#I waited hours and no one returned from war to post these

[slythereen]

FRED VASSEUR congratulates MAX VERSTAPPEN on 10 consecutive wins — Italian Grand Prix, Monza 2023

[hirukochan]

I feel cheeky sending another ask but I lived the interrogation one so much so just 3 so words: snape sex pollen. Perhaps a professor x professor?

(Ps: is their a place that I can support your writing!!!)

Snape x Professor sex pollen coming right up 🫡

Writing is one of my many beloved hobbies; liking, reblogging, giving kudos or commenting is all the support I need! Thank you very much for asking though!

Blue Speckled Mushrooms

(Severus Snape x fem!Professor oneshot)

Words: 2572

Warnings: 18+ Sex Pollen :D - mutual dub-con, some biting, rough smut

Summary: In your continuing efforts to catch the grumpy Potion Master's attention you follow him into the Forbidden Forest - a mistake of perhaps destiny unfolding?

This is play post-war, Sev survives - not that it matters much to the 'plot'

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It could have been so easy. Gather these blasted Moon Cornflowers and Speckled Blue Mushrooms and return to the castle. It’s all he asks for. Moon Cornflowers and Speckled  Blue Mushrooms to finish the brew currently under stasis in his office. Two plants. Just a few of each. They couldn’t be preserved through either magic or other means and had to be harvested within three hours of being used in a potion and only during a full moon. 

Now usually this is no problem for an accomplished potion master such as Severus Snape. A quick trip to the forest and done. He knows the half-forgotten paths, the safe routes. Knows how to avoid the Centaurs and other nastier beasts that live in the Forbidden Forest.

He does not know how to avoid her.

Irritating, stupid girl.

She took over the History of Magic position earlier that year, one of Snape’s first students he taught after becoming a professor himself at merely twenty-one. A seventh year at the time who already stared at him in the library back when he was a student. 

She just wouldn’t leave him alone!

“Midnight stroll?” She asks with that irritating smile on her stupid pretty face and follows him into the forest.

“What do you want?!” He growls at her. She keeps trying to make conversation with him, keeps sitting next to him during meals or in the staff room, talking. Always talking. Talking talking talking. 

How can a single person be this annoying?

She is still talking. Jesus fucking christ!

“So anyway…what are you doing here?”

“I don’t see how that is of any concern to you.”

“Just curious, is all.” She replies. Stupid girl. And she is still following him!

You have no idea what to do anymore. You’ve tried everything. You’ve tried catching his attention by talking to him, leaving the top button of your blouse undone, batting your lashes at him like a teen on a love potion, you’ve searched his company, flirted like your stupid life depends on it and the cranky bastard doesn’t even recognise it! 

You run to catch up with his long strides, wrapping your cloak around yourself to shield yourself from the cold night air.

You were about to go to bed, just finishing up your rounds through the castle on the lookout for students out of bed when you saw his billowing cloak sweep out of the entrance door. You of course followed him. Curious as to what he was going to do outside but also secretly hoping today’s the day he’ll finally notice your intentions.

Perhaps you have to be less subtle. You thought men like to be subtly seduced but Snape is not like any man you’ve known! Maybe he doesn’t like playing cat and mouse, doesn’t enjoy the chase. 

You’ll be blunt! Yes, if a stroll through the forest at midnight doesn’t do the trick you’ll gather what little courage you have and just make the first step yourself. You’re an independent woman! You don’t need to wait around for Snape to realise you’re interested in him and make the first step.

“Are you gathering ingredients of sorts?” You ask and walk quicker to keep up, pressing your arm against his by walking closer to him. He glares at you.

“Obviously.” He snarls and looks forward again.

“Cool. cool cool cool….um…which ones?”

He audibly grumbles.

“Sorry, I couldn’t understand you.” You smile. He is making it very hard to be attracted to him. Grumbly bastard. Prickly idiot. Why can’t he just fuck you? Shove you into a broom closet and let out his frustrations if you’re so bloody annoying to be around! Why can’t you fall head over heels for someone normal?

Because normal is boring.

Your eyes glide over his sharp jaw, every muscle tensed, about ready to snap, beneath his pale skin that shines in the moonlight.

“I said, you were a daft, simple-minded girl when I had the misfortune of attempting to teach you potions - I very much doubt you’d understand any more now than you did seventeen years ago!”

His venom cuts deep. You stumble backwards. You thought he was clumsy when it comes to socialising, that he perhaps didn’t understand your intentions, not that he loathes you.

“Oh…” You murmur. “Um…okay…” don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. “Sorry for bothering you.” You turn on your heels and run. He calls after you but you ignore it, disappearing between the trees into the undergrowth, away from Snape because you are about to cry your eyes out like the stupid little girl he sees in you and you are not about to embarrass yourself any further than you already have! You just want to go back to your quarters.

Stupid girl! Insufferable, annoying, bothersome, foolish girl!

Snape runs after her. He considered leaving her to her own fate and capabilities and collect his ingredients but he had been cursed with a conscience. A nasty, biting thing demanding he not let her run to her death in an Acromantula den.

He’ll tear her a new one when he catches up to her! The sheer idiocy! Running into the Forbidden Forest like that! What possessed her.

“Stop running!” He snarls, draws his wand and sends a non-verbal Stupor at her. She stumbles and falls face-first into the flower field spreading over the clearing they had entered during their chase. Snape lifts his spell.

You spin around, furious. How fucking dare he? Isn’t it enough to insult you? Does he have to embarrass you by forcing you to bear your pathetic little hurt feelings to him?

He stands at the other end of the clearing, pale blue flowers reaching to his calves, emitting a gentle glow. He looks furious. The light of the full moon illuminates him from the back, deepening his already sharp features, cloaking his face and body in menacing shadows.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He snarls and points towards the direction you were running in. “Do you want to be eaten by enormous spiders?”

“Like you give a damn!” You shout and pick yourself up off the ground. Swiftly you brush loose dirt and a few pedals off your robes and out of your hair. The motherfucker stunned you!

“I might be a cold son of a bitch but I am not letting a colleague run to her death - no matter how annoying said colleague is. The way back to the castle is-” A wind picks up. His cloak flutters behind him, the fabric whispering with the motion. Pedals are ripped from the flowers.

His eyes widen.

You tilt your head to the side, brows pulled together. “Severus?”

“Stay where you are!” He hisses, sending droplets of spit flying. You look around, confused, searching the dark rows of trees for some beastly critter about to attack but you find none. Snape’s eyes are pinned to yours. His chest is heaving, his breath seems shallow. You take a step forward to which Snape instantly backs away, keeping his wand pointed at- you?

“What’s going on?”

“To the castle! Go back to the castle!”

“I am not your student! You can’t give me orders! And to think I’ve been trying to go on a date with you for months!”

“You have to go back to the castle now or- what?” His wand hand sinks a little. A crease forms between his brows. You’ve never seen Severus so puzzled.

“Year really…” You mutter. “Back in school too-”

“I am not in the mood for jokes or pranks.”

“It’s not!” You take another step forward. Severus’ back hits a tree. The wind picks up. A sweet scent reaches your nose, infiltrates your mind, swirls around your brain like vapours of a potion-

Weren’t you cold?

You were! Yes, you were- but it’s so hot- when did it get so hot?

“Stop that!” Snape snarls again.

“Stop what?” You roll your eyes and pause- your cloak lies in the flower field three steps away from you. You have unbuttoned your robes, revealing the white blouse and dark trousers underneath- when-?

“Go. back.” He has his jaw clenched, teeth pressed together. His nostrils flare, his eyes flick down to your chest and he seems to struggle to force them back up.

“Are you hot too?” Your fingers pry open the buttons of your blouse without you even noticing or you’re just not thinking about it…

“Go-”

“What’s happening?”

“Pollen-”

“What?”

“Where you shit in Herbology too?!” He snaps and you glare at him about ready to-

Your blouse slips off your shoulders and falls to the ground. “Stop- you don’t want this-”

“What? What is this?”

“A rare flower.” His voice sounds pressed, as though he’s struggling to speak, to breathe, to exist. He has his back moulded to the tree, clutching at the bark with his hands, straining to keep his eyes on your face.

The button on your trousers is open.

“The pollens they emit to the air to spread and form these dense fields- they have a unique effect on humans-”

“Which effect?”

“Can’t you tell, stupid girl?”

Your trousers push past your hips.

“You should be running from me, not stripping for me.” His eyes graze over your body, standing in front of him in only your underwear, devouring the sight. His eyes trace along the curves of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake…Heat rushes to your core.

“Sex pollen-” You gasp, noticing you’re standing a mere arm's length away from him now.

“The rather crude colloquial name - yes.”

“Severus- what-”

“Too late, stupid girl.” He snarls and the next moment he’s on you, pouncing at you like a wild beast. His woodsy, herbal scent flows around you, mixing with the sweet smell of the damned flower. His hands grip your arms roughly, blunt nails dig into your flesh. Severus swirls you around and pushes you against the tree. Bark scratches against your skin, stabbing into it but you don’t even notice.

It’s like a trance has taken over your mind and only one thing matters. 

He.

Severus’ mouth latches onto your throat. A million tiny explosions rush over your skin where he touches you and you moan, a feral sound ripped harshly from your throat, echoing over the empty clearing. Severus growls in response, even more feral, even less human. His teeth scrape over your throat. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts, your thighs. Then he tears at his own clothes, shedding layer after layer with a quickness and urgency that has your head spinning.

“Stupid girl.” He repeats and kisses up to your jaw, your cheek. Heated, open-mouth kisses that leave your skin marked by his saliva. 

You place your hands on his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto, something to pull you back into reality, your head spinning, skin exploding, core hurting. You’re so aroused, so need it fucking hurts.

“Severus-” You moan. His hands find your thighs and he lifts you up. Your legs wrap around him on their own accord.

“You should have run when you still had the chance.” He snarls against your lips, his breath brushes over your skin. “You’ll regret this.”

“Shut up and fuck me, you prick!”

Your lips meet in a violent clash of teeth and tongue. You’re pretty sure he bites you or perhaps you bite him. None of it matters anymore when you feel his prick against your soaked entrance. You’ve never been so wet- never so wound up- so desperate for sex-

You cry out when he enters you, a forceful thrust that buries him to the hilt in your twitching channel. He is big. Too big under different circumstances perhaps. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pounds into you, spearing you open, using his grip on your waist to bounce you on his cock in sync with each of his thrusts.

You cling to his shoulders, your nails drawing blood, fingertips running over old scars, exploring the surprisingly defined muscles of his lean stature.

Your breasts bounce, rubbing against his naked chest, his lips lay claim to yours, your face, your neck, your chest.

He stumbles, his left side giving in and you tumble to the ground. You’ve seen that happen before. The venom of you-know-who’s snake has left him with some permanent damage, not only the huge scar on his neck.

You don’t care.

You push him down to the ground, your hands on his chest and move your hips, lifting them, letting them slam back down, riding him. You throw your head back, your eyes closed, lips parted as his cock drags along your inner walls with delicious friction.

“So- so full-” You moan. Your breasts sway. Severus catches them, squeezing them with such pure delight on his usually reserved face. He twists your nipples between his fingers, revelling in the noises he coaxes from you.

“You could have had this so much sooner, idiot.” You hiss and grind down against him before lifting your hips up once again.

“Wha-?” His puzzled expression is almost cute.

“I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for months!” As though to reinforce your discontent with his lack of romantic interest you pick up your pace. His head drops back into the flowers. The pale blue petals glow in his inky black hair.

“How was I supposed to know?” He asks, bucking up to meet your movement.

“I was flirting!”

“I thought you were acting especially stupid for some reason.”

“Arsehole!” You dig your nails into his chest but Severus seems to like that. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips part, pleasure drawn into every wrinkle of his face.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“I’d have called you stupid. Perhaps laughed at you. Slip poison in your tea.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do.” 

Quicker than you can follow his movements you’re underneath him and your legs on his shoulders. Your head is still spinning when Severus starts pounding into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the clearing, accompanied by your and Severus' animalistic, feral sounds of pleasure.

“I don’t-” You moan and dig your fingers into the dry soil underneath you.

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say me neither.”

“I do whatever the fuck I want, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

His balls slap against your arse. His hand drops between your bodies, his fingers find your clit, run over it once- twice-

You see stars. Dots of light exploding all over your field of vision and pulling you into darkness, bringing the complex system keeping your body alive and moving to an abrupt stop. Your lungs refuse to fill with air, your brain crashes, your limbs tense, your whole body forced into a contortion made of carnal desire and the world-ending pleasure Severus Snape brings you.

You twitch. Then you inhale sharply, filling your lungs with air, shuddering, whimpering under Severus who spills inside you with an ear-splitting grunt and then slumps down above you. On top of you. Your legs found the ground somehow. His cock still inside you, throbbing, slowly softening, you lay in the dirt like a starfish, feeling dizzy, overwhelmed and confused.

“Friday.” Severus murmurs, his lips brushing over your cheek as he speaks. “Dinner. Be ready on time or I’ll leave without you.”

“Mh?” 

“You really are dense." He grumbles. "Your date, stupid girl. Friday.”

[elfven-blog]

Closer

Summary: Leon get’s home from a long mission, you take care of him and he wants to be closer to you.

Leon Kennedy x F!Reader [Established relationship]

CW: MDNI, 18+, female anatomy for reader, fingering, p in v, cockwarming. If there’s any I have missed please let me know!

Word count: 2.1k 

Another night pacing, this one was different to the other nights, those were spent in worry. Drowning in concern for your boyfriend, who was hours, miles, countries apart from you. But not tonight, no tonight he was coming home. Oh, how those words alone made the tension in your shoulders alleviate, oxygen returned to your lungs slowly and the tremor in your hands sped up as you waited. Eyes glancing at the clock, it had barely been five minutes. ‘This was driving me insane’, you thought, ‘surely it wouldn’t take this long’.

You heard the door open, the thud of his work boots hitting the wood of the floor. Relief flooded your body, and you moved subconsciously through the apartment. And there he was, in all his post-work glory…well not glory, for the government and the country maybe. But not for him, no for him it was war. Like a soldier coming back from battle, which he was really. A soldier sent to die for his country, but no one would acknowledge his efforts, not even his government.

At the sound of your feet padding over to him, Leon lifted his head. His eyes were dull, lacking the life that you were used to. He tried to give you a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and suddenly you were engulfed in his arms. Wrapping tightly around you, his head buried in your neck, and he breathed your scent in as deep as he could. Your own hands clutched at his shirt gathering on his waist.

The both of you stayed right there for a little while, enjoying each other’s comfort and finally it felt like the world was right again. It didn’t take long, however, for you to smell him, and God did the stench make you want to puke. You detached yourself from him and smiled as he chased your warmth, your hands moving to hold his. “C’mon baby, let’s get you cleaned up and then you can hold me as close as you want”.

The chuckle that leaves him brings a smile to your own face and you lead him to your shared bathroom, he discards his boots and jacket as he follows you. A mental note to pick them up to return them to their rightful places etches in the back of your mind, and you push open the bathroom door. Leon sighs and runs a hand through his dirtied brown hair, rolling his shoulders as he moved behind you. “As close as I want huh? That better be a promise, doll”.

A hum leaves your lips as you turn the taps and water starts filling the tub. Turning to look at where he’s placed himself near the sink, slowly taking off the ruined shirt and the leather gloves that adorned his hands. He’s not looking at you right now and it gives you the chance to take in his appearance fully. The furrow in his brows has gotten deeper, the bags under his eyes are darker and the tiredness in those blue irises is more prominent than when he left, you decide to add lavender scents in hopes it will help him relax.

Once the tub is full and he’s shed himself of the dirtied clothes, Leon settles himself into the warm water with a groan. You laugh quietly knowing he needed this, he always does after long missions. And with that in mind, you settle behind the tub, kneeling down and raising your sleeves up your arms so they don’t get wet. As he relaxed deeper into the water, you admired the taught muscles along his back, your eyes tracing at the scars...some were new was sad realisation. But you didn’t let this deter you from helping your boyfriend relax farther, hoping to dull the noise in his mind and the flashes of whatever images raced through of the mission he just had.

Your hands moved up behind him, settling onto his shoulders and you felt him tense slightly before you pressed a kiss just behind his ear and he went slack, like putty in your hands. You begin working your hand into his shoulders, helping the knots to loosen. Leon groans as your hands continue their work, his head falling back against your arm as he looks at you with a gaze full of affection and hazed. His mouth was turned up into a small smile as he watched you “I love you” it slipped out so easily, you shook your head.

“I love you too, Leon” your favourite words to hear from him, it was more than just a profession of love, it was often Leons way of promising to be back safe for you. He could never say those exact words, you knew that a hollow promise like that would ruin you if he couldn’t keep it one day. But for now, oh for now he was home. He was whole, he was safe.

You smiled down at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before pushing him forwards a bit so you could wash his hair. Leon’s eyes close as you do so, and finally he looks like the Leon you know. Peaceful, happy…him.

⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬢⬡⬢⬡⬢⬡

Once Leon had finished his bath and changed, you both settled down on to the sofa in the living room. Leon was keeping to the promise as he sat behind you with his hands roaming over every inch of you. You leant back into his chest, trying to focus on whatever movie was playing on the tv but your mind kept drifting further and further. More interested in the way his hands travelled lightly across your thighs, and up your stomach but stopping just under your breasts.

His head was buried in your neck again, his hot breaths ghosting across your skin as he breathed slowly. That was just as distracting as his hands, and suddenly, you realised that it had been weeks since you last felt him. In many ways, but the feel of his gentle touch and breath suddenly sent jolts of heat down to your core. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, moving your own hand to massage at his thighs as you sat between them.

And of course, he noticed your hand moving immediately, felt your fingers press into his thigh and then he was pressing his lips to your neck. His own core tightening, if you moved back even just slightly you’d feel the hard on he had been sporting since you had settled down to lay on the sofa together. He had been so patient, waiting until his darling wanted him just as badly. But there was a part of him that enjoyed how close you were and instead of going as rough as he normally would. Leon just wanted you closer, impossibly closer.  In a way neither of you had done before.

So, while your hands gripped at his thighs, his moved between yours to place where you needed him most. Leon cupped you there over your shorts, moving his forefinger against the fabric and smirking as he felt your breath hitch. He continued kissing your neck before sucking at the skin and leaving a mark, his tongue soothing over the bruise. Your thighs twitched, head moving to give him more access to your neck as your mouth opened in a silent moan.

It wasn’t long before he decided he wanted more than just the light touches over your clothes, and his hand was moving below the waistline of your shorts. Dipping his fingers between your folds he groaned into your neck at the feeling of your slick covering his finger already “Damn baby, you missed me this much?” your leg moved to dangle over his and off the sofa, giving him more room to circle his finger around the pulsing bundle of nerves before gliding down to your hole.

A breathy moan escaped past your lips as his fingers continued their movements, he had you easily coming undone for him. Your eyes shuttered closed and he finally pressed a finger inside, Leon lifted his head from the crook of your neck. His pupils blown wide as his gaze zeroed in on the way you fell apart for him, the way you twitched and squirmed just from his small touch. “Doing so well for me, sweetheart…think you can take more? Yea, I think you can.”

He was right of course; Leon was always right when it came to your body. He knew it better than anyone else, and so he slipped a second finger in. Stretching you out even as you clenched around his fingers, more slick coating him as his palm moved to smooth at your clit. Pleasure coursed through you as he did, a knot tightening in your stomach and your back arched as you threw your head back onto his shoulder.

Your eyes slipped close, and your legs trembled as his fingers continued plunging into you, until finally he found the sweetest spot inside you. The one that made you curl and whimper, unable to make a single coherent thought and his eyes watched your every reaction. There was nothing more he enjoyed than moments like this, being able to take care of you like you did him. Watching as you moaned and whined, your tongue wetting your lips as your breathing turned into pants. Then he curled his fingers up, and that’s all it took for you to gush over his hand. Your fingers gripping at his thigh as you whined from the intense orgasm washing over you. Leon kept his fingers moving to help your ride through it, pressing a kiss to your temple before he removed his hand from your shorts.

As you came down from the high, your eyes fluttered open to see Leon already looking at you. A small smile on your face as you moved a hand to bring his head closer to yours. You collide in a messy kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth and your saliva mixing as urgency seemed to rush through your veins. The hand gripping his thigh moved up to push down the band of his sweatpants, but Leon’s hand moved before then stopping your actions and pulling away. A blush covering his cheeks as his eyes darted away.

“I-er, can…can we try something? Today? Don’t get me wrong baby.” He was clearly flustered as he spoke, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You wondered what he could mean, but before being able to get any words out the agent behind you spoke again “I meant what I said, I want to be as close to you as possible”.

Red flowed over your face as you realised what he meant, your breath hitching lightly in your throat before pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. You gave him a small nod and started moving to adjust yourself, facing him with your legs either side of his own. His sweatpants pushed down to his thighs; your shorts discarded. Leon glanced at the mess coating your thighs, his eyes lidding as he swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth.

Your own eyes glanced down and you bit your lip at the sight of his hardened cock, the sight practically making you drawl as the girth curved up to his stomach. His hand moved to wrap around himself, pumping a few times as his head fell back, and he watched you staring at him. Precum leaking from the slit of his tip as he groaned. You stopped him by wrapping your fingers around his wrist, leaning forward to kiss him, and moving yourself to hover over him.

“S’alright, stay there looking pretty baby, let me help keep you warm yea?” Leon swore that he could almost see heaven’s gates from your words. But when you wrapped your own fingers around him and sank down? Oh, he saw stars, and a goddess above him. A low sigh passed through his mouth, and one of his hands moved to rest on your thigh while the other moved to press you closer to him.

You happily obliged, the stretch of him as he filled you left you gasping for breath as your head lay on his chest. His hand rubbed up and down your back, and you relaxed into him further. There was something so intimate about this, you decided, having Leon just resting inside you without the movement…just there. You didn’t mind it; in fact, it was very calming for you. Maybe this is what you needed too, to be close to him like this after he had been gone for so long.

It didn’t take long before you felt Leon’s breath even out, your mind had drifted back to the tv but with the change in his breathing you moved to look at him. A smile spreading on your face as you noticed his eyes had closed and his mouth had gone slack. He had fallen asleep…guess he really needed this, you thought.

[toms-cherry-trees]

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.  

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

 “Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid. 

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

 “I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

 “I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged. 

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private” 

~

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements. 

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows. 

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year. 

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you” 

~ 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging. 

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time. 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried” 

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

~

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket. 

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

 ~

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea. 

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy. 

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned. 

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around” 

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

~

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence. 

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.   

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am  forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

~

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

[bella-rose29]

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe. 

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter. 

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating. 

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned. 

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more. 

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship. 

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different. 

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway. 

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind. 

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night. 

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up. 

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died. 

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm. 

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked. 

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all. 

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong. 

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls. 

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning. 

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words. 

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him. 

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm. 

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet. 

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. 

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move. 

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon. 

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his. 

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye. 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The one who returns

(A continuation of: Humans are weird: They sing going to war)

Though my comrades laughed I continued the human tradition, and to my relief I was rewarded by what gods of theirs were listening.

On my first drop after I started to sing an anti-air shell punctured straight through my dropship. It tore a hole the size of my torso through the hull, reducing the squad mate who had been sitting their laughing at me into a red mist, and then out through the other side before detonating. The craft rocked and lurched but it held together long enough for us to reach the surface.

In my first battle I was pinned down in the ruins of a structure trading fire with a squad of enemy soldiers on the opposite street. We’d been stuck in that firefight for almost an hour trading fire; neither side daring to race across the dead land between us. I had just ducked back to slap in a fresh clip when a shredder grenade was flung through the window and landed at my feet. I had seen what they could due and knew my time had come as there was no chance for me to escape the room before it detonated. Yet as I kept my voice strong in song a stray blaster bolt struck the ceiling above me loosening a chunk of masonry. The piece came loose and fell directly on to the grenade causing the ground beneath it to crumble and continue falling into the floor below before it detonated leaving me unharmed.

What truly astounded me though is when my squad was assigned to capture a metal recycling facility on the outskirts of the city. Reports had identified the complex as a rallying point for scattered enemy squads looking to regroup so we were sent in to neutralize the threat. We arrived in good order and began investigating the factory when the machinery suddenly came to life. A metallic sheering blade the size of my body swung at me from the gloom and would have nearly chopped my head off had I not noticed the red glow it began to emit as it powered up. My comrades were not as lucky and three of them were cleaved like bloody paper. From above I saw the operator of the machinery at what had once been a foreman control post and let loose a barrage of blaster fire. He fell quickly enough and in the confusion of battle between the enemy forces now flooding onto the facility floor I made my way up to the control post. It took a minute to unravel the nature of the controls but in short order I had redirected our would-be machine adversaries to turn on their former compatriots. The facility was ours within the hour with myself once more remaining the only one untouched from harm.

As my squad began shuffling off to wait for a medvac I found myself drawn to the machinery. The giant blades now stood silent and powered down and I ran a hand against them. Even powered off they were sharper than anything I had ever come across and when on had so easily cut through armor meant to deflect raw energy discharges. I’m not sure if it was from the shellshock of battle or from my recent time spent with the human warriors, but I felt something calling to me from the blade. It took some time to dismantle but by the time the medvac transport arrived I had freed it from its housing and dragged in onboard. If my squad had anything to say about it those that could still speak kept their own council.

Back in orbit I dragged the metallic blade to the human’s section of the ship. I had found myself in their company more and more when time permitted between deployments. Their talk of ancient gods and wards of protection were what interested me at first, but they were but the first steps into the depth of my fascination of their culture. I showed them the giant blade and told them of how it had slain my comrades. Some of them spoke how it reminded them of the blade of Surtr which heralded Ragnarök, while others insisted that it was more akin Skofnung, a king’s blade imbued with the spirts of his most loyal warriors.

The debate went on from friendly disagreements into an open brawl between the opposing factions, but their engineers remained focused on the material itself and asked what I wished to do with it. I had heard many of the legends of the humans by now and knew many of them carried great weapons, so I wished them to fashion me one from this blade as well. They were hesitant at first as the work alone would be immense and they had other duties to attend to, so I offered them whatever material of the giant blade would be theirs to do with as they pleased. With such an offer made their eyes went wide and they barely had time to agree to the terms as they snatched the giant factory tool and carried it off between the still brawling throngs.

Three days passed and I heard nothing from them. My next deployment was on the fourth and just before I was to embark on the transport the engineers came before me. With great glee they presented me with my new weapon.

Now a fraction of its former size, the blade could easily be wielded with one of my hands. I took several swings of it and I could feel the very air itself around it buzzing as it sliced through it. To add to the moment the human engineers directed my attention to a bright red button on the hilt of the weapon. No sooner had I pressed it did the blade coursing with power. A soft orange glow began to emit from the blade as it once more became as powerful as the first time I saw it in the facility. As if to emphasize its keenness they had me hold the blade up then swung one of their own rifles at it like a club. The blade sliced through the body of the rifle and it fell to the floor with a loud clutter.

Impressed by their work I nodded my thanks and joined my comrades on the dropship. It would be the last time anyone on the ship would call me by my name. When I returned I would be known by other names but the one that most stuck was Ne’ya Ruel, which in my people’s tongue translated to “The one who Returns”  

[msbigredmachine]

Here With Me - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

As the Bloodline Civil War takes an unexpected turn of events, Reader comes up with the perfect pick-me-up for her Tribal Chief. Post-Summerslam 2023.

PAIRING: Tribal Chief!Roman Reigns x OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 6k 

A/N: Dido's "Here With Me" did so much for the writing of this that I had to name the fic after the song.

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

I’m startled awake by the door clicking shut, my eyes remaining closed as he walks into the bedroom of his penthouse suite. I’m laying on my side facing away from him, but he is clear as day in my mind's eye as he tosses the gold title belt on the sofa across the room. His beloved ula fula, the subject of heated combat tonight, follows. The mattress dips as he sits on his side of the bed, letting out a painful exhale. 

My eyes flicker to the digital clock on the nightstand. I returned to the suite right after the main event. It’s currently 1.30 am. I have no idea where he’s been for the last two hours, but I let it slide. He’s come back to me and that’s all that matters.

The pointed silence and the hairs that suddenly stand on the back of my neck tell me he’s staring at me. It’s confirmed when I feel his hand rest on my leg over the white sheets blanketing me. His usually assured, confident touch is sad and distracted. Even in the humming quiet, I can feel the turmoil brewing inside him and understandably so. 

The last few weeks have been a lot for him to take in. Getting pinned in London; tensions exploding in MSG; putting his entire legacy on the line against Jey in Orlando, and tonight, at Summerslam, victory at Tribal Combat. But it’s come at a price, as his family has all but disintegrated now. He is exhausted, physically and emotionally. I could see it in his eyes backstage after the match in spite of his best attempts to conceal his true feelings. For him, tonight’s win feels like a loss.

The second his hand slips away, I miss him. He stands up from the bed and heads to the bathroom. I twist around the bed to face the partially closed door, and hear the shower start. I wait for a while before getting up and making my way to him. His head snaps in my direction when I open the door.

“Babe?” he calls out.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t panic,” I try to joke, my smile faltering a little when he merely turns back around and faces the wall. I notice the still visible red marks on his broad back, imprints from the kendo stick and leather strap beatings he endured tonight.

"I'm sorry, I musta woke you," he says, as I pull off the baggy t-shirt that belongs to him over my head. I swap my silk bonnet for a shower cap and open the door to the enclosure. Stepping inside, I immediately jump away in alarm when the water beating down on him splashes onto my skin. It’s boiling hot. 

“Jesus, Ro! You tryin’ to cook yourself?” I exclaim, quickly grabbing the tap, my wrist frantically twisting the knob to adjust the temperature to a less dangerous degree. He hasn’t flinched once. I steer him away from the water, then slip around to his front and wrap him up in a hug that he clearly, desperately, needs. His body stiffens, hesitant at first, before he sags against me and locks his arms around my waist. His face is tucked in the crook of my neck, nestled comfortably like it belongs there. I can feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay. Just keep holding me until you’re ready,” I whisper, combing my fingers soothingly through damp strands of his hair as his grip on my waist remains tight. Being the macho hypermasculine entity that he is, I know he doesn’t like it when I see him like this. But relationships are about sticking together through the good times and the bad. I’ll always be there to see him through both.

“I coulda sworn you won your match tonight. What’s wrong?” I lure him in with a coaxing peck to his shoulder, hoping to quicken his response time.

After several seconds of hesitation, he gives in. “I warned them both,” he starts to vent. “I knew it would come to this. You saw for yourself tonight what happens when you become selfish and greedy. All I ever wanted to do was keep my family together, elevate them and their careers. Those two ingrates turned against me and made me out to be some kind of monster. Conspired with the Elders behind my back and questioned my place as the Head of the Table. Now they’re at each other’s throats and our entire family looks weak! I warned 'em, I told 'em-”

"Hey, hey, hey,” I gently shush him, lifting his face so our eyes meet. My heart sinks from how despondent he looks. “Breathe, baby, breathe. Deep breath.” I wait for him to do so, feeling his chest rise and fall against mine, inhaling and exhaling. But his mind is clearly still on his cousins. 

“This is all on them,” he continues. “They refused to see the big picture and now it’s gone to shit.” He licks his lips and his eyes are glazed. “The family wants me to intervene, but fuck that. Not after they tried to destroy everything I’ve worked my ass off for the last three years. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

"Don’t say that. Families fight all the time. It’s going to be fine,” I vow, even though I'm in no position to promise such a thing. “Come here." I gently prompt him to turn around, and watch for a few seconds as the less scalding shower stream pelts his shoulders with water. The tribal tattoo adorning the right side of his back is majestic and intimidating up close, and I never pass up the chance to idolize the intricate design. “I want you to relax for me, okay?”

He reaches out and braces his hands on the wall in front of him while I run mine up his back to slowly knead his shoulders, working the tense flesh. His muscles are tight and I do my best to ease them up with my amateur masseuse skills, gleefully aware that I love touching him anyway.

I move down to the middle of his back, and he starts to relax under my touch. As I’m about to retrace my route, I lean in and press soft kisses to his back right before massaging that same spot. Roman exhales again, suggesting he is calmer now, but only just. He’s a tough man to crack, so it feels good each time I become more conversant with his…complexities, if you will. Our relationship is relatively new…We only just met in February this year. I was not a wrestling fan growing up, but I’ve since plunged headfirst into the circus-like controlled chaos that only a pro wrestler is capable of living in. In my defense, it’s easy to dive in when it’s with a man as sweet, charming and criminally sexy as Roman Reigns. Of course, it’s not all rainbows and roses; his prolonged absences, our bitter exes and his psychotic fan girls spring to mind. But I won't change a thing as it’s only made us stronger together. Every day I wonder where he has been all my life, and I want to be with him forever. Yes. I’m in that tight of a chokehold. It’s a whole lot sexier when he’s actually doing the choking.

“You know, other people woulda buckled under the pressure and responsibility long ago. But here you are, standing tall despite the setbacks. That says a lot about you, big boy,” I say to him, my hands still at work. “You’re still the Champ, the longest reign in the last thirty plus years. The twins may have turned their backs on you, but best believe I won’t. I never will.”

Roman scoffs cynically and shakes his head. “Right. Everyone leaves me in the end. Seth. Mox. My ex-wife. Sami. Even Heyman abandoned me once. Now my own cousins.”

“Well, I ain’t none of them,” I answer smoothly, as he turns around to face me.

“I'm not a bad person, Y/N,” he insists, his eyes pleading, as though he’s desperate for me to believe him. I do. I take his hands in mine and stare into his chocolate-colored eyes. 

“I know you’re not. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you don’t take shit from nobody. You’re passionate and you stand your ground and fight for what’s yours. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. In fact, it’s sexy to me.”

His eyes twinkle mischievously at my choice of words. “Sexy, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m learning a lot about this sweet, sexy man I’m sleeping with and falling in love with.”

The sudden silence that follows is amplified by the rush of the shower water. The look in Roman’s eyes is so intense that my knees grow weak. It’s not the most picture-perfect setting to utter the L word for the very first time, but witnessing first-hand the ferocity with which he defends his pride and his legacy has sparked a wave of awe and devotion and yes, love…through me that I can no longer keep to myself. 

"I'm sorry I came back so late. I needed to clear my head,” he says softly, his hand lifting to caress my cheek. The anger in his voice has disappeared, while his eyes and demeanor are much softer…My little declaration has penetrated his armor. He looks down sheepishly at his feet and wets his lips before speaking again. “I kinda feel like I’ve been neglecting you, too…” he adds.

He’s such a sweetheart. To be fair, he’s made up for it by flying me to London, New York and now Detroit to be with him. The beautiful part is, I know I’m not the only one in love…His actions and gestures lately have spoken volumes. But if he’s not ready to say it back, he doesn’t have to. I just need him to know that he has my heart and I’ll always be by his side no matter what. 

Pressing my body more firmly against his, my arms wind around his middle as I leave delicate licks and kisses all over his tattooed pec, right over the spot where his heart beats. I hope every day that it’s me his heart beats for. 

“I know how frustrated you are about what’s going on. It sucks to feel like you’re losing control,” I tell him, staring up at him through my long lashes. “I can do something for you, Daddy. I could give some control back to you. I can make you feel better,” I offer, my voice as soft and seductive and as enticing as what I’m proposing. My mouth applies more pressure to his wet skin, and his breath hitches when I suckle the shell of his earlobe. “However you want me tonight, you can take me. Just say the word and I’m all yours.” My hands slide down to scrape his firm backside, and his dick twitches between our naked bodies, the exact reaction I yearn for. 

For a long moment, he says nothing, only stares at me with his smoldering gaze. The energy simmers between us, and it boils over when he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. Instantly my skin prickles and my heart pounds as we plunge headlong into each other. Our heads tilt from side to side, our tongues dance together as the water cascades around us, and I lose myself to the heat of our embrace. 

Feeling dastardly, I break the kiss to slip his finger into my mouth. My lips drag along his long index finger, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. I suck on it like I am sucking something else, bigger, and the memory has him groaning deeply, his erection straining impatiently against my belly.

“Get on your knees and do that with my dick,” he orders.

Now we’re talking.

Leaning in for one more kiss, I trail my tongue along his throat and down his torso until I’m kneeling on the tiled floor. I wrap my right hand around the base of his engorged dick and tug gently on it. He lets out a quiet whimper, and it is a massive turn-on to know I can elicit such a response from this specimen of a man. Watching him succumb to me is always sexy as hell.

His cock jumps in my grip when I roll my tongue around the tip. He inhales sharply, moving his hands behind my head, and squirms as I lavishly lick along the underside, teasing him. I luxuriate in his throaty groan as I then slowly make him disappear inside my mouth. I stroke and suck simultaneously, relaxing my throat to take him in deeper with every bob of my head.

"Fuck yeah," he pants, his fingers sinking into my scalp. “Suck my dick, beautiful. Don’t fuckin’ stop...”

Right now, I’m all about obeying Daddy. Staring up at him with hazy eyes, my tongue twirls around the base of his dick again before I switch to more intense suctions, my cheeks hollowing as my mouth glides hungrily up and down his entire length. His moans and gasps echo around the enclosure, causing my pussy to moisten and throb with lust. Gripping the back of my head, he holds me all the way down on him, my lips touching his pelvis. He withdraws and then pushes back in, rolling his hips to go even deeper down my throat. "Shit, your mouth feels so good, babe," he moans, a ravenous look in his eyes. My fingers slip underneath to play with his balls while I suck and tongue him down, and I’m rewarded with another desperate groan. I’m so aroused knowing I’m bringing him so much pleasure. 

Suddenly his pace quickens, his hips pumping, fucking my mouth more aggressively. Saliva spills down to my chin as his long, thick cock slides more easily in and out of my mouth. Roman lets out another moan before holding my head down again, exploding down my throat with a harsh grunt. He collapses against the shower wall, catching his breath as I pop him out of my mouth and pat his cock against my tongue. Once upon a time, I used to be uncomfortable letting my exes finish in my mouth. I talked about it with Roman, and he was fine with it. But there was something in me that wanted to please him to the fullest, and not long after our first time together, I changed my mind. It’s an experience I learned to fully commit to, and I haven’t looked back since.

"That was fuckin’ amazing. Come here," Roman lauds, tugging me up on my feet and sweeping his lips along mine. "I'm so glad you were awake." The timbre of his voice, deep and laden with desire, sprouts goosebumps all over my skin. 

"I don’t sleep as good without you," I reply, running my fingers again through his hair. He leans down and scoops my right breast into his mouth. I moan as the sensation zips straight to my loins. His hands glide down my back to squeeze and caress my ass. He keeps me tight against him, pressing himself firmly on my stomach. Feeling him so turned on sends more chills through my body. 

"You know we ain’t done, right?" he says, “We just gettin’ started, baby girl.”

"I hope so..." I reach behind him to turn off the shower. Handing him one of the bathrobes, I wrap myself in another one and open the shower door, taking his hand and leading him back to the bedroom.

We stand at the side of the bed and he undresses me, dragging the robe off my body. I can’t help but blush as he ogles me like he’s seeing me naked for the very first time. He cups my breasts, rolling them in his hands as he kisses me passionately. I tug his robe down his shoulders as I kiss him, my tongue bossily claiming every inch of his mouth as my own. His hands travel all over my naked body, heating me up with his stimulating caresses. He tells me all the time how much he loves my curves, but this is more than that. He’s prepping me for an onslaught. He is about to manhandle me like the sex god that he is, and my breathing quickens and my loins pool with anticipation.

Roman detaches his lips from mine out of nowhere, a devious smile on his gorgeous face. He shoves me onto the bed, flat on my back right on the edge with my legs spread. I can’t hold back my moan as he strokes his dick while stepping between my thighs. The sight of his muscular right arm flexing as his fingers strum his long, hard cock, makes my clit throb. 

Ever observant, Roman notices me staring and smiles smugly. “You like this baby? Want me to jack off for you?” he asks, tugging and smacking his dick a little harder, a bead of pre-cum oozing out the tip, and my thighs clamp together to relieve the maddening pressure between them.

“Dude, no! I want it in me,” I practically admonish him, almost offended that he thinks I want anything else. I’m about to bust right now just looking at him.

His smile widens, and he takes my knees and yanks them in opposite directions. He’s enjoying this, torturing me, making me beg for him. “My little slut is so needy. Don’t worry, baby, Daddy will give you what you want.”

As his face nears mine, I instinctively reach up to touch him, but he grabs my wrists and pushes them back down to the mattress above my head.

"Uh-uh. I got plans, baby girl," he informs me with a brief kiss. He searches around for what ends up being his bathrobe and draws the long white belt off, twisting it around his hands and tugging it ominously. We lock darkened eyes, and his tongue swishes hungrily across his lips.

“Gimme your hands.”

I obey. He takes my right hand first, and then my left, crossing my wrists together and winding the belt firmly around them, before pushing my hands back above my head. I’m flat on my back and all tied up with my ass halfway on the bed, legs spread, naked, cunt exposed and at his mercy. I love it. I love that he trusts me and is comfortable enough with me to explore his kinky side. I trust him, too. I’m proud to be the fucktoy of my Tribal Chief.

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groans, his eyes raking down my prone frame like he’s famished. My breath catches as I watch him tie his wet hair in his trademark man bun. Then, he bends down between my legs, breathes hard on my clit and then sticks his tongue out to lap at my folds. Right away my body jerks, blooming with sensual heat. He starts licking me with longer strokes, working his tongue all over the surface of my pussy lips, then he breaches, jabbing his tongue in and out of me with expert precision. The quiet of our room amplifies the erotic audio between us; my staccato breaths, his lazy slurping, my wet pussy splashing against his deadly tongue. Then, to murder me, he closes his mouth around my clit and starts sucking it lightly. That’s a big ass mouth, and it takes everything in me to not scream from how good he’s working me. He keeps glancing up at me; I know he’s getting off to my moans and my attempts to grind against his face. He takes me hostage, his muscled arms winding around my thighs to hold me down while he feasts. His soft groans against my flesh, the warmth of his breath, the scratch of his beard on my inner thighs…The combined stimulation is toe-curling, with wave after wave of pleasure bombarding me like a thunderstorm.

“Don’t come yet,” he instructs unexpectedly, and I’m about to cry. His mouth feels so damn good. He continues sucking and licking, wreaking havoc on my sensitive core. I grip the sheets tighter as my back arches off the bed. “Fuck, Roman, please!” I cry out, damn near begging for release.

Of course, my pleas are ignored. He twists his tongue inside me, gifting me with more strokes over my pussy and my engorged bundle. The decadent rhythm of his mouth and tongue on me is edging me dangerously closer to a mind blowing nut. Just when I’m certain I’m about to disobey him in the worst way, he pulls away, his full lips glossy and shining in the lonely lamplight by the bedside. I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved. He licks all the way up to my chest and clasps my left breast in his hand, worrying the sensitive nipple between his fingers while sucking my other breast in his mouth. 

"Imma fuck the shit outta you," he whispers to me in a rough and raspy voice, his dark eyes gleaming.

His promise is a direct hit to my groin. "Do it, Daddy. Do that shit," I gasp, squirming under his touch.

He brushes our mouths together, and I sigh softly as my own juices melt from his tongue onto mine. Roman stands upright at the bed’s edge, bends his knees and rubs the tip of his shaft along my slick, softened folds. He lunges forward in one fluid motion, his lips parting in a moan as he slowly slides inside me. I bite down on my bottom lip, my eyes glazing over with pleasure when he draws back out, leaving just the tip, before plunging in again with a sharp snap of his hips. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me.

"I'm inside of you, baby. This what you want? Want me to take this pussy?" he asks with another deep thrust, his big dick nestled in my warm wetness, and it’s driving me wild.

"Yes, take your pussy Daddy, fuck me," I plead, my voice catching on the desire and lust washing over me. 

With that information, he hoists my legs onto his shoulders and picks up the pace, pushing in deeper and filling me to the brim like he always does. I’ve told him more than once that he belongs inside me, and the pure pleasure in his eyes every time we fuck says he agrees wholeheartedly.

"Shiiit, baby, right there, that feels so good…" I whine, feeling him nudge right up against my hilt. He pulls back for a second, and I watch as he holds my legs open and a thick glob of saliva spills from his mouth and onto my pussy. Before I can fully process this, he slams back into me, more easily now, snatching my breath from my lungs. His fingers grasp my hips as he pounds me, slow and balls-deep, to the point that I’m seeing stars. My restrained hands claw at the sheets above me, searching for some kind of leverage as he dicks me down. He has total control of my body and he’s using that power to make me take every inch of him, literally and otherwise. My eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as my chest begins to clog and my head begins spinning from his long, lethal strokes. 

His hulking upper body closes the space between us and descends on top of mine, bringing us chest to chest. "Breathe, sweetheart," he tells me, and on command, I draw in a raspy breath, alleviating the discomfort in my chest. His evil little smirk tells me he is enjoying every second of my agony. His arms stretch upwards, brushing over the cotton material of the belt securing my wrists and twining his fingers around mine. His muscles flex and ripple as he keeps pumping into me. He nuzzles the spot where my neck and shoulder meet and bites down on it, making me call out his name.

"Goddamn, this pussy good as fuck. Every damn time," he grunts. His hands tighten around mine as his pounding thrusts switch to salacious rolls of his hips, grinding deliciously against me while he swallows my moans, his tongue slipping inside my mouth for another hot, sloppy kiss. My legs wrap around his waist, my ankles locked behind his back to keep him to me. 

"Tell me again, baby. Tell me you love me,” he rasps in the middle of our intense kissing.

“I love you, Daddy, mmm,” I moan back, my heart pounding as hard as he is pounding me. It’s a stunning mix of the emotional high of love and the carnal rush of lust that I’ve never felt before with anyone else. 

“Yeah, you love me?” He searches my eyes, as engulfed in the throes of passion as I am.

“I do, Roman, I love you so fuckin’ much...unnhh my god…”

He has moved off of me, seizing my legs from around his waist and shoving my knees into the mattress. There’s no time to miss the warmth of his body as he’s back to his rough, brutal strokes, drilling me over and over, stuffing my pussy with his cock. It’s like the animal in him has been unleashed, months of family strife spilling over and transferred to me via his increasing aggressiveness. As my orgasm builds in my stomach, I flex against my restraints again, my fingers craving to dig into his skin, to sink into him the way he’s sinking into me. With one more suffocating thrust, I break at last, and my eyes roll into the back of my head, my moans ringing around the entire suite as I tremble beneath him. His arrogant chuckle tickles my ears, clearly reveling in the blissful state he’s put me in.

Before I can blink, he grabs my waist and flips me roughly onto my belly, bending me over the side of the bed. Hovering over me, he unties the belt binding my hands, and I assume I’m free. But then, he tugs both my arms behind my back and re-ties my wrists together. I’m still recovering from the shock of my orgasm and this new position when his dick slots back in my cunt, and my mind is wiped blank, a strangled moan escaping my lips. Roman gives a few short, stabbing thrusts inside me before finding a rhythm he enjoys.

"God, you feel fuckin’ amazing, baby, so tight and wet for me. Damn,” he hisses behind me. Using his right hand, he slaps my left ass cheek and jiggles it. I gasp from the pain and the pleasure, making my pussy squeeze around his dick with a force that has us both groaning. My fingers scrape against his pelvis as he keeps his momentum, sliding in and out of me, in and out. Oh, fuck, it feels sooo good! He’s so long and girthy that I feel like I’m being split open, but I melt into submission and take it like the fucktoy that I am. 

His husky groans are my soundtrack as he fucks me into the bed at a savage pace, having his way with me. Clutching my ass in large handfuls, he spreads my cheeks open and plunges his dick deeper inside me, forcing me up on the tips of my toes. Using his thumb to scoop up my juices, he circles it around the puckered hole of my second opening, a keening cry tumbles out of me and into the sheets as he pushes it deep into the tight entrance. 

“Too bad we forgot the lube, I’da fucked this pretty ass all night long,” he says with another slap on my backside, and I can only whimper in response. Pinned face-down to the sheets, I can feel all of it. His thumb fucking my asshole, his magic cock stretching my other hole wide open, his powerful tree trunk like legs barricading mine against the side of the bed. My body is so riled up that my pussy reacts by leaking all over his cock, the gush of my nectar sending a pleasurable sensation through us both. 

“Mm-hmm, make a mess on my dick, baby, keep comin’ all over it,” he taunts me. He lifts both my legs off the floor and onto the bed, arching my back and spreading my knees wide. From there, he wraps his hand around my hip, his fingers pressing into my flesh, and he rocks me back and forth on that big ass dick, making me move with him. We moan together at how good we’re making each other feel. Every sound resonates through my heated body; the inevitable squelches of my dripping cunt, our skins smacking lewdly together, our sex filling the air with a familiar primal scent that belongs to no one but us. 

My brain is on sensory overload as he speeds up his thrusts, his balls slapping against my clit as he hammers into my pussy with newfound aggression. The pressure is building inside me at a dizzying, alarming rate, so much so that I use my bound hands to push again at his lower abs. This time I succeed in pushing him off, but only for a second.

“What’chu doin’? Don’t run, c’mere,” he growls, sliding his dick back in me right before it slips out, and I cry out as he impales me hard on his shaft. He spanks my ass hard for my bad behavior. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Take this fuckin’ dick.” 

Seizing my wayward hand in one of his, he buries himself in me, deep-diving in my g-spot, making my walls contract around his dick again. My voice is all but gone, I’m that spent. But Roman wants more. He’s an expert at coaxing more out of me even when I have nothing left.

"Tell me who you belong to, huh. Who’s my slut?" he demands, giving my ass an underhand slap.

"I'm your slut," I slur.

"What’chu say?"

"I'm your slut, Daddy," I enunciate with great effort, inebriated in a cocktail of love and ecstasy.

Another stinging smack on my butt.

"Louder." 

"I'm your slut!" I bellow, my voice cut off when Roman pins me down by the back of my neck, my cheek pressed into the mattress. This forces a deeper arch in my back, opening me up to be plowed mercilessly by his dick. The pressure of his fingers on both sides of my throat has me struggling for breath. I’m high from overwhelming pleasure right now, and that menacing coil that’s been winding in my belly finally snaps again. 

“Ohmygod…ohmygod…fuck, fuck, fuck!” My body explodes again, and I’m shaking like I’ve been possessed by a supernatural entity. I know Roman can feel it too, as he’s moaning and gasping, a handful of my vibrating ass cheek in his grasp because the grip of my pussy is about to break his dick in half. I’m reduced to a weak, moaning mess as somehow he continues fucking me senseless. Then, with a loud, hoarse grunt, he yanks his dick out of me. One squeeze is all he needs, expletives tumbling around my name as he comes all over my ass, warm, thick droplets spilling onto my backside. I can hear the wet, slippery skin on skin contact as he strokes out his nut, and the sound arouses me despite my thoroughly fucked disposition. 

“Fuck!” he moans out, leaning tiredly into me, his drained cock mashed against my ass. “Damn, baby. Damn.”

The rest of my lifeless body melts onto the bed, my arms limp on my lower back, my mouth hanging open. I’m barely cognizant of him loosening the belt from my wrists. When he’s done, he seizes my ass cheeks with both hands, slapping them together one last time before walking away from the destruction on the bed. I haven’t moved an inch. My ass is still in the air and my eyes are starting to drift shut. It won’t be the first time he’s fucked me right to sleep. However, before I succumb to the darkness, his deep voice rouses me. 

“Don’t go to sleep yet, baby. Come here.”

I force my eyes open and lift my head to search for him. He’s stretched out on the other side of the bed, watching me with unabashed amusement.

“We ain’t done?” I mewl, exhausted.

“Nope. But we’re taking a little break for now. Come sit on top of Daddy.”

That’s a dangerous position to be in, especially as his dick is still hard and covered in layers of my cum. But how can I ever resist my man? With all the strength I have left, I crawl up the bed towards my lover. His brawny arms wrap around my body and ease me on top of him. He grabs his bathrobe and wipes his mess off my backside, before rubbing my back and my thigh with those big callused hands of his. He feathers a kiss on my forehead, my nose and then my mouth, in the sweetest, most tender of kisses. "You're so good to me, baby. I appreciate you so much," he whispers against my lips.

"Anything for you, baby," I remind him, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead with the bathrobe. "Do you feel better?"

"I do." His soft, beautiful eyes gaze into mine, observing me. “I know that you worry about me a lot, and I’m sorry,” he says.

"Don’t ever be sorry. I always worry about the people I love. I just want you to be okay," I answer. 

"I know, and that means a lot to me. You have no idea how much you mean to me, baby girl. I think about you all the time...I feel at home every time I’m out there performing for the fans, but coming home to you is always my top priority," he tells me. His eyes shine with emotion. "I love being with you. I love calling you mine and me, yours. I’m so happy you love me, because I love you too baby, so much."

Oh my god. He’s said it. I’m not imagining it this time. Tears spring to my eyes but I quickly blink them away. "I love you, Roman," I breathe, and press my lips to his, grateful to have this amazing man in my life. Our mouths move sensually together as I glide my palms down the side of his face, smoothing out the bristles of his beard. He lets out a throaty moan at my touch, at my kiss. I could stay like this forever, but my baby needs his rest.

“You should get some sleep. You had a long night tonight,” I say. 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I think you’ve forgot when I said we’re just getting started. It’s your turn to fuck me.”

“Damn, you were being for real huh.”

“Course I was. You’re my little fucktoy, aren’t you?” Two of his fingers rub across my bottom lip before slipping into my mouth, as he hypnotizes me with his smoldering, effortlessly sexy stare. “I can use you however I want, however long I want, as many times as I want. Right?”

I may be fatigued from the barrage of orgasms he’s blessed me with tonight, but I’ve since realized that no matter how tired I feel, I’m still greedy for that big ol’ dick. He’s turned me out and turned me into a raging nympho in the process. I nod thirstily, gasping around his fingers as I feel his dick stiffen against the swollen mound of my cunt, ready for me again. 

“Good girl.” His fingers slide from my mouth to join the rest of their counterparts down south. Together, the ten of them gather the supple cheeks of my ass, molding, caressing, a devilish twinkle in Roman’s eyes at the hunger shining in mine. “Recess is over sweetheart,” he announces. “Ride this dick. And this time, I’m nuttin’ all up in that sweet pussy of yours.”

Fuck, I'm such a slut. It’s almost embarrassing, the way my already battered pussy instantly flutters at his low, husky tone, at the thought of getting filled up with his seed. I reach down to grip his cock, sliding the tip along my wet slit to lube it with more of my juices. The shiver of his big body as I stroke him sends a thrill through me. His big hands envelop my hips once more as I lower myself down on his waiting erection, sending a jolt of electricity through our bodies as we begin the eternal, spellbinding dance of lovers all over again.

THE END

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

The good girl in me wants so badly to apologize for writing so much smut, but dammit I’m not sorry! Roman is sexy af lol

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Banner made by me. All Roman gifs by @romanreigns​. Credit to owners of the other pics and gifs.

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[humanpurposes]

We're Born At Night

Chapter 2

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war, Aemond is a bit of a dick but that's his job

Words: 5.9k

A/n: I was aiming to post this on Sunday (but a pretty girl said I was cute and I went a bit insane 😌)

“Cheat!”

Rhaelle conceals her delight as she claims the ivory King piece from the cyvasse board. “It is not cheating, dear sister, it is strategy.”

Sunset is not long away. Rhaelle and Daena have spent most of the day in their chambers, waiting, flicking through the small collection of books from the shelf, playing cards and games of cyvasse which all end in the same way, a decisive victory for Rhaelle.

She cannot stomach the thought of food or sweets, cider or wine. She just feels her heart drumming in her chest, pulsing through the blood that runs under her skin. Aemond’s voice is still a whisper in her head and the other faces in the throne room are a blur, like trying to remember details from a dream. She should have been more attentive. The number of potential allies at court might be few but they will be invaluable if they are to advance here. 

So they wait. Wait for Lord Corlys to give them some indication that the King has acknowledged their cause, that he has even heard it.

She glances down at her fingers wrapped around the King piece, at the hand he kissed a matter of hours ago. Aemond had been rather welcoming in the throne room, she supposes, at least publicly. 

“But you tricked me!” Daena protests, looking in despair over the few pieces she has left on the board.

“I acted within the rules of the game,” Rhaelle says simply.

Daena makes a disheartened but determined huffing sound and starts to set the pieces out again, when there is a knock at the door. Morra answers and returns with Ser Willis, donned in his white cloak, with his helm under his arm and a broadsword proudly by his side.

Rhaelle taps her fingers on the table in front of Daena to get her attention and rises. “Lord Commander,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Rhaelle,” he greets with a small bow of his head. “I have a request from the King.”

Her heart leaps. Finally the waiting is at an end, but she contains herself. “Which is?”

“His Grace often takes his niece and nephew for a walk about the gardens in the evening, before the Prince and Princess are put to bed. He is unable to fulfil this duty tonight and asked if yourself and Lady Daena would like to take his place?”

She catches Daena’s eye for a moment and sees the same brightness in her gaze, the same hopefulness. 

Aegon, her heart whispers to her. Aemond has invited them to meet with their brother.

Ser Willis leads the way, Morra following behind as they head towards the courtyard, to the lowered drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. The halls here are closer than inside the rest of the castle and the windows are smaller so the light is lower. Ser Willis leads them through locked doors and flights of stairs, until they come to a series of apartments that are bright and grand, with wide open rooms and paler stone walls that reflect the light.

At last they come to a room where pale blue is the most prominent colour. The stonework is adorned with images of flowers and dragons alike, and a fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth.

There are two settees in the centre of the room. On the one facing the door, a little girl with silver hair in a light blue gown stares intently at the book on her governess’ lap. Her lavender eyes follow the words as the woman reads to her.

And perched on the windowsill is a boy, a little older, with a wooden knight in his hands. He turns his head when he hears the door open and stares right at them, with his lips downturned and his violet eyes wide and unblinking. He looks like Daena did when she was small, with neatly combed silver hair instead of her dark brown curls.

The governess closes the book and gathers the children to stand before their visitors. “Forgive us, my Ladies, we have been waiting patiently for you, haven’t we children?”

The girl clings to the woman’s hand, staring up at them like she is holding back tears, while the boy stands straight with his hands behind his back.

“Princess,” the governess says, ushering the girl forward, “these are your cousins, the Lady Rhaelle, and the Lady Daena.”

Jaehaera, the orphan Princess, the last of her family save for her uncle Aemond. She had a twin once, and a baby brother. Prince Jaehearys was beheaded only a short walk away from this room, before the eyes of his mother, his grandmother, and his siblings. It was in the early days of the war, a son for a son, at the order of Daemon Targaryen. 

The little Princess takes a tentative step forwards, clinging to the sides of her gown as she curtsies steadily and gracefully.

Rhaelle curties low and rises to offer the girl a sympathetic smile, because losing a mother is a terrible thing, a lonely thing, which she knows all too well.

“Prince Aegon,” the governess says next, ushering him forward, “these are your sisters.” There is no warmth to her voice like she has for Jaeheara, but no contempt either, just an unsure sort of bluntness. 

Aegon looks between them. “My father’s daughters,” he says softly.

Rhaelle extends a hand to him. Those eyes are so precious, she thinks, the eyes that had to see his own mother burned and devoured by his uncle’s dragon. Her heart shatters for him, for both of them, that they have had to witness so much horror.

“We have wanted to meet you for some time,” she says.

Aegon nods and holds her hand tightly. In the corner of her eye she sees the governess watching them.

Ser Willis and another Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Belgrave, accompany them to the gardens. When the governess goes to follow, Rhaelle holds up her hand. “No need,” she says, “my sister and I should like to acquaint ourselves with her family. We will be no longer than an hour.”

Neither the governess nor the guards protest.

The gardens are nothing like the countryside around Runestone, gravel paths and fountains, rows of carefully trimmed hedges, walkways covered in red ivy and trees that have begun to shed their golden leaves. They stay in sight of the castle, and Ser Willis and Ser Gyles are never far behind them.

Daena is delighted with young Aegon. She runs her hands over his hair, kisses his cheek, asks him about his favourite books and if he has held a sword yet.

Jaeheara was quiet at first but has warmed up, letting Rhaelle take one hand and Morra take the other. Her hand is small, soft and delicate, so much that Rhaelle worries she might break her if she holds her too tightly. She babbles on about the things children do. She says her favourite colour is blue, like her gown and like the sky. She says her governess is teaching her how to read, count and dance, but she wants to learn to sew.

“What would you sew?” Rhaelle asks.

Jaeheara knits her brow in thought. “Butterflies,” she says, “and spiders, and ladybirds.”

“You like insects?” Morra says.

“I can’t decide,” says Jaehaera, “but mother liked them very much.”

Rhaelle so desperately wants to bring her into her arms and hold her close to her chest. “Did your mother sew too?” she asks.

“Oh yes, she had a gift for us every day.” She keeps her eyes on the gravel shifting beneath her feet. “That means she was kind, doesn’t it?”

Rhaelle stops and turns to Jaehaera, bending her knees a little so their eyes meet. A flash of silver catches her attention instead, back towards the castle. She looks past Jaehaera’s shoulder, to a balcony overlooking the gardens. She knows it’s him, if the hair doesn’t give him away the black eyepatch against his pale skin does.

“Your mother was kind to me, when I knew her,” she says, gently.

Jaehaera’s eyes widen. Rhaelle worries she might start to cry but instead she smiles. “Uncle Aemond says she was kind.”

Her heart is humming again and her hands are starting to tremble. He must be watching them, watching her.

A little further down the path, Aegon and Daena are picking blackberries from a bramble bush, giggling as they place them in their mouths.

Rhaelle can hardly help herself but cup one of Jaehaera’s plump little cheeks. “We might find some insects in the bushes, what do you think, little Princess?”

“I often see ladybirds on the bramble bushes,” Jaehaera says. “I think they must like blackberries.”

Aegon calls his cousin’s name and waves at her with one hand, while cupping something in the other. He has found a caterpillar and shows it to Jaehaera. She stares down at its little green body with an endearing wonder, before deciding she wants to hold it too and show Morra. 

While the children are distaced, Rhaelle steps close enough to Daena that they can speak softly to each other, without having to lean in too obviously.

“He said he knows all about us from Alyssa,” Daena says, “she used to tell him about us, about Runestone. Then he asked me if she was dead too.”

Rhaelle almost flinches. 

“He is not yet seven years old and he has watched most of his family die,” Daena whispers bitterly, glancing towards the guards, out of earshot. 

Rhaelle watches them too, far too busy with their own conversation to be listening to them and only sparing occasional glances towards the children. Then she looks back to the castle, hoping Aemond is still there, and he is.

When Ser Willis says it is time for the children to be taken back to the Holdfast, Rhaelle and Daena oblige. Jaehaera’s hands and mouth are covered in purple fruit juice and she is delighted with herself. 

They pass under the balcony where Aemond stands as they reenter the castle. Daena and Morra are walking arm in arm. Aegon and Jaeheara are excitedly talking about caterpillars and butterflies and all the places they would fly to if they could grow wings.

Rhaelle sees him though, and catches his lone eye. His face is unreadable, stern and soft, dark and light.

Instinct, a reckless urge that she justifies as a risk, drives her towards a doorway leading off from the entrance hall. Daena and Morra will wait for her in their chambers once the children have been seen back to the nursery. The doorway leads to a hall, then a small winding staircase. She hitches her skirts and climbs it quickly, ensuring not to lose her footing in haste. She feels like she is chasing something intangible and follows it along a gallery, then to the balcony beyond that.

Aemond is still standing there with his hands behind his back and his head tall, looking south, over the gardens and Blackwater Bay beyond that. The noise of the castle does not reach her ears here, only the sound of the wind and the waves rolling over the shore beneath the Keep. In the west the sky burns like fire and in the east it is already getting dark.

She approaches him slowly, her shoes making enough of a noise against the flagstone floor to alert him of her presence, but softly enough so as not to disturb him. She comes to stand beside him on his seeing side, keeping her head straight but watching him, always watching him. “Your Grace,” she says quietly.

The corner of his mouth is curled. Is he smirking? Or is he irritated by her presence? “My Lady,” he returns.

Her hands are shaking. She brings them before her, clasping them together so she cannot fidget. “I had assumed you had other business this evening.”

“You assumed,” he says without looking at her.

“Ser Willis said you invited us to see the children.”

“I thought you might like to.”

“I did,” she insists, turning her head to face him. “I did. I am grateful. Daena and I are both grateful.”

Aemond hums, low and cryptic. It makes her feel weightless for a moment. He finally turns his head towards her. “The boy has mentioned you before, his Royce sisters, each of you.”

Coming from any other’s lips she might have taken her mother’s name as a compliment, and it could almost be that given the softness of his voice as he says it. But something else is written in the way he holds himself, the intensity in his eye, the striking gleam of silver hair falling over black leather: he is a true Targaryen, and she is an outsider.

Perhaps if she looks into his eye for long enough she’ll be able to read his thoughts. She finds nothing, save for an unsettled feeling in her chest and stomach. So she looks away, back out over the gardens. “I am glad my brother is being treated so well,” she says.

“Why should that surprise you?”

She tilts her head and gives him a rather pointed look. She asks herself if she would dare answer that question seriously. He still has the knife on him, maybe he’ll draw it and cut her throat for treason if she presses him hard enough.

Instead he hums a small laugh. “Prince Aegon is my heir until I have sons of my own. You needn’t fear if your brother is being mistreated.”

For now.

Then he adds in a quieter voice, “he is good with Jaehaera.”

Aegon was an older brother after all, and meant to have a younger sister of his own until the outbreak of war.

“The Princess is a delight,” Rhaelle says, “she is easy to love.”

Aemond’s eye lights up and he almost smiles. “She’s a sweet little thing, just like her mother was. Jaehaerys was the same…” he seems to regret this train of thought when he takes a slow breath and frowns to himself.

Rhaelle watches his chest rise and fall, this formidable man, a King forged in a time of war, determined not to crumble in the face of his own grief. She can almost pity him, and perhaps she does when she feels a gnawing sort of feeling knotting and twisting inside of her. She aches for him, for his losses and for her own.

“I see my own mother in many ways,” she says, taking a step into him. Aemond looks to her again, darkly but patiently. “I see her in my sister when she is stubborn. I see her in myself sometimes, all the times I thought she was being overbearing. I see her when I ride through the hills at Runestone. I feel her hovering over my shoulder when I draw a bow.”

Aemond has turned his body to face her now, not completely, just a little. One of his hands rests on the balustrade brought into a gentle fist, and he’s standing close to her, enough that she can hear each breath he takes and smell the leather of his jerkin.

“Because we don’t truly lose them,” she says, “at least I hope not. I can scarcely remember my mother’s face but I still know her love.”

“And that gives you comfort?” Aemond says.

“It does.”

“And what of your father, what love do you have for him?”

His question steals the air from her lungs. What love does she have for him, the man she hardly knew? The man her mother hated. The man who gave her his name and the burden of his legacy. Daemon’s blood runs through her veins as much as Rhea Royce’s does, life beyond death, enduring and damning. 

Aemond is watching her intently, waiting for her answer, searching her face for a sign of weakness, but always with that gleam of amusement. Did he look for weakness in Daemon before they mounted their dragons at the God’s Eye? Did he find the fear he seems to feed off?

“The same all girls have for their fathers, I suppose,” is her answer.

“And do all girls love their fathers?”

“As best we can.”

“How diplomatic of you,” he says, smirking. He’s toying with her, testing her like a hunting trap.

“You distrust me,” she says. 

He tuts. “I would very much like to trust you.”

“Yet you do not.”

“Do you trust me, cousin?” 

It’s like asking if she would trust a snarling beast with a taste for her blood. “You are my King,” she says.

“And as King, it is my duty to identify threats, to my rule and to the realm.”

His gaze does not falter, and so she will not allow hers to either.

“Am I a threat, Your Grace?” 

He considers her for a few moments, like he did in the throne room, studying her as closely and thoroughly as a scholar studies an ancient tome. All the while he curls his lips like he has a secret. “My brother was King before me,” he says in a low voice, taking another small step into her. “You are aware of the end he met?”

“Poison,” she says.

“And I took Larys Strong’s head for it, a man who served my mother for many years, who saw Jaeheara to safety during the war, who helped Aegon return to King’s Landing when it was taken from him. I could have all manner of enemies in these very walls, those who might seek to replace me with a child, more easily controlled than I am. Wearing a crown did not spare my brother from death and it will not spare me.”

He can trust no one, he means. A crown has become comparable to a death sentence as of late, and Kings and Queens are perhaps not as invincible as they once seemed. 

“You are not your brother,” she says.

“No. What am I then?”

She parts her lips to respond, but she cannot give him an answer. In truth, the thought of being face to face with him, to ask for his mercy had terrified her when she first left Runestone. Aemond Targaryen, the man who started a war when he killed his nephew, who burned armies and put innocent men, women and children to the sword, who killed her father.

She has often wondered how he did it, if the battle was quick, or if it was long and bitter. She has wondered if the dragons tore each other to pieces, or if Aemond had been able to look his uncle in the eye as he claimed his life.

Before all of that he was a child with a gruesome gash in his face, who had tried so hard to hide his pain from her. 

He hums cryptically and she feels him lean in closer to her, coming close enough that she can see the imperfections and the details in his face, the lines around his mouth and the texture of his skin. The edges of his scar appear as thin lines now. It is a striking element to his appearance, but other than that, she supposes he is merely a man.

“I have asked you once but I shall ask again: have you come to ask something of me, Lady Rhaelle?”

Lord Corlys would warn her to be patient. There is a strategy that must be employed, a set order in place for making a request of the King. She must be delicate, for Alyssa’s sake.

She spots his hand on the balustrade and places her own over it, barely tracing her fingers over his. She feels his gaze on her all the while. “Our house has been divided for too long. Shouldn’t we seek to heal this rift between our families?”

He watches where their hands meet and lifts them until their palms are against one another. Rhaelle’s fingertips press into the grooves of his fingers, against his warmth and the rough calluses of his skin.

“Hmm,” he says, threading his fingers through hers, closing over her knuckles. “You have a way with choosing your words carefully.”

Naturally. Her survival depends on it. “As must we all, Your Grace,” she says.

He mutters under his breath, like she’s played a winning move in a game of cyvasse, “very good.”

She can still feel him when she returns to her chambers, the gentlest brush of his fingertips and the heat of his hand against hers. She can mistake a gentle draft or breeze for his breath ghosting over her face, the sound of the wind beyond the window as the sound of his voice.

Lord Corlys visits them after dinner. She offers him some of the leftover roast beef but she shakes his head and instead asks for a cup of wine as he makes himself comfortable in an armchair before the hearth.

Rhaelle joins him, bringing two cups with her while Morra carries the decanter of wine. Daena gathers a fur throw, a pillow and a book, and settles on a chaise by the window. She doesn’t usually like to read, especially not at night when she can scarcely see the words.

Rhaelle smiles at her, sceptically. Daena shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the page.

“I have news from Driftmark,” Lord Coryls says, “Baela and Rhaena have accepted their invitation to the King’s Tournament and will set sail for King’s Landing in three days time.”

This is supposed to make her happy. From what she remembers at their mother’s funeral and the wedding feast, her half-sisters were agreeable enough but still unfamiliar. Baela, the older twin, was a little more forward than her sister, a dragonrider from a young age and it showed. Rhaena was far quieter and more cautious. They must be changed now, being right in the heart of Rhaenyra’s war.

“The King’s Tournament?” Daena’s voice calls from the window.

“Tourneys, feasts, dancing; a celebration to mark the betrothal of the King to Lady Floris Baratheon,” Corlys says, raising his glass. 

A romance for the ages: he barged into Storm’s End looking for an army to support his brother’s claim, and she was the most agreeable of four sisters.

“The eyes of the realm will be on the two of you,” Lord Corlys says.

“I do not see why we would attract such interest,” Daena says.

“Aemond still needs to secure his rule. His heir is a child and the son of his brother’s rival. After that his closest competitors for the throne are his uncle’s daughters.”

“My sisters and I have no desire for a crown, Lord Corlys,” Rhaelle says.

“You are Targaryens and you have a claim to the throne whether you desire it or not. That invites challenge. Half the country has been devastated by war and the rest will struggle through winter. I’m afraid your matter will take time.”

“How much time?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You will appear before the King tomorrow. You will renounce your father, your step-mother and your late betrothed. The King will accept, and you will ask only that Lady Alyssa be spared from the headsman.”

“He would have her killed?”

“It is a matter of contention amongst the members of the Small Council, but as I understand it, His Grace has little desire to spill any more blood than is necessary.”

Daena chuckles quietly to herself.

Lord Corlys’ brow raises, but he does not comment on it. “In return for your loyalty, I expect the King to welcome you wholeheartedly into his court. When Aemond and Floris are wed you may be given positions in the Queen’s Household. You’ll be able to stay here permanently, you’ll get to see your brother and sisters often, and eventually you’ll make good matches to rich and powerful husbands, as befitting your royal blood.”

She wouldn’t have her mother’s cousins pestering her about the absence of the Lady of Runestone, eyeing the seat that belongs to her sister. Hers and Daena’s futures would be secured. 

“And what of Alyssa?” she asks.

“I will ensure she is kept alive and well, and in time, we may convince the King to release her.”

May convince. The thought does not feel particularly assuring, but what else can she do?

She wakes at dawn the next morning, dresses and readies herself for court as she had done the previous day, taking her sister’s arm as they walk into the throne room. There is no grand entrance this time, they are led to an adjacent chamber and enter through a small doorway that leads them to the far end of the hall.

She and Daena stand to the right, below the steps that lead to the throne, behind the members of the Small Council, Lord Corlys, Lord Tyland, Maester Orwyle, Lord Unwin Peake, Martyn Hightower and his brother, Garmund. These men have no doubt argued over the matter of her sister’s imprisonment. “A matter of contention,” as Lord Corlys had said.

Aemond sits upon the throne again, comfortably poised, and she is amongst the first to lobby him. 

Lord Corlys steps forward to announce her as she approaches the Iron Throne. She comes to her knees before him and allows herself to look up. She half expects to find him smiling, but his lips are in a thin line, not amused or prideful, but curious, his eye fixed upon her face.

“Your Grace,” she says, mustering all the courage she can to give her voice a clear demand without pushing too far. “I come before you once again as your loyal subject, to speak for myself and for my sister, Lady Daena.”

Aemond crosses one of his legs over the other, with his arm resting upon the throne, amongst the sharp edges of the blades. He brings his fingers to his chin and tilts his head, a command to continue.

She feels her pulse quicken, the words threatening to catch in her throat as they had done before, but she forces herself through it. “I renounce my late father, the traitor, Daemon Targaryen. I renounce my late step-mother, Princess Rhaenyra and her attempt to supplant the true line of succession. I renounce my former betrothed, the late Prince Joffrey. I–” she catches Lord Corlys’ eye and he nods to her. 

She thinks of Alyssa, her brave, beautiful sister, who held her and soothed her when Ser Gerold explained that their mother would never return to them, whose wisdom she worshipped and whose arms she sought comfort in until the day Daemon took her to Dragonstone. Once the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now condemned to death if Rhaelle does not save her.

“I come before you again, to pledge my loyalty to you, and to our house,” she says, keeping her head down, waiting for the sound of Aemond’s voice or his footsteps.

“Come to me,” he says.

It’s like her body is set alight, heat, fury and excitement rising in her belly, her blood running hot beneath her skin. There is anger too, because she cannot read him, because she cannot tell if this is a show of favour or if he means to insult her somehow. She resents his incessant staring. She resents his cold, impassive nature. She resents the light feeling in her limbs as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

He rises to meet her, his hand outstretched and his lips threatening to break into a smirk. 

Most of what she had heard of her father was that he was a jealous and ambitious man. He coveted this seat, held by his brother, promised to his niece, ultimately claimed by his nephew. Daemon killed for it, he died for it, and now she is close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

She places her hand in his and he holds her gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She clenches her jaw as she tries not to shudder.

“I accept your pledge,” he says, then loudly, so the others in the room may hear him. “It is not my wish to punish you for the sins of your family.”

The room hums with curious murmurs, nods of approval and whispers.

“Forgive me,” Rhaelle says quietly, as if this were a private exchange, as if they were not on display before the court. “You asked me yesterday if I had something to ask of you, and the truth is I do.”

Aemond’s brow raises, but the rest of his face is solemn. “Go on,” he says.

“My sister, Alyssa, is currently your prisoner, declared to be a traitor by your brother’s order. Spare her life, cousin, I beg you.”

Suddenly the silence in the hall is tangible. What must they be thinking, the Lords and Ladies before them, the men of the Small Council, Lord Corlys?

She does not spare a glance for any of them. She tightens her grip on Aemond’s hand and when she looks into his eye she does not plead for pity or sympathy. She is a Targaryen just as much as he is, with fire in her blood and pride in her heart.

“Lady Rhaelle,” Aemond says, “you are the acting Lady of Runestone.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“You do a fine job of it, so I understand?”

She hesitates. She ensures the castle, its lands and people are kept well. She advises Lady Arryn when it is required of her. “As best I can, Your Grace.”

He leans in closer to her, close enough that she feels his breath on the shell of her ear and her neck. “Do away with modesty, it is a waste of my time,” he mutters. When he pulls away the corner of his mouth is curled so that it could almost be a joke. “Lady Rhaelle,” he announces, addressing the room, “in return for your loyalty to the crown, I hereby grant you the title of Lady of Runestone and all its inheritance.”

The room applauds this decision but Rhaelle is struck by dread. She looks to Daena, equally surprised, equally powerless. She looks to Lord Corlys, who seems to accept this too. The faces of Lord Tyland, Lord Unwin, and the Hightowers are less pleased.

She turns back to Aemond and keeps her voice low, “Your Grace, I cannot accept–”

His grip on her hand becomes a painful one as he turns his face in towards her. “You will accept,” he says with a cold fury. “While I am moved by your devotion to your sister, she must remain a prisoner and forfeit any and all claims she was previously entitled to.”

His face is dark and severe and her stomach drops like she is standing at the edge of some great height, one step away from a fall. She might be wise to fear this side of him, she thinks, but she is tempted to refuse him, to take that final step from the edge if only to see what anger he can truly unleash. She’d take pride in it, and maybe it’s her Targaryen nature, but suddenly something in the back of her mind thirsts for chaos.

It is her choice to make, but her life and the lives of her family will be at risk if she makes the wrong one.

And so she must choose her words carefully, unsure if it will bring her closer to her goal or drag her further from it.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

Rhaelle and Daena dine alone that night. She is starving, but then the meat is brought out, a cut of roasted lamb, rare meat still on the bone that bleeds when Morra starts to carve it for them. It repulses her. She cannot even look at it. She downs a cup of apple cider instead and manages a mouthful of bread.

Daena can see that something is wrong, but does not question her.

Morra, on the other hand, offers her more cider and something that might be softer on her stomach. “Blackberries?” she suggests with a kind smile.

“Please,” Rhaelle mutters. 

Morra brings her a small bowl of them, dusted with sugar. At first she is thankful for how refreshing the taste is on her tongue, until she looks down at her fingertips and sees them stained red. 

She forces her hand away from her lips in a sudden jolt of movement, and in her haste knocks her fork to the floor with a jarring clatter of metal against stone.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, starting to wipe her fingers against her napkin, but the red will not fade. She tries harder, dragging the fabric against her skin until it almost burns, but it won’t come out, it will not–

“Lady Rhaelle?” 

She throws her napkin down on the table and covers her mouth, fighting the urge to gag. “I’m fine,” she tries to whisper, “I feel unwell is all.”

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Morra says.

Rhaelle shakes her head. “No, I just…” but she cannot find the words. She cannot decide what she needs.

“Come, sister,” Daena says, having risen from her seat and come to place her hand on her shoulder. “I think you need to rest.”

Rhaelle lets herself be led away into her bedchamber. Daena helps her to remove her jewellery and lays out a night shift on the bed for her. Once Rhaelle has undressed, she reaches for the pins in her hair.

“Let me,” Daena says softly, and Rhaelle’s hands fall away. Daena’s touch is unsure but gentle. She would never have had as much practice at doing another’s hair, not as the youngest sister, but it is a welcome comfort.

Rhaelle stares at her reflection in the mirror as Daena brings a brush through her hair. She watches candlelight and shadows flicker over her face, over both of their faces. Their eyes look dark in the lowlight, almost black, like their mother’s, not the striking violet that makes them their father’s daughters.

“Do you think the Gods will punish me for this?” she utters.

“Punish you? Whatever for?”

She swallows thickly, her vision starting to blur. “I offered a hundred men at arms to Lady Jeyne to fight in the war. I could have offered more. I could have mounted a horse myself and met our father at Harrenhal. I could have written to Rhaenyra and asked her to send Alyssa back to Runestone. I could have offered men to defend King’s Landing, or to hold Dragonstone. There is so much I could have done, and now I have forsaken our family, our own blood because I was too weak to do anything before–” she gasps to catch her breath. The tears have spilled from her eyes now, they sting against her cheeks and taste salty and bitter on her lips.

Daena’s hands vanish from her hair. Rhaelle instead finds herself cradled in her sister’s arms.

“Alyssa is our family,” Daena says. “It was not Daemon Targaryen who protected us when mother died, it was our sister, it was our cousins, it was House Royce. We remember, you taught me what that means.”

Daena presses a kiss to her head and strokes her hand over her hair, like Alyssa used to when they were girls, like the way she has always imagined her mother would. “Aemond will favour our cause,” she whispers. “He has to. He has to.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs

[roseofdarknessblog]

Little miracle (Postwar!Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Word count: 2 674

Disclaimer: english is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: Three years after the Rumbling, you and Levi finally get the chance to grow your little family.

This story can be read on its own or as a part of my little post-war series: Learn to live again

Little miracle

Sitting on a little stack of wooden crates, you were watching as your husband gave out sweets to all the kids in the refugee camp. The happiness on their cute little faces made your heart melt over and over again. And even though you couldn't see Levi's face, it was more than obvious that he enjoyed doing this. After all, he always had a soft spot for kids, since the very first day when you got to know him back in the Underground.

„Not feeling up to anything?“ Yelena asked, when she walked past you, carrying a crate with a couple of toys in her hands. They were from a toy store, that was right next to your and Levi's tea shop back home. „I don't see you helping us at all today.“

„Yeah, sorry. I'm not feeling my best,“ you said to her, running a hand through your hair. „I just didn't want Levi to come alone.“

She rolled her eyes at you with a small smirk on her lips. „Always looking out for each other no matter what.“

„That's what married couples do,“ you reminded her with a chuckle, proudly showing off your wedding band. „No, look... I'm sorry I'm so useless today. I don't know what's wrong.“

You lied.

For a few days now, you knew what was wrong and what was making you feel sick every single day. Or rather who was making you feel like this – the baby, that was growing inside your womb. The baby only you and Falco knew about. You didn't tell him but when he randomly found you throwing up three days in a row, while he and Gabi were helping you out in the tea shop, he put two and two together.

It was truly a miracle, that you were able to keep your pregnancy hidden from Levi. Or maybe if he suspected something, he was waiting for you to tell him. Not that you were afraid to tell him, you just didn't know how to do it. It was something very special and you wanted Levi to remember such an important day in the best way possible.

„Are you sure everything is okay?“ Yelena asked, her big eyes observing you closely.

You nodded, putting on your best smile. „I'm okay, just didn't get much sleep last night.“

„Oh, the Captain kept you up?“ she teased you, looking over at Levi for a moment.

„Even if he did, it's none of your business,“ you tried brushing her off and got to your feet, adjusting your skirt. „I'll go help you, okay?“ Leaning down, you picked up one of the crates and followed her. When you walked past Levi, you flashed him a loving smile, reassuring him that everything was perfectly fine.

It was... until you found yourself behind one of the tents half an hour later, bent over and puking your guts out. The so-called morning sickness was bothering you more and more every day. On top of that, you felt extremely tired and dizzy almost constantly. Just yesterday, you almost fell over in the tea shop, when you got lightheaded while returning from the kitchen in the back. Fortunately, Levi didn't see anything. He was too busy talking to one of the customers.

Sighing, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to catch your breath once again. Only then you noticed two of the kids staring at you, one of them eating a lollipop he got from your husband. You gave them both the sweetest smile possible at that moment and walked away as if nothing happened. After you had some water you found Yelena with Onyankopon again, and joined them, taking care of everything important for the next hour or so.

„Hey, are you holding up okay?“ Levi asked as soon as you were done talking to two little girls, who stopped you to tell you how much they liked your skirt. „You didn't look too good this morning, I just didn't want to argue.“

„I'm fine, yeah. The weather is really nice today, isn't it?“ you asked with a smile, trying to hide the once again growing nausea. „It's good that we came here. The kids looked happy and that's what matters the most.“

The day was really nice, the sun was shining and summer was just around the corner. Even if summer wasn't your favorite season, you loved the warm weather since it always helped Levi with his chronic pain. Meanwhile, the cold usually made him feel much worse, mainly when it came to his left knee.

„It was nice but I can't wait to be back home,“ he sighed quietly. „Are we going to open the tea shop for at least a couple of hours?“

„I don't think anything catastrophic is going to happen, if we stay closed today,“ you said and came closer, reaching for one of his hands. Since nobody was really around, Levi didn't hesitate – he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled you closer to him, making you sit on his lap. „We'll have a nice romantic evening. No work, only love.“

He smirked, resting his back a little better in his wheelchair. Three years after the Rumbling and he still needed to use it daily. When he felt good enough to do it, he was able to walk short distances. Mainly around the tea shop. But for the most time, he wasn't able to rely on his injured knee – not even after multiple surgeries or rounds of physical therapy.

But as years passed by, Levi's outlook on his life started to change. From hating the way his body changed, to slowly accepting the new life he and you got the chance to live. It took a lot of time, energy, and tears, but after three years, both of you were finally feeling... good, content, and satisfied. Everything was like it was supposed to be. As painful as it was, the lives of your fallen friends brought you a safe and bright future.

„What's going on with you?“ Levi asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You shrugged and brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. „What do you mean? I'm fine.“

„You're not.“

With a smirk, you kissed his forehead. Keeping anything from him wasn't even a little bit easy. And maybe it was truly unnecessary. Making a big fuss of this whole thing. This time of your life was supposed to be the most beautiful, not full of stress about every little thing. You wanted to truly enjoy this time – something you never thought you would be able to experience.

Having kids was off the table while you and Levi were in the Survey Corps. Years back, you had a pregnancy scare, but it all turned out well, fortunately. Since then, the two of you didn't seriously talk about having children. Not really even after the Rumbling. With Levi's health issues and all the major changes in your life, there was simply no energy left to think about starting a family.

Despite that, you agreed that you're not going to try to prevent a pregnancy. If it happened, you would simply have a child together. However, months and then years went by without you getting pregnant. Not even once did you suspect anything. So when this little miracle happened, the two of you weren't really trying for a baby. But it looked like fate knew what your marriage was missing.

„Are you going to tell me or should I ask?“ he raised his brows, giving you probably the last chance to say what was on your mind.

„I guess you already know,“ you sighed, resting your head on top of his. The sun was brightly shining down on the refugee camp all around you, the light wind making the hot air a little bit more bearable. „Don't you?“

„I have my suspicions, yes,“ he nodded, gently caressing your side. You were feeling more and more nervous as each second passed, suddenly not being sure how he was going to react. „Your period always makes you pretty damn sick for the first two or three days, each and every month. And it's been around seven weeks since I last saw you in such a state,“ he said in a calm tone, not wanting to make you even more anxious about the whole situation.

„I wanted to tell you, just didn't know how. It's such an important moment in our lives and I wanted to make it special for you.“

„So I'm right? We're expecting a baby?“ he asked directly, not giving you another chance to change the topic of the conversation. „I'm going to be a father?“

„If everything goes well...“ you shrugged, giving him a hopeful smile. „Then yes, you're going to be a father in a couple of months.“ It was hard to tell what Levi was thinking or feeling at that very moment. His expression was almost impossible to read. His good eye was fixed on your face, his lips pressed into a thin line. „I'm not sure how it happened after so much time. To be honest, I stopped thinking that we would ever have kids. After more than three years...“ You shook your head, a smile making its way onto your lips.

„Guess it simply wasn't the right time until now. And our bodies knew it,“ Levi said, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. „How long did you know?“

You opened your mouth to speak, but suddenly Onyankopon showed up, calling on the two of you. He seemed a little shocked at first when he saw you sitting on Levi's lap, but he quickly managed a smile. It was apparently time to say goodbye to the people in the camp and return home. This wasn't your first time doing something like this, but leaving never got easier. You wanted to help these people much more, mainly to all the kids running around.

In a way, they reminded you of all the kids from the Underground back on Paradis. Since you grew up there as well, you sometimes wondered what happened to that place and to all the people living there. Did they finally have a better life? After the Walls were torn down, when the Titans inside them started moving at the beginning of the Rumbling, you were sure many things changed.

While Armin and the others went back there for peace talks with Queen Historia, you and Levi stayed behind. It was... better, in a way. Leaving all the political work to the younger generation. Maybe it sounded selfish to some, but you simply had no need to get involved with the new military regime on Paradis. Their problems were no longer yours.

Not after everything that happened during and after the Rumbling.

Not after being called traitors just because you decided to kill Eren and stop the madness he unleashed upon the world.

It was already late evening when you came back home. After dinner with Onyankopon and Yelena, you finally closed the door of your little ground-floor apartment, sighing exhaustedly.

„Finally...“ you said and sat down on the little stool by the door. Being on your feet throughout most parts of the day made you as tired as ODM gear training used to be back in the day. And you had only your pregnancy to blame. „I'm so tired.“

„It was a long day,“ Levi said and wheeled himself a bit closer to take your hands in his. „And we still have an important talk to finish.“

You nodded, interlocking your fingers. Being so tired suddenly left no room for feelings of anxiety or nervousness. You knew this moment was coming, it was inevitable to have this talk about your future. And the sooner it happened the better. You kept stealing glances at him during dinner, but his expression didn't show anything. Your friends had no way of knowing something was going on.

„Are you mad that I didn't tell you earlier?“ you asked Levi, looking at him in the dim light of the little entryway. The scars on his face healed more than nicely throughout the years. Now they were barely visible. Or they maybe seemed like that because Levi's face changed in different ways as well – slowly, but the signature dark circles under his eyes started disappearing since he was sleeping much more and better than ever before. Sometimes when you looked at him, he almost seemed younger than ever.

Levi shook his head, his thumb running over your wedding band. „I have no right to be mad. It's our kid, but it's your body.“

„It is but... you know...“ Finding the right words was suddenly way too hard. Your whole body was suddenly overflowing with so many different emotions. „These past three years... I knew you wanted a baby. And I wanted to give you one... at least one. But you know that it simply wasn't happening, I wasn't getting pregnant even if we never did anything to prevent it and...“

„Hey, hey, hey! Shhh, don't panic. Take a deep breath,“ he encouraged you, his thumbs slowly rubbing your knuckles. Focusing on the soft expression on his face, you took a couple of deep breaths to calm down a little. „I hoped we would one day have a child together. Not really when we were still in the Survey Corps, but after we settled down here. But that doesn't mean I wasn't happy with just you by my side.“ Levi talked slowly to make sure you were able to follow his thoughts.

„We're so not ready for this, Levi. But I don't think we'll ever be.“ You laughed nervously and leaned closer to plant a soft kiss on his lips. „You'll be the most amazing dad ever. I'm more than sure,“ you whispered into his lips, kissing him once more.

„Guess I'll learn,“ he smirked, placing one of his hands on the back of your head to keep you close. „And you will too. We'll manage.“

„It probably won't be harder than killing Titans.“

Hearing him chuckle was a very nice end to this day. You thought about a moment like this many times before – about telling Levi that your little family will soon have a new addition. And now it was reality. You were talking about a baby that was already growing inside you.

„Aren't we too old for this?“ Levi suddenly asked, kissing your forehead. His lips were still very slightly curled upwards.

„Probably not if we managed to actually make a baby,“ you giggled and slowly got up, standing in front of Levi. His right hand, which was missing two fingers, gently rested on your lower abdomen.

Your body didn't look any different yet, it was still way too early. And maybe because of that your pregnancy didn't seem real to you. Perhaps later, after your belly will grow a little or after you will feel the baby move for the first time. But for now, you still felt like your old self, just more tired and nauseous.

„Falco knows, right?“ Levi asked suddenly, his thumb very gently stroking your stomach, while he was looking up at you. „Either that or he did something and doesn't want me to find out.“

„He knows, but not from me. I didn't tell him, he figured it out himself after seeing me throw up so many times when they were last here.“ Levi nodded, his face still showing signs of amusement. „But he's the only one and he swore not to tell Gabi.“

„Good. I don't think anybody needs to know for now.“ You nodded, putting your hand over Levi's, which was still gently resting on your stomach.

It was more than obvious that he needed this baby. He needed to be a father. After so many horrific events that took place in his and your life, you both needed something so pure and innocent.

Something so precious.

A true miracle.

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝒾𝓋𝑒: 𝒢𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈

CWs →  FLUFF, angst, depression, themes of war and death, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism

Wordcount: 3.5k

Note: For those of you who have been waiting for actual fluff for like five chapters, I hope this is satisfactory. The next chapter is probably going to involve smut, so maybe that will give you something else to look forward to! Enjoy!

The following days were the darkest you had ever known. The palace was eerily silent, half of the staff left with nothing to do in the absence of their King. There were no more tears, and no more talking– there was only waiting, agonizing waiting. You could not bring yourself to leave the fortified stone walls of your home, not necessarily for fear of a raid by Saladin’s troops, but more for fear of leaving your post at your window and missing a sign that Baldwin might be returning. Whatever that sign might be– a flag, a cross, a messenger, you didn’t know–  but you would surely know once you saw it. 

For that reason you took all of your meals in your bedchamber, dressed perpetually in a white linen nightgown. Though she had tried and tried, claiming that looking better would also help you to feel better, Matilda could not convince you to get dressed. To you, there was no longer any reason to get dressed and presentable, let alone get out of bed. The only thing that could help you now was seeing your husband living and breathing, in the flesh. So in this way, the days faded dimly into dark nights, and those dark nights into fair-weathered days, whose blissful sunlight and blue skies mocked you and every other citizen of Jerusalem. Still he did not return. You stayed at your window for hours every night, fighting the heaviness of your eyelids and the sag in your shoulders, but inevitably passing into the realm of sleep from pure exhaustion, hunched over the sill with your head resting on your arms. You would wake in that exact same position every morning, accompanied by aches and pains in your muscles. 

One night, there was thunder. You thought bitterly that it would be the perfect weather to reflect your brooding and negative mental state, that it only made sense for there to be a rainstorm, bring it on, but then there was the issue of there not being a single rain cloud in the sky. It was the clear amber sky of an autumn evening just around sunset, annoyingly picturesque, and dappled with only pink and orange stratus clouds. But there was the thunder, a deep, constant rumbling, perhaps growing even louder by the minute. Yes, you were certain now your ears were not playing tricks on you and that it was growing closer and closer, resounding low, and sustaining. In fact, you could feel its very vibrations rattling your teeth in their sockets. A flame of hope ignited in your heart. 

You leapt to your feet and ran to the window, and you saw over the horizon a dark mass approaching. It was as if the raincloud you had ben searching for was on the ground instead, rolling in for the storm. But it was not a raincloud. It was an army. 

The first rider appeared, distinct from the others because he was moving ahead of them. The thunder was the sound of a thousand horses’ hooves hitting the ground. Your heart dropped and your eyes frantically searched for a flag or an emblem, anything that could tell you which army this was. Given the circumstances of the battle, a large, very logical part of you knew it was Saladin and his men. The low chances of Baldwin’s 4,000 poorly trained soldiers beating out Saladin’s 20,000 had been present in your mind all along. However, the tiny part of you that was illogical needed proof, needed confirmation that it was not simply the soldiers of Jerusalem, returning home in glory. 

Now you could see more horses, more soldiers, a score more than you had ever seen at one time before, all charging in your direction, creating a terrific rumbling sound that drowned out all else. Then appearing from over the horizon was the sign you had been searching for; the flaming golden cross of Jerusalem! They had come home! Tears sprang to your eyes as you watched that beautiful God-blessed cross-bearer speed past the stone palace walls and onto the grounds, followed by a steady stream of warriors. You swallowed back tears to avoid your vision clouding over and watched in amazement as that indistinguishable mass of soldiers transformed into a group of individuals, each a man with his own thoughts and feelings and loved ones. Your heart jumped back up into your throat from where it had fallen earlier. Jerusalem was victorious, they had won! But had he survived? 

You tore your eyes away from the window and began to run, throwing open your bedroom door carelessly. As you did, you saw that you were apparently not the only one who had noticed the troops upon their return, and the hallways were abuzz with life. Servants ran about here and there, clamoring to see out the windows and catch a glimpse of the cross that they so loved, so they could see and believe the good news for themselves. Some laughed, and some cried. Matilda was there. You ran by her as you barrelled down the long corridor, heading for the grand staircase. She called after you, but her voice only succeeded in falling in with the muddled cries of all the others, exclaiming as they were. Shouts of jubilation echoed off the impressively high ceilings and carried throughout the space, filling it entirely. It was a beautiful sound. 

You descended the staircase quickly, quickly, dizzy from the spiral shape of it, your legs pumping as best they could. Another pair of footsteps followed in your wake, and Matilda’s calls persisted, but the rushing of blood in your ears overpowered all else. Finally, you rounded the last bend and came out into the downstairs corridor, illuminated by flickering torches mounted in wall sconces. They threw your shadow large and imposing against the flagstones, making it almost seven feet tall, and dancing wildly in the wind you created in your haste. Matilda could not keep up. 

The giant oak doors of the entrance loomed above you, very stately, and so impressive that they usually required multiple boy servants to open them. It was held closed by a series of iron bars, chains, and bolts, which shone in the orange light, challenging you to best them. You got to unhooking the lower latches that you could reach and called for someone to handle the higher ones. A wide-eyed servant boy, though very much afraid of you, rushed to your aid, quickly sliding the bolts and turning the locks above your head. Soon, they were all undone, and rather than wait for the boy to find another to assist him, you slammed your shoulder against the giant, solid slab of wood and grunted, “help me!”

“Your Majesty!” The boy called, panic evident in his voice, “Please allow me to find a-” But you cut him off before he could finish that sentence, growling in frustration and shooting him a menacing glare. He gulped and without further ceremony, helped you push open the doors. As soon as the crack between them was large enough, letting a sliver of fading daylight paint the flagstones pink and yellow, you pushed through them, out into the real world. The boy rushed after you, and behind him was Matilda, something clutched in her hands. 

Summoning all your strength, you ran, gulping down great lungfuls of the smoky evening air. Your eyes searched, wide and unblinking, as your legs carried you closer to the legion of armor-clad men on horseback. Besides about a thousand identically-shaped silhouettes, you couldn't make out much of anything in detail. No way to tell yet, you had to get closer. Your feet slapped the earth, bare as they were, the sound ringing out shrilly in your ears. The soft flesh stung and turned pink, but you were becoming numb to external stimuli and it made no difference. Your arms swung wildly at your sides, and your hair, whipped into coils by the wind, lashed at your face. There was a growing ache in your chest, but still, you were getting closer. So close that now, you could make out a figure. And suddenly, he was there. 

You knew him immediately by his silver mask, glowing in the sun, and his billowing white robes, though they were stained with sprays of brown and red. You ran and ran to him, calling his name and waving your arms, hoping to capture his attention, but it was all so very unnecessary. He had seen you the second you barrelled through those doors, known you by the shape of your body and your movements, even at such a great distance. Quickly, but as if moving in a dream, he brought his stallion to its knees and dismounted sloppily, nearly tripping in his haste, but it was no matter. His mask slipped, lubricated by his sweat, but he paid it no mind. In dreams, he was never able to move fast enough, as if his muscles were stuck in molasses, always preventing him from getting where he needed to be. This time was much the same. He simply could not reach you fast enough, could not feel the safety of being in your arms soon enough. But he ran, his feet digging into the ground, desperate to find purchase, beating into the soft earth viciously. His heart pounded just as hard against his ribcage, which had already sustained a brutal battering earlier during the battle. But now he could make out your face just a little, the curve of your nose and the dark line of your lips. 

The white linen rippled frantically around his flaming, aching body, which he pushed to its absolute limit, trembling from exhaustion though it was. Faster, he commanded it, faster! And somehow, it listened. 

The two of you drew closer and closer until you could see the way his mask was askew, dangling around his throat like a gaudy, oversized necklace. He seized it in his gloved hand and ripped it away carelessly, breaking the string that held it to him and letting it fall. It hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled away. As your teary-eyed smile came into focus, he desperately clawed at his hood and chainmail veil, discarding those, too, in one fell swoop. Those golden tresses, caked in sweat and blood, sand and earth, rain and battle, flowed freely behind him, cleansed by the wind. 

Then you were upon him, there in your nightgown and unwashed, untethered hair and without any shoes, and yet with the biggest smile he’d ever seen, and could all of that really be for him?

You collided with him roughly, unable to stop due to the momentum, and you heard a puff of air pass his lips. A sob passed yours. For the first time, you knew what it felt like to throw your arms around his bare neck and hold him close, and to cry into his shoulder. He held you, too, a bit hesitant and stiff at first, but soon he softened. His arms wrapped around you and his hands rested on your shoulder blades, and he cried. It was silent save for the few sniffs he gave. He let go of himself and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your warm, rosy scent straight from the source, tears sliding down his golden-blond lashes and landing softly in your hair. He said nothing. Everything he wanted to say, you had already read from his letters. It was your turn to talk. 

“I read them,” you cried miserably, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. So much regret, so much wasted time. He knew it all, he saw it there. 

“I read them all, and I love you,” you said, then redoubled your efforts, burying your face in him and drawing him somehow closer. He almost believed that his arms would slip right through you and you’d vanish any second, so he cherished every second of your warmth. But you didn’t. You stayed. He broke away for a second, only to sigh in impatience and violently rip off his gloves, whipping them to the ground behind him. The satin sank into the mud. 

With his naked hands he carefully, almost timidly, stroked the small of your back. It was something he’d always wanted to do. He did this until he was fully convinced you were real, and here, and not just a pleasant vision conjured up by his post-battle delusion. But you felt firm and warm and alive beneath his hands, the fabric of your nightgown the very thinnest of barriers.

He slid his palms up to your cheeks and looked into your eyes. So full of love, they were, full of fear and relief and joy and love. You gasped, feeling his calloused hands burning their print into your cheeks. He grinned at the privilege of touching his flesh to your very own. You parted your lips, wanting to say something, but you could make no sound. You could only stare wide-eyed at each other, loving in silence. 

Behind Baldwin, his army stood still and looked on. Their horses stamped but did not move. The men did not know what to think, or how to behave. On the one hand, they were witnessing something very special; the pure, young love of their master and his betrothed. On the other hand, they were staring at a lady dressed in only undergarments, sharing an intimate moment with her man. Some of them blushed, and some smiled. But nobody, absolutely nobody, could bring themselves to look away. 

Over your shoulder, Baldwin could see the palace staff lined up in front of the great doors, some hunched over in tears of relief and joy, others standing tall and triumphant, filled with pride for their nation. Among the latter were his lady sister Sybilla and her son, and Matilda and Amelia, though they were too far away for him to see. Still clutched in Matilda’s hands were a pair of your shoes, which she had been intending to give to you to put on before you ran outside. As soon as she heard the army approaching, she’d known you would abandon everything and go to him. 

Baldwin pulled you into his side with his left arm, and with his right, he cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted to the sky, his voice ringing clear across the field, “Today, we have won a great victory!” 

In an instant, the field erupted into cheers and shouts of rejoicing, almost deafening in volume. You laughed and smiled up at your husband, whose eyes reflected the pink and purple sunset on the horizon. Then he led you towards the castle, just the same way you had come before, only slowly and fulfilled this time. As you looked at him, your eye caught a glint of something gold and glittering against the bare skin of his neck. 

“Heavenly Father, thank you.” 

Together, you walked home. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

A feast was thrown to celebrate Jerusalem’s victory, and for the first time in over a year, Baldwin sat at the head of the table with his Queen at his side. He wore no mask, and no bandages on his face, and he was adorned only by the golden crown that sat atop his cornsilk curls. So many nobles had greeted the two of you that you lost count, but there was one man in particular that stood out, and his name was Reynald de Chatillon. 

His beard was red and scraggly, spreading across his chin like a wildfire and complimenting the equally red hue of his face. In fact, his skin was florid all over; it wasn’t limited to just his face, though his pudgy cheeks were mottled with patches of red, and full of craters left behind by the pox he’d had as a boy. The pox had almost killed him, but it seemed nothing could snuff out his lifeforce, least of all a silly illness, so he just went on living. The same was true of him when you met him at the feast. Despite his constant brushes with death on the battlefield, he was likely the most alive person in that room. An insane, cruel look glinted in his perpetually open, bloodshot eyes– you weren’t sure you ever saw him blink– and his lips shined wetly beneath his mustache, for he was constantly licking them, his fat pink tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth like some kind of tic. But it wasn’t a nervous tick, and that you could be sure of, because Reynald de Chatillon was never nervous. He was a warlord, equally bloodthirsty and wine-thirsty. Mean, short, fat, and clever, though he didn’t look it. Perhaps therein lied his power. You shuddered to think of how he must appear to his enemies. Thankfully, he was on your side, at least for now. 

Reynald entered with his wife, two sons, and three daughters in tow, and to your surprise the girls were rather delicate and pretty, despite harboring the genes of their brutish father. Each of them had fine and flowing red-blonde hair and fair skin, indicating a life of luxury. Both sons were brawny and imposing, though one was much taller than the other, and perhaps more slender. But absolutely none of the children inspired fear the way their father did. You decided that you did not like him, but at that moment, you couldn’t help but at least respect him, just a little. After all, he was apparently an integral part of Baldwin’s army, given the fact that he was invited to the feast, and you had heard that he was one of the main forces that had led Jerusalem to its bloody victory. 

Just as everyone had said, Baldwin was an excellent King, as you came to see for yourself that evening. He held himself with grace and humility, and his kindness inadvertently demanded the respect of others. In a way, he was just as powerful and intimidating as Reynald, but he greeted his soldiers and knights with gentle, welcoming words and tasteful compliments. You couldn’t bite back your smile as you watched him interact with his guests. It truly was just as you had been told. He was a great King, and a great man. You hoped you could be an equally good Queen. 

Though you were each too busy greeting and entertaining guests to really converse, you and Baldwin stole secret glances at each other whenever there was a second to be spared. Sometimes those seconds between you lined up, causing you to accidentally make fleeting eye contact, only to both look away hastily, knowing you’d been caught by the other. He’d blush, and you’d fiddle with your sleeves, and as subtle as you might have thought you were being, most everyone noticed anyway. To see a young King Queen, so green behind the ears and so obviously infatuated with each other, was something to be read about in fairy tales and great love stories from ancient times, but not to be seen in person. Reynald’s daughters whispered to each other and giggled behind their hands. It was a bit of a scandal. 

When the feast had finally concluded and the last drunken guests trickled out of the great hall and to their respective rooms where they were put up for the night, you and Baldwin finally turned to look at each other without embarrassment. A grin spread across his face, and then one broke across yours, too. Finally, a moment alone. 

Since his return, the two of you had decided to drop the formalities and titles, opting to simply call each other by name, at least when you were in private. He took both of your hands in his and held them gently. 

“Y/N, you make such a wonderful Queen.” 

You couldn’t help but beam. 

“You are the most perfect King. And everybody says so, Baldwin.”

He looked down at the table, shaking his head and blushing a little, but his smile never faltered. Then he furrowed his brow, opening his mouth quickly as if he were about to say something, and then thought better of it and closed his lips again. You raised an eyebrow and squeezed his hand gently. 

“What is it? You were going to say something.” 

He smiled a little and only shook his head, still gazing down at the table, but you persisted. “You can tell me anything, you know. I’m your wife. Now, please,” you urged. He looked up at you, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes as he raised his head again. He held your hands a bit tighter for support and took a shaky breath before asking, “Would you…maybe…want to sleep in my room tonight?”

//taglist: @eatmeandbirthmeagain @lzsia @likeanecho344 @lunargraveyard @yoursoulisinyourkeepingalone @stickparrot @ainselthegreat @luigisang @sad-bag @vamp-hira @madeleinerosexxx

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Since this morning, Hezbollah has been firing rockets at Israel's northern towns. There is at least one man dead, identified as 25 years old Zahara Bashar, an Israeli Druze, and 2 people injured as a result of this on going attack.

This is a reaction by Iran-funded Hezbollah to a strike by Israel yesterday on a different terrorist organization, al-Jama’a al-Islamiyya (the Islamic Assembley, an ally of al-Qaeda), and following even more Israeli military activity in Lebanon, meant to stop a senior member of Fatah (the ruling party of the Palestinian Authority) from smuggling Iranian-funded standard explosives and additional weapons into Israel for terrorist attacks. As one TV military reporter I was listening to yesterday explained, the difference between improvised explosives and standard ones is in how lethal they are, for example when a small amount is attached to the side of a vehicle, the difference is whether one person gets killed or ten.

I've written about Israel still waiting for definitive proof that Marwan Issa, Hamas' #3 in Gaza, has been killed in a military strike. Yesterday, we got an official confirmation of that. This means that out of the 4 Hamas leaders that are on the top of Israel's list, two are gone. We're still left with Yahya Sinwar (#1) and Mohammed Deif (#2). Most Israelis tend to think that if Israel manages to kill Sinwar, Hamas will likely surrender, and the war would be over.

As Israel's military operation in the Shifa hospital continues, here is a really important batch of testimonies from captured terrorists, about how, once the IDF left this place, they returned to it, exploited it assuming they'd be safe there, and how they were not alone, with defined areas for the Hamas terrorists, and others meant for the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) terrorists, cynically using spots such as the maternity ward.

A military reporter published the fact that Israel has refused permission for Turkey and Qatar to participate in air drops of humanitarian aid into Gaza. The reporter frames it as a political decision, but consider what it means that Qatar and Turkey are both politically hostile countries - that there is no way for Israel to verify they would not try to air drop military aid to Hamas. At the same time, I wanna highlight what this info also means, and hasn't been talked about... It means that every time you hear about yet another country air dropping aid into Gaza, that's done with Israel's permission. And there are way more countries permitted to do this than refused. This is one of many things that should make it clear that Israel is NOT targeting regular Gazans, and is making every possible effort to make sure they are getting humanitarian aid, while trying to minimize how much this aids Hamas (and in that sense, prolongs the war).

These are brothers Neria and Daniel Sharabi.

On Oct 7, they were at the Nova music festival. Not only did they survive Hamas' massacre, they also helped to save others. Since then, they've started a fund to help the survivors, and in order to raise money, they've been traveling abroad, telling their story, mostly to Jewish communities. A couple of days ago, they were traveling to Manchester, in the UK, when they were asked at the airport upon arrival what their religion was. They recount that after disclosing they were Jews and what they were there to do, they encountered hostile reactions, including being told (according to a TV interview I heard with them), "We don't like what you're here to do," and "We have to make sure that you are not going to do here what you are doing in Gaza." They were detained for a couple of hours, before being allowed in. The brothers said they're convinced this was motivated by antisemitism based on being questioned about their religion. The incident is said to be investigated.

This is 40 years old Amit Soussana.

She was kidnppaed to Gaza from her home in kibbutz Kfar Azza, and among the hostages released in late November. A lot of Israelis remember her as the hostage who was captured on film trying to fight off the men taking her, with no less than 7 of them (yes, Israelis have counted) involved in her abduction:

We've had private testimonies from Israelis about having been raped, we've had public testimonies from Israeli who have seen the physical evidence of the Hamas rapes, we've had public testimonies of Israelis who have witnessed those rapes, and we've had public testimonies of hostages, who've heard from their fellow captives about the sexual abuse the latter have gone through. All that wasn't enough for some people, who continued to deny Hamas' sexual violence. Now, Amit Soussana is the first Israeli to come forward and publicly talk about the sexual assault she had suffered at the hands of Hamas. Her testimony has been published in the New York Times, and for anyone without a subscription, other publications have quoted parts of it, like Times of Israel. A part of me really hates that Amit might have felt compelled to speak because of the doubt cast at raped Jews. Another part thinks that for the second time, she is showing outstanding bravery. And yet another finds it hard to believe that this will make a difference. Those who are dead set on not believing Jews, essentially calling us all liars, will do the same to her, and when they do, I hope she won't have to witness that firsthand. But in a sense, if their doubt is indeed the reason why she felt she had to speak up publicly, then it's clear that there's already been damage done to the victims of Hamas' sexual violence.

This is 35 years old Uriel Baruch with his son.

Uriel was married, and a father of two. He loved techno music, and on Oct 7 was attending the Nova music festival along with a friend, Michael Yoav, who was murdered there (his body was found shot in the car in which the two were trying to escape). Uriel was kidnapped. Yesterday, the army was able to confirm to the family that Hamas had murdered him while in captivity, and is still holding Uriel's body hostage. The number of Israeli hostages in Gaza is 134, and the official confirmations of death indicate that no more than 98 are still alive, though some count Hamas claims as well, in which case no more than 96 are. May Uriel's memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Hiii I have a request!! Ok it’s kinda long cause it’s all a dream I had

Jake sully x reader

Ok let’s say reader and jake were married before everything (when he was still human) and she got knocked up by him and lates say like in the movie jake falls for neytiri and reader finds out and during the war reader gets injured and they take her to eywa, eywa saves her baby but it’s transformed to a Navi baby (let’s say it’s neteyam) while reader is stuck still being human so yk Jake and neytiri takes care of the kid it’s angsty especially with neteyams death

hey bestie, so i saw that you sent this same exact request to another writer(same exact wording as well). was thinking about not posting it now, but i wrote this at work and finished it so you’re getting two versions. but not very happy about this IMO, not very nice to go to different writers so you can get more/different versions of your request

pairing: jake sully x human fem!reader wc: maybe almost 1k warnings: blood, infidelity, mentions of pregnancy

masterlist / jake sully

this trip to pandora was pretty much your's and jake's honeymoon. away from home and family, now living on a foreign planet surrounded by scientists and the military. dream destination spot.

"this place is marvelous. a true beauty." in awe while the helicopter flew your small group over the pandorian forest. the lush green of the thriving trees mixed with the spectrum of colors was outstanding. only used to the muted palette of your dying earth.

jake sat beside you with his hand in yours, being oddly quiet for the chatter-mouth he normally is. "everything okay. handsome?" leaning into his space even though you have radios to hear each other.

jake looked away from the jungle and peered at you with shallow eyes. "yeah. yeah, all good."

-

two days after the ride they set jake up to test his avatar. he went into a pod structure and then about an hour later you saw him as a nine-foot blue-striped alien with feline features. his human features still showed through, your jake staying present.

when he came back to your shared quarters the both of you got handsy and frisky, acting like a pair of teenagers. the next morning both were naked and awoken by a loud pounding on your door.

"let's go jarhead! don't have all day!"

groans from jake and light giggles from you. he rolls over to press multiple kisses scattered over your face until he leaves a deep and final kiss upon your lips.

"i love you." his sparkling blues looked over your face. he steals an encore kiss, "I'll see you later." and he grabs his clothes from the floor before getting into his wheelchair.

"i love you too. be safe." called to him before the door shut closed.

-

"you're pregnant." jaw dropped involuntarily. "are- are you serious? i- I mean, are you sure?" your heart pitched up in speed on the machine.

max nodded while keeping a neutral expression. "I'm sure. three months along."

your hands cupped over your mouth as your vision blurred with tears, "holy shit."

"is... is that a good holy shit? or a bad holy shit?" max stepped forward while clinging to his clipboard.

a nod of your head, "a good holy shit. a very good holy shit."

later that night when jake returned from his training you broke the wonderful news.

"you serious?" and he sounded the farthest from happy. you faltered for a second before bouncing back. "yeah, max said I'm three months along. isn't this exciting! we can start a family on a thriving planet-"

"and start one on an alien world where everything is deadly. everything is dangerous here. the plants, animals, the locals! the natives hate us and they are barely warming up to me with these hours of training. a kid is not safe here!" jake's voice rose to a sharp yell causing you to flinch in both shock and fear.

"well, we'd- we'd keep them in hell's gate until then. wait until their of age." trying to get jake to warm up to the concept just a little. "aren't- aren't you at least a- a little happy? you're gonna be a father!"

you wrapped your arms around your elbows, protecting yourself from any harsh words to be thrown. jake scoffed while shaking his head.

"no. i'm not. my father was shitty, treating my brother with his respect while I was just dirt. now I'm gonna end up repeating that cycle!" rubbing his hands over his face in stress.

you jumped quickly to his defense. "no you're not. you'll be a great father, gentle and caring. i know it, they'll love you." setting slow steps toward jake, stretching a hand out to comfort him.

-

four months have passed. you were showing more each week and even found out it was a boy. jake was still training with the omatikaya clan to gain their trust. having two separate lives, exploring the world of pandora as one of the people, and at night he's back in his human body that’s getting weaker each day. it's caused the two of you to hit a rocky patch in your new marriage.

jake barely spoke to you when he came to bed, still giving his touches but those have been lessening each night. he can’t keep eye contact with you now, you miss gazing into his clear eyes as you get lost in dreams. he would avoid any of your questions about his day, especially ones that involved her.

that gut feeling told you he didn't love you anymore. ever since the pregnancy announcement he's been completely different. it caused tears to sting your eyes when you think about the possibility he fell in love with her, dreams about her while he’s beside you.

"jake?" calling his name before he could slip away from the day. he stopped just before the door, keeping his back to you.

"do- do you still love me? cause if you don't just- just tell me. it's breaking my heart to just take this silent treatment, having you slowly retreat from me. just tell me you don't love me, that you love her now. just tell the truth." cracked voice and hiccuping breathes. you thought you were on the verge of passing out with your ragged inhales.

he still didn't bother looking at you. if he did you would see how his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth twisted in a grimce. small tears staining his skin as he replied in a cool and collected voice.

"i don't love you anymore and i'm sorry." jake left before you could say anything, leaving you to sob alone and hold your bump in a cradle.

-

a week later all hell broke loose for every species on pandora. a war between the greedy corporations and the locals of the planet. you, max, and trudy helped free grace, norm, and jake from their cell. it was a race against time, too much happening at once to process the damage taken.

both you and grace were shot, losing blood and slowly dying. jake said he was gonna take the both of you to the spirit tree to have mo'at save the three of you.

"it's gonna be okay, baby. everything is gonna be okay." jake's voice broke as his hands caressed your paling face. tear rolling in drops to his cheeks. you tried smiling for him, showing you were fine.

"it's okay, handsome. just save the baby. be his father." jake sobbed, "i- I can't do- do this without you."

you shushed him while running a heavy hand over his head, "yes you can. you have people around you and- and you have neytiri. someone who loves you." jake scrunched his face, 'i'm sorry, baby. so so sorry." giving a rock to your body.

your skin was feeling colder and you could feel your heart slowing. "jake... can i- can I have a- a kiss? for goodbye?"

"you're not leaving. you'll be okay." his thumb smoothing over your skin. eyes dimming in shine. "of course,' words getting breathy, "I still want a kiss, handsome." sleepy eyes taking in all of your husband's details. for the final time.

jake stared into your shrinking pupils before leaning down so his lively lips connected with your bloody ones. "I'll always love you, jake sully." whispered to his lips with your last breath.

-

almost a month after the fire had settled, most of the humans were taken back to earth, and the clans began rebuilding. jake is now the lead for the people of the omatikaya clan. toruk makto gone until he is needed again.

jake was out by a stream collecting fish for the communal meal later that night. the quiet always helped him at times and allowed him to reminisce on the past. flashes of your face or smile, small bites of your laughter ringing within his ears. thinking of how he should’ve treated you better, wishing he could have a second chance at human life with you.

jake knew he didn't deserve your final words, but he held them close in his heart.

"ma jake." neytiri's soothing voice filled the silent air. he turned on his heel and smiled as she came closer. "yawne," holding a hand out for her to grab. he pressed three kisses upon her knuckles.

neytiri's lips parted in a smile. "i have blessed news, ma jake." he waited for her to continue, eyes taking in her glowing face.

"i am with child."

and instead of that gut-wrenching feeling he was expecting to feel the first time this news dropped, it was only solemn. a sad happiness crashing over him in waves.

but he didn't need to force a smile, it came with ease was he whispered, "that's- that's wonderful news."

-

a/n: i fridged the reader i know! (if you don't know where fridging a female character came from look it up)

jake sully taglist: @singular-itae / @websterss

[carriesthewind]

I watched Jenny Nicholson's new video on disney's failed Star Wars hotel (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0CpOYZZZW4), and there is some absolutely *fascinating* mental processes on display on the galactic starcruiser subreddit.

While many people are responding reasonably, some die-hard fans over there are spouting the absolutely unhinged, reality-denying, victim-blaming talking points she discusses in her video. There are several people who seem really invested in not just disagreeing with her, but insisting that she is not only objectively wrong but a bad-faith hater.

So I picked one of these people at random and scrolled back to try and see what their experience of the hotel was.

[Rambling musing below the cut. Unedited because I'm typing this because I can't get to sleep.]

Unsurprisingly, they insisted it was magical and life-changing and one of the best experiences anyone could have. However, these declarations of how important it felt to them were accompanied by no specifics about what about the experience was actually so great (with one exception, which I'll get to in a minute). Their very first post was about how they couldn't articulate why experience felt special.

I have some theories.

First, as Jenny alludes to in her video, there is a psychological pressure to justify the value in something a person has already invested so much money and time into. At one point, the redditor describes waiting on the phone on hold for two hours just to book an *add-on* for their trip. And as she says, the feeling of judgment from others only adds to this pressure. The redditor outright states that they feel uncomfortable saying they went to the hotel (outside the fan groups) because of how people react.

But I think it's more than that. As Jenny describes in her video (and as the redditor's description of their own experience matches), the experience was exhausting and overstimulating. The redditor describes being overwhelmed and overbooked, but also says they feel like they should have skipped out on sleep because they feel like they missed thing. And then, at the end of the second day - a literal 16 hour day of activities - there is a big finale, starting with an adrenaline-triggering "alarm," where you watch a cool live fight in the midst of a hundred other cheering, excited people. And this is the one positive specific that the redditor describes (multiple times, in fact!). They aren't a big fan of the sequels, but they "gasped when Rey showed up" in the finale. This isn't surprising at all! They were watching a live show while in a suggestible state and experienced an adrenaline rush, and their brain processed this as a magical experience.

This is reinforced by the redditor's descriptions of their nostalgia. They talk frequently about wishing they were in the hotel and wanting to return. But they specifics of what they miss are either vague or signifiers of the emotional experience (e.g. talking about how they miss the smell...because it reminds them of the hotel). And at one point, they mention that they miss the pre-trip anticipation almost as much as they miss the hotel itself.

This is a huge tip off that their interpretation of their experience was completely disconnected from the reality of the hotel. Whatever made the experience feel magical for them (whether or not I'm correct about my suspicions as outlined above), it had very little to do with any disney did or the actual quality of the hotel.

To be clear, I'm not invalidating the redditor's experience - if they say it felt life-changing and they don't regret what they spent, I believe them! I love all sorts of things in ways not reflected by any "objective" quality.

HOWEVER. I can also admit that! If someone criticizes something flawed that I love, it's not a personal attack on me! And my love for it isn't an justification for a) contributing to a narrative to encourage people to massively overpay for it and b) attacking people who didn't care for it and blame them for "doing it wrong"!

Especially - and here's the most interesting part - if I have many of the same criticisms of the thing myself.

Because while the redditor has only one specific about what made the experience great, they actually include lots of specifics about their experience. It's just that those specifics are all flaws. Here are some details of their experience as they actually describe it:

There were not enough character actors for them to actually interact with them meaningfully

The setup of the role play made them feel horrible social anxiety for a large chunk of the first day

They were forced to miss at least one major story event because of poor scheduling by the app/disney

Describing being randomly shown story beats disconnected of their actions within the roleplay/game (but describing it as 'I don't know how we accomplished that')

Nearly crying at one point because they were effectively locked out of a story moment

Wasting over an hour trying to figure out how to do a minor quest b/c of poor design

The experience the redditor actually describes is of a fairly-poorly designed, overcrowded larp that made them anxious, exhausted, and at times actively miserable, but ended with a really great adrenaline high. All of these things are objectively bad, and they all match onto Jenny's criticism.

But the redditor subjectively looks back at their experience as wonderful and magical. And so they are angry at Jenny, even though her criticisms map neatly onto their own experience, because she frames them as problems with the hotel. They seem to feel a pressure to defend their subjective experience by rejecting the possibility of any other interpretation of the experience, even the objective bad experiences of others.

In one of their most recent (of many) angry posts about how disingenuous Jenny is, they say, "For me, there's no reason to relitigate the debates surrounding the cruiser. We are more than happy to enjoy our memories from the time and let the rest of the "haters" just wallow in their hatred."

Three sentences earlier, they described how they used some of their precious time inside the magical hotel to try to prove she was lying about not being able to see the dinner show because she was placed behind a column.

The redditor cannot simply enjoy their memories from the time. Because even in the middle of their experience, they were forceably attempting to prove that all the money and time and expectations they invested *must* have been objectively worth it. Jenny's video is threatening because the redditor cannot pretend that they just had different experiences, that Jenny got unlucky while the redditor got lucky and had fun.

After coming home they feel unhappy, which *must* be because the experience was so good that they are dissatisfied returning to their 'normal life'. The anxiety, the wasted time, even the tears? Those weren't the experience, the experience was the adrenaline rush at the very end. It was life-changing. It was magical. It was worth it. All of it was worth every penny. It had to be.

[acewritesfics]

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby

Request: No.

Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, going off to war, grief, guilt. Angst. Italics - Flashbacks.

Word count: 665

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || PEAKY B. TAG LIST SIGN-UP

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. YOU CAN FIND THE ORIGINAL POST STILL FLOATING AROUND ON TUMBLR SOMEWHERE. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

"She died two months ago, Tommy," the words echo in his ears as he stands in front of a grave belonging to someone very special to him. "A drunk had been brought into the emergency room. He stabbed her twice, one of which punctured an artery. She died from blood loss before they could get her to the operating theatre." 

Y/N's mother had informed him of the death of her daughter, his first and only love, when he went to visit her two hours ago. In that moment his heart had shattered even more than it was from the war. 

With his head bowed and blue eyes tightly closed trying to stop the tears from forming, he relives the memory of the last time he'd seen and spoken to her in person. 

"Thomas Shelby, don't you ever forget about me," Y/N tells the young man who she loves more than anyone else. She is proud but heartbroken to see him in his uniform, ready to fight for his country. There had been no way for her to stop him from enlisting, his pride and the thought of being labelled a coward if he didn't go weighed heavily on him as well as his eagerness for a fight, a lot of that having to do with how they were raised.  She feared for his safety and his life. Standing on the platform of the train station, saying her goodbyes to him, she gets a sinking feeling that this would be the last time she sees him in person. 

"I'll never forget you, Y/N," he promises her. "After all, you're the one I intend to spend the rest of my life with." 

He takes her left hand in his hand and kisses her on the fingers, right where her engagement ring sits. They were supposed to marry in six months, but then the war was announced, and they couldn't find anybody to marry them in the short time they had left together before he departed for France. All the men who had lovers seemed to be getting married before leaving. 

"I promise, the first thing we'll do when I get back is to get married. Nothing would make me happier than to call you my wife." 

Y/N smiles fondly at her fiancée before delicately kissing him. "Just promise me you'll come home." 

"I promise," he whispers before slamming his lips to hers, pulling her tight against him, savouring every inch of her, also sensing that this was the last time they'll be this close. He eventually steps back and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you, Y/N." 

"And I love you, Tommy," she says sadly as she kisses him one last time, tasting their salty tears mixed together before he boards the train. 

"I'm sorry, love," Tommy whispers as he opens his eyes, looking down at Y/N's headstone. "I'm so fucking sorry. I should have been here for you, given you everything I promised. I would have made so much money that you would not have needed to work. Maybe you'd still be here if that happened instead.  You deserve more than this." 

He holds the engagement ring he gave her between his fingers. "I kept my word and returned to you. Now it's your turn to assure me that you'll be there to greet me when my time is up." 

Tommy kneels to create a small hole in the ground. He kisses the ring, and then places it inside the hole before covering it up. Standing back up, he looks at her headstone again . "I'll never forget you, Y/N. I love you. That will never end." 

He turns and walks out of the graveyard. As he stands next to his car and raises his head to the sky, he feels a tender kiss land on his cheek. It was Y/N assuring him that she would honor her promise. That one day, when his turn comes, she'll be there waiting for him. 

LINK TO TAG LIST ABOVE.

[usmsgutterson]

Haunted- K.B x Fem! Sun Summoner! Reader

Okay, this was requested by @freddycarterswife​, and the only reason I’m making a separate post is because I didn’t want the post with her notes and mine to get too long and clog up anyones dash, so this was my solution! 

I have two more requests in my inbox and then my requests will be open again and I have a big plan coming up for my two year anniversary on this account (which is being combined with my 600 follower celebration because why not) so a lot is going to come out during the second half of this week! I’m looking forward to it and I can’t wait to start accepting requests again

Fic type- angst with a fluffy ending

Warnings- mentions of death, torsos and legs separating with the use of the cut, mentions of guns, mentions of cremation ashes

You’d fled Ravka in the last days before the war began, vowing never to let anyone know of your status as one of the only two sun summoners who existed in the world at that time. 

You fled to Ketterdam stashed on a cargo ship, having expected to find decent lodgings near Fifth Harbor and continue as you had, alone in your endeavors and without fear. 

You had enough money to get through your first week, and you found yourself in the Barrel. You saved Kaz from being jumped and got yourself a room in the Slat free of charge and a job working at the bar in the Crow Club on weekdays. 

Kaz must’ve noticed it right off the bat, the way with which you carried yourself and the way that you seemed just to exist. It didn’t feel like you were a girl who was down on her luck but rather a girl with a past full of secrets. 

But you worked at the Crow Club, you lived in the Slat, and you’d joined the Dregs nearly right off the bat. The money you’d brought with you for your first week dwindled quickly, but the money you made from the jobs that Kaz put you on the crew of made up for it twentyfold, at least. The money was good, the people great, and eventually, your life in Ketterdam was one you settled into; it grew into a secondary home, of sorts. 

You summoned the sun on a semi frequent basis to keep yourself from growing sick in the absence of your small science, oftentimes using it to bring light when your oil lamps had died and you were still reading, occasionally using it to bring you warmth when it grew cold in the Slat during the winter. 

By the time you’d lived in Ketterdam four years, Kaz came to you with the biggest heist yet. It was in Ravka, the theft of several important jewels and a few apparently priceless enameled eggs with promise of good money from Nikolai Lantsov and his wife, Zoya Nazyalensky. 

Nikolai had told Kaz to name his price and Kaz had promptly told him that his price was a minimum of forty million kruge. With those words, the deal was sealed and he’d come to you, asking if you were in or out.

You’d told him you were in, and that got you where you were, standing in a dusty hotel room near the location of the items that you were to steal and return to the palaces. 

Nina and Matthias were grabbing food at the small restaurant located inside the hotel, Wylan and Jesper grabbing ice and coffee grounds from the machines at one end of the hallway, and Inej was scouting, seeking any last minute details that could’ve been helpful when the heist was to go down within the following two hours.

“Be careful,” Kaz said, eyes watching the sun as it began to set. You’d been watching it, too. Four years since you’d last seen a Ravkan sunset. As it turned out, you’d missed them more than you thought. “This entire heist is a risk, Y/N. Try not to get yourself killed.”

A grin came easily to your face as you resisted the urge to summon an arc of sunlight, bright and blazing into the room. 

You almost wondered what would happen if you did. Kaz had long grown used to the two of you having your own secrets, and would he really care? Would he even blink at the fact that you could summon the sun, especially when one considered that Alina Starkov had died and at least ten sun summoners had been left in her wake? Would he really care about it other than connotating that, had you told him, it could’ve been a useful tool on a few of the jobs you did? 

“You too, Brekker,” you said. “Don’t die on me, Kaz. I’d hate to plan a funeral for you.”

He turned to you, and you caught a smirk on his face. “Well, I do at least expect a headstone. My enemies need something to spit on when they’ve heard of my death.”

“Nah,” you said. “No headstone for you or your enemies. I’ll cremate you, turn some of your ashes into a necklace and put the rest into a remake of your cane, provided I find a Fabrikator who can even passably replicate it.” 

“If you die, I’ll put your ashes into the water at Fifth Harbor,” he said.

“No, you won’t,” you rebutted. “You’ll put them into soil, and use that soil to plant a garden. I’ve got a will, Brekker. You will abide by it.” 

Kaz scoffed. “What, living in the Barrel make you so unoptimistic that you felt the need for a will?” 

“Living in Ravka did,” you said. “Not really a good place to live when the Unsea was expanding and a war was almost guaranteed. I left the day before the Darkling expanded it, haven’t been back around until now.” 

Kaz only nodded. It was another piece of your history that he didn’t know, another tidbit given to him, another tidbit that meant he would likely give you something in return. 

At that, the both of you heard Wylan and Jesper as they opened the door.

“Just don’t get killed,” Kaz said. “I am not the man who will put your ashes into soil or plant them into a garden, so keep your head, at the very least.” 

You shook your head, grin moving onto your face slightly. That was as much as Kaz telling you he loved you, and you’d find a way to tell him you loved him in return, be it that night or in due time. 

-

You were panicking. 

The jewelry had been procured, the enamel eggs in all their horrific, ugly glory were in the bags that you’d hauled over your shoulders. The guards had located you, though, and as fast as the seven of you were capable of moving, it seemed the guards were faster. 

You turned just in time to see two guards aiming their pistols at Kaz and Jesper. As though it were instinct, you raised your hands, summoned all of your power to the forefront of your mind. 

You were on autopilot, almost, as you summoned a blazing beam of light, held it in your hands, wielded it as a weapon of your own. 

And then, you released it. 

You watched in terror as your light sliced the guards in two from their torsos, hallowed screams leaving their lips as their knees toppled and their guns fell from their loose, dead hands. 

Everything stopped. Jesper, Nina, Inej, Kaz, Wylan and Matthias turned around, having stopped in their tracks. All of them looked to you instantly. Your throat dried and you hated yourself for the fact that you found you had no words. 

“You’re a--” Nina began, but Kaz cut her off.

“You can summon the sun, and you never told anybody,” he said.

You didn’t speak, only crumbled to the ground. You weren’t supposed to do that, and some part of you regretted it. But the other acknowledged that you’d done what was necessary to keep Kaz and Jesper alive. 

“Whatever,” Kaz said, deeming it unnecessary to carry what was almost a fight into a fight, be it with words or balled fists. “We’re leaving. This is done.” 

“Don’t leave me like this,” you said, finding the words at the least opportune time. “Please, don’t.” 

“May you find someone else to churn your ashes in the soil and make a garden out of them,” he said. “Because it won’t be me.” 

You surrendered the bags you’d carried to Nina, who looked at you pitifully, and watched the crows go. 

You left after what was probably fifteen minutes but felt like a thousand days, finding yourself in an alleyway, back pressed against the wall. Your ability to summon was always where things went wrong in life. 

It’d nearly gotten you killed when you refused to be the Darklings puppet. It’d nearly gotten you killed when Alina had come around and he realized he didn’t need to hold out hope that you’d come around anymore. Refraining from using it in longer pockets of time had nearly killed you, too. 

In the end, your ability to summon the sun had been what caused you to lose everything.

You felt the tears fall, and you let them. You’d be haunted by them, the friends you’d once had, for a lifetime, and that was the precise reason you couldn’t go back to Ketterdam. 

On the other hand, what choice was there? Would you go to the Grand Palace, plead your case and pray to the saints that Nikolai would allow you a room to stay in? 

Would you smuggle yourself onto a cargo ship just as you’d done four years before? Would you live a life somewhere new, perhaps Novyi Zem, where Grisha were considered to be blessed? 

You had no idea, but you knew that you would be haunted by Kaz Brekker, his crew, and Ketterdam for the rest of your life. There was no going back, not after that. 

It was just a matter of where, exactly, you would go.

-

You found yourself on Ketterdam soil six months later, the city chilly and the leaves changing as was typical with October weather. You found Jespers gaze in the same time he found yours, a grin easily coming to his face. He’d missed you, so it seemed. 

“Glad you got my letter,” he said as you stepped onto the dock. “I’d been going off rumor, mostly tidbits and things that Inej heard of you. Mercenary, hm?” 

You shrugged. “Needed something to do after that night. Figured that being a killer for hire was my best bet, and mercenaries make a shit ton wherever you end up. How’d you know I was in Novyi Zem, exactly? I’m good at keeping my locations under wraps so thick that even Inej shouldn’t’ve figured it out.” 

Jesper shrugged, shook his head. “You didn’t when you moved on from the Wandering Isle to Novyi Zem. Maybe you subconsciously wanted to be found? Maybe you missed me, or a certain Barrel boss who dresses like he’s a businessman?” 

You laughed. “I’ve missed you and the rest of the Dregs, certainly, but Kaz? No. I haven’t thought of him since he left me after I’d saved his bloody life.” A lie, though it sounded convincing enough. 

You’d thought of him everyday, day in and day out. You were haunted by him, just as you’d thought yourself to be, haunted by him and by Ketterdam and the Crow Club. You’d vowed never to go back, but then Jesper had written to you and explained that Kaz wanted to discuss something. 

So, hesitantly, you left Novyi Zem, a place you were starting to think could be a home, and there you were. Walking to the Slat and talking to Jesper and ignoring the way that your heart could not stop racing at the thought of seeing Kaz again.  

Jesper only laughed. “Sure. I’ll believe that if you do.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him in retaliation, the rest of the walk being filled with updates on how things had been in Ketterdam and stories of Novyi Zem and the Wandering Isle in turn. 

Then, you were at the Slat, leaning against Kaz’s office door, not looking at him as he did not turn his gaze up from the heist he was planning to look at you.

You summoned a beam of sunlight to your fingertips, made a loose fist and flicked your fingers out, watching amusedly as a sliver of sunlight moved and skittered across the room to Kaz’s desk, glinting sharply against the inkwell that was within his vision and causing him to close his eyes and blink in confusion before he looked up and saw you. 

“Good,” he said. “You’re here. We’ve much to discuss.”

“We’ve nothing to discuss,” you responded. “Unless, of course, this discussion is to begin with you apologizing for leaving me in the dust when I was the reason you didn’t get killed, even if it meant I’d killed two other people as a result. I want an apology, Brekker, and unless you give me one, or, at the very least, a Brekker-ified version, this discussion is over before it can begin.” 

Kaz sighed as he leaned back in his office chair, gesturing to the coffeemaker he kept by the door. 

“You don’t look well rested.” 

“Nor do you.” 

“I can imagine that killing people leaves you with fewer resting hours.” 

You scoffed. “I don’t kill innocents, Brekker. In the four years we knew each other before you left me in the dust, I figured you could’ve deduced that the death of innocent people is strictly against my moral code.” 

“First off, you’re right,” Kaz said. “You saved my life that day. I know. I know it probably means I owe you, too.”

“The one thing you did owe me has just been given,” you said. “Not quite the words I was looking for, but good enough. Now, what do you really want?” 

“To start over,” Kaz said. “We could use a mercenary on the crew, and... people have certainly missed your presence here.” 

You grinned. “People being you, Brekker?” 

Kaz stayed silent, a begrudging look that said: you know exactly what I mean and I am not going to say it out loud because I am afraid that admitting it makes me weak by default lingering in the blue of his eyes. 

“Yeah, people being you,” you nodded, and he nodded. “One reason to agree, then. All I need is one reason.”

“The pay will be decent,” he said. “Better than decent. Name your price.”

“You really are desperate,” you laughed. “Missed me that much, did you?”

“Your price?”

“The biggest available room you have in the Slat,” you said. “My old job at the bar in the Crow Club, and the promise that, if I die on any heist in which I am included, you are the one who churns my ashes in the soil and uses them in the planting of a garden. Don’t care what you grow, as long as you’re the one doing it.” 

Kaz laughed, and the part of you that loved him responded like things were as they had been six months before, your heart giving a flit that you did not put aside. 

“You’re quite the easy bargain,” he said. “I agree to your terms. Welcome back.”

You grinned, and Kaz felt his heart begin to race just the same as it would’ve six months before, when he’d catch you grinning at one of Jespers jokes or something like a dandelion coming up through a crack in the cobblestones. When he would catch a grin that would come onto your face during the rarer sunny days in fall, most often happening after a series of storms, your face turned to the sunlight as you basked in it. 

“You don’t hate me for it still, do you?” You asked. “The fact that I didn’t tell you?”

“I did for a solid two weeks,” he said. “And then my only thought was that you saved my life and that I scorned you for it. I never really hated you, not for a moment. Do you still hate me?” 

You laughed, and Kaz felt his racing heart lighten into the weight of air. 

“I don’t hate you,” you said, approaching the coffeemaker. You started up a pot, grabbed a book from one of his shelves, and found yourself on the windowsill, just like you would’ve been seven months before, reading while he planned out the next big thing and feeling your heart swell every time you looked at him. 

You stayed there through the remainder of the day, occasionally summoning a sunbeam at the right angle while you chatted with Kaz, watching as a rainbow fell across the pages on which he wrote. You felt like yourself again, no longer haunted by Kaz and Ketterdam but rather, happy as ever to be back and in his company. 

[dreamcubed]

daylight | harry potter x reader

song; daylight [taylor swift] pairing; harry potter x ministry worker!single mother!fem!hufflepuff!reader genre; s2l, fluff, angst word count; 4,4k timeline; post-second wizarding war warnings; references to abusive ex (verbal, emotional, baby-trapping), y/n has trust issues, references to poverty summary; after providing for yourself and your two sons alone for so long, you were foreign to the concept of help, and the last person you expected to receive it from was the infamous boy who lived

masterlist

"i once believed love would be burning red, but it's golden."

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Now both your sons were in school, you were finally able to take on a full-time job and bring more money in. It had been immensely difficult being limited to only a low-paying part time job for the last five years, but you had needed flexible hours due to your lack of support system when it came to raising your boys. They were a year apart, at four and five, and their father hadn't been in the picture since the third trimester of the youngest's pregnancy.

Your family had turned their backs to you after you fell pregnant so young, out of wedlock, and without a decent job. And Merlin knows your baby daddy's family wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.

It was a shame, because your academics were good, and you had received excellent scores in both your OWLs and NEWTs, originally having big plans for your career. Then your boyfriend at the time baby-trapped you, just to abandon you anyway.

But now your sons were both old enough to enrol in muggle primary school, which was unusual for magic families to do, but it gave you the opportunity to get a better job and create a better life for the both of them. Merlin knows you were too busy to adequately homeschool them in the years before Hogwarts, anyway.

"Well, Miss L/N, you seem more than qualified," the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry of Magic said to you, "Typically we only have freshly graduated applicants for such positions, though."

"Does that dampen by chances?"

"Not at all," she shook her head, "I see no reason not to hire you, unless there's something you need to tell me?"

You bit your tongue, deciding to not let her on to the fact you had two sons to take care of all by yourself. "No, ma'am."

"Well, perfect. Your hours would be from 8am til 5pm with forty-five minutes paid lunch break that you can take between noon and 2pm."

The hours were long, but you had already signed up your sons for their school's breakfast club every morning, as well as a different extra-curricular after school every day. Thankfully apparition would likely mean you would only be a minute or two late for pick-up.

"When can you start?"

"Immediately," you smiled.

***

While you worked in the department responsible for aurors, you would not be out in the field yourself at any point. You were simply responsible for distributing tasks and filling out and filing the reports after missions. Once upon a time you had wanted to be an auror, but now you had sons who would have no one else if something were to happen to you. You simply couldn't endanger yourself in any way.

The pay of your job was good: good enough to support a family of three and move you out of the one bedroom flat you lived in. You would wait a couple months until you were settled into the job, though, as you still needed to pay off the boys' uniforms and school lunches.

You were sat at your desk on the second day of your job, busy filling out forms for a small mission that had taken place earlier that morning. Ever since Voldemort's demise, there hadn't been any large scale missions. You supposed that was a good thing.

"Oh, you're new."

You looked up in surprise to see the Boy Who Lived stood before you, evidently having just returned from a mission as an auror.

He gave you an awkward smile, "Harry Potter."

You nodded mindlessly with your mouth slightly agape, before coming to your senses and saying, "Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"How long have you worked here?"

"It's my second day."

"Wow, so you're, like, brand new?"

"I... I guess?"

"Let me know if you need anythi-"

"Potter," your supervisor's voice rang out, "My office."

"Shit, sorry, I have a mission debrief to give, we'll talk later?" he said, somewhat hopefully.

"Yeah, later..." you trailed off, staring after him as he walked to the office.

***

It was the end of the day, and you were packing up your belongings ready for your departure at exactly five o'clock.

"Y/N," a person called.

You turned around to see Harry Potter stood before you once more.

"Sorry I didn't have a chance to catch up with you after earlier," he said, "But, uh, do you think... do you think maybe we could go for a drink? It's important to have friends at work, after all."

You were in shock, but still answered, "I'd love to, really - but I have places to be today, I'm afraid."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

"I'm busy then too," you said apologetically.

"Okay, then when are you free?"

Great, now you were going to sound like a massive dick. "Rarely, unfortunately, I have a... chaotic family, you see."

"Right, well... see you tomorrow then."

Yep. He definitely thought you were making up excuses.

***

"I'm not too late, am I?" you asked the teacher that had been supervising the football club your sons had been attending.

"No, the other last kid just left moments ago," he smiled at you.

"Oh, thank Helga," you said without thinking.

The man frowned at your exclamation, but didn't say anything about it.

"Matty, Eric, are you boys ready to go?" you turned to your sons, who both nodded tiredly at you. Your heart dropped at how much the long day wore them out.

You led them around the corner from the primary school until you were out of sight from others, where you apparated to outside your small apartment. Upon entering, you gazed at the cramped space: you couldn't wait to upgrade to a bigger one.

"What's for dinner, mama?" your youngest, Eric, asked.

"I'll cook some pasta, yeah? And then I'll read you a story."

You couldn't fail them. They had to have a different life to you.

***

You didn't see Harry Potter at work again for the next two weeks, as he had been sent on a slightly larger auror mission abroad. But, when he did return, you ran into him almost instantly.

"How was the mission?" you asked immediately.

"Fine," he said dismissively, "Look, I'm sorry for asking you for drinks last time, you clearly didn't want to-"

"No, it's not that I don't want to," you said quickly.

"You don't have to lie to be nice, I shouldn't have asked something like that so soon after meeting you."

You sighed, "I'm not lying, I really am just an exceptionally busy person."

"Busy with what exactly?"

"I- I can't talk about it."

"You-"

That was when the ringing of your mobile phone cut through the air, making you jump slightly. You took the tiny flip phone out of your pocket and exhaled harshly at the sight of who it was. This was exactly why you had bothered getting a phone as a witch, you had just hoped it wouldn't happen so soon

"Sorry, I have to take this."

You began walking away as you answered.

"Hello, Y/N L/N speaking."

"Hello, this is Emily from St Andrew's Primary School," the woman on the other end spoke, "I'm calling on behalf of your son, Eric."

"What happened?"

"He... exhibited peculiar behaviour during a lesson today."

"Why? What did he do?"

"He made a classmate float in the air."

Your breath hitched, "That's not possible."

"I assure you, I'm being quite honest."

"Is this a prank call?" you asked. You knew it wasn't.

You didn't want the Ministry to find out you had enrolled wizards into muggle school. It was advised against for a reason, as they had enough on their plates when it came to dealing with the chaos muggle-borns caused. But, they would have already detected the use of improper magic and sent people to deal with it.

"I-"

"Y/N L/N," a man to your left said.

"If you excuse me," you spoke to the caller, hanging up. They would just think you still thought them a prankster. "Yes?"

"Simon Periwink of the Improper Use of Magic sector, can you come with me please?"

You sighed, "Is this regarding my son?"

He nodded.

"Lead the way."

***

"So as you seem to know, your son, Eric L/N, has caused a bit of a conundrum in a muggle school," Simon said, sat behind his desk with crescent moon glasses perched on his nose, "Now, he is a child, so obviously he will not be facing any consequences for this action. However, I am obliged to ask, why is he in a muggle school?"

"I don't have a choice, sir."

"Just Simon is fine- elaborate, please."

"I'm a single mother to two boys. My family abandoned me after my first pregnancy and my boyfriend upped and left during my second," you explained, although you didn't want to talk about it, "I can't afford childcare - muggle school is free and my only option."

Simon hummed, flicking through pieces of parchment, "I see. Well, I won't prevent this then - thanks to muggle-borns, we're well equipped to deal with these situations. Please, though, talk to your sons about this."

"Yes, sir- Simon. Thank you."

"We also have many support systems in place in the ministry to aid people in similar situations to yourself. Please consider looking into them."

"I will, thank you again."

"No worries - I suppose you should go and pick up your son for now."

You nodded.

***

By the time you arrived at the primary school, you saw that members of the ministry were already there - and, to your horror, Harry Potter.

He quickly spotted you, and raised a confused eyebrow.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of y-"

"Mama!" your son, evidently in tears, called out. He ran from the ministry member that was comforting him into your arms; you didn't hesitate to pick up your son.

Harry watched as the situation unfolded, piecing everything together in his head, before saying, "They were a member short in the improper use department, so I offered to fill in. Is this your son?"

You hummed, rocking the sobbing boy about.

"I didn't know you were-" he cut himself off, "If I had, I wouldn't have asked you out."

You sighed, "I am single."

"Oh."

"Sorry for hurting your feelings, but I think I need to go pick my other son up too," you said, "Please don't mention this to anyone."

He showed his agreement through an absent-minded nod.

"Bye."

He stared after you as you walked away.

***

After a long chat with both of your sons about resorting to muggle methods in the face of problems instead of magic methods, you reluctantly returned to work the next day, dreading the next interaction between you and Harry Potter. Why was a literal celebrity even working a normal day job anyway?

Taking in a deep breath, you sat down at your desk to begin working your way through the stack of paperwork your manager had already left for you. Just when you had almost forgotten about the man who now knew your biggest work secret, you heard a cough for attention coming from in front of you.

You looked up and saw the exact person you didn't want to see.

"Hey, I just wanted to check up on you after... yesterday."

"Why?"

He seemed taken aback by your response, "Well, you know, I... care about you?"

"You hardly know me," you said pointedly.

"And I would like to change that."

"Potter!" a voice called from the hallway, "Where are you?"

"Coming!" he replied, giving a lingering glance to you but realising you were already focused on your work again.

You felt mean, and you thought he was cute, you just didn't want him to get attached to the mess that you were.

***

"L/N, I need you to stay late today to discuss your progress," your manager said to you later that day, "Don't worry, it's nothing negative."

"Late? Respectfully, I can't do overtime."

"It's hardly overtime. Half an hour, maximum."

"Yes, but-"

"What plans do you have that are so important you must leave exactly at five o'clock?" she raised an eyebrow at you.

"I-" you froze. Should you be honest?

"Y/N," Harry Potter.

You turned away from your manager to the man, pleased at the distraction.

"I can take care of the errand you need to run," he said simply, "It's no bother."

"You can't-"

"Well, it's settled then," your manager smiled, "See you at five in my office."

Once she had walked away, you turned to Harry with a scowl.

"I could've handled that myself!"

"You clearly don't want to admit to the situation," he shrugged, "I'll go pick up your boys, don't worry."

You sighed, "I'll have to call the school to let them know."

"No worries, where should I take them? Back to yours?"

"No!" you quickly said, a little too quickly.

"I'm not gonna judge your living quarters, Y/N."

"Just- I... fine. Fine. Take them back to mine. I'll write down the address for you."

As you handed the paper over, you admitted defeat.

"Thank you, Harry, for this."

"It's my pleasure."

***

You were severely hoping that you hadn't made a stupid decision in trusting Harry with your most prized jewels. He had to be trustworthy, you reasoned, he risked his own life to save the entire world from a horrible and cruel man, after all. As you reached the door to your flat, you took a deep breath before knocking twice. You had given the key to Harry earlier on.

The door quickly flung open to reveal the Boy Who Lived with Eric on his shoulders, who was giggling in a manner you had never seen him before.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, along with his brother, who was by Harry's leg.

"I must admit, I'm normally bad with children," he said as you hugged Matty in greeting.

"Coulda fooled me," you replied, entering the flat.

"Right, I'll get going then-"

Your boys both began complaining, Matty even running from your arms to cling on to Harry's leg again.

You sighed, looking up at the man, "Stay for dinner?"

***

Somewhere along the way, after helping you put your sons to bed, an old bottle of fire whiskey in the back of your cupboard had been cracked open and you were sat on the sofa with Harry Potter, drunker than him because you hadn't had the chance to drink in years.

"Do you really do this all by yourself?" he eventually asked, after a laughing fit from the both of you.

"Do what?"

"Everything. Work, chores, raising your sons. Do you have no help at all?"

You shook your head, "Their father took off during my second pregnancy, haven't heard from him since. As you can tell, I was young when I first fell pregnant, so neither of our families wanted anything to do with us."

"But- no friends?"

"I used to have friends," you sighed, "But I kinda lost them when I started dating Derran. He isolated me a lot. Never had the chance to remake them."

He hummed, "I'm sorry that happened to you - really. I'm happy to be your first friend."

You smiled.

"And more, if you'll let me."

"Really? Thing One and Thing Two haven't put you off?"

He chuckled, "No, not yet, they haven't."

"I don't know if I have the time for dating," you said, picking at your fingernails, "I'm struggling to keep all my plates spinning as it is."

"I understand that dating you would mean a lot of time with the boys."

"Really? Do you? We'd have no date nights."

"I'm prepared to make that sacrifice."

"I don't think you are," you said simply, "Anyway, this has been fun, but I should really get to bed. Are you good to get home or should I-"

"I'm fine to get home, don't worry about me," he said, standing up.

And as you showed him out the door, shutting it behind him, he paused and turned back to look at the spot where he just saw you, meanwhile you rested your back against the wooden frame on the other side, feeling a painful longing in your chest.

***

Saturday morning started like it normally did: a later start with both your boys waking up in your arms. It was as routine up until you all entered the main room ready for breakfast.

A knock arrived on the door.

You frowned, and told the boys to sit at the table before heading over and peering through the peephole. To your surprise, you saw Harry stood patiently outside. Opening the door, you questioned his presence with a simple furrowing of your eyebrows, when you caught sight of the bags he was holding either side of him.

"I hope I'm not here too early," he said, taking in your pyjama-clad presence.

"No- no... we just weren't expecting you," you replied, allowing him in.

"Harry!" your boys called, running over to cling to his legs.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he shrugged, placing the bags on the kitchen counter, "Hello, Eric, Matty."

"A surprise?"

He hummed, "I brought some basic foods- including ingredients for chocolate chip pancakes."

Eric and Matty cheered.

"That's sweet but- but we don't need handouts."

"Then don't think of it as one," he said simply, "This is simply a man doing something for the woman he has romantic interest in."

You sighed, unable to stop a smile from creeping on to your face.

"Are you our new dad?" Eric asked, making you snap your head in his direction.

Harry was evidently at a loss for words.

"I've always wanted a dad," Matty added. Despite having been alive for when your ex-boyfriend was still around, he had no memory of him. Not that the memories would have been good ones, anyway.

"It depends if your mum lets me date her or not," Harry stated.

"Mama, please!"

"Please, mama!"

"I don't think you know us well enough to make a commitment," you said to Harry, ignoring your sons for the time being.

"Yeah, because you won't let me get to know you," he argued, but without malice, "Is it so hard to believe I genuinely want this?"

"Yeah, it is," you said, "After-" you nodded your head towards the boys, communicating your reference to their father.

"Let me prove it to you," Harry said, to both you and the boys, "What say after breakfast, we head to Diagon Alley and make a day of it?"

The boys began cheering, though you knew all too well they had no idea what Diagon Alley was.

You pulled Harry aside and began whispering, "I've never taken them there. I don't want to get their hopes up by seeing all the things in the shops and not being able to get any of it."

"I'm paying," he reassured you, "For anything they want- that you approve of, of course."

"But-"

"No buts. I told you, I'm proving this to you."

You sighed, admitting defeat, "Okay. Fine."

"Now, let's get the pancakes on," he announced loudly.

***

You watched your sons excitedly run around Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, unable to take the smile off your face. Part of you was overjoyed that they were finally getting some experience of a normal wizardly childhood; the other part of you was upset that it wasn't really you that had provided the experience.

"I think they like the place," Harry said from his place next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I've never seen them so happy."

"Don't think you're a failure as a mother or anything," he added, "You're far from it."

You smiled, "I know I'm doing my best, but they deserve more."

He didn't reply to that statement, instead wrapping his arm around your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Maybe, just maybe, you should let him in.

***

After that day, things fell into a new routine. Any day that Harry wasn't on an auror mission, he would show up at your flat with dinner ingredients not long after you had gotten home with your sons. Together, you would cook the meal, and then sit and eat. On Saturdays, he would take you and the boys somewhere for the day, always insisting on paying if there was an associated cost. He had even on one Sunday insisted that he babysit the boys so you could get your first bit of lone time in years. You had treated yourself to some rest and relaxation in a spa.

You had become very comfortable with his presence, but at there same time there was this constant tension between the two of you, like something was going to snap at any given moment. You almost wanted it to.

It was after dinner one night, and you were putting Eric and Matty to bed with Harry, just having finished reading their bedtime story.

"Goodnight, my loves," you said, kissing each of their heads, and tucking them in, "I'll be here to join you shortly."

"Night, mama."

"Goodnight, mama."

"Goodnight, boys," Harry said, "I should hopefully be here again tomorrow."

"Goodnight," your eldest, Matty, said tiredly.

"Night night, dad," your youngest, Eric, mumbled.

You stilled in shock, but didn't say anything since he was drifting off to sleep, instead glancing at Harry to gage his reaction. He had a slight smile on his face, which admittedly filled you with a sense of warmth. Nonetheless, when you were back in the kitchen charming the dishes to begin washing, you decided to talk about it.

"Thank you, Harry."

"For what?"

"Everything you have done for us the last few weeks," you said, "And I'm sorry Eric called you dad."

"I don't mind," he quickly said, "But I understand if you mind."

"I don't mind... but I don't want them to get hurt."

Next thing you knew, Harry's hand was on yours, "I'm not leaving."

"That's an easy thing to say."

"Y/N, I-" he cut himself off, pausing for a moment to think, "Have dinner at my house on Saturday - bring the boys, obviously."

You frowned, "Are you sure?"

"I'm always sure."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that, "Okay, we'll be there."

***

On Saturday evening, you apparated outside Harry's cottage in Godric's Hollow with your sons holding a hand either side of you. This was your first time seeing his house, and it was absolutely gorgeous: large, too. From what he had told you, he had been born in this house, but it was also where his parents had died tragically.

You let Eric and Matty run ahead to knock on the front door, which was a classic medieval-style shape. All too quickly, it swung open to reveal Harry dressed up in dress trousers and a button up shirt, with the top button left undone. You were glad that you had opted for a more dressed up look yourself - you had gotten the feeling that this was a fancier occasion than usual.

"Hello, boys," he greeted your sons, hugging both of them before standing up straight, "And, hello, Y/N." He seemed even more awkward than normal, making you confused.

He beckoned you all in and through to the dining room, where a delicious spread was billowing steam throughout the room.

"I wish I could take full credit- Molly helped quite a bit," you knew Molly to be his best friend's mother, "But I wanted this to be perfect."

"Why?" you asked, "I mean- it is, but why?"

"Because it's for you," he said.

You held prolonged and tension-filled eye contact with him for a few moments, before your attention was diverted by your boys jumping about excitedly.

"I think they're hungry," Harry laughed, "Sit down, sit down."

You all sat around the table, and you scolded your sons for not showing good manners and trying to dig in right away.

"Not to make you wait too much longer, boys, but I would like to say something first," Harry said, taking in a deep breath, "When I first met you, Y/N, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me- because you rejected me."

You chuckled.

"And that was quite a blow to my ego, so it was certainly relieving to learn that it wasn't me that was the problem- not that there really was a problem. You are simply an amazingly independent woman who didn't want people to know about her two incredible sons, for some insane reason," he said with a grin, making your cheeks heat up, "And I know it's hard for you to accept that I genuinely do want to be with you given everything you've been through."

You started to get a feeling of what was about to happen.

"And I know that being with you means being with your sons as well," he continued, "But I need you to know that it's far from a chore for me to take them in as my own - so, I have to ask, even though it may seem too soon, will you marry me?"

Tears pricked at your eyes as Matty and Eric gasped, them both being old enough to understand what marriage meant.

"You'll be our dad?" Eric asked, his eyes shining hopefully.

"Well, if your mum says yes."

"Mama, please say yes!" your youngest begged.

His older brother joined in, "Please, mama!"

"Okay," you said, sniffling, "I'll marry you, Harry Potter."

It was then, as Matty and Eric were cheering about having a dad, that Harry pushed a small velvet box across the table, and you opened it to reveal a yellow gold band with a ruby stone set in the centre.

"It's- it's beautiful."

Harry beamed at you as you put it on and admired its place on your ring finger.

"Can we eat now?" Matty asked.

"Yes, yes, we can eat," you said through happy sobs.

"And, after dinner, you two can pick your new bedrooms."

Your eyes widened in shock as Matty exclaimed, "We get our own bedrooms?!"

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masterlist

written; 01/05/2023 —> 05/06/2023 published; 06/06/2023 edited; —/—/——

taglist ; @workinatdapyramid @iluvweasleys