#And slightly distant to everyone else because no one is quite sure what to make of their change in dynamic

[fatuismooches]

cor monstri.

synopsis: Having been awake from your centuries-long coma for quite a while, you’ve become accustomed to many of Dottore’s segments and their unique personalities, along with their love for you. However, there seems to be a segment that’s rather elusive, and you’re going to get to the bottom of it.

includes: dottore (zeta segment) w/ gn! reader

notes: This is a commissioned work! I strongly recommend reading this, this, and this, in order to get a better grasp on this particular segment, Zeta (a sincere thank you to these anons!) Fragile reader tries their best in order to make a particular gloomy segment smile, the man who feels the failure of being unable to cure them for so long.

Il Dottore was a man of many faces, quite literally.

When you were a student with him at the Akademiya, he always wore one - that perpetually annoyed look that kept everyone else away from him, a perfect fit for him as he didn’t want to be bothered. Though you did see his softer sides eventually, it was nothing compared to what you dealt with now. Ever since you woke up from your coma, you were literally looking at his numerous faces all the time.

From 01’s familiar grumpy face to 02’s wide grins, 04’s severe lack of a smile as well as 18’s relaxed nature, and the exuding confidence from 24. There was also your favorite one, the glowing and giddy face of 10 when the child clung to you. Not to mention, all the other segments of Dottore that were around you. It was a lot to see and get used to… but you grew to love them all dearly, so you eventually gave them names. Real names, instead of numbers.

However, there was one segment that was sort of an outlier. It was strange to single him out, considering how eccentric all of the segments were, but with his odd behavior, it didn’t take long for him to catch your eye. 06, now called Zeta, was his name, and you found yourself struggling to understand him, partially because you barely ever saw him. That was probably one of the strangest things - being asleep for four hundred years made it so that all the other segments longed for your company and touch, stealing you away and hogging your attention whenever they had the chance. 

But Zeta, he wasn’t one of the bunch. He didn’t initiate anything but instead watched from afar. You would catch him watching you give a kiss or hug to another segment, before looking away swiftly. You would find him staring at you whenever you laughed or smiled widely, seemingly taking in your expression, before retreating somewhere else. You were confused. Did he not like you or something? Was there a period in Dottore’s life where he didn’t like you anymore?! Alright, you knew that was a dumb question, but still. Zeta never completely ignored you or drove you away, but you wondered why he seemed to be so gloomy and distant around everyone.

Zeta also had a face that was obviously familiar yet unfamiliar to you at the same time. Zeta had that fluffy blue hair you adored, and it was slightly longer than Beta’s hair, but not as long or stylized in the way of the older segments. Sometimes you’d notice it would be unkempt for days, and you’d try to brush it for him, although he initially protested and tried to leave quietly. Still, you made him sit as you weaved the hair brush and your fingers through his locks, which you greatly enjoyed but you weren’t sure if Zeta did as much. 

The other segments usually spoke to you, even if it was just small talk when they were busy. But again, Zeta was an odd one. He was always quiet around you. Regardless, whenever you did something sweet for him, no matter how small, he would show some form of gratitude. That was another odd feature of his, the other segments weren’t nearly as openly kind. Of course, they could say those nice words when it was something big, but Zeta seemed to make it a point. Was he really grateful for such tiny acts? You weren’t sure.

Zeta had those gorgeous red eyes that you loved to peer into, but his eyes seemed different from the other segments, and Prime Dottore himself. The others donned a familiar glint that you loved to see, proof of their ambitions and goals and research regardless of what others thought. Zeta’s eyes, however, seemed rather empty and dull to you. Still beautiful of course, but still. And while Delta had a permanently stern expression, Zeta was also quite serious, but he just seemed… somber, in a way. He never smiled. You wondered why. You think he’d look even prettier with a smile, just like how your other lovers do.

Asking your beloved, Prime Dottore himself, didn’t give you much answers. You should have expected that, but it was still disappointing.

“Dottore, all the segments are from past stages of your life, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Like how Alpha is from when you were a student and Omega is you from not too long ago…”

“That is correct.”

“So what stage of life is Zeta from?” Your question makes your lover pause for a mere moment, before moving his pen again like nothing happened.

“It was when you were still in your coma,” was his simple response, much to your dismay.

“Okay…? Almost all of your segments are from when I was sleeping! I mean, is there anything… specific that happened during that time? Anything particular?” You pressed, hoping to see why Zeta would be so drastically different from his other segments.

“No, I simply attended to you and my Fatui duties as usual.” You had to stop yourself from groaning at the obvious lie. There had to be something that had happened to make Zeta so stony-faced and subdued, compared to Prime’s outward and self-assured nature. And despite the complications your illness brought, your determination remained and that only meant one thing.

You were going to understand and love Zeta, no matter how much work it took.

—

Even though you knew where Zeta’s office and room were, whenever you went to find him, he was nowhere to be seen. You don’t know how he manages to be so slippery, but luckily you have a plan. Because no one can be more persistent than you when it comes to pursuing Dottore! You knew that periodically each of the segments reported to Prime whatever they were researching, and that even included Zeta, who seemed to never have much to do with him or have any agents under his command either. (Did he work completely alone? You knew all the segments liked to work by themselves, but they still had agents that worked under them for menial tasks. Zeta didn’t seem to speak to anyone else though.) Regardless, you were just going to lurk near your lover’s office and wait until Zeta finally popped up.

Thankfully, your experiment was a success.

When Zeta exited Prime’s office, you were right there, patiently waiting for him. His normal monotone expression was mildly surprised, probably not expecting you to be right there. Before the segment could speak, you leaned closer, your eyes staring directly into his, which had a permanent darkness underneath.

“Zeta! Hi! Hello! How are you?” Your words came out a bit awkward because of how long you’ve waited for this moment, but you didn’t think it was much of a problem. A few moments passed, as he took in your form, the one that was alive and breathing right in front of him instead of the one that never responded to him. You tried to ignore his intense stare before you got flustered. Just what could he be thinking about? You felt you understood Dottore and all the others well, but Zeta… well, he was a mystery that you’d crack. Hopefully.

“... I am fine. And you?” He had already begun walking but had trouble doing so as you were practically circling him excitedly. The sight made his chest oddly warm, but his usual expression remained, giving away nothing to his true feelings.

“I’m good too! Besides all the other stuff of course,” you didn’t see how his face tightened at the indirect mention of your illness, “But anyway, I have a problem. A very serious problem that only you can help me with,” you declared.

“And that is?” Zeta watched as your cheerful demeanor turned more serious.

“You’re the only segment I’ve barely spent any time with. That makes me quite sad. I want to get to know you some more, Zeta,” you said simply, having no interest in beating around the bush. “I know we haven’t spoken a lot but… I would like to change that. I mean, I know you probably don’t like to speak to people but…” You fiddled with your sleeve a bit nervously now, “But I would still like to try. I like you a lot, you know?” Zeta looked at you as you spoke, noticing every small detail that crossed your face, your eyes that blinked shyly as you bit your lip. Every movement of yours was mesmerizing for the man who once constantly stared at your unmoving face.

“So… what do you say, Zeta?” Ah, that’s right. You were waiting for an answer, now bearing a hopeful look. He should decline, the segment thinks. He’s satisfied with watching you go about your day.

“If that’s truly what you want, then I suppose nothing I say will be able to deter you,” the opposite comes out of his mouth, a feeling that’s buried deep within him, one that can’t help but come out when you’re near. Before he can speak again, to say that being with him probably won’t be the experience you’re looking for, you joyfully celebrate by wrapping your arms around the segment. You fight the urge to kiss him on the cheek.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise it won’t be boring!” Your warmth envelopes Zeta’s body, an unfamiliar sensation that has him frozen. So this is the sweetness that Prime and the other segments indulge in every day? And yet in his mind and body, your coldness from long ago still permeates him. From when you weren’t even able to respond to his words. Before you can notice something is wrong, he tentatively places his hand on your back, making sure his fingers do not twitch from how starved he is for you.

And then your days with Zeta officially began.

—

Rather quickly into your attempt to understand Zeta, the most important thing for you was to get to know him. Talk with him. Figure him out. You found that this task was difficult yet simple at the same thing. Zeta answered your question concisely as you expected him to, but… that was it. He was to the point and nothing else, not the conversationalist like his other segments. It left you with a lot of gaps to fill. Especially since you had no exact idea of what era of Dottore’s life he was from.

But still, you enjoyed your time with Zeta.

You learned that his area of research was medicine, creating and modifying new types for the Fatui’s use. But more importantly, he helped to create medicine for you. You didn’t expect that - you thought only Prime would do such a thing, but Zeta was incredibly skilled. You learned that he did indeed work with no one else at all, having “no interest in dealing with them,” according to the segment. 

You also learned that he was immensely attentive toward you, especially when your illness seemed to affect you the most. His eyes followed you when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, examining your body language and expression. If you were dizzy, he’d force you to sit down. If you looked to be more tired than usual, he’d make you go to sleep. The most you had heard him speak so fluently without stopping was when you had the “audacity” to still visit him while you were running a slight fever. 

Well, perhaps you should have expected that considering the others would react in a similar way, but you felt as though he was especially serious about it. While the other segments could entertain your excuses to an extent, he wouldn’t. It made you wonder if his stronger feelings had someone to do with his personality. You felt bad for worrying him… perhaps you should try to cheer him up. Actually, making him smile too. Yes, that would do nicely. But how? You weren’t sure if the tricks (more like a bombardment of affection) would work on Zeta. Still, there was no harm in trying.

I. plan a - attack with affection!

“Zeta~ whatcha doing?” You had come up from behind him as he sat in his chair, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Zeta instantly takes note of your warm breath on his neck, the rise and fall of your chest, but ignores his longing for more.

“Reviewing the effects of the medicine on the others,” he replied, neglecting to mention who exactly was being tested on. You sighed, enjoying the fluff of his hair, but slightly disappointed at how he didn’t seem to be fazed whenever you touched him.

“Don’t you think you should take a little break? You’re always working,” you advised as you kissed the stoic man on the cheek. Pretty much all of the segments were constantly working or engrossed with their research, but many found some time to slack off with you, even for a few minutes. Well, it was more like you forced them to do so, but that was beside the point.

“I do not have time to spare with such things,” is Zeta’s immediate answer. All this annoying Fatui work he has to do takes up so much of his time when he should be focusing on helping to cure you. It’s extremely irritating for the segment, but of course, you don’t know that. You whine a bit, nipping his cheek to get him to reconsider, but the consistent somber look remains. 

“At least let me keep you company,” you said. Before he could protest or accept, you had already pulled his chair out to make yourself comfortable on his lap. This technique always worked, tested multiple times by you. You had to fluster him at least a little bit! His deep red eyes bore into yours before he sighed.

“If that is what you would like,” he said as he continued to work on analyzing the records in front of him. You were content with lying against him, head braced against his shoulders. At some point, you noticed his hand now rested on your thigh and then moved up your body, which you delighted in.

“You are very warm,” Zeta finally commented after a while of silence.

“Me? Warm?” You were a bit surprised because you were used to being told that you were pretty cold, mostly due to your illness, but Zeta didn’t seem to think so, considering how his arm was snaked around you firmly.

“Yes. Quite warm.” At least compared to all those centuries ago, Zeta thought. You looked at him curiously.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It helps with focusing.” You almost giggled at that. Here you were trying to distract him, but he said you were helping him focus.

“Then let me warm you up some more,” you whispered, hands slithering up to his shoulders as you pressed your lips against his neck, leaving long kisses down to his collarbone. You then kissed his cheek, trying to gauge his reaction. Still, he wasn’t even blushing, as composed as always… well, a lot of the other segments were like this too, but you hoped you’d be able to see a similar expression as when you teased Alpha.

“Come on Zeta, don’t I deserve some kisses too?” You teased, as your lips got dangerously close to his, nearly brushing each other. You felt him stiffen up at how close you were, his eyes struggling to stay focused on his papers.

“Is it ever possible for you to show restraint?” You smiled at the snarkiness - even though Zeta was more a lot subdued than the others, you still could be a victim of his sarcasm.

“Of course I can. Just not when it comes to you. You’re just too cute,” you said before locking your lips with his, finally indulging in such pleasure. At first, Zeta’s lack of response made you worry that he didn’t want it, but soon enough he kissed you back. It was gentle at first, a bit unnoticeable, but after a few moments, he kissed back harder, catching you off guard. You pulled away, trying to regain your breath, but he then kissed you again, not letting you escape from his grasp. The kiss was greedy, and the way his fingers dug into your arms was as if he felt you would slip away if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough. Of course, you welcomed the feeling along with your beating heart, although you were speechless by the end of it, only staring at the segment with your mouth slightly ajar. Zeta had an amused glint, a refreshing look from his normally empty gaze.

“Why so surprised? Is this not what you asked for?”

“I- Well, yes, it was. And I am not disappointed,” you quickly replied, hoping to seem not too bothered by that sudden assault. Looks like he flustered you instead of you flustering him… but you know what? It was still a win!

“You know what this means, Zeta?” You looked at you silently, beckoning you to continue.

“Mission accomplished! I got you to take a little break, didn’t I?” You giggled at the success of your little plan, while Zeta’s eyes softened a tiny bit, the bags under his eyes looking a little less dark.

“... I guess you did.”

Plan A resulted in a semi-success and failure, but you think you’re a step closer to seeing a smile on Zeta’s face.

II. plan b - gift him something nice!

Gifts were always a good way to make someone smile. How could one not smile, after seeing someone else go out of their way to get something that was thoughtful? No one, that’s right, well, except for Dottore. Some of his segments, to be more specific. You remember quite well when you used to gift Dottore things in the Akademiya, he would always be suspicious of your ulterior motives. Thankfully, he’s changed now, because it would be difficult to have your partner of four hundred years wary of your intentions.

However, you were unaware of what kind of gifts Zeta would like. All the segments had their own preferences that you took into consideration, but you had only gotten to know Zeta recently, so you weren’t sure what he’d like yet. Should you cook for him? You could, but you had already given him a lot of tasty treats. You wanted to get something better for him. In the end, you simply decided to ask him.

“Zeta, what do you like?” You questioned, as you idly observed what he was writing. You think it was something about selling stuff to another Harbinger.

“What do I like?” He repeated. It was an odd question because he thought you’d know such things by now, but he still humored you. “Successful experiments, for one.” You giggled.

“I know that. I mean… if you had to receive something right now, what would it be? A gift, you could say. I could even make something for you!”

“A gift? That’s right, you used to be quite skilled with your hands,” Zeta reminisced about your past creations from when you were a student, more to himself rather than you from his expression, as he ran his longer fingers over the palm of your hands absentmindedly. A good pen that didn’t break would be nice, but he knew that was probably impossible.

“I do not require anything at this moment. There is no need to bother with it.” You hung your head in disappointment, which you should have expected, but you were unwilling to just give up like that.

For a while, you brainstormed. You thought for ages about what gift would be best for Zeta, and one day it hit you.

A picture frame.

Recently you had become knowledgeable about the “Kamera”, a device that took “pictures”, which were images that were captured permanently. It was fascinating to see yourself reflected back at you like that. Zeta liked to stare at you, his preferred method of communication to be honest. So would it not be a nice gift, a picture of you that he could look at whenever you weren’t around? And you could decorate the picture frame cutely! It was perfect! You were excited.

You didn’t bother asking another segment to take the picture for you, because you knew they’d get jealous if they found out what you were preparing for Zeta. You rather not have to think of over a dozen poses to do for each of them right now. You settled on a simple smile for the picture, placed some stickers along the frame that definitely didn’t match the vibe of Zeta’s office, and then put it there one day for him to come and see. You decided not to say anything, wanting to see his reaction.

As soon as he walked into his office, he immediately noticed you lying down, poorly pretending to be reading, and then his eyes wandered to the new addition on his desk. Zeta sighed at your determination, a trait he did admire about you even if you were annoying about it sometimes. Taking a seat, he then looked at the gift you had presented him with. The picture of you glowed back at him, a pretty smile that belonged on your face. It reminded him of the smiles you had back in the Akademiya. There were also the heart stickers that you plastered along the frame, that was simply so you. [Name].

“It is good. You seem adept with a Kamera, which is not surprising.” Your heart stuttered at the praise.

“It is fun to use. We should take some pictures together! I need to add them to my scrapbook.”

Zeta only hummed in response, his mood unusually better than usual, and glanced at the photo for a few more seconds. He then moved it to a better position and returned to his work. You held back a smile.

Plan B was definitely a success!

III. plan c - make him laugh!

Something that always made you laugh was when Dottore or the segments laughed. You always found it captivating to see how different their laughs were. Segments like Alpha and Delta rarely laughed, and when they did, it was more like a scoff. Omega’s laugh, which was usually when he was amused, whether it was genuine or in a mocking way, always made your heart flutter. Beta’s laugh, where you joined in with his hee-hee-ho-hos. So naturally, you wondered how you would get Zeta to laugh. Yes, you knew that you hadn’t even gotten the segment to smile yet, but maybe getting him to laugh could be a step in that direction.

Should you pull out some of your favorite terrible and corny jokes? Well, that probably wouldn’t be very effective - those jokes only served to make you laugh at the segments’ disgusted and humorless expressions. Especially with a segment like Zeta, you think that for all of the loving looks he gave you, he might give you one that made you want to crawl into a hole.

Maybe he was ticklish? It was worth a try, actually - Zandy always ran away when you tried to tickle him, and when you tried to tickle Dottore back in the Akademiya, you think he nearly broke your arm. It didn’t work on the older segments, but maybe it would on Zeta!

On the day you put your plan into action, you were in the perfect position on his lap, examining the best spots on his body that could possibly be ticklish. His ears and neck, or perhaps you should just go for his sides instead. Your hands curled into his shirt automatically, fingers moving up to his side when Zeta spoke.

“I would prefer if you pulled these tricks on the others rather than me, especially when I’m working.” It took a few moments for you to process his words before you sat upright, trying to defend your innocence.

“Hey! I wasn’t going to do anything!” You said, pulling your hands away, but Zeta looked at you blankly.

“There are times when I cannot figure you out, and there are times when you are a very obvious person. This time is the latter.” You pouted at the half compliment, half insult as you snuggled into his shoulder in embarrassment, but Zeta spoke again.

“However, I recommend going for the neck if you are still insistent,” he said, and you immediately regained your energy as your hands gripped his shoulders, wandering dangerously close to his neck. “Though, I believe using your lips would be more effective,” Zeta added on, and you paused as you thought about what he was implying.

“... You’re just trying to get me to kiss you, aren’t you?”

“I am simply giving the answer you seek.”

“You know, you’re just lucky I like giving you kisses,” you mumbled, before giving in to his request. Well, that backfired, but this outcome wasn’t at all bad!

Still, it seems like Plan C resulted in a failure…

IV. plan d - try to discover the truth!

You’ve spent a while with Zeta by now, learning quite a bit about his likes and dislikes - how he didn’t have a preference for being kissed, satisfied with your soft lips being anywhere, how he hated being bothered by any other agents even if it was only occasionally. How his favorite places to kiss you were your wrists and chest, along with the hollow of your neck, exactly where your heartbeat was, and how he quickly became agitated if you showed even the slightest sign of discomfort from your illness.

You loved Zeta and all his little quirks.

But you still had little information as to why he was so dour all the time. It hurts your head sometimes, after listening to Beta’s exuberant rants or Omega’s effortless charisma or even Prime’s endless discussion of his latest research, to Zeta’s quietness that came with dull eyes staring at you. Sure, you had gotten him to open up a bit, but it was just too strange for you to let go of. Maybe you could just ask him, but you didn’t want to be rude… but if you wanted to make him smile, you wanted to know why he was so serious yet so down all the time…

The next best solution was to investigate his stuff. Yes, it wasn’t the nicest thing ever, but you needed answers. You had already glimpsed around Zeta’s office a bit, because you liked to help him wherever you could, and you didn’t see anything that could be a clue. So the next best place was his room. Granted, all the segments’ rooms were pretty bland and empty, but it was still worth a shot.

After you woke up from your coma, the segments started leaving their personal rooms unlocked, because you loved to wander into them and take naps on their beds. Even though they hardly visited their own rooms, it was a nice surprise to come back to the sight of you sleeping peacefully, definitely falling asleep to the scent of their shirt. And it wasn’t like anyone else could find the location of their quarters. Therefore, it wasn’t hard to slip into Zeta’s room.

Of course, his room was practically a copy of all the other rooms. Regardless, your eyes swept through the room, landing on the desk with drawers (because for some reason, they still could work in their own rooms.) That would be a good place to look. Taking a seat at the desk, you found nothing but boring reports, talking about some Patient E43 or X12 or whatever, nothing you were interested in. 

Pulling open the drawers, some more loose papers were scattered about, none catching your eye, until you came across a notebook stashed toward the back. It was oddly familiar to the one you remember reading from when you first woke up, that you found in Prime’s office. Curiously, you picked it up and began to skim through the writing, taking note of the date that was from around two hundred years ago.

“It has been centuries since I last heard [Name]’s voice. I must keep replaying their annoying laugh and nagging tone in my head before I forget how they sound in this deafening silence.”

“Pierro spoke to me today. He didn’t say anything outright, but I knew what he meant. My research has slowed, but can’t these other idiots can operate without me? I have important matters to attend to.”

The entries went on, and on, and on, all detailing numerous failures and unsuccessful attempts of Dottore’s. Then, you got to the ones where the date got closer to the current time, a couple of decades ago.

“Even though my hands brush their skin every day, I seem to still be unaccustomed to the coldness of their body.”

“Their pulse is always the same. A dreadful, slow, heartbeat, that is nearly nonexistent. I despise it. And yet no matter how many trials I run, it remains the same.”

You continued to flip through the notebook that detailed so much about what he did in your coma, unethical actions that bordered on desperation. Even if he didn’t directly say his feelings, you could feel them flowing through you. Suddenly, Zeta’s nature made complete sense. It was due to the overwhelming failure he felt, even guilt, you’d say. Even you thought it was an uncharacteristic thing for him to feel - you rarely ever saw Prime display guilt unless it was a serious argument. But it was the only explanation, from these entries at least. Your heart suddenly began to hurt. You caused Zeta all this pain, in a way…

“Are you finished?” The voice now made your heart spike with surprise as you slammed the notebook shut, scrambling up from your seat to see none other than the segment, looking at you with an expression that seemed to say he wasn’t really surprised.

Now, this was just the most classic, cliche thing that would happen in one of the romance novels that always made you mad, but now that it was happening to you, you felt immense embarrassment.

“I- um, well,” you sputtered, trying to find an explanation, but there was none. “I’m sorry, Zeta. I’m sorry.” You avoided his gaze while he sighed.

“Go ahead. Ask what you’ve wanted to ask since the beginning.”

“Did you write this?” Your voice was quiet, the sadness layering over it thickly, as you put the notebook back where it was. No need for it anymore when you had Zeta in front of you.

“Yes and no. The more recent writing is from me. The earlier ones are from Prime himself, though I suppose you could consider it me as well since I am him from that stage of life,” he said as he began to walk toward you, until he was standing in front of you, taking note of your downcast look.

“Zeta… all of this, I don’t…” The vast emotion you felt from the writing made your head swing because you never thought Dottore could feel so… strongly, in that kind of way.

“Those fools from above tried to take you away from me… they tested me,” he breathed in your scent, finger tracing along your neck to feel your pulse. You tried to ignore how quickly you were heating up by the close proximity. “But they failed. Of course they did.” The malice in his voice then dissipated as he stepped away, gritting his teeth, and you already missed his warmth.

“But I…” You quickly interrupted him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.

“You did not fail me, Zeta. Don’t say that,” you murmured as you brought his hand closer to your face, nuzzling it to your cheek. “I’m alive and breathing in front of you, aren’t I? That’s proof enough of how hard you worked. You don’t need to worry anymore,” you tried to comfort him.

“It is not enough,” he snapped, leaving you silent, as he then realized he didn’t mean to direct that tone toward you, stroking your cheek as a quiet apology. “I should have been able to wake you up sooner. I should have been able to cure you by now. If I was successful, things wouldn’t be the way they are now.” 

Your heart couldn’t help but ache at the segment’s pain. You had no clue that he or Dottore himself felt this guilty when you were sleeping. The only thing you could do was hug Zeta, enveloping him in your arms. It was then you realized that even though you wished you could rid him of his sense of failure and guilt right now, you knew you couldn’t. It was a key characteristic of his at this phase… so you could only promise him something.

“Zeta… I can’t change the past or how you felt back then… but I can promise that my heart will never stop beating for you ever again. My arms will be here when you need them, I’ll talk to you so much you’ll miss the quiet, and I’ll make sure I keep you so warm you’ll overheat. I’ll never keep you waiting ever again,” you said gently but firmly, fingers curling into his shirt, hoping your words would reassure him a little bit. Zeta remained motionless for a few moments, and you worried that you said something wrong, but he then wrapped his arms around you too, holding you tightly.

“I will hold you to that, [Name],” he said, his voice still tinged with his regrets but also held something a bit softer.

“Of course.”

“There will be consequences if you go back on your word.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“Yes, darling. You need not worry again.”

“Hmph…” Despite his gruff words, the way he held you said it all.

Plan D seemed like a failure on the surface, but you think you were pretty successful.

V. plan e - get a smile on that face!

It had been a little while since your numerous encounters with Zeta, and it was from then that you found out how clingy he could be. Nuzzling into your soft body, holding onto you when you said you were leaving, not wanting to relinquish you to the others. Now that you knew what he went through, you easily understood why though. However, you didn’t mention it at all unless you wanted to be ignored. 

And now that you had gotten him to speak a bit more, you were blessed with the usual Dottore you knew and loved - more quips and banter filled the room, instead of the once-normal silence. Still, he liked the quiet between you two better, preferring to observe everything about you and take note of every change you went through, no matter how tiny it was. In a way, it made you more embarrassed than when the other segments would fluster you with words.

More importantly, you were able to become a bit more skilled in convincing Zeta to take breaks. You didn’t want him to constantly work on either his Fatui duties or your medicine, even though he was made to do so. So now you had convinced him to take merely a ten-minute break on your bed after he had finished a nightly check-up. It was always interesting to see how his touch would be fluttering and unsure at first, and then become firmer as he continued to take your presence in. And right now, he was taking in how you were fiddling with his fingers and playing with them. A sure sign that you were thinking of something.

“Is something wrong?” The blue-haired man questioned, as he ran his hand through your messy hair. Zeta liked seeing you like this, even if you tried to shoo him away from how disheveled you looked. It was much more preferable than seeing your unsettlingly perfect appearance and unmoving body, even if you kicked him in your sleep sometimes. 

You sighed as you then turned on your side to face him, squinting your eyes at him carefully. Out of nowhere, you then moved your hands to the sides of his face, squeezing his cheeks in an effort to pull up his lips. Of course, it was over as quickly as it started as Zeta quickly removed your hands, scowling at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He said, not appreciative of the sudden tugging of his face. You only pouted as he held your hands hostage.

“I’ve spent this much time with you, and I still have yet to see you smile…” You buried your face into the soft pillows to lessen your disappointment.

“A smile?” The segment scoffed. “Is that what you were after the whole time? How meaningless.”

“It’s not dumb! It’s very important to me,” you protested. “Please, can I get a smile? A grin? Even an annoying smirk would do!” You pleaded with Zeta, seeing as it was your last resort, considering all your other plans didn’t work. Unfortunately, it looked like it wasn’t going to work on him in the slightest.

“No.”

“With sprinkles and cherries on- mhph!”

“Go to sleep,” he interrupted you as he pressed a finger to your lips, silencing your plea, before getting off the bed, already returning to his work. Sadly, your arms weren’t long enough to drag him back in time.

“Zeta,” you whined, wanting to indulge in his embrace some more although the blankets were already quite warm. “Don’t go so quickly.”

“Your eyes are drooping. The medicine is kicking in, so go to sleep,” his dry response made you grumble, but you knew he was looking out for you in his own way.

“Fine… good night, Zeta. Love you.” The segment had no response other than switching off the lights, and letting you get your rest.

You fell asleep thinking that hopefully, Plan F would finally get him to smile, not aware of the small smile that graced his lips.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Valentines day special :) How Y/n and Alastor met and fell in love.

Warnings: Cannibalism, cannon levels of violence and gore and the like. Gender neutral reader.

Word Count: 2,686

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N I promise I am getting to requests, I just wanted to write something cute and fluffy for Valentine's Day :)

Loving Alastor was like dancing for Y/n. It was something they did by nature. There had never been a period of having to learn and they didn’t have to be good at it, they just had to try. Sure, he could be mean. He could be quick to anger and cruel but, so could everyone. It was worth it in their mind. He was wonderful enough that all the bad was more than manageable.

Alastor had not had the same experience when it came to Y/n. They were nothing if not stubborn and from the moment he met them, Alastor didn’t really know what to do with them. He had tried all the usual tricks: getting them to make a deal, threatening to put their voice in his next broadcast, the usual things that normally worked quite well. Y/n had just brushed them all off with a light hearted laugh as if each and every one of them had been some poorly planned joke on his part.

When he had realized none of his normal tricks were going to work, Alastor had tried to avoid the strange demon. He had done everything he could to stop seeing Y/n save for out right murdering them. While normally that would be an option, perhaps the best option, something about the way they thought it was all a joke just took the entertainment right out of it for Alastor. It was no fun if they weren’t scared and Y/n seemed like the type of person who’d keep laughing until the very end. He was sure their murder would just wind up being unsatisfying, maybe even vaguely off putting. It just wasn’t worth it in his mind.

Y/n on the other hand, had taken quite the liking to the feared Radio Demon and his straight edged sense of humor. Of course, they’d heard the stories about him. If anyone had asked them the truth back in those days, they would have admitted it was all an act. That secretly, beneath it all, the were scared of Alastor, that they were just trying to save face. The thing was that while he did freak them out a bit, send the odd shiver down their spine with his grin, they also found him intriguing. Y/n, like any demon, liked being entertained and Alastor? Well, he was the most entertaining thing they’d come across in years.

They had tracked him down all over the rings of Hell, there was no escape. Everywhere Alastor turned, he was met with their kind and oddly appealing face. At last, he had relented. Giving in to Y/n’s persistence, the two entered into a mildly uneasy contract of friendship.

They were his antithesis in every sense of the word. Where Alastor was prim and proper, put together and always well dressed Y/n was rather wild and undone. Where he had nearly perfect manners even when feasting on the flesh of unsuspecting demons, Y/n always seemed just slightly out of their depth. Somehow, they also seemed to always end up on top. It irritated Alastor in a way. He worked hard for his image, to get what he had. Y/n just seemed to stumble into their fortune, winning because they were too hard headed to do anything else rather than because they particularly deserved it.

It was a loose relationship they had. The occasional run in, the once in a while team up against someone neither of them liked. Not enemies, but not quite anything else either. An uncomfortable and confusing middle ground. Alastor liked it that way, he kept it that way. If Y/n was a distant facet of his life, then things didn't have to be confusing. Things could be normal and alright and under his control, just how he liked them.

It was the day Alastor walked in on them in his library that his opinion began to shift. Y/n had broken in, and inelegantly at that. The glass of one of the windows was completely gone, shattered in unrecognizable shards across the floor. He was about to yell, to attack them even, as he rounded the sofa they were lounging on. That was when he realized that the book they had pulled from his shelf was in Latin. He had stopped, staring at them in mild surprise. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that they even seemed to notice he was there.

“You broke my window.” he had said, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

“Yeah, sorry.” Y/n waved him off, barely looking up from their book, “Can you remind me what gravidis means?”

“Gravidis?” Alastor repeated after a moment, taken aback as always by their casual manner of being.

“Yeah.” they sighed, at last letting the book fall face up into their lap as they met Alastor’s eyes, “You don’t have a dictionary in here and know it is an adjective. I remember it meaning pregnant? But this is Thyestes, famously known as Seneca’s play without women so it can’t be. That doesn’t make sense, I just can’t think of what else it could be.”

“I didn’t know you knew Latin.”

“So?” Y/n had shrugged, raising the book to their eyes once again, “You don’t know a lot about me. Just cause I know how to have fun doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Gravidis. Help me. Now."

They were silent for a moment. Y/n rolled their eyes.

"Please.”

“It can also mean laden down, heavy, things such as that I believe.”

They carefully examined the words on the page, their mouth moving silently as they read. Suddenly, their eyes went wide, a smile breaking its way across their face.

“Oh my gosh wait, Seneca was so smart." they had exclaimed, barely looking up at Alastor, "He’s full of his children, laden down or whatever, because he eats them but it’s a perversion of pregnancy so that’s why Seneca used gravidis. I love him so much!! That’s literally such an insane move to pull.”

Yes, that had been the first thing. The first event to occur that caused the switch to flip in Alastor's head, made him stop seeing Y/n as so much of an irritation and rather more as an object of curiosity. Still, he did not seek them out. Still, he kept their conversations short and to the point. That was until the second major event occurred.

A few weeks later, Alastor was visiting Rosie in Cannibal Town. The pair were quietly having tea in the back room of her shop, catching up and enjoying one another's company. It had been quiet and pleasant. That was, until there was a knock at the door.

Alastor could picture it like it had happened yesterday. Rosie had gently placed her cup and saucer on the table, calling for the person to enter. It had been one of her employees, shaking in the doorway in fear of the pair of overlords. He had announced that there was a guest and in response to Rosie's furrowed brow, Y/n had peered out from behind the demon with a little wave.

Rosie had lit up immediately, getting to her feet and pulling the younger demon into her arms. Y/n had sighed, pretending to be irritated by the affection. Alastor could have sworn he caught a smile as they at last freed themself from Rosie's grip and sat down lazily on the couch.

"Y/n, dearest, I don't believe you've met Alastor. He is one of my oldest friends."

Y/n had shot Alastor a menacing look, halfway between a joke and a challenge.

"Oh we've crossed paths once or twice." they had hummed, grabbing a finger from the box on the table and popping it into their mouth.

Alastor rubbed his temples in irritation, sighing deeply.

"You broke into my house three weeks ago. I would not call that crossing paths."

Rosie looked between the pair for a moment in surprise before she broke out into peels of laughter. Alastor looked up, confused at the reaction as Rosie calmed herself. She took a deep breath, a hand to her chest.

"I should have known." she smiled, "You two would be close."

Y/n and Alastor had shared a look.

"So, how do you two know one another?" he asked after a tense moment.

Rosie smiled, grabbing Y/n's hand in one of her own and rubbing their knuckles gently with her thumb.

"Y/n here is my favorite protege."

"What?" Alastor asked in utter disbelief.

"Yep." Y/n nodded with a smile, "Rosie took me under her wing when I first arrived. She's a true peach."

It didn't take much time after that for Y/n to realize that the nature of their interest in Alastor was maybe not so innocent after all. They came to terms with the fact that it was something more that mild curiosity, a thirst for entertainment, with relative ease. It was just who they were. Of course it made sense the dangerous demon with a quick wit and sharp teeth would be the object of their affection.

Alastor on the other hand had barley come to terms with the fact that Y/n might be worth his time in any capacity when a few months later, he walked in on them murdering another demon. He had heard a noise from a nearby ally when taking an after dinner stroll. His sense of intrigue getting the better of him, Alastor had turned down it.

At the end of the dead end ally were a pair of demons. One was sitting on the other, hunched over it and tearing at it's skin with their elongated claws. Sensing they were no longer alone, they sat straight up and turned their wide eyes to the ally's entrance.

That was when Alastor had realized two things. One, the demon who had been attacking the other demon was, in fact, Y/n. They were soaked in someone else's blood, their hair wilder than normal and their eyes wide with surprise. They smiled, their teeth sharp points.

"Alastor!" They happily called to him, "Want some?"

That was when he realized the second thing: Y/n was beautiful. He looked away immediately, quickly turning his back on the scene as he felt his cheeks grow warm.

"No." he hurriedly called over his shoulder, "I wouldn't want to spoil your fun."

He heard the rustling of fabric as Y/n stood from the demon and walked over to him. Taking a deep breath, Alastor turned to them as they stopped beside him. Y/n shrugged casually.

"I'm not really hungry, I just was bored. You wouldn't be spoiling anything."

For Alastor, loving Y/n was like a disease. It was a diagnosis, the doctor refused to meet his eyes when he broke the news. It was terminal, his death hinged on them.

He spoke to Rosie. She was far from the neutral party on the matter he desired but, Alastor didn't know where else to go. She had smiled brightly when he had revealed the truth of his confusion, made some comment about knowing it was going to happen sooner or later. From that point on, he and Y/n were inseparable. Somehow, they always managed to find their way to one another's sides.

They never said anything about it because they didn't need to. It was fundamental, they each felt the need from one another. The gentle touches were enough, the bright smiles, the lingering gazes. They both knew how the other felt just like they both knew that no matter what happened or how long they were apart, they would always wind up back together.

Y/n was not worried when Alastor disappeared. It wasn't the first time and they knew it wouldn't be the last. They knew he always ended up okay. It was, however, most certainly the longest time they'd spent without him since meeting the Radio Demon. When, seven years after his departure, they caught the familiar static of his voice through the radio, trashing Vox who had tried to fill Alastor's shoes in his absence, it didn't take long for Y/n to track him down.

They rang the bell to the Hazbin Hotel, looking fondly up at the radio tower that had been haphazardly added to the side of the building near the roof. There were some shouts, some quiet footsteps, and the door swung open. Standing behind it was none other than the princess of Hell herself, Charlie Morningstar.

"Hello, would you like to check in?" she asked with a bright and kind smile.

Y/n looked over her shoulder to the lobby. Sitting on the couch within were a handful of demons, some familiar and some not so much. They shifted their gaze back to Charlie as a smaller, gray demon missing an eye came up behind her.

"Is the Radio Demon here?" Y/n asked, clasping their hands expectantly before them as they rocked back and forth on their heels.

Charlie exchanged a sceptic look with the demon behind her.

"You're not here to attack him, are you?"

"Something like that." Y/n hummed in response.

Before any of them could say another word, Alastor pulled himself from the shadows behind Charlie and the other demon. Y/n's breath caught in their throat.

"I thought I heard someone at the door." he stated, eyes fixed on Charlie, "Is everything quite all right?"

"Yeah." Charlie replied after a moment, "I think so at least. They asked for you?"

As Charlie spoke, Y/n slipped past her, walking right up to Alastor. Vaggie grabbed her girlfriend's arm, drawing her attention to the situation at hand. Charlie stopped speaking, watching the pair of demons intently. Alastor looked down with wide eyes as Y/n stood their ground, their hands on their hips and a slightly irritated expression on their face.

“Hey. I’ve been looking for you.” they stated matter of factly.

“You found me.”

“You happy about that?”

It was the first time either of them had really addressed the reality of their emotional situation. It was the first time either had ever asked instead of just assuming. Alastor’s smile softened as he realized the great Y/n, awe inspiring demon, afraid of no one and nothing, was nervous. They looked away, their hands fiddling with the cuffs of their sleeves as they waited for him to answer the question.

“Of course I am.” Alastor hummed, grabbing their shoulder and pulling them into his chest, “Don’t be a fool.”

Gently, he wrapped his arms around their smaller form, holding them close. There was a delicacy to his movements, a fear to harm. Charlie watched in excitement. Surly if someone like the Radio Demon could treat someone with such care, such grace, such… love, surly that meant that even Alastor himself had a chance at redemption. His chance was rough around the edges. It had bruised knees, messy hair, and a crooked grin. His chance wore beat up old converse and was easy to excite.

“You’re the fool.” Y/n shot back, their voice muffled by the fabric of his coat as they slowly wrapped their arms around his waist in return.

“Oh yeah?” Alastor chuckled fondly, planting a soft kiss on the top of their head.

“Yeah.” Y/n nodded, lifting their head slightly so they could meet his eyes.

“And why is that?”

Y/n thought for a moment. Their cheeks flushed pink as they shrugged.

“I don’t know. You just are.”

Alastor chuckled lightly and released Y/n from his grip. They took a step back away from him but not before sliding one of their hands into one of his. They slotted together like they were cut from the same stone.

“Don’t disappear like that on me again, okay?”

“Even if I do, you’ll just find me again.”

“Yep.” Y/n nodded, “It’ll take more than seven years to get me off your back.”

Alastor squeezed their hand gently.

“I’ll remember that.”

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 13!!

July 13th <3

Owl - @jegulus-microfic - words: 914

First part Previous part

Letting his eyes glide over the skies, he looked behind him to check the kids were still following along. It was late, the once clear sky started to turn a dark blue. The activity was to go for a night walk, find a nice place in the woods that wasn’t too far from the main camp, and teach the teens how to start a fire.

Much to Regulus’ disappointment, James stood at the back while he stood forward, guiding everyone to the spot that he and James walked to yesterday to check it out. They’d set up some fairy lights, lay down some blankets and packed tools in their bag to start fires.

The distant sound of an owl hooting echoed through his ears, getting louder and softer until it stopped.

He weaved the silver chain strung his dark coloured jean shorts through his hands, feeling the cold metal brush against his hot skin, narrowing his eyes to see the distant glow of fairy lights through the towering trees.

Suddenly, he heard a weight drop into the grass next to him, the heat of a body and a wide smile looking up at him. “Hi!” June grinned ear to ear.

“Hi June.” He spoke in a softer voice than normal. He wasn’t one to play favourites, but June reminded him so much of himself when he was younger, struggling with gender identity in a household like the one he grew up in was definitely a challenge. He would always be so thankful to his friends for helping him transition after he left, leaving was by far the best decision he’s ever made. “How are you?”

They hummed. “Alright…” They trailed off.

“What?” Regulus asked sceptically.

“Oh nothing.” June waved their hands in the air dismissively, leaving a few moments of silence before looking behind at where all the other students walked, and then back at Regulus. “You just kept looking behind yourself, looking really fucking depressed might I add, then sulked off again.” They shrugged.

Regulus felt his eyes widen, a noise of offends escaping his mouth. “Hey! Don’t analyse me.” He retorted. “And I’m not sulking, don’t be nosy.”

“Okay!” They raised their hands in surrender, a smirk still lingering on their lips. “If it helps, James is wearing the exact same expression.”

“What-“

“Bye!” They jogged off with a wave.

“-The fuck.” He finished after they left. “I hate kids.” He grumbled.

-

The lights were glistening, the fire hissing, the owls hooting and James Potters eyes shining. It was beautiful out, and in Regulus’ opinion, James’ face only added to that.

They sat together, legs entangled together far more than they actually needed, ignoring the fact that they had a whole blanket to themselves.

Gladly, the kids had managed to start some small fires, then James gave in and lit a bigger one so everyone could roast their marshmallows.

“Have you ever roasted skittles on a fire?” James spoke out of the blue.

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever-“

Regulus coughed out a laugh. “No I heard you the first time, James. But of course not.” He rolled his eyes, emphasising his point with a gag.

“It’s actually very nice, Regulus!”

“Abomination.”

-

They carried on like this all night, bickering, laughing, throwing random bits of food and leaves at each other while they waited for the time to pass.

Now, Regulus sat lay on his back while James made sure he could still see the teens. He looked up at the full moon, it was dotted through the leaves of the trees but still quite visible and as bright as ever before.

He rolled his head to the side slightly, catching sight of James’ veined dark hands spread out on the blanket next to him. Every now and again he’d shift, playing with his rings and fiddling with his hands randomly. All Regulus wanted to do right now was place his hand atop the older boys, but he couldn’t just do that.

So he just waited, he wasn’t sure what for, but he did anyway. Maybe for James to look at him, all so he could make a snarky comment because he doesn’t know what else to say, but James seems to weirdly like it, so that works in his favour.

It wasn’t until James turned his head to look directly at Regulus, catching his eye and holding it with his hazel doe irises for a few seconds before reaching that same hand out to him.

The coolness of his fingers combed through Regulus’ hair. It was quick, but soon James grabbed a leaf and held it up with an amused expression on his face.

His tan skin was engulfed with the light of the flames before them, highlighting even the tiniest of details and turning his eyes a whole new colour which Regulus decided was so utterly gorgeous.

James reached another finger out, brushing the loose curl of Regulus’ raven hair behind and tucked into his overly pierced ears. He gave a proud smile, nodding and tossing the leaf on the floor.

“There, that’s better.” He spoke softly, clearly not aware to the awe struck wonder on Regulus face, and the red flush that was certainly not from the heat of the flames. Even the way Regulus froze and watched him smile and hum along to a random song, and James just chuckled.

God, this man was oblivious, because Regulus was sure he was doing a pretty shit job at hiding this.

Next part

[happy-beeeps]

Naïveté

Summary: Astarion begins to reconcile with the fact he might have fallen for you, only to worry you've caught an interest in someone else. Earllllllly act 2, minor spoilers for act 2!

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav

Warnings/tags: fluff, miscommunication if you squint, jealous!astarion, platonic!wyll x tav, slightly ooc Astarion because I'm still learning to write him so be nice PLEASE😭🥺

WC: 2k

a/n: I'm finishing a character sheet for tav so we can have her backstory, but she's who I've been using this playthrough and I've been really enjoying her story. When I post on Ao3 she'll have a name, but I'm going to leave her unnamed here! Also, will have a seperate BG3 spot on my masterlist soon!

It’s late at camp, and by the time you finish indulging in a bottle of wine with Karlach, you figure you’re the only one still up. It’s been a long night, and an even longer few days, spent trudging through the grimy depths of the Shadowcursed lands and just barely making it out of the encounter with Marcus alive. Isobel had given you the ability to travel freely, but all you could do was set up camp near the inn.

The firelight is dim when you make your way back from the secluded spot near Karlach’s tent, and Astarion’s tent is sealed tightly. You contemplate going over, just peaking your head in to see if he’s deep in trance yet, but you change your mind. After your previous night’s conversation, you’re still not sure on speaking terms. It plays out over and over again in your mind. Naive, he’d called you, your heart was too big. 

You tried to be reasonable. You were naive. You were young, and perhaps no one but Wyll new exactly how young. To be ninety as an elf was to be just becoming an adult. No one else had known, no else had asked, including Astarion. You chalked it up to his truly immortal lifespan, he hadn’t cared about aging for 200 years, why start now?

Still, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him, or the thrill that shook your bones when he would quietly rush into your tent each morning, murmuring the incantation for lesser restoration. You still thought of the way he looked at Gale when he asked to consume that locket all those days back. “I’m glad you let him suffer for a moment, darling,” he’d murmured into your ear that night, his breath tingly on your neck, “That one’s ours.”

There’d been other nights since your first night together, while you hadn’t slept together in completion since, all passion and teeth and sweat. Sometimes you’d just kiss him, wrapped up in nothing else but this bliss of arms and scent. Lately though, he’d been closed off—distant. His conversation the previous night had come out of nowhere, as if you were standing on the doorstep of Moonrise Towers that very instant. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts, consumed of Astarion, that you nearly missed Wyll’s form standing near the dimming fire, moving around in a dance you actually recognized.

“I hope I’m not interrupting practice,” you smiled, giving the man ample warning before you stumbled into his rehearsal. 

Wyll wheeled on you, a faint blush growing across his cheeks. “It’s one of those old courting dances, it’d be a cold day in the hells before I’d ever forget them.”

“Oh I’m quite familiar,” you murmured, thinking back to your own youth, your own debutante ball, before you lost everything. “Everyone else around here forgets I come from taste.”

Wyll snorts, “Sure don’t smell like it.”

Your friendship with Wyll is a special thing. No one else can understand what it felt like to be from a Noble family, the expectations and the experience it comes with. When your family had been killed and their wealth assumed, you were completely on your own. Learning how to pickpockets and lie had not been a part of your expensive and tasteful education.

Dancing, however, came second nature.

You move to stand in front of him without really thinking, decades of experience guiding your motions. “Go on, let’s see what you can do.”

He’s a fine partner, moving cautiously around you and guiding your hand easily. Even when he brings you closer for a slightly more intimate dance, his hands nor his eyes never stray. 

“I wonder what I’d have done if I ever saw you at one of the balls my father sent me too.” He murmurs.

“I’m certain you did. Though you would’ve been young. I haven’t been in nearly a decade.”

He chuckles, and clucks his tongue for a moment, “Just practically a baby, far to young to approach Fey nobility.” Before bowing in front of you and wishing you goodnight. There’s the smallest beat where he looks at you as if he has something to say. You look at him for the smallest moment. It would be so easy to love him, if you were anyone else. He’s exactly who your father would have picked for you, save his humanity. But, despite it, you can’t. You can’t fake the flutter you get when you Astarion’s cold hands tickle your fingers, or the tickle of his hair on your cheek when he’s pressed against your neck. You’re not naive enough to admit this to Astarion, but from the fleeting glance you send to his tent, you can see that Wyll already knows. He leaves you with a knowing glance and a soft goodnight. You go back to your own tent, happy to have removed the thought of the curse, of Ketheric, and even of your own problems for just a moment.

So full of contentedness in fact, you don’t notice the scarlet eyes peering at you from the slat of their tent, a whirlwind of emotions cascading over them.

* * *

Astarion doesn’t hide his mild disdain for Wyll, or anyone to be fair, to begin with, but the following morning he bears down on the man like an ogre. “I didn’t anticipate you being quite so light on your feet. The Blade stands at the ready, and also ready to pirouette, I suppose?”

Wyll rolls his eyes at Astarion’s quip, used to the sarcasm, but somewhat surprised at the intensity of the rogue’s grip on his arm. “Wasn’t aware I couldn’t have past times.”

“By all means feel free to entertain us with a ballet in between slaughters,” his voice hushes as you walk by, looking at the two men skeptically, “I’d just prefer if your duets didn’t happen whilst I’m trying to read.”

Wyll follows Astarion’s slightly fleeting to his retreating gaze. You’re standing behind him, out of earshot, leaning against Lae’zel’s tent while she sharpens your sword. Astarion’s stare is enough to allow him to piece everything together. “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Only if you accept that I may ignore it entirely.”

“She’s wonderful. And she’s made her choice without giving anyone else a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.”

Wyll walks away, and Astarion is left alone again with his thoughts. Contrary to Wyll’s belief, he thinks it might actually kill him to get to know you. He’s been balancing precariously on his fight to not let himself be fully consumed by you and your grace, your goodness. You were a spoilt little thing, he was sure of that, and he had meant what he said that night by the water. It didn’t mean it hurt his chest more when your face fell. “Naive?” there was a crack in your cool, crafted facade. Genuine hurt had settled there for a moment, and something akin to disappointment. He hadn’t known how to face you since, hadn’t known how to say “I’m sorry! I’m falling for you and can’t help it and I’m terrified!”

So instead he said nothing at all, and resolved to say something later.

* * *

You had just gotten back to camp for the night, Karlach nearly giggling at the amount of gold she had stuffed in her pockets from the tollhouse. You had noticed Astarion’s eyes on you, heavy and pensive, when you had dealt with the Master of Coin, how easily you’d convinced her to simply cease to be. That was perhaps the easiest transition from nobility to rogue you had, the gift of a silver tongue and wide, batting eyes.

You changed into your camp clothes and watched Karlach throw gold pieces at an increasingly irritated Lae’zel, Gale standing nearby doing his best to keep spirits high in this eerie camp, working with whatever cured meats and cheeses you still had to attempt to make a dinner. You had changed into camp clothes and grabbed one of the books you had found in the tollmaster’s office, a shockingly smutty romance novel that had to be even older than you. It was quiet in the corner you found, somewhere even Halsin’s booming laugh had faded into quiet background noise. You tried to not think about your surroundings, about your increasing frustration with Astarion, or the odd way his gaze had hung on you all day. 

“I’m always impressed by that tongue of yours, petal.” The vampire’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and he settled beside you on the ground, arms behind him as he reclined easily next to you.

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and the pet name. “Yet you’ve been leaving me and my tongue to our thoughts the past few days.” You huffed, flipping the book to the next page, though not really reading any of it 

If Astarion could blush, he looked as if he would. “We’ve been a bit busy darling. I’ve been…strategizing.”

“Strategizing?”

“Precisely.”

The quiet overtook the two of you. After being so distant, if he didn’t want to come to you, then so be it. You could not—would not–crack first. He could not even begin to know the bubbling furnace of your feelings, or you’d be positively done for.

“How old are you?”

His question strikes you, strikes you enough that you set the book off to the side and face him. “At what point did you start to ask me questions?”

“When I realized I had done something to anger my favorite companion,” his fingers reach out and trace small patterns on your skin. “How old are you?”

“Ninety.” Your voice moves to a whisper at the end of the word, and his eyebrows quirk.

“Only ninety and yet alone. And Balduran?”

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there since I was seventy five.”

“Something happened,” he rocks upward, now sitting nearer to you. “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m so naive.” It comes out more bitter than you meant, but oh well. He deserved it.

“Naive wasn’t the right word,” he looks like he’s fighting himself to turn out the next sentence. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

You smile softly, laying a hand on top of his. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I appreciate the apology.”

He grins, his deep set smile lines settling in your favorite way. “Tell me about your childhood.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to say. I was an only child, an only daughter. I used to play the lyre, learn languages, paint–”

“You come from nobility.”

“I sort of thought it was obvious,” you shrug and tap your knee against his, “I wasn’t supposed to be out in the middle of a campground, much less learning the ways of a rogue.”

“What were you supposed to be?”

“A wife, I guess.”

“And while I’m sure suitors everywhere are devastated, I much prefer my rogue.”

My. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You let the word hang there, testing to see if he reaches back to grab it, but he doesn’t. It gets quiet for a moment after that, and you can see him spinning the illusion in his head. You, swathed in organza, spinning around a marble ballroom, entertaining suitors. 

“Is that why you danced with Wyll?”

“Ah,” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder. You love these fleeting moments of intimacy, where you can both pretend to be nothing more than lovers on an adventure. “So this was spurred by jealousy?”

“As if I have anything to be jealous over Wyll. He wishes he looked half as good as me.” His words lack their normal bite, and he turns his head softly, so he’s speaking quietly, just to you. “But perhaps in the future you’d let me take you for a spin.”

You press your hand against his on the ground. “You need only ask.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

There’s so much more you both want to say, confessions on the precipice of both your minds, but you say nothing. You idle together a touch longer, hands resting against each other, pretending neither of you can get hurt, envisioning a world where it’s him spinning you across the dance floor in a world where you could have each other.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Roy had, he realizes, half-expected this to happen. He must have suspected on some level that their trip up to Manchester to face off against City would see a repeat of last season’s illicit night-time outing, because when he catches sight of Jamie surreptitiously slinking away from the team movie night just as the film ends, he isn’t surprised.

Just rolls his eyes and huffs a fucking prick, before telling Nate that he’s going out and not to let any of those idiots cause any trouble.

He can feel Beard’s eyes following him as he follows Jamie, out of the impromptu movie hall and the hotel, and into the chilly evening.  

Roy lets Jamie amble on for a couple of streets. Let the little muppet think he got away with it; it’ll make his realisation to the contrary all the more satisfying. Then, as Jamie idles on the pavement while waiting for a lull in traffic, Roy sneaks up to him and grabs his shoulder.

”Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jamie startles, which is pleasing. He doesn’t look particularly concerned at catching sight of his fearsomely scowling coach, however, which is less pleasing.

“Fucking hell, Roy,” he says, having the gall to sound mildly reproachful. “How’s giving your best player a heart attack the night before you take on the champions a good idea, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Roy drawls. “Is it a worse idea than letting one of my players sneak off and break curfew the night before we take on the champions?”

Jamie snorts, unimpressed at his coach’s careful omission of the best. Shrugging out of Roy’s grip, he starts walking again. “Weren’t going to get into any trouble or nothing,” he says airily. “Just wanted to see me mum.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Not exactly a leap. (And if there’s a part of Roy that had been concerned that Jamie might slink away to see someone else, well… No need to bring that up. There’s been enough heated discussions on that topic between them ever since Roy learned of Jamie actually going up to see his fucking piece of shit father in rehab.)

For a few moments, they walk in silence, through the chill October air and the increasingly distant rush of Manchester traffic.

“Are you… okay?” Roy asks eventually. It comes out hesitant and it takes all of his willpower not to smash his own stupid face in for how silly he sounds. He’s getting better at this, he thinks – the emotional shit – but he’s still not good at it.

Jamie cuts him a surprised look. “Uh, yeah? Awesome. Why?” Then his face softens into understanding, his soft lips curling into a silent oh. “I’m good, Coach,” he says earnestly, pushing a strand of his carefully styled hair out of his eyes. “Swear down. Just wanted to say hi to mummy, yeah?”

Roy nods. He’d thought as much, but… he’d needed to make sure. “You could have just asked.”

Jamie gives him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, well, but. You’re not Ted. Might have said no.”

Roy’s eyes snap to Jamie’s face, narrowing in incredulity. “And if I had I told you, specifically, that no, Jamie, you may not fucking run off to see your mum the night before a game, then you wouldn’t have tried to slip away?”

“Yeah, man, ‘course.” Off Roy’s sceptical look, Jamie makes a face. “Come on, Coach. I do everything you tell me to, don’t I? Even when it’s stupid,” he adds, not quite under his breath.

And Roy doesn’t know what to say to that because… Jamie is right, isn’t he. He does everything Roy tells him to, and while that’s… good, obviously, hearing it stated so baldly leaves Roy feeling. Well. Something. Not bad, exactly, but slightly like he’s on a roller-coaster and suddenly he’s weightless and breathless and with that sucking sensation in his gut. Or like when he held Phoebe for the first time, awed and terrified of all that frail softness in his rough hands.

He clears his throat, pushing that weird feeling right back down into the dark recesses of his mind where it belongs. “Sneaking out of the fucking hotel when I told everyone to stay in and hit bed before eleven is a weird fucking way of doing what I tell you.”

“Yeah, but that was like, general,” Jamie says, waving away Roy’s fully legitimate argument like an errant fly. “It’s different, yeah?”

“It really fucking isn’t,” Roy snaps, even as there’s small, strange part of him that feels that Jamie – inexplicably – has a point.

Jamie grins at him, then, “And yet you haven’t hauled me back yet,” he notes, exaggeratedly looking around them to indicated the more and more run-down surroundings, and sure enough, if memory serves Roy right they’re already halfway back to the council estate where Jamie grew up.

Fucking hell.

But he’d suspected this, too, hadn’t he. Known that he wasn’t really going after Jamie just to read him the riot act and bring him back in.

“Half an hour,” Roy growls. “Then I am hauling you back to the hotel, and if I hear one complaint about it, I’m making you run the whole fucking way and then we’re doing burpees until you drop and I don’t care if you’re too stiff to play tomorrow.”

Like hell you don’t, Jamie’s laughing eyes tell him, but all he says is, “Yes, Coach. Mint.”

Roy gives a curt nod. Mint. Yeah. Maybe that’s what this is.

At least it could be hell of a lot worse.

At least until Jamie asks, much, much too innocently, “So, Coach, are you coming with me ‘cause you wanna keep an eye on me or because you wanna see me mum too?”

Roy is grateful that there’s no telling if his cheeks redden in the autumn dark, and that his voice is as gruff as ever when he growls, “All right, you are definitively running back to the hotel, Tartt.”

Jamie sighs. It’s a happy sound. “Yes, Coach.”

[olympeline]

More thoughts on national animal forms in Hetalia:

Their beast selves are slightly bigger than what’s considered normal for the species. Not to such a degree that they’d look like freaks, but big enough to make you take a second glance.

They’re incapable of human speech while in animal form. I’m on the fence as to whether they’d be able to speak to each other as beasts or whether they’d have to change back to hold a conversation. Leaning towards the latter, honestly. These forms are wild and primal and speech of any kind just feels too human.

The appearance of a nation’s human guise stays mostly consistent throughout their lives, but their animal form is different. It can change radically depending on what’s happening in the world. This is most often seen with territories and settler colonies who break away and ascend to true nationhood. Like Alfred, who only became a bald eagle after the USA won independence from the British Empire. Before that he was a young lion. And if you’re wondering whether a super badass Lion King style battle ever took place between him and Arthur during their war? I’m happy to inform you the answer is: yes. Absolutely Hell Yes it did. 👌

Only real animals count. So no unicorn form for Scotland, dragon for Wales, etc. They’re cool but I prefer the consistency of everyone having creatures that actually exist, you know? Oh and, if you’re curious, I picture Scotland’s animal form being a stag. Not sure about Wales’s yet.

Speaking of the UK family, Arthur is a lion but he didn’t start out that way. He was a rabbit in the distant past. Quite the transformation. When did he change? Hard to say. Definitely not before Roman Britain ended. Most likely it would have been either during the reign of William the Conqueror, or else at the start of the Hundred Years War.

The manner in which an animal form changes depends on the circumstances behind why it’s changing in the first place. For Alfred, who won his freedom in battle’s flame, it was a fast, violent, and painful process. The first night after the war was won, Alfred bloodily tore off his golden lion’s pelt and cast it into the fire. Then he resculpted his fleshy, naked, skinless body and reclothed it in a bald eagle’s feathers. The whole thing was over before the sun rose above the newly made country. And as agonising as it was, it was also a relief for Alfred. His lion’s skin hadn’t felt right ever since the start of the war. It itched, and chafed, and burned, and almost drove Alfred mad. Even as a human, it tickled and whined and gnawed at him in the back of his mind. Only getting worse as the war dragged on. Eventually Alfred was assuming his beast form regularly just so he could bite and tear at himself in a frenzy. The revolutionaries got used to seeing their fledgling country covered in the wounds he’d gouged into himself in a futile attempt to find relief. None came until victory was won and he could cast off his lion form - and his old self - for good.

Meanwhile Matthew, who peacefully slipped into a fluffy lion cub form after Arthur won him from Francis, was very different. His independence was gradual and diplomatic so there was no need for a violent ripping of flesh. Instead, over time, Matthew quietly started using his lion form less and less the more Canada drew away from Britain. Until one day, when he badly needed release from the trappings of the human world, he assumed his beast form for the first time in decades. Only to find it had changed. Something Mattie had been expecting for a while but it was still a shock when it suddenly happened. There wasn’t any pain or anguish for him, though. Just a small feeling of wistfulness at the realisation he’d never wear his lion form again. It’s fine, though: a Canadian horse suited him better. Fit like a glove right from the start.

Mattie ultimately becoming a horse is funny too because, while I haven’t made up my mind yet about what Francis should be, a horse is an option I’m considering. Which would mean Matthew went from French foal, to British cub, then ultimately back to horse again, lol.

Maybe…maybe a horse is good for Francis? Maybe? Urgh, I don’t know! Seriously, I’ve only just started this AU thing and already Francis has become the bane of my existence. 😂 France is a world power and England’s historical rival. So his animal form would need to be something that could not just fight, but win against a lion. Yeah, a rooster ain’t cutting it, lmao. A big destrier style war horse could conceivably kill a lion by kicking or trampling it. Horses are prey animals but that doesn’t mean predators aren’t still scared af of a horse’s kick caving in their skulls and smashing their bones to powder. Also, historically horses are symbols of wealth, grace, war, and just plain pretty to boot. All of which fit Francis. My only other idea is that he’d be another lion. Because England got its lion from French nobility. Or maybe he’d be a lion up until the French Revolution? Then he’d pull an Alfred and rip off his pelt - or have it ripped off him by force during the Reign of Terror - and be remade as a horse. Lions are one of the symbols of monarchy so it’s some nice imagery there. Napoleon relied heavily on his cavalry too. Yeah, it could work. Maybe…? What do you guys think? Any other ideas? Post em below if you have em.

A nation-person doesn’t always change their animal form completely if their real world circumstances are altered. Take Argentina for example; a Spanish colony who started as a black calf and still remained a bull after locking horns with Antonio and driving him out of his part of South America. A bull suited Argentina so a bull he stayed. Though his coat and horns did turn from black to silver post-independence. Argentina. Land of beef. Land of silver. Silver bull, geddit?

Finally, there’s the differing effects of conquest where the original inhabitants of the land aren’t replaced like what happened in the Americas. Cases like Romano: a nation whose animal form never changed through all his ups and downs. Not after Antonio conquered him, not after being set free, and not after unification with Feliciano. Romano remained an Italian wolf through it all. Change was possible but it never happened for him. I guess it would depend on factors like how much of the original culture survives, how tightly the controlled nation is under the thumb of the master nation, etc. In the most extreme cases a conquered nation’s animal form might change completely to mirror that of their conqueror. Other times they might shift only a little. Like, say, if Ireland’s original animal was a wolf. Then, after being crushed and occupied by England, that wolf began to look more doglike. Symbolic of the English (later British) goal of “taming” wild Ireland. Stuff like that. A case by case basis, really.

(That’s all for now. Hope you enjoyed reading. I’m tagging this as my national animals AU ☺️)

[vrmxlho]

bruh i posted my fucking hcs while i was in middle of writing them 😕 anyway here it is copied and pasted:

omg aiku is so fucking ajfsdkhjbf every time i see him i go feral,,,, ALSO YES MORE PEOPLE NEED TO READ GOKURAKUGAI THE ART IS BEAUTIFUL +++ i'm pretty sure this is gonna be ooc because i'm really just making shit up so i apologise in advance lmaoo +++ also im sorry its so short i have no idea what to write 😭

cw: swearing + not proofread because who wants to relive this nightmare??? + probably really ooc but this is my blog so i will do as i please honestly 😒 + suggestive but nothing sexual

LEONARDO LUNA レオナルド・ルナ

his love language is either physical touch or giving gifts

he absolutely adores holding you and he always physically on you, either an arm over your shoulder or a hand on your knee, sometimes he even makes you put your legs on his simply because he likes it that way

but at the same time he is 100% the most infuriating person alive and he prides himself in being annoying

at least he's funny ig

he's constantly teasing you, flirting with you excessively

if he hadn't already told everyone in his life that you were his s/o people would've still been able to guess as much

he's like an annoying puppy who always follows you around asking you to play

he's also incredibly petty, like if you ignore him by mistake or leave him on read because the conversation had ended he's purposefully going to do the same to you

even if the subject of the conversation is actually quite important

nothing can get in the way of his pettiness

"leo, can you please fucking answer me???" he only looked at you briefly before continuing with his stupid hair. it had only been like this for about five minutes but you honestly felt like it had been a century. he was being so fucking annoying. "leonardo luna i swear to god, if you don't fucking answer me this instant i'm going to bash your head in." "i'd still be really attractive though, so i don't really-" "will you please stay on topic for once in your life?" "annoying isn't it?" "THE CONVERSATION HAD ENDED YOU SAID 'OK' AND THAT WAS THE END WHAT ELSE WAS THERE TO ADD????" "you can always add an 'i love you'." "boy. be fucking for real."

forgot to mention that he's also rlly vain

by that i mean he pretends to be vain

he pretend to care about his looks more than he actually does because he thinks its funny

it is sometimes

i am a firm believer that he was one of those kids that was fascinated by the ocean and just any type of water body

he wanted to pursue geography and maybe be a marine biologist before he became a football pro

that's why is his ideal date is renting a boat and going to sea caves to scuba dive in

he insisted on the two of you taking scuba diving lessons together because he wanted to swim with sharks and sea turtles

i feel like he was a summer baby, specifically a leo

because my irl best friend is a leo leonardo

he's also the type to collect shells and make shell necklaces for you

once tried convincing you to change your name to sally and start a seashell business because he thought it would be really funny???

concerning

he's naturally funny but at times he says the dumbest things unironically

his favourite way to destress is to have long bubble baths with you while you both chatter about your day

not necessarily in a sexual way

he just enjoys being physically close to you while also being surrounded by water

leonardo luna was exhausted. you could tell as soon as he entered the house. his usually bright and blindingly positive aura had dulled. his eyes looked distant and he walked with a sway. fatigue made his limbs heavy and he hummed softly before he collapsed on the sofa. "are you okay? leo?" he had already begun snoring slightly when you finally reached him. you chuckled a bit. you wouldn't mind leaving him like this. he looked so cute. his silky hair falling gently on his nose and his cheeks a bit red from the slight chill in the air. but he smelled. reeked of sweat. he must've been too tired to even shower after practice. you weren't about to let him sleep in his sweat, it was simply gross. so first, you tried pulling him off. but not only was he a massive man who weighed a lot more than the usual groceries you carried. he was also resisting making it even harder for you make him budge. so you kissed his forehead, hoping it would wake him up. nothing. this time you pinched him. which worked, because now he was stirring. he opened his eyes which burned with anger and frowned at you. "come have a shower with me." suddenly his eyes were wide and bright again. he basically jumped off the sofa and carried you to the bathroom. he was tired but he didn't mind the extra exhaustion that would come from carrying another human being, since it was you. as soon as you got to the bathroom he basically ripped your clothes off and you were in the shower giving him a massage. then washing his hair and running your hand over his back soothingly. he didn't look tired anymore, it seemed like your presence had woken him up. or perhaps he just didn't want to miss out on your touch. "how was practise?" "couldn't stop thinking about you."

his kisses are always hot and passionate

loves holding your face when he kisses you

as if its the last time he will

he loves how his hands are big enough to hold your entire cheek

your first kiss wasn't awkward at all except for the fact that it was in front of the paparazzi because he loves PDA

unless you genuinely hate it he's always holding your hand in front of the cameras, kissing you, full on making out and everything

is a failure in the kitchen but is surprisingly good at following instructions

you'll never have to cut an onion when he's around!!

real men cry 👍

OLIVER AIKU 愛空

you've made it

you are now dating the hottest man on earth, the biggest playboy in the world has settled down

cuz you're just as hot

but that's exactly what makes him so possessive and jealous

it's not that he doesn't trust you he's just a little insecure, why else do you think he always broke up with his previous flings?

he's scared that if you got to see him for who he really was (as if you haven't already ☠️)

however, whenever he sees you talking to someone he doesn't particularly like he'll come up beside you and pull you close to him by the waist

and if you look uncomfortable he'll literally take you to another setting so you feel better

his love language is words of affirmation!!

he loves hearing how much you love him and how much you wanna spend time with him and how you'd kill for him

but at the same time he absolutely loves teasing you and making you get all flustered

oliver had been feeling down. he didn't really know why. it was 3am and he had this deep pit of despair in his stomach. you looked so peaceful on the bed, sleeping softly and scrunching the blanket up a bit. "how can someone so perfect want to be with me?" "if you're going to be so depressing i might actually break up with you..." you had turned around to stare at him with your tired barely open eyes. you weren't a light sleeper per se but your deep connection to aiku meant that you could feel something was off even if you couldn't see if with your own eyes. "sorry, did i wake you?" he moved back into bed. pulling the sheets over you a bit. "you know i love you right? and i wouldn't even dream about leaving your or whatever you were worrying about." "but-" "no, shut the fuck up. it's late," you pulled his arms around your body and placed yourself right onto his chest, " and i'm cold, so do your job. warm up the bed."

bought you an emerald promise ring after the first date because he instantly fell in love with you and he's suddenly discovered that he was actually a big romantic

(emerald to represent his left eye, left being the side the body your heart is in)

as a playboy, the first date was all a ploy to impress you but also give the impression that he wasn't available so breaking things off or ghosting you wouldn't be a hassle

he took you to a fancy restaurant

for once he wasn't two timing you

anyway after all this he took you to the beach to go on a walk where he asked you if you wanted to go skinny dipping

it was his first challenge, if yes, it would be fun, if no, then he had a reason to break things off with you

but the look of indifference you gave him made him crave more

he could already feel his cheeks heating up and from that day onwards he couldn't stop thinking about you like at all

after you got into an actual relationship you both avoid going back to that restaurant because of just how dull that night was

now your dates consist of going to the arcade, doing some karaoke and then maybe watching a movie while living off of buttery popcorn

he honestly has such a beautiful singing voice

would definitely be an idol if he weren't a footballer

he's a huge ABBA fan i can feel it in my soul

his ideal date is having a picnic by the beach and then playing beach volley until you both decide it's too hot and go for a swim

honestly any summer activity would be his ideal date

oliver aiku was probably breaking countless laws right now. it was the end of summer, the nights were short but warm with the skies clear, starry and gorgeous. aiku wanted to celebrate by firing his homemade fireworks he had spent about 2 months making. and you were certain that this was illegal. but he didn't care. "oli- i don't think this is safe..." "don't worry about it, i'm here to protect you." you could almost hear the smirk he was wearing. "you're no lawyer, i won't be breaking the law with you." "oh you're no fun." he looked at you with fake disappointment. frankly, if you weren't in a good mood you would've just left him to his frolicsomeness but you were also sort of intrigued. you really wanted to see what two months of firework building could get you. "make sure we don't get caught." "i'm no amateur love."

likes pulling your hair when kissing

and he's not one to give one quick kiss and run, they need to be deep every single time

pecks on the lips are meaningless in his eyes

he's also one to engage in PDA

he absolutely loves kissing in front of people he dislikes

to sort of one-up them

kisses you all the fucking time for absolutely no reason

you'd think the novelty would have worn off after being kissed so much but it really doesn't

somehow he keeps getting better at kissing

is he practicing behind your back????? (no, i'm jking)

[daisybell17]

Sub!loki hc’s:

let’s be honest, despite this man fights for power and authority, all he really wants is to let loose, to relax, to be obedient and all this became his reality when he met you

always wants to hold hands, fingers interlocking, no matter where you are or what you’re doing, your touch is all he wants

before bed he always snuggles closer to you, face buried into your neck as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear

“my beautiful beautiful boy”

“you’re the best thing that happened to me you know?”

“i’m here honey, i’m going nowhere”

“you’re always my good boy you know that?”

“god you’re the cutest my love”

he lets heavy breaths out as you continue to shower him with praises and he soon falls asleep in your embrace

he follows you WHEREVER you go, to the shared quarters of the compound, to parks and ESPECIALLY to missions (he specifically asked tony to assign all your missions together because he always fears for you and wants to protect you at all costs)

he will do anything to please you, in the same way you do everything to please him.

you constantly give him head scratches and hugs

you kiss him all over his face, up along his neck and jaw, FOREHEAD KISSES, cheek kisses, nose kisses and most importantly, on his precious pretty lips

he makes sure to compliment you all day everyday, reminding you that you are the most beautiful and perfect being he’s had the honour to know, let alone date.

“gods darling i’m so lucky to have you”

“you are the most beautiful person i have had the privileged to know”

“you’re all i ever wanted and needed”

on Loki’s bad days, he’ll act all distant and quiet to everyone, even you at times if it was really bad, its only in your private quarters does he sob into your chest and you always accept him and love him with open arms

Those are nights you make it your priority to remind Loki that he’s loved and that you weren’t ever going to leave

Loki becomes whiny and needy for you, for your touch and for your attention

Loki goes absolutely berserk when another guy tries getting close to you

He starts panicking and crying a little, always scared you’d leave him for someone else, his jealousy acts up and he will do absolutely ANYTHING to capture your attention, from begging to being a brat

Nonetheless, you would never leave your good boy, he’s all you’ve ever wanted and no other man or god could ever compare

“You’re such a good boy honey” you say as you leave hickeys down his neck and chest, claiming him “You’re mine…all mine pretty boy and no one can tear us apart”

he let’s loose in these intimate moments, always wanting to be good, always wanting to be your good boy.

——————————————————————————

(a/n): heyo! it’s been a hot minute since i posted hc’s and i kept this one quite short! been slightly obsessed with sub!loki for awhile and so i wrote this up! hope you enjoyed :)

[royisrandom]

Just a Misunderstanding

Davy Jones x Reader

Short Summary:

Davy Jones notices how you have started to ignore him for the past couple of days. Curious as to why, he attempts to question you and figure out what's made you so grim.

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

These past couple of days, Davy Jones had been watching you with high amounts of confusion. He noticed the only person he spent a lot of time with on the Flying Dutchman had grown increasingly distant. He didn't consider you a friend, but you were definitely getting there. It wasn't common for Davy Jones to know anyone that he considered anything more than an enemy.

You havn't said a word to him in days and you had been avoiding him like the plague; even avoiding his gaze and refusing to give him a passing glance. Something was off and he knew it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

He watched as your posture became more slouched, and your work became more sluggish. You always seemed to be 'out of it'; almost like no emotion has touched your features in decades.

After debating on whether or not to try to talk to you, Jones finally decided that he needed some answers.

As you were heading to the sleeping quarters, you were immediately called out by your captain, Davy Jones. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him standing at the stairway leading up to the helm. You didn't even have to look him in the eyes to know that his eyes were focused on your every move.

"What's going on here? Why are you avoiding me?" He slowly walks up to your shaking form. There's a hint of confusion in his eyes, right behind the infamous look of determination.

You continued to look away, trying not to make eye contact with him. Your shoulders were slumped slightly and you spoke in a soft voice.

"I thought you were mad at me..." Your voice trembled, revealing just how much this situation had been weighing on you.

Davy Jones let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to you. You were taken aback by his laugh, thinking that you have just made the worst decision of your life by saying you thought he was mad. You wanted to move, but your body was frozen, like time stopped around you. A shiver went down your spine as you awaited for what he was about to do...

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head slightly for emphasis, "I'm not mad at you y/n."

You were slightly shocked by this response. Was he actually telling the truth? You hadn't expected such an open and honest answer from someone as cruel as Davy Jones.

"But... I dropped the main sheet cable. I messed everyone else up... they..." You felt tears prick the sides of your eyes, remembering that horrid day. You felt horrible for what you did. Everyone's job was interrupted because you couldn't hold onto a rope...

Seeing you like this didn't resonate well with Davy Jones. He's used to seeing your charismatic and joyful attitude, which ultimately surprised him given you were on the Dutchman. This ship wasn't a place for the kind-hearted, but you found the little good that it had left.

"Aye, you did cause an inconvenience for the rest of the crew... But you did not mean it, did you?"

You look up at Davy Jones, shaking your head 'no'. You really didn't mean to be a burden. Almost like he knew what you were thinking, sensing your guilt, he continued to speak to try to ease the tension in the air.

"You are fine, y/n. It was an accident, is all. Just make sure you don't let your mind wander next time. "

You could sense a form of demand as he said those last words. Not enough to frighten you, but enough to keep you in line.

You looked up at Davy with an expression that was both relieved and confused. You were relieved that Davy wasn't mad, but it was unlike him to act this way. Even with the confusion, you didn't complain. You we're getting the better side of Davy, one that most people never see.

Davy Jones gave you an understanding look and stepped closer. He noticed how you started to slowly inch backwards with every step he took.

"It's all right," Davy said as nicely as he could. "You don't have to be scared of me y/n."

'He really is good at reading people, isn't he?' You thought.

You nodded slowly in acknowledgement. Feeling more relaxed than you had before, you take in a breath that you didn't know you were holding.

You looked up into Davy's eyes then smiled sheepishly; realizing how silly your worries were.

Davy gave a small smile back, then placed one arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side embrace; not one of those awkward ones, but one filled with comfort and understanding.

You two stayed in the embrace for a few moments longer until finally letting each other go again. It felt nice to know that everything was alright between you two.

All you can think about now is how your life would have been if he never brought up this situation, but you're glad you had this talk. Turns out big ol' Davy Jones he has a soft spot for you after all, even if he may deny it.

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

Taming The Dragon Pt. 2

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: as the wedding draws near you start to wonder if aemond will ever truly open up to you

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, fluff if you squint, troubled aemond, mentions of trauma, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of war, arranged marriage, cold and distant aemond, aemond is secretly soft for reader, canon divergent, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual activity

word count: 4.5k

part 1 | part 3 (coming soon)

read on ao3

a/n: i was expecting to finish this fic after two parts but it got a little longer than intended so there will be a third and final part, hopefully coming soon 🤍

extra note: not proof-read so please lmk if you spot any mistakes or anything that doesn't make sense 🤍

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

Once again a few days passed before you next saw him. He was busy apparently, although you had heard whispers among the servants that he had gone missing one night only to come back reeking of cheap ale. There were even rumours of him visiting a whore house in the deepest depths of depravity, not that you paid them much mind.

There was little the rumours could do to offend you, you did not know him very well after all. As his future wife your blood should have boiled at the mention of his late-night endeavours but in truth, you felt as though it was no business of yours who the prince chose to spend his nights with.

Despite the sayings around the palace that the young prince may have begun to lose his way, he still fulfilled his duties in courting you. Although you were almost certain he wouldn’t have so much as glanced your way had his mother not pushed him to do so. Still, you were grateful for his time.

Whether he wanted to be there or not he showed no sign of displeasure, nor disinterest despite his often wandering mind. When he did speak, his words were few and far between but he always made sure to pay attention to whatever you had to say.

You had done much talking about simple things such as the weather or the shape of the clouds in the sky. He, however, mostly sat in silence listening to you. Not that you minded. It was easier this way.

The rumours about him continued as the days passed but their focus had changed. It seemed he still left the keep most nights but no longer came back quite so drenched in ale. Rather, he seemed to have found solace in his outings, wherever it was they took him.

Before long you found that his visits to you were growing ever so slightly more frequent. It was a peculiar thing particularly because you mostly sat in silence together after a quiet greeting. Although it had started to feel less forced and more so as if he had chosen to be there rather than being pressed by his mother to accompany you.

Maybe he was just trying to get himself used to you. He was to spend the rest of his life with you, after all. He had started to learn your favourite places within the keep without even asking you. In the mornings he had found you liked to go for a walk in the gardens. Most afternoons he spotted you mindlessly wandering your new home before you would return to your room. He even knew that he could often find you in the library during the evening, usually with your head stuck in one of the many books there.

In truth, he had found himself at peace when he was with you. Unlike almost everyone else around him, you were the only one he did not feel judged by. They all whispered. They always had. Whether about the eye he lost as a boy or the child he had slain in cold blood, all anyone could do was whisper. Not you, though. You just smiled at him and allowed him to sit quietly by your side as you went about whatever you were doing.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

He had been standing there for a while, shoulder leant up against the old wall next to the fireplace. Not once had he said a word as he watched you read, not wishing to disturb you.

You glanced up, noticing the sharp details of his face as the light from the fire flickered against him. He looked handsome under its glow yet there was still an aura of mystery surrounding him. “Nothing that would draw your interest, I am sure.”

Lowly, he chuckled and pushed himself up away from the wall so he was once again standing straight. He walked closer and held out his hand expectantly as he waited for you to hand it over.

With a sigh, you passed it over to him and watched as he turned it over to examine the cover all the while holding it open on the page you had been reading so you would not lose your place.

You watched anxiously as a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips and his eye flickered up from the page back to you.

“Ah, the art of war. What makes a lady like yourself want to read such a thing?”

It was the first time you had heard a tone of amusement in his voice.

“A war is coming, is it not? I wish to be prepared for what is to come so that I may properly support you and our family, to stand by your side through the thick of the storm. It will be my duty as your wife to do so, after all.”

He chuckled again, so warmly in fact that for a moment you were unsure if the warmth of the fire had finally thawed the icy cage around his heart.

“You are full of surprises, lady stark.”

You gladly took the book back when he held it out for you, thankful that his thumb was still placed firmly between the pages you were reading, and pressed your finger to the beginning of the next paragraph before looking up at him again.

“As are you, my prince.”

His smirk faltered at that, falling into something softer as he retook his place against the mantel watching once more as you continued to read.

He lingered longer that evening, standing in silence as he always did before later taking his leave. When he was gone you couldn’t help but feel that a newfound emptiness had settled into the room in his absence.

Time seemed to move differently after that. When he was by your side everything seemed to slow down and it was as if the two of you were in your own separate bubble, free from the outside world.

He came and went much as he had done so before and although you had little meaningful conversation, you found him speaking more often than he once had. Not only had he begun to engage more in conversation but you had noticed his expression changed toward you.

His sharp, cold features seemed almost gentle as he looked at you, his one good eye fixated on the way the sun reflected off the apples of your cheeks when you smiled. He was captivated. Completely and utterly enthralled. Most of all, however, he found himself lost in you, his one last tether to sanity.

There was a great disturbance within him, one he tried his best to hide around you. No matter how much he wished he could have concealed it there was no hiding the truth from you. Not to mention, you were not deaf to the rumours that he had been different since that night on Storm’s End.

You, however, were new in his life. There were no prior expectations. He had a clean slate with you and you were yet to be tainted by his darkness. Still, he was worried you would eventually see him for the monster he truly was.

“What is it?” you asked, finally working up the courage to give him an opportunity to open up to you.

He hummed in question as he allowed the gentle sound of your voice to guide him back to the present.

“Something is on your mind. Something is always on your mind. What is it?”

For a moment you were worried you had overstepped as he stood quietly, quieter than before, and leaned closer to the flickering flames. His brows had drawn tensely together, his fingers curling almost into a fist as he leaned against the mantle as he always did.

Just as you were about to speak — to tell him not to answer — his voice met your ears, “What do you think of me, Lady Stark? What do you see when you look at me? A prince? A dragon, perhaps? Do you see the monster that hides inside? By now you have heard what I have done have you not? You know I murdered my nephew in cold blood.”

His voice was thick and heavy, full of nothing but an endless void. Not once had his eye moved from its place on the fire, nor had his fingers uncurled. He stood still, almost scarily so as he waited for your reply.

You placed the book you had been reading down on the table beside you and stood, though you did not dare take a step closer.

“Pardon me if I speak too plainly, but I do not think you a bad man, even if you yourself do not believe it.”

Still, he did not move but you did not miss the way he tensed the muscles in his hand at your words.

With a deep breath, you continued. “You put up a cold front. Acting as though you do not care that you lit the blaze of war by getting revenge on the boy who wronged you but in truth, I think it haunts you. You wanted the boy to pay for what he had taken from you but you did not wish death upon him. I think you are plagued with guilt over what transpired that night. Most of all, however, I think you are afraid you will lose control of your dragon again.”

By the time you had finished, you stood only a few paces from him and, when he abruptly moved closer to you, you braced yourself for the strike that never came.

He stood before you with his hand still raised as if he were frozen in time. Only when you opened your eyes did he move again, placing a gentle hand on your cheek in stark contrast to the stinging pain you had initially expected.

Aemond too seemed surprised by himself. Only seconds ago he had intended to strike you for what you had said but the moment he saw you with your eyes squeezed shut and face already turned in preparation for what was to come, he realised you were right. He had never told anyone other than his mother that he lost control of Vhagar and yet somehow you knew.

You knew it had not been his intention to kill Lucerys and you knew by intuition alone. You truly believed he was not the evil he thought himself to be.

His lips were warm and soft when they came to yours as if pulled by a secret magnetic force. They were not quite how you had imagined them to be. He seemed hesitant for a moment but when you felt him move to pull away you found yourself unconsciously chasing after him, pulling him back to you as you cupped either side of his face.

His thumb ran soothingly across your skin as he carded his fingers through your hair, allowing your arms to slither up around his neck as he kissed you again.

“How did you know?” he asked when you parted for air, “that I lost control of Vhagar?”

You smiled and reached up, brushing a strand of long silver hair from his face. “Because you’re not a murderer.”

His eye strayed from yours then as his face turned ever so slightly away. “Part of me wanted to kill him. Part of me wanted him dead.”

Your fingers gently touched his skin, turning him back to look at you as you smoothed your hand against his cheek. “And yet, what happened that night plagues your every waking moment.”

His one good eye bore into your own, pupil widening as he allowed your words to sink in. For the first time in weeks, he came to realise that he wasn’t quite the monster he believed himself to be.

“With conflict comes death, it is simply the way of the world. You cannot change what happened that night, Aemond. You must move on.”

From that moment on, he was with you every second he could spare. He initiated conversation with you more and spoke more freely of himself and his past, allowing himself to slowly open up to you as each day passed by.

He liked to read too, you were surprised to find out. Although he still preferred to spend his time chasing more practical pursuits like ensuing his form was always in top shape when he duelled or trying his best to help with the current situation as a newly appointed member of the great council.

You watched him train sometimes, surprised to find he was actually quite the elegant swordsman, even if he wasn’t afraid to play dirty sometimes. It was during one of his training sessions that you met his sister, Helaena. She was a lot more likeable than you were expecting from the sister-wife of the king, although she was a little odd. Still, that only added to her unique charm and made her all the more interesting to talk to.

It was also the first time you had seen Aegon, whom Helaena came to watch despite not seeming all that interested in their sparring. He seemed younger than you had pictured, shorter too. Not to mention he had an air of arrogance around him that seemed more befitting a young child than the king of the Seven Kingdoms.

As they trained, you couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between the brothers and were suddenly all the more grateful that you were marrying the prince rather than the king.

When it came time for them to spar against one another, you saw the sparkle in Aemond’s eye. He liked fighting his brother then, you supposed. Although he was up against the king, he did not hold back and blocked every onslaught as though it were nothing. This, of course, upset Aegon quite a lot as he clearly felt that he, as the eldest son and king of the realm, should have easily been able to defeat his younger brother.

Aemond, although more composed than his brother, taunted the king who had been showing off prior to his duel with his brother, and even glanced up at you with a smirk before he bought the duel to a swift end.

Of course, Aegon stormed off and called another of his usual sparring partners out to fight him, taking his anger out on the poor soldier.

It wasn’t that Aegon was a poor swordsman, in fact, he was actually rather good, but Aemond was better and less prone to letting his emotions dictate his movements.

“He was unkind to you when you were growing up, wasn’t he?” when Aemond only raised an eyebrow at your sudden question, you clarified, “Your brother. The way you fought him… The two of you do not get along.”

With a dry scoff, he nodded and confirmed your assumptions.

“No, we do not. Aegon is,” he paused and took a breath, “Exhausting.”

Now it was you who was raising a brow as you sat beside him, thankful for the warmth of the nearby fire.

“He does not deserve to be king,” he explained, “He’s never wanted it, not once. Do you know how many times he has run away? Gone missing for days on end? Do you know how many bastards he’s-“ He glanced at you, aware now that he was stepping just a little too far.

You were not his wife, not yet, so it was improper of him to burden you with such talk.

He massaged the tensed muscles in his brow with a lengthy exhale. “The throne was handed to him on a great, golden platter. He has not worked for it, not once. My brother is not fit to rule but, as much as I may despise him, he is my brother and my king. As long as he seats the Iron Throne he will have my support. Not for his sake, but for my mother’s.”

You smiled understandingly and lifted your book, flicking it open to the page you were on. Aemond visibly relaxed at the action, enjoying the peace he found in sitting with you while you read and too picked up a novel you had recently recommended to him.

With war fast approaching and the Blacks finally beginning to make their moves, the queen mother made your wedding to Aemond a top priority in order to secure the support of the North.

Guests had been arriving for a number of days now, although you were yet to find your brother among them. There had been word that Jacaerys Velaryon himself had travelled to Winterfell on dragonback to earn the support of Cregan, who had already made his allegiances to the crown. However, those allegiances were void until your marriage to Aemond.

You could only pray Cregan would arrive lest he make an enemy of the very family you were marrying into. It was he who pushed you into this, after all. For the pride in a Stark owning their own dragon. The deal was as good as done, all that was left were the vows you had already prepared.

“Relax, she will not harm you.”

The day before your wedding, Aemond decided it was high time for you to meet Vhagar in person and, of course, you were a little more than nervous.

“I am not afraid,” you reminded almost sternly, although you could not hide the slight tremor in your voice. “I just- I haven’t seen a dragon so close before.”

He smirked and reached out for your hand, fingers gently tugging against your own as he led you deeper into the Dragonpit.

If it were not for the subtle glow of candlelight, it would have been pitch black down there you were sure. The pit was closed tight, every door shutting behind you as you traversed further inside. Although, you had a feeling this was not to keep the dragons safe inside. Only those trustworthy were allowed inside other than the riders themselves.

Other than the occasional dragonkeeper, you passed almost no one as Aemond led you through the darkness.

You could hear them as you quietly walked along. Dragons. You could hear them moving, sounding as though they were almost docile by nature although you knew this not to be true.

As your heart drummed against your chest, you wished you could have had Frost by your side but the snow-white dire wolf had been left behind with your servants for a nice warm bath. He had started to warm up to the now familiar servants who came to care for him from time to time, especially Reila who had taken a quick liking to the obedient creature.

Dire wolves were kinder than dragons, you supposed. Easier to tame.

One last corner and the two of you came to a stop. Aemond still stood in front of you, as if protecting you from the shadows inside. You peered past him as he pulled on your hand slightly, moving you so that you were standing with your face to his back.

It was a low grumble of sorts, the sound that ricocheted off the walls of the dark cave. A sound akin to death itself. Then, came the slight rumble of movement in the inky blackness before you and a large, scaly face emerged, lit dimly under the candlelight.

Instinctively, Aemond outstretched an arm and placed his hand gently against the humongous creature’s maw. His voice was calm as he took one step closer to the creature, letting go of your hand.

“I have someone for you to meet.”

As if in response, the dragon huffed and pushed slightly against his hand before turning its head towards you.

Your breath caught in your throat when you realised just how large she was — the largest dragon in all of Westeros — and you found your eyes almost immediately flickering over to Aemond in hopes he would tell you what to do.

Rather than speak, he simply jutted his chin forward, encouraging you to move closer to the great beast.

She will not harm you. His previous words rang out in your head and, choosing to trust the man you were to wed in less than a full day, you cautiously took a step closer to the dragon.

When she did not move and simply looked down at you curiously, you took another step and, like Aemond, reached out an arm to pet her. You did not close your eyes for you felt the dragon deserved to be greeted with respect rather than fear. She, however, did close hers while she huffed once again as though out of approval when your hand pressed softly against her.

It was only then that a true smile graced your lips and, rather than turn back to Aemond, you moved closer to the large dragon still, no longer wanting her at arm's length.

You felt her thick, scaly skin under your fingers as you moved your hand up and down, the gesture seemingly pleasing the creature.

“I knew she’d like you.” Aemond smiled fondly as he moved back to your side, reaching out to place his hand on top of yours, stilling your movements against the dragon.

Vhagar nudged forwards against the two of you one last time as he pulled you away, hand still over your own as your back hit his chest.

As the dragon retreated back into the shadows, returning to her slumber, he rested his chin on your shoulder and took in a deep, soothing breath. He had liked things the way they were and, although he was more than looking forward to your marriage, a part of him was worried things would not change for the better.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

With a questioning hum, he moved away from you again and you turned to him.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” he asked, eye fixed on yours. You frowned and opened your mouth to speak but before you could he continued, “As my wife, you will only be put in danger. War is coming and I… I will not always be able to protect you.”

“I do not need you to protect me and it does not matter who I marry. Either way, I will be pulled into the fight. I would much rather be on the side of those I love.”

His eye widened at that. It was a word he had not heard often, other than from his mother, and a feeling he was not sure he could truly feel. Not until he met you.

He did not move even an inch when you advanced and kissed him under the shadowed light of the Dragonpit. Vhagar did not stir, leaving the two of you to your moment in her home as he cupped either side of your face, smiling against you.

You spent a little longer in the Dragonpit, enjoying the feeling that you were alone in the world, until it came time for dinner.

The queen mother, or Alicent as you had come to know her by in your time together, was insistent that you eat with her on your last night as Lady Stark. Aemond, however, would be joining his brother for an outing you could only imagine would include a lot of drinking and girls. Not that you minded so much as you knew his heart was already yours.

It was a slightly jarring thought that you were going to be a member of the great house of Targaryen come the morrow, not to mention soon to be gifted your own dragon. Although you were unsure what unclaimed dragon you would have the chance of taming.

You had read up on them, eager to know the ins and outs of every single unclaimed dragon to ensure you would be prepared come the time to claim one. Alicent had said you would have your pick of them, after all, so you wanted to get to know them some before the time came to make your choice.

There was Vermithor, an old dragon who had been riderless since the death of King Jaehaerys I. He would have made for a bold choice, perhaps one too ambitious for even you. Not that it mattered much though as you later read that the dragon resided in his lair on Dragonstone which was, of course, home to the opposing side.

Then there was Cannibal, a dragon known for eating its own kind and never once taking a rider, and Sheepstealer, both of whom you ruled out pretty quickly as they also resided on Dragonstone and were therefore, as good as impossible to obtain.

One dragon which had caught your eye was Grey Ghost, who was named as such because he was evasive by nature and rarely seen. A swift flyer who could get you out of many a sticky situation if needed. The only issue would have been finding him; until you found that he too resided on Dragonstone.

You had sighed then, finding that other than those were Silverwing and Seasmoke, both also residing out of your reach on Dragonstone and Driftmark.

Still, some part of you half-believed that the promise of a dragon had always been a lie. Although Alicent seemed a woman of her word, with all the unclaimed dragons on enemy territory and the fact that you yourself had no Targaryen blood, it seemed unlikely they had ever truly intended to grant you your own fire-breathing beast.

Still, it was not like they would tell you that before the wedding unless they wanted you to tell your brother only for him to call it off and take you back to Winterfell. It was he who cared so much about dragons, after all. You, in all honesty, did not care so much for them. Well, they were beautiful creatures and you admired them a great deal, especially after your meeting with Vhagar, but you would not have minded so much if you were not to have one of your own.

You had frost, after all, and Aemond. The political engagement had become something you were now looking forward to after having found something unexpected in King’s Landing — love.

“Still no news of your brother?”

With a sign, you returned your attention to the woman who was soon to become your mother through marriage. “No, but I am sure he will be here.”

Alicent hummed in thought and rested her head atop her delicate hands. “We must hope so. You and Aemond will be married tomorrow, whether he is in attendance or not.”

You smiled, glad to hear she would not call it off over the absence of your brother, and tried to ignore the possibility that she was only going forward with it to use you as leverage against Cregan should he have changed his mind and returned to the oath your father had made.

Jacaerys Velaryon would have reminded Cregan of this oath upon his visit to Winterfell, you were certain, and it was concerning that you had not heard from him since.

Your meal with the queen mother was as pleasant as any other, particularly as you were still full of that pre-wedding daze. Even as you walked back to your room, your heart continued to pound as if it had been longing for this moment for an eternity...

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[borahaerhy]

Dealer (6) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: LOTS OF UNALIVING BE PREPARED, so many guns, pew pew, Yoongi is intimidated, Hoseok is absolutely terrified, Yoongi threatens Jungkook, Jin has a plan, Jin's plan gets fucked up, Jin makes a new plan, more secret tunnels, Jin's backstory, the layout of which brought to you by the lovely @roxy1205 , go give her a (consensual) smooch on the forehead. Also, where the hell is Y/n in the chapter?

Word count: 2.9k

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Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self harm, and has self-harm scars. This is fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

“Okay, so Jay-” Seokjin, who had finally worked out all the kinks in his plan, was about to present it to the rest of the group, stopped mid-sentence because he heard something. It was small, something no one else in the room noticed, but it was definitely there. 

Everyone else stared at him, his finger pressed to his lips as his eyes swept the room for any signs of someone being there that wasn’t supposed to be.

There it was. 

A shadow under the door, a shadow that was completely unaccounted for. He looked at Namjoon, gave him a small nod, before he returned his sight back on the door. Namjoon understood what Jin wanted him to do, and moved quickly and silently. 

“Jay’s the bosses son, and the one we ultimately need to go after,” Jin spoke again, only seconds after he had taken a pause, not wanting the person behind the door to know that they knew he was there. 

As he continued to speak vaguely as Namjoon had started pulling guns out of a compartment in the floor and handed them to everyone, already loaded and ready to fire.

Seokjin took another pause and made his way over to the door, before pressing the gun just handed ot him against it, just below where his own forehead would’ve been, and pulled the trigger. 

Jin didn’t let any time pass before he threw open the door and started firing, swarms of men in the hallway distracted by the death of their fallen comrade. 

But even with guns firing and men yelling and falling to the ground, the only sound that seemed to flood Seokjin’s ears was an all-too familiar sound of distant screaming.

-

“Ah, Jin, thanks so much,” Jin nodded his head slightly, a small smile peeking out from under his shy persona as he stood at the door to one of his new clients' houses. 

“No problem, hit me up next time you need, I’m available 24/7,” The man nodded and thanked him again, the door opened just enough for Jin to see a woman in the background, cleaning up what seemed to be the messiest house he’d ever seen. 

He didn’t think much of it, he wasn’t exactly the most experienced seller, but messy houses were quite common for addicts, and someone trying to clean up a little to make it look presentable seemed pretty normal to him. 

Over the next couple of weeks, this new client of his bought from him several times, and Jin had made more money off of him than anyone else he sold to. 

“Hey, man, why don’t you come inside?” Jin nodded and smiled shyly, his hair hanging down in his face as he walked through the opened door. He took a look around, and the house was actually cleaned up a considerable amount from the last time he had been there. He walked over to the couch with Ben, his client, as they took seats opposite each other. 

The conversation started slowly and awkwardly, but when the topic changed to what video games they’d been into recently, the conversation grew exciting as they went back and forth talking about their favorites. The conversation also grew a bit loud, something Jin hadn’t really been known for being, and it drew out the woman he’d seen the first time he was here out from the bedroom. 

A sweater and jeans barely hung off of her, both looking several sizes too big for the admittedly tiny woman in front of him. She seemed very unsure of herself, hands fidgeting and clasped together with her feet pointed inward as she walked. 

“Ah, Jin, I don’t believe you’ve met my girlfriend yet. Rose, this is Jin, he’s a good friend of mine,” Jin waved awkwardly, trying to make himself smaller on the couch as she sat in the tiny available space next to her boyfriend, and still seemed to have room to spare.

She spoke the smallest “Hi” Seokjin had ever heard come out of someone that wasn’t him, and soon, the man he’d just sold an unprecedented amount of percocet to resumed his monologue about Apex. 

But Jin wasn’t paying near as much attention as before; his eyes kept darting to the small figure next to him, and the thoughts in his head were all blaring sirens with bright red lights, screaming at him that something wasn’t right here. 

Jin had always had one hell of an intuition, but this was something new; something he hadn’t ever experienced before. The anxiety that always seemed to have consumed him was put into overdrive as he sat across from her, her eyes glued to the folded hands in her lap as the uncomfortable energy coming off of her was almost unbearable. 

“Well, thanks for coming in, man, I’m glad Rose finally got off her lazy ass and cleaned up enough for me to invite you in,” Jin was stunned, to say the least, but he simply smiled, and left. 

He spent the next several days with that overwhelming anxiety flooding him, unable to even get out of bed most of the time as he felt that something was seriously off with her, and the man who so blatantly degraded her in front of him. He all but completely neglected his job, ignoring most of the people who wanted to buy from him, but he never ignored Ben. 

He’d be out of his door mere minutes after he received a message from him, and he’d be at his doorstep not long after. 

Rose wasn’t usually there. She stayed in the back room most of the time, but every time he’d seen her, he wished he hadn’t. 

Cheeks even more sunk in, heavy dark bags under her eyes and clothes even more loose fitting than the previous time he’d seen her. His heart broke every time he saw her, but he just didn’t know what to do. 

He’d spent a lot of time researching what to do when you suspect someone is a victim of domestic violence. The signs were all there: low self-esteem, overly apologetic, fearful, extreme weight loss, etc. She almost seemed that if she were to ever show any emotion she would be in trouble. 

But the advice on how to help didn’t exactly work in this situation. 

He couldn’t just strike up a conversation with her when he wasn’t there. He couldn’t help her come up with a safety plan or a safe word, or even be there to listen to her because there was no way for him to reach out to her, not while Ben wasn’t there. 

He almost called the cops a few times, but then stopped himself. There were never any physical signs of abuse. No bloody lips or black eyes, and she always covered up every part of her body except for her face and fingertips, so he couldn’t look for any signs of bruising. 

Just after he started getting back to normal, after his anxiety would calm down to the point where it was manageable, and the sirens stopped blaring out of control, he went back to his normal life. He’d start selling to all his other clients again, coming up with lame excuses on the spot as to why he wasn’t answering them. 

But one day, months after his first encounter with Ben and Rose, he went back over to sell to them. 

This time she had a wrist brace on and a bloody and bruised lip. 

“She got into a car accident, thankfully she’s okay.” 

Only Jin knew she didn’t have a driver's license, something Ben had brought up a while back because she was too ‘untrustworthy’. 

This time he knew he had to do something, and the red lights and blaring sirens came back stronger than ever, but this time they meant something: She’ll be dead if you don’t do something, and do it fast.

But he didn’t know how to handle this situation, and the anxiety was so overwhelming he couldn’t even think of a course of action until hours later. 

“Hello this is 911 what's your emergency?” Jin swallowed thickly, his entire body shaking with the anxiety spilling out of him, about ready to explode any given second. 

“I need to report a suspected abuse,” his voice was so shaky it was barely comprehensible, his voice moving up toward the end of his sentence as if he were asking a question. He told them the address, and the names of the abused and the abuser before they said they’d be sending a patrol car out immediately. 

He sat for a moment after hanging up the phone, on the cold bathroom floor of his crummy apartment. His plan was to stay there, stay there all night and drink away the voices screaming at him to do something, but he couldn’t. 

He got up and left, quickly driving over to the house that several squad cars were already parked haphazardly outside of. 

He didn’t even have to shut his car off or get out of it to hear the screaming from inside the house. The voices of the cops screaming at Ben to put his weapon down, and of Rose sobbing so loudly he feared he’d never get the sound out of his head. 

Several loud bangs ensued, guns being fired inside the home that made Jin’s heart stop. 

For a moment, the world went still. 

The birds chirping suddenly stopped. 

The wind rustling in the trees came to a halt. 

Rose’s screaming was gone. 

And suddenly, the sirens in his head faded away. 

For the first time in months, everything was still and silent, almost peaceful even. 

The sirens were gone, and so were the flashing lights. The anxious pit in his stomach had finally subsided into the most blissful feeling of nothingness he’d ever experienced. He was free in that moment. Free from worry about what would happen to her and if she was okay. 

He watched as Ben came out in handcuffs, shoved into the back of a cop car that was driven off before an ambulance pulled up in its place. They rushed in with a stretcher that reappeared minutes later, a black body bag zipped up and laying flat on it; no one in a rush to get it anywhere, to get her anywhere safe. 

The blissful nothingness he’d longed for months to feel was replaced by something much worse than the anxious sirens begging for help. Now they filled with the guilt of not reacting to them sooner; and the sirens had been replaced with her screams. 

He sat outside that house for hours, knees pulled into his chest as he sobbed the loss of a woman he knew practically nothing about. The only thing he ever knew about Rose was that she needed help, and he’d be the only one that could’ve given it to her. 

And yet, here he was, sitting alone in a car perfectly safe, a car he could’ve taken her to many times over but didn’t. 

In Jin’s line of work, he’d come across many more people like Rose. Soft, sweet innocent people that just needed a way out. And everytime he’d met one of them, her screams would come back to haunt him, reminding him of what would happen if he didn’t step in. 

And you were no exception. 

-

Jin had taken down six men by the time Yoongi was able to take down two. He’d never seen anyone able to focus so quickly and perfectly on killing people; but he tried to focus on saving his own life from the man currently charging him rather than how well else was able to pull the trigger. 

Both Taehyung and Namjoon were mowing down people, more people than anyone would’ve thought possible to fit in the narrow hallway; the floor now covered in bloody bodies. 

Hoseok, however, wasn’t used to all of this. He wasn’t used to people dying and guns shooting, and to be frank, neither was Yoongi. Not to the extent the rest of the men in the room were, at least. 

The two of them fell back in the group, Hoseok’s hands shaking violently as he held the gun, and Yoongi only shooting when necessary to protect himself and his clearly out-of-it friend. 

They were able to push the hitmen in the hallway back, Seokjin and Taehyung leading them to push everyone back, as far away from the plan and as far away from you as possible. 

A door to the left of Yoongi suddenly burst open, Jungkook stepping through with a gun in each hand as he started taking down more than even Jin. 

With Jungkook’s help, they were soon able to take down everyone in the hall. 

“Everyone, back!” Seokjin whisper-yelled, and everyone moved; retreating back into the the room they’d spent all day in. 

As they got back in and closed the door, Yoongi realized something that made his blood turn cold. If Jungkook was here, who the hell was watching you? 

Jin had already opened up the wall, which was apparently a door, and was trying to usher everyone inside when Yoongi grabbed Jungkook by the collar and shoved his against the wall, gun falling to the ground with a thud as all eyes fell on the two of them. 

“Where the hell is Y/N?” Jungkook’s expression never faltered as Yoongi stared him down, worry consuming his features. 

Jin calmly walked up and placed a gentle, steady hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “She’s safe, she’s in a secret room no one can get to. She’ll be fine, Yoongi, but we have to move,” Seokjin’s voice remained calm and smooth as he spoke. 

Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth between Jin and Jungkook for a moment, before he slowly let go of Jungkook’s shirt. 

He stepped away from him, nodding his head slowly at Seokjin. Jungkook pushed himself back of the wall, and they all filed into the room Jin had opened for them, the tense air consuming them. 

“All right,” Jin started as he closed the door behind them, typing something into the number pad beside it before turning around, locks clicking into place as he turned to address them. “The plan I came up with is going to need a few alterations now,” he paused, his brow furrowed as he thought hard. 

Namjoon and Jungkook busied themselves getting equipment - bulletproof vests - and started handing them out, before sliding them on themselves. 

Yoongi was on edge, his hands and arms shaking as slid his vest on. He had killed before, sure, but never like this. 

The first time was in self-defense. A man trying to mug him coming at him with a knife when he learned Yoongi didn’t have his wallet on him. 

The second time was when someone he sold to had a mental break when Yoongi told him he was out of Xanax, and was forced to shoot him before getting shot. 

The third was with you, when a man broke into his home to take you from him, to take you back to Zeke. 

Now, he didn’t even know how many he’d killed. He spent the past several minutes aiming down the scope of his gun and pulling the trigger. He killed maybe ten? Twenty people? He had no idea, the faces of all of them hidden behind masks and blurring together. 

“They’re here now, only god knows how many there are. We can assume that we took out at least half of them in that hallway, but even then, we have a much bigger problem on our hands than I had initially anticipated.” He paused for a second, before shaking his head, pulling himself from his thoughts. “We’re going to split up, three groups. We’re going to surround the room Y/n’s in now. Yoongi and Jungkook will be the ones to get her, the rest of us clearing the path for them to get the the garage. Hoseok and I will be in front of you, Namjoon and Taehyung will be behind,

“We’re going to take two cars, Yoongi and Jungkook, you’re going to get her, get her to the garage, and into the civic, and then you’re going to wait there. The rest of us will get into a different car and leave first, distracting everyone to make them think we have her. You’ll leave four minutes later, exactly four minutes, and we’ll meet up at the getaway house, got it Jungkook?” 

Jungkook nods once, and Jin continues. 

“You’ll be as inconspicuous as possible. Drive the speed limit, stay off major roads, make a pitstop at a touristy hotel, and whatever you do, make sure she isn’t seen, am I clear?” Jungkook nods again as he reloads his guns and makes his way over to a door that Yoongi presumes the two of them are about to walk through. 

Hoseok looked scared as Namjoon handed him his gun back reloaded, and pushed him toward Jin, who was getting ready to walk back out the doors they’d entered through. Taehyung followed Namjoon over to a door on the opposite side of the room as Yoongi and Jungkook were, looking much more cold and emotionless than any of the rest of them had ever seen him. 

With his back leaned against the door after everyone had punched a set of numbers into their respective key pads, Jin let a slight sly smirk spread across his almost scarily cocky face. 

“See you on the other side.”

Taglist: @pamzn @fvcuidk @cybm1n @limiworld @scuzmunkie @hyunjingin @nellyboosworld @giselleg7784 @zaeve @lovelgirl22 @rosquilleta @kooliv @bangtannie7 @strawberryjimin13 @anjoellamorte @limitlessdespondency @lalaoise @roxy1205 @lavender-ivy @orangecarrotlemon @billy-jeans23  @jwlmnbt @artemis1862 @namjoonsbuspass @luaspersona @wittyreader @be0mluver  @acquiescence804 @dustyinkpages @damiiworld @cynicalbitch666 @rosiejunnie @dahliasbouqet

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

continuing the fragments from the google docs series: yugi is caught in a horrific depression spiral after the ceremonial duel and finally hits rock bottom, until everyone's favourite ceo sticks his nose in. fem!yugi because... I don't even remember, I think I just felt like it.

tw: suicide attempt

The ground suddenly looked very, very far away. Which it should; she was only a couple of floors below the penthouse. Would have gotten the penthouse, had a certain someone not booked it before her, probably before the circuit for this year’s world championships were even announced.

Except it brought to mind one of those statistics that got bandied around on self-help sites about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the drop being long enough to pass right through suicidal ideation into oh-fuck-why-did-I-jump.

Yugi didn’t think she’d renege, and the point was sort of that even if she did it wouldn’t make a difference, but it made her stomach twist to think she might. That it might be something hard-wired into her brain rather than a conscious decision. It was all chemicals, after all; maybe the fear of death was just something the chemicals bullshitted together despite all good reason after the last drops of dopamine ran out.

She shifted from one foot to the other, her hands sweaty on the absurdly fancy Romanesque column.

God, how much easier it would be if she could just will her heart to stop beating. No fuss. No mess. Just here one minute, gone the next. She’d thought the next best thing was an overdose, until she read a well-meaning forum post about the after-effects. Yes, and the pain, because she was simultaneously brave enough and coward enough to admit she wanted it painless; dared to go as far as to think she deserved it to be painless, really.

Why should it hurt to make things right?

Yugi closed her eyes and listened. Distant music and muffled voices floated up from the open windows on the floors below. Traffic blared on the roads. The fan in her bedroom hummed white noise behind it all. She breathed in something floral they’d scented the hotel rooms with and, below it and more familiar, what she’d always thought of as the smell of a city. Fast food – pizza, burgers, something garlicky – and emissions mixed with something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Life.

Well. So long, and thanks—

Yugi shrieked like a scalded cat as she was pulled backwards off the balcony wall. Eyes snapping open, she fought instinctively against the hands gripping her elbows. As soon as she was on the floor again, she was released, and turned to see – oh.

“What the fuck, Seto?”

She wasn’t sure what annoyed her most: that Seto Kaiba had managed to get into her locked hotel room, that he had done so without her noticing, that he had interrupted her immaculately planned suicide attempt, or that he had done all of that with a bored, slightly irritated expression on his face.

“I was getting sick of watching you grandstand,” he said. “If you were going to jump, you would have jumped.”

Seto turned away and kept talking, pacing across the balcony and gesturing, but Yugi stopped hearing him. She stopped hearing anything. Pure, unadulterated rage managed what all the calm, logical reasoning in the world could not.

Yugi leaped over the balcony.

She almost didn’t make it. The balcony wall was higher than she could comfortably jump, even with a few steps of a running start, and her feet caught it on the way over. For a dizzying moment, Yugi was suspended over the glittering downtown lights, and then gravity took over. Her stomach lurched, her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, and yes there was that sudden spark of horror, of internal screaming, of nononononono---

Then a hand caught her leg and momentum slammed Yugi into the wall below face-first, hard enough to drive all the breath from her lungs. The momentary red mist cleared and her hearing kicked back in just in time to hear Seto scream:

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Which, Yugi had to admit, was a very fair and extremely good question.

Drop me, she thought desperately. Please just fucking drop me.

But Seto Kaiba had never been accommodating in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. With a remarkable show of strength for such a wiry man, he hauled her back up over the railing by her ankles and dumped her on the balcony, red-faced and panting.

“That wasn’t - a - rhetorical - question - by the way,” he gasped as Yugi dropped her head into her hands and wished, intensely, for the sweet kiss of death. “What - and I cannot - stress this - enough - is wrong with you?”

Yugi sighed and forced herself to look up at him. There were so many things she could say. The truth. A host of lies, some more ridiculous than others. Something like the truth, without mentioning Atem. But in the end what came out of her mouth was:

“You ought to know better than to tell me I don’t have the guts to do something.”

Seto opened his mouth. Closed it again. Sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have words,” he began in a tone that implied every word was being dragged out of him like a rotten tooth, “For how much I hate that I know you’re right. But even for you, this is extreme.”

Yugi sighed and leaned her head back against the balcony railing. She felt completely drained of every possible emotion. The attempt was ruined. All she wanted to do now was to be left alone to sleep.

“It’s possible,” she admitted, “That I’m not entirely in my right mind.”

Seto scoffed. “You don’t say.”

Then, instead of leaving, or lecturing her, or calling security, or any of the reasonable actions Yugi would have expected Seto Kaiba to take after witnessing - and averting - a suicide attempt, he got down and sat beside her, knees drawn up to his chest.

“I knew there was something wrong with you lately, but I didn’t think it was this.”

Yugi looked across at him, frowning. “What do you mean, you knew something was wrong?”

Seto shrugged. “It was obvious, as soon as I started looking at the footage from your duels. You’d stopped caring.”

“Yeah,” Yugi sighed, because there was no point hiding it and there was a certain relief in admitting it. “Yeah, that’s about right. Why do you care, though? Other than the tournament, I mean… is this just for the sake of the tournament?”

“It certainly wouldn’t help our advertising campaign if the current champion pitched herself off the tallest building in the city,” Seto conceded. He shifted slightly and looked across at her. “If I left, would you just jump right back over again?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No. I was mostly just curious about whether you'd admit it or not.”

“Ha.” Yugi looked down at her knees, considering. “...I don’t know. Maybe. You sort of ruined the moment.”

Seto let out a bark of laughter. He held up a hand as Yugi shot a glare at him, looking genuinely apologetic as he tried to rein himself in.

“You--You said that like I - fuck - like I came in and tore down your mood lighting.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, it did sound like that, didn’t it? Yugi tried to hold onto the seriousness of the moment - or at least her anger - but it was rapidly slipping through her fingers, replaced by a bubble of laughter of her own.

“You bastard,” she managed to get out before dissolving into giggles. “As a matter--heh--of fact it--it was my… mood music.”

That did it - within seconds they were both howling with laughter, the tension seeping out of them little by little, until they were clutching their stomachs with tears in their eyes.

----

He stayed with her all night. Yugi tried to protest but Seto just told her not to be ridiculous and made himself comfortable (or, at any rate, as comfortable as possible) in an armchair he pulled up near the bed.

(It wasn’t until the next day that Yugi realised he’d put it there to be between the bed and the balcony door.)

It should have been awkward, laying there with Seto Kaiba watching her like a hawk in the wake of a suicide attempt. They were friends (at least, Yugi kept insisting they were friends), but it wasn’t like the easy platonic intimacy that existed between Yugi, Joey, Tea, and Tristan. The four of them had had innumerable sleepovers, oftentimes sharing beds during their various journeys. Seto, though? Yugi could barely imagine him in pyjamas.

(Actually, that was a lie. She’d put money down that he owned Blue Eyes White Dragon print pyjamas. With a pair of matching slippers.)

And yet. Maybe it was just that the absurdity of the evening transgressed all other boundaries. Whatever the reason, it was… fine. Comfortable, even. The silence got a bit wearing after a while, so Yugi asked Seto to talk about -- something. Anything. He launched into a comprehensive monologue about the technological updates in the latest Duel Disk, which Yugi listened to with genuine interest, even asking a few questions, until the shop talk lulled her enough that her adrenaline drained away and she dozed off.

When she woke up the next morning he was still there; asleep, or so she thought, until she shifted and his eyes snapped open. They stared at each other for a few moments until Yugi attempted a weak smile.

“How’s your back doing?”

“It’s--” Seto began, stretching, only to cut off with a hiss. “...In one piece.”

So was Yugi. It seemed unbelievable now, in the soft morning light, how close she’d come to death the night before. Like a story that had happened to somebody else.

[comphy-and-cozy]

50 w Kreids :)

this turned way spicier than I was anticipating so enjoy xoxo

celebrate 1K with me

Prompt: #50 "Why would I stop when it gets me what I want?"

Pairing: Chris Kreider x Reader (f)

Word count: ~550

Warnings: implied smut but still very intimate spice so 18+ ONLY. Voyeurism, fingering (brief), heavy tension.

The night sky is clear, the beach quiet save for the distant sound of waves crashing on the shore. There's a slight breeze in the warm air, but you're plenty cozy lounging in the hot tub of the vacation home Chris rented for a friends' weekend in the Hamptons.

Everyone else has either gone to bed or is sitting by the fire on the other side of the house. Except for Chris.

Chris, who's taking slow sips of his beer, gazing at you like a predator stalking its prey. The feeling of his eyes on you alone makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Do you like my bathing suit?” you ask nonchalantly, toying with the strap sitting over your shoulder. "It's new."

He hums, taking a long swig of beer, then eyes the tie between your breasts. “Actually, I think that part is better off.”

“No,” you feign shock. “You think so?”

“Know so.”

You're helpless under his heady gaze, unable to resist the hold he has on you even from across the hot tub. You don’t know why, but suddenly you’re untying the bikini top, letting the fabric float away in the water.

The corners of Chris' lips turn up slightly as he watches the white straps bump against the wall.

“What about the bottoms? They’re so cute.” It comes out before you even have a chance to think better of it, instead the teasing proposal enough to elicit a further smirk from the man sitting across from you. He's pleased, smug, like he's got you exactly where he wants you. You suppose he probably does.

He acts like he's thinking long and hard about the predicament, and with the way his eyes glean at even the distorted view of your tits under the water, you think it's safe to assume he's thinking plenty about you removing all of your clothing. Then, with a dramatic shrug he says, "Think they gotta go too, darlin’.”

But you can't make it quite that easy. You have to at least push back a little.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Anyone could walk by.”

“I think you’ll find that it’s a great idea.”

It's short and sweet but no less convincing. You bite your lip, then glance around to make sure no one is coming. The silence assures you, and soon you’re slipping off the bottoms of your bikini, joining its mate in the corner.

His eyes grow warm, molten even, as he tugs you closer by your waist. Your knee bumps against his thigh, firm and muscular, while he pulls you into his lap. Gentle fingers brush past your entrance, making you shiver when his knuckle nudges your clit.

Chris teases you for a moment, toying with your slip before he dips a finger inside. You suck in a breath, tensing up.

“Chris, stop!” you whine, shoving his hands away playfully. Then, more seriously, you add, "Not here."

“But darling, why would I stop when it gets me what I want?” he says with a smirk.

"Because if you get me inside, I'll be completely naked in your bed."

He contemplates for a moment, then leans over to grab the extra towel he set on the bench beside the hot tub, tossing it at you. "You make a good point. Let's go."

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas Redux: Shadow To Light

Happy New Year to everyone, and I hope 2024 is a beautiful and positive year for everyone - I think we've all earned it.

As promised, as an auspicious offering, the first 1000 words of the STL Ch 13 draft. Mary-Alice is being profoundly difficult about this chapter, but she's allowed to be a little bit messy.

Here's to a great year with more regular updates and more of my self indulgent nonsense ;)

Fourteen. Starved for so long of beauty

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, she made a choice. It was an easy choice to make, because it was the right one. Because she didn’t truly know what came next; her certainty in her own visions, her certainty in who she was going to be - who the Major was going to be - had made her confident.

(She doesn’t regret it, she would never wish to go back and make a different decision. She just wishes… she just wishes that she knew better what was to come. What it was like to be stripped right down to the bone, layer by layer, from loneliness and violence and hopelessness. She wishes she’d read the contract she was signing in blood and tears and time, just so she could look fate in dead in the eye and make the same choice without a second thought.)

The Major smells like… he smells like something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

(He smells like home.)

—

She feels silly after the worst of her panic attack is over, and the Major is there next to her with his arm around her. She feels utterly ridiculous, actually - the stolen t-shirt in her arms, curled against him so tightly… She almost feels ashamed.

(Except… she’s frustrated. She wants to demand answers - when is she allowed to fall down? When is she allowed to break apart and have someone else put together the pieces? In more than eighty years, it’s always been up to her to maintain control, to be the thing that bends but does not break and she’s so tired. But she’s also supposed to be better than this. Isn’t that what the Major always said? Why Peter always resented her? Even Maria noticed. Mary-Alice is sturdy, reliable, consistent. If she falls, she gets back up. It… it would just be nice not to, just once.)

“How are you feeling?”

The Major’s voice is warm and kind and it almost makes her feel less pitiful.

Almost.

“Present.” Her voice is quiet but her tone is clipped and distant, and she regrets it when she feels him withdraw slightly. She’s wrecking this, like she wrecks everything. It’s all she ever does.

(Maybe that’s why she was such a good soldier; she knows exactly how to ruin things.)

But the Major doesn’t leave. He just shifts so he’s not pressed quite so close, his cheek no longer resting against her hair. But his arm is still around her.

“Do you need to hunt?” He asks, and she doesn’t know. Everything feels odd and off balance and maybe she’s not as back as she originally thought.

So she doesn’t answer. She just rests her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.

The Major watches her for a moment before looking away. “When I met the Cullens,” he begins in a gentle voice, “I swear Esme only made Carlisle approach me because I resembled a drowned cat. Hadn’t stopped raining on the East Coast for weeks, and I’d been roaming the woods the entire time. I was disgusting. Maria would have thrown a bucket of water at my head weeks before if we’d been back home.

“And Esme took one look at me and whisper-bullied Carlisle into approaching me, like I couldn’t hear every single word. She kept saying that I looked cold.” The Major chuckles and she’s close enough that she feels the vibrations through his chest and it’s… it’s not unpleasant.

It’s strange being this close to another person and not being on edge. Not waiting for the killing blow, trying to figure out how to get to their throat first. Making sure that she knows exactly where their hands and teeth are, that she’s prepared for their next movement, for the tightening of their muscles before they lunge…

(It’s very strange being this close to someone, at all. She prefers to keep her distance normally. But this… it’s not the bad kind of strange, she doesn’t think. She’s just so intensely aware of him.)

“Just imagine it, will you - Esme wearing a tweed coat and riding boots and a hat to go hunting, and I look like a monster who spent a week sleeping in a swamp,” the Major continued, “And she was worried about me, like I was a soggy kitten.”

She can imagine it, honestly; his hair sticking to his face, and that gaunt, murderous look he got on his face when he was thirsty. Weeks of grime pressed into his clothing, his skin, looking like the monster from an old story or some mythological horror rising from the riverbed. Nothing sympathetic or pitiable about him for most people.

Right now, she feels oddly grateful to Esme for looking past all of that and seeing the Major as he could be.

“And you followed them home?” She tries to make the words sound light-hearted, but they fall flat and ugly, and she wants to take them back.

That makes the Major laugh out loud, a rumble against her side that is startling and she jumps a little.

“No. I told them to fuck off and leave me be; I had to tell them that a few times over the years until I gave in and talked to them. Let Esme convince me that taking a shower and accepting new clothing was a right and not charity. Let Carlisle remind me that I owed them nothing by ‘visiting’ with them. It took a long time for them to lure me over the threshold.” The Major takes her hand in his; his thumb smooths over a patch of scar tissue, a repetitive motion that feels… soft. Nice. “I think in the end, I hinted that I was ready for them to ask me to stay with them. I don’t think I was subtle about it either.”

“They didn’t ask you before then?” Mary-Alice feels the frustration boil for a second. She watched as much as she could bring herself to, for many years, and there are pieces that she’s missing. They just weren’t important enough for her to see, or something changed and recalling what she’d politely dismissed was too difficult.

(She had entrusted the Major to the Cullens. It didn’t matter that they had had no idea, all those years ago, her visions had made the contract. And even now, knowing that it all came together the way it was supposed to, it upsets her that he had to wait for so long to be taken home to his family.)

[spookyc]

One this episode of reading way too much into a children's game, I want to discuss Arven and Nemona and their similarities and differences. Mainly revolving around their upbringings and how their familial situations shaped them, and even why the two became at odds with each other.

(Spoilers for the end game and post game of SV under the cut)

So let's start by saying, well what do these two even have in common?

1. They both come from prestigious families.

2. This prestigious family/family member had a direct impact on their own social standing and both are judged for it.

There are other similarities, but these are mostly superficial, these two being the ones I noted as having significance. And as you can see, both of them relate to their families in some way. Alright, so both of them come from some pretty important families, but who are these families specifically? Well, as we know, Arven is the son of Professor Sada/Turo, aka the most impressive professor the games have given us yet, and Nemona's father, who's on the board of the Rotom Phone Company.

Why are their families important? Well, their family, in some way, is integral to why they turned out the way that they did, and in part, why they grew to resent the other.

So let's start with Arven:

(For brevity's sake, I will be referring to Arven's parent as Sada, as I played through scarlet, but know that any points I make about her apply to Turo in the case of violet)

Born to the esteemed professor Sada, you might expect that Arven had an easy life growing up. With a name known across the entirety of Paldea, and even outside it, surely her influence must have been carried to her son, causing him to be studious and never late to a class. Especially not when Sada was herself a graduate of Naranja Academy. The reality, as most players know, however, is quite different from that picture.

To say Sada was a distant parent would be putting it lightly, so I'll say it outright. She was a neglectful parent, straight up. Controversial opinion, I know. From a young age she completely abandoned Arven to pursue her research and didn't even have the time to be home, let alone interact with him. His passion for cooking isn't even something born purely from a genuine like of it, as he states himself in his route in post game that he only picked up how to cook because his mother was never around.

Which means Arven had to learn to cook as a child, along with providing for his Maschiff/Mabosstiff, and Koraidon when Sada got her time machine working. Not to mention that Arven saw Koraidon as being the thing that took away his mom and childhood and yet he's the one forced to take care of it.

(On a slightly separate note I find that incredibly symbolic that Sada couldn't provide for both of the things she brought into the world. She didn't provide for her own son, and she didn't even provide for the Koraidon she brought back from the past even though that was a direct result of her research. Just something interesting I noted.)

So Arven was forced to grow up, he didn't get to experience a childhood like everyone else, instead left to clean up after his mother's mistakes and make a meal for himself and his Mabosstiff everyday. I imagine this is why he's so abrasive and standoffish in the beginning of the game, because he can't relate to any of his peers and that frustrates him. It frustrates him that he can't have fun and enjoy himself like all the other kids his age, and all because his own mother chose her research over her own flesh and blood.

And perhaps no one ignites this frustration quite like Nemona does.

Enter Nemona. A girl the same age as him, who also comes from some important names, but they couldn't be further apart. She was provided for, loved and cared for, never had to or has to worry about her next meal, and her name is heralded due to her status as "Champion" due to her age. She's extroverted and such a boundless burst of energy, and it isn't fair.

Why wasn't Arven given that? How come he didn't deserve that life? Why does Nemona deserve it? She's not so great, even if she did always win every fight he ever engaged her in. She just got lucky, she's never experienced any real hardship, not like he has.

He hates her because in his mind, she's been given everything he's ever wanted. From the outset her life looks so idealized, it looks perfect, and he can't understand why he couldn't have had that life. It's unfair, but he doesn't know her, and it's not a hard conclusion to come to, especially when Nemona's someone no one's ever been able to get close to.

Let's investigate that.

So Nemona, at least in terms of upbringing, certainly did have things easier than Arven. We see the bigass mansion she lives in, and we know at least her father is stacked. I mean they like, have butlers, so yeah, rich. Definitely never had to worry about food or likely doing anything around the house. She does mention her parents being distant but in her words, "in a good way" so I imagine gone away on business trips often or stuff like that.

With her older sister primed to be an heir, she had less expectations set on her as the youngest, but that didn't mean she didn't have any. Once she started attending Naranja Academy is when the issues started to arise.

(I will be extrapolating quite a bit from here, but we don't really know much about Arven or Nemona's first year, so it's kinda up in the air. And I am basing most of my thoughts on stuff at least mentioned in the game)

Due to her family's reputation, she began to gain a status immediately as this kind of "princess" whose family had bought her into this school. Her peers either saw themselves as beneath her or scoffed at the notion that she was above them, regardless of if Nemona substantiated these claims. I imagine, though it likely wasn't as bad as it was with Team Star, she was even picked on for this status.

That she "only got in cause of "daddy's money" and that it didn't matter what she did because she could just "buy her problems away." This bothered Nemona, as she'd always felt quite distant from her family and their business endeavors. They'd never pressured her to be a part of it, not when her sister was around, and she'd never been interested in it.

But regardless of what she told her peers, they never took her seriously, this constant invisible wall separating her from everyone her age. So she decided that if she could do something real impressive, then they'd judge her on her own merits, rather than judging her based on who her family was. So she worked her ass off training her pokemon and grinding through every gym, until at last she made it to the Pokemon League. That would have been impressive enough, but Nemona wasn't gonna stop there, no, she was gonna take on the League and she was gonna win.

And against all odds, she did. She defeated Geeta, La Primera, and won, becoming a Champion in her own right. Finally she had proved herself, proven that she was more than a family name, that she was Nemona, a Champion! Right? Well, not quite. Turns out beating all eight gym badges and the Pokemon League was an unprecedented feat and incredibly difficult for someone her age, so now the conversation around her just became "She must just have some crazy natural talent" and the wall never left, in fact, it might've grown worse, because now the thing she's most passionate about she can't even go all out in, because everyone is so afraid of loss.

Which is something she can't understand, because she had to have lost so many times before she eventually became Champion. To her, a loss is just an opportunity to learn how to win next time. But no one else really seems to understand that, and so she's forced to hold back, and even when she does, it's still too much. So despite her extroverted nature, she doesn't really have any friends, never able to break past this barrier she has with her peers.

Which is why (though it's likely less intense than Arven) she resents Arven. Because despite his standing as the son of the professor, no one sees him as being higher than any other kid, and no kid views themself as lower in his presence. He can interact with others normally, without having to hold any of himself back, and Nemona envies that. Sure, maybe that just means people see him as a disappointment, but she'd rather be a disappointment than be untouchable.

Which is why when they meet in Area Zero, and get to interact more, they realize how they've misjudged each other. Sure, Arven doesn't have this barrier that prevents him from interacting with others, but that doesn't mean it's easy for him. It's not better to be a nobody to everyone except for the footnote of being the professor's son, and he can't interact with his peers on a normal level anyway, not when he's matured so far past them.

And though Nemona is surrounded by attention, it's not exactly always good attention. Just because she's accomplished a lot doesn't mean she's perfect. She experiences her own problems, even if they're different than Arven's, and that while she was lucky to be born into a home that loved and provided for her, her titles were her own to gain, and that had nothing to do with luck.

And I think they always were on the way to those discoveries, it's just that their own resentments kind of clouded them to it. Like, I think Arven never felt this invisible barrier with Nemona. Maybe because he also had an influential parent, or maybe because he only ever saw her as a lucky, annoying prick, regardless, he'd always treated her like a person and not a figure. And likewise, though she acknowledged others saw Arven as a disappointment, Nemona never actually saw him as one. Hell, with her disposition, I think she saw how much potential he had, and only resented him more for not applying himself.

Think there's proof of that with her line of "You better actually show up for class!" in the beginning of the game.

But yeah, upon a second playthrough, I couldn't help but notice how similar these two were with their family situations, and that got me thinking about how differently they turned out, and how their separate problems fueled their initial distaste of each other. As of now though, definitely think they're the kind of besties that are comfortable enough to fuck with each other but knowing each other well enough to know when to stop, and that they care deeply about the other.

Sorry, I'm very sappy about these idiots, very sad I couldn't include Penny but her family has no influence and her problems are more centered around like, the failure of the school system, at the time anyway. Which I would be down to discuss as well as my own headcanons for her family situation, but that's for another post.

(If there's interest for that lmk)

[emma23]

The crumbling brick:

Anselm Vogelweide x reader

————————————————————————

The dim light in the kitchen cast long shadows on the walls as you poured a glass of wine, your thoughts miles away. It was one of those nights where the silence felt heavy, as if it was pressing down on you, demanding to be filled. Anselm was late—again. Not that it was anything new, but tonight it bothered you more than usual.

Maybe it was the memory of the last time you’d both been here, standing in this very kitchen, his arms wrapped around you as he whispered promises of a future you’d never quite believed in. Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t been able to shake that nagging feeling at the back of your mind, the one that had been gnawing at you for weeks now.

You sat down at the kitchen table, taking a sip of the wine, its taste sharp and slightly bitter. Fitting, you thought. Everything felt bitter these days.

Your mind drifted back to the first time you’d met Anselm. He’d been this larger-than-life figure, stepping into your world with all the swagger and confidence of someone who was used to getting what they wanted. You’d been captivated by him, drawn in by his charisma, his enigmatic charm. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, the only one who mattered.

But Anselm Vogelweide was a man of contradictions—he could be charming one moment and distant the next, warm and affectionate, then cold and calculating. It was like he thrived on keeping you off-balance, never quite sure where you stood with him.

And then there was the news. You’d been hesitant to tell him at first, not because you didn’t think he’d care, but because you weren’t sure how he’d react. But you’d told him anyway, nervously blurting it out over dinner one night.

You were pregnant.

For a moment, you’d seen something in his eyes, something almost like fear. But then he’d smiled, that charming, reassuring smile that always made you forget your doubts. He’d taken your hand in his, promising that he’d be there, that he’d take care of everything.

That promise hadn’t lasted long.

————————————————————————

It had been Anselm’s idea to start couples therapy. Not that you’d needed it, of course. At least, that’s what he’d said when he’d first brought it up. But the more he talked about it, the more it felt like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You should have seen it coming. Anselm never did anything without a reason, and his reasons were usually far from what they appeared on the surface.

Dr. Caroline Parker had been recommended to you by a friend of a friend. She was supposed to be one of the best in the city, known for her no-nonsense approach to therapy. You’d been skeptical at first, but Anselm had been insistent.

"She’s good," he’d said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She’ll help us work through this."

You’d wanted to believe him. You really had. But from the moment you stepped into Dr. Parker’s office, something had felt off. It wasn’t anything she said or did, not at first. It was more of a feeling, a gut instinct that you couldn’t quite shake.

Dr. Parker was everything you’d expected her to be—professional, composed, and direct. But there was something else, something beneath the surface that made you uneasy. Maybe it was the way her eyes seemed to linger just a little too long on Anselm when she thought you weren’t looking, or the way he seemed to charm her with that same effortless ease he used on everyone else.

At first, the sessions had seemed to help. Anselm was more attentive, more engaged, as if he was really trying to make things work. You’d started to feel hopeful, like maybe things were finally turning around.

But then, things started to change.

It was little things at first—missed calls, late-night meetings, vague excuses that didn’t quite add up. You’d tried to brush it off, telling yourself that you were just being paranoid. After all, Anselm was trying, wasn’t he?

But the nagging feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away. And then, one day, you found the evidence you’d been dreading.

A text message, a brief but damning exchange between Anselm and Dr. Parker, left open on his phone. You hadn’t meant to see it, but once you did, you couldn’t unsee it.

Dr. Parker: “Tomorrow night, my place. Usual time?”

Anselm: “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You felt the world tilt on its axis, the ground beneath your feet turning to quicksand. Your hands shook as you stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears welled up in your eyes.

You’d been right. All along, you’d known something was wrong, but you’d ignored it, hoping it would go away, hoping that you were just being paranoid.

But you weren’t. You never were.

————————————————————————

Confronting Anselm had been one of the hardest things you’d ever done. But you couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay, not when everything was crumbling around you.

You’d waited until he came home that night, late as usual. The wine bottle was still on the kitchen table, empty now, and you were sitting in the dark, waiting.

When he walked in, he looked surprised to see you awake. “You’re still up?” he asked, his voice casual, as if nothing was wrong.

You didn’t answer right away, just stared at him, trying to reconcile the man standing in front of you with the man you’d thought you knew.

“We need to talk,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

Anselm paused, his expression unreadable as he set down his keys. “What’s this about?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. “I know about you and Dr. Parker.”

There it was. The truth, hanging in the air between you, a chasm that couldn’t be bridged.

For a moment, Anselm just stared at you, his face carefully blank. But then, something flickered in his eyes, something dark and dangerous.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

You held up his phone, the message still on the screen. “This.”

Anselm’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the phone, his expression hardening. “You went through my phone?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” you shot back, anger and betrayal boiling over. “That I went through your phone? What about the fact that you’re sleeping with our therapist?”

Anselm’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might deny it, might try to spin some story to explain it away. But then, he just sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost defeated.

“Isn’t it?” you demanded, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. “You’re cheating on me, Anselm. I’m pregnant with your child, and you’re off screwing our therapist.”

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t deny it. “I never meant for it to happen,” he said, his voice pained. “It just… did.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut, the wind knocked out of you by his casual admission. “How could you do this to me? To us?”

Anselm looked at you, his eyes full of regret. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you echoed, your voice rising in disbelief. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You stood up, pushing the chair back with a screech. “I trusted you, Anselm. I trusted you with everything, and this is how you repay me?”

Anselm didn’t say anything, just watched as you paced the kitchen, your anger and hurt boiling over.

“I can’t do this,” you finally said, your voice breaking. “I can’t be with you. Not after this.”

Anselm’s face paled, and for the first time, you saw real fear in his eyes. “Please,” he said, his voice desperate. “Don’t leave me. We can work through this.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “How? How can I ever trust you again?”

Anselm reached out to you, but you stepped back, shaking your head. “Don’t.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the silence between you filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to scream, to rage at him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. But you couldn’t. You were too exhausted, too broken.

Finally, you turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Anselm standing there alone. You didn’t stop until you reached the bedroom, the place that had once felt like a sanctuary but now felt like a prison.

You collapsed onto the bed, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of what had happened crashed down on you. You’d lost everything—your trust, your relationship, your future.

And it was all because of him.

————————————————————————

The days that followed were a blur of pain and confusion. You could barely think straight, let alone make sense of what had happened. Anselm left the house the next morning, and while part of you felt a grim satisfaction at his absence, another part of you was haunted by the emptiness left in his wake.

The shock of the betrayal was compounded by the reality of your pregnancy. You had to make decisions now, ones that would affect your future in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The house, once a symbol of your shared dreams, now felt like a tomb, every room a reminder of what was lost.

Friends and family reached out, offering sympathy and support, but their words felt hollow against the backdrop of your heartache. The well-meaning inquiries about how you were doing or when you planned to see a therapist yourself seemed trivial compared to the depth of your anguish.

You took some time off work to collect yourself, spending hours sitting in quiet contemplation. In those moments, you began to think about what you wanted for the future. The idea of starting anew, of raising your child alone, seemed both daunting and liberating. The betrayal had shattered your illusions of a perfect life with Anselm, but it had also cleared the way for you to forge a new path on your own terms.

You eventually decided to keep the baby. It was a choice made not out of defiance or hope for reconciliation but from a place of acceptance. You would be the mother your child needed, and you would do it on your own. It was terrifying, but it was also a form of reclaiming control over your own destiny.

As the weeks turned into months, you slowly started to heal. You began seeing a therapist, not as a couple, but for yourself, to help process the trauma and plan for the future. The sessions provided you with strategies to manage your emotions and practical advice on navigating single parenthood.

Anselm tried to reach out a few times, but you kept your distance. His apologies were too late, and his promises to "make things right" felt insincere in the face of his actions. You couldn’t afford to let him back into your life, not when you were focused on rebuilding it from the ground up.

By the time your baby was born, you had found a new rhythm to your life. The days were filled with sleepless nights and the overwhelming joy of new beginnings. Each milestone, every small victory, was a testament to your strength and resilience.

In the end, the crumbling brick that had once been your life with Anselm was now the foundation of something new and entirely yours. It wasn’t the life you had envisioned, but it was one you could embrace with hope and determination. The road ahead was uncertain, but you were ready to walk it, step by step, with your child by your side.