next to be forced in was Nesta, but trust that she put up the fight of her life, along with y/n. It was of no use, and before she could be fully forced under, that wicked finger pointed right at the King. A gesture so full of wrath, the King had the decency to pale just slightly. When Nesta was dumped from the cauldron, she crawled straight to Elain and wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.

There was no one left to fight for y/n. She was so cold and she felt so helpless as she trashed in the soldiers hold that as soon as her feet touched the warm water of the cauldron, she let the water engulf her. Distantly she could hear Lucien calling out to Elain, but y/n wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t seem to care as she let the warm water embrace her and take over all her senses.

Taglist: @abysshaven @stained-glass-eyes0708

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x y/n #autumn court #lucien vanserra #eris vandaddy #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader

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casuallyimagining · 10 months ago

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Selfish. || myg.

Less of Them - Two: Selfish.

NSFW. minors dni

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 5,461

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: implied domestic abuse, controlling behavior, depression, arguing, a slap, blood, discovery of a dead body, murder

Notes: thank you to @oddinary4bts for beta-ing this

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

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There’s a bustle in the castle that hasn’t been here for a year. It’s like the very stone–polished, whitewashed, ancient–is vibrating with excitement. After all, a royal wedding is an exciting time, and everyone must play their part. The cherry trees, hundreds of them across the property of the castle and in the castle town, are close to blossom. The merchants are busy building and sewing and crafting and baking. The stewards and keepers have cleaned the castle walls inside and out more times than can be counted.

You cannot find it in yourself to match their enthusiasm.

You stand on a pedestal facing a floor-length mirror, a seamstress on either side of you. They haven’t stopped touching you since they’d walked into the room. Slipping garments onto your body. Primping and adjusting the fabric so it lays just right. Measuring, pinning, tucking, tacking. The silk is heavy, like lead on your limbs, and they just keep layering it on. All of it is an elegant cream color–not white, despite tradition. Daniel had instructed the royal seamstresses. It was because of him, after all. White is too pure, too untouched.

Maybe, under different circumstances, worn by someone else, you would find the gown pretty. The silken fabric is soft and luxurious, a delicate floral pattern embroidered into the sleeves. The skirt is plain, but it flows well, and it’s a slightly richer color than the rest. There’s a small loop at the waist where a luck ornament will be attached. You haven’t seen it yet–the queen mother hasn’t yet presented it to you–but the handmaids have told you that it’s meant to bring many sons.

But honestly, you’ve avoided looking–really looking–at any of it, your focus solely on the leather toe of your shoe sticking out from under the fabric of your dress. You were never too mesmerized by your reflection, but now… It’s hard to reconcile what you see with what used to be there. Your hair is longer. You’ve lost weight. A bruise peeks out from under the collar of your dress. There’s a hollowness in your eyes, and worse, there’s a hollowness somewhere deeper. A meekness that you don’t recognize, but that’s been gnawing at the edges of you for nearly a year now.

You don’t recognize yourself. You don’t want to recognize yourself.

“Have you seen him yet?” You hear one of the handmaidens ask as the seamstresses pin the fabric at your sleeve.

The other handmaiden groans softly. “I’ve been stuck inside all day. Kagha asked me to shine the silver.” Kagha is the stewardess of the castle, and she’s been running around like a crazy person of late trying to prepare for the wedding.

The first handmaiden leans closer to the other. You’ve seen her around, but you have no idea what her name is. “He’s gorgeous,” she whispers, so quiet you almost can’t hear.

“Shame he’s from the forest,” the second handmaiden laments, standing. Her arms are full of linen.

You hum. It’s been a long year. A lonely year. You’ve learned a lot, and you know you’ve done a lot of growing to meet the needs of the position you find yourself in. But that doesn’t mean that the path hadn’t been lonely. And you’d finally managed to convince Daniel to allow you to send a letter to your father, asking him to send you someone to serve in the castle.

Based on the handmaidens’ reactions, he’s sent Seokjin.

It makes sense. Out of anyone your father could have sent, Seokjin is the most likely to fit in at the castle and in Castle Town. He’s charming and smart, and knows how to hold himself at court. And, more than anyone, Seokjin knows–or assumes–how careful one must be in this life, too.

There’s an excitement bubbling in you that you haven’t felt in a while. Your step-brother. Here. Finally, a friend. You leave the seamstresses when they’re finished, an almost giddy bounce to your step. It leads you all the way to the King’s Council Chamber–if Seokjin is here, that’s where he’ll be. Daniel may not have greeted you on your arrival to the Ironhold, but he would certainly not risk snubbing the eldest son of one of the old families.

You stand outside of the council chamber, suddenly unsure. The excitement has faded, replaced with the roiling unease that comes with being anywhere near this room. You should wait. As excited as you may be to see Seokjin, you don’t want to risk Daniel’s ire at your interruption. So you stand there, outside the door, far enough away so that you aren’t in anyone’s way.

After a moment, you can feel your heartbeat start to pound in your ears. Maybe waiting is a mistake. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can make it back to your chambers. Maybe you can wait there. You nod to yourself. That’s a better idea. You’ll wait for them to come to you.

You’ve just turned to go when the door opens, the hinges creaking lowly with the motion. You can hear Daniel’s voice, but it’s Eden, Daniel’s younger brother, who walks out first. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, half fleeing, and you can hear him make a little noise of surprise. It doesn’t last long, though, because as soon as Daniel spots you, Eden’s face schools into something neutral.

Daniel stops mid-word to question you. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” Your words stick in your throat. You shouldn’t be here, but you’re frozen in place. And then, just when you think things can’t get worse, a dark head of hair and curious, feline eyes poke out from around Daniel’s form.

You freeze, hoping the ground will open up and swallow you whole. You feel yourself wilt, and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of how you’re standing, how awkward your arms feel at your side, how rigid your spine feels. It’s not Seokjin. You could never be that lucky.

Daniel stalks toward you and roughly grabs your upper arm. His fingers dig in, pressing into your flesh. You wince ever so slightly–it hurts, the bruise already there is an angry deep purple–but quickly, you school your face into something more pleasant.

“We’ve talked about this,” Daniel says. His voice is even, but you can hear the undertones.

You should not be here.

You’re embarrassing me. Again.

We will discuss this again later.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out softer than you’d like, and you wonder if he can hear the slight tremble, or if it’s just you. “I… I thought it was Seokjin and I…” You trail off, eyes falling to the stone floor.

The king jerks you closer, grip like a vise on your upper arm. “You what?”

“I got excited.”

He hums. “I see.”

Off to your left, Eden clears his throat. “Brother. You have a meeting with Mother and the High Priest in the garden soon. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Daniel nods and squeezes your arm. “We’ll discuss this later.”

The brothers leave, and suddenly, the hall is quiet. The few guards that had been milling around follow Daniel and Eden out. You clear your throat, unable to meet the dark eyes that watch you curiously. He’s never been to the Crownlands, and your brain latches onto an idea.

This doesn’t have to be awkward.

“Have you seen the grounds?” you question finally, shifting your weight.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Would you like to?”

You can feel him looking at you, can feel the questions hanging in the air. Thankfully–and surprisingly–he says nothing, simply motions for you to lead the way.

“The castle was built nearly 800 years ago by the Choi family. Because of tensions at the time between the royal family and the rest of the old families, the Ironhold was built to be nearly impregnable, with oil chutes built into every staircase and balistraria in every exterior wall.” You gesture to one of the arrow slits in the wall, where the sunlight from the mid-spring sun peeks through the thick stone. You know that he knows all this–he sat through almost as many of your father’s history lessons as you did–but it helps to keep talking.

And to his credit, Yoongi listens patiently. He follows dutifully at your side, pausing to look at things you point out and nodding along where appropriate. You can’t show him everything–that would almost be impossible as the castle grounds are so large. But you walk him through parts of the gardens (“There are over 1,000 cherry trees on the castle grounds.”), and show him the fish ponds (“The fish have been imported from the Eastern Coastlands. Some of the koi are descendants of the original fish brought in when the ponds were built 300 years ago!”). You walk past the Queen Mother’s private residence in the southern part of the castle grounds and show him the knight’s barracks and the training grounds.

All of the buildings on the castle grounds look the same. It had taken you a few months to actually learn where everything was and what each building housed. Tall, sloping, whitewashed walls, deep blue tile roofs, sharp corners and rectangular windows. A far cry from the curved staircases and round windows and dark woods of Castle Blackwood.

Re-entering the castle proper, you show him the Grand Hall, where important dinners are held, and the king’s dining room. And finally, finally, you end the tour of the castle grounds on the second floor of the western tower where your chambers–and the chambers of personal guards and hand servants–are. You’ve known for a while that there was a room designated for your own personal guard, so you end up in front of that door.

“This is yours,” you tell him, gesturing to the door. It’s not as thick or as dark as the ones back at Castle Blackwood, but you grew accustomed to those small differences long ago.

He stands there, his hand on the brass doorknob, gaze soft as he takes you in. You can see his eyes dart briefly to where the bruise peeks out from under your collar and feel yourself shrink away. You don’t want to know what he sees when he looks at you.

“Come in.” His voice is gentle, almost as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal. “Let’s catch up.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. It’ll make it harder to move forward–to move on. But then he says, “Please,” and you’ve never been able to resist the softness of his eyes. So you let him lead you into his chambers and shut the door.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen you in a dress,” he says quietly. He stands in front of you, a little awkward. He keeps rubbing his hands together, patting down his trousers. It’s little comfort to know that he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?” You don’t mean to snap, but it just kind of happens. You aren’t sure what this means–what it means for him, let alone what it means for you. There’s a pit in your stomach that feels almost like you swallowed a rock, and you do your best to steady yourself.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you here? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t it have been Seokjin, or Namjoon, or any- anyone else?”

He reaches into his doublet and pulls out a folded piece of parchment. It’s a little crumpled, the edges a little worn, like it’s been read many times. You catch a glimpse of a forest green wax seal still clinging to the top edge, and immediately you know what it is.

“Maybe we’re both a little selfish.” The way he says it, you can feel your heart sink.

Of course you know what the letter says. It haunts you, but at the time, you thought you were doing the right thing. You still do.

I hope that, in time, you can move on. That eventually, you will find yourself in love. That you will find happiness again. It’s selfish, but I will only be able to live through this with the hope that you are happy and living a life that is worthy of the care you’ve shown me.

Find someone who loves you as much as I do. For my sake, if nothing else.

You want him to be able to move on and live his life. You want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy. And you would sacrifice your own happiness a hundred times over if it meant he could have the life he deserves.

Yoongi reaches out, and your heart races. You tense, an automatic reaction, and his hand pauses mere centimeters from your cheek. A look of confusion crosses his dark eyes that quickly morphs to understanding and then sadness. His hand falls back to his side.

“How did you get that bruise?” His voice is casual, but you know him, can practically see the cogs turning in his mind.

You tug the collar of your gown so that it covers better. “I tripped.”

“And bruised your shoulder?”

“I’m still getting used to the gowns.”

He hums. You know he knows you’re lying. But you aren’t sure how much you want to allow him back in yet. You aren’t sure how much you want to drag him down with you.

He sighs, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he looks at the letter that’s still in his hands. “I tried,” he says softly. “For the first few months, I thought that if I could just convince myself that I was mad at you, it would be easier. I tried so hard to hate you, to blame you for leaving, make it your fault.” He looks up at you, then, and you can see a shine to his eyes. He reaches out again, but this time, the tips of his fingers brush against your hand. “But I couldn’t. It’s not fair, but it’s even less fair for you. And I want to be here. I know it won’t be easy, but I want to be here with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Your eyes sting, and there’s a lump in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down.

Hours later, you’re alone in your chambers. Dusk has fallen, the handmaidens have already been through to light the few candles on the tray near your bed. You sit on the chaise under the open window, a gentle spring breeze lightly caressing your skin. Silently, you stare down at the wooden box in your hands.

It’s dusty. You haven’t touched it since placing it on the shelf when you’d first arrived in the Ironhold. You can see the fingerprints from how you’ve held it over the past half-hour. Gently, you wipe the dust from the gilded leaves of the thistle and press them in. A soft ‘click’ echoes through the inside of the box.

You take the contents out carefully. Sketches from one of the artists in the Forest Town–one of you, your father, your step-mother, and Namjoon and Seokjin; the other of you and Yoongi. You look much younger here, even though the drawings were only done a few years ago. It feels like an eternity. The real reason you’d pulled the box off the shelf, though, is still in your hand, wrapped delicately in a piece of cloth you’d ripped from a pair of your trousers.

Once it’s unwrapped, you hold it between your thumb and your forefinger and inspect it in the low light.

Part of you feels guilty that this is the first time you’ve looked at it in almost a year, that you can’t wear it, even on a chain around your neck, or at the very least that you can’t display it in some way. You shouldn’t have accepted it. But there’s no way you could have known it would have spent a year hidden away in a secret compartment in a wooden box, wrapped in the fabric of the trousers you can no longer wear.

You suppose there are things about the world your father couldn’t have thought to teach you.

He couldn’t have prepared you for everything you’ve learned here. How to break yourself down, brick by brick, and rebuild from the ground up. How to change how you talk, how you think. To change your personality to be more likable, less loud, less prominent. To change how you walk, how you stand, how you take up space. A good queen knows when to enhance her king’s spotlight, but also how to fade into the background. She’s firm but quiet. She defers to her husband’s opinions, she doesn’t shape them. And certainly, she knows naught of how the king’s court functions.

He could never have taught you that there’s a special kind of loneliness reserved only for future queens, when you arrive in a new city and no one knows you and no one likes you and no one wants to know or like you. You’ll just be another fixture in the Crownlands, a figurehead with no power, a vessel with no thoughts. There for one thing–maybe two, if you’re lucky–and ignored the rest of the time.

You miss home, miss having things to fill your time with. You miss the activity of Blackwood Castle–there was always something going on, even if it was something minor. Now, you feel as though you spend most of your time daintily draping yourself across chaises and windowsills, watching the world pass you by. You’d tried to go to the library once and were barred entry (“The queen has no need for such knowledge!”). You’d been banned from the council chambers (“How dare you embarrass your king in front of the Eastern traders!”). You couldn’t watch the knights spar, couldn’t sit by as the dog trainers did their work, couldn’t stroll the streets of the Castle Town.

The sound of guard boots in the hall draw your attention, and you jump, hurriedly re-wrapping the ring in cloth and slotting it and the two drawings back into the secret compartment in the box. You press the thistle flower and manage to wipe the rest of the dust off the front just as the door to your chamber opens.

Daniel stands there, the Realm’s unshakeable king, smelling of wine and grinning like the dog that caught the hare. He doesn’t say anything, merely shuts the door behind him and yanks the bolt in place to lock it. You embrace him as he approaches, allowing him to push you back onto the bed.

After he leaves, you stare at the ceiling and hope that someday soon, you’ll start to feel less hollow again.

It takes mere days for Yoongi to fully integrate into life in the Ironhold. Or, perhaps, integrate is the wrong word. It takes mere days for him to disappear. Once it’s clear he’s there to stay, he’s no longer a novelty, overshadowed by the wedding looming over the next couple days. He goes with you to dress fittings, sits behind you out of the way when you meet with the clergy. He even accompanies you to meet with the Queen Mother. You’re shocked that she allows him to stand in on your conversation, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re a little glad she does.

“My knights followed me everywhere over the years,” she says casually, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I expect you’d want yours to do the same, forest bumpkin though he is.”

The Queen Mother sits at a small table near the window. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, simply stares out at the garden as if she’s inspecting the very plants for quality of growth. It’s uncanny how much her sons have inherited from her. Daniel has the same intense, calculating gaze, and both he and Eden have her high cheekbones and downturned lips. They’ve all got the same dark, glossy hair and downturned eyes.

You stand there, waiting for her to address you again. It’s awkward, but you dare not move. You can feel Yoongi’s presence behind you–he’s been quiet all morning, but you can tell that he has thoughts about life in the castle. You ignore him. Instead, you focus your attention on the table in front of you and the Queen Mother’s cup of tea.

Finally, the Queen Mother brings her attention back in your direction, leveling a gaze at you that reminds you just how scrutinized you’ve been since you arrived at the Ironhold nearly a year ago. She studies you for a moment before raising her teacup to her lips. “I suppose you’re expecting me to give you the norigae for tomorrow’s ceremony.”

That had been why you thought she’d called this meeting. The seamstresses who’d been working on your gown said the Queen Mother would give you a lucky decoration. They’d said it was a big honor, that it was tradition. Now, you’re unsure. Still, though, you nod quietly.

The Queen Mother hums. Her gaze burns into you, and when you fidget where you stand, she frowns. “Danny has said that your dress is to be cream.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s not white.” Her tone is as sharp as her glare. It’s an accusation.

You swallow. “I do as my king asks.”

“The traditional norigae has been passed down for generations in the Choi family,” the Queen Mother says. She does not look at you, merely glares down at her tea cup. “It’s supposed to bring great luck to the marriage and many sons. It’s meant to be given to a king’s bride to both welcome her into the Choi family and celebrate the pure gift she brings with her.”

It scares you a little, how she says it. It almost sounds like a threat, though you aren’t quite sure what she’s threatening you with. What you do know, though, is that you probably should be scared of whatever it is.

“Do you think you deserve that?” she questions.

“I…”

You aren’t sure what to say. You aren’t sure there’s anything you can say. You’ve willingly allowed Daniel into your bed when he’s come calling. He’s the king and the man you are to marry. This is your life now.

Her question lingers as you wrack your brain for something–anything–to say. Thankfully, she puts you out of your misery.

“I suppose I must. Tradition is tradition, after all.” She sighs. “I will give it to the dressmakers tomorrow before the ceremony.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“You may go.” There is no room for argument.

The trek back through the gardens and to your chambers is silent. Yoongi is quiet as he follows you, the only signs that he’s there are his shadow following yours and his footsteps echoing off the stone floors of the castle. He shuts the door behind you as you enter your room, sliding the steel bolt into place to lock it.

“That’s not necessary,” you tell him, collapsing onto the chaise at the foot of your bed. You’re exhausted, and there’s something heavy growing in your chest. “You can return to your own chambers. I’ll call for you if I need anything.”

He doesn’t move, and when you look up at him, you can see the conflict in his eyes. After a moment, he seems to decide on something, because he takes a cautious step forward.

“You know you don’t have to put up with any of this.”

“What?” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

“We could run away.” He’s closer now, kneeling in front of you. Carefully, he takes your hand, holding it as though it were glass.

You shake your head. “You know that’s not possible.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand, dark eyes pleading. “We could go somewhere far away. Somewhere they couldn’t find you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“You’re exactly who I’m worried about.” His tone is firm. “This place is poison, it’s… it’s-”

“It’s fine, Yoongi.” His touch is electric on your skin, and you jerk your hand away, burned by his proximity. “This is my duty. This is my life.”

“It’s not fine!” He stands, clearly frustrated. “You don’t deserve how these assholes treat you. No one does. The Westerlands can deal with whatever comes from-”

“Loyalty does not yield.”

“Fuck that! Have some sense!”

“Get out.” You say it as loud as you dare, not wanting to draw the guards but desperate, so, so desperate, for him to leave. When he doesn’t move, you pick up the closest thing to you—a soft-bound journal—and throw it at him. The book hits him in the chest with a dull thud and plops to the ground.

A pillow follows. Then another. A blanket. Your hair brush. Anything you can get your hands on, you hurl in his direction. If he would just leave and let you rest. You’re exhausted. Dear God, why won’t he leave? Eventually, you’re out of ammunition, everything else around you being too heavy or too large to throw with any sort of accuracy. Yoongi, to his credit, has stayed stock-still throughout the ordeal, unflinching despite the onslaught.

You stalk over to him, blood pressure rising. There’s a headache stirring behind your eyes. The pit grows inside of you. “Go. Now.”

“No.” He says it so calmly.

“Stubborn fool. I will send you home.”

“Listen to yourself,” he pleads. “This isn’t you, you don’t-”

Your palm stings.

Why does your palm sting?

You look down, confused, and see your skin a shade of angry red. Movement in front of you draws your attention. For the first time since you’d thrown the journal, Yoongi moves. His hand comes up to cup his cheek; your gaze follows his arm as it moves. There, hidden by his hand, his skin begins to blossom pink.

It’s like you’re sucked out of your body. You can see yourself standing there, cradling your stinging hand, staring in bewilderment at the red that blooms across his skin. A silent moment passes. But then you feel something, deep within you. At first, it’s nothing more than a tremor, a slight tremble within you, but then it builds. Your heart races. Whatever was left of you—whatever you’d been able to claw and cobble together over the last year—implodes. You can feel it shatter within you, a thousand times more powerful than the initial destruction. And with it, you crumble.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, like he’s coming up on a wounded animal. “What can I do?” he asks, his voice soft, kind. “Tell me how I can help.”

“Leave,” you beg.

You regret it. You regret contacting your father. You regret asking him to send someone. Why you thought having any of them here would be helpful–or why you’d never considered it would be him–you’ll never know. You can survive here–you were surviving here. But at what cost?

It hits you hard, blindsiding you like a sudden storm. The truth is, you’re scared. What if the old you–the you he fell in love with… What if she’s gone? What if she can’t come back? What if she died the day you climbed into that carriage, replaced by this hollow husk of a person you are now?

You suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re here. Yoongi is here. Tomorrow, you will marry Daniel. And from there, you will take things as you have. One day at a time.

Eventually, you manage to pull yourself together. Your face still feels stiff and puffy, but you refuse to remove the cloth you’ve draped over the mirror, so you don’t know if it really is. You’ve got a headache–all the pressure behind your eyes and in your cheeks is enough to make you feel like your head is splitting open. Part of you just wants to go to sleep. But it’s barely mid-afternoon, and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re supposed to be doing.

The wedding is tomorrow, but you’ve gotten almost no direction from anyone on what should be happening. You suspect that something should be happening, but you have no idea what it could possibly be. As a child, you spent more time climbing trees and tormenting Namjoon with Yoongi than dreaming of your wedding, but even still. This feels like a business transaction.

A knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts, and it takes a moment for you to gather yourself. Your mind is a little hazy as you slide the bolt unlocked and open the door, but when you see Eden standing there, you force yourself to come to your senses. The prince bows slightly with his head, inclining it forward ever so slightly. It’s respectful, but only so much–he’s still the one with royal blood.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, stepping into the room. You haven’t really invited him in, but you step aside anyway and close the door behind him. “I heard that mother may have accosted you over the norigae this morning.”

“She was within her right,” you tell him softly.

Eden hums. “Still. You’re to be part of this family. Mother is just disappointed that she won’t be the most important woman in Daniel’s life anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s remotely true.”

He snorts, a wry smile on his lips. In the year you’ve been at the Ironhold, Eden has become your favorite person here. You don’t particularly trust him, but of everyone that lives in the Crownlands, he seems the most normal.

Casually, Eden wanders over to a window, looking out over the courtyard several levels below. “It is my hope that things will get easier for you in time.”

From where you’re sitting, that seems almost impossible. But you don’t want to quash his optimism. So you smile politely and nod.

“I brought you something,” Eden tells you, and the way he says it, it sounds almost like a conspiracy.

Carefully, he pulls a long strip of fabric out of his pocket. It’s a beautiful silk, red as blood–the chosen color of House Choi. He holds it out with both hands.

“Technically, my brother should be giving this to you,” he says as you take it. “But I don’t think he cares so much about keeping to every tradition. Just the ones that are convenient to him.”

You can feel something thin and hard inside the silk. Eden nods, and you gently unfold the fabric. Inside is a hairpin, shiny silver and around the length of your hand. The end is an intricate dragon head, expertly forged, and in its mouth, a bright red gem. The same dragon that stands resolutely on the Choi family crest. It’s pretty, but something about it makes your heart hurt.

“Tomorrow, you will become a dragon,” Eden says. “You should be able to dress like one.”

“Th-thank you.” You can barely manage it, and you hope that he takes your struggle as emotion and not the war that’s starting to wage within you.

After Eden leaves, the hours pass slowly. You aren’t sure what time it is when Daniel stops by your chambers. He barely speaks to you, but you can tell something is different about tonight. He stays longer after, falls asleep in your bed, on top of the coverlet. You aren’t sure when you drift off, only that you do.

You aren’t quite sure what wakes you up. It’s late. Or maybe early. It’s pitch dark–you can’t even see candles in the windows across the courtyard. Mysteriously, Daniel is still beside you. You’ve awoken on your side, so you can’t see him, but you can feel the dip in the mattress and the pull of his body on the blankets.

But there’s something else. Your blankets almost feel damp, the linen heavy with an extra weight. You sit up, curious, and immediately notice a spot that pools around Daniel. It’s soaked down deep into the mattress, the spot dark, almost black, in the dark of night. You reach out and touch it, and though you aren’t sure what you’re expecting, it’s sticky.

“My king?” you ask softly, touching his arm. He hasn’t moved since you woke, and you have a sinking sense that something is horribly wrong. When he doesn’t rouse, you shake him. “Daniel?”

There’s no response. His arm is stiff. He does not move. Your skin is sticky. You shake him harder, so hard that he rolls over. For a moment, you believe he’s awake. But then you see the cloth sticking out of his parted lips. And the gaping hole in his neck.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 10 months ago

Note

Love your bay children series! Can you please write how the bay turtles are as uncles and how their nephews and nieces are with them <3

Du skriver även jätte bra! Puss och kram

The Kids and Their Uncles (Fluff)

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: I’ve made these with the focus on you and said turtle’s childrens’ relationship with one of the uncles. Hope that makes sense, lol. Oh, btw, the advice Leo gives Mini is actually one my psychiatrist gave me. Hopefully it also works for others💚

Og mange tak! Jeg har også øvet mig længe💚

(D/W/N) = Donnie’s wife’s name.

Warnings: None💙❤️💜🧡

Leonardo:

“Uncle Mikey!”, 16 year old Romeo called out, holding his odachi high above his head, gleaming with pride when Michelangelo entered the dojo. “See what I can do!” What followed was a series of fast movements that ended with him posing with his odachi just in front of him, shining in the light.

Gerardo let out a sound of amazement, while Marcello rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Show off”.

“Wow, when did you learn that?”, Mikey smiled, knowing how hard his oldest nephew had trained, since Master Splinter first gave him his odachi at the age of 15.

“I learned it myself”, Romeo said proudly, before swinging the odachi in a manner that reminded Mikey of a teenage Leonardo. No doubt that was the oldest son of the fearless leader. “I’m going to show dad later. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“You’re asking if your father will be happy to see something you have learned yourself?”, Mikey asked, his serious tone breaking with his smile as he ruffled the top of Romeo’s head, letting his nephew know that he was joking. “Of course he will. That’s the kind of stuff that will make your old man proud”.

“Me too!”, Gerardo yelled out, mimicking his oldest brother’s moves, but without any weapon in his hands.

“Leo! Is that you?”, Mikey asked jokingly, making the 10 year old laugh loudly, before Romeo put his weapon away, so he and Gerardo engaged in some light hearted sparring, their laughter echoing loudly through the dojo.

Mikey turned to find his other nephew sitting in the corner of the room, watching his brothers run around with a small scowl. Mikey was no stranger to Marcello’s tempered episodes, having been present to many of them, or at least within ear shot. So as he made his way over to the 13 year old Marcello, he knew exactly what was going on. But he would let the young half mutant have a chance, at explaining what he was feeling.

“Hey there, big guy”, Mikey said, taking a seat on the floor next to the grumpy teenager. Marcello shot him a look and greeted him with a small hey, resting his chin in his hand. “Why are you sitting over here?”

“Because those two are taking up the whole dojo”, Marcello mumbled, nodding to his brothers. “A guy can’t get space around here”.

Mikey watched Marcello have his brothers for a moment, before he decided to stand, turning to his nephew with a smile. “Well, guess we then have to make some space”, he said, Marcello looking at him in curiosity. “Ever tried nunchucks before?”

“No”, Marcello answered, unable to hide his smile as he stood up. “Can I try yours?”

“Of course you can”, Mikey said, pulling his nunchucks from his belt, holding them out in front of Marcello, watching his face light up even further. And Mikey’s next words only served to make him smile even brighter. “Time to show your father something the others can’t”.

Raphael:

Raph had never really been good at meditating. He had never really liked it, and he generally had a hard time keeping his mind calm for so long. But he did really want his children to learn it. Or at least get familiar with it, should they ever get to a position where they would need it. And therefore Raph asked Leonardo for help. Leo had always been a natural at meditating, and had for the most part successfully taught his own children to do it, so maybe he could teach Raph’s children the same.

And that was how Leo ended up in the dojo with his nephew and two nieces, helping them clear their minds, the same way that had worked for his own children. But Leo soon found himself facing a difficult situation - these were his nieces and nephew, the children of his hot-tempered and at times inpatient brother. And that much was obvious, from the way the three children had a hard time sitting still, almost refusing to go too far into their own heads.

As Leo spoke about slow breathing, keeping their eyes closed, and bringing their thoughts to focus on the said breathing, only Joan seemed to be able to sit still, wanting to get this over with, so she could go back to whatever a 13 year old teenage girl liked to speed her time with. But her younger siblings weren't finding it as easy. 6 year old Ragnar had a hard time concentrating, his attention being grabbed by every sound outside the dojo, creating all sorts of images in his head. All from his mother and father watching television, to a monster breaking through the entrance of the lair, making him uneasy. Minerva however, just couldn’t sit right. Her legs kept falling asleep and her skin kept crawling, her knee impatiently bouncing in its bent position, pushing up against Joan, drawing an irritated sigh from the frustrated teen, who had just managed to empty her head for a short moment.

“Mini, stop moving your leg”, Leo said without opening his eyes, causing Ragnar to look at him in amazement. How did he do that?

“But, uncle Leo”, Mini said, laying down onto her back, stretching out on the dojo floor. “Meditation is so hard and boring”.

“If you shut up, it maybe wouldn’t be so hard”, Joan mumbled, shooting her little sister a look that made Mini sit back up.

Leo opened his eyes, taking a moment to study Mini as she still couldn’t sit still. “Can you say why it's hard and boring? It’s okay, there’s no right or wrong answer”.

Mini sat for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, thinking her answer through. "It's hard to empty my head”, the 9 year old mumbled.

Leo looked at Mini and thought for a moment, before he finally smiled at her, noticing the relieved expression on her face.

“That’s okay”, Leo said, adjusting his legs. “It’s very hard to just empty your head, especially when you’re used to thinking a lot. What you can do instead, is to notice your thoughts. Take note of them and let them be. Don’t fight them, but let them flow naturally. Hopefully that will feel easier”.

Mini nodded with a bright smile, before folding her legs once more, actually being able to sit still this time. Smiling at the sight, Leo turned his attention towards Ragnar, noticing how he kept throwing glances at the dojo doors.

“Do you want to sit next to me, Ragnar?”, Leo asked, holding out his hand to the small boy. Ragnar nodded before making his way over next to Leo, taking a good hold of his hand, before he sat down next to him with his legs crossed, for once not looking towards the door, when he heard the small sounds coming from the other side.

Donatello:

Sometimes it just happened, and Raph wasn’t really sure how. He would walk into a room, find his nephews and nieces playing with something, either with or without his own children, and suddenly he would be sitting down with them, playing along, all full of life and energy. And today wasn’t any different.

Raph had found his 10 year old nephew, Galileo at the kitchen table, scribbling away at pieces of paper with thick colorful crayons, and a concentrated expression on his face - one that very much reminded Raph of Donatello, whenever he was in deep concentration inside his lab.

Raph had asked Gali about what he was drawing, and soon he sat with his nephew at the kitchen table, drawing all sorts of stars and action heroes, causing Gali great amusement, as they took turns adding to the drawing. However, as the two of them continued their drawing game, they were soon joined by Marie and Dorothy.

The two 5 year old girls sat at the table, grabbing their own pieces of paper and a handful of crayons, only for their attention to be fully caught by Gali and Raph’s drawings. And of course, the two girls wanted in, wanting to join their older brother and their uncle.

“Can we play too?”, Dorothy asked, trying to touch the paper with her pink crayon, only for Gali to turn to her with a dirty look. A look that even Raph has seen many times, whenever Gali felt like his sisters crept in on his personal space.

“No, me and uncle Raph are busy”, Gali said, doing a hand movement, as if he was trying to shoo his sisters away.

“But we want to play!”, Marie whined, her green crayon in hand.

“I said no”, Gali said, turning his back on his sisters, pushing his paper further away from them. And of course, this action caused tears to gloss over the girls eyes, looking longingly at the paper he and Raph had been drawing on.

“You know what?”, Raph suddenly said, catching the attention of the three children once more. “I have a better idea”.

Standing from the table, Raph grabbed the stack of paper, before splaying them out over the kitchen table, until the whole surface was covered in the white paper. The three kids, seeming to understand what Raph was doing, looked up at their uncle with wide smiles, grabbing onto the crayons with excitement.

“Let’s draw the biggest drawing ever!”, Raph said, watching with a happy smile, his nephew and niece smiled at each other, before turning their attention towards the many papers in front of them.

As Raph and three kids continued their drawing, the other kids slowly came to the table, taking a look before adding onto the large piece themselves. It didn’t take long before all the kids of the lair sat around the kitchen table, drawing until there was almost no crayons left.

Michelangelo:

1.5 year old Luis had been sick for a few days now, crying for both you and Mikey at all times. The poor little guy was teething, and with that came sickness and pain, and so, you and Mikey was hung up, spending most of your time with your crying child, trying to soothe the pain in his gums. And this left Sunny BORED. Ever since Luis had gotten sick due to his teething, Sunny had been a bored and sighing mess. She wandered around the lair, waiting for the moment Luis got better, so either you, Mikey or maybe even Luis could come play with her. But until then, she would have to entertain herself, or find someone else to do so. And that was how she ended up in the lab with her uncle, draping herself over a small table on the other side of the room, with a small installation of the solar system on it.

Donnie saw his niece enter the lair, and spoke to her without looking away from his work. “Hey, Sunny. How’s it going?”

“Bored!”, Sunny groaned, resting her chin on the table, her eyes staring at the small earth in front of her. “Luis’ sick, so there’s nothing to do”.

“That doesn’t sound good”, Donnie said, turning his chair so he could watch Sunny, making sure she wasn’t getting her fingers into something she shouldn’t. She had a tendency to touch whatever she found interesting. And just as Donnie had thought, she was now poking at the miniature solar system. “Have you asked Gali if he wants to play?”

“He’s reading with aunt (D/W/N)”, the girl mumbled. However, her flighty attention and curiosity was very soon taken by the miniature she was playing with. “What is this?”

“That?”, Donnie asked, rolling his chair over to her. “That’s the solar system. The one you’re touching right now is earth”.

“Earth”, Sunny repeated, her attention jumping to the small white ball beside it. “What’s this?”

“That’s the moon”, Donnie answered.

“The moon?”, Sunny asked, her eyes shining with excitement. “Like the one in the sky?”

“Yes”, Donnie smiled. “Like the one in the sky”.

“Do there live fairies on the moon?”, Sunny asked, pushing the moon spindle, so it made a rush of circles around the earth.

Donnie chuckled at her question. She was truely Mikey’s daughter.

“Do you want fairies to live on the moon?”, Donnie asked, watching Sunny study the solar system. His niece looked at him and nodded. “Then in that case, there lives moon fairies on the moon. But they are hard to find. They neither like robots or beings that aren’t fairies themselves”.

“But I’m a fairy!”, Sunny exclaimed.

“You are!?”, Donnie asked, acting surprised. He looked around, acting as if he was thinking, making Sunny laugh. “But we’re in my lab! There are robots! Come on fairy, let’s get you out of here and find some of your fairy friends!”

And with a loud giggle, Sunny ran out of the room, waiting for Donnie to close the door to the lab behind him, before they continued their fairy game in the living area.

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senlinyu · 2 years ago

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Since ao3 is down, here is a thing that was supposed to be a twitter drabble but it got too long so I forgot about it for eight months.

Dying Wish

//open ended, pining Draco, theomione, Dramione (vaguely), Tragic Theo.

Almost everyone said that Theodore Nott marrying Hermione Granger was unexpected but not surprising. Theo had always been academically insufferable, and Granger was infamously so. The relationship could have almost been called inevitable.

Everyone had stories about the absurdly saccharine workplace romance that unfolded. Coworkers by coincidence, they both showed up for a cancelled meeting, the waiting led to a shared project, and from there a whirlwind relationship.

They were engaged within a year.

A beautiful couple, a perfect match. Despite Theo possessing the near fatal flaw of having been in Slytherin, he compensated for any suspicion held by Granger’s friends by having a tragic life story practically from the moment of conception. A mother who’d died horribly young, and a monster of a father who’d always considered his son a bitter disappointment.

Theo had never taken the Dark Mark, he’d played no part in the war. He was self-deprecating and funny, and knew how to make people like him because he cared about people liking him. The kind of man who was perfectly happy to become ‘Hermione Granger’s husband,’ unlike the previous boyfriends who always wanted her bright but not ‘too bright’.

Draco was happy for Theo. In a very detached and uninvolved way. He wasn’t such a cunt that he would resent his best friend for finding love, even if it was with a person he habitually went out of his way to avoid.

Granger was, after all, a menace with a vicious protective streak, and a known right hook. Draco, in fact, knew it personally. No one was ever going to hurt Theo again, she would make sure of it.

Theo, for his part, had spent his entire life looking for someone who’d let him love them completely. Someone to give his heart and soul to. His adoration for Granger was nauseating, an ocean of unplumbed depths.

The stars seemed to align for them, every piece falling into place to create a perfect match: Two positively revolting swots joined in matrimonial bliss, happy as could be.

No one asked Draco if he wanted to be in excruciating proximity to the entire affair, and yet he somehow was. He helped Theo plan his proposal, and then had to listen to Theo practise his speech over and over without wincing, and then illuminate over five hundred fairy lights , cue a quartet, and then fling a garden’s worth of rose petals into the air, before apparating silently away.

He was the best man. He planned Theo’s stag night. Slapped him across the face when he started hyperventilating, kept the rings from getting lost, and signed as witness to the union.

When it was done and they were off on their honeymoon, he left the reception, and went to Greece for six months in order to detox from the entire revolting affair.

When he finally forced himself to go back, he coddled himself by ignoring most of their invitations, and only accepted the ones where he could arrive late and leave early and barely speak to the hosts.

Eventually Theo stopped bothering him.

After all, it was bad enough to hear how revoltingly happy they were together without seeing them.

Malfoys were emotionally repressed on principle. His father used to say that falling in love was something only poor people did.

If Draco had to witness Granger making cow eyes at Theo, he would suffer indigestion, and his mother had always said he was constitutionally delicate.

He didn’t particularly like company anyway, and Theo’s friends were mostly Granger’s friends, which was not a circle Draco ever felt comfortable in.

His uninvolvement was going swimmingly until he received a short, informal note in shaky writing.

‘I need to see you. Please come. Theo.’

Draco had always been better at refusing formal invitations than personal ones. What the fuck would Theo suddenly want? After all these years?

He tried to ignore it, but the vagueness ate at him, niggling at his curiosity until he gritted his teeth and apparated to Nott manor.

Instead of an elf, or a butler at least answering the door it was Granger herself who opened it.

“Malfoy, you’ve finally come. Theo will be so relieved.”

He swallowed hard.

It had been a few years since he’d seen her in person. Wasn’t she supposed to be blissfully married? Weren’t happy people supposed to glow or something?

She’d been glowing at the wedding. Draco remembered all clearly the way her face had lit up when all the lights illuminated and music started, and Theo, despite Draco’s repeated warnings, was on his knees reciting a poem he’d written for her.

Draco had nearly died from second hand embarrassment.

The memory of how happy she’d looked while Theo compared her to the moon in iambic pentameter before hundreds of people, had been seared irrevocably into his skull. It would probably still haunt when he was a ghost.

She was not glowing at all now. She looked sad, and tired.

“Granger,” he said, even though he was excruciatingly aware that she was married.

He expected her to correct him out of habit, and then he’d retort that she would always be Granger to him, and then they would exchange empty banter and it would pass as conversation, but instead she just said, “Theo’s upstairs,” and led the way.

Draco expected to be led to a study, or a horrible mad scientist type lab designed for two, but instead it was a dark bedroom.

Draco baulked at the doorway, and Granger went in. He could hear the hushed murmur of voices and then she came back.

“He’s awake and having a good day, call if you need anything.” Then she left him there.

Draco watched her vanish back down the stairs before setting his jaw and entering the room. Theo was pale as a sheet, propped up with pillows, his face lit up at the sight of Draco.

“You did come, you old bastard.”

“Yes,” Draco said awkwardly. “Is Granger finally poisoning you for your family fortune?”

He’d prefer to avoid greetings or comments about how long it had been, or asking what was wrong. It was clear that something was incredibly wrong. Theo was thin and greyish, everything about him faded, not at all the picture of health Draco had assumed he would be.

That he was supposed to be.

Theo gave a wan smile. “I wouldn’t blame her, but no. My mother, you might not remember, it was a maladiction that killed her. Apparently I inherited it. Another thing my father didn’t manage to beat out of me.”

Draco’s chest clenched. “Theo, I’m—”

Theo shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve—worked through it. Mostly. There are stages to grief apparently. That’s what the books say. I’ve moved through denial, anger, bargaining and depression. It’s not entirely a linear process but I’m mostly at the acceptance point now. Figured we should say goodbye.”

Draco just stared at him. “You can’t be serious. You invited me here for goodbyes? Fuck off. You can’t just give up like that. You’re married. You have a wife, you can’t die and leave—“

“If there was a fucking cure, Hermione would have found it,” Theo cut him off, his usually soft voice hardening in a defensive way that startled Draco. “We’ve looked. We’ve tried everything. You’d know that, if you’d ever come around. She’s been trying for years. Admitting she couldn’t—she tried so hard.”

Draco felt like he’d been struck. “I—I’m sorry. Of course you did. I’ve been away. Busy. I have responsibilities.”

Theo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s alright, I know now why you didn’t.”

Theo sat up slowly. His body seemed shrunken, like a breath of wind could carry him away. “That’s why I needed to see you. I wanted to apologise. I’m sorry for not realising it sooner. I should have. Looking back—it’s so obvious.”

Draco forced a laugh. He had no idea what Theo was talking about but he was really not enjoying the conversation.

“Realising what? What’s obvious?”

“That you’re in love with Hermione.”

Draco’s entire body went stiff, something inside him crumbled and died as his heart stopped completely. His voice failed him the first several times he tried to speak. He looked away, clearing his throat repeatedly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You sound mad.” He fidgeted with the potions on Theo’s bedside table, peering at them. “What kind of potions does Granger have you on?”

Theo slumped back, his eyes fluttering closed, his eyelids looked almost bruised with exhaustion. “I think back a lot. Mostly the years since the war, once my father was gone and things were getting better. I was remembering how much time we used to spend together. You were doing community service for probation, that elves thing Hermione founded. And I was going from one bad relationship to the next like some sad puppy.” He opened his eyes. “I was remembering how whenever I told you about anyone I dated, you always used to sneer and said they weren’t good enough for me, and gave the worst relationship advice ever. You Sabotaged me.”

“You had terrible taste,” Draco retorted, still sorting through the potions and still not liking at all the direction the conversation was going in. “It was a mercy on my part.”

“When I told you about Hermione, that I ran into her, and I asked you what you thought, do you remember what you said?”

“I can’t say I do,” Draco lied.

“You said I’d never be good enough for her. Then the next week, you came around again, and I remember you looked terrible and I assumed you’d had another fight with your parents, and you told me if I was serious, I should get a job at the Ministry, mentioned the rumour she’d had a time-turner at school. She was the only person you gave useful relationship advice about. Looking back, I don’t think it would have happened without you. Any of it.”

“Theo—“ Draco shifted awkwardly, having run out of potions to look at, “—it was just a joke, You can’t assume things like that. Granger? Really? Of anyone I could have feelings for. Your wife?” He exhaled raggedly. “Have you forgotten our history? Unlike you, I was a Death Eater. I was in the war. Even before then, I was awful, and they brought her to the manor and I—“

He’s rambling, he knew he was rambling. He needed to fucking shut up.

“I would never have been able to—“ His voice failed and there was a stone lodged in the bottom of his throat and he just stood there trying to keep from smashing everything within reach.

He needed a drink.

He threw a hand up, suddenly angry and turned on Theo, glaring. “It was just a fucking joke. I don’t even remember it.”

Theo simply nodded. “You were right though. I wasn’t good enough for her.”

Draco scoffed at that, turning away, inspecting the view. “I’m sure you did just fine. I always heard that you two were revoltingly happy. People said you were like some storybook couple. You two were good for each other—that’s really all that—“

He was stammering again.

He cut himself off. “You were happy together. Everyone said you made her happy. And I don’t do happiness, it gives me a rash.”

“Shut up,” Theo’s voice sharpened. “Fuck. I forgot how much you talk when you’re lying.”

He gave a heavy sigh. “You wanted us together, didn’t you? You engineered it.”

Draco gave a long suffering sigh. “Theo, you’re a moron. Just because you claim to be dying doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with a conspiracy theory that I’m in love with your wife.”

“Fuck off. You were my only friend, and you were the only reason I didn’t accidentally sabotage the relationship. All the times I would have rushed things, you stopped me. You were the reason why I managed to pull off all my harebrain romantic schemes. You made it work. And somehow I ended up married with the friends and family I always wanted, that you knew I wanted, and where the fuck did you go? Where have you been since then? Not here, that's for sure.”

Draco glanced out the window. “You wanted a new start, Theo. It was all you talked about once your father was in Azkaban. I was the past. Once you were married, you didn’t need me anymore. I was a hindrance.”

“You manipulated me,” Theo said, looking unreasonably infuriated for someone who’d gotten to marry the love of his life. “You self-loathing fuck. You thought you had it all worked out, had everything puppet-mastered. You nudged me right into her path to love her for you. Pushed us together so you would be alone the way you’ve convinced yourself you deserve to be.” He sounded winded. “Fuck. I’d punch you if I had the strength. And the thing I’m the most pissed off about, is that I was so enamoured, I didn’t notice. I thought it all worked perfectly that time because it was meant to.”

If Theo was expecting a confession he was going to be terribly disappointed.

“Maybe it did. I don’t know what you expect me to say about any of this. Even if any of that were true, what does it matter?”

“It matters,” Theo said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“It matters because you have to take care of her when I’m gone.”

Draco’s heart stalled for a second time, but he recovered faster. “I’m sure you can get everything arranged in advance so she’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now. I can’t ask her friends to do this. They love her, but they don’t understand how to care for her. She takes care of everyone, but she doesn’t remember to take care of herself. She needs someone to be selfish for her, who will do whatever it takes to put her first. I can’t be your proxy anymore, it has to be you now.”

Draco’s neatly manicured nails were biting into his palm, he didn’t even know when his fists had clenched. “Theo…”

“I have spent so much time worrying about her, feeling like I can’t go because who’d be here to make sure she was alright. I’ve considered everyone, and when I got to you, I brushed you off at first, because you used to talk about how you couldn’t stand her. But eventually I wondered, why did you do so much to bring us together? If you really hated her so much. You always knew what she’d like. You figured things out about her that it took me ages to piece together. And you’re actually a rather shit liar, now that I’ve been thinking about it, if you’d really hated her, you would have been a lot nastier than you were.”

“I still don’t see the point in this conversation,” Draco said in a bored tone. “Granger can take care of herself. Especially with your fortune.”

Theo exhaled, like he was too tired now to fight anymore. “You are missing the point on purpose and we both know it.”

Draco did not know any such thing, still it was difficult to keep looking at Theo and he turned away.

“You did a good job at it. I’ll admit, you are the manipulative person I have ever known, if I weren’t dying, I probably would have never known. But now it’s my turn to be manipulative.”

“Well a good rule of thumb is not to tell the person you’re trying to manipulate that you’re doing it,” Draco said in a dry voice, turning to face him.

Theo was holding up his wand and had a wry smile on his face. “Fair enough. But I do have one final piece of leverage.”

Comprehension slowly dawned on him. “Theo, don’t you—“

“Draco Malfoy, it is my dying wish that you care for my wife when I am gone. Support her in her grief, and help her find joy in her future. Be there for her once I can’t be. Help her find herself again. Do you accept?”

Death Wishes were magic out of old grimoires. The kind that only insufferable people like Theo Nott would know how to perform.

Usually they were curses pronounced as the person died, but a rare iteration was rather like an Unbreakable Vow, if Draco refused, Theo would not pass on after death but instead linger as a ghost, attempting to fulfil the wish himself. If Draco accepted and then broke his word, Theo would come back from the afterlife and haunt him.

Bullshit all around either way.

Theo’s wand pulsed with magic, waiting for Draco’s answer.

Draco stood glaring at him. “I hate you.”

Theo glared right back. “If you weren’t such a self-sabotaging, self-loathing moron I wouldn’t have to do this. You think I want you hanging around my wife? I don’t. But being your proxy was also a shit realisation, consider this my way of getting even. You will make Hermione happy and you will get over your self-hatred and do it yourself this time or I will haunt you and I will make sure Hermione knows exactly why it is that I’m doing it. Do you accept?”

The magic was humming louder, growing brighter and Theo was beginning to turn translucent as though the magic was draining his life from him.

“Fine. Yes! I accept.”

The magic flared out and flew across the room, striking Draco and fading into him. He clutched at his chest but the light had gone.

He looked up.

“Fuck you, you manipulative bastard,” Draco finally said, his heart was pounding.

Theo just gave another wry smile. “You know, that’s exactly what I wanted to say when you walked in.” He sank back into bed, looking winded. “I’m glad you came to see me. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t and I was going to have to come up with a whole extra scheme. You saved me a lot of trouble. All worth it for Hermione though, right?”

Draco turned without another word and headed toward the door, desperate to be gone, even though he could feel Theo’s wish like a brand inside his soul waiting to come alive.

“You should go see Hermione,” Theo’s voice followed him, already threatening to haunt him. “You know, she admitted once to fancying you a bit back when you were volunteering at the charity. She’d planned to ask you out, but you never came around after your probation was over.”

#Dramione #draco malfoy #theomione

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 1 year ago

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chapter xxiii – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 4,500+

masterlist

“You are being awfully quiet, my dear.”

Y/N blinked, getting mentally awoken by Leonora’s comment. “Sorry, I just…I don’t think the hand-made gown tailored specifically for me was necessary.”

Leonora looked confused. “And why is that?”

Y/N’s gaze couldn’t lift from the floor as she answered, “I do not think it is wise for me to attend the celebration.”

All of the servants and seamstresses froze from the statement and subtly looked at their Lady of Autumn for indication of how they should react.

But Leonora, calm and collected per usual, just gave Y/N a gentle smile. She nodded to the seamstress that was kneeling at Y/N’s foot to continue her work.

Then she looked up at Y/N without judgment or worry, but with an encouraging smirk and soft eyes. “Why would it not be wise for the mate of our new High Lord to attend his coronation, Y/N?”

The witch finally looked up from the ground to meet her gaze. “Will it not give the people of his Court the wrong idea? I am not the next Lady of Autumn, nor have I accepted his bond. I do not wish to put Eris in an uncomfortable position.”

Leonora gave a sad nod. “I see…” she sighed.

She turned around and gave everyone in the room a soft request to leave the two of them.

Y/N’s heart started beating faster as she watched them all quietly exit.

Was Leonora about to scold her? Yell at her for refusing to accept her son as his mate?

No, that couldn’t be it.

Leonora had been nothing but kind to Y/N since they met. Never once did she pressure her on behalf of Eris. She hardly ever brought up their relationship. Most of the time, Y/N felt like Leonora was just happy to have a new female friend in the Forest House, especially after so long of being a prisoner here.

Leonora offered Y/N her hand to help her off the platform she was standing on for the seamstresses. Then she held both of her hands gently as she told her, “You forget, Y/N, that you are more to Autumn Court than simply the mate of its new High Lord.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Leonora smiled. “You are their savior. Yes, it was Eris who slayed Beron in the end. But he would not have had the courage or strength to do so without you. Most in this Court despised and feared Beron Vanserra. You have given this Court a chance for change.”

Y/N’s face grew hot from the praise.

Leonora gave her a sympathetic look before adding, “But also I cannot say that as Eris’ mother, I do not also have selfish motives, as well. You make him stronger. I worry how he will be if he if he goes through such a coronation alone.”

“But you and Lucien will be there,” Y/N tried to argue.

Leonora tilted her head and gave her a look. “It is not the same, and I think you know that, my dear.”

Then she looked down at the beginnings of the dress on Y/N’s body that the seamstresses had begun.

“As for the dress, Eris wishes to spoil you with finery and I can’t argue with his intentions,” Leonora teased with a smirk.

But her expression sobered. “However, I know neither he nor anyone else will fault you for avoiding such a celebration. So much has been thrust upon you, and in so little time. You must do what is best for you.”

Y/N frowned and looked down at herself. “I will let them finish the dress – if only to please everyone. I would feel bad for throwing away all their hard work they’ve already done.”

Leonora nodded. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”

–🍁–🍁–🍁–

In the following weeks, the Forest House was bustling with activity.

Apparently, the coronation included inviting every High Lord and Lady of of Prythian.

Which meant the servants and cooks were frantic with preparations. Lucien had explained to her that the staff saw this as an opportunity to show why Autumn Court should be considered the best of Prythian. With a new High Lord came a new chance to prove that Autumn Court could change for the better and they were not to be overlooked.

Therefore, Y/N tried to stay out of everyone’s way. She either hid in the library, continuing her personal research or she was in her workshop, keeping herself busy with spells and potions.

However, on the day of the coronation, she stayed hidden in her bedchambers, scared that leaving would only bring attention to the fact that she would not be attending the festivities.

Maids and seamstresses had knocked on her door early in the morning. But Y/N simply ignored them, not wanting to see the looks of disappointment when she told them she would not be going to the coronation.

Y/N tried to distract herself by the fire, sitting on a chaise lounge with a romance novel in hand when more aggressive knocking came at the door.

She planned on ignoring it again, but then she recognized the group of voices on the other side.

“Y/N, if you do not open the door, we will break it down!” Nesta threatened loudly.

She jumped up and hurried to the door to whip it open.

On the other side, were her three Valkyrie sisters: Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie.

Not only that, but they clearly dressed and done up for the coronation.

Nesta wore a simple black, velvet dress. But it was not simple in the way that it fit her body like a glove and edged toward risqué. Y/N had always appreciated how Night Court attire never strayed from being seductive and showing skin. Gwyn wore a more elegant black dress, which made Y/N wonder if Nesta was using her mate’s money to buy her friends luxurious gowns. Emerie wore leathers, that could have been a warrior’s uniform, over pants. Though less feminine, they were still formal and lavish in their own way.

When the Illyrian saw Y/N eyeing her outfit, she shrugged. “I was never really one for gowns…”

“You all look beautiful,” Y/N muttered. “B-But w-what are you doing here?” Y/N gasped in shock.

“We’re here for you, obviously!” Gwyn urged and pulled Y/N into a warm hug.

“Eris invited us,” Emerie confirmed with a smile, also walking into her rooms.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Nesta asked, looking Y/N up and down as she closed the door behind them.

Y/N frowned. “I…I am not going.” Her eyes stayed down, scared to see their reactions to such a confession.

But, without hesitation, Gwyn announced, “Then we will stay in here and drink ourselves silly!”

Y/N’s jaw dropped at how unfazed her friends were. “B-But you will miss the festivities. And you all look so lovely.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “This will not be our last opportunity to dress up. We would much rather hang out with you than all the stuffy High Lords and their nobles.”

Then Emerie nudged Nesta. “But we must still tell her our plan.”

“Plan?” Y/N questioned, eyes scanning all of them.

“Helion Spell-Cleaver will be in attendance!” Gwyn squealed.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, immediately thinking of Leonora and Lucien. She wondered if the Lady of Autumn would ever reveal to her past lover and her youngest son of the secret relation. Or if Leonora would ever follow her heart and return to Helion.

“Yes, all of the High Lord’s have been invited…” Y/N muttered, not understanding their clear excitement.

“Helion is the sole owner of the last of the pegasuses,” Emerie explained.

Nesta rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “And he makes sure to remind everyone of it, using them as his transport to any event he possibly can.”

Y/N’s amusement dropped for concern. “Please, please, please tell me you do not plan on stealing Helion’s pegasuses.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gwyn brushed off. “However, we do plan on sneaking into their enclosure to give them some pets.”

“And perhaps seducing Helion into giving us one or two…” Nesta added while looking at her nails. Y/N gaped at her. “What? He’s already propositioned me to join an orgy once when I visited Day Court.”

“Yes, before you accepted Cassian as your mate!” Emerie pointed out.

Nesta quirked a brow. “Who said Cassian would not be participating?”

“Those smutty books of yours have given you too many ideas,” Y/N laughed.

“More like inspiration,” Nesta corrected. “And inspiration that my mate is very enthusiastic about trying.” Then she pointed to the book Y/N had been reading when they arrived and quirked a brow. "Do not pretend you are above them."

“OK. Enough about your bedroom habits!” Gwyn interrupted. Then she turned her attention to Y/N. “Are you in or are you out?”

The witch smiled. “Of course I’m in.”

Minutes later, they were sneaking around the Forest House, Y/N led them toward where she assumed any guests horses would be quartered for the night.

But before they could reach it, a gust of wind wrapped around the females.

“He…needs…you,” The wind whispered to Y/N. “Go…to…him. He cannot…do this…without you.”

Y/N froze in the hallway.

“What? What is it?” Emerie asked.

“I-I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. “Eris needs me. I will catch up to you later.”

“Oh, for Cauldron’s sake!” Gwyn cried. “As if we would make you go alone.”

“She’s right,” Nesta added. “Someone needs to do your hair and makeup.”

–🍁–🍁–🍁–

Eris swore his back had a metal pole along his spine with out tense and stiff his posture was. He knew his expressions were cold and unwelcoming. But he was in a room with too many people he had yet to decipher friend or foe. The nobles of Autumn Court smiled at him, but most only wanted good favor with the new High Lord. And for those that weren’t smiling, there were plenty that looked at him with fear or uneasiness, trying to gauge if he was just as bad as Beron.

His mother kept giving him tense, but encouraging smiles every time he spotted her in the crowded hall.

When to use his mask and when to reveal his true self, Eris did not know.

It was easier when Y/N was by his side. She eased him, reminded him of who he truly was. The mask never felt needed when her scent surrounded him.

But his mate was not here, nor was she coming.

And Eris couldn’t blame her. These events of politics and groveling were conniving at their best and boring at their worst. If he could skip it too, he would have. But that was no way to officially take over the throne of a broken court that needed mending.

Eris once again caught sight of a group of courtier daughters. They whispered and giggled at him, hardly even bothering to subdue their staring. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed how they seemed to edge closer and closer as the night went on.

Yes, Eris was handsome and powerful. Female attention was not something he was unaccustomed to. But he knew what those females were truly after were the wealth and power being married to a High Lord would bring. It didn’t matter that everyone knew of his mortal witch mate. They wanted him for themselves regardless.

His attire did nothing to help him blend in to the crowd. New, custom armor glinted against the thousands of candles and faelight surrounding them. And the blood red cloak stood out – even in Autumn Court.

Eris threw back the rest of his faerie wine, hoping he could get drunk enough to keep his wits about him, while also making the evening go by faster.

“Another?” A male voice offered from over his shoulder.

Eris turned to see Rhysand handing him another full glass, Feyre glued to his side with a knowing smirk.

“I promise I did not poison it,” Rhysand added.

“At this point, you would be doing me a favor,” Eris grumbled, taking a sip immediately.

Rhysand smirked. “Already over being High Lord, Eris?”

“I became High Lord to make my Court a better place, not to rub shoulders with nobles and courtiers who wish to use me to gain favor…”

“And I’m sure being away from Y/N is only making your mood more sour,” Feyre muttered more teasingly.

“She may do what pleases her. I’m sure her Valkyries have found her by now and are keeping her company.”

“Are you quite sure about that…” Feyre asked as she looked behind Eris.

The High Lord of Autumn Court quickly turned to follow her gaze.

At the entrance of the great hall stood Y/N.

Eris felt the invisible string attached to his heart go taut. A feeling Y/N had not experienced, and probably never would.

Despite her entrance not being formally announced, many had gone quiet and began to stare.

Someone had pulled Y/N’s hair up and done her makeup. Though Eris found her beautiful regardless, the level of glamour around her made her magnetic.

Meanwhile, Y/N held her head high as she slowly, yet confidently, walked further into the room. She was doing a good job of ignoring the scrutiny, but Eris could tell that she was more than aware of the staring.

Her dress fit her perfectly. And while most attendees wore green and the rustic browns of the court, Y/N had not strayed away from vibrant red, almost looking as if she were glowing like fire itself. Eris realized it matched with his own cloak. There were strips of black in her gown that felt like a call out to her short time in Night Court, where she had already gained respect and acceptance.

Eris wanted to go to her immediately. But he had to hold himself back. There was a reason she was late and walked in alone, instead of on his arm. It was clear that she worried about making his court believe she had accepted the mating bond.

But if Eris had his way, he’d use his magic to shove everyone out of the path from Y/N to him. He’d stop any conversation he was having – no matter how rude or undiplomatic it was – to give her his full attention and affection.

“Will you not go to her?” Feyre asked, concern obvious in her tone.

Y/N’s friends of the Night Court were unaware of the the change in her relationship with the High Lord of Autumn. They did not realize how far the two had come, how much had changed. Everything was so much more complicated than how it had begun: a male desperately hiding his mate in a court that was not his.

–🍁–

Y/N felt the eyes on her. She wondered if all of them were judgment or if there was also just innocent curiosity.

She wished she’d forced the Valkyries to drink heavily with her before leaving her bedchambers, because being sober for this felt like a cruel torture.

The three of them convinced Y/N that she needed to walk in without them. That she needed to walk in confident and independent.

But Y/N underestimated how many stares she'd receive in return.

So, she decided to straight line to where refreshments were being served. Feyre had once warned her away from fae wine, for it is far too strong for mortals to consume in the same manner as fae.

But right now, Y/N didn’t care.

Of course she couldn’t make it there without overhearing a group of females. Whether they had noticed her arrival, she had yet to discern.

“Now that his dreadful father is dead, I wonder where the High Lord will find his…entertainment,” one female said somewhat quietly.

Another chimed in with, “I once heard he would only bed harlots at pleasure halls in other Courts, in fear that Beron would kill any female who could sire a child from him.”

“But now he has a mate. Surely that means any and all of our efforts will be wasted,” a third female added.

“Oh, please.” The first female scoffed. Y/N didn’t have to look at her to know that she was rolling her eyes. “She is not even a fae. Truly, how long do you believe we will have to stay away before her mortal life ends?”

This is a terrible mistake, Y/N thought. She should have never shown her face here. This was exactly what she had been wanting to avoid.

Obviously Eris was a desired male – High Lord or not. And who was she to get in the way of him finding a suitor that was of his Court, of his own kind?

But, suddenly, the females stopped talking abruptly.

Had they finally noticed Y/N’s presence? Did they even care enough to make sure she didn’t overhear such things?

“High Lord Eris,” the first one greeted overly sweet. “How lovely of you to join us.”

Y/N whipped around to find Eris’ eyes already locked to hers as he stood a few feet away from her.

He ignored the female High Fae entirely, not even glancing in her direction.

Y/N didn’t know how to address him in such a setting. She looked around before starting to lower her head into a bow.

You do not bow to anyone, Rhysand’s voice suddenly snuck into her head.

With her dress and fanciful jewelry, Y/N had removed her protective amulet that stopped any daemati from entering her mind. That meant the High Lord and Lady of Night Court were free to speak to her mind freely.

Ignore them, Rhysand added. He has been waiting for you all night.

Eris didn’t greet Y/N verbally. Because nothing would’ve felt right.

But his eyes said everything.

And slowly he offered her his hand.

Y/N’s chest heaved as she put her glass down before stepping forward and lightly placing her hand in his grip.

Without breaking eye contact, Eris lowered his mouth and kissed it.

Without hesitating, he pulled Y/N to him and tucked her hand under his arm so it gripped his bicep. Then he placed his other hand over it, securing her further to his side.

Without asking for direction, Y/N quietly followed him as he guided them to the center of the room.

There was suddenly a female gasp from behind them. Eris didn’t turn, but Y/N looked over her shoulder to see that the first female from the group was covered in red wine. So much so that it was dripping off of her fine gown.

And there was Nesta… holding an empty glass with a smug, but melodramatically innocent look. Gwyn and Emerie were trying to hide their amusement.

"My mistake," Nesta gasped deviously.

Y/N didn’t know when her friends had joined her, but clearly it was early enough that they had caught the dreadful things those females had been saying about her and her mate with their fae hearing.

Then there was a screech of fear and a soft growl.

She looked down to see that her new little pet fox, Ronan, was nipping and growling at the group of rude females. How he escaped from her bedchambers was beyond her. But clearly he didn’t like being away from her.

Y/N bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at the sight.

Then she whistled softly and Ronan’s head snapped in her direction. He didn’t need another command, so he floppily ran to her and Eris, trotting along beside them.

When she turned forward again, Y/N realized Eris was leading them to the throne.

And with the wave of his hand, Eris pushed his throne over a foot and a second one appeared magically beside it.

Y/N’s head whipped to him, wanting to ask him what in the Cauldron he was doing.

But then she realized he was making a statement. There were some who would question her and her relationship with their new High Lord. But Eris was announcing to everyone that she was to be treated and respected as their High Lady, whether she accepted his bond or not.

“Eris,” she whispered in a hiss.

Her anxiety was skyrocketing at the statement he was about to make.

But he ignored her subtle plea, and instead just said, “Head high, little witch.”

He guided her carefully up the steps that led to the throne and waited for her to sit before he took his own.

The room quieted and turned their attention to Eris.

Y/N controlled her expressions, but her heart was racing from confusion of what she was meant to do.

They will crown him now, Rhysand’s voice entered Y/N’s mind again. He wants you at his side, therefore you belong there. Act like you know it.

Y/N found both Rhysand and Feyre in the crowd, which was fairly easy since they were the only people wearing black in a sea of mostly Autumn Colors – except for the other High Lords that were in attendance.

The couple gave her encouraging grins. Then she found Cassian, Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie standing next to them, doing the same.

Cassian gave her a proud and beaming smile.

Y/N listened as one of Eris’ advisors started speaking the ritual of crowning the newest High Lord.

It was shorter than she expected. Though she struggled with paying attention, too focused on maintaining her posture and composure while being put on the same display as Eris.

Then the advisor was standing behind Eris, slowly lowering a rustic golden crown atop his head. It was in the shape of fallen leaves, with subtle hints of autumn red and green in the detailing.

As soon as it settled on his head, Eris turned to Y/N with his hand outstretched to her.

Without hesitation, she took it.

Together they stood.

The room immediately lowered into a bow – except for the other High Lords, who only subtly bowed their head in respect.

Y/N found Leonora’s gaze amongst them and she had a proud smile on her lips, but it was not only directed at her son.

Eris helped Y/N sit once again.

People started moving closer toward the throne.

Y/N realized the courtiers and lords were swearing their allegiance now.

A male high fae stepped forward first, bowing his strawberry blonde head deeply.

“Lord Foley,” Eris greeted indifferently.

The male bowed his head again and then turned his gaze to Y/N, opening his mouth to formally introduce himself to her.

“You are Eoghan Foley?” Y/N asked him before he could speak.

The males eyes widened in surprise.

“You own the majority of farms in the south east territory, correct?”

The male looked even more surprised.

Eris smirked at his mate, deciding to let her speak while he watched.

“You are known for paying your farmers the most, even when Beron underpaid you in an attempt to raise competition amongst other lords.”

Eoghan bowed his head. “My workers deserve a fair wage, Lady Y/N. When treated with respect they are more inclined to stay and there is less loss.”

Y/N then turned to Eris, having a silent conversation with their eyes.

“And for that, you shall be rewarded,” Eris’ voice came out strong and confident. And the entire room could clearly hear it. His gaze moved about the room. “The days of exploitation are over. Those of Autumn Court deserve to be paid for their work. Such competition only turns us against each other.” His eyes moved back to the lord. “A bonus will be delivered to you before nightfall tomorrow, Lord Foley.”

The male looked taken aback at such a decision. He half-expected to find that Eris was no better than his tyrant father. But he was instantly proven wrong.

“T-Thank you High Lord Eris,” he said with another bow. Then he looked up at Y/N before turning his gaze to the floor. “And to you, Lady Y/N. Our people are already indebted to you for bringing Autumn Court back into the light.”

“I hear your wife is a talented sculptor, Lord Foley.” Y/N noted with kindness in her eyes. “I hope to see her work for myself someday.”

“Any time you wish, Lady Y/N.”

“Enough business and politics for tonight,” Eris announced once Lord Foley had moved back into the crowd.

Then he eyed the other High Lords who were in attendance. All of them had been studying him and his interactions carefully. “Otherwise, we shall be spilling Autumn’s secrets to our guests who have their own Courts to govern.”

His courtiers laughed lightly at his joke.

With the swipe of Eris’ hand, the lighting in the room darkened to a moodier setting. And the symphony took their signal to begin playing music.

The guests started coupling up to dance.

Once again, Eris stood and offered Y/N his hand.

She took it, but moved close to his side so she could whisper, “I do not know these formal dances.”

Eris squeezed her hand tightly. “Trust me,” he simply whispered back.

When they entered the center of the dance floor, Eris pulled them into the proper stance. “I will lead. Just relax and do not overthink it.”

And Y/N did just that.

Either the steps were not as complicated as she had presumed or Eris was good dance partner. But they swayed across the floor. And despite hundreds of eyes watching them, the room disappeared around them, and it was just them.

“Thank you for saving me,” Eris whispered in her ear as he pulled her even closer.

Y/N knew this closeness was more immoral and informal, but she needed it. And if it was improper, Eris didn’t seem to care one bit.

“I hardly did anything,” Y/N admitted softly.

“You did more than you could ever understand,” he countered quickly. “You continue to be my savior, Y/N.”

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Y/N confessed softly. Her lips quirked as she added, “The worst loneliness is felt while surrounded by others.” Repeating her past statement from the night he had confessed how lonely he'd once been in this court.

Eris stopped abruptly, pulling their dance to a halt.

His eyes slowly went from her eyes to her lips.

Y/N knew he wanted to kiss her. She could feel it. And she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want him to, as well.

Eris was calculating how safe it was to show such affection to his mate so publicly. Another voice in his head was telling him he should to whatever he damn well pleased.

A deep voice cleared their throat behind her.

They turned to see Cassian standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

He gave a polite bow to them. “I was hoping to share a dance with my favorite witch.”

Y/N smiled at his playfulness. But she also saw the hidden message in his gaze. Her friend was trying to save her if she so wanted it.

She turned back to Eris, half expecting him to be giving the Illyrian a death glare. But the High Lord only nodded, and slowly removed Y/N from his grasp.

“She has much to share with her friends,” Eris offered him.

“Shall we?” Cassian asked her with his hand offered.

The Illyrian's dancing just further proved how skilled Eris was. But Y/N didn't mind Cassian's clumsy feet.

“I am the only witch you know,” she glared playfully at him.

“Yes, but if I were to ever meet any more, you would still be my favorite.” He spun her sloppily, ignoring the steps everyone else was following.

He lowered his voice as he said, “I only wanted to offer you an escape. It seems tensions are high between the two of you…”

“Thank you,” Y/N told him with a frown. “I fear I am lost.”

His brow furrowed as he turned them. “How so?”

Her eyes surprisingly welled with tears. “Cassian…I-I-I love him.”

-------------------

I know it took me a long time to update. But I worked really hard on this. And I loved putting together everyone's outfits. 🥹

Please leave a lovely comment. You know I love a book report. @pancakefancake

#acotar #gust & flame #eris #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #a court of thorns and roses #autumn court #high lord of autumn #lady of autumn #cassian #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara #emerie of illyria

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naavispider · 6 months ago

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I often see people describe Spider as a neglected child. Do you think that is totally accurate? Would Norm and the other scientists have set rules and boundaries? If Lo’ak and Spider did something stupid together would Jake punish both of them? What would a scene like this look like?

This is a very big question, in my opinion, and seems to have divided a lot of people depending in their answer. I think I can see it both ways. Spider is clearly a child that has grown up without a stable parental figure, and has lived his life trying to fit in where there seems to be no natural slot for him to do so. I do think he is relatively well adjusted, he's formed strong relationships with those his own age and he clearly has strong morals, all of which are accomplishments in themselves given the circumstances. Anyone else in his position would obviously struggle to deal with so much (being displaced by war, not having a stable family, and generally being an outcast by the tribe). If you add the daddy issues on top, which have provided him with a fluctuating sense of identity ever since he was old enough to understand who is father was, it's no doubt that Spider is definitely a special kid and extremely strong to have been through what he has, and come out the other side remarkably 'unharmed'.

We also can't ignore the fact that he was outrightly mistreated throughout his childhood as well. This is more obvious in the comics from the comments made by Neytiri, but there is also all the subtle ways in which he was excluded from the People and made to feel like an outcast. The kind of social isolation he suffered from clearly had an effect on him and is obvious in the way he has a complex about trying to impress, and not let anyone down, ever.

Your question asked about whether it's valid to say that Spider was neglected. In short, I think the answer is yes, but it's harder to pin point by exactly who and for how long. Individually, most of the adults in his life treated him with kindness and respect, and often fondness. I'm sure that Norm and loves Spider, too (and probably Max). But what makes him neglected is that by itself, that kind of treatment isn't enough for an extremely young child. What everyone seemed to miss while he was growing up is the lack of a parental figure. The McCoskers clearly weren't actually interested in raising Spider like their own, so that fell short; as a result, nobody else stepped up and Spider went without paternal or maternal love.

In my mind, the McCoskers are definitely guilty of neglect. The question of the other adults is murkier, because they are not directly at fault and Spider was really not their responsibility. However, in my opinion they did not do all they could to emotionally support Spider through his identity crisis and feelings of belonging. As such, I would say they emotionally neglected him.

That was a long and winding answer and I know that others have hashed this topic over at length before, but those are my two cents! 🥰

Would Norm and the other scientists have set rules and boundaries? Yes, I reckon so. When Spider was very young it would primarily be around safety and where abouts in the compound he should be, when. The McCoskers were probably responsible for bedtime routines and ensuring his basic needs were met, and I can see them being pretty harsh with that (for example shutting Spider in his room). As he got older and the McCoskers' attention turned to their own sons, they started to care less and less about Spider and creating firm boundaries. As a result he became a much wilder spirit and then the scientists would have had to put their own boundaries in place. By this point though, Spider was a young teen and probably all they could do was tell him off (which would work for a while). I can see the other scientists begging Norm to talk to Spider when he accidentally broke a piece of lab equipment.

If Lo’ak and Spider did something stupid together would Jake punish both of them? Jake would clearly be much harsher towards Lo'ak. I can see him just sending Spider back to the shacks, aware that Spider is not his son and nit his responsibility. In fairness to Jake, he personally struggles a lot with how to be a good father and isn't confident with the two sons he already has, so mentally I think he's distancing himself from Spider on purpose, because he's afraid and doesn't want to take on even more parental responsibility than he is already having to contend with. Lo'ak and Spider would meet up after and Spider would ask Lo'ak how bad it was. Lo'ak would probably moan that Spider is lucky he doesn't have to brunt Jake's anger, and Spider would outwardly agree.

Sorry it took me literal months to respond to this ask! I'm working my way through them 💞💙💞💙

#spider socorro #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar 2 #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #jake sully #norm spellman

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bookshelfdreams · 9 months ago

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Hiii I hope this isn't too forward, but your tags re: Ed's evolving reactions to abuse and Izzy as abuse-survivor-wish-fulfillment are incredible and it would lovely as its own post, if you felt comfortable doing so!

Aww thank you! The post in question

Also, tbf, I'm just obsessed with the rule of 3, whenever there's the slightest chance of seeing a pattern like this I'll pound on it with a sledgehammer until it fits.

Anyway. Ed has 3 abusive white men in his life; his father, Hornigold, and Izzy. And all 3 he deals with, to escalating effect.

His father is the one who exerts the most power over him. Ed clearly comes from a violent household, and as a child, he is obviously completely at his fathers non-existent mercy. He beats Ed's mother, throws dishware against the wall, and there was a deleted scene where he yelled at Ed's mother for "turning my son soft" (oh how I wish they'd kept that in. I can understand why they thought this was expendable, but it would have made the connection between Ed's father and Izzy so much more obvious).

Ed cannot protect himself, or his mother, against this violence - up until the moment that he can. The moment he realizes he is no longer weak and helpless, he retaliates in the only way that he has ever seen conflicts be resolved. He knows that he can't intimidate his father into better behaviour, if he wants to end the abuse it has to be permanent. So he just fucking kills the bastard.

This is, of course, Not Ideal. Even 30odd years later, he feels monstrous and unlovable because of this moment. The violence scars him. Not because he was wrong in killing his father, necessarily; the show doesn't judge him for it. But Ed destroyed the life he could have had when he did it, and he wounded himself.

Violent solution? Possible, but he deserved better.

Next up, Hornigold, who is also a mean, abusive bastard. He represents the avoidance solution: Leave and never look back. We do not know what became of Hornigold after Ed left his ship, but 02x03 implies that Ed expects him to still be alive somewhere. Ed clearly suffered horrific abuse at his hands, both physical and emotional, and even though that is years in the past, he clearly never dealt with any of it. Gravybasket!Hornigold tells him "Sorry doesn't rebuild an abdominal wall. You gotta move on.": Don't expect an apology, don't try to make amends, just ignore what happened. Apologies are pointless, you can never expect your abuser to change his behaviour. So just try to get away from him and ignore him.

This also doesn't really work. In the gravy basket, Ed is clearly still desperate for Hornigold's approval - and is refused, as he probably was often when he sailed with him. "You're never good enough" is one of the core mantras of abusers. Hornigold is still living in Ed's head, and heart, and soul; the poison he fed him is still alive and well within him. Ed even tries a violent solution this time, but obviously that can't work.

Still, avoidance is better than violence. Hornigold is left behind, standing on that cliff, while Ed goes back into the light. Ed doesn't have to take him with him. He cannot make Hornigold regret what he did, but he can remove himself from his clutches.

And then there's Izzy. With Izzy, Ed obviously has the most ambivalent relationship. He seems to truly like Izzy, to some extend (why is that would be another post, but as briefly as possible: I think Izzy provides an interpersonal dynamic that is familiar, and therefore, a twisted kind of safe for Ed. Chronic mistreatment will embed in you the idea that there's something wrong with you, and that's something Izzy is all too willing to point out to Ed. Crucially though, Izzy is someone who's approval is actually attainable. Ed keeps around someone who will tear him down, yes, but who it is also possible to impress, and over who he has authority. He's going back to the previous relationships, only now he is in a position of power, and that may feel like he can fix them. Obviously this isn't exactly a healthy dynamic. Izzy, for his part, clearly gets a kick out of the power and status being Blackbeard's first mate gives him, and manipulating Ed into doing what he wants. Just watch how pissed he gets when his control over Ed starts to slip.).

And there's another, crucial difference: Izzy wants to come around. Izzy is the fantasy of the toxic person who realizes how shitty his behaviour is, and who deep down, cares enough to want to fix it. Who recognizes the pain he caused, and who tells Ed the things he most needs to hear: I hurt you, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this. I was wrong; you're fine.

And then - and this is also an important part of the wish fullfilment fantasy! - he dies. Ed doesn't have to deal with him anymore. We remove the possibility that he goes back on his apology, or tries to use that as a wedge to carve out a space for himself in Ed's life, or goes back to manipulating Ed. No. The apology has to be the final note this relationship ends on.

And this fixes it. Ed can look back on Izzy fondly.

He was a fucking nightmare. What a guy.

#of course this isnt too forward anon i love it when ppl notice my tag ramblings <3 #anonymaus #message #our flag means death #edward teach

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genz420 · 8 months ago

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Cabin 1 Headcannons ☁️ 🦅

Masterlist | Rules

Content: Cabin Headcannons

Warning: None

Daddy Issues

MAJOR Daddy Issue

And step-mom issues

And sibling issues

Just family Issues all around

Some of the best fighters at camp

They have to be

To live up to the standards that is placed on their shoulders when they were born

But this also applies to mortal life as well

They HAVE to be the best on the team

Or top of the class

They have to be the best

Bec how else will they be able to be worth the love of their father

The vibe I get from them is that of the person who thinks they are popular but are not really popular

They want to be

But just can be kind of annoying

Loud

They think loud = funny

But some are funny

And kind

But they still inherited that massive…

Ego

Type of person to call a teacher mom or dad

But who hasn’t done that

Right? Not just me?

The most eclectic blue eyes ever

Like no matter what

It’s a trait they all have

Type of person to be scared of birds

And Butterflies

They like to think that all the cabins love them

But in truth, the cabins that do are Athena and Dionysus

Zeus’ fav daughter and son

But at the same time they kind of hate the Dionysus's cabin

For the relationship they have with their dad

The rest of the cabin is a little put off by the fact of who their godly parent is

They have this aura about them

Electric

Like a buzz in the air when they are around

Big rule followers

And the off chance that they do break the rules, then you can bet they know how to avoid getting blamed

But will also never listen to someone in an authority position

They love thunderstorms

Is it because they can think that it is their father saying hello

Yes

Yes it is

The type of person to be considerate one moment but then a total ass wipe the next

So hot and cold

They hate spending time in their cabin

Bec even though they want the praise and love of their father

They are not sleeping on the cold ground in front of a massive statue of him

Like what if they wanna bring someone back to the cabin

They have to be like, “Don’t mind the statue,”

They like to think they are big players at camp but they have no pull

Like zero

And when they do pull someone, then you can bet that their ego skyrockets

The type of kid who coughs weird

Also sneezes so loudly

Big iPad kid energy

Have to have YouTube or something else playing in the background while they eat

Kens

They are kens

Even the girls and people between

They are just kens

#zeus #percy jackson headcanon #cabin 1 #percy jackson x reader #zeus headcanons #zeus cabin #cabin 1 headcanons #jason grace headcanon #jason grace #thalia grace #pjo thalia

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 7 months ago

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Fixing Gabriel's Writing via a Corruption Arc

Like it or not, Miraculous considers Gabriel Agreste to be a loving father. If he wasn't, then you wouldn't get things like the season five ending or this bit from Queen Wasp:

Gabriel: (guilt-ridden) I don't want to break our promise, but… I can't keep putting our son in danger. Style Queen was supposed to be my masterpiece… but even she failed. I feel like I've done all I possibly could, you know? I'll never be able to fulfill my wish without Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous. (Scene shows Emilie in her coffin) Forgive me, Emilie. I'm giving you up, Nooroo.

But this side of him only shows up in big dramatic moments. When it comes to his more general writing, he's a full out cartoon villain and terrible parent, which is why I've said there's a lot of valid ways to write him. His character is wildly inconsistent. This is a problem that is easily fixed via an actual corruption arc where he goes from somewhat decent parent to monster. There's a couple ways to do this, but here's how I'd do it in the context of keeping canon mostly intact:

Early seasons needed to make Gabriel come across as more openly grief stricken. Really highlight the fact that Emilie's death changed something major about him and his relationship with his son. This is one of the reasons I like a more nuanced Chloe. If you let her and Adrien be actual friends, then you can have her make statements to indicate that Adrien used to be quite close with both of his parents and that Gabriel used to be a good father. You can also have Adrien make statements like this to Plagg, I just like the Chloe angle more as she's more blunt while Adrien is more likely to hide his pain/focus on the positives.

Have Gabriel be unwilling to send akumas to areas where Adrien is. Episodes like Riposte should be impossible as Gabriel will be wholly unwilling to let akumas go after his son. This also lets you justify Adrien being locked up. As is, Gabriel just comes across like a jerk. If he's only banning Adrien from going out in order to keep his son safe? Well, he's still a jerk, but at the very least, he's a jerk who worries about his son's physical well being. Origins saw Adrien sneaking out of the house, so keep that element and make this be the reason he gets caught up in akuma attacks.

As time goes on, Gabriel gets more desperate and more willing to take risks. Lots of things could trigger this such as Ladybug always resetting everything, making him feel less concerned about hurting others. After all, he'll fix everything with his wish and, if he fails, then Ladybug will do it for him. There's really no way to lose here. Style Queen could become a turning point where Gabriel finally willingly put Adrien at risk and he feels awful, but make that also be the closest he's ever come. Have Gabriel decided that risking Adrien is worth the cost if it brings them back Emilie.

After that, things start to go downhill. Gabriel draws away from his son more and more due to guilt, but he's convinced he's in the right because he wants Emilie back so bad. The ends justify the means and all that. This can lead into several different types of endings, but the general feeling of Gabriel's final ending should have an element of pity. He's a villain, but he's a villain many could easily become.

This is the kind of path canon needed to walk if they wanted the season five ending to feel realistic. As is, it's going to read as total nonsense to most fans because they're going to go off of the way Gabriel was played in your standard, monster-of-the-week episode. They're not going to think about those core characterization episodes that were supposed to define Gabriel because those episodes are just too uncommon and too antithetical to the way Gabriel tended to be written.

#Gabriel Agreste deserves better #Gabriel deserves better #ml writing salt #ml writing critical #kept this high level just to get you thinking #to do this properly I'd have to just give you a fanfic link and let you make judgement on a final product instead of a high level pitch

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kurogxrix · 2 years ago

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All Of My Love ( III. )

(Series Masterlist)

Neteyam x Avatar!reader

IN WHICH Neteyam’s mother and clan disapproves of your relationship, because you’re a dreamwalker. When you both advance in your relationship, the clan cannot help but attempt to ruin things for the both of you.

WC: 5.1K

Warnings: ANGST, Betrayal, misunderstandings, Neytiri being Neytiri, feels and heartbreaks. BADLY EDITED

Upon your arrival back at the High Camp, you were first greeted by the fierceness of Tarsem’s tight grip on your shoulder. You had not even had time to properly dismount your ikran, and his force had nearly caused you to stumble in front of everyone watching. Without much complaints from your side, you let the older man drag you to the centre of the chaos that was about to unfold.

You just couldn’t catch a goddamn rest in this clan.

He stopped abruptly before a large body of people and you were glad that his hand had left your sore shoulder. Your eyes flickered towards Zepii that was standing in the embrace of her mother, tear stained cheeks still evident. She gave you an apologetic look at her father’s actions.

“You demons bring no other than calamity upon this land!” he affirmed with his strong accent and deep voice. Tarsem turned towards the rest of the clan that was encircling the both of you as you stood awkwardly before the many eyes. Neteyam had already arrived shortly after you. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, whether to comfort you after his outburst or to sulk at his turn. Though when he witnessed the sight of you in the midst of attention, he just couldn’t help but stand back and watch.

Tarsem grabbed your forearm roughly, showing you off to the clan as though they had never seen you before. His grip was tight enough to hurt for a while but nothing that would bruise. You shoulder suffered from the discomfort of the position, but you eased your mind by telling yourself that sooner or later, he would have to let go of you.

“The dreamwalker has endangered my daughter on this day!” he roared and the mass of omatikaya seemed just as enraged as him. They yelled and thrashed in mass at your mere presence and you could help but wish for the ground to sink in and engulf you with it.

“She saved me, father! If not, I would've not been standing here before you.” Zepii cried, trying to prove your innocence as her mother held her back. She had always been the clan’s little treasure, a kind mannered girl that never even dared to speak back before. So when she had raised her voice in your honour, Tarsem had truly been shocked.

Tarsem turned around to face his daughter. For a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that she was solely protecting you for the sake of rebelling, because she had reached that age in her life. Though the genuine concern on her face spoke many words and her father had thought that you might’ve casted some kind of spell on her at that moment. Tarsem had made it clear from the start that she was not allowed to even dare and interact with you, and now it was clear that the both of you were close friends behind her parent’s backs.

While the people were busy bickering amongst themselves, Neteyam had pushed his way to the front of the circle. His family was close behind and the little Tuk was begging Lo’ak to hop on his shoulders so she could see what was happening.

“How could Toruk Makto even approve of you living amongst us, playing pretend like you will ever be one of the people.” After hearing the omatikaya mistreat you with their worlds for so long, Tarsem’s words had not affected you as he had hoped for. He wanted for you to be hurt, so damaged that you would leave and never return. He wanted you to realise that your place would never be among them, but with the humans instead.

Jake had finally managed to push through the packed crowd at his turn, joining his son in his spot. It was suffocating to stand in the middle of the circle, not because of the packed area but because of all of the judgemental eyes. They pierced through your soul with disapproval and blind eyes, unable to see more than an artificial body and a demon. Jake sympathised with you because he had once been in your shoes, and look at where he was now.

As the Olo’eyktan, it was his duty to settle down this argument and reinstall peace in his village. Neytiri however had seemed to have had other plans as she pushed her way past her husband. Her beaded braids rattled rhymically as she now stood before the other warrior. She moved swiftly towards you, heavy footsteps resonating against the floor as she made her way. Jake was quick to be on her tail, trying to prevent his wife from making the matters worse as she arrived before you. He could only wish that his wife’s hatred would not overtake her judgement towards you.

“You will leave this village before you are the cause of any more trouble!” she ordered before the clan, authority drowning in her sharp tone. Hell, even Eywa would shudder at the woman’s tone.

“And stop casting your filthy eyes towards my son, he is to be Olo’eyktan and he needs a real na’vi woman to rule at his side.” she rebuked you and your heart was racing faster than any speed your ikran could ever attain. The vexed look that Neteyam threw at his mother went unnoticed as everyone was too busy observing the dispute.

“I have done more to your son than just ‘casting my filthy eyes on him’” you mocked her insult, digging yourself your own grave as Neytiri’s eyes widened at your intuition. The whole village gasped at your crude comment and that should’ve been an obvious warning for you to shut up, because which foreigner was stupid enough to go against a clan leader? You were tired of being berated by the woman, and you were enjoying playing around with her nerves for the moment, even if it meant that she would literally kill you afterwards.

Your eyes moved towards the distressed Neteyam, and there was something in his eyes that told you to just shut the fuck up before you made matters worst.

Neytiri’s anger only rose at your defiance, she stood right before you, towering over your frame as she stared straight into your soul. She pushed Tarsem’s hand away harshly, having the man nearly doubling over at the woman’s manners. She was quick to be the holder of your shoulder this time, though her grip was not as lenient as Tarsem’s.

You winced slightly as her nails dug thoroughly into your flesh, nearly enough to draw the slightest amount of blood. She did not want to physically harm you, no that was not of her interest as of now. Her loathe towards you was just taking over her emotions and the fact that you refused to submit to her demand had made everything 10x worse.

Jake wasn’t very far behind the both of you when he ripped apart his mate from you, slightly embarrassed at the scene that she was causing. Nevertheless he put his shame to the side to protect you from her wrath, because he knew of her abilities. She was Palulukan Makto, someone not to be messed with. Neytiri didn’t even bother to cast her mate a glare as she continued to look down at you. “He will never be yours because he cannot!”

“My son cannot be with you because he is already promised to another!” Neytiri hissed at you and you felt the time stop at her confession. You just couldn’t believe it, there’s no way Neteyam would’ve hidden this from you. Right?

You turned back to look at him in all of your loud-silence and your heart throbbed at the evident guilt in his doleful eyes. His iris glistened with sorrow and his ears fell, grounded to his skull. His eyes quickly moved from your state of realisation and then to the floor, too ashamed to meet your eyes once more. You felt your heart drop all the way to your toes as you moved to face Zepii, and she too, wore that same guilty look. She stood awkwardly on her feet as you stared her down, and the anxious fiddling of her fingers told you that she felt uneasy.

Neteyam felt so much resentment towards his mother at the moment. Not because she had announced his betrothal, that was all on him to take the blame for. He should’ve told you from the moment he had begun to be infatuated with you. He should’ve told you when you had both shared a kiss for the first time near the bioluminescent river flow. Though he did not, because under his tough guy persona, Neteyam was just a coward.

He was scared of so many things. He had fears that he could not even get to express to you. He feared disappointing his father and mother. He feared his family getting hurt. He feared the moment where you would’ve discovered his secret that he just couldn’t get himself to tell you. Now that everything was happening before his own eyes, he felt his fears turn into phobias - engulfing him in a darkness that he could not even escape.

You felt your eyes fill up with tears, held back by your waterline. Though you refused to shed a tear for the same people that had betrayed you, so you forced yourself to suck them back in. You had cried enough for Neteyam in the past, and you refused to do it anymore. Though only in public, you were sure that you’d empty the contents of your body later on in your solitude.

You refused to turn this into your own pity party, surely not before the omatikaya clan. Everything was as clear as day. Of course it had been, you had just been blinded by the love you held for the both of them. How could you not have seen it coming? The future Olo’eyktan, golden child of the Sully’s paired with the village’s perfect, favourable daughter of Tarsem.

Maybe this was just a cruel joke played on you, perhaps Neteyam and Zepii were like all of the others. You grieved on all of the times that Zepii had made you feel like one of them and you told yourself that perhaps her father had put her up to it. She shared every single one of her secrets with you, and so did you. How could she have hidden this from you, even though she knew that it would wreck you over the line.

You heard Zepii softly call out your name from the sidelines but she was met with the harsh sight of your ignorance. You felt the feeling of sorrow unlatch your heart, before feeling something new wrap around it with ease. You no longer felt as much sadness as you did before, instead you felt loathsome. You didn’t want to feel piqued towards the both of them for being promised, because you knew that it was most likely not their own choices anyways. You felt so conflicted because they had chosen to hide it from you. You wondered why Neteyam had chosen to, because of his forced courtship with the woman, he would’ve soon had to let you go to pursue the other woman.

The other woman, was that what you had been this whole time?

“Y/N, I can explain,” Neteyam pleaded but as he tried to move forward to seek you out, he was quickly prevented by the strong arms of his little brother. He looked back to glare at Lo’ak, trying to pull his arm from his brother’s oddly strong grip.

“What are you doing Skxawng!” Neteyam growled at his younger brother, trying to tower over his frame. Though lo’ak stood up straight, asserting that he feared not his brother. His eyebrows were furrowed and the creases on his forehead were very much visible. Lo’ak had been your friend ever since he had met Spider, and even though he was not as close to you anymore as he once was, he knew what it felt like to be outcasted.

He felt slightly relieved at first when you had joined the clan, because all judgmental eyes were turned towards you, and for once in his life - lo’ak could breathe again. Though after a while he felt slightly guilty for feeling such a way because he out of everyone would know what it feels like to not fit into other’s expectations.

Lo’ak watched as his brother ruined his own relationship in excuse of his issues. He ruined what you both had because he was unable to trust you, whatever you did to prove yourself, it was never enough for his unreal expectations. He was afraid to give his full trust because of his fears. And that Lo’ak knew better than anyone else too. Neteyam trusted him very little, even though he loved his brother very much. Neteyam would always prevent Lo’ak from bringing Tuk out with him, or leaving during eclipse - because he failed to trust his brother completely.

Now, he refused to watch his brother ruin you once more like he had already done. So if watching you walk away was what he had to force his elder brother into, then so he would. Neteyam had stopped resisting long ago, despite him overpowering his brother’s force by much, he refused to escape the grip that lo’ak held on him.

He watched as you walked away from him once more, pushing your way through the heavy crowd. You look towards the dusty floor, too ashamed to look at anyone else right now. Today was pure humiliation for you, everything that had happened. The hunt accident, Tarsem's and Neytiri’s borderline assault and the public revelation that had been casted upon you. You had no idea of where you were headed, but you knew that anywhere out of the High Camp was for the best.

You didn’t know how you had found yourself here, in the middle of the forest, lost in the midst of the night. The eerie sounds and weird feeling of being watched should have scared you, but you were in no mood to care at the moment. Few moments ago you had gone through both humiliation and heartbreak at the same time, you just couldn’t care much anymore.

You were sitting on a log of deadwood, a hand supporting your chin as you rested your hand on it. Your other hand was on your lap as you watched the passing yerik carefully travel the forest. You had no weapon with you at the moment because you have left everything behind without looking back twice. Now you just felt utterly stupid, if some creature was to ambush you right now, you’d surely wake up in cold sweat in your human body - back at the lab. That’s where you should’ve been heading to right now, but a little detour around the forest was what you had chosen.

Lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice the way a silent na’vi had made her way towards you. Somehow even in your unknown location, she had seemed to have followed you all the way till here, simply on the back of her ikran. You turned your head towards her when you felt her sudden presence, not even jumping when you had noticed the strange third party.

She was silent, and you appreciated that at the moment. The only sounds between you both were those of the belligerent yerik and the relaxing flowing of some fountain that you assumed was nearby. You looked at her up and down, wondering why she had even bothered to follow you. You had never once even spoken to the girl, she was the one that had challenged you into an ikran race earlier.

“What do you want?” you tried not to sound too hostile, though her silence only seemed to rile you up. You liked her previous silence, now she was just seeming too mysterious for you liking.

The girl simply blinked at you as she tilted her head to the side, admiring you as the soft hue of the plants reflected off your dark blue skin. She took in every single freckle that was on your body before looking back into your eyes. You observed carefully as she brought one of her hands between the both of you, pulling her hand into a fist apart from her index finger. She crooked her finger for it to resemble a hook before reaching out a hastily grabbing yours.

You were taken aback at first from her suffen contact, but you were even more confused when she motioned for you to do the same gesture. So when you did, she hooked both of your fingers together. You looked at your entwined fingers before it hit you.

The girl was mute. That’s why she had not once spoken to you ever since you had first met her.

“What does this mean?” you question, even through the communication barrier, you wished to understand her. Eventually you wished to understand why she had followed you here, but you’d take what you’d get for now. You looked back at the girl as she pointed towards her chest, before moving it to yours. Trying to sign to you something.

“Friends? That’s what you’re trying to say, that we’re friends?” You beamed at her and she reciprocated your excitement. You were proud of yourself for understanding her vague explanation.

“It must be hard that no one understands you,” you said and even though you did not mean to make her sad, her face fell slightly at your comment. You raised your eyebrows slightly, scared to have truly offended her. So you tried to comfort her. “I know what you feel like.”

She smiled softly at you before you thought of something once more, you did not know of her name yet. Though the communication barrier between the both of you stood too tall for you to even try and guess her name for now, there were just too many. Na’vi people had no written language, so unless you learnt sign language, you would never get to understand. You knew that you could probably meet her family, and if there was a chance that they too did not suffer from the curse of mutism, then they could tell you.

Though you feared that her parents disliked you like the rest of the clan, so you stick with trying with her first.

“Why did you follow me here?”

“I have something important to tell you. About what happened with the chief's youngest daughter.” she signed to you but to no avail as you failed to understand her way of communicating. You felt as conflicted as the first time you had begun to learn the na’vi language. Though you were just as motivated to learn as when you had learned the native tongue of Pandora. So that night, you had stayed up during all of eclipse to learn her way, suffering through the endless back head slaps each time you would get something wrong.

You had finally parted from Zuko, the mute girl that had become your best friend throughout the last two weeks that you had disappeared from the clan. She had taught you how to sign and she had joined you during dinner time every single day. You have laughed with her, even if no noise was coming from her side, you still enjoyed the fact that she was somewhat laughing.

You had learnt so much about the girl in such little time. You had learnt that she had little friends because of her disability, that little people saw her. Though you saw her, and that was perhaps why she had chosen to help you. She was so shy that if she even had the ability to speak, she probably would avoid it at any time.

Your feet hadn’t taken you much further than you had actually wanted them to, mostly because your path had been interrupted by a sudden predator. Just when you thought your day couldn’t go any shittier, you just had to encounter a hungry viperwolf while you were taking in the beauty of the place that surrounded you.

You watched carefully as the wolf circled you and your tail tensed as you picked up on its soft growl. You knew that if you went back home to the lab tonight, it would probably be a farewell to your avatar body. Though it wouldn’t really matter if you died in your avatar tonight, Norm had told you that the experience wasn’t necessarily pleasant, and you didn’t feel like going through the feeling of death and ‘reincarnation’ of some sorts.

You slowly backed away as the wolf approached you, silent paws marking the ground at its every move. You were scared, even terrified because as much as you didn’t want to kill the animal, you had no weapon to defend yourself anyways. Your eyes widened as you had noticed it, the slight limp from his left back leg.

The creature growled everytime that it applied pressure to the sore spot, and soon it had stopped before you. It whined in pleas of help and your heart did a double take at the poor creature’s suffering. You kneaded down before the blue-ish viperwolf and its whole body shone within the iridescent colours of the body of plants surrounding you.

It lifted its paw before you, using its 6 frontal ones to support its lanky body. You sighed at its problem, just an unlucky piece of wood that had stashed its way between his paw pads. Your hands worked quickly as you removed the splinter, because just about anything could anger a wild creature, even if you had not even caused it’s hurting.

To your surprise, after your little play pretend of ‘vet and patient’ with the wolf, it gratefully rubbed itself against your bended legs. It reached up to your knees and rubbed its snout happily against your tall knee caps. You chuckled at the creature's relief and it soon set off under the soft twinkles of the many shinning stars.

The encounter made you forget about the whole altercation of earlier, instead you were more focused on exploring more of Pandora’s beauty once more. Your legs brought you to a nearby lake as you watched flying fish erupt from the busy current. You had always thought that flying fish were only to be seen in saltwater bodies, but this incredible planet had truly proved you wrong.

You continued to watch the various fish jump out of the water, their luminescent wings glowing of all sorts of colours. Your mouth was wide open as though a child in stages of first discovery but you couldn't care less in the solitude that you now stood in.

The bushes beside you rustled but you were too enamoured by the fish to be bothered by it, you assumed that it must’ve been the viperwolf of earlier and you deemed him a good friend now. Your yellow eyes glistened as you outstretched one of your arms towards the body of water, submerging one completely under the water. It didn’t take much time for the swarm of fish to reach for your hand, their tiny mouths tickling your hand as they tried to nibble at it.

The sensation made you giggle, a little too loud at that but the sound didn’t seem to have disturbed much of the animals around you.

Suddenly, you felt the feeling of a familiar hand upon your shoulder - and the feeling resembled too much of what Tarsem’s harsh held felt like earlier. You quickly turned around, pulling your hand out involuntarily swiftly out of the river and onto your side as you tried to look at what had touched you.

The fish quickly swam away from fear of your sudden movements and your heart quickly fell down to your toes as you were met nose to nose with the boy that had wounded you.

“You have a connection with the All-Mother,” he pointed out, his soft yellow eyes staring deep into yours. Though you were not looking back at him as you forced yourself to look away. You forced yourself not to submit to his soft tone and adoring eyes, because you had done it once and looked at where that brought you. It had been 2 weeks since he had last seen you, and somehow Eywa just had to make your paths cross once more.

You ignored his attempts at talking and failed to notice the hurt look in his eyes as you avoided his words. Though you wouldn’t care, it’s not like he was deserving of your attention after how he had been treating you. You stood up, dusting your loincloth gently as you patted it down for any dust to go. Neteyam was quick to follow after you, already up and standing steady on his strong legs as he followed you around like a lost puppy.

He watched as your hand gently grazed the vegetation with your large palm. You abruptly came to a stop before something you had never seen before and he watched with amused eyes as you wandered around a stray little lizard. A teasing smirk was displayed on his face as he watched you approach the Kenten. Before you could even reach your hand fully out to it, the small reptile jumped off from the leaf - scaring you as it suddenly escaped.

Neteyam chuckled softly from beside you as he watched you observe with amazement at how the lizard unfurled its fan-like structure. Your pupils dilated and your ears furled out completely as you watched the lizard with an opened-mouth expression. Neteyam just couldn’t keep his laughter in anymore as you suddenly stood up, brushing your hand against every single disguised lizard that you could find.

They flew off and spun around like fully circular fans, and your amazed expression had not even faltered yet. Your smile was still glued to your face even when the lizards had retracted their fans back onto their frail bodies, and Neteyam just couldn’t take his eyes off how you looked right now. Your bioluminescent freckles just seemed to be extenuating your already blindsiding beauty.

You picked up the pace again, running barefoot through the unstable forest with the na’vi man right at your trail. Ignoring his presence was hard, you'd admit that much to yourself. It was of your free will that you chose to ignore all of his advances and sort of his whole existence at the moment, but pretending like you did not want to run into his arms at the moment was rather hard.

How could you not? After all Neteyam was perfect, he was the golden son, he was a noble amongst his clan, he had a secure spot as the future olo’eyktan and his family loved him unconditionally. Neteyam was smart, observant and swift with his movements, he was a valuable warrior. More of all, he was kind and he treated you like no other. He was attractive and you were just as sure that many other women thought of the same thing too. He was a man of manners but his own problems just had to ruin the happiness of his own.

It wasn’t that hard to keep up to you, given his trained legs and impressive stamina. He could overtake you at any moment but now was not the moment to show off his physical abilities. You both ran through the forest for a couple of minutes, touching everything that you could on the short run.

The Helicoradians had amazed you like nothing else had on the land, and it had soon become your entertainment for a few solid minutes.

Neteyam watched you carefully as though you were a child, not too fond of the stories he had heard of predators lurking behind those retracting plants. He allowed himself to remove his eyes from your figure as he admired the view. In the corner of his eyes, Neteyam had spotted an odd looking flower.

A Sun Lily. It was strange because amongst the many other sun lilies that were rooted next to that one flower, they were all closed and rounded in shape. A singular flower stood out, its petals wide open and displaying its bloomed form despite the sun having left hours ago. He crouched next to the flower, using his thumb to rub gently against the soft petals of this weird flower. He picked it carefully, breaking the bond between its roots and its stem as he claimed the flower as his now.

Neteyam turned back around to you, and to his surprise had you calmed down from your Helicoradian frenzy. You were sitting in the middle of the flower field, passing your hand through the delicate strands of grass below you. The grass felt spiky as it nipped at your skin, but you found it strangely comforting. He chuckled at your now downturned amusement before making his way towards you.

At the sounds of his footsteps dragging through the mid length grass, you looked up only to be met with the sight of the Sully boy already kneeling before you. You quickly looked down at what was in his hand, and to your surprise he brought his hand up towards your face. He waited before to see if you showed any signs of resistance or displeasure, before bringing the flower’s stem behind your ear and tucking it in safely.

You couldn’t help it. The many emotions that stirred in your stomach at his romantic action. The feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin made your shiver, for it had been so long that you had last felt it. You cursed yourself for the slight indigo colour that raised upon your cheeks, and quickly looked away from the person that had caused it.

You didn’t want to feel this way towards him anymore. You wanted to truly hate him to the point where you were physically unable to look at him anymore. Thought love was an incredible thing, and you cursed yourself once more for your ability to feel. He was still looking at you with that fond look on his face, a soft glimmer of hope in his eyes at your passive form.

You looked at him before remembering the conversation that Zuko and you had had a few weeks ago, and now you felt the urge to tell him. Because if you didn’t do it now for the sake of his little sister, there was no way for you to tell if you would still be communicating with him afterwards.

For the first time in weeks and this night, Neteyam’s heart raced as you spoke to him. He lingered i’m the feeling of your soft lips moving to accentuate your words and he rejoiced in the sound of your voice. Though, what you had to tell him would soon make those feelings falter.

“I have something to tell you, Neteyam.”

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