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roosterforme · 6 months

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Always Ever Only You Part 17 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you manage to keep your spirits high through a rough patch, Bradley is as supportive of your needs as ever. He's working hard to take care of you in every way, and when he comes home with some unexpected paperwork, it's your turn to be supportive of him.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

"It's funny to me that you think you're being coy right now," Bradley told Jake in the locker room. He was avoiding answering questions about his dates with Cat. Bradley knew for a fact that they went on at least two, because that's what you had told him. And he assumed that Jake or Cat had given you that information directly.

"Some things are sacred, Bradshaw," he said as he applied his deodorant while Bradley dried his hair with his towel and started to get dressed.

But you had also informed Bradley that the two of them had agreed to take it a little slow now, especially since Cat and Jeremiah were living with her Uncle Bernie. So as Bradley pulled on his underwear, he knew just what to say to bait Jake. "You fuck her yet?" he asked casually, barely able to keep a straight face.

Jake rounded on him immediately, green eyes furious. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he hissed. "First of all, it's none of your business, but no. Second, you don't have to be so fucking crude about it, man. And third, I never asked you that when you were following Angel around the Hard Deck and all over base like a lost puppy."

Bradley erupted in laughter as he reached into his locker for his undershirt. "Chill, Hangman. I just wanted to see how serious you are. And furthermore, this is the first time you haven't been crude in your life. And further furthermore, you absolutely did ask me if I nailed my wife way back then, because you were mad she turned you down."

Jake stared off into space with his brow creased. "Huh. Well I am serious about Cat. And Jeremiah. But Hondo still gets a little riled up whenever he sees me. Been avoiding him on the tarmac like my life depends on it. And if I ever asked you for any sort of details about Angel, I deeply regret doing so now. Please, keep that shit to yourself."

"Happily," Bradley replied, thinking about your ass in your khaki pants and smiling. When he headed out to the parking garage, Jake walked with him. And when he got to his Bronco, he realized Jake had parked near him. And Cat was waiting for Jake, leaning against the passenger side door, looking at her phone.

When she glanced up, she smiled and said, "Jake," with longing in her voice. And then she realized Bradley was there, too and straightened her posture like she was standing at attention. "Hi, Bradley."

Oh, they were both making it way too easy to fuck with them. Bradley grinned as he abandoned his Bronco for Jake's car instead. "How's it going? How's my little buddy, Jeremiah?"

She smiled a little cautiously. "He's great. Obsessed with dogs now from playing at your house."

"Yeah, well he's welcome any time," Bradley said, leaning against Jake's car. "Tramp loves licking crumbs off him. Actually Jake was just telling me all about your dates."

"Was he?" she asked quietly, and Bradley thought she looked pleased. Jake was glowering at him from the other side of the car, and Bradley caught sight of a car seat in the back.

"Oh yeah," Bradley said with a nod. "Jake only looks like an ass, but he's actually okay." Cat snorted, and Jake glowered harder. "Are you guys going to go pick Jeremiah up now?"

"Yeah," Jake said loudly. "Better get a move on."

But Cat just looked up at Bradley and said, "I'm trying to get him in the daycare program on base here, but I'm on a wait list. And the facility he's in now is across town, and it's really not that great. But it's affordable," she said with a bit of a shrug.

Bradley nodded, giving up his original plan to mess with the two of them. He was pretty sure Jake would pay for a better daycare for her son if they were dating seriously. You'd told him a bit about Cat's ex husband and how she was in financial ruin.

"Well, you have free babysitters," he told her softly. "Really good ones, too."

She laughed softly and leaned in a little closer. "Thanks. Yeah, top notch babysitters. Especially Tramp."

Bradley laughed, too, and then Jake cleared his throat loudly. "If the two of you are finished over there..."

"Later," Bradley told Cat with a grin. And when he walked around toward the Bronco, he winked at Jake and said, "Nice car seat, man."

Jake flipped him off rather discreetly, but he looked happy. When Bradley pulled his Bronco out of his parking spot, he noticed that Jake had walked around to the passenger side of his car. He and Cat were kissing, and Jake was once again holding his middle finger up behind his back for Bradley.

When he got home, your car was already there. "Sweetheart," he called out as he walked inside. "I am on the cutting edge of the Jake gossip today." You were on the couch wrapped up in his undershirt and a blanket even though it was May, and you were eating a pack of cookies. "You okay?" he asked softly, but he already knew.

You nodded and met his eyes. "I got my period today." Your voice was bland and emotionless, but at least you weren't crying. You just looked exhausted and defeated.

Bradley made a beeline to the couch and bent to kiss your forehead. "I love you," he promised as you looked up at him, the faintest smile on your lips. "I'll get your heating pad and some Advil? You want a glass of wine?"

"Yeah," you whispered. He didn't even take the time to remove his boots, and Tramp followed him from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen in search of supplies.

"I'll walk you in a bit. Relax," Bradley coaxed, tossing a treat that the dog caught in midair. "Mommy needs a cuddle first." And it was like the animal listened to him, because a minute later, you were snuggled up on Bradley's lap along with Tramp and the heating pad.

"How was your day?" you asked softly with your eyes closed. Bradley wasn't sure what he should or shouldn't mention right now. He wanted to make sure you were doing okay, but he didn't want to upset you over your period. He wasn't upset about it at all.

"My day was fine. Do you... want to talk about anything?"

You sighed. "If you're referring to my period? No, not really. I'm okay, I promise. Just a little disappointed, but I think that's mainly because it came a day late, and I was getting just the tiniest bit hopeful, you know?"

Truthfully, Bradley hadn't been keeping up with your cycle, but now that he did the math, you were most likely ovulating right when he got home from deployment. "That makes sense," he whispered, kissing your hair. But he had been too happy since he returned home to let this ruin his day. "But you still got me."

You snuggled in a little closer and kissed his neck. "What's your hot Jake gossip?"

"Well...." It was his time to shine. He always found out everything late or after the fact, and you always liked to pick on him for it. "He and Cat went to pick Jeremiah up from daycare. Together."

You yawned and mumbled, "Yeah, they've been doing that for the past week or so."

"Oh," he said, slightly annoyed that this wasn't news to you. "Well, he also told me he hasn't even slept with her yet," he added.

"I know. I think he's secretly afraid of Hondo kicking his ass."

"Oh. Well, Jake has a car seat for Jeremiah now. But I'm assuming you already know that."

"Of course I do. But this was a really solid effort on your part, Roo. I'm so proud of you."

He just grunted and helped you readjust your heating pad. "I'm supposed to play golf in the morning, unless you'd rather I stay here and make you breakfast?"

"No, thank you. I feel bad enough already. But after you and Jake play golf, we're going out to dinner with him."

"We are? When did this happen? I just saw him."

You grinned up at him and said, "I was just texting Cat. Jake found a kid friendly restaurant that he thought would be great for Jeremiah. I said you'd probably really like it too. There is apparently a playground inside."

Bradley was quiet for a moment as you ran your fingers up along his neck. "Okay... that does sound really fun. Are there swings? I could push Jeremiah on the swings."

"I think there might be."

"I'm in."

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

You managed to get up and make Bradley breakfast even though you felt awful. But he spent Friday night cleaning the house after he got you in bed for the night with the heating pad, so you figured some scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel was the least you could do.

"Jesus, Baby Girl," he moaned, as if you had made him a gourmet breakfast. "So fucking good."

"Thanks for cleaning and doing the laundry," you said before you yawned. But Bradley collected you in his arms and held you.

"Thanks for being the best person in the world," he replied, scooping you up and carrying you back to the bedroom while you giggled. "Now get back in bed and get some rest. We've got dinner and the Hard Deck later."

Then he spun his cap backwards and climbed gently on top of you with a grin. "What are you doing?" you asked, but he cut off your words with his lips.

"Loving my wife for a minute," he muttered, kissing you hard and parting your lips with his. You tasted his tongue as you moaned, and your fingers found their way to the short hair at the back of his neck. His mustache was really doing it for you, but as soon as you ran your tongue along it, Bradley was pulling away from you.

"Roo," you whined as he rolled off of you and adjusted his pants.

"I'll be back after lunchtime," he whispered, and just the sight of his hand on his cock through the fabric of his white golf pants had you pouting. "I love you."

You begrudgingly said, "I love you, too. Even though you're leaving me high and dry." Then you rolled over as he chuckled and left. And you thought about his hands gripping his golf club in those soft, sexy gloves until you were able to fall asleep again.

When you woke up hours later, you were starving and decided to eat a sandwich while you lounged on the back patio. You tossed pieces of crust to Tramp and then you wandered back inside, running your finger along the piano keys as you went. The house was too quiet, and it gave you that melancholy feeling that you got when Bradley was deployed.

For the briefest moment, you imagined a baby in your arms. Someone to keep you company while he was away. A little one to grow up knowing what it felt like to miss their dad and then be reunited with him over and over again. Someone else for Bradley to dote on. You swallowed down the miserable feeling before it could take over. A baby was not more important than your marriage. A baby did not need to happen at this moment. A child would be welcomed at any time, not just right now.

You drew a bath, and you were barely in there for more than five minutes when Tramp jumped up from the bath mat and ran for the front door.

"Sweetheart?"

"In the bathroom," you called, and a second later Bradley was in the room with you. "How were the guys?"

"The usual," he grunted as he knelt on the mat and dipped his fingers in the water. "How was your morning?" he asked, keeping a totally innocent expression on his face as he stroked your breast just under the water's surface.

"Missed you. Got myself a little sad, because it felt like a day when you were deployed."

Bradley tossed his cap on the floor and said, "I'm right here. I'm yours for the rest of the day. The rest of the weekend. Until we have to go to work on Monday."

"I know," you said, your voice sounding so small as you squeezed your eyes shut. "Will you go see Dr. Genevieve with me next week?"

He answered immediately as his hand found yours. "Of course. I haven't been to therapy in years. It'll be good."

You gaped at him. "You've seen a therapist before?"

"Yeah," he replied with his brow scrunched. "College was a very rough time for me without my mom. And Mav pulled my papers. And I didn't feel like I really belonged anywhere. I never told you that?"

You were just in awe of this man and his notebooks and his open honesty right now and the fact that you were always learning more about him. "No. But I'm really proud of you."

He smiled softly and blushed. "We can go see Dr. Genevieve together. We can do everything together. But you're not allowed to make fun of me if I have more fun at the restaurant tonight than the one year old."

You shook your head and said, "It would come as a surprise to literally nobody."

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

"I don't know why he's fussing so much. He's usually a good eater," Cat said, cutting up some food into tiny pieces while Jeremiah remained on the verge of tears in the high chair. Bradley noticed that Jake was looking a little stressed out, presumably because Jeremiah wasn't enjoying the restaurant as much as he had hoped. Jake had spent all morning at the golf course talking about how excited he was.

"Let me see here," Bradley murmured, picking up the rainbow colored fork and tickling Jeremiah with his fingers while he held out a bite of food. In an instant he was laughing, and then he had a mouthful of food. "You love it here, right kiddo? We played on the swings. We drew on the walls. Your mom let you eat dessert first, and Jake won you a porcupine in the claw machine. Now eat up."

"You're incredible," Cat whispered. "No wonder he likes going to your house so much."

"Nah," Bradley said as Jeremiah took hold of the fork for himself. "It's all her and the way she can read a board book like it was written by a Pulitzer Prize winner." He leaned in and kissed you as you beamed at him. Bradley had spent the better part of an hour after your bath rubbing your back while reading some of his notebook entries to you. It always really seemed to make an impact where sometimes his verbal skills escaped him. But when he wrote his feelings out on a piece of paper, it made all the difference in the world.

"Are you coming to the Hard Deck after this?" you asked, turning to look at Jeremiah as he ate. "Well, not you, little man."

"Nope," Jake said with a cocky grin on his face and his arm draped across the back of Cat's chair. "We're going to watch the newest Scooby Doo movie back at my place and enjoy some of the chocolate chip cookies that I definitely made myself and did not buy at the store."

Cat laughed, and Bradley watched as she leaned in to whisper something to Jake as she brushed his hair back from the scar on his forehead. "They look happy," you muttered, taking Bradley's hand in yours underneath the table.

"Yeah," he agreed, carefully wiping Jeremiah's face as Cat kissed Jake like they were completely alone. "I'll roast him later for this. He always tells me we're disgusting."

"We are a little bit disgusting, Roo."

"Never said we weren't."

When you and he left the three of them a little while later and headed to the Hard Deck, Bradley was in an absolutely disgusting, soppy mood. You were singing along so badly to his favorite playlist while his hand rested on your thigh, and he was just so fucking proud of you for not letting your period take over your mood. Especially when all he wanted was to make you happy, and he knew it would have crushed him if you were being hard on yourself while he doted on you.

When he pulled into the parking lot and put the Bronco in park, he said, "I don't understand how you can sing so badly when you make the prettiest sounds I've ever heard in bed."

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh as you crawled across the seat and onto his lap. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I only have the nicest things to say about you and your singing voice," he promised with an obnoxious smile as you pushed his head back against the headrest and started to gently nibble on his neck. Soon you were sucking a little harder as your hand trailed up and down his bicep. "Oh shit. That feels great. Let's go home."

You moaned softly and licked a trail up to his ear before whispering, "Nope. You tease me, I'm going to tease you right back." Then you rubbed yourself against his cock, and Bradley tried to get his arm around you, but you were already jumping down from his lap to the parking lot.

"Hey!" he called out with a laugh as you ran ahead of him while he tried to lock the Bronco doors. When he jogged inside, you were already at the bar chatting with Penny. He made eye contact with you, and you smirked.

Bradley strolled up behind you and pressed himself against your butt, kissing the back of your neck. "Whenever you decide you want to behave, I'll be at the pool table," he whispered.

You just laughed and said, "You know that's not going to happen."

"Well, come say hi to Nat anyway," he added, laughing softly against your neck. Penny was looking at the two of you together with the softest expression, and Bradley figured that was how he usually looked at you, too. "You know, I can remember the early days before the two of you were together," Penny said over the buzz of conversation. "All the longing glances and sneaking off together." Bradley set his hand on your hip and said, "Hey, we thought we were being pretty discreet." "Nice try," Penny said with a laugh as she slid two beer bottles across the bar. "Were we not discreet?" Bradley whispered as you and he walked toward Nat. You beamed up at him. "I guess not." He watched you walk into his best friend's open arms for a hug. And now he was thinking about every way he could be less than discreet with you tonight. You kept touching him, just some fleeting brushes of your hand to his abs or arm while you chatted with the others, but you were relentless. When the beers were empty, you took his bottle and said, "I'll take these back up to the bar, and then I'm running to the ladies' room." Bradley just grunted as you squeezed his bicep. As soon as you disappeared down the hallway, he dug his phone out of his pocket and sent you a quick text. Meet me outside at our special spot? He waited and waited but got no response. However, when you reemerged from the hallway, you caught his eye and then continued toward the exit. Bradley was in the middle of conversation with Javy about golfing when he suddenly said, "Hey, man, excuse me for a minute."

Bradley pushed his way through the crowd, and once he was back outside in the cool, dark night, he turned and ran toward the steps at the far end of the deck. As soon as his shoes hit the sand, you were reaching out for him.

"Been a while since we did this," you told him, your voice filled with laughter as he backed you up against the deck post.

"Too long," he agreed, letting his lips meet yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. It was amazing how kissing you and just touching you made him feel so good inside. The feel of your kisses was a comfort that he knew by heart, and every curve of your body fit his hands perfectly. His fingers were inside your shirt, his thumbs gliding along your ribs and up to your bra.

You moaned into his mouth, pressing up on your toes and pulling him closer. When he broke the kiss to breathe, you whispered, "I have my period though."

"I know. Just wanted to make out with my fucking hot ass wife. Penny made me nostalgic."

His rough hands were on your lower back, and your head was tipped against the post. Bradley worked his lips along your neck, collar bones and cleavage as you said, "This feels just as good as the first time. Maybe better."

"Definitely better," he murmured. "You're in love with me now."

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You had no shame. Your outfit was a wrinkled mess, and your lips were puffy when you returned to the pool table some thirty minutes later. Bradley's hair looked like he'd been outside during a natural disaster, and Penny smirked at him when he got two more beers.

But it didn't matter, because you were so happy. So you let the guys pick on Bradley while you laughed into your beer bottle. And when you got home, you let him lure you into the shower to have sex at one in the morning where he made you cum so hard, your echoing voice scared Tramp. And maybe the sex was better when you weren't trying so hard to get pregnant. And maybe listening to him read his notebook to you every night was doing more than you originally thought.

When you got to work on Monday morning, Bickel was waiting for your help with his most time sensitive projects. "Your ideas are always so refreshing, Lieutenant Commander."

And when you sat in the lab all afternoon, Cat came over at one point and simply said, "You were right about Jake."

And then Bradley met you for thirty minutes where he got to meet Dr. Genevieve. You told her that you were having a good day even though you got your period, and the three of you just chatted a little bit.

But you should have known that by the end of the week, you'd be feeling a little different. You were at home on Friday, already lounging on the couch and looking at vacation destinations for your first anniversary in November when Bradley walked in holding two envelopes.

"We need to talk."

You popped up on the couch and eyed him carefully. "About what?"

"Two things." He struggled out of his boots at the front door as he said, "Admiral Dean's court-martial has a date scheduled. And there's also an upcoming special detachment."

The court appearance for Dean and Slayer was something you figured would be happening soon. But a special detachment? You weren't sure if you were ready to hear about it. "Just tell me."

Bradley dropped down on the couch next to you and gave you a quick kiss. "June 9th," he said, handing you the first envelope. You scanned along, reading the dates and times, and sure enough, Bradley would have to appear in full dress uniform in court that day.

"Okay," you murmured, "now tell me about the detachment."

He kissed you again and then again, and you realized he seemed a lot more antsy about this bit of information. "Here." He placed the second envelope in your hand, but the paperwork had almost no information on it. And you were surprised to see that it had a classification code above what you were currently privy to.

"This tells me nothing, Roo."

"I realize that," he replied, running his hands through his hair. "It's something top secret. I wouldn't get any of the details unless I'm selected." He turned to look at you with his elbows propped on his knees and his forehead cupped in one hand. "But, Baby Girl... I really want to do this. I think I kind of need to."

And you understood exactly what he meant without him elaborating further. He still thought he needed to prove himself after being named the spare by Admiral Dean, and this was probably the kind of mission that would get his head on straight again and bring back his confidence. But this was also the kind of mission that would leave you at home, alone and worried. Because if he wasn't one hundred percent in the right head space, it could spell disaster. 'Top secret' meant highly dangerous. But it also meant only the most skilled pilots and weapons systems officers would be chosen to participate.

You swallowed down your fear and nudged his bicep until he leaned back and welcomed you onto his lap. "If you want to do it, then I hope you get chosen." You hated that your voice shook and tears filled your eyes, because you wanted to be encouraging for him.

"Come here," he whispered gently, and you sobbed quietly as he held you in his arms. "It'll be okay. I might not even get selected. But if I do, it'll still be okay."

"I know," you said, sucking in a deep breath. You hated that his confidence had been shaken in this way, but he was among the best, and you were already sure he'd be going. You could feel it in your bones.

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I'm hoping Dean and Slayer get what they deserve. And also up next, Roo and BG visit a new bar they've never been to before with an agenda they've never indulged in before. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

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improbable-outset · 20 days

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📄 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: none, just fluff

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You didn’t expect the mysterious man that you met at a wedding to change your whole trajectory of the night

You rarely attend weddings unless it was for immediate family. However, you haven’t seen your childhood friend in a long time. After you graduated high school and went off to college, you both haven’t been in touch since.

So when she invited you over to her wedding, you couldn’t turn down an offer to see an old friend and celebrate the new couple.

The air in the venue was charged with energy as the guests mingled to meet the newlyweds. The sounds of rhythmic heels clicking and collective cheers provided a backdrop in the room.

You tried to allow yourself to be in the moment and enjoy yourself, even if you didn’t know a lot of people here. You did manage to converse with the bride’s parents who still remembered you from your childhood.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, you found yourself drawn to the periphery of the room. From your vantage point you caught sight with a lone figure.

He held a stern expression and stood with an air of mystery, a stark contrast to the laughter you were surrounded with. His posture was upright and stiff with his gaze fixed on some distant point amongst the dance floor.

He had a large muscular build. Even under his dress shirt, you could see how broad his arms were that were crossed over his chest, with one hand holding a flute.

Before you could even get a proper view of him, your attention was taken away by a collision with a hurried wedding guest. He apologised profusely before he made his way into the throng of people, leaving you disoriented.

When you tried to look back, he was no longer where he once stood. Surprised, you quickly darted your eyes around the room but it was hard to see from where you were standing.

You made a beeline towards the edge of the room to get a better view. Your gaze swept over the gathering guests— since he was a tall figure he could tower over almost everyone here but despite that, he was nowhere to be found.

Even if you only saw a glimpse of him, you felt a tad bit frustrated that your chance to see him again was now gone.

You decided to step outside to one of the balconies in hopes of getting some clarity. There was the underlying hope that you’d find him from the balcony view.

Although you doubt anyone would ask about your whereabouts, you’d just give them the excuse that you were feeling hot. It was justifiable since the room was starting to feel stuffy.

The cool night air brushed against your skin. Just as you opened the door to the balcony, you caught sight of the man from earlier again and you felt your heart stutter. Even if you were trying to look for him earlier, you weren’t fully prepared to see him again.

He had his back towards the door while leaning over the railing so you couldn’t see his face. He must’ve acknowledged your presence after hearing the door click open.

You stepped further into the balcony and moved a little closer to him but still kept a comfortable distance.

He still retained the same cool and unwavering demeanor as he silently turned to look you up and down briefly before his gaze shifted away at the far distance again.

His chestnut hair was slicked back and his jawline was sharp. However what really struck you the most was the crimson hue of his iris.

It wasn’t welcoming but it was less cold compared to the first time you laid eyes on him. Perhaps it might be because you were both alone, away from the chaos inside.

You cleared your throat before you made your first impression. “So are you lost in your own thoughts or are you deliberately avoiding the crowd,”

He didn’t turn to look at you, still looking afar at the view but he definitely heard you. “I wouldn’t call myself lost,”

His tone of voice matched his stoic presence— monotonous yet there was an underlying richness to it, even if it was just a simple sentence.

“Enjoying the festivities at least?” You said, attempting to break the barrier of his aloofness.

He turned his head to look at you with his face still neutral from any expression. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Nah you’re blending in just fine, I wouldn’t have noticed,” you said instinctively. You had to bite your tongue back before you said anything else. You barely even knew him and you already threw a lighthearted sarcastic remark.

Judging by the way he had carried himself so far, you would expect him to be put off by your comment. Much to your surprise, however, you saw a flicker of amusement that didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh, I’m doing just fine blending in?” He mused, you could hear the slight shift in his tone that emphasised his interest in the conversation now. He was starting to be more engaged and it made you feel a tingling sensation in your chest.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone noticed you’re out here,” You hoped that was the case. It didn’t appear like anyone was actively looking for him back inside and it seemed like he came here alone.

But you didn’t want to make any premature assumptions, so you just had to hope no one would interrupt your conversation.

“So, what brings you out here? I assume the same as me,” he asked.

“I needed some air,” that wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. But you weren’t going to admit that you came out here just to spark something with him, even if he was anything but approachable.

“Out of all the spots in this building for fresh air, it had to be the balcony?” He prodded, a tinge of heed in his tone.

You didn’t expect to be put on the spot like that. You were already stepping out of your comfort zone just by talking to him, but having him ask you an open question like that made your ears heat up in slight embarrassment.

You chewed on your cheek, trying to come up with a plausible answer. Hesitantly you replied, “Uh yeah…higher grounds,”

“No other reason?” He was lightheartedly taunting you now even if it wasn’t his intention.

Either you were a terrible liar and he could sense you weren’t telling him something or he was just stringing you along.

“Nope,” you quickly steered the conversation before he could say anything extemporaneous, “Weddings have a certain charm, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugged before he continued. “But I’m sure most people are here for free food,”

“Well, between you and me…I’m here for the cake,”

“At least one of us here was being honest. The cake does look delicious,”

You continued, eager to keep the conversation going now, “I heard each tier is a different flavour,”

“I heard there’s even a coffee flavoured cake for the coffee lovers out there,”

“Uh huh..so what’s your excuse for lurking out here in the shadows,”

“Why don’t you guess?” He let the sentence hang in the air, like the answer wasn’t already obvious.

Even if he was here to get away from the crowd, there was still the nagging thought that he might’ve come here with someone and they were still looking for him back inside.

“Right, so I’m assuming you came here alone too?” You brought up the question, trying to sound as casual as you could.

“That is the case,” you felt a fraction of relief wash over you after he confirmed that, but you didn’t make it obvious in your body language. “You came here alone as well?”

“Yep. I’m from the bride's side,”

“The bride's side, huh? Well I’m here from the groom’s side,” he paused momentarily before he spoke again. “I guess we really are alone over here,”

“A connoisseur of the corner space…or the balcony,” you said lightheartedly.

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert but it is comforting here,”

It was and his presence made it feel more refreshing. Originally, you weren’t planning on staying any longer than necessary.

This wasn’t your scene at all and you wanted nothing more than to be back in your familiar confined space. But now after talking with this man, you wanted the night to last longer.

You felt the tingling sensation in your chest again, but this time there was a sudden urge to take a risky approach. “Well, if you do decide to go back inside and venture into the madness… I could save you a dance,”

The fluidity of your tone came out smoother than you expected. There was no biting back on your words now and you watched his reaction intently.

“Really now? Save me a dance?” He echoed. His words elevated his amusement as he arched his brow inquisitively. However what really surprised you was when he rose from the railing to stand upright before you.

It dawned on you how tall he truly was. You quickly back peddled. “Unless that’s outside of your element,”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he confessed sheepishly.

Neither were you, but you didn’t want to put him off. The rest of the conversation felt like it was guided but pure impulse now.

“Well no one had noticed us before when we were inside, so I don’t think anyone would notice us when we’re dancing,”

“And do you usually offer men to dance with you,” he asked. The question was unexpected. You weren’t usually this bold when it came to talking to men, let alone inviting them to dance.

You were more reserved and kept to yourself but tonight you really surprised yourself with your uncharacteristic forwardness. Yet, he was unaware of this side of you and probably assumed you were just here for a good time.

“Not always but since we’re both alone we might as well make the most of the night,” you answered, though you weren’t going to admit that you wanted more than just a dance.

“Fair point, one dance couldn’t hurt,” It was hard to tell where the rest of the night would take you, but at least now you weren’t alone.

And you hoped that he would let you stick around a little longer. He stepped closer to you and held out his hand.

“I still haven't caught your name yet,” you said as you gently took his waiting hand. His large fingers curled around yours in a soft grip.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara. And yours?”

This is actually a snippet of one of my ao3 exclusive series

I also made a c.ai bot inspired by this if you’re interested

Btw, I will be interacting with your fics and reblogging from my second account @lmaoyouwhore (don’t pree the blog too hard, it’s still under construction lol)

#★— ayrus writes #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x you #atsv miguel #spiderverse miguel

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endless-ineffabilities · 5 months

Text

Maroon (part four)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

And I lost you The one I was dancin' with In New York, no shoes Looked up at the sky and it was maroon

A series loosely based on the song Maroon of off Midnights by Taylor Swift ▪︎ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist

series list: part one - part two - part three - part four -

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, language, a LOT of tension, very event-heavy

word count: 11.4k

The Dragonstone ball is here. Will the reader and Aemond finally reconcile, or will things stand in the way? Again.

It had been eleven days of bliss.

Eleven days since Aemond visited you in the bookstore, and you found him waiting for you at the corner table, perfectly illuminated like some mythical Valyrian god.

Eleven days since he confessed his feelings for you, asked you to be his partner to the Dragonstone Ball.

Afterward, he had started picking you up from lectures, taking you to places around the city, visiting you more frequently, shadowing you when you spend time with Helaena, to which she would simply roll her eyes and jest about being a “third wheel.”

You found yourselves in their secluded estate an hour away from the city, sitting in the clearing of a beautiful lush field overgrown with blue lupines and marigolds.

By then you still had not gotten accustomed to being with Aemond. Your heart still skipped each time your hands touched, and he gazed at you with longing.

You had come to realize just how good and proper of a lover he can be. He was careful not to overstep any line, not to take things too fast. You know you’re not experienced in this kind of thing, either. A connection so real. Something like that cursed four-letter L word that the both of you had managed to avoid when it comes to crushes, dating, romantic relationships in general.

He sat on the green-and-black gingham blanket that he previously laid down on the grass in a flourish. You had giggled when the wind threatened to whip it over his head.

“Laugh it up, darling.” He playfully glared at you, which didn’t do much to quell your laughter. Aemond watched on, feeling warm at the sight.

You watched him, studying as the outline of the side of his face eclipses the sunlight in the horizon.

He has no idea, does he?

He seemed oblivious to your staring, until he suddenly spoke, still keeping his gaze trained forward to the trees, “I’m glad I have your full attention.”

You were certain all the blood rushed to your cheeks at his remark, but you scoffed, and playfully shoved him. He was caught off guard, and failed to prop himself upright in time.

He shot you a glare as he brushed himself off. Without any warning, he wiggles his fingers against your side, making you audibly yelp in surprise.

The bastard fucking tickled me.

“You did not just…”

“Oh, but I did, darling.” Aemond nodded slowly, taunting you.

You raised your hand to retaliate, but that didn’t work. Because in a flash of movement, Aemond grabbed your forearm and then your waist.

And then, you found yourself underneath him, lying back on the mat. His halo of white-gold hair framing his face as he hovers above you, glowing brighter than the fading sunlight.

When his lips met yours, you realized that there truly were moments in life when time stands still. When everything is reduced to a humming of heartbeats in sync, and of someone else's warmth against you.

When his blue eyes blazed into your own, you thought that maybe… just maybe… that was what it was like to be in love.

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

Love, love, love. What is it really good for? Aemond has seen people fall apart because of it, suffer in spite of it.

He is quite sure that his mother has grown to love his father, despite theirs being a marriage of convenience. This is why she continues to care for him, and turns her cheek at any wrong done to her.

Aemond has been on the receiving end of his mother's love, more so than his siblings. But sometimes he wonders if this is borne out of obligation and instinct. Would she still love him if he wasn't her only doting son - with Aegon never in the picture, and Daeron having grown indifferent to family affairs?

Does his mother truly see him, for all that he is, or does she see some idealized version of herself? One that she puts on a pedestal? Her golden child who has the chance to attain what she never could.

There are times when Aemond fears that he does feel love himself, or not the truest form of it, at least. Sure, he loves his family. But is it also due to an uncontrollable pull of the heart, or simply out of duty? Does he feel like he needs to love them, being of the same blood? Has he just gotten used to being the binding force among his siblings, shepherding them like he actually is the eldest child? Do they even love him in turn? Certainly not with the same ferocity, Aemond knows, but in their own way? Most times, he finds it hard to tell.

It’s all like a game. They are all pieces on a chess board, playing a match that has no end. Moves and countermoves - isn’t this all that love is? Do something for them, protect them, as they will do for you. It is ultimately the right thing to do.

But with you, Aemond knows it’s different. It has been, since you stumbled into his life. He never felt the need to maintain a sense of devotion. Never really gave it much thought, or any planning. It was just there. Out of the blue. Much to his surprise, and not without hesitation.

He did not understand what it was at first. You certainly did not need him. Did not ask anything of him. He saw how you approached him with no expectation. He was never Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the City, to you.

Only Aemond. Your best friend’s mildly sullen yet cordial brother.

And you, well… you were just a passing fancy. Not bad to look at, pleasant enough to talk to.

Until you weren’t just that.

There were times when Aemond feared that did not feel love himself.

Until you.

And you became everything.

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

3 hours before the Dragonstone ball

Alicent has been walking in a flurry all over the penthouse, her bluetooth earpiece buzzing constantly. Having final consultations with event coordinators, on-site production staff, caterers, florists, and security staff, among others.

Talia trails her all around the vast living room, prepared to give a helping hand.

“Yes, yes, that was the one that I asked for, I don’t know why I have to clarify this again,” Alicent seethes, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking up at the ceiling in her frustration. The caller’s rushed apologies echo from her earpiece.

Her youngest son walks past her, an ascot tie loosely hanging around his neck.

“Daeron!” Alicent grabs him by the arm. “Are you all settled? Have you finally gone through options with the tailor?”

“Yes, mother,” Daeron cheekily sneers at Alicent’s worried expression. “I’ve just chosen which necktie I’ll be wearing, as you can see here. Just went down to get something to eat. Do try to relax, would you?”

“What about your brother? Please tell me he has had his suit vetted.”

Daeron replies, “I assume you mean Aemond, since Aegon will probably turn up in something ridiculous, like an inflatable dragon costume.”

Alicent scoffs before responding dryly, “If he actually does that, I just might consider sending him to the Silent Sisters institute.”

Daeron shrugs, “Best keep the family doctor close by, then. Oh, and Aemond’s all prepped since last week! You know him. Mr. Stickler-for-rules with a stick right up his a - ”

“Daeron!” Alicent exclaims.

“Alright, alright, I’m kidding!” Daeron puts his hands up, laughing. He turns on his heel and strolls down the hallway.

“My children,” Alicent sighs, sharing a look with Talia, who smiles knowingly in response. “Whatever will I do with them?”

“Oh, what will you do without them, ma’am?” Talia offers.

Alicent hums in acknowledgement. She feels as if the lines on her face have deepened the past few months, though they’ve long made themselves evident, due to all her ceaseless worrying about Aemond's condition and all this commotion about the ball. But what else is there to do?

She removes her earpiece and places it on Talia’s awaiting palm.

“Are you alright, ma’am? Do you need some refreshments, perhaps?” Talia asks.

“I need…” Alicent sighs, preparing herself for the task to come. “I need to go see my son.”

“He isn’t here at the moment, ma’am.” Talia shuffles from one foot to the other, a force of habit when having to share something that may induce more stress to Alicent. “He left for his apartment at Blackwater Residences last night. He has requested that everything he needs for the ball be sent to him there.”

“And I was not informed of this because?” Alicent inquires, her mask of composure remaining. Aemond used to be the one she would run to first, should she need anything. Her confidante. Her dutiful son. And he’s always been comfortable enough to keep her in the loop about his affairs.

But not lately. Not since the accident. Her son has rebuilt the impenetrable wall around him, and she has not been allowed access inside.

“Well, you’ve been very busy, ma’am. And Sir Aemond really didn’t tell anyone, he just informed me so that I may relay the message as I should.”

Alicent sighs in finality, “Fine. That’s fine. Have we made sure that his partner for the ball is in line? That model… uhhm, Alys, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am, she has made all the necessary preparations. And she is already aware of the regulations to follow, as she has attended the ball with Sir Aemond before.”

A question remains in Alicent’s mind. “You alluded once to something going on between Aemond and Helaena’s friend. The one who’s studying at the local university? I had thought that she would be his partner…” She trails off, remembering the one time she crossed paths with you. It was one evening in the penthouse, her kids and a number of their acquaintances sitting around a big round table of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. She only came round for a moment to retrieve something from her office, lingering in the foyer with Talia to get some documents in order.

She noticed you because you were sitting across the table from Aemond, who had been sneaking looks at you the entire night. Aemond clearly thought no one would notice, but if anyone would, it would be Alicent.

Aemond has always been the most stoic of her sons, the least likely to wear his heart on his sleeve. But she saw, plain as day, that he was drawn to you.

Her son fancied you, but has something changed? As for Alys, Alicent has never been her biggest fan when it came to Aemond. Their age gap is not her favourite thing, but how can Alicent claim to be a judge on that matter when the man she married is 11 years older than her? She’s chosen to set that aside, but the Rivers model has struck her as highly self-regarding and standoffish.

Alicent would never admit it to herself, but perhaps the main reason why she dislikes Alys Rivers is that she sees part of herself in her. What she might have devolved into if she hadn’t married for power and privilege at a young age. Alicent, Alys. The latter being a recreational drug-addled, provocative social climber who Alicent doesn't think is good for her son.

Talia dithers on her response. Who can explain what is going on in Aemond’s mind after all? It is clear that the attraction remains, but his actions are all over the place. “As I gathered, ma’am, he did ask her. But… and I am not sure why, he ended up asking Miss Alys instead. Which is a downright shame, if I may add. She is really a sweet young girl. She and Miss Helaena dote on each other.”

“A shame, indeed,” Alicent hums. She begins walking down the hallway, Talia in tow, who then adds, “She will still be at the ball, though, ma’am. As Sir Jacaerys’ partner.”

Alicent’s brows furrow, and a grimace flashed across her face on instinct. “Got a Strong pup, has she?”

“They’re close friends - ”

“So I’m not certain what’s been going about, but my son likes her… or used to like her. But now he’s coming with Alys, and she’s coming with Jace?” Alicent spins on her heel, huffing out her confusion, her fiery auburn hair whipping around her. Regarding Talia whilst shaking her head, she exclaims, “Quite the handful this ball is turning out to be, and isn’t that just exactly what I need?”

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

Alys Rivers rarely does her own makeup, preferring the ease of having a glam team on call 24/7.

But as she deftly applies medical-grade concealer on Aemond’s scar, her hands pat and press with a practiced ease of someone who had to do her own makeup on public buses at the age of 16, sneaking off to castings without telling her foster parents.

She huffs with impatience from her stool. “Could you keep your expression neutral, dear? I dunno why you look like you’re in pain.”

Aemond responds in a cold voice, “Why, do you find that this is something I should enjoy, dearest? You’re smattering something on my face to make me look presentable. I’m allowed to react in a manner of my choosing. My sincere apologies if it’s not acceptable for you.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Alys drops her hand, frustration clear on her face. “Look, I can see that you don’t want to come to the ball.” She packs on more product on the brush in a rapid motion.

“Oh, is that your input?” Aemond mumbles, disinterested. He simply wishes he had placed his glass of firewine within reach.

“Yes, that is my input,” Alys snaps in return. When her brush meets Aemond’s face again, she does it with less care and more impatience. “If you’re not going to be civil to me, then you should have accepted the help of the makeup artist your mother assigned - ”

“I won’t have some fucking stranger’s hands all over my - ”

“I know!” Alys emphasizes, her exasperation growing evident. “Which is why I’m here. Which is why I agreed to help when you asked. I - ” She stops working, leaning back, her shoulders stooped in her frustration. “I only want to help you, Aemond. I care about you. You know this.”

Aemond finally looks at the woman sitting in front of him. Appraising her irate expression, which he had caused. “I did not want this. This… concealment of my scar was my mother’s idea, to keep up appearances - ”

“Oh, I know - ”

“I don’t know how you expect me to be, Alys, considering - ”

Alys stands abruptly, walking away to look out the window. “Aemond, this has been going on even before that godforsaken accident.”

Aemond sighs deeply, wanting to be anywhere else but in the room. Only that isn’t true, he wouldn’t want to just anywhere else.

He wants to be with you.

Alys continues, “It all started that night when I visited you and you sent me away. Next thing I know there’s been whispers of you going around with some random girl.” She does not mention you by name. It’s better not to give you that power. She doesn’t need Aemond’s attention to drift any further from her than it already has.

She has not been blind to the switch in his demeanour, having been on the brunt end of his anger one too many times. He still maintains his impeccable sense of decorum and tact most of the time, but she can easily tell that it's only for show.

She once felt Aemond’s eyes on her, with some form of desire. Whatever he is capable of mustering, at least, even if it was never enough for Alys. At least she had hope that it could turn into something more. She can change him. Make him fall in love with her. But now, it’s like he sees straight through her. Only calling on her when absolutely necessary. Like this very moment.

“Hmm.” Aemond looks to the side. He feels the weight of the product Alys just applied on his scar and it starts to irritate him. More so than the situation at hand, to his surprise. “What do you want from me?” He lifts his arms up offhandedly.

“I heard… about you and her. I’m not an idiot,” Alys says, trying not to sound desperate.

“No one ever said that you are,” Aemond responds impatiently.

“Did you ask her to come with you to the ball before you asked me? Am I just some last resort…”

“The fuck does it matter? You’re here because I asked you, did I not?” Aemond snaps, whirring around, away from Alys. The reminder of you is throwing him off, threatening to chip away at the mask of composure that he has prepared for this night.

He hasn’t been able to shake off the scent of your skin, how warm you felt against him, that night he last saw you.

And tonight, he will see you again. Aemond never fancied himself a romantic, but he knows that your presence would be the one thing that will make this night worthwhile. This dreaded ball, which he has never looked forward to. Save for a few short weeks when he thought it would be you on his arm.

But he fucked it all up, didn’t he? All because he’s too weak to let you see him as he is. He thinks he’s not good enough for you. But a part of him has always known, because of your goodness, your undeniable warmth, that you would not mind the way he is right now. You would accept the person he has become - that’s just who you are. Good.

And even then, Aemond always comes back around to the same conclusion. You’re too good for him; he’s not good enough for you. Might as well save both of you the pain, and try to stay away.

And maybe, he can use Alys as a distraction. Choosing to bring her to the ball was an act of a coward, Aemond knows. Making you feel unwanted, pushed to the side.

But this is what he deserves. The bruises on his knuckles from that incident in Pentos have only just healed, after all. He is still out of control.

He’s never been a true believer, but the gods only know what he might do when he sees you on his nephew’s arm. Just the image of it causes him to clench his jaw in distaste.

In pure jealousy.

Aemond is blind to the possibility that you and his Jace are only friends, and will stay that way. All he sees in another man, holding you, laughing with you, looking at you like you’re the best thing in this world.

Another man, and not him. Aemond is going to need a lot of ale to get through the night.

And maybe more.

Alys snaps him out of thoughts of you, walking across the room in a flash, until she stands right in front of Aemond. “Do you think you can just use me like this? I’m not second best, Aemond. You asked me to come with you, but you’re acting like you wouldn’t even touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

Aemond remains unmoving, gauging her livid expression. Calculating the next move to make. He’s found himself settling more and more into his old rhythm. Careful, methodical. Almost machiavellian. Never giving away too much. Far from how genuine he allowed himself to be around you. He did not have to pretend or mask anything. But that was then. That was with you.

“Say something, goddamnit,” Alys breathes, her slender fingers wrapping around his forearm.

Aemond’s eyes drift to Alys’ touch, feeling nothing at all. There used to be a time when he would want her company. Crave it even. Although that may have been for the most depraved purposes, one that he allows himself to indulge in now and again, it was still theirs.

Now, Aemond cannot feel right having anything with anyone else. When all he wants is you.

“I asked you to the ball because I wanted to, Alys.” Aemond relents, choosing to take the calmer road. He presses further, knowing that Alys would need more assurance than that. “You should know that I don’t trust many people, and yet here you are. That should count for something.” The sentiment is honest, at least, if not completely heartfelt.

It isn’t as if Aemond grew to have Alys as a confidante by choice. It began as a series of run-ins, then deliberate nighttime invitations.. The trust he formed with her does not mean he values her above anyone else. It was more so that he knew, even early on, that he could never be tethered to her. They had an understanding of the nature of their relationship.

He knew he would not fall in love with her. And he knows because has tried. It spares him from ever truly being vulnerable. It spares them both from any pain.

He takes her hand in his, a final gesture to temper her storm of emotion. And it’s enough. For now.

When Alys leans in to plant her mouth on his, he sees it coming. But he stops himself from taking a step back, or turning his head. He knows that Alys would not dare back out of being his partner for the ball, the publicity and prestige of it all too good to her to pass on. But he does not want to risk having the same useless argument again.

The kiss is cold, fleeting. It leaves a faint hint of maroon by the corner of Aemond’s lips. Like a mark of betrayal.

“Okay, honey.” Alys reaches upward to smooth his hair. “Let’s do some final touches on you, then I’ll go to my suite and get ready.”

Some time later, she finally reaches some satisfaction on her work on Aemond’s scar and departs the room, eager to get started on her lengthier high-profile event glam routine.

Aemond only has one consolation.

He gets to freely indulge on firewine now.

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

You sit in anticipation at the edge of the bed in your humble apartment.

Helaena had granted your request that you get ready in the confines of your own small but comfortable space, though she preferred that you take her up on her offer of getting ready in their penthouse.

You knew it was best to concede to your friend when she said she would send someone to deliver your dress and to assist you. It couldn’t hurt, you thought, half-expecting that it would only be Talia.

You didn’t expect that sending someone in Helaena’s terms would mean two makeup artists, a hair stylist and his assistant, a nail technician, and Baela Targaryen, who had quickly risen through the ranks of the fashion industry with her clothing brand, Moondancer.

Little did you know that Baela herself would be arriving at your door.

“Hello, sweetheart. I heard from a little birdie that you might need some assistance?” Baela says, stepping into your apartment without waiting for an invitation, confidently occupying any space.

“Baela!” you exclaim. “How are you? Helaena did say she would send someone.” Before you could shut the door, a garment rack comes rolling through, about a dozen designer dresses whipping right past you.

“Where to, ma’am?” A lanky man asks, his mop of ginger hair peering from behind the rack.

“Just there,” Baela gestures to a far wall, before glancing at you, as if remembering that it is in fact your apartment. “Is it fine?”

“Sure,” you smile. As if refusal was an option.

“Our dearest Helaena has informed me of your top choices,” Baela says, as her red-haired assistant began to gingerly pull each dress out from their garment covers. “And I commend your taste, by the way, most of these are my favourite pieces from the collection.”

Soon enough, all of the dresses are revealed to you, each one more beautiful than the next.

“These are all amazing, Baela. Thank you. I owe you.” you say appreciatively, pulling her into a hug.

Baela keeps an arm over your shoulders when you pull apart, leading you to take a closer look. “You don’t owe me anything, sweet. So,” she says, “what are we thinking?”

“This one seems reasonable,” your hand drifts over a plum coloured dress, the material feeling nothing short of luxurious to the touch. It is a lovely A-line maxi dress, with intricate sequin detailing all over.

“Reasonable,” Baela snorts. “It’s lovely and all, but awfully safe, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with being safe?” you raise an eyebrow at her statement. “This is my first and possibly only Dragonstone ball, Baela. I just want to get through it without making a fool out of myself.”

“But you won’t make a fool of yourself,” Baela squeezes your shoulder in encouragement. “You belong there just as much as anyone else. Maybe even more so, because we actually do like you. Jace especially.”

Baela has a reputation for being quite the enterprising young woman, making a name for herself outside of the Targaryen business empire through her brand. She takes no prisoners, they say. If she wants something, she will go and get it herself. Most find her intimidating, and you count yourself lucky to be at the receiving end of her sweeter side.

“Hmm,” you feel a sense of ease wash over you, making you brush through the other dresses on the rack.

“This dress you chose is nice, and if safe is what you want then…” Baela gives you a once-over, her eyes gaining a mischievous spark. “... that’s all well and good. But, sweetheart, don’t you want to leave Aemond a groveling mess by your high-heeled feet?”

Your stunned expression betrays you, hindering any attempt at denial.

“Oh, I know.” Baela smirks. “Let’s just say that Hel may or not have clued me in on how absolutely childish he was to ditch you like that. I’ve always been of the opinion that my dear cousin needs to get his damn head screwed on straight, but hey, I might be biased.” She raises her hands, knowing she already got her point across.

It won’t be long before she wins you over to a not-entirely-safe dress.

The idea of Aemond possibly exhibiting any form of adoration upon seeing you at the ball is one that you have entertained too many times in the months leading up to tonight. To deny that would be foolish.

Some part of you wants to save yourself from what can only be described as the rollercoaster of attempting to maneuver a relationship with Aemond. But an even greater part… just can’t let him go.

You sigh in finality. Baela grins at that. She clearly won this one, but there was never really any doubt.

“I’m glad you agree, because I have something for you.” She nods over to her assistant, who promptly leaves the room and returns with another dress. The dress.

“Baela, what in seven hells.” You appraised the dress with evident stars in your eyes. “This… this was not in the catalogue Hel made me choose from.”

“Of course not, silly,” Baela responds proudly. “Because I designed this just for you.”

You shake your head in amazement, lightly asking, “What if I had stuck to my first choice, huh?” You wouldn’t have, not after seeing the dress, and you know Baela is aware of this.

“Impossible,” Baela reaches for the dress and holds it against you, studying you like a subject. “I had planned to custom make dresses for the ladies in the family anyhow. Well, apart from my beloved aunt - your dearest’s mother - so making one for you too was a no-brainer.”

You thank her profusely, as she and her assistant, whom you discover is named Lancel, check how the dress fits you. Seeing if any last-minute alterations were needed, but there was really nothing else to do with it.

It was perfect.

“Lancel will stay to assist you, and Helaena’s sending a whole team, and they should be here soon.” Baela says, growing busy with her buzzing phone. “I’ll be off to prepare myself.”

“I don’t know what else to say, but thank you again, Baela. Helaena said you would be in charge of our dresses but I certainly did not expect this.” You say sincerely, as you see her to the door.

“It was my pleasure,” Baela responds, and in true fashion, drops her head in a dramatic bow. As she walks down the hall, she does not miss her chance in calling back and adding, “and it will be an even bigger pleasure to witness the absolute anguish in Aemond’s face when he sees you.”

You welcome the shiver that runs up your spine at the thought of that. That’ll show him.

As if on cue, the rest of your designated prep team arrive not long after, and you surrender yourself to the frenzy that followed.

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

The Dragonstone Ball

The Valyrian Hall is a place of marvel in the city.

Erected nearly a century to the day, it essentially marked the dominance of the Targaryen empire in the country. Designed like an amphitheatre, the looming structure has hosted many history-marking events.

As befits it, it is also the venue for the annual Dragonstone Ball. Revamped for the purposes of each ball, it transforms into a hub of merrymaking and pageantry. Its attendees include no other than the rest of the nobility, dignitaries, notable artists and academics, as well as the nouveau riche.

The country of Westeros is officially an oligarchy, with the heads of the most powerful Houses in power. But the unspoken truth of it is that the Targaryens rule over them all.

And no expense is spared by the ruling family of the country.

The media is flocked outside the hall, a thousand cameras flashing at each arriving guest. Hurling empty exclamations at the impeccably dressed attendees walking down the black carpet. The theme for this year was simple - Firelight - a play on the Targaryen and Hightower slogans, honouring the long-standing alliance between the two families. The dress code warranted only their traditional colours to be worn - red and black, green and silver.

Viserys himself was the mastermind behind the theme, in an effort to make a show of strength in the family, after the horrid incident between Aemond and Lucerys. Alicent was slow to warm to the idea, if she ever did at all.

Tensions are still high, especially between the mothers of two belligerents, with Alicent having shared unsavoury comments about Lucerys’ upbringing.

And of course, it is an open secret in this year’s event that everyone is in anticipation of finally seeing what has become of Aemond Targaryen.

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

Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and beautiful, standing tall with a quiet confidence you didn’t think you could muster.

Clad in the dazzling red gown Baela crafted specifically for you, and your tresses adorned with an embellished tiara crafted by the silversmiths of Volantis, you surprisingly do not feel like a whole other person. Not exactly.

You feel more yourself than you ever had before.

“I could be a Targaryen,” you jokingly share with Jace as you both study yourselves in the mirror. “If only I had that damned silver hair.”

“Trust me when I say that it’s not as fun as people might think,” he laughs in response, catching your eyes in the reflection. “But you look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You whirl around, not even bothering to hide the blush on your face. Jace would see right through you, anyway. “And you look handsome as ever.” You take a deep breath, trying to do away with the nerves that are threatening to emerge. Calm down.

You lightly brush your hands across his shoulders. “Well, I cannot believe that I am going to the ball as the famous Jacaerys Velaryon’s date. What an honour, really. You’re practically a prince!”

“Oh, ha-ha,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’m just Jace to you, thank you very much.”

“This is going to go great,” you sigh in encouragement, mostly to yourself. I’ll finally see him, won’t I? What could go wrong?

What could go wrong, indeed? How much will it string to see Alys Rivers draped on Aemond’s arm. To see them dancing with each other, barely an inch apart.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jace smooths your perfectly-done hair in reassurance. “You and I are going to enjoy this godsforsaken ball with Hel, Luke, and the rest of our friends.” Don’t even think about him, he wanted to say, but you already knew that.

He holds his arm out for you to take, indicating that it is finally time to head to the ball.

“Shall we?”

You loop your arm around his with a steady smile, bracing yourself for what would turn out to be one of the most memorable nights of your life.

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

You feel the limousine idly come to a slow stop in the private road leading to the front of the grand Valyrian Hall. All at once, everyone flocks around to catch a glimpse of whom they presume to be members of the Targaryen clan, but the security detail is quick to ensure that none may come too close. Even if it would be impossible to peer through its heavily tinted windows.

“Don’t worry, we won’t come out here.” Jace is quick to note, when he sees the apprehension on your face. “We’ll head inside to the inner courtyard.”

The yelling of photographers outside sounds like a cacophony, an endless buzzing, and you are grateful you don’t have to go right into their throes.

The limousine moves once more, presumably following the one before it, passing the towering gold palisade surrounding the hall.

“Special entrance for special guests, eh?” Jace nudges you, smirking.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You hum in response. You try to fight it, but your mind races. Is he already here? ‘I’ll see you at the ball,’ he said. Sure. What then?

“There are still photographers and members of the media here, but only ones vetted by the family,” Jace explains. “I’ll take the lead, so you don’t have to worry about answering any questions if you don’t want to. Just stick with me.”

Ever the gentleman.

The chauffeur opens the limousine door, and Jace gently tows you along with him. When the blinding camera flashes first hit your eyes, you enter into a sort of haze. Like on autopilot, you don a practiced smile and smoothly walk with Jace down the black carpet.

Jace opts to have only one brief interview, with whom you recognize to be the prolific Mysaria, the head news anchor for the channel owned by the Targaryens.

“And who is your lovely date for this evening?” she beams, and the camera pans over to you.

“This beauty here is y/n, one of my best friends.” Jace drapes an arm around you, then smiles to the camera. You admire how flawless his media training is.

“That’s right,” you hear yourself saying, “someone needs to keep this one in line.”

Mysaria laughs, “Oooh, we love your attitude. Well, you two do make the most gorgeous pairing.”

She asks a few more questions, then the interview quickly wraps, and Mysaria shakes both of your hands in her professional manner.

Event coordinators usher the two of you inside the sprawling foyer, lush with intricate Targaryen red and black tapestry. But right as you start to appreciate the detailed engravings on the bronze panels propped up on the walls, you are directed up a flight of stairs and into a private parlour.

Your shoulders visibly slump in instant relief when you spot some familiar faces.

Helaena stands speaking to Lucerys, who incidentally is her date, as she refused to be paired with anyone unfamiliar. Luke had been gracious enough to volunteer to be her partner.

“Even if her brother and myself fucked each other over a while back, I still love Hel,” you heard him joke once, a pit of dread settling in your stomach. Leave it to Luke to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Look who it is,” Luke greets loudly, “my brother finally looks like an actual human being.”

“Ah, you little shit,” Jace counters, shaking his head fondly. “How’s the limp?”

“Not bad,” Luke props his right leg forward, showing off some progress.”Lucky for me, we’ll be walking at a snail's pace all throughout this bloody thing. You look stunning, by the way.” He winks at you.

“Thanks, Luke.” you smile at him. “So, what a spectacle, huh? It was crazy out there.”

Helaena wraps an arm around your waist, “If you think that was crazy, wait ‘til you enter the main hall.”

“We’ll be announced next. It’s just us left from the family, really. Everyone else has already walked down the proverbial aisle.” Luke comments, straightening his shawl lapels.

The brothers’ choice of attire contrasts yet complements the other’s, with Luke sporting a burgundy three-piece suit and a black tie, whilst Jace dons a simpler black suit and a red tie.

Helaena looks simply otherworldly in her emerald gown, representing the true Hightower heiress that she is.

“Everyone?” you exhale, the words registering. He’s already here.

“You alright? You remember everything from rehearsal?” Jace confirms with you. Yes, I remember rehearsal quite well. The one that Aemond predictably chose not to attend.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, shaking away any thought of him. We’ll see each other soon enough. “Let’s get this shit done, shall we, partner?”

“You’re up next, Sir Lucerys, Miss Helaena.” The event coordinator summons the pair, directing them to stand in front of the heavy-set ornate doors.

A moment passes, then the doors open with a slow, echoing groan. Helaena shoots you one more smile as she walks through with Lucerys.

You hear the herald’s booming voice announcing their names, just as the doors close once more.

“Two more minutes of this,” Jace remarks. “Or you know, maybe ten, since my brother has to take his sweet time walking down the hall.”

“Hey,” you smack his chest, laughing, “it’s not his fault he still has a limp.”

Taking your hand, Jace leads you in front of the doors. You feel your heart pounding, as the sounds coming from the great hall are amplified.

You turn to Jace, wanting to say something, anything, to calm yourself but your mouth feels dry. “Hey,” he gently croons, coming to your rescue, his hand covering yours as you squeeze his arm, “do you see this?”

Your eyes follow as he points to the figure embossed on the large metal doors.

“It looks like… a dragon?”

“That’s right. I think you know of the myths of Old Valyria, where my family hails from. This dragon is called Balerion, the greatest and largest that my ancestors were said to have claimed.”

“Even in this form, he looks imposing,” you say, gazing at the figure, “and beautiful.”

Jace hums in agreement, adding, “You know, legend has it that Targaryens are of the blood of the dragon. That we, for lack of a better word, are dragons ourselves.”

“Hmm,” you smile at the thought, “and do you believe that?”

Jace shrugs, facing ahead, getting ready. “Why shouldn’t I believe?”

His words inspire a sense of calm, and self-assuredness, quieting your restless mind. I can do this. You hold yourself up, lips curved in a soft smile.

The doors open, revealing the revelry below.

Here we go.

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

Aemond had been eager to get through with the initial presentation, practically marching through as fast as can be allowed, with Alys clinging on his arm. He did not much care for the dissonant whispering that flooded the hall once the crowd got sight of him. Their missing Prince of the city has returned.

You would think I grew a second fucking head.

It was no use trying to drown them out, even with the orchestra resounding from the balcony.

“What happened to his eye?”

“Is that really him?”

“He looks…”

“In a rush, are we, honey?” Alys asked through gritted teeth, annoyed, but kept her signature sultry expression intact. She pulled him closer to her, “Keep pace with me now.”

When they finally reached the front of the hall, where the rest of his family assembled, he nearly took a swig out of the flask Aegon was subtly trying to hand over to him.

Until Alicent hissed at the both of them. “Not now, boys.”

The crowd continues to sneak glances at him. In awe or pity, Aemond does not care to know. With every new pairing being announced, he is grateful that their attention is momentarily diverted.

He stands tall in his midnight black formal leather overcoat, with a fitted dark green shirt underneath. His hair has grown longer since his last public appearance, and he now wears it in a half-up manner, with his eyepatch neatly in place over it.

He has come to terms with his appearance, and soon enough, he might even grow to accept the moniker Aemond One-Eye as his brother keeps calling him.

“It’s badass, Aem,” Aegon had drawled. “You look like a Valyrian dragonrider from the old stories with that scar.”

The pairings could have blurred in a haze altogether. Lannister, Arryn, Baratheon, Stark, Tully. On and on it went, but none of them left a mark on Aemond.

There is only one person he is so desperate to see.

When Lucerys Velaryon’s name is announced, Aemond can’t help the distaste he feels. He rolls his shoulders, trying to keep composure, Alys’ arm falling from him. She only regards him from the corner of her eye, likely praying that he doesn’t cause a scene and embarrass her.

He keeps his focus on his sister, as she gracefully floats through the crowd in Hightower green. Such a shame it’s that bastard she got paired with.

Helaena and her partner reach the front of the hall, and she throws him a look as if to say, behave. Aemond ducks his head in acknowledgment, lips curling.

I promise I’ll try to be good. For her sake.

To his left, he hears Helaena whisper, “Any moment now.”

Aemond knows exactly what she means, and does not feel the need to muster a response. The anticipation has devolved into some kind of torture, as all he wants to see you again.

To feel you against him, how your skin would glide smoothly against his, how you would fit together.

The effects of firewine are getting stronger, encroaching on his senses. It dawns on him that perhaps he shouldn’t have imbibed in considerable quantities before the ball, but no matter.

The herald begins his next announcement.

“Finally, let us welcome Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Laenor Velaryon…”

“More like Strong,” Aegon mumbles under his breath, but Aemond no longer pays him any mind.

“... and Rhaenyra Targaryen. With his partner…”

The herald says your name, and Aemond can practically feel his heart lodged in his throat. Keeping his arms behind his back, he adjusts his stance, trying to calm himself. He sees you emerge from the top of the steps and watches as your eyes sweep over the entire hall, and eventually, finally, meet his very own.

Aemond can hardly breathe, the blood rushing to his head at the sight of you in that red dress, making him feel all woozy. The firewine surely does not help, either.

She looks like a goddess. You walk down the hall, keeping your eyes trained ahead, hand firmly on Jacaerys’ arm. But Aemond does not spare his nephew any more than a cursory glance, almost entranced by the way your gown enhances your silhouette. By the exposed planes of your skin.

He watches your chest heave against your bodice as you take deep breaths. He knows that you would be nervous, but to your credit, nobody will be able to tell.

That’s my girl. You reach the front of the hall, joining the rest of the family and their respective partners. Your lips part slightly as you get a better look at Aemond, and he wants to know badly what you think. But then your eyes visibly narrow at something, and you turn away, walking with Jace to the other end of the group.

Aemond registers that Alys had looped her arm around his again, and he curses her internally. He can’t help the glare that he throws in her direction, but she must not see the irritation in his eyes or simply ignores it.

Alys mouths, “Have you been drinking?” with a seductive smile that does not fit her query.

Keeping up appearances, as usual.

“Some,” Aemond snaps. “Don’t let it concern you.”

The hall falls into silence as Viserys conducts his opening remarks, followed by a brief speech from his daughter and named successor, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Soon enough, it’s time for the first dance. All of the main pairings make their way to the open floor in the middle of the hall, standing across from each other as they line up in an orderly fashion. It is the only traditional Valyrian dance of the night, for which participants were required to attend a series of rehearsals prior to the event. Aemond opted out of them this year, not that it mattered. He has long since mastered the dance, having attended every Dragonstone ball since his childhood.

He is tempted to look in your direction, but his instinct to follow tradition wins over.

Always keep your eyes trained on your partner, his mother had ingrained in him and his siblings.

That wouldn’t be a problem, if she were mine.

The dancers raise their right arms to the front, and the music starts. For Aemond, every step almost feels robotic, and his body moves on its own volition. He does not even need to think, nor does he appreciate the closeness the routine requires of the pairings.

Fuck it. At that, Aemond lets his eye wander over to you, as you twirl around with Jace a few feet away. You don’t even look at Aemond, and you shouldn’t, but it annoys him anyway.

He spins Alys around, and her back is pressed to his as they saunter from side to side.

Then you lock eyes. He notices the switch in your expression, which you quickly revert back to a fixed soft smile, but he sees it anyway.

You’re irate at me, my love. The pairings spin around again. And for good reason.

“You smell of firewine,” Alys mutters, when she draws closer.

“Well, I needed something to make this night bearable,” Aemonds responds coolly,

“Aemond,” Alys warns.

Aemond could have rolled his eyes at her reaction. Eye, he smirks at himself. “Don’t worry. It’s not you. I just dislike all this.” Surely that will get her to simmer down.

“Do you really ? Aren’t you a stickler for Valyrian tradition?”

“Hmm.” When in seven hells will this dance end?

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

When the first dance ends, you audibly breathe a sigh of relief.

It is no longer the apprehension about tripping on your feet, or doing something unbecoming of the tradition of the ball, or even forgetting a part of the dance routine that plagues your mind - all of your worries are set aside, overpowered by the rush of emotion from seeing Aemond once again.

The sight of him had been enough to drown out all the noise. Like the focal point of a kaleidoscope, your eyes sought him out when you entered the hall.

Like a moth to a flame. And he found you too.

You don’t know what else to think, apart from - He looks beautiful.

What was he even worried about? He still looks every bit like your Aemond, though you feel sorry at the now apparent loss of his eye. You know he would not desire your pity, that he would hate being on the receiving end of it from anyone. But you can’t help it.

I’m sorry this happened to you, you want to tell him. But would it even matter? Would it make a difference? Or does he already get enough consolation from the company of Alys Rivers?

Jace does not let go of your hand as you walk to the head table with the rest of the family, which is situated like a dais at the front of the hall, so that all the family members would have a full view of everything. Aemond is situated at the other end of the table with Alys, but since they are seated at the other end of the long table, as are you and Jace, they are directly in your line of sight.

The staff had distributed glasses of a deep violet wine which Jace explained is firewine, originally from Valyria. “Are you doing alright so far?” He places his hand atop yours on the table, and you hum positively in response. He does not let go, his thumb drawing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You raise your head when Viserys addresses the hall, making the mistake of catching Aemond’s eye. You notice how tense he sits, both hands intertwined on the table, his eye trained on you. Or rather, on Jace’s hand adjoined with yours.

You shake your head slightly. He looks up at you, as if noticing the attention you are giving him. So you look away quickly, listening as Viserys makes his first toast to the hall.

“Now we drink,” Jace signals. You pick up the ornate glass and bring it to your lips, and see Aemond doing the same. He does not drop your gaze as he takes a drawn out sip, and finally lowers the glass. You catch the way his tongue flickers to taste the remnants of firewine on his lips, and you feel your cheeks flare up with warmth.

Does he know what he’s doing?

“We now invite all of you to partake in another bout of dancing, this one less stringent than the first, so there’s no need to worry. No dragon will come to smite you if you step on your partner’s toes, but my dear wife won’t hesitate to throw you out of the hall, I’m sure,” Viserys announces genially, earning some laughter from the attendees. “And shortly after, the feast will begin.”

The crowd sets into commingling. Some pairings remain together, some accept invitations from other guests. The orchestra begins to play a slower, gentler hymn. Something more intimate. Romantic.

“May I have this dance, stranger?” Jace grins at you, offering his hand.

“Well, who am I to refuse a dragon?” you quip in turn. You pass by Helaena and Luke already on the dancefloor, and Aemond and Alys…

“Hey,” Jace keeps you from finding out. He keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, and takes your hand in the other. “Is he bothering you?”

“What?”

“Aemond,” Jace says. “I could not help but notice that my dear uncle has been practically drooling at you like some starving dog.”

“He has not,” your eyes widen at his insinuation. But he has, hasn’t he?

“Are you blind?” Jace laughs. “He’s bloody doing it right now.”

It doesn’t take long for you to find him, guiding Alys Rivers in a slow dance. And Jace is right. He may be holding her, but his focus is on you.

“You can tell that he must be so jealous right now,” Jace says. “It’s kind of funny.”

A giggle bubbles up your lips, and Jace joins you. You hold each other closer in an attempt to control your laughter. “Still,” you breathe out, finding the words. “He came here with Alys. Not me.”

Jace simply smirks at your concern. “Oh, doll. Judging by how he looks like he might commit nepoticide at any moment, I’d say you’re doing a fine job of making him pay for it.”

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

Aemond hears you laugh a few feet away, recognizing his favourite sound. It’s been too long since he last heard it. Too bad you’re sharing the moment with his Strong nephew, of all people.

The song slows to a gradual halt, but the dance is still under way. Aemond takes this as his cue to turn away from Alys, mumbling something about getting a drink.

“Wait until they’re served. You don’t just slink away searching for alcohol to drown in! This is so unlike you.” She seethes, his attitude finally getting to her.

Aemond knows this. He’s well aware that the servers will soon emerge from the corners of the hall with delicate glass flutes balanced on gold trays. He’s seen this ball play out all throughout his life.

But he is not looking for the same sweet, feeble firewine. He’d much prefer the seedier alcohol that Aegon brings around in his flask.

Alys was right. This is truly unlike him. But between the awareness of everyone scrutinizing his new appearance and seeing his nephew’s hand firmly on your waist, his only recourse is to take a book out of Aegon’s page.

And drink like a Braavosi seahorse, as they say.

You begin swaying once more, in the arms of Jace, as the music gradually rises back to a crescendo. New sets of pairings venture onto the dancefloor.

Thankfully, one of them steps in to relieve him.

“Well, if it isn’t Alys Rivers herself,” a man exclaims, then turns to Aemond. “Do you mind, sir?” He holds his hand out to Alys, standing tall like a reed, as if a stiff breeze would blow him away.

“Oh, hi.” Alys says, pleased at the attention. “Aemond, this is Harris, he’s an actor and we worked on…”

But Aemond has already stepped away, disinterested by her explanation. “By all means.”

It is clearly not the reaction Alys wanted from him, and she glares at his retreating figure. Aemond doesn’t notice, approaching his brother on the sidelines.

“Finished dancing with mommy?” Aegon sneers by way of greeting.

“Fuck off, Aegon.”

“Aw, come on.” Aegon slaps his brother on the back. “You know I'm joking. Besides, you’re doing well for your first event in a long time.”

“Well,” Aemond’s lips curl in thought. Is that how things are going? Well? I wouldn’t say so. “Hand me your flask.”

Aegon sniggers, reaching for his pocket. “Hurry while our dear mother’s not looking.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aemond takes a long drag of the liquid, the unforgiving taste biting in his mouth. It burns a little as it goes down his throat, winding up in his core as a pit of warmth.

“Well, well. Did you lose your inhibitions along with your eye, brother?” Aegon snatches the flask back, surprised but not disappointed by this turn of events.

Perhaps.

“Look at them. Smiling at each other like that.” Aemond spits out, venom lacing his tone.

“Wha -” Aegon’s head whips around, searching. Landing on you. “Oh. I see.” His amusement flares even greater. “Someone’s bloody jealous.”

“Hmm.” Why bother denying it?

“Didn’t think you had it in you to be cuckolded by a bastard.” Aegon says, dealing an effective blow.

“Give me that,” Aemond swipes the flask once more, taking a careless swig. Intrigued whispers reach him, somewhere from behind. Or to his side, it doesn’t matter. They can say whatever they want.

He hands the flask back to his snickering brother, then goes on to claim what’s his.

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

“Nephew.”

You hear his voice, plain as day. One minute he was some distance away, then he materialised right beside you.

“Mind if I step in?” Aemond asks Jace smoothly. Politely. But his eyes betray a hint of malice. You can’t help but stare at him blankly as he offers his hand to you.

Jace doesn’t respond right away, looking to you for approval. Are you fine with this? He seems to ask with furrowed brows.

“It’s okay,” you find your voice, albeit timid and unsure.

“I won’t go too far,” Jace whispers. He lets you go, letting Aemond take over in his stead. You stand in front of each other, but you don’t dare move closer. You feel arrested in his gaze, and he doesn’t say anything for a while.

Until he takes a sure step. Then he is everywhere. His familiar scent envelops you once more. Dizzying, like a long swig of firewine. You even catch a hint of it from him. His lips curl in amusement as he sees you studying him. You take notice of his eyepatch, of the scar lingering beneath.

Aemond. Enticing as ever. Ethereal and princely in his leather garb.

Why did he ever have to hide from me?

He whispers your name, and puts both hands on the small of your back, pulling you right against him. More intimate than the stance you had with Jace.

Aemond always had a pair on him.

He does seem to be unfazed, though he surely regards how flustered you’re becoming. “Hands up on my shoulders, love.” He says, and you comply.

Then he gracefully guides you through the slow dance. How can he act like everything is normal between us? Does he expect me to just -

“You look beautiful.” Aemond says, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your eyes widen at his sentiment, and your cheeks warm. “Easily the most beautiful woman in this room.”

It’s all too much, and you have to look away. “Nice of you to say that, Aemond.”

“I mean it.”

“Sure.”

You continue with the dance, too aware of your proximity. If you lean in, you’re almost certain he’ll feel your rushing heartbeat. Maybe he already does, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“Are you… are you better now?” You ask, tentatively.

Aemond’s expression hardens, and you struggle to decipher what he could possibly be thinking.

“I wish this never happened to you,” you add, and your hand strays on its own, hovering over the side of his face. But you catch yourself, and let your hand fall just as quick.

“I know,” he says, sincerely. “I do wish I never had to be away from you.”

“But you never had to,” you respond immediately. “This wouldn’t have changed how I see you.”

“It might have,” Aemond looks away this time. “You didn’t see how I was. How I still am.”

“I don’t - ”

Aemond’s head whips back to you, leaning closer. “There’s a reason why my mother made sure I wore these bloody gloves. So we don’t give people a chance to talk about their fucking Prince of the City’s latest exploits.”

You swallow, growing concerned. “I heard about those… fights. I wasn’t sure if they were true. Nobody ever said anything.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, they are. I’m not going to lie, darling. Right now, I’m not averse to slamming Jacaerys right to the ground.”

“Aemond,” you freeze, no longer swaying to the music. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Maybe he has changed. But did I ever truly know him? Did he really let me in?

He notices your expression fall, agonizes at the sight of you moving away from him, dropping your arm to your sides. So he pulls you in once more, holding you right against him. His leather coat is smooth against the featherlike fabric of your gown, cool against your growing warmth.

“Wait,” Aemond pleads. “Stay with me.” His hands slide upward, cradling your face. You have no choice but to look at him. Briefly, you wonder how he would appear without the eyepatch. Not that it matters. Not that he will reveal himself to you.

The song comes to a gradual halt in the background. The crowd begins to shuffle back to their tables. Some of them cast wary glances in your direction. Who is that girl with their beloved Aemond, they must wonder, and you begin to grow self-conscious.

“I want to kiss you right now, darling.” Aemond sighs, fanning your face with an exhale. Proving your assumption that he might be inebriated. Not just with wine, but something stronger.

I wish you would. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” His face scrunches in frustration, and it’s actually adorable.

“Not here. People are staring.” You clear your throat, trying to get a hold of yourself. But it doesn’t seem to matter to him.

“Let them stare.”

His gaze drifts down to your lips. His thumb flutters across, parting them just a little. Just as he had, that one night. Has it been that long?

Like a shock to your senses, you see a lithe figure in a silver slip gown walking in your direction. A vision with her cascading dark hair.

You jump back from Aemond, and he looks almost wounded.

“Enjoy your night, Aemond.” You turn away from him. “Alys.” You muster up a greeting, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile.

You walk through the crowd, your mind still on Aemond, unaware that he continues to watch you with longing, tuning out the dark-haired vixen holding on to his arm.

“You look flushed,” Aegon greets, standing with Helaena by the dais.

“I suppose it’s your fault Aemond’s drunk,” you respond, raising your eyebrow.

“He’s drunk?” Aegon exclaims, shrugging dramatically. “I swear I had no part in this.”

Helaena shakes her head, watching the exchange. “It’s a relief you didn’t decide to become an actor.”

“Hey,” Aegon grumbles, but he is clearly unaffected. “Aemond wanted to get drunk. I never could make him do anything no matter how hard I try.”

Smirking at you, he presses on. “If anything, sweet, I should be blaming you.”

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

You are seated back at the high table when Jace finally returns. But he is not alone, grinning conspiratorially with another raven-haired fellow, strapping and dignified in appearance.

You spot the wolf sigil pinned to his black tunic, and you automatically make an assumption.

This must be a Stark.

“I would like to introduce you to an old buddy of mine,” Jace smiles, confirming your thoughts. “This is Cregan Stark.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Cregan reaches you, drawing close. He smoothly takes your hand, and presses a kiss to the back as a gesture of courtesy. “A shame we didn’t meet sooner. I suppose I haven’t left Winterfell in far too long. Haven’t seen this one in a long time too.” He tilts his head in Jace’s direction, smiling. You can’t help but notice the sharpness of his canines, making him appear kind of wolflike, in line with his family symbol. “My sister Sara misses him way too much for my liking.”

At the mention of Sara, Jace’s cheeks visibly redden, and you make a mental note of teasing him about it later.

“What’s not to miss about Jace, really?” you say, taking a liking to the Stark boy’s demeanour. Sure, he holds himself with a steely confidence that befits someone of his status - much like Aemond - but he doesn’t come across as intimidating.

And, more importantly, he’s good friends with Jace, so he must be trustworthy.

“Right, you two, the feast is starting,” Jace playfully pulls Cregan away from you, who winks in your direction before hunkering off to his own table.

Jace sits down next to you, a smile still resting on his lips. When he catches you looking, you take the opportunity and say, “So, Sara Stark, huh?”

He smirks, easily countering with, “So, my uncle, huh?”

Your eyebrows raise, and you pick up the flute of wine set before you.

“Touché.”

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

Another one. Aemond has half a mind to break something when he spots the fucking Stark boy making advancements on you. Who does he think he is anyway? Does he not know that you are already spoken for?

True to form, his nephew Jacaerys only seems to be encouraging the whole thing. Bringing his two friends together.

Bastard is as bastard does.

Thankfully, there is a sudden trill sound, some chimes swinging, it doesn’t matter. The feast is being signalled to commence.

Everyone makes their way back to their tables, including bloody Cregan Stark.

Aemond is simply determined to go through the motions, and to make it to the remaining two hours of this ball. Two excruciating hours. Then he plans on taking you off somewhere, just you and him, having already considered the different outcomes in his head.

To Blackwater Residences, perhaps? But that would be a bit far away. You would be inclined to go with him, only if there would be an option to return to the ball should the need arise.

So he settles on simply pulling you away from the crowd, somewhere within the Valyrian Hall. He knows the ins and outs of the establishment quite well. So there would be no trouble getting around. To the gardens, to the balcony on the upper floor, to the private parlour?

Anywhere, anything.

“... so of course, I said yes! It’s a really good opportunity for me to finally venture into the film industry, you know. It’s something I've always wanted.” Alys prattles on, and Aemond tunes in, now and then, nodding or shaking his head as warranted. Keep her happy, and the night should flow by easily. If he plays his cards right, he should be with you soon enough.

Viserys commands the attention of the crowd, and hush falls over the feast.

He begins by thanking everyone in attendance, then goes on to make a toast for the entire city, for prosperity. And at the end, he expresses a tribute for perpetual unity among his family, the accident glazed over like a bad headline.

Like it never happened. And that is how people will see it, if that is the will of Viserys.

As per tradition, the rest of the family may take the opportunity to share a toast, should they wish.

Rhaenyra is next, and she expresses gratitude for the health of their sons.

Otto Hightower announces the predicted success of the next business venture between the Targaryen and Hightower empires, shepherded by his tireless consulting and liaising, of course.

Daeron makes a cheerful toast to his many friends, scattered across the hall in attendance.

And then, Lucerys stands, leaning against his good leg, one hand on the table for balance. He raises his hand high, and his usual impish smirk is in place. He looks around the hall, making sure to have everyone’s eyes on him.

“It's been quite the year, as we all know. I, for one, am simply grateful to still be standing here among you.”

Viserys looks to Rhaenrya, as if to question whether Luke will stray too far. The boy’s mother merely smiles stiffly, trusting her son to be prudent in his speech.

Luke does not miss a beat, continuing, “I would like us all to toast to my family, especially to my dear uncle, Aemond. Hopefully he has learned his lesson about challenging me to a race.” He adds the last thing lightly, and the crowd titters as a result.

“Alright, Luke, that’s enough.” Rhaenyra makes a hushed warning.

Luke mouths, wait, and finishes up the rest of his speech. “I would like to make a toast as well, to our dear friends and companions here at our table. To Daeron’s girlfriend, Viola. To Rhaena and her Corwyn. And to my good friend, y/n.”

Aemond’s hand clenches into a fist on the table at his nephew mentioning your name. He sees you regard Luke with surprise, not expecting this at all.

Luke finishes his toast, and in a deliberate move, he says, “Seeing as how my brother is quite taken with you, I won’t be surprised if you will be joining our family soon.”

Aemond suddenly rises from his seat, his weighty chair causing a grating noise to echo across the hall.

Luke sits back down with a triumphant sneer, having accomplished his desired result.

Aemond takes a deep breath, not saying anything for a few seconds. His features are stony and his figure taut, like a serpent ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Alicent says, worried.

Then Aemond raises his glass, a determined look on his face, his one beady eye scanning the hall. Not willing to be defeated.

“A tribute,” he begins, “to the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

He catches sight of you, sitting too far away, worriedly looking between himself and Jacaerys, who glares at him appalled. You shake your head at him.

This is all for you, my darling.

“...Strong.” Aemond calls to everyone. “Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys.”

The tension takes its toll, and despite Viserys’ best efforts, chaos ensues.

a/n

not Aemond getting wasted just to cope with the high of properly being with the reader after the longest time...

also - someone send Ewan back to Derby please. I'm serious.

Sound off in the comments! I would love to know what you guys think 🖤

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon

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azrielslightintheshadows · 5 months

Note

Hey friend!!! Ive been loooving, devouring and reblogging all your fics! I was wondering if i could request azriel x reader where reader has a visible scar on her face, maybe through her eyebrow down to mid cheek from an attacker that tried to kill her. She has a mini crush on azriel but she sees how hes attracted to Elain whos the definition of beauty so reader just gives up even attempting to like him. Angst with happy ending pls. ❤️

Forever

Azriel x f!Reader

Warnings; mentions of abuse and death.

Masterlist

Not one of my best writings but I really didn't know how to write this. If you don't like it please let me know so I can rewrite it! Thank you so much for your kind words and I really hope I didn't let you down with this.

You joined the inner circle when you were still a teenager. Rhysand had found you in Hewn City when two males tried to force themselves on you after a party. You watched wide-eyed as he made a public display of power by crushing their minds and flinched when he grabbed you and winnowed away. He took you to Velaris and you met the rest of the inner circle who instantly welcomed you and made you a part of their small family.

The shadowsinger immediately caught your attention and you found yourself falling for him as the years passed. Your close relationship with them though pissed off your father and one of the days you visited Hewn City with them he paid someone to end your life. Your attacker managed to find you alone and pounced on you with a dagger in hand. You quickly jumped back and let a scream when his dagger scratched your face from your eyebrow to your cheekbone. Azriel heard your cries and emerged from darkness next to you, he immediately disarmed your attacker while his shadows caressed your wounded skin, their coldness soothing the pain. He called Rhys to take you to Velaris and then disappeared with your attacker.

Madja did everything she could, and she managed to save your eye, but the scar remained, a constant reminder of your father’s resentment. Azriel remained by your side helping you get past your trauma and teaching you how to defend yourself in a similar situation. You really enjoyed the attention he gave you and once again you started hoping that one day he might fall for you.

Then the Archeron sisters came into your life and Azriel became distant as he started spending time with the middle one. He would disappear for the whole day and when he would come back to the house of wind to sleep, he would reek of Elain’s scent. Your heart broke every time he would pass in front of you with a quick nod as a greeting and then disappear into his room. Elain was the definition of perfection, long golden-brown hair, rich brown eyes and most importantly a face without any scars. You could see why Azriel fawned over her, and even though it hurt, you remained silent thinking that he deserves a beautiful female like her by his side and not a sullied one like you. You stopped trying to get his attention, stopped making him tea every morning, stopped tidying his daggers and books knowing that he wouldn’t even notice.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were sitting on your bed reading one of the books that Nesta gave you when Azriel strolled in with a worried expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“You are avoiding me.” He exclaimed.

“No I am not” you lied. “I’m not stupid.” He growled “I don’t have to avoid you since you are never here” you snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Listen, I get why you spend so much time with Elain, she is perfect, and I really hope you two will be happy together but please give me some time to adjust.” You sighed.

“What? There’s nothing going on between me and her. I’m just following Rhysand’s orders.” He was staring at you with a panicked expression.

“Az I know you, this is not just an order you’re following, you’re falling for her.” You said softly. “I really hoped that one day you would fall for me, but I get it… I’m not perfect” you pointed at your scar and Azriel’s breath hitched.

“Don’t you ever say that again” he growled “you are perfect, and this scar makes you even more irresistible.” He sat next to you on the bed and cupped your face “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I couldn’t believe that a female like you could ever want someone like me, and then the attack happened, and I realized that I can’t even protect you, so I kept my distance.” You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but he held a finger up stopping you.

“I spend my time with Elain because I want to help her, to keep her safe because I failed you. I thought that if I could do that with her I would become worthy of you”

“You never failed me Az” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You couldn’t know that my own father would hire someone to kill me, and even though you weren’t expecting it you came just in time to save me. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against your own. “Can you forgive me?” he whispered. “There is nothing to forgive.” You smiled.

He returned your smile and slowly captured your lips with his own, his kiss was soft yet needy and his thumbs caressed your cheeks.

“You have my full attention angel… forever” he said when you broke the kiss. “I love you” you sighed.

“I love you more” he replied and kissed you again.

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wannabe-fic-writer · 6 months

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Pick-up Line

Summary: Perhaps being a little corny isn’t so bad.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,801

* * * * * * * *

Laughs and giggles ring out around you, a hand pushing gently at your shoulder as your friend urges you on.

“You gotta do it Y/Ln.” He says, still lightly pushing, the playfulness clear in his gesture.

Shaking your head, you duck your gaze from the woman you’d seen at the bar.“ I’m not nearly drunk enough to go embarrass myself, thank you very much.”

For a second it seems they accept it, until your closest friend, Darcy, pipes up.“ I dare you.”

Sounds of instigation circled the booth instantly after and you shot a narrow eyed look at the brunette from across the table.

After a rather hard day at work, you and your friends all decided to come blow off some steam at a bar not too far from your job.

On a Friday night the place was growingly crowded but you managed to slip into a booth that seated you all comfortably and after two shots, paid for by your friend, you stopped caring how many people were in the building.

Music filled the space alongside chatter and laughter from the other patrons, only adding to the atmosphere that allowed everyone to start unwinding.

Drinks were ordered almost as fast as they were drunk, jokes filled the air, and the usual conversation and banter accompanied all of you. For the most part, you managed your avoid being the target of the jokes, until you were caught staring.

A woman had come into the bar, clad in black heeled boots, black skinny jeans, and a simple dark red top which was only revealed after she removed her coat, and she looked gorgeous.

You were nearly mesmerized at the way her long auburn hair flowed and bounced with each move. Becoming even more so when she turned to face the stage and you caught the sharp cut of her jawline and her high cheekbones. You didn’t have to be close to see that she was beautiful.

Sadly though, you were caught “ogling” her, and was promptly teased which transitioned into them telling you to go talk to her.

Knowing that you were no more than a gay mess, you hardly entertained the idea. You could appreciate beauty from afar and avoid embarrassment all at once.

Your friends knew that’s how you felt and told you not to take yourself too seriously. According to them you couldn’t go wrong with humor so Sam suggested you try a pick-up line to which you had to admit, you only knew lame ones that the internet provided.

Unswayed, he told you to go use one and your bashful ‘no’ met nothing but encouragement from everyone. That is until Darcy dared you.

Of course you could say no, avoid the humiliation and go on about your night, but you really couldn’t.

Having known Darcy since you were in college together came with baggage. Not the bad kind, just the kind that had you wishing there was none.

One truth or dare game at a party years ago, where the both of you swore you would never back down from a dare, was carried through years of friendship. Three little words, ‘I dare you’, more often than not led to one of you making a fool of yourselves and it seems that tonight, it was your turn.

The split second you take to consider saying no is met by a raise of the brunette’s eyebrow and your pride swallows the word.

After tossing back a shot for courage, you push yourself up from your seat and make your way across the room, fingers nervously tapping against the pockets of your jeans.

The distance between each barstool provides enough space for you to slide up beside the redhead with ease.

Now that you’re here: beside her with the burn of your friends’ obvious stares, you clam up a little. But you accepted the dare, and you’d honestly come too far to back out. Seeing how gorgeous she is up close however makes you wish the first thing out of your mouth wouldn’t be some lame pick-up line.

Still.

Clearing your throat, you turn your body to face her, plastering on a look of curiosity.“ Excuse me for bothering you but I saw you from across the room and I couldn’t help but wonder… is your father a thief by chance?”

Instantly, an expression of clear offense covers her features. A little line forms between her eyebrows as she frowns.“ Pardon me?”

“Well, I just have to assume he stole the stars and put them in yours eyes.”

A second of silence passes in which her frown gives way to confusion. The second she processes what you said a laugh tumbles from her lips and she slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle the rather loud sound.

Heat rushes up your neck to your face as she continues to laugh and more than a few eyes land on the two of you, plus the loud laughter of your friends coming from the booth a few feet away. Embarrassment floods your body and you wish the ground would swallow you whole right about now.

“Um, sorry,” you find yourself saying, a hand rubbing at the back of your neck,“ I- just- enjoy the rest of your night.”

Before you can even fully walk away, soft yet cold fingers circle your wrist and you turn back to see the woman looking at you. Amusement dances through her eyes and across her face as she studies you.

“I’m sorry, don’t go. I didn’t mean to laugh like that.” She gives an almost apologetic smile.“ I promise I’m not laughing at you, I just was taken off guard by where that went.” As she speaks, you pick up the accent in her voice.

Using her words as an invitation to keep talking, you ease back into the space by her seat.“ It’s okay, really, I know that was rather corny. My friends dared to do it and I did.”

Her head tilts in the slightest, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.“ Corny?” She questions.

At first you’re not sure what she means by reiterating it but the genuinely puzzled look in her eyes tells you she’s unfamiliar with the term.

“Oh, it means like, lame or unoriginal.” You try to explain, then adding,“ embarrassing.”

The way she looks at you after makes your breath catch in your throat. While you can’t quite place the expression in them, you now notice the brilliant color of her eyes, the low bar lights casting a golden glow in her green orbs.

Tongue darting out to wet her lips, fingers gingerly twirling the little red straw in her glass, she says,“ I don’t think it was corny,” she smiles a little,“ I thought it was quite cute.”

“Really?” Playfully you quirky a brow while leaning on the bar.“ Because I could’ve sworn you thought I was offending you by calling your father a thief.”

Yet again she laughs, hand over her mouth. Only this time, the cutest little snort sounds from her right before she does.

As her hand lands on your arm, laughter still spilling from her, you smile and resolve to keep eliciting that cute sound from her so long as she wants to be bothered by you.

It turns out, she wanted to be bothered by you all night.

From that moment on, the two of you never once stopped talking. You briefly paused after your friends closed out their tab and bid you goodbye, then you fell back into the enticing aura that the woman radiated.

You both nursed another drink or two, split an order of loaded french fries, and even discussed the music being played by the solo performer on stage. All throughout, you managed to ease ever closer to each other.

Having started with her hand on your arm then shifting to shoulders bumping, leaning closer to hear over the loud environment, fingers brushing while reaching for more fries, or her chest pressing against your arm as she moved to grab a napkin.

In the beginning you were sure she was just being friendly, entertaining you so as not to have you leaving the bar embarrassed by your poor pick-up line, but each conversation or lingering touch led you to believe maybe there was more there.

Still, even after last call was given and you paid for both of you before exiting the bar together, you never veered too far from the line of “friendly” despite your rapidly growing attraction to her.

Her hand slips around your arm as the two of you fall into step with each other, heading towards the parking lot.

The cool air feels incredible on your cheeks, warm from the drinks and sore from smiling so much. It also seems to make the woman a little cold though, or you assume so as she presses even closer to you.

“Um,” you clear your throat,“ how far back did you park?”

“I’m actually right here.” She points to a red hybrid car not but two spaces down.

In silence, you walk her the rest of the way to the car. She fishes her key out and unlocks it but neither of you make much of a move to leave after.

Looking around, you take in the darkening night and still lively surroundings before looking back. Green eyes are already on you, roaming over your face in an observant way that you’ve come to recognize.

“What?” You chuckle, ducking your gaze.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head.“ Just- thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed so hard.”

That makes you smile, hand rubbing the back of your neck as you reply.“ No problem. I’ve been told I’m pretty funny. We can meet up again and I’ll give you my stand up routine,” you say teasingly, followed by a chuckle.

“Okay.” Her tone is void of any teasing, eyes holding serious interest. She digs into her pocket again and steps closer.

Taking your hand in one swift motion, she flips it palm up and click a pen, before gently writing on your hand.

“Call me,” she clicks the pen again and backs up to her door,“ I’d be more than happy to laugh at you.”

With a teasing smile and wink, she gracefully gets into her car, leaving you dumbstruck in the middle of the parking lot.

As she pulls off she waves and you do the same, still partly frozen.

Of all the things you expected of tonight, getting the number of a gorgeous woman wasn’t on the list. And it happened because of a stupid dare.

It’s after you’ve slipped into your car that you pull your phone out and tap on the most recent conversation.

‘Thanks.’ You send.

‘You’re welcome dumb dumb.’ - Darcy

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @blackxwidowsxwife @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @alotofpockets @caspianalexander @yeeterthekeeper @ecruzsalaz @natasha-danvers @fayhar

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fluff #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #reader insert

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unofficial-writing · 27 days

Text

She Calls me Freddie (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, topics of pain and injuries (mostly burns)

Summary: The twins managed to buy another ticket to the world cup for you but after the Death eater attack, your trip was cut short

Word Count: 5k

Author’s Note: This series was originally from years ago and i’m so so excited to finally write and put it out. it’s so special to me and I hope you enjoy it! Welcome to part one of many <3

༺═────────────═༻

You were woken up that morning by Ginny shaking you. “Y/n.” She repeated your name a few times before she got a response. You groaned and rolled over onto your other side.

“We let you sleep as long as we could,” Hermione told you. You opened your eyes to see her sitting in front of Ginny’s mirror, doing her hair for the day. “But you won’t have any time to get ready if you don’t get up now.”

“And you will be left behind.” Ginny added with a laugh, taking her pillow and throwing it at you.

“Fine,” You said groggily, throwing the pillow back at her which unfortunately she caught. You sat up and stood quickly to avoid being tempted into lying back down again. If there was one thing you weren’t, it was a morning person. And that particular morning was the morning of the Quidditch world cup, which meant a long walk before the sun was even up.

Satisfied, Ginny returned to her mirror, standing behind Hermione to use the space above her. You walked over to your trunk, digging through it to find an outfit. Unlike the other two, you hadn’t had one planned the night before. You ended up pulling out a sweater and a pair of jeans.

“Are the boys up yet?” You asked as you got dressed, sleep still masking your voice even though you were starting to wake up. Ginny shook her head.

“We haven’t checked yet but I doubt it.” She replied, not bothering to pull her attention away from what she was doing. “I don’t think they’ll get up until they’re forced.” It didn’t take long for the three of you to be ready and leave your room. You split up to go wake the others, Ginny and Hermione heading to Ron’s room and you to the twins’.

You climbed a couple flights of stairs and strode down the hall to Fred and George’s room, giving a swift knock to the door. “Boys!” You called, waiting for a response. After a second knock and nothing, you sighed and opened the door. Both the twins were sound asleep, Fred covered with at least three blankets and George snoring.

“Fred, George, do you realize what time it is?” You asked and with a quick swish of your wand, the lamps in the room were lit. The sun was only just starting to rise, therefore it was still dark in the house.

George responded by covering his eyes, even though the lamps weren’t all that bright. “God, y/n.” he complained. Fred on the other hand was too buried in his blankets to notice.

You sighed and walked over to his bed, removing the first layer of blanket. “Fred, get up.” You told him, hearing only him mumble something inaudible as a response.

“Hm?” You responded. The boy grabbed onto your arms in an attempt to pull you down with him. He failed however, giving up since he was still half asleep. You were able to plant your feet and get out of his grasp. “Poor choice of timing to try and get me in your bed.” You huffed, pulling off the last blanket which got him up quickly. “If I have to be up right now, so do you.”

“Good morning to you too.” Fred yawned, resting his head in his hands.

Once they were both sitting up and looked like they weren’t about to fall back to sleep, you walked out their door, turning back around before closing it. “After breakfast, we’re leaving. And nobody is safe from being left behind.” You announced to them what Ginny had said with a hint of teasing in your voice, hoping it would be enough incentive to keep them awake.

─────────────────────────

Downstairs you greeted Molly, who was still working on breakfast. Since you were the first one down, you helped her finish. “Oh thank you, dear!” She said, giving you a warm smile.

Ginny and Hermione were next to come down, followed by Arthur, Harry, and Ron. It was only after you were all seated that the twins came down too. George was first and looked like he was still asleep. “Glad you decided to join us after all.” You said as he sat down across from you.

“Don’t you start, y/n” he groaned, leaning his head back in his chair.

When Fred came down he was wide awake, his long legs taking him out of the stairs and into the kitchen. He ruffled your hair and sat down beside you, close enough that you could smell the faintest scent of gunpowder off of him.

“So last night we were working on these fireworks.” He started to explain, confirming the smell. “We’ll have to show you.”

“Ohhh, is that why you wouldn’t get up?” You inquired with a smile. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh please, like Hermione and Ginny didn’t have a hard time waking you.” He returned. As you talked, you pointed briefly to his food, reminding him to start eating it before he got too distracted by talking. “Once you’re asleep— thanks— nothing can get you up without someone ending up injured.”

“No, that’s only when you wake me up.” You corrected. “And George.” The both of you glanced in his direction, only to see him sound asleep in his chair. Ron beside him slapped his arm, waking him up with a jolt. He sighed and sat back up, returning to his breakfast.

─────────────────────────

You left most of your belongings at home, bringing only what you needed for the game that night. The world cup was one of, if not the most important quidditch event in the world. You watch it remotely every year, but this year the twins surprised you with a ticket.

To get there you all would travel by portkey, but it was a hike to get to it. Now on that hike, you found yourself following Arthur Weasley on a wide trail through the woods. He was in an extremely good mood. Everyone was today. Even those who weren’t a fan of quidditch were excited for the event today.

“We’ll be meeting Amos Diggory.” Arthur announced. “And his son, Cedric, which you boys have met.” He gestured to Fred and George. You had met him once a few years ago as well, but you were in a different house and you didn’t get the chance to interact much.

The group reached a large tree where the two waited. “Arthur!” Amos greeted him, he carried a large pack and hiking stick. “It’s about time, son!” Cedric walked up beside him, sporting a smile. He was rather handsome, with friendly eyes and brown curls atop his head. You noticed that he glanced at you first.

“Sorry Amos! Some of us had a bit of a sleepy start.” He replied, turning to look back at his son’s. On cue, Ron let out a yawn.

“You’ve met my boys,” Arthur started and then introduced the rest of you.” This is my daughter Ginny and here is Harry, Hermione and y/n. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works with me at the ministry.” The man lifted his head in a friendly way. Arthur then turned to Cedric.

“And this strapping young man must be Credric, am I right?” He asked, shaking the boys hand.

“Yes, sir.” Was his response, that smile glued to his face. After introductions were finished, the group proceeded again down the trail. But Cedric stayed back to greet you.

“Y/n.” Cedric spoke in a charming tone, giving a polite kiss to the back of your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“You as well, Cedric.” You responded with a chuckle, wearing kind expression on your face. He mimicked it and walked back up to the front of the group. Hermione beside you nudged you with her elbow and gave you a smirk. Behind you, Fred and George exchanged a look, subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. But you hear one of them huff.

“I think he fancies you,” Ginny whispered in a playful voice, leaning in close to be unheard by the rest.

“Oh no, Gin. Y/n only has eyes for your brother.” Hermione added quickly, immediately receiving a glare from you. Laughter erupted from the two girls.

“Shush, both of you!” You told her, glancing back to see if anyone heard. The twins looked occupied with whatever they were talking about. “And I don’t like Fred any more than usual.” Which would normally be true. But there was a different dynamic between you recently. Nothing about your friendship had changed but you had certainly grown closer recently. But the topic wasn’t something you wanted to dive into at that moment, on your hike to the portkey.

─────────────────────────

After around an hour more of walking, you came out into a huge field of yellowish-green grass. You had felt the uphill climb for a while now and that was confirmed upon seeing a cliff that dropped downward a little ways off. Beyond it lay the sea, its blue surface darker with the overcast weather that morning. As you worked your way closer, you could taste the air develop a hint of salt and feel the wind pick up.

“It’s just up here!” Arthur called, pointing up the hill where an old leather boot sat. It stood up among the grass as if it was planted there, which it likely had been. As your neared it you were instructed to spread out so that everyone had a spot around it.

“Why are we all gathered around that manky old boot?” Harry asked. You imagined he’d never seen a portkey before before, given that he was raised outside the wizarding community.

“That’s not just any manky old boot, mate.” Fred started, settling into a spot next to you.

“It’s a portkey.” George finished, readjusting the bag he carried over his shoulder. Harry followed to find a spot around the boot.

“Time to go!” Amos announced and began counting. “Three..” you shared a look with Fred, placing your hand on the boot with everyone else. You knew what a portkey was, but you’d never actually traveled by one before “Two..”

“Harry!” Arthur called. The boy didn’t have a hold on the boot. He quickly grabbed it before Amos finished counting.

“One!” As he spoke the portkey lifted off the ground, taking us with it. It began to spin, fast enough that you closed your eyes to avoid dizziness. The spinning lasted somewhere around thirty seconds and once it stopped, you were dropped onto the ground. You groaned at the impact, opening your eyes to see the portkey had gone but the rest of the group was down around you. Arthur, Amos, and Cedric, however, had landed gracefully and now walked past you. Arthur beckoned you to follow.

“Come on, this way!” He called. You sat up, rubbing the back of your head. It had a dull ache, but it faded quickly.

“Plan on sleeping here?” Fred asked, making his way to you and offering his hand.

“Oh shove off, Freddie.” you replied, taking it. He pulled you to your feet easily and walked with you to the rest of the group. You climbed up a slope and when you reached the top, the game grounds came into view.

“Bloody hell.” Ron got out, taken by the sight. There were rows and rows of tents in the outer edge, all with different festive decorations. As you moved inward there were tents selling everything from flags to fireworks, which there were no shortage of.

As you walked through the tents, a few were set off right next to you. They stretch up and burst into colorful sparks, raining back down and forming different shapes and figures.

“Those are brilliant!” George exclaimed, lifting his head to watch as we walked. Smiled and laughter filled the group as you made your way through the maze of festivities. That’s when you parted from the Diggorys.

“See you later, Cedric,” George called out to him as Arthur led the rest in the opposite direction, eventually bringing you to a small tent.

“Don’t worry, it’s much bigger on the inside.” You elbowed Harry playfully after seeing his puzzled expression. You ducked into the tent, which opened into a huge space with multiple different rooms off the main.

“Ok, Girls on the left and boys on the right!” Arthur called out. On your side, there were three beds where each of you dropped your bags. You took out a small paint bag out and brought it into the main room.

“I have face paints for us,” You started, pulling the colors out and setting them on the table. “But I imagine we’ll want some other stuff too. Like hats and flags.”

“We can go get some then,” Fred suggested, stepping down into the room. “They have all the tents just a few down from us.”

“Yeah, let’s go now before it gets too busy.” You responded, abandoning the table and standing to head for the tent’s exit. George came into the room, crossing his arms.

“Be back in time to paint my face, y/n!” George yelled as you left the tent, followed quickly by Fred. You two navigated the area, starting to make your way to the shops. There was a tent for everything you could think of.

“Fred, let’s get a firework!” You exclaimed, taking his arm and bringing him to a vendor. Little sparks fluttered around his tent in all different colors and shapes. “Which is a good one?”

Fred looked about the explosives, eventually landing on a large circular one, with a long stick out the bottom. “This one.” He handed the man a galleon, taking the firework in one hand and your hand in the other.

“Careful where you light that thing!” The vendor called as you were led through the crowd and into a small clearing.

“This looks like barely enough room.” You told him, helping him set the rocket into the ground.

“As long as it’s pointed up,” He started, positioning it correctly. He held a hand out for your wand, which you offered to him. “It won’t bother anyone down here.”

He flicked your wand to summon a spark, which started to move up the little wick toward the firework. As soon as it was lit, Fred stood and pulled you back with him. It went off with a whistle, reaching a little ways above the tents before bursting into a huge explosion. Sparks danced above you before raining back down and eventually fading into nothing. Fred cheered and gave you a high five.

“Now that’s a firework.” He said with both hands still on your shoulders, flashing you a smile. It warmed your chest and gave you an almost giddy feeling.

Fred slipping your wand back into your pocket for you and then you were off again. You went down the aisle of tents, stopping here and there to pick up things like flags, hats, and scarves. You even stopped briefly at a jewelry tent after it had caught your eye.

“Oh, I love this one.” You said pointing to a woven bracelet containing small stone beads.

“Really? You’ve never been much of a jewelry person.” He responded, which was correct. You didn’t really have anything against jewelry, you just never wore anything except for earrings and the occasional bracelet.

“Bracelets are an exception.” You explained. “Maybe I can come back and get it after the game.” You moved on from the stand, continuing down the aisle. You now approached the stadium.

“We probably have everything we need.” You started. “Do you—” You turned around to find that Fred had fallen behind and was now walking to catch up. Once he reached you, you asked again.

“Do you want to go back to the tent?” You asked. He nodded in response.

“Yeah, you still need to paint my face.” The boy reminded you, pointing to his cheek. You chuckled and led him back in the other direction.

─────────────────────────

Once you were back at the tent, you broke out the paints. Ginny offered to help so you showed her the basics of it. She ended up doing Ron and Hermione as well as herself. You started with Harry

“Ok, which team?” You asked, prepping one of your brushes.

“I’ll go with Bulgaria.” He requested. “Just one flag though.” You painted the red and black onto his cheeks which he thanked you for. After that you did George, who wanted the same but with the Irish colors and a flag on both cheeks. Once he was done, Fred sat down in front of you with his legs crossed.

“Ok, I’m thinking a huge clover. Covering my entire face.” He gestured to his face, picking up the brush and handing it to you. You laughed, putting a hand onto the side of his face to hold him straight and painting with the other.

“I hope you’re not kidding when you say your entire face.” You said, focusing on what you were doing, which was difficult because the boy kept making faces at you. You had made his entire face white and the clover quite literally covered nearly every inch of it.

“I’m not.” Fred responded. He had given up on making faces and now just gazed at your eyes, which you would argue was even more distracting. Once you were finished, you handed him a small mirror.

“Exactly what I was imagining!” He said, taking your brush from you. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I can probably do it myself, Fred.” You replied, raising an eyebrow. If you knew Fred Weasley, you knew it was safer not to hand him face paint. He gave you a look.

“What? Worried I’ll put a giant clover on your face?” He asked sarcastically. You shook your head, absolutely horrible at saying no to him.

“Fine, just do a flag for me.” You instructed, handing him your paints, but you interrupted him before he could start. “But If you mess up my face, Fredrick Weasley, I’ll never let you touch it again.”

“I won’t! God, woman.” Fred laughed as he spoke. He put a hand under your chin, holding your jaw to keep your head still while he painted. To get back at him, you made direct eye contact with him, chuckling as he struggled to keep his eyes from drifting to yours.

After he finished one cheek he moved onto the next, but the brush strokes were definitely not making a flag. “Freddie?”

“Hm?”

“What are you putting on my face?”

“Just trust me, love.” He assured, glancing down to your eyes for a moment before continuing. You sighed and Fred tilted your chin gently to the side so he could see it better. Once he was done he leaned back to examine his work, taking a little too long before he said anything.

George across the room looked at Ron and started fake gagging, both of them laughing shamelessly. Fred rolled his eyes and handed you your little mirror. He had put the Irish flag on one side and three small clovers on the other. When you looked back up at him he had a smile, knowing you liked it.

“I’m impressed.” You said. “You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Told you, I’m a natural.” He replied, leaning back on the couch. You chuckled, setting the mirror back down on the table.

─────────────────────────

Once the sun went down, you and the rest of the group made your way to the stadium. Your seats were at the top level so it required climbing several flights of stairs that sprouted up just beyond the entrance. About one flight up you were stopped by the Malfoys, the father and son pair. You hadn’t really spoken to either of them personally but they had always seemed like prats from the interactions you heard about.

“Blimey dad, how high up are we?” Ron asked, leaning over the railing to try and see down into the stadium.

“Well let’s put it this way.” Lucius started, leaning into his cane. “If it rains, you’ll be the first to know.” Most of us ignored them and continued walking but Harry and Hermione stopped when Draco chimed in.

“Father and I are in the minister’s box.” He added, giving Harry a smug look. “By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself.”

“Don’t boast, Draco.” His father scolded, jabbing him with his cane. “There’s no need with these people.” Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm, turning her away from the Malfoys. Before he lifted his other hand from the rail, Lucius used the snake end of his can to trap it. Harry jumped at the sudden pain.

“Do enjoy yourself, won’t you? Lucius said. “While you can.” He released his hand and you reached down to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, turning him away from them again. This time they continued going their own way and you were able to make it up to your seats.

This was the first time you could get a good look into the stadium. Below you were an ungodly number of levels, stretching down to the bottom where the field resided. On either side of the green, three posts grew upward, the hoops at the top almost as high up as you were.

Cheers and whoops came from every direction, filling your ears with the sound. “When does the game start?” You called out over the applause. Fred leaned down to answer but was interrupted by the formation of brooms speeding by above, seeming to just barely miss the top of your heads. White and green clouds trailed behind the players as the flew toward the center of the stadium, creating a firework display there.

Then the Bulgarian team entered, crashing directly through their show and throwing off the display. They flew in a triangle formation, sporting their red and black colors. At the front, the team’s seeker led the group, showing off as he passed through the audience.

“Who’s that?” Ginny asked.

“That sis, is the greatest seeker in the world!” George answered. His voice nearly drowned out by the crowd. Somehow the applause managed to grow lauded than it was before the seeker, Viktor Krum, had made his entrance.

The game lasted for a long time, only coming to an end when Krum caught the snitch. His catch handed the win over to the Irish, who ended up with around twenty more points in total.

─────────────────────────

Back in the tent you all celebrated, giddy on the excitement of earlier in the day. You found yourself wrapped in the Irish flag that Fred had picked out, watching them goof around. A loud explosion went off outside, sounding like one of the larger fireworks you had seen.

“There’s no one like Krum.” Ron started, standing up on the table. “He’s like a bird the way he rides the wind.” Fred threw another flag at him, which he caught and balled up in front of him.

“He’s more than an athlete, he’s an artist.” Ron continued, clearly infatuated with the quidditch player.

“I think you’re in love, Ron.” You said, earning a look from him.

“Viktor, I love you!” George sang, taking his brother’s arm.

“Viktor, I do!” Fred added, taking his other one.

“When we’re apart my heart beats only for you!” Everyone finished, being cut off by another big firework going off, followed by shouting from a ways away.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on.” Fred stated, smoothing his hair out of his face. Arthur, who had been gone for a few minutes, entered the tent again, grabbing his son’s shoulder.

“It’s not the Irish.” He said in a tone that made your smile drop. He crossed the tent to reach Ginny. “We’ve got to get out of here, now.”

The scene outside was completely different from what you thought you had heard. The fireworks really had been big explosions. Tents were on fire and people fled screaming.

“Get back to the portkey everyone, and stick together!” Arthur commanded, turning to the twins. “Ginny is your responsibility, do not lose her!” He handed her off, George taking her arm and keeping ahold of her.

The chaos had delayed your reaction time while you tried to process the sudden terror. It took another explosion and more screams to break you out of it. George began running with Ginny in tow and you watched them weave through the mess.

“Y/n!” Fred yelled, taking your hand and gripping it tightly. He dragged you through the tents, following quickly behind George. He hadn’t accounted for the height difference and that you would be slightly slower than him because he continued to lead you through until you started to trip.

“Fred,” you managed to get out, the smell of smoke and burning fabric climbing into your throat. He slowed down a little, probably just considering picking you up at that point. As you passed a larger tent, you suddenly tripped over a pile of debris and Fred quickly turned to grab you. Another explosion hit, sending the tent up in flames and you two to the side. Burns tore at your leg.

The flag, which you didn’t even realize you still carried, caught fire and pain seared through your shoulder as you tried to rip the slip of fabric off. Fred hauled you to your feet, yanking the flag away and tossing it to the side.

“Are you ok?” He yelled above the chaos, his eye darting to your arm and then your leg. You winced but nodded and continued moving. Finally both of you came out onto the hill again. It was dark, but you made it to the bottom where the portkey was.

You had to stop there, gritting your teeth from the untreated burns. Fred slipped an arm around your waist to help support you. After looking around, you saw that only George, Ginny, and Arthur had made it back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere in sight.

“Where are the others?” You asked. Arthur looked around the incomplete group.

“Stay here!” He ordered, heading back up the hill. “Whatever you do, do not go back in there!” He disappeared back into the chaos.

“Are you ok?” Fred asked his siblings, who seemed shaken but unharmed.

“A couple scratches but nothing severe.” George replied. You patted Fred’s arm so he’d let you sink to the ground. He took your hand to help you get there, unintentionally letting out a wince. You let go to see a nasty burn where he had grabbed the flag.

“Fred, your hand.” You pointed out, but he shook his head and pulled it away.

“Don’t worry about me.” He replied quickly. Then Hermione and Ron came running down the slope. But Harry wasn’t with them. Hermione landed beside you, setting down her smaller bag which she had managed to save.

“Y/n, what happened?” She asked. the burns were painful but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off so they weren’t yet unbearable.

“Where’s Harry?” You asked her, ignoring her question. She looked around, finding that Harry wasn’t there. She then frantically dug through her bag, pulling out a roll of bandages and some sort of cream. They were muggle supplies, which you had some knowledge on since one of your parents was a muggle.

“Ginny!” Hermione called to the girl, who was looking much younger now. “Wrap her burns, like I showed you!” She turned back around and headed up the hill with Ron, despite George’s protests.

“I’ll show you, Gin.” You said, gritting your teeth. She came over, kneeling down beside you. “Rip the pant leg.” Ginny was able to tear it easily since it was mostly singed anyway. Fred and George grimaced at the burns it revealed.

“Put the cream on and then wrap it.” You instructed, trying to speak calmly through the quickly growing pain. You held your burned arm in your uninjured, the whole side of your body now stinging. She did as you said, the cream bringing some relief to your leg.

Under your instruction, she took of your jacket, decently wrapped your shoulder and arm, and then got your jacket back on to shield the injuries.

“Thank you, Ginny. That was perfect.” You assured her, the stinging was now muted but still very much so present. You heard her sigh in relief at your words.

With your burns covered for now, you took Fred’s hand and wrapped it carefully, apologizing with every sound he made. After a while the screams and explosions had died out, leaving the black, smoky remains of the festival grounds. It wasn’t until about an hour after Arthur had left that he retuned, Hermione, Ron, and Harry now following behind him.

“Is everyone ok?” He asked, making his way through the group. Fred and George helped you onto your feet.

“Y/n got the worst of it,” George explained, leaving you with Fred. “The rest of us are ok.”

“Ginny bandaged everything.” You said, heaving a sigh. “I’ll be alright.”

“Well done, Ginny.” Arthur praised, putting a hand on her shoulder. After a final headcount, you all grabbed ahold of the portkey and took it back home. The walk back was brutal, but both Fred and George helped you and once you were there you received better medical attention. By the next morning you were nearly back to normal.

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked as you walked into their bedroom, noting that you were no longer limping. You expected George to be sitting there too but he wasn’t in the room.

“Better now,” you told him, sitting down on his bed with your back against the wall. “Your mother fixed me right up. But I’ll probably have those scars for a while.”

He chuckled, coming to sit down beside you. Fred pulled you into a big hug, sighing. “Sorry you tripped, I was just trying to get you out of there.” He apologized, releasing you from his embrace. You sat back against the wall again, wanting him to hold you for longer.

“I know, Freddie. Don’t worry about it.” You assured, giving him a soft smile. He returned it. His green eyes gave you that same look they did while you were painting his face.

You sighed. School hadn’t even started yet and you could tell this wasn’t going to be a quiet year. But not even those burns could make you trade it for anything else.

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Click here for part 2!

#She calls me Freddie #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fluff #fred wealsey fic #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #weasley twin fanfiction #weasley twins #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts

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dearshelby · 8 months

Text

All I can give you (not what you asked for) | T.S

Summary: After being beaten up by Sabini's men, Tommy sneaks out of the hospital to go to London. After coming back home, he has to face his wife, who isn't happy in the slightest

A/N: "Stop writing little snippets your OC as reader inserts, Lora" no <3 I wanted to write something domestic, but at the same time something that showed what being with Tommy is really like + playing around with his trauma and the lack of understanding in the 1920s, I hope I managed to do that. Also, the song mentioned is by American quartet if you want to listen, it surprisingly fits the PB universe. That's it, hope you like it!

She's been visiting him every single day ever since. Bringing soup, cigarettes and books, everything so he wouldn't get bored, everything so he'd heal faster.

The night the phone rang, telling the news Tommy was beat up by Sabini's men, her world nearly crashed. Her lips dried, vision blurry as she sat on the cold floor, keeping herself from passing out. Her Tommy could've died, he would have if Inspector Campbell didn't have plans for him.

Guilt weighted on her shoulders when she saw him lying on the hospital's bed, injured and weak. At the same time she was relieved and pressed small kisses on his forehead, inhaling his scent and avoiding his cut lips. It wasn't then they'd take him from her.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she always said, trusting he'd be there, that he'd be back home soon.

Except that one certain morning he wasn't, Tommy's absence caught everyone by surprise, absolutely no one knew how a limping, beaten up man managed to sneak out of the hospital and in that distressing moment, her world nearly crashed again.

She ran back home, reaching for the phone to call Polly, Arthur, John, Lizzie, anyone Tommy could've gone to, none of them knew anything. However, in a matter of minutes, the phone rang back, Uncle Charlie's voice on the other side, "Tommy went to London, Camden town, he asked me to tell ya', he'll call when he get there,"

Her tense shoulders dropped, eyes burning with tears, a brief thank you was all she muttered before putting the phone down. Running hands through her hair, she breathed slowly in a failing attempt to calm down.

Somewhere in Camden, Tommy wandered around covered in bruises, perhaps unarmed and what for? What could be so fucking important he had to risk his life for?

Without option, she waited for his call, her heart beat stronger to the sound of his voice, he was fine and by then, it was all that mattered, she'd release her frustration once he was home, safe and sound.

More four, long days went by until his return, their daughter greeted him first, lifting her tiny arms with the demand of being picked up, which Tommy happily did.

When the two pairs of blue eyes looked at her combined with small smiles, she could swear her stomach swirled. A week and a half ago she thought she'd never see that scene again, perhaps it was the inconsistency that always got her so bad, that spun her world and brought bile to her throat, how life could change from a second to another, completely out of her control.

"What about you, eh?" Tommy drawled before her lack of reaction, "C'here."

Slowly, she joined the embrace, one arm around her daughter and the other around him. They were all she had, even if in theory she still had a mother and would never be helpless, they were the only people who truly mattered.

Tommy squeezed her shoulder in a soothing manner, the sigh leaving his lungs revealed how tired he truly was even if he didn't want to show in front of his child. He needed a bath, a decent meal and a good night of sleep.

Then night fell on, the house was silent except for the gramophone playing Moonlight Bay in low tone. Woodbine, a big gray cat, napped on the carpet, every now and then waking up to lick himself.

Once the baby - not actually a baby, already a two year old - fell asleep, Tommy walked back downstairs. He insisted on being the one to tuck her in, having missed her dearly in the weeks he spent between the hospital and London.

He found his wife sitting by the window with a cigarette hanging from her lips, an empty bow on her lap made him guess she only had a quick snack instead of proper dinner. Her hair fell on her shoulders, hiding the lace of her white nightgown.

"C'here, you," she weakly smiled, noticing his presence.

Walking to her, Tommy felt himself melting at her tender kiss, the cut on his lips wasn't fully healed yet, but he couldn't hold himself back from wanting more.

"No, Tommy," she faced the other way at his attempt to cup her cheeks, "I'm not exactly happy with you,"

"I know," he sighed, sitting on the armchair across hers, "that's why I got you this,"

Without taking his eyes off her, he took a small velvet box from his trousers pocket, the material alone told how expensive it must've been. Tommy opened it, showing a delicate ring adorned with a green stone.

"White gold and emerald," he explained, "saw it in a showcase, thought you'd like it,"

"You shouldn't waste money on jewelry, at least not for now, while the expansion isn't settled," she stared at the ring with a pout.

"It's not a waste if it's for you,"

"You only bought it because you thought it'd make me less mad at you," she accused, adopting a serious tone.

"...yeah," he admitted with a small smile, not catching up with her posture.

"Tommy, listen to me," taking the small box from his hands, she closed it and put it aside, "do you know how much I worried about you?"

Realizing what they were about to get into, he gulped, he knew leaving the hospital without telling her would have consequences, but he also knew she'd never allow his travel to London. He had no other option, she had to understand.

"Yeah, I do," he answered.

"And did you think some fucking ring would make me feel better?"

Tommy looked away from her, jaw clenching. She knew that face very well, it was a common occurrence after he came back from France, his eyes got empty, incredibly sad, then empty again. As if he momentarily stepped away from there, running away without actually moving a muscle.

"Well, this-" he negatively nodded, looking back at her, "this is all I can give you,"

"No, it isn't! What is it that you gave me?!" she argued, eyes widening in indignation, "Why do you always remove yourself? Isn't this our house? Our family? Our life?!"

He blinked, shallowing the dryness in his throat, "It is, love, it is, and I wouldn't have it if it wasn't for you,"

Rubbing her eyes, she sighed. She hated when Tommy behaved like a provider, as if he wasn't an actual part of her life and his presence didn't truly matter. That wasn't what she wanted from him.

"Well, I never asked for any of it," she blankly stated.

He didn't answer, looking down from her attentive stare.

"Do you even remember the only thing I ever asked for?" she questioned.

"Remind me,"

"You," she drawled, "I wanted to be with you, I asked to be, you agreed, so don't come at me with a stupid ring hoping it'll make forget the fact you could've died,"

"...perhaps," Tommy hesitated, "perhaps something more expensive then?"

"What?"

A tiny playful grin crept into his face, "Perhaps you'd forgive me if I had brought something more expensive?"

"I can't believe you! Tom, I'm not-" she tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed, "Tommy, the point is, I don't want you to think you can go around risking your life, doing whatever you want, then thinking a nice gift will fix everything, I worry about you,"

His face dropped in a quick mood swing, humorlessly smiling, he agreed, "That you do,"

"So, next time you think of doing something reckless, will you consider this?"

With a pout, Tommy quickly nodded, there was no use to discussion. Either way, he didn't have the words to explain the heart crushing feeling he got thinking of his family being vulnerable. He needed a guarantee and wouldn't stop, only be more careful by her request.

"Will you," he licked his lips, "take a look at the ring now?"

"Actually I was hoping you'd tell me how things were in London," she answered with a naughty smirk creeping into her face, "and then, maybe I'd let you take me to bed,"

"Maybe, eh?" he teased, "Or maybe not?"

"Depends on how much you're willing to talk, Mr. Shelby,"

Reclining on the armchair, Tommy lit up a cigarette, he knew her offer was more like an ultimatum, tell me what you're up to or else.

And only with her, he'd never retaliate.

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #OC Eleanor Shelby

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spin-ya-zinnia · 4 months

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⋅˚₊‧ ୨ You are more ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

—☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆—

⚢—✮—⚢

Pairing: Velvet x FEM!reader

Genre: ANGST

Summary:

Y/N, Velvet and Veneer's chartered accountant, visits Velvet's mansion for work, but their conversation takes an unexpected turn as she notices Velvet's distress. The two delve into a discussion about perfectionism, revealing Velvet's rooted fear of imperfection.

A/N: this is my FIRST ever oneshot, I have no idea how to feel about this since I don't have any experience with writing. Let me know what you think and if I should continue (or find a different hobby💀)!

On her way to Velvet's mansion, Y/N mentally rehearsed what she would say. Just before knocking, she fixed her formal clothing and checked her appearance in a small pocket mirror. Okay, she's ready, she knocked, patiently waiting. When Velvet opened the door a minute later, her disheveled appearance spoke volumes with messy hair, dark under-eye circles, and crumpled clothes.

"Good evening," Y/N said, noting Velvet's tired look but tactfully avoiding drawing attention to it.

Velvet softly murmured a greeting and gestured for Y/N to come inside with a subtle nod of her head.

As Y/N stepped inside, she took a moment to glance around Velvet's place. The usual luxurious furniture and accessories were there, but this time, they were kind of hidden beneath clothes and a bit of a mess Velvet seemed to have just made. It was clear she had come home not too long ago, considering the mess still waiting for her servants to tidy up.

"I've got some wonderful news for you, your earnings this month have seen a significant increase compared to last month."

Y/N flashed a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. But Velvet seemed lost in her own thoughts, heading straight for a sofa and flopping down on it like she was more collapsing than sitting.

"Your recent performances and new endorsement deal contributed to a boost in income. The tour is doing exceptionally well, and the endorsement has been a hit among your fans. You should be proud of yourself."

Y/N said, forcing a wider, somewhat awkward smile and straightening her posture. She was attempting to maintain a professional demeanor, but the genuine concern for Velvet, who had barely spoken, was making it increasingly challenging.

She decided to take a shot and sat down next to Velvet on the sofa. Velvet looked up, noticing the papers Y/N held, but she didn't say anything. In that moment, Y/N recalled Veneer's comment about Velvet having a soft spot for her. At first, she brushed it off as a joke, but now it lingered in her thoughts, making her wonder if there was more to it than just humor.

"How are we doing compared to projections?" Velvet's voice unexpectedly cut through the silence.

Y/N, relieved that Velvet had spoken, responded with a tone infused with pride and happiness: "Surpassing expectations, actually. We've exceeded the projected earnings for this quarter. The new strategies we implemented seem to be paying off."

Velvet continued to look at her, like she was waiting for her to spill more. Getting this job was a real hustle for Y/N, and the fact that Velvet picked her over everyone else still felt a bit unreal. Though she couldn't deny her intense feelings for Velvet, she knew better than letting them mess with her professional game. Deep down, she cherished the fondness, but she had to keep it under wraps, not wanting it to interfere with the job she worked so hard for.

There was this unexpected sudden warmth in Velvet's gaze that caught her off guard, making her briefly look away and awkwardly clear her throat.

"As for expenses and taxes, we've been managing expenses efficiently, and there are no unexpected spikes. On the tax front, we've optimized strategies to minimize liabilities, so you're in good shape there-"

Y/N was all set to keep rambling, but Velvet cut in, shaking her head and letting out a little sigh.

"Alright, that's plenty for now. It's getting too late for me to fully absorb all of this. Do me a favor, be a gem, and put all this in an email. Send it over in the morning, okay? And simplify it." Velvet concluded with a tired yawn.

Y/N couldn't help but be entranced by Velvet, even with her beautiful long green hair tousled. Messy or not, Velvet always seemed to radiate beauty in Y/N's eyes. She silently pondered if there was ever a moment when Velvet wasn't the most beautiful person in the room.

Yet, amidst this admiration, Y/N couldn't shake the concern for Velvet's well-being. "Of course," she replied, a brief pause preceding her next words. "I know it's not really my place, but are you getting enough sleep? Lack of rest can mess with your performance," she said, her gaze wandering around the mansion, picking up on subtle details that hinted at potential issues affecting Velvet's mental health. "And it's not just about work, it can take a toll on you as a person too."

Velvet let out a chuckle. A slight bitterness behind her words. "You don't need to earn extra points for pretending to care. Spare me the act and go now."

Y/N blinked, earnestly stating, "I'm saying this for your own well-being. We need to address any potential factors that might negatively impact your performance. As a singer, you simply can't afford to make mistakes." Her gaze lingered on Velvet, who was reclined on the sofa, seemingly on the brink of drifting into sleep. Y/N chuckled softly, adding, "It must be exhausting, not being allowed to make any mistakes at all. Maintaining this image of perfection, isn't it draining?"

Velvet pouted her lips. "It's not draining when you're genuinely perfect, which, of course, I am," she declared, casting a confident smirk in Y/N's direction.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle. "As much as I genuinely believe in your awesomeness, I have to remind you that nobody is perfect, and it's okay to make mistakes," she said with a forced formal smile.

"Not me, I can't," Velvet asserted. Although her words carried a confident tone, there was a subtle shift in the air, a trace of underlying sadness that Y/N keenly picked up on.

"But Velvet, being perfect is impossible," Y/N countered gently.

"I'm either perfect or nothing!" Velvet asserted with an angry tone.

She stared at her for a while, the room enveloped in a heavy silence broken only by the ticking of the clock in the back.

"Velvet... that's... not a healthy way to see things," Y/N expressed with genuine concern.

"You don't get it! This is the only thing I have. I have to be perfect, I don't want to go back to being a nobody. I don't want my existence to be a waste of air," Velvet almost shouted, tears making their way into her eyes.

"You're not a waste of air..." Y/N tried to comfort her.

"But without my work, what am I?! It's all I've got!! It's all I am!!!" Velvet's frustration grew, each word expressing the depth of her inner problems. However, beneath the anger, Y/N sensed a layer of profound pain, hidden, creeping on her.

"First, you need to realize that you are a person, a soul, not defined by what you achieve. I'm sure you're a good person under all of this; you just have to see it," Y/N encouraged, offering Velvet a hug. Velvet stared at her for a while, contemplating, and then finally surrendered into her arms, tears streaming down as she released the weight she had been carrying.

She wrapped her arms around Velvet in a tight hug, feeling the significance of the moment. As Velvet chose to trust her with this vulnerability, she couldn't shake off a peculiar sense of protectiveness. If she could, she'd morph into a shield, guarding Velvet forever. Holding her in her arms, Y/N let Velvet cry it all out, creating a safe space for her emotions to unfold.

After Velvet's tears subsided, Y/N continued holding her for a moment longer before gently pulling away. As she glanced at Velvet's face, she noticed a certain detachment in her expression, as if she wasn't fully present, numb to the world. Y/N tenderly caressed her cheek, cupping her face, eliciting a surprised look from Velvet, who didn't resist.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

Velvet, uncertain of how to respond, looked away, her emotions swirling in a complex mix of vulnerability and uncertainty.

"I'll help you, okay? We can work on this, together. You aren't alone," Y/N reassured with a sad smile, she started caressing her shoulders.

She buried her face in Y/N's shoulder, silent, obviously thinking of what's going on to her.

Y/N gently caressed Velvet's back. "Is there anything I could do for you?"

"Can you just hold me a little longer? Everything feels better when you are here," Velvet whispered.

Y/N smiled, a slight blush gracing her cheeks. "Of course."

#trolls #trolls band together #velvet trolls #trolls velvet #velvet x reader #trolls velvet x reader #trolls band together velvet

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worseforwords · 1 year

Text

Exposed (Ona Batlle x Reader)

Thanks to @footygirl114 for the title idea! Buckle up everyone, this is a long one.

“Heads up!” Ona’s voice called from behind you and you felt her leap onto your back a moment later. Today was a good day. United had just beaten City 2-0 in a home game and you had even managed to score one of the goals. Your girlfriend waved at the supporters as you strolled past the stands, but your gaze drifted towards an unusual figure sitting some way down the row. With black hair tipped in blue, striking make-up, dark and frayed clothes, and a plaited choker around her neck, she seemed out of place in a football crowd. You were intrigued, something about her felt familiar, though she was too far away to say exactly what it was. As you caught yourself staring at her for a little too long, you noticed she was staring right back at you, and as you drew closer, she gave you a wave. You suddenly recognised her, and your smile faded. She must’ve noticed your sudden revelation, as she sent you a quick wink.

Your stomach dropped and panic set in as you considered what to do. Ona still sat on your back, basking in the glory of victory. You knew you had to go say hi to the girl who was now smiling broadly at you from the stands, but you wanted to do so discreetly, without any teammates, especially Ona, joining in on the conversation, or any cameras for that matter. You let Ona down on her feet, to which she send a quick pout your way, before turning her face back towards the fans to continue the walk around the field. Waiting until everyone was distracted, you hastened to the railing to greet the mysterious girl.

“Hi” you said, quiet as a whisper. “Hey Y/N, long time no see.” she replied, leaning over the barrier to pull you in for a hug. You smiled uncomfortably, scanning your surroundings before reciprocating her hug. As she pulled away, she chuckled, “So, soccer, huh?” “We call it football here.” you answered, trying to match her laugh.

The conversation was short-lived as Ona wandered over, curious as to who you were speaking to. “Hey, who’s this?” she asked, her attention fully on you. “This is Nia, erm- an old friend.” you answered quickly, avoiding eye contact. “Nia, this is Ona.” Ona looked at you confused for a second, probably expecting some sort of label in your introduction, before she brushed it off and quickly shook Nia’s hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.” “Likewise.”

The small interaction sent shivers down your spine. Until now, you had managed to keep your past safely hidden. You had traveled a lot when you were younger, which had allowed you to leave certain things behind, and it had never caught up to you until this moment. It hadn't been hard, as you just omitted certain parts of your youth, namely the two years you spent in LA as a teenager.

Nia broke the silence, turning to you. “So,” she said, “you do remember my name. I was afraid you’d forgotten about us for a second there, Picky.” You froze. Picky. You hadn’t heard that nickname in ages. You avoided Ona’s questioning expression as you tried to laugh it off. “Of course I remember you. It just took me a second, what with your hair and make-up.” you said, pointing at said attributes. “Fair enough,” Nia giggled, “I’ve probably changed my hair about 40 times since we last met. I’m not the only one who’s changed though.” she continued, eyeing your bright red Manchester United shirt. You laughed, “Yeah, I suppose I have.” “Do you still have the tattoo at least?” Nia asked, causing Ona to look up with surprise.

The tattoo. It was the one and only thing you had left from your previous life, a permanent mark etched onto your skin. You had planned to get it removed at some point, but the laser removal was quite expensive, and since the tattoo wasn’t often visible to others, you never bothered to actually get it done. When you started dating Ona however, you knew she was bound to notice it at some point. When she did, you had momentarily forgotten about it when she started pulling down your underwear (really who could blame you for your mind being elsewhere), and you were taken aback by her immediate questioning about the small violet on your hip with the words “can’t take back the bullet” scribbled underneath it. Luckily you were still quick on your feet and you made something up along the lines of it being a reminder to not let your emotions get the better of you and Ona let it slide after that because she too had other things on her mind.

“Yeah, I still have it.” you said with a shy smile, still avoiding Ona’s gaze. “Good, me too.” Nia said, making Ona turn to her sharply. “By the way, Picky,” she started, changing the subject, “you still owe Casey some money, remember?” This was the final straw for you. Too much had already been said, and you needed to get away as fast as possible. You took advantage of a group of fans who called out your names to excuse yourself, pulling Ona with you towards them. After signing a few shirts and taking selfies, you hurried inside.

“What was that all about?” Ona asked as she caught up with you. “What was what about?” You stalled, trying to come up with an excuse for your strange behaviour. “Why are you being weird?” she asked directly. “I’m not, just tired from the game, that's all.” you said, unable to come up with anything better as you headed towards the changing room, avoiding eye contact, gaze straight ahead. “Shit,” you muttered as you sat down, “forgot my coat, be right back.”

As you walked back onto the pitch, you couldn’t resist checking if Nia was still there. To your dismay, you saw her talking to Millie. “Mills!” you yelled, running towards them. “Come with me, now.” You grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the conversation. “Woah, Y/N, calm down, what’s going on?” she asked, shocked by your sudden intervention. “It’s just that,” you paused to think as your eyes scanned the stands, quickly finding just what you needed. “I saw some little girls over there who want your autograph, and I think they’re about to leave without it,” you said, pointing towards a group of young girls holding up a sign with Millie’s name on it. “Oh, thanks. Maybe next time, don’t be so intense about it?” she chuckled. “Noted.” you said, walking with her towards the excited children. “So, erm, what were you talking about with that girl?” you asked carefully. “Nothing really. I just told her I liked her style, and then you pulled me away. Why?” You scanned her face, trying to see if she was telling the truth. For a moment, you thought you saw a small smirk in the corner of her mouth, but you decided not to dwell on it as it would only arouse suspicion. “Nothing, never mind.”

Ella’s voice resounded through the changing room like a joyful bell. “Woooo, party at mine ladies!” she exclaimed. As she settled beside you, she turned to address you. “You coming, Y/N?” she asked, a friendly grin etched onto her features. “Sure, but I have to pop home for a quick shower, forgot my towel,” you replied, hastily pulling on your joggers and coat. Ona began to offer her towel, but before she could finish her sentence, you had already bolted out of the door.

As you plopped down on your bed, trying to recover from the events of the day, your mind raced with thoughts and questions. You tried to make up reasons for your strange behaviour earlier, but nothing seemed to make sense. You knew that no one could know about what happened. It would change how they see you, and you couldn’t bear that. Those two years in LA were supposed to stay in LA, and thus far, no one had a single clue about it. Nia suddenly showing up made you terrified that someone would find out, so when she messaged you asking if you wanted to hang out, you ignored her. You couldn’t risk anyone finding out your secret.

You went to the party, hoping to take your mind off things. However, things only got worse. Ona made quick work of pulling you aside to interrogate you about earlier, asking a series of questions that made your heart race. “Can we talk?” she said. “Who is she? Why did she call you Picky? Why do you have matching tattoos? Why were you acting so weird? And who is Casey, and why do you owe them money?”

You knew that you couldn’t tell her the truth, so you made up some stuff on the spot, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. You told her that Nia was just an old friend from LA that you hadn’t seen in years. You added that she was always a bit of a weirdo and that you weren’t that close. You explained that the matching tattoos were just a silly thing that you and Nia did when you were young and naive and the money thing was just some inside joke. You hoped that Ona would buy your story, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still suspicious.

When Ona finally left you be, you quickly checked your phone, which had been buzzing in your pocket a lot. You’d received a series of messages from Nia, the last one of which being:

“We need to talk. Where are you??”

As you felt increasingly anxious about Nia’s persistent messages, you decided to leave the party early to meet up with her. You quickly came up with an excuse to your teammates, telling them that you suddenly felt unwell and needed to go home to rest, and you texted Nia your address.

Shortly after arriving home, a knock resounded from your door. Hastily, you answered it and welcomed Nia into your apartment. “You’ve got a lovely place here, very grown-up, Picky,” she remarked as she stepped inside. “Please don’t call me that.” you muttered in response as you finally snapped. “Why not?” Nia asked, looking with a confused expression. Mentally debating how to deliver your message, you began, “I’m not the same person anymore.” “Obviously.” She mumbled. “When I got my chance to make it in the football world, I left my old life in LA behind. The person you knew back then is gone, I am no longer her.” you explained. “I don't believe that,” Nia responded, “you can't simply leave and become a completely different person.” “Well, I did,” you answered coldly, “and I’d like to keep it that way. So, please, don’t talk to my teammates again.” Nia remained silent for a moment as her eyes widened.

“They don’t know about us, do they?” she asked, her voice growing louder. “No, they don’t.” You replied quietly. “Woah, are you ashamed of us?” Nia practically yelled. “Of course I am!” you answered a bit too quickly before immediately regretting it. “Sorry, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that, I-” you stumbled over your words, but Nia continued to stare at you with disbelief. “Alright, got it.” she said as she turned back towards the front door. “No, Nia, please, I’m sorry, I-” “Good luck with your new life, I guess, Y/N,” she said, purposefully emphasising your name, walking away before you could finish your apology. Despite feeling guilty, you didn’t make an effort to chase after her. You convinced yourself it was better this way.

“What was that all about?” a voice called from beside you, making you jump. “Ona, hey, what are you doing here?” you asked. “You left the party so suddenly, and I came to check on you,” she explained, “but I suppose you had company.” “How long have you been standing there?” you inquired, curious about what she may have overheard. “Not long, why? Are you afraid I heard something?” Ona asked suspiciously. “No, I just- it’s chilly out here. You should come inside.” you said, holding the door open as she walked inside.

As Ona stepped into your home, she immediately turned to you with a look of frustration etched on her face. “Y/N, what happened with Nia?” she demanded, her voice tinged with anger. “You’ve been so secretive lately, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve been lying to me.” Despite her annoyance, there was a note of confusion in her tone, as if she couldn’t quite understand why you were behaving this way. Once again, you brushed off Ona's concerns, insisting that there was nothing to worry about and that Nia had just wanted to chat. However, Ona was insistent and demanded to know why she had seemed so upset when leaving your apartment.

You found it hard to articulate your thoughts, feeling caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “Please, Ona, can you just trust me on this. Please just let it go.” you pleaded, hoping to avoid any further conflict. Eventually, she relented and let the issue slide, but an air of concern still hung around her. The two of you went to bed in a tense silence, the events of the day lingering in your thoughts.

Two days later, as you were getting ready for training in the changing room, Millie approached you. “Hey, do you know that cute girl with the dyed hair from Sunday?” she asked. “You mean Nia?” you clarified. “Yeah, that’s the one! Ona told me you knew her. Can I get her number? I want to ask her out.” Millie explained. You hesitated before responding. “Sorry, Millie. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nia’s bad news.” Millie looked confused. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her?” “I can’t really explain, but trust me, she’s not someone you want to get involved with.” you insisted. Millie looked rather disappointed. “Okay, I guess. Do you have her number though?” “No, I don’t.” you replied, putting an end to the conversation as you quickly finished up getting ready.

As you entered the changing room after training, you noticed Millie with a smile on her face, gazing at her phone. Ella also spotted her and inquired her about it. “Who’s got you grinning like that, Mills?” “No-one.” Millie quickly replied, and attempted to hide her phone. However, Ella had already caught sight of it and snatched it from her hand. “Who’s Nia?” Ella asked, looking at the screen. You felt a pang in your stomach as you worried about what she could find out. “Millie, what did I tell you?” you asked, annoyed that she had contacted Nia despite your warning. “How did you even contact her?” “I slid into her DMs. Y/N, did you know sh-” Millie began to say, but you cut her off, worried she might reveal too much information. Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her out of the room to talk in private.

You pulled Millie into an empty room as she struggled to free her wrist and kept asking what was going on. “Y/N, what's the big deal? Why can’t I talk to her?” she asked. “Millie, I need you to stop contacting Nia. She’s bad news, and I don’t want you getting involved.” you explained firmly. “But Y/N, she seems so cool.” Millie protested. “Please, Mills, just trust me on this.” you pleaded. After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly agreed. “Okay, I guess.” she said with a sigh.

You returned to the changing room and took a seat next to Ona. “I suppose that was nothing too?” She remarked sarcastically. You simply sighed in response, feeling unsure of what to say. You gathered your belongings and shot a final stern look at Millie before making your way out and heading home.

During training the next day, you warmed up with Millie, passing the ball back and forth, when suddenly you heard her hum a familiar tune. The sound of her humming that melody made your heart race faster. “What’s that you’re humming Mills?” You tried to stay calm as you asked Millie about the song whilst continuing to pass the ball to each other. However, your clenched jaw gave away your anxiety. Millie stopped humming and looked at you, seeming caught off-guard. “Oops." she said, looking down at the grass. You repeated the question, trying to sound composed, even though your anger was simmering inside you. She looked up with a slight smirk on her face. “It's a nice tune, innit?” You cursed under your breath. “Fuck.”

You gave millie a pleading look as you took the ball in your hands and walked over to her so you could whisper. “Mills, please, I don’t know what you know, but please don’t tell anyone, I beg you.” you said quietly. “What are you talking about? Are you okay?” she asked innocently, but you didn’t buy it. Before you could answer however, Marc called for all of you to gather together to start the first exercise. You desperately tried to compose yourself as the team gathered, your mind racing with thoughts of what Millie might know. Throughout training, you couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia that someone might find out your secret. Every time Millie came near you, you were on edge, wondering if she was going to reveal what she knew.

That evening you were sitting on the couch in your living room, lazily flipping through the channels on TV when the doorbell rang. You weren’t expecting anyone, but when you got to the door and opened it, you found a package sitting on your doorstep with no return address. Your curiosity piqued as you eagerly brought it inside and began to open it up. As you lifted the lid, you found an old, tattered photograph of yourself with a group of people, all dressed in black. You couldn't believe your eyes as you stared at the photo, realising that it was taken during the time you lived in LA.

You started to feel a sense of unease as you examined the photo more closely, trying to remember the people in the picture. You could recognise a few faces, but most of them were unfamiliar to you. You began to wonder if this was somehow related to Nia, who had recently reappeared in your life. You had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to let go of your earlier outburst, which made her getting closer with Millie even scarier.

As you sat on the couch, staring at the old photo, the sound of the door opening made you jump. Ona walked in, surprised to see you home so early from training. You quickly tried to hide the package, but fumbled with it and ended up dropping it on the floor. Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough and she caught sight of the old photo. “Who are these people? And why are you all dressed like that?” Ona asked, pointing to the group of figures in black, their clothes torn and frayed. You tried to play it off, “Oh, that's just me and some old friends in our Halloween costumes. We used to go all out, you know?” Ona laughed at the idea, but then noticed the date on the back of the photo. “But it says April on here, that’s not Halloween.” she pointed out, looking at you suspiciously.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to come up with another excuse. “Oh, right, that must have been some other dress-up party we went to. I can’t really remember.” you said, hoping she would buy it. Ona raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. You could feel the weight of the secret bearing down on you more and more with each thing that happened.

That night, as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, the fear and anxiety that had been brewing within you all day finally caught up. Your mind raced as you tossed and turned, and soon the nightmares began. In one particularly vivid dream, you found yourself playing in a huge match, the stadium packed to the rafters with cheering fans. You were playing well, confident and in control, until suddenly the crowd began to chant a name - a name that you hadn’t heard in years, a name that made your blood run cold. “Picky, Picky, Picky,” they chanted, and you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

As the chanting grew louder and more insistent, you tried to block it out, to focus on the game, but it was no use. You were Picky, the name you’d tried so hard to leave behind, the name that had haunted you for years. And now, in this nightmare, it was back, threatening to undo everything you’d worked so hard for.

You jolted awake, your heart racing and your body slick with sweat. For a moment, you lay there in the dark, trying to steady your breathing and make sense of what had just happened. “Are you okay?” Ona asked, clearly awakened by your midnight antics. “Yeah, just had a nightmare. Go back to sleep Ona.”

The next morning, as you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, you noticed Millie’s recent close friends story. You felt a knot form in your stomach as you saw a picture of her and Nia together, smiling at the camera. You knew that if Millie didn’t know your secret before, she definitely did now. You frantically searched for any clues in the photo, trying to see if there was anything that could give away your past. The fear of losing everything you had worked for began to consume you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that your world was about to come crashing down.

You quickly called Millie, hoping to get some answers about the previous night. When she answered, you could hear the sound of a bustling coffee shop in the background. Millie sounded chipper, but her cheeriness quickly evaporated when you brought up Nia. You explained that you had seen her in the Instagram story and asked what happened. Millie hesitated before finally admitting that she had met up with Nia last night. As you listened to Millie defend Nia, insisting that she wasn't a bad person, you felt your frustration growing. It was clear that Millie was taking Nia’s side, and you couldn't believe it. How could she not see what Nia was trying to do? You tried to explain your side of the story, but Millie wasn’t hearing it. “Well how would you feel if someone called you an embarrassment, Y/N?”

You felt your stomach twist with guilt as Millie’s words hung in the air. She was right, you shouldn’t have said those things to Nia. You knew that now. “I’m sorry, Millie,” you said quietly, feeling ashamed. Millie took note of your silence and sighed. “Look, let’s meet up and talk about it, okay? You don’t have to apologise to me, but you should probably make it right with Nia,” she said, her voice softening. You agreed to meet up, feeling grateful for Millie’s kindness and for the opportunity to set things right. As you hung up the phone, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. How were you going to face Nia and explain yourself?

That night, you met up with Nia and Millie at a bar to try and make amends. You felt nervous as you sat down with them, but you knew you needed to do this. You told her you were sorry for hurting her and acting the way you did. She seemed to take it well at first, but then she asked, “So have you told anyone about us?” “No, Nia, I haven’t.” You said quietly, which seemed to frustrate her. “Well, well, well, there it is. So nothing has changed, you are still just as embarrassed. Is your apology supposed to mean anything to me?”

Luckily, Millie stepped in and suggested some drinks to lighten the mood. You all took some shots and Millie brought up some lighter subjects as the alcohol was starting to kick in. Before you knew it, you were singing karaoke with Nia, belting out some tunes you hadn’t heard in years. It felt liberating and for a moment, you forgot about the tension between the two of you. The music brought back so many memories, making you realise your embarrassment had overshadowed all the good memories from your time in LA. You wrapped an arm around Nia as you yelled, “I really am sorry Nia, I will make it up to you, promise.”

The next morning you woke up with a raging hangover, but a small smile grew on your face as you recalled the events of last night. You strolled towards the living room to be met with Ona, who had clearly been waiting for you. “Where were you last night?” She asked coldly. “I was out,” you said, “do you know where the paracetamol is?” “Out? Where? Who with?” Ona quickly followed up, voice stil frigid. “Millie, and also Nia.” You mumbled. “Mia? I thought you weren't that close with her.”

You stumbled towards the kitchen, wincing at the pounding in your head. “Nia, not Mia. And it was just a night out with Millie, nothing more.” you say, searching through the medicine cabinet for paracetamol. Ona followed you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Y/N, you’ve been acting strange lately. Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion. You swallowed the pills with a glass of water and turned to face her. “No, everything’s fine. I just needed a night out with friends.” Ona gave you a long, hard look, once again clearly not convinced.

“I can’t keep pretending I believe these lies you tell me. I think I might need some space, Y/N.” You felt a pit in your stomach. You knew she was right. Your recent behaviour had been mysterious, and you hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. You took a deep breath and tried to explain, “You’re right, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I promise I’ll tell you everything soon, I just need some time to figure things out, okay?” Ona looked at you, her eyes softening slightly. “You can’t keep pushing me away like this, Y/N. I need to know what’s going on.” You nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “I know, and I will tell you, but I need a little more time to figure out how to say it.” Ona nodded, and you felt the weight of your recent actions settling in.

The inevitability of revealing the secret had finally caught up with you. You had kept it buried deep within yourself for far too long. As you recovered from your hangover, a plan began to form in your mind. You reached out to Millie, knowing that she likely knew everything at this point, and asked for her help in bringing the truth to light.

The next day, with the help of Millie and some staff members, you gathered the whole team in a conference room before training. Everyone sat down and as you stood in front of them, a big screen behind you, they all sent you confused glares, especially Ona, whom you told very little about your plan for this morning. Millie hushed everyone, and your nerves began to take hold. “Greetings, everyone,” you began, “for a long time I have kept my past a secret to all of you, but today that changes. What you’re about to witness might be shocking at first, but rest assured, that stuff is in the past, I am no longer involved in such practices, and I am not the person I was back then.”

You took a deep breath as you moved away from the screen, giving Millie a small nod, who then hit play. You sat down on the front row, not wanting to face any of your teammates reactions. A video started playing, showing a bunch of alternative looking teenagers in a car. “We are on our way to Vegaaas.” One of them said. You cringed as you waited for the realisation to dawn behind you. “OH MY GOD,” Ella shouted suddenly, “Y/N, is that you with the pink hair?” You buried your face in your hands as a song began playing in the background.

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You kept your face hidden in your hands as the video kept playing, showing you during the most embarrassing period of your life, singing and dancing with the members of the poppunk band you used to be a part of. The laughter and screaming of your teammates rang loud in your ears as you endured the three-minute video, each embarrassing detail pointed out feeling like an eternity. When the last chorus ended, which everyone had sang along too, Millie yanked you by the wrist, pulling you out of hiding and into the spotlight. Your heart pounded as you stood before the team, their eyes fixed on you, most of them still recovering from the laughter. “It’s time for some questions.” Millie declared, a sly grin spreading across her face.

“Alright, go on then, ask away.” You said, knowing an intense interrogation would be inevitable at this point, to which several hands shot up immediately. “You, pink shirt.” Millie said, pointing at Ella, pretending to be hosting a press conference. “Oh my god, where to start,” Ella began, “just- what was that?” You sighed. “When I was a teenager I lived in LA for two years. During that time I joined a band, this was them.” you answered. “What instrument did you play?” Alessia inquired. “Bass, next!” “Were you famous?” Leah asked, to which you chuckled. “We had one minor hit, but not really. They did have somewhat of a breakthrough after I left though.” Some people audibly gasped at that.

“Do you still talk to them?” Maya asked. “Not really. When I left I kind of dove into my football career, never looking back. Although recently I have been getting in touch with one of them again.” You answered. “Do you have any regrets?” Millie, momentarily losing her role as moderator, caught you off guard with her question. You pondered the question for a while before stating, “No. I don’t.” A small smile growing on your face.

As the interrogation about your past came to an end, the staff interrupted, signalling that it was time for training. The teasing followed you into the changing room where your teammates continued to poke fun at your previous life, singing the song and scouring the internet for embarrassing photos. Despite their laughter, you couldn’t help but notice the quietness of your girlfriend. She remained silent throughout the morning, refusing to participate in the banter, and you knew something was wrong. Trying to be discreet, you quietly approached her as you laced up your shoes, “Ona, can we talk after training?” She nodded, but the unease lingered in the air. Training couldn't end soon enough, as the jokes persisted, and Ona seemed to avoid you at all costs.

When training was finally over, you and Ona hastily left to your apartment. As you sat with Ona on the couch, you couldn’t help but feel guilty about the way you had been acting lately. You knew why she had been quiet all day. You had hurt her by making her think that the secret from your past was something far more sinister than it actually was.

“I’m sorry, Ona,” you began, turning towards her. “I should have told you about the band from the start, instead of acting all suspicious and making you think it was something terrible. I know I hurt you and I feel terrible about it.” Ona remained quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on her lap. Finally, she looked up at you and spoke in a soft voice. “I was just scared, you know? I thought you had done something really bad, something that would change the way I saw you. But now that I know the truth, I just feel silly.”

You took her hand in yours and squeezed it gently. “You have nothing to feel silly about, Ona. I understand why you were scared, and I should have been more open with you from the start. I promise to be more honest with you in the future.” you said genuinely. “You made me think you were secretly married, or something, or a murderer!” she chuckled, playfully smacking your leg with her hand. “Wait, you really thought that?” you gasped. “Well not really, but I just got confused and my mind went places!” she said, looking a bit embarrassed at her confession. “I’m really sorry Ona.” you said once more.

“So bass, huh?”, Ona said, changing the subject. “Can you still play?” “I do still have my old bass hidden away in the back of my closet, but I haven’t practiced in a long time. Though I guess playing an instrument should be like riding a bike right?”

It wasn’t. You opened the old hardcase to reveal your beige fender precision bass, covered in old stickers you had picked up whilst touring and attending concerts back in the US. “Wow, you were such a loser.” Ona teased. “See, this is why I didn’t want anyone to know!” you replied, sending her a pout. “I’m kidding, I love it. Now play something for me!”

After tuning your bass for what felt like minutes (it was so out of tune you were afraid a string might snap), you tested your muscle memory by attempting to play one of your old songs. You cringed at the sound of the first few notes and quickly stopped playing. Your fingers fumbled over the frets, struggling to find the right notes. The song that used to come so naturally to you now felt like a foreign language. It was like trying to reconnect with a version of yourself that no longer existed.

“Hey, keep going!” Ona encouraged as she noticed your defeat. “What, you didn’t think that was terrible?” you quipped, raising an eyebrow. She laughed, “Oh, your playing was definitely terrible, but the bass looks good on you.” she said, sending you a wink.

With Ona's encouragement, you kept playing for a bit longer, trying to remember the bass lines. Gradually, it started to come back to you, and the song began to sound more familiar. Ona watched you intently, her smile growing wider as you got better. “You know, I like getting to know about your past,” she said, still smiling at you. “Even if it's embarrassing to you.”

You felt a little pang of guilt wash over you again, but you were grateful for Ona's understanding. You decided to take the opportunity to show her more about your past, and pulled out some old photos from your teenage years. As you scrolled through them together, you told her about your experiences touring with the band, the crazy things you did on the road, and the friends you made along the way. Ona listened attentively, asking questions and laughing at your stories. It felt good to finally share this part of yourself with someone, and you were glad it was with her.

“So this Nia girl, are you guys good? Things seemed so intense with you two.” Ona inquired. “Yeah, I may have hurt her in my embarrassment.” You answered, looking down at your feet. “I know just what to do to make things right.” Ona said as she shot up to grab her phone.

That evening, you sat in a bar, taking a sip of your beer whilst nervously wiggling your feet. You couldn’t believe you had agreed to this, but your girlfriend had convinced you it was the right thing to do. “You didn’t tell me the whole team was coming.” you said, frowning at Ona. She grinned back at you. “Don’t be nervous, querida. You’ve played to bigger crowds before.” You couldn’t help but feel like this was some sort of payback for your recent behaviour, which you definitely deserved. “They’re here!” Ona exclaimed, making you turn around to find Millie and Nia walking into the bar, Nia’s eyes widening when she saw you.

You made your way to the small podium opposite the bar. You grabbed a microphone and signalled to the sound guy that you were ready. “Hello everyone,” you said into the microphone, taking a deep breath. “Could I have your attention please?” You grabbed your bass from behind the curtain, causing several gasps from your teammates and, of course, Nia. “I have an apology to make to an old friend of mine who’s here tonight. Nia, I'm truly sorry for the way I acted. If you can forgive me, please join in with me.”

As you began to play the bass line from one of your old songs, you could feel the weight of everyone’s attention on you. You were nervous at first, but as you played, you started to feel more confident. After a few bars, Nia hesitantly joined in, her voice blending perfectly with your playing. You shared a smile, both of you finally letting go of the tension that had been building between you. As the song progressed, you could see the your teammates tapping their feet and nodding their heads along to the beat. By the end of the song, the whole bar was cheering and clapping, and you felt a sense of pride and relief wash over you.

As the song came to an end, the bar erupted into applause. You looked out into the crowd and saw your friends, including Ona, with wide grins on their faces. But it was Nia who surprised you the most. She walked up to you and hugged you tightly, whispering in your ear, “I forgive you, Y/N.” “It’s Picky.” You smiled.

As you walked Nia towards the bar to order her a drink, you casually asked, “By the way, that photo was yours, wasn’t it?” Her face broke into a sly smile. “Photo? I have no idea what you are talking about.” she retorted. You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with her denial. “Really? So it was just some random stranger leaving that package on my doorstep?” you inquired, your tone laced with sarcasm. Nia’s grin widened. “I guess so. Perhaps they got a little mad after being called an embarrassment and were hoping to remind you of some positive memories.” she suggested. You playfully nudged her elbow. “Some insightful stranger they were.”

After your performance, the evening blossomed into an unforgettable night out with your team. The occasional teasing towards your past, fuelled by Nia’s humorous anecdotes, only added to the lively atmosphere. Everyone hit it off with Nia, and you were relieved that she decided to forgive you. The night was filled with music, and your teammates kept requesting your old songs to the DJ, who was gradually becoming visibly annoyed. It was heartwarming to witness everyone having such a great time, and it felt freeing to let your hair down and revel in the moment with your friends. As the night came to an end, you walked out of the bar with your arm around Ona, feeling grateful for the amazing people in your life.

#ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #muwfc x reader #espwnt x reader

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aphroditestempleimagines · 3 months

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Mortal - Chapter 3

A Suguru Geto x fem!Reader fanfiction

Words: 1510

Warnings: none

Summary: Mimico and Nanako get into a horrible car accident after a drunk night with their friends. Geto is called to the hospital where he discovers you, a human plagued by a cursed spirit, who saved his two precious daughters' lives from the fire.

It had been a few days since you had arrived at Geto's temple. He tried to avoid you as best he could, yet you somehow always managed to enter his line of sight. He saw you looking out the window, far at the washed blue of Tokyo's skyline, your face longing for something he could not possibly fathom. He caught a glimpse of you in the courtyard as you chatted with one of the elderly humans who had come to visit him, your smile as gentle as a butterfly. And once he saw you bowing your head to one of the staff as you sought for a way to help around in order to repay what he had granted you. He doubted you understood why they refused you; you had nothing to blame but what you were. At the end of the day, you were just another monkey.

Suguru's chopsticks hovered right before his mouth. Why did he ever even help you? He beat himself at night for doing so and yet when dawn broke and he caught all those glimpses of you he could not bear to approach and kick you out.

"Are we still not allowed to take the car?", asked Nanako said from across the table.

Suguru gifted his gaze. It hardened at once, not with hate but with fatherly fear. "Absolutely not", he said. Mimiko rushed to comfort Nanako's reddening face.

That's right, Geto thought. The two....the girls he had raised for the past ten years....they were only alive because....

"Mimiko!", Nanako yelled, "Come on! You know I'm right! It was just bad luck!"

"Bad luck or not I will not have you inside a car any time soon", Suguru said sternly, "If anything do it for my own heart"

Nanako lowered her gaze apologetically. No matter what anyone else said they were a family. Suguru cared for each and every one of them. Especially the two girls, and they were fully aware and returning that.

"Geto-san", said Mimiko, "Aren't humans lower than us?"

Suguru was startled by the sudden question. "Of course they are", he responded, "You've seen yourself their wickedness but at the end of the day I have told you: they are nothing but monkeys, and we are sorcerers"

"Then", she asked again hesitantly, "why is that woman staying here?"

"And you scolded me cause I asked us to go to the cat cafe", Nanako rested her head on her hand.

Suguru was speechless. He stared at the girls for a few moments before words finally reached his lips. "She pulled you two out of the fire", he said calmly, "I'm only repaying that debt". He carefully stood and fixed his robes. "Now", he said, "Should we get going? It is some time before we get to the school"

"Are we gonna see where you learned jujutsu?", asked Mimiko

Nanako shoved her phone to Suguru's face. "Are we still gonna go to the cafe??", she pointed at a map location in Tokyo, "Please please please please!!!"

Suguru chuckled. He walked around the table and hugged Mimiko's head close to his chest, planting a soft kiss on the crown of her hair. He did the same to Nanako. "Yes, and yes", he said, "But don't get too excited for either. Jujutsu High is a lingering remnant and...Nanako, do we really have to? It's going to be full of monkeys"

"Pleasee!!!", she whined, "I wanna see Tokyo! I've always wanted to go! And this cafe is famous!"

Suguru let out a defeated sigh. "I can't deny anything to you can I?", he chuckled, "Alright, but make sure to take your antiseptics. And no touching the monkeys directly"

"Yeah yeah!", Nanako waved him off with her hand.

It took some time for everything to be made ready but soon they were in flight. One of Suguru's spirits quickly carried them to his old school, a place he had not thought he would ever return to. Years and years after he and Satoru attended, a student talented enough managed to catch his eye. His name was Yuta Okkotsu. He would lie if he said he did not want the kid to join him at first, but few were those enlightened enough to see the threat the human race posed to sorcerers. Suguru made his declaration and left those people he once called allies for a second time, Satoru included. He could not concentrate as he and the girls toured Tokyo. He spent the evening doing nothing other than looking at the setting sun, knowing it was the same in every place on Earth. Even at night, long after their return, he twisted and twirled in his bed for the wrong reasons. He expected excitement, eagerness to fulfill the promise he made at the school. Instead, he was filled with dread, for he had to face sorcerers and, worst of all, even his old best friend.

"Dammit," he groaned as he pushed himself up from his futon. He scratched his head as he sleepily walked through the long corridors of the temple. He went to the kitchen and looted the fridge. Soon enough, he was surrounded by empty cans and bottles of all kinds. He gathered them in his arms and shoved them inside the recycling bin, punching them to fit inside but to no avail.

"Geto-san?", your voice came from the the door.

His head shot up, his eyes suddenly landing on your dishevelled form. Your hair was a mess, your body was dressed in a pearl white nightgown.

"Are you alright?", you asked, your eyes squinting as they tried to shake off the blurriness of sleep.

Suguru could not stop staring. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him in that tone; a tone of pure concern.

"It's just been a long day", he stammered.

Your smile was kind and gentle as you approached him. You picked up one of the plastic bottles that had fallen on the ground and removed the lid. You left it on the floor and pressed it down with your foot, turning it flat, before reaching down to close the lid.

"There", you handed it over to him with a smile, "We can do the same to the rest and they should fit"

It took a moment for him to shake himself back to his senses. The moonlight that caught between your irises, your loose robe falling over your shoulder, the way you crushed something without a second thought... yet your voice remained gentle. He wanted to wrap his hand around your throat and question you until you told him who sent you to torture him this way. His gaze was drawn by your exposed collarbone, glistening underneath the blue shine of the night.

"Why are you up so late?", he asked coldly.

"I could ask the same of you"

Suguru chuckled. "Touché". He turned his head away. "I...saw my best friend today", he said as he closed the bin's lid.

You frowned. "Isn't that good?", you asked curiously.

Suguru gave you a sad smile. "I hadn't seen him in ten years", he said, "And yet he hadn't changed a bit. That's why....we'll never see each other eye to eye"

He felt your hand softly land on his arm. "I'm sorry", you said and he knew you meant it.

He wanted to shake off your hand. He should be doing that. You were just another monkey after all. So why did his hand cover yours, relishing its warmth? "I was the one who left", his heart confessed before his sense could stop it, "He probably hates me now".

What was he saying? Why was he speaking to you, about that no less? He must had really needed to get it out of his chest to appear so fragile, almost on parr in weakness with you.

"I would not be so sure", you said, "Ten years is a long time, and you said you were best friends"

It was exactly what he needed to hear. He looked at your moonlight-bathed features and he could tell you were not lying. You believed every word. Yet you could not see the full picture and, of course, he could never tell you. "Thank you", he said with a soft smile he hardly meant, "Now, it's late. you should go to sleep"

You frowned once more. "Why do you do that?", you asked as he tried to pull away.

"Huh?"

"Why do you smile when you're hurting?", your eyes trembled, "Is it that bad to allow yourself to cry?"

His breath hitched. He turned his gaze to the ground as he circled your words around in his mind. This is how he had always been. This is how he always coped. This...was the reason he left the school behind. How could you tell his smile was not real when even his friends could not? He clenched his fists. Why were you asking all these questions anyway? Why was he answering you? You were a weak human. Another monkey. His heart hardened once more.

"Yes", he growled as his eyes focused on you, "Yes it is"

And with that, he shook off your hand and disappeared in the darkness of the temple.

#jjk #jjk fanfic #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru getou #geto x reader #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen

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eleanor-bradstreet · 3 months

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 12: Defenses Crumble

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3k

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Author's Notes: Maybe I'm still a bit salty that that line which has become so emblematic of Bridgerton was given to Simon and Daphne and not where it actually appears in the books, which is uttered by both Anthony and Benedict in their respective love stories. Idk if it was a copy/paste situation on JQ's part, or if we can head canon that Anthony taught Benedict some moves 😜 but you have to admit, it's a great line 💙

Benedict didn’t see Sophie for three days. Not really. She had obviously stopped visiting him, free as he was from his sickbed. But he also didn’t see her walking in the grounds or in the halls or anywhere that he went. He checked in with Mr. Dewitt who confirmed that he was meeting with Sophie each morning to provide her with advertisements. She hadn’t left but was cleverly avoiding him.

Toward the end of the second day, he worked up the nerve to ask Mrs. Wiggin where she was. He knew that repeating such a request could raise suspicion, so it was his only chance. He inquired as casually as he could. The cook informed him that she was helping Anne with the laundry. Benedict returned a curt smile, said something banal and wandered away. He couldn’t very well go confronting Sophie about being his mistress in front of others.

On day three he began to suspect that Sophie was deliberately tying herself to the other servants so as to never risk being caught alone. He glimpsed her briefly through a window, out in the kitchen garden with Lizzie. She was beautiful even at this distance, her short hair reflecting the sunlight. She laughed at something her companion said, making Benedict realize he had never seen her laugh before. He wanted to see it again. He wondered how fervently she was applying to new positions and how long it may take to secure one. He simply wanted to talk to her. But he couldn’t, not with others around.

The fourth day progressed cold and bleak, with rains as heavy as the night of the Cavender party. It made Benedict think of his ride with Sophie, of their night at the inn, of the wholly unexpected course he had found himself on since. Still, there was no sign of her. He was starting to grow agitated. He went to the nursery to work out his feelings on a canvas and was confronted with her half-finished portrait. Frustration building, he stalked downstairs to set up an easel in the conservatory, using the pale light from the tall windows to depict a grey, windswept moor.

He was so focused that Mrs. Wiggin startled him when she appeared with his dinner. The room had grown dark but a fire had been lit in the grate and he agreed to take his meal where he was, assessing what he had painted thus far.

___

When Mrs. Wiggin asked Sophie to stoke the fire in the conservatory, she hesitated. She had managed to avoid being alone upstairs this long and didn’t relish the thought of going unaccompanied. But this task seemed safe enough, given that Benedict should be in the dining room in another part of the house entirely. She also couldn’t refuse without seeming rude and so she ascended.

As she moved through the house, she couldn’t help but notice how lovely Aubrey Hall was at night. With the paintings and gleaming floors softly illuminated by candlelight, it was not at all like a cold and imposing manse with secrets hiding in its shadows. It was as cozy as a cottage though its size was more akin to a palace. She thought of Benedict and his siblings growing up surrounded by such warmth and felt a bittersweet sadness that she hadn’t been able to experience something similar at Penwood Park. Her time in this house had been a gift, even though it came with such complicated pain. She loved the buildings, she loved the grounds, she loved a member of the family who lived there. But she would never be able to stay, and that was the cruelest trick of all.

Thoughts weighing heavily on her, she walked into the conservatory, its angled windows still glistening in the dark with the day’s rain. She turned to the fireplace and found herself in direct eye contact with Benedict. He was seated next to the fire, one leg dangling over the arm of his chair, studying an easel a short distance away. They both froze, holding their breaths in silence. Then Sophie instinctively spun and dashed out of the room.

“Wait!” She heard Benedict call behind her but she would not stop. Of course the one time she set out alone she had been sent directly into his path. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t know what to say. She needed to get away, and away was a servant’s staircase tucked behind a door off the main entry hall.

“Sophie!” Benedict was catching up to her. The time it took her to open the door proved to be her downfall because no sooner had she ducked through then he appeared beside her on the tiny landing and shut the door firmly behind them.

He repeated her name, softer. She expected him to grab her by the arm as he had formed a habit of doing, but instead he reached out to grasp her hand, halting her in place.

“Benedict!” She whispered, worried the staff would hear them from below. “You cannot be here!” She wanted to pull away but couldn’t deny the electricity she felt at the touch of his skin.

“I need to talk to you.”

Sophie ignored his gentle tone and spat back at him, “You made yourself very clear when last we spoke.”

“I was an ass,” he declared. She stared back at him, caught entirely off guard. He continued, “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have lorded money over you. It’s reprehensible. But please know, I only wish to ensure your well being.”

Sophie hadn’t expected this, but she was starting to learn that Benedict’s better nature tended to always prevail. “You have an odd and shortsighted way of showing it,” she snipped. “But I know that’s what you are doing.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. Still holding her hand, he gripped it tighter.

She looked up at him placidly. “And you’ll be happy to learn that I believe I have found my new position.”

Benedict’s heart sank again. Every sentence she spoke whipped him from one emotion to another. It was nearly making him dizzy. With feigned casualty, all he could manage to say was, “Oh?”

“Yes. With a home in Scotland. They are in need of an experienced maid and I believe I meet their qualifications, so I have written to them. I am just waiting for their reply.”

This was the compromise Sophie had devised. She would find employment in a new noble house but it would be as far away as possible; so far that Benedict would never have her followed there, and hopefully so far that Cavender wouldn’t chance to visit either. With her letter of acceptance from the Stirling household, Benedict would need to make good on his arrangement, pay Sophie her wages and let her leave. Then the choice would be hers whether she wanted to follow through with the employment or use the money to start anew in some way she would feel safe.

“Scotland?” Benedict’s voice faltered. He looked crestfallen. Sophie couldn’t ignore how it pained her, but she was resolved and nodded wordlessly.

They stood frozen in the stairwell, her hand in his, staring at each other in silence.

At last, Benedict released her and cleared his throat. “Very well. Once you have a letter of acceptance, I will ensure that you are paid. Double what was originally agreed upon.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Benedict, you don’t have to…”

“May I ask a final favor?” His voice was soft. “You certainly don’t owe it to me, but I must ask nonetheless.”

“What is it?” The sadness in his eyes was going to break her.

“Would you let me finish your portrait before you go? It is still a gift I’d like you to have, and just…” He cast his eyes down. “For an artist, it can be torturous to leave a work unfinished.”

When Sophie did not respond for a long moment, he looked up at her warily. What little light there was in the stairwell betrayed the tears that were brimming in her eyes.

“Yes,” She nodded briskly, voice tight. “I will sit for the rest of the portrait.”

“Thank you, Sophie.”

They agreed to meet in the nursery again after Sophie had completed her duties. She left him on the landing as she scurried down to the kitchen, managing to stave off her tears. Asking herself why she had agreed to be alone with him again, the vision of his sorrowful eyes rose in her mind as its own justification. He had meant his apology. He was a good man, just a man who had asked for too much, as men in his position were bound to do. He only wanted to finish her portrait, which was a courtesy she could extend to him before she left and never saw him again. It would be difficult to stare at him as he painted and to think of all that had occurred between them, but it would be her last opportunity to seal off these memories before a new chapter of her life began.

She completed her nightly chores in a daze. She believed some of the other staff spoke to her, but she couldn’t really remember. She was positive her answers, if any, were spoken in mumbles. She moved plates, she folded linens, but her eyes barely saw the items in her hands. After Mrs. Wiggin bid her goodnight and headed off for bed, Sophie went to her quarters. She loosened and brushed her hair, reaffixing it the way it had been for her first sitting. She removed her apron and changed again into her green dress. Then, as quietly as she could, carrying a lone candle and using the servants’ stairs, she crept up to the family wing and to the nursery door.

With an overwhelming sense of deja vu, she greeted Benedict who stood at his easel, then took her place on the window seat facing him. She moved through the same motions, feeling as if she were trapped in a repeating dream - one where she would come so close to happiness, but then watch as it slipped through her fingers. Something was different about this time though. The energy between her and Benedict was decidedly darker. Whereas before she had been filled with breathless anticipation and wonder, now she felt weighted down, heavy with frustration, confusion and sadness.

Benedict looked much the same. His eyes were not shining as they had the first time and there was no trace of the smile he so often bore. He looked dejected and tired, like he was forcing himself to complete the portrait against his own will. Sophie held still as he painted, the air thick with an awkward, painful silence. It grew from uncomfortable to torturous. Sophie wracked her mind for something to say, something that was neither too trite or too honest, but she could think of nothing.

Eventually, mercifully, Benedict spoke. “Could you…” He looked back and forth between her and the canvas. His tone was depressed. “Could you just…”

He debated within himself what exactly he wanted to say. Would he ask her to smile and take that heartbreaking look off of her face? No, he would never be so pigheaded as to suggest that. The word he truly wanted to use whispered through his mind: stay. But he couldn’t. That plea had been made and rejected. He should honor it. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But he simply couldn’t finish the portrait, not with her looking the way she was, so unlike the Sophie he had come to know.

“I can’t paint your eyes,” he admitted. “Not the way I want to. There is a sorrow deep within them that wasn’t there before.”

Sophie stared up at him, shaking her head slightly as if the sorrow was something solid that could be sloughed off. “Benedict…”

He put down his brush and palette and walked toward her. “I can’t bear it when you look so sad,” he said, surprised by his own words. He hadn’t intended to say anything, but his heart was clearly controlling his tongue and it demanded honesty.

She took a shaking breath to steady herself. She should have known this would happen. She should have known he would make her falter again, with his eyes and his words and his gentle nature. He wanted her to stay, of course he did, but her plan was to leave and she needed to see it through. Her heart was starting to pound, protesting against her mind’s resolution.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

When she said that, something snapped inside of him. He felt it palpably, a hot rush of blood, feeding the frustration that had been simmering inside of him for days. To hell with gentlemanly behavior. He couldn’t let her leave. He wouldn’t lose her like he had lost the lady in silver. He didn’t know how he could be with Sophie if she refused to be his mistress, but he couldn’t let her walk out of his life and disappear. Not when she had stirred his soul that day at the lake, and not when she had made him happier than he had felt in years. He leveled his gaze on her. “You think it’s not hard?” he growled. “You think this isn’t hard?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her voice was growing stronger. There was a determined gleam in her eye, a courage that he so admired.

This woman, such a rare combination of strength and beauty, made him weak as she glared at him. Every cell of his body was magnetized toward her and the rush of his blood sang in his ears. He dropped to his knees before her, his every defense crumbling. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring but he couldn’t let her leave without showing her how he felt, just one time.

“I won’t ask you to be my mistress,” he said firmly. The declaration hung in the air between them. Her eyes widened and something flickered across her face, something like hope breaking through the sorrow. It urged him on and he took her hands in his.

“I will never ask you to do anything you do not want. I only…I only wish to show you how much I care for you, without arrangement or obligation.” He touched her chin, lifting her face until he could peer into her eyes. They seemed to glow from within, glistening with unshed tears. “Sophie, I only want you. Just you. If you’ll have me.”

A pause. Sophie found it impossible to breathe. She didn’t have the strength to fight herself anymore. Not when the man she loved was begging her, on his knees, to be with him if and as she wished to. What sort of relationship that would give them, she didn’t know. That it would still only lead her to heartbreak in the end, she was certain. But she was losing the battle for rationality. Meekly, she launched her only remaining protest.

“You deserve better than me,” she whispered, and the pain in her voice nearly unmanned him.

Benedict rose, pulling her to stand with him. She looked up, eyes unfathomable behind her tears. She had cried too much and he needed to put an end to it. Slowly, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her body against his.

“I burn for you,” he whispered, his lips touching her ear. “Every night, I lie in bed, thinking of you, wondering why the hell you’re in the servants quarters and not with me.”

Sophie felt every last shred of resistance within her fall away. At last, an honest truth crystalized within her. She wanted this. Whatever piece of Benedict she could get and for however long, she wanted it.

Benedict could feel her breath grow heavier, her back quivering beneath his hands. She uttered his name softly as her hands traced up to his shoulders, then to hold his face. She searched his eyes, a thousand emotions glittering in her own. She missed him, she wanted him, she needed him, and now she would finally allow herself to have him. It was the dream she had carried with her for years, the dream she never dared to think would come true. But here it was, in her hands, the sincerity in his gaze speaking nothing but truth. The room was dim with the glow of firelight but he stood out, radiant against it all.

Benedict captured her mouth with his, swearing to himself as he did so that if she said no, if she made any sort of indication that she truly didn’t want this, he’d stop. It’d be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he would do it.

But she didn’t say no, and she didn’t push him away. Instead, she positively melted into him, her hands twining in his hair as her lips parted beneath his. His heart leapt, that she was letting him kiss her -- no, that she had decided to kiss him. He seized the moment, tasting her, drinking her, breathing her. He wanted it to last a lifetime. The kiss he had wished to give the lady in silver, proof of all his affection and commitment, building up for years and unleashed at last for dear Sophie. Sophie who was here, Sophie who was real, Sophie who stoked the same fire within him, and she felt like heaven. The soft scent of her hair, the slight taste of salt on her skin -- she was, he thought, born to rest in the shelter of his arms. And he was born to hold her. Sophie luxuriated in the feeling of Benedict’s lips, his tongue, his hands. The entirety of his body radiating heat against hers. How foolish of her to think that she could or even should, deny this desire, wherever it might lead. How self-important to think that she could be stronger than passion.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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loviwonnie · 8 months

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—COOL WITH YOU

010. oh shit (written 0.8k)

the long-awaited break came and that means that its time for you to start your plan. to find out what wonyoung thinks about ricky.

you and wonyoung have been friends ever since you came to this school. she was just standing in front of her locker fixing her hair, and you managed to trip over and fall with her. you both looked at each other and laughed. ever since then you have become inseparable and every student called you “the two pretty best friends”.

wonyoung has been watching a lot of guys lame attempts to try and talk to her but none of them could catch her attention. but something has changed when ricky transferred into your school. you couldn't help but notice how your best friend always fixes her hair, makeup and clothes everytime he passes by. she was smiling when they did the smallest and unnoticeable eye contacts. you can tell that she finds him attractive. and it was true. ricky was hot topic when he just came and immediately caught everyone's attention. wonyoung was one of them, well, you were too.

now you find out that ricky actually liked her for a long time and you had to play the cupid here. ‘i will make them happy’ was your motto and you were repeating this word ever since you came to cafeteria and waited for your bestie to arrive.

“wonyoung! i am here,” you called your friend who was shining and glowing as always. with a bright smile on her face, she ran to you and sat down with her food tray.

“look, they have my favorite tuna kimbap,” she happily exclaimed and pointed at the rice wrapped in seaweed with tuna in it.

“they better be good” you grinned and took a bite of your bread. “wonyoung, i, you know, haven't been here for a while and there are so many new people here. for example, jungwon, hanni, well I don't know much about their friend group, so I thought maybe you could tell something about them” you said, trying not to sound suspicious or weird

“yeah sure,” wonyoung sat more comfortably and started talking about how cute hanni is, eunchae’s weirdness but in a good way, niki’s great basketball abilities, how jungwon is very nice and smart, but you had a hard time doubting that. and ricky’s turn came.

“oh ricky, um, he is, cute and kind, and also very funny, but you know, in awkward way, because he is still trying to adapt here,”

as wonyoung started talking about ricky, you noticed the way her cheeks turned red, she was looking down and avoiding your gaze. she probably was shy talking about him.

“so you like him?” you smiled and her eyes widened.

“hey, quiet! I don't want anyone to hear that” she shutted your mouth with her palms and looked around, hoping that none of his friends are near.

“omg you do like him! omg! for how long?”

“ever since he came here, now shut up, it's my turn to ask you questions” wonyoung coughed and looked straight into your eyes. you felt sudden pressure but tried to act cool.

“why did you look so invested when I talked about jungwon?” she lifted one of her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“huh?” you looked at her confusing, trying to understand what she just said

“yn, darling, just say that you are interested in jungwon, you didn't have to make all of this just to hear something about him”

“what? are you crazy? i am not interested in him!”

“i saw how you moved closer when i started talking about him, you like jungwon?”

“no! wonyoung, I don't know why you thought that i like him because I don't! how can i like him if he is rude, mean and just awful? he sighs irritably when i get the good mark at classes or i swear to God, he judges me everytime he looks at me. he hates me, and I don't know why, so I don't see any reasons to like him” you exhaled after saying it all without stopping and looked at your friend with eyes full of wildness.

behind wonyoung, you noticed jungwon who was standing there looking at you with a slight of confusion and surprise. he heard everything and as soon as you saw him, you regretted every word your stupid and uncontrollable mouth had said. you didn't want to call him awful, that was too much, you understood that.

‘oh shit’ you thought and wanted to approach jungwon, but he was already gone. you felt bad, really bad. you knew that you have to apologize but just didn't how and when because it's not so easy to go and talk to a person who despises you.

‘that was..weird, but at least I learned some useful information’ you tried to calm yourself down with the thought of successfully accomplished mission.

— prev — masterlist — next

iris notes :: omg guys have you seen the ru next final?? the debut line up?? it's so rigged I just can't understand how youngseo is not the center and my girl jiwoo 😭😭

୨୧ taglist ! @kpopstanmeg @super-amberlynn @j1nniee @kxr0mi @enhaz1 @stqrlite @jwsflower @ilovewonyo @captivq @lprww @hannahhbahng @nishimurasgirl @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @ajybeo @love-4-keum @fakeuwus @wtfhyuck @wiltspring @aerivrs @mrchweeee @miumiuoi @soomelon @soobawrz @nichoswag @wonhoonsluv @jebetwo @gothhyucks @dimplewonie @danielleismyname @lucyinthesky-00 @imhuh @mochamvgz @moons-v @ashy1um @reina-ohno @won-der5

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grandeoatmilklatte · 10 months

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Late Night Dip ☀️

Happy Weasley Wednesday everyone! Here’s my contribution to the “hot” theme this week! (But also this falls into the "wet" theme from last week) Enjoy! ✌🏻

Late Night Dip - Garreth Weasley x house neutral F!MC

2.1k words

Smut/NSFW/18+, characters are aged up and in their 7th year. Do not read if you’re under 18!!

Summary: After an uncomfortably hot day, Garreth comes up with an excellent idea to keep him and MC cool, but a visitor foils their plans.

----

It was unseasonably hot for this time of year. It was almost the end of September, but it felt like mid August, peak summertime. The heat was sweltering, and left every student feeling like there was a constant layer of sticky sweat on them.

MC, like every other student, had ditched her robes and opted for just her white shirt with her sleeves rolled up, fanning herself with her hand to no avail. Class was being held outside, as if that made any difference. It was equally as hot outside as it was in. She looked around at her classmates, all in a similar state of disarray, before looking over at her boyfriend, Garreth Weasley. While he too looked like he was about to be overcome with heatstroke, he somehow managed to look so good in this state.

Garreth also had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, so his very freckled and slightly muscular forearms were in full view. He had ditched his tie and had unbuttoned several of the buttons so that his also very freckled neck and upper chest were exposed. He was running a hand through his luscious head of red hair which was slightly damp from dousing himself with Aguamenti spells like many others had throughout the day. His lips were parted, and he had beads of sweat on his forehead and neck. He looked so delicious that had there not been other students around, she would have gladly leaned over and licked the sweat off his neck. Seeing him like this gave her flashbacks to the many times they had been similarly hot and bothered together, but not because of the weather, but because of-

Her naughty thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her name being called. “Oh no. Did we lose you to the heat, sweetheart?” Garreth was in front of MC when she came back to reality, waving his hand in front of her face. “I’m fine! Just thinking.” MC replied, blush forming on her face. “Well, don’t think too hard!” He chuckled. “I’ve been doing some thinking too. This heat has been ridiculous the past few days, but I have an idea of a way we can cool off!” He gave MC a wink. MC looked at him with intrigue, wondering what sort of trouble the two of them were about to get into.

It was normal for Garreth and MC to get into trouble together. Ever since they started dating in fifth year, they were constantly causing mischief. Between pranking their fellow students, causing explosions in potions class, and getting caught snogging in empty classrooms, they were always in detention together, and they never regretted a moment of their time together (except that one time they were caught snogging by Garreth’s aunt. He didn’t regret doing it or getting caught, he just regretted who had caught them.).

“What did you have in mind, my little troublemaker?” MC asked with a sultry tone to her voice. “Ah, it’s a surprise! Meet me tonight, midnight, by the boathouse. Oh, I’ve got to get to class! You know Aunt Matilda will be royally pissed if I’m late!” Garreth planted a big kiss on MC’s lips and took off, leaving MC to stew in her excitement for tonight’s activities.

----

It was a little before midnight when MC stealthily snuck out of her dorm. With a Disillusionment charm in place, she made her way over to the boathouse. The weather had cooled down slightly with it being nighttime, but it was still quite hot and humid out. MC hadn’t wondered much about what Garreth had planned tonight. She tried not to think about it to avoid spoiling the surprise. It was a long trek down the stairs leading to the boathouse, and she was winded by the time she got down there. MC didn’t see Garreth at first, but she knew already from their countless excursions that he likely had the charm on as well. She called out his name, and he removed the charm from himself, as MC did the same. His smile was wide as he made eye contact with her. His adorable smile made her heart swell. No matter what silly activity they did together, he was always so happy to be doing them with her, and she shared in the happiness as well.

“So what are we doing out here, darling?” MC asked. “Well…being that it’s…so hot out…” Garreth was drawing this out in an attempt to raise her anticipation. “I thought maybe we could cool off…by going for a swim.” He gestured towards the Black Lake which surrounded them. “A very naked swim…” He gave her a sultry smile.

“We’re going skinny dipping?!” She asked in a tone that was equal parts shocked and equal parts impressed. “Mhmm! Now get undressed!” He said as he began to unbutton his shirt. “But what about the giant squid?” She asked cautiously, but already taking her own clothes off. MC was 100% on board with the idea regardless, she just wanted to ensure he planned ahead. MC had seen the tentacles of the famed giant squid pop out of the lake from time to time, but she was pretty certain that she (MC decided the squid was a female) inhabited a much further out and deeper portion of the lake than the two of them were going into.

“Uhh…” Garreth had a look of confusion on his face, unsure if she was serious or not. “I think we’ll be okay…we’re not going super deep, and the second we see the squid we’ll hop out!” A smile was on his face as he removed his underwear, the last article of clothing that was left on his body. MC paused her undressing to appreciate his body, which is something she did every time she had the opportunity to see him naked.

He was fit. He wasn’t the most muscular guy in school, but he had a tight, fit stomach and had some bit of muscle in his arms. She took a moment to fantasize about his arms, thinking back to all the times he supported her ass and thighs with those arms every time he fucked her against the wall of the tiny supply closets they sometimes found themselves in. MC continued ogling him. Appreciating the light brown freckles that covered him from head to toe. She loved all his freckles, especially the little one he had on his tip. She always made sure to give that freckle a kiss before anytime she used her mouth on him. Her eyes then grazed over his happy trail of red hair that led down to more red hair, and below that red hair, his impressive length, which was currently in a semi-hard state, somewhat aroused by what they were about to do, but not quite there yet. And although it was cooler out than before, he still appeared a little sweaty from the heat. Like before, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. His hair was a bit unruly, which it often was, and she couldn’t wait to run her fingers through it. She couldn’t believe how perfect he was.

“See something you like?” He said as he broke MC’s concentration. MC blinked rapidly to get her mind out of the naughty place it was in. “Yes, actually, all of it!” She replied with a wink as she finished removing her clothes.

They stood completely bare in front of each other. Nerves were beginning to overtake them, but it wasn’t going to stop them. After a moment or two of standing in silence, Garreth broke the silence first by smiling wickedly, dashing over to the dock and jumping off with a loud “WOOOO!” and a splash as his body made contact with the water. MC rolled her eyes, although he definitely didn’t see it. She walked over to the dock, and hopped off of it and into the water as well, in a much less dramatic fashion than Garreth.

Once they were both in the water, she threw her arms around Garreth’s neck, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. Their bodies were flush against each other. MC began to feel a heat between her legs, letting out soft moans in between kisses. Garreth’s hands moved from MC’s hips down to her thighs, pulling them up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. MC could feel Garreth’s length rutting against her entrance. His mouth then moved down to her neck, as their bodies moved against each other, eager for some friction. One of Garreth’s hands then snaked between their two bodies, making its way to MC’s center. Garreth began to rub small circles, drawing out loud moans from MC’s lips. The point of this late night dip was to cool down from the heat, but it was beginning to seem pointless with how hot and heavy the pair were getting. Garreth reluctantly removed his hand from MC’s center, taking himself in his hand and lining himself up with her entrance. His tip had just breached her entrance when a slight booming sound in the distance made them pull apart from each other.

Much further out into the lake they saw two tentacles shoot up out of the water, stretching out before they dropped back in, causing a ripple effect that the pair felt even being such a far distance away. Garreth and MC looked at each other in shock before they both let out high pitched screams, and scrambled to get out of the water. Once they were out, they both burst into a laughter that lasted several minutes before they could compose themselves. Once the laughter ceased, MC moved to begin dressing again when Garreth, aroused again as a result of the adrenaline, pulled her into a deep kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Garreth walked MC over to the dock, where she laid down with Garreth between her legs. He wasted no time sliding himself into her, an easy feat as MC was still aroused herself. His thrusts were quick and hard, both of their releases rapidly approaching. MC and Garreth had shagged in questionable locations before, but on the dock overlooking the Black Lake after encountering the giant squid was definitely in the top 5, and MC spent all of two seconds worried about splinters before she gave into the pleasure Garreth was giving her, letting out sultry moans in response to his thrusts.

She wrapped her legs around Garreth’s waist, allowing him deeper access to her, which Garreth took as his opportunity to speed up his movements. Garreth was letting out his own groans of pleasure, and the two of them were overheating quickly, the cooler weather and the wetness of their bodies doing little to cool them down. Garreth was very familiar with MC’s body at this point in their relationship, and knew she was about to break at any moment. Eager to make her finish, and knowing he himself was close to the moment as well, he dipped his head near her ear and whispered softly “Are you going to cum for me sweetheart?” MC let out a drawn out moan in response. “Good girl!” He whispered harshly through gritted teeth.

Her release came first, her body tensing up as she screamed his name. Garreth’s came right after, burying himself deep into her as he released, filling her insides with himself. He remained inside her for a moment while they caught their breaths and came down from their highs. Once they had composed themselves, the pair got dressed. “Holy shit!” Garreth proclaimed. “That was something!”

“What we just did, or…?” She lifted her arms in the air and waved them around, imitating the squid’s tentacles. “Both!” Garreth said with a breathy laugh. They both began to giggle again at the terrifying experience before MC pulled Garreth into a sweet, soft kiss. “We should probably get back, assuming we haven’t already woken up half the school with our ruckus.” Garreth said when MC pulled away from the kiss. “You’re right, you did scream after all!” She said with a teasing tone.

“Uh, so did you!” He shot back. “Yes, but you were louder!” The two of them laughed as she took his hand, and they walked away from the boathouse.

“You know Garreth, the next time you want a way to cool down from the heat, maybe we should sneak into the prefect’s bathroom instead!” MC said with a laugh. “That’s actually not a bad idea!” Garreth replied as he squeezed her hand, the pair making their way to the long stairs to begin the trek back to their dorms.

----

#weasley wednesday #garreth weasley #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley x mc

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

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|| ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ||

Hello everyone! Welcome to part one of my seven-part series featuring the one and only Neon Leon. I’m so excited to be sharing this with you all, and I hope you enjoy! Part two will be coming next week :)

| next | masterlist |

You stifle a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you sit back up from where you had fallen asleep in the kitchen. You stretch, feeling your spine pop. Your lips part for a solid yawn to escape, sleepily blinking a couple times.

You glance at the clock on the top of the archway that connects your kitchen to the storefront, realizing that your cookies are about to be burnt. You grab the oven mitts, avoiding the cloud of hot steam that escapes once you swing open the door to your oven.

You take out the tray, hissing when your finger barely touches the burning hot metal. You place it on the wooden counter, allowing the freshly baked cookies to cool. You hurry over to where you had set down another tray from the same batch of chocolate chip cookies you had made, still unbaked. You slide it into the oven, shutting the door with a relieved sigh.

You look down at your crumpled dress, trying to brush out the creases but failing miserably. You shrug, deciding to take a quick shower. You change into a fresh set of clothes, slipping a recently-ironed cerulean dress onto your shoulders. You brush your tangled hair, brushing your teeth after.

By the time you were done, the new batch had finished baking. You repeat your actions from earlier, but this time putting all the cookies straight into a basket lined with a red checked cloth. You lock the door behind you, heading out into the market.

Today was the day before the week-long festival celebrating the return of the long-lost princess. In the years she had been missing, the king and queen of the kingdom had hosted a small celebration of lights, calling it the Sun Festival in honour of their missing child in hopes that she would one day return. However, that had been last week, and now, they had extended it to celebrate her return.

You participated every year ever since moving to the kingdom five years ago. And every year, you repeated the same routine of giving away free samples of your pastries, and you gained recognition for having some of the best baked goods in town.

However, the reputation came with its downfalls. Every year without fail, a thief would steal at least five of each baked good you set out on display. You knew it was the same thief because they'd leave a tell-tale sign - an almost cocky way of letting you know they would never be caught. It came in the form of an italic capitalized '𝓛,' which was their initial, or so you suspected.

You knew almost everyone in the village, and every person whose name started with L had reassured you that they had never stolen a single item before. You believed them, especially since they were all decent people with alright reputations.

As such, the search continued for five years, and the thief managed to escape the countless traps you set each time. It was absolutely infuriating.

You hand a cookie to Margaret, a girl only one year younger than you who helped to run her family's clothing store. They were your go-to for new clothes, and without fail, they'd always produce the most gorgeous dresses with subtle details that made them stand out.

"Thanks, Y/n!" Margaret greets you with a smile, taking the cookie you hand to her. You chuckle at the messy bun she sports, helping to brush a few strands of her hair away from her eyes. She brings the cookie close to her face, inhaling deeply with a blissful sigh.

"No worries, here's some for your parents, too, as thanks for the dress you made me." You hand her another two, and she takes them gratefully.

"Aw, yes! They love your cookies! I had to convince them not to buy thirty like they did last year." Margaret groans at the memory of the entire bucketload of cookies her parents had brought back home. You giggle, remembering how excited her parents' faces were when buying a few loaves, croissants, and cookies.

"The dress looks great on you, though!" She looks you up and down, her eyes calculative as she views how the cerulean compliments your hair.

"It's a little loose on the waist, but I think that's just the stress for this year's festival."

"Oh, that can be fixed in a second! Hang on." She pulls out a few safety pins from her skirt pocket, approaching you and taking some of the material, fiddling with it. She takes a step back after a few moments, a satisfied smile on her face as you beam, the dress resting perfectly and allowing your corset to settle nicely on your skin.

"So, how's preparation to catch the thief going?" Margaret asks, putting the rest of the safety pins back in her pocket. You smirk.

"Safe to say, that thief won't get away so easily this year." You hum, placing your hand on your hip with a smug smile. Hours of brainstorming for ways to catch them had proved fruitful, and you now had various plans in mind.

"That's good. Update me when you can! I gotta go off and finish another order."

You wave goodbye to Margaret, who hurries off, watching her weave through the crowd and back into her shop. You continue to walk, handing out cookies to anyone in sight.

The crowd of tourists almost made it impossible to squeeze through the public, and you had to hold your breath every now and then for some wiggle room. Your basket is practically empty, save for one last cookie. You were almost home, so that cookie would be saved as your late-night snack.

"Ugh!"

You stumble, almost falling to the ground if not for a gloved hand holding your arm. You steady yourself, breathing a sigh of relief and glancing at the cookie in your basket. Thankfully, it was still in one piece. You look back up with a glare, the cloaked stranger in front of you taking a step back.

A hood covers their face, casting it in shadow. You wait for an apology, but none comes. So you stand and wait silently. They're adorned in a simple brown cloak and about a head taller than you.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

Your brows furrow, taken aback by the stranger's question. His voice is deep, yet there is an underlying playfulness within it.

"Excuse me, you bumped into me." You point out incredulously, raising a brow.

The stranger chuckles, shaking his head. "You were the one not looking where you were going. Oh well, I'll accept this as an apology."

Before you can even blink, a gloved hand snatches the cookie from your basket, holding it up to his eyes. (Or where you believe their eyes were. It was hard to tell.)

"Hey!" You protest, "That's mine!"

"What about all the other cookies you were handing out? Aren't they yours too?"

You fall silent, fingers curling into fists as you rein in your temper. You can hear the conceit in his voice as he tucks the cookie into his pocket. So much for your supper that night.

"Fine." You snap, feeling irritated by the man's presence.

"So, you're a baker?" You can almost hear the smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, I am. So you'd better enjoy that cookie because there sure won't be any left tomorrow." You nod towards his pocket where your precious cookie rests, and he chuckles. You cross your arms, ready to end the conversation with the rude man in front of you.

"Is that so? Well, I'll be sure to stop by then." His words have an almost impish edge, and your frown only spurs him to take a single bite of the freshly baked good he had snatched from you earlier.

He hums, and your curiosity overrides your disdain for the man. You wait for his reaction, expecting nothing less than a sigh of bliss.

"Kinda salty."

"Salty?" You repeat, flabbergasted by his response. He shrugs nonchalantly, watching your shoulders slump. You run your fingers through your hair, a few strands falling across your eyes as you laugh in disbelief.

No. You shouldn't believe in the words of a stranger who bumps into you without so much of an apology, much less blaming it on you.

You had better things to do, like catch a thief.

Besides, the thousands of people that flock to your store every year are more than enough to validate how good your baking is.

"Well," You address the stranger, and he shifts his weight to rest on one leg, "Thank you for your feedback, but I will not be changing the recipe to suit the taste buds of one man when many others enjoy my baking." You plaster a fake smile onto your lips, your words are emotionless, and your eyes regard him coldly.

"Goodbye." You walk past him, brushing against his cloak and approaching your door. You can sense his gaze on you, and you almost fumble with the keys. You unlock the door, cooly making your exit and shutting it behind you before heaving a frustrated groan in the comforts of your own home.

You leave your basket on the counter, eyeing the empty shelves of the store. You quickly eat, preparing for the all-nighter ahead of you if you want to get those pastries out by the morning. You push all thoughts of the earlier encounter out of your mind, washing your hands and turning out batches of dough that had been resting.

You work into the rest of the night, restocking empty shelves until the rooster that usually wanders into the empty streets of the early morning crows loudly. You look up from the piles of washed and dried metal trays, wiping off the sweat on your brow.

You glance around the store, a satisfied smile on your lips as you survey the shelves filled with loaves of bread of different varieties and, of course, your famous chocolate chips on a table in the centre of the store.

You head upstairs to your bedroom, quickly washing up in the bathroom before collapsing onto your bed in a tired heap. You nap for an hour, your clock soon ringing to wake you up. You drag yourself out of bed, putting on a new peach-coloured dress after a cold shower that wakes you up.

Sliding on a pair of comfortable flats, you head back downstairs where a crowd of regulars that visit your store every festival await you. You wave hello through the glass windows, setting up the drawer where you store your coins for change after the customers make their payment.

You take off the cloth covering all the shelves of baked goods, everyone outside becoming visibly excited. You fold them and put them away into a separate drawer, taking a deep breath before unlocking the door.

Customers pour in, making a beeline for the products they want. The bell hooked up to the top of the door jingles every time it's open, and it was a constant sound with the stream of people flooding in.

You take your place behind the counter, calculating the right amount of change and bagging the baked goods in paper bags.

"Hey, Mr. Smith, how's the missus?" You greet the tailor, who holds three loaves of rosemary and olive bread and two medium-sized bags of cookies. He hands you three crowns, and you open the drawer to give him the change.

"She's back home with Margaret, but she says hello, and to pass you this." He takes out a small handkerchief with your initials embroidered, and you gasp in delight. Cerulean lace surrounds the edges, the soft material like a cloud against your hand.

"Thank you!" You gush, folding it gently and placing it in your pocket. "I love it." You hand him back the change, bagging up the loaves in the paper bags. You wave him off with a toothy smile, paying attention to the next customer in the queue.

You take a break in the afternoon to have lunch, shutting the door much to the chagrins of others. You wave the tourists off, directing them to other stalls while you have lunch and prepare the first trap of many.

During the past few years, you had noticed that the thief always came around nightfall when everyone was distracted by the sunset.

Not this time.

This time you had a plan and were confident it'd succeed.

You restock the shelves, making sure to leave the last bag of cookies sitting on the table. You grab some pepper, sprinkling some inside the bag. You grab a small jar on the counter, coating the bag's underside and making sure it isn't apparent to the thief.

It was a jar of finely ground rose petals, the pigmented powder a gift from Margaret as a lip stain for your lips. However, you were using it to set the trap instead. Hopefully, she'd understand.

You hum a cheerful tune under your breath, heading into the back and waiting for the familiar chime of the bell. You grab a tray of croissants, heading back into the storefront. You fill the empty shelf, ensuring the wax paper is lined properly so the pastries wouldn't touch the bare wood.

You turn, glancing over your shoulder at the cookie trap you set.

Or at least where the cookies were a minute ago.

The tray clatters to the floor as you stand still, stunned by how the thief had managed to slip in and out without so much as a sound. This was the first time this had happened. You had even locked all the windows as a precaution, so how had he managed to get in??

The door was firmly shut, and the bell hadn't made a single chime or jingle.

The edge of the table has a faint dusting of red, and an italic '𝓛' is once again written in it. You grit your teeth, seething at the fact that the thief had not only managed to elude your sight yet again, but the cocky inscription of their initials was the tipping point.

"UGH!" You throw your hands up in frustration, your blood boiling as you storm back into the kitchen. You see yourself in the mirror, cheeks red and nostrils flared. Your eyes are filled with frustration.

You were so sure that it'd work!

You quickly march out the door to your store, eyes darting around as you try to spot the thief in the crowd. They had to be around somewhere.

You spot a flash of red, and you run, gently pushing past people and muttering, "excuse me!" in a rushed tone. You couldn't let them out of your side. They pause at a booth, and you finally catch up. "Got you now!"

Your words die in your throat when you finally look up from where your hands are on your hips, panting heavily to catch your breath. A tall, muscular man looks at you with wide eyes, confused by your sudden accusation.

You look down at his hands. You had seen red, hadn't you?

He holds a bouquet of roses, glancing down at it and back to you in a mildly unsettled manner. "Can I help you…?" He questions. He looks nervously at the owner of the booth you both are at, the owner shrugging helplessly.

"I must have mistaken you for someone else," You stammer out, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, "Have a free cookie at my store as an apology."

The man's face lights up, smiling broadly. "Gee, thanks!"

You hear a faint chuckle, instantly looking up at the crowd and scanning it intently. You were sure that had to have been the thief. It had to be.

You try to catch every face in the crowd, attempting to narrow down who it could have been. Unfortunately, it seemed that they had made yet another clean getaway. You practically deflate, almost tearing up out of frustration.

"You all good?" The man you accused earlier asks, and you respond with a simple nod, wiping your eyes roughly with the back of your hand.

"Yeah." You trudge back to your store with a forlorn look on your face. You clean the dust off the table along with the initial and restock the bags of cookies before opening for the evening crowd.

You focus on handling the customers, finally closing when the clock strikes midnight. You slide the lock shut on the front door, the now empty shelves a stark contrast to the early morning. You count the profit you made from the first day, sorting it into a small coin pouch and leaving the rest to use as change for the next day.

You wash up and head to bed, your body on autopilot. Your mind races with thoughts as you lay in your bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

Today, the trap had failed.

That was what Plan B was for. It was only the first day, and there were still 6 more.

A spark of indignation is all it takes to get you fired up for the next day, and you drift off to sleep with a newly steeled resolve to catch that thief, even if it takes you countless plans from A through Z.

The following day, you wake up bright and early, changing into a rosemary-coloured dress, planning to upsell your herbed loaves of bread. You descend the stairs in your flats, brushing your hair back into a low ponytail.

You restock the shelves again, welcoming yet another crowd into the store. The day passes, and you're so caught up in promoting and selling your products that you almost forget to take a break for dinner.

Your hair is slightly dishevelled, locks framing your face as you wipe away the sweat with a damp cloth in the kitchen. You sit down, grab some baked potatoes and load them up with cream, sliced spring onions, and pickles. You set the plate down on the table, preparing the next trap.

You set down five loaves of bread where the cookies used to be(they had all sold out in the morning), securing a small bell to the last one and leaving a small hidden loop on the floor. It was a standard rabbit trap.

When the thief inevitably steals the loaves of bread, they'd pull on the last loaf, which would trigger the bell and the rope attached to it, causing their foot which would land in the small loop, to be trapped in the tightened rope, leaving them dangling and helpless.

Was it too much for Plan B?

Yes.

Would it stop you from using it?

Absolutely not.

So you stay in the back, choosing to sit so that you are close enough to the storefront and can rush out immediately. You eat your baked potato slowly, catching your breath from the hectic morning and taking the time to recharge for the evening crowd.

Minutes pass, and you begin to think the thief will never come.

The bell jingles.

You can hear muffled grunting, grabbing a solid frying pan on your stove, and slowly approaching the front. You peek out from behind the arch wall dividing the store's front and back, seeing a cloaked figure dangling by their green foot from the ceiling.

Wait.

Green?

Your brows furrow in confusion, walking towards them.

You recognize the cloak. It was the stranger you had bumped into the other day. The one who had said your cookie was too salty.

"Juuust great." His sarcastic comment makes you frown. He hadn't noticed you yet. You suck in a sharp and audible inhale through your teeth, and his body visibly stiffens, turning around.

His hood still shrouds his face in shadow, though you were pretty sure the rest of him was green too. His hands are holding down his cloak from exposing more than just his legs, and he gasps.

"Uh, rude?? You can't just stare at people like that, pervert."

Your face heats up at the lazy accusation he throws your way, eyes narrowing into a glare. You hold the frying pan defensively and turn it, so the handle is facing him instead. You poke his chest a few times.

"Ow." His deadpan voice makes you flinch, and you raise your brows.

"Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. I came here to check out the cookies again, and your stupid trap thing," He gestures to the rope around his ankle, keeping him dangling from the ceiling, "is making me late to meet my brothers." When gesturing, he lets go of the cloak, and it falls towards the ground. He yelps, clumsily grabbing it and holding it back to hide his body.

You catch a glimpse of two swords he has tucked away on his waist, along with more green skin. Your eyes study him until something catches your eye. You grab his hand, leaning in and looking at the bright red coating his fingertips.

"Ha!" You gasp as elation begins to rush through your body.

You did it! You caught the thief!

The thief sighs, his hands going limp. "Okay, fine. You got me." He caves easily, and you rejoice with a victorious giggle.

"I did it! I caught you! Ohhhhh, you've been such a pain in the side for five years. Five years! I've waited for this day. Now, pay up for all the stuff you took." You demand, lips pursed as you point the frying pan at him threateningly. You lean back smugly, your head tilted. There was nowhere for him to run, much less escape.

"So, about that…." You frown at his response, firmly pressing the frying pan's tip against his chest. "Wait! I don't have money. Can't you just put it on my tab, and we can settle this later. You can contact me through my lawyer!" He cries out.

You were getting tired of talking to a shadowed face. You wanted to see the face of the man who had been an irritating source of loss for you over the years. You use the handle to flip back the hood.

Your eyes widen, looking down at the thief in front of you.

Was he even human?

His entire body was lime green, a blue bandanna around his face with holes carefully cut out for his eyes. The tails of his bandanna fall out of the hood, dangling upside down above his head. Red crescent-like stripes over his eyes add a pop of colour, and you're stunned by the creature in front of you.

Your grip loosens, the frying pan sliding out of your hand to meet the floor with a loud clang. You take a step back, almost stumbling back.

"So... this is awkward." You flinch when he speaks, blinking rapidly as you process the sight. You don't know where to look, eyes darting from his face to his legs. He watches you with an almost amused smile, and you don't know whether to take that as offensive.

You’re a hundred percent sure you voice is shaky, scrambling to pick up your frying pan - your only weapon. Your legs give out, and you fall to the ground, pointing it at him with trembling hands. Your lips part.

"What are you?"

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #tmnt x reader #leo x reader #leonardo x reader #enemies to lovers #rottmnt leo x female reader #100 followers celebratory fic #CaughtRH #x reader #series

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wandasnatasha · 2 years

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If You Run, Run To Me (18+) PT. 2|2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six months since you and your friend Natasha started sleeping together. When Natasha catches wind of your feelings for her, will she run?

Word count: 5.5K

Warnings: angst, a long emotional rollercoaster, smut (cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on).

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely comments, likes and reblogs on part 1! I haven't responded to every comment/reblog, but I've read them all and I appreciate it very much.

Part 2 is the end of this little story and picks up where we left off in PART 1.

Crying is hard on the body. After Natasha had run out of your room, and once your emotions had left you completely drained and exhausted, you had fallen asleep. When you wake up the next day, you’re met with a minor headache, but your mind is clearer than yesterday. The whole situation seems more manageable now that you’re not in the heat of the moment. You know what you’re going to say to Natasha as you stand in front of her bedroom door.

The two of you can talk this out and work through this bump in the road or you can just forget about the whole situation if she wants to pretend it didn’t happen. You can return to normal, to friends with benefits. You can even settle for being just friends again. You could handle that… But if she wants to, and you really hope she does, maybe you can take her out on a proper first date, see where things go.

You hope a romantic relationship with Natasha is possible somewhere in the near future. There have been all these moments in the past six months - and possibly even before you started sleeping together - that suggest Natasha reciprocates your feelings.

You had caught Natasha staring at you from the other side of a room on more than one occasion. She was the one to initiate that kiss: the kiss that was the start of this whole ordeal. She had gone out of her way to learn how to make your favorite meal after that one time you had let it slip that you hadn’t eaten it in a while. She laughs way too hard at your jokes that aren’t even that funny to begin with. She sat through all of the seven seasons and 109 episodes of your favorite TV show with you. You don’t think she even likes the genre.

Natasha - the woman who hates it when people see her in such a vulnerable state; the woman who rarely asks for help - has let you clean her wounds and patch her up after rough missions. She hadn’t shied away from you then. And then there were those instances where she had showered you with affection and warmth, like when she washes your hair whenever you’re too tired to do it yourself, gently massaging your scalp because she knows it calms you down. She’d braid your hair afterward. She’d even sought out physical contact that hadn’t involved sex at all, like a brief touch to your waist, her hand on the small of your back, or her resting her head on your shoulder.

All that goes beyond lust and just friendship, right?

“Nat? It’s me. Can we talk?” You knock on Natasha’s door.

You think you hear some shuffling coming from her room, but when you press your ear against the door, it’s silent. Maybe you’d imagined it? You wait a moment longer, but when nothing happens, you turn back around feeling somewhat deflated, but still hopeful. You’ll talk to her later.

Everything’s going to turn out alright!

Little do you know, Natasha is standing right behind that door with her hand resting on the handle. She decides against pushing it down.

Everything is fucked!

As a highly skilled assassin and spy Natasha can sneak in and out of just about any space and remain undetected. She knows how to easily disappear and how to make it difficult to be found. It’s glaringly obvious she’s been doing just that ever since the whole fiasco between the two of you occurred a few days ago. It’s also clear that Natasha has added avoiding you to the list of her capabilities, and just like everything else she’s great at, she’s exceptional at steering clear of you.

She doesn’t show up to your shared training sessions, she doesn’t hang out in the rooms where you would usually find her, and that one time you had found her preparing lunch in the kitchen, she was gone before you could even get a word out. The only proof that you hadn’t imagined her was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had left behind.

You haven’t caught a single glimpse of Natasha today, but there’s a scheduled team meeting and you hope you can talk to her after.

When you arrive in the meeting room, you greet the others and sit down in your usual spot. The seat next to you is still unoccupied. It’s where Natasha always sits. Running late for a briefing is unlike her. She’s usually in the meeting room well before you arrive.

“Has anyone seen Nat?” You ask, wondering if she’ll sit next to you or if she’ll take someone else’s seat to further avoid you.

“Romanoff left for a low-stake mission with Bucky earlier this afternoon. They’re retrieving some intel for Fury and myself,” Steve answers.

“I was supposed to join Bucky, but she offered to take my place instead. Said that I looked like I needed a break,” Clint chimes in.

Clint looks well-rested. He looks like he’s doing fine.

“Do you know when she- when they’ll be back?”

“Not for a couple of days at least, maybe up to a week. They’re on their way to Europe.”

Europe…? She’s switched with Clint to put a whole ocean between you.

With your thoughts being elsewhere, you don’t catch much from the meeting once it starts, but you don’t miss the sympathetic smiles Wanda offers whenever your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” Wanda catches up with you after the meeting is over. “If you need someone to talk to or if you need a distraction, I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Thank you, Wanda.” It’s the first time you genuinely smile in days. You’re grateful for her kindness towards you.

During the first few days Natasha is away on her mission with Bucky, you decide against contacting her. Perhaps she just needs some time away to process everything. It won’t happen overnight. You understand. You can give her the space she needs. You’ll be here when she’s ready.

Usually, you and Natasha would try to stay in touch whenever one of you was away while the other stayed behind. That doesn’t happen this time around. There are no voicemails, no brief phone calls, and no texts. You would be worried about Natasha’s safety and well-being if it weren’t for the fact that when you open your chat with her, you see she’s left the one message you did send on read.

Are we still friends, at least?

You know things are complicated and that she’s busy with the mission. It still stings when you overhear Steve’s brief phone call with the redhead as she reports the details of her findings to him. You wish she would talk to you, too.

Your mind is plagued with doubts and anxieties. Maybe you had it all wrong.

You shove away the voice telling you that maybe Natasha no longer wants you in her life, but it’s much harder to do that than it was yesterday.

When Wanda notices your somber mood, she asks if you want to join her for coffee. You take her up on her offer. You’ve never really been close to Wanda, but something is soothing about her presence. Confiding in her lifts some of the weight off your chest. Talking to her is easy, you realize.

On the other side of the world, Natasha sits on the edge of a small bed with her face in her hands. Her mind is racing a mile a minute. She’s lost count of how many times she reread your message and typed a response but then hadn’t pressed send. There’s someone who’s made her feel valued and safe in a way she’s rarely ever experienced, and here she is hiding from you like a coward.

Natasha can hardly keep up with her own emotions. It’s like she’s forcing her head underwater, making herself drown in both longing and fear. She’s fighting a battle against herself and she can’t tell which part is going to stay under and which part is going to rise to the surface.

She scolds herself for letting things get this out of hand, for allowing the lines to blur, for letting herself fall in too deep. She should’ve pressed her feet on the brakes when, three months after you first started sleeping together, she had caught herself imagining what it might be like to build a life with you. The world has always conspired against her, so why had she entertained the idea that such a future might be in the cards for her? After everything she’s done, can she even accept the love you’re willing to offer? Does she even deserve what you’ve already given her? Her mind screams at her that she doesn’t.

You had told her she was breathtaking. Natasha knows what you meant by it. You’ve made her feel loved way before you’d even alluded to feeling that way about her. Natasha just hadn’t allowed herself to think about it for too long. You being in love with her conflicts with everything Natasha believes about herself.

Natasha has found herself in many unsettling situations in the past, but she could always crawl her way out of those. She doesn’t know how to do that now. She doesn’t even know if she wants to. But she should! You deserve infinitely better than to be burdened by someone with so much baggage.

Things have already gone wrong, but what if they get worse? There’s so much she stands to lose. Natasha’s terrified she won’t be able to live up to the person you see in her. She’s haunted by one too many “what-ifs”.

What if she puts her armor down and lets you in fully only for you to realize you were wrong? What if you stop loving her? What if you left her heartbroken? What if she’s incapable of ever being worthy enough to have the “good” kind of love? What if you get together only to break up? She will have lost both her partner and her dearest friend.

When the Quinjet finally lands back on American soil after nearly a week has gone by, Natasha makes a run for it as soon as the doors open. She needs a shower, her limbs feel heavy and she hasn’t slept properly in days, but she has only one destination in mind. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say or how she’s going to say it.

All she can think about is you.

Natasha spots you lounging in the common room with your eyes closed. She’s out of breath, but not because she sprinted here.

You’re even more beautiful than the last time she saw you.

You’re humming along to music that comes from the TV speakers at low volume. She thinks the song might be Sokovian. It’s a language neither of you understands. It sounds similar to a song she’s overheard Wanda listen to frequently.

You draw a sharp breath when you open your eyes and become aware of Natasha’s presence.

“Natasha?” The way you say her name is filled with hope. She’s back home. You’ve missed her.

Your relief is quickly replaced by dread when you see Natasha’s body grow stiff when you move toward her. She’s right there, almost within reach, but she still manages to slip through your fingers.

Panic surges through Natasha and it seeps deep into her bones. It holds her rigid. It squeezes her throat shut. She can’t do it. Natasha turns away from you. She leaves you with your arms wrapped around yourself instead of being the one to hold you.

It’s one of Tony’s parties, but you’re not in a festive mood.

It’s one thing to be given the cold shoulder and to be pushed aside for four weeks straight, it’s another to then have that rejection rubbed in your face and shoved down your throat. You had been friends. As your friend, Natasha could have afforded you some common decency and respect. If things had to end, it could have at least ended on a better note than it did. A month ago she had still been a part of your life, and then she wasn’t.

It’s brutal to witness Natasha all over Bruce, her hand resting on his bicep, throwing her head back as she laughs at whatever stupid science joke he’s probably making. It’s the first time you can’t stand the sound of her laugh. You’ve never known Natasha to be cruel. Not to you at least. Not until recently.

When did they get close? Has it always been like this? Did she go back and forth between the two of you? You never noticed. You have so many questions, but you’re too exhausted to even think about it.

At first, you thought it possible Natasha might reciprocate your feelings and give a relationship with you a try. For some reason, you had believed you were special to her. You had it all wrong. You were just a temporary indulgence, to be replaced when someone better came along.

You know when to give up. You know when you’re beat. You hope she's happy, at least. That's all you've ever wanted for her.

You want to hold on to the part of you that's angry. You want to replace your affection and hurt with that anger, but you can't. That would have made it easier to move on. You're mostly mad at yourself. If you could turn back time and take those three words back, you would do that in a heartbeat. You wish you had kept your mouth shut because now you have lost everything.

“I think you should have a little more faith than that, gorgeous,” Wanda comes to stand in front of you, obscuring the view you have of Natasha and Bruce.

You’re not aware of it, but Wanda makes sure to stand in a way Natasha can still see what’s happening if she were to look in your direction.

Someone needs to shake some sense into Natasha because this has gone on for far too long, and Wanda knows she can hold her own against the other woman.

You’ve grown a lot closer to Wanda these past couple of weeks. You hadn’t known it before, but now you know that Wanda has a great sense of humor. Her comedic timing is always spot on. You’ve enjoyed watching sitcoms with her and listening to the Sokovian songs she shared with you, her favorites. The songs make her feel like she’s back home. Talking about her brother is difficult for her, but she has told you stories about him anyway. She has become a pillar of support for you.

Wanda uses her thumb to wipe away a stray tear on your cheek. Your eyes close because for a fleeting moment it feels like you've stepped into a patch of sunlight. She doesn't remove her hand afterward. When you open your eyes and find Wanda watching you intently, you know she would have been able to sweep you off your feet if there was no Natasha.

Natasha stands motionless as she takes in the scene that's unfolding. She wants to look away, but her eyes remain laser-focused on your interaction with Wanda. Natasha wants to push Wanda to the side so that she can stand in her place instead. Bruce calls for her attention, but she doesn't hear him. She wouldn't have cared about what he had to say anyway. He isn't you.

“I have a feeling Natasha will come around. Don’t give up on her just yet.”

“How do you know?” You desperately want things to take a turn for the better, but you can't keep chasing after Natasha forever. She has to be the one to come to you. She has to stop running away. Right now, it appears she's already made her choice.

Wanda tilts your chin gently. You don't feel the need to pull away when she leans in closer to place a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. She moves to ghost her lips over your ear, then she whispers, “I can read minds, remember?"

All Natasha can think about is how Wanda might discover the birthmarks on your skin. What if she already had? Has Wanda made you feel good? Better? Natasha can't stand the thought, but she can't get the image out of her head. First, it creeps up on her. Then it hits her with full force. Those unwelcome images merge with flashes of a future that leave a burning sensation in her chest. It makes her sick to her stomach.

Natasha envisions a life where she will never place kiss after kiss from your forehead, to your cheek, to your neck. She'll become the forgotten part of a vague memory. She'll move to the quietest corner of your mind to make room for a different set of green eyes, a different shade of red hair. Natasha will be the bad experience you bring up when you're comforting a friend or a child who's going through heartbreak. You'll say: "Years ago I went through something similar. I thought I'd never recover from it. But I did, and so will you".

"You'll be okay," Wanda reassures as she wraps her arms around you in a tight hug. It's nice to be held.

Wanda doesn't have to turn around to know Natasha is no longer focused on Bruce, but is glaring daggers into the back of Wanda's skull instead. Natasha's thoughts are thunderous. She wants Wanda to back off, but Wanda stays right where she is with you in her arms.

Natasha needs to understand that if she isn't prepared to step up then there is someone else willing to do so. If Natasha doesn't go after you to fix things, there will come a day when she'll look back on her life, and she'll think about all the mistakes she's made: losing you to someone else will be the one thing that stands out from all the rest. It will be her biggest regret.

“And hey," Wanda pulls back to look at you. "If I'm wrong and things don't work out. Well, you know where to find me."

That pulls a smile out of you. Your talk with Wanda hasn't solved any of your problems, but you do feel better than you did a minute ago.

"Thank you, Wanda. For everything."

You think that under different circumstances, or in another life, Wanda could have been your favorite redhead.

“I would have liked that,” Wanda beams.

"Me too," you say. "I'm not really in a party mood, so I'm gonna head out."

A beat goes by.

"I'll be in my room if you-" You leave the rest of your sentence hanging in the air, but Wanda can fill in the gaps.

She nods in understanding, "Maybe I'll see you in a minute."

She watches you walk away. Then Wanda twists her body around at high-speed. Two different shades of green cross from different ends of the room. Natasha is hit by the severity of the clear message - no, the warning - Wanda delivers. Natasha needs to run after you and grab this chance with both hands. She doesn't have many more left, if any, at all. But Wanda does, and you will not wait around for Natasha forever!

For once, Natasha listens to another fear than the ones that have been tormenting her.

Natasha runs in the direction you went, and she prays to whatever God that's listening, that you're willing to give her one last chance.

There's a sharp, urgent knock on your bedroom door.

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you open the door and see a different face than the one you expected.

"Hi," she breathes out.

"Can we talk? Can I come in?" Natasha's fingers fidget with the silver-arrow necklace resting against her neck.

You hesitate. But then you move aside to let Natasha enter your room. You close the door behind you before turning to face her, wrapping your arms around yourself. You both remain standing near the door. She will have to shove you to the side if she wants to make a run for it.

Natasha stays rooted in place.

You want to lunge forward and reach for her, but you don't. You won't be able to bear the devastation if she pulls away again.

Natasha looks down at her feet and she takes a deep breath. There's a list of things she wants to say. It's nearly overwhelming, but she knows she has to start somewhere. She looks you straight in the eye when she says the most important thing that comes to mind.

"I'm sorry."

"You've hurt me," you respond, confirming what Natasha already knows. It's not your intention to make her feel guilty or to hurt her back, but it's the truth.

"I know I've hurt you and that I haven't been fair to you. I have no excuse for that. I'm sorry for making you cry and then just leaving you. I'm sorry for pushing you away and for treating you the way I did. You deserve so much better than that," Natasha voices her regrets.

She understands that her apology doesn't make how she treated you okay. She won't hold it against you if you want nothing more to do with her, but she needs you to know how much she regrets her behavior. She would take it all back if she could, but she knows she can't.

"Thank you," you accept her apology. You still have an array of emotions you need to process on your own time, but her being here and apologizing, means everything to you.

You still want Natasha to be a part of your life. There's just one thing you need to know, however painful the answer may be.

"Are you and Bruce- Did you-?"

"No! There's no Bruce and me."

A brief silence follows.

"Are you and Wanda?"

"No."

Natasha releases the breath she was holding, but anxiety rears its ugly head.

"There are a lot of things I have to work through, Y/N, things that I struggle with. My past is ugly and I have a lot of… baggage. I don't want to burden you or disrupt your life."

There's no malice in your voice when you say, "You've already disrupted my life. You turned my world upside down when you came into my life. I like it that way. I can decide for myself what I want my life to look like, Natasha, and I want you in it. I want you to 'burden' me. I want to get to know you fully. If you ever feel ready to talk about your struggles or your past, I'm here to listen to the good and the bad. You don't have to be perfect. I'm not either and I don't expect you to be. If it's patience you need, I have a lot of that. I think I've proven that by now."

You continue, "Relationships aren't fairytales. Whether it's friendship or more, it requires work from everyone involved. I'm prepared to put in the work and fight for you. I'm prepared to show you how much I adore you. But when you feel the need to run, I need you to stand your ground and face your fears. I need you to talk to me and I need you to fight for me too. Can you do that?"

"I want to," Natasha steps forward. She reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. Her voice breaks when she speaks again. "I'm scared."

"I know you are," you squeeze her hand. "I can be just your friend if that's what you need, but please don't become a stranger… Where do you want to go from here?"

Natasha brings your hand to her lips. She kisses each knuckle one by one before placing a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Where does she want to go from here? Natasha wants to wake up with you tomorrow morning and shower you with little kisses. She wants to confess that, ironically enough, she's actually afraid of spiders. She knows it will make you smile. She wants to take you to Ohio to show you where she spent three years of her young life; she'll tell you the story. She wants to stop running away from love.

"I want to take you on a date." There's no hesitation in Natasha's answer.

"I would love that," you smile.

"And I really want to kiss you right now," Natasha adds.

Your gaze drops to her mouth. Her lips look smooth and well-moisturized, no doubt from the lip balm she's always applying. You wonder if it's the last lip balm from the set you gave her seven months ago, or had she lost that one like she usually does and bought a new set herself? Either way, you also want to discover this flavor directly from her lips.

"What flavor do you have?" You refer to her lip balm, still transfixed by her lips.

You swear you can feel the blood pumping through your veins as everything happens in slow motion. Natasha moves her tongue across her bottom lip. She fights back a smile. She puts a hand against your cheek. She moves a hand to the back of your neck. She pulls you in closer. The warmth of her skin gets nearer. Her lips brush yours. They are soft. Do you taste vanilla or coconut? You don't know. You can't think straight.

At first, Natasha kisses you like she's learning how to kiss for the very first time, like she's trying to savor every second of this moment and commit it to memory.

Your back hits the door as the kiss turns from soft to frantic. Her lips are warm and demanding against your own. And God! This is a woman who knows how to kiss! She traces your bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, begging for entrance, which you eagerly grant her. Pleasure and arousal pulses through your bodies. The time you've spent apart makes you desperate for each other, like you're presented with a feast after starving for weeks. Every missed kiss needs to be made up for.

You only break apart when you desperately need to come up for air.

"Do you want me to stop?" Natasha pants hot air against your neck.

"No! I've missed you, Nat," you sigh when Natasha places open-mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking at that particular spot, hitting your pulse point with great precision.

Natasha untucks your blouse from your pants. She moves her hands under the fabric to grope at your breasts through your bra. "Oh, I've missed you too. Very much."

Suddenly, buttons fly around your room as Natasha rips open your blouse. She crashes her mouth against yours before you can comment on her actions. Before you know it, your blouse and bra drop to the floor. Your head falls back against the door as Natasha catches a nipple between her teeth. She alternates between kneading each breast, drawing circles around your nipple with her tongue, leaving goosebumps across your skin. She wants to worship you like you deserve. She wants to taste and rediscover every inch of your body, and that's exactly what she's going to do. The little sounds you make only spur her on further.

Natasha makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants as your lips melt together in a searing kiss. You gasp into the kiss when she slips a hand inside your panties. She doesn't have much room to move her hand, but she manages to glide her fingers between your legs. She smiles proudly against your lips as she feels how soaked you are for her. She's dripping for you, too.

You let out a whine when she breaks the kiss and stops her movements after a few strokes. All your complaints are forgotten when Natasha looks you straight in the eyes as she guides two of her wet fingers into her mouth, sucking and moaning at the taste of you.

She's driving you crazy, and she knows it.

Natasha slips your pants and underwear down in one swift motion, dropping to her knees to help you step out of the items. She looks up at you from her position on her knees. Her lips are swollen from kissing you. The sight of her nearly makes your legs give out. Natasha feels a flush creep up her body as she watches you drink her in.

"Bed!" God, you would love for Natasha to fuck your right here against the door, with her on her knees, but you wouldn't be able to hold yourself up.

With Natasha back on her feet, you waste no time undressing her as you stumble your way to the bed. You are the one on your back for a change as Natasha kisses her way down your torso to the inside of your thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. Her warm breath moves to hover over your center for a moment, and then she leans in to run the flat of her tongue between your folds, sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

Natasha coats her fingers with your arousal. You clamp down on her finger when she slides her middle finger inside you, curving upward, moving at a slow, tortuous pace. Once she's sure you're used to the sensation, she starts pumping the single digit in and out of you. Her index finger joins a moment later. When Natasha looks up, she sees you have your eyes closed, chest heaving. She's enthralled by the way your body reacts to her, moaning in pleasure, taking her fingers so well as your juices drip down her wrist.

You look ravishing.

Natasha dives in to circle your swollen clit with her tongue, sealing her lips around it and sucking it into her mouth. In mere seconds you're a writhing, moaning mess. You grab a fistful of her hair, grinding against her face, causing Natasha to moan against you. Your thighs tighten around her head instinctively. She carries on, alternating between sucking and licking your clit.

It isn't long before your back arches and your entire body shudders, calling out her name while you come on her tongue and fingers. She continues her ministrations as your orgasm spasms through you.

"Fuck, you're good at that!" You finally speak, opening your eyes.

Natasha peppers kisses all the way up to your neck. She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes, pleased with herself.

"I want to ride you," Natasha admits eagerly.

She's going to be the death of you.

"Of course you do," you chuckle. Some things never change. "Do you remember where I keep the strap-on?"

"Nightstand. Right side of the bed. Bottom drawer."

You give her a peck on the lips, humming in confirmation, "Go grab your favorite toy."

Once Natasha has grabbed the lube and strap-on, and you've put the harness on, she quickly finds herself on your lap. You spend the next few minutes making-out sloppily, your fingers thrusting inside her.

"Ready?" You inquire.

"Hmm," Natasha hums in response.

You take your fingers out of her, grabbing a hold of the dildo. You rub the head through Natasha's folds and against her clit several times before you position it at her entrance. She lets herself down, slowly, moaning and whimpering at the feeling of being thoroughly filled. Not for the first time do you wish you could physically feel how her walls grip around your strap.

She begins to move in a slow rhythm, alternating between rolling her hips and sliding up and down the base of the toy. You grab a handful of Natasha's ass. Your free hand cups her breast, and she puts her own hand over yours as she throws her head back, helping you squeeze and roll the tender flesh. Beads of sweat drip down the valley of her chest, and you can't help but lick the salt from her skin. Her moans get louder when your fingers find her center, and when you thrust your hips upwards, hitting her at a different angle.

Loose strands of red hair fall onto Natasha's face, sticking to her forehead. There are signs of your own arousal on her chin and shallow breaths escape from her parted lips. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip every so often. You're at a loss for words as you look at Natasha, taking in every detail of her face as she bounces on top of you, working herself into a frenzy.

You know Natasha's peak is mounting with each desperate roll of her hips, and when she finally gets the release she craves, it's with your name falling off her lips, your favorite sound in the world.

Natasha wraps her arms around you, embracing you, holding you close.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You ask, pressing a small kiss against her neck.

"You are breathtaking."

#the writing process nearly broke my spirit #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow #natalia romanova #if you run run to me #mystories

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