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liillyliilly · 3 months

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Her Laughter

tsukishima kei x reader words; 9093 synopsis; They had been friends for too long. She knew too much. He knew too little.

Tsukishima was used to the attention he got from girls. It came with having an aura that practically screamed unattainable. It lured in confident women that thought they could break down his façade of seriousness. So, if he was feeling up to it, he would mess with them. Toy with their feelings before dropping them and picking up a new little game to play.

This annoyed the living hell out of y/n. Which pushed Tsukishima to continue what he did. It seemed like he got a nice rise out of seeing how pissed he could make y/n. Seeing as they were seatmates, it felt as if she was constantly trapped and suffocated by every new girl that tried to win his affections.

The pair even had to spend a large portion of their time with each other outside of school. Having her mom being extremely close friends with Mrs. Tsukishima sure messed up a large portion of the girl’s life. Yet, there was one Tsukishima family member that actually seemed to be a normal person. Akiteru. Akiteru was probably the longest crush that y/n had ever had. From the beginning of her first year at Karasuno High School, which was Akiteru’s third year, to currently as a third year practically infatuated with a university second year. But for some reason, her crush felt hollow. But she didn’t mind it so long as she still was happy when Akiteru was nice to her.

Tsukishima wasn’t oblivious to the way y/n acted around his brother, not by any means. If anything, Tsukishima was always aware of how y/n acted and felt. Whether she was happy, sad, or yes, even trying to flirt with his own brother.

“Wow! That’s so cool! But that sounds like an awful lot of work.” Y/n currently was resting her head in her hands as she pressed her elbows against the kitchen counter top, watching Akiteru making some stovetop ramen for dinner.

“No rest for the wicked huh?” Akiteru stirred the pot of noodles. His joking words causing y/n to laugh. Tsukishima was in a mood, sitting on the couch scrolling through the movie catalog. His ears finely tuned to the conversation happening nearly seven feet away from him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, biting down any words that threatened to bubble up from his throat.

He was the one that wanted to make y/n laugh like that, like she was lovesick and drunk on her own delight. He had managed to do that three times.

The first time was a long time ago, when they were both around eight years old.

“Kei, Kei, Kei, Ke-” Y/n was poking Tsukishima in the leg with a stick that she had found on the hike their families currently were walking on. The parents and Akiteru were walking far behind the two young kids, talking about, ‘grown up stuff’.

“What!?” He pulled off his headphones, and made a big show of turning off the music on his hand-me-down iPod from Akiteru. He actually didn’t have any music playing, and was using his headphones as a way to listen to y/n ramble about the pets she wanted to own when she got older.

“I was just wondering if you were planning on adopting a dinosaur when you get older.” Y/n kicked a rock and it fell down the cliff, bumping into a few trees, causing y/n to shudder as she imagined what would happen if she fell down from this height.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Tsukishima folded his arms, and turned his chin up.

“But aren’t all the dinosaurs’ dead?” Y/n dropped her stick, and opted for poking him in the chest with her pointer finger.

“When I become an archeologist, I’ll have Akiteru build me a machine to revive its bones. Then I’ll adopt it. Simple as that, stupid.”

“Stupid is a bad word Kei.”

“I don’t care.” Tsukishima had lightly pushed y/n on her shoulder. When she let out a scream, he knew that he messed shit up. He was sure that if he had known the word shit as an eight-year-old, he would have used it in this situation.

In one fluid motion, Tsukishima quickly grasped onto y/n’s hand and pulled her away from the edge and into his chest. When Y/n had started laughing, that same laugh that Tsukishima swore followed him in his dreams, Tsukishima raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why are you laughing? You could have died y/n!” Tsukishima was still holding y/n close to him. He knew that she could probably hear his beating heart that was threatening to break his ribcage open.

“I’m laughing because you care about me Kei.” Y/n rubbed his head, effectively messing up his hair and messing up his composure. Tsukishima’s ears were red, and he was embarrassed but he was still refusing to let go of y/n, afraid that if he stopped hugging her, she would actually fall off of the cliff. And that he would lose her. As an eight-year-old, he silently promised himself that he would never, ever, lose her.

Akiteru set down the three bowls of ramen on the coffee table. He settled in on the left side of the couch. Tsukishima moved over from the right side so that he was in the middle, forcing y/n to sit on the right side, closer to him and away from Akiteru. Tsukishima prayed that his shuffling of the seating arrangement wasn’t scrutinized. When y/n opened her mouth, Tsukishima explained.

“You got the middle seat last week. It’s the best seat to watch movies. It's my turn.” Tsukishima laid back against the couch. Chewing on a bite of the noodles. Even though he was trying to outdo his brother for y/n’s attention, Tsukishima admitted that his brother made some killer ramen.

Y/n rolled her eyes and sipped on the noodle broth. When Tsukishima did the same his glasses fogged up from the heat that radiated from the soup. Akiteru's phone beeped, and when he opened and read the text he grimaced and let out a grumble.

“Sorry, I’ll have to reschedule movie night. Something came up at work. Manager needs me to cover for a flaky employee.” When Y/n shrugged, and stood up, Akiteru’s words rushed out. “No! I mean, no, L/n you should just stay. I mean, I know you were waiting all week to watch this movie, I would just hate to prolong your waiting.”

“No, it’s fine I can wait.” Y/n smiles as she reaches for her bag.

“I insist. Please, I need someone to watch Kei. I’m asking you, l/n, to please help me out here and just watch the movie.” Akiteru took her bag away and ran into the kitchen, setting the bag above the cabinets. Far from y/n’s reach. Only Tsukishima or Akiteru could reach up there. Y/n gasped and hit Akiteru in his arm.

“Akiteru!”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Gotta go! Bye Kei! Have a goodnight!” Akiteru rushed out of the door and shut it with a light slam.

“Honestly, L/n, Akiteru paid for the movie. Just swallow your pride and watch it with me.” Tsukishima explained from his spot.

“Fine. I just have to use the bathroom real quick, and then we can watch it.” Y/n’s feet lightly pattered against the floor. Tsukishima let out a breath, putting a hand to his chest, sliding down the couch to slump in exhaustion. His phone buzzed, and as he read the message, he truly didn’t know if he wanted to punch or hug his brother.

Have fun, relax, and be polite to L/n. I think it's weird how Karasuno’s biggest playboy is a complete idiot when it comes to real feelings :0

The second time Tsukishima made Y/n laugh was when they were fourteen.

Y/n was sitting at the white clothed table, wearing the pink lacy dress her parents had picked out for her to wear at the wedding. They picked out pink lace because it matched with the bowtie Tsukishima’s parents had bought him. The wedding was for Y/n’s parents' cousin-in-law’s step-sibling's aunt. Playing with the fabric of his tie, Tsukishima continuously tried peaking glances at y/n. Her hair was done in a way that made him feel like he was on cloud nine. Her features looked unamused and bored, she seemed to be passing the time by seeing how slowly she could drink her glass of cranberry juice.

After the ceremony, and after the first dance, was when the boredom hit Tsukishima as well. Tsukishima had given up on trying to be discreet and decided to keep staring at y/n. Tsukishima followed her eyeline, to realize she was staring at the glass of champagne the newly wed wife was holding.

At this point in his life, Tsukishima had very poor impulse control. And his hormones were raging, or at least that’s what his mom said to him when he told her that he felt all fuzzy whenever Y/n hung out with him. Thinking, that if he managed to steal a bottle and share it with Y/n, then she would finally admit to having a crush on him, or something.

“Psst. Hey, Y/n.” Tsukishima kicked her chair lightly.

“What do you need Tsukki?” When Y/n turned around in her chair and faced him, he swallowed roughly and grabbed her hand pulling her up and into the chapel.

“Tsukki? What are you doing?” Tsukishima sat down in one of the pews, Y/n sitting down right next to him.

“Waiting for you to thank me profusely.” Tsukishima gave a smirk and wiggled his head in a teasing manner.

“Why would I be than-” Tsukishima pulled out the bottle of red wine he managed to snag from the kitchens. Y/n jaw dropped as she held the cold bottle in her hands.

“How did you...” She trailed off.

“I have my ways.” He shrugged as he snagged the bottle away and twisted the cap off. Taking a swig from the bottle, he puckered his lips together at the tart taste. His throat felt dry and scratchy. The drink made his mouth feel grainy.

“It can't be that bad, you big baby.” Y/n took it from him and took an equally large drink. When she coughed and hit her chest a few times, Tsukishima laughed, holding his stomach from how it was constricting due to his laughing.

They threw away the bottle by dumping the rest of the alcohol down the sink of the church bathroom. As they sat with their backs to the door, the dizziness of being drunk for the first time hit them both with a heavy wave.

“Y/n. I reaaalllyyy like you. I like you soooo much. It’s like my heart can’t even handle it.” He hiccupped. He rested his head in her lap, y/n twirled his blonde locks.

“Is that so?”

“Yuppers.”

Y/n laughed, slowly and quietly at first. Growing into a loud rumble that caused Tsukishima to feel like he could die right then and feel totally complete.

“Kei, we are so getting grounded.” Y/n rubbed her eyes, before her hand retreated back into his hair.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t called me Kei since we were twelve and it's really hurting my feelings.” Tsukishima admitted.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll try calling you Kei more then.”

She didn’t even try to call him Kei. From age fourteen to now, it was only Tsukishima or in rare cases of friendly compassion a short and sweet Tsukki. When Tsukishima admitted that it hurt his feelings, he was being honest, and it still rang true.

Tsukishima was staring at the TV much harder than needed. He tried not to pay attention to all the little things Y/n was doing. The way she was breathing, and how it would hitch when the movie got intense, or how it would come out in a longing sigh during the romantic parts. The way she shifted her feet under her and how the couch would dip and move from her toes moving around in her socks. When the credits started to roll, y/n was snoring quietly, resting her head on the armchair hugging herself loosely.

Tsukishima wanted to kiss her.

Wanted to feel the way her soft looking lips would feel against his probably slightly chapped ones. He wanted her to put both of her hands on his head curling her fingers through his hair. Wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and never let go like when he was eight and had fallen in love. Wanted to giggle and be stupid with her like when they were fourteen and he admitted his feelings for her but she didn’t even notice because she was so far gone from the wine. Wanted to be close to her. Wanted to stop entertaining all the girls that filtered through his life like her current favorite song that changed every day.

Tsukishima wanted to stop being so dry witted and mean to her in class. He wanted to stop her from looking at him with her sad eyes when she tried comforting the last girl he had been talking to and then ghosted. He wanted to curl up in his bed and cry. He was tired, so tired of having to make her annoyed at him, but that was the only way to get her attention. He wanted her attention like he needed to breathe. Like she needed to be kind to others. Like Akiteru needed to be supportive and an example. Like everyone on his volleyball team needed to always try their best during games.

The third time that Tsukishima made Y/n laugh was when they were fifteen.

Class was slow. The windows were clouded and the corners fogged up every time someone exhaled. Outside, heavy rain was falling. Most kids had decided to skip school for the day in favor of staying comfortable in their pajamas' watching cartoons or doing homework for other missed classes. Yamaguchi was at home, he had texted Tsukishima saying that he should just come hang out with him, but Tsukishima had already received a text from his mom that he needed to walk home with Y/n because her family hadn’t bought any umbrellas and she would need to walk home with him.

Class was over and Y/n was frowning. The day was dreary because she couldn’t just sit outside and feel alive with the rain falling down her face. She loved the rain, and being stuck inside on such a perfect day for her was getting on her nerves. But also, the fact that she had to walk home with Tsukishima, who had been a real pain in the ass all week with his current girl. Tsukishima leaned against the lockers by the entrance as Y/n switched out of her school shoes into her normal flats.

“We’re gonna be late if you keep taking forever.”

“Late for what?”

“Late for me to care about you getting home dry any longer.” Tsukishima opened the umbrella and started making his way outside.

“Tsukishima!” Y/n groaned as she rushed to close her locker and match pace with the giant.

“Geez. You could have at the very least waited a minute longer.” She tugged her hood over her head.

Tsukishima stayed silent for most of the walk. When Y/n finally broke.

“If you aren't going to even try and make conversation, then just go ahead. I like the rain anyway.” Y/n folded her arms and huffed. She stopped walking and stood still. Tsukishima walked a bit further, just enough for Y/n to not be under the umbrella. When he noticed that she wasn’t next to his side, he stopped and went back for her, holding the umbrella over both of them as he faced her.

“I don’t have time for a Y/n tantrum. Let’s go.” He flatlined.

“And I don’t have time for a brooding Tsukishima.” Tsukishima felt his heartstrings pulling him closer to her. But he kept his distance.

“What’s up?”

“What?” Y/n shook her head, and tilted it at an angle that made Tsukishima want to put his hand on her cheek and run his thumb across her cheek.

“I'm not brooding right now. I’m talking to you right now. So, let's try again. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just wondering why, a close family friend of mine is acting like an asshole to all the girl’s in our grade.” Y/n stuffed her hands in her pockets. Bouncing back and forth on the heels of her feet.

Tsukishima held back a smirk. She was playing a game with him. “Maybe they're just acting like that because it’s a nice way to pass the time?”

“I don’t think it's that.” She took a step forward.

“Oh, its most likely that.” He took a step forward. He could see the white mist of her exhaled breath. He could see the slight repressed intrigue and curiosity swirl in her eyes. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat. He wanted to grab her hand and press it against his chest and yell at her, telling her that she was the one making his head spin and making his knees feel like they would give out any second because they felt like jelly.

“Wanna know another way to pass the time?” She reached out for his hand. He froze, closing his eyes. Her next words were whispered close to his ear. “Having you chase me in the rain.”

She ripped the umbrella from his hand and ran. It took him a second to catch on. But when he did, he bolted forward. When she looked back, she screamed because he was closer than expected. And then she started laughing. The same laugh he had been longing to hear for over a year since the wine incident.

Suddenly, everything they were angry with each other disappeared. Y/n stopped thinking about how much of a dick he was to people. Tsukishima stopped thinking about how much of a scaredy-cat he was for not just being kind to Y/n. They were just two teenagers running in the rain. Hair getting soaked and sticking to their faces. Feet slipping slightly against the wet concrete. The rain hitting the ground.

They were just two kids in love with life.

They never talked about that day. They just knew it existed in their memories of each other, being stored in the filing cabinets of their life.

As Y/n was snuggled up against the couch, Tsukishima wanted to just hold her. The TV screen had gone black. The only light was the dim hanging light in the middle of the kitchen. And for the first time in a while, Tsukishima was okay with the amount of attention he got from Y/n. He didn’t want any more or any less. He was just glad that he had her in his life.

Maybe, just maybe, one day, he would finally be able to tell her that he no longer liked her. But he loved her.

Movie night still seemed to be the only thing on Tsukishima’s mind. Various scenarios of different endings to the scene played in his mind. His favorite being the one where y/n took the first move and admitted that her crush on Akiteru was just a front so that Tsukishima didn’t realize that she liked him back. Sadly, her crush was still very much real, and very much an annoyance to Tsukishima. Which resulted in him being extra responsive to the countless girls who approached him to admit their affections.

He liked to mess around with the idea that they were y/n. He would try to find a similar trait, a similar physical feature, a similar anything to y/n. So that even for just a minute, he could have her attention. Whenever Yamaguchi was absent to class, Tsukishima would just sit in his own seat and wear his headphones. One hand would be toying with the wires connected to either speaker, while his other hand would rest on the very edge of his desk.

It was a smart move on his part. Because then, he could listen to the conversations y/n had with her classmates and yet seem like he was completely ignorant to anything happening on her side of the connected desks. He felt guilty about eavesdropping as often as he did, but he tried to reason his actions with empty excuses.

“L/n, you always talk about how annoying Tsukishima is, so why don’t you just ask our teacher to just move your seat?” Some girl who had previously confessed to Tsukishima in private complained to y/n. Tsukishima could tell that y/n was uncomfortable, when the girl had come up to her and started ranting y/n only let out forced laughs and dry responses.

“Well, I guess you could say that even though everything he does makes him seem like a huge jerk, he is still my friend.” Y/n spoke. Now, in any other case Tsukishima would have felt like he was being stabbed in his heart when y/n called him her friend. But in this situation, he felt relieved. She was defending him, even if it seemed like a half-assed response to the girl’s thinly veiled insult.

That was what played in his mind during volleyball practice.

“Tsukki! Hey! Tsukki!” Yamaguchi made his way to Tsukishima, a small blue towel on the back of his neck to catch the sweat from all the physical activity. Yamaguchi pulled his hair out of the small ponytail, and ran his hand through it.

“Yes?” Tsukishima started to unwrap the bandages from his fingers, dropping the fabric into his duffel bag that laid below.

“You’re close with that L/n girl, right?” Tsukishima felt his heart start to pound in his chest.

“Our parents are close, so by association, I guess we’re fairly close.”

Tsukishima wanted to go on a rant about how long he had been invested in his friendship with her. How she always managed to make his day even when they were fighting. How she would spend countless hours wasting her time watching TV on his family’s couch while he sat in his bedroom listening to her scream at the television shows for having incompetent characters. How she had tried to braid his hair once before a match but realized his hair was too short and then settled for putting it into a ponytail that ended up looking like an antenna on top of his head, when she pointed it out, she howled like a hyena. He wanted to say all of those things and more, but didn’t.

“Okay cool, because, well Yachi was wondering if she could go along with us to next month’s training camp. Yachi doesn’t want to be the only girl on the bus, and would like L/n to come along because she thinks she could handle the manager responsibilities well. And she wouldn’t admit it, but I'm sure Yachi would like to be L/n’s friend but is too scared to ask her.” Yamaguchi took a deep breath from his long explanation.

“I can ask.”

“Amazing. Cool, thanks so much Tsukki!” Yamaguchi waved goodbye as Tsukishima pulled his duffel bag onto his shoulder and made his way from practice back home.

At home, Tsukishima was greeted with two very different sights.

Y/n sitting in the kitchen, spinning around on the chair next to the counter. She was chewing on her pen, looking at a packet opened up to the middle. She had changed out of her school uniform in favor of some pajamas. It was one of Tsukishima’s old t-shirts that he had gifted to her as a gag gift for some Christmas that had gone as fast as it had come. She was wearing a pair of Akiteru’s old volleyball practice shorts, the ones that had holes on the thighs from all the times Akiteru had practiced receiving but ended up sliding across the gym floor. This was a pleasant sight, causing his dopamine levels to rise exponentially.

The second sight was Akiteru with a girl sitting in his lap. She was talking into his ear and playing with the hair on his nape. Akiteru looked, for some reason, really happy that this girl was there with him. Then Tsukishima thought about it for a moment, and realized that he would probably feel and look just as happy as Akiteru if it was Y/n sitting in his lap basking in his presence. This was an enviable sight, he wanted to be Akiteru and he wanted Y/n to be the girl. He had several questions as to why Y/n was at the Tsukishima household, and why Akiteru was with some strange girl.

“Oh hey, Tsukishima.” Y/n whispered. Waving him over. This was odd only in the way that it felt like Tsukishima was out of place. Like a spoon with a bunch of forks. Like a glass of apple juice amongst water. Like a boy with no idea what was happening in his own house.

“Wanna make a guess about whose parents decided it would be a good idea to take a two month-long trip? I’ll give you a big clue. The parents of the two blonde boys and the one h/c haired girl.”

“What...” Tsukishima, was for once, at a loss for a sarcastic comeback.

“Yup. My parents packed all my stuff up and left it in your guest room, they freaking took my house key and locked me out of my own house. Something about, ‘Letting you stay home alone when there are two perfectly great boys to make sure you stay out of trouble right there.’ It’s bullshit. But hey, I guess we both have to deal with our crazy parents.” Y/n’s mouth kept moving, but Tsukishima blocked her words out. He had to be going insane. He had to be going insane. This was not something that happened in real life.

Tsukishima dropped his duffel bag on the floor and went upstairs. Shutting his door with a slight slam. He sat on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. The glow in the dark dinosaurs that y/n had bought him for his eleventh birthday still stuck on. He wanted to take them off but just couldn’t do that because it would mean losing a part of y/n that lived in his room. When his phone buzzed, it was like breaking out of a trance.

Look Kei, I dont want to be in this situation either, but pls just be around me bc I dont think I can handle the weird smacking sounds coming from Akiteru and his girlfriend.

Did she mean to type Kei instead of Tsukishima? Was it a fluke? Before he had time to respond, his door opened and shut quickly.

“Geez, I thought I was going to be suffocated by the smell of their cologne and perfume. And why is your brother such a loud kisser? Does he have a vendetta against romance?” She moved around in his room like she had it memorized. Sitting down in his desk chair and resting her elbows on her knees. Her legs dangled slightly seeing as his chair was set to the tallest setting.

When Tsukishima finally made eye contact, he noticed the tears that had begun to create a sheen over her eyes. He looked away quickly and spoke.

“I assume he does have a vendetta against romance.” Y/n forced out a curt laugh. The tension in Tsukishima’s room was somewhat thick.

There were three times that Y/n had been in his room. The first time was when they were barely six years old.

“Why is your room the way it is?” Y/n tilted her head around, looking at everything with her big doe eyes. Akiteru was sitting on Tsukishima’s bed listening to music on his iPod, seeing as Tsukishima’s parents wanted him to hang out with Y/n and Tsukishima.

“Because it is.”

“That’s not much of an answer though Kei-Kei.” Y/n poked at a few of his dinosaur figurines.

“Stop calling me that.” Tsukishima stood up and fixed the arrangement of his toys before dragging Y/n down to the floor so that she wouldn’t keep messing with his stuff.

“Kei-Kei?” Y/n offered. Laying on her back, she extended out all of her limbs to mimic a starfish.

“Stop.”

“Kei-Kei.” Y/n sat back up and leaned forward, facing him.

“I said to stop!” He put his hands on her shoulders and put his face up close to her own.

“Kei-Kei.” Y/n mocked, moving her head from one side to the other for each syllable of the nickname. Tsukishima took his hands off her shoulders and pouted. At the same time, Akiteru got off the bed and tried walking out of Tsukishima’s room. But he tripped and accidentally bumped into Tsukishima.

Akiteru gasped.

Tsukishima and Y/n’s lips were touching. Akiteru ran out of the room with his eyes blown out wide. Tsukishima stayed still; y/n’s lips were sticky from her Chapstick and the feeling of resting his lips against hers was nice. Y/n immediately retreated her head away from Tsukishima’s. She looked wildly distraught. And in one instant she had begun to bawl. Tsukishima panicked.

“What's wrong?!”

“I didn’t want you to be my first kiss!” She said with tears streaming down her face, she kept trying to wipe them off but it began to irritate her skin and make her cheeks and eyes turn red.

“Hold on, I can fix it!” Tsukishima stood up and began searching his desk drawers. Pulling out the drawers rapidly, he stuck his hands in each of them feeling around. When he finally found what he was looking for he went back to Y/n and crouched down next to her.

“You should rub the eraser against your lips, and then it'll be like it never happened!” Y/n did as was suggested, once she felt satisfied with the erasing, she sighed.

“Good save there Kei-Kei.” She was still sniffling but had long since stopped crying. When she offered the eraser to him, he put it back into his drawer. “Aren’t you going to get rid of the kiss?” She questioned, again rubbing her eyes to get rid of the remaining wet spots on her cheeks.

“I don’t think I want to.”

The tension in the room snapped. Like when two people were tugging on two opposite ends of a rope, and the middle begins to slowly fray, and then as they kept tugging it to be more on their side, the rope rips in the middle and both people fall down due to the gravity of having the only thing keeping them upright breaking. Y/n put her head in her hands and her shoulders begin to shake. Slowly at first, like the fraying of the rope. Then faster, and her breath was reduced to sharp inhales, the ripping in the middle. And then finally heavy exhales combined with tears falling, the snap.

Just like when they were six years old, Tsukishima jumped up and tried to fix it. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, her head on his chest. The flames in his chest rise, the palpitating pain starting in his chest spreads out until every inch of his body is absorbed in excruciating pain. It didn’t hurt, it just ached. He wanted so badly to block out everything that was hurting her at the moment. But he knew that anything he would try to say would just come out sounding cruel in the moment.

She cried herself to sleep. Tsukishima was still holding her against his chest when he could hear the sniffles subside and become replaced with slow and balanced breathing. He stayed like that for a minute longer than needed. When he picked her up, carefully cradling her head and went to the guest room. Her stuff was indeed in the room, she had unpacked some of her school stuff as it was strewn across the desk. He laid her on the bed. Her body naturally cuddles up to one of the pillows. Tsukishima pulled the blanket hanging on the reading chair in the corner of the room and set it on y/n’s sleeping figure.

He stayed in the room for longer than would have been deemed appropriate. But his excuse was that he wanted to make sure she was still breathing. Her inhales and exhales are even and stable, not like the sharpness of when she was crying and choking on not having enough air get to her lungs. When Tsukishima walked out of her room, he shut the door as softly as possible.

He had two things to do.

Make sure y/n was okay.

Which was completed successfully.

The other thing was to beat Akiteru up.

“Bye! See you tomorrow then? Saturday at two! Love you!” Akiteru let out a love-struck sigh, resting his back against the front door.

“What is wrong with you?” Tsukishima said and though his words were aggressive, they came out calmly. But yet, each word seems to prick and scratch at Akiteru.

“Excuse me?” Akiteru’s mood dropped, and it was obvious.

“You really messed things up. Why the hell did you have to bring a girl over, when you knew that Y/n would be here. You do know that she is practically in love with you right?”

Akiteru’s mouth moved like a fish. It was moving but no words were coming out. Tsukishima’s next words were sarcastic and dripping with a jealous venom. “Perfect Akiteru, older brother extraordinaire, the best role model.”

“Kei.” Akiteru rubbed his temple, and walked towards Tsukishima.

“Don't call me that.” Tsukishima took a step back. Away from his brother, no scratch that, away from the man who made the love of his life hurt.

“But it's your name?” Akiteru reasoned. He didn’t try to take a step forward.

“I don’t want you tainting the way I've heard it said. You don’t get to say my name anymore. Not after you made y/n cry. She cried so hard I thought she was going to accidently hurt herself from how she was breathing.” Tsukishima’s glasses were fogging up, his fists clenched. But his voice stayed the same, calm and powerful. He was making sure his voice didn’t crack in front of Akiteru.

“She told me she had a crush on...” Akiteru was cut off when Tsukishima heard his words.

“So why did you have to go and be such an asshole?” Tsukishima’s voice cracked, but he kept his stance.

“I wasn’t being an asshole Kei.” Akiteru explained.

“Don't call me that.”

“Fine. But you do realize that I can't stop my life just for y/n, right? It isn’t going to always be about what she wants?” Akiteru tried to reason.

“It is for me! It's always going to be about her. It always has been.” That’s when the tears started to fall. They blinded him.

“Then why don’t you let her know that? Because it honestly doesn’t seem like you care about her when you toy around with a new girl every week.” Akiteru was done giving his words a soft touch, these words were hard hitting and so true that it made Tsukishima want to puke.

“Because that’s the only way to get her to pay attention to me! Don’t you see?” Tsukishima stood back up. “The only way to get her attention is for me to show her that I'm wanted by other girls.”

“That’s not how it is and you know it.” Akiteru pushed past Tsukishima and walked upstairs to his room. Leaving Tsukishima to stand alone in the hallway.

As the sun peeked over the rim of the world, people awoke and rose from their death-like slumber. Tsukishima had fallen asleep as soon as he put his head on his pillow. When he woke up, he looked at his phone and realized that Yamaguchi had called him over ten times and his messages were all about Y/n.

(TSUKKI) (Did you ask her yet?) (Ask her pls) (Ask her!!!!) (Yachi is on my tail rn pls ask and get an answer) (Oh r u in one of your moods about her rn?) (Did you try and be all romantic and shit and it didn’t turn out the way u wanted) (Lol jk) (I know u wouldn’t do that) (But yeah, just ask her’)(thankzzzzz)

When Tsukishima put on his glasses, he was about to type in a reply, when there were seven knocks on his door. Y/n. His answer came out before he could realize he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Come on in!” When Y/n opened the door, she had two plates of food balanced on her hands and her hair was slightly damp.

“Oh.....hey, I brought food. But if you want, I can just leave it here....” Y/n trailed off.

“No! I mean, no, you can stay. I’ll put on a shirt.”

Tsukishima stood up and went over to his closet and slipped on a shirt, then he went back and sat on his bed. Y/n was sitting crossed legged in his beanbag and chewing on some of the strawberries on her plate. Tsukishima did the same, crossing his legs and eating the fruit.

“I'm sorry for yesterday. I didn’t mean to have a breakdown. I shouldn't be getting emotional over nothing.” Y/n toyed with a piece of her hair, looking down at her plate. When she saw Akiteru kissing the girl, she wasn’t jealous. She imagined that it was her and Tsukishima. She tried blinking repeatedly to get the image out of her head. But it stuck. And she realized. She should have realized sooner.

“Yamaguchi was wondering if you would come along for the volleyball training camp next month?” Tsukishima said. When he realized what he did, he honestly wanted to slap himself in the face. He completely ignored what Y/n was trying to say, and he felt embarrassed.

Y/n raised her eyebrows in shock, but then gave a shy smile. “Sure, it’s not like I’ll be doing anything else.” Tsukishima swallowed thickly, and nodded.

The second time Y/n was in his room was when they were ten years old.

Tsukishima hated when his parents held dinner parties, and he still does. But because of his slowly growing crush on Y/n he seemed more willing to help out with the party. When the Tsukishimas’ lined up by the front door, wearing their best dress, welcoming the guests with a curt bow, Tsukishima thought he would drown from all the people invading his space. Seeing Y/n hop inside his house was a refreshing breath of air.

How was he supposed to focus on what his mom was trying to say about the steak when Y/n was sitting right there. Right next to him, and being so perfect that he thought he would just burst from pure happiness. Y/n had been on a vacation for most of summer, so he hadn’t seen her for a long time.

She had gotten taller, but so had he. She had gotten prettier, and he still felt like he had a baby face. She had gotten more polite and was able to find the ample time to give her opinion during the conversation between the grownups, while he still struggled to refrain from making snarky comments about the lives of his parents' friends.

So, he thought he was dreaming when Y/n made eye contact and moved her eyes to look over at the stairs when the adults brought out the alcohol. Swiftly, they made their escape to his room. Tsukishima was glad that his parents had forced him to clean his room before the party.

“Kei, I thought I was going to just die from all the talking about taxes.”

“But, Y/n, you seemed to be so good at finding exactly what to say. Like, all the time.”

Tsukishima stood in the middle of his room, shuffling his feet awkwardly as Y/n held her hands behind her back and pursed her lips together as she looked around his room.

“I guess. But it's pretty stupid that adults don’t talk about cool things anymore.” Y/n heard her name being called from downstairs. “Kei, promise that even when we are old and wrinkly and gross, that we won’t have nothing to talk about?” Y/n held out her hand, and Tsukishima gripped it tight as they shook seven times.

“Okay, now that you promised Kei, you can't ever break it okay?”

“I know.” Tsukishima smiled as he waved goodbye to Y/n as she exited his room.

His promise echoed in his brain as a month passed with Y/n living in his house. Conversations were kept to a minimum, as they each worked on homework separately. Tsukishima, though, often got flustered when he saw her bras hanging up on the drying rack in the laundry room. Other than seeing bras, or an occasional pair of underwear, he was sure that he could make it the month without being forced into any awkward situations. Weekly movie night was practically the same, except for the addition of Akiteru’s girlfriend. But, halfway through each of the movies the couple would start kissing and it would disturb Tsukishima and Y/n, who then retreated to their own rooms.

When Tsukishima woke up to his alarm at around five thirty in the morning, he laid in his bed for a while just staring at the glow in the dark dinosaurs. He could hear Y/n shuffling downstairs with her suitcase, and he looked over to his own suitcase. For a while he pretended that this was normal. To have the girl that he had been in love with since he was six-year-old living in his house. When he went downstairs, Y/n was yawning and looking through her backpack to make sure that she had everything for the week long training camp. His last training camp as a high schooler. He was a third year now. So was Y/n. But it hadn’t quite hit him until he was at the school with everyone waiting to get onto the bus.

“Since you are all Karasuno Volleyball members, I thought it would be a fun idea to pair you up for the bus ride, and for any activities that we have planned while we are down in Tokyo. While this is still training camp, we want this to be memorable. Especially for our intermittent manager, L/n.” Coach Ukai stated dully, as if he was reading off cue cards written by Takada which he was indeed doing.

“-And finally, we have Tsukishima and L/n as our last pair. Okay get your asses on the bus, I’m too tired for this right now.”

Getting onto the bus last, Tsukishima took both his and Y/n’s suitcases and put them on the overhead carrier. Y/n seemed stunned by the action then just shook her head and slipped into the row, sitting in the window seat. Tsukishima hardly got any sleep during the night and was on the verge of falling asleep. Nodding his head before flinching and lifting his head back up. There was a seat in-between Tsukishima and Y/n, where they set their backpacks down. Tsukishima leaned his head back onto the seat, but after about ten minutes his neck started to hurt. So, he just let out a low groan of agitation.

Whilst Tsukishima was going through his mini freak out trying to be comfortable enough to sleep, he didn’t notice as Y/n grabbed the bags and set them down by her feet. Clearing her throat, Tsukishima looked over to her with furrowed eyebrows and a sour face.

“Kei,” Tsukishima felt his heart jump into his throat. “C’mere.” Y/n reached over and pulled his head down, after he was resisting for a few seconds, Y/n clarified.

“Rest your head in my lap, you clearly didn’t get any sleep last night. I’ll play with your hair like when we were younger.” Tsukishima wanted to refuse; he really did. But she was saying everything in the same gentle tone that she reserved for first years or the animals she came across. Once her hand went to his fringe, he was putty.

“Only because I'm tired.” He explained as he rested his head on her lap.

“Whatever you say, Kei.”

In almost no time, Tsukishima fell asleep. But instead of a dream, it was a memory. The memory of the third time Y/n went into his room.

They were sixteen and stupid. He had another layer though, he was sixteen, stupid, and mean. Second year had been a bitch so far. Tsukishima hadn’t even got seated in the same row as Y/n. Instead, she got seated next to some flirt on the basketball team. Now, there weren’t people taller than Tsukishima typically, but over the summer Ito Yuuta grew five inches and was two inches taller than Tsukishima.

Tsukishima didn’t want to accept the fact that Y/n was just being nice to Ito Yuuta, because Ito was, in the simplest terms, an ass to Tsukishima. So anytime he saw them talking, it triggered something in Tsukishima. So, his own mean ways came back with a passion. He led on more than three girls at a time the week that he caught Ito leaning in far too close to Y/n and made her laugh.

Tsukishima knew it was wrong. He knew he was playing with fire when Ito’s first year little sister tried to get Tsukishima’s attention. He knew it was bad news to break her heart. He knew it was worse news that he had done it right in front of Ito himself.

“I’m not looking for anything serious right now. Bye.” Tsukishima left Ito’s sister standing by the school entrance with her jaw slack and her hand covering her mouth. Ito was fuming. He marched into class and ripped Tsukishima’s headphones right off.

“What the hell. You can’t just do that to a first year!” Tsukishima stood up and ripped his headphones from Ito’s hands.

“I just did.”

“Screw you Tsukishima. You're just a sad bastard because Y/n wouldn’t give you the time of day if you begged.” Ito huffed and pointed directly to where Y/n’s desk was.

“What?” He spat out.

“That's right, half of the school knows about your constant boner for the only girl who doesn’t give a flying shit about you.” Ito pushed Tsukishima in the chest before scoffing and walking out of the class. Tsukishima just stood there. Silent. Yamaguchi tried to talk to him but Tsukishima just snapped at him too.

Tsukishima walked out of class and to Y/n’s clubroom. When he saw her sitting down at a table silently gluing pieces of magazines onto a cardstock poster, he wanted to stop what he was going to do. But he was furious.

“You told him?” Tsukishima yelled. He was glad that it was just Y/n in the clubroom. Y/n flinched at the sudden screaming. He felt guilty immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Tsukishima?” Y/n tried to get closer to him, but he pulled away from her.

“Oh, I'm sure you don’t know. Hell, Y/n.” Tsukishima stormed out of the clubroom and went straight home. He didn’t care if the school was going to call his parents, he was fuming and the only thing running through his veins was hatred.

He spent the entire day blasting music through his headphones, his eyes shut tight. The music was so loud that he didn’t even notice Y/n opening his bedroom door.

When she taps him on the shoulder he flinches at the sudden contact. He takes off his headphones and growls his words, “What do you want?”

“I want you to explain what happened in the clubroom.” She sat down on the edge of his bed and looked straight into his eyes.

This was the first time in what felt like forever that Y/n had talked to him. But he only had himself to blame for that, he was the one who pushed her away, he was the one who chose to stay away from her once he saw how she treated Akiteru. He was the one who was giving her the silent treatment.

And for once, Tsukishima wished he was anyone else at this moment.

“Do you really not see it?”

“How can I see when you’re covering my eyes?” Y/n refuted. Her analogy was confusing and didn’t clarify anything to Tsukishima.

“You never promised back that you would talk to me. Do you remember? We were ten years old, and you made me promise.” Tsukishima was tired of not having her attention. He was tired of it. He wanted her to talk to him. He wanted her to actively search out for him and ask about his day. He just wanted to have her be there for him. But how could he expect that from her when he was never there for her?

“I don’t remember that Tsukishima.” Each of her words was like an arrow was shooting through his heart.

He got up from his bed and gently, with as little force as possible shoved her out of his room. Sixteen-year-old Tsukishima wanted to grab her hands and yell in her face that he loved her. He wanted to say, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Because saying that would make the conversation interesting, it would entertain Y/n. Because they would be talking about his love instead of taxes.

That was the worst night of his life. Tsukishima's memories loved to play harsh tricks on him by creeping up when his mentality and esteem were going from low to lower.

The bus droned on, and despite everyone’s attempt to sleep Kageyama and Hinata were still talking loudly to the first years about how cool their seniors had been.

She was slightly twisting his hair, her pointer finger grabbing small tufts and looping it around her finger before sliding her hand out, leaving miniature curls. Tsukishima, even on a bus ride, had always been a sleep talker.

He awoke when he felt her poking him in his cheek. When he turned his head to look up at her, she was grinning.

“I love you too Kei.” She whispered as her hand ran through his hair. “Your sleep talking habit has gotten worse over the years.” She mused, giving him a few pats on his head.

And suddenly every single one of Kei’s favorite memories came rushing back to him. The memory of his first kiss with Y/n. The memory of her faking falling off a cliff when they were eight years old. The dinner party where she made him promise to always have something to say. The drunk confession when he was fourteen-year old. The chasing and running in the rain at fifteen. His five favorite memories, bursting into vivid color.

Y/n didn’t know what possessed her to utter the words. She knew it was wrong to say that to him. She knew that her love for him would only seem to rebound from his brother. She was a jerk to do that to him. And she was completely aware of it. But she did love him.

She loved him when she realized she didn’t love Akiteru. She wanted to believe that she loved Akiteru because she didn’t want to say that she loved Kei. Kei played around too much, so she knew it would only hurt her to like him. She needed someone secure. And at the time that person was Akiteru. But once she saw him kissing another girl, she realized she wasn’t jealous.

She felt happy for Akiteru. When she pictured it as Kei however, only then was she jealous.

Kei sat up fast, his hands running to cup her face. His words were practically buffering in his brain as he tried to come up with a sarcastic comment. But that didn’t fit right for a moment like this.

“I finally, finally, have your attention, right?”

Some years later, and after a lot of growing up, life finally clicked.

"I guess you did end up with a pet dinosaur Kei." Y/N traced the outline of the label in front of the ancient bones. She was wearing his Sendai Frogs jersey.

"He's not a pet, he's a testament to nature." Tsukishima slipped his arm around her waist, slipping cold fingers under her shirt to rub her hip. Goosebumps appeared for a moment, then dissipated.

In three weeks they would get married. In four, their apartment would be ready to move into. In one hundred fifty-six weeks, Y/N agreed that she would consider, maybe, having a kid.

"Did you like the game?"

"I loved the game, you were so cool! Which is almost never the case." His face hurts from how hard he's been smiling lately.

"You don't have to work, you know." He commented when he saw her scrolling through her phone calendar, purple events of her job at the weather forecasting station. She liked being a meteorologist, she was always the first to know when it was going to rain now.

"You're so annoying." Tsukishima kissed her, getting a laugh and a smile in response. He continued the tour around the museum, giving her more details than any other tour he had given. His favorite relics, his least favorite place to clean, the place he most wanted to make out with her. When they took a pause, she was playing with his hair at the nape of his neck as they were sitting in front of a painting.

Tsukishima Kei was used to the attention he got from L/N Y/N. It came from having an aura where he radiated love for her.

#a classic of mine #i love a good childhood friends to lovers #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #hq x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #childhood nostalgia #childhood friends to lovers #childhood friends #friends to lovers #slow burn #lilly's red string of fate

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thebestofoneshots · 5 months

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.5 K Warnings: None Prompt: What will happen as you walk inside the snake pit? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 43: Sympathy for the Devil

You appeared in a large hall. Their invitation turned into a paper heron, flew out of your hands and up in the air before blowing up into small little gold specks, a rather elaborate spell for an invitation, which easily showed the amount of time and money the Rosiers had put into their party. Evan’s father, Arkalis Rosier, was a relevant political figure in the British Ministry, so it made sense.

He was basically the main aid of Harold Mitchum (the current minister) and was actively looking to secure the position in the next election. He was also an ambassador for the Ministry and had met your father during some of his trips, although he had already heard from him since he was close to Orion and your father and Orion went way back.

Either way, if this party was part of his quest to secure his position in the 1980s election, he was definitely doing a fine job at pampering his guests with bright and colourful tricks, among luxuries. You couldn’t say much about the food, but the small snack table displayed near the far corner of the room looked mouthwatering.

“Silas! You made it,” said a man as he approached your father. You swallowed, he looked exactly like Evan, except older, and with a thick scar across his left eye, which looked glassy instead of dark green as the other one.

“Of course. Arkalis, we wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” your mother responded with a bright smile and extended her hand towards him. She did always tend to shine in social situations; shiny grin, elegant manners, and incredibly persuasive stance, she managed to make every single person feel at ease when she was around. You sometimes wondered if it was because of the fairy bIood, running much thicker through their veins or because she had learned, and adapted to your father’s needs.

The fairy bIood made sense, after all, the fae were known for their lavish parties and alluring abilities to humans and wizards alike.

Your father extended his hand and shook the man’s hand, who promptly turned to you. “This must be your daughter.”

You extended your hand politely, channeling a similar energy to your mother’s, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rosier, I am–”

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty of you,” he said with a smile. You swallowed. “Horace told me about the time he teamed you up with Evan on potions, he mentioned you had done a delightful job.”

“Right,” you added as you relaxed.

“Darling, you didn’t tell us you were friends with Evan,” your mom intervened, looking at you softly.

“I didn’t?” you asked nonchalantly. “Must have forgotten,” you shrugged it off. “You know how busy it’s been since I got to the new school, with all the classes and adapting and meeting new people, new teachers and so forth.”

“Of course, of course,” intervened Arkalis. “The young girl is right, you cannot expect her to tell you every single thing.”

Well, at least he’s nicer than his child, you thought as you looked at Arkalis and nodded in agreement. Your father, who clearly thought you befriending Evan would be an excellent political advantage was looking at you with a rather stern face. Holding back from speaking but not quite hiding his feelings completely. You pouted in return and continued nodding along with Arkalis.

Eventually, Arkalis had to go and your father grabbed your arm, gently pulling you to him and whispering through gritted teeth, “You didn’t think it would be clever to tell us you are friends with his son?”

“I am so far from being friends with Evan Rosier I might as well be on a different planet entirely,” you responded as you tried to shake his hand off. Even though he had grabbed onto you gently, the fact that he had done it was upsetting, especially with how much it reminded you of being manhandled by Barty and his gang.

Your father huffed and let your arm go, you pulled it back and gave him a rather defiant look, “What? Don’t tell me I now must also make friends that are politically convenient to your career?”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you did.”

You looked at the ground bitterly, remembering the bruises on your neck and the scraping on your knee and the splinching you had gotten on that November moon, then turning back to him with a calm expression, “Wouldn’t it?”

“Darling,” your mom intervened, pulling your father from you by hooking her arm with his, “It’s the Sallows, let’s greet them,” she added, your father’s gaze softened for a second, as if he could see through your brave façade, but he turned back to your mother shortly after, and walked along with her to greet the other family.

Right, go, who gives a fuck anyway, you thought bitterly as you took off in another direction, straight to that food table that had caught your eye a few minutes ago. You picked one of the small bruschettas and took a small bite of it as you looked through the window. Smoked Salmon, you realised as you savoured it. Outside, the sun was starting to set, the gardens were vast and covered by a thick layer of snow, and there was some kind of hedge maze that appeared to be surrounding the property. Perhaps with several spells to keep the muggles away from their house. It was actually rather clever.

There were a few crows perched on the hedges, black and contrasting with the layer of snow as they picked out something from their branches. While they gave the outside a rather ominous look, it also kind of made sense, considering the heritage of the Rosiers. Some people thought they were related to the eldest Peverell brother, in fact, you had heard rumours of Arkalis looking for the Deathly Hallows, even if most people considered them nothing more than fantasies.

“What are you doing here?” a scolding voice asked.

You turned around hastily to find Regulus leaning against the table with a sneaky smirk in his mouth. You sighed, “Godric, Reggie!”

His smile widened and he shrugged, “Fancy seeing you, I spotted your parents earlier, imagined you’d be here too.”

“Well you’re as clever as sneaky, congratulations!” you said before taking another bite of your bruschetta, it was delicious.

“You shouldn’t be here though,” he added in a more serious tone, “I overheard my parents talking about–”

And then it happened, the two large doors at the entrance of the hall snapped open and a man walked inside, making the most dramatic entrance you had ever seen in your life –and you were dating Sirius Black. He looked about as old as Arkalis, except this man was much better looking, not to say Arkalis was ugly –then again, you might have been biased because you despised his son.

Regardless, something about the man was oddly familiar, he had dark hair arranged in a perfectly put-together hairstyle that swooped in a rather elegant way. He was wearing dark wizard robes, although vintage looking, clearly expensive since the material flowed with a cadence that only the finest fabrics could match. He had a charming smile plastered across his delicate features as he approached Arkalis, easily greeting him like an old friend.

You watched with curiosity, the room seemed awfully silent since he walked in, there weren’t even whispers, Regulus had gone quiet too, as if they knew the man, as if they feared him. You looked at him again, at the elegant curve of his handsome nose and that’s when you knew who he was. You pictured him with a robe, darker lighting, in a blurry photo somewhere in the Daily Prophet that insisted on avoiding the subject.

“It’s Voldemort,” you whispered as you swallowed thickly, in absolute disbelief of what was going on around you.

You’d expect someone to scream, someone to pull out their wand or at least someone to apparate the hell away, but everyone seemed perfectly fine with the fact that the self-proclaimed dark lord had just busted the party like some sort of Maleficent from the sleeping beauty.

“Reggie, do you know who that–”

He shook his head in response, not because he was responding to your question, but rather in a warning manner, clearly telling you to remain as silent as the rest of the people in the room. You gave him a look combined with a sigh and you saw his jaw tighten as he nodded his head. Another warning. Whatever was about to happen, couldn’t be good. You were in the middle of what could possibly a tеrrorist attack–

Except you weren’t.

“Tom, a pleasure to have you here already,” Arkalis said, approaching the taller man with a bright smile, as bright as the one he had greeted your dad with. No, brighter actually.

It took 10 seconds of the following exchange for you to realise that you weren’t in the middle of a tеrrorist attack but rather that you were at their dinner party.

Does my father even know? You wondered, and then you spotted him amiably talking to Orion, who seemed as relaxed as possible with the entrance of the Dark Lord into Arkalis’ party. Of course he did, you thought as you tried to hold back a scoff.

You looked around carefully, not a single wizard seemed perturbed by the situation, not a single one had raised their wands against the man. Even Reggie looked relatively at ease as he witnessed the entire exchange, as if he had seen something similar happen before, that’s when the eerie thought crept up: He has seen this before. And of course, he had, he was the perfect child, polar opposite of Sirius. When you met him he was always scared of doing something that could enrage his parents, terrified of their reaction to him even thinking the wrong thing.

While Sirius had rebelled against his parents, Regulus had set out to be the ideal child, following their orders to protect himself from the wrath his brother often faced. His survival mechanism was to be the perfect Black child, and if his parents were Dark Wizards then he would have to become one too, at least until he was old enough to flee.

You looked at him with a pained expression, feeling the same way you had when you figured that he hadn’t been the one to tell on you, but rather been forced to do it, life had been unfair to him then, and was being unfair to him now. And you had no idea if you could even find a way to help him. It was in moments like that, when you realised how much he was like Sirius, both trapped, just in different ways.

But then again, were you any different? Weren’t you also at the party talking to dark wizards like they were any other influential person in society? Weren’t you standing there, like every single other person, looking at the interaction without raising your wand?

Of course, you didn’t stand a chance in a duel against the Dark Lord, but wouldn’t the right thing be to try? Wasn’t that what you had been training to do? No, that’s not it either. You remembered a conversation you’d had with Nightshade before you started training, she had said you were talented, but that wasn’t the end of it, your father’s contacts were a key factor here. If you managed to gather enough information tonight, perhaps then you could use that information against them in the future.

In the end, you’d do what your father has asked you to do from the very start, play the role of the perfect little politician’s daughter, smile and nod and charm people in the same way your mother did often, all in the simple effort to get something useful out of their head’s tonight. You took a deep breath, all that occlumency you had been practising would be more necessary than it had ever been.

“Excellent, why don’t we eat now?” Tom asked with a charming smile, “I believe you have a surprise prepared for later tonight.”

Evil doesn´t always look the part, you thought as you stared at him, he had a charisma similar to that of your mother, if a little sinister. He walked alongside Arkalis, who was quickly joined by his wife Astoria Rosier, an elegant, fair-haired woman that looked far younger than she could possibly be. Orion and your father followed next, along with a few other people whom you hadn’t identified yet.

“Not everyone will dine with them I assume?” you said turning to Regulus.

He shook his head in response, “Only some of us will.”

“Of course,” you said with a nod, you too were expected to sit on the same table as them.

You walked alongside Regulus and a few more people towards one of the doors, you saw Evan joining their parents. Barty was at the party too, you had spotted him in the distance earlier, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be part of the few selected, since he had stayed where he was, talking to a girl whom you didn’t recognize from school, but that oddly reminded you of your boyfriend.

When you reached the table inside the private dining room, you realised the seats had been tagged for everyone. Tom, as Arkalis kept calling the most evil wizard alive, had taken the head of the table while the host, and unsurprisingly, Orion, had taken the two seats next to him. Your father was right next to Orion and there was a rather young man with pale blond hair, as long as Lily’s but completely straight. He couldn’t have been much older than you, he looked in his early twenties at most, a child.

Your mother was close to your father, Astoria and Walburga right next to her. From there, there was a stern-looking man who you didn’t recognize and a curly-haired woman who looked about as unhinged as Barty. It was your position on the table that you found dire, you were sitting across from your mother and in between the long-haired blond, who looked displeased by having you sitting there instead of someone else and none other than Evan Rosier. When you saw his name next to yours on the small floating name tags, you had to bite your tongue to avoid the displeased sigh that was just about to escape your mouth.

When you sat down, the small paper with your name displayed on it disappeared, and on your plate appeared a fresh-looking salad. Evan sat down beside you a couple of minutes afterwards.

“Evan,” you greeted with a tight smile and a simple nod. Yes, you had to play a part, that didn’t mean you’d have to be best friends with Evan Rosier for the night. Why was Regulus so damn far away? You swore he was about the one other person in this entire party with whom you’d actually want to be sitting and there were about seven other people in between the two of you. You took a deep breath and turned to your salad as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire dining room, perking your ears when you heard Orion speak again.

They mentioned something regarding the salad being fresh, which you thought was the most philistine compliment someone could ever give, and then they started going on about the weather. Apparently, it had been an abnormally cold winter in England this year. And while White Christmas’ weren’t uncommon, they were a lot more rare than they had been in the past few years.

You heard your mother say something about global warming to Walburga, who seemed puzzled as if she had never heard the term in her life, which in hindsight she might not have since she lived in her own little pure-bIood wizard bubble and tended to stay the hell away from muggle news. Your parents always knew what was happening with the muggles, they thought it was important to stay informed to be able to maintain the relationships between the muggle world and the wizarding world as forthcoming as possible.

You stabbed a small piece of tomato and brought it to your mouth as you thought of how stupidly prosaic the small talk of dark wizards was. Were they holding back because it was a Christmas dinner? Were they all going to pretend Voldemort wasn’t sitting at the head of the table, eating the same boring salad as the rest of you?

How did they even manage to accomplish all their evil deeds if they were just talking about the scores of the latest quidditch championships? Okay, that was Evan talking with whoever was sitting beside him, but still. These people were supposed to be the most dangerous wizards on the planet and yet they were–

“So tell me, how is the little errand I asked for going?” Asked Tom.

There it is, you thought as you sat a little straighter and paid closer attention to their conversation. By now the salad had disappeared and there was a broccoli soup sitting across from you, the taste was actually pretty good, quite cheesy. Apparently, cheese was the right choice no matter how morally diverse the audience you were hosting was. Although, you weren’t sure their audience really was all that morally diverse, except for you and perhaps Regulus.

“Excellent,” Arkalis responded as he turned to Tom, he looked awfully pleased with himself. “They’re downstairs, waiting for the show.”

Tom took a spoon of his soup and then smiled. You saw a snake slowly creeping up his chair, and he seemed awfully comfortable around her when he noticed. The snake hissed and he said something back to her. He speaks parseltongue.

Now, that might not be new information for Dumbledore, but it was to you. The Daily Prophet didn’t talk about all the skills the Dark Lord had honed through the years. It’s ridiculous, you thought. What if someone tried to use serpensortia against him and got killed by their own spell? Of course, someone who thought that spell was enough to go against Voldemort was going to get killed later on anyway. Regardless, it should already be common knowledge what he was good and bad at.

“Good, I suppose we’ll be enjoying the spectacle when the dinner’s done?”

“Indeed,” Orion said this time around. “Things must be prepared for the ceremony.”

Ceremony? What fucking ceremony? You thought as you took another spoon of your soup. You tried to keep your eyes on it, as if not to seem like you were prying.

“Is the soup really that interesting to you?”

Godricbedamned, not now fuckface, you thought as you turned around to Evan, “It’s really good, actually. More interesting than you and your friend gushing about your quidditch crushes for sure.”

The blond man next to you, whom you had now learned was Lucius, snorted when he heard your reply while Evan clenched his jaw and looked at his parents nervously, as if trying to make sure he hadn’t caught your exchange. You followed his gaze and then turned back to look at him with a slight smirk. So that was a low blow then? You thought as you recalled, he had only talked about male players with his other friend.

Oh, it’s because Daddy doesn’t know. Better leave the subject behind. You weren’t planning to out him, no matter how much of an asshole he continued to be, even if last time he had actually gotten Severus off your back. Speaking of him, it was a delight not to have to see his long face around, looks like his family didn’t make the cut to be invited to the pit of snakes you were currently in.

“At least I have someone that’s interested in talking to me.”

“If I was interested in talking, I’d have already struck a conversation Evan, not all of us are eager to say every single thing that comes to mind.”

“You wish.”

You hmphed at that and turned your head to the other side, “Lucius, would you mind passing me the salt?” you asked politely. He turned to you a little confused at first, as if he was surprised you had talked to him and then nodded, handing over the salt to you an instant later. “Thank you. Your shoes are very elegant, by the way.”

Lucius seemed both surprised and pleased that you had noticed his shoes. They were impeccable like he had either bought them for this event or had them cleaned and polished. He had walked with slow decision as he approached the table earlier, and when you spotted his shoes, you realised why he was being as careful with them as he had been with his hair throughout the night. This man cared about looking good.

“Oh, thank you,” he said with a smile. “I got them custom-made by a very elegant designer, you might have heard of him, Alistar Shoman.”

Gotcha!

“You’re telling me that’s a pair of Shomans? That’s incredible.”

Lucius seemed pretty pleased with the conversation, you threw a side glance at Evan who just scoffed and turned to speak to his friend again, all the while you looked at Lucius and pretended the history of the Shoman company was the most interesting thing in the world. Perhaps it was just slightly more interesting than the broccoli soup.

Then you heard your name drop from Orion’s mouth and you turned to him with the most polite expression you could muster.

Fuck. You had been paying so much attention to Lucius’ stupid talk to prove Evan wrong that you had missed the one bit of relevant information they had been talking about, and now they were calling you for some reason. What a miserable spy you would make.

“Yes, Mr. Black?” You asked.

“We were just talking about the fact that we’ve been so busy that we haven’t been able to go watch the Quidditch Matches recently, but we’ve been told they have been outstandingly interesting.”

You felt the tension in his voice, they probably knew you had sought against Regulus in the Slytherin vs Gryffindor Match.

“They have been,” you said with a nod. “Quidditch is certainly something intense at Hogwarts, all of the teams are incredibly capable. It certainly has been a challenge to be able to keep up with my position.”

Orion laughed at that, “Such modesty.”

You swallowed, unsure how to respond to that but with a small smile. “Slughorn told me you were one of the most promising players,” added Arkalis. “Some teams are already considering you…”

That actually caught you by surprise, you loved quidditch, but you had never actually considered making a career out of it. Lucius turned to you with newfound interest, as if now that he knew what you were capable of you had become actually interesting to him, beyond whatever fashion talk you had held earlier. It was hard to hold the urge to glare at him for it.

“I’m sure all of the players in this table are as good as me, or even better,” you said, thinking of Regulus, and playing your role of clever guest, even if you had given Evan a compliment with it. It wasn’t a lie, Evan was a good chaser, but he was also a total asshole.

“And yet, your team won in the last match,” Arkalis said, making sure to look down on his son as he spoke the last line.

You didn’t turn your gaze to Evan but you could tell he had lowered his gaze from the little you saw in the corner of your eyes. No wonder the boy was like he was, his father was even worse than him. You felt a little pity towards Evan, even if you still disliked him thoroughly.

You decided driving the conversation to a different subject would be the best thing to do before things got even more tense. “How did you meet Professor Slughorn?” you asked, managing to have a genuinely curious look on your face as you did.

“We studied with him,” replied Tom, turning to look at you with a chill-inducing smirk, both charming and dangerous at the same time. He definitely had that cult-leader vibe going for him, no wonder so many people were so eager to follow him, it wasn’t just because he was powerful or because of their shared hate towards muggles, most of the men in the room shared those 2 characteristics. The one thing that made the difference was how much more charming this man was in comparison. “We were both in the Slug Club too, weren’t we, Arkalis?”

Arkalis hummed in response, “Indeed, he used to say Tom was the most brilliant student he ever taught.”

“He likes playing favourites,” you added with a smile.

“He does indeed,” agreed Arkalis, and eyed his son again, his gaze reproachful and thunderous. “He told me you and Evan made an excellent team.”

You remembered that day and tried not to shudder at the thought of Evan’s hand squeezing your injury, “Right we did,” you said as you placed your hand on his shoulder, making sure to dig your nails enough to make him uncomfortable. “He’s delightful to work with,” somehow you managed to make that sound honest rather than sarcastic. “He’s especially good at measuring and mixing.”

Arkalis seemed pleased with your praising of his son, and you thought they might start talking more the more pleased he was, especially since his wine wasn’t refilling fast enough. In fact, every single person in the room seemed to be drinking moderately, as if they were trying to keep their heads clear for whatever surprise they were talking about earlier.

“We’ve been friends ever since, haven’t we Ev?” you added with a charming smile.

“Right,” Evan added, “Best friends.”

Arkalis seemed pleased with the response, your father still looked irritated over the fact that you hadn’t told him about your friendship with Evan, even more so since he thought you lied to him earlier when you said you and Evan were light years away from becoming friends. The rest of the table seemed to buy your lie, except for Regulus who was looking at you with a rather anxious look on his face. While he didn’t know everything Evan had done to you, he had a pretty good idea of some of the things based on things he had heard at the Slytherin table.

You smiled shortly and then someone who you didn’t recognize said something to Arkalis and drew the conversation away from the two of you. Evan leaned over, “What the hell are you playing at?” he asked.

“I’m playing my role as a nice guest, how about you play the one of a nice host and we pretend we don’t hate each other’s guts for the night?” you retorted. “Your father seemed pleased enough about our friendship or whatever.”

“You shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“As if I wanted to,” you scoffed and turned back to listening to the adult’s conversation, they were now going on about the Ministry of Magic. They mentioned something about how he was now doing exactly what he was meant to do and you felt chills run down your spine when you spotted Voldemort’s smile.

The Ministry is on his hands, no wonder there is no news about him on the daily prophet. Just how many deatheaters are out there? All infiltrated on normal day jobs and working towards making the world a much darker place… the idea was horrifying, and yet everyone at the table seemed incredibly pleased with it.

Eventually, you finished dinner, Tom was the first one to stand and he said something about it being time for a show. At this point, you dreaded finding out whatever the hell was his idea of entertainment, from what you’d heard, it couldn’t have been good.

You were on your way towards the exit, trying to find Regulus again when Arkalis walked beside you and offered you his arm, “Darling, would you mind talking to me for a second?” he asked, using a charm similar, but not nearly as masterful as the one Voldemort had.

You looked around trying to find Regulus, of course, Arkalis had asked, but the way he had said it was enough for you to know that it wasn’t actually an option to say ‘no’. Reggie was a few feet from you and he sent you another anxious glance before Orion intercepted him.

“Sure, of course,” you replied as you felt Arkalis’ hand over your shoulder, urging you for an answer, you hooked your hand in his and followed him to a different room, completely missing the absolutely terrified look on Evan’s face.

“How may I be of help to you, Mr. Rosier?” You asked calmly, whatever reason Arkalis had to bring you to the library, it was not intending to hurt you, at least you hoped it wasn’t. And the chances were low since it would be a very stupid decision to make considering who your father was, and how close he seemed to be to Orion, who, you had concluded, was closer to Voldemort than Arkalis, even if they had studied together.

Whether you liked it or not, your parents’ connection to Orion Black, was the reason you were safe in this party.

“You’re friends with Evan, correct?”

You heard a shuffling at the end of the room, turning to look but finding nothing, you narrowed your eyes in that direction only for a second before turning back to Arkalis, he didn’t look like an overly patient man, “Indeed.”

“Excellent,” he said with a nod and then smiled, a smile so warm and kind that you might have bought his good intentions if you hadn’t been deterred by the thing that left his mouth afterwards, “You would tell me if he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing, right?”

Like threatening to throw me off the astronomy tower, choke me and throw me off my broom along with his boyfriend? Sure, you thought.

“Something he shouldn’t be doing?” You played dumb, that seemed to always do the trick for people like Arkalis.

“I’ve heard some rumours about my son.”

Rumours? You wondered. Whatever the hell is he–

“People have been saying he’s really close to a boy in school.”

“Evan has many friends,” you responded, just now guessing what Arkalis could mean.

“Closer than that,” he told you. “It’s a… deviation that happens to muggle men often?”

Fucking hell, you thought when you realised what he meant. Arkalis wants to know if Evan is gay, but the way he approached the subject, using the words “deviation” and “muggle” with such derision. You tilted your head slightly, trying not to look offended by his homophobia.

“I’m not sure I understand, Sir, Evan has many friends.”

“I mean, does he have a boyfriend?” Arkalis asked.

There it is. You played surprised at that. You heard another movement on the side, “Oh, Merlin no!” you said surprised. “I would definitely know if Evan had a boyfriend,” you said, trying to sound as confident as possible. It wasn’t completely a lie, you did know.

Then you felt Arkalis trying to prickle at your mind, looking for something, inside of it, the truth, you realised. And then you gave him what he wanted to see. You used every single ounce of mental power to conjure up one image and one image only. Evan pushing you against the railing of the Astronomy tower, hand in your throat and leaning onto you, the same way it had happened then except, there was no one else, and rather than lean over to threaten you, Evan was leaning over to kiss you.

You tried to hold your thoughts of disgust at the image being projected on your mind as much as possible, but you knew that, at least that scene, would get Arkalis off of Evan’s back for a while.

No, you didn’t like Evan, you’d go as far as to say that you hated his guts, but no matter how much hate you harboured for the blond, you would never out him, let alone to a clearly abusive and homophobic father like Arkalis. Take it as the good deed of the day, you thought as you used memories of kisses with Sirius to make the scene more realistic.

Eventually, Arkalis stopped digging inside your mind and you felt relief wash over you, allowing the horrifying image of kissing Evan Rosier to dissolve. Arkalis pulled back with a pleased smile. “What a deceptive little thing,” he said as he looked at you with a smirk and grabbed onto your jaw to pull your head up slightly. You gave him an innocent look in return, as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

Does he know I’m trying to trick him? Did he notice?, you wondered as you moved your hand towards your dress pocket to try and find your wand.

“Pardon?” You asked meekly.

“We all thought you were dating Orion’s eldest son,” he said Sirius’ name with scorn, and you had the urge to spit on his face, you somehow managed to hold back.

“I am dating Sirius,” you replied with an innocent frown, voice still soft, still playing a part, Arkalis had to think you had no idea he had dug inside your mind.

His smile just widened, “Of course, my bad,” he said with a smile and pulled his hand away from your face. “If you see Evan tell him I’m proud of him. He’s got a good eye for women.”

You swallowed thickly but managed to give him a confused nod in response. It was meant to be a compliment, and yet it made you want to puke, you definitely did not like Arkalis better than you did Evan. You didn’t even like him better than you liked Barty.

“Uhm… of course, Sir,” you replied, still playing dumb, his smile grew wider and he bowed his head before exiting the room.

When he was gone you allowed yourself to sigh, shutting your eyes as you thought over everything that had happened. And then you felt a hand in your arm, gripping tightly, just like he had back in potions class.

“What the hell was that about?” Evan asked from behind, he looked absolutely baffled.

“Oh, Evan, you were the one eavesdropping then,” you replied with a sigh and shoved your arm to try and pry his hands off of it. So fucking handsy, you thought as you remembered his father’s stupid hands on your jaw. “Do you mind?”

Evan seemed just as puzzled and slightly angry now too, and while he didn’t let go of you entirely, he did loosen his grip, which you were thankful for. “Why did you–? What the hell did you tell my father?”

“You know, the right way to express what you’re feeling right now is to say thank you,” you replied annoyed, you hadn’t saved his ass for him to be a total asshole about it.

He finally let your arm go completely and passed a hand through his hair, “What I mean to say is, you know about me and Barty, you could have told him, gotten rid of the two of us in an instant, my father would have probably sent me abroad to some other school if he found out and yet you… made him assume I like a woman?”

You sighed, “Look, Evan. I don’t like you, okay? You’ve been an asshole to me from the fucking start and frankly, I wish I could beat the fuck out of you sometimes, but there are lines that I’m not willing to cross. No matter how much of an asshole you are, I would never out someone just because I dislike them, let alone to someone like your father.” And then you scoffed, “Muggle-deviation, fucking hell, just say gay.”

Evan was speechless after that, he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what he should say or if he even should. Perhaps he really should thank you for covering for him, but even that would feel empty. What you had done might have been one of the nicest things anyone had done for him in his entire life, but how could an enemy be the one to do that?

“I– I mean I–”

You sighed again, “Just… leave it,” you said and left the room, and an incredibly confused Evan inside of it.

Evan disliked you, he disliked you for throwing a Quaffle on Barty’s face and breaking his beautiful nose, he hated you for being a know-it-all, he hated you for being good at quidditch and he hated you for being such a self-righteous prick who considered herself better than him. He hated you for constantly teasing Barty and Mulciber and Snape, he hated you for how reckless you were and for picking up fights with people who were bigger and stronger without backing down from them. And his whole idea of you was crumbling down because he wasn’t sure he would have done the same thing in your position. If he knew how to destroy you, would he have hesitated?

Would he have saved you too?

Evan sank to the floor and started to cry, he wasn’t sure if the thick salty drops falling from his eyes were from angry or relieved tears. He didn’t know why he was crying, he just knew he couldn’t stop. The complexity of his emotions churned within him. You had the power to vanish him, you could have told his dad and the one bit of happiness he’d found would have been gone in an instant. He wouldn’t have seen Barty ever again.

Did you even know how much you had done for him in that 5-minute talk you’d had with Arkalis?

Years of hiding, years of being careful, years of feeling like he was wrong, and that what he liked was poisonous, deserving of mistreatment and scorn, years of dreading his father finding something, anything that could out him. All gone in a small little chat, where you barely even fucking spoke. The smile Arkalis had made, the relief in his eyes –the acceptance– that made Evan want to cry even more. Because no matter how great he was, no matter how perfect he was, he would never, ever be truly accepted by his father. Never would he make him as happy as you had by implying to him he liked a girl.

He was miserable, and out of all people, you had been the one to make his sorrow, even if it was just slightly, less painful, less burdensome and less suffocating.

Yet, despite the relief, Evan couldn't shake the lingering bitterness that consumed him. He resented you for knowing his weak spot, and yet, beneath the layer of resentment and anger, there was a tiny ember of gratitude, a flicker of acknowledgement for the unexpected reprieve you had granted him. As he sat there, tears staining his cheeks, he wasn’t sure he could continue hating you anymore.

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A/N: This might be one of my favourite chapters to write. I really like those emotionally charged scenes, but you've probably already noticed. Also, even antagonistic characters have feelings and boy, do some of them run deep... Poor Evan (I told you guys I did like the Slytherin boys, but the rivalry still exists. Even if, to their different points of view, the villain might just be, well: us. Love, Lils xx

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dragonismo · 6 months

Text

— of lies and empty promises.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader.

trope: something between star-crossed lovers and friends x enemies x lovers.

synopsis: while you enjoy a pleasant afternoon together, the differences between your families begin to make their way into your friendship, giving rise to moments of discontent between both of you.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: Both Aemond and reader are young. I believe there is no more warnings. Only Aemond is a tad bit possessive, jealous, and manipulative, but is purely innocent.

an: I've had this story saved in drafts since season 1 ended, but I've been neglecting it. Now, after seeing how hot handsome Aemond looks in the season 2 trailer, my fixation is back and so is my desire to publish this. This is something like a small introduction to what I have planned, so please, if you are interested, stay tuned for the next chapters!

You and Aemond were resting under the shade of the weirwood, with the sunlight filtering through its branches and red leaves. It was the most tranquil place in the Red Keep, ideal for doing nothing but enjoying a well-deserved rest after a day full of study and sword training, and as it was a rather warm summer afternoon, the mood was truly pleasant.

"I wish every day were this peaceful," you commented as you lay on the grass. "I would spend my entire life here if I knew no one would dare bother me. Can you imagine? Just lying in the sun, with no one behind rushing us to our lessons. And so, perhaps we could spend more time together."

"As far as I am aware, no one keeps you from my company," Aemond replied as he lay down next to you, palms flat on his stomach, legs crossed.

His comment made you frown: was he playing the fool, or was he really oblivious to certain glances? While shading your eyes from the sun with one hand, you tilted your face towards him before responding. "Oh, but they do, they sure do. I bet you know it is so."

"Oh, and by whom?" he inquired with a mischievous grin, one that vanished as soon as he heard the answer to his own question.

"The Queen."

Oh now that made him roll his eyes.

It was an immediate reaction, as Aemond was more than used to hearing you refer to his mother as if she were an impediment to your friendship, being that she never raised any objection despite her own opinions regarding Rhaenyra's children.

And how could she not have them? It was more than clear to him not only the truth hidden behind his mother's suspicions, but also how they were much more than mere prejudices towards the Princess.

"As I have told you countless times before," he said, not bothering to hide the subtle hint of frustration he felt at bringing up the issue again. "My mother holds no grudge against you."

"Then maybe her face hasn't caught on," you countered. "Or have you not seen how she scowls upon seeing me?"

"Believe me, you are not the source of her complaints. Mother spends more time grumbling about your brothers than about you, and rightfully so. They are fiends. You are not to deny it."

But to you it didn't seem such a far-fetched idea. You were about to argue once more, but then suddenly refrained from voicing your own opinion on the matter. You knew Aemond's position; how he preferred to turn a deaf ear and therefore often dismissed the matter. After all, what could the Queen do? She was not going to succeed in separating you both when the King was more than delighted with your bond.

Moreover; was it really worth arguing? It would do nothing but sour things between you two, something you feared greatly, for you held Aemond in high regard.

"Do as you wish," you replied. You did not want to interrupt the peaceful mood with reminders of the many quarrels that prevailed in your family, and so as usual, you decided to remain silent and put the whole matter aside. Still, your discontent showed on your face. "I was only expressing my desire to spend each day as I do now. I wish my only duty was to lie here and take a nap."

Aemond chuckled. "I fail to see where I fit in."

"I m afraid you are too irritating to be a part of it."

"Well, that is rather unkind of you. And selfish, I would say, as I want to be included anyhow," Aemond retorted stubbornly.

As he sat now with his hands on his knees, he looked at you with a determination unbecoming of someone his age, for not even men sounded as certain when they chose their greatest pursuits. But in Aemond's eyes, at nothing but ten years old, there wasn't a hint of doubt when he said, "Every time I imagine where I wish to be, you are by my side. Even in my dreams I relish in your company. I believe it is only fair that I am part of your ambitions and yearnings too, would you not think so? I would like it that way."

"But I never asked for such a thing," you replied. "Why am I to even consider it? I want my dreams to be my own, and not shared with anyone else. Dreams are one's own thing after all. So I wonder, why share them with me?"

"Because I love you, of course," Aemond answered you without further regard. "And if you love me as much, you must include me in yours, for not to do so means our friendship is not as important to you as it is to me," he added that last bit with a hint of playfulness.

You then turned to look at him. "Not as important?"

How confusing. It should bother you to hear him claim such a thing, for after all, were you not the one who had always defended him from the ill-treatment of your brothers? Were you not the one who had shown him unconditional affection despite the growing differences between your family? Were you not the one who, even in these moments, and as hard as it was not to, had never been upset with him? For even when you were accused of loving him less or branded as egotistical, you worried that those concerns were far more than harmless banter.

"Of course I love you as much. I would say more, even."

Aemond's smile widened, as he had expected such an answer. "And yet, it is I who always has you in mind. Who loves whom the most, then?"

"Me," you wanted to say. But was love not too big a concept for such young people?

You were taken aback. Not because the answer would be disheartening, and certainly not because you doubted the extent of your affection for him, quite the opposite: for one as young as yourself, the dephts of your feelings frightened him.

Then, instead of answering his question, you sat up, wiped the dust from your hands on your robes, and with sudden curiosity asked, "And what is that dream of yours, pray tell? I reckon it is no more mind-boggling than mine, where I gorge myself in lemon tarts as I ride the Black Dread."

Aemond snickered at your comment, but his words sounded a bit too serious to be a jest when he uttered them. "Well of course it is simpler. It is just about…"

"Your highness," a voice interrupted him.

A handmaiden approached from the opening, looking somewhere between hurried and delighted, something that intrigued you as much as it annoyed Aemond, who hoped this interruption would be brief so he could resume his comment. After a bow, however, he found her words rather daunting.

"Your mother sends for you, your highness. She wishes to introduce you to a new brother," the woman announced, which caught your attention so much it made you forget all about your previous conversation with him.

"My mother, you said?" you beamed before you pushed yourself up from the ground in no time, dusted off your clothes and bade Aemond farewell with such haste he could barely make out an "excuse me" as you and the handmaiden walked away.

He watched you as you ran ahead of her, clearly excited to meet what awaited you in your mother's chambers. As for him, he remained seated under the tree for a few seconds longer, a hint of jealousy souring his smile as his brow furrowed.

What a pleasant afternoon you were having so far. And yet again, your siblings always seemed to interrupt you both, even if they were not doing so directly. Will he ever be free of the burden of kinship?

How you could choose your brothers was beyond him. Was he not the one who often amused you? He had always considered himself closer to you than Jacaerys and Lucerys, but what was it about those bastards that always pulled you away from him nonetheless? And now there was a third!

Were his concerns correct then? Did he love you more than you loved him? But no, the very idea seemed so absurd it brought a scornful laugh from him.

You would never dare choose them over him!

"Damn them," he exclaimed before standing up as well. There was no use in staying here now that he was alone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x male reader #hotd aemond #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon #hotd

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madschiavelique · 1 year

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HSUDHDBD!!! I love your work sm and I really enjoy reading it 😭😭 (tears of joy) they're literally works of art and honestly I hope that someday that I'll be better at writing than how I am now :' also a lil request i have in mind is a lil Miguel x Reader sort of thing like,, aftercare after a night of some rough seggs?? That or just taking care of said Reader when they're in any sort of pain (ex; period cramps, dealing with trauma, etc)

OMG THANK U SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAAA AND YES THIS YES

i chose to write on miguel taking care of reader when they're on their periods (because i am, endometriosis is hitting hard af DFQZRESG)

summary : Miguel takes care of you when you're on your periods

content warnings : mentions of menstrual blood (reader is on their periods), other than that it's absolute fluff - so sweet you'll get cavities after reading this, afab reader, no use of Y/N word count : 2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

status of my requests according to the date of this post : CLOSED (asks are open though)

Fuck.

You'd woken up in the middle of the night with a terrible tummy ache, a hot, heavy pain felt in your lower abdomen accompanied by an intense hot flush that took over your whole body unpleasantly. You had a good suspicion of what it was, so you got up, trying not to make too much noise, although every movement seemed to give you incredible pain, making you whimper.

Miguel groaned in his sleep as you stood up, bent over as your belly and the low of your back ached excruciatingly. You made your way to the bathroom, which fortunately wasn't too far from your bedroom, each step making you feel as if your thighs were about to separate from your pelvis.

You pulled down your panties, a dark stain soaking the fabric. You sat down, taking the opportunity to really go to the bathroom, and when you wiped, the vibrant carmine color covered the paper.

Fuck. Shit. Son of a bitch.

You had your period, and it was never pleasant. You knew they'd be coming soon, it had been at least three days if not more since you'd started to feel cramps in your lower abdomen and pain in your breasts, the only surprise you had left was when they'd arrive.

And they'd chosen the delightful moment of the middle of the night to wake you up, how thoughtful of them, how generous. You sighed, your panties were full of blood, you had to get yourself another pair, which meant coming back into the room and trying not to make too much noise for Miguel.

You stood up, putting your knickers in the laundry, unable to find the strength to clean them now. You opened Miguel's cabinet, but found no painkillers... You'd forgotten to stock up on painkillers for your period. An umpteenth sigh of desolation took hold of you as you came to pinch the bridge of your nose.

You closed the cabinet door and turned to see Miguel, which surprised you a little. His eyebrows were furrowed, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled.

"Something's wrong?"

It had only been two weeks since you'd moved into Miguel's quarters, and before that you'd avoided seeing him when that time of the month came around for you. The smell of your body and what it was expelling must have alerted him to your condition. You inhaled, rubbing your eyes as your belly suddenly clenched and you had to sit back down on the toilet.

Miguel immediately knelt down in front of you as the cramps made you bend double until your forehead touched your knees, completely distraught by your condition.

"Nena, what's going on?" he asked, stroking your back with one hand and your leg with the other. "Please tell me."

You breathed in, trying to articulate as the pain brought you to tears.

"I'm on my periods," you managed to say through clenched teeth.

He said nothing, and you wiped your eyes as you looked down at your knees.

"I'm so sorry I woke you up," you said, trembling as you tried to breathe properly, the wave of cramp easing slightly.

"Hey," he says, taking your chin between his fingers, bringing your eyes to his worried ones, "don't apologize. Just tell me what you need me to do right now."

You looked up at him, eyes moist.

"I need another pair of panties, a pad... I put some here in the closet," you said, pointing to said closet in the room, "and a painkiller for now." you said softly.

Miguel nodded, kissing you gently before standing up.

"Don't move," he said before leaving the room.

It was probably the easiest order you'd ever get from him, if not the nicest. So you just sat there, completely folded in on yourself, waiting.

Miguel returned with one of your panties in hand, opened the cupboard to grab the packet of sanitary pads you'd placed there, and came to kneel before you again, handing you both items.

You took the undies and pulled them down to your ankles, mechanically opening your sanitary towel package and placing it over your underwear. You then stood up in front of him, pulling the panties up over you, sitting back down.

He watched you, his tongue creating a tent in his cheek.

"For the painkiller, I don't have any pills. I only have one that's... peculiar." he told you as he stroked your calf gently.

"Which is?" you asked softly, feeling a little safer from creating stains now that you were carrying something against you.

He said nothing, simply opening his mouth and pointing to his slightly extended canine.

You knew that Miguel had an antidote in the venom he secreted that acted as both a painkiller and a sedative. The latter, come to think of it, would not only allow you to sleep peacefully, but also to feel less pain.

"Bite me, Miguel," you asked, almost desperate for him to bring you any sense of relief.

He inhaled, nodding.

"Open your legs, the closer to the pain the bite the faster the venom will act."

You bit the inside of your cheek, this will be unexpectedly sexy, you thought.

So you spread your legs, moving closer to the edge of the toilet. His warm hand came to rest on your thigh, Miguel coming as close as possible to the inside of it as your hand caressed his hair.

You felt his hot breath on your skin before he bit down. The abrupt sensation of his canines in your skin made you tighten your grip on his hair, but he didn't flinch. He let the venom spread, then retracted his teeth as he ran a gentle stroke of his tongue over both slits, finishing the act with a gentle kiss over them.

"Good," he said simply as he straightened up.

He brought one hand behind your back, the other coming to rest behind your knees, and raising you against him princess style. You brought your arms around his neck, as he led you out of the bathroom.

"I can walk, you know that right?" you smile against him.

"In this state? I won't let you move," he replied.

He led you into your bedroom, laying you gently on the bed. He came to lie behind you, pulling the comforter up over you both as he curled up against you, becoming the big spoon. He placed his hand on your lower belly, the warmth of the latter soothing a little the fire dwelling there.

The venom was also starting to take effect, making you want to sleep again and greatly easing your pain. He kissed the back of your neck and you drifted off to sleep.

You felt so soothed. You'd been dreading a situation like this, but in the end Miguel had reacted perfectly, and you fell asleep much more relaxed.

When you woke up, the antidote was gradually fading from your blood. You were wrapped up in your comforters so snugly that you didn't want to move, and you weren't going to.

You opened your eyes, and on your bedside table were four different boxes of medicine, with a glass of water beside them. Miguel must have got some painkillers for you, and probably not knowing exactly which brand you preferred, he'd taken several.

You smiled, straightening up slightly to sit down and pick up the box you were most familiar with to take a pill and drink it immediately.

"Lyla?" you asked, putting the glass back down.

"Well hello," the little orange pixel cloud materialized before your eyes.

"Is Miguel away?" you asked.

"In truth, he's in the kitchen right now, preparing..." she checked her data, and quoted the name of your favorite dish.

You made a little pout mixed with a smile, Miguel was really taking care of you till the last bits of himself.

You straightened up, placing your foot on the floor as you grimaced. You had to go and change your pad, and although the deal was unpleasant, you got up to go to the bathroom. But first, you made a detour to the kitchen to at least say hello to Miguel.

You arrived in the kitchen, the smell of your dish's ingredients wafting through the air.

"Buenos dias, bebé", you smiled as you entered the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

He turned immediately, surprised not only by your little use of Spanish, but especially by the fact that you were standing. He approached you, smiling gently as he kissed your forehead.

"I told you that I wouldn't let you move," he said, coming over to stroke your hair.

"I just came to tell you good morning," you assured him as you brought your hand to his waist.

He pretended to think, "not a sufficient excuse to move."

"I have to change my pad ?" you offered as another explanation.

"Still not a valid excuse, nena." he smiled before taking you by the waist and raising you against him, his hands resting on your back and thighs as he led you to the bathroom.

You sighed, but couldn't help appreciating the attention he was giving you. He set you down in the bathroom, letting you change your pad, then taking you back into his arms as he led you back into the bedroom.

He laid you gently on the bed.

"Don't move," he said again, "really."

"I won't, I promise." you said, putting your hand on your heart as you covered yourself with the comforter.

He smiled softly, kissing you before standing up and leaving the room. "Lyla," you called again, the cloud appearing once more, "report on Miguel's occupations since waking up." "As good as done, Chief," she smiled as she brought up a small timetable showing each of his activities. "Miguel woke up this morning at eight o'clock, his first demand being to give him as much documentation on menstruation as possible. After reading a number of articles, he asked me questions about what to do for a loved one at a time like this. Subsequently, Miguel went to the various commercial areas of the society where he made several purchases including: a hot water bottle, a whole bag of snacks, a variety of ingredients for lunch, a dozen packets of sanitary pads, and four tablets of different pills to treat the symptoms." You glanced at your bedside table, "Finally, he filed for leave this week. Since his return, he has begun preparing the dish. Shortly afterwards, you woke up."

Your heart clenched with emotion. Miguel had done all this? For your sake? You could feel the tears welling up, the sensitivity brought on by the periods not helping your situation.

Miguel came back into the room, hot water bottle in hand, but noticing your shining eyes and trembling chin, he rushed over to you.

"Is everything okay ? Why are you crying, nena?"

You're the why, you thought, in the most adorable and safe possible way you are the one making me cry.

You threw yourself at him, taking him in your arms and holding him close as hot tears rolled down your cheeks.

"I love you," you whispered against him.

You felt him relax under this revelation, coming to wrap his arms around your back as he pulled you into his embrace.

"I love you too, nena." he whispered as he came to cup your wet cheeks, kissing your lips softly there.

You looked up at him, your eyes tender with love.

"I brought you a hot water bottle," he smiled, showing it to you.

You gave a little laugh, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

"Thanks," you grinned as you took it in your hands, its comforting warmth perfect for your body's torment.

"Would you like to watch something? Just tell me what you'd like and I'll take care of it."

You smiled wider, sighing lovingly as you offered to watch one of your comfort movies. He nodded, coming to kiss you again.

These would probably be the best periods you'd ever had, and it was all thanks to him.

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wbellab · 3 months

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Cherry flavoured revenge | Regulus Black (part 3)

part 1 part 2

Pairing: Regulus Black x fem! pronouns

Warnings: none

Universe: Harry Potter

Summary: y/n and regulus are arranged to be married and it doesn’t go as planed for the latest.

A/n: umh well… I have disappeared for two years I know but I was randomly reading the two first parts of this series and I thought "I want to know what happens next". Until I obviously figured that I am supposed to write the next part. So here I am !! yay🥳

——

It would be a lie to say that regulus didn’t feel guilty after doing what he had done. That night he heard her cry in her room, he felt like his heart was breaking apart.

They didn’t share the same room. It was impossible for y/n to think about sleeping in the same bed as regulus. She never contemplated this before but after what happened the previous night, she was damn sure she didn’t want anything to do with him. As much as he (she thought) wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

So they lived together, they didn’t speak to each other unless it was absolutely necessary and they only shared nods of acknowledgment each time they were in the same room. It was killing regulus.

He obviously resented her for what she did on their wedding day but after thinking about it, they were equal. He was the one, nearly begging his parents to consider a marriage between The Avery Family and the Black’s. Although it wasn’t really necessary because this idea obviously delighted them, The Avery Family was a noble line of pureblood wizards.

He was the one coercing her into this marriage, so the show she put on their wedding day was only payback. But he made the stupid decision of adding fuel to the fire which worsened the situation.

Regulus has loved her ever since he met her. He wanted to make a good impression the first time he saw her on the train to Hogwarts the First Year. And that’s the reason why he eagerly jumped into the boat she was already in, hoping to be friends with her. Their small conversations went pretty well. If only it wasn’t for his clumsiness, he bumped the boat trying to get out of it and it made her lose her balance and fall into the water.

Regulus felt horrible. He knew that she hated him after this. And she had a good reason to. But never, he gave up on seeking her attention. He apologised countless times and when she only glared at him each time he decided to think that the girl was only to full of herself to accept his apologies. But he still continued annoy her. He felt like it was the only thing able to get a reaction out of her, and he loved it.

In Sixth Year, he realised that not only he liked the bickering and this rivalry between them, he just loved talking to her. He loved seeing her face, seeing her eyes scowling at him, hearing her annoyed voice responding to him. He overall loved her mere presence. Hell, he just loved when her name was mentioned. He loved her.

And now that he had her, now that they were bonded together by marriage, he just couldn’t have her. It was the closest he ever could have gotten her yet she was so far away.

He swore that he would swallow his pride, once they were both married. That he would do anything to make her happy, anything to be able to earn her love. But once again he failed. He nearly drowned her. Now she truly hated him. He couldn’t bear it.

The love he held for her was so deep, the only thought of her hatred for him felt like small cuts through his heart.

And so he did it. He swallowed the smallest of pride left in him, and that being done he started leaving small notes with flowers on the kitchen counter every morning before going to work.

Y/n was beyond surprised the first time she saw the beautiful cherry blossom bouquet and the note on the counter. She didn’t expect this coming from Regulus. Especially because their communication went to zero after everything they went through.

She grabbed the note and was quite surprised to find its content.

Your liking for cherries has caused us quite some trouble. I hope you believe me when I say that if the possibility were to be, I would’ve planted hundreds of Cherry blossoms around the house to satisfy your needs. Seeing as I won’t be able to offer you this, I am begging you to accept this humble bouquet in the hopes of earning one day your forgiveness.

-your secret admirer (for quite some time)

What was he doing ? she asked herself.

That evening he didn’t even mention the flowers nor the note. As if nothing happened. She felt extremely confused and was wondering if she should thank him. They silently ate dinner, both avoiding any eye contact. Once they were done he gave her a smile, one that she could only return before going inside her bedroom.

The next morning, she found once again another note with a new bouquet of flowers. Gypsophilas, her favourites.

Before yesterday I never knew I needed to see you smile in my daily basis. Your smile is one of the kind that could make anyone fall absolutely head over heels for you. The kind of smile that would be cruel not to kiss. You smile like the sun smiles at the earth, one look at you and my breathe goes away. I’m hoping by giving you these I may be close to see the sun of your smile again.

-your secret admirer, always R.A.B

She was getting annoyed by the fact he was giving her those subtle notes filled with his feelings and then ended up ignoring her the evening… But oh how could she not smile after seeing this.

And with a suppressed smile, she wrote him a note back. They spent the next few weeks corresponding through notes. Each one getting more and more intimate.

She felt like she learnt more about him through these pieces of papers in barely two weeks than in the 7 years of having known him at Hogwarts.

One morning she woke up earlier than usually and she found herself stumbling upon Regulus in the kitchen, quill in hand writing his upcoming note.

"I never thought I would catch you doing an act of such deceitfulness." Regulus was taken by surprise when he heard her voice. "Writing so early in the morning to one of your mistresses after a month of marriage ? I never thought you would betray me so fast..." She faked sorrow.

"Caught me." Regulus playfully raised both his hand, giving her a sly smirk. "I never thought you would be awake at this hour."

"Well I never meant for you to wake up this late." She playfully rolled her eyes. "It is 5:30 a.m. You are really letting yourself go." He chuckled at her response.

"I was actually hoping to stumble across you. To be able to talk."

"Regulus-"

"No please listen." He cut her off. "I know I have already made my apologies. Or well written them. But I want to apologise again. All I have written in these notes, everything was true. I am extremely sorry for everything I have put you through, from our time to Hogwarts, all the brawling, and even this wedding. I absolutely had no reason to do all of this. Or well, actually I did. But I should’ve never put you through all of this just because I was so absolutely in love with you that I couldn’t deal with my feelings. I should’ve talked to you and it was extremely wrong of me to-"

She had a way of making all his body melt to find hers in a second because at the moment he felt her lips touch his, all he could do was try to feel, to explore every inch of her body.

"I love you." She simply said. And when Regulus thought he couldn’t feel much better he felt his heart race a mile and more and couldn’t hold his tears as he kissed her again.

"I love you." He answered. "More and more. I always have." They smiled.

"Do you want to know something ?" She said after a few seconds of staring at each other.

"Tell me."

"I don’t even like the taste of cherries."

#marauders oneshot #regulus black #regulus black oneshot #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black x reader #regulus imagine #regulus x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus deserved better

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tcwmatchmakingau · 1 year

Text

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 3

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader

Rating: M (18+ Minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: fluff; mild angst; sensuality; smut; fingering; it is not actually impossible for DJ to write a SFW story, but it does cause hives

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

“Gorgeous,” Sunni declares with a flourish as she steers you toward her mirror.

“I’m not sure why you’re going to this much effort on me when you’re supposed to be the center of attention,” you point out as you turn obediently.

“Because you deserve a little pampering, and you never have an excuse to get dressed up on Nakadia,” Sunni replies. “What do you think?”

You examine your reflection, taking in the artfully arranged hair, the perfect makeup, and the dress that displays a tasteful amount of skin while concealing all the things you prefer to keep to yourself.

“You’re a magician,” you reply frankly. “I can’t remember the last time I took so long to get ready.”

One of the bridesmaids, Tarsi, flops down on the bed and takes a sip of sparkling wine as she declares, “Nothing wrong with a little self-indulgence every now and then. Everything in moderation, including moderation, am I right, ladies?”

The other two bridesmaids chorus their agreement from the adjoining room, and you smile. Unsurprisingly, Sunni has a delightful group of friends, and they’ve made the week leading up to the wedding far more fun and relaxed than you expected. Tarsi does have a bad habit of trying to talk you into signing up for RTL, though; she’s so proud of her success with Hexx and Sunni that she’s determined to find a match for every one of her friends.

“You’re beautiful, kind, successful, and you live on the most idyllic planet in the galaxy,” she declares. “Troopers will be lining up around the block to meet you. How do you feel about children?”

“I’ll pass,” you say firmly.

“On the children or the troopers?”

“Both,” you reply.

Tarsi pouts but lets it go. Meanwhile, the other two bridesmaids, Brax and Mione, burst into the room carrying a round of raava shots.

“Pregame!” Brax announces. “Everybody grab a shot.”

“Oh, no!” you laugh. “I’m the designated drunk-herder tonight. It is my responsibility to make sure you all make it onto the charter shuttle to Nakadia at the end of the night so this wedding can actually happen. I need to keep a clear head.”

“One shot isn’t going to do anything,” Sunni declares. “As bride, I hereby absolve you of all responsibility if I’m late to my own wedding. Now take the shot.”

You roll your eyes in good-humored exasperation, and you all toss back the raava, reactions ranging from Tarsi’s delicate cringe to Brax’s exaggerated sputter.

“Well, that was awful,” Sunni coughs. “Shall we get this party started?”

The group makes its way through several bars and dance clubs in Coruscant’s mid-levels, each successively louder and more crowded, before heading to a place that is apparently well-known to Sunni and her friends. As the five of you pile out of the air-taxi onto the landing platform, a gigantic sign reading 79’s bathes you all in a neon haze. There are an unusually high number of clones milling about outside the club, but Sunni and the others head straight for the entrance, throwing open the doors dramatically.

“Gentlemen, I have arrived!” Sunni announces with a confident swagger born partly of inebriation and partly of her own innate love of a spectacular entrance.

From inside the club, a cacophony of male voices lets out a deafening cheer interspersed with a few whistles and catcalls. Not for the first time of the night, you wish that you were getting as lit up as the rest of the group, because from the sound of things, you are about to head into exactly the kind of crowded, chaotic environment that seems perfectly designed to trigger your panic response. Right about now, you would kill for some liquid courage, but none is forthcoming, so you square your shoulders and walk into the club.

It’s crowded, smoky, and dark, and the music is loud enough to buzz across your skin and throb in your chest. It is also packed with clones, all of whom look absolutely delighted to see your group.

“What is this place?” you call to Tarsi over the roar of the crowd.

“Clone bar!” she yells back. “Isn’t it great?”

“Great,” you parrot back with false enthusiasm.

Unsurprisingly, the bartender has already poured a round of shots for your group by the time you reach the bar, courtesy of some unknown patron. You know you shouldn’t drink yours, but it’s been hours since you had the raava shot, and you have a feeling you’re going to need it if you’re going to make it out of 79’s without going ballistic, so you toss it back quickly. Within seconds, all five of you are pulled onto the dancefloor, and at least two clones begin to grind on each of you. There are so many people, and your heart starts to race as the crowd presses against you. The lights flash disorientingly. It’s hot and sweaty and loud, and your cheeks are starting to cramp from the overly bright smile you’re trying to keep in place.

You look over to Sunni and are surprised to see her dancing with Hexx. Veetch is plastered against Tarsi, along with a clone you don’t recognize. You can’t see Brax or Mione, because there are three farking clones grinding their dicks against you, and if you have to put up with this for another minute you are going to kriffing lose your shit!

Abruptly, a hand closes around your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly away from the sausage fest. A little space opens up around you, and you finally feel like you can breathe again. You turn to thank your rescuer, and your heart gives a hard, involuntary lurch when you recognize Mayday’s long, dark curls. He asks a question that you can’t hear over the music. You shake your head and point to your ears. He nods in understanding, and his eyes are so damned kind that you want to weep with relief.

Another strange clone starts to move toward you, but Mayday fixes him with a stare that has him putting up his hands and backing away. You don’t want to leave the dancefloor and abandon Sunni and the others, but you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to stay, either. Mayday moves closer and rests his hands on your hips. You glance up at him, startled. He gives you a reassuring smile and starts to move your body to the rhythm of the music.

“I thought you didn’t dance!” you try to say over the music, but he shakes his head to indicate he can’t hear you, either.

Instead, he pulls you closer to himself and oh, Maker. He does dance. He’s a really kriffing good dancer. He moves with a sinuous grace that has your mind racing with the possibilities of what else he can do with moves like that. And while his hands stay well within respectful boundaries, they leave a trail of blazing heat as they move across your body.

You war with yourself. Mayday has you dizzy and off-balance. One moment he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy, and the next he’s telling you not to touch him. But now he’s caressing your waist and hips like he never wants to stop, and he’s shielding you with his body, and he’s keeping you safe in the midst of the crowd. It’s a heady experience, to be at the center of that intense focus. Eventually, you stop thinking and simply let go and exist in the moment.

You lose track of time, of place, of people—it all fades into the background, and all you can see is Mayday. The way he touches you, moves you, guides you through the dance. He turns you so your back is to him, and you lean against his strong body, your hips swaying against his. You raise one hand over your shoulder to tangle in his hair, and you feel the heat of his breath against your wrist. His fingers trail over your arm, lighting up the nerves and sending tingles racing through you. And then his mouth descends onto your bare shoulder, his beard teasing your sensitive skin as he works his way up the side of your neck. Your knees nearly buckle at the sensation, but somehow you hold onto both your balance and your dignity.

You are shocked when the bartender announces the last call. How has the time passed so quickly? You’ve been so wrapped up in Mayday that you didn’t even notice as the crowd began to thin, and now it is time to round up the rest of the wedding party and head to the spaceport, where the luxurious private shuttle Sunni has chartered awaited your arrival. You and Mayday are the only reasonably sober members of the group, and so you coordinate with him to hustle everyone into two air taxis.

It’s a loud and raucous trip to the spaceport, but eventually, you bundle Sunni and the others onto the shuttle and perform one last headcount before Mayday signals the pilot to depart. It takes a significant amount of time and effort, but eventually, everyone aboard makes it to their assigned quarters, and you retreat to the shuttle’s opulent lounge to decompress and have a well-deserved drink.

You stop short when you enter the room and find Mayday already inside. You flirt with the idea of fleeing, of going straight to your quarters and trying to get some sleep on the long jump to Nakadia, but it’s too late. He’s already spotted you, and you can’t avoid him without being openly rude.

“I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to wrangle drunk people,” you say as you enter the room.

“Mmm,” Mayday agrees with a rumble. “Makes fighting the war look easy.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you reply.

He smiles. “You’re right. Want a glass?”

“I think we’ve earned it,” you reply, settling into an armchair as he pours two tumblers of liquor out of a mysterious decanter.

The tawny liquid catches the light as he hands you a glass, reminding you of his eyes. You sniff it curiously and are greeted with a sweet, smoky aroma.

“I knew you were a whiskey man,” you say as you clink your glass quietly against his and take a sip.

“I don’t usually turn down a free drink,” Mayday replies. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know the good stuff when I see it.”

You regard him steadily before you ask, “Is that so?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his eyes guarded.

“I can’t figure you out, Mayday,” you say.

At least he doesn’t insult you by pretending to misunderstand. He watches you for a moment, and when you don’t flinch under his scrutiny, he takes another drink of his whiskey.

“I told you I don’t play games,” he says.

“You could have fooled me,” you retort.

“You’re with someone else,” he says in a low voice. He sets his jaw firmly, but his eyes flicker over your body, and for an instant, you see a flash of naked hunger in them. “I’m not going to chase after someone who’s unavailable.”

What the kark? Your eyebrows snap together. “Is that why you couldn’t keep your hands off me tonight? Why every time we’re in the same room, you look at me like—like that?”

“Why the kriff do you think I was avoiding you?” he growls. “When I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I am trying to respect your relationship, but fuck, you drive me wild.”

You let out a short, angry laugh and drain your glass. “You think I would dance with you like that when I was with someone else? I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of me.”

“You said you were taken. You—” he pauses as though the words choke him with their bitterness. “You planned your wedding.”

“That was hypothetical!” You set your glass down with a snap as you rise abruptly. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Like I do every night. Which you should have realized when you spent a week in my house.”

“We’re not finished,” Mayday says, rising to block your exit.

“There’s nothing else to say,” you snap.

“What the kark did you expect me to do?” he demands. “I met the girl of my dreams, and two seconds later she told me she wasn’t interested.”

“I said I wasn’t interested in RTL!” you exclaim. “A matchmaker sounds like my worst nightmare. Although at least it would have prevented this level of absolute banthashit.”

“Then—” he begins.

“For kark’s sake, how much clearer can I possibly be?” you cut him off. “Do I need to hang up a neon sign that says OPEN FOR BUSINESS? Do you want me to send you a handwritten letter? ‘Dear Mayday, please tear off all my clothes and have your way with me on the nearest available surf—mmph!’”

Mayday’s mouth cuts off your tirade. His lips crash against yours, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his hands pull you close against him. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells like woodsmoke and spices, overwhelming your senses. You clutch his shoulders for balance, and then immediately slide your hands up his neck to twine your fingers through his hair. You tug on it gently, and he groans into your mouth in response. His arms tighten around you, pinning you to him as he grips your ass and grinds his hips against you. You let out a strangled moan as you feel the hardness of his cock press against your abdomen.

“This karking dress,” he rasps, breaking away from your kiss for a moment as his fingers find your hemline and snake up the inside of your bare thigh. “Did you wear it just to torture me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he preempts your response with another breathtaking kiss. He slips past the lace of your panties—thank the Force I wore pretty ones—and glides his fingertips over your heated skin. His hands are as clever and talented as you knew they would be, and a fresh wave of irritation hits you. You tug his hair lightly as you pull away from his kiss.

“I’m still mad at you!” you exclaim. “We could have been doing this for weeks, oooh—”

He slides one of those thick, skilled fingers into you as he drops his mouth to your throat.

“I’m planning on doing it a lot longer than that, mesh’la.”

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #The Bad Batch #mayday tbb #commander mayday #other clones #mayday x you

137 notes · View notes

twohearts-hs · 2 months

Text

Always & Forever Fourteen - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 8.9k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Smut, & Angst.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

February 2013

Y/N held her bag over her shoulder as she opened her mailbox. It was Friday and she was about to end her reading break for the month. However, she just came from work and it was nearing ten in the evening when she checked the mailbox. When she got the mail out, instantly her heart dropped. There it was…her future right in front of her.

Columbia University

116th St & Broadway

New York, NY 10027

Her hands began to tremble. She hadn’t heard anything from Professor Beau about his position, but her acceptance was right here. Or her rejection?

Y/N went upstairs where her house was covered in boxes. Half her stuff was packed so far. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on the couch as she thumbed the letter. Taking a sip of the wine, she took a deep breath and then opened the letter.

Columbia University Department of Art History 116th St & Broadway New York, NY 10027 February 22, 2013

Dear Y/N Y/L/N,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into the Master of Arts in Art History program at Columbia University for the Fall 2013 semester. Your application demonstrated an exceptional understanding and passion for art history, and we are excited to welcome you to our academic community.

Your impressive academic background, thoughtful research interests, and dedication to advancing the field of art history made your application stand out among a highly competitive pool of candidates. We believe that you will bring valuable perspectives and insights to our program, and we are confident that you will thrive in the intellectually stimulating environment that Columbia offers.

As a graduate student in our department, you will have the opportunity to work with renowned faculty, access our extensive art collections, and engage with a vibrant community of scholars and artists. We are committed to supporting your academic and professional growth, and we look forward to seeing the contributions you will make to the field of art history.

Please review the enclosed materials for important information regarding your enrolment, orientation, and other essential details.

Once again, congratulations on your acceptance to Columbia University. We eagerly anticipate your arrival and look forward to the academic journey ahead.

Warm regards,

Dr. Jody L. Bain Director of Graduate Studies Department of Art History Columbia University

Her heart dropped. Her body went frozen as she read the letter. She got accepted… She was going to Columbia University. Her hand was over her mouth as she read the letter over and over again.

She was going to Columbia. Her mind raced as she read the words again and again, each line confirming acceptance into one of the top art history schools in the country. Excitement and fear intertwined within her, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Y/N thought for a moment, contemplating the path laid out in front of her. Columbia represented more than just an academic opportunity; it was a chance to learn from some of the best in the field, to immerse herself in the bustling energy of New York City, and to push herself beyond her comfort zone.

But intertwined with the excitement was the weight of uncertainty. She thought of Marshall, of their tumultuous yet deeply meaningful relationship. His reaction to her potential move to New York City was still fresh in her mind – the tension, the unspoken fears, and the difficult conversation they had to have.

She was going to Columbia. She was moving. She was leaving Marshall.

Y/N knew she could not ignore this opportunity. It was a pivotal moment in her career, a chance to pursue her passion for art history in a way she had always dreamed of. Yet, it meant uprooting her life in Detroit, leaving behind Marshall, his daughters and the life they were slowly building together.

She needed to tell him.

Y/N invited Marshall over to help continue packing with her. She ordered take out for them and bought mocktails they could share. She was leaning over a box when the door opened, and Marshall came in.

He had his overnight bag in his as he placed it down.

“Looks like a bomb went off,” he commented with a chuckle before walking around to the kitchen.

Y/N got up and walked over to him, leaning into his embrace and kissed his lips. “Hi, honey,” she hummed. His hand wrapped around her hip, pulling her in. “I got takeout and mocktails,” she said softly.

“Lovely,” he said.

The two of them ate and began packing her things. Y/N’s small apartment was filled with the warmth of laughter and playful banter as Marshall joined her for the ordinary evening. After an hour of packing, they decided to lie on the couch, lounge comfortable as they shared jokes and stories in front of the television. As they chatted, Marshall got up to get another drink. On the counter by the kitchen under a magazine, he recognised the crest of Columbia University.

He glanced up, seeing Y/N watching the movie they put on. Curiosity piqued, he reached for it, his fingers brushing against it as he pulled it out.

It was for Columbia and instantly, he hoped without admitting it she got rejected. Even if it made him a evil person, he wanted Y/N to stay here.

“Y/N,” he said taking the letter and walking back to the living room. “What’s this?” Marshalled asked casually, taking the letter out of the envelope.

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly when she saw the envelope. She looked at him as he read the letter, the weight and tension of this discussion beginning to get heavy in the air.

“It’s my acceptance letter,” she admitted quietly watching Marshall’s expression.

“It is dated from a week ago,” he responded. “You’ve known for a week?” Marshall was slightly hurt from her not telling him. “I told you to let me know as soon as you know. Have you heard from the university here?”

“Yes, and Vancouver too.”

“Vancouver? Canada?” he exclaimed. Marshall’s expression turned dark as he absorbed the news. He stood up abruptly, pacing the room in attempt to contain his frustrations.

“I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me,” he whispered.

Y/N’s expression changed to a state of shock. “Secrets? I have kept no secrets from you.”

“This was a secret. When were you going to tell me?” he barked. “A month from now, six months or when you’re leaving.”

“You knew this was probably going to happen, Marshall. I have been debating my options and when I figured it out, I would tell you. I have not heard from Michigan yet.”

“Detroit,” he spat, “is your home. I am your home. You cannot just leave and leave the life we have. We are meant to be, Y/N.”

Y/N got up and took his hand to try to calm him down. “Marshall, maybe I am supposed to move away and then we reconnect. Or we do long distance. I can fly back every month and you can fly to me. I can drive. It’s a nine-hour drive. I used to drive to Calgary from Ladysmith in a day and it’s fourteen hours.”

Marshall pulled his hand away, his face a mask of pain and anger. “I don’t want to reconnect in a few years. I don’t want to do long distance. I want you here, with me, now. If you go, it feels like you’re choosing your career over us.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking at the sight of his anguish.

“Marshall, this isn’t about choosing one over the other. It’s about following my dreams and hoping that our love is strong enough to survive the distance. I want a future with you, with marriage and babies. I want to grow old with you. But I also need to pursue this opportunity. You did this once. You chose your career over your love.”

Marshall’s eyes darned, a hint of regret and sadness in his expression. “Y/N, I can’t give you that. I can’t wait for the ‘if’ of us. I am forty and what we met in ten years. I am not having babies at fifty. I don’t even want marriage again. I want you though.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their emotions pressing down on them. Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I have to go, Marshall. I can’t turn down this opportunity. But, that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Marshall’s eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. “Then I guess we have our answer. Maybe we weren’t meant to be after all.”

Y/N’s heart shattered at his words, but she knew this was the path she had to take. “Then leave.”

Marshall nodded, walking over to his bag and grabbing it. “Goodbye, Y/N. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

As he walked out the door, Y/N felt a profound sense of loss. But beneath the sadness, there also a flicker of hope. She was going to Columbia, and she was going to chase her dream.

Y/N could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned.

Were they broken up? Were they over-over? Or was this Marshall having a tantrum and throwing threats? Does he expect her to get back to him and tell him that she was going to Detroit? He expected her to be threatened, to choose Detroit and choose him. However this was her future to think about.

Y/N turned to look at the time, 1:53 a.m. in the morning. She might have had an hour sleep tops. Marshall was going to stay over tonight, and they were going to make breakfast together. They were going to studio and Y/N was going to do some art for the upcoming show she signed up for while he finalised the album.

What now?

Y/N rolled over and grabbed her phone to see texts from Marshall. She smiled instantly.

1:02 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I fucked up. You were right. You need to think about your future. I want this to work.

1:05 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I miss you. Please call me.

1:10 a.m.

From Marshall <3: You have absolute control over me. I will do anything for you. We can do long distance.

1:20 a.m.

From Marshall <3: You’re probably asleep. I can’t sleep without you. I am lying alone and all I think about is you.

1:22 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I can’t do this anymore. I am coming over.

Her lips twitched into a smile, and she turned around to look out the window to see the road. There it was the Aston Martin pulling up and Marshall getting out.

Y/N rolled out of bed in her underwear and shirt, walking towards the front door. She heard noises behind it and just went she opened it, Marshall stood with his hand up ready to knock.

“You’re here,” she whispered.

“I am here,” he responded but he glanced down to her body then to her lips. Instantly, he cupped her cheeks tight and tilting her head to kiss him. The kiss was passionate and heavy, filled with emotion and lust.

Y/N walked backwards as her hands grabbed his lips, pulling him close as she rolled her hips against his. Her back hit the bed as their lips assaulted one another with so much power. They had so much power over each other. The devotion, adoration and the lack of separation as they needed each other like water and oxygen.

“I am sorry,” he whispered against them as his hands slipped to pull her shirt off her head. She let him. “I am the asshole. I am the fucking jerk.”

Y/N moaned as his lips trailed down her jaw, sucking and nipping, leaving art as if he was the painter and she was the canvas. Y/N sat on the bed hands back as she laid on them. Marshall pulled his hoodie and shirt off him.

Y/N tugged her underwear down, throwing them somewhere in the room. Their eyes were focused on each other, direct contact as their lip connected to one another with such passion. His hand glided down her stomach, cupping her heat before rubbing circles on her clit.

“Marshall,” she moaned, “are we about to have angry sex?”

“Shut up,” he said as he continued to suck her throat before attaching his lips to her nipple, sucking it and nibbing it. Her back arched, as her head rolled, and eyes closed.

“Marsh-“ she tried but his hand went over her mouth.

“I said, shut up,” he said. “I don’t want to hear you.”

Y/N nodded, as his hand held over her mouth as his other worked wonders on her heat. He pulled away from kissing her breast before throwing her legs apart and lowering himself down. Instantly his mouth found her cunt, kissing and licking it before sucking it.

Y/N tried to stop her moans and screams, but she could not.

Just when she was about to come, Marshall pulled away and slapped her cunt earning a strong yelp from her before the pleasure settled in.

“You and me,” he said as he kneeled on the bed, “we belong together. I am yours and you are mine.” Y/N nodded as his lips attached to hers. “We are going to be together…forever,” he whispered the last part. Then he pulled away. “You belong with me. Maybe in another world or lifetime, but I know you belong with me.”

Y/N nodded again, however Marshall pulled away and got off the bed. He grabbed his shirt and hoodie off the floor and threw them on.

He licked his lips and Y/N looked at him in utter confusion.

“Pick what you want so badly,” he whispered before turning around and leaving.

Marshall left. Marshall used sex against her and left.

Y/N laid on the bed, stunned and breathless, as the door clicked shut behind Marshall. She felt the weight of his words and actions crashing down on her. The passion they just shared left her feeling more confused and vulnerable than ever.

She pulled the covers over herself, curling into a ball as she tried to make sense of everything. The intensity of their connection was undeniable but so was the reality of their situation. She knew she had to focus on her future, yet Marshall’s presence in her life had become so significant that the thought of losing him was unbearable.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she replayed the night’s events in her mind. The anger, the desperation, the intimacy – it was all a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She knew she had to make a choice, but it was impossible to balance her dreams with the love she felt for Marshall.

Hours passed, as she lay there, lost in thought. The sun began to rise when she fell asleep.

Morning came. The sun shined through the curtains making her glow. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. Everything hit her in that moment, and she sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. However, she needed clarity and the only way to find it was to face her fears head-on.

Y/N got up and made herself a cup of coffee before looking down at her phone. No messages from him.

Instead, she pulled out a notebook and began to write. She wrote about her dreams, her love for Marshall and the future she envisioned. She wrote about the sacrifices she was willing to make and the ones she was not. It was a stream of consciousness, a way to untangle the mess of emotions inside her.

As the morning wore on, she felt a sense of determination building within her. She knew what she had to do. She had to talk to Marshall, to lay everything on the table and see if they could find a way to make it work. She loved him deeply, but she could not ignore the call of her dreams.

Y/N picked up her phone and sent him a text.

9:23 a.m.

To Marshall <3: Can we talk? I need to see you.

Moments later, her phone buzzed with his reply.

9:26 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I’ll be there in 20.

Twenty minutes which felt like an eternity to Y/N. She paced the room, rehearsing what she wanted to say. When the knock came, her heart skipped a beat. She opened to door to find Marshall standing there, looking as conflicted and exhausted as she felt.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping aside to him in.

“Hi,” he replied, his eyes searching her for answers.

“Wanna sit?” she asked as she went to the couch. They sat down, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Marshall, I love you,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I love you more than I can put into words. But I also love my dreams and my career. There are so many galleries in New York City for me to work at. I can’t choose but I don’t want to lose you. Is there any way we can make this work?”

Marshall looked at her, his expression pained but resolute. “Y/N, I don’t want to lose you either. But long-distance…it’s going to be hard. Really hard. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“I know,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “But I’m willing to try if you are. We can figure it out together. We can visit each other, call, or video chat. It won’t be easy, but nothing worth having ever is.”

Marshall squeezed her hand, his eyes softening. “I want to believe we can do this. I want to try. But you have to promise me that we communicate, that we won’t let the distance tear us apart.”

“I promise,” Y/N said, her eyes filling with tears. “I promise we’ll make it work.”

“I just feel second to everything,” he whispered. “I am second to you.”

Y/N sighed. “I am like third in your world, Marshall. Your daughters, your music and then me.” Marshall’s brows furrowed. Y/N reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she touched Marshall’s cheek. “Marshall, I know it’s not easy. And it’s not fair to either of us. But I can’t give up on this dream. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Just like your music is to you.”

Marshall closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for a moment before pulling away. “It’s just…I’m scared, Y/N. Scared that the distance will change things, that we’ll grow apart. I’ve seen it happen before, and I don’t want that for us.”

“We won’t let it happen,” Y/N said firmly, trying to instil a sense of hope in their conversation. “We’ve faced so much already, and we’ve always found a way through. This is just another challenge we can overcome together.”

He looked at her, the internal battle evident in his eyes. “I want to believe that. But seeing you pack up, knowing you’ll be gone…it hurts.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. “I know. It hurts me too. But think about what it will mean for us in the long run. Think about the experiences we’ll both have, and the growth we’ll undergo. And when we’re together, it’ll make our time even more special.”

Marshall’s gaze softened, and he reached out to hold her hands. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. If this is what you need to do, then we have to find a way. But promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” she whispered, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Promise me that if it ever becomes too much, if either of us starts to feel like we’re losing ourselves in the distance, we’ll talk about it. We won’t just let it fester and tear us apart.”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I promise Marshall. We’ll face everything together, no matter what.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as they both cried, the weight of their decision pressing down on them but the hope of their future shining through.

They spent the morning making love to one another passionately. The apartment was filled with noises of pleasure and devotion, and promises were told.

March 2013

Since February, a lot had happened. Between the drama of Marshall and Y/N, Paul came out talking about an album that will come later this year. Which caused an uproar of excitement.

Y/N moved into her new apartment with the help of Marshall and once her belongings were in, they christened every room they could, putting their own touch of love to it. Life was good. Y/N and Marshall were good…they were happy. However, they could not help but feel like they were on a time crunch in their relationship, but they chose to ignore it.

Y/N took a deep breath as she approached Dr. Beau’s office. The art history department at the University of Michigan was a familiar place, but today felt different. Today, she would discuss her future in a way she had not before.

She knocked lightly on the open door and peeked in to see Dr. Beau, a very distinguished but young professor with a kind smile looking up from his desk. He had a toss of brown curls, a light beard and glasses perched on his nose. He must be in his late thirties and Y/N could not deny that he was on the verge of handsome, but she was Marshall therefore she did not pay much attention.

“Y/n! Come in, come in,” he greeted warmly. “Please, have a seat.”

Y/N entered and sat down, placing her bag on the floor. She felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Beau.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I hear you have some exciting news about joining the upcoming art show and plans for the future. I am glad you took my advice. Let’s start with the art show. Tell me about it.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she began to speak. “It’s a show at the Detroit Institute of Arts. I’ve been working on a series of mixed media focusing more on oil paint and charcoal that explore different human bodies. The theme is ‘Diverse Forms’, celebrating the beauty and uniqueness of each individual.”

Dr. Beau nodded appreciatively. “That sounds fascinating. Your work has always had a unique voice, and I think this show will really highlight that. How are preparations going?”

“It’s been intense,” Y/N admitted. “I just moved but now I have a art corner in my place. However, balancing the final touches on my pieces with my job at the diner has been challenging. But it’s coming together. The opening night is in two weeks, and I’m both excited and nervous.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Dr. Beau said with a reassuring smile. “Now, let’s talk about your plans for after graduation. I understand you’re considering Columbia University for your master’s?”

Y/N nodded, her expression becoming serious. “Yes, I’ve been looking into their art history program. It has a fantastic reputation, and the faculty there are doing some groundbreaking research. But the cost is a significant concern.”

Dr. Beau leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “Columbia is indeed an excellent choice, but you’re right; it can be expensive. Have you looked into scholarships or assistantships? They often offer financial support for promising students.”

“I have,” Y/N said. “I’m applying for a few scholarships, and I’m also looking into potential teaching assistant positions. I’m hoping that with a strong application and portfolio, I might be able to secure some funding.”

Dr. Beau nodded approvingly. “That’s a smart approach. And remember, your work and dedication here have already laid a solid foundation. Your participation in the upcoming art show will be a significant addition to your portfolio. Have you thought about how you’ll present your work in your application?”

Y/N smiled, feeling a bit more confident. “Yes, I’ve been working on a digital portfolio that includes high-resolution images of my pieces, descriptions, and my artist’s statement. I want to make sure it reflects my growth and my vision as an artist.”

“That sounds perfect,” Dr. Beau said. “You’re on the right track, Y/N. And if you need any letters of recommendation or support in your application process, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ve been a dedicated student, and I do not doubt that you’ll succeed.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beau,” Y/N said, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Your support means a lot to me.”

Dr. Beau smiled warmly. “Speaking of Columbia, I haven’t had the chance to tell you that I did accept the position at Columbia University. I’ll be joining their faculty in the fall semester.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s amazing! Congratulations, Dr. Beau.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Beau said. “And here’s the best part: I would love to continue working with you on your thesis if you decide to Columbia. We could develop your project further and take it to new heights.”

Y/N felt a surge of excitement. “That would be incredible. Having your guidance would mean so much to me.”

“Well, it’s settled then,” Dr. Beau said with a smile. “Focus on your art show and your applications. We’ll make sure you have the support you need to succeed at Columbia.”

Y/N left Dr. Beau’s office, feeling a sense of purpose and determination. She could not believe how everything was just working out.

The weekend came and Y/N walked into Marshall’s house with her overnight bag and already dressed in sweats and a hoodie. She could hear distant chatter from the kitchen. His daughters were over for dinner tonight and Marshall invited her.

Y/N came into the kitchen to see Marshall cooking and his daughters surrounded.

“Hey,” she said softly as she put her bag down on the floor and walked to him. He was dressed down and Y/N wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek as he stirred the pot in front of him.

“Hi, doll,” he responded, turning to kiss her lips. It was a short kiss before focusing back on his cooking.

“What are you making?” she asked as she walked around to say her hello to the girls.

“Some pasta dish,” he commented.

“I am going to take my bag to the bedroom,” she said, picking up her overnight bag and walking out of the kitchen.

“Enjoy,” he smirked looking over his shoulder.

Y/N wandered up the steps and going into the bedroom where she spotted a pink bag with tissue paper coming out on the bed. Y/N put her bag in the corner where she wandered over to the bag. Connected to it was a little envelope with her name on it.

Curiosity piqued and she took the envelope out.

Y/N,

Forever & Always,

She pulled out the pink tissue paper and looked inside the bag to see black lace…no he did not. Y/N pulled out the risqué outfit and a smile came to her lips. Marshall did not…

Never in her life had she ever bought herself lingerie but her boyfriend of just a few months just bought her this lace little outfit. Y/N laid it out and stared at it.

It covered nothing, but she was intrigued to try this on.

Later she decided. The idea of trying this on and putting her clothes over top then going downstairs to be with his daughter…that is just plain naughty. She was not that way. She had some respect for his daughters.

However, she could not get over just how sexy it was…

How did he know her measurements? Her bra size and panty size? He must had done some digging in her draws.

Y/N came downstairs, and the aroma of freshly cooked pasta filled the air as Y/N joined Marshall and his daughters in the kitchen. He turned when he heard her footsteps and smiled.

She mouthed a, ‘thank you, it’s beautiful’ and he sent her a wink with a mouthing of ‘later’. Stevie, Alaina and Hailie were animatedly chatting about their day, and the warmth of their laughter made Y/N feel at home. She glanced at Marshall, who was serving the pasta dish on some places and smiled.

“Dinner smells amazing,” Y/N said taking her seat.

“Thanks,” Marshall replied, smiling back. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As everyone settled at the table, Marshall handed each of them the plates before sitting next to Y/N. They all began eating and having a conversation about their day.

When it got quiet, Y/N felt like it was the perfect time to announce her announcement. She cleared her throat and everyone’s eyes turned to her.

“So, I have some exciting news,” Y/N began, her eyes bright with anticipation. Marshall’s brows furrowed, thinking it was the Columbia news which was not the time for her to announce her departure.

“Y/N, I think we should wait-“

His daughters’ brows all furrowed as well, curiosity piqued however Y/N looked over at her boyfriend.

“You don’t know what I am talking about as I have not told you yet,” she said as a matter of fact.

“Oh,” he said, “then continue.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I am going to be part of an art show at the Detroit Institute of Arts in two weeks! My pieces were picked, and they will be displayed. It’s my first show,” she announced with a wide toothy grin.

“That’s awesome!” Hailie exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, her smile widening. “I was wondering if you would like to come. It would mean a lot to me to have you there. As we are a family.”

Alaina nodded enthusiastically. “We’d love to! Right, Hailie?”

Hailie smiled. “Absolutely. We wouldn’t miss it. I have never seen your art, but it must be amazing if it’s going to be in a show.”

“Her art is phenomenal. Very creative and detailed,” Marshall said as he took a bite.

Y/N smiled and turned to her boyfriend, heart racing. “And, Marshall, I was hoping you could be my date for the show. It’s a big night for me, and I’d love to have you by my side. I am building my portfolio for my master’s as I will be specialising in art history.”

Marshall’s expression shifted, and he looked down to his plate, a hint of tension in his posture. He took a moment before responding, finding the correct words. “Y/N, you know I support you, your work and your career. But…going to a public event like this together, it could attract a lot of media attention. I’m just worried about what that might do to us, to you?”

“Oh,” Y/N muttered, a pang in her chest. She had anticipated his concern but hoped it would not be a barrier. “Marshall, this show is incredibly important to me. It’s a culmination of my work and having you there would mean so much. I understand the risks, but it would be nice for you to be there…supporting me. You can meet Dr. Beau.”

Marshall sighed. “I get that, I do. But the media can be ruthless and I am not sure I am ready to go public like that. They could twist things, bring up my past, you know. We are not a normal couple and I need you to understand that. It could overshadow your moment.”

Stevie, Alaina and Hailie all exchanged glances, sensing the gravity of the conversation.

“Jake would have,” Y/N whispered not intending for him to hear that.

However, Marshall heard that comment loud and clear. His jaw clenched at the mention of Jake. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt, but he quickly masked it with a sigh. He placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath to steady himself before responding.

“Y/N, this isn’t about Jake. This is about us. I just want to protect you from the chaos that comes with my life,” he said, his voice strained but earnest.

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his hand. “Marshall, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need protection from you or from your past. I need your support in my present. This art show means everything to me and having you there would make it perfect.”

Marshall looked at her, the conflict clear in his eyes. He wanted to be there for her, but the fear of his past resurfacing and affecting her was something he could not shake off easily. His daughters watched the exchange quietly, knowing this was an important moment for their father and Y/N.

“Dad, we’ve been through a lot as a family,” Hailie said gently. “We’ve faced the media before, and we’ve come out stronger. If this art show is important to Y/N, we should support her. Together.”

Marshall glanced at his daughters, their encouraging smiles giving him a sense of reassurance. He turned back to Y/N, seeing the hope and determination in her eyes. He knew she was right. He could not let his fear hold her back.

“Ok,” Marshall said finally, his voice softening. “I’ll be there. We’ll be there. I won’t let anything ruin your moment; I promise.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with relief and joy. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her heart swelling with love. “Thanks, M. It means the world to me.”

Marshall squeezed her hand, a small smile playing on his lips. “Anything for you, doll. Let’s make this art show unforgettable.”

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced with a sense of unity and excitement. They continued their dinner, the conversation flowing more easily now. Y/N felt renewed confidence, knowing that Marshall and his daughters would be by her side for her big night.

Alaina and Hailie left around eight o’clock and Stevie retired to their room. Y/N and Marshall sat in the living room in each other’s arms as they watched trashy television and had a light conversation. Marshall’s fingers rubbed circles on her shoulder as his arm was wrapped around her. However, Y/N could not help but think about the pink bag waiting for her upstairs. The thought of the black lingerie made her blush, and she caught Marshall’s eye, giving him a playful smile. He winked back, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

Around ten o’clock they went upstairs. Marshall locked the doors, turned off the lights and set the alarm as Y/N walked into his bedroom. The lingerie was still there, laid out on the bed with her name written all over it. She took it and slipped into it, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. She looked at herself in the mirror, the delicate fabric accentuating her curves. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door from the bathroom and stepped out.

Marshall was sitting on the bed waiting for her and when she came out, his eyes widened as he saw her. His breath caught in his throat, and he could not tear his gaze away. “Wow,” he murmured, standing up and walking over to her. “You look stunning.”

Y/N did a small twirl. The two pieces of pure lace was beautiful on her. The lace bustier covered nothing and her nipples poked through while the thong left little to the imagination. Marshall’s fingers grazed her thigh and made its way up to her chin, tilting it up and kissing her.

“Thank you for this beautiful gift,” she said softly.

“No need to thank me. It was made just for you,” he whispered, eyes filled with adoration.

Y/N cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips again. “Am I just going to be artwork to admire or are you going to rip it off of me?” she whispered into his ears.

His hands wrapped over her waist, hands setting on her ass as he slapped it lightly.

“Such naughty words,” he whispered back. “I am going to take full advantage of my present wrapped in lace.”

Y/N smirked, biting her lip but his thumb pressed against her lip, pulling it so it would release. Then he pushed it into her mouth as her tongue lapped over it.

“You are something, aren’t you,” he cooed removing it and placing it in his mouth sucking it before cupping her breast. He squeezed them, thumb over her nipple feeling it hardened from the sensation.

Y/N pushed him lightly, the back of his legs hitting the bed as he sat down. Y/N stood between them, hands wrapping around his neck as she leaned down and kissed him.

“I love you,” she whispered as she straddled him. “And I love that you’re coming to my art show.”

“What is the art?” he asked.

She began to rock her hips over his groin as she licked from his jaw to his ear. “It’s called Diverse Forms and it’s just naked people. But don’t worry, you’re not part of it. Could not have an explicit, risqué,” she whispered, “detailed picture of Eminem’s junk and body on display in Detroit.”

Marshall chuckled before kissing her shoulder. “As much as I enjoy knowing you have drawn pictures of me like that. I am glad that those won’t be public.”

Y/N pulled away, hands running through his hair as she leaned down and kissed him. “Love you, baby,” she cooed.

Then he pulled away. “Who did you draw?”

“Just whatever came to my mind.”

“Jake in it?” he said lowly.

“Never drew Jake before.”

“Sam?”

“No.”

“Anyone you have slept with?” he said deeply.

“No. I don’t draw exes,” she hummed. “Now, I sense jealousy coming from you.”

Marshall pulled away and took her arms from around his neck. “Why did you bring your ex up at dinner?”

She knew where this was going…a fight.

"I am standing here in very expensive lingerie. We are going to have sex, hot and heavy, loving sex and we are not going to have this conversation,” she stated.

Marshall took her arms and placed them back where they were before. “Proceed.”

Y/N smirked, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You know,” she whispered, “you listening to me is very sexy.”

“Oh?” he mocked. “Is that so?”

“How would you like if I am in charge and you listen tonight?” she cooed, finger going down his nose and tilting his chin up to her.

Marshall’s eyes widened. Never thought he would hear those words come from her, however, he liked that idea. “Then kiss me, Madam.”

“No.” Y/N put her finger to his lips. “It’s please can you kiss me?”

Marshall smirked and pulled away. “I am not going to beg. That’s your job.”

Y/N then shrugged and pulled away. “Fine, enjoy your hand and lotion.” She got off of him and walked to the bathroom and Marshall watched bewildered.

What was that?

He quickly got up and ran to the bathroom, opening the door to see Y/N pulling her panties down.

“Please fuck me, Y/N,” he said with confidence.

“I need a little more,” she cooed arms over her chest.

He gave her look of surprise and she raised a brow.

“Go out there and patiently wait for me.”

“I have never said words like this to you,” he fired back.

“Let me have my fun, Marshall,” she barked back. He threw his hands up in surprise as she pulled her panties back up. “Now patiently wait for me on the bed in your boxers.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.” Marshall turned out of the bathroom and walked to the bed, stripping his shirt and pants before throwing them in the laundry. Only thing he wore was his boxers, his sobriety pendant and a chain bracelet.

Y/N came out eventually when he was very close to losing his patience. She was hyping herself up in the bathroom. Her saunter was sexy as she stood in front of Marshall. His hands were on his knees as he stared up at her.

“Goddess-like,” he mused and went to reach her, but she took his hand and placed it on his thigh.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you,” she commanded. “You’re my plaything now.”

Marshall was suddenly aroused. The way she was with words, demanding and commanding made him shiver in arousal. He nodded.

“Words?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she whispered licking her lips. “I am trying to figure out how I want to do this,” she admitted. “I am not normally-“

“Shh,” he shushed her, “you’re ruining the roleplaying. I am getting horny from this. Continue the scene. 3…2…1… Action!”

/N chuckled before going serious. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned down. “Give me a kiss.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, and she pulled away. Her fingers trailing from under his jaw down his shoulder and arm taking his hand and placing it on her hip. She did the same to the other one before straddling him. She looked down through her lashes as he stared up at her. His hold on her tightened as she pressed a kiss to the side of his lips.

“I am going to ruin you,” she whispered.

“Likewise.”

She bit her lip as she licked it then she pushed him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress as her hands ran down his chest, fingers curling over his boxer’s hem.

“Y/N,” he whispered, elbows going back to push him up so he could look at her. “Continue.”

“Shut up,” she stated placing a finger to his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

Marshall did as she threw a leg over his torso and settled herself down. She leaned down and kissed his jaw as her body began to rock. Her core hit his thigh, the panties thin and he could feel the wetness from her heat. Marshall felt it on his thigh and held his moans as she sucked and bit his neck.

“Y/N…” he moaned.

She smirked as her hand went to his groin, cupping it as she assaulted his neck. Marshall bit his lip holding his moan as she delivered wet kisses down his throat to chest.

Her hand held his groin, making effect to get it hard. Once satisfied she pulled away and got off him. There was an obvious tent in his boxers, restraining against the fabric. Marshall waited patiently which took everything in him. It was usually him in control, but seeing his hot, sexy, beautiful girlfriend in lingerie made him wither and bend in ways he never thought he could.

Y/N’s fingers hooked onto the band of his boxers, pulling it down and relieving the hard, veiny cock that had pre-cum dripping from it. Marshall hissed when it hit the air as the cold bit it.

She kneeled on the bed, hand wrapping around his cock as her thumb swiped the pre-cum, bringing it to her tongue.

“Divine,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard and nodded watching her every move. Her hand wrapped around his cock as her mouth came closer. Her lips touched his tip, kissing it with love before her tongue darted and licked it with such need.

It took everything in Marshall to not grasp her hair and push her down, but he was the submissive in this scenario and he was enjoying it.

Y/N took his cock, his tip hitting the back of her mouth before she released it. Her head bobbed as her mouth hallowed, granting him pleasure beyond his own hand. She was terrific and skilled. As she gave him the blowjob, he could not help but release noises of pleasure, moaning her name and biting his lip.

He was close. So, so close and she knew it too. Y/N pulled away and took her bra pulling it down and letting her breasts be released. Plump, hard and juicy, Marshall swallowed.

What was she doing?

Y/N leaned down, taking his dick and placing it between her breasts, pumping them and instantly, it was not too long before he came. White lines of seed covered her breasts and she let go, letting them be painted.

Marshall screamed her name and watched with such wonder.

She was dirty…so dirty and he loved it.

Y/N kneeled back, and he looked down to her chest where he coated her in himself. Marshall moved to kneel in front of her. She smirked, dumbfounded almost.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered more to himself. “Holy fucking shit.”

She smirked as his hands came to cup her breasts, fingers spreading to touch and rub his seed into her skin. He swiped it and took it to her lips.

“Tongue.”

She placed her tongue out and he wiped himself onto her. She swallowed and smiled.

“You’re fucking something.”

His hand went down to her thong, pulling it by the hem fast and enough force to rip them.

“Marshall!” she snapped. “I like them.”

He shrugged. “They are mine. I bought them. I will buy you another pair.”

“They are expensive.”

Once again, he did not have a care in the world. “Come here.” His finger darted out and he made a motion for her to come. Y/N straddled him, her wet heat hitting his hard cock which earned both members to moan.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in her ear.

“No!” she hissed.

“Why not?”

“Because I will suffocate you.”

“Rather die that way. Now do it,” he commanded. Marshall leaned back, head on the pillow as his hand reached out for her. “Grip the headboard and balance on your calves. If that makes sense.”

She nodded, scooting up to his face. She was on top of him, looking down as he tapped her thigh. Y/N slowly lowered herself till she felt him on her head.

Her hands grasped the headboard.

“Be quiet,” he stated, “don’t need my daughter to know what we are up to.”

“It’s late.”

“Y/N,” warned, “quiet as a mouse.”

She nodded as she began to feel his mouth against her core. She held her moans, gripping onto the headboard as his grasp got tighter, nails digging in. Her body began to rock with the rhythm of his tongue, and she whispered his name over and over again.

The knot in her stomach began to tighten and grow as he continued lapping and sucking on her cunt. Y/N felt her insides tense up as the growing pleasure sensation grew. Several moments later, it released, and she covered her mouth screaming his name.

Marshall smiled against her heat, guiding her in her own orgasm. Once she rode it out, Y/N rolled off Marshall, lying next to him as she tried to catch her breath. However, he did not give her long until he was on top of her, taking her legs and spreading them.

Y/N was on birth control again. She got an IUD inserted a while ago which made Marshall elated that he could go bare. To feel her was like heaven.

“Marshall,” she whispered, gripping onto his bicep.

“Yes?”

He looked down on her. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

Marshall pushed inside her, feeling her tight walls welcome him with such love. He hit her cervix, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. Then slowly he began to fuck her slowly, his balls hitting her and the sounds of slapping filling the room.

His head came to her neck as his lips attached to them. His rhythm was strong, his thrusting powerful as they moaned one another’s names. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, ankles dipping into his ass as she rolled her head back and arched her back.

“I love you,” he whispered, “so much and I need you.”

She nodded. “I want you more than anything,” she replied in the heat of the moment.

“Then don’t go to Columbia.”

She heard those words, and she tried her best not to ruin the mood or the moment. Instead, she shook her head. “Not the time, baby,” she cooed, kissing the side of his lips. “I am going to Columbia.”

He pulled away. “Did you accept already?” he spat.

“Marshall, can you keep fucking me and we can talk about this after.”

“I can’t.”

“Marshall Mathers,” she bit. “Give me a fucking orgasm.”

“So, demanding,” he whispered and continued to fuck her.

Moments later, they were both at their peak, hands grasping anything they could find. Her eyes were rolled back, and she yelled his name as his hand went over her mouth. Marshall moaned hers as well as they came together.

Marshall rolled off of her, catching his breath as Y/N moved to look at him.

“Bath?” she whispered. “You and me? Hot water? I bought a bath bomb and bubbles in my bag. You can wash my hair and we can do all types of gross-loving things.”

He chuckled, getting up and walking to the bathroom on his command. Y/N pushed up onto her elbows as he watched his sculpted body saunter to the bathroom. He was naked and he was hers.

Marshall turned the bath on as Y/N walked into the bathroom, he glanced over and chuckled. “You have cum running down your leg,” he stated.

Y/N glanced down and saw it. Rolling her eyes she went to the toilet paper and swiped it off her and threw it in the toilet. Marshall checked the water and Y/N did her business of peeing in front of him.

She got to her bag and found the stuff she was looking for before throwing it in the bath. Marshall got in and he helped her in too. Her back hit his chest as she sat, head rolled onto his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her.

“Did you then?” he whispered, playing with her hair.

“Did I what?”

“Accept?”

She sighed. “No. I haven’t accepted, nor have I put money down. Until I figure out scholarships and bursaries, I won’t accept. Dr. Beau told me that he is going to Columbia and will mentor my thesis. So, to factor that.”

He nodded.

“And my mom is pushing for Vancouver. My grandparents said they will pay for my master’s if I stay in Canada.”

He nodded again. “I will pay if you stay in Detroit,” he stated as if it was nothing.

She sighed and closed her eyes. He was doing anything and everything for her to stay.

“Marshall, I can’t accept your money. Plus, it will be expensive. I am an international student.

“Name the price and I will have the cheque drawn up.”

“Nearly ninety grand,” she whispered. “Might as well buy a house.”

He swallowed and nodded. He said his piece but hearing the numbers.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “that much, huh?”

“See why I am looking for financial aid. Columbia is a little more.”

He nodded. “You really want this,” he stated as he dipped his hand into the water and dripping droplets onto her skin.

“I do.”

“It’s only two years?”

“Yeah, you will be releasing the album soon and then what…you’re going to be on tour for a year?”

“Possibly.”

“Then if I stayed, you would leave me for a year,” she said but he tried to open his mouth. “I know you. ‘Come with me’…I can’t, M. Masters. So, maybe we take a two-year break and then talk again.”

He sighed. “There are so much more opportunities in NYC for you with your career than Detroit.”

Marshall tightened his hold onto Y/N, resting his chin on her shoulder as he pondered for a moment. The warmth of their bath and the closeness of her body made the conversation feel more intimate, but it also made the reality of their situation more pressing. “New York City offers so much more for your art career. I just the idea of being apart from you.”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes soft but resolute. “I know, and I hate it too. But it’s only two years, and it’s such an important opportunity for me. We can make it work, M. We have faced bigger and grander challenges.”

Marshall sighed, his heart heavy with the thought of their separation, but also filled with admiration for her determination. He took a deep breath and then finally came to terms with all of this. “I’ll support you whatever decision you make, Y/N. I just want you to be happy and to succeed. We’ll find a way to make it work, even if it means being apart for a while.”

She smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek with her wet hand. “Thank you, Marshall. That means a lot to me. Who knows… maybe we’ll surprise each other with visits. New York is not far.”

“What about Vancouver?”

“I don’t want to be this person, but you have money and a direct flight.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be the best long-distance boyfriend there ever was. “

Y/N kissed his lips as he began to wet her hair and wash it in the tub. He began to massage her scalp, getting the shampoo in their before he took the bucket and washed it out. He continued with conditioner very meticulous with his work as he focused. Y/N closed her eyes as she felt his hands in her hair. It was lovely. It was intimate. It was pure devotion.

They finished their bath and got ready for bed. Closing the lights off, she found herself with her head on his bare chest whispering sweet nothings as they soothed each other into sleep.

Sorry for the delay of posting! Still on vacation.

This was a long one! Hope you enjoyed it :)

Much love,

Ava <3

#eminem series #eminem #eminem angst #eminem fanfiction #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers fluff #marshall mathers angst #marshall mathers fanfiction #marshall mathers x reader #slim shady

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kitmoas · 2 years

Text

Pernicious Prospect

Summary: Playing a little game to seal the fate of your life is only fun when you play it with a spider.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 5.6k ish

Warnings: Dark!Natasha, dark fic!!!!!, drugging (nat's serum), intense gun play (Russian Roulette), alcohol (and making bad decisions drunk), slight inspection kink, faux drowning..? kinda?, Nat is mean but also sweet. Toxic Nat. degradation, slight size kink if you squint, lots of names, hostage vibes?, stalking vibes, technically Stockholm syndrome too

*As usual let me know if I missed anything important*

***MINORS DNI*** ***18+***

A/N: This got a lot longer than it was supposed to be lol BUT look i wrote a dark fic without blood :O im just as surprised as you ALSO ignore any mistakes I made in this :) We ALSO dont talk about the hellsite not posting this yesterday :)

Main Master list // Kitmoas | Occult

You weren’t aware of the deep forest eyes watching as you danced with your friends in the club, a few drinks in and no show of stopping anytime soon. The group had no idea when everyone would go home, a Friday night after a huge test meant everyone wanted to party until they couldn’t remember their names.Someone knew when you were going home, had your entire night planned down to how many drinks you would be having. Not once did they let you out of their sight, after months of observation and planning everything was ready.

The anxiety and stress that you felt the past few weeks was melting out of your brain as you downed more and more shots. Stumbling towards the bar you yell over the music asking for another drink, but the man just shakes his head before walking away. Whipping around to try and find your friends, jumping when you come face to face with the ginger. In your intoxicated state it takes your brain far longer than you would normally would have to recognize who was standing in front of you, but when you finally do your jaw drops. “Oh m’gosh! You’re ‘lack widow!”

The woman in front of you cringes internally at your slurred speech, cursing herself for letting you drink so much, but she smiles softly at you regardless. “I am, sweetie. Are you okay? You seem far too drunk to be left alone.” You stumble forward just on time, cursing yourself at your clumsiness in front of the Avenger. “Let me accompany you home? I can drive so you don’t have to walk.” She watches as you melt just from her simple words, smug at how quickly you agree.

You watch with wide delighted eyes as Natasha pays off your entire tab, making sure you pocket your credit card. She also quickly helps clean up any mess that you created, letting each one of your friends know that she would be escorting you home. Tipping not only each bartender, but each bouncer, as she tied up any loose ends that you may be leaving behind. Lastly she even had you use the bathroom before you left, holding your bag as she waited patiently outside the door after checking that you would have the entire bathroom to yourself.

She easily guides you outside, her strength coming into play each time you stumble or sway too much. You’re talking loudly, asking her what car is hers but she just stays silent; nodding politely at people as you pass them. Basically swooning when she opens your door for you, you giggle as you crumble in the passenger seat of her Stingray.

It doesn’t take much time for you to be excitedly climbing all over, leaning heavily against the dashboard with your face squished against the windshield. Mumbling out slurred directions, you try your hardest to direct the ginger on where to go to get to your house but unbeknownst to you she had every single route from the bar possible memorized. Playing along with your excitement each time you saw a landmark you recognized, she bathed you in praise and relished in each happy wiggle she got in return.

Even though she drove at an exceptionally slow pace, an attempt to keep you safe as you clambered around the car, she felt as though the two of you arrived at your apartment all too quickly. Pulling up in front of your building, she makes sure the coast is clear before walking around the car to open your door for you. You stare up at her, admiring her face as the moon and street lights illuminate her.

Stumbling as she drags you out of the car, “C-come inside please just for little yknow.” You tangle your fingers in her flowy shirt, humming in appreciation at the soft fabric. “Please…just at least to help?” You’re unsure of where this clinginess came from, the need to act cool in front of her slowly disappearing at the idea of the widow leaving your life just as quickly as she entered.

Natasha acts naive, innocent even, as she humbly agrees to make sure you get in bed with water and ibuprofen. Her devious smirk only appears once your focus is on the door, fumbling to unlock it. Her steady hand lands on yours, her warm body pressing against your back. Entirely too buzzed you don’t question how she knows your intricate passcode, instead giddy as you drag her into your home. Spinning to show her everything, slurred rambling as you point things out.

She nods along, mindlessly listening to random facts about trinkets she already knows about, as she moves around your kitchen. Getting you a Gatorade, not water knowing you won’t drink it, and a snack she sighs as she looks around for your medicine. “Do you think you can find your pain meds by yourself drunkie, or will that be too much for your fuzzy little brain?” Watching you salute, taking your given job extremely seriously, the ginger smirks as she cracks open the capsule from her bracelet into your drink.

By the time you come back, tripping over your own feet, triumphantly holding a bottle of pills above your head Natasha had already set the food by your bed and gotten you pajamas. Before she can stop you, you’re stripping at the excited idea of wearing something she wants to see you in. “Than’u it’s sooooo comfy!” Flopping onto the bed, you roll around as you look up ar her. She’s watching you, careful eyes, as she waits for you to calm down.

Reaching out to hold your hand, she pulls you into a sitting position gently. A smile on her face as she brings the tray of food and drinks over, “Do me a favor, dove, just get a little bit of something in your stomach? For me?”

The way she’s looking at you will forever be engraved in your mind, something you would never be able to deny. You can’t even attempt to fight her, gobbling up the pretzel sticks and downing the gatorade greedily. You preen under her attention, wiggling at the small achievement of earning her momentary praise. Quieting down as you settle in bed, head nestled in the pillows as your attention turns to the quiet television show she turned on.

You’re blissfully unaware of how she watches you, sharp eyes waiting for a flash of cherry red haze. It only takes a few moments, blinking as if you have something in your eyes before you have an urge to be near her. Natasha is sitting at the edge of the bed, a normally respectable distance but you need her closer and that is starting to scare you.

It doesn't take long for the widow to realize you’re squirming, a distressed look on your face, and she knows that you truly are the perfect little experiment for her own serum. Her rough calloused hand slips across your jaw, turning your head back and forth before it closes around your throat. Inspection of you doesn’t take long, your mind clearing from its initial hit of serum all too quickly for Natasha.

Once your eyes do clear, and you’re able to ignore the way your pussy throbs and your muscles shake, the widow can see the anger rising. She watches the way your body tenses, and she knows your fight or flight is kicking in. Even though she’s expecting it, the way you flail about surprises her. Your fist only an inch or two away from her face, you keep trying to strike her but it’s almost as though she’s inside an invisible box. Hitting the unseen wall over and over again, you stare in shock at your own hand.

You try pulling it back, gently pushing your palm forward but you are able to cup her cheek. Stuttering, you want to ask what is going on but the words are lost in your throat. Gasping you try to breathe as you can feel the panic filling your body, something was weird and you knew that it had to be some sort of Avenger science or maybe something from Russia. This was all too much and your favorite hero was suddenly turning into a dark shadow that would loom over you for the rest of your life.

Before you can even try to escape, still on your back, as an electroshock travels through your body radiating from the small red electric disk now stuck on your body. Paralyzing, you can feel the energy swarming through your body and the scream that rips from your throat is shrill. She’s moving your body, manipulating it as she wants and for some unknown reason you just let her.

Spread out on the bed, you try your hardest to figure out a way to escape. This was your room, your home, and you still felt trapped. You’re unsure of what she did to you but you feel sluggish and it’s almost like you can’t move as she walks away. The widow is only gone momentarily but the moment she settles back on the bed, your heart beat seemingly settles down.

Natasha reaches for you, rough hands running up your thighs as she watches your abs tense from her touch. “You know, you were so cute and just so excited to put on the clothes I wanted.” She pulls at the flimsy crop top and skin tight booty shorts, chuckling at just how naive you are. “It was so easy to get you right where I want you, it’s almost pathetic. Almost too easy.” Her hands are ghosting between your legs, running her nails along the most sensitive parts of your lower body.

The tearing of your shorts doesn’t surprise you, your brain working overtime to attempt to be one step ahead of what was happening. If you could come to terms with it, maybe you could find the strength to fight it. You curse your body for reacting to the way she touches you, knowing that your crush on her doesn’t help, when her fingers touch your uncovered pussy. She can see the wetness shining in the dim lighting, and she uses her thumb to smear the slick. “If you really wanted me to stop, don’t you think you would be just a little less wet?”

Her hands are everywhere, pulling at your nipples and scratching down your torso. You want to keep your eyes open to try and stay alert but you can’t help when they slip closed. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when you feel your fingers probing you, poking and pulling you open. She’s inspecting you again, silently. It shouldn’t make an intense wave of arousal hit you, but you know she sees the wetness gush out of you as she opens you up.

The ginger makes an appreciative noise, deep in her throat before she begins to push 2 fingers into you. She grunts when she meets resistance, you're wet but still tight. Ignoring the way you squirm away, trying to kick and claw at her hand, Natasha just moves her fingers faster. Occasionally letting her thumb rub at your clit, hard and throbbing. It isn’t long until she notices the changes.

No matter how hard you want to say you hate the way her long rough fingers move inside you, you can’t deny how close you are. It’s embarrassing but after months, almost years, of crushing on the infamous Black Widow how could you not react so easily to her. You had yearned for someone to treat you roughly, to take you and use your body as they pleased, but you never had found someone that wasn’t too scared to do it.

Even as you realized each step she was going to make, you weren’t finding the strength to truly fight it. If anything you were finding ways to excuse her, to let yourself fall into her web. Your body was already cracking under the pressure, arousal leaking down your thighs and into the sheets below you. It was only a matter of time before your brain fully caught up, you knew that you didn’t have the mental strength to go up against someone so highly trained like the Black Widow.

Your body was getting used to the force that Natasha was shoving her fingers into you, creeping towards the edge. The way your body’s temperature rose slowly signified the steady build of your orgasm. Reduced to just quiet pants and moans, you wanted to beg the widow to move faster–to take what she wanted.

Unbeknownst to you, you never had to ask or tell the ginger to take what she wanted from you. You were naive and innocent to what she had infected your body with. From this moment on you would be hers, to do whatever she could imagine doing to you. She was being generous by stretching your body, stretching her pussy.

Ownership was something the Russian always struggled with, after years of never truly having something of her own, but when she saw you she knew that no one else would ever touch you. Months of planning and creating the perfect serum, all so that you would be laid out underneath her. All so that she could finally own something all by herself, her favorite thing–you.

Your moans and the warmth in your stomach were driving you crazy, it felt like she wouldn’t just shove you over the edge. Straddling the line between ecstasy and torture, you let your mouth fall open. Jaw cracking as you mewl, begging to be touched with more purpose.

Through hooded eyes you see your jade counterpart’s roll, an annoyed grunt breaking through barred teeth. “Such a needy little thing even after fighting me. Have you learned your lesson yet?” Her question goes unanswered when she pulls her fingers out, tucking the last two in. She’s enchanted as she watches your leaking red pussy open up, stretching to take four of her digits.

It isn’t gentle, and she’s shoving them inside you, but it’s enough to make you topple over the edge. Your back arching, and a scream tearing through your throat. It isn’t exactly the most pleasurable orgasm, entirely too mixed with intense waves of pain. It’s short lived, the widow yanking her fingers out of you and leaving you clenching around nothing. Your slick dribbling slowly out of you and coating your thighs even more. She leaves you a sticky mess as she stands, wiping the wetness from her hand on your heaving stomach.

As you’re still trying to recover, Natasha starts moving you. Chastising you when you begin to whine, pulling and pushing you so you’re on your knees. Her touch is almost gentle as she guides you into the position she wants. Your face is pushed into the bed, drool soaking the fabric as you try to breathe. Something settles along your torso, possibly her own body, but you’re overstimulated and your senses can’t make sense of anything.

You hear metal clanking rapidly, almost high pitched, and it makes your blood run cold. Ragged breathing as you try to bring air to your lungs with your face is pushed into the warm damp sheets. The pressure between your shoulder blades and along your hips keeps in place, even as your muscles twitch as the anxiety builds. The sound was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

A cool heavy steel trails along your ribs, tapping teasingly against each bone. “You wanna play a game, malysh?” She mocks you, seemingly giving you a choice. Her hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head up. The shiny revolver obstructs your blurry vision as you gulp down as much oxygen as possible, as quickly as possible. “You know where I come from, don’t you красивая девушка?”

The stickiness of her bright wine colored lipstick pulls at the thin skin along your ear, leaving remencance of the stain. You can feel the exhaustion in your bones, the ginger’s actions of the night catching up already. Nodding, you can’t even bring yourself to say anything. She’s humming, prompting you. “I-I know a lot ab-bout you.” Voice hoarse, stuttering and falling over syllables, you try your hardest to listen to her.

She laughs, it’s silent but shakes her chest as she leans heavily against you. Tapping the barrel of the gun against your cheek, “Right my precious little fan. You know all about me. Well don’t worry darling, all that precious information stored in your brain will come in handy.” The widow shoves you forward, pulling and pushing your body as she flips you onto you back.

Natasha settles comfortably between your legs, swinging the fun around her pointer finger as she coos over you. She sits back and observes you, head tilting as you squirm below her. Running your thumb along your dripping slit, she can’t help but admire the string of wetness that catches and dangles as she pulls away.

You try to shake your head, no matter her experience you didn’t want to shamelessly gamble your life for a night with the spy. She just giggles, like a schoolgirl. “All you have to do is tell me what you know about me, lyubov'. That’s all. I know that pretty little head is filled with who I am and all the little facts you know about me, so this should be simple. Say a fact and you’re safe, and get played with. Say something false, and I pull the trigger. Who knows though, maybe you’ll enjoy that too.” She looks so innocent as she talks down to you, but you can’t focus on her tone right now.

Chest heaving, you watch her with wide eyes as the previously forgotten fear reignites as the older woman precariously plays with the gun. A sadistic grin stretches her face, pulling her cheeks just a bit too much. “Dontcha wanna play with me, detka?” Tapping the bottom of the grip on your lower belly, Natasha smirks. Your head is shaking vigorously, pathetic whimpers tumbling from your mouth. Your fist swings out again, a pitiful attempt at hitting the ginger one last time. Struggling as your hand hits that invisible wall again, she just slowly lowers it down to the bed. “Too bad you don’t have a choice.”

Her calloused thumb swipes at your throbbing clit, smiling as your hips jump trying to chase after the spark of pleasure. She shushes you, smoothing her hand across your lower belly. Her gaze flickers up to watch your reactions, jade peaking through lashes as she taps the muzzle against your puffy red cunt. Natasha makes a noise, your only chance at a warning before she’s shoving the barrel of her gun into you. Watching you stretch, raw and red, around the cold smooth metal she has to bite her lip to suppress her own reactions.

The moan that tumbles from your lips is involuntary, and the sounds only get worse as she forcibly ruts her beloved weapon into you. “First fact, princess.” When you just wither beneath her, too focused on your own arousal, she cocks the gun. The click ringing out, a stark contrast to your mewls. “Don’t keep me waiting, dove. It’s rude and my patience wears thin.”

You stutter through the first couple facts, all things the public knows of. The most common facts that cannot be disputable; her alias, her training and community upbringing, and her status within the government as an Avenger. It wasn’t until she rubs your clit, dragging the wetness across your skin, that your mind swirls again. Broken gasps you mumble out, “You killed the overseer of the Red Room”.

The ginger laughs, a short gleeful thing, as she shakes her head. “Poor baby, your head is already so foggy and the game has just begun.” You hear the menacing sound of the gun click, stalling, as she pulls the trigger for the first time. Even as the fear rings through your skull, sinking into your bones, you can’t help but the wetness that drips out of you and the way you clench around the slowly warming steel. A breathy please falls from your lips, and you aren’t exactly sure what you’re pleading for.

A second wrong fact tumbles from your lips, jumbled and almost incomprehensible, as you beg the widow for mercy. Nothing you say deters her, even as you correct your previous statement. You knew that she didn’t go to kill Tony, just to see if he was dying but in your haze you said the wrong thing. Apologies and sobs wracking your body as you try to take back your mistake, but she’s pulling the trigger before you can stop her. Your hands are gripping your wrist but your fingers won’t move no matter how much you try to claw at her skin, a measly attempt to pry her away from you.

Natasha shoves the barrel roughly into you, a piercing pain shoots through your body as she mumbles for you to continue. Her eyes trained at your body, it’s almost like this is mindless for her not even breaking a sweat. It’s almost like she’s angry at the fact that the bullet and chamber have yet to align. “You w-wear the arr-ow for Cl-lint.” Stuttered though true, your fact makes her chuckle. The green eyed woman just thrusts into you harder, dragging you closer to the edge.

Through hooded eyes you watch her, eyes flickering back and forth between the way her bicep tenses and how the vein in her neck pulses. Distracted you stutter on your next fact, “Y-y um dance um ta–”. Even though you never finish your sentence, the sight of the gun rubbing against the most sensitive part inside of you, the assassin knows you were going to mess up. The longer she’s moving inside you, the harder you find talking and thinking. It terrifies you how much you like the feeling of the steel inside you, how you drip around the cylinder.

The coil in your stomach cracks when you hear the widow cock the gun, body twitching when she pulls the trigger again. She has you dangling over the edge, almost like you were on a string. Dragging her nails down your thigh, leaving bright red streaks and a burning sensation. Her actions are almost teasing, toying with you as you squirm and moan under her.

Natasha’s voice is soft, almost comforting, as she stares down at you. Her eyes almost soft, nurturing, as she fucks her gun into your sore cunt. “Such a desperate little whore, I can barely move my gun from how tight you are.” Reaching up to cup your breast, she pinches your hardened nipple ruthlessly. Tugging at it until your back arches, trying to relieve some of the pain.

It’s a spreading warmth, stinging, as the redness explodes across the goosebump covered swell. Your brain can’t keep up, swirls of pain and arousal clouding all your thoughts. “Give me another one, now.” Hissing, her voice strikes in your bones. A shiver running down your spine as you try to keep your orgasm at bay. A small part of you still wanted to be defiant, to try and fight in the only way you can. You knew you couldn’t physically do anything to hurt her, but you could take hits at her ego.

The longer you delay the inevitable, whimpers and whines filling the air as you focus solely on the pleasure, the angrier the ginger gets. She’s jamming the gun harder into you, her muscles flexing with each push. Forcing your breath and your heart beat to stutter, jumping along with the force of her ruts. “Play my game, you worthless whore. Play or I’ll play without you.” Wrapping her hand around your throat, she hovers over you.

Her weight is almost completely on your neck as she looks down at you. You babble panickedly, wheezing as you try to fight for your life. Unsure of the words you even say, you thrash violently at the clicking of the gun. Legs flailing, kicking helplessly at air, as your body goes into full fight or flight mode. Throat raw as you scream, the shrill sound cut short as Natasha slams you down.

“No matter how much you fight, princess, you can’t deny the way you're teetering. Barely clinging to the edge. You’re not going to last much longer, so why must you fight me?” Clenching, each word she speaks to you wears the rope you’re hanging from thin and dropping you farther and farther over the edge. She pulls the trigger again, pulling the hammer down immediately to pull the trigger once more. “Looks like you only have one more chance, little dove.”

Your entire body is shaking, and you can barely understand a word she says. The overwhelming weight of the barrel inside of you is the only thing you can focus on, the pull of the smooth metal as it thrusts. It’s no longer cool, your temperature heating it up. Whining you try to get her to understand your frustration, the way she’s clouding your judgment and stripping you of your ability to coherently speak.

It doesn’t matter anymore as the rope falls apart and you slip over the edge. She struggles to keep the barrel inside of you, the force of your orgasm not only shaking your entire body but the gush of wetness escaping you is even stronger. The way she moves doesn’t slow, if anything she puts her entire body into how she jams the firearm into you. Her fingers grip your jaw, clawing until your mouth falls open. Your moans are garbled, drool and spit filling your mouth unable to escape except for a few drops leaking down your flushed cheek.

The ginger pulls the gun from your leaking cunt, pulling your body to let your center lay flush against her thigh. Your hips are grinding before she can even demand you to move, chasing the high that you’re on. Natasha leans back, rolling her eyes as she watches you hump her leg. “You’re fucking disgusting.” Wiping her gun along your torso, your slick is cool against your heated skin. You’re entirely too lost in your pleasure, heavy eyes blurry as they try to watch the woman above you.

It’s the exact moment that your body finally settles, muscles gently vibrating with the aftershocks of your waning orgasm, that you see the widow’s arms move quickly. Cocking the gun you can see up the sight just for a moment, before she pulls the trigger. The bullet is loud as it pierces the mattress next to your head, fluff and fabric exploding. It makes the blood in your veins run cold and the high you were on plummet back down to Earth.

Fuzzy brain, clearing slowly, you stare wide eyed up at Natasha. “Y-You were actually going to shoot me?” You can’t stop stuttering, gasping, as you realize how close to death you truly were. The shaking is back with a vengeance, almost like your entire body is plugged in. This entire time you believed that it was all just a game, a thing for the Avenger to scare you with so that you would be more open to having sex with her.

The Avenger smiles, cupping your cheek and smoothing her thumb over the flush she finds there. She licks the cooling metal, humming at the taste she finds there before letting the gun fall heavy on the sheets. “And yet, my darling, your body is still shaking and aching for my touch.” When your hips try to move against her body, she shakes head. “Nuh uh, you’re done for the day. I can’t push you too much.” She’s shifting to sit next to your collapsed body, ignoring the pathetic whimpering falling uncontrollably from your mouth.

You are struggling to breathe properly, heavy pants filling the air as the two of you sit silently on the bed. She’s gently pushing your matted hair away from your sweaty forehead, and wiping away the stream of tears you weren’t even aware you were crying. Natasha lets all the emotions that you are feeling to be let out, the entire thing overwhelming you but she doesn’t want you to completely shut down after just one play session.

The quiet doesn’t last long, the widow pushing your body to sit up. Your entire body feels weak, unstable, as you sway in your spot. She’s the only grounding factor you have in the moment, and you hate how pitiful you seem. Natasha is trying to get you to move faster, shoving at you, urging you to move faster so that she can strip the bed. You try to tell her that you can’t feel your body, that everything is just too much, but it doesn’t matter and you can see the seething anger.

Looking down at you, her hand is fisted in the sheets where she’s trying to clean up. “Stop being a worthless bitch, and move out of my way.” Her free hand tangles in your hair, throwing you off the bed. You lay, crumpled in a ball, at her feet. Not daring to move as she rips the bedding from the mattress. “I’m trying to clean up after you, and you can’t even be considerate enough to move out of the way.”

Her angry words cut deep, but she’s reaching out to you and scooping you up. It’s soft and gentle as she carries you to the bathroom. The ginger spends an immense amount of time cooing over you as she gets the water warm. Rubbing your sore muscles and softly detangling your hair, kissing all over your face each time she tugs a bit too harshly.

You basically swoon as you stand in the steaming shower, Natasha gently washing your body. Her hands running along your body makes your mind swim, quiet moans under your breath each time she randomly teases you. Leaning up against the cold tile wall as you watch her get shampoo, getting ready to wash your hair, you have to keep a grip on the shelf to keep standing. Your legs are sore and still shaky, even your body still feels weak.

When the ginger turns around to wash your hair, she sees you leaning heavily against the wall with your eyes closed. Tying to take a few deep breaths, she tries to calm down but she can’t help the searing anger. Dropping the glob of shampoo in her hand she grips your chin, and spins your body around. It’s all too quick and the slick floor makes you slip entirely too easily. You can’t even understand what she’s hissing into your ear, bitter and heated.

She’s shoving your face into the stream of water, uncaring as you choke and thrash about. Her voice, whispering directly into your ear, makes you freeze as it sinks into your bones. “Such a dumb little girl, how would you ever survive without me? Hmmm?” You aren’t sure how long you’re swallowing and gagging on water, spilling over your lips. You had given up, ready to let your lungs fill with water when she shoves you against the wall. “I don’t want to hurt you, dorogoya. I really don’t but someone has to keep you in your place. Don’t they?” She chuckles, low and heavy, when she sees you mindlessly nod.

You can feel your body being thrown around, limp, as she moves you where she wants you. Brain struggling to do anything but answer the older woman whenever she asks you a question, it’s almost as if whatever she did to you put you into autopilot.

Sinking into the warm dry sheets, you finally feel your body relaxing when she sets you in bed. Curled up in her arms, you listen to her heartbeat and her humming as you try to fall asleep. The ginger even sings to you, a Russian lullaby, to try and help you fall asleep. Nothing helps and maybe it’s the suppressed fear that lies deep within your gut, but you can tell just by how her breathing changes that it’s starting to anger her.

The hand that was once running along your back, a soothing motion, wraps tightly around your throat as she shoves you into the bed. Her body, once again, is looming over you. The forest green eyes are dark, almost a midnight black, as she stares down at you. Her grip on your throat tightens, and a sadistic smile stretches across her face. Your vision is blurry and the moment you try to claw at her arm, she catches both your hands in one. Pinning them above your head, her entire weight is leaning on your wrists and throat. “Poor baby can’t fall asleep?” A mockingly sweet noise falls from her pursed lips. “Well don’t you worry, I’m here to always make sure you can sleep. Even if you can’t do the most simple of things for yourself, I’ll be here to make it all better.”

You’re panicking as your lungs scream for oxygen, and black starts to border your already foggy vision. “I mean think about it, even with your stupid little brain you must realize that no one else will want to deal with you. No one else will love you the way I do.” She’s smiling at you, even as her fingers tighten around your throat. The pressure is crushing your windpipe, and you’re slipping into unconsciousness as you’re forced to just look up at the ginger. “I’ll make you better. I’ll mold you into my perfect little dove. I’ll keep you around and then you won’t be useless anymore, doesn’t that sound perfect?”

She forces your head to just barely nod, and she gives you a gentle kiss on your forehead as she watches your eyes flutter closed. “Goodnight my love, sleep tight. I’ll fight off any nightmares that dare interrupt your sleep.”

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greenerteacups · 5 months

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Hello GT! I almost never comment on anything online, but (after binge-reading Lionheart in about three days) I'm overcome with a desperate need to confess that I've developed an enormous intellectual crush on you as an author. I've never been particularly drawn to Dramione as a pairing before now - or even the HP universe in general as more than a very casual fan - but after reading nearly 600 thousand of your words, I'd be craving more even if that number was 600 million. Thank you very much for sharing Lionheart with the world.

It's a rare pleasure to read something where an immense thoughtfulness shines through so brightly not simply in bits and pieces here and there, but consistently throughout every line and every subplot you stitch together. There are other works of fiction out there that I love, but very, very few of them have been carefully crafted enough to allow me as a reader to sit back and have unshakeable confidence in the depth of the author's vision. Everything you write, from the smallest descriptive details to the grander puzzle pieces tying together each book, is delivered with such intentionality. Sometimes when reading other fiction I'll find myself impatiently wondering "okay, fantastic build-up, but when are we getting to the *really good* part"; with you, every part is the good part. The oft-cited slow-burn mantra of "it's not the destination, it's the journey" doesn't even ring true for me with Lionheart - because in your capable hands, you hurl us straight at that destination with every chapter. All of this to say that my starstruck inner writer is currently pinning a hypothetical pin-up poster of you to my hypothetical writer-ly bedroom wall as someone to look up to.

One of my favourite aspects of your work is how utterly hilarious you are both in your character dialogue and your prose. You've made me laugh more than you've made me cry - and you're guilty of making me cry a lot, especially in Book Four. You balance us between hysterical (funny) and hysterical (dirty, raw feelings) without a trace of whiplash, quite often imparting both simultaneously. Is interweaving humour with Everything Else something that comes naturally to you while writing or is it a process you're consciously juggling?

I've brooded and preened over this message for entirely far too long, and it's not fair to you. Suffice it to say you're kinder than I deserve and this made me want to cry. Any and all pin-up posters of me should render me looking like a deer in headlights, as is the appropriate reaction to this kind of honor.

I'm especially delighted by the hysteria (plural)! In general, it's easier for me to write humor than it is for me to write drama. Not that either one is easy as such, but I think drama requires more architecture. You don't have to explain if a joke is funny; it just is funny, and the audience knows why the characters are laughing/amused/happy. In drama, you have to achieve a certain level of technical character work to set up the punch of a moment; there's stakes, plotting, resonance, etc., and then you have to actually deliver it in a way that isn't either flippant, ironic, or Narm. Basically, there are more axes of failure. And the stakes of a joke failing are pretty low, too: worst case, your audience is like "eh, not that funny" and they move on. If a dramatic moment fails, it can take the legs out from under a whole arc.

One of my tests for whether a moment is ripe for comedy is the question of what the comedy is doing. Is it a realistic reflection of the character's voice in that situation? And, perhaps more importantly: why am I feeling the need to put comedy in this scene? Do I want it because it's natural and tone-appropriate, or am I trying to disguise my own insecurity about the dramatic content of the scene? If the latter, I tend to cut. You can't write from fear, you know?

#greenteacup asks #'with you every part is the good part' this is so wildly moving and poetic. what the fuck. i'm stealing this for my wedding vows.

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trulybetty · 1 year

Text

Baked Goods

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 815 Warnings: Baked goods, indecisiveness, a little fluff & early Sunday mornings. Summary: Sunday morning traditions for you and Marcus

A/N: I currently have no patience for my current WIP's and found distraction in @wildemaven's @wildemaven-prompts and I'm trying my hand at the second-person perspective, something very new to me. So, any feedback is very much appreciated, please!

Baked Goods.

The glimmer of dawn breached the quiet, sleepy town. The soft hum of the world waking up was just beginning to filter through, punctuated by the occasional far-off murmur of a car. You found yourself standing in front of Sweet Jane's, a bakery tucked in a cobblestone corner of your town.

Marcus stepped into the bakery first, the bell above the door announcing your arrival. You followed after him, the aroma of fresh dough and the sweet perfume of baked goods wrapping around you like a warm, inviting blanket. This was your local bakery, the kind of place where the faces were familiar and the pastries were heavenly.

A simple place with painted walls the colour of custard, and a glass counter full of tantalizing confections that never failed to lure you in. It was Sunday morning, a time when people were in no rush, enjoying their coffee, reading newspapers, chatting amicably about life and the neighbourhood, creating a humming background to your little drama.

“You're going to have to make a decision soon,” Marcus said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he observed you peering into the glass counter, your brows furrowed in intense scrutiny.

“How am I supposed to choose?” You replied, your voice holding a hint of desperate amusement. A sea of eclairs, danishes, croissants, and tarts seemed to call out to you, each promising a different, decadent delight. You were certain you could taste the pastries through your gaze alone.

Marcus chuckled, his closeness was a sense of calm that easy Sunday morning. He gestured toward the display with a playful nod. "Choose that one." he suggested, pointing at a raspberry tart glinting with sweet glaze on a bed of paper doilies.

Your eyes followed his indication, its glaze shimmering under the bakery's soft, warm light. It looked divine, but so did the eclair next to it, and the apple Danish on its left. "I don't know, they all look so good," you protested, the whine in your voice taking on a childlike innocence.

“The weekend will be over before you make a decision, and we haven't even ordered coffee yet,” Marcus warned, glancing at his watch. He was leaning against the counter now, one arm folded across his chest, a picture of patience, but increasingly exasperated, affection.

"That's easy," you countered, your gaze shifting from the pastries to him. Coffee, unlike the myriad of pastries, was a simple decision for you - a black americano, no sugar, just the way you liked it.

His lips curled into a smile, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, raising an eyebrow at you, "I'm glad something is easy."

“This is frustrating,” you grumbled, your eyes once again drawn to the beautiful pastries before you. In the low murmur of the bakery, the laughter of patrons, the soft hissing of the espresso machine in the background, your frustration felt comfortable, a ritual you both played out with warmth and familiarity each week.

Marcus’s laughed, his chest vibrating against your shoulder, was the melody against your frustration's discordant beat. "Imagine how I feel," he retorted, a playful note in his voice. His eyes sparkled with mirth and something else - something warmer, something that made your heart thump a little louder in your chest.

Choosing a pastry wasn’t just about tasting something delicious, it was the experience: the joy in the anticipation, the first bite melting in your mouth, the taste lingering on your tongue. It was an art, a sensory journey you undertook every Sunday with Marcus by your side.

Your attention remained on the pastries, but your mind was elsewhere. It was filled with images of Marcus. The way his eyes twinkled when he laughed. The way his arm casually draped around your shoulder when you walked side by side. The way his voice, always calm and steady, made you feel grounded. And suddenly, you realized that it wasn’t the allure of pastries making your decision hard, it was the comfort of this moment, the fleeting essence of Sunday mornings spent with Marcus in a bustling bakery. It was a haven from the week ahead where work for you both would mean small glimpses of one another before the weekend was back again.

Finally, you pointed at a custard slice. The bakery worker, who had been waiting with an air of amused patience, moved to box it up for you. As Marcus ordered the coffee, you looked around the bakery, taking in the comforting ambience.

And so, you let go of your worries, your eyes once now tracing the man to your side, Marcus’s warm laugh echoed in your ears as he made small talk with the server. Here, on this Sunday morning, you were more than content with the choices you had made - especially the one standing right beside you.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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anamazingangie · 7 months

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my cup runneth over ☀️ timeline

This is a timeline for : my cup runneth over by me (AmazingAngie)

Note: 5/12/2024 -- i am making minor edits to the currently published chapters. some secondary names [of dragons, etc.] have been changed and continuity errors fixed. I have currently edited up until chapter seventeen and edited this post to reflect future changes, but if you spot any discrepancies in 18-24, that is why and it should be fixed soon!

This is a non-linear fic that focuses on concurrent relationships between Rhaenyra x Baelon Targaryen and Rhaenyra x Daemon Targaryen (who is technically her stepson). Below you'll find the timeline, chronological chapter organization, and the focal pairing for each chapter.

A brief summary:

In which Rhaenyra isn’t born a Targaryen, but still manages to become both the Realm’s Delight and Queen. Both titles were acquired thanks to her blend of charm and curiosity that seemed to endear her to every dragon she met—whether they bore the name Targaryen or wore scales, it did not matter, their love for her seemed inevitable.

☀️ 🌩️ 🌥️ 🌙

He had no intention of kissing her before they took their vows—never felt compelled to, but— He would kiss her for his siblings who never grew old enough to know what kissing was. He would kiss her for Alyssa, who—gods—probably would have wanted to kiss her, too, after a speech like that. He would kiss her for his son, Aegon, who never made it from his cradle. He would kiss her for his eldest brother, Aemon, who would have adored her just as he did. He would kiss her as his mother and father once kissed each other. And for himself, too, because he could no longer resist. (Some day, maybe even some day soon, his son would kiss her too.)

☀️ 🌩️ 🌥️ 🌙 TIMELINE BELOW CUT ☀️ 🌩️ 🌥️ 🌙

NOTE: This timeline subject to change because timelines are hard OK?

This is the timeline I made/use as a guide while writing so events remain consistent within the story, but years are generally not listed within each chapter.

[It also includes some notes and nicknames for this reason, too.]

There are too many flashbacks for it to make sense or feel natural for me as the write to include dates. Instead I prefer to relate events within a chapter to dates established within the story itself [such as, this happened x years after they got married, he visited when baby was x years old, etc.]

But I realize peoples brains work differently and might find this more confusing—so here it is all laid out! NOTE #2: This story is told in a non-linear fashion, so reading the timeline may offer spoilers for all currently published chapters and imply events of future ones!

Baelon born in 57AC

Viserys born in born 77AC

Daemon born in 81AC

Aemma born in 82AC

Rhaenyra born in 96AC

[All other characters/Baelon’s siblings/Targaryen’s have their canon dates of birth as specified on the asoif wiki, but they aren’t relevant enough to all list, at least not yet.]

Related Emoji's:

These represent their role, POV/chapter, and sometimes their nickname too.

☀️ = Rhaenyra, [so bright it hurts sometimes but you can't look away]

🌙 = Aemma [not always appreciated but important and softer in the light she brings to the world.]

🌥️ = Baelon, [soft, fluffy]

🌩️ ⚡ = Daemon [loud, unable to be ignored, electric.]

Nicknames: (I regret these but it is too late)

Rhaenyra: little vēzos [by Baelon], princess [by Daemon] ‘vēzos’ means ‘sun’ in high valyrian

Baelon: kepa [by Rhaenyra & children] ‘Kepa’ means ‘father’ and/or ‘uncle’ in high valyrian

Daemon: my lēkia [by Rhaenyra] [lēkia means ‘older brother' in high valyrian

Daeron: little jelmāzmar [by Rhaenyra] ‘jelmāzmar’ means ‘storm’ in high valyrian

Aemon: little sambar [by Rhaenyra] ‘sambar’ means ‘cloud’ in high valyrian

Aenys / Babies: little ērinnon [by Rhaenyra]

'ērinnon' means 'victory' in high valyrian

Events that have been established in story so far [as of chapter nineteen]:

93AC: Baelon visits Vale to meet Aemma 95AC: Baelon visits Vale to meet Aemma (again) 96AC: Rhaenyra is born 96AC: Daella dies [when Rhaenyra is born] 98AC: Rhaenyra comes to King’s Landing 98AC: ^Aemma / Viserys are married*

at this time [of wedding, in 98AC]: Rhaenyra is 2 Aemma is 16 Daemon is 17 Baelon is 41

*Viserys/Aemma’s wedding takes place 5 years later than canon despite birth years remaining the same.

99AC: Daemon marries Rhea Royce 99AC: Rhaenyra sees dragons for first time

100AC: Rhaenyra receives an egg* 100AC: Syrax hatches in 100AC* **just a few weeks between these events 100AC: Alysanne dies (Daemon attends funeral, meets Rhaenyra, again, see chap.3) 100AC: Aegon is born [Aemma/Viserys eldest son] 103AC: Jaehaerys dies (Daemon visits, meets Rhaenyra, again, see chap.3) 103AC: Baelon is crowned in 103AC 103AC: Baelon grants Daemon's request for an annulment (above events less than a week apart) 103AC: Rhaenyra becomes cupbearer AS OF 103: Seasmoke is almost large enough to ride (though not yet) and Laena has claimed Sheepstealer (not ridden, claimed two years earlier) 104AC: Prince Jaehaerys II is born [Aemma/Viserys son] 107AC: Princess Daenerys is born [Aemma/Viserys daughter]

109AC: War in Stepstones presumably avoided 112AC: Baelon/Rhaenyra travel to Dragonstone and announce marriage

112AC: Aegon proposes to Rhaenyra [on same trip] 113AC: Baelon/Rhaenyra are married at this time Rhaenyra is 16/17 and Baelon is 55/56 [first child conceived two months later] 114AC: Prince Aenys II is born Baelon/Rhaenyra’s first child, a year after they marry

114AC-115AC: Events dated in months [1=30 days, 2=60 days, 3=90 days, etc.] by how far they are from Aenys birth. The time between these events is the major change made when editing past chapters. Originally they took place over a 2 month period, now they span 6+! 114AC #1: Aemma visits the week after Rhaenyra gives birth. [when Aenys is 1-3 weeks old] 114AC #2: Daemon returns to King's Landing [when Aenys is 2 months old] 114AC #2: Daemon & Rhaenyra consummate their relationship. [one-two weeks after he arrives] 114AC #3: Viserys/Aemma/Kids visit King's Landing [three-ish weeks after Daemon arrives, they stay for approx. two weeks.] 114AC #4: Daemon & Rhaenyra visit Dragonstone [two months after Daemon's arrival in King's Landing] 114AC #4: Dany turns seven 114AC #4: Aemma oversees Daemon/Rhaenyra together *this event is the focus of chapter eleven. 114AC/115AC #5: n/a 114AC/115AC #6: Velaryon's visit, Daemon leaves for Essos.* *this event is the focus of chapter fourteen

114AC/115AC #6-#7: Daemon and Laena visit Tyrosh* [they stay for 2-3 weeks, receive letter from Baelon during that time] *this event is the focus of chapter twenty-nine 114AC/115AC #8: Rhaenyra is targeted via poison.* *this event is the focus of chapter fourteen

114AC/115AC #8: Daemon and Laena arrive in Dorne.* 114AC/115AC #8/9: Daemon meets Mysaria. * *this event is the focus of chapter twenty-nine

114AC/115AC #9 Rhaenyra is nearly in carriage accident.* *this event is the focus of chapter fourteen [Daemon receives a letter from Baelon during this time] 114AC/115AC #10: Rhaenyra is attacked in Dragonpit.* *this event is the focus of chapter fourteen [Daemon receives a letter from Baelon during this time] 114AC/115AC #10: Viserys is called to King's Landing 114AC/115AC #10: Rhaenyra & Baelon begin trying for a baby. 114AC/155AC #11: Daemon & Laena are in Norvos* 114AC/115AC #11-#12: Daemon & Laena & Mysaria visit Driftmark* *this event is the focus of chapter twenty-nine

114AC/115AC #12: Rhaenyra is shot* *this event is the focus of chapter fourteen AND sixteen! 114AC/115AC #12: Aemma arrives in King's Landing* [5-7 days post attack] 114AC/115AC #12: Laenor visits King's Landing [7-10 days post attack]

114AC/115AC #13: Daemon hears word of Rhaenyra's injury.

116AC: Prince Rhaegar is born [Baelon/Rhaenyra’s second child] 116AC: Baelon has his Lithotomy [within two weeks of Rhaegar’s birth] 117AC: Aemon & Daeron are born [10/11 months after Rhaegar] 124AC: Aemon & Daeron fly for the first time

125AC: Aegon has twin daughter in 125AC [two weeks later] 125AC: Rhaenyra, Aenys, Daeron, and Aemon visit Dragonstone* 125AC Aemon & Daeron learn Daemon is their father* *these all occur at the same time, subject of chapter seven!

[tbc]

[that says Rhaenyra's Children, lol]

☀️ Prince Aenys II is born in 114AC [Baelon is the father, confirmed.] [Has cradle egg/hatchling nicknamed Silvia Sōna.]

☀️ Prince Rhaegar is born in 116/117AC [Baelon is the father, speculated.]

☀️Aemon [born first] Daeron [born second] born in 117 AC [named after Aemma and Daella] [both have dragons, first flew at age of eight, names tbd] [Daemon is the father, confirmed]

-Daeron nicknamed little jelmāzmar [storm, for he has a temper and is often emotional. Has light gold hair, takes after Daemon/Baelon.]

-Aemon nicknamed little sambar [cloud, for he is calm and quiet. Fairer than his brother with silver hair, takes after Aemon] ☀️ Vaelon is born in 122 AC [Baelon is the father, speculated.]

☀️Prince Baelon TBD [Daemon is the father, speculated.] [claims Vhagar]

☀️ Princess Visenya is stillborn in 129AC [Baelon is the father, speculated.] ☀️Unnamed Daughter TBD [Daemon is the father, confirmed]

[Aemma is the mother of them all.]

-mentions of miscarriage in fic, not listed!

🌙 Prince Aegon born in 100AC [has dragon, Sunfyre] [has twin daughters in 125AC]

🌙 Prince Jaehaerys II born in 104

🌙 Princess Daenerys born in 107 [turns seven in 114, when Aenys is 3 months old] [has dragon named Laela]

[deaths that follow canon dates from asoif wiki]

Alyssa died in 84AC Aemon died in 92AC Alysanne died in 100AC Jaehaerys I died in 103AC Visenya is stillborn/dies in 129AC [All of Baelon’s sibling have their canon dates of death as specified on the asoif wiki, save for Saera & Daella.]

[deaths that DO NOT follow canon dates from asoif wiki]

Daella died in 96AC [+14 years later than in canon] [dies during/after childbirth] Rodrik Arryn died in 122AC [which may mean his birth date needs to be later than it was in canon, not yet relevant] Baelon dies in 129AC [originally when Viserys dies in canon.]

The main pairings are:

Baelon/Rhaenyra + Daemon/Rhaenyra Secondary pairings [dynamics discussed]: PRESENT: Aemma/Viserys <;> PAST: [because they are dead now]: Daella/Rickard, Jaehaerys/Alysanne, Baelon/AlyssaTertiary pairings [mentioned/alluded to]: past Baelon/Others, eventually past Daemon/Others, very brief Daemon/Laena, brief Daemon/Mysaria

This fic will eventually have more focus on Daemyra than Baelonyra, but it begins with Baelon and Rhaenyra being married after spending her entire childhood together.

Meanwhile, in the present timeline [as of chap #16] Rhaenyra and Daemon have just met, and without that any foundation between them built explicit/romantic scenes with them feel a bit wrong? But they are coming, I swear.

Daemon/Rhaenyra will have a very [the most] active sex life and children together while she is married to Baelon, and they will marry after Baelon dies. But we aren't there yet.

This fic is non-linear though, and you can skip chapters you do not like. The majority of Baelonyra content is from Baelon's POV and chapters involving explicit scenes between him and Rhaenyra are marked below.

(along with chapters that take place before Daemon/Rhaenyra meet, and when their relationship is developing.)

However, if you hate the idea of Rhaenyra loving multiple men at the same time (in different ways, but still), and hate the idea of her with Baelon, this fic probably isn't for you. Because even when she is with Daemon, her experiences with Baelon being her previous/only/first partner shape all that comes after.

Also: There will not be scenes in the traditional threesome sense nor any between Daemon and Baelon!

Unlike all my other fics with multiple partners where everyone wants to do it with everyone, there is no attraction between the two men [Daemon and Baelon]. They are only interested in Rhaenyra.

They may share a bed on very rare special occasions but Rhaenyra has different relationships with them both and no desire to have them at the same time. They might be spectating. They might take turns. But there will not be three of them actively getting off at the same time.

note: there are references to Daemon being bisexual/with men, but Baelon is not one of them, lol.

CHAPTER INDEX

Chapters + Focus + Pairing: key: pre-daemyra = before they met as adults developing-daemyra = falling in love [if it is not mentioned, then it is 'during daemyra']

💙 = Baelon [blue] <> 🖤 = Daemon [dark] ❤️‍🔥= smut <> ❤️‍🩹 = extra angst ☁️ = extra fluff

1. ☀️ Rhaenyra I ☀️ [proposal, first year of marriage, pre-daemyra]

2. 🌥️ Baelon I 🌥️ [proposal, first year of marriage, pre-daemyra]

3. ⚡ Daemon I ⚡ ☁️ [daemon's memories of rhaenyra as a child, pre-daemyra]

4. ⚡ Daemon II ⚡ [daemon meets rhaenyra as an adult, developing daemyra]

5. 🌥️ Baelon II 🌥️ 💙❤️‍🔥 [discussion of having kids, pre-daemyra]

6. ☀️ Rhaenyra II ☀️ 💙❤️‍🔥🖤❤️‍🔥 [pregnancy crisis]

7. ☀️ Rhaenyra III ☀️ [good mom rhaenyra visits dragonstone]

8. ⚡ Daemon III ⚡ [getting to know his stepmom, developing daemyra]

9. 🌥️ Baelon III 🌥️ ❤️‍🩹 [daddy almost dies, has the talk with daemon]

10. 🌙 Aemma I 🌙 [the first time she saw rhaenyra kiss someone, pre-daemyra]

11. 🌙 Aemma II 🌙 🖤❤️‍🔥 [she saw rhaenyra doing a lot more than kissing]

12. ☀️ Rhaenyra IV ☀️ [how i met my stepson, developing daemyra, minor 💙❤️‍🔥 at end]

13. ☀️ Rhaenyra V ☀️ ❤️‍🩹 [angsty, near death experiences and such.]

14. ⚡ Daemon IV ⚡ ❤️‍🩹 [angsty, daemyra-centric]

☁️ 15. 🌥️ Baelon IV 🌥️ [seeing his loves meet, speculating, developing daemyra, minor 💙❤️‍🔥 in flashback]

16. 🌥️ Baelon V 🌥️ ❤️‍🩹💙❤️‍🔥 [angsty, near death experiences, baelon/rhaenyra]

17. 🦁 Tymond I 🦁 [bitter angry man hates the fact Targaryen women have no interest in his furry ass.] 18. ⚡ Daemon V ⚡ ☁️ [getting to know each other via discussion of brothels, ALL developing daemyra!] 19. ⚡ Daemon VI ⚡ 🖤❤️‍🔥 [getting to know each other AT a brothel.]

20. ☀️ Rhaenyra VI ��️ 🖤❤️‍🔥 [rhaenyra's first kiss with her prince, developing-daemyra]

21. ☀️ Rhaenyra VII ☀️ 💙🖤 [processing the kiss with her prince...developing-daemyra]

22. ☀️ Rhaenyra VIII ☀️ 🖤❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 [hot springs sexy times]

23. 🌥️ Baelon VI 🌥️ 💙🖤❤️‍🩹 [aftermath of being spied on in the hot springs]

24. ⚡ Daemon VII ⚡ 🖤 [bonding over daddy issues with your stepson, developing daemyra]

25. 🌥️ Baelon VII 🌥️ 💙 [memories of alyssa's and rhaenyra's innate ability to make them easier to bear]

26. ☀️ Rhaenyra IX ☀️ 🖤❤️‍🔥 [body image issues, aftermath of brothel, and some breast sucking...]

27. 🌙 Aemma III 🌙 [aftermath of hot springs, a confrontation, and an admission...]

28. 🌙 Aemma IV 🌙 [aftermath of the confrontation, and admission, and daemon leaving]

29. ⚡ Daemon VIII ⚡ 🖤❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹 [daemon's sad boy era in essos, part one, plus some raunchy flashbacks]

30. ☀️ Rhaenyra X ☀️ 🖤❤️‍🔥💙❤️‍🔥 [remembering the first time with her husband, having her first time with his son, and the results of daemon's school for deepthroating.]

31. 🦤 Viserys I 🦤 ❤️‍🩹 [viserys looks back on baelonyra's relationship and looks on in horror in the aftermath of an assassination attempt]

32. ⚡ Daemon IX ⚡ 🖤❤️‍🔥 [daemon has returned at last, and it is time for a good conversation and better fuck...ft. the iron throne]

33. 🌙 Aemma V 🌙 [memories of childhood--both hers and rhaenyra's, both good and bad. reflecting on the father she lost while fearing the loss of her sister]

Chronological order based on chapter contents [though it is not intended to be read this way]:

3. ⚡ Daemon I ⚡ 1. ☀️ Rhaenyra I ☀️ 2. 🌥️ Baelon I 🌥️ 10. 🌙 Aemma I 🌙 5. 🌥️ Baelon II 🌥️ 4. ⚡ Daemon II ⚡ 8. ⚡ Daemon III ⚡ 12. ☀️ Rhaenyra IV ☀️ 15. 🌥️ Baelon IV 🌥️ 18. ⚡ Daemon V ⚡ 24. ⚡ Daemon VII ⚡ 19. ⚡ Daemon VI ⚡ 20. ☀️ Rhaenyra VI ☀️ 21. ☀️ Rhaenyra VII ☀️ 26. ☀️ Rhaenyra IX ☀️ 30. ☀️ Rhaenyra X ☀️ 22. ☀️ Rhaenyra VIII ☀️ 27. 🌙 Aemma III 🌙 23. 🌥️ Baelon VI 🌥️ 28. 🌙 Aemma IV 🌙 [FIRST HALF] 25. 🌥️ Baelon VII 🌥️ 11. 🌙 Aemma II 🌙 14. ⚡ Daemon IV ⚡ 29. ⚡ Daemon VIII ⚡ 17. 🦁 Tymond I 🦁 13. ☀️ Rhaenyra V ☀️ 16. 🌥️ Baelon V 🌥️ 28. 🌙 Aemma IV 🌙 [SECOND HALF] 31. 🦤 Viserys I 🦤 33. 🌙 Aemma V 🌙 32. ⚡ Daemon IX ⚡ 6. ☀️ Rhaenyra II ☀️ 9. 🌥️ Baelon III 🌥️ 7. ☀️ Rhaenyra III ☀️

[last updated at chapter 34!]

Events by chapter [will i keep this updated? UNLIKELY.]

Chapter One: Rhaenyra POV

Present time in this chapter is 113/114AC when she gives birth to Aenys.

Look back on 98AC, through to 112/113AC when she is proposed to and married.

Chapter Two: Baelon POV

Present time in this chapter is 112AC, telling Viserys and Aemma of their engagement.

Look back on 98AC when Rhaenyra arrived in King’s Landing and the years that followed.

Chapter Three: Daemon POV

Present time in this chapter is 114AC, weeks after Aenys is born.

Flashbacks are labeled and include: 98AC, 100AC, and 103AC.

Chapter Four: Daemon POV

All present time, 114AC.

Chapter Five: Baelon POV

Present time unclear.

Flashbacks to 113AC / conceiving Aenys [two months after marriage]

122AC / conceiving forth child.

Chapter Six: Rhaenyra POV

Present time, 116AC - twins are conceived with Daemon & Baelon has operation.

Flashbacks: 114AC, confiding in Daemon.

114/115AC, adventures in conceiving Rhaegar.

Chapter Seven: Rhaenyra POV

All present time, 125AC

Chapter Eight: Daemon POV

Follows chapter four, all present time, 114AC.

Chapter Nine: Baelon POV

Present time, 116AC days post Baelon's operation.

+flashbacks

Chapter Ten: Aemma POV

Present time (?) Focus on Rhaenyra's wedding, 113AC

Chapter Eleven: Aemma POV

Present time 114AC

to clarify events [the days are not exact, but for reference of how much time passed]: Aenys is 60ish days old when Daemon returns to KL Aenys is 70-84ish days old when Viserys & gang visit Aenys is 114-ish days old when Rhaenyra visits Dragonstone.

Chapter Eight:

#baelon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targeryan #fanfic #angie writes #timeline #no one will care about this but i wanted to make it ok

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