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127-mile · 3 years

Text

For all the wrong reasons.

Pairing: Doyoung x female reader.

Genre: Exes, enemies to lovers | Fluff, angst.

Warnings: Strong language, brief non-explicit mention of suggestive content.

Plot: Filing for divorce was probably the best decision you ever made with Doyoung. Having to marry him a second time for an inheritance wasn't on your post Doyoung to-do list.

Word count: +7.1k.

A/N: This is part of the Be your enemy collab hosted by @treasurehobi. | I wish I could remember where I saw the original prompt I used as an inspiration.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you spit when you see Doyoung outside of the building where you work. "You know I'm working, why the fuck would you ask me to come out?" Doyoung rolls his eyes, and you see the way he clenches his fists. It is so easy to rile him up, even though he probably already was before you joined him. "We need to talk."

"Talk about what? If it's not about all of the shit you still have in the garage, then I don't want to hear a word about it." he nibbles on his lower lip, an habit he always had when he is nervous, or ready to explode. You witnessed it way too many times. "You are rambling, you idiot!" you do not have the time, or the faith to keep up with him, so you turn on your heels, and when you put your hand on the doorknob of the heavy glass door, he calls out for you. "Wait."

"Doyoung, I have to go back to work, what do you want?" you ask in a long sigh and he mumbles something you can't quite understand. "Can you repeat, I can't hear anything you say when you mumble between your teeth." he takes a step closer, because he doesn't want to have to yell for the whole world to hear. "My aunt is dead." oh, that was not was you were expecting.

"Which one? The sweet one, or the old bitter bitch?" you ask as you turn to face him once again. "The sweet one." that's too bad, because this was probably the only member of Doyoung's family that you always liked, also the only member of his family that liked you from the minute you stepped inside of the house when you were 15. "I'm sorry, I know you loved her."

"I thought you deserved to know, she always adored you," he starts, and you cross your arms over your chest, maybe you should have taken your jacket before going out. "but this is not the only reason I came here." You do not try to think about why he is here, so instead, you prompt him to keep talking. "She left a will, and you know how all of her children were assholes so she gave them the bare minimum, and she gave me the rest."

"Good for you, I guess, you always wanted the lake house." he shakes his head, because yes, the lake house is a sweet addition, and he can only dream of the weekend he is going to spend there for the rest of his life, but this is still not why he is here. "You have to know, that if I had the choice, I would not be here, trust me, you are the last person I wanted to see." alright, that hurts. "Then what do you want from me?"

"We need to get married."

Your eyes open wide, and you throw your head back to laugh heartily. "Doyoung, we got divorced last year." he rolls his eyes, and you follows the movement of the tip of his tongue wetting his lips with your eyes. "I know, this was the best day of my life. But my aunt believed in us, she believed in our relationship, in our marriage, and the will stipulates that if I want to inherit everything, we have to be wedded."

"That's a joke, right?" you ask and he shakes his head. You know it is not a joke, you have known his aunt for many years, and to be honest, you are not even surprised to hear that. You do not know how many times she reminded you that your marriage to Doyoung was the best thing that has happened in this family. "I guess you'll have to say goodbye to your inheritance."

"Oh come on, I'm not asking you for the fucking moon! I never asked you for anything, can't you do me one fucking favor!" he exclaims and you look around, you do not want any of your coworkers to see what is happening, because you'll never hear the end of it. "And if I do it, what do I get in exchange?" you ask in a sigh.

"Her car, money, that necklace she promised you, I don't know, whatever you want." the corner of your lips curl into a smirk, and he takes a step back. He knows you better than anyone else on this stupid planet, so he knows that this smile doesn't bode well. "Everything?" he knows he shouldn't, but he nods nonetheless.

"I want the lake house."

"What? You will never get the lake house!" he says, almost offended that you would have the audacity to ask for the only thing he ever wanted. The house where he grew up, the house he spent so many vacations in with his aunt and his cousins. The house where he proposed to you. "I'm not asking for the fucking moon, Doyoung." you imitate Doyoung, but unlike him, you speak in a much softer voice.

"I hate you." he mutters when he understands that you are making fun of him, and you shrug. "Tell me something I don't already know." you stay silent for a moment, and Doyoung, still waiting for his answer, shifts from one leg to the other. "If I do it, will I finally get rid of you?" Doyoung doesn't show anything, but hearing this does something to his heart. He doesn't know if it's relief to finally be able to move on after this, or the closure that it'll bring. "Yes, you won't hear from me after that."

"Alright," you start in a huff. "Let's get married. Again."

What a stupid idea, you both think as you part ways.

You know you should not be doing it, you know you should not get close to Doyoung again, and he knows it too, you both suffered too much before, and even after the divorce, that it will not bring anything good. You got married because of love the first time, and you are going to get married because of all the wrong reasons, the second time. Hopefully, this time, divorcing won't hurt as much.

"You look fucking stupid, who knitted this sweater, your mother?" you say as soon as Doyoung steps inside of the café. Doyoung does look stupid, but not because of the pink sweater, but because of his messy hair and the crooked glasses on the bridge of his nose. "My girlfriend made it for me," he says in a low voice as he sits down on the chair in front of you. "and it's not stupid, it's a pretty sweater. She spent a lot of time working on it."

"Your girlfriend? Poor soul. Does she know you are currently having coffee with your ex wife?" you ask, straigtening up on the chair. You did not know he had a girlfriend, and maybe it is for the better, because you would have told him to fuck off last week when he came to see you. "Yes, he does know." you hum sipping on your cup of tea. "And fo I have to expect a crazy girl banging on my door at three am, asking me to stop sleeping with her boyfriend, or did you finally find someone normal?"

"Do you always have to remind me of my past?" he asks, but you know it is a rethorical question, that he is not waiting for an answer, but there is no way you are missing an opportunity like this one. "Doyoung, we took one break in our relationship, and you found a way to date the most jealous girl on campus. She was fucked up, and she tries to push me down the fucking stairs, so yes, I have to remind you of your past mistakes."

"You are the worst." he brings his own cup to his lips, and he sips on the coffee he just drowned in milk and sugar like a kid who never had caffeine before. "So, I contacted the town hall, and we can have the ceremony there tomorrow at 2 pm." oh, how romantic, the complete opposite to your first wedding. So big, luxurious and filled with love and laughter. "Sounds like a dream. Do we have to get dressed, or what?" he shrugs. "I don't know. Wear something nice, not that ugly hoodie of yours."

"Fuck you. You were happy to steal my hoodie when we were still in university." he sighs with exasperation, he did not come here to be reminded of his youth. Of the time they could still hold a conversation without cursing at each other at the first opportunity, without wishing the other was somewhere else, or worst, dead. Of the time you did not hate each other as much as you do now.

"Do we need witnesses?" you ask and he seems to think about it, or to recall everything the town hall secretary told him on the phone earlier. "Uh, yes, I think we do, to sign the papers." that's where it will get complicated, you think. "Amazing, I can't wait to ask Yuta to sign the wedding papers. A wedding I put an end to last year." he is going to be so mad at you, and you can already hear him yell. "Eh, don't act like you are the only one who'll have to get yelled at! I have to ask Johnny, and you know how he gets when we do something he does not approve of."

"Why don't you ask your girlfriend to marry you for the inheritance?" you ask with genuine curiosity and Doyoung tilts his head to the side, and he looks at you like you just said the dumbest thing he had ever heard in his entire life. "Are you stupid, or are you trying to waste my time? The notary will not accept to give me anything if it's not your name on the marriage certificate." yes, you expected as much.

"Why does he even need a marriage certificate? That's stupid, there is no proof that we are not married anymore." he shrugs, putting his cup back on the old wooden table. "He is a notary, he is probably going to do some research to be sure we are not going against my aunt's will." you drink the last of your tea, and you stand up under Doyoung's gaze. "Alright, I have to go and talk to the Devil. If you don't see me at the town hall tomorrow, it's because he sent me straight to hell."

"Same goes for me. Good luck."

When you find yourself in front of Yuta's door, you try to muster everything you have to push the door. This is not going to be fun, but it has to be done, you can't ask some stranger to be your witness, because you probably need the signature of the same person who was by your side during your actual wedding. What were you thinking when you asked Yuta? Well, maybe because at that time, you did not think you would file for divorce, and get married to him again, a year later.

"Oh, hello, pretty stranger." Yuta says when he sees you in front of the door, lost in your thoughts. But his voice is enough to bring you back were you are, and to remind you of what you have to do. "Yuta, we have to talk." you whisper, and he heads for the living room. "Do I need to sit, or can I stay up?" he asks with the shadow of a smile on his face, he thinks it is not that serious, but it is, and he is in for a surprise.

"I think you should sit down." oh, his smile fades right away, and you nibble on your lower lip. You should have rehearsed what to say, because you find yourself stupid in front of Yuta who is waiting, nervously playing with his fingers. "Can you please start to talk before I start thinking all type of crazy things."

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, Yuta speaks again, and he asks the dumbest question he could have asked. "Oh my god, are you pregnant? Yes, that's it, you are pregnant! Am I the father? No, it's been too long, and we were careful every time. Wait, we did it last week? Isn't that too short to know? Oh my god, I'm going to be a father!"

Your eyes widen at his words and you shake your head furiously. "Yuta, what the fuck? I'm not pregnant, and we did not even sleep together last week!" he heaves a sigh of relief, and you roll your eyes. He gets excited really easily, but hecan also calm down as quickly. "Oh. Then who did I sleep with last week?" you should file for divorce with your friends too. "I don't know Yuta, I do not live here to see who you bring home every day."

"Are you calling me a slut?" he cackles and you shake your head, at least, the tension is way less tense. "Yuta, I did not come here to slut shame you or anything, I do have something important I have to tell you. And to ask you too, if you are willing to listen to me until I'm done before getting mad."

"Why would I get mad? I never get mad!" he says, offended, and you grab a chair to sit in front of him, you can't stay up for that, your legs are already shaking.

"Doyoung and I are getting married tomorrow, and I need you to come to the town hall at 2 pm to be my witness and sign the papers." you blut out and you cover your mouth with your hand, because you wanted to explain the situation before coming to this part, but you apparently do not have a brain to mouth filter.

Yuta stands up so fast that he almost trips on his own feet, he opens his mouth a few times but no sound comes out. You did expect as much. "What the fuck!" he says first, and you were expecting him to start yelling, but no, his voice is barely above a whisper. "You are back with Doyoung? Why would you do something like that? Are you masochist or just plain stupid?"

"Call me stupid one more time, and I swear to God that I will kick you in the balls right here and there!" you mutter and he rolls his eyes as he sits back down. "Listen to me, understand everything, and then you will be allowed to judge me."

When he stays quiet, you start talking again.

"Doyoung's aunt passed away, and she decided to give him pretty much everything she ever had, but it is stated in the will that if he wants to get the inheritance, we still have to be wedded. So he came to me the other day, asking me if we could get married again, so he could get the inheritance."

He hums and he crosses his arms over his chest. "And what will happen after?" you shrug. "We did not talk about it just yet, but I guess we are going to divorce. Again."

He heaves a long and deep sigh as he stands up, only to pace around the living room this time. "I understand what he is asking you. If he is doing it, it is because the inheritance is worth it. But have you thought about the consequences? Do you think you are emotionally strong enough to go through another divorce?" he asks in a soft voice.

"I don't know, Yuta. But I guess I will be? I mean, this time there will be no problem with separation of property, or anything. It's just a wedding of convenience, nothing else. No feelings involved." he stops in front of you, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure about the last part?" you hate when he asks this question. "Doyoung is my first love, and despite everything that happened between us, he will always have a special place in my heart no matter what I say, or show, but this is over. And he has a girlfriend."

"If you promise me that you won't let your heart get broken again, then you can count on me, I will be there tomorrow to sign the papers. Again." you wrap you arms around his waist, burrying your face against his toned stomach. "I promise." you whisper, and if you had your fingers crossed behind his back, this is nobody's business.

"Look who's here."

You turn your head when Yuta speaks, and your eyes meet Doyoung's. He is closely followed by a clearly annoyed Johnny who does not look up from his phone, and you wonder how bad it was yesterday. You would give everything you have to be able to witness what happened in the confine of Johnny's apartment when Doyoung asked him to come today. Did he punch him? That probably did not happen, but it's a thought that warms your heart.

"Are you wearing the fucking suit?" you ask and he stops, a bright smile illuminating his face. "Well, it is a wedding, it's only fair to wear the suit of our first wedding." what a little shit, he told you to dress nicely, but to not go all the way like it was real fucking wedding. "I wanted to burn it a few weeks after our break up, and honestly, I'm happy I didn't do it. Maybe I'll do it during the first weekend I'll spend in the lake house to celebrate my inheritance and our second divorce."

"What if I punched you in the face?" Yuta asks, stepping out in front of you, and you have to grab his wrist to be sure he is not taking another step. "I'm sure the suit will look way better with your blood on it!" you meet Johnny's gaze and he smiles, he has no intention to step in between them, and because you know it, and won't do it either, you smile back. "What's up Y/n, it's been a while."

"I'm getting married to my ex-husband for money, you know, the usual." he chuckles and you let go of Yuta's hand when him and Doyoung seem to relax. "I almost punched him in the face when he told me. "Johnny adds, and yes, it is basic Johnny's bevahior. "You should have done it, but I guess you still have time. Maybe you could do it when we get out of the town hall, as a wedding gift?" Doyoung looks at you, and at Johnny, in time with a frown. "That's a great idea! I'll do it, and I'll give you time to take a photo."

"Maybe I should marry you instead of Doyoung." you concede, when you enter the town hall. "Maybe you should, but it's not like I never asked you before." Doyoung stops, and you almost bump against his back and he turns on his heels. "What do you mean, it's not like you never asked her?" he asks in between clenched teeth. "Why do you care man?" Johnny answers and you chuckle.

Johnny is Doyoung's best friend, and yet, he loves pissing him off as much as you do, and that's probably why you get along so well. He puts an arm over your shoulders as you climb the stairs to the right room. "You should not touch her like that, we are supposed to get married." Doyoung says in a breath, and Johnny takes a step back. "It's a fake marriage, I can do whatever I want with the bride."

"Come on kids, right now is not the right time to fight." you say before the doors open on the mayor. "You can do it later." you enter the room, Yuta on your heels and with a pretty angry Doyoung beside you.

You come out half an hour later, your old wedding ring around your finger, and Doyoung with his. You are surprised he did not throw it away. "Well, that sucked." you mumble so as not to be heard by the mayor you smile at.

"Your first wedding was more fun. Taeyong got drunk and fell into the pond." Yuta says and you laugh at the memory. Yours and Doyoung's families left pretty early, so it was only the newly neds and your friends for the whole night, and things got out of hand pretty quickly, you probably will never forget any of it, even though you should.

"So, what are we doing?" Johnny asks, burrying his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "We have an appointment with the notary tomorrow morning, so we have the rest of the day." Doyoung says with a shrug and you turn your head to watch him. "Shouldn't you go home to your girlfriend, tell her everything about how you said "I do" to me for the second time of your life?"

"Fuck off, Y/n. Do you always have to ruin everything?" you try to stay quiet, you really try, but you can't. "Do I have to ruin everything? You are the reason we got a divorce, Doyoung! Our relationship turned to shit because of you, and you have the guts to tell me to stop ruining everything? You did it first, so suck it up."

"You do whatever you want, I'm going home, I'm tired of seeing his face." you say before kissing Yuta's cheek, thanking him for being here, as always, and before disappearing in the corner of the street, you look at Doyoung one last time. "You have the certificate, you can go to the notary on your own tomorrow. Good riddance, asshole."

You know this is not part of the deal, but you really do not want to see him for something you do not have to actually be there. The certificate will be enough for the notary to understand that you are married, and Doyoung, oh all mighty stupid Doyoung will find a good lie for the date on the certificate, you do not doubt that one bit. He is a good liar after all.

It is around 2 o'clock when someone knocks on the door, and nuzzled in a blanket on the sofa with an horror movie playing on the television, you do not feel like moving to open the door. Whoever it is, they can wait, or call you if it is urgent.

You heave a sigh of relief when the knocking stops, but then, it is your phone who starts to rind and you whine loudly. You pout, but when you see Doyoung's picture on the screen, the pout turns into a frowns and you pick up. "What do you want? Another wedding?" you hear him sigh from the other side of the line. "Open the door." oh god, now you have to stand up, and for who? For Kim fucking Doyoung.

You hang up, and after a minute or two of weighting the pros and cons, you stand up, and head to the front door that you open slightly. "What?" without saying a word, he hands you a letter and you look at him without taking it. "What is that?" he rolls his eyes, arm still stretched. "A letter for us, from my aunt, that the notary gave me earlier. I didn't think it would be nice to open it without you."

"You can come in, but I want you gone in five minutes." you mumble as you push yourself from the door to let him in. "Where is the carpet my mom bought you?" he asks as he takes his jacket and shoes off. "I unfortunately dropped a few glasses of red wine on it, and it became impossible to wash out, so I threw it away. What a shame, a beautiful carpet." of course you did, he knows you never liked anything coming from his mother.

"If you have the letter with you, I guess the appointment with the notary went well?" you go back to the living room and you sit down on the armchair. "He was a bit hesitant to accept the certificate as it was dated from yesterday." that was expected. "And what did you tell him?" he heaves a long sigh as he sits directly on the ground, like he used to do when he still lived here.

"I told him we had a flooding at the house, and that our certificate got ruined. I also said that the town hall lost some files, so we had to ask for a new one." that's smart. "You should open the letter, you only have 3 minutes left before I kick your ass out of this house."

He opens the letter and he looks at the words, written prettily by his aunt probably a few years ago, when she was still here, when she had hope about their relationship.

"My loves," Doyoung starts to read out loud. "if you are reading this letter, it means I am no longer in this world, but fear not, I will always be close to you, no matter where I am. You must have been surprised when you learned about the will, about the inheritance, but let me explain. My children, well, you know them, you know how they are and they do not deserve even half of what I have. Well, had. But you, you do deserve it. You are young, full of love, and ready to start your life together. As I am writing this, you are about to get married, Y/n is also in the room with me, she is getting her makeup done, and Doyoung, she is absolutely beautiful, you are the luckiest man."

Doyoung either takes a break to catch his breath, or to let the words settle.

"So, as I was saying, you are about to start your life together, and you only deserve the best. This is why I decided to give you everything I had. Doyoung, you grew up in the lake house, you even proposed to your beautiful wife there, it is only normal for you to get it. My car, that Y/n always loved, you can have it, as well as the necklace I promised to give her when my time would come. And the rest. You can keep what you want, you can sell the rest, or give it away, make someone else happy, I trust the two of you to do what is good."

You cross your arms over your chest, lowering your head when Doyoung starts to speak again.

"You two fell in love really young, and unfortunately, the families were not supportive enough, and made you feel like what you felt was not real, that you would get over it at some point. Y/n, I want to apologize for everything they ever said, or done to you, you never did anything to deserve any of this. You both never deserved the treatment they gave you. You only deserve the best, and all of the happiness the world can give you. I hope I will help a little bit on that. Be happy, always, be there for each other, and never forget that you should never go to bed mad. Doyoung, you are stubborn, so please, take the time to listen to Y/n, and turn your tongue seven times in your mouth before speaking, you would not want to lose her. The love of your life. I love you both so much, thank you for always being by my side."

When Doyoung puts the letter back inside of the envelop, you sigh. "I did not even notice her writing back then." you say in a whisper. "But now, I understand her decision, she really was rooting for us, uh?" Doyoung nods, and he is touched by the letter, if the way his eyes are shining is anyhing to go by. "She was the only one who believed in us. She would be incredibly disappointed if she knew."

Because yes, if the situation is this tricky is because you did not tell her when you decided to break up. It was only supposed to be a few days/weeks break, but it turned into a divorce, and you were so busy with the divorce in itself, the lawyers, the moving and everything that you both forgot to tell her, and maybe it was a good thing, at least, she did not pass away sad or disappointed. Because if she knew, she would have changed her will. And to be honest, you are not even sure Doyoung's family knows.

"She would be, yes." you stay silent for a minute and when Doyoung stands up, you look up at him. "What are we doing now?"

"We should go to the lake house, so you can get whatever you want from the house, the necklace, and the books you loved so much, and then I guess we'll call the lawyer." what does it hurt so bad to hear him say that? You did not want to see him again, but after hearing what his aunt thought about you, about the relationship, it feels different, you head and your hearts are a mess.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow around 8am, so we won't come home too late, alright?" you nod, and without another word, Doyoung leaves the house, leaving behind him a heavy silence and a lot of things to think about for you.

"I hate you."

Doyoung's eyes widen at your words, and he turns his eyes but being the one driving, he can't watch you for too long. "What have I done? I did not say anything for over an hour!" he exclaims and you shrug as you look at the landcape behind the window. The city long gave way to the country side, and you have to admit that it is way prettier than all of the buildings of the city.

"The music sucks, and I still don't like your sweater."

"You need to stop hating on my sweaters, because you did not complain about them when you were cold!" he answers and you stick your tongue out at him. "Yeah well, maybe if you had agreed on letting me keep them, then maybe they would not look so ugly." he chuckles as he shakes his head. "You are impossible."

"Can I ask you a question?" he nods. "Did you tell your parents, about the divorce?" well, that was not was he was expecting. "I did, a few weeks ago." a few weeks ago, when you have been divorced for a year now, yeah, sounds valid. "They were probably very happy to learn the news." well, you were not happy about getting a divorce at such a young age, but you were definitely happy to get rid of his parents. So it's only fair that they felt the same.

"You know how they are, they told me it was for the best, that we were not made to be together, you know, what they always told us." you can hear his mother's voice in your head, and you wince at the thought. "At least I succeeded on making her happy once in my life."

You stay silent for a few minutes, but you open your mouth mouth. "And now I'm mad, because I promised myself to never do anything to make her happy! Fuck me!" Fortunately, he is at a red sign, because Doyoung starts to laugh to the point where his vision becomes blurry with tears.

"Stop laughing idiot!" you say when you hear the horns of the cars behind Doyoung's car. "Don't yell at me, it's your fault!" you can't help but to laugh along with him and it takes you a few minutes to calm down, and it's been a long time since you laughed with Doyoung, and it makes you feel.. light? And definitely happy.

"Oh my god, I don't remember the last time I came here." you say as you get out of the car when Doyoung stops the engine. The lake house is typical of a lake house, made of wood, old and yet beautiful. The flowers are blooming and it makes the entire area colorful and it is hard for you to close your mind to the memories that come with the view. "Honestly? I don't remember either."

Doyoung opens the door, and he starts to cough when it moves a cloud of dust around him. "Oh wow, I don't think my aunt came here for a long time." the house used to be clean, and smelling of fresh flowers and laundry, but today, it smells of nothing but dust and wilted flowers on the coffee table. "I have a few days off, next week, we can come to clean, if you want." you propose.

"We?" you shrug as you nudge him to enter the house, and even if it's not what it used to be, it still feels like home. And you know Doyoung feels the same, he told you so many times that he wanted nothing more than to finish his days here, with a family, and a dog. "I spent as much time in this house as you did, it's normal that I help you. But you can refuse, and clean by yourself, I don't mind."

He rolls his eyes and without another word, he climbs the stairs only to come back a few minutes later with a wooden box. "Here, take it." you take it, and you smile when you see his aunt's jewelery. She had incredible taste, and she never wanted to leave the house without wearing them.

"I'm only taking the necklace. You should give one of these rings to your girlfriend, I'm sure she would love it." you put the box on the coffee table and you take out the necklace you had fallen in love with at the second you saw Doyoung's aunt wear it. "What did you say?" you ask when Doyoung says something, but with the way his teeth are clenched, it is impossible for you to understand something.

"I said, I don't have a girlfriend." you do something you should never have done, you flop down on the couch, waving your hands to get rid of the dust around you. "What? But you said you had one the other day." he heaves a long sigh as he sits down on the ground, grimacing when he realizes how bad of an idea it was. "I know, but I did not think, I only wanted to piss you off, I guess." you roll your eyes. "You guessed right, because it did piss me off."

"For real?" this is the conversation you wish you did not need to have, but you also know that Doyoung is stubborn and he will keep hasking until you give him the answer he wants. "You know it well, I don't need to explain."

"Please, do." of fucking course.

"Doyoung, you are my first boyfriend, my first husband, and of course, my first love. And you will remain my first love, no matter how much we hate each other. No matter how much we hate each other, I will still love you." you could say, no matter if you are married or not, you will still love him, but you do not see yourself married to someone that is not him, honestly.

"I don't hate you, you know." Doyoung says, and you tilt your head to the side. "Well, you do act like you hate me, so it is a bit hard to believe what you are saying." he brings one of his leg against his chest, his chin on his knee. "It's true though, I only act like that because you hate me, and I don't want to give you another reason to hate me even more."

"So you are telling me, that you only pretend to hate me, because I hate you?" he hums. "When I only act like that because you hate me." his eyes open wide, and it is almost comical, especially when he understand what you are saying. "So you don't hate me?"

"The last months of our relationship, and of course, the divorce, it hurt me a lot, way more than I thought it would, but that never meant that I hated you. Of course, I did hate you, for a while, but like I said, you are my first love, and I always wanted you to be my only love. So no, I never hated you as much as I tried to show you for the past few months."

Doyoung chuckles. "We are idiots." but his smile slowly fades. "By the way, I wanted to apologize for what I said the other day, when I said you always found a way to ruin everything." oh yes, that hurt like a bitch, and it still hurts, thinking about it. "It's fine, Doyoung, I know you only said that because you were mad at me, but please, don't say something like that again, because it hurt. And also because I'll punch you in the throat next time."

"Threats, threats, you always threaten me, but you never do anything about it." he says in a sigh, and you gasp. "Don't push me, Doyoung, because I will act on one of the threats."

"You're all bark and no bite."

You stand up, and you pounce on Doyoung whose mouth opens in a silent scream, he was not expecting you to act on your words. "I'm not going to punch you, because you still have to drive us back home, but I will do it, one day, trust me." you say, straddling his lap.

You only realize your position on Doyoung when he stops breathing. "Oh." you could move, stand up and sit back down on the couch, but something tells you that you should stay here. You meet Doyoung's gaze, and your eyes close when his fingers brush against your cheek. "What are you doing?" you ask in a whisper and you feel him shrug. "I don't know. But tell me if you want me to stop."

You wonder what he means by that, but soon enough, you feel his lips grazing against yours and your breath hitches in your throat. Don't do it, you want to scream, you are going to ruin everything, but you find yourself unable to speak. Why? Because you are dying to kiss him. You have been dying to kiss him for so long now, you were just stubborn, and too hurt to stop denying the truth.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks in a soft voice, and you open your eyes. You can see so many emotions in his eyes, so many emotions you had not seen in a long time. And you know you shouldn't, you know you should stop whatever is happening, get your stuff and ask him to drive you back home, but something is stopping you. Your heart is taking over your brain. "Please."

The feeling of his soft lips against yours is enough to bring back so many memories. The nights you spent in this living room, in front of the lit fireplace, kissing and giggling like teenagers trying to not wake up his parents and his aunt. You were in love back then, and the world did not exist around you. It was the two of you and only the two of you.

And it still is the same no matter what happened the past few months.

"I love you, I always loved you, and I will always love you." Doyoung says against your lips.

Four months later.

"What the hell are you doing? There are people around!" you explain when you see Doyoung kneeling on the ground, in front of all the friends you had invited for a weekend at the lake house. "Doyoung, come on, get up!"

He shakes his head, and he takes out a red silk case, the same one you have seen so many times placed on his aunt's dressing table. The one her husband proposed to marry her when she was barely 18. The same age you were when Doyoung first proposed to you. The conversations around stop, and you are pretty sure you heard a gasp.

"I know we've done it twice already. Once for love, and once for this house, but I want this time to be the one for eternity. This past year without you has been the worst, since you weren't by my side, for the first time since our teenage years. Life without you makes no sense, and I intend to take this second chance to redo everything, and to redo everything perfectly. My aunt said we deserved it, and you know what? I agree with her. That's why I would like to ask you to be my wife. Again."

He takes a deep breath, and he almost loses his balance but you are quick to put a hand on his shoulder to help him out. Even though it is not the first time, it does feel like it, you feel butterflies in your stomach, and your heart is pounding in your chest. "Of course I want to be your wife, Doyoung." you say and his smile is so bright that you almost have to look away, but you do not. This is the smile you love more than anything in the world.

This is Doyoung's smile. And you always loved him. And you know that whatever life throws at you, you will overcome everything, as long as you are together. And as long as you communicate.

#nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #nct angst

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hannie-dul-set · 3 years

Text

“i'll take your word for it and no one else's.” [lee jeno]

SUMMARY | maybe snooping through your friend’s phone wasn’t that much of a good idea. or maybe it was. either way, you didn’t regret it. PAIRING | lee jeno x reader GENRE | friends to something, fluff, lots of bickering JHDFJ WARNINGS | swearing, invasion of privacy (LMAO idk) WORD COUNT | 2.1k TAGLIST | @danishmiilk @lucyinthesunshinee @sehunniepot @nct-writers @czennienet @neowritingsnet

a/n: i didn’t think i’d turn another one of my dreams into a fic, but here we are HAHHAHA i tweaked a few bits and pieces to make it work (setting + added some dialogue + changed the ending because i WOKE UP before it could finish hmph) but please enjoy this unscheduled fic!! <3

early summer afternoons were warm.

bright rays of the sun were showering on your skin as you lounged on the park bench, hot enough to make you feel the season but not too hot to singe your skin. it was the perfect weather to waste the day outside, and your younger brother and cousin decided to haul you outside so they can play basketball at the park.

but you didn't know why your friend jeno decided to come along.

"your brother messaged me," he grinned at you, plopping down beside you with a long, refreshed sigh. a towel was slung around his neck and he used it to wipe the sweat on his face. "what? why are you staring at me like that?"

"since when were you close with my brother?"

"am i not allowed to be friends with the little guy?" he joked, but apparently he took the unamused look on your face completely the wrong way. "oh my god, are you afraid that he'll take all my attention away from you?" to further tease, he brought his smug face closer to yours that was dumbfounded in shock, his stupidly irritating smile moving in closer.

sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.

but you loved him nonetheless.

"like hell i want your attention," you sneered, lightly shoving him away with a glare. he only laughed at your display of annoyance. "go back to playing with the kids or something, you goof."

the never leaving grin in his face seemed brighter against the sun, and he playfully ruffled your hair before running off to disappear into the court.

"as you wish, m'lady."

you let out a huff of air, rolling your eyes as your cheeks were involuntary tugged upwards, prompting a smile to form on your lips. you brought your hands to your hair, fixing the mess that jeno left with, and your gaze landed on the phone he left beside you. the screen flashed on. someone was calling him.

brows knitted together, you picked up the ringing phone, unable to recognize the caller id. you brought the device to your ear, standing up walking towards the court— you figured that you'd just answer whoever that was now and just pass it on to jeno once he was at reach.

"hello?"

"oh, hello there!" there was a pause from the caller "is lee jeno around, miss? would you mind giving the phone to him?"

the voice was that of a middle aged woman's, but it wasn't someone that you recognized. you assumed it was a relative of his or something because you'd know that this was his mom if it were her. "ah, give me a moment! i'll just look for him."

your feet stopped at the edge of the court, the sound of a ball bouncing into the concrete jarring against your ears. not bothering to look at the scene in front if you, you covered the mic with your hand before deciding to shout.

"jeno! someone's calling you!"

there was no usual prompt answer from your friend.

"he's not here!"

the loud voice of your brother answered instead, causing you to narrow your eyes into the court scene with a tinge of confusion masking your expression. there was indeed no mop of blue hair within the area, and you were only confused even further.

"where did he— aish, nevermind."

scratching your head, you swiveled your heels and decided to just head back to the bench. "hi, sorry. i'm not sure where he is right now. so if it's fine with you, can you call him again later? or maybe i could just tell him to call you back when he returns?"

"oh, then can you just relay this to him? it won't take that long, i promise."

you inwardly sighed, but agreed nevertheless. oh, you were definitely gonna ask him to treat you and the kids dinner later. why the fuck did he just disappear like that? now you were responsible for memorizing whatever this woman was telling you (apparently it was about an architecture summer program he was interested in— the lady was a head from his department and she was just calling to tell him that he was accepted. she says she'll be forwarding more details later through text).

"alright, thank you! i'll be sure to inform him when he gets back."

the call ended, and you groaned. you were about to close the phone, but then all of a sudden a notification appeared with a quiet ding!

[haechan 🌟 liked your retweet.]

ding!

[ohhh shit why do i feel like i know who this is.]

"huh."

you knew that you shouldn't be snooping inside your friend's phone. you knew that you shouldn't be invading his privacy no matter how enticingly juicy the bait was. you knew that it was flat out wrong. but—

"ah, just a peek," you clicked on the notification. "payback for making me deal with his stuff."

a hint of excitement rushed through you. jeno never told you his twitter. actually, you didn't even know he had one. he was always buried with studies, sports, and friends so you didn't expect him to keep up with social media— this fact enough was surprising, but the moment the screen finally loaded the tweet

you were even more surprised than you were a few seconds ago.

[@markly tweeted: "it's kind of funny how sometimes we just meet random people at the most random of moments and you don't expect it but they just end up sticking by your side until now"]

[@leejeno quoted: "yeah. a few years back, i saw this girl while i was walking. it wasn't the usual path that i took to school. i saw her having trouble crossing the street because there was a dog hanging around (she's scared of them) so i decided to help her. she couldn't even look at my face back then out of embarrassment but earlier we were calling until four in the morning. if i took a different path that day or if i didn't help her, i don't know how i'd be like right now because she's become one of the most important people in my life."]

your heart skipped a beat. two beats. three. it was running a mile a minute and you could barely even breathe to catch up.

[@do0 replied: how are you two right now?]

[@leejeno replied: "we're good haha. i'm going with her and her brother to the park later. we're still really good friends.]

[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]

"hey, sorry for running off there. i went to get some— whoa. whats up?"

oh my fucking god.

you shot up, eyes wide, and you automatically turned off the phone. broken stutters left your lips, as the leaping of your heart to your throat prevented you from saying even a semblance of a coherent sentence. all you could think of when you met his worried gaze, the way he rushed to your side to check on you, was the last thing you read. your grip on his phone tightened.

but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there

you were gonna fucking lose it.

"hey, are you okay?"

quick, gentle hands landed on your cheeks, fingers brushing against your skin like a match igniting a flame. you nearly got lost and tongue-tied all over again, but you quickly slapped his hands away in a scolding fit. "jesus christ, i'm fine. you just surprised me. are you a ghost or something?" you glared at jeno, but it only lasted one second because you couldn't bear to look at him without your insides going crazy. because of that, your eyes flicked to the plastic bag he dropped onto the bench. he brought you something to eat.

"a-and before you ask—" you defended yourself indignantly when he didn't even accuse you of anything. "i wasn't snooping. the school called. it was about your summer program. you got in."

"oh? they called already?" you nodded. "ah, let's talk while walking— the kids are mad because i only got you food. they're asking me to buy the entire store for them to compensate," he released an airy laugh. you mentally scolded yourself.

keep it cool. you repeated the mantra inside your head as you strided beside jeno, your brother and cousin racing ahead of you. street lights were lighting up and the sky was fading into the night. cool cool cool cool cool. keep it cool.

the walk to the store felt way too gruelling than it normally would. it wasn't even that far. you told jeno everything the lady had told you, including the more detailed texts that she'd be sending later on. you thought that he'd be a lot more excited after hearing— he was interested, after all. but to you, he just seemed dismissive. "should i go?" he mindlessly asked.

"what are you talking about?" your brows furrowed. "yeah, of course. you wanted to, right?"

"but it's gonna last an entire month this summer," he yawed, stretching out his arms and hooking you by the neck, causing you to halt and stumble into him. you held back a squeak, and he looked at you, eyes gleaming with curious anticipation. a car sped by. "you still want me to go?"

those damned words that you read echoed inside your head again. you wondered if it resonated into the fucking nerves of your heart, as well.

"i—i mean," you stammered. "it's only one month. and it would also help you a lot in the future, right? you'd make a lot of connections during the camp. so yeah, i do want you to go."

he blinked at you. a hum sounded from his closed lips. he let go of you and resumed walking. you gaped when he left you behind.

was this karma?

"hey, what the hell?" quickly, you caught up to him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt so that you could hang on to him. "why are you being sulky? i didn't do anything wrong!" technically you did do something wrong, but he didn't have to know that.

"you said you wanted me to go."

"you're a baby," you scrunched your nose is disapproval. "i only said that because you said you wanted to go."

jeno abruptly stopped. maybe you were causing a scene in front of all the passersby, but you really didn't give a fuck anymore when your head was in a looped up mess. all thanks to your extremely difficult friend who apparently doesn't want to just be your friend. you swore that he was driving you insane on purpose.

he pulled out his phone and faced the screen to you. your sweat dropped.

[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]

"even after reading this," he started. "you still want me to go?"

"w-well."

he just had to be so fucking sharp. well, you weren't exactly slick either. maybe he saw a glimpse of the screen before you got to turn it off earlier. heat started to rise from your neck into your face, a grinding mixture of embarrassment and desire to be hit by a moving truck afflicting your nerves. why were you the one suffering? shouldn't it be him?

"no."

he hummed, turning off his phone and shoving the device into his pocket. arms crossed, he leaned in to your face, bearing a look of feigned innocence. "but you said i'd make a lot of useful connections."

"you can make those anywhere."

"and it's only a month, right?"

"that's thirty days too long."

"and—"

"oh, come on!" you exclaimed, balling your fists in vexation. another car sped by with an accompanied honk. jeno simply wore a look of faint amusement at your little outburst. "i don't want you to join your stupid summer program. happy now?"

"well, if you say so."

you stared at him. he patted your head, eyes disappearing into a pair of crescents with a smile.

"i'll take your word for it and no one else's."

you were left frozen and dumbfounded in the middle of the sidewalk as jeno brazenly spun his heels to chase after the runaway kids that went before you— literally leaving you behind. letting a curse slip past your breath, you also went after them. he was definitely driving you insane on purpose.

sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.

this was one of those times.

"you said you weren't gonna go, you asshole!"

"payback for snooping through my phone!"

but you could still love him nonetheless.

#NCT-WRITERS #czennet #neowritingsnet #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct jeno x reader #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno scenarios #jeno scenarios #jeno fluff #lee jeno fanfic #jeno fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff

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shredsandpatches · 2 years

Text

sunday snippet (we two alone will sing like birds i'the cage edition)

Ended up taking the week off from writing because three days of final rehearsals and a concert (and also a job interview) was pretty demanding. I've still got plenty of content, though, so here's a bit from the tail end of the appellant crisis drama llama dinner party (seen previously in this space).

Richard sighs and buries his face in his hands. “Is this it, then?” he says. “Are you going to let them depose me?”

Neither Henry nor Mowbray answers. Richard can hear Anne’s sharp intake of breath, beside him; she takes his hand and clasps it in both of hers.

“My lord of Derby,” she says. “My lord of Nottingham. My husband cannot ask you this. He is the King, and he has his pride. But I beseech you. I beg you. Do not proceed in this. For his sake, but also, for your own. For the sake of both of your souls.”

Henry and Mowbray exchange a long glance. “I can’t promise they’ll listen to us,” Henry says. “Well, Warwick might. He’s not as committed to deposing you as the other two. You probably have him to thank for the fact that you’re on the throne now.”

“If three of us oppose it…” Mowbray begins. He breaks off, leans back, drinks some wine. “They’ll still expect you to make concessions in the next parliament,” he says. “And they’ll expect you to be there.”

Henry nods emphatically. “No haring off around the country because you can’t be bothered to govern.”

Richard grits his teeth. Anne presses his hand tightly between hers, and after another moment, he says, “All right. Tell them I’m willing to listen. But remind them—” He swallows, for the next thing he has to say is a bitter pill. “Remind them that whatever they do, they will have to answer it when your father returns.”

Henry has that puckered expression again. It may or may not be a good sign. Richard looks at Anne, who is watching Henry and Mowbray intently. Her face looks pale and strained; he is fairly sure he looks the same.

“We’ll talk to them,” Henry says, finally. “But don’t think you’re out of trouble, even if you stay on the throne.”

Richard squeezes his eyes closed, wishing more than anything he could punch Henry right in his stupid sanctimonious face. As if he knows anything about governing—as if he would do any better with half a dozen uncles and the English nobility breathing down his neck all the time because they don’t approve of his friends. He thinks he’s better than Richard because he’s won one battle that was hardly even a battle, and because he has two sons and Richard has none, as if that’s enough to make someone a king. He would go mad within days if he ever tried it.

Instead of saying any of this aloud, he says, “I am grateful, cousin. I will try to govern better henceforth.”

“We’ll see about that,” Henry says.

When supper is over and they have gone, and the servants have cleared the table, Richard remains in his seat, staring past the door as if he could somehow follow them as they report back to Gloucester and Arundel. Not that he has any desire to see Gloucester and Arundel at the moment. He slumps forward, burying his face in his hands.

Anne’s arms wrap around his shoulders, then, and he can feel her press her cheek to his hair and smell her faint scent of orangewater and rosemary. She has been magnificent tonight—Richard half believes that she could make even Gloucester see reason. No wonder they refused to admit her to the meeting.

“Come on, miláčku,” she says. “We should pray, and drink some wine, and go to bed. You barely slept last night.”

Richard opens his eyes, takes her hand, and showers it with kisses. Then he turns in her arms and leans up to kiss her lips. “You’re right, of course,” he says. “You were wonderful tonight, you know. You make me think that perhaps God doesn’t mean to cast me down entirely.”

Anne smiles down at him. “I am your queen, and your wife, and it is my duty and my calling to support you—but most of all, I love you,” she says. “I only hope it will be enough.”

“I can’t believe our safety now depends on Henry Bolingbroke’s fear of his father,” Richard says. “I’ll write to him in Spain as soon as I can. Gaunt will be over the moon about how badly things have gone for me without him, I expect. Maybe he’ll just wait for them to have me killed so he can take the throne for himself when he gets back. I suppose that at least whatever he does to Gloucester will ease my pains in Purgatory.”

“Do not speak that way, my love,” Anne says. “You will not see Purgatory for many years, if it is in my power.” Her brow furrows and she shakes her head impatiently. “I cannot believe their impudence,” she adds. “They have no right to treat you this way.”

Richard’s lips twist into a sad smile, and he rises to his feet and embraces her. “No,” he says. “They don’t.”

“Are you all right?” Anne says, reaching up to caress his face. “This has been hard enough for me. I cannot imagine how hard it is for you.”

“When you are at my side, I feel like I can fight this,” he says.

“You will,” Anne says, smiling at him. “And I will stay by your side, and fight it with you.”

She stays by his side that night, and throughout the next day. It is almost peaceful—indeed, it is peaceful, except for the part where a coalition of five noblemen is elsewhere in the Tower determining their fate. They stay in bed well into the morning; it is a cold day and the snow lies thickly on the ground and on the walls and windowsills. Richard has moments when he thinks that perhaps being imprisoned for the rest of his life wouldn’t be so bad, if he were allowed to stay with Anne. They could keep them in the little manor house he’s had built for the two of them at Sheen, on an island in the Thames. It’s almost completed, after four years of construction, a private retreat for the two of them. Richard thinks he could live out his life quietly there, with Anne, and let Gloucester and Henry and the others bear the burdens of kingship. The people would come to hate them soon enough.

He knows, though, that it is only a fantasy. Deposed kings don’t get to live out their lives in peace in beautifully furnished manors. His great-grandfather had died in agony in a dungeon. They say you can still hear his screams when you go there. Why would Gloucester and Arundel show him more mercy than that?

#the novelthing #sunday snippet #richard ii #otp: my derlyng is a bundel of myrre to me #i heart anne so much #and so does richard

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hitozy · 3 years

Text

have you ever ‹ masterlist › denouement

tw! manipulation, mentioned underage sex, dubious consent, cheating. i also want to point out that reader is around 2-3 years younger than Iwaizumi, while Jae and Iwa are the same age. ps. this is a long chp :)

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞

Iwaizumi has no idea of what has possessed him tonight. He doesn't know why he's walking around the city in the middle of the night a day before he should be on his way home.

He doesn't know why after the celebration he didn't follow his teammates. He doesn't know why he has barely answered your texts since after the game.

He also doesn't know why he agreed to go and see Jae, to hear her out.

He's been doing fine so far, seven months Jae clean and while the first three were bumpy; your company had made it easier to deal with. Your cheerfulness, your happiness, the adventures you've both have been planning have taken his mind off the broken heart he was nursing.

She continued to contact him, even when he begged her not to and blocking her phone was no use, she just got a new one and tried again and again. His resolve was diluted and he knew it would be a matter of time before he fell into his old habits.

lil jae: congrats on the win haji! let me invite you to a drink, im in town.

Iwaizumi recalls an old memory from back in high school, a few weeks before moving to California, you were sitting on his bed helping him organize his suitcase with 'essentials'. His clothes all over the place but as always, you showed enthusiasm at helping him out.

He remembers you giggling and calling him a dork while folding his Godzilla themed underwear and placing it inside his suitcase. He remembers the way you hummed some songs that you had just placed on your shared playlist because 'it's kinda your style' and it kinda is. He even remembers what you were wearing, a pair of black running shorts and a blue tank top. When you reached over the edge of his bed for his fallen socks, your cleavage was visible to his eyes, 'If a man ever peers down his shirt', he thought, 'I'll kill him without hesitating.'

But what he remembers the most is you pulling out an old shoe box from under said bed, a shoe box that held his most treasured things. Pictures from his childhood that matched the ones on your bedroom wall, doddles from your hand, your favorite flowers pressed inside a copy of your favorite book, short stories and poems, snippets of stories never finished from you. He'll never forget your teary eyes and happy smile when he took the box from you, emptying the contents carefully inside his backpack. The hug you gave him afterward still sets his heart on fire, nothing has ever been more lovely than you and your happy smile.

He also remembers Jae coming into his room right during your hug, wearing an empty smile on her face, her eyes red and raging. He's only ever seen her this mad whenever he's with you and he still doesn't get it.

She stay's to "help" when in reality all she does is glare at yn the whole time. It helps that you don't even mind the glares or the bad mood, joking that 'Jae's grumpy because we couldn't go to the movies today'.

It was late afternoon when you left, Iwaizumi had given you a bag filled with some of his stuff - things he knew you loved and adored, things he couldn't take. He watched you get inside your parents car and wave him goodbye, even though you both knew he'd be coming through your window in a few hours for movie night.

He remembers when he came back inside to find Jae naked on his bed. How angry she was and how she took it out on sex, the tension so palpable he could taste it. Once it was over, she walked towards his backpack and pulled out all of YN's things and that's when it clicked. She was mad because he was taking stuff about YN and not her, she made it clear when Jae told him, 'What the fuck is this.'

He remembers that hours later, he finds himself in your room squeaky clean and wearing nothing but his sweatpants and socks, his back against your front with his head against your breasts. He hadn't told you that Jae broke up with him, but he knew you had figured out he was sad because your arms cradled him since he got situated there and had not moved since.

How Jae said she wouldn't move with him in the end. How she had decided to stay in Japan and have him go to California all alone in the end, just because she wanted him to. How he begged her to come, to stay with him, to not leave him and how he watched her get dressed to go home. How she winked at him as she left with a, "Call me once you're in Cali."

How she only wants to go out when she knows he has plans with you. How she only cares about him when you're around or how messed up and used he feels ever since she took his virginity during your 14th birthday party.

He feels disgusting sometimes after sex with Jae, disgusted with himself on how wrong it is but how much he loves her still.

He didn't have to say any of that to you, the kiss on the forehead you just gave him eased it all away anyway.

He remembers all of this while he's kissing Jae in her hotel room, her dress and underwear discarded somewhere in the room, his cock buried deep inside of her like a starved man, Her nails racking down his chest from his unbuttoned shirt as she moaned at the feeling.

When Jae separates herself from him with half lidded eyes, she smirks, "I bet my little cousin can't even kiss right, the little virgin." She kisses the column of his neck, grazing her teeth against the skin, getting ready to mark him as hers and even though he doesn't agree with her, he stays quiet.

A memory burst through his mind as he pounds into Jae. The way your sighed his name when he settled himself inside of you, the way your nails scratched his back when he hit your G-spot, the way you moaned when his thumb circled your clit; your gummy, tight walls griped him as you came, with his name on your lips. Your soft, pillow lips that have only been his, only kissed him.

"Be safe out there, Hajime! I'll be waiting for you!" She smiled as she kissed him goodbye by the front door.

He turned to deepen the kiss, pulling her closer to him like a starved man, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna runaway, mochi."

As he walked down the steps of his house, he heard her say "I miss you already."

It's then that Iwaizumi snaps out of it.

He pushes her off of him and steps back until his back is against the wall, feeling disgusted with himself in a way he hasn't since they broke up.

"I can't do this, I won't do this, I-" he pushes himself off the wall, tucking himself in and picking up his stuff, "Never again, Jae."

Jae watches him leave, a sinister smile spreading across her face. Her gaze steady as his figure disappears into the night, "If you think you can just up and go, Haji, you are very mistaken."

She walks to where she hid her phone and chuckles as she presses send, "Lets see what my little cousin has to say, hmm?"

Iwaizumi was worried, it wasn't normal for you to not answer his calls or texts. He was on the road back home with the team, their ruckus would usually give him a headache, but right now? Right now he can't focus on anything except the little 'unread' mark at the bottom of his last text to you.

my one: mochi? r u ok? im on my way back home

He didn't expect to come back home and find you in the living room in silence. Your eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying, you didn't have to say anything for him to know what had happened.

Jae told you.

He wish he could be surprised, but Jae had been nothing but a devil all this time and he can't believe he never saw it until now. Until he married you, an angel.

"Mochi, I'm sorry. I'm very very sorry, please talk to me." He knelt at your feet, his hands on your knees trying to get you to look at him. His guilt crashing down brick by brick, he should have never gone out to see her.

"I know this means nothing to you, mochi. But I'll never see her again, only when its a family reunion or you're with me."

Silence.

"There is no excuse, but yn, please, look at me, let me explain."

She pushes him off a bit, without much force as if her sadness took away all her strength and his heart clenched. How could he do this to his best friend? Lie and lie, again and again and again.

YN-”

“No, STOP! You- you got your say, now it’s my turn.” She's shaking and her breaths are short. She's starting to have a panic attack.

I get up and advance towards her slowly, “YN you need to calm down. Here,” I place my hand on her back, “let me-”

She pushes me off, her back towards me, “Please, don’t touch me. Please, please, please.” She's sobbing and its hurts so so much.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

“Remember your breathing exercises, mochi. In and out. In…”

Eventually her breathing normalizes but she still won't look at me and it takes all of my strength to not touch her.

“All I ever wanted was for you to love me, Hajime.”

Whoever said words can never hurt someone, has never been in my place. She just stabbed me without a knife and its more painful than I ever imagined.

“I wanted you to love me, to see me as your wife, as a woman but you didn’t. You don’t and I- it hurts so much.”

“But, mochi, you said you would marry me so we didn’t end up with strangers.”

“I know.”

“Then why-”

“I lied. I’ve loved you since the moment you came into my life. I’ve loved you for years, even before Jae came into the picture. I’ve loved you so so so much, I love you so much.”

“… you know about Jae? Since when?!” I made the mistake of reaching out for her, she pushed me back and said nothing. The dread of her knowing, of her finding out before today makes me sick.

“If you knew then why did you marry me!? Did you think I would change? That my feelings would change? You know I’m not like that.”

“I do know. I- thought that maybe-, but then it was clear that nothing would change but, I made a promise to you and I said it in our vows.”

“YN-”

“I know the mistake is mine. I know what all the blame is mine to take, I know it and I accept it. I’m sorry, Hajime, that’s me that you have to stay with.”

She finally turns to look at me, but I wish she hadn't. The tears are flowing steadily down her cheeks to her neck. I did this to her, I hurt her again and again, without thinking. No, without watching. Because if I had paid attention to her like Jae did, I might have seen it sooner.

“We could get a divorce, you know. That way you can stop getting hurt. Stop your heart from breaking. You don’t deserve this.”

“It’s okay. I- I give you permission to do it, to break my heart forever.”

“…What?”

She takes my hand, and in-between the tears she smiles at me as if her heart wasn't breaking in two. As if I didn't shatter her dreams for a few sloppy seconds, “It’s okay, I know what I signed up for, I knew it from the beginning. I guess I just didn’t want to accept it. So go ahead, break my heart, break it into a million pieces! I give you permission, Iwaizumi Hajime, please just - don’t leave me.”

I can't say anything, what am I supposed to say? My sweet, sweet girl is hurt and damaged and all she wants is for me to stay. I feel disgusted in a way I never did with Jae, because instead of being used, I am using her.

I bring her into my arms, and say the only words that have actual meaning between us, "I love you, mochi."

"I- I'll do better, I promise. Please YN," He gripped her shoulders tightly, "Please forgive me, I'll do whatever just, I'm so sorry, baby."

He can feel the tears spilling onto his shirt, a scorching pain expanding through his chest at the consequences of his actions. He hurt the one person who didn't deserve it, who he promised to keep safe and happy.

"Hajime, please take a bath, I wanna sleep without the smell of Jae."

His heart dropped at her words, he forgot that he had just upped and left from Jae's, only changing his clothes for comfort. His skin still smelled like her. As he separated from her, he kissed her forehead, "Join me?"

He laid on the bed with her hours later, her head on his chest where he could see her puffy eyes. She had washed him thoroughly to the point were he thought she had scrubbed him raw, and he couldn't blame her - he wanted to do the same since the beginning.

He pulled her closer, practically on top of him and felt her heartbeat against his own. He had done something terrible and he needed to fix it, fix this. So he needed to take the first step.

to lil jae: for someone who says they love me, u sure like to make me miserable. i don't know why u hate yn so much and tbh i don't care anymore. i don't want to see u or talk to u ever again. if u contact me, i'm gonna get a restraining order, jae. i can't do this anymore.

to lil jae: goodbye jae.

do you wish to block this number?

yes.

Remorse is memory awake, Her companies astir,— A presence of departed acts At window and at door.

Its past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless,—the disease Not even God can heal; For ’t is His institution,— The complement of hell.

Remorse is memory awake - Emily Dickinson

taglist ! @daphnxy @zukoslosthishonor @i-am-a-hoe-for-shinya @mrsdoradominguez-barnes @anejuuuuoy

a/n! *hands you all this and runs* i'll see you soon for chp11~

but in all seriousness, i wrote this chapter with my heart on my sleeve. love is truly the strongest curse and for it to be unrequired? imagine it.

now, i'm off to write the next part! and i am sorry :) ♥

#owwaw💔#owwaw #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime fic #iwaizumi smut #because of the short sex scenes

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

heavy is the head that wears the crown; and the heart > bucky barnes

|| pairing: romanian!king!bucky barnes x black!queen!reader

|| word count: 3,273

|| warnings: language words

|| challenge: @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge: royalty au + “i’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” “that’s the problem with most people. they dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo SSB2020 N1: modern royalty au

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo Y1: “i regret nothing.”

|| summary: there are many decisions to make as queen; some of the heart, some of the mind.

|| link: ao3

|| note: this is really late for maree’s birthday challenge! i’m so sorry babe, but i hope you like it! i hope it’s okay that i made it a modern royalty au instead of a traditional royalty au!

so, for this to make sense, we have to pretend that after the south seceded from the united states in 1860, they never rejoined the union and the civil war never happened. we also need to pretend that the united states had kings and queens instead of presidents, lol. we also have a cameo by a real life duke and duchess :) also, sis does not play in this.

hope you guys enjoy, and happy juneteenth!

You walk slowly through the trees, the tips of your fingers grazing over the bloomed flowers. The bottom of your dress is caked in dirt as it drags behind you, your black Converse shoes leaving soft imprints in the soft earth. You don’t care - you never have - but your mother surely will. Another dress ruined! My God, when are you going to learn some etiquette! You are thirty one years old, girl! You smile and chuckle slightly as her words swirl through your head. Dinner will be fun tonight.

You stop and bend slightly to pluck a rose from it’s bush. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, letting the natural, earthy scent fill your nose. You close your eyes and hum a little as you exhale slowly, letting your eyes flutter back open.

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

You laugh as his voice fills your ears. You don’t turn to face him. Instead, you do just the opposite. You turn away from him and keep on your leisurely stroll as you continue to sniff at your pretty red rose, “I’m not a hard person to figure out, Mr. Barnes.”

“That you’re not. That’s what I like about you.”

You scoff but laugh again, shaking your head softly. You take a few more steps before you shriek when two long arms wrap around your middle. He lifts you off your feet, twirling you around as you laugh wildly. He sits you back down, facing him this time, and crashes his lips to yours - stealing every ounce of breath out of your lungs. He squeezes you to him as you moan lightly and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi,” he says softly after he frees your lips.

You giggle as he rests his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed from the kiss, “Hi there,” you whisper, “You are awfully brave for pulling this little stunt with my mother being right inside.”

“I don’t care about your mother,” he shrugs, “Do you?”

You send your eyes towards the sky, pretending to give it some thought, “Not really, no.”

He finally opens his eyes and they almost take your breath away. You’ve been staring into those blues since you were kids, but the deepness of them - the emotions that swirl in them at any given time - surprises you every time. You cup his cheek, a dark beard blooming across his skin and rub your thumb underneath his right eye as a dreamy smile covers your lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You say softly, watching as the smile broadens on his face.

You send your eyes down to his chest, finding him in a crisp white button up shirt and a black velvet sport coat and pants, complete with a pair of off white, studded loafers, “You broke out the Tom Ford just to see me?”

“Not this time, darling.” He smiles, throwing his arm over your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “I had an engagement with Prince Harry and the Duchess Megan this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I was supposed to be there.” You laugh, shrugging.

He laughs at your nonchalance, “You were certainly missed. To be perfectly honest though, Harry and I had bet going that you’d blow it off.”

You nod, shooting him a quick finger gun, “Both of you are very smart men.” You giggle, “It’s just one more thing for my mom to be mad at me about. Whatever, I’ll text Harry and Megan my apologies.”

The two of you walk slowly through the vast garden until you are no longer visible from the main house. You wave at the horse handlers as they work your champion thoroughbreds off in the distance. You swallow and let out a breath as your mind starts to wander again, your stomach twisting a little.

“I’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” You say softly, dropping your eyes to the rose still in your fingers.

You hear Bucky sigh, “That’s the problem with most people. They dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your face, “Don’t be a smart ass, Barnes.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, threading his fingers with yours, “I mean it. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to marry him.” He stops moving as you continue to step ahead of him, your arms spreading out between the two of you as he continues to hold your hand, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You answer firmly, “I’m listening, I know.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I don’t. I love you.”

“Then marry me. Come back to Romania with me, be my queen.”

“And denounce my country? Just leave them behind with no heir? I can’t do that.”

“Your cousin could be Queen.”

“She’s an idiot!” You laugh, “We’d be in a world war within months.” You drop his hand and step away from him further, spinning on your heels suddenly to face him again, “You could move here.”

He nods slowly, “I could.”

You scoff, “Stop it.”

“I could - I would. If you really wanted me to.”

You shake your head, “You’re too idealistic.”

“And you’re too cynical.” He rebukes, keeping his gaze on you firmly, “We could make this work, you know we can.”

“How can you run a country if you’re thousands of miles away from it?” You sigh, “You’re a King, you need to be there.”

He scratches his head as he closes his left eye, tilting his head towards the sky, “Um, have you heard of the internet? FaceTime, email - Zoom - I hear that’s great.”

You roll your eyes again as you groan loudly, turning away from him. You slump your shoulders as you throw your head back , closing your eyes as the sun beats down on you. You wish this was easier. You wish you had the guts to tell your mother to just piss off so you could run off to Romania and spend the rest of your life in his arms, but then there’s the other side of your heart. Half of you doesn’t want to leave. You want to take your rightful throne. You want to be Queen. You’ve prepared for it your whole life, it’s your destiny - and you’d be good at it.

How could Bucky not be a part of that destiny? That’s the real question you have. That’s what keeps you up at night these days as your calling draws nearer and nearer. He’d throw it all away for you, but you can’t do the same for him - and that makes you feel guilty; and sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You ask, not turning around.

“That,” he says in a way that you know he’s smiling, “Don’t feel guilty.”

“How do you know I feel guilty? I’m just standing here.”

You hear his feet in the grass as he moves towards you, and then feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he sweeps your braids over your shoulder, “Because I know you.” He whispers into your ear before he pushes away again, stepping out in front of you.

You open your eyes and watch as he spins in the grass, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this up for me,” he continues, “It’s 2020, not 1940 - you don’t have to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for just for some dude.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

“Just,” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath, “Please don’t marry him.” He says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

The him he speaks of is Scott Lang, the appointed King of the South, né Atlanta. He’s a nice man; kind, funny, sweet - and he adores you, but he’s boring. He’s predictable, and your mother loves him. That alone makes you want to scream and run for the hills. It’s bigger than you though, the marriage. It’s not one out of convenience or even one bred from a matchmaker. Your marriage will unite the South back with the rest of the United States. Scott will ultimately relinquish his throne, and you’ll be the first Queen to reign over an intact America in over a hundred years.

But that isn’t what you want - not with him.

Bucky is slightly irrational at times - incalculable almost every time. He has a subtle boldness that’s attracted you to him since you were kids. You remember it like it were yesterday, the first time the two of you met. The annual meeting of the Royal families, this time held in Britain. You were seven, Bucky was nine. Your fathers introduced the two of you in the middle of the great library, telling you both to run along, don’t make a mess. Without knowing each other for a full minute, he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the library, reaching out and tipping random books off the shelves as you ran between the aisles.

You loved him right then and there, and every minute since.

“I’m not going to marry him,” you finally answer, “I just have to find the right time to tell them. There’s a lot riding on this.”

He nods slowly, “I know. The merger is… big.”

“I’ll make it happen.” You shrug, “I always do. The South was stupid to secede in the first place and now they’re reaping what they sowed. A few more years of this and they’ll be destitute, they know it.”

Silence drops over the two of you as you look at each other, just blinking randomly and breathing. He tilts his head and smiles at you slowly, watching you as your mind turns. He knows that in three months time, on your thirty second birthday, you’ll be made Queen. He knows you’re ready, he knows you’re capable; but he also knows you’re scared. Uncertain of what’s to come for yourself, your country; and for the two of you.

He holds out his hand to you, not saying a word, just extending it - waiting for you. You move forward without hesitation, sliding your hand into his and letting him press you to his chest. His large hands sweep around your sides and slide up and down your back as you wrap your arms around his middle. You flatten your hands on his broad back and nuzzle into his sport coat, shielding your face from everything and everyone. You close your eyes when he runs his hand over your hair and presses kisses to the top of your head.

“I’ll be right here,” he whispers softly, “I’ll always be here for you, sweet girl. No matter if you are mine or not. I promise you that.”

“I know you will,” you sniffle as tears start to fall, “I want to be yours forever.”

He hugs you to him again, rocking your bodies back and forth softly, “Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.”

You squeeze him tighter.

You twist your hands within one another as you stand behind the two great doors. You can hear the muffled commencement speech taking place on the other side, people cheering and clapping. You swallow hard. You let out a focused breath through your teeth. You lower your head and unfold the balled up paper in your hands.

I love you. Always.

Bucky

It’s simple - not even on his official letterhead. It’s just a blank sheet of paper confessing his adoration of and for you. You take another breath and force it out between your teeth as you ball it up again and lift your head. You run your gloved hands down your red and gold military jacket, rolling your shoulders before craning your head back and forth. Your medals clink softly from the disturbance of them, but to you, the sound is deafening as everything else blurs into the background. The doors open and the military men and women before you begin their procession into the Great Hall.

Time to go.

Trumpets start to sound when you make your entrance into the room. Tv cameras zoom in on you as the audience in attendance stand to their feet. You focus forward as you move, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. The room is full of Royal families from all over the world, the press, and your extended family - all ready to watch the transfer of power. You blink, diverting your eyes quickly to your left, catching a quick smile and a secret wave from the Duchess of Sussex. The Duke of Sussex tips his head towards you and you return the gesture, winking playfully at Megan as she bounces baby Archie in her hands.

You blink again and there they are; those ice blue eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, dressed in his military uniform. A white satin embroidered jacket, complete with the numerous gold medals he’s earned along the way. A white and gold sash crosses over his chest as the artificial lights glint off of the gold and silver pins and buttons littered across his jacket.

His hair is trimmed - shorter than you like it, to be frank - his dark beard neatly manicured. He’s a sight - a vision, and if you had any doubt at all, it’s all thrown out the window now. Just with a glance of him.

You walk to the steps where your parents stand, a diamond encrusted crown in your mother’s hands. You kneel on the small red pillow on the top step and drop your head as the speaker begins again.

“Here, on the first of July, in the year twenty twenty and on her thirty second birthday, we honor the change of power from Queen Johana to its rightful heir, her only daughter, our royal Princess. Queen Johana, please remove the Princess tiara and replace it with the crown.”

Your mother bends, plucking the precious tiara you’ve adorned for so long from your head. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as the official crown, her crown, is rested atop your head. She slips her index finger to your chin and lifts your head so your eyes can meet hers for the first time as Queen. You note the water that builds in her eyes as she smiles at you. You smile back, knowing in the depths of your heart that no matter how much the two of you fight, no matter how different your politics are - you are her only daughter - and her love for you knows no bounds.

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers.

“Thank you, mama.”

When your mother stands again, the speaker announces, “Queen, please rise and address your court.”

You stand and turn, holding your head high as the room erupts with claps and cheers. Your parents step into the background as you nod and wave, mouthing your thank you’s before you cross your arm over your chest to cover your heart with your hand. Picture cameras click loudly in every direction as the television crews zoom in on you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker announces, “Your Queen.”

“I have something I want to say, if that’s okay.” You say, turning towards the commencement speaker.

You move to the podium and clear your throat, waiting for the applause to die down before you start to speak, “I know this is unconventional to address you this quickly, but you all have always known me to be this way, and I do not intend to change. I am very proud and humble to be named your Queen today. This is a long time coming and I thank each and every citizen for supporting me up to this point and beyond.”

You take another breath, “As you know, I am to marry the King of Atlanta, Scott Lang, to unify this great United States of America again at the end of this month.” You lift your eyes and stare straight into the television cameras in front of you, “I have no intention of going through with the marriage.”

Gasps of shock ring through the room, the loudest coming from your mother. You throw your eyes over to Bucky as he blinks back at you, his lips parted, his face flushing red at your impromptu announcement. He runs his hand through his hair in complete disbelief and shrugs at you as he shakes his head, mouthing what are you doing? at you.

You smile, “The King of Romania, James Buchanan Barnes, and I are in love, and have been since we were children. I plan, if he’ll still have me, to marry him on the twenty fifth of July, here in New York. On the twenty sixth of July, I will issue an executive order demanding that the South rejoin the United States within thirty days, and that all members of their parliament dissolve immediately. King Lang will be acclimated into my court and will serve as an advisor to help oversee this merger. If there is any resistance, or the order is not signed by the end of the thirty days, I will have no choice but to find the South and Mr. Lang, guilty of treason, and will send in our military to take control.”

“I realize this sounds harsh, but I’m giving plenty of time for both regimes to come together and iron this out peacefully. But I must warn, do not take my kindness or my generous time frame as weakness. If I have to take control the hard way, I will. We are only strong when we are together, and I fully intend to right the wrongs of the decisions made before me.”

You glance to your right, finding Scott’s dark eyes on you, his mouth set in a hard line as anger washes through him, “I am not my mother,” you begin again, speaking directly to him, “I am not my grandmother, or any woman who has come before them. I will not let the South perish because of stubborn minds and brash, pompous attitudes. I will not continue to turn a blind eye to this situation, but I’ll need your help, Mr. Lang, to make this as easy as possible.” He takes a breath and lowers his gaze from yours, already realizing just who he is up against, “Please, do what is best for all of us.”

You turn, facing your parents, “If I learned anything from my parents, it’s to stand up for what I believe in. I believe in love. I believe in peace. I want to thank you all again, and please know that I look forward to serving you and this great country of ours. Thank you.”

Without another word, you step away from the podium and move down the steps as the room goes haywire, every media outlet shouting and screaming questions at you. You stop in front of Bucky, extending your gloved hand to his. He takes it without hesitation, without fear, and hand in hand, the two of you walk down the center aisle as all hell breaks loose around you.

“It’s been all of five seconds, do you regret this yet?” You ask, laughing a little as cameramen scramble to get pictures of the two of you.

“You know me, babe,” he says easily, shrugging as the two of you push through the doors, “I regret nothing.”

Neither do you.

“Oh, hey!” You smile, “I forgot to ask you, will you marry me in like three weeks?”

He throws his head back, laughing, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

#maree's29thbirthdaybash #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bbb2020 #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #you x bucky #bucky x reader #reader x bucky #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #black reader #avintagekiss24

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toonjazzy · 2 years

Text

“Señorita Perfecta Sicillia”

Similar to “I Am Not Perfect”, in Lia’s Point of View

Hello there, I’m Sicillia (Or Lia). I’m writing about my experiences as a child since my Older Sibling did it a while ago, I’m not exactly good at writing as that’s my Twin’s thing so bare with me please.

Alright, to start, I’ll give a brief explanation so that this makes sense. I’m from a Latino family, I’m Autistic, I’m Gay, I grew up with 3 siblings and a whole bunch of cousins. Not all of them were that great though, seriously…they sucked! My childhood was pretty rough, there was a lot, my father died when I was 3 and a half and I barely even remember him…and then my mother died 6 years later. So, I’m not the only one with a bunch of siblings. My parents also had a bunch of siblings too, which meant more cousins. My favorite one is Harley, Tía Désireé and Tío Hades’ oldest child. We spent a lot of time together, especially after my mother died since Tía Desiree was my mom’s twin sister and we were under her care. But…we also had 3 cousins who we did not like AT ALL, Courtney, Deidre, and Lola. They were the worst. They ruined my childhood. And they ruined my self esteem. They fucked us up real bad, especially me and Devon…

To start, I was one of “Reagan’s perfect Daughters”, everybody thought I was perfect because I did what I was told and because I was quiet and ladylike. Even compared to Reese, I was the perfect child. I had even asked why I was “The Perfect one” and the answer was “Because Devon and Stacey are loud and unladylike, Reese is very ladylike and seems perfect but she has a temper, you on the other hand have no flaws” They had to point out the flaws in my sisters and my mother, they were from dad’s family though which makes sense considering they didn’t really like her. (Well except one of dad’s brothers and his mom) But yeah, I was “Perfect” and because of this, the bad cousins I mentioned earlier dragged me into their little “Club” and never let me out. And Harley was dragged in because I was always with them. They even had a list of reasons why I always allowed into the club which were “Perfect, pretty, wears pretty dresses, can fly, does ballet, plays violin”, I…don’t get how that makes anybody “Perfect”. Also they never knew I played Murder games back at home…I always had to hide my true self and it was tiring, I was jealous that Devon and Stacey never masked themselves but I didn’t wanna be judged all the time like they were.

They would also say things like “Which boy do you think is the hottest”, I didn’t find them hot, I never found any boy “Hot”. I just always hated when they would say that they thought “I’d marry the most perfect man ever”, I never wanted to marry a man. I never exactly realized I was Gay until I was about 8. But when I was a kid, my mom would tell me about how she liked both men and Women, it never mattered to her. But back then she wasn’t exactly allowed to, she told me stories about this girl she secretly dated for 3 years when she was younger. She said only Tía Désireé and Tía Dulciana knew about it, but mi Abuelo found out about it because he found out Tía Dulciana was transitioning into a woman so he got mad and started snooping through all his children’s things and found all the secret love letters my mom had from her girlfriend, they were forced to break up. Hearing this story made me sad and I felt like being Gay was wrong. That’s why I was in denial for so long about being a Lesbian, I thought I’d be unaccepted…

Everything my family put me through was just awful. Apparently some of my family expected me to plan for a family at a very early age? I think I was about 9 when some of them would tell me to “Act like a lady”, I always thought it was cool how my mom had swords but mi abuelo said that he wished my mom was more ladylike and my mom said “I think it’s important for girls to learn how to defend themselves in a cruel world like this. Besides, swordfighting is really fun!”, I loved hearing my mom talk about that stuff, about how she stood up to her father when he said such hurtful words. I wish my mother hadn’t died, maybe she could’ve been the one I could talk with about my Queerness. Cause after she died, things began to get worse…

It was after I turned 10 that everything went to shit. That was when everybody (Or so I thought) told me I needed to grow up, they said I was too old to be wearing Twintails, too old to be crying, too old to have dolls, too old to watch cartoons. I even gave up my nickname “Lia” for a while so that I’d seem less childish. It sucked…a lot. I remember when my cousins started acting like bitches, Courtney broke my violin, and Lola and Deidre stole my Miku plushie and I’m pretty sure they ripped it up. Crimson apologized so many times for that, I felt bad for them, they actually had to spend every single day with those bitches. And when I was 12 they asked me if I had any crushes…on boys…and would say “When are you getting a boyfriend already”, like girl, slow the fuck down, I was only 12 years old. “Your Twin sister has a boyfriend already and you don’t! Reese found a boyfriend! Why don’t you and Devon have boyfriends already!?!?” Listen, I am not Reese or Stacey, and I didn’t have a boyfriend and was never getting one because I like Girls, got it? I. LIKE. GIRLS. And yet every time I would argue with them about it, they’d say some bullshit like “You’ll feel it eventually, you’ll fall in love and get married and have the perfect family” because nobody listened, I would often find myself crying in the middle of the night and barely even sleeping…

It wasn’t until recently that I started to be my true self again, my twintails are back and it makes me happy. My Miku plushies and my Paper Dolls are all over my room, my music box from my mother is still playing that comforting tune whenever I feel sad. Maybe it’ll be alright now, I don’t have to be “Señorita Perfecta Sicillia” anymore, I can just be Lia. Autistic Agender Sword Lesbian Lia…

#Jazzy’s writings #jesus this is so long!#So…Lia!#Lesbian’s backstory revealed #now I will go hide in embarrassment >////<#forgive me if it seems kinda wonky Lia isn’t very great at writing ansjsjkakakq

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

Is that a Cinderella AU part I see? Yes, yes, it is! And one hopefully not as dark and devoid of hope as the last part...

Charlie’s castle carpenter tunic is based on this design; Bill’s castle guard uniform, referenced in a previous part, is based on this real uniform from 16th century France, though with a Royaumanian-worthy blue/red color scheme. My headcanon is that Charlie (who’s described as stocky in the books) is 5′5″, only two inches taller than his “unofficial twin,” Carewyn, while Bill is a friggin’ giant the tallest of the Cursebreaking squad at 6′1″ (one inch taller than Ben Copper at full height and the same height as his actor, Domhnall Gleeson!). The entire Cromwell family is on the smaller side, with Charles as the tallest at 5′10″. Oh, and yes, the Cromwells are all a piece of work, but Charles is indisputably the worst apple in the bushel. 😒

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was discovered outside by her aunts Pearl and Claire and uncle Blaise and brought inside. When they interrogated her about why she had returned to the estate in the middle of the night, however, Carewyn was unable to answer them. She was unable to speak at all -- nor was she able to eat, drink, or sleep. Instead she simply settled down in a huddled ball on her old cot by the fireplace and stayed there, her arms around her knees and her eyes devoid of all light or awareness.

Whatever had happened, Charles seemed to have determined Carewyn would be of no use to him in the palace, the way she was -- and so, at dawn, he sent a messenger to the King and Queen, telling them that she’d taken ill and would have to remain at home in the interim.

Carewyn’s cousins at first took some vindictive pleasure out of bullying her, now that she was back under their roof. Arsen and Kain actually picked Carewyn up off the ground and pushed her around like some human-sized doll while Elmer sang a mean little song he’d written about her --

“Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn, the finest of her class --

The duchess of the dust and soot, her kingdom’s made of ash!

She went to court; oh, did they chortle, snicker, and guffaw --

So Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn ran home, crying, ‘Mama!’”

Before long, though, her lack of a reaction seemed to make it not so fun of a game. Within two days, Tristan, the youngest of Carewyn’s cousins, actually threw a tantrum because Carewyn completely ignored him splashing his paints all over her.

“What’s wrong with you!?” the boy screamed, beside himself. “Why won’t you get mad at me?! Why won’t you run away and cry?! Why are you so -- so -- WEIRD?!”

Blaise was most perturbed when his son actually burst full-on into tears. Clenching his jaw furiously, he brought an arm around Tristan and swept him back inside and away from the vacant-eyed Carewyn. Then he went straight to the dining hall to speak to Charles.

“Father, something must be done about Winnie,” he hissed. “This is not normal.”

Pearl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Her behavior is shameful. To think the Cromwell blood runs through the veins of that girl...”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is,” said Claire in sycophantic agreement.

“Winnie may be a pathetic thing, but she is our thing,” Blaise shot back fiercely, “and she’s practically dead as she is.”

He turned to Charles.

“We’ve already lost Lane and sent Jacob off,” he said in a quiet, cold voice. “Are we to simply let Winnie waste away?”

Charles had his hands folded in front of him on the table. At Blaise’s words, his own almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to his children’s and nearly all of his grandchildren’s -- narrowed.

“I must admit, it is a shame that Carewyn has stopped being useful,” he said lowly. “Iris may still be a set of eyes for us inside the palace, but she’s hardly clever enough to do much of anything on her own that’s useful.”

Claire actually looked hurt. “Father...Iris just sent us a letter this morning. Was it not useful to you?”

Charles’s eyes were very cold upon his daughter. “Hardly. She spent a good chunk of it complaining that Carewyn did something to the Prince, before leaving the palace...clearly trying to make excuses for her own failure to hold Prince Henri’s attention.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with shame and she hung her head.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Iris has blamed Winnie for stealing one of her suitors’ attention,” said Pearl seriously, “but we have yet to get any explanation about why she’s returned to us against your instructions. And Claire and I did hear a horse galloping away, that night. Could it have been Prince Henri?”

Blaise scoffed. “Doubtful. You think a Prince would ever favor a plain girl with no dowry or status?”

“You warned Winnie yourself that the Prince could want her as a conquest,” Pearl said darkly. “Heartbreak would more than explain her current state...”

The idea made Blaise flush with rage.

“Whoever rode that horse, it was not the Prince,” said Charles very smoothly. He rose to his feet, picking up his dragon-headed cane and strolling over to the window to look out. “From what my informants have told me...Prince Henri was at the Royaumanian army camp that entire night.”

His children all straightened up, taken aback.

“At the war front?” said Pearl, shocked.

“Yes,” said Charles. “It quite upset their Majesties. Even more so when he returned to the palace in the morning dressed like a commoner and declared to them and the entire royal court that he intended to open up peace talks with the soon-to-be King of Florence.”

“Soon-to-be King?” said Blaise, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Then the old one kicked the bucket?”

“Yes...and it turns out the replacement Crown Prince is something of a populist. From what I’ve heard, his very first decision as future monarch was to ask every Florentine nobleman to -- should they wish to remain at court -- donate a portion of their wealth to him, so that he could then use it to buy a feast and custom-tailored clothing for his soldiers.”

Charles was clearly offended by the idea. Blaise was too.

“Uppity brat,” he sneered. “I guess that’s what’s you get, when you choose a bastard peasant as your future king...”

Pearl, however, looked a bit more cynical. “Seems rather unwise, to antagonize those who come closest to you in status...”

“On the contrary,” said Charles. “It’s most shrewd. As Blaise said, the boy was the King’s illegitimate son. That would offend the standards of just about anyone of good breeding...thus it would be foolish to try to court them for approval. A rat can communicate best with other rats -- and sadly, a swarm of rats is just what you get, when they gather: a band of filthy, hungry, disgusting creatures who will eat away at what we hold dear.”

His blue eyes flashed.

“And now our Prince fancies becoming allies with such vermin.”

Claire looked uncertainly at Pearl and Blaise. Both of them looked perturbed.

“If the War ends, there’ll be less money in the future for us,” Blaise growled. “Our investments in armaments built this estate...”

“My investments, Blaise,” Charles said in a very cool voice. “Do not forget that even the ones done in your and my son-in-laws’ names were still orchestrated by me.”

He pushed his palm down into the top of his cane, his long fingers trailing over the metallic snout of the dragon-head handle.

“It’s far worse than that, however. The Royaumanian royal family’s financial troubles was what has lent me their ear from the beginning. Gave me access to their decision-making -- gave me some leverage in coaxing them to join our two families. Should the King and Queen become friends and allies with Florence’s new royal brat, they may get the idea to redistribute their courtiers’ wealth as he has, to alleviate the nation’s debts...meaning we not only won’t be bringing in as much money as before, but that we’ll also have to submit to parting with what we already have, just to indulge in petty charity.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed upon his reflection in the ice-trimmed window.

“Our family’s chance at ascending into royalty...at the absolute, irreversible power owed us...is slipping away.”

Claire got up and tried to comfort her father by taking hold of his shoulder. “But Father...surely there’s still some hope? If Iris -- ”

But Charles warded Claire off with the back of his hand, sweeping across the room.

“If your daughter thinks that a mere maidservant was able to captivate the Prince more than her, then perhaps it’s the maidservant who I should enlist in getting our family what we deserve.”

He shot a look over his shoulder at Pearl. “Fetch Carewyn and bring her to me.”

Pearl dragged Carewyn up to the dining hall by her arm. The ginger-haired Cromwell hadn’t changed clothes or washed since she’d returned home, so her face was covered in cinders and her forest green and white dress was still splashed with the paints Tristan had thrown on her.

At the start, Charles feigned concern, saying he hated seeing his granddaughter looking so ill and unhappy, but his words barely penetrated Carewyn’s mind. They were just more lies -- just like everything else out of his mouth. She should know...being a liar herself. So she didn’t say a word in response. She made no response at all. And soon enough, Charles did come around to what he really wanted.

“His Highness is set to make a fatal error...but you have his ear. We need you to return to your duties in the palace and ensure that he does not trust the Prince called Cosimo.”

Carewyn’s lightless, empty eyes ran over her grandfather’s face for a long moment...but she did not answer.

“This is a noble duty, child,” said Charles. Although he put on a smile, it did not touch his eyes. “This is your chance to protect both your family and your country. The Florentines have been our enemies since before your mother was born...and now they seek to feign honor long enough to lure our Prince into their jaws...”

He brought a hand down onto Carewyn’s shoulder.

“Jacob would be proud, knowing you were helping him in his fight against them.”

Carewyn stared at Charles. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were as dark and turbulent as two miniature hurricanes. And yet, she did not speak.

Charles tilted his head, raising his eyebrows and considering her expression with that cold, detached smile. “Come now, my dear...will you not speak to your grandfather? I do so hate to see you like this.”

Carewyn’s gaze drifted away as Charles’s eyes bore into her -- and yet the silence dragged on with neither breaking it.

Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, for their parts, were becoming all the more unsettled by Carewyn’s lack of a response. Blaise actually strode forward and shouted at her.

“You will speak when spoken to, you ungrateful little -- !”

He made as if to strike Carewyn, but Pearl grabbed his forearm and held it back, flashing him a warning look before turning her righteous anger onto Carewyn.

“Your grandfather requires your services, Winnie,” Pearl said very sharply. “Don’t you have something to say to him?”

Even with this, however, Carewyn didn’t say anything. Then, with as much energy and emotion as a ghost, she stepped back and out of Charles’s grip and turned to go.

Something flickered in Charles’s expression.

“I did not give you permission to leave,” he said very softly.

But Carewyn didn’t answer or turn around. Claire had to block the doorframe to keep her from leaving the room.

“Your grandfather said you’re not allowed to go,” Claire said, her voice trying to be sharp but instead sounding rather unsettled.

Carewyn stared at Claire with those hollow, empty eyes in silence as Charles approached her from behind.

“You will do your duty to this family, child,” he said. It was striking how much scarier his voice sounded, when it was quieter -- Charles Cromwell was the sort of man who didn’t need to shout in order to be intimidating. “After all...that is the pact we made when I took you and your brother in, is it not?”

He took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do not forget that everything you have is because of my charity. I have no desire to punish you...but I shall withdraw my kindnesses, if I must.”

Carewyn was very still. Then she once again broke out of Charles’s grip and tried to move past Claire.

Before she could get far, however, Charles snatched her up by the hair. With a strangled cry of pain, Carewyn was thrown to the ground with astonishing force, Charles’s fist clenched fast around her hair.

“Your head is not the only thing in my hands, Carewyn,” he reminded her very coldly. “I hope you remember that.”

He wrenched her up onto her feet by her hair, and Carewyn had to clench her teeth to keep herself from crying out again.

“I have been very patient with your theatrics...but I grow weary of coddling you. Should I send some message to Jacob, so that you behave? Perhaps if your head is not one you will defend, perhaps his is...”

“Liar.”

The word escaped Carewyn’s mouth as a wispy, hollow rasp, and yet it was enough to make everyone in the room stiffen. Somewhere out in the hall, one might’ve caught a quickly stifled intake of breath.

Carewyn’s eyes, although so dark, seemed to have gained an odd gleam in the back of them, like flaming cinders in a dying fire, as she stared up at Charles.

“You’re a liar,” she said again, her broken voice as rough as sandpaper in her throat as it rose in volume. “I know your life isn’t bound to Jacob’s. Any spell you could’ve had cast on him would have broken at midnight, the very night you sent him away -- the very night you ripped him away from me and sent him off to War against his will!”

Her blue eyes flared with hatred.

“That’s why you’ve never once gotten word from him -- because there’s no word you could receive from him at all! Admit it!”

There was a horrible silence. Pearl, Blaise, and Claire all looked from Carewyn to Charles and back.

Charles bore down upon his granddaughter, his face as cold as some ivory mask with hard, diamond-like eyes.

“So that’s what this is about,” he said softly. “Assigning blame. Very well, Carewyn...let us discuss this. You came to me as a child, sobbing and distraught beyond words...begging me to save your brother’s life when he was already on death’s door. You had nothing to offer me at that time, nor did your brother -- and yet I, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to take you in. All I asked was that you show proper gratitude...a term you accepted at the time, and yet now have seen fit to break.”

He yanked Carewyn up by her hair and threw her into the table with a WHAM. Carewyn cried out in pain, before crumpling to the floor in a heap.

“I spent a good deal of my own money and discarded my own honor to try to find someone to save your brother’s life, if only to bring the light back to your eyes. Jacob was brought back to health and you were reunited with him, just as you’d hoped. And yet now you seek to demonize my wish that you show gratitude? That I collect on the debt owed me?”

He brought the heel of his shoe down on Carewyn’s shoulder with force, slamming her face down against the floor.

“And worse,” he whispered, “you wish to demonize the fact that, all these years, I was too grief-stricken to tell you of your brother’s passing?”

Blaise, Claire, and Pearl all stiffened. Only Claire, however, looked shocked.

“Jacob is...dead?” she whispered shakily.

“I knew such a revelation would be crippling to a fragile, weak heart such as yours,” said Charles, his diamond-like eyes very hard upon the back of Carewyn’s head. “I knew that the knowledge that your brother died the morning after his departure, and that his body had to be burned with every other prisoner in those barracks instead of receiving a proper burial...would break your heart.”

Carewyn had started to shake. Her face had lost all of its color, and the flicker of rebellion she’d shown mere moments ago had gone out.

“You’ve never been a stupid girl, Carewyn. You really should have figured it out years ago...and yet, like a child who believes in Yuletide gift-givers, you latched onto your brother’s memory even when all logic said you shouldn’t. I’m certain everyone else in this family saw through my pretense -- knew that it was merely something to placate you, soothe your temperamental emotions. They always have made it difficult for you to see things clearly.”

Charles's eyes narrowed.

“You were the one who disregarded your duty to the man who put a roof over your head, clothed you and fed you. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so crippling if you had simply done as I wished...rather than chase after a ghost.”

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. Although her eyes were so hollow and she shook so badly, however, the grief inside of her was not just numbing. It had grown to such an extent that it for a moment made her lose her head completely. In a violent move, she wrenched herself off the ground with a mad scream and threw a fist right at Charles’s face. Unfortunately Carewyn had never been particularly strong -- and so Charles was able to seize her wrist, twisting it away from him and holding her back with little difficulty.

“Blaise,” said Charles icily. “Fetch the whip.”

Blaise looked stricken. “Father -- ”

“The child requires discipline,” he said without looking at his son. “I will not have her thinking that following her brother’s example is acceptable behavior.”

Blaise closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, with a grim look on his face, he swept from the dining hall.

When he entered the hallway, he found all of Carewyn’s cousins (excluding Iris, who of course was still back at the palace) huddled up against the wall. They’d clearly been listening to every word...and for once, none of them looked the least bit amused. Their faces were all very pale.

Blaise considered them all for a moment in silence. Then he brought an arm around his son and led him away.

“Come, Tristan. You will return to your room and stay there until I come fetch you.”

Everyone at the Cromwell estate tried to block out the screams of pain that echoed out of the dining hall. After just under an hour, Charles finally stopped, whether out of physical tiredness or just having finally spent his temper, and bid Pearl and Claire to carry Carewyn up to the tower room at the back of the estate. Charles didn’t want her to leave that room again until she was prepared to behave appropriately.

Carewyn had expected Pearl and Claire to simply throw her on the floor and leave her there. Instead, however, Pearl sent Claire to go fetch some towels and cold water, and she hoisted Carewyn up onto the worn feather cot on the far end. Her aunts then removed her torn dress so that they could clean the open gashes Charles’s whip had delivered to her back.

As far back as Carewyn could remember, her aunts had never liked her. Her mother Lane had even told stories about her siblings and how Charles had pressured his children to compete against each other their whole lives. When Carewyn had moved in, Pearl had refused to look her in the face for over a month...and thanks to her daughters’ dislike for Carewyn, Claire had always treated her niece just as coldly. And yet, now...for some reason, they sat with her.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Carewyn couldn’t see either Pearl or Claire’s faces while she was lying on her stomach, but she heard the mattress give a light squeak, as if Claire had shifted slightly to look at Pearl.

“Don’t you think you’ve questioned your elders more than enough already?” said Pearl in a very hard voice.

She brought a cold cloth up to the largest gash on Carewyn’s shoulder, dabbing at it lightly.

“You may be a stupid, arrogant, pathetic girl, Winnie,” she said quietly, “...but I know the pain of losing one’s sibling.”

Carewyn felt some pity in her heart despite herself.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Pearl scoffed. “Thank me by doing as your grandfather says.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. Then she turned her head away from her aunts and didn’t reply.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Pearl withdrew quickly and hoisted herself up off the worn mattress.

“Come, Claire.”

Claire hesitantly inched herself up off the mattress too, fetching the bucket of water from the floor as she went. Carewyn could see her glance back at her, when she reached the doorframe.

“Your grandfather bid you stay in here until you behave,” said Claire, and her voice sounded almost reproachful. “Please don’t make him punish you further.”

But Carewyn did not make any move or sound. And so Claire closed the door behind her, and Pearl locked it with a loud CLACK behind them.

Once Pearl and Claire descended the stairs of the tower, however, they caught the sound of raised voices from outside the open manor door. One of the voices they recognized as Blaise’s -- the other, they couldn’t have known, belonged to Charlie Weasley.

When Carewyn’s friends learned that she would not be returning to the palace, they all reacted with concern. They knew how crippling the revelation of Jacob’s death had been, but the knowledge that she was back with her family, rather than at the palace where they could help her heal, well...that only made the whole affair worse. Clearly, as KC pointed out, the King and Queen probably wouldn’t have been that lenient toward a servant who was unable to work and had no reason to suspect anything malevolent in Charles wanting to “take care” of his granddaughter. After all, Andre himself had also presumed Carewyn was well-treated by her family, before he’d been forced to conclude otherwise.

“I’ll tell them the truth -- ” Andre had said forcefully, but Badeea only shook her head sadly.

“It won’t help, your Highness,” she murmured.

KC nodded grimly. “Carewyn is Lord Cromwell’s ward, Andre. Her only possible legal guardian and benefactor. That means she belongs to him, whether we like it or not. No matter how badly she’s treated, or what she’s told you about him, he’ll still have that power over her. And as long as he’s a Lord with more financial capitol than our entire family does combined...the King and Queen won’t want to discipline him.”

Bill and Charlie, however, just couldn’t accept this. So after their scheduled duties, they visited the Cromwell estate themselves, requesting to see Carewyn. When Blaise tried to turn them away, the exchange got more heated.

“I’ve already told you that Winnie will not see you,” Blaise said, his blue eyes flashing at the two brothers.

“We’d like to hear that from her, please,” said Bill, but his politeness had a noticeable edge to it.

“She is in no condition to entertain anyone, least of all a pair of peasant boys who presume to trespass on our land and make demands. Now get out.”

“We’re not leaving until we see Carey!” Charlie said fiercely.

“You will leave now, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out,” snarled Blaise.

“Go ahead and try it!” said Charlie, getting right up in the blond man’s face.

“What’s all this now?”

Charles Cromwell had emerged from the open door of the manor. Dashing out after him were Pearl and Claire.

Blaise’s eyes flared. “A couple of troublemakers who’ve come looking for Winnie. ‘Westley,’ they call themselves -- ”

“Weasley,” corrected Bill. His eyes were narrowed as he faced Charles. “Bill and Charlie Weasley. We worked in the palace with Carewyn -- we heard she was sick and came to see her.”

Charles glanced at Pearl and Claire out the side of his eye, before his eyes swiveled back over to the two Weasleys.

“...I’m afraid my dear Carewyn is resting upstairs.”

“May we see her, please?” Bill said. Once again, his words were polite, but his voice was very firm and pointed.

“No,” said Charles. “You may not.”

His eyes narrowed upon Bill’s freckled face. One could wonder what he saw in Bill that day -- whether it was the protective “big brother” affect that reminded him of his deceased grandson Jacob, the sincere devotion Bill felt for his granddaughter Carewyn, or simply the pure distrust and dislike toward him -- but whatever it was, it served to make the Lord’s face that bit more mask-like as he considered the ginger-haired castle guard.

“‘Bill Weasley,’ you said your name was? Well, Mr. Weasley...you can be rest assured that Carewyn is being quite well taken care of, here with her family, where she belongs.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Charles raised his eyebrows very coolly.

“We know all about what you did to Carey, Cromwell,” said Charlie. “We know full well how you ‘take care’ of your family...unless you think Jacob would actually speak on your behalf, if he were still alive?”

Charles, amazingly, didn’t react at all to this, but it only served to make his mask-like face that much more unsettling.

“No one feels Jacob’s loss more than I. And I should thank you not to question that, boy.”

His eyes flickered from him to Bill.

“I don’t know what Carewyn has told you...but I’m afraid I must apologize for it, all the same. The child has always had a difficult relationship with the truth...she’s often spun tales to...try to make herself seem more appealing, to the people around her.”

“Takes a liar to know one, I guess,” spat Charlie.

Pearl’s eyes flared. “You have some nerve to speak to a nobleman thusly -- ”

“Pearl,” Charles soothed her, but his voice was hardly warm or comforting. Instead his eyes bore into Charlie with a darker glint. “You do yourself and your brother no favors in insulting me. I could have been kind and offered to send word, when Carewyn was well enough to see you...but I can see clearly that the both of you would be a toxic influence on my granddaughter, should I allow you to associate with her.”

“Toxic?” repeated Charlie, his voice rising. “You son of a -- !”

“Noble bloodline, unlike you,” Charles Cromwell said in a very low, foreboding voice. “One with enough money and influence to force you to comply with my wishes, if I must.”

Charlie wasn’t intimidated. “You do that, and we’ll tell the whole world about what you did. Reckon you won’t have quite so much respect from everyone, once they learn you used magic to trick Carey into staying under your thumb -- ”

“A dangerous accusation for anyone to make,” said Charles, his foreboding voice deepening further. “More still for a boy relying solely on the flawed testimony of a maidservant...and belonging to a family so impoverished by its size that they’d have no means to rebuild, in the event of some unforeseen tragedy...”

Charlie’s eyes widened dangerously. He looked like he wanted to punch Carewyn’s grandfather right in the face, but Bill took hold of his brother’s shoulders from behind, in a gesture that seemed to be both holding him back and expressing support.

Charles’s eyes -- the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, but infinitely crueler -- flashed up at Bill.

“I can tell that you -- like me -- are the sort of man who wishes to protect his family, Bill Weasley,” Charles said coldly. “If you wish to do so...then you will ensure that neither you nor your family comes near mine again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill and Charles glared at each other for a very long moment, silently burning brown on icy, diamond-like blue.

“Crystal,” Bill murmured at last.

Charlie looked up at Bill, horrified. “Bill -- ”

“Come on, Charlie,” Bill cut him off quietly. “Let’s go.”

Bill steered Charlie away and off of the Cromwell estate. Once they’d cleared the gate, Charlie whirled on his brother.

“Bill, you can’t be okay with this! If old Lord Cromwell won’t let us see Carey, then something’s gotta be wrong! We can’t just -- ”

“I know,” said Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he walked with Charlie a few more feet to make sure they were out of earshot. Then he said quietly,

“Charlie...make up an excuse for the King and Queen about why their carriage is going to need more time to fix than you thought. We’re going to need it.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #bill weasley #charlie weasley #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #my art #my writing #...okay originally this was going to be two parts BUT #I figured you guys needed a bit more hope after how bad of a part the last one was #so I decided not to cut this in half #going back to work tomorrow~!!#so next part might take a little longer but I'll try to finish it soon #please keep liking/reblogging/commenting if you're enjoying! xoxo

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sakuranoumi · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Shaman King

Characters: Yoh, Hao

Word Count: 1352

Prompt: Dreams

Growing up a shaman the world is lonely. It's even more lonely growing up the heir to the once most powerful shaman family in all of Japan. So powerful they once sat in the Emperor's court and the Emperor bestowed the honor of giving the new name when they came of age.

It's even lonelier when such a big family has shrunk. It's just him, mom, and grandpa. Grandma lives far away where it's cold, and his dad is always wandering searching for something. He doesn't have any cousins, any aunts or uncles to keep him company. He has Tamao who's just as lonely as he is, but even she gets to leave sometimes. Gets to see the world with his dad while Yoh has to stay behind and train. He hates training. He hates seeing ghosts. If he was like all the other kids at school he wouldn't be lonely. He'd have friends his age. But if he couldn't see ghosts then he'd also be like them. He'd be polluting the earth and slowly killing it, and he doesn't want that either.

His dreams are the only place he doesn't feel alone because in his dreams he sees him. He'd almost think he was seeing himself except the other boy's hair is too long and he doesn't know how to smile. Yoh doesn't really know how to smile either, but he knows what a real smile is. It's the smile he gets when Mom helps him play the Soul Bob record his dad left behind. It's the smile Tamao gets when Yoh plays with her.

The other boy smiles but they never reach his eyes. It's just like how Yoh smiles in school, or when he doesn't want his mom to know he's sad.

Tonight his dream is in a field and the other boy is waiting.

“Hello!” Yoh's calls running up to the other boy. He won't tell him his name which Yoh thinks is silly. Privately Yoh calls him Ha. It's not a real name or a good name, but Yoh likes it. He spells it just like his own but he uses its different pronunciation. It fits him.

The boy frowns at him and Yoh isn't sure what he did wrong. He comes up short as the boy sighs.

“You need this,” he says just like his teacher does when she gets frustrated.

Suddenly there's dirt and the boy has a stick and he draws out a single kanji.

“Ou,” Yoh reads. King.

The boy looks at him expectantly.

“Ouha?”

“No,” the boy sighs with a roll of his eyes.

Yoh pouts because the boy loves being cryptic and Yoh hates that. Still he goes back to rolling the words around on his tongue

“Ha...ou, Ha..ou. Hao?” Yoh finally settles on after mashing the two sounds together.

The other boy does a patronizing slow clap and Yoh sticks his tongue out at him

“So your names Hao?” Yoh asks excitedly already recovering from being mad at him. “I thought you didn't want to tell me?”

“You were already close,” the boy shrugs and Yoh eyes him suspiciously.

“Wait how'd you know I was calling you Ha. Oh my god can you read minds!?” Yoh asks hands flying up to his ears as if that would block the other from seeing his mind.

Hao rolls his eyes and he should really stop doing that. Yoh's always told if he keep doing that his eyes might get stuck like that.

“I can't read mind,” Hao says. “This is a dream anyway. It's not real so things don't have to make sense.”

“I wish this was real,” Yoh flops down spread eagle. “It's so much better then the real world.

Hao looks at him puzzled.

“The real world is so lonely and no one wants to be my friend. But your my friend right, Hao?”

Hao doesn't respond his face always that annoying passive neutral expression.

“Well you are,” Yoh answers for Hao anyway, “So as long as I'm with you I don't need anything else.”

“Do you really mean that?” Hao asks and is that the barest hint of hope that Yoh detects. “Don't you have a mom?”

“Yeah,” Yoh scrunches up his nose, “but she's busy, and grandpa always makes me train. I hate training. But you're nice and you play with me even if you aren't real...” Yoh trails off at that realization. “I wish you were real.”

“Maybe I am,” Hao says so softly that Yoh barely catches it. He sits up abruptly wide eyed, but Hao doesn't elaborate.

“Ne, Hao,” Yoh speaks laying back down because Hao has the faraway look he gets whenever Yoh talks about his mom, “Do you think you were made specifically for me? I mean you make me not lonely. You look kinda like me, and our names are almost the same.”

“If I was,” Hao answers voice slow as he thinks out every word, “Then wouldn't I be in the real world, and not in your made up dream world?”

“What if it's cause we can't meet in the real world. The Great Spirits controls everything according to Grandpa so what if when we sleep we're actually in the Great Spirit and it gives us exactly what we want?”

“The Great Spirit doesn't give us what we want,” Hao speaks voice tight.

“Oh,” Yoh answers, “Did you ask it for something? Was it not able to give it to you?”

Hao doesn't answer and Yoh lets takes in a deep breath.

“Great Spirit,” Yoh yells, “Please give Hao—.” Yoh isn't able to finish that sentence because Hao's hands have covered his mouth muffling his question.

Yoh gives Hao his best put upon face but Hao doesn't remove his hands.

A mischievous glint in his eyes is all the warning Hao gets before Yoh licks his hands.

“Yoh! Ew! Gross! What are you five?” Hao asks pulling his hands away and acting like Yoh had physically burned him.

“I'm eight,” Yoh answers, “and you were being dumb. Besides it's not real. You're hands are perfectly clean.”

“They better be,” Hao mutters.

Yoh gives him a cheeky grin, “If I'm wrong then I guess you'll just have to find me in the real world and pay me back.”

“I'm not going to lick your hand. That's gross. You probably don't even wash them.”

“I do too wash them,” Yoh sticks his tongue out. “Besides you're the one who was playing with a stick earlier.”

“No one made you lick my hands, Yoh. You are not the victim here.”

“Am too! You covered my mouth and wouldn't take you hands off.”

“Well you were saying things that didn't need to be sad.”

Yoh sobers. “I just wanted you to be happy, Hao. You just always look so sad.”

Hao sighs, pulling Yoh close, “It's complicated, but I am happy here with you.”

“It doesn't have to be complicated. Complicated is a thing for grown ups.”

Hao gives him that sad smile and in that moment Hao seems years older than him. Like an older brother who forgot how easy it is too be a kid. Yoh doesn't like it. He wants Hao to be a kid like him, but Hao's always been so serious. Seemed too old for an eight year old.

“Six more years.”

“Huh?” Yoh asks, confused.

“Six more years,” Hao doesn't elaborate.

Yoh huffs and blows at his bangs. Hao said it in his he's done talking voice which means no matter what Yoh says or does Hao isn't going to answer him. So instead he leans against him as Hao's fingers gently play with his hair, lulling his eyes heavy with sleep which is silly because this is a dream and he doesn't need sleep.

“Is it really?” Hao whispers, and the next thing Yoh knows he's waking up in his dark room. Alone.

#shaman king #yoh asakura #hao asakura #now I lay me down to sleep #I pray my soul the twins to keep #this one got away from me #and is a little longer than I like planned #whoops

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just-some-fiction · 3 years

Text

Just You and Me Part 23

Block parties and the Good Girls... how’s that gonna go down?

Rio was freaking out - internally of course - looking at Mick as though he grew a second head, “Hermano what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Ms Boland is a handful, but her girls are aight,” he shrugged - Rio didn’t disagree but there was no way his pregnant and hormonal wife was going to be okay with Elizabeth being invited to one of his mother’s block parties.

It started an hour ago when he walked into Boland Bubbles. Mick and Annie seemed to be having a very animated conversation, while the others were just watching them.

“Then she adds a bit of salsa and it just pops,” Mick was explaining to her, “nah Mrs Ramirez carnitas are bomb.”

Rio internally groaned, knowing exactly what was coming, “You should make a turn, she’s having a block party this weekend.”

Before he could jump in, Annie replied, “Sounds like a plan,” she paused, “who’s Mrs Ramirez?”

“The Boss’ moms,” Cisco answered and the girls froze, looking slightly surprised - obviously they’d assume he didn’t have a mother.

He made himself known at that moment, letting his calm facade slip into place, “What’s going on ladies?”

“Nothing,” Beth handed him the bag. He raised an eyebrow and looked over at Mick and Annie.

“Invited them to the next block party,” Mick spoke up.

“Are these like block parties or,” Annie raised her eyebrow suggestively, “block parties.”

Mike scoffed and sent Annie a confused look, “What shady ass block parties you been to?” Annie shrugged.

Rio doesn’t know what possessed him to say the following, “Y'all should swing by, bring the kids with,” everyone looked at him surprised.

Mick shook his head, “Mrs Ramirez parties are special, everyone can come.”

After they left and got into the car, Rio turned to Mike, “You couldn’t stop this idiota from opening his mouth?”

“How is this my fault?”

“If Lucia gets a gun, imma let her shoot you homes,” Rio looked at Mick in the rearview mirror.

-----------

The day of his mother’s party, he walked into the kitchen where Lucia was filling a platter with something. Her baby bump wasn’t visible yet and it seemed as though she was taking advantage of that by wearing a dress that yet again made him want to do indecent things to her in public. Standing behind her, he splayed his hands on her stomach.

“How's my girls doing?” he whispered into her neck.

“Girls?”

“Yeah,” he pressed his hands gently into her abdomen.

“It’s too early to tell papi,” she laughed as he kissed her bare shoulder, moving up to her neck, then behind her ear, “Rio,” it came out as a sigh.

Before he could do anything else, the backdoor swung open and his sister walked in, “Yo dumbass, your weirdass employees rocked up.”

Rio froze and squeezed his eyes shut - after the meeting in the week, things got busy and he forgot to tell his wife. His sister looked at the couple, waiting for a reply.

“Be right there Mia,” he said as she turned and headed out.

“What weird ass employee?” his wife asked, her body tense.

“No one mami,” he went back to kissing her shoulder but she pushed him off and walked to the kitchen window.

“Christopher, why is that bitch in your mother’s yard?” she snapped, watching Mick greet them - she noticed Jane, Sarah, Henry and Ben were with but not the other kids, Marcus running towards his friend. Turning to face her husband, she had to control the urge to throw something at his head. He sighed, deciding to keep quiet and not upset her more. Walking past him, she picked up the plate and made her way to the door.

“Come on baby,” he tried to stop her, “don’t be mad.”

Before they could leave, the kitchen door swung open yet again and Yolanda walked in, eyeing the couple, “Why is the lady who put three slugs in my son, at my party?”

“Mick invited them,” he ground out.

“Really?” Yoland looked at her son, “Cos according to Mick you told them to swing by and bring the kids.”

Lucia said nothing, sending her husband a scathing look and walked out. Before he could follow her, his mother stopped him.

“Don’t,” she snapped, “I trust you mijo but this is unacceptable, not only did she try and kill you, she interfered in your marriage as well,” Rio narrowed his eyes, “now as far as I understand, those other two aren’t the problem,” she sighed, “so go introduce me to them and let me decide if they can stay or not.”

“Since when you ever turn someone away?” he pulled his face.

“Since that someone almost took my son from me,” she snapped.

Elizabeth watched as Lucia made her way outside. Soon Marcus and Jane ran up to her and she crouched down to their level. The redhead’s eyes travelled over her outfit - an off the shoulder floral dress with a slit down one side. She noticed a few of the other women around her also send Lucia scathing looks. Turning back to the group at the table she watched Annie talk to a lady - Charlie - while Ruby and Stan were conversing with a man called Jakes. It seemed as though Rio’s operation was larger than she thought.

Mike smiled at something behind her and she turned around. Rio was walking towards them with an older lady who she assumed was his mother. He had his arm slung around her shoulders and they were talking animatedly.

“Hey Mrs R,” Mike greeted her.

“Hi mijo,” she smiled as they came to stand by the table, “I’m here to meet some of my son’s employees,” she looked at the three ladies and Beth immediately knew this lady knew who she was and what she did.

She spoke to Annie, Stan and Ruby, disregarding Beth for a while before turning to the redhead, “So you’re the brains behind this little group,” she let her eyes scan over the woman who caused her family so much stress over the last few months. Elizabeth was lost for words as the older woman unleashed her bluntness.

“Thank you for allowing us to come,” Annie jumped in, “Mick was raving about your carnitas.”

Yolanda smiled at her - she’s been around people and watched people for long enough to know who the genuine ones were and who was not, “Welcome, please, eat, socialise, enjoy,” she paused, “my son seems to think the three of you have potential in this business so you might as well get to know everyone,” she turned to leave, “Lucia, there you are, you look lovely today mija.”

Lucia smiled at her mother in law and nodded to the group - there was a man here that she’s never seen before, assuming it was Ruby’s husband. Rio slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close as he accepted a drink from Jakes.

“Hey Cia,” he nodded at her.

“Sup Jakes,” she smiled.

She was still upset with her husband, but she wasn’t going to give Beth Boland any chance to try anything or any of the other ladies that were there. He wrapped his arms around her waist as they stood in front of the group. She stroked his forearms as he kissed her temple.

“Yo,” Cisco walked up to them, “the fuck you letting Boss lady stand Boss?”

Elizabeth bristled at the insinuation that Lucia was a boss, but stopped when she noticed her ex-lover’s wife not having anything to drink and Cisco pulling up a chair for her.

“It’s called pregnancy, you degenerate, she ain’t an invalid,” Chuck joked, throwing a napkin at Cisco.

Soon a little girl with dark brown hair ran up to the table, plopping herself against Rio, “Uncle Wio,” he groaned, knowing Annie was gonna have a field day with this, “where’s Marcus?”

“With his cousins Franny,” he pointed to the small group by the jungle jim, the little girl gasped in excitement and took off.

“Be careful Franny,” Chuck yelled.

“Okay mama.”

Ruby seemed to notice that most of the people here had kids and families. A few minutes later, she felt someone slide in next to her and turned to see Lucia, who smiled at her. They’ve never had a conversation before, but she didn’t mind gang friend's wife, who seemed to hold nothing against her or Annie. Stan was a bit shocked when he saw Lucia, not realising that the crime boss was a married man with a family.

“Who’s that?” he whispered to her.

“Gang friend’s wife,” she replied softly.

“He married?”

“Yip.”

“You good?”

Lucia laughed, “Yeah, three months along,” motioning to her stomach, “taking advantage of the fact that I can still sit on a normal picnic bench,” she laughed, pausing for a few moments, “can’t believe Mick actually invited you guys,” she looked amused, “and that ya’ll actually came,” she laughed.

Ruby didn’t know how to react, but luckily didn’t have to because Rio walked over to his wife, “Mami,” he called, “need help with something real quick.”

Chuck sent him a look, which he ignored as he helped his wife up and pulled her away, “It’s been close to twenty years and he’s still horny for her,” Chuck laughed.

Lucia let Rio pull her towards his old bedroom, pushing her gently against the door after closing it, “Why you ignoring me?”

“Rio,” she sighed, “you really dragged me here to ask me that?”

“Nah dragged you here to hit it while you in this dress mami,” he let his hands slide over her waist, “look so good mami,” he caged her in, “hurts when you look this good and ignore me.”

“You know why I’m ignoring you papi,” she huffed.

“I know and I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled her dress up, “but how good would it feel if you go back outside filled with me, knowing you the one I’m with.”

She rolled her eyes, “Wish I wasn’t,” she mumbled - she was being petty, but he fucked up.

“The fuck you say,” he stepped back, “nah mama you ain’t gonna be a brat now,” he pushed her back against the door, “I’m trying to make it right and you keep fighting,” he growled.

She refused to look at him, turning her head and looking to the side.

“Lucia,” he growled.

“What?” she snipped, still looking to the side, gasping as he sank his teeth into her collarbone. She slapped him when he lifted his head, letting a slew of curse words out in Spanish. Rocking his jaw he pushed her up against the wall, crashing his lips onto hers, his hands diving under the slit of her dress and feeling the absence of panties. Growling against her lips, he undid his jeans and pulled himself. Hoisting her up against the door, they both groaned as he sank into her. His thrusts were deep and hard, his hands gripped her hips, holding her in place. Somehow he got them to the bed.

“Get undressed Lucia,” he growled as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off along with his undertop. When she took too long he helped her, unclasping her bra as well. He sat them down on the bed, continuing to suck and bite her breasts. Soon he lifted her up and sank her down onto him, hissing as her nails scratched over his shoulders.

“That’s it mami,” he groaned, “fuck yourself on this dick,” flicking her clit, “you love being dicked down like this huh?” he smirked.

“You close baby?” he asked innocently, kissing her neck.

“Fuck Rio,” she mewled, letting out another string of Spanish curse words, only this time in pleasure rather than anger. Suddenly he stopped and pulled her off him.

“Nah mami,” he drawled, “you ain’t coming now,” he grinned at her, “go get the toy,” he motioned to the dresser.

“No papi please,” she begged, trying to scootch back onto his dick, but he kept her in place.

“The toy Lucia,” he growled, watching as she pulled out a vibrator - one they conveniently left here when they moved out. Taking it from her, he flicked it on, satisfied to see that the battery was fully charged. He slid it into her after putting it on a low setting.

“You know why I’m punishing you?” he stood up and gripped her jaw lightly.

“Yes,” she sighed, “cos I was being a brat.”

“Nah mami,” he laughed, “cos you talking shit bout not being with me.”

She rolled her eyes, “You mine Cia, ain’t no one will even think of being with you cos they know I’ll kill em,” he pulled her naked body against his own, “and cos you feeling threatened by some suburban lady I fucked when we was broken up,” he made her look at him, “you my queen mami, aight.”

She nodded, pulling him close and kissing him. Her arms pulled him closer as his arms wrapped around her waist, slipping his tongue into her mouth, moving them back to the bed. Sitting down, he gently pushed her down, between his legs. Looking up at him, she licked the head of his dick while her hand stroked his shaft. She took him down her throat, as far as she could.

"That's my girl," he groaned, stroking her hair, "sucking me so good," biting his lip, he kept looking at her, "while there's a yard full of people downstairs, you like doing shit like this when there's an audience huh," groaning as she deepthroats him, "they all outside knowing what we up to."

This seemed to spur her on, sucking him harder, "Just like that mami," he groaned, holding her head in place, as he felt the familiar pull.

She swallowed as he came, licking his head as she pulled away. When she straddled his lap, the vibrator shifted inside of her, pushing against her clit. This caused her to double over, resting her head against his shoulder. Rio tilted her head up, kissing her roughly.

"You want it mami," he held her chin, "you wanna come?"

"Please," she mewled as he slipped a finger inside of her.

"Nah mami," he reached for her dress, "get dressed," he grinned, "let's go have some fun."

He kissed her shoulder as he helped her with her zipper, while she fixed her hair, the vibrator still nestled inside of her. Turning around she rested her hands on his shoulders. He smirked, as his eyes trailed down her body, leaning down, he placed a kiss between her cleavage. She stroked his chin, smiling slightly, giving him a peck on the lips.

---------------

They were only gone for about thirty minutes, his hands around her waist as they walked back outside. There was music playing and some people dancing.

"When last we danced?" he pulled her towards the dancing group of people.

"Can't remember," she laughed as he swayed them.

She caught Beth's eye as she stared at them. Deciding to not let her ruin her moment, she focused on Rio, who was looking at her.

"Just you and me mama," he whispered, kissing her.

A few moments later, a little body ran into Rio's legs, "We also wanna dance," Marcus looked at his parents, Jane in tow, who waved at her.

“Come here Janey,” she stuck out her hand. As the four of them danced, soon joined by Chuck and Franny, as well as Mia and her son, she could feel the daggers Elizabeth was shooting at her, but she couldn’t care less.

Later after Beth and her people left, she was sitting in Rio’s lap, his hands stroking her stomach. They were alone in a corner, everyone else absorbed in their own conversations. She leaned down and kissed him, letting her hands trail along his shoulders. Lucia's dress was flowy enough that no one could notice his hand between her legs, moving the vibrator against her clit. Every few moments, he’d whisper obscenities against her skin.

"Come baby," he whispered, as he applied more pressure, before sinking two fingers in alongside it. Soon she was clenching around them, her abdomen tensing up. Her head was resting against his, her hands stroking his cheek and arms. A few minutes later he pulled out the vibrator and slipped it into his pocket. She sent him a look and he just shrugged.

Marcus wondered over to his parents, stifling a yawn as he climbed onto his father's lap, "Someone's gonna be knocked out real soon," Rio looked down at his kid.

"No I'm not," Marcus argued, this time yawning, covering his mouth.

"Come on," Lucia stood up, "let's get you ready for bed," Marcus followed his mother into the house, as Rio watched them. A few moments later he got up and followed them into the house. He shut his sister’s room door behind him as he watched Lucia help Marcus change into his pyjamas, the little boy rubbing at his tired eyes.

“And someone ain’t tired,” Rio smirked making his way into the room.

“I’m not,” Marcus the ever stubborn six year old argued. Rio rolled his eyes and picked his kid up off the bed and pulled the blankets away, laying him down, before turning to his wife and pulling her down onto his lap. It didn’t take ten minutes for Marcus to fall asleep.

As they walked out of the room, Rio pulled her towards his old bedroom, “Come on baby,” squeezed her ass, “let’s go have some fun.”

A few minutes later, in his locked childhood bedroom, Lucia was riding him, her hands braced against his shoulders and her head buried in his neck as she moved against him. They weren’t even undressed, he kicked his shoes off and hopped onto the bed, pulling her with him.

“Fuck papi,” she moaned, “it’s so good,” a whine left her throat, “you fuck me so good,” Rio said nothing, his brow creased, lips parted as he fucked her.

“I’m coming,” she moaned, her body shuddering slightly, him following soon after her.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned into her chest, his tongue gliding along her cleavage, licking the sweat droplets off, “too good ma.”

Her fingers started undoing the buttons on his shirt, exposing his skin. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders Lucia placed open mouth kisses along the exposed skin. Soon her dress was pulled off of her, leaving her in a bra, which her husband pulled off as well, his lips attaching to one nipple, using the tip of his tongue to circle the hardened nub.

"Fuck baby," Rio groaned, letting his eyes travel down her body, "love when you pregnant," this she knew, "everything about you I love baby," he pounded into her, enjoy the sight of her tits bouncing as he entered her body, "come for me ma," he circled her clit, "be a good girl and come on my dick," she felt her wetness gushing down between her legs and along his dick, "that pussy so good," a few moments later she creamed on him as her orgasm hit.

They kissed as their orgasm hit, riding out their release. Lucia collapsed against his chest, her body still shuddering and her walls still spasm around his dick. Rio sucked onto her collarbone, shooting the last bit of his load inside of her, he rested against the headboard, breathing heavily, licking his lips as he felt his wife continue to clench around him. Somehow as they fucked he managed to get his jeans and boxers off, leaving the couple completely naked.

“Fuck babe,” Lucia moaned against his neck.

“That’s my girl,” gripping her ass, Rio pulled her closer and off of his still hard dick, his tongue darting out, licking the corner of his mouth. Lucia lifted her head and looked at her husband who was leaning against the headboard, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted. She kissed his chest and neck, wrapping her arms around him. They stayed like that for a while, holding one another. Soon they pulled on some clothes and got under the covers, Lucia falling asleep. Sometime during the night, Marcus slipped into the room and walked to his father’s side of the bed.

Rio who was awake, popped an eye open, “Wassup pop?”

“I had a bad dream,” the little boy rubbed his eyes as his dad pulled him onto the bed. Marcus cuddled into his father’s side.

“Daddy,” the little boy whispered, “do you have bad dreams?”

“Sometimes pop,” Rio looked down at his kid.

“Mama had bad dreams when you were gone,” that was something he didn’t know, “when we stayed with abuela for that time, she’d wake up crying,” Rio looked over at his wife who shifted slightly in her sleep, they never discussed that.

Marcus decided to sleep on the couch, Rio built him a makeshift fort, the little boy falling asleep fairly quickly. Climbing back into bed, he pulled Lucia closer, pressing her back against his front.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” her voice was soft, barely audible, he said nothing for a while, simply pulled her closer.

“Mami,” he kissed her shoulder, turning her around, until her head was tucked under his chin and her leg was over his hip. His jaw was clenched and he was tracing a line up and down her spine. Deep down he was angry with himself for putting her in a situation like this in the first place, having promised her that he’d protect her. He felt her kiss his neck softly, her arm wrapped around his middle.

“You and me baby,” she whispered, “just you and me ok.”

The next morning, they were woken up by a little body wiggling his way between them. Rio moved up a little, to let his son between them, Marcus cuddling into his mother’s chest. Lucia kissed his head lovingly.

“You and me and bean,” she said, looking up at RIo who rocked his jaw before wrapping his arms around the two of them, “and bean number two,” she laughed.

“Mama, when is the baby gonna get here?” Marcus scrunched his nose up, which Lucia kissed.

“Still a couple months baby,” she laughed at her son’s expression.

“That’s gonna take forever,” he sighed.

“We had to wait the same amount of time for you pop,” Rio chuckled.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Lucia kissed his forehead, "why don't you go see what abuela made for breakfast papi."

The little boy scurried off the bed, "Ok."

Rio looked at his wife who stretched next to him, he took this opportunity to slip his hand down the length of her body and under the covers, resting it between her legs. Lucia smirked, pulling his head towards hers, kissing him as he slipped two fingers into her heat. He fingered her until she came, his thumb grazing her clit.

"Yes baby," she moaned, her hand cupping him through his boxers, before pulling him out. Rio slipped into her, not wasting any time and pounding into her relentlessly.

Rio sucked on her neck, holding her hands above her head as he slowed down his pace. Moving slowly, he looked down at her, watching her face clench as he hit a sensitive spot inside of her.

"Christopher," she mewled, as he let go of her hands, she raked her nails down his back, "fuck baby," her legs tightening their grip around his hips. Her walls clenched as she came, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched, her hands clutching his jaw.

Continuing to move inside of her, Rio pulled her closer, slipping a hand under her thigh, allowing him to go deeper. He felt himself get closer to his release.

"I'm coming," he groaned, his hips stuttering as he came inside of her, "fuck baby," his entire body ceasing up as she milked him. Lucia ran her fingers down his spine, letting his weight rest on her for a bit.

The couple stayed in their cocoon for a few more minutes. Rio kissed along the length of her neck. Lucia felt his load drip out of her, her hand moving down to catch it. He rolled off of her slightly, thankful that Marcus shut the door when he left, then pulled the covers off of them. Proceeding to place bites and kisses from the valley of her breasts down to her thighs sucking on the junction where her pelvis and thigh meet.

"Rio," she sighed, stroking his head, the feeling of his beard against her soft skin making her back arch slightly. Her husband found her clit, latching onto it as he plunged his fingers into her.

"Baby we need to go down for breakfast," she had to stop him or else they'd never leave the room.

He didn't stop though, rather sucking her harder. Pulling away he looked up at her, a questioning look on his face. His fingers were still buried inside of her, the pad of his thumb circling her overstimulated nub. Lucia looked at him, feeling her walls start to clench.

"Want me to stop?" he curled his fingers, causing her to jerk forward, "I don't think you want me to stop baby," he chuckled.

Lucia came suddenly, her body jerking as he fingered her. When she caught her breath, he moved up and kissed her cheek lovingly and stroked her hair.

"That's my girl," he whispered against her ear, "can always take it," pulling her sleep shirt in place, he wrapped his arms around her, "come on baby, let shower and go have breakfast yeah?"

A few minutes later they were out of the shower and making their way to the kitchen. Marcus was propped on a stool helping his grandmother with pancakes. Lucia stood behind him and placed a kiss on his head.

"Morning you two," Yolanda smirked at them.

Rio kissed his mother's cheek, "Hi ma," rolling his shoulders as he poured himself coffee.

"Heard anything about the house yet?" his mother asked them. They decided to move into a house after he came back. Marcus enjoyed the time spent by his grandmother, having a yard and ample space to wreak havoc, so the couple decided now with another baby on the way, it was time.

"Yeah," Rio smirked, "we got the house," seems like they were officially moving back to the neighbourhood.

His mother smiled.

"I ain't throwing no block parties though."

#rio #rio x lucia #lucia solano #beth boland #annie marks #ruby hill #stan hill #the kids are their too #charlie graceland #mick good girls #mike graceland

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hesesols · 4 years

Text

For Queen & Country

Day 17 of Ichiruki month 2020: Coronation

Summary: She knows her place. She is merely a pretender to a princess and marries the King in the former’s stead.

Rating: M

FF/ao3

"Father, what is marriage?"

Byakuya Kuchiki, Lord of Western Rukongai – father, duke, kingmaker; stilled.

Bright violet eyes stared back defiantly, wisps of midnight black hair teasing her nape; taking after his late wife in both temperament and appearance. She was tiny- barely reaching his knees and he easily picked her up, setting her on his lap.

"It is what happens when two people decide to live together forever," he told her.

Here, the child frowned. Forever, sounded far too long. A quarter-hour for lessons and a day for songs under the sun- those were reasonable terms of engagement. She couldn't even sit still for her lessons much less consider something that would mean longer than a day.

Still, she thought of the potential advantages to the arrangement. Miss Hinamori gave her sweets if she behaved during her lessons and sat very very still. Some days, when she was especially good, she would ask Miss Hinamori for chocolate.

The governess had laughed and called her a word- shrewd, she wondered what it meant.

Her eyes narrowed, if she could endure her lessons for sweets and desserts- surely that must mean that there are greater things to be gained from a long-suffering pact as this?

Folding her arms very solemnly, she asked her father to name the price.

"What would it mean for me?"

A bride- fine gossamer silk, bolts of colourful fabrics woven of every colour known to man, bone-china, her mother's pearls; blessed, cherished, happy, loved.

A wife- bearer of the world, the silent matriarch, keeper of secrets, manageress of a household and an empty bed; tried, dignified, wise, experienced.

But those are visions of a man old and weary of the world, she will learn of the Truth at her own pace. He gave her something less tangible- facts.

"When you marry, you take on your husband's last name and share your fortunes with him, take care of him, obey him, give him ch-"

He caught himself just in time. As fascinating as the conversation was, Lord Byakuya did not fancy a conversation with his daughter on the matter of baby-making and answer her queries on how children were made.

That would come much later and at the hands of an experienced governess, preferably.

He cleared his throat loudly and looked at his daughter who had the most thoughtful expression set on her face while chewing on the ends of her braids. The cogs in her brain turned.

Everything?

Her young mind was devastated- that meant her favourite cakes and sweets, even that sweet little rabbit that she had rescued, half of everything she had was some horrible boy's future property?

Boys- like Renji, were horrible and mean, they had no appreciation for fine, pretty things like her drawings, they liked to tug her hair and call her names. They were rough, rude and were more wont to destroy than build.

Her dolls- china, and straw-made, still bore scars as a testament to their ill-treatment at the hands of her unruly siblings.

"Must I?"

"Are you a good person?"

She nodded vigorously. She obeyed Miss Hinamori instructions and did what she was told (most of the time). There was also the time when she saved a rabbit from the cook's horrible dogs. The rabbit- she called him Chappy, now lives in a pretty cage and was served fresh carrots daily. Miss Hinamori had praised her and called her kind, so she must be.

"Then you should," he said.

The raven-haired noblewoman in-the-making made a face.

"That is absolutely mad, Father," she tugged on his sleeves and fixed him with her strongest gaze, "why would people do such things?"

"For duty, honour and sometimes, love, my dearest."

The girl frowned- 'duty' and 'honour'. She held both words in contempt with a vengeance unbecoming for a Lady of noble status, for it was used with relish when seven year-olds were made to do what they were told.

It was her 'duty' as a future Lady of noble birth to be in bed early, to share her toys with her visiting cousins, to find dancing and other leisurely activities like playing the piano-forte as natural as breathing. And much to her dismay, she would find that as the years passed, the list too grew. Now, her 'duties' even included making 'scintillating' and 'polite' conversations with even the rudest of her associates. The words did not gain any favour at the hands of her father- who was a far more eloquent speaker than Miss Hinamori and infinitely more superior in his knowledge of the world.

Rukia was made to feel stupid and insignificant when they come out to play.

Renji says 'love' with a tone that sealed it as the most despicable thing under the sky and she supposed she would agree with her adopted brother for once- it must be a dangerous and strange thing indeed for some people to willingly share half of everything they owned with another person, especially with icky boys and their grubby hands.

Furthermore, she was reminded of the cloying sweet smell of perfume that her older cousin favoured upon the arrival of her betrothed. The older girl with her sudden airy, breathless tone of voice and her betrothed with the oddest smile on his face that frankly made him look foolish. Miss Hinamori had claimed that it was because it was a love match between the young couple and it did not happen often in people of her circle.

She wrinkled her nose and prayed that she never succumbed to it.

"Father," she began solemnly, "I do not think I shall ever marry."

The normally stoic noble smiled at her. Children have such amusing ideas and thoughts. Keeping his face straight and trying very hard to remain stern, he told her.

"We shall see."'

Inevitably, she learns.

Love is tradition- Kuchiki Manor in all its daunting glory and untouched forest, family- her brothers, insufferably rude as they may be, warmth- her father, in his infinite wisdom and sagacity, companionship- Miss Hinamori, her surrogate mother and confidante.

It is like wine- aging well with the passage of time and a fruit of labour known only to those who have endured and triumphed together and then content in the arms of each other, have stayed. It is tender- kisses on the cheeks, bear hugs and booming laughter, and it grows out of the fondness of one's heart and intimate wishes.

Marriage on the other hand is sudden and tempestuous. It is the unsuspecting storm that came with all the fury known to God, the end to unspoken promises and ill-kept vows.

It comes when a Royal Princess flees the machinations of her own Father. It comes at the bidding of a Mad King with even wilder ambitions- thinly-veiled threats and open affronts. It comes with her dowry-horses laden with riches, ballads and tapestries, rolls of expensive furs and leather skins, a procession of servants, craftsmen, artisan- bearing coat of arms, her motherland's pride, the history and culture of her people- an entourage befitting of a Royal Princess; and ends with her hand offered on a golden pedestal.

It is duty and honour, the sealing of two nations bound now in kinship- it is momentous, sweeping and public.

It is anything but her wedding.

She knows her place. She is merely a pretender to a princess and marries the King in the former's stead.

She stood tall as she said goodbye to all that she has ever known to be home. Her brothers said very little and too much all at once. Her sacrifice burnt them and that mark singed the family tapestry. Hath they hung their heads down for shame or sorrow?

Her father appeared- stoic and wordlessly pressed her mother's pearls into her hands.

She ascends the steps to the throne room looming ahead- a sea of unknown faces and stunned silence. She is veiled and shrouded in white- made to stand next to a man she was to call husband for all eternity and become mother to his nation. She hears the words and murmurs of the clergyman, gives her consent when the holy man bids her to, bows when it is expected of her- but processes very little.

Her husband-she stares at the brown-eyed stranger with wild hair and watches with muted horror as he slides the golden band onto her finger.

"Play the game as you were taught to," he told her. Scarcely daring to meet her eyes, he gripped her hands tight. Yes of course, the charade must hold- should the truth be made public, the consequences will be severe. He laid another necklace- heavier in weight and heritage; around her neck and clasped it shut.

It felt like a sentence- a Deadman's noose hanging around her neck. He kissed her cheeks.

"For duty and honour- Lady Rukia Kuchiki."

"For as long as I live, I shall cherish you and it is my hope that our union shall beget a prosperous future for both kingdoms."

His words sound like a scripted play. She grips his hand perhaps a little tighter in response- a show; she must always let them see who they want to see- a bride, a happy, beautiful, willing bride who is elated at her marriage to a young King.

She smiles and he places the jewel-encrusted tiara upon her head- her crowning glory.

The heavy weight and the gravity of her decision sink into her. She will serve the Crown and her King- she will be a good wife, she will honour her vows, and she will be Queen.

"My kingdom is now your home and the fate of her people- her people shall honour you as their Queen."

"Remember your lessons," he whispered as she turned to leave. The Court across the sea may have different heralds and customs, may style and culture themselves differently, and favour soaring towers instead of domes, but all Courts are snake pits. Know one and you know them all.

She looked into his eyes and nodded.

She marched out of the centuries-old manor- head held high, shoulders squared for upon it laid the fate and honour of her household. She spared no further glances at the Manor as she climbed into the carriage- within her Kingdom at least, Lady Rukia Kuchiki has ceased to exist the moment it was decided that she would marry a King in the eloped princess's stead.

She keeps her gaze on her husband- high cheekbones, strong jawline, thin lips, deep set eyes of a curious shade between brown and gold. She sees a man in his prime, broad-shouldered and tall- shaped and molded as though he was one of those heathen Gods.

She is young but not naïve. Trepidation lines her thoughts.

What does he have in mind for her- Queen, envoy, impostor?

He bends down slightly to unveil her and kisses her on her lips chastely. When he draws away, he remains expressionless and she reads nothing from his eyes. The erupting cheers from the crowd distract her and she heaves a breath of relief.

How odd it is that a duke's daughter who has never even dreamt of seeing the blue sea, would someday find herself heralding a procession of her nation's finest to a Court so many leagues away, of taking part in a scandalous hoax for the better of two kingdoms.

First princess, now queen to a gilded nation of hyphenated names and odd houses, married to a man whose first name she doesn't even know.

Perhaps such is the strange way of life.

It is as expected, a politically-fuelled marriage between him and his foreign bride.

His ministers of course, waxed poetries of her beauty and grace. She is to bring with her the riches from the Court beyond the sea, skills and knowledge from another kingdom, books written and inventions made from the best amongst their contemporaries, spices and trade.

Her blood is old, the noblemen of his Court reminded him- a scion of a noble and powerful kingdom, steep in tradition and a well-known history of bearing prodigious sons. She will bear him strong heirs- sons to carry forth his name and legacy.

What more should a young king, still childless and only sisters for siblings, desire? It is no secret of course, should he die now, issueless- the throne will go to a viscount from another kingdom- a son of his great-grandaunt's bloodline, a man who has never even set foot on this land.

Yet as he regards his young wife, he frowns; she is not what he expected.

"Who are you?"

She stiffens but the smile on her face doesn't falter. If nothing else, he at least commends her on her acting and composure.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

He rolls his eyes, takes another sip of the wine as he keeps his hand on the small of her back, leaning in to whisper to her ears only.

"You're not the Princess."

He has seen the Princess Orihime once. Though from afar and hidden in the shadows, while he was passing through a neighbouring kingdom under the guise of a different name. A serendipitous affair that ends with a dance for the two of them, and a kiss on the back of her hand as is proper.

This woman in front of him, heralded by so many as beautiful, virtuous and kind, and a million other things associated with that of the paragon of queenliness, and for all intents and purposes, his wife and future mother of his unborn children; is not that woman.

The two are nothing alike.

Her smile quivers- it's the first crack in her defences.

"You are mistaken, my lord. I am the Princess Orihime."

They're surrounded by courtiers. Each one more devious and sycophantic than the other; Rukia is determined to clench her teeth and bear through the confrontation. To any and all onlookers, they must appear to be, at all times, unruffled and polished.

He says nothing more after that.

A lord so-and-so comes forward to present himself and Rukia contents herself by letting her mind wander while the portly man dawdles on about the festivity of the occasion, on what a grand wedding it was, repeats the word 'grandeur' and 'blessed' for at least three more times before the King sends him away and in parting, flourishes with a deep bow, murmuring how he wishes only the very best for the royal couple.

Neither of said couple deigns to utter a syllable more to each other as the festivities and merry-making continues.

The King's Bedchamber is where they retire for the first night to they consummate their marriage and mark their beginning as a pair- from henceforth, princess and daughter no more, but a Queen she will be- till Death spares them the misery.

Moonlight pours forth from the open window into the darkly lit room. Rukia is clad only in the sheerest of silk and bare underneath it. She feels vulnerable under his gaze, more so when his hands grab her by the wrist and tugs her towards him.

Alone with no interruptions from her ladies-in-waiting and his stewards, he continues with the unrelenting rounds of questions, fingers digging deep into her flesh.

He asks her again.

"Who are you?"

She sighs, lowering her gaze respectfully, recites it all with an even tone.

"I am Princess Orihime. I—"

He laughs- mirthless and cruel, cutting her short when the hold on her arm becomes tight enough to bruise. She hisses in response.

"No more lies. Or would you prefer me calling you by another woman's name even when we are in bed?"

She clamps her mouth shut.

"It's not that hard. I only need a name."

Silence still.

"Well if you are so unwilling. Perhaps a member of the entourage would be more forthcomi—"

"My name is Rukia."

The glare she shoots him is fierce and not at all like the simpering front she puts up.

"Who are you, Rukia?"

She bites her lips.

"A nobody."

"And why would they send me a nobody instead of the Princess, Rukia?"

Her breath hitches when his arm brushes against her side, glide across the rise of her breasts and leans in close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on hers. Fingers busy themselves with the hemline of her nightdress, cut far shorter than she is used to.

"I don't know."

"Where is the Princess, Rukia?"

She keeps quiet, clenches her fists tight enough that her nails dig into her palm. She mustn't say a word or give away the unfortunate circumstances that brought her to him, to this country and Court. The Mad King is watching even now, his spies lurking among her entourage and numerous attendants.

Her family- her father and brothers are all under his mercy.

She can't.

The price of failing is much too steep for her to bear.

"I-I don't know."

She looks at the young King dead in the eyes and lies anyway, uncaring if he sees past her lies or takes them at face value.

"Oh, is that so?"

There is a rip in her gown. The flimsy material gives way with a rough tug and Rukia steels herself, looking into her husband's eyes- amber, dark, knowing; as she steps out of the puddle of ruined silk and kisses him.

He tastes of wine- the richness of it lingering on his lips; and secrets- many of which she will never be privy to, but that's fine too. She has no use of his heart. The stiffness in the set of his shoulders gives way when she winds her arms around his neck and cards her fingers through his hair.

Sex, she has been told, serves as a good distraction- if nothing else.

He doesn't fight her.

There's a growl of approval as sinewy arms snake around her slim waist and pulls her flush along his body and under him on the bed as he does away with his clothes. Underneath them, he is broad-chested and beautiful- the lines of his body carved and sculpted like a work of art with perfection in mind. A scar here, a mark there; a trail of wispy golden hair that marks the length of his torso, leading to the –

"My eyes are here," he teases.

A collision of lips, teeth and tongues as his lips find hers again. There is heat there, a fire that she stokes when her hand brushes against his arousal- intentional or artless, she doesn't know; not when his molten gaze strips her down to her very core of neediness.

The suppleness of her flesh and her tender sex is his to do as he sees fit. His fingers tease at her nipples, parting the folds of her dripping sex and she gasps as they slide knuckle-deep into her.

"Ichigo," he tells her in between heavy grunts.

"W-What?"

She is more than a little breathless under him and the way her sex clenches and tightens- she hisses. How meaningless words have become.

"My name. You should know. That's the name you should be screaming out when I make you come."

She doesn't remember much after.

The rest of the night is a blur and blend of heady emotions, the stickiness of his spent on her inner thighs- soft moans barely recognizable as hers while he sinks into her- heavy with want, and makes a home in her warmth. Oh quivering muscles, the tight coil of nerves unravelling, the snap of his hips and the gleam in his eyes- golden and wild.

She soars and peaks with him in tandem until dawn is but moments away and he withdraws with a soft murmur.

"Sleep."

In the morning when her ladies-in-waiting find her, she is covered in bruises and bites. The ruined silk- a weak excuse for a dress to begin with- is in tatters on the floor and the unmistakable stains on the sheets mark the sharing of sins and desires.

She is sore and aching over patches of black and blue. She doesn't want company.

But company stays.

The King's orders they crow and the smiling ladies titter, nervously ushering her into a warm bath with scented oils and rose petals. The nice-smelling blend they lather into her hair sooths her tired body, enough for her to regain thoughts and some use of her limbs.

The King is an ardent lover and thorough in his exploration of her. Even now, Rukia doesn't think she has the energy left within her to even crawl unless prompted.

"Is he everything you had imagined?"

Rukia flashes back to her childhood memories. Of her at her father's lap- on the transactional nature of marriages and bridal price and dowries, and the meaning of duty, honour and love; she laughs—

And doesn't stop until tears stream down her face.

FF/ao3

Sneak peek for IR royalty AU dedicated to the lovely @animeokaachan.

I couldn’t resist.

Review, like, comment, reblog or drop me an ask to send some love my way.

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth2020 #ichiruki month #irmonth2020 #mine #for queen and country #fanfic #royalty AU #rukia is an impostor and ichigo knows #day 17: coronation

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hopelesslygazingthestars · 3 years

Text

Update: A Dance Of Love And Duty

- Engulfed By Dragon Fire

Elia/Rhaegar (+ mentions Elia/Ashara)

Elia Martell was the prized sun of Dorne. Her mother had searched high and low for a match worthy of such light. Yet, as knowledgeable and formidable as the old Princess of Dorne had been, even she could not have predicted that in the Seven Kingdoms only dragon-fire was looked upon.

Elia did not know she could hate a person so much. But she did. She hated her husband.

She hated how he made her feel; how she beamed in the shadows as the Silver Prince defeated Ser Barristan in the final tilt, how she clapped as he looped the crown of winter roses over his lance and started his horse in her direction, and how she bowed as he rode past her.

Her face burned like the feverish Dornish sun in utter humiliation when Rhaegar laid the wreath of flowers onto the lap of Lyanna Stark. He named a maiden barely a woman grown the Queen of Love and Beauty, and with that single act, undid all their months-long efforts to see their ascension to the Iron Throne.

Not only had he insulted her before the lords of Westeros, but simultaneously disrespected the Warden of the North and his own cousin by choosing Robert Baratheon’s betrothed.

However, Elia’s hurt extended beyond the insult given, and the gasps of shock, and the Mad King’s cackling; hers was a breath-taking anguish from broken treaties.

And when the wolf girl accepted the roses, looking as embarrassed as Elia felt, the Dornish princess somehow schooled her pained expression into one of unphased indifference. Despite the boiling in her blood, and the prince inside her that fussed in protest; Elia refused to crumble. She would not prove the lies of Dornish savages right, nor the tales of her unworthiness for the beloved Targaryen prince.

“Are you not furious?”

Oberyn seethed when she fastened her hand around his wrist so tightly that she drew blood. Prince Lewyn and Arthur also had their hands on Oberyn in anticipation, but Elia saw that both men battled their own fury too.

“A fire rages inside me hot enough to make even dragons sweat,” Elia replied lowly as she lifted her chin proudly and kept herself very still, hyper aware of all the eyes watching the commotion at the Stark stands.

She was reminded again that the dragons had engulfed the sun, when she noted that none outside of her own retinue even cared as to observe for her reaction.

“Whatever you would have us do, let me be the first to get my hands on him.” Ashara snarled through gritted teeth.

Although Elia had never felt such a strong desire to kill Rhaegar, to incinerate him from the inside out, violence was not her reaction.

“You will do nothing.”

Oberyn and Ashara’s heads snapped to her in unison, for as hot-tempered and blinded by love as they were, they could not see what Elia knew.

“But-”

“I, and I alone shall deal with my husband.” She spat out the term she once said in endearment.

Tearing her eyes away from the display, she saw Oberyn gauge her before relenting; but Ashara, remained tense like she was contemplating a most terrible act of treason.

“Ser Arthur, please escort Lady Ashara to her quarters.”

“Elia I will not-”

“Immediately.” She commanded.

Arthur all but lifted and dragged Ashara from her side, and luckily, the spitting protests were largely overshadowed by Brandon Stark being physically restrained by his brother and kinsmen.

If Elia once questioned her husband’s affinity for madness, she certainly no longer did now. She thought him absolutely insane, especially when he turned his horse towards her. Whatever act of reconciliation he intended was of no interest to her. She would not give the Westerosi the satisfaction of a reaction, but she also refused to be remembered as having been remotely in favour of Rhaegar’s actions. Thus, heartbeat still thundering in her ears, her hands tightened on the material of her foreign robes, and she turned away just as Rhaegar finally acknowledged her.

The Dornish party followed without instruction. Dorne was a proud kingdom, and a snub to her, was a snub to them all. She walked with a strength her brittle bones had never known, and for the first time, she wore the skin of the Queen she intended to be. Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.

When she eventually reached her chambers, she noticed the decorated red and black walls, Rhaegar’s beloved harp, dragons on every surface, and yearned to tear it all apart.

“Leave me be.”

Reluctantly, her retinue left, and when the door shut, her resolve collapsed.

Traitorous tears pricked at her eyes and her hands shook violently suppressing a volatile rage. Frantically, she searched for something that might anchor and remind her of home – of her. She laughed bitterly when it dawned that she too – pregnant with his promised prince – was a belonging of Rhaegar Targaryen.

She grabbed the closest item to her, ironically, a vase of winter roses, and with all her strength heaved it at the window. It shattered on impact and splinters embedded into her palm. Staring down at the crystalline glass pieces smeared by blood, they almost appeared like rubies.

The crimson mess reminded her of the fateful prophetic dream which had led her to Rhaegar. Fantasies in which she accepted offerings of dripping rubies and winter roses. Elia cursed Nymeria’s gifts and the gods that had carved out a life of failed promises. A suffocating darkness swirled in the pit of her stomach, for she knew, as minor as Rhaegar’s actions were, they were the beginning of something far worse. She knew with vivid clarity that if he humiliated her once, he would do it again.

Still, she could not decide which pain was worse – the public embarrassment or the private heartbreak. She did not care so much if he thought the Stark girl more beautiful, or even wished to bed her, but their marriage was a political identity separated from such sundry as personal feelings. Elia was his lawfully wedded wife, his queen-to-be, and mother of his heirs and with that single act he had threatened her position.

Granted, their marriage had not been without its challenges, but not even the worst fights ever made her feel so violated, betrayed, and so completely debased.

Elia was bought out of her musings when she heard raised voices from beyond the door. She did not need to open it to know it was Rhaegar and Ashara.

“Is this not exactly what you wanted?!”

“Do you expect me to thank you for this-”

Elia opened the door, and both sets of purple eyes turned to her. She found it strange how despite being such similar shades, violet orbs filled her with life, and indigo ones, with vitriol.

“I just wanted to make sure you were…” Ashara divulged, noticing her bleeding hand.

Ashara turned sharply, but Arthur appeared suddenly, and grabbed her wrist before she could throw a fist. She struggled against him and only calmed when Elia’s voice sounded.

“Asha, I’m alright, you don’t need to lose your decency over this,” she answered, voice wavering.

Ashara gave her a once over, before searching her eyes for the truth.

Elia could not find it in herself to smile, no matter how pleased she was that Ashara had remained loyal despite everything she put her through.

The white cloak put her down, but his grip on her wrist did not falter.

“I do need you to do something for me, however…”

“Anything.”

“…call upon lady Lyanna.”

Ashara looked like everything in her wanted to protest but she simply nodded, and Elia closed the door to address her husband.

Before she could unleash hell-fire upon him, he pulled them together into a tight embrace. She felt overheated and suffocated in his arms rather than comforted, and she knew that was exactly what he attempted to do.

“Listen to me.” It came out hard, and Elia felt his words in her body.

Where her heart once skipped a beat at his meagre affection, now it repulsed her, and she forced herself from his grip.

“Elia, wife, I know what it looks like, but I couldn’t explain –”

“No. I deserve an explanation for this. Explain why you have insulted and humiliated me for all the realm to see! Where is the husband that rallied against his King and father in defence of his family, where is that man?”

Passing her for Lyanna was a public message that Elia was lacking in his eyes and validated the anti-Dornish sentiments of everyone who thought her unworthy of Rhaegar. Worse still, she knew his display damaged her place in their future court, because Rhaegar’s snub reinforced the insult Aerys dealt her at Rhaenys’ presentation. She wanted to know what was so worth besmirching her dignity.

“I am right here, except –” he implored, but she was firm in her resolve.

For so long, she had withered away in his shadow, hoping to secure their future. Yet, that was not who she was raised to be, and formerly-quelled Martell fire returned anew.

“I want to know why.” Her voice was steel made sound.

He gestured for her to come, but she would not, and resignedly he moved to her, hand reaching for her swollen belly, then for her injured hand. Again and again, she jerked away from his touch. Rhaegar had a history of adeptly slithering his way out of strife and into her heart and she refused to be disarmed by tender touches or conciliated by soft words.

Elia glared at him with chilly hostility, until her ice extinguished his fire, and he relented.

“I met her for the first time on the search for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I thought I had found him, and when I unmasked the perpetrator, it was her…” he explained.

Rhaegar’s search last several days and now that Elia knew he was with her, she wondered just what had developed.

“... she surprised me. She is strong and wilful, even in the face of me and…”

Despite the situation, Elia could hear the warmth in his voice and her blood ran cold. It was one thing that he might wish Lyanna his mistress, it was another that he might wish her in his heart. Especially, when Elia had cut away pieces of herself so that she could fit in there.

“…she had noble reasons for entering the lists, and performed so valiantly I didn’t think it fair that she not be recognised somehow. I only wished to honour her.”

“By dishonouring me,” she concluded.

“That was never my intent.”

“And yet that was the result.”

She knew Rhaegar believed her naïve to the great lords of Westeros, but Elia could see greater than he, the precarious position they were in, and she saw the iron throne melting beneath them. That he could be so short-sighted vexed her.

“Your actions will not be received well by court, and we can probably kiss goodbye to any great council without Lord Stark or Robert, likely Jon Arryn too.” She commented.

“I can make amends,” he insisted adamantly.

Elia sighed deeply, and ran her hands through her hair, attempting to preserve the churning anger within. She was not satisfied with his answers, and she understood her husband well enough to know when he placated her with half-truths. Rhaegar was not dumb and yet he made an extremely ill-advised decision. He broke chivalric code and alienated two paramount families in one stroke, it was an insult to her and to the perceived honour of Lyanna. Despite all these considerations, Rhaegar still chose to do it. Elia wondered if Rhaegar’s actions were actually designed to appeal directly to Lyanna herself, and that painted everything in a new light.

“Do you love her?”

There was something about the mere mention of Lyanna which lit up his face in a way that nothing else ever did, and Elia knew the answer, even if he did not yet.

“I love our family,” he answered, moving closer.

There was no true love between them, and Elia was exhausted of pretending otherwise, to him, and to herself.

“That’s not what I asked… do you love Lyanna?”

Silver brows knotted in confusion and she simply observed, willing him to say the words.

“Why – so you can run back to Ashara?” He snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she slapped his face, causing him to double over. She knew it wrong to strike her husband, her future king, but that he even attempted to drag Ashara’s name into it enraged her. More than that, she wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain she had endured.

“I did everything you asked! I have given you everything, and yet again I am left with nothing but hurt!”

Her chest burned, searing flames of betrayal and shame engulfing her because she hated that it affected her so, because it meant that somehow, she still loved him, despite no longer wanting to.

“I know, I didn’t m–”

Elia was tired of giving to a man that took her for granted, and always loved something else more; and left her with nothing but measly scraps. However, she would not allow him to rob her of the last thing she had left, her voice.

“I sacrificed for the future of your family name because that’s what you needed. I abandoned my home, my traditions AND Ashara because that’s what you asked…”

She had done the impossible and pushed away the person she loved the most. For too long, she endured dragon-fire and now that she was nearly ash, her own inferno awakened.

“I did EVERYTHING. I gave up my body for you despite –”

Her voice faltered when old resentments surfaced.

“Despite what?”

“Despite the child that died in my body for me to mourn alone.”

He looked back at her with surprise and an expression akin to shame washed over him. His actions had broken the unbreakable and he did not even know it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was a whisper.

For a moment, his indigo irises looked so haunted Elia almost felt remorse for informing him so callously.

She laughed hollowly, dark and filled with resentment.

“You know why.”

And he did. His silence told as much. She would have been cast aside for a mistress sooner.

He reached for her swollen stomach, and this time, she allowed the caress. Inside her, the babe kicked hard. So hard it made her wince. Rhaegar felt it on his hand, and maneuvered to his knees, resting his hands and head on her belly.

Elia looked away, resigned to the inevitable. She did not want him manipulating her into remembering feelings she would rather forget.

“I’m sorry Elia.”

What he was sorry for, Elia did not know, but she nodded and said nothing more.

She distanced herself, and when she met his pensive gaze, translucent eyes swirled with some realisation. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, before syllables formed.

“This means – he could – he is th–”

“If you mention your damned prophecy right now, I swear by the gods I will scream bloody murder Rhaegar.”

Once she recovered from rehashed emotions, she found herself burned out. They stood on opposite ends of their chambers staring at each other like strangers.

Elia breathed hard, her eyes watery, and hands balled into fists. Rhaegar hung his head low in shame, looking guilty and afraid.

“Love, I can forgo, but I demand your respect, Rhaegar.”

“I would give you both. What can I do to mend us?” His tone was pleading.

However, Elia was well past giving him the benefit of the doubt. Rhaegar had broken her trust for the last time.

In that moment, Furiosa haunted her, making her remember her duty to Dorne.

‘You must ensure your husband sits that throne and that your children do after him… Do not let yourself be duped... And if something needs to be said, do not hesitate to speak for yourself.’

Elia was not so young as to forget the explicitly anti-Dornish Blackfyre rebellions, nor how a noble-mothered bastard could pose a threat to Dornish-blooded monarchs. Elia needed to hold onto Rhaegar no matter how much she despised him.

“If a mistress it what you so desire then seek whoever you wish, discreetly, but I beg you, not Lyanna... and not until you have fulfilled your bargains to me.”

Elia carried another child, despite her health, and pushed Ashara away as he had asked. Now it was his turn to make her a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Her gaze pierced into him and he shifted uncomfortably under it.

“Rhaegar.” She prompted.

His reluctance told her everything she needed to know. Rhaegar loved Lyanna. Yet, if she had sacrificed her heart for him, it was only fair that he do the same.

“Very well. Your wish is my command.”

#fanfic #dorne #elia martell #house martell #elia x ashara #fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #elia x rhaegar #lyanna #lyanna x rhaegar #anti rhaegar #asoiaf fic #harrenhal

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londonboyanonn · 3 years

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This is so random but I’m still crying over sis’s cousin who thought z was the main actor in dune 💀💀 sis if you’re out there, come through because you made our night 😂 anyway, this issue is getting A LOT of traction (at least on twitter). More and more people are getting confused as to WHY Z had so much coverage on the press tour when she legit has 8-10 mins of screen time. Sure, her character will be more important in part 2, but so what?? There were literally 5 other more important cast members but z just had to ride Timmy’s coat tails by being paired up with him the entire press tour. It’s annoying. But whatever. It’s what her and her team do best and in fairness to them, they’re doing it right.

I’m answering this a WHOLE WEEK late so forgive me 😍 but lmfaooo the funniest thing I’ve read in awhile. I’ve also seen ppl mad asf bc they paid to see her and she was barely there. talkin bout they want a refund 👀 like y’all should’ve read online before going! take a risk! Pay the price 🤣🤣 I wish that anon and her cousin the best bc they made my week. We are getting a Dune 2 so let’s just b happy for that

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authora97writingupdates · 3 years

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Okay here's the first look at my new Harry Potter series. I'm trying to make it better than the last time.

Privet Drive was a very upscale neighborhood. Or rather, that’s how the homeowners association wanted it to be seen. They had houses of upper-middle-class proper British families. Copy and pasted houses with copy and pasted lawns, and even more copy and pasted families.

Fathers in these houses on Privet Drive often worked traditional 9-to-5 jobs. In the other cases, they worked respectable jobs. Even the retired men yet to move contributed to the community. You know, at the insistence of that community.

The mothers in each house were homebodies. They tended to their gardens. They managed their children into proper British citizens. There was the occasional wild mother that enjoyed a man’s work or disliked gardening. Or the odd father that enjoyed staying home with the children, taking a proper woman’s role in the house.

The community on Privet Drive talked about those houses. A lot. The gossip piled up alongside the letters in their mailboxes about keeping a brighter garden, or in more proper child management. All those lesser families moved out before long. Often they moved to a nearby neighborhood called DimKeep Lane.

DimKeep Lane had very little in terms of real respectable British families. As it was mostly housed by rejected Privet Drive residents, they were not copied and pasted folks. Many parents worked well enough jobs, some even very respectable even by Privet Drive. But the mother did the job, automatically making them questionable. Gardens were not a requirement, children even less so.

48 DimKeep Lane held a very unique family called the Lafayette’s. They had no garden. The family was...

That mother was...

The father Mr Lafayette was...

Oh, but who could forget those twin girls? Twins daughters that were just barely old enough for school. A pair of black-haired babbling girls who were just the cutest! Also most mysterious. At any time, the Lafayette girls were found running and playing outside.

The younger sister, Darcy, was the more bold twin. Always with dirt scrapes on her knees or elbows. Lucky for their mother that Darcy hated wearing dresses, or she would always be washing out the grass stains. Darcy often wore basic shirts and jean shorts with tiny trainers in only the brightest shades. The girl played rough with the boys, unafraid of getting hurt or of hurting others.

That’s where her elder sister came into play. Morgan Lafayette usually played with or around her sister. Morgan looked very similar- their only true outer difference being eye color and hairstyles. Morgan’s amber eyes versus Darcy’s deep indigo, Morgan’s twisted black curls and waves versus Darcy’s iron straightness. Morgan tended to dress in shirts and shorts too, occasionally deciding to wear a darker scheme.

Parents went to that child, telling her about Darcy’s antics, or about fun local parties for the family to bring food. Some parents questioned why they weren’t looking for Mr or Mrs. Lafayette before immediately forgetting that question. How confounding! Morgan pulled Darcy back from all fights, worked out peace, then threw Darcy back. Many parents were impressed at the maturity!

Morgan still got into fights. They were few and far between. Usually involved with children taller than Morgan being- to put it bluntly- assholes. Ah, to be a child again! The parents of DimKeep Lane laughed.

The girls were finally attending school. Specifically St. Grogory’s Primary School for Year 1.

The teachers were happy to accept them. Rather, they barely noticed two more children but they were happy to meet the Lafayette Twins.

Morgan and Darcy went to their first day of school with little fanfare. To be clear, fanfare happened, just not to them. Other children cried and screamed, their parents cried too. None of them wished to part ways with their parents. Some kids cried because school sounded boring.

Dudley Dursley, for example. A fat whale of a child even at age 5. He screamed and yelled about the stupid school. They wouldn’t let him watch the telly or eat candy. Petunia Dursley tried to keep his spirits up with promises of toys and his friends being there, but nothing calmed her little Diddykins down.

Her second child stayed silent just behind her. If you ever called this child her’s, Petunia’s face would shrivel like she’d eaten a bad lemon. This child was not hers nor ever would be. Little better than a freak, her nephew knew his place waiting silently behind proper respectable people.

Said boy was currently 1/10 his cousin’s size, and that’s being generous to his cousin. Clothes hung off his skin, ones that clearly had never been worn by Dudley but belonged in a rubbish bin. The glasses on his head- round and black- were already being held together by tape. His black hair was wilder than the sobbing Dudley, barely covering a giant lightning bolt-shaped scar on his head.

Harry watched the other children, curious. His aunt and uncle told him his parents died, too drunk and worthless to care for him. As he saw other children crying and their parents hugging them, Harry wondered if his parents might have done the same.

Naturally, with so little to do, Harry looked over at the collection of toys out for a distraction. He saw the two children already parted from their parents. Only a pair of twins. One playing happily with big thick building blocks, one reading a book from the shelf.

He walked over to them. Morgan glanced at him from over her book. Darcy kept playing with her blocks. Harry sat beside Morgan, peeking at her book.

“It’s about a place that has raining food.” Morgan explained. Harry tilted his head. “My book. It’s about that.”

“How?” Harry asked.

Morgan hummed, thoughtful.

“Magic.” Darcy pushed another block in place, making something like a castle.

“Or maybe science.” Morgan replied.

“Definitely magic.” Darcy argued. “I wanna have magic food!”

“No way.” Morgan dismissed. “Magic can’t make something out of nothing.”

“Then it uses water! I don’t know.” Darcy huffed. She grabbed another block.

“What do you think?” Morgan asked the new playmate.

Harry stared.

Morgan stared back. Darcy snickered. “About my book.”

“You-” Harry shifted on his spot. “You’re askin’ me?”

“Yeah. What do you think?” Morgan asked again.

Nobody ever asked Harry a question before. Usually, Harry asked the questions. The Dursley’s always yelled at him to shut up. Aunt Petunia loved to tell him to not ask questions. Nobody wanted Harry to talk more. Harry loved the feeling.

“...magic.” Harry answered. He pointed at the odd rain. “That’s spaghetti.”

“It is.” Morgan nodded. “I like spaghetti. Do you?”

“I like bowtie noodles.” Darcy cheered.

Harry shifted again.

“It’s okay to not like spaghetti. I don’t like meatballs.” Morgan assured Harry. “Darcy hates the curly kind.”

“The curly colorful kind!” Darcy corrected. “It’s different colors but not flavors! That’s stupid.”

“I like spaghetti.” Harry pointed at the picture. “Yummy.”

Morgan and Darcy smiled.

The other children stopped crying as they talked. Parents successfully distracted them with the promise of toys or friendship, or even getting one of the teachers to help distract the kindergartener. One child held out, screaming about useless school and wanting to go home.

Petunia bribed him with more sweets- something the teachers discouraged. Still, the candy got Dudley to focus on something else. He enjoyed the treat as Petunia ran off, crying herself. Oh to leave behind her precious baby!

The candy soon vanished. Dudley looked around the play area for something. He saw his best friend. He also saw his favorite person to antagonize and a bunch of toys that would suit his idea.

Morgan turned a page in her book.

“You can read?” Harry asked.

Morgan nodded. Darcy snickered again.

“Morgan reads all the time.” Darcy explained. She moved her block castle to the side, letting her add extensions. “Like a nerd.”

“What’s a nerd?” Harry asked. “Is it like a freak?” He hadn’t understood the word at all. He just knew the tone Darcy used- a disgust like when the Dursleys called him a freak.

Morgan tensed. “I’m not a freak. Reading doesn’t make me a freak, it just makes me smart. Darcy’s mad I don’t wanna play.”

“It’s why we’re here.” Darcy replied.

Morgan glared at her sister. Darcy went back to the blocks.

“No freak?” Harry asked again.

Morgan shook her head. “Do you like to read?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know how.”

“That’s okay.” Morgan started using her finger to follow the words. “The pictures work fine.”

Harry, for one of the first times since coming to Privet Drive, smiled.

Dudley stormed up. Piers Polkiss at his side, sneering at the two ungirly girls and the pathetic orphan boy.

“Do you mind?” Darcy asked. “We’re busy here.”

Dudley kicked the blocks down. Harry watched, frowning at another toy lost to his cousin. Morgan and Darcy stood up, glaring at the fat boy.

“Stupid!” Dudley yelled. “That’s a boy’s toy! Not one for stupid girls!”

Darcy leaned towards her sister. Harry couldn’t hear what was asked, only seeing Morgan shake her head. Darcy rolled her eyes, glaring harder.

“Okay.” Morgan sat back down. She picked up the book, showing it to Harry. “We had spaghetti on Saturday. It had long noodles and red sauce.”

On Saturday, Harry ate old crusty bread that Dudley threw away. Literally. Dudley had thrown it against the wall. Harry ate it, then cleaned up the smudge on the wall.

Darcy sat down, leaning against her sister.

Dudley got annoyed that the other children ignored him. “Hey! Gimme blocks!” He yanked a block up, throwing it at Darcy’s head.

Morgan caught it. She stared at the fat boy and his friend. Somehow, Dudley saw something that Harry did not. Something that made Dudley want to get as far away from Morgan as possible. A latent survival instinct, if you want.

Instead, Dudley grabbed another block to throw at Morgan’s head.

See, as a child, Dudley expected that Morgan would be unable to catch it. She already held another block and a book. Her arms were full. She surely could not take another item.

Morgan dropped the first block. She caught the second. All before anything touched her face.

Darcy snickered, still on Morgan’s shoulder.

Harry watched, awestruck.

Dudley went for a third block. Piers grabbed two, ready to throw at all the black-haired kids. They threw with a force that all children considered lethal.

Morgan raised the book, using its hardcover as a shield for herself and Harry. Darcy ducked behind her sister, two blocks in her hands.

Harry could hear Darcy whispering now.

“Can I do it now?” Darcy hissed.

“No.” Morgan replied another wave of blocks hit the book. “But save it for later.”

Darcy saluted.

Dudley reached over. He snatched the book out of Morgan’s hands. The book pages tore under Dudley’s grip. Dudley threw the book on the ground. For good measure, he stomped on it.

The twins stared. Harry frowned.

Darcy reached forward. She held Morgan’s shoulder, holding the girl back.

Dudley threw another block.

Harry moved, blocking the twins’ body with his own. The block hit him. Harry was horrifically used to it.

By then, the teachers finally noticed the two boys throwing blocks at defenseless children. They rushed to the aid of the smaller ones. Lucky for them, classes need to start anyway.

But that little brave act...To them, it was enough. It may not be clobbering a troll…actually yeah it kinda was- point is, it made a strong friendship between the three children.

#oc morgan spencer #oc darcy anderson #harry potter fanfiction #first chapter preview

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

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Fictober 21 - 2 “You have no proof”

I’m not tagging this one. It’s heavy.

Fanfic

Fandom: Inquistion

Summary: Withdrawal is hard. Dealing with that and his feelings is even harder for Owain Trevelyan. He doesn’t feel ready for this kind of thing. But maybe he doesn’t have to be. Maybe he just has to start.

(Warnings: mentions of withdrawal, child abuse, and homophobia.)

---

Another day, another pile of horse shit. Yet, somehow, still better than being a Templar. Life was funny that way.

Owain sighed in relief as he left the stable behind, body sore and mind tired. It had been a long day of taking care of the horses, punctuated by the fact he was actually afraid of them. People tended to forget that. Or maybe they did remember, and this was their way of torturing them. The Inquisitor seemed like a nice guy, so it was more likely than not that nobody had told him. He was going to go with that, because the alternative wasn’t great.

“Right… better go clean off and get something to eat.”

His mind was swimming, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been in weeks prior. He still felt the need in the back of his mind, but today it was more of a whisper than an outright scream. Tomorrow, who knew, but he was going to take his victories where he got them. A day without lyrium was in his book as good as any.

He just wished getting through this didn’t hurt so damn much.

“Alright there, Trevelyan?”

A deep voice made his insides flutter. He felt his face heat as he turned towards the barn. In his griping over the body aches, Owain hadn’t noticed that he had company. Someone was standing in the entrance to the barn, a block of wood in hand.

“Oh… Warden Blackwell.”

The man shook his head as he kept carving. He stopped to watch him, curiosity getting the better of him. Woodwork was always something he had admired as a young man, but he’d never had time to learn. Now he was probably too old for it. Knowing his luck, he’d probably cut one of his fingers off, and there would he be?

Well… not like he needed all 10 to take care of horses, but he’d like to keep them all the same. He had enough problems.

“Just Blackwell is fine.” His knife rasped against the wood again and again. From the looks of things, maybe it was starting to become a bird? “Long day?”

Owain could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. “Oh… yes. I suppose so. I should be fine after I eat something, though.”

The man’s eyes were on him, studying him. It was hard to breathe then as he wondered just what Blackwell was looking for. Did he suspect him of lapsing on his promise? Most people did… he couldn’t blame them for that.

He just wished this one hadn’t…

“Ask the healer for herbs for the pain.” He kept carving. “Overheard a few ex-recruits talking about it.”

There went his heart again, pounding like crazy. “I will… tomorrow. Right now, I just want food and my bed.”

There was Blackwell’s eyes on him again as he stopped carving. His stomach shifted, and for not the first time in his life he felt guilty for something he hadn’t done. Right then, he was nothing more than a schoolboy being scolded for a mess he hadn’t made.

It was kind of annoying.

He took a breath before he spoke. “I assure you… I have not lapsed.”

“I believe you.” Blackwell kept carving. “Be hard for a stable hand to get lyrium anyway, unless you’re friendly with the mages.”

His carving was turning less bird like by the second. It took Owain a second to realize it was becoming a griffin. Maybe he should’ve realized that one sooner – after all, the man was a Grey Warden. Griffins were kind of their thing.

But…

“That is quite true.” He frowned. “Forgive me if I was short…”

There he went again, apologizing. In those moments, he swore he could feel his father’s hand on him, and it was hard not to wince. Even years later, he found he couldn’t escape it. Maybe he never would be able to – talk about a legacy.

“You were defending yourself.” Blackwell finished carving. “Only natural, I suppose, given the hell you’re going through.”

He held his griffin up to the light. It was a fine thing, at least by Owain’s lack of knowledge, wings spread, and beak bared in what probably would have been a vicious scream if any lived to make a sound. It was a fierce little thing – he would’ve hated to see the full-size version. Or worse… shoveled its shit.

All things considered that probably would’ve been his job…

Much to his surprise, Blackwell left the barn and met him in the yard. Owain blinked back surprise as the griffin was placed into his dirty hands. That close, he could smell the other man – there was sweat there, but also wood and hay.

It… was a nice smell.

“Here. You looked like you could use it.”

And briefly, he smiled. It was a little hard to see with the beard, but he felt it nonetheless. His heart thudded to life once more as he watched the man walk back to the barn. In that moment, he forgot how to breathe as he looked down at his gift.

This was probably the point he should have said thank you, but he wasn’t sure how to work his tongue anymore.

At least he managed to nod his head as he sped off, clutching the carving close to his pounding chest. Owain didn’t slow down until he was all the way back in his room, away from prying eyes and clicking tongues. Then he slid to the floor, back against his door, staring at the little griffin he had placed on the floor.

Blackwell had made it for him.

“Oh, Maker.”

It took him a few moments to rise and make it to the wash basin, but his thoughts were of nothing of the Warden. Even the cold water left from that morning did nothing to dissuade him of images of Blackwell, his smile, his hands… everything.

He was acting like a bloody teenager…

“Get it together, Owain. You’re far too old for this.” He brushed back wet hair from his forehead, sighing as he studied his tired expression in the glass he had hung above it. Lyrium withdrawal had made him lose a bit more weight, and the dark circles under his eyes didn’t help matters. “Best to return to reality, my friend.”

The extra splash of water did nothing to help him other than to wash the stink off, but at least he was clean enough to go get some food without offending people. His griffin soon rested next to the basin, where it would no doubt guard his room while he was away. Then he shut the door behind him to head off.

Naturally, the Great Hall was a mad rush at mealtimes. He threaded among the crowd, keeping his eyes low as he made his plate. The lyrium withdrawal made it hard for him to eat, but he needed to if he wanted strength for tomorrow. At least the ale helped keep things down as he grabbed a mug and started to look for a place to sit. Much to his relief, he found a small spot off to the side. Away from others, he was content to sit.

And as soon as he did, his stomach began to turn.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slipped from between his lips, but thankfully no bile followed. Owain rode the sudden wave of nausea, shutting his eyes tightly. The light made things worse sometimes, he found. At least it would be over soon… and lucky for him, dinner wasn’t strong smelling. He definitely would’ve vomited if so.

Things were going his way for once.

As the nausea subsided, Owain allowed a shaky breath. When nothing came up, another followed. Soon, he could risk opening his eyes. The room was no longer spinning, which meant he definitely could risk trying to eat.

But… maybe a few minutes more, just to be safe.

“Now, now, it’s not polite to swear.”

A voice from off to the side drew his attention. He cocked an eyebrow at spotting a man dressed all in black, his face a grinning skull. Ian was doing better those days as well, though he still needed to put on a bit more weight. His robes were at least not hanging as loose as they had been.

Though, it didn’t explain why he was there…

“Can I…” His eyes widened as he realized there was another standing next to him, a woman in a long dress with a cloth wrapped around his forehead. “Oh… Aeronwen.”

His sister nodded stiffly. “Owain.”

The shock ran through him as they both sat across from him, placing their plates down. He was numb in the moment as all thoughts shut down. If either noticed, they didn’t care. They were too focused on eating.

Why now? And with him?

Ian answered that for him as he sipped from his mug, beaming in a none-too-friendly way. “So… I saw you getting awfully chummy with the Warden in the yard. Didn’t think you were into the big and hairy type.”

Owain’s heart stopped, and his mind reeled. “I… no you don’t…”

Aeronwen shook her head as she put down her fork. “We know you prefer men, Owain. So does Ian.”

“And Aery’s a big ol’ lesbian, so we’re the death of the Trevelyan line!” Ian laughed cheerfully, practically throwing his head back. “Well, besides any older siblings that had children… I guess that’s a fly in the butter.”

His heart was still struggling to start back up as he took in the information. On the bright side, he definitely wasn’t nauseous anymore. Downside… everything else. This definitely wasn’t a conversation he had been planning… well, ever. But it was happening, and he couldn’t exactly escape.

Fuck his need to be polite…

Ian seized upon his stunned silence and leaned in, grinning. “So… you and the Warden…”

His face heated as he glanced to the side. “I have no idea what you speak of Ian. We work in similar spaces and have chance to speak.”

And… sometimes he got presents…

“Looking like more than just speaking to me.” Aeronwen took a sip of her ale, grimacing. “Ugh, who brewed this, it tastes like rotten dirt.”

Her cousin chuckled. “Good to see you’re still an ale snob, Aery. It does my dark little heart good to hear you complain.”

“The stuff I make is miles better.” Her eyes were back on him, however. “But we’re getting off the subject. About your crush on the Warden…”

Another pang of panic shot through Owain’s system. Them knowing his attractions was one thing… implying he had feelings for Blackwell was another matter entirely. Maybe that was why he quickly rose to his feet, almost knocking his mug over in the process.

“I don’t…” he took a shaky breath to steady himself and his shaking hands. After that, it was a sip of ale to help his dry mouth. How it tasted like dirt, h had no clue – it didn’t matter then as he put it down with a still trembling hand. “You have no proof.”

Ian and Aeronwen exchanged looks, neither saying anything. It was impossible to tell what either was thinking then. However, he sank back down in his seat regardless. Shame was squirming in his stomach for so many things right then, he just couldn’t pick one.

On the bright side… no nausea?

“It’s not a big deal, you know. He seems interested.” Ian took a hearty sip from his mug. “Might as well go for it. Once you come off the lyrium withdrawal you’re going to be horny as fuck anyway.”

“Gross.”

“What, I heard an ex-recruit talk about it.”

None of their conversation registered with Owain. He was too busy staring blankly down at his plate, unable to think. Too many thoughts were racing through his mind; he couldn’t even think to grab one and settle on it as he wordlessly ate, mostly on instinct. If the pair noticed, they didn’t say anything.

In the end, he finished long before they did. Wordlessly, he got up from the table. Before long, he was leaving the hall. Right then, all he wanted was to find his bed and stay there until things made sense again. He would even take the aches in his body over this.

Fuck…

Maybe due to his inability to focus, he missed the sudden weight on his shoulders. Then it left him. He blinked and realized that someone was standing in front of him. Paper crinkled as they unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into their mouth, eyes glowing in the torchlight.

Jackel Lavellan. Just who he didn’t need.

“You should probably work on that whole shame thing. It’s going to cost you a chance at a good relationship.” She swallowed. “That, and all the work I did. It wasn’t easy getting you from creepy templar to mostly normal.”

He winced at the memory. “I thank you for the help but…”

The words died in his throat. A thousand things he could’ve said, but he just couldn’t get them out. In the end, he settled on silence. It was an old strategy, one he had mastered as a child. Once again, it was helping him.

How were they all so… casual about it?

Jackel nudged him forward – he moved without thinking. “He likes you. It’s why he made the griffin for you.”

Maybe if this had been a month prior, Owain would have been surprised. However, time and experience had taught him the elf knew everything hidden in Skyhold. For all he knew, she had been watching from a tree. She did that a lot – made it easier to jump on people.

Again, he would know – she had knocked him down a few times.

“I…”

He frowned. “I do not think I know what to do about any of this.”

The elf gave him a nudge forward; maybe on someone else it would have been a shove. Lucky for him, she was tiny. “Stop thinking about it with the big head and go with the little one. See where that leads you.”

Humorless laughter bubbled from his lips as Owain shook his head. “I can only see it leading to disaster.”

Where else could it lead? Even if it wasn’t Blackwell, it wasn’t like he had… experience… in these matters. The other man would expect him to know things he had no idea about. Just thinking about it made his stomach squirm, and the nausea returned.

Just the time to feel sick.

“Well, I don’t. And I know more than you.” She elbowed him in the side. “So, trust me and get that Warden already. He’s practically pining. It’s rude to make him wait.”

It was also rude to presume things… but Owain’s mind traveled back to the smile and the griffin resting in his room. Just thinking about them made his heart feel warm in a way he didn’t often allow. As much as it scared him, he wanted more. Right then, he wanted it more than his next breath.

But… to actually ask…

Jackel shoved him forward again. “Just do it. You don’t have to jump his bones on day 1 even, just get it going. Mythal’s tits, you’re slow.”

Get it going.

“I… think I could do that.”

She nodded at him, clearly pleased. “Good. And don’t forget to take a bath before you fuck. You don’t want to smell like horse shit. I doubt even he’s into that.”

Her bluntness brought the color to his cheeks, but at least he managed a nod. While the dark feelings still swarmed in his stomach, there was still the warmth that refused to leave even as they swarmed.

Maybe… he would stop by the barn. Just to talk. Nothing too serious yet. Just… starting things. If there was anything to start.

That thought may have been quiet, but something about it echoed through Owain’s body. For the first time in what felt like ages, his step was lighter as he started to walk again. While a weight still weighed him down, it was easier – almost manageable. Maybe with time, he would be free of it.

But… at least he was starting. And that was something. One small step was all it took to start, after all. Where it would take him, Owain wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was in a new direction, one completely off the path planned for him. A step he had decided all on his own, tiny as it was.

He could get used to this sort of freedom. Now… what the hell was he going to say? They hadn’t exactly covered flirting with another man in etiquette lessons…

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Owain Trevelyan

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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** Writing Challenge **

I know, I know, my next one isn’t quite wrapped up yet, buttttt this idea came to me when my cousin and I were taking a walk down a ridiculous part of Memory Lane and I got excited. I’m guessing this has been done before at some point -- that’s not stopping me from presenting to you:

I love fluff. And I wanna see more of it!

Below the cut you will find some prompts that, in the context of Twilight, are absolutely cringe-worthy. My challenge to you is to take that prompt and make it something we can love.

Disclaimer: I’m not Twilight-shaming ANYONE. I literally sat and watched all of Eclipse and now want to watch both Breaking Dawns. It’s more about sentiment, and the occasional girly giggle for me, but ... yeah. No judgement here, friends.

Guidelines, prompts, and tags are below the cut! (Yes, I copied and tweaked from my last writing challenge. I’m being efficient, thank you! :P )

Please read all of the information carefully!

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to December 30, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt, one prompt per author.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from.

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by Decemeber 31, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #BetterThanTwilightWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is. And how unreliable my mind can be. Yikes.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between January 1 and January 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a FLUFF challenge, so you MUST have fluff as your main genre. You’re more than welcome to include other genres, but you MUST have a happy and/or hopeful ending.

You’re welcome to think outside of the box! Just because I’m talking Twilight and love stories, doesn’t mean there has to be romance! Give me amazing friendships or strong family bonds or self-love. Or romance! Whatever you’d like.

You're welcome to change pronouns in the prompt as necessary! Heck, I tweaked a few of ‘em so they’re not Twilight-specific.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge (which means I will not reblog or add to the masterlist) stories that include: non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse – I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions!

Bring on the ships, OC’s, reader pairings – I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons. But I will reblog everything!

Characters and RPFs from Marvel/MCU are both welcome.

If you need an extension or need to drop out, please know that I am extremely flexible when it comes to that deadline/due date. In the words of Captain Barbosa, “It’s really more of a guideline.” Just shoot me an ask or a message and we’ll work something out, no worries!

Prompts:

1. “I have always loved you, and I will always love you.” 2. “The clouds I can handle. But I can’t fight with an eclipse.” 3. “I know what you are.” 4. “You held out your hand and I took it without stopping to make sense of what I was doing.” 5. “You have a connection with her that I’ll never understand.” 6. “I’m glad she has you.” 7. “It will be like I never existed. I promise.” 8. “I knew who I wanted to be. I wanted to help people. Brings me happiness.” 9. “That will take a while to get used to.” “We have a while.” 10. “What if I’m not the hero? What if I’m the bad guy?” 11. “I’d rather hear your theories.” 12. (sarcastically) “Super. That makes me really happy.” 13. “You’re like my own personal brand of heroin.” 14. “Maybe I shouldn’t be dating such an old man. It’s gross. I should be thoroughly repulsed.” 15. “It’s an extraordinary thing to meet someone who you can bare your soul to and they’ll accept you for what you are.” 16. “I’ve been waiting for what seems like a very long time to get beyond what I am.” 17. “I feel like I can finally begin.” 18. “He’s totally gorgeous, obviously. But apparently nobody here is good enough for him.” 19. “He did say I couldn’t step inside the door. I came in through the window.” 20. “I know things. Like how to hunt somebody to the ends of the earth. And I know how to use a gun.” 21. “Now I’m afraid.” “Good.” 22. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m only afraid of losing you.” 23. “About three things I was absolutely positive ...” 24. “You’re so stubborn.” 25. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?” 26. “I can’t even think about someone hurting you.” 27. “The only thing that can hurt me is you, and I don’t have anything else to be afraid of.” 28. “Don’t antagonize her. She’s the strongest one in the house.” 29. “All right. That’s enough experimenting for one day.” 30. “It never made sense for you to love me.” 31. “I wish there had been someone to vote no for me.” 32. “It’s just a little baby.” 33. “How strongly are you opposed to grand theft auto?” 34. “I’m not missing another fight!” 35. “No one can hide like me.” 36. “If I asked you to stay in the car, would you?” 37. “I have one condition, if you want me to do it myself.” 38. “I had an adrenaline rush. It’s very common. You can Google it.” 39. “How did you get in here?” “The window.” 40. “I love a happy ending. They are so rare.” 41. “You should put your seatbelt on.” 42. “Can you talk about something else? Distract me so I won’t turn around.” 43. “I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist.” 44. “After all the thousand times I’ve told you I love you, how could you let one word break your faith in me?” 45. “Maybe that’s why they kicked me out.” 46. “All of my best nights have happened since I met you.” 47. “You know everybody’s staring?” “Not that guy ... no, he just looked.” 48. “She wishes she was that awesome.” 49. “Does he visit often?” “Yeah, all the time.” 50. “Lie ... Lie better.” 51. “I’m Switzerland.” 52. “That should have been our first kiss.” 53. “Would you like to hear my story? It doesn’t have a happy ending -- but which of ours does?” 54. “Another party?” “It’ll be fun.” “Yeah. That’s what you said last time.” 55. “You are the only one who has ever touched my heart. I will always be yours.” 56. “The way he watches you. It’s like he’s willing to leap in front of you and take a bullet or something.” 57. “Kill me! Not him!” 58. “Stay.” “Give me one good reason.” 59. “Yeah, it’s and off day when I don’t get somebody telling me how edible I smell.” 60. “Damn it! You’ll be the death of me, I swear you will.” 61. “If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I’m not afraid of it.” 62. “Do I dazzle you?” 63. “I’m tired of trying to stay away from you.” 64. “Bring on the shackles, I’m your prisoner.” 65. “You are my life now.” 66. “And then we continued blissfully into this small, perfect piece of our forever.” 67. “Nobody’s ever loved someone as much as I love you.” 68. “I don’t know what happened.” “You love him.” 69. “All of sudden it’s not gravity holding you to the planet, it’s her. Nothing else matters. You would do anything, be anything for her.” 70. “You really love her?” 71. “I don’t see the whole point of the rest of the world without her.” 72. “Then I found a promising site ... I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicked closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally, the screen finished -- simple, white background with black text; academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the homepage:” 73. “I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.” 74. “I’ll be fighting for her, too, and I’ll be fighting twice as hard as you will.” 75. “It’s always been him.” 76. “You don’t know how long I��ve waited for you.” 77. “They’re coming for her.” “They’re not gonna touch her.” 78. “Doesn’t he own a shirt?” 79. “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that we’re enemies and that you’re also trying to steal away the reason for my existence, I might actually like you.” 80. “You have disappeared. Like everything else.” 81. “The absence of him is everywhere I look.” 82. “I don’t have the strength to stay away from you anymore.” 83. “Your number was up the first time I met you.” 84. “We all like to drive fast.” 85. “It’s too easy to be myself with you.” 86. “I’ve never given much thought to how I’d die, but dying in the place of someone I love seems like a good way to go.” 87. “Don’t tempt me too far. My patience isn’t that perfect.” 88. “His tone questions my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfect delivered line by a skilled actor.” 89. “What’s he mad about?” 90. “No measure of time with you will ever be enough.” 91. “I promise to love you forever, every single day of forever.” 92. “We’re gonna be great friends!” 93. “If I had my way, I would spend the majority of my time kissing him.” 94. “Until your heart stops beating.” 95. “I touched the cool miracle of his ski, and I was home.” 96. “Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.” 97. “This isn’t the time to make hard and fast decisions. This is the time to make mistakes.” 98. “Leave it to you ... you have to start hanging out with the first weirdos you can find.” 99. “I love him much more than I should, and yet still nowhere near enough.” 100. “I refuse to be affected by territorial disputes.”

Tags for possible interest/signal boosting (if you’re so inclined):

@captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @shield-agent78 @jennmurawski13 @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too

#betterthantwilightwc #twilight writing challenge #prompt list #queue and i remember budapest very differently

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