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phoward89 · 2 months

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Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

I'm sorry in advance for murdering your feels with this sad, angsty, heartbreaking story.

Anyways....have fun reading

Heartless

Pt 1

You loved your boyfriend, Coriolanus. Maybe you even loved him too much. So when you discovered the truth about him…

Well…it devastated you.

It broke your heart into a million pieces.

On the day that you made a life changing discovery, one that was supposed to be happy, you got a reality check that gave you whiplash so hard that you didn't know what was what anymore.

After your doctor's appointment you went home to the penthouse that you shared with Coriolanus and his grandmother, Grandma’am. His cousin, Tigris, had moved out a little while back; she lives in a condo above her boutique now.

When you entered the penthouse, you saw that Ma Plinth was sitting, waiting for you, with a little platter of ginger cookies on the glass coffee table. “How was your appointment? I hope you're feeling better.” The mother of your late friend, Sejanus, warmly remarked.

“My appointment went well; I'm feeling better now too.” You kindly smiled at the middle-aged woman who reminded you so much of her son with her kind smile. “Thank you for watching Grandma’am. Coriolanus doesn't like her to be alone too much and I just had to get to my appointment.” You gratefully told her while making your way over to the coffee table to grab a cookie.

Ma Plinth stood up, only to gesture to a brown paper wrapped package on the table. “A package arrived while you were gone.”

You grabbed a cookie.l, taking a small nibble off it. “Oh, thank you for bringing it in. I'll put it in Coryo's study for him.”

“Oh, Y/N, it's not for him. It's addressed to you.” The dark-haired woman informed you before waving goodbye and showing herself out.

You had a package?That's odd. You never get packages or mail in general.

Everything gets sent to Coriolanus since he has all the bills and the house registered under his name.

You were curious about the package, so you put your cookie down on the tray and picked up the brown parcel.

You read your name and address on the package, but the space for a return address was left blank. You thought that was odd, but shrugged it off.

Curiosity got the better of you; you opened the parcel only to find a letter and a tape. An audio tape.

You unfolded the letter and read it.

Miss Halvir,

I'm writing you this letter because your dear Mr. Snow is not the man you believe him to be.

He is not a man that takes his…say…oaths and promises seriously. He is a heartless man incapable of feelings.

Most of all love. I know you believe him to love you, but listen to me when I say, my dear, that he does not in fact love you.

Coriolanus Snow is cut from the same cloth as his father. A cold, callous man that sees order as a way to balance the wildness of the world.

He sees all the world as an arena with two types of people in it.

Victors and the unfortunate souls that are not strong enough to survive and become a victor.

You, girl, are no victor, but he is.

Coriolanus Snow is.

And he will do anything to get ahead in this world. Including selling out his only friend. His best friend. One Sejanus Plinth.

In this package I have placed a copy of the recording that was played during Private Plinth’s date with the noose. Please listen to it in private.

It will shed some light on the man you falsely believe to love you.

I would hate for something to happen to you, like it did poor Sejanus Plinth, because of misplaced trust in one Coriolanus Snow.

Your hands shook as you put the letter down.

I'mYou couldn't believe what you just read.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be.

You worried your bottom lip, turning the small audio tape over and over in your hand. You were scared to hear what was on it.

But you knew that you had to listen to it. So, you went over to the stereo, but it in, and pressed play.

What you heard on that tape made your heart stop. Every word exchanged between Sejanus and Coryo made you sick. The dead boy trusted the blonde, only to be secretly recorded and betrayed by him.

It was too much to handle.

If Coriolanus could do that to sweet Sejanus then what could he do to you?

You knew what you had to do. You couldn't stay with him; you had to pack your bags and go back to your mother's apartment. At least you'd be safe back home with your mother; safety's all that matters right now.

You can ignore that shattering pain of your heart breaking as long as your safe.

“Darling, I made reservations for dinner tonight at the Capitol Grille for 7.” You heard Coriolanus call out to you from the foyer as you finished packing the last of your things in your bags.

Well, the Capitol Grille was a very high end steak house where the menus didn't have price tags printed on them. It was also a place that you needed to put in a reservation ahead of time; somebody just couldn't walk in or call same day to get a table.

People waited weeks, sometimes even months for a table. Hmph, and knowing that Coryo's using Strabo Plinth’s money to snag a table and eat a 3 course meal that cost more then most people's pay in the districts disgusted you.

Oh god. The way he got the Plinths family fortune made you want to run away from him and never look back.

Main reason why you were zipping up your bag whenever Coriolanus entered you- no his bedroom.

“Darling why don't you wear-” He began to say, only to stop mid sentence and ask, “Going somewhere?”

“Yea.” You nodded. “I'm moving back in with my mother.” You looked up from your bag, only to see the platinum blonde arching a puzzled brow at you.

“Why're you going down to the 8th floor? Is she sick” Coriolanus couldn't help, but think that all your mother's chain smoking had finally gotten to her.

Yes, Coriolanus smokes socially; even has cigars with the high power playing politicians during certain events and dinners, but it wasn't anything that's damaging to his health.

Hell, he thinks breathing in all the chemicals in Dr. Gual’s lab’ll destroy his lungs first.

“I can't be with you anymore, Coriolanus. I'm breaking up with you; moving back home.”

“WHAT?!” The platinum blondr shouted so loud that you thought your eardrums busted.

Slinging you duffel over your shoulder and grabbing the handle to your rolling suitcase, you simply told him, “You heard me. I’m leaving you.”

His icy blue eyes flashed with anger and a hint of something else as he stormed over to you. “You're not going anywhere, Y/N.” He ordered, grabbing your suitcase out of your hand.

You yanked your suitcase, trying to snatch it away from him. “Give it back, Coriolanus. I need it “

“You don't need it because you're not leaving.” The cold hearted man that you once believed was capable of loving you said while slinging your suitcase across the room. “Now behave and get dressed. I got reservations for us at-” began pulling the strap of your duffel off of your shoulder l, only for you to snatch the bag back and interrupt him with, “I'm not going to dinner with you tonight or any other night. Not anymore, Coriolanus.” Feeling yourself ready to cry, you started walking away from him.

As long as you didn't look at him you'd be fine.

“We're done. Just go find something else you can pretend to love.” You remarked, walking out of the bedroom.

You made it roughly 3 feet down the hall, only to hear the heavy footfalls of your ex’s black floor shines echoing against the marble floor. Coriolanus stopped you dead in your tracks when he grabbed your upper arm. Spinning you around to look at him, he made to sell you the charming lie of, “Y/N, after being together since our Academy day, I'm not pretending to love you. I do love you.”

Shaking your head, you let out a tiny cackle of, “You're so full of shit. You know that?” You snapped your arm, causing his hold on it to break. Your fingers tightly clutched the strap of your duffel bag as you revealed, ‘I know what you did to sweet Sejanus and how you're exhorting his wall meaning parents.”

His baby blues turned into saucers. For once, the stoic and well masked man looked like he was frazzled.

Looks like you caught him off guard; you confronted him with truths he didn't want to share with you.

Coriolanus reached out for you, but you took two large steps back. Running a hand thru his hair, the platinum blonde looked at you as if you chucked his car out of the penthouse window. “I don't know what you think I did, darling, but let me explain everything.” His tone was dripping with a fake promise.

You knew that he wouldn't tell you the truth. He'd just tell you another one of his lies.

Heartless bastard.

And to think that you wasted nearly 5 years with his ass. You've been by his side since you were 16 years old, only to find out now that everything was a lie.

He never loved you. He never cared.

Hell, the only reason Coriolanus is with you is because the songbird went missing.

Yea…

Now you're thinking that the friendly act he was putting on with his tribute, Lucy Gray, wasn't an act at all. Now you realize he was cheating on you with her and you were too damn stupid to see it.

And to think that you faithfully wrote him and called him when he was a peacekeeper stationed in 12.

You should've listened to your mother and gone out with Sejanus instead. Maybe if you would've accepted his advance he'd still be alive..your friend wouldn't have followed the devil out to District 12 only to be betrayed and sent to the noose.

Too late now. What's done’s done.

But you do wish that you didn't fall in love with somebody who can never love you. Someone so evil.

So heartless.

“Nothing you say to me’s going to make me stay with you, Coriolanus.”

“Can you stop calling me Coriolanus and call me Coryo, like you always do?” Coriolanus asked with a pitiful look in his eyes. You're positive it's fake since he's incapable of feeling anything, other than hate and greed.

“I got a package in the mail today addressed to me; inside was the tape that you recorded of Sejanus. The one that got him hanged.”

Coriolanus' breath caught in his throat and his palms began to sweat. How did somebody send you the copy? He thought that only Dr. Gual has access to that.

She wouldn't send it to you. In fact, she keeps her records well under lock and key; would never part with them.

Looks like one of the interns he replaced in Dr. Gaul's lab is out to make his life hell because he took their coveted internship.

Coriolanus know that he had to calm you down; get you to put your bag down and get changed into a nice dress so he could take you out for dinner.

Damnit, he had something special planned, even got permission from Dr. Gaul to leave the lab early, so you needed to stop looking at him like a monster. He needed you to look at him with love again and quick, otherwise his dinner plans are going to go up in smoke.

“Y/N, I know you think that I betrayed Sejanus, but I didn't. I meant for the tape to reach Strabo, so that he could buy Sejanus an honorable discharge, but it didn't happen that way. The tape was never given to Strabo, it was used as evidence against our friend instead.” Coriolanus told you, foolishly thinking that you'd believe his twisted half truth. Well, they say the best lies are half truths.

Your nostrils flared angrily at hearing the snake in front of you call Sejanus his friend. Sejanus was your friend, not his. Coriolanus wasn't able to have real friends because he couldn't love anything.

Well the only things he loved were money and power, but that didn't count because those aren't people. Those are objects; possessions.

Before you could blink, you slapped Coriolanus across his smooth shaven cheek. “You don't get to call him your friend. Not after you got him killed.”

“You think I'm not haunted by that? That I don't have nightmares of Sejanus screaming out for his Ma; the mockingjays perched on the hanging tree repeating his frightened last cries before flying away?” Coriolanus rhetorically asked, only to give the false confession of, “I broke down crying at my bunk after helplessly watching my brother die, so don't stand here and tell me that I'm not sorry or that I killed my best friend on purpose because I didn't.”

“Oh, Coriolanus l, don't go there. I know for a fact you sleep like a baby every night.” You scoffed.

Shaking your head, you spun round and stormed down the hall.

Coriolanus was hot on your heels. His velvety words of, “Please, darling, don't be rash. Don't throw away 5 years over a tape you received in the mail.”

“I'm not throwing anything away, Coriolanus. As it turns out, those 5 years were all an act for you.” You stormed right into the main room and over to the foyer. Looking at him from over your shoulder as you reached the door, you gave him the famous last words of, “I’m glad I found out you’re heartless; will never love me before when there's still time to get away from you.”

Coriolanus just stared at the door after you slammed it shut. His anger was festering in his chest; he wanted to kill whoever sent you that tape.

Damnit!

There goes his plans for tonight.

He better call the restaurant and cancel the reservation; call up Tigris and let her know that he doesn't need her to stay with Grandma’am tonight because he's not taking Y/N out for dinner anymore.

Looks like he's stuck ordering something in for him and Grandma'am. He wonders if he should give her back that heirloom ring of hers or if he should just keep it; shove it to the back of his sock drawer.

Grandma’am is old and her memory’s started to fade; if he tries to give her the ring back it might put her into one of her nonsense ramblings.

No, he'll keep the ring.

He'll give you some time to cool off; then he'll shower you with jewelry and roses to soften you up.

Once you were softened up, he'd talk some sense into you. Get you to come home.

If you thought that breaking up with Coriolanus Snow would be easy, well, you were wrong. It was the hardest thing you did in your entire life.

And you know why?

Because he wouldn't leave you alone.

Well, he left you alone for the first couple of days, but after that he started sending flowers and gifts. No, not flowers and gifts. Roses and jewelry.

You never accepted them. You always tossed the roses in the trash and gave the packages of jewelry to the desk clerk with the instructions to give them to Coriolanus Snow.

You'd think he'd get the hint and stop.

Well, he didn't.

Instead, the floral arranged for larger and the jewelry kept coming back. Hell, he even went so far as giving you a copy of an ancient Pre-Panem book. A book from an ancient author that you loved.

Jane Austen.

You mother told you to burn the book, but you couldn't do that. It's be a sin to destroy such a work of art.

So, that was the only gift you kept.

But in doing so, you opened the Pandora’s box that was Coriolanus Snow's delusions. He thought that you were ready to see him again because you accepted a book, so he would come by your mother's every night looking to see you.

You always hid in your old child bedroom while your mother showed him away.

After 4 weeks of this insane behavior, your mother told you that she was concerned for your safety. That she felt you never to leave the Capitol for a while. Stay with your brother Rein, who was a peacekeeper that just received an officer’s commission in District 12.

Honestly, you didn't want to leave the Capitol. The Capitol was your home, but you knew that if you stayed then things would get ugly for you. Especially when it concerns Coriolanus.

You knew that Coriolanus would never look for you in District 12. He'd just write you off as a girl he lost control of and just find himself another Capitol bimbo to manipulate and control with false words of love.

So, that's why you were currently stepping off of the train in District 12.

Your brother was standing on the platform, eager awaiting your arrival in his officer’s uniform. When he spotted you, he quickly made his way over to your side and greeted you with a hug.

Reaching for your suitcase, he chuckled, “Let me take that for you, sis.”

“I see becoming an officer's turned you into a gentleman.” You teased Rein as he room your suitcase from you; leading you away from the platform.

“Mother told me your ex is stalking you with roses and jewelry.” Of course she did. Looking between you and a Jeep in the distance, your brother asked, “Does he know about the baby?”

“No.” And you're glad you received that tape after you came home from your doctor's appointment, confirming your suspicions. If not then you'd be trapped with that heartless monster.

“He’s just been sending me that stuff in an attempt to manipulate me back into his arms.

“I'm sorry things didn't work out, but you're more then welcome to stay with me in my apartment on base for as long as you need to.”

Your brother's words meant a lot to you. At least you had somebody to protect you from your ex.

Protect the both of you since you were going to become a mother in nearly 7 months.

Coriolanus walked into Dr. Gaul’s lab with a dead look in his icy blue eyes. It made Dr. Gaul gleeful. It was better then the cold look he had when he returned from his summer vacation as a peacekeeper.

Oh, this time the look in his eyes held so much hate that she doubts anything could ever soften his irises. It was marvelous, really, how the mad scientist molded her protege into a hateful man. Into, well, her best experiment.

But Dr. Gaul knew that there was a chance all of her hard work turning Snow as cold as his namesake could be ruined by you. Well, not you per say, but the creature you were incubating.

Coriolanus Snow wasn't old enough, cold enough, and calloused enough yet to enter fatherhood. He was too young and might grow soft at becoming a father.

A year under her tutelage wasn't long enough to ensure that he wouldn't slip back into a weaker mindset once a crying, shriveling, pink creature that was half him and half you popped into the world.

Dr. Gaul knew that she had to break every part of Coriolanus in order to piece him together into the war mongrel leader she wanted to run the country. You were that small shred of good that latched onto him, kept him from fully drowning in the darkness. A child, your child, might make Coriolanus see the world through a different lense.

Now, she couldn't have that. That would ruin everything.

So, when her contacts at the OBGYN office told her about your appointment and your condition, she sent you a little care package.

Her star student never figured out.that she sent it, instead he blamed the intern who lost his spot to him. The mad scientist even helped Coriolanus test a deadly mutt of the innocent soul who he thought did him wrong. All because Coriolanus’ proposal plans where ruined.

Oops…

Dr. Gaul grinned evilly as she read the latest report from her spies. You were now in District 12 living with your brother on the Peacekeeper base.

Well, looks like it's time for a new game change when it comes to the Hunger Games.

Dr. Gaul decided that even children born on peacekeeper bases would be considered district citizens and would be legally obligated to enter their names into the game's lotto style drawing.

Unless a child between the ages of 12 and 18 is a Capitol citizen living in the Capitol, they will be registered for the games. Living on a Peacekeeper’s.base will not over safety to any child I'm the districts.

Not anymore.

Hopefully your child, fathered by Coriolanus, will never have their name picked for the games.

But as long as Dr. Gaul's alive, shaping Coriolanus like a potter shapes clay, anything's possible.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons , @qoopeeya , @mfnqueen1

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coryo snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas x you #tbosas fic #tbosas fanfiction #thg fanfiction

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feyhunter78 · 10 months

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Pink Pastels Pt 12

Description: Gabi has a fever and Miguel needs to go retrieve her book.

Pt 13

Gabi has a fever, a low one, nothing to worry about, but Miguel kept her home from school, so she could rest. He actually enjoys her sick days, not her being sick, but how he gets an excuse to take off work and spend all day watching TV with her.

She snuggles up against him, and eats slices of strawberries he cut up earlier, while telling him the backstory of every show that they watch.

He has her go to bed way earlier than usual, tucking her in and retreating into the kitchen to prepare her lunch for tomorrow. Her fever hasn’t broken yet, but it could in the morning, and he wants her to be prepared.

“Papá, I forgot something.” Gabi’s voice is tinged with sleep, and she’s in her light blue pajamas decorated with little cartoon hippos, her stuffed bear under her arm.

“Forgot what, Mija?” He asks, padding over to her and resting the back of his hand on her forehead, still a little warm.

“I left my book at school, and I need it, or I’ll fall behind the others.” Her bottom lip is trembling, her eyes, just like his, rimmed with tears.

No one likes to be sick, and he knows it’s so much harder on kids because they just don’t understand and don’t know how to feel better. It wears on them and their still developing immune systems.

“I can go by and get it tomorrow, okay?”

She pouts, tears rolling down her cheek as she hugs her bear Oso to her chest. “I need it now, please, I promise I’ll go to bed right now, but you have to get my book.”

He glances at the time on the microwave, six forty-five. It’s not too late, there might still be someone there and if not, he can just sneak in.

“Okay Mija, I’m going to ask Tia Margo to come watch you while I go get your book, but you better be fast asleep when I get back.” He points a faux stern finger at her, and she giggles.

“I will be, I promise.”

He’s lucky, the school is still open, and he heads straight for your room. He’s a few steps away, the colorful paper decorating your door visible when he hears it.

You’re crying.

“I don’t know what you wanted me to do, Todd, you were being an asshole.”

He leans forward, enhanced hearing picking up the other side of the conversation.

“Shit, I don’t know Y/N, maybe humor a guy for once?”

“Humor you? What you said was so degrading, how could you even think that was okay?” You’re still crying, but he can pick out the notes of anger in your voice.

“You’re such a bitch, this is why the guys keep telling me to break up with you.” Todd sneers.

You fall silent, a sob bubbling forth, and Miguel’s heart bleeds. He wants to comfort you, but knows you’ll be embarrassed to be seen in such a state.

“I could get with so many other girls y/n, but I choose you, so maybe act a little grateful?”

“Grateful?” You echo, shock evident.

“Yeah, grateful.”

You laugh, the sound sharp, piercing, like glass shattering. “Fuck you Todd, we’re done, get the fuck out of my life, never call me again, I hope you fucking fall off a bridge.”

Fall off a bridge? Miguel smothers a laugh, now that was an idea.

You hang up and slam your phone down, before sinking into your desk chair.

He peeks his head into the room to see your head buried in your arms, your shoulder shaking softly.

“Ms. Y/N?” He knocks on the door frame, and you shoot up quickly, trying to wipe away your tears.

“Mr. O’Hara, hi, I-I’m so sorry, did we have an appointment?” Your voice is watery, false cheeriness pushing through.

“No, Gabi left her book here, and she didn’t want to fall behind.” He explains, walking over to her desk and quickly finding the book.

“Oh, I see, well she doesn’t need to wor—” You burst into tears, your words lost in sobs.

He moves, leaves Gabi’s book on her desk, and pulls you to his chest. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You wrap your arms around him, sobbing into his shirt. “This parent, she-she was so mean, and I just want her son to be supported, and then Todd, and he—”

Miguel shushes you gently, swaying back and forth with you, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “It’s alright, cariño, it’s alright.”

You squeeze him tighter, desperate for comfort, and he feels his heart is going to burst. You fit so perfectly in his arms, and you smell so good, that same scent of wisteria and fresh laundry. “I just—she said I was a subpar teacher, and that I didn’t care about my kids.”

He bristles. “She’s lying, you’re an amazing teacher. You love your kids deeply, and they love you.”

You continue to cry, and he cards his fingers through your hair, as he coos and whispers reassurances.

“And Todd, he’s such a dick, and now we’re over, and he’s going to try and turn all our friends against me, and then I won’t have any friends and—”

He pulls back and cups your face. “You will have friends; you are a kind and loving person who is a joy to be around. Anyone who listens to Todd over you is an idiot.”

You meet his eyes, and he feels your grip on his arms loosen. “I—thank you, Mr. O’Hara.”

“Miguel.” He says gently, brushing the tears from your face.

A flicker of recognition goes through your eyes, but then it fades, and you move to step away from him. “Thank you, Miguel. And I’m sorry you had to see such a state, I promise I’m not so emotional in front of my class.”

He doesn’t let you leave, keeps his hands framing your face, and takes a step forward for the one you took back. “No apology needed. I’d like to consider us friends, and it’s the least I could do for a friend.”

The smile that blooms on your lips is radiant, and he stops himself from staggering back.

“I’d like that too.”

He doesn’t want to release you; he wants to hold you forever. Keep you safe in his arms, away from anything that could upset you.

Your phone rings and you turn away to pick it up.

He waits as you walk out into the hall, your voice hushed as you talk quickly with someone on the other line.

You come back in, a fresh wave of tears accompanying you. “My landlord just—Todd destroyed my—evicted.”

Your words are choppy, but he gets the gist. Todd must have gone to your place and trashed it, your landlord got fed up with Todd’s actions, and now you’re out on the streets.

“Let me make a few calls, I’ll take care of this.” He reassures you, pulling you back into his embrace as he calls Lyla, keeping her on the phone and not appearing in midair. He talks to her in Spanish, so you’re unaware of his plan and once she confirms it’s all been set up, he drops back into English. “The apartment next to mine, it’s been sitting empty for months, I’m good friends with the landlord, he’s desperate to rent it out.”

“I have to get all my stuff and—”

“I’ll help you."

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq

#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #meg's writing #miguel's pastels #good dad miguel back at it again

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ay0nha · 10 months

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Boiling Point | Chef Luca (Prologue)

(working) SUMMARY: A well- known food critic is retiring. Apart of this condition is that you continue writing on his behalf as if he hadn’t. To show you the ropes, he implores Luca to teach you what it takes to enter the culinary world.

There he was. His pristine white jacket contrasted perfectly against the warm ambiance of the evening. The distance was covered within a few long strides and once at the table, his charmed smile made you nauseous. He played his part better than you had that night

PAIRING: Chef!Luca x f!reader (food journalist/critic)

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: smoking, drinking, canon-typical things, future enemies to lovers sort of, mutual pining, inspiration from Kitchen Confidential and the movie Boiling Point, etc.

A/N: Just a little sneak peek/intro to this request. Might do a short series (three/four parts)...stay tuned. It’s a little choppy at the moment, so I hope it makes sense. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged. Comments are always appreciated! Enjoy.

Deep breaths helped.

The nicotine’s warmth sparked excitement in your veins. It made a tedious night seem just bearable with each inhale. You eyed the falling ash as if it were tea leaves promising your near future. Yet, when your eyes surveyed the crowd within the restaurant, it cemented the dull company you’d join.

Excusing yourself was easy. Slipping away wasn’t the issue; it was expected as the call for a cigarette completed your image. The cliché of it made your mouth pucker with your final drag.

“There you are...” A hand settled on your shoulder. Ryan. “They’re ordering another bottle as we speak.” Lighting her own cigarette, she cursed. “We better fucking land this deal—I’m about to max out the company card.”

Flicking your roach under the point of your heel, you scoffed, “Please, if I have to hear that man say heavenly one more time, I’ll—

“You’ll smile.” She reminded you. It was an instruction, really. “Nod your head, agree with anything—Everything.”

“He said supposebly.” You tutted. “I can’t take him seriously.”

“He’s ancient. Cut him some slack!” She laughed. Charm came second nature to Ryan; you weren’t convinced she even knew its effect on people. “He’s sweet on you.”

“Right…” You tried to make out the stars, but the light pollution fought against you. “So, what? I marry him for the life insurance?”

“Let’s just make it through dessert,” Ryan spoke definitively, always cutting through. Yet, room always remained to entertain you. “Then we can talk wedding plans.”

The man that waited for you was Avery Sinclair—world-renowned something. You had listened, but the information had already left you. Those around you, though, knew who sat across from you well. They were almost as good as you hiding their discomfort. Eyes were always on him, knowing his thoughts before he could form them. New forks were laid after the slightest touch, napkin splayed on his lap before he could lift it himself, and every meal came with the chef that made it.

He was respected.

Yet, all you saw was his brittle and thin mustache, sitting upon his lip like forgotten food. The comb-over was just as wirey and pulled kindness to his cheeks. They flushed now as he flirted with another glass of wine.

“There you are!” He bubbled. With a wave of his hand, your diligent waitress returned with the Italian bottle. “I ordered the oak-aged white. It has a buttery note that is just heavenly with the gelée.”

You smiled.

“I cannot believe our night is coming to an end.” Ryan charmed. She held her nose to the glass, listening intently as Mr. Sinclair explained each technique to her. The slurping was a bit much.

“My dear, this is just a start.” The deal was confirmed with those words alone. A part of you wished the promise had a false bottom. “We can draft up something agreeable, I’m sure?”

He looked at you. You had that feeling like you’d forgotten to walk. Each step felt forced and off. You played off your misstep cleverly, your glass raising to the center, “I look forward to working together.”

Ryan was impressed, pride swelling in her chest. She and you were an unmistakable duo. Angel and devil. Thelma and Louise. Introvert and extrovert. Fill in any this and that, and there you two were. Most importantly, she was the publicist, and you were the writer.

“Under one condition…” Mr. Sinclair smiled, far too tickled by your toast. He leaned in, elbows brushing the circular table. “Do you know why I chose this place tonight?”

You hadn’t expected the question. Your answer came out blunt. “Favoritism.”

“You’re sharp.” He smiled broadly, wagging his manicured finger at you. “Exactly that. Look around you…”

You took a genuine moment. The perception of fine dining was all theatrics. It was a large show that ran every night of the week. Even those who dined were an unassuming audience. Those swiveling doors may as well be the curtain line to backstage. The kitchen, the dressing room. The dripping alleyway, the green room.

You were all too aware of the communication chain. The insults were coded frustrations that later into the service would be water under the bridge. There was a reason for everyone being here just as you were.

“We’re all cut from the same cloth. You, me, dear Ryan.” Mr. Sinclair smiled at her. “We all express our passions differently, but we love just the same.”

He felt content. His body relaxed with his decision to hire you. Sinclair could see how you hadn’t quite trusted yourself with the responsibility that he was putting on your shoulders. But he was confident you’d grow into it perfectly.

“I hope you understand the reasons for my poetics—” The rumors and gossip about him failed to do his sincerity justice. “—as I’m trusting you with my legacy.”

“Of course.” You gave another smile; this time, it felt real.

“Excuse my sentimentality!” Mr. Sinclair clasped his hands together in a soft clap. You could almost see tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “With that out of the way, dessert? The pastry chef here is—” His favoritism came into play. “—is something special.”

You could picture the chef now, cursing at the interruption. Hopefully, complaining about the big wig seated at table seven wasn’t worth his time. You waited for the rehearsed, polite decline.

Apologies, however, our chef is tied up between aeration.

But there he was, Chef Luca. His pristine white jacket contrasted perfectly against the warm ambiance of the evening. The distance was covered within a few long strides, and once at the table, his charmed smile made you nauseous. He played his part better than you had that night.

His features were tight, unwavering as the compliments poured. Your lips twitched down as you took him in. With his hands behind his back, his chest pulled broadly, but you could still make out the littered tattoos on his forearms. Typical.

Even with his eyes on you, you hadn’t shied from your judgment. You only stopped when you heard your name.

“Isn’t that right?” Ryan prompted you again, defined features expressing her sternness. Focus. “You always talk about how much you love to bake.”

You don’t.

“Sure.” You nodded.

“A match made in heaven, then!” Mr. Sinclair exclaimed. “You must get to know Luca; he has the most interesting story!”

In your short assessment, you already disparaged his comment. To you, Luca was, like you, a walking cliché.

“I don’t doubt that…” Your sarcasm was palpable. Luca’s stoicism broke with a smirk of confusion. “Let me guess... You were a troublemaker?” Your tone was teasing but bordered something wicked. “Cooking put you straight, and you owe your life to grease and adrenaline.”

“Forgot to mention that I’m a hard-partying criminal.” Luca didn’t waste a beat. Impressive.

“And when did the anger issues start?” You hummed. You played at every stereotype you knew. “Before or after your—

“I think what she means to say—” Ryan cut in seamlessly. She came prepared for your shenanigans. “—is that she admires the journey you’ve taken to get here.”

Luckily, Mr. Sinclair was far too enamored with the preciseness of the dessert to interpret the sudden banter.

“Of course.” Luca looked at you. Then as you had only moments ago, he pulled a practiced expression to address his loyal customer. “Mr. Sinclair, as always, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Unfortunately, I must savor tonight.” He spoke. “My home on the Amalfi coast has been quite lonely.” Sinclair let out a regretful sigh. “I trust you to keep this between us, yes?”

Luca nodded. “Of course.”

“You will be a very lucky man, son.” Sinclair further divulged the secrets behind his retirement. “I hope you heed my advice and get to know this young lady.”

All eyes were on you.

“She will continue to write for me. Use my name.” He explained your purpose. You weren’t ready to hear it aloud. “So treat her kindly, or you will have to answer to me.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Luca almost protested. It seemed elaborate to allow someone so young—you— to take his place.

“Be open. Present.” Sinclair answered. He wasn’t a man of riddles, but you noticed that the more he spoke, the harder to understand. “You were once new. You had to figure it out on your own. Maybe you can help her, show her your world. Our world.”

#q #chef luca #luca #chef luca angst #chef!luca x reader #chef!luca x f!reader #chef luca fluff #chef!luca #pastry chef luca #the bear fx #the bear luca #luca the bear #will poulter #will poulter x reader

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fiapartridge · 2 months

Note

Can I get Quinn Hughes prompt ⭐️ to the song Grave by Tate McRae?

quinn hughes x reader

summary: you could never be what quinn wanted, so you decided to be nothing at all.

fia’s notes 💌: suuuper angsty but i love this song and i love tate mcrae!! quinn’s an asshole in this tho so.. sorry!

You were tired. You were tired of waiting for Quinn to come back home, hoping that he would be there before you fell asleep. You were tired of arguing and straining your voice only to get distant nods and unfilled promises. You were just tired—of everything. Because as much as you try, and try, and try, you could never make him want you the way you wanted to be wanted.

So you downed shots and wore a skimpy red dress and let your friends drag you halfway across town without a single care in the world. Because if he could do that, then you could too.

Four shots in, your phone buzzed in your purse as you rolled your eyes at the notification. There were 30 texts and 9 missed phone calls from Quinn. You wanted to shout at him and kiss him and walk out of his life all at once. You wanted to tell him that you were done being a second choice; that boyfriends were made to love you and protect you and be there for you, but he wasn’t that in the slightest.

And the one time you decide to choose something for yourself, the one time you decide to go out instead of holing yourself in his apartment, missing another hangout with your friends, or skipping on your sister’s invites to have dinner because you had this hope—this false hope—that he would be there if you just waited, but you were done with waiting. You were done with Quinn Hughes.

Which made you almost want to laugh when you saw him barrelling through the entrance of the bar, fury lacing his veins and an angry expression that made you chuckle to yourself. He was so ridiculous. What right did he have to stomp in here and ruin your night? He has been nothing but a ghost to you these past couple of months, and for the last week, you swallowed your pride and you took it because you were just so tired.

But you were awake now and you weren’t going to make that mistake again.

Quinn’s hand gripped yours, dragging you towards the exit. “I called you all fucking night. I was worried sick about you,” he chided, though his anger faltered for a moment when he realized you weren’t walking with him.

Your feet were planted in place as you ripped your hand away from him. “You were worried sick about me?” you scoffed. He always had this way of talking that made you think he meant it. But you were delusional little you anymore. “Do you know how fucking draining it is to be with you?”

He tongue swiped his bottom lip as he held out his hand for you. “Don’t start this shit here, Y/N. We’re going.”

To Quinn’s surprise, you laughed. You laughed right in his face because— you were always just a thing to him. You held no value other than being someone that’s there for him no matter what he did. You weren't in a relationship, and he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t his love. No, you were something to rely on even when he didn’t deserve it. You were an object that did what it was told.

That was all you ever were to him.

“Admit it, Quinn, you only want me when you know you can’t have me. You didn’t care where I was, or how I was doing, or any of that. Admit it, Quinn!” you argued, shoving him lightly.

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, taking a hold of your wrist as you stepped back, tears lining your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. You’re causing a scene, we’re going home.”

You swung your arms out wide. “No! No, I’m tired of being your little puppet, because it’s the truth isn’t it?” you shook your head, your voice drawing down to a whisper as you slowly walked closer to him. “You are so pathetic, you know that? I waited every single night for you, and you never came. You gave me nothing. And I’ve been trying and trying to figure out what I did wrong, but it wasn’t me, was it, Quinn?”

He didn’t respond, too busy trying to keep his head held high with all of the wandering gazes as you pelted bullet after bullet at him. Quinn, above all, had a reputation to uphold, and this was eating him alive.

You chuckled as you watched him eye the spectators in the bar. Even when you were screaming at him and ripping your lungs out, trying to get every single emotion and every single feeling you’ve been dealing with for the past three months out, he still couldn’t pay attention to you.

“You are the problem, Quinn. In every single aspect of your life, it is you. And I hope I never have to see you again.”

#> fias 600 celly! ★#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Ataraxia.

Yan Xiao x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping and isolation. Word count: 2k.

You think you may live in a painting.

It sounds like a romantic notion if taken at face value. The idyllic beauty that surrounds you could inspire the most prose-averse individual to take a brush to paper, creating line after line of wondrous descriptions. Blades of emerald grass, running streams with water so clear one could see the smooth pebbles resting at the bottom, white clouds as puffy as cotton floating without a care in the sky. There’s wildlife in abundance too. Frogs make a perch of the numerous lilypads dotted throughout, fish swim in their crystalline exhibit, and birds sing the same melody as if they shared sheet music.

If you dared to venture to the edge of this canvas, an invisible force would inevitably block your path. The tall stone peaks in the horizon hinted at more, an empty promise. You could only go so far. Out of curiosity, you once threw rocks to test the boundary and found they were granted passage. Other materials followed the same logic. Where they ended up, you hadn’t the slightest clue.

All you know is that they’re freer than you are.

Presently, you sit crisscross on the edge of this elaborate hoax crafted with adepti magic. The grass which never grows or withers brushes your bare thighs, the sensation far from unpleasant, for the unpleasant does not exist here. The temperature is always moderate; the breeze, always soft.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

So sickeningly perfect.

Taking in a deep breath, you ready yourself for the trial ahead. Delight in it, almost. You tire of these calm waters. You long to see ripples, towering waves strong enough to capsize ships.

“Xiao.”

The intended effect is instantaneous. There’s a culmination of energy, wisps of dark black and green, solidifying into the image of a figure you once read about in history books growing up. Gauging his mood is impossible, so you don’t bother trying. You stare straight ahead, into the false sunset which hides behind mountains that might as well be mirages.

“Did you need something?”

The clipped, almost business-like tone he uses once made you wonder if you were a bother. Time dispelled this notion and made way for a bizarre truth. He acts this way because you put him on edge. You cause his mind to wander in directions he never knew it could traverse. In truth, you might understand why you’re here better than he does. Your scant wardrobe was your first hint — every garment shows a surprising amount of skin. Low-cut collars, skirts stopping over your thighs. Then there was the staring, the peculiar gift-giving, and what you assume to be attempts at small talk.

He’s courting you, whether he knows it or not.

This is something you can work with.

“I was hoping you would come sit with me,” you pat the empty spot beside you. “Unless you’re too busy?”

There’s an intentional lilt in your voice — you let it grow smaller, almost as if his potential rejection would hurt. He has an out, but it’d come at a cost. He’d be dissatisfying you in some way when you haven’t done anything to earn it. He likes to please you, you think, if the countless trinkets he’s wordlessly left in your room are of any indicator. Whatever you pay the most attention to, he brings more of. It’s a silent give-and-take that neither of you acknowledges.

No, you preferred to store the information away for later usage.

After giving it some thought, he situates himself where you motioned. You can see the tension in his taut muscles, clear as day. A beat of silence passes. Now that you’ve confirmed he isn’t going to run away (as he had in the past when you came unexpectedly close), foreign confidence fills you. You’re putting together the puzzle that is Xiao piece by piece.

“It must be getting close to this year’s Lantern Rite,” you give him a closed-mouth smile. Xiao’s diamond-shaped pupils flicker down to your lips, then back up again, his face temporarily giving the impression that he’s in pain. He regathers himself in the blink of an eye. “Are you looking forward to it? It always ends up being such a spectacle.”

Xiao inhales sharply. “It… has already passed.”

“Oh.”

You curl into yourself. Not enough to send any alarms ringing in his head, since he never knew what to do with himself when you cried. The threat of tears is more effective. He shuffles slightly, betraying his growing unrest, yet doesn’t grumble a lackluster excuse and leave. Hopefully he doesn’t catch how relieved that makes you.

Unbeknownst to him, you’re aware that Liyue’s hallmark event has finished. You’ve been dutifully tracking the days in a little notebook he gave you. Bringing it up and being let down is your way of setting the stage. Earning some sympathy, no matter how tiny a grain it may be. For your ultimate design to come to fruition, you must use every resource available.

“I can get you a lantern, if you want one.”

An olive branch. His eyes silently plead with you to take it, rather than scorn the concession as you had in the past, foolish creature that you were. Playing rough never got you anywhere. That’s why these days, you’ve taken to playing nice.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

He nods, undoubtedly grateful that you didn’t choose to linger on why you couldn't see this year’s Lantern Rite. Your mind wanders — you recall overhearing village wives giggle about how they use their feminine wiles to win over their husbands on sore subjects. In a way, you suppose that’s what you’re doing, but what you long for is such a simple goal. To even label it a goal feels wrong.

What you want more than anything, is to go outside.

Into the real outdoors, not this fake, implausible rendition. A mockery of reality.

You speak his name again, for you know he likes hearing it from your lips.

“We’ve fallen into a good routine, I think. I know I had a rough time, way back in the beginning, but I see things differently now. I feel different too.”

He frowns, cautious of where this could go.

His curiosity wins in the end. “Different… how?”

“I was scared at first. I didn’t know what was going to happen, if I was in danger or not. That didn’t last long though, right? I learned you want to keep me safe. When I realized I wasn’t in danger, I stopped being difficult,” you lean in, gazing up at him through your eyelashes. “Since I’ve been good… would you hear me out on a request? Just one?”

The slightest blush dusts his cheeks at your closeness. “I’ll listen. You shouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”

As if he needed to remind you.

Your heart whirrs to life within your chest. This is it, there’s no turning back now. The outcome of this interaction will bleed into your future.

“I want to see the real world.”

Emotions pass over his countenance in quick succession. Confusion, surprise, and then mild indignation. You’re broaching a taboo topic. He knows it, you know it too. The Yaksha must be using every ounce of his strength not to immediately shut the subject down. He clenches his jaw tight, yet keeps his lips pursed, allowing you to further plead your case.

“You want to keep me safe and— and I get that. I really do. I’m sure that during your long life, you’ve encountered evils I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Despite that, you’re still here, because you’re strong,” in a bold act, you place your hand to his forearm. His muscles stiffen beneath the touch. “It doesn’t have to be long. Thirty minutes. Fifteen, even. You can choose the time, the place. Just… please, Xiao.”

“You’re… asking for a lot.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

You fight the urge to shrink back at the sharp inflection in his voice. Sensing this, he sighs, tearing his gaze from you and staring ahead. “If it’s a change in scenery you want, I can manage that. So long as it’s in here.”

Another olive branch. Held out more tentative than the last, above an ever-growing pile you yearn to incinerate.

“That isn’t what I want,” you say, licking your dry lips. This gets him to look at you again — out of the corner of his eye, but you digress — an idea forming as a result. If anything remains of your pride, surely this next query will do away with it. “If you do this for me… maybe you can get something out of it.”

You press the swell of your chest against his arm. He snaps his head in your direction, the blush that’s ever-present on his face whenever you’re around spreading to his ears. Touching him feels wrong. Repulsive, even. You’re giving him what he wants when he’s taken everything from you. Freedom, autonomy, and any chances at a regular life; these essential tenets will never be yours again. You have to barter for their cheap imitation.

“I can smile more. Wear whatever you’d like. I can welcome you when you come home after a long day, run to embrace you, wipe the remnants of blood off your face. I’d dote on you and you could dote on me. I’ll let you. You can hold me to this.”

A shaky hand rises to cup your face. You will yourself to stay still, to prove your resolve, no matter how nauseating it is to be in physical contact with him. He’s fixating on your lips again. The air around him is thick — a consequence of his karmic debt — which causes your ears to ring and your head to ache from pressure.

“I didn’t bring you here for that.”

You wonder if that was intended to convince you or himself.

“I made this place for you. Nothing can go wrong here, there’s no risk of you being harmed. Mortals… mortals are fragile. It takes almost nothing for you to get hurt, or sick… and then…”

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to.

You’re losing him. Losing the chance for a rough gale to take your breath away, or witness a thunderstorm with booming thunder and threatening clouds. This isn’t living, this is existing. Trapped within a frame where everything is in perpetual stasis. Nothing grows, nothing changes, it remains as it has been and always will be. Your mortal existence he goes to such lengths to coddle isn’t meant for this.

In the distance, a finch sings. You’ve heard the song enough to commit it to heart. Without the passing of seasons, the wildlife never changes. The stars don’t reveal new constellations. The moon is always full. The frogs sit in the same place, the fish move in a predictable loop. Once you start noticing these details, you’re cursed to catch them everywhere.

“I’ll still get you the lantern,” he reluctantly draws away from you. “You can release it here.”

You look up at the sky. At this time of day, there’s always a cloud that looks like a silly little mouse. You found it cute at first. Then you saw it again the following day. Then the next. And each day after that.

You hug your knees to your chest. “Don’t bother. There wouldn’t be a point.”

He quietly says your name and you ignore him.

You don’t know why he’s sticking around. Whenever he’s upset you before, he’d leave at the first opportunity, rightfully finding the situation beyond his abilities. Is it because he got so close to what he truly wants, the ugly truth hidden deep beneath his claim of keeping you safe? You’d prefer it if he came to grips with the fact. Then he wouldn’t have to bother with all the lies. He isn’t very good at it, anyway.

“You said you can change the scenery here, right?”

He nods.

“Please get rid of the birds, then,” you mumble. “I don’t think I can take hearing them for much longer.”

Xiao considers you for a long moment. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

It isn’t, but if you’re forced to occupy this constructed wonderland, it might as well look as barren as it feels.

#xiao x reader #yandere xiao x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #commissions #my stuff

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delicrieux · 2 years

Text

𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | autumn features (october edition)

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader summary—a peak into the married life of aemond one-eye and his flower wife: on love, anger, and kin before the pillar of light (30) word count—2.1k

written for the october prompt list ♥ masterlist. ☕. autumn features. part 2. part 3. extra.

Aemond had once been of a gentler complexion he always tried to hide, though never very well. His nature, as Helaena’s, was made clear by his gait, his anxious blink faced with his brother’s ire, the hunch of his shoulders and the longing gaze for dragons he didn’t have. Believed, once, truly, that he never will.

Helaena did warn that he will close an eye. This exchange, to Aemond, seemed fair, and in retrospect, a small price to pay for such power. You never understood it - never possessed the capacity. When young, you had feared that only those born of fire and blood can understand one another. As you got older, you came to accept that fact to be true.

By all accounts, you had been an outsider in the Red Keep, with it’s dragons and high towers burning green. Born Tyrell and lavished in jewelry and picaresque views, your childhood was spent in a peacefulness that now could only be recalled in a dream.

You came to court when the King still had his hand and the Princess was yet to exile to Dragonstone with the promise to wed Aegon. Your father faced your demotion to Aemond with scorn. Helaena was a better fit for the future King - these conversations where held in whispers, tight, dark corridors, under the axe of treason. In a country divided, rulers of the same blood would fasten it strong, nourish it’s soldiers with loyalty, keep the peace that had not been there for too long.

It was necessary.

It was a terrible blow to the Tyrell pride.

You had accepted your duties with a polished smile. Aegon you could learn to live with, but Aemond you would perhaps grow to love. He had been gentle once.

But the years and their vapid tension had done away at that timid exterior, molded there something harsh and sharp instead. Nothing is ever easy with the Targaryens, though you would not be a Tyrell if you were not trained from birth to deal with fiery tempers.

The moon peaks behind silken curtains of your bedchamber. Candles drip red wax on the floor; burn in a haze emitting pleasant aromas that takes a fortnight to evaporate and months to prepare. Another end to an exhausting day of court drama that you can only discuss in Haleana and never in private. The dinner show for the dying King had promise, yet, as predicted, ended in disaster. The wound is too deep - as the King’s illness, untreatable. Much too late to salvage a family that has been kept cross for decades. No amount of drinking wine or peppered laughter, rehearsed conversations, and false jolliness would mend this.

He had been gentle once, and perhaps he’s trying to deliberately forget the fact, “...I don’t understand,” Aemond breaks the silence slowly, quietly, like ship crossing enemy borders in secret; he turns to you beside him, takes your hand in his - it’s warm, much warmer than yours, always has been, “Why not just be done with it?”

He’s much too intelligent to know why not and not crass enough to proclaim murder in your presence, even if he would speak freely in front of his family. An outsider once, and outsider still. The small upwards twitch of your lips is a thank you for his curtsy - you never fancied bloodshed, despised plots of murder even more.

Be done with it. What an elegant way to describe an act so cruel. Never bordering on the line of treason, never explicitly stating that Rhaenyra should be killed to end this fight for power. It’s a quick fix; a mindless slip of the blade; a minute of tears before, finally, prosperity.

You sit on the thought, let it digest. Then, you motion him to turn, and he does so obediently, so you could untangle his braid. You starts from the bottom, slipping away the woven thread that holds it together, “...I believe you must know already why, lord husband.” You mutter.

“Enlighten me,” He replies, “perhaps it’s something I can’t see?”

Despite Vhagar’s price, he’s still bitter. It festers underneath him, sometimes overflows in a fit of paranoia - that he’s unfit, unsightly, unworthy, and that you must loathe him. Out of all the things you could, it’s his appearance he insists that repulses you. That has never been the case, nor ever will. The truth of the matter is, you don’t detest him at all.

“You see fine, lord husband,” You continue in a playful tone, “though I sometimes wonder if all you see you take at face value, like your brother.”

He snorts, “Aegon doesn’t see at all.”

You raise a brow, “My point being, you fail to understand the...” You pause, search for a word, settle on something easy, “-history. Between your mother the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. Or perhaps you don’t wish to understand it at all.”

“You speak in riddles.” But there’s a smile in his voice when he says it.

“If I recall correctly, you always fancied this trait of mine.” You hum, “When you were young, you often skipped practice to play chess with me. Do you remember those days?”

“Ser Criston was not happy.”

“When has he ever been?” Before he can respond, you shush him, “Don’t. I care not for the answer nor the man in question to continue speaking of him.”

“He’s a honorable knight. And a great teacher.”

“And I never argued the fact.”

“Yet you dislike him.” The braid is half undone when he turns back to you; his eye levels yours with scrutiny, “Is there a reason? Did he hurt y-”

“Your Ser does not so much as look me in the eye fearing the end of your blade shall be the last thing he sees.” You smile, “And I wish to keep it that way.”

He assess you for a moment, tilts his head, and when he speaks again, he brims with the same curiosity he had when he was younger, “...Does Helaena know?”

“A lady is entitled to her secrets.” You lace your fingers with his.

“Then she won’t speak a word.” He says with a sigh.

“Nor will you hear more from me on this topic, my husband.” Your response does not please him, but you know that mindless submission would please him even less. Aemond always wanted someone who could challenge him. It was Aegon that required an obedient, motherly touch, “Neither your father the King nor mother the Queen would wish harm on Princess Rhaenyra.”

“My mother despises Rhaenyra.” He states it as an all inclusive fact, an inarguable law of nature, “I know it. Rhaenyra knows it. You do, as well.”

You come to stand, place your hands over your belly, “How about,” You begin, mindlessly wandering about the room, “a thought experiment?”

“Another one of your riddles?” He says, leaning back to watch you. He enjoys watching you, enjoys trailing your movements - small, quiet footsteps, straight back, an effortless grace of a dancer.

“One I am certain a man fond of books would figure out quite quickly. Indulge me?”

“Always.”

“Then let’s perhaps take into consideration the lineage that came before us.”

“The history, as you put it.”

“Indeed, lord husband.”

“Why is it that you never call me by my name?”

“Would you prefer it?”

“It’s not about my preference.”

You smile, “...It is because I like to call you mine.” You admit softly, “Lord husband. My husband...I do like the ring of those, as I like being referred to as your lady wife.”

He tries his best to bite down the grin rising on his face, but even in the dim light you can tell he’s pleased. He raises a hand and motions, “Continue...my lady wife.”

“Then, the history that was before us...I have heard many a tale, you know. These walls,” You glance around, “they have ears. And servants fancy gossip more than leftover wine. You know I frequent these...meetings and tea parties and daily routines you do not bother with. The ladies at court speak often of your father’s reign. All in wonderful reverence, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“And what I came to learn is that there had been a deep bond between your mother and Princess Rhaenyra once.”

“That was a long time ago.” He utters, “Things have changed.”

“But there was, once, love.” You counter, though not unkindly, “...I don’t quite believe it is gone entirely.”

The air seems to still, as if you roused a beast not meant to be awaken. You’re threading into forbidden territory, that much you know. He sits up slowly, and his face is lifeless, waxen, “What are you implying, (Name)?”

Your name has never sounded colder. You would never let it show, “Only a thought experiment.” There’s a sharp smile on your lips. You don’t quite manage to hide the bite from your voice, “The silly musings of a housewife that has nothing to do. Pay no heed to it, lord husband.”

“Is this what you have been discussing with the court ladies?” His tone rises, as if he can’t believe it, “My mother’s affections to Rhaenyra, of all people?” He stands, approaches, and you quickly evade. He falters instantly, “If I frighten you--”

“You could never, lord husband.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His request is oddly paced - soft, unlike his previous timbre, “You know I want you to speak freely around me.”

You grind your teeth. Hold your head up high, “Very well. Sit.” He does so without protest, never once loosing sight of you, “So be it, I shall say it as it is. It’s obvious. As obvious as the fact that Rhaenyra’s children are not Leanor’s and never were. Your mother’s affection for Rhaenyra has never ceased, nor Rhaenyra’s for her. If the hate between your families was truly as strong as everyone pretends it is, one or the other would have been dead already, and your father would have done nothing to stop it. Or you, or Haleana, or Aegon, or I - killed, before I came to court and you got your dragon. They were friends, Aemond, good friends, inseparable, from what I was told. A bond as that does not evolve into hate without having a strong foundation before it. And times have changed, I do agree, but I don’t think it’s as simple as petty hatred for the Iron Throne.”

You press your hand to your belly, to the life that steadily grows inside it, your first one, and suddenly you feel choked up, unpoised. You inhale, exhale, steady yourself, “I know this because even if you were to do something...terrible,” You catch his gaze, “I couldn’t hate you. I would only hate the fact that I love you still.”

A cool breeze brushes past your shoulders. He seems thoughtful, “...How long have you been...thinking about this?”

“Long enough.” You admit, breath spent and voice rasp, “Not much else to do here when you hardly join me for chess anymore.”

“Haleana keeps you company.”

“And you should find her opinion no different from mine. Listen to her.” You continue, “You never do, yet you Targaryens may find some use in what she has to say.”

“You’re a Targaryen as well.” He reminds you curtly.

“Don’t make me laugh, Aemond. I’m not in the mood. I’m a Tyrell. I was born as one and will always be treated as one in your court.” You sigh, “Gods be good...” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose, “A war is coming. A war.” You look at him, “What am I good in war? I ride no dragon nor wield a sword. Or should you fancy me cowering in the Red Keep when the city turns to ash?”

Something clicks in him - it’s loud, aching, like shattering glass.

He pales, “...You wish to leave me.”

You must salvage this whilst you still can, quickly gather the pieces, stitch them together with blood if you must.

“I wish,” You state calmly, “to return home.”

He stands, “This is your home.” He stabs a finger into his chest, “Our home. You cannot abandon me-”

It’s what he’s always feared, always believed. He envisions it, awakes at night with remains of that nightmare plaguing him: he turns away for a moment and when he looks back you’re gone in a flurry of smoke. Sometimes there’s laughter and sometimes there’s deathly silence. He doesn’t know which is worse.

“I’m not abandoning you, Gods, do you even hear what I’m saying?” You pause, breathe in again, “You know what the maesters said. I’m of a delicate condition, Aemond. I am unfit for war. And I will not have my child born in a battlefield.”

His hands grip your forearms. You startle. His hold eases, apologetic, almost, “I,” He begins, trying to catch your gaze, but you stubbornly look over his shoulder, “I will protect you.”

Your brows pinch together, “When? When you’re on dragonback or slaughtering Rhaenyra’s soldiers?” You sigh, “Let me return to my family,” You try to appeal to that nature, that kindness that hides underneath a leather patch, “to the grandparent’s of your child. Wait it out there. And when it’s all done, and you’re victorious, we will return. Our child and I. We’ll be together, all of us.”

Your plea hangs in the air. The candles flicker. Aemond nods slowly, kisses your forehead, and when you close your eyes and lean into his embrace, you hear a soft but firm, “No.”

He will not let you go. He cannot let you go. He cannot do this without you.

You hear that word still, echoing among the dancing dragons and crumbling buildings, the screams and rubble and rains of ash. It could have been different. But as you sit by your bedside window and watch the city crumble you make your peace with it, as you did with a lot of things in life. Forgiven a lot of things, too, perhaps too many.

There’s a terrifying roar before the view burns in a pillar of light.

notes: babe wake up a new war criminal just dropped xx

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #game of thrones #got #imagine #imagines #aemond one eye #rhaenyra x alicent #i will die on this ship!#rhaelicent #one-shot #angst

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bluebayousblog · 4 months

Text

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 14)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

This is not a full on story but if you want more l'll be happy to add on upon request

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: isobel and drew go into town in the mountains

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART THIRTEEN

Drew’s heart thumped in his chest as the silence made the unspoken tension that was festering between them feel as if it were swallowing him whole. He wasn’t thinking straight, he hadn’t been for what had been going on almost a month, and it was all because of Isobel. He knew better than to kiss her for the first time all those weeks ago given their complicated circumstances with there families, and now he knew better than to get sucked in by her beautiful eyes and lose all of his good sense while said family members were roaming around downstairs on the floor below them.

She hadn’t uttered a single word since he confessed how much his body and mind ached for her. Drew knew he probably was overwhelming her but he couldn’t help what he was feeling—and her silence did nothing to deter him in the slightest because everything she wasn’t saying, was swirling around in those pretty brown eyes of hers. That gleam she had in them when she peered into his own was promising, and just one glance could make all of his fears nonexistent. Drew felt fearless around her and that instilled a sense of boldness within him that just made the thought of getting lost in her with no restraints that much more difficult to resist.

It had always been hard for Drew to deny Isobel, and it seemed as though she was always wordlessly pleading for him to make a move to show her that he wanted her. She was doing it now as she she stared up at him with her back against the bedroom wall, and she’d done it that day in his truck after they drove back from university. Declaring that they put a pause on their physical relationship while they were home for the holidays, but giving him that longing look in her eyes like she wanted him to steal a final kiss from her pouting lips—that look killed him. It struck like a bow piercing into the center of his racing heart and the worst part was that he wasn’t sure she was aware of it.

His eyes darted to her pink lips as she poked them out in a small pout, and he licked his own at the tempting sight. The taste of grapefruit immediately graced his taste buds from her chapstick transferring over during the quick kiss they shared minutes ago and he snapped.

The thought of Isobel staining him, leaving a mark on him, had him hungry for more of the sweet taste and crashing his mouth onto hers. His greedy tongue immediately dipped into her waiting mouth connecting with her smaller one as he close to devoured her seconds into the kiss. Isobel just whimpered against him as she relinquish all control to him, letting his tongue invade every corner of her mouth between their lips smacking together while creating the most crude noises. Her strokes of his tongue were lazy against his harsh ones, but he helped her keep up with his hand gripping her neck just below her jaw so she stayed steadied against him. Isobel was a delicate woman, she didn’t come off as someone who was rough around the edges and he would think he was being too aggressive with her if her soft hands weren’t gripping the forearm that belonged to the hand he had placed on her throat as she pushed herself onto her tiptoes to press their hips together.

He groaned at all of it, the way she tasted, the chapstick he could feel being smeared all over the bottom half of his face, how she felt locked under his body as she still found someway to gain control with just a roll of her hips against his own, and the fact that it was Isobel he was doing this with.

“I need to breathe, Drew.” She gasped as she managed to break away from his hungry lips. He didn’t, air was the last thing he needed when all he wanted to do was kiss her until the feeling of her lips were branded onto his own and he could still feel her for the rest of the day even when hours had passed from spending time with family.

Drew somewhat relented, letting her breathe but still placing messy pecks on her lips like he couldn’t get enough and that was all the space he could give her.

Isobel only allowed herself a couple of shallow pants before pulling him back in, she couldn’t stay away when his blue eyes were dark with obvious want with his lids sitting low as they seemed to glaze over each time their lips touched. And when he looked down between them where they were connected while groaning that was when her resolve snapped.

Drew immediately returned the kiss, not caught off guard in the slightest. She sighed in satisfaction as his tongue slipped into her mouth like he’d never left and completely took over. He was fucking everywhere, his tongue treading her throat with every swipe, one hand still encasing her neck as she harshly swallowed and the other gripping her hip like he thought she would disappear.

Despite where they were they didn’t slow down, he just grasped her throat tighter as if he were trying to kiss her harder than he already was and lowered his other hand to the flesh of her ass, squeezing her there just as tight in a tormenting grip that brought the two closer together. Isobel was sure she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen but she didn’t want stop. Her breath only shallowed all the more when his hand began to slowly trail down her neck until he was tickling her panting chest with the pads of his fingers in passing and continued down until he blindly found her left breast and gently squeezed. She gasped at the feeling, accidentally breaking the kiss, but he didn’t seem to care as he moved his mouth to the corner of her lips. Pleasure from his kneading hands coursed straight down to her belly as her hips lurched further against the hard flesh that was most definitely being suffocated in his pants. Her head knocked back causing a loud thud to sound throughout the room from it hitting the wall.

“Oh shit, Baby.” Drew whispered like talking in a normal voice would get them caught. He hoped they were the only ones who heard the photos that were hanging outside her room rattling on the walls from the impact. “That kind of hurt.” Isobel winced as she slumped forward against him and pushed her face into his chest.

Just as Drew reached to cradle the back of her head like his touch could stop the pain she was feeling, a knock sounded on her bedroom door. They’d definitely gotten a little carried away and by the look of shear panic that was now present on Isobel’s face he didn’t know whether to stay put or hide because he had a feeling whoever walked in would think they both looked guilty.

Isobel forced herself to snap out of the frozen state she was in and reached up to wipe Drew’s lips to with her thumb and she swore she saw his eyes get darker before she turned away to pull the door open. Catherine was standing in the hall holding a laundry basket up on her hip with a content smile on her face, nobody enjoyed cleaning more than Drew’s mother, “Hey, honey, I just came up to get your bedding.”

“Okay, let me help you get it off.” Isobel offered, ignoring the fact that Catherine’s son was standing in the room with them.

His mother’s eyebrows furrowed at his presence, and Isobel’s hearted pounded as she braced herself for her to make some kind of connection as to why they would be alone in her room together, “What are you doing in here, Bear?” Catherine asked as she moved to the bed to help with the comforter, but her words were light, no convictions in her tone whatsoever.

“I was just helping Isobel bring her stuff up.” Drew smiled at his mother as he told her an half truth like a kid, and like clockwork she swooned at his words.

Isobel doesn’t think she’s ever seen Catherine mad or suspicious of Drew a day in her life and she’d known them for years. All he had to do was smile and his mother would forget his behavior, similar to all the girls he toyed with back at school, but the difference was that he loved Catherine. Isobel wasn’t sure where she fell in those two categories.

“You’re my sweetest boy, Drew, but don’t tell Chandler I said that.” Catherine mused while taking the fitted sheet from her hands and throwing it in the basket.

Drew really was sweet, she had just as many memories of him being sweet to her as she did him being annoying. The thought of it had her speaking out loud in adoration, “I didn’t even have to ask him.”

Her eyes snuck and found his blue ones as Catherine bent down to grab the basket, and the wink he gave made her lips spread into a toothy grin just before she lifted back up with the laundry basket back on her hip, now facing Drew.

“You know if you treated girls as well you do Isobel you would have a girlfriend by now, Bear.” She mindlessly stated with a light pat to his chest, “Now come on let’s give her sometime to unpack.”

Drew stiffly obeyed and trailed behind her to the door knowing he didn’t have a reason to stay in the room with her without raising suspicions, “Not every girl can be Isobel, Mom.”

He knew Isobel would probably tear into him for saying that in front of his mother later on, but he wanted them both to know that she wasn’t like any other girl he’d been with before, not even in the slightest. Catherine didn’t reply, they walked out in silence until Drew pulled the door closed and the latched clicked.

“You have a little crush on her don’t you?” She accused when they reached the top of the stair case with a saccharine smile gliding onto her lips.

For the first time Drew was seeing his mother speak of Isobel and him in a somewhat romantic light, and she seemed to like the idea of it from the look on her face. It made his chest fill with pride that at least she would support him, but he still denied them because that’s just how things had to be for the time being.

“What? No.” He tried to lie, but even his attempts to try denying his want for Isobel were becoming harder to make believable—luckily with his mother he usually didn’t have to try as hard as he did with his father.

But his words seemed to go right over her head as she continued to speak, “Do you think she would ever go for you, Drew?”

He could practically see the gears turning in her head just from the tone of her voice as she continued to ramble and the wild look in her eye. Catherine Starkey lived for two things: match making and gossip—and worrying about his relationships fell into each of those past times.

“Mom!” He whispered shouted, interrupting the come apart she was having and grabbed her shoulders like it would make her really understand what he was about to say, “I do not have a thing for Isobel, you can’t go around assuming things like that you’re gonna make people uncomfortable, especially her.”

The pout that appeared on her lips was immediate as her shoulders slouched in his hands like he’d just crushed all of her dreams, “I knew it was a long shot, you’ve just been so attentive to her recently I thought you’d come to your senses.”

His heart squeezed in his chest at her words, his mother’s gut feeling about him were usually always right but he wasn’t about to confirm it. It was amazing to him that even when he was hiding this physical relationship they’d established together from their families the other aspects that had unexpectedly developed —that weren’t supposed to exist—were the most blaring.

He wondered how they would be if things were different, if his feelings would still feel so suffocating as if they bursting out of the seems if he could express his emotions for her in front of everyone. As he considered the thought his mother continued speaking.

“-I guess Isobel would go for someone different than you, that girl has always been extremely selective with everything.”

Her statement immediately caught his attention as his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. He already knew he wasn’t worthy of Isobel, especially not with his track record with women, but he’d hate for his loved ones to think that as well. The thought of Isobel with any other man also just irked his nerves like no other girl had been able to do, “What do you mean someone different?”

“Meaning you’re an easy man, Drew.” Catherine bluntly stated with a bored look in eyes like what she just said was common knowledge. She must’ve saw the look of shock cross his features as she moved closer to rub his back with her free hand to alleviate the blow of her words, “Your father was the same way until he met me, it was like he did a full 360.”

Drew didn’t bother responding, he couldn’t when his mouth was void of any moisture, Catherine was obviously done with conversation as she descended down the steps while humming a tune, any suspicions of him having a crush no longer on her mind. ‘A full 360.’ That’s exactly how everything felt with Isobel, like his whole world had been flipped into an alternate universe where all of sudden he craved a friend he’d known for almost a decade. A world where he’d kissed a girl, and now she was the only one he wanted for the foreseeable future.

He’d never felt so locked down on something, on a person, while also feeling liberated.

Isobel finally accepted Drew’s invitation to go into town to see all of the Christmas lights later on in the day when he brought up her purse that she left in her father’s truck. He didn’t even mention it again, it was just the sight of him purse in hand that she hadn’t even realized she left and one look into those stormy blue eyes that her confirming her attendance.

Their families never really did anything the first day after having to drive up and do all the cleaning so they most likely wouldn’t be missing anything. Lora and Catherine both had the cabin looking spotless, and pizza from their favorite pizzeria was the perfect way to cap off the night. Isobel knew she and Drew could’ve eaten while in town, but she figured they should stay and enjoy a meal with family before they went off together.

They sat around the kitchen island and conversed about random things until everyone started migrating over to the front den as they finished their food to watch whatever Christmas movie was playing. Their parents were indulging in the wine they had stocked in the pantry while Chandler scrolled on his phone with his head lying on Catherine’s arm when Isobel and Drew made their way to the front door to leave. Isobel found it cute how the younger Starkey always found himself cuddling their mother without even realizing it.

“I’m going to take Isobel into town to do some last minute shopping.” Drew announced, stealing everyone’s attention away from the television.

This was normal for the two of them, Isobel didn’t drive so Drew often times had to take her places, and whenever they did come to the cabin he took her into town at least once during the trip. Except before he’d never cherished the alone time he was getting with her in the years prior. He wanted nothing more than to see her standing under the varying lights with snow falling all around and being able to just take in the sight without anyone watching.

“I wanna go with you guys.” Chandler eagerly said from across the room.

It took Drew all of his restraint not to let a look of annoyance pass over his face. Chandler had been acting like an irritating fly that wouldn’t go, and the worst part was that Isobel found it entertaining. The girl was currently looking down trying to hide the smile on her face as she snickered to herself, and he knew she wouldn’t have the heart to tell his little brother no.

But before he could come up with an excuse to keep Chandler from tagging along his father was already speaking, “You can go with them another time, you’re helping me cut the firewood tonight.”

Charles’ eyes stayed trained on the movie playing even with Drew’s eyes boring into his head.

“You want to cut firewood in the freezing cold at night?” His little brother’s tone was bored yet incredulous, like what Charles was insisting was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“It’s always cold up here no matter the time of day, Bud, plus we have the heater out back, it’ll be fine.” Charles got up from the leather couch and stretched his long limbs, “Come on let’s go get started, Drew make sure you bring Isobel back in one piece.”

Drew rolled his eyes at his father’s insistence reminding him to take care of Isobel. That was never something anyone had to worry about even before things changed between them.

“We can go again tomorrow I promise!” Isobel assured as she assessed the pout on Chandler lips, both brothers were annoying but she had soft spots for both of them, “Bye Mom and Dad...”

She trailed off at the sight of her father knocked out on the reclining chair with his mouth cracked open as little snores escaped his lips. One thing you could always count on Richard Cooper to do was fall asleep whenever a movie was put on. “Bye, Sweetheart be careful.” Lora gave her a big smile before taking another sip of wine and going back to whatever gossip Catherine was probably telling her over her wine glass.

After a few more goodbyes and watching Chandler begrudgingly stomp off to bundle up to help Charles, Isobel and Drew were finally alone on the front porch of the cabin. As soon as the door was locked she was running to the passenger seat of the truck to escape the frigid temperatures that still managed to have her shivering beneath the multiple layers of clothes she was wearing. She probably looked ridiculous with the giant puffer and thick scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth, but this was the only way she could take on the cold weather.

“Quit running you could slip and fall, Isobel.” Drew warned as he carefully followed behind her to avoid just that.

Isobel ignored the fussy tone in his voice and yanked the door that didn’t open to her dismay, “Just unlock the door Drew before I go back inside.” Isobel whined as her teeth violently chattered in her mouth.

Drew immediately obeyed, reaching past her body to pull the door handle open and helping her into the truck that doubled her in height. He quickly ran over to the drivers side and turned the heater on the maximum setting as soon as the engine roared to life. He hated seeing her miserable, but he also found it extremely adorable seeing her all bundled up and fidgeting around to find any type of extra warmth beside him while he drove them into town. She didn’t utter a word in the short ride over, and by the time he pulled into a parking space her teeth had seemed to stop chattering.

“You alright, Izzy?” Drew tried to suppress the smile threatening to appear on her lips—not at her discomfort, but just at the moment they were sharing together in general. This was reminding him of the night they shared outside the library when their desires were still so fresh, but this was simple yet still as memorable. He longed to have many more nights like this in the future.

“Yes.” She replied and shuffled her body around to face him, “If we get out of this car I’ll have to go through that whole process to warm up again.”

Isobel wanted more than anything to see the lights, but she was always hoping he wouldn’t make her get out. Though, she knew that wasn’t an option, they’d driven all the way here after all. Drew just sat there and chuckled at her words, his eyes twinkling in admiration. He just looked content and relaxed as he gazed at her, nothing similar to when he basically had his tongue stuck down her throat earlier in the day. “You know there’s heaters everywhere, just stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”

“Alright, come and get me, please.” Isobel complied with a sort of nervous looking smile on her lips.

Drew waited to turn off the ignition when he got out of the truck and jogged over to her side. He knew keeping the heater on a little longer would stop her from complaining. He swung the door open causing the cold air to hit her face and she was immediately wincing at the impact. Drew shook his head at her before stepping on the footboard to lift himself inside so he could lean his body over her smaller one to cut the engine. As soon as the hot air stopped blowing she clung tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling their bodies together. She felt the chuckle rumbling deep in his throat against her cheek that was attached to the warm skin of his neck. He quickly had to step down from the footboard onto the pavement of the parking lot so they wouldn’t fall leaving her staring down at him with his chest still tucked closely against her body. Drew eventually grabbed her waist and helped her down, their bodies sliding against each other as he lowered her to the ground, and Isobel being the menace that she is pulled him into a kiss.

Their little pecks were slow, but also ended sooner than she would have liked. That’s how it always felt with him, like she could never seem to get enough of his lips on her own. She just wanted nothing more than to make up for the kisses they missed out on when they were pretending not to want each other. Drew squeezed her hips, and she emitted a bratty moan when their lips disconnected with a lewd smack.

His hands moved to her back before running down to her ass and squeezing the flesh, and she didn’t even gasp, she just smiled up at him. “What was that for, Isobel?”

“Just keeping warm, Drew.” She innocently stated and stayed attached to his side as they begin walking to the entrance.

The Christmas lights were beautiful this year, they were hung all throughout the little village in the most intricate displays that never failed to leave Isobel in awe. Drew had never been one to find entertainment in the blinding bulbs, but he could watch the amazement on her face for days on end as the lights reflected off her skin.

They did a plethora of things the town had to offer for the holidays. There were so many foods and desserts to try, but they settled on a pretzel that Isobel hogged most of. He bought them both a hot chocolate, wanting to stay on top of his promise to make sure she didn’t get cold, and eventually an hour had passed and she hadn’t mention the temperature at all.

Still, she stayed glued to his side.

“Let’s do the photo booth before we head back.” Isobel excitedly suggested.

Drew had no plans on objecting, but it still seemed he had no choice as she tugged him behind the curtains—not that it mattered, he would do anything she wanted, she was freezing her ass off for him after all “Whatever you want, Is.”

Her eyes found his as an unreadable look passed over her face at his words, he just knew she was staring at him with so much emotion he couldn’t do anything but just silently gaze back. He knew what he just said meant so more than what it did in the moment, but it was never his never his intention—him making these declarations he knew could scare her away.

A flash from the camera broke the tension, and Isobel looked forward to see the session had started. She was pointing at the camera with a smile as the flash went off snapping another off guard moment between the two, “Drew come on we only have two poses left.”

When she turned back to him he was still looking at her from before. His eyes drifting down to her lips as she spoke. The flash then caught him grabbing the back of her neck before pulling her into another sweet kiss. His kisses were so disorienting for her especially when he initiated them. Time just seemed to stop as she forgot where they were.

“Are you guys done? People are waiting out here.” An older voice asked from the other side of the curtain.

Isobel ripped her lips away from his with gasp, her cheeks immediately heated in embarrassment. The two rushed out of the booth in haste to find an elderly couple waiting with an amused smile. “Sorry guys.” Isobel apologized while discreetly pulling Drew away who looked to have no shame at all.

“Don’t forget your pictures.” The man called out to them before they got far. They both walked back over to grab the strips as Isobel peered around his arm. “You guys make a beautiful couple.” Said the lady before she disappeared with her partner behind the booth.

“Do you think we look like a couple?” Isobel asked with a small laugh to cover up the awkwardness she was feeling.

“I don’t think it was us ‘looking’ like a couple as much as it was the photo of us kissing, Izzy.” Drew smirked down at the photo strip. The last two snapshots were the two leaning in and then her head against the wall of the booth with their lips pressed together. He had no idea what part of the kiss was captured before the couple interrupted.

“That is so humiliating, who knows what they thought we were doing in there.” Isobel groaned and took one of the strips from his hand.

Drew’s heart warmed as he visibly saw the embarrassment fall from her face as a small smile replaced it while assessing the pictures. His phone buzzed in his pocket, Charles’ name lit up the screen and he accepted the call, letting Isobel continue to marvel.

“What’s up, Dad?” He greeted which finally caught her attention.

“Hey, it’s about to start snowing pretty bad in about an hour, go ahead and get Isobel home.”

Drew agreed before they hung up, he still hated his father’s lack of faith in him when it comes to Isobel, but he could appreciate how much Charles cares about her.

“What did he say?”

“It’s about to start snowing, we gotta go before the roads get crazy.” Drew answered, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

When they got back to the truck he opened her door, made sure she got in alright, and hopped in on his side to start the engine. It didn’t take long for it warm up to her pleasure, but for the majority of the short ride he was going back and forth on whether he should tell Isobel about his father. They’d had such a good night, and of course Charles found a way to cap it off and somehow get into his head.

Though, it wasn’t exactly his fathers fault he was keep things from Isobel.

“I had fun tonight, Drew.” Isobel looked over from the passenger seat with a smile plastered on her lips, “You really are sweet, it makes sense why your mom calls you ‘Bear.’”

“Yeah?” He rasped and placed a hand on her thigh.

She hummed in response, “Yeah, sweet like a honey bear, I think I’m going to steal it from her.”

Drew put the car in park when they pulled into the driveway, thankful they’d made it the whole way without hitting any ice patches. The thought of Isobel wanting to give him a nickname set his chest ablaze, and the fact that she was getting it from someone he loved so dearly only made the feelings he wasn’t supposed to be having twist in his gut.

“Okay, Izzy Bear.” He smirked, Isobel playfully rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle to get out before Drew stopped her, “Wait, I need to tell you something.”

Her hand froze as did her whole body. Her mind immediately thinking the worst, silently rethinking every moment they shared today to possible brace herself for what he was going to say, but nothing stood out. That’s how things always were with guys like Drew, them turning your world up side down then leaving you to pick up the pieces.

Drew took her silence as opportunity to just bite the bullet, “Charles knows.”

He didn’t want to tell her because Charles knowing came with a lot. Realization that this secret they’d been trying to keep wasn’t such a secret anymore. His insistence on Drew telling Cooper, which she didn’t even know about yet. The fact that she was going to have to come to terms with a lot of things she probably wasn’t ready to accept just yet.

And he hated that he felt like he had a part in potentially making her feel as such.

“Oh.” Was all she said until she eventually turned towards him and met his eyes, “How?”

Everything about her seemed so small in this moment, her voice, her clipped words, her shrinking presence. It was as if he could see her pulling away right in front of his eyes, and it made him feel desperate to grasp onto the parts of her that were still there. Still willing.

“He just figured it out, Isobel, I don’t even know how to explain it. It was like he knew from the day we got back into town.” He was pleading to her, though he wasn’t sure she realized because she remained silent, so he continued, “I denied it, I still haven’t exactly told him but he’s set on the fact that we’re together.”

His heart pounded for Isobel for many reasons today, the sweet kisses they shared, the simple glances she directed his way, and the smiles on her face but now it was pounding at the blank stare she was giving him.

“So you were dealing with this the whole time and didn’t tell me?” Isobel was freaking out inside, yet all she could do was give him the bare minimum in return.

“I thought I could handle him, but it seems like I’ve just made it worse.” He mumbled and she winced, it was the most emotion she’d showed in the last few minutes and it was her bracing herself for the impact of his words, “He wants me to to tell your dad.”

She dropped her her face into her hands. She’d been wishing for any source of warmth the entirety of the night, but now the heat blasting through the vents felt suffocating—so suffocating she could run out of the truck into the freezing cold at the moment. She dryly laughed, in need of some sort of outlet to get rid of the pent up emotion building in her chest.

“I can’t do this, Drew.” Isobel whispered, not able to look at him.

She could feel his stiffness as the weight of her words remained stale in air. “What do you mean, Isobel?”

His voice sounded like it hurt to speak, and the sound alone made her stomach wrench. Never did she expect to hear him ever sound so gutted in regards to her pulling away from him. It made her realize just how much their feelings were actually involved, which made her want to run even more.

“It’s too much, I just can’t do this.” She reiterated as if she explained herself anymore, but she’d never been good at that in the first place—saying how she felt.

Isobel pushed the door open to the truck and carefully hopped down before slamming it shut behind her then went straight for the front door of the cabin. Drew was right on her heels, but she already had the door open before he could stop her and get her to talk to him—to tell him what she was actually thinking—to tell him what she was scared of.

“You guys are back, already? Did you have fun?” Isobel glanced over toward the den, not settling on any particular face but recognized the voice as her mother’s.

“Yeah.” She stuttered despite her trying to come off as unbothered as possible, “I’m gonna go get ready for bed, see you guys in the morning.”

Isobel didn’t wait for any responses before she was jogging up the steps to the second floor. The whole way up she could feel the gaze of a particular boy she hated that she recognized on her back, and slammed the wooden door behind her. Running the first chance she could as the photos they took together burned a hole in her pocket.

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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invivoinsomnium · 5 months

Note

If I was to get you pregnant I'd have been watchung you for weeks first to make sure your are perfect to carry my seed and you are. I wait for the perfect time following you home on a dark street covering your head hushing you "Scream and you'll regret it" I whisper in your ear knocking you out and throwing you in the back of my car.

When you wake up you curled up all cosy in what looks like your bedroom thinking it was a dream until you go to sit up and realise you are chained to the bed. I walk in sitting next to you "Good morning Hun I wanted to make sure you'd feel comfy in here I hope I got the details right"

I lean over kissing your neck "I mean you are just perfect to be carrying my babies" I push you back down a bit more not listening to any protests just talking quietly "You're gonna get so big and heavy. Imagine nine months from now the agony you'll be in" I chuckle pulling my sweats down you realise you don't have any clothes covering your bottom half.

I slip myself in groaning "Fuck" I mutter "Your so tight it's gonna be difficult for you huh" I roll my hips stroking your hair "Pretty girl gonna give my suck pretty babies" I hold your hips down not giving you a second to adjust pounding into you straight away "You are never leaving" I whisper "You are mine until you stop giving me babies"

I grunt biting your neck gently "Mine" I growl. It doesn't take long for me to have cum inside you about 7 times your stomach bulging as I plug you up untying your arms as you lay there pathetically "Fighting won't do you any good you won't be able to escape it'll just end up worse for you" I take you to the bathroom your ankles tied together. I clean you up kissing your head feeding you forcing you if I have to.

This was a nightly routine until a few weeks later I make you take a pregnancy test waiting for the timer I flip it over a very strong positive line. I smirk hugging your waist "You're gonna have my babies" I laugh.

A few months later you were already huge bump big and round a Dr walks in ignoring your pleas for help preforming and ultrasound with a chuckle "Oh look at that 5 babies that's gonna hurt" he teased taking some blood to check and checking you over.I smirk sitting down "Told you hun"

When they start moving it torture so when you feel the first contraction you instantly break into tears begging me to get the Dr. I laugh "And tuin your body with those scars no no you're gonna push these babies out one by one" I rub your thighs "I'll be right here I promise" I rub your belly through contractions pushing gently as you bare down crying out feeling out first babies head crowing against your right little hole. I slap your pussy gently "Push harder"

I love this anon; the kidnapping, the breeding against my will, the pregnancy, the doctor ignoring me and the birth. I'll admit, the only thing I'm not a fan of is the five babies, I'm more one large single or twins, at a push triplets. Still love how this was written.

Waking up disoriented, with no idea of what has happened. The situation would be made worse from how you're talking to me, I don't know you and yet theree's a small spark of recognition, maybe I've passed you on the street once or twice.

It doesn't matter how many times you tell me fighting is inevitable, I still fight you, I will always fight you. Every day when I feel your seed bathe my unprotected womb I pray for it not to take, and for the first few weeks, I think my prayers have been answered until you force me to take a test. Until that little plus sign appears after an eternity. I burst out into tears while you cheer in delight knowing that you've successfully bred me.

For the first few months I hoped that it was a false negative but as time moved on I could see my body starting to change, see my belly swell outwards, feel sensativity in my breasts, see the way parts of my would smell and lets not forget the morning sickness and fatigue.

When the doctor first arrives, I do my best to beg for his help in escaping this nightmare, I don't want to have your offpsring. He merely ignores me and the sickening realisation hits me, he knows exactly what you're doing and doesn't care. He gets paid after all.

I try to ignore the ultrasound, try to break free of my bonds, but when I hear the watery whooshing noise, I know something isn't right. It's the doctor that confirms it as he points to the screen, announcing that I'm carrying quintuplets.

Their movements steal my breath away and brings me to my kness. They're so fucking active, though they become worse when you touch my belly and speak to them. Hopes of escaping dwindle, especially when within the last month of my pregnancy I find myself bedridden. Each day brings me closer and closer to the birth and I fear it. I never wanted to be pregnant, I'm not maternal at all. When the first contraction hits its like nothing I've ever felt before. "Oh fuck, I'm not ready for this," I pant, shaking my head in denail. I can feel it, the first head pressing down upon my cervix.

I scream in pain, beg you to bring the doctor here or let me go to a hospital but your adament I do this naturally. I fight back when you promise to be here for me and that ends up with my hands being restrained as you position yourself between my spread thighs. For hours I labour, twisting and turning, toes curling as my muscles tighten and my belly dips inwards. I scream, beg and threat, even try to fight the urge to push but in the end I obey your orders and my body's demand. I can feel the head of the first as it slips into my birth canal, stretching me as I bear down, desperate to be free. What's worse is knowing that when I've finally delivered this one, I will still have four more to bring into the world.

#horror #fantasy #birth #pregnancy #dark #forcedpregnancy #tw kidnapping #tw forcedpregnancy #tw forced breeding

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elioslover · 6 months

Text

Preview: Grapejuice Part Four!

Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember. But she still refuses to see him as anything other than her brothers goofy obnoxious bestie. This chapter is when the filth kicks!! - Em. xo

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

Grapejuice masterpost / Other writing

🍷

You are no longer willing to suffering behind your sunglasses, the sun sizzling down on your already hot skin, you feel like a roast on the spit, pathetically begging for Harry to take a hearty bite.

His face is masked by a denim baseball cap, one arm flexed behind his head like a pillow, and you wonder if he’s asleep at this point, using that as the push you needed to get up and cross over to his sunbed.

Bending down and leaning your body over his own, your bikini-clad breast brushing against his chest as you reach across him for a book-you couldn’t even recall the title of- resting next to his half empty lemonade on the side table.

“You’re kidding.” Harry informatively mumbles through the material.

“What?” You feign innocence, pressing further into him, your waist coming down on his stomach.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” He continues, but lets you continue with your teasing.

“Getting my book?” You innocently ponder, taking much longer than necessary, letting your fingers dance along the cover, tapping along and further sticking his and your your skin together.

Harry removes his flexed arm from its position as a pillow, using his thumb to hook under and remove the cap from hiding his face.

He looks at you with a stern furrow of the brows, but his eyes are nothing but amused- and slightly turned on,

“You’re a little liar.”

With ease, Harry wraps his arms around your waist, giving you a good squeeze as he flips you over, causing you to snatch a hold of the novel just as you find yourself bent and folded over his lap, ass up in the air, your chest resting against his thighs,

“What the-” You try.

Now Harry has you, and you feel silly for thinking you could have ever gotten away with being so reckless, banking on the falseness of his lack of interest in your presence. He had lured you right in- leaving you laying across him, completely at his will.

Not that you would want to be anywhere else- you can’t help the embarrassment stirring at your stomach, ringing in your ears, you hope Harry doesn’t notice, and it seems he is far more focused on the sultriness of your arched back, your bikini bottoms becoming a frame for the ass cheeks that he quickly deems an artwork.

His fingers glide along the curve of your spine, satisfied with the shiver that shakes your body beneath his touch,

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” He notes, letting his hands continue to trail along your curves.

He ponders for a moment, watching for each reaction you might let slip, hyper-focused on your shaky breaths, the rise and fall of your breasts against his legs. He needs more though- needs to hear you,

“I think it’s time you’re punished for all of this brattiness.”

“I’m not a brat.” You huff defensively for no reason but to protect your pride, still stuck and at his will.

“But you act like one.” He tuts factually, his hands gliding along your lower back before his palms finally settling on your ass cheeks, giving you the softest of pats.

“That’s the same-”

Harry refuses to let you finish, his tone dripping with discipline, his hands squeezing at your skin to ensure to cut you off and keep you focused on his filthy intentions,

“Keep reading that book.” He has you hooked like an unknowing fish, baiting you with the promise of leaving little red marks along your pillowing bum cheeks, “Since you found it so, so important…”

Your lip’s part with the desire of protest, letting the book loosen in your hand, waiting on it to finally part from your palms. But Harry is watching like a hawk- waiting for you to misbehave once more, knowing you far too well. Still, you rally all of the defiance you have to spare,

“I-”

“Read the book, Y/n.”

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lambourngb · 9 months

Text

Prompt : Past and Future Married Selves From Future Try to Matchmake Present Selves

Timetravel, established IceMav-

****

“What the hell are you doing?”

Mav froze where he was carefully hanging up his bomber jacket on a coat hook and turned to face his husband, clearly recognizing the look on his face. Annoyed but fond, so not truly an Admiral-level of annoyance. “Do I really need to explain it?” He glanced at his jacket on the rung and then toward the desk in the middle of the room with a shiny placard for Lt. Commander Tom Kazansky.

Ice raised his eyebrow, sporting four stars on his shoulders as he took in his past self’s desk. “Seriously? You stole your own jacket and put it in my office?”

“It’s called ‘providing a pretext',” Mav said primly. “I love this jacket. Trust me, I’ll search the whole base, and when I find it in your office, I’ll be relieved and thankful it’s safe.”

“You would be relieved now, but back then?” Ice looked skeptical, walking deeper into his past self’s office. Everything was neat, filed away, no sense of personality, but he knew if he opened up the bottom desk drawer, there would be a framed picture of the Enterprise and their famous handshake. It would take years, and of course finally having Mav as his partner before Ice would have the courage to display it openly.

Then once that happened, he couldn’t help but display it everywhere. Admirals had that type of power.

“Back then, I was definitely looking for a reason to linger in your office,” Mav replied confidently.

“You were still involved with Charlie; you were talking about moving to DC and taking a job at Pax River.”

“Only because I thought I needed to put a whole country between us to keep from getting discharged dishonorably.”

Ice rolled his eyes, not exactly remembering it that way. This time point was painful and sore for him, and when they had both found themselves suddenly back in 1987, he had wanted to hide out in a beach motel until the time-travel spell that hit them both had passed. And it would pass the night after the lunar eclipse; there was enough documentation to guarantee that. Still, in 1987, and since he had been following Mav for almost thirty years at this point, he had followed him again to their old offices at Top Gun reluctantly.

This was a bittersweet point in their history. They had built a friendship in Miramar, but Ice knew he had done it under false pretenses, believing he could only have a friendship with his hopelessly straight wingman. It took serving in a war together and a bail-out over the Gulf to change that.

Suddenly Mav’s eyes lit up, and Ice’s stomach sank in recognition. “Oh, you still shave with that coconut cream during this time! If we rub that on the collar, so I think you were wearing this, I promise you, I’ll be at your door the very next night-“

Sighing, Ice slipped behind his old desk and opened up the top drawer, knowing unerringly that he had stopped keeping that shaving cream in his locker after getting teased about it at Top Gun. “You mean this?”

“Yes!” Mav grabbed it, dispensing a small dab into his palms to rub together. He inhaled the tropical scent with a sigh and then rubbed the lingering scent into the collar of his past self’s jacket. Something about the scent seemed to ignite a fire in his eyes as he took in the old office and flickered to the beat-up couch against the office wall. “Say, Ice-“

“No.”

“Oh come on, we never had a chance to defile this couch, and trust me, I wanted to do it back then-“

That was true enough; teaching at Top Gun provided the foundation for their friendship, and by the time it had turned sexual, they had faced different deployments and long distances. Miramar was in the hands of the Marines now. It was tempting.

1987 Ice wouldn’t have said no to Mav, even though he knew the other man was in a relationship. 2022 Ice, married to the menace, was not any stronger. “Fine- but don’t, and I mean this, don’t come on the cushions, my past self still has to work in here.”

#icemav #short prompt fill #timetravel

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trash----panda · 3 months

Text

Another scenario

This has been playing in my head for days

Imagine, the world is ending, demons everywhere, they are massive, horrifying. You managed to break into a church as steal a holy weapon that's been working pretty well on the smaller demons, not to mention you knew this part of town well. Things were kinda going better than expected, until it showed up. This thing was massive, you wouldnt even describe it as anything but a demon. You'd spotted it a few times now, doing your best to avoid it, but now, now you were making eye contact down to road from eachother, you can feel it's eyes piercing your soul. The starring contest is broken by it's laugh, you dont know what possessed you but you felt like you were gonna throw up, at least your legs still listened to you. As soon as it approached you dashed for safety, hearing it grow near you dove down an alley, it's words seeming to taunt you, false promises not to hurt you. The fear is overwhelming for both of you, you on the verge of passing out and the demon drooling at the smell. You manage to get out the other side of the alley but it was waiting, pulling away when you drew the blessed saber, your hands trembling

"do it... i dare you" it laughed, trying to grab you once more, you slash it's skin which makes it recoil, you didnt stop to listen to it complain about the blade hurting worse than it thought. Sprinting for the subway you miss a step, barely getting a noise out before barrelling down the stairs, left a sobbing mess at the bottom. You werent built for battle, you werent built to fight demons. The ground rumbles, you can only hope it cant fit it's arm down there, your body doesnt even have the strength to tremble, all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut as your counsiousness fades. You hit your head way too hard going down.

When you wake up it's somewhere new, looks like an old warehouse, you've been surrounded in a nest of pillows and blankets, whimpering as you tried to figure out who or what was here with you, thag same cruel chuckle making your blood run cold "so you're awake? Was scared you wouldnt" the demon watched you across the room, finding it amusing as you searched for the saber, your face paling as he held it up, fidgeting with it "looking for this? Yah couldnt leave it with you, you seem... aggressive" you couldnt help but feel dread wash over you, you were trapped, defensless, with a creature at least 5 times your size. They must've noticed, your face had it written all over not to mention the smell was making them drool "geez" they mumbled out, wiping their lip. You tried to make a break for it, getting quickly pressed against the ground by the massive hand, it was firm but also ever so gentle. Not that you cared, it was attached to a monster who wanted to eat you. They sighed and scooped you up, hugging your squirming figure to their chest, you could hear all their strange inner workings, tensing up "see this aint so bad right? You dont have to worry no more ok? I'll protect you"

Not very reassuring with all that drooling but sure, whatever, you just needed to leave.

#oc #giant/tiny #size difference #gt fluff #my ocs #oc roleplay #plot ideas #gt writing #gianttiny #gentle giant #gt story

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tokkishouse · 1 year

Text

(Sfw) You suffer an injury and Tighnari rescues you

Characters: Tighnari, GN!Reader (non-descriptive, reader has a hydro vision and uses a polearm but it is not used)

Warnings: Cursing once (?), not proofread-- we die like men

WC: ~1k words

"You wanted to see me, Tighnari?" He looks up from the shelf of plants he was looking at as you enter his tent. He nods and turns to face you completely.

"Another withering zone was scouted and found deep into Avidya Forest. Could you go track it down and clear it?" You perk almost instantly-- it had been a while since you'd gone out and the fact that you were personally assigned this task sent you over the moon.

"Yes sir! I'll be back in no time at all."

"Just a minute, Y/N." Your smile drops a bit, dreading the next words. You watch as your officer grooms himself a bit, smoothing down a couple stray strands of fur on his ears. His tail sways slowly and stays low to the ground. He manages to catch your gaze with his, his eyes piercing through you. With heightened senses and the instincts of a Forest Watcher, he knew what you were thinking.

"I want you to bring some other rangers along. We've received reports that there has been activity near those withering zones involving Eremites and I don't want you getting in unnecessary trouble," he explains, earning an eye roll and a deep sigh from you.

"I can handle it on my own. I'll make sure to traverse undetected," you argue, and he cocks an eyebrow.

"You've never been out by yourself, Y/N. And this is not the excursion to test that out."

"Please! I can do this myself. Besides, having others may slow the process down and we don't want the withering zone expanding do we?" Tighnari watches you, figuring out that you were going to be a stubborn one today. Deciding that perhaps this will be a good test of your skills and that he could use the extra hands around the village, he lets you go on your own.

"Please be careful and observe your surroundings."

✦✧✦✧

You had kept your promise to Tighnari so far. Enticing fruits and hanging vines from the large trees surrounding you were no match for your pace. You were making great time and according to the markers that Tighnari mentioned, you were close. And you didn't need any extra hands!

Basking in your feeling of self-accomplishment, you hadn't noticed a trap set up by some eremites. In your tunnel-vision pursuit, you stepped on the false floor of leaves and fell through, crumpling upon impact on the cool dirt floor. You ignore the excited chatter from your adversaries above, focusing your energy on maneuvering your body to sit up against the wall.

"Just my fucking luck..." you hiss under your breath, wincing in pain from applying pressure on your right ankle. The pain shoots up your leg and up to your knee-- a clear sign that you weren't moving anytime soon. You look around you, taking notice of your leather bag that has its contents spilling out-- including your vision, which has a cobalt glow. Your polearm, now slightly scuffed, was impaled in the dirt next to your bag.

Biting your tongue to hold back your moans of pain, you lean forward to grab your weapon. Just as you grab the long silver pole, your weight shifts and all that pressure goes to your ankle, causing that similar shooting pain to spread up your leg. You're unable to hold back your yelp and you fall onto your bag, which softens your collapse slightly.

As you lay there, head pressed against the cool leather of your bag and the voices of the eremites can clearly be heard echoing around you, the situation dawned on you. This was your fate-- to die at the bottom of a trap due to your own carelessness. Your days of being a forest ranger, albeit short, were over.

"Y/N! Are you injured?" You hear a voice call out from above-- not one belonging to the emerites you had heard earlier. You try to turn your head and look up the hole, but your angle only lets you get a peek at a figure in the corner of your eyes. Hoping that this was a friend and not foe, you respond.

"Yes! I fell into this hole and now my ankle up to my knee hurts when I apply pressure." You position your arms as if getting ready for a push-up and do exactly that: push up. This time you're able to get a better angle and you realize who your savior is: Tighnari, the Forest Watcher. A wave of relief washes over your body and you let your hands give out so you flop back on the floor.

✦✧✦✧

When you finally get to the infirmary in Gandharva Ville and are set up to be tended to, Tighnari is quick to fall into a lecture about the importance of safety in numbers.

"I told you to come with more than just yourself! Now look at you, out of commission for weeks," he scolds, and his ears are flat against his head. His tail swishes back and forth in agitation, and you feel guilty as you feel the anxious energy radiate from your Chief.

"You're right, Tighnari. I should've listened to you and brought help to that area. Had you not shown up..." you trail off, frowning. You didn't want to think about it. He watches you for a moment, before sighing. He glances around the room, taking note of its emptiness seeing as one of the medics had stepped out to grab some materials. Slow, Tighnari's gloved hands reach out to cup your face, and he gingerly swipes his thumb on your cheek.

"You're lucky I decided to follow a few meters back. Had I not been around to help you or even hear if you needed help..." You smile gingerly at him and reach your hand up to take his hand and move it to your lips, leaving a kiss on his palm.

"Thank you for your concern Tighnari, but I will be okay. I'm a little hard to crack for good." He leans down and gently knocks his head with yours.

"Let's keep it that way, hm?"

Requests are open ✧˚~

#tighnari x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #tighnari fluff #genshin impact tighnari #tokki writes

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redeemers-and-dragons · 8 days

Text

Redeemers: Greenest in Flames! Part 4

Temple Bell: RING. RING. RING.

Narration: The Temple of Chauntea is a large square building, made of fieldstone with a peaked slate roof. One of its two bell towers rings, catching a gleam of moonlight every swing, a cry for help. Several groups of masked men and kobolds surround the building, seeking to force their way in, or force the trapped townsfolk out. Jaune and Adam peer over the cobble stone wall that borders the sacred grounds to the south.

Jaune: *Holds onto his holy symbol, stemming his anger at the sight of a religious sanctuary being flagrantly defiled this way.* …What’s the count?

Adam: Two gray masks and six kobolds at the back door. Looks like they’re trying to start a fire.

Neon: *Slinks her way to their sides from the left.* I also got two gray masks and six kobolds with a battering ram at the front doors. There is also a really creepy guy with a white mask. Looks like the boss.

May: *Drops down from a tree from behind them* I also count a wandering parade of three gray masks, ten kobolds, and two guard drakes. Should be coming around the corner… now.

Narration: *On May’s que, a trio of men in masks slowly lead a procession of chanting kobolds, all either stomping their clawed feet and spears or banging their shields with their fists and blades. On either side of the line of kobolds prowls two dog-like reptile creatures that snap, growl, and foam at the mouth, wanting to tear apart anything that even looks their way.*

Gray Mask: *Beating a hand drum.* Do not be fooled by your false idols! Their promises cannot protect you anymore than these doors can. Only the Dragon Queen can spare you now…

Kobolds: Break. To. Bits! Burn. To. Ash! Break. To. Bits…!

The Party: *They watch as the procession turns the corner again, taking their chants of violence with them.*

Adam: Outnumbered 8 to 1. You don’t need to be a seasoned general to know those are unfavorable odds.

May: We just need to get the civilians out. By my calculations they’ll circle the church every eight minutes. That’d be a four minute window at best before the rest discover us attacking one side.

Neon: Well we better attack quickly, because I’m not totally confident in that front door holding for long.

Jaune: *He studies the group of invaders at the back piling hay and dried grass at the bottom of the heavy wooden door, thick smoke rising to the night sky* Alright, then here’s the plan…

~O~O~O~O~O~

Narration: *Caught up in their task of tending to the fire by the back door, many of the kobolds failed to notice the elementally charged crossbow bolt that zipped past them, striking the tinder pile. The resulting explosion sent a shower of burning debris into the air, accompanied by a thick cloud of blinding smoke that engulfed the area, leaving the kobolds and masked men disoriented and struggling to breathe.*

Gray Mask #1: *Cough! Cough* What the hell?

Adam: *Charges in from out of nowhere, shoulder checking the masked man flying straight into the wall of the temple so hard, you’d swear he cracked the stone.*

Gray Mask #2: *Coughs as she draws her hand crossbow on Adam, but has it immediately knocked out of her hand by a nun-chuck.*

Neon: *Spins her nun chuck and hits the Gray Mask right in the jaw, knocking her mask off, then immediately roundhouse kicks a kobold.*

Jaune: *Charges in and shield bashes a kobold then raises it against the spear of a different one, fending the kobolds off until the masks are dealt with.*

Gray Mask #1: *Coughs blood as he stumbles back to his feet, raising a poisoned dagger. Before he can strike, a crossbow bolt nails his arm to the wall. Before he can yell in pain, Adam knocks his head against the wall again, causing him to slump.*

Adam: *Grunts and wields his massive great sword in two hands and slashes through two kobolds in one swipe.*

Gray Mask #2: *Draws a hand ax and swings at Neon*

Neon: *Catches the arm and judo throws the woman over her shoulder*

May: *Runs up and hits the woman with the butt of her great crossbow, knocking her out.*

Jaune: *Gets stabbed in the arm by a kobold’s spear. He uses his sword to cut the spear in half and kicks the kobold back into the squad.* SLEEP!

Kobolds: *The kobolds scramble to get back on their feet, but the spell has been done. Jaune points his sword at them, commanding them to sleep. Almost instantly, the kobolds start to drool and yawn, falling into a deep slumber before they even make it on their feet again.*

Jaune: *He can barely take a single breath before he orders the team back into action. There just wasn’t any time to waste now.* Adam, get the door.

Adam: *Nods before thrusting the tip of his great sword along the hinges of the thick wooden door. With a show of effort, the minotaur managed to pry the door out of the doorway, causing an uproar of screams and cries of terror from inside.*

Woman: They broke in!

Man: Get the women and children away from the door!

Jaune: *Runs in, weapon holstered and holding up his Talisman of Boldrei.* It’s okay! We won’t hurt you!

Preacher: *Signs a religious symbol in praise.* Oh thank Chanteau, a paladin! Are you here to rescue us?

Jaune: Yes. But we have to go, now! We’re going to the keep! Come on!

Narration: *The preacher urges the rest of the people in the temple to follow Jaune outside, and they obey as quickly as they can. Unfortunately, there were quite a few elderly and injured people amongst the crowd, making evacuation very time consuming. The front door began splintering and cracking under the battering of the invaders, and the chanting of the procession was coming closer towards the back of the temple.*

May: *Peering around the corner at the oncoming mob of hostiles. She dips back and grabs the discarded mask from the ground and a black coat from the unconscious woman, putting them both on.* Contingency time. You think you can out run a couple of drake hounds?

Neon: Please, leading things that want a taste of me on a chase is, like, my specialty. *Takes a quick moment to stretch her legs.*

Narration: *Just as the large group of masked men and kobolds were halfway to the back of the church, they were suddenly halted by the sight of a tabaxi sprinting across their path, and then jumped right on top of the stone wall surrounding the church* Wow! Didn’t know the Ugly Parade was in town! *Laughs and winks as she drops down out of view on the other side*

May: *Limps out in her disguise, bloodied and holding herself up against the side of the temple. She points to where Neon had run off to* What are you doing?! STOP HER! *Crumples down to her knee*

Narration: *Without waiting for an answer, there was a loud roar and the pair of drake hounds burst forth and bound over the stone wall after their prey, followed by the mob of kobolds that were excited for a hunt, and lastly followed by two of the gray masks giving orders to give chase. All that was left was one Gray Mask that rushed to May’s side.*

Gray Mask: *Helping May to her feet* What happened? How did they…? *Anyone could recognize the moment of realization in the man’s eyes even through his scaled mask. It was the very moment he saw the stream of villagers escaping through the back of the church, and also the second before May slit his throat with a knife.*

May: *Covers the man’s mouth with one hand, and wraps an arm around his waist to pull him back around the corner with her before any of the other’s saw. She leaned him up against the wall before taking off her mask and helping with the evacuation.*

Adam: *As the invaders were making headway on the front doors of the temple, he would lift up entire pews and stack them right in front of it to slow them down.* We don’t have much time, Knight!

Jaune: *Ushering an old lady out* This is the last of them! We can-

Narration: *The front doors of the temple managed to be broken open with a loud crash, allowing a man in a White Mask to push his way in, along with a couple kobolds following in behind*

White Mask: You dare stand against the might of the Dragon Queen?! Infidels!!

Adam: *Hefts his great sword* I’ve been called worse.

Jaune: *Draws his long sword* You defile sacred grounds. Drop your weapon or redemption will be out of your grasp.

White Mask: *Draws a large dagger shaped like a jagged icicle* The only thing I wish to grasp is your frozen heart! *Swings his blade, sending a magical spike of ice towards Adam*

Adam: *Tries to duck out of the way, but his large frame was an easy target. The icicle sunk into his shoulder, then shattered into crystalized fragments that rained onto Jaune before he could raise his shield.* GAH!

White Mask: *Smirks* Can’t handle a little bit of ice-?

Jaune: *Channels Divinity* Rebuke the Violent!

White Mask: Huh-? *Before the man had a chance to respond, a brilliant, radiant light emanated from Adam's wounded arm, and gleamed onto White Mask's own arm, aligning perfectly with the spot where the spell had struck. In an instant, the masked man's arm erupted into a blinding explosion of searing, radiant burns.* GAAAH!!!

Adam: *Roars at the top of his lung and charges forward, dragging his great sword into an uppercut that slashes right through the middle of the White Mask and sends him flying up towards the ceiling before landing in a bloody heap on the pile of pews by the door. This sight alone was enough to send the kobolds retreating right back through the front entrance.*

Jaune: *Runs to Adam’s side* Adam! Are you ok?

Adam: *Looks down at his frostbitten and badly slashed arm* Heal it later. We have to move.

Jaune: *Still looks worried but nods as the two of them rush out the back*

~O~O~O~O~O~

Narration: *It took a few minutes for Jaune and Adam to catch back up with the refugees, now hiding by the river with May.*

May: *Looks at Adam’s arm* Shit, what happened to you?

Adam: It’s just a scratch, I’ll be fine.

Jaune: *Sighs* We’ll heal it later, right now-

Narration: *All of a sudden the sound of rustling bushes came from behind them, causing all three adventurers to turn their weapons on the source.*

Neon: *Limping out* Jeez, not even a hello for your favorite girl?

Jaune: Neon! Did you get hurt?!

Neon: No big whoop. Guess those ugly lizard dogs were a little faster than I thought, but I gave them a few good kicks and then the slip. We get everyone?

May: *Nods* Yes. We managed to get everyone out, and then some. *She gestures to a pair of townspeople keeping a hold on the once masked woman they had knocked out in the initial fight, now trying to curse through a gag and pulling at the ropes that bind her hands.*

Adam: You took a prisoner.

Neon: The heck you bring her along for?

May: I figured it was time for us to start getting some answers. This group is clearly well organized and highly motivated by some sort of cause - it's imperative that we know who we are dealing with.

Jaune: *Takes a moment to take in this new development.* May is right. We are not dealing with regular raiders here. When we get back to the keep, we need to interrogate her for whatever information we can get.

Neon: Well, Detective. Who’s gonna play Good Cop and Bad Cop?

#redeemers au #jaune arc #adam taurus #neon katt #may zedong

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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the power of love part 7 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

(also on AO3 here)

Chapter Seven

Eddie POV

Steve insists on being pathfinder lead for the next hour.

Eddie’s gotta admit—following Steve, as he thrashes his way through the undergrowth, is the best entertainment that banishment has provided yet. Steve’s tight-fitting pants don't do any harm. Goddammit, the perspiration patches on Steve’s shirt make Eddie sweat even harder than Steve is.

“You need the fedora hat,” calls Robin, “and you’ve totally nailed the junior Indiana Jones look.”

Steve smirks over his shoulder. “I was channelling that guy out of Romancing the Stone.”

“Michael Douglas? No way as hot.” Eddie flashes his best flirtatious grin with ever greater confidence. This afternoon, Steve has begun returning them. “Stick to Indy, man.”

By the time they reach the logging camp, however, they’re all beyond exhausted.

Eddie’s feet are raw with blisters, and Robin’s been complaining of the same for the past hour. She limps through the door of the first cabin they come to, which fortunately turns out to be a bunkhouse. She throws down her pack then throws herself onto the bottom of one of two sets of bunks. Steve collapses onto the other lower bunk and appears to fall instantly asleep.

Eddie considers crawling up onto one of the top bunks and seeing if sleep takes pity on him.

He doubts it would. The choppers were a stark reminder of the nightmare reality snapping at his heels, and he’s wired as hell. He begins to unpack their supplies. Robin, having taken a moment, sits back up.

“We should check this place out,” she whispers. “There must be a clean water supply somewhere, maybe a generator. Definitely canned food and that kinda stuff, for when the loggers come back in the autumn.”

“I guess it’ll make a change from cardboard-flavoured cereal.”

“God, I know, right! I’d literally murder for some Count Chocular right now.”

They split up to search the various cabins. Eddie hits the jackpot first, in the guise of a crate of bottled beer.

“Seriously?” says Robin, when she meets him outside the bunkhouse. Eddie sits on the beer crate he’s dragged out, taking a well-earned rest. “You’re gonna get buzzed?”

“You got it in one, sister.”

He doesn’t feel the need to justify this—I saw Chrissy butchered in front of my eyes. I’ve spent a week on the run from the cops. I BASICALLY DIED IN A WHIRLWIND OF EVIL KILLER DEMOBATS. And now I’m on the run again, with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and I’ve fallen stupid hard for him. Oh, and there’s a small but real possibility he’s been flayed. Or something else freaky along those lines.

Robin hasn’t quit scowling at him. His smile is the first overtly false one he’s bothered with for a while:

“Forgive me, Robin. I’ve reached the point where, to quote my sweet old Granny—there ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ like it for me nerves. ’Course, she favoured hard liquor.” He offers one of two bottles he’s gotten out to Robin. “Want one?”

“I’ll stick to the cardboard cereal.” Her scowl lessens, though she remains deadly serious. “Look, promise me you won’t give too much to Steve.”

“Why?”

“What kinda pea-brain question is that? Despite the super-commando act, he’s still struggling, it’s totally obvious. Getting trashed is not gonna help.”

“Yeah, but… he’s improving, right?” Her slight wince betrays that, once again, they’re thinking the same thing. Perhaps Steve’s getting stronger, because he’s getting closer again to Lover’s Lake, Hawkins, Vecna, the Hive-Mind, and yet… “You know our little worst-case scenario, Rob? I’m still not buying it.”

The wind rustles the nearby trees. In sync, Robin’s hunched shoulders soften a little. “Me neither. Hand on heart, if Steve had a link to that evil shit, any at all, I’d sense it by now. Although… Was it just me who thought it was weird when the choppers came over, and then it suddenly clouded up?”

“Yeeeeaah, that really was just you. I was too busy eating dirt and shitting myself.” Now he thinks about it, mind, it was darn convenient.

She shrugs. “I guess I’m super-paranoid that way. I literally spent my Middle School years spotting aliens everywhere.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Then I realised they weren’t aliens. It was the Fae all along.”

“You sure it wasn’t dragons?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Her laugh sounds as manic as his latest crazy smile. On the other hand:

“Maybe Steve really is getting better naturally,” he ventures, “and the set-backs are because he’s been overdoing it. I mean, yeah, we keep an eye out for anything cuckoo, watch for connections, make sure he takes rests, but… Time heals, huh?”

“Not always.” She purses her lips, veering straight back into scary mode. “Steve doesn’t like people to know, but since his second major concussion, he’s not supposed to drink. Of course, he does sometimes, but—”

“Message received. I’ll just have the one—for medicinal purposes, ’kay?”

“Please yourself. Then wake Steve long enough to put our own bedding on those disgusting bunks. I don’t wanna be bitten to death by bed bugs.”

Robin stomps off toward the camp generator. Eddie is executing the important business of prying the top off his beer, when Steve appears, leaning in the cabin doorway. “Why did you both let me… Hey, is that beer?”

The top pops off with a treacherous fizz. “Uh, no?”

“You’re a useless liar.” Steve closes in. His messy, sleep-mussed hair renders him totally edible.

“You got me.” Eddie darts his tongue nervously across his lips. “This indeed is the amber nectar of the Gods. You want some?”

There’s a skewed logic behind Eddie’s offer. If he told Steve he couldn’t drink, like he was his mom or something, Steve would probably get mad. He opts to play a good cop, bad cop routine with Robin, who…

Eddie glances toward the generator.

She’s not there. If bad cop isn’t gonna show, then he needs a Plan B.

“I guess I’ll have one.” Steve stretches to take the bottle.

“Just gonna test it. Been here a while.”

Eddie takes a glug, splutters it out across dusty ground. “Oh man, it’s worse than cat-piss.” He’s only slightly exaggerating. “There’s a reason those lumberjacks left this garbage behind.”

Steve yawns into the back of his hand. “Gonna be honest. I’m not supposed to drink anyhow. Long story.” Ooookay. That went easier than predicted. “Got any water left?”

“Yeah. By my pack.” Eddie hurries into the bunkhouse, and Steve follows. It’s the last bottle, so he hopes Robin’s busy locating fresh supplies. Though that proves the least of his worries.

Half a minute later, he’s sitting on the edge of a bunk, thigh-to-thigh with Steve. They pass the bottle of water and a bottle of beer between them.

And being this close to Steve, now Steve seems so much better? Exchanging chitchat about how long they can hideout here, and if any of them have the skills to hunt a deer or something?

It sends tingles up and down Eddie’s spine.

The way Steve looks at him underlines exactly why Steve was angry last night, when Eddie “assumed” he was straight. Eddie suddenly can’t look Steve in the eye. Trouble is, he then can’t stop staring at Steve’s mouth—those shapely, slightly chapped lips, moist and glistening with water and bad beer.

Then Steve blindsides him with: “Do you honestly think you died, Eddie? Before I did the CPR?”

“I dunno, Harrington.” Eddie squirms on his butt, all kinds of defences flying up. “It was like a dream. Apart from that, it wasn't a dream. It was a place, and Dustin was there, and Robin was there, and you were there, too.”

“Wow. Seriously?”

Eddie cackles out a mocking laugh. “I’m misquoting ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ dude.”

“Oh.” Eddie glances sidelong. Steve appears… oddly crestfallen. “It’s just… You know, I said when I get hurt, I feel like I come back different each time. I mean, I don't know if it's true or not, but... I never knew you before... and I know you now and... and…” Steve fluffs his hair. “Jesus, I’m blabbering.”

“Nah,” says Eddie. “You sound like you’re getting somewhere.”

Compared to the meltdown my brain is having.

“Okay, well, here it is. I like you, Eddie. I really like you.”

Eddie half wants to flee for the hills. He fixes on a beetle scuttling across the dirty floorboards. “Dude, you sure you’re not in love with Wheeler?”

“I… I… No!” Steve doesn’t sound angry, only bewildered. “Yeah, I believed that once, and maybe I was. I guess she fitted in so many dreams I’ve had of my future, and I owe her a lot. But now I’m with you, and…” Their eyes finally meet. Steve’s earnest warmth sends a brutal shockwave through Eddie. “I know this seems fickle, but…” His gentle laugh is too much. “Who knows? Perhaps it’s because Nance has never been dead. Or, near dead. You know, we’ve gotten that in common, right?”

“Riiiiight,” Eddie says, stupidly, then, “Screw it, I like you too, Stevie. I really like you.”

They fling their arms around each other, and tumble into the kiss.

For Eddie, the sensations are like no make-out session before, such is the hunger that zings between them. Eddie’s so blown away, that the brush of Steve’s lips seems to kindle an actual crackling, electric friction.. Damn, the boy can kiss!

Eddie’s gotten a semi already, fingers threading up through Steve’s hair, toying at the nape of his neck. Steve does amazing twisty things with his tongue. Gnng! You wanna kill me again, Baby? Even the scrape of Steve’s shallow stubble totally unhinges him.

They work the kiss with their whole bodies, striving to get beyond close, as if they could slide beneath each other’s skin. Eddie can’t help wondering—can they get each other off, before Robin gets back?

Then something changes.

He senses Steve gasp, then moan into Eddie's mouth with something other than dumb teen passion. His arms, clinging around Eddie, falter and slip away.

“Stevie?”

Too late. Steve crumples against Eddie, totally senseless.

“Steve?” squeaks Eddie, struggling to stop Steve slipping to the floorboards. “Robin! ROBIN!”

Part 8

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

#steddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #stobin #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson lives #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington hc

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wackapedia · 1 year

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Nothing Is Ever Enough

Aemond Targaryen X Reader It's been a week since your ship was lost at sea. Aemond hasn't gotten a peaceful wink of sleep since then. He is afraid, and no god nor man can help him. Wordcount: 1,124 Warnings: flashbacks in italics, mentions of death, a ghost, a corpse, cheating allegations (which are false!) brought to you by Larys Strong

Aemond sighs, turning over in his large bed, tangled among the clean white sheets. He can no longer smell your scent from your used pillows. He's been tussling over for hours, counting down the minutes until sunrise to begin another sleepless day without his wife. The room is illuminated by the fireplace and the light ray of moonlight seeping through the windows. Aemond faces your side of the bed, a tear rolling down your eye, imagining you there. Sometimes he'd find sleep. And in that sleep came nightmares. The prince's mind would wander, imagining the worst that has happened to you, and then making it even worse, deep in the fragments of his exhausted mind. Aemond had always prided himself on his intelligence, but this time he wished for the bliss of ignorance.

You'd traveled to visit your family across the narrow sea. A large ship armed with guards and furnished with servants to make your trip safe and comfortable. He had a few matters to finish in the Red Keep but he promised to catch up with you on dragonback as soon as he could. Hours dragged on until he eventually found the courage to drop everything to be with you, and that's when the raven came in. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ--------------- "Your grace, we've received a message from the ports of Bluefort that they are ready to receive the princess first thing tomorrow." Ser Criston reads the note in his hand. Aemond hesitates. "Where do you reckon they are now?" "They should be faring halfway in this weather, your grace." And it was all a blur after that. Aemond walks out of the Red Keep to where his dragon was. Vhagar was in a foul mood like her rider. The prince boards the beast anyway and steers him to the path of your ship. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ--------------- He is between sleep and wakefulness when he feels a presence in the room. Your scent, mixed with the smell of salty breeze, and something else. Something he recognizes all too well. "Aemond..." He shuts his eyes tighter, pulling the covers over his silver head. There it is again. "You can't ignore me forever, Aemond." your melodious voice sounds closer. He feels the bed dip behind him, and a cold and ghastly touch caresses his back through the sheets. He's too scared to look. Fearing to see your face and the finality that comes with it. "Enough," Aemond speaks with a voice equally forceful and trembling. Anger and fear. Hate and love. "Please, enough of this torture." A sigh of exasperation leaves your lungs, or what was left of them. Your hand recoils away from him like his skin was dragonfire- a feeling you'll never forget. Aemond swiftly sits up, facing the wrong side of the bed, still refusing to look you in the eye. You're dead, y/n. You've been dead for days. Your ship sunk in the middle of the sea of Taundurn..." his voice solemn, just like how he sounded when he'd read you tales and stories from Old Valyria. When he caresses you gently, when his hands ease on your hair when he lets your head rest on his chest. When he loved and trusted you like you were all that mattered. Until that damned crown. His brother the king had fallen gravely ill almost a year ago. Aemond had to take over kingly duties to the kingdom, sparing you only a few minutes a day. How he regretted that decision. Aemond clutches the edge of the bed. "I saw it, your ship. I flew over it. Vhagar and I- we dove as deep as we could to see the shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. A lie. His voice shifts from pain and guilt to an almost pleading whine. "Is that what you need to pass on?" He tilts his head toward you, not actually looking. Still afraid. "Is that what you needed to hear?" "Is that what you both needed to hear?" He chuckles, humoring himself. Aemond mulls over it for a few moments before speaking again. "You were with child, right? Was it even mine?" The poisonous whispers still plague Prince Aemond's mind. Lord Larys Strong was always so keen on getting rid of you. You should pay him a visit one of these nights. It was the second Strong son who poisoned the prince regent's thoughts. Making up stories just to ruin your reputation in court. You paid him no mind, you were occupied with matters of the kingdom. But Aemond's pride wouldn't let the story slide. And you were at the receiving end of the fire that came with a dragon's fury. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ--------------- The night before you left, your voice was hoarse. The screaming match that ensued between you and your husband had pressed you between a rock and a hard place. Aemond's unstoppable force meets your immovable resolve. You decide to take time away from the pressures of court and the stress of Aemond handling seven fucking kingdoms, not to mention the disgusting accusation of you possibly carrying someone else's child. You arranged a ship to leave at first light and packed what you could. You did not seek his approval, nor notified him of your departure. Just the slam of heavy doors as you left. It was late in the afternoon when Aemond peeled himself from bed. Criston delivers him a raven, reporting the whereabouts of your ship. He walked a blazing path from your shared quarters to the courtyard, to the outside of the dragonpit. Vhagar was fussy that day, putting up a fight while his rider commanded her to fly. You remember the exact moment hearing the beastly dragon's roar from miles away. You were in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but blue on every horizon. No one else to witness your husband and his dragon catching up to your ship, momentarily darkening the sky above you. For a second you thought he'd apologize and beg you to return. You expected words of love and pleading. Words of affirmation, to fix whatever was broken. But only one word was uttered. Dracarys. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ--------------- Aemond was between sleep and wakefulness when he felt your presence in the room. Your scent, mixed with the smell of salty breeze, and the scent he knew all too well: the stench of burnt wood and flesh. Your figure moves to stand in front of the trembling prince regent. He finally gets a good look at his wife. Her burnt and rotten flesh sags from her bone. Hair dripping with seawater and fluids of death and decomposition. fish-bitten skin and flesh sagging from charred bone. Enough of this torture, he begged. "Nothing is ever enough, Aemond." ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ--------------- A/N: that was such a shitty thing to do, Aemond :< Thank u for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated since i have trouble with my stuff showing up in the tag 😭

#Aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #hotd fics #hotd imagines

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