#(no this is not my cat. he’s my sister and brother in law’s cat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucked-bunnie · 16 days

Text

wedding dates & unwelcome surprises ⎜j.hughes

pairings: jack hughes x reader genre: fluff warnings: mentions of shitty exes and family ⎜mild fighting?⎜sassy jack⎜ synopsis: it's the first time you're bringing your boyfriend home to meet your family, as a date to your sisters wedding - you didn't know your ex was going to be a plus one. word count: 3.3k authors note: this was requested...kinda. Anyway enjoy and requests are open. (unedited)

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Jacks question breaks the almost silence of the car, one hand sitting on the steering wheel, the other latched with yours on your lap.

“Hmm?” You question, turning your eyes away from the passing trees to the man sitting besides you, his knuckles white as he grips the leather wheel.

“Your family.” He explains, “Do you think they’ll like me?” He questions again, his words making you sputter as your mouth falls open.

“Jack Hughes darling of the hockey world, every teenage fans wet dream, is worried that my family won’t like him?” You exclaim in confusion, a light smile on your face as he shakes his head, moving to pull his hand from yours. “No, I’m kidding.” You yelp, tightening your grip on his, settling your joined hand back in your lap, your other hand coming to cup over his.

“Jack, you’re letting them use your lake house for a rehearsal dinner and you paid for my sister's honeymoon - even if they didn’t like you they’re not gonna bite the hand that feeds them.” You begin, reaching one hand to sweep a loose strand of hair behind his ear, smiling at him softly when he glances your way.

“They will love you, I’ve never seen my family so excited to meet someone before.” You can see some of the tension released from his shoulders as he nods, the car pulling into the ridiculously long driveway of the lake house, more than twenty cars already parked around the house.

“I hope you’re ready for chaos, cause this is going to be like pulling teeth.” You mumble as he stops the car besides your mothers recognizable three door. You finally release his hand before unbuckling your seat belt, sliding out of the car with a long sigh, smoothing out the baby blue fabric of your sundress.

Your sister had insisted on pastel attire to be worn over the weekend, her wedding had to give ‘spring fairy vibes’ is exactly what she had put into the email she sent out. Jack made his way around the front of the car, his hand immediately stretching out towards yours, making grabby motions towards you.

You obliged him, reaching your hand forwards into his, your palms slipping against each other as your hands squeezed together. “Do I look okay?” He asks and you nod, Jack had been adamant about matching as much as possible this weekend, knowing it was something you enjoyed, a light blue linen shirt was tucked into his cream colour slacks, both of you in a pair of brand new white tennis shoes.

“You look great, and they’re going to adore you.” You reassure him, taking in a big breath as you push open the front door to the lake house, the familiar interior putting the two of you a little more at ease.

The two of you stroll into the large house keeping your eyes peeled for the bride and groom, hoping to say quick congratulations to them before being swept into conversation with the rest of your family.

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” A voice says from the kitchen as the two of you enter the room, your sister standing at one of the charcuterie boards, her fiancee close by her side as they both send you large smiles. “You’re only thirty minutes late.” She grumbles, placing her plate on the bench before rushing forwards, her arms embracing you quickly.

Jack releases your hand as you return your sister's embrace, “It’s good to see you.” You hum, hugging her tightly, the two of you releasing as you move over to hug your soon to be brother-in-law.

“And you must be Jack.” You sister coos, standing back with one hand propped on her hip as she glances over your boyfriend. His eyes shoot to yours quickly before returning to your sister, his hands clenched by his side as he waits for her to say something.

“Gracie, leave the poor boy alone.” Your brother in law says quickly, patting you on the shoulder as he shoots you an approving grin.

“Oh who am I kidding, you are a savior, Jack.” You sister steps forwards wrapping her arms around Jack in a friendly hug, squeezing him once more before releasing him and returning to her partner's side.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for the two of us.” Jack tries to wave off the thanks with a shake of his hand.

“Please don’t thank me- it was your sister's idea, I just coughed up the money.” Jack jokes, before quickly adding, “It’s really not a big deal, I hope the two of you enjoy the trip.” Your sister glances between you and Jack with a smile before a gasp escapes her, your eyes catching on a familiar face in the backyard of your boyfriend's lake house, a short blonde attached to his side.

“So there was a bit of a hiccup with the invitations.” Your sister begins and you feel your stomach drop. “We sent Jess an invitation and forgot to remove the plus one option. We were honestly hoping she just wouldn’t respond and we could avoid the whole thing.” Your sister twirls her engagement ring nervously around her finger as she follows your gaze.

“We didn’t even know they were still together.” You brother in law adds quickly, his gaze dropping to the ground quickly as you glare over at him. Jack watches the encounter in confusion, his gaze following yours as he glances over at the man standing talking with who he recognises to be your mother. “I’m really sorry.” Your sister adds, your head shaking quickly.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like they almost ruined my life or anything.” Your sister grimaces at your words, her mouth opening to say something, falling closed as Jack shakes his head quickly

“Why don’t we meet the two of you guys outside, I’m really digging the spread you’ve got out.” He says quickly, giving your sister an easy out, the soon to be married couple rushing out of the kitchen as Jack pulls you over to the fruit platter. He silently grabs you a plate placing your favourite on the light pink plastic.

“I’m waiting for you to explain what was going on inside of your pretty little head.” He says with a clearing of his throat, turning to lean against the counter as you lean against the marble, glaring at the fridge in front of you.

“Jess is my cousin.” You begin, jack nodding intently, popping a grape into his mouth, “She fucked my boyfriend three years ago, right before we met actually. Josh and I lived together at the time, apparently they had been having an affair for months before he broke it off with me.” You take in a deep breath as you add, “I only found out when I got home to all my shit packed in bags and her shoving their engagement ring in my face.” Jack chokes at you’re bland delivery of the biggest betrayal he had ever heard in his life.

He smacks against his chest a few times, trying to swallow down the remainders of the fruit stuck in his throat. “What the fuck.” He exclaims as soon as his throat is cleared.

“Trust me that’s not even the worst part.” You laugh humourlessly, dropping your gaze to the floor. “After he had put all my belongings into garbage bags and as he was evicting me from my own apartment he shared some hard truths with me.” Jack nodded slowly, his heart dropping as he waits for you to finish. “He said he could only ever be with me when he had a few.”

Jack paused before asking, “you’re fucking with me, right?”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh bubbling from your chest, quickly adding “he even said he loved Jess more than me because she was smaller because she made him feel more masculine.” Jack watches you cautiously as you let out a shaky breath, turning your face up towards him with a sad smile.

“I had to live with a friend for weeks cause I had nowhere else to go, she helped me find my apartment in the city, and then I met you so it wasn’t all bad.” You say taking a big bite of a strawberry Jack hands you.

“I understand why you’re so upset.” Jack responds and you shake your head, placing the scrap of your strawberry on the plastic plate.

“It’s not like I have feelings for him or anything and I couldn’t care less about her but sometimes it’s nice to have a little warning before you go face to face with two assholes who hurt you.” You explain and Jack nods, reaching out to smooth two hands up and down your arms.

“You really dated a guy called Josh?” He questions, a shit eating grin spreading across his face, “That’s like the douche-ist name out there.” He adds and you let out a sarcastic chuckle, grabbing a grape off his plate and lobbing it at his face.

“That’s a lot coming from a dude called Jack.” You roll your eyes as his smile grows, his finger pointing at you in approval.

“Touché.” He says quickly, his hand lacing with yours again, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your hair as he whispers, “Let’s go pull some teeth out.”

“So Jack you’re an athlete?” You seventy year old aunty asks as she leans forwards in her seat he hand placed gently on Jack’s arm, her eyes moving over him in a frenzy. Jack had been more than patient throughout the afternoon.

After another very warm welcome from your mother, the two of you mingled with the rest of your family, many of them curious about Jack’s career choice. “Aunt Shel, we’re just going to go grab some refreshments, would you like anything?” You question as you stand from the table, reaching down to lightly pull Jack’s arm from her grip, her head shaking in answer to your question as she moves her attention to someone else further down the table.

“Thank you.” Jack groans as he lets you drag him over to the drink table, his arms wrapping around your waist as he hovers behind you, watching as you pour two cups of lemonade. His head resting on your shoulder as you sip from your cup, his gaze shooting to your right as your body tenses, a high whine of a laugh sounding besides the two of you.

“Oh my, babe look who’s here.” Jack watches as your head turns slowly, a fake bitter grin on your face as you turn the rest of the way to greet the short blonde.

“Jess… I didn’t know you’d be here.” Your voice is close to a hiss. Jack’s eyebrows raise in surprise as he watches the once over you give the smaller girl, turning to the man that steps up to her side, your name falling out of his mouth as glances over you and the man whose arms are still wrapped around you.

“Well when we got the invite in the mail I was just so excited, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” Jack covers a laugh as he watches your cousin reach out to pat your arm, your body tilting so you remain just out of reach. “And Josh was saying how much he missed spending time with our family.” Jack winces as Jess uses the word ‘our’ his gaze finally flickering over to the man standing besides your cousin.

Josh was a pretty average looking guy for the most part, he and Jack were around the same height, Josh having a close shaved buzz cut to contrast to Jack's quickly growing hair. Jack listens half heartedly to Jess’s rambling, his gaze settled on Josh, the man shifting from foot to foot under the scrutiny of your boyfriend's glare.

“Oh, and I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.” Jess finally turns her attention to the man standing behind you, his gaze shifting slowly from your ex to your flirtatious cousin.

“Oh, I don’t think introductions are needed.” Jack's voice is sharp as he frowns down at the woman, your gaze turning up at him in surprise, his arms moving from around your waist to stand fully beside you, his hand sliding down your arm, his fingers tangling with yours. “I’ve heard more than my share about you.” He says motioning with your joined hands to Jess before adding, “Both of you.”

“Oh all good things I hope.” Jess giggles leaning into the man besides her, his face set in a frown as he shakes her off, glancing back at you.

“Not even close.” Jack responds.

The silence is thick and Jess’s eyebrows furrow trying to understand what Jack is saying, Josh’s frown deepens as he understands right away.

“Well on that note, I think we have some more mingling to do, please excuse us.” You interrupt, tugging on Jack's hand as you begin to walk back towards the house.

“Actually…” You hear Josh call out from behind you, your steps pausing as you wait to hear what he’ll say, “I was hoping we might be able to have a little talk?”

“Bunny, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Jack whispers in your ear, lifting your hand to press gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“I know.” You whisper back softly, before turning back around to face your ex. “What do you need to say?” You ask and he looks between his fiancé and you with wide eyes.

“Perhaps we can talk in private?” He asks and you shake your head. “At least can we leave the group?” Josh asks and you look around at the large amount of your family, gathered around the incredibly long table in the center of the backyard.

“Fine.” You agree, pointing to a tree a few meters away from the group. He nods, beginning to mumble something to the blonde besides him who bounces off happily to the rest of the family, you turn to Jack who just nods silently, his face serious as he glances over to your ex.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything.” He grumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline before releasing your hand, watching as you stomp over to the tree where your ex is already waiting. You glance over your shoulder once more at Jack, his reassuring smile giving you a hit of confidence.

“Let’s get this over with.” You snarl as you lean one shoulder against the tree, looking Josh up and down with disdain.

“You seem happy with him.” Josh says quietly, your frown deepening as you wait for him to get to the point. “I doubt he knows you like I do though.” Your lips pull tight as you grimace, watching as Josh’s body relaxes a little, joining you in leaning against the tree, a little too close.

“No he doesn’t” You speak, adding “He knows me better, and frankly the person you think you know isn’t me anymore.” You take in a deep breath as you push off the tree. “Why are you even here, Josh? Jess is a ditz so I can understand why she wouldn’t have considered the possibility of not coming but you are unfortunately smarter than that. So why did you come?”

“I came to apologise. I feel horrible—”

“Wrong, try again.” You interrupt, your arms crossing against your chest. “You know what, I actually don’t care.” You laugh, looking over the man once more before taking a step back, “Despite the way you hurt me, I’m happier now then I could’ve imagined and you should be too. I mean you’re getting married to the girl you thought was better then everything I could give you so I’m going to go and be happy with someone who is better then everything you gave me.”

You turn to make your way back to the party, your eyes locking with Jacks as a large hand grips your wrist pulling you back towards him, Josh’s hands on your shoulders turning you around to face him. “I didn’t say we were done here.”

“We are definitely done here, get your grubby hand off me.” You hiss back, your body trying to pull from his grip, his hand tightening on your shoulders.

“I told you I’m not done.” Josh growls again, your hands finally managing to free yourself from his grip, your body stepping back as he reaches for you again.

“This was done a long time ago, buddy.” Your body jumps as Jack's hands land on your waist, pulling you behind him as he steps up towards your ex. Josh looks over Jack's shoulder trying to gain your attention once more, your boyfriend rolling his eyes, his hands raising to shove against Josh’s chest.

“Doesn’t feel so good when it’s happening to you, does it?” Jack grumbles as he shoves at Josh again, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his shirt, tugging on it softly.

“Jack let it go.” You whisper, tugging again to pull him back to you. “Jack, seriously it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine.” Jack says, his voice firm as he turns towards you, “It’s not fine that you have to suffer through looking at his stupid face while he prances around a wedding dinner he wasn’t even directly invited to. It’s not fine that he thinks he can be a dick and get away with it. And it’s definitely not fine that he thinks he can put his hands on someone.” Jack is breathing heavily, his frustrations evident on his face as your family slowly makes their way over to your small group, wondering what the yelling is about.

“I’m okay.” You whisper, reaching out to touch his cheek lightly, your thumb rubbing against the soft skin, as his breathing settles, his hand coming up to cup over yours.

“Jack’s right.” Your sister says quickly, “You need to leave.” She directs her comment with a glare at your ex, your family glaring at the man standing on his own besides the tree.

“No, Gracie you can’t do that, how am I meant to get home?” Jess questions pushing out of the group to stand besides her fiancee, the ring on her finger glinting in the sun.

“You can both go.” You sister says before adding, “neither of you are welcome at the wedding tomorrow and frankly I’ll be surprised if you get invited to any family events in the future.” You step closer to Jack, his arm bushing yours as you watch your brother in law step up besides your sister, insisting that they leave immediately.

“We’re gonna go too.” You say quietly to your sister as she turns away from the unwelcome couple, the two of them arguing as they trudge back to the house. “I think we both need a little recharge before the party tomorrow.” You continue, giving your sister a tight hug. She nods, making you promise to be at the hotel at seven in the morning on the dot to help her get ready.

You bid quick farewells to the rest of your family, your mum squeezing Jack extra tight, making him promise to return for every family get together.

“I felt quite masculine back there if I do say so myself.” Jack teases as you walk to the car, your hands twined together swinging between the two of you.

“Don’t even start with that.”

“Are you really okay?” He asks as you both get into the car, his eyes searching your face as you let out a gentle grin.

“More than okay, my macho man boyfriend stood up for me.” You respond, Jack letting out a groan at your choice in words. “Maybe I should change your name on my phone.” You tease Jack, snatching the device from your hands as you pull it from your bag.

“Please no.” He whines, tucking the phone under his leg as he starts the car.

“It was kinda hot seeing you get all macho like that.”

“Dear god, this is going to be a long drive.”

#jack hughes #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fluff #nhl fic #nhl

725 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 6 months

Text

Hallow'seams

A Seams Halloween special oneshot

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: A spicy T

Summary: Joel proves to you that he can be adventurous if he wants to be.

Warnings: Joel wears a slutty Halloween costume, fluff, mentions of drinking, spicy thoughts but nothing explicit, no use of Y/N

Word count: 1.7k

Notes: I was so looking forward to writing this Seams Halloween special that I floated back in the summer. Unfortunately, life™ happened - I've had a very rough month and honestly I didn't think I had it in me to do any writing for the rest of this year, but then this happened! I woke up thinking about Joel wearing a Gladiator costume and couldn't put it down. It's not as long or intricate as my original idea, but I hope you enjoy this anyway. I've missed these two so much!

Thank you for sticking with me and giving me so much love, I really don't deserve you all 🧡 Happy Halloween!

Joel pushes open the door to the High Street Outfitters, one booted foot steps over the threshold -

And he stops and stares.

Pumpkins of all sizes, some more crudely carved than others, seem to occupy every conceivable surface. Black cat and broomstick decals adorn the worn wooden walls, while hand-pulled cotton cobweb the ceilings.

When his feet unstick and move into the empty shop, he nearly topples a huge cauldron of what looks like homemade candy. Steadying it with his hands, he mutters under his breath. 'What the f-'

He would never admit it, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when you emerge from the studio with a dramatic flutter of the curtain divider. 'Oh hey, you're here!'

Stepping towards you, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a hello, and gestures. 'You really went all out, hmm?'

Your grin brims with pride, and he feels his lips stretch into an answering smile as you straighten up some of the costumes on a nearby rack.

'We found a Halloween shop nearby a few years back,' you explain. 'All their stock was still in boxes in the store room, so we took everything and ran with it. It's a lot of work every year, but the kids have so much fun with it, it's definitely worth it.'

Joel hums skeptically. 'Not just the kids have fun, from what I heard.'

You cross your arms and play coy. 'What have you heard?'

'That my brother hosts the rowdiest Halloween party in town for the adults every year, and tonight is their last hurrah before the baby comes.'

You chuckle. 'And I'm guessing you fought the costume and lost?'

'There’s no winnin’ when your sister-in-law plays the pregnancy card,' he grumbles with poorly concealed fondness.

You walk him towards the racks near the cashier. 'Here are the men's costumes. We run a pay what you want system for Halloween rentals, just pop your contribution into that pumpkin on the counter. You better hurry though, things start kicking off around seven tonight.'

Joel combs through the outfits half-heartedly, when a standalone clothes rack on the other side of the room, covered with a black sheet, catches his eye. 'And what's that?'

You hesitate, and stutter, 'Oh, um - you won’t like those.'

Arching an eyebrow, he stares down at you. 'Why is that, sweetheart?'

The endearing way you wring your hands and worry your bottom lip brings him right back to when he first met you. Your shyness has always provoked a reaction from him - an understanding at first, from the introvert in him. Then protectiveness, when he started spending time with you.

And now, knowing you the way he does, with you opening up to him over the past few months, he lets his mouth relax into a half-smirk, one hand curling around your waist to pull you into his side as he teases, 'Use your words, Pin.'

You huff, recognising the playfulness in his body language, but you still struggle to get the words out. 'They’re - um, damnit - they're adventurous.'

He sets his face in a mock stern expression. 'And what, I’m too borin' for them?'

Narrowing your eyes at him, which makes him grin, you deadpan, 'It's just - they're not your thing, ok? They're of the -' you pause, and gesture in air quotes. 'Occupational variety.'

Comprehension dawns on him, and he drawls, 'Ah, you mean slutty costumes.'

He can feel your skin heat at his words as you duck your head, and he teases, voice low and gruff by your ear. 'And will you be wearin' somethin' slutty for me tonight, sweetheart?'

Your breath hitches and your lips part, eyes glassy at the turn of the mood. 'Joel -'

He isn't a particularly spiritual man, but the longer he lives, the more he’s convinced that some people are put on earth for a reason.

And Lucy's raison d'etre is to cockblock him at every turn.

The door bursts open with a brash energy that is uniquely hers (with an uncanny resemblance to Ellie's), and your best friend doesn't skip a beat at the sight of the pair of you canoodling. 'Save the making out for later, Miller. We gotta go get ready Pin, c’mon!'

You hastily press a kiss to his whiskered cheek. 'Pick your costume and lock up behind you, ok? I'll see you in a bit.'

Lucy all buts hauls you out of the shop, throwing over her shoulder. 'See ya later, Miller! You better show up half naked!'

Curiosity getting the better of him, Joel pulls back the sheet from the clothes rack, and his eyebrows reach for his softly graying hairline. Leafing through the options, he pauses somewhere in the middle, and smiles to himself.

He’ll show you adventurous.

Maria and Tommy's Halloween party is easily the most anticipated event in the Jackson social calendar. Illicit incentives often swap hands for a RSVP, with those unfortunate enough to be assigned patrol duties on the night willing to pay handsomely for a swap in shifts.

While the kids are knocked out at home from eating their body weight in sugar, the Tipsy Bison is teeming with townsfolk. The normally dark interiors are decked out floor to ceiling in garish black and orange, as if people wouldn't get the memo.

Joel was apprehensive on his arrival, pausing for a moment outside the double doors of the establishment to steel himself. But as soon as he crosses the threshold into the warm and boisterous bar, so loud that his right ear rings, he realises that his worries are completely unwarranted.

No one even bats an eyelid as he wades through the throngs of partygoers, nodding politely at acquaintances who drunkenly shout his name and raise a pitcher in greeting.

It's pure madness - Halloween stopped existing for him twenty years ago. The last time he went to a Halloween party was their neighbour's barbeque. He still remembers the Gryffindor costume he bought Sarah, and how big she smiled swishing around in her robe, casting gibberish spells on her friends all night.

This, however, is a distinctly grownup affair.

When he put on his costume and stood in front of the mirror an hour ago, he could barely look at his own reflection. But now, compared to others in the room, turns out his choice is almost demure.

He only saw Gladiator once when it came out a couple of years before the outbreak, but he liked it, and when he saw the costume on the rack, he picked it out straight away.

The dark red cape sits on his shoulders and drapes across half of his torso - shirtless, of course - baring his right arm. He's a bit self-conscious about the skirt (he's sure there's a name for it but the packaging didn't shed light on this), which sits mid-thigh, fastened by a belt around his waist. He's even wearing the Roman sandals and leather bracelet, and a plastic sword hangs from his belt - the full monty.

The vain side in him thinks he can pull it off, but more importantly -

He wore it for you.

But you're nowhere to be seen, even after he grabs a beer from the counter, having circled the bar twice. Spotting a lone empty chair at a high table, he decides to perch (pulling down his skirt so his boxers don't show) while he has a drink and looks for you.

His keen eyes scan the room methodically. Sexy witches, slutty lumberjacks, misbehaving firemen, naughty nurses - together with the noise, everyone and everything seems to blur into one, and he almost gives up when something familiar crosses his line of sight.

Joel frowns.

Hold up. That toolbelt looks familiar. His eyes narrow as he squints at the worn faded leather.

It is his toolbelt. The toolbelt that disappeared from his garage workshop a couple of days ago that Ellie swears she knows nothing about. That little shit.

Then his gaze pulls back, like a camera zooming out, and he finds that the toolbelt is sitting on the soft swell of a pair of hips, over short denim cut-offs that he's sure he's seen before, and below a red flannel. His red flannel, knotted at the waist, that he knows you sleep in every night.

His chest rumbles with something primal, and he downs the rest of his beer in one big gulp before slamming the empty pint glass on the table and getting onto his feet.

You don’t see him coming, but you know without turning around the moment a pair of strong hands close over your hips in a possessive grip, pulling you towards the bathroom in the back of the bar.

He knocks a breathless laugh out of you when he pushes you up the closed door, the noise of the party muted by the thick timber as you grin up at him, preening at the way his dark gaze rakes over your costume.

A shiver runs down your spine as your own undoubtedly dilated eyes follow the solid outline of his right arm, which flexes as he rests his palm on the door behind you, then down his broad chest and the soft belly he’s so nonchalantly putting on display.

It’s absurd, you know - it’s just a tacky Halloween costume, but the seams of your eyes prickle as you muse how comfortable he is in his own skin.

'And what exactly are you dressed up as?' he asks, sliding his free hand under the toolbelt to squeeze your ass.

'A slutty contractor,' you answer boldly, dragging your index finger down his bare chest. 'Isn't it obvious?'

'And you thought stealin' my toolbelt for your little costume was a good idea?' he growls.

'Well, I didn't know you'd turn up as a gladiator of all things,' you tease, wrapping your fingers around the hilt of his plastic sword.

It should not make his pulse spike like this.

'Not only that, sweetheart. I'm a slutty gladiator, thank you very much,' he retorts, walking into you to slot his hips flush against yours.

You shoot him a loaded smirk that instantly has his boxers shrink by two sizes. Ripping his cape off his shoulders, you ask cheekily, ‘And what does my champion demand as punishment -'

Joel doesn't let you finish your sentence, swallowing the rest of it with a kiss so deep that it steals your voice and takes out your knees in one fell swoop.

Grinning at the way you're already bonelessly slumped against him, he winks, nose brushing yours. 'I can think of a few things, sweetheart.'

Note: Thank you for reading! I had so much fun dipping my toe back into the Seams universe, I hope you did too. This is me warming up with a view of returning to writing for the series proper, fingers crossed sometime soon! Comments/reblogs/asks are very much appreciated as always 🧡

Thank you @firefly-graphics for the adorably spooky dividers!

#fuckyeahseams #hallow'seams #seams halloween special #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff

836 notes · View notes

bluesylveon2 · 1 year

Text

Ortho vs a Teenage Girl and a 5-year-old Prince

Summary: When Ortho's hard work of trying to set up the Prefect with his brother is about to go down the drain by two kids. Disaster ensures!

Notes: This is my first time writng for Twisted Wonderland so I hope that you enjoy! I used Yuu but this can be read as a x Reader too! Yuu/reader is a female!

Word Count: 4835

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

Warnings: possible ooc characters, not beta read, slight book 6 spoilers, references to the yasamina and sunset savanna events, irl references, Lilia wanting to be a grandpa, and some alcohol mentioned (Papa Crewel drinking wine)

Family Day is the one day in Night Raven College when families are invited to tour the campus or visit their loved ones. The event itself was big since most students come from well-off families. However, sometimes some parents were too busy to show up, which was okay. One example is Idia and Ortho's parents. Both siblings didn't mind them not showing up. Idia preferred playing video games in his room but not Ortho. Ortho had a different plan involving the Ramshackle Prefect, Yuu. The Prefect has to be the toughest girl Ortho has ever met. Ortho has never met a girl who can defeat six overblots (one of them was his brother), wrangle a cat monster, and deal with Crowley's (bs) demanding jobs.

Now Ortho was not dumb. He might be more human-like, but he could sense how much his brother's heart races when the Prefect talks to him or how his hair turns slightly pink when they play video games together. Ortho thinks Idia's feelings towards the Prefect grew after she and a few others broke into the Island of Woe to save their friends. Sadly, Idia has never acted on his feelings and prefers to stay on the sidelines and admire Yuu from afar.

On the other hand, Ortho was not having it. He can see just how happy his brother is around Yuu. Plus, Ortho would gladly accept her as his sister-in-law. It's like hitting two birds with one stone!

Ortho made it his mission to mention his brother whenever he hung out with the Prefect. It can range from "Big Brother made a new invention" or "Big Brother wants to play a new game with you!" If Ortho can have some of Idia's friends play video games with him, he can surely set Yuu up with his brother.

Of course, the Fates must have heard him and introduced two rivals during the school's annual Family Day.

Who are his rivals? A teenage girl and a 5-year-old prince.

---

Rival 1: Najma Viper

Ortho hummed as he glided down the hall of different families, searching for the Prefect. Luckily he had the whole day to put his plan in motion since his parents could not attend today's event, and Idia stayed in his room. According to Ace, who took Grim so they could prank his older brother, Yuu was handling different errands assigned by Crowley for Family Day. What would be the perfect way to spend Family Day with a (potential) sister by helping her and inviting her over to hang out with his Big Brother?

Ortho turned around a corner but stopped when he saw the Prefect occupied with a young girl. He moved closer to get a better look.

"Jamil is very talented. He is smart, can cook, sing, and is a great dancer! You should see how happy he gets when he dances. He is the perfect guy!" The girl exclaimed with excitement in her eyes.

Ortho froze. Jamil? The perfect guy? What in the Twisted Wonderland was going on here? He had a bad feeling about this.

"He would be a great boyfriend for you. You should've seen how he kept staring at you when you visited the Scalding Sands," the girl adds, causing Yuu to blush.

Ortho felt as if Tartarus froze over. "NO!" He suddenly yelled and flew out of his hiding spot.

Yuu and the other girl turn to Ortho.

"No?"

"I mean, no way! Jamil is so cool!" Ortho said in an attempt to save himself. Yuu and the girl both smile, causing Ortho to kick himself internally. He should be hyping his brother up, not Jamil! Ortho turned to the other girl. "I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself. Hi, I'm Ortho Shroud, a first-year, and Yuu's friend," he extended a hand to her.

The girl shook his hand and had a pleasant smile on her face. "Hi Ortho, I'm Jamil's sister, Najma." Najma seemed kind, but Ortho was not buying it. If Ortho knew anything about Jamil, Najma must be good at hiding her true feelings. "Say, Ortho, since you seem to know my brother, would you agree that he is talented?"

"I guess I can agree with you there," Ortho said while reflecting on Jamil's performance at the VDC.

Najma's eyes furrow slightly, "You guess?" She turned to Yuu, "What do you think, Yuu? Don't you think that he is talented? Or handsome? Or both?" she smirked.

Yuu hesitantly laughed, "Well-" her eyes scanned the hall until she spotted a familiar mop of white hair. "Kalim!"

Kalim turned to the trio and smiled brightly, "Yuu! Najma! Ortho! What are you all doing here?"

"Just catching up," Najma replied instantly and turned to Kalim with a devious look, "Say, Kalim, what do you think are my brother's best features?

Kalim hummed in thought before responding. "Well, he is a good dancer, can cook, and is very strong! He once told me he is as strong as ten men!"

"Whoa," Yuu replied with awe, and Najma smiled proudly.

"Give Big Brother a day, and he can be stronger than one hundred men with an invention," Ortho muttered. The others were too busy to notice Ortho float off to search for his brother. Jamil may be talented, but his Big Brother is that and more! He had to drag him out of his room first to show it.

Ortho was at the Mirror Chamber when he noticed someone enter from Scarabia's door. He saw the frantic look on Jamil's face and made his way to him.

"Jamil! How are you?'

"Fine," the boy replied, searching the room for something or someone.

"Are you looking for someone?" Ortho asked and innocently tilted his head to the side.

"In fact, yes. I'm looking for Kalim and my little sister, Najma. She looks a little bit like me but shorter."

"Oh, that was your sister! I saw her with Kalim earlier! They were talking to Yuu, nearby one of the first-year classrooms. I can lead the way for you if you want." Vil would be proud of his acting skills if he could see him now.

"Great Sevens, those two," Jamil sighed out of relief. "Please."

The two trek through the school with Orthro leading. Jamil could not see the glee in the boy's eyes. If he removed Najma from the picture, he could have Yuu all to himself and use the time to praise his Big Brother! Ortho mentally high-fives himself for the genius plan.

"Jamil is also really good at basketball. You should have seen when he made the winning shot against RSA," Kalim's voice echoed, causing Jamil to walk faster.

"NAJMA! KALIM!" Jamil called out once they were in his sight. "Stop annoying the Prefect. We need to get back to Scarabia for the party."

Najma's face lights up with an idea, "We can invite Yuu!"

Jamil rolled his eyes and grabbed the two by the back of their shirts, "No, this party is for both our parents and Kalim's siblings. We will be late if we do not leave right now." Jamil stopped his scolding and turned to Yuu. "I'm so sorry about them, Prefect. I don't want them to interrupt your day."

Yuu laughed, "It's alright. They were telling me some things about you."

Jamil's eyes widen in horror, "WHAT?"

"I didn't know you once faced a hundred bad guys with swords before."

Jamil turned to the duo in his hands, then Yuu, then back at them again. His face became red as Riddle's hair as the seconds passed, "We are leaving!"

"But Jamil!" Kalim and Najma whine.

"NO BUTS! We are leaving before you feed Yuu more lies," He dragged the two down the hall and back to Scarabia.

"None of that were lies though!" Kalim's voice echoed.

"I've see the way you look at her and it is sad to watch. You needed the help anyway!" Najma added.

"No, I don't!" Jamil replied. The trio's voices became quieter until they were out of sight.

Ortho and Yuu stood in silence. After some time passed, Ortho glanced over at Yuu.

"Big Sister, based on the changes in your heart, I can tell you are feeling sad. Is something wrong?" Ortho asked and noticed the sad look on the Prefect's face. The Prefect's eyes widen from getting caught.

"Yeah. It's just…watching Jamil and Najma interact reminds me of my younger siblings back home. Sometimes I feel lonely watching everyone interact with their families."

"How many siblings do you have?'

"A younger brother and a younger sister. You know, Ortho, you remind me of my little brother." Yuu smiled and ruffled Ortho's hair. Ortho's eyes became bright with joy.

"Thank you, Big Sister. You might feel lonely now, but most people here consider you family. For example, Ace and Deuce."

Yuu laughed, the corners of her mouth turning upward slightly. "They are like brothers to me, always getting into trouble but loveable at the same time."

"See!"

"I can't forget the Ramshackle ghosts, the rest of the Heartslabyul guys, and the professors!"

"Yeah, so you may miss your family sad, but you still have people around you who consider you their own. You won't be lonely until Crowley finds you a way home!"

Yuu smiled, "You're right, Ortho. Come here." she opened her arms to him in a hug that Ortho immediately flew to. "Thank you, Ortho, for cheering me up." She lets go of the boy and looks around the hallway. "By the way, where is Idia? I haven't seen him all day."

"Oh!" Ortho replied, unaware of the pitter-patter of the child's feet getting louder and louder. "He wanted me to tell you about the new Star Rogue game that just came out. Big Brother wants you to"

"Auntie Yuu!"

----

Rival 2: Cheka Kingscholar

Ortho wished that kicking a 5-year-old kid across the island would not be a high-risk thing to do. His parents had already dealt with the damage caused by him and his big brother on the Island of Woe. The last thing his parents need is to deal with the royal family of Sunset Savanna.

Still, Ortho has got to be one of the few people who can say one of his rivals is a kindergartener. A child, for crying out loud! An annoying child who has been clinging to the Prefect, talking her ear off about how great his Unca Leona is, and is using his big brown eyes (that reminded Ortho of the toddler's eyes from a popular babysitter's anime Idia loves) to increase his cuteness by 100%.

"Give me five seconds, and I can increase my cuteness by 1000%. Big Brother recently installed a program to do that," Ortho muttered to himself while glaring at the newest addition to the group. He could use that feature to his advantage. Still, the child will not give him the opportunity by choosing to wrap himself around her waist and staying there like a koala.

"Cheka! What are you doing here, and where are your attendants? Yuu frantically asked and looked around for them. The last thing she wanted to do was get on the royal family's bad side.

"I couldn't wait to see you, Auntie, so I left them all behind! Hee hee!"

Yuu's mouth opened from shock. "we need to find them right away!"

Cheka didn't share the same feelings as Yuu and instead just laughed it off, "We could find Unca instead. Did you know that he is very cool and strong? He has so many friends that we all played together once. He even made me fly!"

Yuu could only respond in a confused tone. Ortho felt his patience run thin from the young prince.

"I'm sorry, Prince Cheka, but Yuu is busy right now." Ortho tried to pry the cub off Yuu, but Cheka refused to let go. He could try to use more force, but it can lead to a torn uniform and an unhappy Professor Crewel.

Ortho's words fly past Cheka's ears, "Not now! This is an emergency!" the young prince turned and glared at Ortho.

Oh, he is going down! Give him a few seconds, and he could blast the child out of existence!

"An emergency?" Yuu asked, unaware of Ortho's hair looking Idia's when he gets angry.

"You must marry my Unca because he loves you and wants to be with you forever!"

Yuu laughed and moved her arms around to carry Cheka, "Did your Uncle tell you that?" she asked while imaging the grumpy lion down on one knee and asking her to marry him.

Cheka nodded his head so fast. "Of course! He wants you to be his princess! If you marry him, then you can be my Auntie. Then we can all spend each day playing!"

Ortho, who was starting to get annoyed, immediately butted in, "Big Sister! If you do that, then your other family will miss you! Big Brother will miss you too!"

Cheka glared at Ortho again. He turned to Yuu and increased his cuteness by pouting his lips, "Unca Leona loves you, Auntie! He can die from heartbreak if you're not with him!"

Ortho rolled his eyes, "Your uncle won't die."

"You don't know that! You're the only one who can make him happy! Auntie, Unca Leona is so sad without you! We can't let Unca cry!"

Yuu hesitantly laughed, "I'm pretty sure your Uncle has other things that make him happy."

"But would you consider marrying him to make him happier?" Cheka asks, his eyes glistening with tears. Ortho rolled his eyes again.

"I think we are too young to get married?"

"In the future, then?"

Ortho had enough. "That's it! Prince Cheka, Big Sister is busy right now, and she needs to go." He flew over and grabbed one of Yuu's arms to pull her away.

Cheka leaped out of Yuu's remaining arm and grabbed it to pull, "No, she is going with me!"

"No, she needs to see my big brother!" pull.

"No, she must see my Unca! He will cry if he never sees her." pull.

"He. Will. Not. Die!" pull.

"Well, I bet my Unca is cooler than your brother. He can drive his car through land and sea*!" pull.

"Oh yeah? Well, my brother can take apart a blastcycle, customize it with a functional value, AND drive it!" pull.

"Oh yeah? My brother can fly a flying carpet! That takes a lot of skill to master." Najma added, materializing out of nowhere after she escaped from her brother. She pulled Ortho and Cheka's hands off of Yuu and glared at them.

Ortho groaned, "Not you again!"

The three began to argue about which of their family members was better and left Yuu off to the side.

Yuu's arms were now sore from all the pulling, and she could feel a headache forming. Despite this, Yuu could not stop a small smile from forming on her face. She blinked once and saw her younger siblings arguing instead of her friends. The argument was both cute and an annoying thing to watch.

"ENOUGH!" Yuu yelled, causing everyone to stop arguing. "You all need to stop arguing because it is not helping me pick a side."

"Exactly. You three are causing a ruckus on school grounds," A stern voice added. Everyone turned around to find Professor Crewel glaring at them. Najma and Cheka tremble from the professor's gaze. "You pups need to apologize to Yuu for the incoming headache and disrupting the school."

Ortho, Najma, and Cheka give each other a look and nod, "We're sorry, Big Sister/Yuu/Auntie."

Yuu smiled, kneeled, and opened her arms for a hug. "I forgive you," she says, and the three children join in on the group hug. Crewel smiled at the sight before clearing his throat to get their attention.

"Yuu, can you help me sort the potions in my office?" He asked and tapped his pointer three times against his palm.

"Of course," she stood up. "You three be good now," Yuu ruffled the children's hair and headed towards Crewel's office.

Crewel turned towards Ortho, "Shroud. I want you to bring these two back to their respective dorms. You can help guide them back."

Ortho sighed, "Yes sir," he replied, looked at the other two, and flew off towards the Mirror Chamber. "My brother is the coolest, though," he whispered to himself, but Cheka, having enhanced hearing, heard it all.

"My Unca is cooler plus 100."

Najma rolled her eyes, "You mean times 100? Anyways, my brother is cooler times 1000."

The three could not help the laugh escaping their lips. They will cease fire for now. The winner can be chosen another day.

----

"-uu. Yuu." Crewel called out and shook Yuu's body to wake her up.

Yuu groaned but opened her eyes to the bright light of Crewel's office. Her body was on his red leather couch, Grim snuggled beside her, and his thick coat acted as her blanket.

"You need to wake up. The sun has already set, and I want you to get some sleep tonight," Crewel said softly and stood up to walk to his desk. The campus sounded quiet except for the crickets chirping outside.

Ah, so Family Day is over.

"When did Grim show up?" Yuu asks through a yawn. She sits up, picks up Grim, and places him on her lap.

"About an hour ago. He was already knocked out when Trappola brought him here," Crewel picked up a neatly wrapped box on his desk and walked back to the Prefect. "These are for you." Yuu grabbed the box and immediately opened it. Inside was an assortment of cookies and chocolates that looked too expensive for Yuu. "Since your actual family is not here for Family Day, I wanted to give you this to celebrate it. Feel free to share it with your friends,"

Yuu could feel tears forming. She used to feel alone after she crashed the entrance ceremony, but not anymore. Yuu now has people who love her despite the possibility of her leaving. She appreciates all he does as someone she views as a father figure in Twisted Wonderland. Crewel's gift may not be as grand as her whole family showing up, but the small things count.

"Thank you so much," she placed Grim and the gift down and stood up to hug the man.

Crewel smiled, "You're welcome, Yuu." he pulled away. "Now get some rest, or else you might give the Pomefiore students a heart attack if you show up with eyebags."

Yuu laughed, "Of course," she grabbed Grim, the box, and headed out the door. Yuu smiled at her memories from today as she walked back to Ramshackle. She enjoyed reuniting with Najma and Cheka despite their arguing with Ortho over who she should hang out with.

Why were they so persistent about it? Yuu thought to herself when it suddenly hit her.

"I forgot about Idia!" Yuu exclaimed. Her movement caused Grim to mumble something in his sleep. Yuu tucked Grim over her shoulder and ran toward the Mirror Chamber when she saw the guy in question heading her way.

"Idia!" Yuu called out with glee. It had been a long day for her, so seeing him made her smile. "Where have you been all day? I wanted to hang out with you."

Idia blushed and started sweating, "Y-you did? I was in my room since my parents did not show up today. I was actuallywaitingonyousowecouldplaythisnewgametogether." Idia mumbled the last part so fast that Yuu could not understand it.

"I'm sorry. I missed the last part?"

"I said I was waiting for you to play the new Star Rogue together. I asked Ortho to get you, but he returned without you."

Yuu laughed nervously, "Ah, that. Yeah, a lot of stuff happened, and Ortho was busy." She replied, unaware of Idia's increasing heartbeat caused by the Prefect's adorable laugh.

Idia imagined there was a meter beside him, and it kept growing every time the Prefect did something cute (read: that is a lot of things). There's a limit that could cause it to explode.

Idia avoided Yuu's stare by looking at the fancy box in the girl's hands. His eyes lit up in excitement. "Where did you get the sweets from?"

Yuu smiled. "Professor Crewel!" Saying his name made his earlier words replay in her mind. Suddenly, her face lit up like she had an idea. "Hey, Idia. Why don't you and Ortho come over to Rhamshakle for a sleepover? We can play Star Rogue and eat these sweets together."

Cue the meter beside Idia, exploding into a million pieces. Now Idia was red, frozen, and unsure about what to do.

Yuu waved a hand across Idia's face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"YES!" Idia squeaked out and cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah. I don't mind having a sleepover at Ramshackle tonight."

Yuu squealed from excitement. "Yay!" She jumped with glee. Suddenly, she tucked the candy box under one arm, used her other arm to grab Idia's shoulder, and tiptoed to kiss his cheek.

Idia.exe has stopped working. Oh yeah, Idia was VERY red now, and his hair turned a bright shade of pink.

Is this how the MC feels when they get kissed by a love interest? Idia thought to himself like he was in an otome game. He could see the intimacy meter between him and Yuu go up.

"I'm so excited! I will go ahead and set up the lounge. You can grab Ortho and whatever else we need for the sleepover. We can meet up in my dorm after we get everything."

"S-s-sounds good," Idia gave a tiny thumbs up, which was the best he could do then.

"See you then!" Yuu called out and headed back towards Ramshackle with a pep in her step. Once Yuu was out of sight, Idia pulled out his tablet to connect to Ortho.

"Hello, Big Brother! Do you need something?"

Idia could not articulate anything. First, his crush invited him to her dorm, and then she kissed him. The Prefecf actually KISSED HIM on the cheek.

"THEPREFECTKISSEDME!!"

"What? Did you say that Big Sister kissed you?"

"Just on the cheek, but it still counts! The UR character actually took an interest in boring old me! Ortho, I need you to get things for our sleepover with the Prefect…."

Ortho chose to not listen to his brother rambling. All he could hear was that he was victorious.

"Oh, Big Brother," Ortho smiled after Idia was done. "I am so happy for you."

Score: Ortho: +1, Najma: 0, Cheka: 0

----

Earlier in Savanaclaw:

"UNCA!!!!" Cheka yelled as he barged into Leona's room, left the door open, and pounced on Leona's stomach. Leona let out an 'oof' and glared at his nephew. He sat up, let his blankets fall, and allowed Cheka to sit on his lap.

"Why are you in my room? You're interrupting my nap."

"You need to marry Yuu, or you could die!" Cheka exclaimed while jumping on Leona's body.

Leona rolled his eyes, "I will not die, kid."

Cheka stopped jumping and leaned toward Leona's face, "You don't know that, so you need my help to impress her!"

Leona pushed Cheka's face away, "Look, furball, I do not need any help to impress Yuu. She can take one look at me and realize that is all she needs." Leona was too prideful to say it aloud, but he grew to like the herbivore. Has she been clueless to him affections her? Yes but he refuses to ask his nephew, of all people, for help.

Cheka blinked and stared at his uncle's face, "You need more than that, Unca!"

Leona groaned in annoyance. Cheka was too stubborn not to give up, and Leona was tired. Leona contemplated his next step when he heard familiar footsteps approaching his door.

Ah, it is about time for Ruggie to come to pick up his laundry.

"Hey, Leona! You better have your laundry somewhat neat." His voice called out, slowly getting louder as he got closer.

Leona grabbed the back of Cheka's shirt, "Hey Cheka, I'll let you help me if we play a game first."

Cheka's eyes lite up in glee, "Oh! What game?"

As Ruggie walked into Leona's doorway, Leona picked up Cheka and threw him at Ruggie's face.

"What the" Ruggie exclaimed and managed to catch the laughing Cheka. Leona quickly jumped up and walked to his balcony.

"I'll leave him to you. Don't go looking for me." Leona called back.

"Hey!" Ruggie runs after him, but it is too late. Leona already jumped off and gracefully landed on the ground. He walked out, leaving Ruggie and Cheka alone in the dorm room.

Cheka turned to Ruggie with a bright grin, "Let's do it again!"

Ruggie could only sigh. This will be a long day.

Bonus:

"Father, when you said there was an emergency, I did not think makeup would be the reason." Silver's legs started to feel numb as Lilia rubbed some eyeshadow on his eyelids. Earlier, Lilia was adding different makeup powders to the boy's face, so he had to resist the urge to sneeze.

"Hush, Silver! Master Lilia requires us to sit here for hours getting for…what is it for actually?" Sebek's face contoured in confusion despite his eyes being closed for his eyeshadow.

"Fufufu the Prefect needs to be starstruck by your looks that she will say yes if either of you asks for her hand in marriage."

"MARRIAGE?!" Silver and Sebek exclaimed at the same time, their eyes opening wide. Sebek's scream caused some of the photos on Malleus' wall to shake.

"Hush, you two. You will ruin the hard work I spent hours on." Lilia replied and threw some glitter at his son's faces as a finishing touch. Malleus opened his eyes and glanced at Lilia.

"I understand why you want to dress up and use makeup to impress the Child of Man, but are three people required for this?"

"Of course! The more people, the better, and I need only one of you to succeed. Now look at yourselves." Lilia stepped away so the trio could look at themselves in the mirror. "Do you or do you not feel bonita?"

The trio gave each other a confused look. None of them heard of that word before. Lilia may have picked up some of Rook's weird language.

"We feel bonita?" They replied, sounding more like a question than a statement. Lilia clapped his hands together and smiled brightly. He heard about the multitude of people with similar goals as him. He needed to act fast, or else it would be too late. If there's one thing the fae learned from his gamer friend, Gloomurai, is that otome games have multiple suitors for the MC. From Lilia's perspective, throwing all three of his sons into the competition for Yuu's heart would lead to a good ending for him. Lilia finished his plan by walking over to the vanity and handing them all a ring box.

"Wonderful because you look bonita!" Despite his small stature, the man stood behind his sons and pushed them out the door. "Now go and woo the Prefect! Don't return until I see a ring on her finger and a promise of future grandchildren!" Lilia called out before slamming the door in their faces.

The trio stared silently at the door, trying to understand what had happened. Luckily, Malleus decided to break the awkward atmosphere.

"Now what?"

Additional Rivals: Malleus, Silver, and Sebek

---

Professor Crewel cannot believe he is saying this, but he understands Professor Trein's stress in raising children. Who knew that caring for (more like adopting) a magicless human would attract so many mutts to her? Crewel had to admit that his daughter was beautiful (thanks to his hard work), but couldn't it have been from someone who was not as horrible as them? The man could only count a few decent guys with one hand, but they were not enough for his pup. His pup deserved the best.

Crewel sat on his sofa and snacked some crackers topped with raisin butter. Earlier, he had to save his pup from a group of children using their secret code. Then, he saw the older Shroud boy speak to his daughter as she walked back to Ramshackle.

The man sighed. He opened his wine fridge to grab a bottle of red wine, a glass from the cabinet behind him, and poured himself a drink. Whoever his pup picks better be the right one for her. Until then, he will watch the lovesick mutts fight each other for her attention. Crewel swirled the red wine around and drank it all in one go. He could feel the stress already forming from the imaginary image of the mutts fighting on school property, Crowley barging into classrooms, and the overblots were already making a dent in the school's budget. Teenage boys and property damage would make it even worse.

Crewel eyed the bottle one more time before making a decision. He may need a stronger drink.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2. Do not modify or republish

Sorry for the wait but the fic is now here! I hope that yall enjoyed it :)

* - the "sea" Cheka is referring to is a giant puddle Leona drove through during his Sunset Savanna event card vignette

Taglist: @nanograms, @krispyenthusiastkitten, @strawberrycaramelcapybara, @mochiclouds, @kitty-page, @fancyhawk45, @xxoomiii, @kiyoyachisimp, @arisdelssy, @rainbowcake1212, @forgwater, @justyoureverydaytwstsimp, @savanaclaw1996, @shrimpsterprefect, @that-creepy-girl-000, @penguinmilo, @tingerines, @julessketchbook, @i-am-the-avatar-of-idiocy, @booming-spam, @nekanecorvus, @glacticrose, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @imakeeggswet, @hatshroom, @lunarapple, @simp-simp-no-mi, @the-hearteater, @aroseyhyena, @vitaniangel-blog, @nxyll34, @everettelz

2K notes · View notes

sugurubabe · 3 months

Text

Daddy Vibes (part 1)

NSFW! Satoru Gojo x reader • breeding kink • female reader • penetration • Satoru is your husband that has wanted a baby ever since you two got married.

part 2 here

part 3 here

Satoru can’t wait to be a dad. Specifically, a girl dad. He dreams of the day he can hold a tiny baby girl that looks just like you in his arms. He’s tried convincing your relentlessly to finally quit your job and focus on being a mommy and house wife. However, you’re a stubborn woman. You love your career, you love the grind, and you love your freedom as a woman with no kids. You don’t take any birth control to avoid the unpleasant side effects and so, Satoru is forced to wear condoms. He finally decides to put his foot down one day as you’ve left him with no other choice but to implement a…

“SEX BAN?! You want a sex ban?!” You cry out furiously as Satoru smirks at you.

“Mmm… yeah, sweetheart. I do.” Satoru leans against the doorframe of your shared bedroom. He’s smirking at your shocked expression.

“B-but we have sex almost everyday!” You sputter, unable to comprehend why your insatiable husband suddenly wants to enforce a sex ban.

“Well, there is one way out of the sex ban, darling…” Satoru grins smugly. Your stomach drops as you realize that he’s been plotting.

“What?” You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for the absolutely batshit insane condition Satoru is readying himself to spew.

“Aw, don’t pout wifey! It’s simple. I want a baby. I’m tired of wasting my loads in those fucking condoms. They should be inside you, knocking your tight little body up.” He says calmly. You tense at his words, eyes widening and jaw dropping.

“You’re not fucking serious, Gojo.”

“Gojo? What happened to Satoru?” He frowns.

You cross your arms, pacing around the room. You’re not ready for a baby. Not ready to give up your career, everything you’ve worked hard for. You know Satoru wants a baby, that his clan is demanding him to produce an heir for the Gojo line. You knew this when you married him, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. You just didn’t think the time would come so soon. You turn to Satoru, decided that two can play at this game.

“Fine, sex ban it is.” You grin like a Cheshire cat as you watch Satoru’s face pale when you call out his bluff. He nods curtly and walks away, visibly shaken.

The sex ban is hard. Scratch that, it’s unbearable. You’d grown accustomed to making love with your husband everyday, sometimes twice a day. You didn’t realize how much your body craved him and the sweet release only he could give you. You found yourself hiding in the bathroom at work, rubbing at your clit furiously with a hand over your mouth as you tried to make yourself cum to no avail. Your nights were spent in the shower with the detachable water head between your legs as your tried (and failed) to stifle your moans.

Satoru wasn’t faring much better. He was spending his lunch breaks at Jujutsu Tech stroking one out in his office with the door locked. He fought the urge to call off the sex ban, knowing you’d give in first. His nights were spent by the bathroom door listening to you moan needily as you used the shower head on your aching clit. He would stroke his long and thick cock furiously as he whined at the sounds of your moaning.

Everything came to a head the night you both decided to go out for drinks with your sister and brother in law. It was the first night your sister had gone out since having a baby. Your niece was only a few months old, and your sister spent the majority of the dinner showing you both videos and pictures of her sweet babe.

“She’s gorgeous.” You sighed as your sister showed you yet another beautiful picture of your niece in her crib. You couldn’t deny that something about the sweet baby made you ache for one of your own.

“So, when are you two trying for one, eh?” Your brother in law asked Satoru cheekily. Satoru tensed at the question and laughed bitterly.

“Believe me, brother. I’ve been trying to convince my lady to let me do what I was made for since we married. But no chance.” Satoru licked his teeth as he knocked back his whiskey.

“Jeez. Sorry, man. Your time will come.” Your brother in law smiled sympathetically at your husband before rejoining the conversation between you and his wife.

Gojo eyed the videos and pictures of your niece enviously. He wanted that for himself. A sweet baby of his own, born of the love you two shared. He wanted to see you swell with his seed, to soothe ache of your tender breasts with his mouth, and to hold your belly as you slept. He threw back another glass of whiskey and eyed you curiously when he saw you downing a glass of your own. Perhaps you noticed his irritation that night.

“Don’t you want one of your own?” Your sister asked you excitedly.

You hesitated before answering, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes… I think… I do.” You finally said, and you felt your husband grip your thigh under the table.

You turned slightly to Gojo, the look in your eyes conveying a silent message that said ‘you win’.

Gojo grinned radiantly and waved down the waiter.

“Bring a bottle of your finest champagne.”

The walk back to your penthouse apartment was silent as the sexual tension mounted. Satoru had an arm slung around your shoulders as you walked. When you finally arrived at your apartment building and walked into the elevator, Satoru hit the emergency stop button.

“What-“ you began to say but were cut off as Gojo planted his lips against yours harshly. His knee came between your legs as he parted them. He reached his hand under your dress and began rubbing at your weeping pussy through the soaked fabric of your panties.

“So ready for me, sweetheart.” He groaned as he broke the kiss and knelt between your legs. He bunched your dress above your hips and ripped your delicate panties right off.

“Satoruuu! Those were expensive!” You whine over the loss of your favorite La Perla panties.

“Don’t worry, baby. Daddy will replace them, yeah?” He crooned before diving into feast on your sloppy cunt. You cried out as you tangled your fingers into Gojo’s hair, holding him close to your pussy. Your husband knew just how to please you, knowing exactly where to touch you that would have you squirting down his throat. He inserted two thick and long fingers into your wet heat, curling them to stimulate that spongy spot in your walls. You cried out as he fingered you furiously while sucking at your clit.

“Oh fuck baby, gonna cum!” You wailed as you humped his face. Satoru moaned as you used him, loving the way you cried out. Nothing tasted better than his sweet wife’s cunt. Nothing could compare to the pretty sounds you made just for him.

“Come on, baby. Be a good girl, cum for daddy. Let me taste you.” He groaned against your cunt, moving his face side to side as he ate your pussy like a man starved. He felt your tight walls flutter around his fingers as you came with a scream. You held his head in place as he sucked at your clit, desperately trying to prolong your release. Satoru stood up and fixed your dress for you, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. Before you knew it, the elevator was off, going up to your penthouse.

“H-how did you get it to start?” You asked weakly.

“I own the building. I asked my maintenance man to be on standby. Don’t worry, there’s no cameras in here, baby. I’d rather hollow purple anyone before I let them see my wife cumming all over my face.” He winks at you.

You blush furiously as the elevator brings you to the penthouse floor. Satoru bends down and throws you over his shoulder, laughing as you gasp at the sudden action. He slaps your ass as he walks to your shared bedroom.

“That won’t be the only time you’re gasping for me, sweet wife.”

“Fuck baby!”

You were on your knees for Gojo as he sat on the bed. His cock was in your mouth as you sucked him off, your doe eyes looking up at him as you licked the wide mushroom tip of his dick. Gojo whimpered at the sight, resisting the urge to thrust into your soft mouth.

“You were made to suck my cock, baby. So fucking good for me, such a good girl..”

You smiled at his words and licked a long stripe from the base of his length, along the thick vein that ran down the middle, and up to the head. Satoru whined needily as he was reduced to a whimpering mess with his cock leaking.

“Get on my fucking dick, now!” He whined as he lifted you off the floor and placed you on his lap. You smirked as you straddled him. He lined up his cock with your entrance and sheathed himself in your sopping cunt in one go. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt suddenly full.

“Where’s that sassy fuckin’ smirk, huh?” He growled as he gripped your hips and began slamming into you. You could do nothing but moan lewdly and hide your face in his neck as he fucked you like a whore.

“Fuuuuuck! We’re gonna have 10 fucking babies because I promise you we’re never using birth control again.” Gojo gripped your hair with one hand and slapped your ass harshly with the other as he rutted into you.

“Please, daddy! Make me cum, wanna cum for you!” You cried out as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Satoru grinned devilishly as he repositioned you on the bed. He held you in a mating press with your legs on his shoulders and your knees up to your chest.

“Gonna breed this tight little cunt, yeah? Gonna have you so full of my seed, you’ll have to get pregnant, right? Tell daddy how much you wanna carry his baby.”

Gojo groaned as he felt your pussy clench at his dirty words. Your husband knew exactly how much you loved when he talked you through sex. You often joked that he could get you off with his voice alone.

“Y-yes, Satoru! Wanna have your baby, want you to make me a mommy!” You wail as tears stream down your face from the overwhelming sensation of his length bullying it’s way into your cervix. You were so full of Gojo, so in love with the idea of creating a baby with your loving husband, and so aroused by his primal need to breed you that your orgasm hit like a tidal wave.

“Shit!” You moaned as your back arched and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You squirt all over Satoru’s thighs as your walls clench tightly around his cock.

“Motherfucker! Ah fuck, cumming baby! Daddy’s gonna breed this fucking pussy!” Gojo snarled as he felt his balls tighten and his load was shot into your waiting cunt. He threw his head back as his jaw dropped. His moans were pornographic as your pussy milked him until he was spent. He slid out of you and collapsed next to you on the plush bed. You both had flushed faces and damp hair as you basked in the afterglow.

“We’re not done here tonight, y/n. Daddy needs to make sure his girl is a mommy by the end of the night, sweetheart.”

(A/N: part two?👀)

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru smut #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n

586 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 5 months

Note

(Hi Rome! Sorry to bother you)

But may I request part two of Ciel babysitting Elizabeth's younger brother? Perhaps this time they go out for a fun event (With Lizzie of course) when they turned around after watching a few people doing tricks the 3 didn't see (name) anymore so they panicked. What they didn't know was that the little one made friends with a new demon friend, Sebastian found him trying to carry him away from his demon friend, but his friend couldn't let him go

(Sorry for my bad grammar, and you can choose to ignore this)

Fandom: black butler

Pairing: black butler cast x male reader

Tags: child male reader - fluff

Warnings: none

None:

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(Name) held his nannies hand as he, his sister, Ciel and Mr. Sebastian went to the spring fair, Balloons and games and swan boat rides amongst it all "look!" (Name) pointed to what seemed to be a pink cloud on a stick, Funtom having funded this whole event so Ciel recognized it all including the candy floss that had gotten big through out England.

(Name) was dressed in a lovely spring outfit, Lizzie making sure he was dressed in his best "Mr. Sebastian! Look, a kitty!" When (name) learned the butler likes cats, he always found something cat related to show the other.

(Name) got to lead the group around and Sebastian won him toys, the boy over the moon with his new toy. "Whoa...." He said in awe at the juggler on a unicycle and the others watched curiously, unaware (name) saw something of even more interest and wandered off.

"Alright (name)...(name)?" The group looked around to realize that there was no itty bitty to, panic flooding them (save for Sebastian who was calm at all times).

"Hi!" (Name) looked up at the other who looked at him curiously, having gone to the human realm for business and this small human clung to him "hello little one" he said softly and (name) beamed "what's your name?" The boy asked and the other tilted his head "my name is Asmodeus... But you can call me Asmo" he said softly as he lifted the boy in his arms "my name is (name)! I'm four!" He said with pride and the lust demon chuckled.

This human was his now.

"Interesting"

Sebastian didn't know what to do or feel as he saw a sin hold little (name) who babbled about anything the boy could think of "there's my family!" (Name) tried to pull away but the demon clung to his new best friend "Mr. Sebastian! Do you think mama will be upset at my new friend?" (Name) asked as the demon basically claimed him as his son and after some convincing, (name) was wondering around with a "dog" much to his nannies worry.

Though Sebastian was worried on this friendship between the avatar of lust and his young masters brother in law...

#black butler x male reader #black butler x reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader #fluff #child male reader #male reader #x male reader

439 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2

Summary: You're determined to figure out why Eddie hates you, and he's more determined to avoid you at any cost. But confrontations with Jeff and Wayne may have him reconsidering all of his choices--including the one to become a father. How long can he run from his demons before they catch up to him?

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of drug dealing, mentions of Eddie's dad, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 5.9k

Chapter 2/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“He called you what?” Jess screeches, and you have to pull the receiver from your ear to avoid losing your hearing. “Oh, he’s a dead man.”

You place the phone back between your shoulder and cheek so you can stir the pot of marinara sauce while talking to your friend. She’d called to ask about your first day of work, and of course you’d mentioned Eddie’s frigid bitch comment. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a grown man who promises to call and then basically drops off the face of the Earth,” you say, trying to keep your anger at bay. There’s murmuring in the background coming from a voice deeper than Jess’s. “Do you have company? Because we can talk later–”

“Nah, I’m just at Viv and Jeff’s place.” Before you can tell her not to say anything, you hear her spreading the news to her sister and future brother-in-law. The girl’s a sweetheart, but she spreads news faster than the New York Times.

There’s the sound of shuffling and the phone being exchanged between parties, followed by Jeff saying, “Please tell me that you’re joking.”

“About being called a frigid bitch? I’m afraid not,” you confirm with a terse chuckle, draining a pot of spaghetti into the colander. “But, honestly, it’s really not a big deal. I’ve been called worse.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before he replies. “He’s such an asshole. Christ.” You detect a note of sadness in his tone, almost grief, like he’s mourning someone he thought he knew.

“Look, I shouldn’t have called him out on that stupid Cat and Mouse thing,” you say. “I should’ve just let it go, put a smile on my face, and acted civilly. I only said it to piss him off, and it worked.”

“No, this is more than you,” Jeff protests, letting out an exasperated sigh. “He never used to be like this. He used to actually be a great guy.” It sounds like he has more to say, but he just blurts out, “I gotta go,” and quickly hands the phone back to Jess.

The two of you talk for a few more minutes until the sauce on the stove starts to bubble, indicating that dinner’s ready.

“Grandma,” you call out, “it’s dinnertime!”

Your grandma pads out of her bedroom, hair disheveled even though you’d just combed through it this morning, and wrinkles her nose. “Not hungry,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, you gotta eat so you can take your medicine,” you tell her, keeping your tone even and patient, “otherwise, you’ll feel sick. C’mon, you love pasta.”

“I don’t have to take any goddamn medicine,” she snaps, scowling at the three pills at her table setting. “These aren’t even mine.”

Well, then, whose are they? Do you think I robbed a Rite Aid? You want to snap, but you bite back the retort. “Yes, Grandma, they are. This one,” you point to a small, white pill, “is for your blood pressure. And this one,” you point to a larger yellow one, “is your multivitamin, and this little yellow one is for, um…” you hesitate, “for Alzheimer's.”

“I don’t have Alzheimer’s!” Grandma shouts, swiping the pills to the ground. They fall with a clatter, bouncing underneath the table. “And I’m not eating shit.” She storms off to her room, muttering a slew of swear words under her breath.

You take a deep breath, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs. This isn’t the first time she’s had an outburst like this, and you know to just leave dinner on the stove, and she’ll come and eat in a few minutes when she forgets that she’s “not hungry.” In the meantime, you pick up the fallen medication and place them back on her napkin before digging into your own bowl of spaghetti.

Sure enough, she joins you about fifteen minutes later, exclaiming that “something smells good,” and eating her dinner happily. She only asks you twice where you’re from and when you’re leaving, but your heart still sinks with each question. The grandma who never missed a birthday and brought your favorite candy when she visited had all but been erased by a vicious disease. All you can do now is keep her safe and enjoy the brief moments when she’s smiling.

There’s only silence when Eddie shows up at Gareth’s house after dropping Harris at Wayne’s trailer. He’s usually greeted by the sound of everyone warming up and tuning their instruments. For a second, he thinks that he has the wrong night, or he forgot that they canceled practice, but he finds the guys sitting in Gareth’s garage. They all look up guiltily when they hear him walk in.

“Who died?” Eddie asks with a nervous laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Seriously, guys, what’s going on?”

Gareth bites his lip, wordlessly turning to Jeff. Eddie stiffens a bit at the silent shift to Jeff’s newfound leadership. Since when does Gareth look to Jeff to speak up?

“Ed, we need to talk with you,” Jeff says, sitting up a bit taller. “We, uh, we think Corroded Coffin needs a bit of hiatus.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and gives a disbelieving snort. “Oookay,” he says sardonically. “And why are you telling me that we should break up the band I founded?” He walks closer to his bandmates, challenging them with the fury behind his eyes.

“It’s not fun for us anymore, man,” Danny admits. “This is supposed to be something we do to relax, blow off some steam and get a break from the real world. But lately, it’s been more of a chore.”

“A chore?” Eddie echoes, scoffing loudly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Jeff stands up, ready to bulldoze through whatever counterattack Eddie concocts. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a miserable person to be around. When you first moved back, when Harris was a newborn, we figured it was just a lack of sleep. But your kid’s four now, Munson,” Jeff says pointedly, “and you’re still a dick.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Eddie mutters with an incredulous laugh. “Let me get this straight: I have a couple of bad days, and you shut shit down? Without even talking to me about it first?”

This ignites a spark in Jeff, and he puffs out his chest and takes another step towards Eddie. “You wanna talk about it? Fine; we’ll talk. What should we start with, hm? The way you can never be happy for any of us unless it benefits you? The way you act like an immature teenager, selling drugs instead of getting a real job? The way you treat women like they’re disposable?” He looks Eddie dead in the eyes and says curtly, “I heard about your little ‘frigid bitch’ comment. And at her job, too. Real nice.”

“Why do you care whether or not I still sell? Or how I treat women?” Eddie shoots back. “Did I get you in trouble with your old lady or something?”

“That’s the other thing,” There’s no mistaking the bitterness seeping from Jeff’s pores. “I tell you–one of my oldest, closest friends–that I’m getting married and having a baby with the love of my life, and you couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.”

Eddie feels his mouth dry up, knowing that everything Jeff’s said is true; he clears his throat and tries to play it off. “You cool with this, Gareth?” he asks the drummer, hoping no one caught the waver in his voice.

Gareth can’t even let his gaze meet Eddie’s as he mumbles, “I used to look up to you, man. You were my honest-to-God hero. But now, I…I don’t want to be like you anymore.”

The confession is a total knockout; Eddie stumbles back as though he’s actually been punched in the gut. “Whatever. You can all choke for all I care.” He slings his guitar case back over his shoulder and starts towards his car.

“Let us know when you decide to grow up,” Jeff calls out. Eddie just flips him off, slamming the car door and speeding down the road.

Fuck them, he thinks, barreling through a stop sign without even noticing. Who the fuck do they think they are; breaking up the band because they don’t like my attitude? They didn’t mind my attitude when it protected them from all the assholes at school, or when it got them into clubs when they were underage. But now they’re complaining about it? Fucking pricks.

As he turns into the trailer park entrance, a thought occurs to him: how the hell did Jeff know that I called her a “frigid bitch” at work? What did she do, call him up and snitch on me? Trying to ruin my life all because I didn’t call her? He grips the steering wheel even tighter, throwing the car in park and stomping out to Wayne’s trailer. He knocks impatiently, as though he’s been kept waiting.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Wayne asks, concern written all over his face. “And why do you look like you’re about to punch a wall–Jesus, Ed, take a breather.”

“They kicked me out of the band,” he mutters through gritted teeth, walking over to where Harris is eating a bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of the TV and sitting down next to him, pressing a kiss to his curly hair. “Gave me some BS about taking a break, how I make all of them miserable, blah blah blah.”

“What’s ‘BS’?” Harris pipes up with a mouthful of cheesy pasta, but Eddie just mumbles, “don’t worry about it,” under his breath, and the boy goes back to watching a rerun of The Flintstones.

Wayne sighs, scratching at the scruff of his beard. “They said that you make them miserable?” he asks, wincing slightly. He knew that his nephew’s demeanor had changed considerably over the years; what was once teenage cynicism had slowly morphed into a constant state of anger and unhappiness. Wayne thought maybe it was just in his head, or just around him, but if Eddie’s best friends noticed it, too, it was more serious than he’d initially thought.

“More or less,” Eddie chuckles tersely. “And then they threw something in there about my–my job, about how I, um, pursue lots of different women, how I don’t support their choices when we all know it’ll take away from the band.”

“Support their choices?” Wayne echoes.

“Jeff’s girl is having a baby, and he wants to marry her,” Eddie explains, biting his thumbnail as he shakes his head incredulously. “So he’s gonna have less time for Corroded Coffin. How are we supposed to make something of ourselves if he’s gonna flake?”

“I don’t know if that’s flaking–”

“I mean, let me get this straight,” Eddie interrupts, standing up to pace. “Jeff’s a goddamn superhero for knocking someone up and taking time away from the band, but I’m the one who’s ruining it for everyone? Because I actually act like a rockstar?”

“Well, Rockstar,” Wayne crosses his arms over his chest angrily, “have you ever stopped to consider that maybe they’re right? Stopped to think about how your actions impact them? How would you feel if Jeff berated you for wanting to start a life with someone you care about?” He pauses for a moment, glancing at his grandson. “I’m not saying you have to get married or settle down, but if you aren’t gonna have a maternal figure in your boy’s life, you should at least show him how to respect women.”

Eddie snorts, grabbing his keys from his pocket and walking towards the door. “Like how women respected me? How all the girls at school called me a ‘freak’ or a ‘loser’?”

“You’re not in high school anymore!” Wayne shouts, snapping Harris from his Fred Flintstone-induced daze. “You’re a grown-ass man! With a kid! And if you spend the rest of your life jumping from girl to girl because of how you were treated fifteen years ago, you’re gonna continue to be one miserable son-of-a-b–gun.”

Ignoring his uncle’s rebuttal, Eddie waves Harris over. “C’mon, Har-Bear. We gotta get home. Say good-bye to Grampa Wayne”

“Ed, you don’t have to–”,

“I’m really not interested in what you, or anyone else, has to say about my life,” he snaps, taking Harris’s empty bowl and tossing it in the sink with a clatter. “I’m doing the best I can; my kid is fed and clothed, and the lights and water are on in my place. Harris, I said, let’s go.” He takes his son’s hand and walks him to the car.

“Daddy!” Harris whines as Eddie buckles him into his carseat. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Grampa Wayne!”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s okay, bud. We just gotta get home. Grampa understands.”

Harris bursts into tears, screaming and wailing at the top of his lungs. “I! WANT! GRAMPA!” he shrieks, kicking the back of Eddie’s seat over and over. “I don’t like you anymore, Daddy! You’re mean!”

Eddie tries to ignore the sting of Harris’s insult, reminding himself that he’s just a kid, but the words are like a thorn in his side. “I’m mean?”

“Mhm,” Harris says with another heaving sob. He tries to catch his breath between his words. “You…m-made…Grampa Wayne…yell. A-And th-then you…didn’t let me…say…goodbye!”

A dull ache thumps behind Eddie’s frontal lobe. “I’m sorry, Har. I should’ve let you say goodbye. We can call him when we get home, and you can say goodbye then.”

This seems to quell Harris’s tantrum, and his soft hiccups slowly fade out as he drifts off to sleep. Eddie gingerly unbuckles his seatbelt and lifts him. There will be a day where he won’t be able to lift him anymore, but he can’t bear the idea right now.

He carries his son up the three flights of stairs and places him in his tiny race car bed. Eddie’s frameless mattress is right next to it, and he lays down and watches Harris’s chest expand and contract with each little breath. His bow-shaped lips are slightly pursed, and there’s a smudge of dried mucus under his nose, a remnant from when he was crying earlier. Eddie makes a mental note to wash off his face before he goes to school tomorrow.

School—the thought of seeing you, really—had his stomach twisting in knots. Everything was fine until you waltzed into town, getting so bent out of shape over a one-night stand that you ratted him out to his bandmate. And now he looks like the asshole.

He’ll sort it out tomorrow. He’ll march into the school and ask for—no, demand—that Harris is transferred to another classroom. And then he’ll never have to deal with you again.

“I’m sorry, but all of the classes are full.”

Eddie raps his fingertips on the school secretary’s desk impatiently. “They’re…full?” He sputters, unable to believe his shitty luck. “Nah, there’s gotta be space for him somewhere. Can you check again?”

The secretary peers up at him over her coke-bottle glasses and rolls her eyes. “Mr. Munson, in order to remain in compliance with Indiana state standards, we are allowed a maximum of ten students per class. All of our classes already have ten students.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t we just swap him with a kid from another class? He can have their teacher and they can have his.”

“If a student from a different classroom moves or requests a transfer, we can discuss allowing Harris to switch. For now, we can just make a note of it in his file and let you know if that opportunity arises.”

Harris looks at his dad with a puzzled expression. “But, Daddy, I like my teacher! She’s really nice and she doesn’t get mad at me if I forget the rules.”

Heat creeps into Eddie’s face as he feels the secretary’s glare–a mixture of bewilderment and irritation that he’s wasting her time with his asinine request. He gives a resigned sigh and takes Harris’s hand as he walks him towards the classroom.

“Have a great day, Har-Bear!” he says, feigning enthusiasm as they reach the door. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Harris frowns. “You’re not gonna walk me inside like tomorrow?”

Eddie pauses for a second, brows pinching together in confusion before he realizes what Harris means. “You mean yesterday?” Eddie corrects him, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile at his son’s error. “I, uh, I think it’s better if I just stay out here.”

He waits for the impending tantrum, but to his surprise, Harris just shrugs and says, “Okay, bye!” and swings the door open, backpack bouncing as he speedruns into the room excitedly. Eddie can hear your voice, calm and patient, saying, “Harris, we use our walking feet in the classroom,” and his son replying with a chipper, “Oh, yeah! Sorry!”

He’s halfway down the hallway when you call out, “Mr. Munson?”

“Ya?” He stops walking, but doesn’t bother to turn around and face you. He stares at a bulletin board that reads Welcome Back to School in glittery red cut-out letters. Framing the message are little cardboard apples, each with a student’s name written on them in permanent marker. He spots the one that says Harris in the top left corner, and an unfamiliar twinge of pride sets in his chest.

“I need you to sign Harris in,” you say, trying to keep your tone as even as you do with your students. “It’s school policy.”

“Christ on a cracker,” Eddie grumbles under his breath, spinning back on his heels to head back to the room. So much for avoiding you. You’re standing outside the door, and he immediately notices the way your maroon pants hug your curves in all the right places. If only her personality was as pleasant as her ass, he thinks bitterly, dragging his gaze to the clipboard in your hand. “I didn’t have to do this yesterday.”

“It was the first day of school. I forgot,” you admit. You’re not exactly sure why you’re giving him so much ammunition; perhaps it was the way he just conspicuously drank in the sight of you. “Kinda crazy around here.” You will yourself to shut up, practically clamping your lips together so you’ll stop talking.

Eddie scoffs, yanking the clipboard from your grasp. “Well, aren’t you Teacher of the Year,” he sneers, clicking the pen and scribbling his signature next to Harris’s name before jabbing the sheet back at you.

Ignoring his insult, you force yourself to make eye contact as you inform him, “You’ll need to come back in later to sign him out.”

He bites back an irritated laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his torn black jeans. He’s equipped with another comment ready to launch at you, one related to your rendezvous a week earlier, but he stops when he sees Harris tugging on the hem of your shirt with urgency.

“What if I’m with my new teacher?” he asks innocently, eyes wide with concern.

“What new teacher, honey?” you ask, crouching down to his level. “You mean Mr. Will?”

Harris shakes his head fervently. “Daddy asked the lady at the desk if I could have a new teacher instead of you.”

You expect Eddie to be embarrassed by his son’s candidness, but he doesn’t even appear to be fazed. “It was your idea, Sweetheart,” he says with a sly grin. “I’m only making good on my word.”

“Well, look at you, keeping your promises,” you bite back instinctively, silently cursing yourself for snapping at him when you’re on the clock. He might be a total asshole, but he’s Harris’s dad first. At least while you’re at work. You turn your attention back to the little boy. “I’m sorry if we confused you, Harris. I’m your teacher, okay?”

Harris nods slowly, indicating that he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t press the issue further. His gaze flits between you and his father. “Why’d you call her ‘Sweetheart’?” he questions Eddie. “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Absolutely not,” he insists at the same time that you chime in with a firm, “no.”

“Then why–”

“It’s a nickname,” Eddie interrupts before Harris can say anything else. “Like how I call you ‘Har-Bear,’ or how I call Grampa Wayne ‘Old Man.’”

“Oh.” Harris chews on the answer before seemingly accepting it, giggling when he thinks of the way his grandpa grimaces at the name ‘Old Man.’. He smiles up at you. “Can I call you Sweetheart, too?”

You smile back at him, ruffling his curly hair. “That’s Ms. Sweetheart to you,” you tease, but as a four-year-old, he doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm.

“Okay, Ms. Sweetheart!” he laughs, and he mimics your movements and ruffles your hair right back before you stand up. How is this kid so precious when his dad is a complete and utter douchebag?

“Well,” Eddie says finally, crossing his arms over his chest, “I won’t forget about signing him out when I pick him up.”

“Try to get here on time today,” you retort, guiding Harris over to where Will is playing with the other students. “Really makes my job easier when the parents do what they’re supposed to do.”

He walks away with a haughty laugh. “Bold of you to assume I’d want to make anything easier for you.”

The rest of Eddie’s morning proceeds as normal. He picks up the product from Rick’s place and gives him his cut of what he made yesterday. Carefully separating it into small baggies, he delivers to his usuals: the guys who work down on the loading dock, the supergenius stoner who allegedly works as some top government official, the young teacher at Hawkins High who, more than once, has paid for her share with decent head behind the football field. Of course, Eddie keeps a bit hidden away for himself. Whoever coined the phrase don’t get high on your own supply never had a seemingly never-ending stash of weed.

He arrives back at his apartment just before noon, ready to crash on the couch and watch some mind-numbing TV. Opening the door, he kicks off his muddy sneakers to find his uncle sitting on the couch, twiddling his thumbs anxiously.

“Jesus, Wayne!” Eddie shouts, putting a hand to his chest. Giving him a key to the place suddenly didn’t seem like such a great idea. “Scared the shit outta me. What’re you doing here? Don’t you have work?”

“Took the day off,” Wayne explains, reaching for the manila envelope that he’s placed on the cushion next to him. “Had, uh, an appointment.”

Based on the serious look on his face, Eddie assumes he’s talking about a doctor, and the blood drains from his face at the thought of Wayne battling a terminal illness. “Shit, you okay? Are you sick?”

“Sit down, Eddie.” He hands him the envelope without another word. Eddie does what he says, flipping up the edges of the silver fastener and taking out a small stack of stapled papers. He scans the documents, expecting to see some kind of medical test results. Instead, his eyes widen as he reads the opening lines:

TEMPORARY CUSTODY AGREEMENT:

I, EDWARD JOHN MUNSON, the custodial parent of the following child(ren): HARRIS WAYNE MUNSON, do hereby give custody to WAYNE ALBERT MUNSON.

“What the hell is this?” Eddie snarls, clenching his fists and crumpling the papers. “Are you trying to take my kid away from me? Is this some kind of sick revenge because of our fight yesterday?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Ed, this has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. I’ve had this meeting with the lawyer for a while now.” He lets out a long, tired sigh. “When you got arrested a couple months ago, it made me realize how much I was turnin’ a blind eye to your…business.”

“You mean when Hopper let me off with a warning?” Eddie reminds him. He rolls his eyes impatiently, but his bouncing leg gives away how nervous he is to have this conversation. “The Chief isn’t gonna let anyone lock me up just for selling pot. I won’t sell the hard shit anymore, and Rick knows that.”

But the older man presses on, ignoring his nephew’s rebuttal. “When your dad got arrested, I was lucky that the state gave you to me instead of sticking you in foster care. But we were both twenty-odd years younger; I don’t know they’d be so willing to let an old man take care of a four-year-old without it in writing.”

The mention of his father has Eddie seeing red. “I’m not my dad.” he spits. “My dad didn’t fucking take me to school. Couldn’t even be bothered to make sure I had everything I needed. Food, water, shelter? That piece of shit didn’t give a rat’s ass.”

“But he did sell drugs. And that’s how he got busted,” Wayne points out, voice rising a bit. “And Hopper’s nearly as old as I am. He’s gonna be retiring soon; we can’t keep countin’ on him to cover for you.” His eyes are misty with tears as he says, “all I want is for Harris to have the same kind of protection that you had. Just until you get a job that doesn’t put you at odds with the law. It’s all temporary, see?” He motions to the first bolded word at the top of the document.

But Eddie’s too enraged to care, tearing up the papers and letting them fall to the floor like legal confetti. “I’ve gotta go,” he hisses, grabbing his keys so quickly that they clatter among the sea of document scraps. “You should go, too.”

“I could get you some work at the plant,” Wayne offers meekly. It’s not the first time he’s extended the opportunity, but he figures it’s worth a shot. “Just somethin’ while you look for what you really wanna–”

“I said, leave!” Eddie shouts. “I don’t need you poking your nose in my life anymore. My life works for me, and it works for Harris, and there’s no reason to turn everything upside down.”

“You think his dad gettin’ thrown in prison won’t turn his life upside down?!” Wayne snaps, finally unloading everything onto Eddie. “You think being torn away from the people he loves won’t hurt him? I’d do anything to keep that boy safe, just like I did for you, you ungrateful sonofabitch.”

Eddie’s response flies off of his tongue before he can bite it back. “And look how that turned out for me.”

A pained expression crosses Wayne’s face, but he recovers quickly. “I’ll always love you, Ed. No matter what.” He pauses. “But I don’t like who you are anymore. Ever since you moved back here, all you’ve done is push away the people who care about you.” He starts towards the door before briefly turning back. “When you’re ready to let people in, to be happy again, you let me know.”

Eddie scoops up his keys and flings open the door, letting it slam behind him. His fingers tremble as he fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. It takes a few tries before he can steady his hands enough to light one, and he inhales deeply to try and calm his nerves. How could Wayne possibly think that Harris wasn’t safe with him? After everything Eddie had sacrificed for his son; the dreams he gave up, the life he let go of…

Did anyone actually believe that he still wanted to be here, in Hawkins, the town bursting with haunting memories? Every time he drove near the high school, he could practically hear the echoing taunts of freak and loser emanating from its hallowed halls. No; he was only here because he couldn’t raise a kid alone. Apparently, Wayne thought he was incapable altogether.

He goes through another three cigarettes on the ride to the preschool, snuffing out the last one with the toe of his scuffed Vans outside the entrance.

“I need to sign out my son, Harris Munson,” he tells the secretary, who gives him a bemused glare. “Family emergency.”

The secretary nods, picking up the phone without taking her eyes off of Eddie, as though she’s concerned that he’ll bolt if she lets him out of her sight. He hears her relaying the message that Harris’s dad is here to pick him up early, but he’s too busy pacing back and forth to eavesdrop for a response.

All he can think about is how it would feel to sign those papers, basically admitting defeat. Admitting that he couldn’t handle fatherhood. Just because he stepped up when Harris’s mom wasn’t able to be a parent didn’t mean he was a good dad. It just meant he stuck around.

Maybe his presence in Harris’s life was doing more harm than good.

“Mr. Munson?” Your voice draws him out of his rumination. You’re holding a now-empty Tupperware that once contained a salad; dressing smeared on the inside, and your eyes hold nothing but concern. Nothing in your body language demonstrates any sort of contempt, and Eddie has to wonder how bad he looks for you to not hate him, even briefly. “Is everything okay?”

It’s then that he realizes that his lip is bleeding from biting it so hard, and his cheeks are wet with tears.

“Don’t you have a classroom of kids to watch?” he sneers, watching as you wince. “Really vying for that Teacher of the Year spot, aren’t ya?”

“It’s my lunch break…” you start before realizing that you have no need to defend yourself to him. “Why are you so mean to me?” You keep your tone as hushed as possible, not wanting to attract any unwanted listeners. “Seriously, what did I do to you?”

“Besides ruin my life?”

You scoff incredulously, annoyance creeping back into your posture. For some reason, this bothers Eddie less than seeing you worried about him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your little gossip session with Jeff?” he spits back. “The one where you told him I called you a frigid bitch? Or maybe the one where you painted me to be some asswipe womanizer all because I didn’t call you?” He rakes his fingers through his long brown curls. “I have no one now; are you happy? Christ, you’ve lived in this goddamn town for two minutes and you’ve managed to turn my best friends against me.”

“I didn’t do shit,” you fume, whispering the last word in case children are passing by. “I told Jess, and I didn’t know she was at her sister’s place. And the only reason Jeff even knew about our night together was because I needed a ride after you basically kicked me out of your apartment.”

“You weren’t supposed to sleep over,” he murmurs so softly, you can barely hear him.

“Why not? What would’ve been so bad about that?”

He doesn’t have the chance to answer–or come up with a half-hearted excuse–before Harris is flinging himself into his legs, wrapping his arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Daddy! Mr. Will said I’m going home, but none of my friends are going home.”

Eddie scoops up his son, resting him on his hip. “That’s because you and I are having a super-special, super-secret Daddy-Son Day at the zoo!” he whispers in his ear, and Harris beams in response. Eddie’s own father never took him out of school and brought him on fun outings. The only time he got out early was when they were on the run from the cops or evading an eviction notice over unpaid rent. Zoo trips? Unheard of. So there, Wayne.

“Have fun!” you chirp, swallowing your anger for Harris’s sake, and for your own. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, Harris.” You rub his back gently and walk back to your classroom. Like most of your encounters with Eddie Munson, you leave with more questions than answers.

“Daddy, look at that!” Harris shouts happily, pointing to a flamingo stretching and flapping its pink wings. “Look how fluffy it is!”

Eddie squints in the sun to get a better view. “Yeah,” he agrees with a laugh, squeezing Harris’s hand. “Fluffy like a teddy bear.”

Harris frowns, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “No, Daddy. That’s a bird, not a bear.”

“You’re right,” Eddie says, trying to hold back his laughter. “You’re really learnin’ a lot in school, huh?”

“Mhm,” Harris says, leading his dad to the next exhibit. A hippo pops its head out of the water and glances around curiously before lowering back down. “Ms. Sweetheart is the bestest teacher ever! She sings songs, an’ reads to us, an’ she’s even helping me write my name!”

At the mention of your inadvertent nickname, Eddie’s jaw clenches. It’s my own stupid fault for bringing up school, he thinks bitterly, but brushes past it. “Are you having fun on our Daddy-Son Day?”

“Most fun ever!” Harris jumps up and down with each syllable. “Did you and Grampa Wayne do Daddy-Son days?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Har, remember? Grampa Wayne is actually my uncle, not my dad.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harris says, slowing his pace slightly. “But he was kinda like your dad, right? He took care of you like he’s your dad?”

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Yeah, he took care of me like a dad.”

“Where is your dad? Why didn’t he take care of you?”

“He, um, he couldn’t,” Eddie offers lamely. “He didn’t know how to be a dad. So Grampa Wayne decided to raise me.” As he says the words, he feels sick. He’s tried so hard not to be like his old man–his biological one–and yet he’d basically become a carbon copy. Just a guy in way over his head, failing to be the man his son needed him to be. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Harris chirps happily. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go see the penguins now?”

“Sure thing, bud.”

On the way back from the zoo, with Harris nodding off in the backseat after the self-proclaimed “best day of his life,” Eddie pulls into the record store parking lot. It’s changed quite a bit since his younger years, but the music selection is still the best this town has to offer. He peruses their metal section, a snoozing Harris resting his cheek against his chest. Plucking a few cassettes from the bin, he places them on the counter and digs into his back pocket for his wallet. A handwritten HELP WANTED sign catches his eye.

“You guys hiring?” he asks the bored teenager behind the register.

“Yup,” comes the monotone reply, not making eye contact as he rings up the tapes.

Eddie waits a beat before continuing. “Is there an application or something?” The cashier pulls a sheet of paper from behind the sign and hands it to him. “Cool. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.” Eddie takes the bag of cassettes and shuffles back towards the car.

The application feels like it’s staring at him from where he’s set it on the passenger seat. The idea of being a minimum wage employee makes him cringe; it’ll probably take him weeks to earn what he makes in a day for Rick. He glances in the rearview mirror at his peacefully sleeping son.

“Only for you, Har-Bear.”

@littlepotatobeansworld @kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @definitelynotecho @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday @breezybeesposts @tlclick73 @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @krahk @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @theactualf0ck @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights @eggo-segual @rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff

@meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea @fckyeahlames @chaoticgood-munson @rachofficial @poofyloofy @girlintherubyslippers @shotgunhallelujah @thirddeadlysin @sinczir @vintagehellfire @ieatmunson @behind-thebrowneyes @southblizzard @ilovetaquitosmmmm @blueberry--lemon

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

2K notes · View notes

grandlinedreams · 5 months

Note

Ok I loved the whole reader is Kid’s/Killer’s sister. And I can just imagine her and Kid not getting along, and when the heart pirates and kid pirates run into each other, reader and Kid are like two cats fighting. Then Killer picks reader up under her arms like a kitten, and hands her to Law, all like, “this is yours”.

Could you make this happen please? 😭😭

I told myself I wouldn’t send anymore requests till they went down a bit more, but this scenario wouldn’t leave my head, and I wanted to see it come to life with your words. Asdfghjkl I’m sorry 😅

LMAO YES i loved writing it 🥺 but also don't apologize bb, I got you!!

[Heads up!: semi/non-canon compliant (idk either around Sabaody or in the 2 year ts), established relationship, sibling antics (Reader and Kid), cursing, silliness]

You love your brother, you swear that you do. You've stuck with him through thick and thin and at the end of the day, woe to anyone who tries to hurt him while you're around.

That being said, however, that doesn't necessarily mean that you like your brother or his general attitude towards anyone that isn't part of his crew.

Part of you gets it, truly ㅡ there's been plenty of skepticism and mockery when it comes to Kid and his goal in life. Finding the One Piece is a pretty lofty ambition, but you have no doubts your brother has the determination it takes. He's hostile because of it though, less keen on asking questions and more on the offensive ㅡ and his attitude towards Law's crew is no different.

Perhaps it's made worse, actually, for the fact that you're currently in a relationship with Law. Something your brother knows, and hates. Which is why you've found yourself, predictably, in another argument with him.

Anger boils in your veins as you raise your voice to match Kid's. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot! I'm a grown adult!"

"Then act like it, damn it!" Your brother snaps back. "I don't have time to babysit you anyways!"

"Nobody asked you to, youㅡ" You yelp as hands hook under yours, your feet leaving the ground as you're lifted up. You know who it is, the only one besides Kid who'd dare to lift you like this in the first place. "Killer, put me down. Now."

The masked pirate ignores your demand, unbothered by the way you squirm in his hold before he sets you down in front of the Law and a handful of his crew, who've been watching this shitshow go down silently.

"This one is all yours," Killer tells Law, hand on your head and ignoring the way you swat at his touch, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in annoyance. "For now."

"You can't just hand me off like I'm a package," you grumble, "are you that desperate to get rid of me? I didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Not getting rid of you," Killer cuts in, "just giving you some time away from Kid. I think you both need it."

Ever the voice of reason against his captain, Killer has a point ㅡ you could do with a couple weeks (or more) away from your brother and his crew, and who better to hand you off to?

You're sure Kid could think of better (or worse) people to leave you with, but all he does is scowl, silented by the firm steer of Killer back the way they'd come.

You watch your brother and his crew retreat, the scene not unfamiliar even as you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "How mad do you think they'd be if I stayed with you permanently?"

You don't raise your voice and it's not quite an intentional needle to Kid, but he still comes to a halt and glares at you over his shoulder. "I heard that," he snaps, "don't even think about it!"

You adopt a face of innocence that lasts just long enough for your brother to turn back around, then glance at Law, who tilts his head. "The offer does stand," he says, even though there's a teasing gleam to his eyes that you grin at.

"I don't think I'll be truly leaving my crew anytime soon," you say as Law's own crew heads back towards the Polar Tang, and you wait until they've gone to snag your fingers in the front of Law's shirt, tugging playfully. "But I could be convinced to stay a little longer."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #–ml: law.

313 notes · View notes

f1letters · 1 year

Text

f1letters' formula 1 fic recs - pt. 2

✨ PART 1 here ✨

first, a big shout out to @tinydancerjj for asking me for recs and inspiring me to make a part 2 - this one is for you! 💜

since I've been away from writing for a while, I think the least I can do to thank you all for your patience and the kind way you've always treated me is to list a few more of my favourite stories for you! once again, I tried to include a variety of different drivers to the best of my ability!

I honestly love doing these types of lists, so I hope you enjoy it and, like I said in part 1, please check out these amazing and talented writers!

love you all 💜 - cat

max verstappen | mv1

'the one' || @estevries

'devil on your shoulder' || @libraryofloveletters

'prove it' || @severalforraelee || 18 parts + extras

'brother in law' || @unluckyhoneybee || 2 parts

'baby pink' || @tierneysodegaard || 3 parts

daniel ricciardo | dr3

'the red string of me and you' || @libraryofloveletters

'the 1' || @lxclerc

'the best man' || @monzamash

'baby steps' || @vinvantae || 26 parts

'waterloo' || @vinvantae || 15 parts

lando norris | ln4

'fwb' || @f1goat || 11 parts

'a golf swing and a trampoline' || @jamminvroomvroom || 3 parts

'that's my sister' || @paddockbunny

'inappropriate' || @xhopelesslyromanticx

'twin' || @illicitlimerence-writes

pierre gasly | pg10

'just a little bit of you heart' || @silverstonesainz

charles leclerc | cl16

'stay, at least for breakfast' || @leclsrc

'see it through' || @leclsrc

'love you goodbye' || @lxclerc

'the winner takes it all' || @silverstonesainz || 5 parts

'secrets he'll keep' || @hey-kae || 2 parts

lance stroll | ls18

'après ski' || @mignonricciardo

'daddy's biggest fan' || @libraryofloveletters

'spotter' || @goodguylance

zhou guanyu | zg24

'starstrukk' || @lovelytsunoda

esteban ocon | eo31

'not that serious' || @libraryofloveletters

lewis hamilton | lh44

'our cave, collapsing' || @lewisyellowhelmet || 2 parts

'this won't pass' || @lewisloved

mick schumacher | ms47

'disapproval' || @holllandtrash

'staying away' || @lxclerc

'too little, too late' || @silverstonesainz

'mr. nice guy' || @leclsrc

carlos sainz | cs55

'the dining room' || @silverstonesainz

'ceilings' || @silverstonesainz

'written in the book of faith' || @libraryofloveletters

'has yet to pass' || @leclsrc

'a certain romance' || @leclsrc

george russell | gr63

'peace' || @illicitlimerence-writes

'upper hand' || @jamminvroomvroom || 7 parts

multiple drivers

'she will be loved' || @boredmadamoiselle || cl16 x lh44

'does he know?' || @clxja16 || cl16 x arthur leclerc || 3 parts

'the better series' || @holllandtrash || ln4 x pg10 || 7 parts

PS: if you want, feel free to leave your recommendations in the comments and/or message me! i'm always looking for new fics to read and I'd love to know your favourites! 💜

1K notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

336 notes · View notes