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beybaldes · 4 months

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*･゜ﾟ･* okay so more then one person (thank you anons and reblogs and comments <333) asked for it so… (also super special shout-out to my love @alwritey-aphrodite who’s talented mind is always full of the most perfect Sejanus thoughts and is always willing to talk them through with me <33)*･゜ﾟ･* mention of smut but non written

sejanus plinth as your oblivious boyfriend

- okay so first things first, the obliviousness very much comes across as innocence to most to people

- it definitely doesn’t help that he blushes every time you look at him or touch him or talk to him either

- wether reaching for your hand, kissing you, holding you, it doesn’t matter Sejanus’s cheeks are deep red and hot to the touch

- it’s ridiculously sweet and so Sejanus

- that’s something you notice really quickly into your relationship; that everything he does is just so… him

- one of those being the way he squeezes your hands to let you know he loves you because sometimes he struggles to get the words out (because he just gets speechless around you)

- or the way he will drag you into his lap at every given convenience because he loves it more then anything

“wait, there’s no more chairs, let me grab one.” You pressed a chaste kiss to Sejanus’s lips, missing the way his cheeks flushed as you turned to find an empty seat to bring to the table. “Be one second.”

“No need, sweetheart.” Sejanus wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his lap with a soft thud. His arm almost immediately wrapped around your waist and squeezed, while the other moved from your wrist to your hand, playing with your fingers. He turns his head slightly to face yours, noses brushing at the suddenly closer proximity between the two of you - taking advantage of the position he finds himself in, Sejanus captures your lips with his in a soft, loving kiss. When he finally pulls away leaving your breathless, he looks a little disheveled, and you think you fall in love with him a little more. “Sorry Coryo, you were saying?”

- another of those being how he kisses you like there’s no tomorrow every damn time, like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it and he has to get all of his emotions out and into you

- fucks you like that too

- after your first kiss in the hallway of the academy however, it does take him a while to build up the confidence for him to kiss you without you initiating it (just like he had to with holding your hand)

- and when he finally initiates a kiss for the first time, it’s in his bedroom while Ma and Mr Plinth are downstairs

legs tangled together, your head against his chest, uniforms wrinkling as you cuddled further into each-other and Sejanus’s fingers ran through your hair. “And that one is andromeda.”He pointed at the glow in the dark stars that he and his ma had stuck to his bedroom ceiling when he first moved to the capital. “And beside her is Perseus. Two lovers immortalised in the stars forever.”

“How did they become lovers?” You asked, turning to look up at sejanus, your cheek pressing against his chest.

“They believe that on his way home from slaying Medusa, Perseus found Andromeda chained to a rock as she was supposed to be sacrificed to a sea god. But instead, he killed the sea monster, saved andromeda and married her.” Sejanus smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen; something soft and all-consumed with the love he feels for you. “I think they are my favourite constellations.”

You leaned into the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss under his jaw, and then returning to your place against his chest, ear against his beating heart. “And why’s that Sej?”

He looked down at you, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “They remind me of us.” Before you could ask how they did, he continued with an explanation, his hand moving to cradle your face. “Feel like you found me… saved me. You saw the boy from the districts when no one else did, saved me from losing that part of me to the claws of the Capitol, and one day - if I’m lucky - maybe you’ll marry me too.”

When he finishes speaking the two to you are looking at each other, lips a hairs length apart and just begging to share a kiss. As you’re about to ask, Sejanus leans forward and puts his lips on yours - the first time he’s ever kissed you, rather then you kissing him - and it ignited a hunger in the pit of your stomach. Leaning into the kiss, you wrapped the arm that had previously been across his stomach around his neck, pulling yourself further up his body and into his touch. Sejanus aided in your mission, lifting you over him so that you now sat in his lap, lips never leaving the touch of the other the entire time. You have no doubt that the kids would’ve escalated further if it hadn’t been for the shout of his Ma calling the two of you for dinner.

when you finally pull away from each-other it’s with heaving chests, tousled hair, swollen lips and red cheeks. “you’re quite the charmer, sejanus, did you know?”

a laugh bubbled from Sejanus’s chest, his head tilting back and hitting the headboard gently as she admired you. “if the way you kissed me has anything to say on the matter, then, yes, yes I do.”

- dinner, this time at least, was still warm when you made it to the table to meet his parents for the first time as his partner

- however the first time you’d ever come over to the plinths house was just as his friend, but Ma had known from the moment she saw you, the two of you would end up together

- so had Strabo, not that he’d ever admit he cared enough to know

- you had been 9 years old and walked in their front door hand in hand with their son; who they’d so far assumed had made no real friends in the Capitol

- you had a wide and bright smile with two missing front teeth, and you didn’t even say hello, dragging Sejanus upstairs before he could even say anything to his own parents

- only when you’d finally got upstairs did you pause, turning to Sejanus with a laugh

“Which one is your room?”

- and when Ma called the two of you down for dinner, she finally heard you speak for the first time

“I loved those cookies you made Ma, did you learn how to make them in district 2?”

- that sentence alone had made her certain the two of you would be perfect for each other: not only had Sejanus shared his treats with you, but he’d been comfortable enough to talk about his life in district two with you

- sure, everyone knew the plinths were from two, but that was because of gossips and the arrival of new people to the capital(which never happened) but you were the first person he’d willingly told, and she knew that meant something

- Ma is literally your biggest supporter, always routing for the two of you to be together and happy

- ALWAYS calling you sweetheart, like nonstop 24/7, all day, everyday, everywhere

“sweetheart, you’ve got… here, lemme.” “um, actually, sweetheart…” “come ‘ere, sweetheart, let me get a closer look at that gorgeous face of yours.” “fuuuck, sweetheart, just like that, don’t stop, keep going.” “gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

- however, when he’s not calling you sweetheart, Sejanus is loser bf incarnate

- like SUCH a loser but very much in an Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker kind of way

- you will be giving him every sign in the book, practically throwing yourself at him and he’ll just be like ‘what are we?’

- this doesn’t ever go away in the entire course of your relationship

- you’re very glad that you were so upfront about explaining your feelings for him initially because otherwise you know you wouldn’t have got together

- the first time you try and initiate anything more then kissing he had zero idea what was going on

‘sweetheart, what are you- ? I- ahhh- fuck- keep going.’

- literally never initiates anything for the first time because he lives in this constant state of ‘what if they don’t really like me :((((‘

- he’ll still be like that if you’re 80 and old and grey and married

- like there are 10 million things you love about him and he doesn’t understand a single one for some strange reason???? And is always doubting himself?????

it’s nearly midnight and Sejanus still can’t sleep. he’s tried, he really, really has - he’s tossed and turned, cracked open the window, counted sheep and tried drinking warm milk like his ma used to make, but nothing was working. the cool air of a mid summers night breezes through the bedroom as he turns on his side to face you, beautiful you. You who’s hair spreads out against the in a hall around your head, who is sleeping peacefully yet still turns into the warmth of Sejanus’s touch when he wraps an arm around you. He doesn’t know what he’s ever done or will do to justify the universe letting him be yours. He hopes in the darkest hour of the summers night he’ll never have to find out.

“You should take a picture.” You murmured, breaking the warmed silence of the room. “It’ll last longer.” a smile curled on your lips even as you kept your eyes closed, turning your head deeper into the soft pillow in hopes sleep would find you again. when it didn’t, Sejanus’s eyes still on you keeping you awake, you pulled yourself closer to him, eyes finally opening. “What’s wrong baby… can’t sleep?”

“Why are you with me?” Sejanus asked bluntly, face lacking the warmth it usually held. “Like, seriously, why? I don’t-“

you cut him off with a firm poke to his shoulder. “Don’t even go there.” A hand came up to caress his cheek, running along the smile lines that had only deepened with age. Sejanus leaned into your touch, eyes closing as he preened into the love that exuded from your palm alone. “I can’t name a single thing I don’t absolutely, completely, utterly and truly love about you.”

Your hand moved to run through his curls, still as dark as when you’d met him, but now with streaks of grey running through it. He looked so handsome growing old, especially at your side. “I love how kind and selfless you are, and how you stand up for what you think is right regardless of what others think. I love how you know who you are and how you know everyone you loves coffee order just in case. I love how your brows pinch when you’re confused or worried and how your smile lights up every room you walk in to. God, Sejanus, I’d marry you again, and again, and again, if I could.”

Sejanus pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a slightly softer one immediately pressed to the skin just under your eyelid as soon as your lips left yours. “Thank you.” He whispered, as if saying it could make you take it all back. “I love you.”

- he’s so freaking in love with you

an : thanks for the love on the first part!! Hope you enjoyed mwah <33

tags : @marjorieisreading @celestialstar111 <33

#beybaldes hc !!#sejanus plinth oneshot #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth x reader #tbosbas x reader

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oliviajdjarin · 16 days

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Javier Peña: The Shittiest Goodbye

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: Javier has no one saying goodbye to him. No one but you.

He smiled; you could tell even from behind your tears. His golden skin crinkled under his eyes, and he pulled you forward by the waist for a short hug. A really short hug – barely four seconds – before he stepped away and leaned down, gathering a bag in each hand.

“I’ll…I guess I’ll see you.”

You kept looking at him. You couldn’t seem to stop. Neither could he.

Warnings: feeeels, crying, kissing, yearning, longing, and all that jazz, one line that can kind of be interpreted as a size kink, but a hopeful ending.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: javi. he's always going to fucking do it for me.

A/N 2: I haven't watched narcos in like four years so if the plot is splotchy, I apologize.

If you would like to leave a like, ask, reblog, or comment, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

He had told you in person, which was better than nothing.

“They’re sending me home. Tomorrow morning,” he said, putzing with the plastic chain hanging from the lamp on your desk. Eyes unable to meet yours. “My flight’s at 6.”

And then he walked away, each sound of his step away from you tipping the globe further and further off its axis.

You had known he was starting to take matters into his own hands. You had known said matters were dirty, bloody, and grey. And you had known said hands were now buried in a while lot of shit because of it.

You had known, and you still knew, walking into the El Dorado International Airport, squinting against the rising sun. You knew perfectly well who Javier Peña had gotten himself involved with and what they both had done on each other’s behalf.

The fact of the matter was – you didn’t give a shit, because what Javi was doing was moving the DEA further towards its goal than ever. It was fucking working.

In your opinion, if agents couldn’t get their hands dirty, then they couldn’t catch Escobar. Luckily for you, Javier felt similarly.

And yet, here he was, being sent home. The one person who gave you any comfort in the shitshow that had become your life. The only friend who had remained so every single day, the only one you could count on. The one man in all of South America that actually made you feel safe.

And, arguably, the only person in the entire DEA who truly wanted things to get better, even if it left a mark on his soul he could never wipe away.

These thoughts haunted you as you searched for Javi. For six in the morning, the gates were surprisingly crowded. Your tired eyes did their best to search for his prominent features – chestnut hair, perfectly highlighted with tips of blonde by the South American sun, broad shoulders, high cheekbones, curved, Roman nose, pouted lips, likely leaning on one leg, popping his hip out, with his hands on his waist. You secretly hoped he was in his Levi’s leather jacket.

Your eyes squinted as you peered around, lost in the sea of bodies, children, staff, and flight attendants. Suddenly, the thought of missing him wrapped its coils around you, sending a strange, foreign heat down to your toes and up your scalp. Your breathing heightened, images of him already on his flight, alone, thinking no one cared, thinking no one came from him, began to flood your brain. Your fingers grabbed at your chest, your teeth clamped around the skin of the inside of your mouth, pulling so hard you began to bleed.

He had said six, right? In the morning? Today? Had I heard him wrong?

Had he lied to me?

That thought was too much to bear, too much to process, too much too much too much –

A warm, callused hand wrapped around your forearm. You gasped, heart pounding so loud in your head that the man attached to the hand had to repeat what he was saying. His voice was muffled, his face was blurry, but everything about him was so handsome, and so familiar.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a kind of whisper-yell.

It was like you had taken a sedative, looking at Javier Peña, standing right in front of you. Not gone, not forgotten. Right here. Your nervous system evened instantly, like a bucket of warm, clean water had been dumped over your body.

You smiled at him, despite yourself. Despite the situation. Despite it all.

The edge of his lip quirked slightly, but it lasted quicker than a second, before returning to his usual scowl.

“Answer my question,” he said, pulling you towards him. He didn’t sound mad, just…shocked, and a little terrified. His touch on you was gentle, but firm.

You swallowed; eyes still locked into his. You placed your hand on his chest to steady yourself and grinned at the feel of the leather.

“Only if you answer mine first – did you really think you would get to leave without saying goodbye?”

He huffed, meeting your stare, unable to prevent the drop of humor that had culminated in his eyes. “I did say goodbye.”

“Oh please,” you said, pushing away from him. “That was the shittiest goodbye ever.”

He stayed silent for a moment, before letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Besides, six o’clock in the morning is an early call time for you,” you said. You were proved correct by the dark circles under his eyes. You wondered if he had slept at all the night before. “Had to make sure you actually made it.”

“Right,” he said, and looked around him, placing his hands on his hips. His tone suddenly became serious. “You shouldn’t be here.”

That shocked you. “Are you kidding me? Why not?”

“What if – someone sees you, from the DEA, thinks you were working with me. Then what?”

“Then I fucking deal with it,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let you leave thinking that no one would care that you were gone.”

That froze him, his eyes widening just so. The fact that he was shocked at all by that statement caused a fresh set of tears to line your eyes. It was faint, but it was noticeable.

He sighed, looking down at his shoes, allowing you to notice his bags placed on either side of his feet– a large leather carrier, and a small backpack. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, until a voice over the speaker interrupted him.

“Flight to Austin, Texas, boarding group one may begin boarding. I repeat, boarding group one may begin boarding for flight to Austin, Texas.”

Javier glanced down at his watch before pulling his ticket out of his back pocket, reading it over with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m group two. I should probably…”

You nodded, a wave of emotion suddenly rocking you once more. The tears were streaming now, down your face. You tried to wipe them away, put they just kept coming.

He took a step closer to you. “Why the tears, ángel?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose, doing the best you could to collect yourself. Maybe that was a good thing, as it allowed this newfound pet name to go completely over your head. The voice that came out of your mouth was nasally and cracked. “I am going to have to do so much paperwork.”

“I’ll…I guess I’ll see you.”

You kept looking at him. You couldn’t seem to stop. Neither could he.

He opened his mouth, once again about to say something, when the speaker went off again.

“First call for boarding group 2 for flight to Austin, Texas. I repeat, first call for boarding group 2 for flight to Austin, Texas.”

He didn’t move an inch. There were so many things you were wishing to say in that moment.

Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me here.

I’ll be alone. I’ll be alone, with you away.

I would have done the same thing you did, working with those men.

I understand why you did it, maybe better than anyone else.

I would have done the same thing, in your shoes. A couple times, I almost joined you.

I’ll go with you, and we’ll never go back. Never. Never.

You didn’t say a word, your confidence swirling down and down, deeper and deeper inside of you. Javier licked his lips and turned around, beginning to walk away. Like he did that day at your desk. Like he did however many times you had asked to help him with what he was doing. Like he did whenever the two of you would make eye contact for just a little too long.

At that all too familiar sight, the confidence inverted itself, instead flooding upwards all at once, flooding your brain with a mantra of why the fuck not?

For once, you listened to that voice, and did the same thing Javier had done to you only moments before. You took a long stride forward, grabbed his elbow, and turned him around.

And then, you took his face in your hands, and you kissed him.

Kiss was a stretch – it was more like a quick peck, barely even felt by either party. But it was something, something that got him as close to you as you had always wanted him to be – his breath fanning your face, his chest pressed against yours, a mix of coffee and mint on your lips, which you quickly licked away. Oddly enough, it steadied your heart, calmed you down instantly.

Because you had that now. That memory. Something more than passing glances and quick hugs. A part of you, in that moment, didn’t even care what his reaction was, because that feeling alone was enough for you to live with.

The rest of you, however, short circuited at the fact that he may not have wanted that at all, and you had completely violated him in the middle of a fucking airport.

You looked up into his wide eyes for barely a second before backing away from him, the beginnings of a million sorrys forming on your tongue.

That was until the bags slipped from his hands, landing on the harsh carpeting with a thud. He then rushed forward, using one hand to frame your face, and the other on the nape of your neck to tip your head back.

There was no time for your brain to accept this as fact before he brought your lips to his own, his kiss nothing less than searing, and nothing more than perfect.

You reciprocated as soon as you were able, wrapping your arms around his back to steady yourself. The feeling of his lips upon yours was better than you had ever imagined, better than you had ever fantasized about while he sat in your peripheral vision during meetings. His lips were soft, buttery, and so was his facial hair. It tickled your nose just so, which only heightened when he tilted your head further, licking the inside of your mouth. You moved your fingers to his hair in response, tugging him so harshly into you you stumbled backwards.

It was hot and sweaty, messy and desperate, and neither of you were letting up. Not even to breathe. His hands moving down to your waist felt too good, his chest against yours too real, his hair between your fingers too addictive, his soft groan every time your tongues clashed too vivid, and your lips molding together too perfect.

You were speaking to each other, in a way. Both of your bodies reciprocated every move, grabbing and twisting and pulling, both saying the same thing over and over and over again.

I’m going to miss you so fucking much.

Small eruptions of gold began to spawn behind your eyes, ones of pure pleasure, disbelief, and dizziness. His hands turned greedy now, encompassing the span of your back like it was nothing. The hairs on his face began to burn you, the feel of his warm mouth consuming you.

It was too much, too much too much too much, but it was so fucking good –

“Final call for boarding group two for flight to Austin, Texas. I repeat, final call for boarding group two for flight to Austin, Texas.”

It was like a switch flipped in both of your brains at once, propelling the both of you off of each other instantly. He didn’t make eye contact, not even for a second – just wiped his mouth quickly, fetching both bags, and turning from you, walking towards his gate.

He disappeared within the crowd, and you did the same. Turning back towards the entrance, pushing your way through the half-awake travelers, headed god knew where for god knew what.

Your lips still thumped, and so did your heart, so much so that you didn’t really know if you could feel your feet.

There were so many thoughts you could have been having, so much intricacy to the situation, that your brain did the only thing it could – it shut it all down, completely. If it hadn’t, you worried you wouldn’t have been able to pull from him in the first place.

It wasn’t until you made it back to your apartment and set your keys down on your nightstand that the thoughts started flooding in. There were too many to dissect, too rapid to make sense of, but one outweighed them all.

Had he looked back?

In your still hazy brain, that cemented every other question you had, calmed the steady stabbing that had begun to ache inside your skull. You fell asleep, the sun now high in the sky, illuminating your room into a kind of gold. It was a nice change, after a week of grey weather, but you were too gone to the world to notice.

The last thought you had before you escaped to slumber, and the first that you had the second you returned, was all the same: had Javier Peña looked back?

***

He had. Many, many times.

Tag list: (if you would like to be added or were somehow missed, please feel free to let me know :))

@lovesbiggerthanpride @paintlavillered @xocalliexo @c4psicle @joelsflannel @thesmutslut @untitledarea @daphne-turner @queerponcho @ririi-3

#javier pena smut #javi #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña oneshot #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the last of us fanfiction #happy birthday daddyyyyyyyyyy

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totheblood · 1 year

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true blue. (four)

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: ellie has a crisis

warnings: suggestive themes, drug/alcohol usage, cursing, descriptions of abusive behavior (neither ellie or reader engages in these behaviors)

a/n: MORE ELLIE JOURNALING.. this is the final part! i won't be writing any more true blue i apologize i didn't realize how emotionally taxxing this would be for me. also the ai audios are at the bottom! hope u like them THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD - I apologize. I would greatly appreciate any reblogs, comments, asks you have about this chapter. thank you for supporting me through this journey!

read the first three chapters here from the masterlist!

Ellie was on the verge of breaking down.

This pain was becoming all too familiar to her and the weight of it only grew each second she spent with you. Her fingertips had grown numb as she sat across from you in the restaurant as she wrapped them around the base of her glass. If she thought the heartbreak of Cat would take her out, she knew that the heartbreak of you would move her existence to a different plane of existence.

If she was really honest with herself, she didn’t really love Cat, but rather how Cat had made her feel. It was all-consuming, over the top, mushy love. The love you see in movies but never expect to happen to you, but it was all just words when it came down to it. The fact of the matter is, if you tell someone they’re your soulmate ten times a day they will start to believe it.

It wasn’t oxytocin that Ellie felt around Cat, it was pure adrenaline. She was always looking to reach that high with her again as she pulled away from her, but as the rush died out and Cat continuously degraded Ellie, she found herself accepting less than she deserved or wanted. She wanted Cat to want her again, but Cat never wanted her. Cat never wanted anybody.

But it wasn’t like that with you. For starters, you didn’t tell Ellie you were in love with her on your second date. You didn’t try to convince her that she was made for you. You were just there with your sickly sweet smile and long eyelashes that made Ellie’s heart pound in her chest. You were good.

Or so she thought.

She couldn’t quite explain why, but Ellie believed Cat. Cat was a manipulator and a bitch, but she wasn’t a liar. Plus, the way her face filled with joy at the chance to tell Ellie that her current fix hated her was too real. The sinister laugh was fucking genuine.

So here Ellie sat across from you at the dinner she had planned to ask you to be her girlfriend at, a sick rage burning in her chest. She didn’t know why she didn’t cancel but she didn’t know why she was doing a lot of things these days.

“Tell me about your day.” You spoke, breaking Ellie out of her trance.

“My day?” She questioned, eyes flicking up to you.

“Yeah, silly. Anything interesting happen?” You asked, the smile on your face stirring something evil in Ellie’s gut. You looked so fucking good today it’s almost if you knew she was planning on asking you out.

“No.. not really. Ran into my ex actually.” She said simply, playing with the fork in her hand. She studied your face closely and watched as it slightly faltered at the mention of her ex. If she didn’t know you, she might’ve not caught it.

“Oh, really?” You questioned, sipping your water and toying with the chain around your neck. It was a tell tale sign you were nervous. “You don’t really talk about your ex.”

“Yeah, she was the worst so I don’t like thinking, or talking, about her all that much.” Ellie knew her tone was coming off harsh, but she didn’t care. The way your demeanor changed told her all she needed to know about you.

“Yeah… that makes sense.” You were obviously uncomfortable with how the air shifted but you were trying to keep the peace. “My day was good, I went to that thing in the Student Center. The therapy dog thing. It was so cute I almost died. Do you want to see a picture of me and the dogs?”

“Not really.” Ellie replied, leaning back in her chair. The way your face fell would have made her put together heart break.

“D-did I do something?” Your voice was shaking a bit but your gaze remained steady. Ellie needed to leave.

“No, baby, I’m not really having the best day so I’m just going to leave.” Before you could even protest Ellie threw down three twenties, grabbed her jacket, and left. You didn’t chase after her, nor did you call that night, and Ellie knew it was sick of her, but that really bothered her.

D: idk i don’t think pookiana would do that

E: Pookiana?? Seriously? This isn’t funny, Dina.

D: i know it’s not funny but are you really trusting cat

E: You should have seen her face when I said I ran into Cat. Plus Cat was too happy to tell me. It’s true, D.

D: well u should still talk to her about it, just abandoning her at a date is not cool

D: it’s cat behavior

E: Don’t do that.

E: I need to do something. I need to be out.

D: there’s a house party tomorrow? you could join

E: Will there be girls?

D: ellie what r u doing

D: don’t do this don’t self destruct

E: Yes or no?

D: there are always girls

E: I’ll be there.

The following night Ellie found herself taking several hits off her pen for courage. Deep inside she knew she wanted to be with you tonight, wrapped up in your comically large blankets watching a dumb movie or Planet Earth, but she couldn’t do that to herself.

Plus, you hadn’t contacted her since the date and it was driving Ellie crazy. At this point she had assumed that you knew she caught onto you and had decided a fight wasn’t worth your time. So she decided not to care, an ability that seemed all too new to her.

The party was as fun as you could imagine, skins slick with sweat and the air dry and humid. Ellie was feeling adventurous and, for once in her sorry life, she didn’t stick to the side of the wall for the entirety of the night. She was socializing, laughing, and even dancing. On the outside she appeared happy and carefree.

On the inside, however, Ellie was beginning to panic. She knew escaping the reality of her life would only be a brief relief from the things that plagued her everyday mind, but she didn’t expect the high to die off so quickly. Her mind was telling her, run run run, but her feet stayed planted and her body continued to sway.

In the dark of the party and the high still hanging over her head, she almost didn’t realize the girl dancing in front of her. She began to grind on Ellie, shaking her hips to the music and causing Ellie’s brain to short circuit.

It felt wrong, mostly because it wasn’t you. Fuck fuck fuck, her brain rang again as it did many times before, but this time Ellie wasn’t stopping. Not only did she not stop the girl, but her own hands found her waist, holding on as Ellie pulled her in and swayed with the music. Ellie hated to admit it but she was turned on. Her touch-starved and emotionally rotting brain needed skin to skin contact to bring her back down to Earth, she needed to be held by someone.

Unlike last time, however, she refused to find solace in crying on Dina’s lap again. No, this time she was going to find it in the lips of another. So as she danced she began to press sloppy wet kisses on the girl’s neck, making sure to take her skin in between her teeth. She was trying to elicit a response, any response that would tell her how good she was doing. And when she got that, a moan from the girl in front of her that rumbled across Ellie’s chest, she held her back to her chest and connected her lips to hers.

It felt good, it felt foreign, and for a brief moment in time Ellie’s mind was completely silent. She wasn’t thinking about the name of the girl she was kissing. She wasn’t thinking about Cat. She wasn’t thinking of you. The only thought that consumed her at this moment was how her tongue was in a random person’s mouth and how amazing it felt. Until, she was being ripped off of the girl and met with your tear-stained face.

“What the fuck are you doing, Ellie?” You cried out, the person Ellie was just intertwined with now slinking off into a corner. The party went on, but others stopped to watch the scene you were beginning to make.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She spat, anger written all over her face. Her heart was aching in her chest at the sight of you. She wanted to reach out to you, kiss the tears off your face and tell you everything was okay, but she didn’t have it in her to do that.

“It looks like you’re cheating on me.” You fumed, eliciting a gasp from the party goers. Dina pushed past a group of people to find the two of you staring down each other. She frantically ran up in between you and Ellie, grabbing both of your arms before pulling you up the stairs and outside.

The air outside was cold. Under the streetlights you could see the tip of Ellie’s nose turn red, but what you now noticed was the red rim around her eyes. She had been crying but it was masked by the seemingly unprovoked rage she had for you.

“I’m not cheating on you because I’m not with you… you are not my girlfriend.” She pointed out, her anger looking more like sadness.

“I’m not your girlfriend… but I mean something to you, right?” You pleaded, letting your tears fall freely.

“You meant something to me. Not anymore. I’m not doing this with you. I won’t be able to survive it if it’s you.” Ellie was almost sure she wasn’t making much sense, but her head was pounding and Dina was standing on the porch staring at the two of you with her arms crossed. All Ellie wanted to do was run, but if she ran she had a feeling she would be running from you her whole life.

“What did I do? Just tell me that. I thought we were happy.” You were sobbing, but everytime you took a step towards Ellie, she took a step back.

“Did you know about me before we met?” Ellie asked with a straight face.

“Wha-” You began.

“Did you know who I was before we met? It’s a simple question.”

“Yes… but-” You were trying to explain yourself but Ellie wasn’t having it. For some reason you confirming her suspicions hurt more than she assumed it would and she was already turning around walking back towards the house.

“Ellie, stop! Let me explain.” You pleaded, chasing after her hot on her tracks. She whipped around to turn back to you, her speed almost knocking you off your feet.

“No, you don’t get to explain. I trusted you. I liked you. I fell for you for fucks sake. I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend after swearing that I would never let that happen and it was all what? A joke to you? This isn’t fucking funny, this is my life. And you… you made it good for so long and to know that it was all fake? I’m not coming back from this.” Ellie was speaking without thinking at this point.

“You think this is a joke to me? Are you fucking serious? When were you going to mention that we shared an ex? Huh? You want to be mad at me for what? Not liking you 2 years ago when I didn’t know you? When my ex told me she was leaving me for you? This hasn’t been some revenge plot Ellie, it was two years ago. I moved on. Did I think I was going to move on with you? No, but I did and I can’t change that, but you don’t get to treat me like this for not sharing that piece of information with you. You don’t get to reduce my love for you down to that. Down to Cat.” Your tears had stopped flowing but your eyes and face were still puffy.

“I didn’t tell you about it because I had decided to put it- Wait… you love me?” Ellie stopped herself, not realizing what you had said.

“What? I never said that.” You argued.

“You just did. You said, “You don’t get to reduce my love for you down to that.” She said, mocking your voice.

“I don’t fucking sound like that, and we are having a fight right now. Can we get back to it?” You reiterated, but something in Ellie’s eyes had shifted. It was almost like she was expecting you to be the evil thing she thought you were, but you weren’t. But as the realization that you were, once again, innocent dawned on her, so did her guilt.

“I just… I assumed you were doing this… dating me… to get back at me. Honestly, it’s because that’s exactly what I would do. But you’re not me, and I’m sorry. I don’t think I have ever felt this way about a person in my whole life. It was already freaking me out and then Cat told me that you hated me and my mind went to the worst. I’m just… I’m sorry.” Her voice was steady but she was panicking. All you did was stare at her with your puffy eyes and red lips and all Ellie wanted to do was kiss you. Give you a bath and rub your back till you forgave her. All she felt like she was doing was causing you more pain, and she wanted it all to stop.

“I love you.” It came out of Ellie’s mouth so quickly. Almost as a plea, but she knew she meant it. She knew she meant it a while ago but the idea of it becoming real terrified her. She watched as your eyes lit up then quickly dimmed again. Suddenly there were tears in your eyes and her confession felt more like an assault.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that to me if you don’t mean it. I’ve healed from my shit with Cat but it still hurts, this hurts. Being led on. This back and forth. If you are saying you love me you have to mean it and you have to stay.” It was you saying this that made Ellie realize just how unfair she had been to you. She knew you had healed from Cat, but it was becoming painfully obvious how much work Ellie had to do. For fucks sake you had to watch her dry hump another girl just to have this conversation. And you were still here. You hadn’t left or avoided her, but rather gave her time to breathe. This was healthy. This was good. And Ellie felt like she didn’t deserve any of it.

“I do mean it. I love you. I love all the beautiful and weird things about you. I love you and I will say that until my face turns blue. I love the fuck out of you. I know I don’t deserve you, I know this is hard but I’m trying to grow. I want to stay. I want to be there for you, but I think I need help learning how. I’m not like you, I’m not there yet, but I want to be. For you.” Ellie was fidgeting with her hands, it was obvious she was extremely nervous and expected you to reject her.

What she didn’t expect was for you to close the gap in between the both of you and press a gentle kiss to her lips.

“I’m going to stay, but if you grind up and make out with another girl again I’m leaving. No questions asked. Okay?” You were smiling a smile that said ‘I’m fucking serious’ and that made Ellie fall a little more in love with you.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t want anyone else’s lips except yours.” She smiled leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, then your cheek, and then your neck.

“Are you guys done? Can we go back to the party?” Dina yelled from the porch, having watched the whole scene unfold. Ellie just ignored her as she pressed another gentle kiss to your neck, her arms wrapping around your waist pulling you as close as possible to her. All you could do was laugh and allow Ellie to slightly lift you off of the ground with how tight she was holding you.

“Real classy, you guys. I’m going back in.” Dina called out one more time, not knowing you and Ellie would never make it back inside.

One Year Later…

Excerpts from Ellie’s Journal:

My girlfriend is a saint… well obviously cause she’s dating me but she did the whole last part of our project. I was totally lost that whole class but my genius girl got us an A.. She did fail her pottery class. She’s so fucking bad at that shit.

I took her to a cat cafe for her birthday… she cried so much hugging the cat’s that we got asked to leave… we got asked to leave because my girlfriend was squeezing the cats so bad and crying into their fur. The barista said she was causing them emotional distress… I gave them one star on Yelp.

She came and visited Jackson over winter break… Game night with her and Joel was a complete nightmare, they are both so competitive. I had to hold her back because she tried to physically fight Tommy… God, I love her so much.

She got me a guitar pick with her initials on it for Christmas. Told me now I had to play for her, she didn’t know that her gift was the song I wrote her. My sweet little baby cried. It was so precious.

She’s so fucking talented with her fingerhiuoiji

We’re roommates next semester… I’m never going to get any fucking sleep. It’s fine because I like the trade-off but my grades are about to plummet.

I drew her when we were sitting together in the park today. It’s just getting warm again and she’s wearing shorter skirts… I know I sound like a perv but she looks really hot is skirts… anyways, I drew her and she cried.. Again. She’s so sentimental that it makes my heart ache.

I’ve never imagined in my whole sorry life that I could be this happy with someone. It’s easy. Whoever said love was hard wasn’t in love with my girl because it is by far the easiest thing I have done in my whole life. I sleep better at night, I smile more, I feel content. She has put the stars in the sky for me. I don’t know what I was so afraid of. Love is good. She is good. I love her.

It’s our one year anniversary and I can't believe this freak hasn’t killed me or herself yet (accidentally). She got a job at Bean and brings me home ice tea every day. We’ve started reading books together and she strokes my hair when she knows I’m tired. She knows me better than I know myself. I’ve learned things about myself while being with her. She encourages me everyday to grow and to try new things. I feel like a new person, but I still feel like me. Like the me who loves this girl with her whole heart.

ai audios:

ai audios links:

what does it look like i'm doing?

did you know who i was?

you meant something to me

wait you love me?

i love you

yea yea

#mine #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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yandere-kokeshi · 3 months

Note

How would Dad! Ghost react to coming home, finding his son gone - being kidnapped by enemies?

Warnings: yandere behavior, and violence.

A/N: all platonic. Ty for the ask <3.

Dad! Ghost had felt fear before — from his father, being tortured, being betrayed and being in war — but nothing as petrifying as this. You were gone. And he would tear the whole fucking world apart until he found you.

Price and the rest of the team and Laswell and Farah are quickly informed of the whereabouts. Some reactions of “You had a son?” to “We’ll get ‘em back. We promise.”. They immediately get to work, as does Ghost. But he’s a rope ready to snap.

He’s unsure how to react. He’s angry, snapping at Price when they ask what you were last wearing. Becoming unbelievably quiet where he doesn’t answer anything, or to anyone; chewing his lips until they bleed.

Yet, he doesn’t cry, sleep, nor stop working– he can’t show weakness, especially since you’re out there alone.

Every passing second and minute hits him like a bullet train. The ‘what ifs’ trailing his mind. He’s ready to blow off heads. Dad! Ghost needs to know if you’re okay.

Finally, Laswell informs the team and him of your whereabouts — trapped in a large-abandoned warehouse, possibly chained with enemies. In a way, he was relieved. But, he winced with physical pain at the thought of you covered in many battering.

And with that, Dad! Ghost doesn’t waste any time. His eyes sharp and gaze unwavering, storming inside with bloody intentions. Pure muscle memory with his trained tactics, discarding the men with single blows, either to the head or their neck slit; not missing a single step, ramming into the shut doors and going through the empty rooms in hope of finding you.

Soon, Dad! Ghost finds you and rushes over to you, holding you with extreme tightness; urges on picking you up into his arms. He covers your eyes, not wanting you to see his bloody wrath. But by the stained blood on his gloved-hands and gear, it’s easily shown what he did.

Despite how you look — whether with blood from him, or being hurt — you’re transported to a hospital. And by the time you reach into a room with IV’s, you’re passed out, sleeping away by the huge dose of adrenaline.

Right beside you is Dad! Ghost, caressing your hand and looking at you with sullen eyes. You’re alive. But nearly died because of him.

He apologizes in a soft whisper, and right when you don’t expect it, he cries. A few tears dropping from his eyes, sinking into the skull balaclava.

In hindsight, Dad! Ghost feels terrible. Not only at your traumatic experience, but if you’re mad at him or how he now feels incapable of being your father now. He promised to himself that he would protect you. And he didn’t, causing this terrifying encounter for you.

For now, he’s focused on you waking up — watching how you breathe, his own fingers playing with yours, consistently looking at your vitals and pulse; fidgeting with everything.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking. It helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

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valeskafics · 11 months

Text

"La Petite Mort" - Dark Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Pt. 1 of 2)

a/n: part 1 of 2... i hope y'all enjoy this hehehe ❤️

Summary: Your closest friend, Aemond, is also your partner in an ongoing FBI investigation into a serial killer. A serial killer who tends to murder girls who look just like you.

TW: DARK CONTENT/DDNE, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, violence/murder/gore/blood, psychotic behavior, p in v sex, daddy kink, oral m and f receiving, tiddy succin, aemond's slutty chain, fingering, edging, toxic behavior

Word Count: 3,865 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Aemond remembers the first time he met you. It was back at Quantico, when both of you began your training to join the Bureau. He remembers being immediately struck by how attracted he was to you, in a way he’d never felt for another person. Aemond always figured he’d be the type to end up alone, just him and his cranky old cat, Vhagar. But then you showed up. During training, the two of you became fast friends, studying for your exams together and eventually, both joining the Behavioral Analysis Unit, working your way up the hierarchical ladder within a few short years, becoming Supervisory Special Agents.

You trust Aemond with your life. There’s no one else you’d rather call a partner and friend. Though many in your department find him chilly and unfeeling, brusque to the point of being rude, you see past that. It’s his way of protecting himself. Somehow, though, you managed to break down his walls and get to know him, really know him. And now? You can’t imagine your life without him, from interviewing witnesses together to just mundane coffee breaks in your office. He’s an integral part of your life now.

You walk into your shared office, placing a Starbucks cup on his desk, grinning brightly. Aemond glances up at you from his computer, giving you an amused look.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did,” you retort, “You’re always getting us coffee, today was my turn.”

He raises his cup to you in a mock salute and seems to nearly down the entire beverage in one sip. Aemond lets out a low sigh before turning to you again.

“We got another one.”

“Already?” your eyes go wide as you walk over to him, leaning over the back of his chair to look at his computer screen, “Shit. Same M/O?”

“Stabbed to death,” he nods, “Multiple times. Body displayed in that same way.”

“Okay. Head out to the crime scene in twenty?”

Aemond nods slowly, still staring at the screen.

The case you’re currently investigating is quite the strange one. Originally, you weren’t even able to connect the dots since the killer switched jurisdictions so often, crossing county lines to dispose of the bodies, a wise decision on his part, because this way the killings seemed entirely random rather than the work of an actual serial killer. However, after some time, neighboring county departments began sharing notes, realizing the similarities in the crime scenes, but more importantly, in the victims.

You feel as if you’re going crazy or maybe are just paranoid when you realize all the victims bear a striking resemblance to you. At first, you think it’s just a coincidence. Same hair color, same eye color, similar height and build. You try to brush the thought aside as you and Aemond continue investigating the case. But then, soon after you’re assigned to it, notes begin appearing in the hands of the victims, notes addressed to you.

They have oddly specific details about you, your little quirks, hell, even your coffee order or what you were wearing when you headed out to work in the morning. You keep this to yourself, not wanting to be taken off the case, knowing it’s exceedingly dangerous, but also knowing that with the killer’s fixation on you, you have the best chance of catching him.

You haven’t even told Aemond about the notes, and though you feel guilty hiding this from him, you know he would just try and get you taken off the case out of concern for your well-being. So, you give him the latest information you’ve found.

“I had forensics look into the victims’ phones and it looks like they were all on this new, super exclusive dating app,” you say while you and Aemond sit in the backseat, another agent driving so the two of you can go over the facts of the case, turning your laptop around to show him, “LoveMatch.”

“LoveMatch?” Aemond arches a brow, looking at your computer screen, “Are you serious? Do you think that’s how the unsub is tracking their victims?”

You nod, “I’m almost positive. The company has a really strict privacy policy, though, so it may take some time before we’re able to see the conversations the girls were having on the app or who they were meeting up with.”

Aemond hums before speaking, “What makes this app so special anyway?”

“You have to pass this personality test and some other things,” you tell him, making him look at you again, surprised that you know so much about the app, “I have an account, don’t judge me.”

Aemond’s lips turn downward, almost imperceptibly, for a moment before he speaks, his tone a bit strained, “I didn’t know you did that sort of thing. Dating apps, I mean.”

You shrug, closing your laptop as the car rolls to a stop, “Desperate times.”

Aemond grits his teeth and doesn’t respond.

As you interview the local police about the body and its condition when it was found, Aemond’s focus is solely on you. He feels angry, no, furious at the idea of you going on this app. The thought of you dating is nearly enough to make him want to punch something. You’re his, after all. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know how much he’s done for you? To be seen by you? He’d thought those notes he left with each of the bodies would be enough to show you the depths of his devotion, a love letter to you of sorts with each kill, but clearly? He’s going to have to try much, much harder.

When you’re taken to it, you’re barely able to look at the body, holding back the urge to wretch. The victim’s chest cavity has been cut into, her actual heart placed into one of her hands, the secret note to you placed in the other. You kneel down, wearing a pair of gloves, and discreetly remove the note from the poor girl’s hand, hiding it in your pocket. When you have the chance to read it, it makes your blood run cold.

My heart is in your hands, my pretty little agent. Our time is coming soon, you won’t have to miss me too much longer.

“Soon.”

You pride yourself on being someone who remains cool under pressure. Someone who doesn’t let the stress of the job get to you. You’re able to compartmentalize, you’re able to separate real life from the job. Well, at least you were until today. The drive back to the Hoover building, fidgeting in your seat, staring out the window listlessly.

“Soon.”

The word sounds so ominous, more than it ever has in your entire life. And, if you’d been a bit more cognizant of your surroundings, perhaps you would’ve noticed Aemond staring at you, his gaze intense as the two of you drive through the DC streets. He’s affected you. He’s scared you. God, you look so adorable when you’re frightened. And where else do you have to go except running into his arms? It’s too fucking perfect.

When you reach the office, it’s nearly 2PM, so you and Aemond decide to take your lunch break. The two of you have always had a rule, ever since your first day on the job. No work talk during lunch or after work. Aemond eyes you message someone on your phone, smiling to yourself as you do. His curiosity is piqued, and so naturally, he asks about it.

“What’s got you grinning like an idiot?”

You look up at him and roll your eyes, “None of your business.”

Aemond chuckles and makes a grab for your phone, prompting you to smack his hand. He shakes his head, again asking what you’re doing.

“I’m talking to my date for tonight,” you tell him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Not paying full attention to Aemond, it’s pretty easy for you to miss the way he freezes. His good eye goes icy cold and, if you were looking, you’d see he’s seething with barely controlled rage. He listens as you ramble on and on about the guy you’re going on a date with, some asshole named Cregan. You say how sweet he is, how he’s from out of town, how excited you are to finally be going on a date. Aemond nods along at the appropriate moments, his hands balled into fists as he continues eating, stabbing his fork at his salad as if it’s this Cregan guy. Aemond tries to remind you that the killer finds girls using the app you started chatting with Cregan on, that all the victims look somewhat like you. No matter how many doubts he tries to put in your mind, that you shouldn’t go, you’re insistent. So, when 5PM rolls around and you give him a little wave before walking out the door, he already knows what his plans for the evening are going to be.

Aemond knows where you’re going to be. That little Italian place on the corner of 17th and Main. You mentioned to him your date is around 8PM, so that gives him time to do what he needs to do. He unlocks his phone and swipes through a few profiles on the LoveMatch until he settles on a girl who looks fairly similar to you. He’s an attractive guy, so after some brief flirting, she’s on her way to meet him at a nearby hotel, the two of them falling into bed together only a few minutes after she walks through the door. But as he’s grabbing her by the hips, fucking into her mercilessly, he notices the little things. Her hair is too short. Her voice is too high. He tells her to be quiet while he fucks her so he can pretend she’s you, but even that doesn’t work. And when he’s finished with her and she tries to cuddle up to him?

That’s when he pulls the knife he kept hidden in the nightstand out and slits her throat, watching as her blood paints her skin a pretty shade of crimson. He can’t explain why he does this. Maybe it’s his anger at not being able to have you, you not wanting him in the same primal way he wants you. Maybe, deep down, he wants to kill you so he can keep you with him forever, but he doesn’t think that’s the case. If you died, a part of him would die. So, he finds these poor girls, taking out his frustrations on them, the frustration of never being able to have the one thing he truly wants. He quickly scrawls out a note, tucking it into her hand before rigor mortis sets in, making his escape.

He goes home, showers, and then heads out to see you on your date, watching you from his car, gripping the steering wheel like a vice as you laugh with this absolute fuckhead, his blood turning to ice in his veins. You seem so fucking happy just sitting around, chatting with him, your hand resting on his forearm. And then you fucking invite him to come home with you. Aemond, of course, keeps an eye on that too, watching as you and Cregan kiss on your couch, his hand working its way under the hemline of your dress, your face twisting in pleasure as you cry out his name. Dammit, that should be Aemond, no one else should have the right to touch you!

Cregan finally leaves after a couple of hours, and several more kisses that feel like they’re stabbing Aemond in the heart. As Cregan walks down to his car, Aemond makes his move. He’s never killed twice in one night before. And he’s never killed a man. But the rush he gets of stabbing Cregan through the heart, telling him that you were never going to be his? It’s just as good as those girls he’s killed. However, this time? Instead of posing the body for you or the local police to find, he simply drives Cregan’s car into the Potomac, watching it sink beneath the water, Cregan’s bloody corpse inside.

As far as you know? That sweet guy you had a date with ghosted you after what you thought was a wonderful night. You haven’t been on a date since your undergrad days and the thought that after one date Cregan doesn’t want to meet up with you again shatters your confidence. And, of course, it’s Aemond who’s there to pick up the pieces, drying your tears as the two of you share some greasy Chinese takeaway. Well, “sharing” is an exaggeration. Aemond is refraining from the greasier part of the meal and only having some kung pao chicken and brown rice, the health freak.

The two of you sit on your couch and you absentmindedly rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around you, “You okay, love?”

The pet name isn’t anything new. You should be used to it by now, he always calls you that. But tonight, something between the two of you feels different. He’s been so sweet and always been there for you. He’s funny and witty, and you’d have to be a complete idiot to say that he isn’t handsome, with that long platinum hair, his chin, his jawline, the cleft in his nose, God, even his stupid hands are sexy. As if sensing your gaze is on him, Aemond turns to face you, his lips turning up into a smirk.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” you say, quickly turning away and facing the TV, some procedural cop show on TV, “See, this is so stupid. Real crime scenes are nothing like that!”

Aemond snickers, pulling you in closer, “You and I have a different perspective on that as compared to most people. Just because it’s not completely accurate doesn’t mean it isn’t good entertainment.”

“Well, okay, take the case we’re working on, for example. The body we found in that hotel room the other day,” you point out.

Aemond stiffens slightly beside you at your words; you assume it’s because you’re breaking your “no work talk after hours” rule, but he asks, “Yeah? Go on.”

“There isn’t always that one key piece of evidence a killer leaves behind, our killer hasn’t left anything behind.”

Aemond hums in agreement before turning his gaze back to the TV. You get the message and drop the subject, not wanting to annoy your best friend. Your mind instead travels to the letter that you found in the victim’s hand, the one you can’t get out of your mind.

Going on a date with another man was very naughty of you. I might just have to punish you for that. I’m so close to you know, pretty agent, can you feel it? Can you feel my gaze on you in your apartment, when you lay in bed, your fingers buried between your legs? That will be my job sooner than later. I hope you enjoyed my little gift. See you soon.

You know you should go to your SAC and tell them what’s going on. You’re being targeted by a killer. But, instead, you decide then and there to confide in none other than Aemond. After all, he’s your best friend, right? He embraces you as you sob into his chest about how fucked up your life has become, you show him the notes that have been preventing you from having a good night’s sleep for months. You tell him everything. And as he promises you that he’s going to make sure that the killer never hurts you, swearing his life on the fact, you gaze up at him, looking into his eyes, one clouded over and one the brightest blue you’ve ever seen. And you kiss him.

Aemond feigns surprise at your sudden movement, though this is exactly what he’s been planning for. What this has all been leading up to. He looks into your eyes, asking if you’re sure that this is what you want. That you two could get in trouble with the Bureau for doing this. And he just gives you a little smirk when you tell him that you don’t care. You get off the couch, taking him by the hand and leading him to your bedroom, yelping slightly when he pushes you up against the door.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he whispers in your ear.

You nod, turning to face him and finding his lips again. You help him shrug off that leather jacket he always wears, hands moving to his white tee shirt. He pulls it over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest and abs to you. You always knew he was in shape, but this is so much more intense, so much more intimate. You tug at the chain on his neck, the one that you got him as a present when the two of you graduated from Quantico, and pull him in for another searing kiss. Aemond’s hands move under the fabric of your shirt, squeezing at your tits, making you moan against his lips. His hands are rough and big and God, they feel so fucking good against you. You rub your thighs together, desperate for friction, desperate for him to give you what you so desperately need.

But Aemond? He’s waited too long for this moment to rush it now. He’s going to savor it. He moves to kiss your neck, biting down and relishing in the pained little whine you let out that turns into a low whimper when he moves his tongue over the abused skin, his hands groping at your breasts, thumbs running over your pert nipples. He moves back to help you remove your shirt, tossing it carelessly to the side, unhooking your bra, his good eye going wide at the sight of your bare breasts. Before you can even speak, his mouth is one of your nipples, moaning as he suckles at it, nipping slightly, making your head fall back against the wall as he continues. His mouth is hot and wet against you as he moves to pay attention to your other breast, grinding his cock against your thigh as he does. His chain brushes against your chest, the cool sensation giving a contrast to his mouth, driving you even wilder for him.

When he finally pulls away, you quickly move to unbutton his jeans, pushing them down his legs along with his boxers, revealing his long, hard cock to you. You hold his gaze as you sink to your knees, taking him in your mouth, making him let out a low groan as you bob your head up and down on him, taking him in so far that he hits the back of your throat. Aemond bucks his hips against your mouth, letting out a low hiss of breath when you hollow your cheeks in an attempt to make it even better for him, smirking to yourself as he cums in your mouth. You swallow, rising back up only for him to attack your lips once again with his own, his hands moving to your own shorts, pushing them down your legs, two of his long fingers stroking your pussy at a languid, teasing pace. You almost want to cry out and beg for him to go faster, but you don’t, instead allowing him to continue teasing you. When he finally pushes his fingers inside you, you’re shocked at how fast he moves, your mouth forming an o-shape as he moves his fingers against you at a break-neck pace, bringing you closer and closer to your climax, squeezing around the digits.

“So fucking wet for me, so tight around my fingers,” he growls in your ear, “Gonna feel even better being split open on my cock, aren’t you, love?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he moves the heel of his palm to rub against your clit with every movement of his hand, “Fuck! Aemond-”

“No,” he coos, “That’s not it.”

“Sir?” you try, confused.

“Nope.”

“Daddy,” you whimper as he presses down on your pearl, earning a satisfied grin from him, letting you know that’s what he wanted to hear, “Fuck, Daddy, I’m so close, please, please-”

And he pulls his fingers away just as you’re about to reach your end. Your jaw drops as you stare up at him, only to see him getting down on his knees, licking a stripe along your sensitive cunt. You whimper, your hand tangling in his hair as he begins fucking you with his tongue, his nose brushing against your clit with every movement of his mouth. He moans against you, pulling back for a moment to tell you how fucking divine you taste before burying himself between your thighs again, again, the cool metal of his chain brushing against your thighs. Your legs are shaky from his ministrations but he continues, his tongue moving against your walls, tasting you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until suddenly?

He stops again.

“Are you kidding me?” you cry out, near tears, “You jerk!”

Aemond chuckles, “Sorry, love. You’re going to come on Daddy’s cock first. Wanna feel that tight little pussy squeezing around me.”

His words send a rush of excitement through you as you watch him give his cock a quick stroke or two, bringing him to full hardness again. He looks at you expectantly, and you realize he wants your verbal consent.

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, hands resting on his face, “I need you. I have an IUD. I wanna feel you.”

He nods, pushing into you with one fluid movement, making you gasp at how fucking big he is. Aemond lets out a low groan at the feeling of your warmth around him, staying like that for a moment before he begins rutting into you like some sort of feral animal, his forehead pressed to yours as he kisses you, biting down on your lower lip, demanding entry into your mouth. His tongue dances against yours as his cock moves in and out of you, and you can feel every inch, every vein, moving against you, the tip hitting your sweet spot with every move. You feel like you could black out from the pleasure he’s giving you, your only words being pleas of “More, Daddy” and “Yes, Daddy”.

“Such a perfect little pussy all for me,” he whispers in your ear, “Do you know how much I love you, baby? Hm? How much I need you?” You chalk up his confession to him being balls deep inside you and just moan again, only to have him grip your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks together slightly as he growls, “Do you know that I’ve fucking killed for you?”

You don’t know why, but the low, guttural tone to his voice sends you over the edge, squeezing around him impossibly tight, triggering his own release as he cums deep inside you.

Do you know how much I love you?

Do you know that I’ve fucking killed for you?

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

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bellofthemeadow · 3 months

Text

Dawn Ends the Night - Chapter 3

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the attack sees Prince Aemond wrestle with new feelings.

Notes: Hello everyone, I hope you are all enjoying this chaotic posting schedule just as much as I am!!! I am back with a new chapter, a little window into Aemond's very messy mind. That man is a softboy at heart, he just needs like 20 years of therapy. RN its the beginning of a slight "obsession" as our boy for the first is feeling... something that is not murder, or hatred, or the need to burn everything with Vhagar. So yeah.

Like always thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented I love interacting with y'all and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter 💜💜💜

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

Through your Eyes

In the silence of his bedchamber, Aemond's pulse raced like the chained dragons lagering in the dragon pit, its beat echoing from the cavern of his chest to the very tips of his fingers, awakening the primal blood-rage that slept within his Targaryen blood. The air around him trembled with his ragged breaths, each one a stormy gust tearing through the otherwise stillness of the room. Alone, he wrestled with his armor, the leather stained with the day's deadly encounter. He would need to get the leather treated so the blood wouldn’t leave its reddish mark, Aemond thought with annoyance. His hands, though shaking with a fury he struggled to contain, methodically peeled away each layer, dismissing the need for a manservant's aid. This was his ritual of solitude, after a lost fight in the yard with Ser Criston, or an annoying dinner with Aegon, Aemond needed to take a moment to confront the tempest within, a moment to try and tame the dragon.

“My thanks for saving us” your sweet words echoed in Aemond’s brain like the hymns his mother had once insisted he memorize, trapped in his mind – relentless in their grab for his undivided attention. Although he had just met you earlier (had it only been 3 hours?) each detail was etched into his memory with unnerving clarity —the putrid stench of Flea Bottom that now seemed to permeate his very being and clung all the way to his smallclothes, the satisfying melody of the guard's screams echoes loud as he replays the moment he severed the man's hand from his foul body; an act of true dragon-justice.

Your eyes.

Those eyes, captivating and raw, rimmed with red, their watery sheen reflecting a tumult of fury and fear. It was a look Aemond rarely witnessed in others, but they were a mirror to the emotions he often grappled with in his daily solitude. Staring into his own reflection, he was accustomed to seeing the same intensity in his sole eye, the other a remnant of his past, a void where fear once dwelled. Now, that fear was often overshadowed by a simmering fury, a relentless fire that had become his constant companion. Yet, in your gaze, he saw the fear and anger, a young bird still scared of an unknown, cruel world – but oh so angry and unwilling to get yourself drag down by its cruelty.

Since coming back to the keep after he had settled the matter at the market, Aemond’s mind was inexorably drawn back to the market, to the moment he first laid eyes on you. He had not needed anyone to point you out; he knew who you were from the second he saw you, holding that little boy who was clinging onto you like the barnacles that littered the rocks in blackwater bay.

Seeing you so small yet standing so tall in the shadow of the guard’s golden cloak, he had only seen the resolve and desire to protect; for Aemond, it was like a visceral pull that transcended mere sight that had drawn him to you, like he was being pulled with a thight string attached to his heart.And in the dirt of Flea Bottom, you had stood cloaked in a gown of gauzy lilac in a style of dress he had never seen at court. The sheerness of the sleeves and the plunge of the loose bodice defied the strict, colorless conventions of the court and in a way that would surely raise his mother's brow in disapproval. But Aemond did not care for what was proper, as when he freed the man’s body from its hand, he only longed to take you in his arms, to press the silky fabric of your gown, under which he knew luscious curves hid, between his fingertips.

Aemond closed his eyes trying to imagine what you would feel like in his arms, he could almost feel it if he concentrated enough - were he a bold man, Aemond would have tugged on the fabric of your dress to bring you closer to him, to hold you tight. Not for unseemly reasons as you were still his betrothed, a lady of noble birth at that, and he was no Aegon. It was hard to admit it to himself, but all he wanted was to inhale the sweet citrusy scent he had caught when you had tied the purple scrap of silk to his bicep.

Aemond unwound the fabric from his arm with a tenderness that echoed the way his mother handled her most precious emerald necklace, an heirloom passed down from his grandmother. She cherished it so deeply that she allowed only herself to touch or clean it, guarding it like a dragon hoarding its treasure. But to Aemond, this simple piece of purple cloth was infinitely more valuable than any gems or riches that lay in the royal vault; it was the only tangible thread linking him to you. Through this favor, you were his and he was yours, bonded through blood and silk. He hoped one day he could shower you in trinkets; ruby-red necklaces, perhaps paired with a green samite gown, or freshwater pearls jewelery ; he had heard that Riverrun made amazing hairnet with them –Aemond could not help but smile at the thought of you outfitted with tokens from him, all would know that you belonged to him.

Aemond let the fabric dance lightly between his fingertips and bringing the scarf closer, he tentatively pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was faint, a hint of your presence as if you had only briefly held the fabric in your grasp. Frustration flickered within him as he sought more of your scent, breathing in with an intensity born of deep longing and desire. Aemond was no stranger to yearning; his life was a testament to insatiable hunger - for recognition, for greatness, for respect, and for the Iron Throne. His brother, with his lecherous appetite and penchant for debauchery, and his older sister who is always entangled in a web of deceit with her brood of Strong bastards, were both underserving of what should have been rightfully Aemond.

Yet, as he held the fabric close to his face, Aemond felt his greed transform from ugly and covetous to an all-encompassing desire to protect and care. He yearned not for accolades or crowns, but for the intimacy of your existence in his arms. Indeed, Aemond was a greedy man, and at that moment, he longed to truly have you, to have your scent permeate his skin. The mere thought of burying his face in your hair, drawing in the essence of your being, became a need that tugged at his very core. He almost scoffed at his thoughts, to think that the dragonrider of Vhagar would be reduced to a puddle of quivering emotions! If, when his mother first informed him of his betrothal, Aegon had told him that in barely a moon's turn he would desire nothing more than the simple pleasure of his betrothed's closeness, to breathe in the sweet aroma, he would have throttled his idiot brother. But you had ensnared him – a simple instant in your presence, a look from your beautiful eyes and he was yours. What a mess he was.

Closing his eyes, Aemond did his best to recall the delicate touch of your hands as they had wrapped the fabric around his arm. The feeling of your delicate fingers resonated deep within him, intimate and gentle, unlike any he had ever experienced. The soft pressure of your fingers against his skin, the careful way you secured the scarf, it all felt like a silent promise, I shall care for you, my lord husbands. Words Aemond yearned to hear falling from your plush lips.

Under the tender scrutiny of your eyes, Aemond felt a man transformed; Gone was the bitter sting of being known as 'Aemond the Dragonless' or 'Aemond-who-sends-the-maids-crying.' Instead, he felt seen as who he should have been, had fate not cruelly snatched away his eye – a true dragon prince, deserving of admiration and respect. Deserving of a crown, even if his weak father refused to admit it.

"Prince Aemond!" The call from Ser Criston echoed forcefully through the door, breaking the stillness of the chamber and brought Aemond from his musings. Huffing, Aemond groaned in displeasure, he could understand now why Aegon stopped his sword training - Ser Criston did have the worst of timing. Maybe if he held his breath, Ser Criston would go away. He waited a minute, but the pounding restarted; Of course, he would not go away, the knight was relentless.

"Just a moment," Aemond replied tersely.

"The Queen requests your presence immediately, my prince. The matter is urgent, so please make haste my prince" came Ser Criston's insistent voice from the other side.

Aemond groaned before swiftly splashing cool water across his face, feeling it's refreshing touch against his skin and hastily pulling a tunic over his head, covering his bare chest. There would be time for a proper bath later in the evening, before dinner and the official presentation of his betrothed to court, he reasoned.

His fingers then reached for the purple silk and carefully he tied it around his wrist, positioning it high enough to remain concealed beneath the folds of his jerkin. Though hidden from view, its presence was a secret comfort, a reminder that he did not dream you – that you existed, in flesh and blood.

Aemond flung the door open, his movements brusque, revealing the stern figure of Ser Criston Cole. The knight looked annoyed; his lips downturned in displeasure. Without exchanging words, Aemond began striding towards his mother’s solar, the path so familiar that he required no guidance, least of all from his mother’s shadow.

"The Queen is quite agitated, my prince," Ser Criston broke the silence, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor. "She has been informed of the incident at the market and is... less than pleased."

Aemond's steps faltered, his fists clenching at his sides, he knew it was coming, he just had not imagined it would happen so soon, although it made sense as Alicent had many eyes and ears all over the city. Aemond looked at Ser Criston before rolling his eye, the knight had no doubt babbled the second he had reached his mother's vicinity. The thought of disappointing his mother tightly squeezed at his heart, with gritted teeth, Aemond let out a noncommittal grunt in a thinly veiled effort to maintain composure. Ser Criston, however, persisted. "In light of the current tensions at court, such a public display of violence was... ill-advised, to say the least. For a prince of the realm to act so rashly..."

Stopping abruptly, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced on the walls, Aemond turned sharply, his eyes a stormy sea of frustration and barely contained rage. "And what would you have had me do, Ser Criston? Stand by while that animal threatened my betrothed with cold steel? Be grateful I let him leave with his life."

Ser Criston's demeanor remained stoic, attempting to soothe the prince's anger. "These are indeed trying times, my prince. But your betrothed should not have found herself in such a predicament. A lady of her station venturing away from her escort raises questions about her discretion. Such behavior could bring unforeseen troubles to our doorstep..."

Aemond's voice cut through the air, sharp as Valyrian steel. "I severed the hand that dared harm her. What do you think I would do to the tongues of those who dare tarnish her name?"

Ser Criston's expression flickered, a brief moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "My prince, I did not mean to imply—"

"I know exactly what you implied," Aemond interjected, his voice laced with a cold venom. He unconsciously reached to his right arm where he knew your favor was hidden, touching it to bring your bravery to his words. "Remember your place, Ser Criston. As much as you are a valued member of this household and as much as I have always considered you to be a great mentor, I will not tolerate any slight against my betrothed. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my prince," Ser Criston conceded, the strain in his voice evident. "I shall be more mindful."

With a curt nod, Aemond turned away and, as he moved through the corridors, passing servants and knights alike, he noticed their efforts to avoid meeting his gaze. It was a dance he had grown accustomed to, yet today, it felt more pronounced as it made the hole beneath the eye-patch throbbed. Trying to keep the pain at bay, he imagined you at his side holding his hand and giving a sweet reassuring smile. It seemed to help somewhat as the pain started subsiding, leaving in its wake only the feeling of emptiness. It would do for now.

Reaching the door to the Queen's solar, Aemond paused, collecting his thoughts. He had hoped that by now, his usual icy composure would have resettled over him like a familiar cloak, that the fiery dragon within would have been tamed and subdued. Yet, beneath his skin, a prickling heat lingered, a reminder of the inferno that had coursed through his veins earlier. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the encounter ahead. The comforting memory of your grateful eyes had to be set aside, replaced with the bracing reality of his mother's scrutiny.

Aemond gently rapped on the door and after a brief pause, one of his mother's handmaidens opened the door, allowing him and Ser Criston to enter the room. Inside, Queen Alicent, adorned in a dress of her usual striking green, paced before a large window. Her anxiety was palpable, evidenced by the way she gnawed at her cuticles, some of which were surrounded by tiny specks of blood where she had bitten too deeply.

Aemond felt a pang of shame tighten in his gut. He was rather unaccustomed to being the source of his mother's disappointment. Throughout his life, she had always shown him a particular kind of attention, especially during his more vulnerable, bullied childhood years when he did not have a dragon to stop people (Aegon) from mocking him. Displeasing Queen Alicent was not something he took lightly. His gaze swept across the room, and Aemond noticed the unusual absence of Otto Hightower, which was odd as the man always had a way to immerse himself in every family discussion.

Aemond's thoughts were shattered by the sharp rebuke of his mother. "Aemond, for the love of the Seven, what possessed you?" Queen Alicent's voice might have sounded stern and strict to the uneased ear, but Aemond could hear a pinch of desperation. "To attack and dismember a gold cloak in full view of the public. Do you realize the talk this will incite!?" Her eyes, usually so full of maternal warmth reserved for him, now bore into him with a sternness that made him inwardly flinch.

The smoldering embers of Aemond's anger flared up once more, and he met his mother's gaze with his own steely look – the one that made grown man shudder. "Mother, that man was a disgrace to his cloak. He was assaulting the woman who is to be my wife, threatening her life. He was a beast, unworthy of his position and of the gold on his back. By intervening, I not only did what was necessary to protect my intended, but I restored the name of the King in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing. I will not apologize for my actions as I was under the impression that Lady Dayne, being betrothed to a prince, would be under the protection of our house. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps I should have allowed her to be stripped naked and beaten for all of Flea bottom to see, would this have been more appropriate?!"

Queen Alicent, her fingers once again finding their way to her mouth, bit her nails nervously. With a weary sigh, she approached Aemond, her hands reaching out to gently grasp his arms. "Aemond, you misunderstand my concern," she began, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Your actions in defending your betrothed were commendable, but the manner in which you executed them... it is the brutality of it that troubles me. Such a display of violence and cruelty, it's not befitting a prince of your stature."

Aemond's response came with a touch of bitterness, "Mother, the people of King’s Landing have always viewed me as a monster. What I did today is likely mild in comparison to what they all believe me capable of. And frankly, the man got off lightly. Had it been solely up to me, I would have fed him to Vhagar without a second thought."

Queen Alicent's sigh was heavy. "Aemond, please," she implored. "I understand your urge to protect your future wife, but you have not even properly met her, your reaction was..."

"You understand nothing," Aemond interjected sharply, his voice rising with indignation. "My name is Aemond Targaryen! NOT Aemond Hightower and I will uphold the words of my house, 'Fire and Blood,' in dealing with any who threaten us. And that includes Lady Dayne, from the moment Ggrandfather arranged for our betrothal. "

Alicent's expression turned grave, her gaze unyielding "Is that truly your desire, Aemond? To be remembered as another Maegor the Cruel? To walk the same dark path as your uncle, the rogue that all the nobility of the realm scorns? What legacy do you wish to leave – Aemond the Monstrous? Aemond the Brutal?"

Aemond winced upon his mother's words – Aemond the monstruous? A bitter retort escaped his lips, "Perhaps I do want that. Perhaps if they called me 'Aemond the Cruel' openly as they all think it, my dear older sister would reconsider herself, parading her bastards as if they were legitimate heirs, worthy of the throne."

Queen Alicent took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing momentarily in a silent plea for patience. She released Aemond's arms, turning away from him, her posture one of weary resignation. "I only wish that you would remember the lessons of mercy taught by the Mother," she said softly. "I understand your anger, Aemond, but you must see that there are alternatives to your actions. Violence, war, death – these are not the sole answers to all our difficulties."

Aemond felt sour upon his mother’s words, had she always been so blind? "And what would be the 'appropriate' answer, mother, when Rhaenyra learns of your plans with Grandfather? When she discovers your intention to crown Aegon over her?"

"Aemond, please," Alicent implored, but he pressed on relentlessly.

"Do you truly believe she will simply just accept it? Do you not see that war and violence are already at our doorstep? Is this not why you arranged my marriage to Lady Dayne – to secure Dorne's support when conflict inevitably breaks out? Consider how our position would weaken if I had allowed the first Dornish lady on our soil since the conquest to be abused on the streets of King's Landing. Prince Quoren might have renounced our alliance entirely. And then what, Mother? Whom would you have me marry? A distant Beesbury cousin? Perhaps some lesser Velaryon to challenge Lord Corlys? What would your grand strategy be, mother?"

Alicent remained silent, her figure still and composed, even as the tension in the room thickened. Aemond felt like a snarling dragon, spewing fire at the calm and poised figure of his mother – but a dragon could burn down a tower if needed. From his vantage point in the corner, Ser Criston, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke up, his voice stern. "Prince or not, you will show the proper respect when addressing the Queen."

Alicent's voice was calm, final. "It is alright, Ser Criston. My son is evidently still distressed from today's events. You may leave us, Aemond." She did not turn back to look at Aemond, her gaze fixed somewhere distant.

"Mother," Aemond uttered, the anger was still there, but a deep feeling of regret was starting to tightnened in his troath – he had never spoken to his mother this. Had always revered her as the woman who had always loved him, would always love and cherish him, eyes or no eyes. The woman who had taken his side on Driftmark, who had been willing to draw blood for him. So why was he so angry? Because you know of another woman who would have taken your side on Driftmark now, a smooth voice whispered in his mind. He could imagine Lady Dayne, except instead of the little street urchin clinging to you, it was him – holding you as you were soothing him and urling insults to the Strong. Nevertheless, although Aemond knew he had won the argument, the victory was hollow and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

As Aemond stormed out of his mother's solar, the door slammed shut with a force that was quite petulant and wholly unbefitting of his princely demeanor. The urge to visit Vhagar tugged at him; her presence, the soothing texture of her scales, and the smoldering depths of her yellow eyes often brought him solace in tumultuous times. Soaring through the skies on her back, he found unparalleled freedom, a sense of true self that grounded him amidst the chaos of court life. But today, his steps wavered, his usual path to where Vhagar rested, momentarily forgotten.

A different impulse guided him instead, steering his course through the corridors of the castle. He caught sight of a maid, her steps quick and purposeful towards the kitchens. In a swift motion, Aemond reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping her arm. His voice, though laced with the lingering storm of his recent encounter, carried a softer edge. "Tell me, where in the castle is the Dayne retinue lodging?"

The maid, attempting to maintain her composure, did everything to avoid the intense gaze of his solitary eye, stuttered her reply. "In... the west wing, my prince," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a nod of acknowledgement, Aemond released her, his mind now set on a new destination.

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors towards the West wing, Prince Aemond was in a whirlwind as each step he took was shadowed by uncertainty - would you be there in your quarters? And if so, would you welcome his presence? He wondered if the radiant spark that had lit your eyes earlier, the one that had captivated him so completely, would still shine when faced with him alone. Doubt nagged at him, whispering questions of whether you might prefer solitude over his company. He shook his head, none of it mattered; the second-guessing, the fear. He needed to see you, to lay eyes on you and ensure your well-being. These thoughts propelled him towards your quarters, and he felt more like a dragon than ever before, like a great beast tracking its prey before feasting – unrelenting, with a singular purpose. You.

As Prince Aemond neared the West wing, he was met with a contingent of guards adorned with the Dayne sigil – a white fallen star against a field of lilac. A frown marred his features. Where had these men been when you needed them most? "I wish to see my betrothed." Aemond’s tone left no place for arguments.

However, one of the guards, an older man with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes, appeared unmoved by Aemond's royal status and instead eyed the prince distrustfully. "The lady is currently resting after a taxing day... My prince" The last part was definitely added as an afterthought.

Bastard, Aemond thought angrily, did he not know he was speaking to a prince? How dare this commoner (who had let harm come to you) come between him and his need to see you! Aemond's sneer was barely concealed. "I'm well aware of her trying day, as I was present," he retorted, trying to quell the anger that pulsed in his veins. "Is it a Dornish custom then, that betrothed couples cannot converse? Especially after one of the party saved the other. Quite a peculiar custom if you ask me."

Another younger guard grumbled “Not as much as fucking your siblings...” If Aemond was not so consumed with thoughts of you, he would have had whipped this guard for the insolence.

The older guard's expression soured further, his eyes narrowing. "Given today’s events, where one of your men assaulted our lady, you'll understand my prince,” definitely a sneer” “Our caution.”

"And the man responsible has been dealt with," Aemond countered firmly, his gaze unwavering.

The standoff continued for a tense moment before the older guard relented under Aemond's intense gaze. For once, Aemond was quite satisfied that his one eye could make even the fiercest of men grow uncomfortable, it helped to get his bidding done. The guard led the prince to a corner door and knocked briskly. "My lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you," he announced.

The response came in the form of your familiar, melodious voice, which had haunted Aemond's thoughts throughout the day. "Come in!" you called out, and Aemond felt a mixture of relief and apprehension as he prepared to enter.

Upon opening the room, Aemond was met with a scene quite unexpected. There you were, center stage in the spacious chamber, having exchanged your earlier attire for a strikingly different ensemble. You were adorned in a long, elegant purple tunic with short sleeves that left your arms gracefully exposed. Underneath, a pair of voluminous white breeches reached down to your calves, leaving the lower parts of your legs exposed. Aemond gulped loudly at the sight of you, he had never seen a young lady dressed in such a manner. Were all Dornish ladies such beautiful women, who scorned proper attire? Were all Dornish ladies so... enticing? No, Aemond thought decidedly, you must be one of a kind, a lone bright star in the otherwise dark skies of his life.

Yet, it was the action before him that truly caught him off guard. You were in the midst of a tussle with the same young boy from earlier - Daven, was it? You were attempting to apply soap to his hair, a task he seemed to be resisting with all the vigor a 5-year-old boy could muster. On the large bed nearby, another boy of a similar age sat, munching on a bright red apple, his eyes wide with fascination as he observed the struggle.

“My Lady... Am I... Bothering you? Aemond muttered, at a lost feeling like he might be intruding on such a strange, yet merry moment.”

Your smile bloomed like a desert rose at dawn, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that one might associate with discovering a long-lost treasure, or seeing a long-lost friend... Or lover. Gently, you shifted the still-pouting boy in your arms to face Aemond, calling to him with a warmth that melted the icy barriers around the prince's heart. "Look, Davos! Our brave prince who saved us earlier has come to see us!" The boy, Davos, offered a shy smile and a timid wave, his earlier resistance forgotten in the presence of his hero.

Aemond felt an unfamiliar flush of warmth spread across his cheeks under your gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that seemed to stir the very core of his being. The usual fire that raged within him, driving his every ambition and desire, seemed to simmer down into a comforting warmth, a feeling he couldn't quite place but didn't wish to escape.

His heart pounding a rapid rhythm, Aemond offered a slight bow. "Might I be of assistance, my Lady?"

Your response came with an infectious beam. "Another pair of hands would be most welcome."

Positioning himself to be of help, Aemond muttered, "Guide me to where I can be most useful, my Lady."

With a soft and tender smile, you replied, "I believe, my prince, that you are perfect just where you are."

Perfect right where he is?

Aemond would never leave your side, nothing would ever tear from you and you from him. The Gods had always scorned him since his childhood, this was payment. His due. You were his and he was yours from this day until the end of his days.

Next chapter

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moonastrogirl · 3 months

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Mula nakshatra

Credit @moonastrogirl

Ruled by Kali, the destructive goddess bringing darkness to make one face their fears and limitations so they can grow into the best version of themselves. Or to make someone face the consequences of their wrong doings so they can face divine justice.

Mula natives grow in the darkness. Darkness is their territory and they made it their kingdom. They face many internal battles no one knows about. Fighting inner demons, inner restrictions or inner self or collective beliefs daily. Having a mula moon in a chart shows a mind full of chaotic energy that can be channeled only through self mastery and self control.

Mula is the epitome of female rage once its destructive energy is released. The same female rage that helped so many women free themselves of the chains of oppression crafted by patriarchy. The same female rage that created feminism and is fighting for women’s rights around the world.

When this energy is used correctly and mastered by the native, they become great advocates of women’s rights. They stand up for women, mothers, girls.

Rage and anger are powerful emotions that can make someone transformed themselves and become solid like a rock in the middle of a storm.

They also have great wisdom. They are Sagittarius after all. And who is more wise than a Sagittarius ruled by Jupiter the planet of wisdom, knowledge and expansion ? They can make great mentors once they master their inner self.

Mula natives gotta embrace the inner storms that rage inside of them and use the energy to transform themselves to become who they are supposed to be.

And who will they become ? They will tap into the next nakshatra energy. The conquering and victorious purva ashada nakshatra ruled by Venus (The commander in chief of the asuras).

Once I asked a mula dominant who was working in a higher position in a big company how they manage to handle people who are jealous of their work and try to sabotage them in the work place ? Because I saw how much of a hard working person they were and they did what it took to get there. They answered me « I don’t care ». And that’s exactly how mula natives are.

They don’t care about the outside influences. They only care about the inside influences (their close friends and family). As they should because it’s best for them to focus on themselves to grow. And they know the biggest storms in their life come from the inside so that’s where their focus is at all times.

Mula natives are powerful people ruled by both ketu and guru (Jupiter). Guru is the adviser and ketu is the army. The moves they make are always calculating and well thought of. Ketu ruled people are also quite versed in spirituality. Mula natives are the masters of it. Finally they rarely lose any confrontation and are fearless opponents.

This post wasn’t easy for me cause mula and Sagittarius energy is in my 7th house so it’s my subconscious mind that I needed to tap into but hopefully I know enough Sagittariuses who helped me tap into my inner strength and resilience just like they do daily.

If you resonate with this post, please feel free to like, comment or reblog it. Thank you for reading me 💜

Credit @moonastrogirl

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

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iii. drank dry the river lethe

summary: It’s the kindness that undoes you, the mercy in spite of everything that has happened and is happening still.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 2.2k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like, carpenter & flannel-wearing Steve, sexual tension, some kissin' and good ol' yearning.

a/n: woof 😮‍💨 thanks for sticking around and waiting for this one! self-edited, all mistakes are my own. shout-out to the fic playlist (linked below) for getting me through this. i'm wishing the happiest of birthdays to @big-ope-vibes - love you & hope you don’t hate me too much for this 🥺

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated! Reposting, however, is not. Enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist | currently spinning:

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You gasp, his rough hands falling to cradle your hips. You can see puffs of breath as they leave your open, panting mouth.

The storm rages on outside, a crisp chill settling in the shop and creeping along your skin. But Steve is warm and you can’t help but arch into him on instinct, seeking anything to ease the shiver in your bones.

He hums, as if in thought, eyes studying you— the heaving of your chest, jumping pulse, hands draped around his collar. Despite what you’d just said, your body language implies the opposite. Subtly, your hips cant upward, back arching imperceptibly as your chest grazes his. Erratic breaths fall from his lips.

“You think so?”

His voice is a low rasp, a lick of heat curls up your spine and you’re already having trouble breathing with any sense of regularity under his scrutiny. Because he’s doing that thing again— when he looks at you with such vulnerability that it nearly breaks your heart in two. People don’t look at you that way, it’s usually tinged with desire or derision but nothing so tender as how Steve is looking at you now.

Take a breath and concentrate on the rain.

He watches as you screw your eyes shut and take big grasping breaths in and out. You think of those women who walked the bluestone path for love, how you pitied them, swore never to become them. Nothing good comes from a good heart or soft touch, oh no, not for you. Memories come like flashes of scattered light then— your mom and dad slow dancing in the kitchen, him serenading her and peppering her face with kisses, her laughter and poor attempts to bat him away.

Not since then had you felt like this— a tightness inside your throat and belly and chest, a heat, not unpleasant so much as wholly unfamiliar, radiating outward from the center of your body and rushing through your veins.

Something was very wrong indeed.

No longer balanced by logic, you feel weightless anchored solely by the warm and calloused hands of the carpenter. Thinking about him, his worried look, and sincere gaze makes you even more nervous. You feel like someone who’s stepped outside of life and into a stretch of woods you’d never seen before and you don’t know the paths or trails.

You’d spent your entire life following one cardinal rule: don’t fall in love— you’d stayed vigilant, used logic and good sense. Taken every precaution, taken care of everything from the bills to the laundry, which, when it hangs on the line is whiter than snow.

But the way Steve is looking at you, so patient and tender, you love it and hate it at the same time. Makes you want to come clean and let loose for once. Your eyes dart to his tongue as he wets his lips, a line of heat skittering beneath your skin. It’s invisible, but it’s there. That’s how desire is, it assails you in a parking lot and wins every time.

The tension is so bad that it feels as though it were at least a hundred degrees inside the shop. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, a poor attempt to curb your desires. In the descent, your nail drags against a thin gold chain around his neck leaving whispery scores that draw along his skin and pull a soft hiss from him.

Steve sounds positively wrecked and looks even more shattered now than before. You’re the one, and he knows it. Under certain circumstances, he might be willing to give up everything for you. He might be willing to leap headlong into the chasm he feels coming up, without considering how fast he’s falling or how brutal the moment of impact might be.

Tentatively, you reach out to comb his hair back from where it’d fallen in his face, hot right down to your fingertips. Steve’s staring at you the way he did back in the storeroom, you can feel his intentions and torment both, in equal measure; you’re well aware of what he wants.

You want it as well.

Tonight under your gaze with the whipping wind and rain outside, Steve feels like he’s stumbled into love, and now he’s stuck here in the anguish of it. He’s fairly used to not getting what he wants, and he’s dealt with it, but he can’t help but wonder if that’s only because he didn’t want anything badly enough.

Well, he does now.

In the darkest depths of his memory, the recollections that tortured him under a nightmarish guise, Steve remembers holding on for something. Be it the kids, or Robin, or Nance— a bone-weary sense of survival; to pull and thrash and fight for another day, getting Dustin out of there in one piece, and dragging Eddie out of the Upside Down, even though he felt about ready to give up and give in right then and there.

And now, looking at you in a shop a world away from the hell that was Hawkins and the Upside Down, it all falls into place. He wasn’t holding out for something, but someone. Steve knows he should go, has crossed one too many boundaries for comfort tonight, but the hitch is, he doesn’t want to go. He’d rather be here, looking at you bathed in candlelight and watching the steady rise and fall of your breaths than weather another storm alone— his desire is so bad he doesn’t know if he could stand up straight.

His eyes are burning hot, and he knows he can never stop himself if he’s going to cry. Better to not even try, or at least that’s what Rob always says.

“Oh, don’t,” You say, moving closer to him pulled by gravity and forces you couldn’t begin to control.

“It’s fine,” He sniffs as the tears trail down his cheeks, “I just do this sometimes,” Steve says in that sad, deep voice. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe this is his life. This time he’d prefer to do almost anything but cry. “Ignore me.”

But you don’t. You can’t help yourself. Shifting toward him, meaning to wipe away at his tears, but instead loop your arms around his neck, and once you do that, he holds you closer.

It’s music when he says your name, a sound that’s absurdly beautiful in his mouth, but you don’t pay attention. You’ve spent enough time on the back stairs of the aunt’s house to know that most things men say are lies. Don’t listen, you tell yourself. None of it’s true and none of it matters, because Steve’s whispering that he’s been looking for you forever.

Everything happens in sweet slow motion from there.

You’re halfway to climbing him like a tree, scrambling for purchase along his arms and chest. His hands move from your hips and a breathy whimper escapes your throat. Steve mollifies your fit of pique with a bite to his lip, pulling it taut as his hands wrap around your thighs to pick you up. Your hips slide home, pressing against him as he carries you to the till— his hands are so hot on your skin you can’t believe it.

Can’t think, or listen to a word he says because if you do, you might think better of it.

He sets you down gently on the wooden counter, hands roaming your skin— under your sweater, along the band of your leggings— and still you don’t stop him. When his lips finally meet yours, you bite him accidentally, so eager and impatient. He laughs into your mouth, angling your lips up to slant against his. Your eyes flutter shut and let his kiss devour you, the clacking of teeth, brushes of tongues, and guttural groans.

This is what it must feel like to be crazy, you find yourself thinking, as Steve moves against you. Delirious under his attention, you want the heat he’s making you feel; you, who can’t function without directions and a map, want to get lost right now— to get lost in him. You can feel yourself giving into his fervent touches; you’re ready to do just about anything as long as his fingers keep pressing against you, stoking the fever in your veins.

Everything you’re doing is so unlike your usual self that when you catch sight of your image in the a nearby window you’re stunned. It’s a woman who could fall in love if she let herself, a woman who doesn’t stop Steve when he lifts your hair up and away so he can press his mouth to hollow of your throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, there’s a flicker, and you can see your reflection raise a brow in interest. She inclines her head minutely as if to ask, Really? while crossing her arms in front of her chest.

What? You mouth back, trying desperately to fall back into the reality of Steve’s sweltering hold on your body, the praises that fall like raindrops from his mouth only to evaporate upon hitting your scorched skin.

What is wrong with you? Your mirror-self volleys back, all knowing glances and quirked lips.

Beyond flustered and frustrated you bite back with a vehement, I don’t know!

And as quickly as she appeared, your mirror-self is gone with a flicker and a wave. Maybe that’s something to consider, what exactly are you doing here? What good would it do for you to get involved with someone like Steve—to break the one rule you had? You’d have to feel like this, half-wild and at the whims of your desires, all of the time. You’d have to feel so much, and you’re not that kind, not really. You could never muster an ounce of sympathy for those miserable, irrational women who came to the aunt’s backdoor, nor could you stand to be one of them now, overrun with grief, rendered inconsolable with what some would call love.

You pull away from Steve, out of breath, mouth hot and the rest of you burning. You’ve managed to exist this long without; you can keeping doing it. Just make yourself go cold, from the inside out. The rain is letting up now, the sky as dark as a moonless night. In the east, thunder sounds as the storm moves in from the sea.

“We should stop,” You bring yourself to say, though it cleaves something deep inside of you.

Steve halts his ministrations, and the wounded look on his face is worse than the fissure in your chest. The words taste bitter and cruel, but you can’t allow yourself to care. You need to put a stop to this before the option is no longer your own. Before the possibility of what you could feel for him takes hold and traps you, like those women on the bluestone path at twilight.

“This was a mistake.”

His lips form your name, a hoarse murmur followed by a grim smile. “I can fix it,” He says, seeing how you tuck yourself away, bit by bit, right before his very eyes. “Please, let me fix it,” He pleads, voice strained.

A slow shake of your head to dash his hopes once and for all, “You should go.” Your voice sounds like a broken, hollow thing.

At this moment, Steve wishes he was a weaker man— that he could somehow reach out and grab the part of you that he’d briefly held in his hands, and force you, at least until you gave in. Because it was there, he felt it and you did too, that ineffable spark of recognition. He’d like to make love to you right here, he’d like to do it all night and not give a damn about anything else. But he’s not that kind of man, and he never will be. He’s seen too many lives go wrong when a man allows himself to be led around by his dick. Steve has always understood why people give in and do as they please with no thought of anyone else. Their minds shut off, and he’s not going to do that, even if it means he won’t get what he really wants.

He sighs your name, and it causes you more anguish than you could have ever imagined possible. It’s the kindness that undoes you, the mercy in spite of everything that has happened and is happening still.

But Steve, for all his wanting and heartache, stands up and takes a step back. You make yourself look over his shoulder and keep your gaze there; you don’t dare look at him.

“Eddie will, uh, finish the job.”

You clench your hands into the worn wood beneath you and nod.

Steve gathers his tools and sets them on the counter for Eddie to find tomorrow. And even if you don’t look, you know he hasn’t yet walked away. This is the way is has to be— removed forever, distant as the stars, unhurt and untouched forever and ever. He closes the door when he leaves and it takes everything in you to not turn to see, because if you did, you’d discover how much you want him, for all the good it would ever do you.

But he does watch you as he gets back into the cab of his truck out in front of the shop. Steve combs his wet hair back with his fingers and, for a moment, the whole cab smells like rain. As best as he can understand it, the greatest portion of grief is the one you dish out for yourself, and the both of you have served yourselves from the same table tonight, the only difference being that he knows what he’s missing, and you have no idea what’s causing you to cry as you sit in the cold and empty dark.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfic #Spotify

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inawearyworld · 4 months

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free if you truly wish to be: chapter v

the power of a found family heist saves the day (six of crows who??) (god these summaries have become rather unhinged over the course of this fic huh)

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.3k

just wanted to say thank you to all you lovely people who've read and loved this fic! please lmk what you think, like reblog yadda yadda yadda. i'm euphrasiepontmercy on ao3 if you want to see any more of my near-embarrassingly escapist writing :) there will certainly be more wren coming in the form of playlists, pinterest boards, drawings, etc

so much love <3

part four fic masterlist

The next day, for half of a moment upon awakening, she thought the whole past month had been a dream. That she’d go on living in her unpierced golden cage, that there was nothing revealed and nothing to reveal, that things could be fine for a little while longer.

Then she heard the blaring vocal warmups of the comedian who lived down the hall.

…Okay, then.

It’s real.

She stayed up in Piper’s room, hoping to escape notice from the owners of the establishment, whom she’d never seen but hated due to their imprisonment of her friends. She’d warned them all the previous night that the Chocolate Cartel had seemed about to propose a surely sinister deal to Wonka-regrettably all but Noodle, who was asleep, and who she thought would probably take the hit the hardest, whatever hit that might be.

She wasn’t sure where to go from here.

Willy had wound up under the thumb of men who would gladly destroy him, the wash crew was nowhere near the freedom they deserved, and she herself was disgraced and thrown out by the only practical lifeline she’d had for two years, the man she’d thought she’d loved.

She realized, though, that the chain of actions that led to finally standing up to Felix was the first thing she’d done in two years that she didn’t regret.

That new sense of assurance, though, wouldn’t put any food on her family’s table.

Or her own.

And still, the thrumming in the back of her heart took the form of olive eyes, soft curls, and chocolate-dot freckles. How much danger was he in? Had he really lost all hope?

Was he even alive?

The only venture she’d made that morning was a careful one to Lottie’s room; the telephonist had snuck her a bit of gruel and told her she could borrow some of her clothes for the day. When she got back to Piper’s, she heard a large clank against the wall, and opened the window to investigate.

She was met with those same olive eyes, accompanied by a tired but teasing smile.

“We have really got to stop meeting like this.”

Relief flooded her so thoroughly that every rational thought momentarily disappeared, and suddenly Wren realized that she was kissing him.

And that he was kissing her back.

And that he was very precariously perched on a very tall ladder.

“I, ah…”

She trailed off, struck speechless by the haze in his expression that could be described in no way but adoring.

“You’re alive,” she breathed. “You’re here.”

“So are you.”

“And you feel the same way?”

“Very much so.”

Apparently unable to form any longer sentences, they fell into shaking, half-disbelieving laughter.

“Wrap it up, Romeo, a person can only keep this steady for so long,” came Piper’s voice from below, and Willy laughed again.

“Alright, I-well.”

“Yeah?”

She watched him run through the events of the past hours in his mind as he tried to sum it up, and he quickly shook his head.

“Come on down, we’ll all explain what happened. Then we need your help to rescue Noodle.”

And so they did. Once the whole crew had been informed of all that had happened, they planned and began to carry out their heist, and Wren-while still fully aware of the danger-allowed part of herself to be thrilled at finally having adventures with a found, created family like she’d read about all her life.

There were a few variables, of course-there was a plan for if Willy and Noodle were caught by the Cartel and a plan for if they weren’t, which, of course, they were. Wren flitted through various windows enough to throw a surely-still-reeling Felix slightly off his game, enough that he’d gladly drown his thoughts in the planted Hoverchocs. She also misdirected those who somehow weren’t distracted by the giraffe, allowing the Oompa-Loompa to enter the cathedral and do his part.

What she wasn’t expecting to do was help him to rescue the pair from death by chocolate.

She’d started to make her way out of the cathedral when she heard a shout of “thank you, little orange man!” from under the ground. Puzzled, she’d looked down to see a chocolate-drenched Noodle and Willy gasping for breath under a circle of glass and flooring as the brown liquid receded. She startled, then quickly came to her wits in time to break the surface and pull each of them through, all three falling into each other’s arms.

“What-”

“Oh, God-”

“What on earth-”

“Thanks, Wren-”

“What happened?”

“The plan,” Willy said, pausing to clear his throat of chocolate, “ran into a few setbacks.”

“I can see that.”

“But,” and here he reached into his vest to produce a large and somewhat soaked envelope, “I brought you this, from the vault.”

Wren opened it carefully to see that its contents were luckily mostly untouched by chocolate. Half of them she recognized as what she’d sent to her family, the things that Felix had withheld, but the rest of the envelopes were graced with her mom’s handwriting.

She’d thought she’d cried more in the past days than ever before, but apparently there were still plenty of tears left, and they all threatened to break loose upon that sight.

They’ve been writing to me all this time.

It was devastating and hopeful all at once. Her husband had spent two years keeping her from contacting her family and keeping them from the reassurance that she cared, but now that she had the letters, she could finally start to make things right.

Also in the massive envelope was a shinier letter, addressed to her from the city’s opera house, stating that a new artistic director had been hired: one who didn’t live in fear of the Cartel, had programmed Romeo et Juliette for the upcoming season, and wished nothing more than for Madame Fickelgruber to play the second title role. Not because of her association, not her relative fame, but her.

She hurriedly looked at the postage date; it wasn’t too late for her to write back and accept.

It’s not too late.

The thought, and its application to just about everything, filled her with light.

She didn’t know why Felix had kept all of this instead of throwing it out; possibly to feed his own ego, to know that his wife was in demand but he was the one that had her. Whatever it was, Willy had found the truth and held it even when he’d thought all was lost, and given it to her the moment he’d had the chance.

“And we found out why Slugworth was acting so weird,” Noodle said excitedly, still catching her breath. “We’re related, if you can believe it-but my parents really did care-and my mom, we-we found her!”

“Oh, Noodle, that’s wonderful,” she gasped, pulling the girl into a hug.

“Yeah, Willy managed to find her name in the ledger-but even after that, he kept looking around the vault until he found that envelope. Said it was for you-that we’d find your family, too.”

Tears brimmed in Wren’s eyes as she nodded to the girl with a smile of sweet solidarity. She then looked over to meet Willy’s gaze, more grateful than she’d ever been, and saw that he’d been watching her with a compassionate blend of sympathy and shared hope.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and kissed him again, heedless of the mess. “I know this will come as no surprise, but-”

“I taste like chocolate?”

“I could get used to it.”

“Okay, WE GET IT,” came Noodle’s laugh, “you like each other, it finally happened, hallelujah. Now-look!”

They all turned to the door to see the unmistakable silhouettes of the Cartel, and Willy grinned. It was time for the final phase of their plan.

The three misfits helped each other off the ground and made their way to the cathedral’s entrance, just in time to hear Prodnose’s “in which they died” followed by the men’s laughter.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

All heads turned at his voice, and Wren grinned to see all three chocolatiers pale at the sight of them.

“Wonka!” shouted Slugworth.

“Florence,” formed Fickelgruber.

“What?” piped Prodnose.

“Officer, would you kindly take a look at this?”

Willy handed the ledger he’d held to Officer Affable, and Noodle smiled as she stepped forward.

“It details every single illegal payment these men have ever made. Thousands of them.”

“Affable, don’t listen to her. She’s lying,” the Chief said, but Affable had already opened the ledger.

“Well, of course she is,” said Slugworth, his clear nervousness betraying him. Wren smirked and looked back to Affable.

“She’s not, sir. She’s absolutely right, it’s…incredible.”

The Chief blinked, then tried as he might to take back control.

“Oh. Well. Then it sounds like a case for the Chief of Police. Give it to me, Affable, I’ll take it from here.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid, sir.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because your name’s written down here, sir. A lot. Gentlemen, you’re under arrest,” he said, addressing the Cartel with the latter statement.

Slugworth nodded slightly, his eyes widening, and barely turned to his colleagues when he spoke to them.

“Run.”

And run they did, but they didn’t get far. Gasps went up in the crowd as the Chocolate Cartel took to the air once again, and the other trio strolled down to the base of the fountain.

“Wha-what’s happening,” Slugworth cried, “why are we airborne?”

“You didn’t eat any of those chocolates, did you, Mr. Slugworth?” Willy asked, knowing full well that he’d won.

God, certainty looked good on him.

“Why?”

“Because they’re Hoverchocs! Delayed action. But extra strong.”

“Florence!-” Felix called, the adrenaline of flight having pitched his voice up nearly an octave as he grabbed onto Prodnose’s leg with one hand and reached to her with the other. “Just forget it all, my pet, I’ll forgive you in time, don’t worry, we’ll get rid of him again and all will be well-”

He always was one for the dramatics.

And that’s something I can easily match.

She looked straight at him, made a show of removing her wedding ring, held it aloft until it glinted in the sun, and let it go, allowing it to tumble through the air and land directly on the edge of a convenient storm drain.

Felix let out a strangled gasp, his eyes not on her but rather trailing the expensive ring as it fell. From his vantage point, it was gone forever in that drain, and she was happy to let him believe that; she’d pick it up later and send it to her family.

Though, perhaps, with her dream off to a real start, she’d finally be able to make her own way in the world and help to support her family on her own accord.

That thought was sweeter than any amount of candy.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Wonka?” Slugworth was saying. He went on to rattle off assurances on how the Cartel could still defeat him, a frantic gloat of their societal power over him, but Wren barely heard it; she was becoming progressively more distracted by Willy’s slight and slowly growing smirk.

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

Then, with something close to darkness, he looked up at them through the chocolate that framed his eyelashes, and Wren thought for a moment that she might faint.

Noodle gave her signal, the ground started to rattle, and Wren’s heart beat faster and faster.

No going back now.

She took a last look at Felix, feeling strangely sorry for him despite herself. In another world, perhaps, he could have been given the space to regard his humble past without shame, could have used it to become a more compassionate person.

Then she reminded herself that, in this world, he had tried to kill two people and had possibly already killed many more, spent his life prioritizing appearance over literally anything else, lied to her countless times, and allowed his chocolate monopoly to uphold an elitist society.

And this world was the one she lived in.

And this world was the one in which the frozen fountain burst with chocolate, rocketing the three men who’d clung to it up and out until they were sailing through the sky.

“Don’t worry, gentlemen!” Willy was calling to them. “You’ll come down eventually, I think. Probably.”

He then turned to her and whispered, “they will.” Through all of this, he still refused to completely harm anyone. The bare minimum, perhaps, but more compassion than the Cartel would have faced opposite any other foe. She smiled and squeezed his hand in silent thanks.

With that, he threw a few ingredients into the chocolate fountain, causing it to sparkle as it never had before, and invited the crowd to enjoy.

As the wash crew came together in relief and celebration, Wren realized that the teasing phrase she’d spoken earlier had more meaning than she’d originally known.

She could indeed get used to this.

Not too much of a time later, that same group stood in that same town square on those same cathedral steps, but there was something different in the air.

The Cartel had indeed come safely down from the skies after a few hours on that fateful day, and had promptly been arrested by the newly appointed and much more just Chief Affable of Police. There was more color in the town, more music; everything had seemed a bit lighter, or maybe that was just how it felt to be genuinely living in love.

Because now, Wren Matterson was able to write back and forth with her family again. Now, she was in rehearsals for a role she adored. Now, she was coming into a state of self-empowerment unlike anything she’d ever known. Now, she spent time not perched restless on a fainting couch, but laughing with and learning from a better group of friends than she ever could have imagined, and had even worked together to reunite one of them with her own mom, which they were just about to do.

And right now, in this very moment, Willy Wonka, with tears of grateful closure in his eyes, carefully broke apart his mother’s last chocolate bar, handing a piece of it to each of these dear, dear friends. He then looked to Wren with an expression she was still bowled over by every time, and reached into his pocket.

With a soft but sparkling smile, he opened his hand to reveal an emerald-wrapped, heart-shaped almond milk chocolate.

So, no, Wren Matterson was no longer fine. She was so much better than fine.

She was free.

#fiytwtb #wonka 2023 #wonka #wonka movie #willy wonka x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet fic #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #wonka fanfic #wonka fanfiction #timothée chalamet x reader

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teecupangel · 4 months

Note

So this idea has been bouncing in my head like an excited rabbit on caffeine. (I also don't know if anyone else thought of this but I thought it would be cool) so you remember the reblog chain where the players are all in Desmond head talking like a twitch chat, and the other reblog chain of Desmond's ancestor data gaining sentience because isu bstm, right? Well I had a thought, what if we combined the two, like maybe something like the part of the main group + Desmond are trying to get to the others who are in another part of Abstergo or the assassin's network and Desmond, let's say that while he was split he couldn't hear us until they passed through this really corrupted part of an ocean map (let's say it's in Edward's time) then all of a sudden Desmond hears one of us. (Sorry if this doesn't make sense. I hope you have a heath day/night)

I think this is the AC characters data in Abstergo’s database regaining sentience AU reblog chain with @piratekenway you’re talking about?

The Ratatouille AU where the ancestors can hear Desmond while ‘playing’, its more unhinged cousin, the Ratatouille AU where Desmond can hear us and the outside POV of Al Mualim thinking the Apple broke Altaïr and the sidestory of Altaïr accidentally connecting with Ezio while looking for Desmond (I hope I didn’t forget anything else)

Okay, so the idea is that we’re using the setup for the character data gaining sentience and we’re setting this as sorta like the ‘epilogue’ to the Ratatouille AU.

Instead of letting the world burn (“As a treat!” one of the voices chirped), he sacrifices himself. When he wakes up, he’s in Abstergo’s database, chained as a digital copy of Sample 17.

He can’t hear any voices anymore.

Are they disappointed with him?

Did they think they wasted their time trying to help him?

Did he… make the right choice?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed… when the virus started taking over the database and servers.

In this one, the virus isn’t made by Erudito + Assassins. It’s of ‘unknown origin’.

All they know is the name of the virus is “for desmond!” and it is targeting Desmond. Of course, Sample 17 is in one of the more secured encrypted ‘part’ of the database so it mutated to wake other data up.

Data that has connection with Desmond.

Along the way, the virus inside them starts waking up other data nearby, creating a strange team to rescue Desmond.

We can sorta play with this a bit and make Arno, Evie and Jacob become part of Abstergo’s database because they do have data of Arno’s descendants and it makes sense that the reason why the Templars knew where the Shroud is because they can access the twins’ memories as well and the Assassins just stole their DNA for their own Animus instead.

So they get to Desmond who is staying in the Grand Temple, just sitting there, staring at the devices, doubting and double-doubting himself if he should have activated the device when the people who care for him the most asked him not to.

Of course, Abstergo’s anti-virus and probably the entire security system is chasing after them so they don’t have time to actually talk.

They just run.

Well, they sailed using a fusion of the Jackdaw and Aquila…

… into a corrupted part of the West Indies.

The idea was… the virus didn’t harm them but it definitely fucks with Abstergo’s anti-virus and security system.

At the very least, they were hoping it would slow them down.

What they did not expect was for the entire thing to collapse under them…

And drop their modified ship into a different unfamiliar ocean.

“Holy shit!”

Desmond blinked.

“That scared the crap out of me. Goddamn it, Ubisoft. I know this is still being betatesting but Jesus Christ, loading the entire ship and dropping it from above??? What kind of programming does this game have???”

“Lollol. Dude, chill.”

“Is it an enemy ship? Like… can you shoot it?”

“Should you shoot it? Check its level first.”

They were all familiar voices.

“You don’t want a repeat of-”

“Guys?” Desmond asked, his voice a bit too quiet.

Hesitant.

He didn’t dare hope that it was them.

Not all of them.

But some of the ones he was most familiar with.

The ones who stayed with him the most.

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god, Desmond?!”

“What’s Desmond doing in this game?!”

“Is it our Desmond???”

Desmond’s lips curved into a smile and his voice croaked as he said, “Yeah, I’m your Desmond.”

“Oh my god.”

“Desmond!!! You’re okay!!! We were sooo worried!”

“You think this is [Bored Anonymous]’s work??? Did their plan to use all our computers to try and connect with Desmond’s world and send our gift work?”

“Gift?” Desmond tilted his head.

Did they mean the virus?

He felt someone nudged his arm and he turned to look at Ezio. Everyone else seemed confused but Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton seemed to have an idea on who he was talking to.

Wait.

They can hear them!

Before Desmond could tell the voices that everyone could hear them now, one of them said hurriedly, “Oh fuck! Someone get [Bored Anonymous] quickly!”

“Why?”

“I only have 1 more hour to play this beta! What happens to Desmond if he stays in this beta server after the time is up?!! We can’t lose him!”

“Ohshitohshitohshit!”

“I’ll alert the discord server!”

“I’ll try to message them in Tumblr! They’re always online there!”

“Pretty sure that’s their queue…”

“We can still try!”

Desmond simply laughed.

Sure, the time limit they’re talking about was worrying but hearing all of them worrying about him…

It felt like he was finally home.

#this is like fic idea of a fic idea #fic ideaception #yeah the beta server they got pulled into #is the skulls and bones beta testing #it sounded like it would fit XD #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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glacial-snowflakes · 2 years

Text

Freak // Eddie Munson x Y/N

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Wheeler!reader

Word count: 1,09k

Summary: Being tired with the way you're boyfriend is treated force you to take action.

WARNINGS: some swear words, minor spoilers

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. It’s really motivating <3

Some people are like open books, but not Eddie Munson, no. His heart was wrapped with a thick chain secured with a padlock, and only a few individuals had a key to it. You, obviously, were one of them - Y/N Wheeler, this year's graduate and a dear girlfriend of his.

Eddie never liked to brag about his personal life, so not many actually knew you two were in a relationship. You were his greatest secret that he promised himself to take to the grave with him. Well... Maybe not that dramatic, but he persistently tried to keep nosy students away from your love. Number one of the reasons was his not-so-saint reputation, and he didn't want you to become a target of snarky remarks. Though he'd managed to succeed for quite a time, it all collapsed in a blink of an eye. But that wasn't his fault...

"Enjoy your meal, dear."

You've heard the kind voice of a cafeteria worker as you got your last piece of lunch placed on your tray. You thanked her with a smile and immediately headed down to the table you'd sat at from the first day of school. Your friends were already there, gossiping about the last basketball match.

"Y/N, what do you think?" Vickie asked you as soon as you squeezed between her and Robin.

"About what?"

"Yesterday's Jason speech."

"And his gooey love confession? Or using a tragedy to encourage the team to win a game? Because the first one made me want to vomit, and the second made me almost rip my ears out. Fucked up." You poked a hole in a juice with a straw.

"So you share our views." They laughed.

"The devil has come to America. Dungeons and Dragons, at first regarded as a harmless game of make-believe, now has both parents and psychologists concerned." A familiar voice reached your ears and caught your attention as you were about to take a mouthful of a bun. Like magic, a broader but still subtle smile appeared on your face. You completely zoned out from conversation by your table. Instead, you focused on an article that your boyfriend read aloud to Hellfire Club's members.

"Studies have linked violent behavior to the game, saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even... murder!"

Eddie's laugh was enough to turn your head towards his group. You noticed your brother sitting by the table with Dustin. He gave you a look that said, "get lost, sis.". We'll see who'll give you a ride to the arcade next time you ask. You thought to yourself and stuck your tongue out. You'd probably make some faces to each other if not your boyfriend, who suddenly got on the table and distracted you from the teasing.

"We're the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game. But as long as you're into band... or science... or parties... or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets-"

"You want something, freak?" Jason instantly stood up, taking a few steps toward Eddie. Oh boy, the troubles begin.

Now everyone was watching the two of them. As you predicted, Munson didn't give any shit. He raised his hands to make devil horns on his head, spluttering with his tongue stuck out from his mouth.

"Prick," Carver said before heading to his seat.

And before you could even think about anything, words shot out from you like your lips were the rifle aimed at your biggest enemy. "Oh, fuck off!" All eyes were on you now, whether you liked it or not. There was no way out, so instead of running away like a coward, you got up from the chair you'd been sitting on and faced Jason.

"What did you say?" The team captain looked at you.

"Don't act like you didn't understand. Stop saying shit about Eddie."

"Or what?" Jason got closer to you. Sudden chairs' movements were heard, and all the Hellfire Club got up like they were about to have your back. A loud thud meant Munson jumped off the table.

"Y/N-" Eddie tried to catch your attention, but you waved at him to make him stop.

"What "or what"? Do you think I'm threatening you? I'm not that stupid. Don't be a dick and fuck off from Eddie, that's all."

"I think you actually are dumb, Wheeler." You extended your arm to stop your boyfriend and brother from rushing to Jason. "He IS crazy."

You glanced at Eddie, who looked angry, ready to fight for the woman he loved. For a moment, you thought he acted foolishly. Not him wanting to protect you but being willing to throw hands, knowing well that the whole basketball team would beat the shit out of him. That's when you realized...

"You know what?" Your eyes went back to Jason. "You're right. He is crazy... But in a good way. This is what makes him so attractive. Not that you can relate. You, Jason Carver, are like a poorly written character that is so perfectly boring. A golden boy without any flaw that thinks of himself as the best. In fact, your personality is dull, blank... And, honestly? Listening to you makes everyone want to puke their guts out." Students burst into laughter. "Without further due, leave my boyfriend alone and get lost because now my lunch is cold because of you."

The word boyfriend traveled from mouth to mouth like a ping pong ball bouncing back to back during an intense match. To be frank, you couldn't care less. You were finally free. There was no need to hide anymore. Whether Eddie liked that or not, it doesn't matter to you.

You kept your eyes on Jason, not letting him win this fight. You were done with the way he treated someone so important to you, someone, you loved so dearly.

"Y/N." A quiet whisper rang into your ear when the arms wrapped around your waist. Munson pulled you away because he knew you. You wouldn't back down so easily. "For someone who doesn't like to make scenes, that was quite a spectacular one." You could feel Eddie's lips brushing your ear.

"I told you, there was no need to hide our relationship. I can protect us both."

Your boyfriend chuckled. "You're right. I was stupid."

"No, I'd say you were crazy." A broad grin crept onto your face.

"Crazily in love with you." Eddie winked, trying to sound as cute as he could.

"Ew, Munson. That's gross."

"Ew, Wheeler. You're right."

tag: @eddie-munsons-sweetheart @eddieemunson @beauty-in-the-brkdwn @dragon-ash13 @notafinalgirl

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader

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irisintheafterglow · 9 months

Text

More Than It Seams (Chapter 3)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 3k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, arguing, working to exhaustion, hurt/comfort to angst

note: ohoho rising action + sassy shoto

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

You spend the weekend texting back and forth with Shoto, with most of the conversation revolving around his Hero Ball appearance. You’d send a design sketched on a coffee shop napkin or an embroidery swatch held up to the light of your apartment with your pajama-clad roommate in the background; initially, he would respond with several messages detailing his thoughts on your idea, but it soon devolved into a one-word acknowledgment followed by a picture of a cat he had seen on patrol, or a flowerbed he found pretty. Eventually, your text chains stopped becoming work-related altogether, replaced by “Look at this cat,” “Have you eaten yet?” and “Let me know when you’re home safe,” and you weren’t sure who’d sent what message first. To date, one of your favorite interactions with him began with a message reading “Can I call you real quick? I have an important question.” Standing in the kitchen prepping dinner, you tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear.

“Shoto?”

“Hi,” he said softly. It sounded like he was smiling, and imagining the little quirk in the corner of his mouth made your heart feel light.

“What’s going on? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine, I promise. Do you know anything about cats?”

You leaned against the counter, throwing a hand towel over your shoulder as you reached for a spice from the top cabinet. “I mean, my roommate has one, but I don’t take care of it much. Why?”

“There’s a stray outside your office. It looks sad.”

“Oh, poor baby. Does it have a tag?”

There was a slight crunching noise on Shoto’s end and you held back a chuckle as you heard him whisper gentle encouragement for the cat to come closer. “Uh, no. No tag.”

“Okay, do you think you could call someone to bring it somewhere safe, then?”

“Why do you think I called you?” You blinked, dumbfounded. He wanted you to take care of the cat? The realization must have dawned on him at the same time it did for you. “Actually, I’m not sure why I called you.” You couldn’t help laughing as you imagined the puzzled look on his face, head tilted and staring down at some random cat in the alley by your building. “I’m sorry for bothering you, I don’t know why I–” The phone nearly drops from your grip as you panic to keep him on the line.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s alright. I like listening to your voice.” The last part slips out before you could stop it, and smug pride radiated from the other side of the phone. “Shut up.” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

He gives you that choked laugh and you grin like an idiot, covering your face even though you’re the only one home. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear your stupid smirk.”

“Would you prefer to continue listening to my pleasing voice, then?” He must have left the cat by your office, as the phone picked up a noise that sounded like the blowing wind. You figured he was probably heading home for the night or grabbing dinner.

“I’d prefer you get your head out of your ass and answer my question from earlier,” you quip, pulling a knife from the block and chopping carrots into small chunks.

There’s a moment of silence from Shoto, and you worry that your service is starting to glitch out. “What was the question?”

“If you could come in Monday afternoon so I can measure you real quick for your Hero Ball suit.”

“Does Monday at 1:00 work?”

“Sure, but if I can ask, why so late? You tend to show up around 11:30.”

Oh, he was definitely getting a big ego now. “Do you pay attention to the exact time I arrive?” The chopped carrots aggressively plop into the pot as you all but throw them in at Shoto’s sass.

“Only because you appear at the same time on the dot, like some weirdly programmed cyborg.”

“I assure you I am not a cyborg. But I would like to take you to lunch again on Monday, the same place as Friday.”

“Is that gonna be the first date, then?” Waves of heat brush against your hands as you stir the pot with a wooden spoon.

“Absolutely not. It’s another–”

“Business meeting. Got it.” The spoon clanks against the edge of the pot as you rid it of excess sauce.

“Are you cooking?”

“Mhmm.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“My roommate got these, like, free instant curry packets from work, so I’m trying one of those tonight.”

“Huh. Sounds…interesting.” Your face is hit with hot steam as you pop open the lid to the rice cooker and scoop yourself a serving.

“Are you making fun of me for eating junk food, Shoto?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Responding with ‘interesting’ is a kind way of telling me you don’t approve of my meal choice.”

“Well, that I could have just told you outright.”

“Go away and leave me to my curry.”

“Don’t you mean your processed powder with enough fat to warm the North Pole?”

“I didn’t ask for your sass tonight, Todoroki.” A low hum is all you hear from the other end, and you smirk at your temporary victory of catching Shoto off-guard. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have some very pressing streaming service matters to attend to.”

“For your sake, I hope it tastes good.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You roll your eyes and hang up on him, snuggling into your couch and fighting down the overwhelmingly happy feelings in your chest.

Monday morning, the elevator doors ding at 11:30 exactly, and you can’t help but raise your eyebrows in amusement at him. He’d stopped bringing in parts of his suit for you to fix, and your staff came to expect the sound of the elevator every day like it was part of their routine too. The doors would sound, and your designer would swear under his breath, remarking how late in the morning it was already without looking at the clock.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, just give me one sec. Need to finish this panel.” You glance up at him briefly with an excited look in your eye as you nod over to the sketch of his trenchcoat. Without any direction, his long fingers stretch themselves next to yours as he holds down the template panel you’d been cutting into the sleek black base fabric. Careful to account for seam allowance, you finish the large panel that would come to be the back of the coat.

Lunch is just as easy and comfortable as it was on Friday, and you spend the entire time talking about mundane things that had no connection to your work. It was nice, spending time with him and being allowed to talk about other things besides work. You’d told him how your roommate was speechless that he’d taken you to lunch, and he needlessly corrected you when she said you’d gone on a date with a pro hero.

“I know you don’t consider it a date, but everyone else in society would beg to differ.”

“Let them beg, then. I’m still right.” He sat back and crossed his arms, and it took all your willpower not to stare at the corded muscle pressing out from beneath his suit.

It was much harder, however, a few hours later when you had to run measuring tape on them, close enough to Shoto to smell his rich cologne. He’d agreed to help you keep track of the measurements so you didn’t need to keep running back and forth to your pen and paper. A measurement would come out of your mouth and be repeated like a broken record by Shoto until you’d successfully scribbled it on a Post-It.

All was going well until you had to measure the length from one shoulder to the other. He’d been the model of a perfect listener up until that point, when you were eye-to-eye and close enough to feel each other’s breath. You stutter out some number in inches and briskly walk over to your Post-It note, only to find Shoto frozen and slightly pinker around his high carved cheekbones.

“Shoto? Did you hear me?”

“What? Sorry, I was…distracted.” You huff out a sigh and stand near him again, focusing on trying to read the number ticks and ignoring the way Shoto’s breath had sped up when you were nearer. He was so warm, and the muscle beneath your fingers was so sturdy that you wanted to bite it. You blinked the thought from your mind, trying not to think about being in Shoto’s proximity like this all the time. He wasn’t helping much, either. Unconsciously, his hand brushed up to pick a stray hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear, before clearing his throat and repeating the measurement you announced.

“Perfect. That’s about all I need then if you have any other questions for me?”

“No, I believe that’s it.” You head toward the gate to walk him to the elevator, but you hear him rummage around in his belt for something behind you. “Wait, I almost forgot. These are for you.” He hands you a small box, and upon opening it you’re hit with the enticing aromas of curry, true curry– the kind you get in restaurants, not from a packet your roommate stole from her office. Tiny baggies of turmeric, cumin, garlic, and pepper sat neatly in the box with a card detailing different recipes and how much of each spice to use.

“Shoto, this is– I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?”

“You didn’t need to buy anything for me.”

“I know I didn’t need to, but I wanted to.” You stutter out a thank-you and he gives you that small smile, eyes soft. “I figured that it’s better than what you were making the other night.” It surprised you that he’d remembered such a mundane conversation, much less would buy you something because of it. As he left and shot you that same dumb thumbs-up when the doors closed, your staff gave you knowing looks that you purposefully pretended not to see.

Tuesday sang the same tune, Shoto taking you to lunch and shooting the shit for a needed break, but you’d started staying at work longer and longer into the night to get looks done on time. Though it was efficient to keep working outside of true opening hours, you knew it was getting extreme when both your roommate and your other designer said you look like a ghoul. It wasn’t that you wanted to work yourself to near-exhaustion; it was the only way you could have the pieces ready for Saturday without all of M’s vast resources. Your team was working themselves to the bone, too, and as the one M left in charge, you felt responsible for taking care of whatever they missed.

“Hi, this is the stand-in supervisor for M; please give our office a call at your earliest convenience. Thank you.” You set down the phone and rubbed your eyes, leaning against M’s desk made of ridiculously vibrant bright pink plastic. Wednesday had proved to be chaotically uneventful, and you fought the urge to throw one of M's fake gold plants through the window. M’s office was separated from the rest of the work area, a small room with a closable door for privacy and a soft couch for when she needed “me time.” There were two soft thuds on the door before the other designer peeked his head in.

“Knock knock, your boyfriend’s here.”

You elected to ignore his implication. “What are the chances he brought the food here?”

“Very likely. Take a look.” As the door fully opened, you took in the sight of Shoto in his pro costume carrying a plastic take-out bag. The smell wafted to you and made your empty stomach rumble. It was like he’d read your mind, like he’d known that you couldn’t be pulled away from work for lunch anymore. He was so thoughtfully good.

“Hey,” you say, giving him a tired smile. His eyebrows dip briefly as he takes in the bags under your eyes and your sore voice, but schools his face into blankness as he raises the bag of food.

“I figured you wouldn’t have time for lunch.”

“You figured correctly.”

“Is it alright if I stop by and drop this off, then?”

“You can’t stay?”

“Unfortunately not. My agency is preparing a raid and it took a lot of string pulling to get away for an hour.”

“I appreciate you thinking about me.”

“Of course.” His hands delicately untie the knot of the bag handles, placing separate containers of soup and cold soba noodles on top of each other. “It’s your usual.”

“Thank you, Shoto. I’m really happy you had time to visit.”

“What time do you get off tonight?”

“Technically 5:00–”

“But they’ve been staying later!” Your fellow designer’s voice calls out from behind you, and you resist the urge to scold him for eavesdropping. You give him an incredulous look and are met with nods of sympathy from the rest of your seamstresses.

“I’m fine! It’s not that late, a few hours at most–”

“You texted me at 11:00 last night saying you were finishing up, and you clocked in at 6:40 this morning” his voice called again and you sighed in defeat. Whatever he was doing, he was determined to expose your messed up schedule to Shoto, who was looking at you in a way where you could see the gears in his brain turning.

“I have to go. I’ll see you at 5:00.” His voice almost sounded…frustrated?

“Wait, no–”

“Don’t. It’s not safe for you to go home alone at that time of night, and you look like you need rest.”

Maybe it was the lack of sustenance in your stomach or maybe it was the restless night of sleep you’d had, but your words had more venom laced in them than you ever intended. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my job.”

“And it’s my job to make sure you’re safe. We’re not having this conversation right now.” He turns sharply on his heel, avoiding eye contact with you infuriatingly as you fight back the urge to cry.

For the rest of the day, you isolate yourself and disassociate into your work, running your thumb along fabric edges until it’s red from overuse and then switching to the other thumb. The world becomes white noise while you hand-sew beading, embroider great blue waves, rib corsets, and trim tassels. The quiet goodbyes from your staff run through one ear and out the other, including the apology from your other designer. You merely nodded, refocusing on the flowing ruffles of Pinky’s sleeves.

The elevator dinging is louder when you are the only one in the office, and Shoto’s steps echo through the space as he approaches you, on the ground with your head in your hands as you mentally work through how to add sheer detailing to Dynamight’s jacket that had already been finished days ago. His stylist had finally left your office a message, communicating that Bakugo wanted something more breathable that could show off his muscles. Your face scrunched in dismay at the sudden change in plans, and you’d sat on the floor for ten minutes just imagining how you could pull it off.

“It’s 5:00.” Shoto’s voice is even and patient, with no indication of your earlier confrontation.

“I know,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper as you shake your head.

“I’m gonna take you home.”

“I know.” You finally look up to see his hand stretched out to you, helping you off the floor and allowing your hand to rest on his arm as he walks you out. The walk to your apartment is mostly silent, and you let your eyes take in the fading lights of the sunset, and how they reflected off Shoto’s face and hair.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” you say as you approach your apartment complex.

“It’s alright. I’m just worried about you. Like it or not, it’s my job to keep you safe; mentally, physically, emotionally, anything.” Despite your exhaustion, your heart still flutters at his concern. “Can I ask why you’re so worried about the ball, anyway? What you’ve created for me and everyone else is awe-inspiring.”

You give him a wry smile. “I appreciate your appreciation, but I truly thought this year was finally gonna be the year I split off from M since I’m designing most of her stuff anyway. But I’m scared that if I form my own company, all our clients will stay with M because she’s a more established brand.”

“You have me.” He stops, turning to look at you on the sidewalk outside of your building.

“Thanks, Shoto, but I–”

“I’ll tell my friends to work with you, too.”

“No, wait, you don’t need to do that–”

“I know I don’t. But I want to.” You laugh in disbelief at his childish insistence, and his mouth quirks in that way you’d fallen in love with. You’d fallen in love with him.

“You know, you’re really stubborn sometimes.”

“I’m not stubborn; I just get what I want.” His eyes flick down to your lips and his fingers brush another stray hair from your face, gently tucking it behind your ear. Delirious, you unapologetically scanned his face, committing it to memory. You could tell he was doing the same to yours. Tension stretched between you two the longer you stayed there, unmoving on the sidewalk. There was an urgent need in your heart to kiss him, hold him close until you fell asleep with nothing to worry about but each other.

But, that isn’t how life works.

An alarm sounded from his phone in his back pocket, and he looked back up at you regretfully. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Go. It’s okay.” Your hand gently caresses the side of his face, running your thumb over his scar. It was like his body was torn between staying with you and rushing to whatever emergency was happening. “I’m okay,” you assure him, sticking your thumb up encouragingly. What began as an embarrassing reminder of your first meeting had evolved into a secret joke between you and Shoto, guaranteed to make both of you smile and feel better every time. Without another word, he takes off down the street, ice blowing a frigid wind in his wake. You fall onto the couch in your apartment and cover your eyes with your forearm, finally processing that you could be considered close friends maybe even more with a pro hero.

But Shoto doesn’t come in at 11:30 on Thursday.

Shoto doesn’t walk you home at 5:00.

Shoto doesn’t answer any of your calls or messages at any point during that day.

Shoto doesn’t see you crumple to your knees when you read the headline on TV:

“Pro Hero Shoto: Missing, Presumed Dead.”

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x you #bnha #mha #shoto x you #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #my hero academia

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