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imaginedanvrs · 25 days

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when the world stands still

part 1 l masterlist

natasha romanoff x reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explosions, manipulation, coercion, descriptions of stage 4 cancer, character death, grief

“I don’t like her,” Natasha said to her friend freely from where they sat at the bar, the Russian’s eyes focused on the woman in question.

“I know,” Wanda replied, glancing briefly at the small crowd gathered on the opposite side of the room. “She seems better than Ross though.” Natasha scoffed lightly.

“Doubtful. If he practically gave her his old job then they’ve got to have the same agenda,” Natasha theorised. “Doesn’t this worry you?” She asked, turning to the younger redhead with a furrowed brow. She had more reason for concern than the Russian did.

“Of course, but it’s nothing that we can control or even have a say in. It’s best if we just try and stay on her good side,” Wanda explained. “I doubt we’ll ever see a Secretary of State that actually likes the Avengers. They don’t like what they can’t control.” The mentor didn’t respond, still examining the newest political figure Tony had invited to his party, most likely having the same thinking as Wanda.

“Krasnyy,” Wanda muttered. “Don’t give her reason to make things difficult for us,” she said with a slight plea.

“I’ll play nice,” the older woman assured with a teasing smile that didn’t help put the Sokovian’s mind at ease. She hummed and followed Natasha’s gaze to where it had travelled to the spacious balcony outside. There were few people scattered around on the other side of the closed doors to keep out the evening autumn breeze that proved to be too much for most of the guests. They retreated back into the warmth, leaving you to stand alone.

“You don’t like her wife either?” Wanda queried.

“Fiance,” Natasha corrected. “Of two years,” she added with a knowing smirk over the tip of her glass.

“Spreading gossip about them is the last thing you should be doing,” Wanda scolded lightly before taking her own sly glance in your direction. Your back was to the party, the city beyond captivating your attention instead. You had dutifully shown your face by your partner’s side at the start of the party but apparently hadn’t felt the need to mingle like most did at such an event. “Two years?” Wanda asked as though it only just clicked. Natasha chuckled with a small nod. “Well I suppose they must be quite busy.”

“Too busy for a lot of things I bet,” Natasha continued.

“Tasha,” Wanda warned again, unable to hide her smile this time. “It’s my turn to escape early,” she said as she stood up. The brunette had a mission early the following morning, a card Natasha had been able to play at the last few events. It wasn’t that either of them disliked Stark’s parties, they were infamous for a reason, but nights like that one didn’t compare when there was a clear political motive and the heroes were paraded around like trophies that could perform tricks.

“Tell me what I miss when I’m back,” she said, leaving the spy to her own devices at the bar where her attention soon flickered back to you.

Play nice, she reminded herself as she started towards the balcony. You didn’t turn around when the door opened behind you, taking another drag from the glowing cigarette as your gaze remained fixed on the night life below.

“I’m glad someone can admit how tedious these events can be,” Natasha called out, putting several paces between you as she leant over the railing next to you. You glanced her way in acknowledgment but gave no indicator if you were pleased or irritated by the company.

“This is the third one this week,” you told her simply.

“Just don’t laugh too much at the unfunny jokes or they won't leave you alone,” Natasha advised. “Oh and pretend you don’t find them incredibly irritating,” she added. You took another steady drag as you eyed the Avenger, unsure what her angle was with you. Most of the guests at such parties that approached you on your own just wanted some gossip about your personal life. Vultures.

“Is that what you do?” A genuine smile crept through Natasha’s strategic features that you apparently saw through better than most.

“And find the right people to pass the time with. I suppose your fiance is preoccupied though,” the redhead stated as she peered back at the party. You didn’t reply, nor did you show any interest in what you were missing behind you. “If you can stick it through, it gets better once people get drunk,” the spy continued, set on getting some kind of reaction or exchange from you.

“They’ve got the right idea,” you muttered as you crushed the cigarette but under your heel and finally peered back at the party. Your fiance was still immersed in conversation with Steve, one of the few heroes that was willing to converse with her for so long. Natasha’s eyes twinkled in a way she knew Wanda would disapprove of. Regardless, she opened an invitation to you.

“Not many people know this, but I’m a pretty great mixologist,” she told you. You considered her for a moment before turning back to the party you had no interest in attending. Might as well enjoy the free drinks, it’s the only perk this new lifestyle seems to come with.

“Screw it, why not,” you shrugged, allowing the Avenger to lead the way back inside and to the edge of the bar where she and Wanda had sat, out of the way of the main events. “How often does Stark throw these events?” You asked as Natasha began pouring from bottles you didn’t know the names of.

“Not as much as people think,” she told you. “And there’s usually less people.”

“Is it better that way?” You asked out of your own sheer curiosity.

“Much,” Natasha admitted. You had to give her credit for her honesty. “Events like this just feel like a show.”

“For my fiance?”

“Who else?” The redhead placed a martini glass on the bar and pushed it gently towards her. You thanked her and briefly glanced back in the direction of the main party, seeing the guest of honour still mingling with Steve. “Now that bit isn’t an act. They’re talking shop because he’s the only one who can make it seem so harmless at these events,” Natasha continued.

She didn’t stop there. As the evening became night, the redhead analysed everyone in the room to you as she continued to push more drinks. You weren’t entirely sure why she was doing it, but it did make the event more interesting to know the unkept secrets about some of the other guests who had appeared. It was also helpful. The gist of it was, none of them were as powerful, generous or influential as they believed themselves to be.

Though as enlightening as Natasha’s tale’s were, you couldn’t sit at the bar and listen to her all night, as reminded to you when midnight came around as indicated by the chime. The Avenger was about to pour from another bottle when you stopped it all, the content smile remaining on her imperfect features.

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath.

The world obeyed.

You examined Natasha for a moment, noting the lonely stillness that had fallen over her features and that of everyone else's in the world and briefly wondered if it would ever stop feeling so isolating. You couldn’t ponder on it, even if you did quite literally have all the time in the world, because you had a job to do.

Begrudgingly, you stood up from the bar stool and leisurely made your way across the grande room with a slight intoxicated sway to your step, passing by every statue without a second glance. You always felt guilty when you saw all their oblivious faces.

You had never uttered that magic word after a drink before and you could feel yourself having less of a control over keeping everything still than you usually did. You were playing a dangerous game, resuming everything too soon could have endless consequences that you weren’t planning on exploring. She certainly wouldn’t be happy.

More than that, you had never performed the task on a building with such impressive technology either. What if you were finally caught? It couldn’t have worse outcomes than the only other time you had been found out. For you. Someone else would pay that price though and you weren’t ready to deal with the debt that would follow, ironic for someone with your abilities.

Even though you had tried your best to memorise the route to the control room prior, you still found yourself getting lost numerous times on the way. It didn’t help that such a large tower only had two sets of stairwells for you to use because Stark apparently had too much faith in his building's ability not to catch on fire and render the elevators useless. You couldn’t use them yourself, having to be sure that everything was left in place when you resumed the world.

Finally, you found the main control room and didn’t waste any time placing the small chip under the nearest surface. It was hard to believe what it was supposedly capable of, but you had no doubt that their plan was flawless, it always was.

Just like that, your work was done and you returned to the party, feeling far heavier than you had when you left from the guilt that was already weighing on your shoulders. It wasn’t the first time you had done something like that, but you were sure this deed was going to have a worse impact than any of the prior ventures.

You let go of your hold on the world’s time so that the chaos could resume. The midnight chime ended and was replaced with another sound, one that was far grander.

The explosion shook the building, startling every guest that looked to each other for solace and guidance with terrified expressions. Alarms blared, people screamed, orders were yelled from the building’s AI and heroes. “Stay here,” Natasha ordered as you painted your features with the same fear that everyone else carried.

“But Cecilia-” you started, because anyone would be first concerned about their lover, right? Amidst the chaos, you really couldn’t see her.

“Wait!” Natasha repeated, springing over the bar and starting down the hall you had come from as the AI reported where the explosion had started. Steve rushed off after her, then Tony, then a few others. Then the next alert came.

“Security breach within the mainframe!” The robotic voice alerted.

You were so focused on watching the crowd panicking around you that you didn’t even notice the presence behind you until her body crashed into yours, supposedly to embrace you in a blaze of panic and relief. “Are you okay?” Your fiance asked as she examined your features carefully, playing the role without fault.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you told her, staring long enough into her features to give the nonverbal answer she was looking for. She hardly needed it, the scenes unfolding around you were evident that you had done as she instructed.

“Good,” she exhaled, pulling you flush against her into a tight hug that gave her enough cover to whisper into your ear. “Good girl,” she praised, maintaining that fake worry as she pulled away. You felt sick. People were crying around you. God, you hoped no one was hurt.

The situation was handled with impressive ease and it wasn’t long before everyone was being evacuated from the tower. Despite yourself, as you followed the crowd out of the building, your arm protectively around your fiance’s waist, your eyes drifted back in hopes of catching a glimpse of the redhead that had entertained you for the last stretch of the party. Part of you actually wanted to thank her for making the tension you had been feeling lessen, but that couldn’t happen, so you carried on.

The moment you were in the car together with the driver speeding off to your home, Cecilia was on the phone to her team. “Did you get it?” You didn’t hear the response, you didn’t want to know. Still, her chuckle told you it had. They had hacked the Avengers and retrieved whatever files they were looking for. You weren’t sure which ones, all you knew was that you had been able to damage the controls enough to provide a window for them to enter and take what they pleased.

“I don’t know what you’re looking so down about,” Cecilia sniped when a silence fell over the vehicle. “You know the deal, your sister gets more treatment now,” she said simply.

Yeah, she will. That’s all that matters. You nodded. “Thank you,” you muttered. “Can I see her?” You asked, hoping you could make a stop to visit her before you were taken back to the house.

“She’s already in surgery,” she told you with a smile. You returned it politely, willing yourself not to argue that that meant you really should have been taken to where she was so that you could wait for her, so that you could be there in case… Fuck, you didn’t even know she needed another surgery. They never told you anything.

You fought back tears, adamant that you wouldn’t show weakness in front of her, especially when she was on a power trip of success. She had the job, she had the files, she had you. To her, everything was working out perfectly. To you, it was all falling apart.

“What files were accessed?” Tony asked, feeling an uncertainty arise within his chest. No one had ever hacked him before. No one had ever successfully attacked the base. What was worse, there were still no answers as to how it had been done. He sighed, running his hand through his hair as he gazed at the monitor that offered no comfort.

“Just under half of all existing documents. Displaying now.” Files streamed onto the screen on cue, all ranging in dates and topics.

“Anything?” Steve and Natasha entered his space cautiously, knowing that the billionaire was stuck in his own head that was no doubt flooded with anxiety.

“No, keep the tower shut to all other personnel until we know for sure that there are no more bombs.”

“They’re already gotten what they want,” Steve said.

“We can’t know that for sure,” Natasha input, leaning over to examine the different documents that were presented and trying to pinpoint any recurring themes or patterns. “We don’t even know who they are.”

Gently, you ran your fingers over the skin where your sister’s hair should have been. You always used to do that when she was sick, from her fevers as a baby to the start of her diagnosis, you were always there to provide her with whatever comfort you could. Getting her the medical help she needed had been a long, greying, journey that you had never for one moment considered might not lead to the destination you wanted. It had been difficult for you both, but you had never dared let her in on what you had done to get her there.

It wasn’t a hospital by any means, yet the equipment they carried in the building was far superior. There was a team of professionals that were so highly trained in their respective fields, you had to wonder how much they were being paid to treat your sister and the other unknown patients. It was certainly money that you had never handed them, but you had worked for it. It wasn’t the personnel that had drawn you to the facility, it was the medicine they used. It wasn’t from Earth.

You had seen first hand the miracles that occurred on the hostile city streets, the last place anyone would expect to find them. Sicknesses being rid of, disabilities being lessened, burdens released from those who could never have afforded lesser help from elsewhere. All they had to pay with was their services. Thieves, thugs, gangs, dealers, the skills that flourished in the city’s underbelly were revived and given the chance to be used in ways they never could have imagined.

Once those rumours fell on your ears, you thought you had found the solution to your problems and that if you gave yourself to the ones pulling the strings behind the curtain, you could save your sister's life. Even as you gazed down at her pale features, you refused to believe your efforts were in vain.

Footsteps broke you from your trance as they thudded into your space. You knew who it was, she had a habit of interrupting what little time you had with your sister, as though she was genuinely jealous that your attention was on someone else. Cecilia was hardly in love with you and your relationship was purely for the convenience of getting you access to restricted events and places, but her possession was fierce. She was adamant on knowing where you were at all times and who you were with, preferably being the one to send you to those specific places. You kept to the diet and workout plan she set for you and never let you sleep in a different bed to her. You didn’t understand her insistent dictatorship over your life that was already in her hands, you just knew to obey it.

You didn’t react when she pressed a kiss to your neck and snaked her hands around your waist to peer over your shoulder at your sister. She didn’t comment on her declining condition, instead, she brought up the absolute last thing on your mind. “I’ve finally decided on a venue,” she informed lightly, humming into your neck. You could have slapped her. You didn’t want to think about the goddamn wedding. “You’re gonna love it,” she added when you remained silent.

“Can you ask the doctors what they’re gonna do next?” You asked. They never told you, too busy to make conversation with someone that didn’t matter to them. You felt your fiance exhale against your skin. She was frustrated, as though your little sister’s cancer was an inconvenience.

“She’s dying,” she said bluntly. You stiffened and hoped she didn’t notice. You weren’t in the mood for a fight.

“Not yet.” Cecilia kept her hands on your waist as she moved around to your front, placing a fresh kiss to your cheek that you refused to let be stained with tears in front of her.

“I love that stubbornness,” she told you with a small smile. “There’s so much fight in that heart of yours,” she added, trailing her finger over your chest to where your organ was thumping. “So much strength.” Her hands threaded around your neck. “It’s why you’re my favourite,” Cecilia said fondly, kissing you once more before finally leaving you be.

Your sister died a week later.

The only comfort you were able to take from it was that you were by her side when she took her final breath. You were there to tell her that she didn’t have to hang on for you, that she could rest, go be with mum and dad, be without pain. You told her that you would be okay on your own, even though you knew you wouldn’t. You held her hand and felt her give a final squeeze of recognition, of comfort. Her silent goodbye.

Just like that, you were left alone.

Your sobs could have been heard throughout the entire building. You were inconsolable, grasping onto your little sister’s lifeless body like it would keep her around. You begged for her to take you with her, to let you join them and come home. You begged for an ending. You cried so much your throat felt as though it had been ripped out, torn to shreds from the source. They only intervene when you tried to draw out your time with her.

“St-” you couldn’t complete the desperate command because hundreds of volts were sent through your body. You convulsed and collapsed to the floor in a defeated heap, unwilling to ever get up again. What was the point if you didn’t have her to fight for?

“Shh, it’s okay,” Cecilia cooed as she pulled the taser clips from your back and pulled your head into her lap. She cradled you, offering her solace for something that never concerned her. She was probably happy your sister was gone. She finally had you all to yourself, even if you were hardly present. “We’ll make it better. You’ll do your best work without the distraction, get you training more.” You weren’t listening, too engaged with setting your eyes on the opposite wall. You didn’t care for her plans for you.

“She never would have died if you had been given more help,” she explained, catching your attention. “But no one cared, not the government, not the people, not the Avengers. They just kept you away from us until it was too late.” You didn’t entirely believe what your fiance was telling you, but your mind was so fractured you were desperate for some kind of explanation and someone to blame.

“Humanity cannot be trusted with its own freedom. We fail time and time again because we aren’t led in the way we should be, the way we can be. Help us change that, y/n.” Dutifully, you sat up and nodded.

“We’re the only ones that looked after you and we’re the only ones that ever will,” she explained. That was true. You had no more foundations or life beyond the commands you were given. No one else could give you a future.

“What do you say?” Cecilia asked. You moved to kneel in front of her, features dead straight and eyes as dull as your sister’s behind you.

“Hail Hydra.”

#natasha romanoff #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha x reader #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines

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heliads · 30 days

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Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme: kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect.

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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greeenchrysanthemums · 5 months

Note

I’d love to hear anything you’ve got about Pearl from your gg rivals au! Super interesting concept, I’ve been loving the asks you’ve answered so far

Oh, yes! I've been dying to talk about Pearl. She is extremely important to the plot, as well as a favorite of mine.

GG Pearl is a mercenary of sorts. She does whatever you ask of her for the right price, including murder if it is within her skill range. However, most of her jobs include acting as a bodyguard, helping repair buildings, spying for information, things to that affect. It is rare that she has to take a life, but not unheard of.

She never had much of a family growing up, having lost them to war and disease before the memory of their faces could even form properly in her mind. The only lifelong companion she ever had was her dog, Tilly. It was her and Tilly against the world for the longest time.

She is one of very few people who knew Grian when he was a kid. They clicked immediately and were as thick as thieves before he abruptly disappeared when they were barely teenagers, and she was left alone all over again. She only met him again once the resistance was in full swing. It was how she learned he was even still alive, the descriptions of him were too similar to be a coincidence.

She wanted nothing more than to be bitter at him for leaving her without an explanation, to blow up at him and make him feel as hurt as she had been all those years ago, but the second he offered her a place in the resistance, she caved and agreed. She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

She occasionally skips town for the odd job or another, so she isn't always around. She comes and goes as she pleases and has no real position in the resistance. She just helps where she can. She can't help but feel like an outsider because of it.

Now, you see, Pearl is very curious and nosey by nature. She can't help getting herself involved in things that do not concern her. So, naturally, she had to go see what the deal was with her friends so called "rival".

And how did she do this? By breaking into the castle, of course. Well, not all the way in. She planted herself right on the wall of the training grounds and waited. Gem tried to attack her at first, but Pearl said she just wanted to watch and that made her hesitate. Gem was skeptical and warry, but somehow Pearl's innocent smile was enough to make her let her stay. And so, stay and watch Pearl did.

Her little break-in only served to make her more curious, though, so Pearl showed up every day at the same time to watch Gem train. It became part of both of their routines. Soon, they began to talk during these afternoons together and formed a quick friendship. Pearl never told Gem much about herself, only the odd story from her travels/childhood, and Gem never pried.

Pearl never intended to befriend Gem, it just sort of happened. Now she is stuck between two worlds, unsure of what to do. She loves Gem, thinks of her as her best friend, but she's loyal to Grian on grounds of their history together. She tries to tell herself that it's just curiosity that keeps her going back to that stone wall, but it's a flimsy lie at best.

Grian thinks she only goes to Gem to get information. Impulse and Scott think she is just a girl from town who Gem befriended (though Scott has the sinking feeling he's seen her before...).

Pearl isn't sure how long she can keep up either of the facades she has built up: an uncaring informant, and a harmless town girl. Neither of them are who Pearl is, but she's afraid that letting either one go would result in her losing either Grian or Gem. She couldn't handle either of those, no matter how much she tries to tell herself she could.

#pearlescentmoon #geminitay #GG rivals au #hermitcraft #life series #shiny duo #pearl's indecision WILL cause problems down the line #they may even have a “you don't want to do this” moment....#also i apologise i know the common headcannon is that pearl and grian are related but I much prefer them as friends #particularly in this au #GG asks

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givemea-dam-break · 5 months

Text

daughters of the evening

⭒⭒⭒⭒ in which luke’s descent from good may be found.

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!

warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.

She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.

She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.

It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.

⭒⭒

“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”

“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”

Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”

Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.

Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.

A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”

“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”

Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”

“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”

The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.

They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together.

This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.

Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.

Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers.

“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”

Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”

(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.

“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”

His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.

“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”

She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.

But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.

Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.

They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”

(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.

But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was.

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.

She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.

The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.

She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet.

The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.

Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.

His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.

It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.

The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.

But the source of the power lay further afield.

A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.

“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said.

“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.

His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?

There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.

“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.

She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.

“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”

There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”

The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.

(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.

“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”

It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.

“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”

The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.

“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”

She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.

And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.

“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”

He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”

But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.

“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”

There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”

And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.

The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.

Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.

The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.

She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.

But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest.

Even Luke faltered.

A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning.

She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.

With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.

The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.

An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.

Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.

A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.

For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.

Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.

Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.

There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.

She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.

A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.

He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.

“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.

Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.

He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.

There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.

“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”

He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.

She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.

Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.

“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.

His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.

“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”

(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.

“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”

His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.

“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”

She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.

“Anything you make is better,” he said.

“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.

His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.

He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.

“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”

A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”

She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.

“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”

“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”

His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

All three, she thought. All three and so much more.

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided.

Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.

“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.

A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.

The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.

“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”

She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest.

He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better.

“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”

But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?

“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”

His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.

She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.

“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”

It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.

She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.

This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.

It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.

Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.

And with it came anger.

Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.

But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.

He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.

This was a breaking point.

It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.

The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.

He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.

#givemea-dam-break #luke castellan x reader #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #fanfiction #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo fanfiction

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wrongplacerighttime · 6 months

Text

right where you left me

hi!! this one was…..a lot. it’s heartbreaking and angsty and sad…however (!!!) has a happy ending and i had the BEST time writing it. i think i went through 8,000 emotions in the process.

tw: smut!!!, mentions of alcohol use, sad harry, sad fmc, post-break up, mentions death of parent(s), the very taboo subject of cheating (please if this is not something you're comfortable with don't read this. i write for me and others who like these things, however I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable, but i enjoyed writing this and I hope others do too!!), (as always lemme know if i missed any)

wc: ………..13k.......IM SORRY. I thought about splitting it up into two or three parts but couldn't find a good place to split it up. so instead you just get one loonnnngggg fic lmaooo

this is my first time attempting to write something from third person POV. please let me know what you think and if you read this entire self indulgent story then i love youuuu so much. 🩷

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 𖥸· ─────── · ·

BRYAR

The silence of the apartment rings through Bryar’s ears. She wipes the tears staining her cheeks and stands from the bed, padding through the hallway to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, squinting as she does, her gaze travels to meet her own eyes in the mirror. Her eyes are sensitive from laying in the dark, and the crying she's been doing for the past four days doesn't help her appearance either. Sighing, her breath feeling heavy in her lungs, she tosses around the idea of finally taking a shower while staring at her disheveled hair.

The memory of checking the time is already gone from her mind but she remembers that it’s late. She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment longer. Eyes trailing from the circles under them up to her messy hair on top of her head. Part of her mind is contemplating whether or not she should’ve left the only man she’s ever loved. The other part of her mind knows she needed to because he never changed, nothing ever changed like he promised it would. However, she knew she would never love anyone that intensely ever again. Her eyes meet her own once more, and she lets her mind wander to the moment it all came to its tumultuous end

—

Bryar is standing in the middle of Harry’s apartment, her bag packed and hanging from her shoulder. She was dressed in the same outfit she waited all night for him in, the one she had carefully planned out for this day, the day he promised that he would be entirely hers, no interruptions. It was her birthday, after all. They were supposed to go to dinner. She waited all day for him at his place. He never showed. Never texted. Never called. She knew it would happen. It happened a lot recently. Things used to be so different. It never used to be this way. She never had to beg him for his attention before.

She knew he’d be coming home any second. It was late… a few minutes after midnight, the usual time he would come home from the bar he went to with his friends. The reservation they had at a restaurant in town was long forgotten. She called to cancel it after he didn’t come home. She didn’t move from her spot in front of the door. Not even when she heard the keys jingling in the lock. He swung the door open, his phone to his ear and laughing loudly at whoever he was speaking to on the other end. He was looking towards the floor, but when he noticed her there, with the bag hanging from her shoulder and the animosity behind her eyes, he stopped talking. Stopped everything. He didn’t even say goodbye to his friend, just hung up and put his phone away into his pocket.

“Bry, what are you doing?” He asked, confused. She scoffs, shaking her head and looking away from him into the apartment she knew she would be seeing for the last time.

“You forgot. Again.” she crosses her arms over her chest, biting the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly. He looks at her for a moment…taking in her appearance, the way she was dressed…then he realizes. His eyes grow wide and he shakes his head slightly.

“Baby…I am so sorry. We were supposed to go out tonight. It must have slipped my mind, I’ve been so—” She cuts him off.

“You’ve been so busy. Yeah, I know. That’s what you say every fucking time, Harry.” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m sorry. I just need to leave.” She puts her hands out in front of her, not wanting him to come closer to her.

“Okay…I understand." He says, not necessarily wanting to let her go when she feels this way. However, he understands that she's upset and doesn't want to be around him. "Do you want to do something tomorrow instead, it’s Saturday and—” Again, she doesn’t let him finish.

“No, Harry. I’m leaving you.” She sneers and he visibly flinches at her words. He shakes his head again.

“W-what?” He stutters, his eyes growing wider as he takes a step towards her. She ducks around him to the door, and he grabs her arm, forcing her to spin around and face him. Her eyes are angry and filled with tears, hating how her body betrays her like this when she’s upset.

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s been this way for a while, H. We make plans and you forget. I don’t know what’s more important than me but—” It’s his turn to interrupt her now.

“Nothing is more important to me than you.” His tone was firm, and he meant it. To him, he was telling nothing but the truth. He looks down at her, searching her eyes. He grabs her chin between his thumb and index finger and she jerks away from his touch. A look of hurt crosses his features as she steps back, putting distance between them. He had never intended for this to happen. He doesn’t even know how he allowed something this important to slip his mind. She had never shied away from him like this, never dodged his touch like it would burn her if he got too close.

“It doesn’t seem like it.” she whispers. “It’s my birthday, and you forgot.” Her voice trembles with the words.

“Bryar. Baby, please. Don’t do this. I’m sorry, so unbelievably sorry.” He falls to his knees in front of her, capturing her hands between his own. “Don’t leave. I know this is unforgivable, but please don’t leave.” he begs, literally on his knees for her, his voice quieter and full of more pain than she’s ever heard. She resists the urge to pull her hands away from him, wanting nothing more than for his touch to be comforting like it used to be, but now it just feels dirty.

“Harry…please.” She whispers, begging him to let her go. He looks up at her, his eyes flit around her face. He brings her hands to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, shaking his head once, eyes brimming with tears.

“I’ll change. I can change.” He stammers, and she shakes her head, swallowing the knot forming in her throat.

“I want to believe you…but I can’t sit around and wait for you to change anymore.” She gives him a somber look, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as well. “I really wanted this to work. I just don’t think it’s going to.” She turns her back to him, walking towards the door of his apartment. She doesn’t look back. If she looks back she knows she’ll run to him and apologize for even thinking about leaving him.

Once in the hallway, she leans against the door, sobbing quietly into her hands, knowing this was for the best…but realizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. On the other side of the door, Harry leans his forehead against the wood, his shoulders shaking from the sobs wracking his body. He stood from the floor and ran towards her as she left, but the door slamming in his face kept him from running after her. It all ended so quickly. He didn’t expect any of it, didn’t expect his entire future to collapse with the slam of the door.

—

Bryar shakes her head as if the memory will crumble and the pieces will become lost in the corners of her mind. She shoves it behind the metaphorical door, the one she reserved for the memories of him. She sniffles once and walks to the shower, turning the knob to a temperature that will hopefully wash away the bad memory. Standing under the shower head, she lets the water run over her face, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall. The amount of energy it sucks from her is tenfold. Quickly washing her hair and body, she rinses the suds away and steps out, wrapping the towel tightly as the cold air comes rushing in and creates goosebumps on her skin. She wishes that the memories of him could be washed away that easily, down the drain with the tears she shed for him.

Standing at the sink again, she glances up at the mirror. Her appearance is…better. Still, her cheeks are hollow and the bags under her eyes are a deep shade of purple. She brushes her hair, her teeth, and throws a t-shirt over her head, one that smells like him, making her way back to her room. The bed still has a lingering heat from her body, the sheets soft on her clean skin. She pulls the comforter up to her nose and pulls her knees to her chest. Sighing, her eyes feel heavy, and she drifts to sleep, knowing her dreams will be filled with the memory of him, the future she always imagined with Harry nothing more than a failed plan.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better, though she had a feeling this pain would last a lifetime.

—

Four Years Later

It’s been nearly four years. Bryar has moved on…or so she likes to believe. She never thought trying to forget him would be this hard. She tells herself she doesn’t think about Harry all that much anymore...but that’s the biggest lie of the century. She still sees his face on every passerby on the street, she’s convinced she smells his cologne everywhere. She plays pretend, pushing the memories of him away, locking them up behind a wall in her mind. If she continues to tell herself that she’s moved on, that she’s happy…maybe one day it’ll be the truth. The truth is that he fucked her up forever. Every corner of her apartment still reminds her of him, even after she tucked all the memories in a box and shoved it in the back of her closet.

“Baby, have you seen my tie?” Sam, her boyfriend, comes striding into the room. She sucks in a breath, his voice pulling her from her mind. She half smiles, and he pulls her to his chest in a tight hug. “You look stunning.” He whispers into her hair and she smiles. Sam has been there for her for the past two years, giving her a hope she didn’t realize she needed. They met at work, and from there the rest is really history.

“Sorry, no. I haven’t seen it.” She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing and breathing in his cologne. She turns back towards the mirror, pushing an earring into her ear and smoothing her dress with her hands. “I’m pretty much ready though, I can help you look.” She leans her back against his chest, staring at him through the mirror as he runs his hands down her arms. They have an invitation to attend the wedding of a couple of Bryar’s friends. It’s been awhile, and she hadn’t seen Celia since right after Christmas a couple of years ago when she brought Derek home to meet her friends and family. Life got busy, Bryar got a new job, Celia moved across the country, and things just never seemed to work out when they came to town. Luckily, Derek agreed on a wedding close to Celia’s hometown, and when Bryar got the invitation she was over the moon.

Bryar walked out of the bedroom and through the hallway and to the living room, searching every surface in between for Sam’s tie, her eyebrows knitting together when she can’t find it, either. She swore she had seen it on the coffee table. She kneels on the floor, peeking under the couch. Perhaps it fell onto the floor and got kicked under there. She spots the shade of maroon that matches her dress, reaching under, saving it from the dust bunnies living under there. The light catches something when she moves the tie and she squints, only able to make out the shape of a square. She reaches under again, feeling around for the object and when her fingers graze the cool surface, she slides it out. The back of a polaroid picture stares back at her, and she’s not really sure where it came from.

She flips it over, her breath catching in her throat. Looking back at her from the little square, is Harry. He’s laughing and sticking his tongue out, and she is in the picture too. Laughing with her eyes squeezed shut, head leaned over on Harry’s shoulder. They looked so happy. She brings her hand to her mouth in surprise and she just stares at the picture. The memory of the night it was taken comes flooding back to her, hitting her like a sucker punch that steals the breath from her lungs.

—

SIX YEARS AGO

The cheap bottle of white wine on the table had just a sliver left in it. Bryar’s glass was nearing empty and Harry’s was still half full from the first pour. He had abandoned it about an hour ago for something stronger, he said.

They were sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, a vinyl spinning quietly on the record player across the room. Harry stands, making his way towards the shelf to switch it out for something different. Bryar watches as he crosses the room, bringing his glass to her lips and claiming it as hers.

“Why are we even sitting on the floor?” She asks, slightly slurring her words while a laugh escapes into her glass. She looks around, the room spinning slightly, effects of the entire bottle of wine she drank hitting her almost all at once. Harry looks at her over his shoulder, smirking.

“I don’t know. I think we were going to do a puzzle or something and then we started talking and forgot.” He mutters, looking through the old records to play trying to choose one he thought she would be in the mood to listen to. Bryar had pulled out an old photo album, the one that somehow survived the fire that her parents did not. She told him memories from her childhood, ones that were clear and the ones that were a bit fuzzy around the edges. She was beginning to forget the way her mother’s voice sounded and the way her dad’s hand felt in hers, his scars she would run her fingers over while her little brain would ask how he got them. Harry finally chooses a record and smiles to himself, carefully putting it on the turntable and setting the needle to the eighth song on the track list. He saw the longing in her eyes when she spoke of them, wishing he could take her pain and wrap it in barbed wire so it couldn’t escape and hurt her any longer. Bryar hears the opening notes of the song from the guitar playing through the speakers. She smiles at him and narrows her eyes.

“Really?” She asks as he saunters back over to her.

“What? Don’t wanna listen to Dan Fogelberg?” He teases and she shakes her head.

“Not that. Just funny that you picked this song.” She states as he sits down next to her again on the floor. She listens as the lyrics of the song Longer play through the speakers. He tilts his head, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of her apartment. He waits for her to tell him more. “It was my parents' wedding song, that’s all.” she shrugs and he pulls her into his side. She sighs, leaning over on his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head.

“Maybe it could be our wedding song one day, too.” He mumbles against her hair and she smiles. “I wish I could’ve met them.” He whispers to her.

“Maybe.” she whispers back. “I wish you could have met them, too.” She says, her mind beginning to go down the road of “what-ifs”.

Harry reaches forward, opening the drawer of the coffee table and rummaging through her things that have collected in the drawer over time, little trinkets and pens and post-it notes. Bryar giggles while watching him, and he reaches further into the drawer and pulls out her old polaroid camera.

“Wanna take a picture?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows and she laughs.

“I’d love to but that thing is probably dead and the film probably isn’t any good.” She grumbles. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I used it.”

“Well let’s see…” He mutters, flipping the switch on the top. The light turns green and he glances up at her, smirking. He brings it up to his face, looking through the viewfinder. “Smile.” He says in a singsong tone. Bryar gives him a cheesy smile, and the flash goes off with a click of the button. The camera spits out a square film and Harry pulls it out and sets it on the table. She leans her head on his shoulder again, sighing. He holds the camera out in front of them, and starts singing the lyrics to the song playing in a silky voice, trying to imitate Dan Fogelberg and this makes her laugh. She falls into a fit of giggles from his singing and the amount of alcohol she’s consumed, and he smiles, sticking his tongue out and snaps another picture, the moment they’re in right now permanently etched into time. Once her laughing subsides she looks up at him through her lashes. He brings his face down and touches his forehead to hers.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you more.” He whispers back, kissing her softly.

—

“Bryar, did you find my tie?” Sam yells down the hall, pulling her from her memory. She wipes the single tear that fell down her cheek quickly before standing and tucking the picture into the coffee table drawer. She makes her way back to the bedroom, tie in hand. Sam is standing in front of the full length mirror, buttoning his white shirt. She holds it out, wiggling it in his face, his icy blue eyes narrow at her and he smirks.

“You’re amazing. Where was it?” He asks, plucking it from her hand and situating it around his neck.

“Under the couch. Must have fallen and gotten kicked under there.” She states while making her way to her closet to retrieve her shoes. Carrying them by the straps to the bed, she sits, crossing her leg to slip on the first and fasten it. She repeats the action with the other at the same moment Sam finishes tying his tie. She stands, walking across the room and grabbing his jacket. She stands behind him, holding it out for him to slide his arms in the sleeves. He smiles softly at her through the mirror.

“Ready?” he asks, spinning around on his heel and pulling her into him. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to meet hers. He kisses her softly, lightly ghosting his lips over hers. She smiles against his mouth, her nose brushing against his. She nods, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room before they don’t make it out the door.

The drive to the wedding venue isn’t long, but it’s not short either. She sits in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, his hand resting comfortably on her thigh that’s exposed from the slit in her dress. The radio is playing quietly, the silence between them comfortable. She watches the scenery out the window, thinking of her parents and admiring the beginning of the leaves changing colors. Autumn was always her mothers favorite season. Celia picked the perfect time to get married, like Bryar knew she would. Celia was a bit of a perfectionist, in the best way. Bryar was sure she must have researched when the trees would be at their peak vibrancy for the most perfect fall wedding, and autumn has had always held significance to Bryar since losing her mom, feeling her presence with her the most during this time of year.

“Bry?” Sam says her name while clearing his throat, pulling her from her thoughts for the second time today. She turns her head towards him, watching as he keeps his eyes on the road. Her heart squeezes a little every time he calls her by the same nickname that Harry always did. She never had the heart to ask him to call her anything else. It is just a nickname, after all. However, it never sounds quite right coming from between Sam’s lips.

“Hm?” She hums, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He squeezes her thigh in response.

“I love you.” He says, tilting his head towards her and glancing at her for a quick second. He smiles, and she smiles back, dropping her gaze to their hands together. She hadn’t told him about her parent’s yet, the timing never felt right. She makes a mental note to talk to him about it soon.

“I love you.” She says quietly, returning her gaze to the window. Does she? If she loved him her mind wouldn't keep drifting to her past and comparing him to Harry. She would open up to him more, right? It's not that she doesn't trust him, he just seems to brush her off sometimes. She feels guilty.

“Something on your mind? You’re awfully quiet.” He teases her, she shakes her head.

“No. Just admiring the view.” She reassures him.

The rest of the drive is quiet. They pull down a long gravel road towards the extravagant wedding venue. Bryar’s mouth drops open and her eyes widen when she realizes how big the building actually is. She looked up pictures, of course. However, the pictures didn’t do this place justice. The windows are tall, glass, floor-to-ceiling and framed in black. The bright white walls stand out against the red and orange and yellow trees surrounding it. It’s evening, the sun setting in the distance creating a perfect golden hue over the property. Sam pulls the car into a parking spot and quickly steps out, striding to Bryar’s side and opening her door for her. He reaches his hand down for her to take for balance as her heels meet the uneven gravel. She grabs it, swinging her legs out of the car and standing, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress down. They walk into the venue, arms linked together. The ceremony doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, but they’re serving champagne. Bryar and Sam make their way to the bar, grabbing two glasses, she looks upward taking in the high vaulted ceilings along the way. After they secure two glasses in their hands, she spots a group of people she knows across the room and they make their way over to them.

They mingle with her friends, ones she hasn’t seen in quite some time. She introduces Sam to them, and the men fall into conversations of sports teams and work while the women are talking about the books they’re reading recently or the shows they’ve been watching. Some talk of work, what the next fiscal year will bring their companies and how successful they were throughout this year. Bryar smiles, sipping from her glass while watching Sam get along with the people she used all to spend all of her time with.

Out of no where, the air in the room shifts, making Bryar feel uneasy. She’s not quite sure why this feeling suddenly hit her, maybe the open doors are bringing in a chill. She looks around, eyes flitting across the room at the groups of people mingling, spotting Celia’s mother and they lock eyes. Bryar gives her a smile and a small wave, making plans to go and speak to her. Glancing around again, she quickly catches what appears to be a head of brown curls that she’s all too familiar with and her stomach drops. Before she can confirm if it really is who she thinks it is, they disappear around a corner and are out of her sight.

It couldn’t be him, right? These were her friends, not his. He didn’t really know Celia that well, right? Celia wouldn't have invited him knowing Bryar's history with him, would she?

She feels a hand on the small of her back, snapping her from her panic. She turns her head to see Sam standing beside her. Her eyes soften and she forces a smile onto her face, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Two lines form between his eyebrows as he pulls them together, concerned.

“Hey, are you okay? You look pale, like you saw a ghost.” He asks, leaning down to whisper into her ear. She pulls back, looking him in the eyes again and nodding once.

“Yeah…I’m fine.” She lies. She would know Harry anywhere. Even out of all the people she’s mistaken for him on the street, she figured out quickly it was never him. But she knew that was him. She had memorized the way his hair laid on his head and the way he moved through a room ten times over. It was etched into her memory. Her eyes flit across the room once more, feeling the anxiety and dread creeping into the pit of her stomach. Sam’s voice pulls her back down to earth for the second time in less than five minutes. She has got to get it together.

“I think it’s time for us to find our seats.” Sam mutters under his breath and Bryar nods again, tipping her glass up and downing the rest of her champagne. Her eyes scan the crowd, looking for Harry again, just to be sure...but there’s so many people and she’s not any taller than Sam, who can see over most of the crowd himself. She chews on the inside of her lip, the metallic taste of her own blood touching her tongue. She mentally curses herself, tearing the skin from between her teeth and trying to remind herself to not do it again.

Sam finds a seat right in the middle of the row of chairs a little further back, they could see the altar from here and not have to worry about being in anyone’s way. Bryar’s heart beats quickly in her chest, feeling her body temperature rise as she searches the room.

It wasn’t this hot before, was it?

Her heart stops, her breathing stops, her vision goes blurry. It’s as if her chest has caved in on her. Because there, across the room with someone that’s the complete opposite of her, is Harry.

She can’t tear her gaze away. It's a cruel form of self sabotage, wanting to look away but forcing herself to watch the way he leans into her and whispers in her ear. The woman's head turns to look at him and she’s smiling, and it gives away the one thing she didn’t want to accept, because Bryar used to look at him exactly the same way. They aren’t just friends, he brought her with him as his date. Bryar tears her eyes from the unknown girl and her breath catches in her throat when she looks at Harry. He’s changed. His face is broader, more defined with a hint of stubble growing. He’s grinning down at his date, before planting a small kiss to her temple and Bryar feels her heart breaking. The room is too hot. She feels dizzy. She stands abruptly, looking down at Sam, who’s looking up at her with confusion for what feels like the hundredth time since they left the apartment.

She has to get out of here, preferably before her lunch ends up on the floor in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I have to…I need to…” She can’t seem to get the words out. “Bathroom.” Is all she successfully says. She doesn’t wait for him to reply. She steps around other people in the row, and when she’s free from the confines of the chairs, she practically breaks out into a sprint. She quickly covers her mouth, feeling the nausea setting in before she’s thrown into another memory of Harry.

—

SIX YEARS AGO

The streetlights cast shadows around the darkened room, the rain pattering on the window. Harry’s hand trails down Bryar’s exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She sighs with content, her eyes drifting closed. She would stay like this forever if she could…she’d give up everything to be here with him always. He was her forever. She knew that. He knew that, too. He never wanted to be anywhere else.

“Hey…” he whispers, trying to get her attention. Her eyes flutter open, the exhaustion showing on her face, but the good kind. She smiles tiredly at him. He brings his hand up, brushing the strands of auburn hair out of her face and running the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Her heart feels like it’s bursting with love for him and can’t hold any more than it already does. However, every day, he does something to prove that she somehow can love him more than the day before. He smiles, tracing over every feature of her face with his gaze. There was nothing that could make her stop loving him, she knows that.

“I really love you, you know?” She says, and his grin widens. Trailing his hand to the back of her neck, he pulls her closer to him, their bodies meshing together like they were made only for each other. He fists her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling slightly to tilt her head upwards to him. He captures her lips with his, kissing her in a way that makes her belly do somersaults, the butterflies feeling more like a stampede. She could never get used to the way he kisses her. Always like it’ll be the last. He pulls away and brings his forehead to hers, nudging his nose against hers.

“I love you.” He says, looking into her eyes the best he can being so close. “You’re it for me, Bry. You’ll always be.” She blushes, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. He turns his head slightly, kissing her temple with such gentleness it makes her heart flutter. “My sweet girl.” He mutters against her skin. His hand runs down her hair flowing behind her on the bed, twisting a strand around his finger before she feels herself slipping into sleep.

“Stay with me forever?” She whispers, so quietly she’s not even sure he heard, not even sure she spoke it...maybe she only thought it in her tired mind. Her consciousness drifting slowly, sleep threatening to pull her under.

And for a moment, he pauses. He wanted nothing more than to spend forever with her. He would cross every ocean if it meant he had her always. He feels her muscles relax, her breathing beginning to steady. He’s sure she’s asleep. He’s careful not to wake her. He closes his eyes, preparing to fall asleep as well as he squeezes her against him, trying somehow to get her closer. She feels him, all of him, his warmth consumes her. Somewhere in the distance she hears him, just barely.

“Forever.” he whispers back to her.

—

Bryar shoves her way into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her. She grasps the marble countertop, the cold surface stinging her hands and bringing her back to reality. Her breathing is sharp, stinging her lungs with every breath. She quickly makes her way into a stall, bracing against the wall for support, convinced she was going to empty her stomach contents in a matter of seconds. She still feels dizzy. It wasn’t Bryar beside him, and it never would be her again. She leans against the wall of the bathroom, the cool tile soothing her rising body temperature. She feels clammy, sweat forming at her hairline.

This was the worst possible outcome. She wasn’t expecting him to be here at all, not even a warning from Celia. She can’t go back out there. She can’t watch him dote on the girl he brought. Can’t watch him kiss her temple like he used to do with her, the one gesture he reserved for her and only her, the one that used to make her heart soar, the one smallest gesture just happened to be the one that Bryar has felt homesick for since the day she left. She only has a few minutes before the ceremony starts. She can’t miss Celia walking down the aisle or she’ll never forgive herself.

She straightens, taking in a long breath before drawing it back out. She goes back out to the mirror, staring at herself. Her chest is blotchy from the anxiety she’s feeling. The nervousness takes over, but she pushes through it. Her hands are shaky as she reaches for the door handle.

Bryar makes her way back to her seat by Sam. He cocks an eyebrow at her and she smiles nervously. As she sits he turns his body towards her.

“Seriously Bry, what is going on?” He asks, concern lacing his question. She waves her hand at him, dismissing him.

“Just the champagne hitting me I think.” She lies and Sam doesn’t believe her for a second. Something is going on, something he doesn’t know about. His eyes search the room but he doesn’t see anyone familiar. He watches her, she keeps her gaze towards the floor, picking nervously at her nails and his eyes narrow. She glances up and across the room. He discreetly follows her eyes, looking the same direction and seeing a man sitting with his girlfriend. He doesn’t recognize them, but it’s obvious to him that Bryar does. He makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

Bryar is having what can only be described as an existential crisis. But there’s no time for that. The large doors in front of the aisle open, and the wedding party starts to make their way to the front of the room. The chatter around the room dies down, withering to nothing as the music begins to play. Bryar turns her head to watch as they walk, thankful that she doesn’t have to look forward and watch Harry anymore.

—

HARRY

Harry and Xena make their way to find seats to watch the ceremony. He decided at the last minute to ask her to attend this wedding with him. They had only been on a few dates. They met at the bar he frequents with his friends. The same friends that encouraged him to ask her out. Encouraged him to finally move on. Bryar wasn’t coming back.

He and Xena have got on quite well so far. He enjoyed her company, more than he liked to admit. She wasn’t Bryar though, and he knows it’s unfair to compare them. She didn’t deserve that. So he tries his hardest to push Bryar to the back of his mind.

“I’m so nervous to meet your friends.” Xena leans in, whispering in his ear. He pulls back and smiles at her. She looks up at him through her lashes and it kills him, the way she looks at him like that. His grin grows wider and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“You’ll do great.” He whispers encouraging words in her ear, pressing his lips to her temple as his eyes close. He does it out of habit, a small gesture to ease her nerves. For a brief moment, his mind flashes to her, his Bryar. His eyes open and he’s pulled right back into reality when he sees Xena’s blonde hair. A reality he’s forced to accept. He sighs, running his free hand down his own face.

After a few moments, he hears the doors open signaling that the bridal party would be making their way in any second. He turns his head to watch behind him as the wedding party makes their way to the altar. His eyes search around the room, eager to place familiar faces to introduce Xena to after the ceremony. He catches the movement of all too familiar auburn hair. He barely catches a look at the side of her face before he can’t see anything but the back of her head. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs under his breath.

He can’t believe she’s here. In the same room as him for the first time in four long years. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew she would be. Celia is one of her best friends. Harry’s eyes widen slightly when he realizes she’s not alone. Her head turns a little and he can see more of her face again. She perches her fingers under her chin, gazing at the man beside her and smiling. His heart drops to his stomach. He remembers that look all too well. She used to look at him that way. He tries to look away but he can’t, his memories catching up to him.

—

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Harry was nervous for a date, and this was the first time he ever recalled feeling this way. He had just met this girl, Bryar, at a coffee shop a couple of days ago and she was absolutely stunning and she captivated him with her words from the moment she spoke to him. He would’ve been a fool to not ask her out after the conversation they had. He was surprised she had even agreed. They exchanged numbers, and agreed to meet at a sushi restaurant downtown.

He admired the way she spoke. The way she got a little too excited about something in their short conversation, they way her cheeks flush in embarrassment when she realized she was rambling to a stranger. He asked her out right then. No way he was going to pass up the opportunity.

The walk to the restaurant is short, but it feels eternal because he’s so nervous. When the sign comes into view, he sees her standing there. Hugging her body for warmth in the cold winter air. He picks up his pace, speed walking towards her so she doesn't have to wait any longer for him. When he approaches, their eyes meet and she smiles widely.

“Hi!” She says almost like she didn’t believe he was standing in front of her.

“You didn’t have to wait outside for me.” He states, a small laugh escaping between his words. She shrugs.

“It’s okay. It’s just a little chilly.” She reassures and he smiles at her, walking towards the door side by side. He holds it open for her, and he hears her hum when the warm air inside envelopes them. They were seated and once the first date awkwardness subsided, they stayed there most of the night. Talking about anything they could think of.

He talked about his job, she talked about her dreams and ambitions, she was in her final year of college and how excited she was to be finished with her Master’s degree. What childhood pets they had. Where he was originally from (hence the accent) and why he moved to the States. They shared childhood stories of friends and siblings and parents. Everything laid out on the table, figuratively speaking. The more she spoke the more he admired her. She had her hand under her chin and watched him speak, a smile creeping up on her face at the way he articulated his words and thoughts.

The waiter approached the table and informed them the restaurant would be closing soon, and both of them looked at each other with wide eyes, Bryar bursting out into a fit of laughter. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard in such a long time.

“I don’t really want this to end.” She admitted, catching him by surprise with her honesty. He was thinking the same, too nervous to say it.

“It doesn’t have to.” He says, his eyes meeting hers. She tucked her lips into their mouth, suppressing a smile. He signed the check and they stood, walking towards the door.

He wasn’t expecting it, the way she grabbed his hand and laced her fingers between his. He hesitates for a moment before closing his hand around hers and he feels his heart already swelling for this girl. Bryar. He knew, in that moment, that she was going to fuck him up forever. Having just met, his heart already belonged to her, and that was dangerous...and for some reason, he didn’t care.

They were inseparable after that.

—

Harry feels a hand slide into his, snapping him out of his memory. Xena has her head tilted to the side, worried.

“Where did you go just now?” She whispers, and he shakes his head.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” He reassures her. But was he fine? Bryar was right there. He’d been dreaming for another chance to speak to her. His breathing picks up, and he turns away. He can’t keep looking in that direction because all he was doing was staring at her. He had to get out of here, fast. He fists the material of his dress pants, turning to face the front of the room instead. He couldn’t leave yet even though he wanted to. He couldn't run off and steal the moment away from Celia. The attention would be on him and the last thing he wanted was for Bryar to see him, if she hadn’t already.

So he faces the front, breathing rapidly through his nose. Hoping to not draw attention to himself. Xena places her hand on his knee, and he closes his eyes.

He was so fucked.

—

BRYAR

She looks over at Sam with adoration, trying to keep her breathing at an even pace. She knew if she glanced to the left she would see Harry, and that made her anxious. The flower girl was walking down the aisle shyly, and everyone was cooing and smiling at her. Bryar kept her eyes trained on the doors as they shut, preparing for Celia to walk through them for her grand entrance.

The doors open and everybody stands. There Celia stands with her dad by her side. She looks ethereal. Bryar feels tears brimming her eyes and she swipes at them before they can fall down her cheeks.

But now she has to turn and face him again and she’s not sure what will happen when she does. Her mind races, ultimately unable to avoid turning around. She looks up at where Derek stands, and sees that he’s swiping at his own eyes, seeing the love of his life walking towards him filling him with unspeakable emotion.

Bryar’s eyes flit over to Harry. His back is facing her, but his plus one is still turned to watch Celia. Bryar’s eyes meet hers for a brief moment and she holds her breath. Surely Harry has told her about Bryar, the girl who broke his world. His heart. The girl smiles at Bryar and Bryar forces herself to smile back, a passive smile. Of course, this girl never did anything to her. She didn’t even know who she was, never seeing her before this moment.

The officiant speaking causes their gaze to break, Bryar averting her eyes forward. She tried to focus on the words, but her mind is still racing. Sam rests his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. She peeks over at him, and he leans in to whisper in her ear.

“I can’t wait for this to be us one day.” He says, nudging her once with his nose and kissing right beside her ear. She smiles, but her heart constricts behind her ribs. They had talked about their future together before, briefly. Bryar preferred to live in the moment after Harry. With Harry she was always looking forward instead of in moment, and she realizes that’s where most of her disappointments lie. In the future. The future is not predictable.

The ceremony lasts all of 30 minutes, and then the guests are dismissed to the ballroom for cocktail hour while the newlyweds and their wedding party take pictures together. Sam guides Bryar through the doors, a hand on her back so she knows he’s right behind her. The ballroom is decorated from floor to ceiling, flowers hanging out of vases and spilling into the table in beautiful arrangements. Bryar finds hers and Sam’s names at a table with the same friends they spoke to at the beginning of the evening. Sam leaves her to go to the bar and get drinks for the table.

Bryar engages in conversation as best as she can. They are talking about something that’s out of her realm and only adds when she feels it’s appropriate. Sam is walking towards them, carrying six drinks somehow and she finds herself giggling at how he’s able to carry three cups in one hand. He raises his eyebrows at her, blowing out a breath. He hands them out, holding them until the respective person takes it and then sits Bryar’s in front of her last.

“Thank you.” She says and he leans down, pecking her lips.

—

HARRY

Harry grabs Xena's hand, his fingers lacing with hers as they make their way into the ballroom, the lights from the ceiling twinkling and reflecting on the windows. They find their table, seated with a few people Harry knows and he pulls Xena’s chair out for her to sit.

“Drink?” He asks, running a hand through his hair and she nods.

“Just something light for now.” She requests and he nods, his hand lingering on her chair as he walks away. He waits in line behind a slightly taller man with dark black hair. The man turns to look over his shoulder and Harry recognizes him as the one that Bryar is here with. His eyes narrow, a bit of jealousy fueling his mind, but he shakes it away. Someone comes up behind Harry, navigating around him and getting the attention of the man in front of him.

“Sam! Hey man. I didn’t know you knew Celia and Derek.” The man takes Sam’s hand in his, shaking it, obviously someone he knew as an acquaintance. Sam smiles a little.

“Oh, I don’t really. I’m here with my girlfriend. They’re more her friends than mine.” Sam informs the stranger and he nods.

“Oh right, Bryar. Tell her I said hello.” The man responds and Sam nods. Harry looks down at the floor, kicking the toe of his shoe against the hardwood. He bites his cheek hearing her name. Sam and the unnamed man part ways after a bit of conversation, promising to catch up later in the evening after the ceremony. The line moves forward and Harry listens as Sam orders drinks for what seems to be his entire table.

“…and then I need vodka cranberry.” He finishes the order on Bryar’s drink. Harry would know, he’d ordered that for her at least a hundred times, the only other drink she enjoyed besides the cheap white wine from the grocery store. He looks to the side, his eyes narrowing, the jealousy bubbling up in his chest.

“Forgot to make it a double.” Harry mutters under his breath, and to his surprise Sam turns around. She never orders a single shot. Ever.

“What?” Sam asks, cocking his eyebrow and Harry looks over at him, shrugging.

“Didn’t say anything.” He shakes his head once, denying that he said anything. Sam looks at him for another moment, like he’s trying to place where he’s seen him before, before turning back around to the bartender. A second later, Sam is juggling all six drinks in his hand and nodding once at Harry before finding a path to his table. Harry orders for himself and then for Xena, dropping a tip in the jar and winding around chairs and tables back to her.

He slides into his chair, sipping on his beer and his mind slips into a memory.

—

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Bryar leans over the table, pool stick in hand and aiming at the cue ball directing it to the eight ball on the table. If she sinks it she wins. Harry stands behind her, a hand protectively resting on her back. Last thing he needs is someone looking at his girl with their drunken eyes trailing up her body. Not that he would blame them for looking, but his jealousy doesn’t let them get away with it if he catches them. Her hips shift slightly against his hand and he smirks.

Watching her intently, he admires the way her hair falls over her shoulder and tucked behind her ear, the tip of her tongue sticking out a little in concentration. She takes the shot, and sinks the eight ball, winning the game with ease. She straightens, jumping a little and turning to face him. The excitement in her eyes makes them twinkle and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to hers to kiss him.

“I won.” She grins, giggling a little and he pecks her lips again.

“You won, baby.” He mutters against her lips, pulling her a little closer to him.

“Get a room, you two.” Celia groans beside them and Bryar snickers, turning her head to face Celia and sticking her tongue out. Her temple touches against Harry’s chin and he dips a little lower to plant a small kiss there.

“Want a drink?” Harry asks, lips still pressed lightly to her skin and she nods.

“Vodka cranberry, remember to make it a do—” She starts to say, but Harry cuts her off.

“A double. I know. How you always want it.” He smirks, backing away from her before he turns away and makes his way towards the bar. He orders, looking over his shoulder at her while the bartender prepares their drinks. She’s already taking on her next victim in a game of pool, probably going to wipe the floor with them like the last unfortunate soul. There’s only one thought in his mind as he watches her, bent over the table to break.

He would marry her one day.

—

“Right, Harry?” his friend, Zack, asks from across the table. Harry blinks once, Zack raises an eyebrow waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention. Something on my mind.” He mutters, looking anywhere but at anyone at the table.

“Um…okay.” Zack says, turning back to the conversation.

The reception starts and the speeches and toasts to the bride and groom are all a blur. Harry doesn’t even get up to eat. He hasn’t really spoken to Xena and she hasn’t prodded him for answers either. The only thoughts racing through his mind were of Bryar. He just wanted to speak to her, he’d give up everything right now to be able to talk to her.

—

BRYAR & HARRY

Bryar and Sam are standing at a cocktail table outside of the reception area. Sam has been talking to them all night and Bryar tunes most of the conversation out, standing with one arm crossed over her middle and holding a plastic cup to her lips, chewing on the lip of it lightly. She’s leaning her head against Sam, eyes growing tired.

She turns her head for a brief moment, glancing around the room. Her eyes find Harry across the room, and it’s just become a habit as the night goes on. Her heart develops an ache that is so strong, she can’t believe how much seeing him has affected her. She lets her eyes linger on him a moment longer…what a mistake that was.

His eyes shift towards her, and their eyes meet.

She sucks in a breath, and she sees him swallow. It’s as if the entire world stops, everything and everyone in the room fades into the background, and it’s as if the only two in the room are Bryar and Harry. She wants nothing more than to run to him, throw her arms around him and sob into his shoulder, apologizing for leaving, for hurting him the way she did…but her feet are cemented to the floor. She knows she can’t. She loves Sam, and Sam loves her. As fucked up as it sounds, she feels like it doesn’t even matter because the only person she wants to love is Harry.

Her heart longs for him. She craves the way he used to say her name, the way he used to kiss her temple to calm her and remind her that he was right at her side, always. He stays where he is, his arm wrapped loosely around Xena’s waist and it pulls at her heart, constricting it in her ribcage. Harry can’t tear his eyes away and neither can Bryar.

He just wants to storm over to her and kiss her in front of the entire room. He doesn’t care about the consequences. He wants to grab her and tell her he doesn’t blame her for any of it. He wants to tell her that she’s still it for him, and he doesn’t expect her to come running back and give him another chance but he’ll always be waiting for her anyway. Seeing her tonight has only reminded him how much he's longed for her. But for whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to take that first step..

—

Four Years Ago

“...I just don’t think it’s going to.” Bryar says, her voice trembling on the words, she turns to walk away, and Harry brings himself to his feet, preparing to stop her from walking out the door. He doesn’t make it in time though, the breeze from the door slamming blowing back in his face. He feels the pang in his chest, the closing of the door making him accept quickly that this was real and she was gone. He leans his head against the hard wood of the door, allowing the tears to flow freely down his cheeks. They don’t stop, not even when the sobs take over his body, shaking and unable to breathe.

He’s not sure how long he’s been there. He doesn’t remember what time he even came home. At some point he turned his back to the door and slid down to the floor, staring at nothing. He finally blinks, turning his head and catching the time on the clock in the kitchen. Five A.M.

She had to come back, right? They were good together, she didn’t mean it. She was just upset. He would let her cool off for a couple days, and then he would try to talk to her. He pushes his body off the floor, muscles aching and screaming from leaning against the door all night.

He trudged down the hallway to his bed. It's unnervingly cold, the source of its usual warmth not present. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept without her. How could he sleep if she wasn’t there running her fingers down the expanse of his back, bringing her body closer to him for him to hold.

He tries to sleep, tossing and turning relentlessly for over an hour. When he’s had enough, he rises from the bed and decides to make a cup of coffee. The pang in his chest never goes away. His eyes feel sandy and he can’t fully open them. He stirs a little bit of milk into the mug, his motions slow and lethargic.

He turns memories over in his mind, combing through them to find the moment when everything started going south. Obviously, missing Bryars birthday was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final nail in the coffin. He didn’t realize that she’d been unhappy, it seems, for a while. She never gave him any hint, they hadn’t really had a fight in what feels like so long. But isn’t that when he should have noticed? Was she tired of fighting him? Fighting for him?

He needs to see her. Needs to apologize. He’ll never stop apologizing, if that’s what it takes. He throws on his jacket and grabs his keys, leaving his apartment without a second thought. He doesn’t think of anything but Bryar on the way over to hers. She’ll answer the door. She has to, right? She was just upset, maybe she’s having second thoughts this morning.

He pulls up, throwing the car in park and practically jumping out before it stops moving. He sprints to her door, bringing his fist up to knock, but he pauses. He doesn’t hear her moving around inside. It’s silent. Was her car even in the parking lot? He steps back, looking around the wall to the lot and spots her car in its usual spot. Was she still sleeping? He finally knocks, waiting a few seconds for the sound of her footsteps coming to the door, except they don’t. He has a key, he could just go in. He fumbles his keyring around, mindlessly searching for the familiar blue key she had made for him not long after they started seeing each other, but it's not there. He doesn’t remember removing it, but maybe he did. He knocks again.

“Bry, baby please open the door.” He says, not yelling but loud enough for her to hear. There’s no answer back. No sound of her coming to him. Not the familiar turn of the deadbolt.

Nothing.

They can’t be over.

He was supposed to marry her. She was supposed to be forever.

He didn’t think forever was supposed to end this way.

—

Bryar is sure that someone has noticed them staring at each other by now, whether it be his date or Sam, yet she can’t seem to pull her gaze away. He nods his head to the side once, and it feels almost as if her heart was pulling towards him, trying to break free from the confines of her chest. His eyes flit across the room, and her gaze follows. She notices a hallway in his direct line of sight. When she looks back at him, he’s looking at her. Waiting.

Now she has the biggest dilemma. Does she stay at Sam’s side or does she finally after four long years get to hear Harry’s voice again? She’s frozen in place. Harry watches her, his eyes pleading with her to go and he’ll meet her there. He sees her apprehension. He knows what this would mean for her if she chanced being caught with him in the hallway.

She turns to Sam, looking up at him as he’s deep in conversation and it’s hard to make out the topic when her heart is beating so loudly it fills her ears. She watches him for a moment, thinking of every moment he was there for her, pulling her out of the darkness and giving her light whenever he couldn’t. She loves him.

But not in the way she loves Harry. Harry’s the only person who sees her for her. She doesn’t have to pretend around him. She doesn’t have to be something that she’s not. Never had to conform to please him, and she felt alive with Harry. She looks back across the room at him, he hasn't moved, his expression is one of longing. Pleading.

“Please.” She sees him mouth the word so clearly, begging her to give him any of her time. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath for the first time this evening, the air filling her lungs.

That was all it took.

Everything that happens next is a blur. She excuses herself to the restroom, slinking further away from the group. Her heart is racing, the closer that she gets to the hallway her palms start to sweat from the fists she has them clenched in. Once she’s behind the cover of the walls, she runs. Her dress is flowing behind her as she sprints, but it feels like she’s moving in slow motion, like she can’t get to him quickly enough. She rounds the corner and there he is, standing at the end and her vision betrays her from the tears brimming her lashes.

She doesn’t stop running, not until she reaches him. She flings her arms around his neck, burying her face between his collar and jaw. His arms wrap tightly around her waist and she breathes him in, the scent that’s lingered in her dreams every night since the last, and his arms feel like she’s finally home. He’s there, every part of him taking over her senses and it’s like she can finally breathe after drowning for so long. He lifts her feet off the floor, pushing her into a darkened room and closing the door behind them. She pulls away, looking at him…really looking at him for what feels like the first time, and she’s unable to stop the tears from running down her cheeks. He grabs her face, his eyes searching hers. He’s so close and it almost feels like she’s dreaming. She feels weightless, the room around her spinning.

“Bry…” Harry whispers, and it sounds so beautiful coming from him. She doesn’t waste any time. She grips the lapels of his jacket, forcefully bringing his mouth to hers and she melts. His hands find their way to her hips, gripping and pulling her closer to him. His body melds into hers, pushing her against the wall. His tongue brushes against her bottom lip, begging to let him in and she does without pause. They need each other. He pulls away, their breaths ragged and shaking, from the kiss or from just being in the other’s presence. His forehead rests on hers, and he’s just taking her in. All of her.

“I’m not going to be able to leave without you after this.” He admits without remorse, kissing the tip of her nose delicately.

“I don’t want you to.” She says in a hushed tone. She pauses for a moment, looking up at him and studying his features. “But H, I think we need to have a serious conversation. It’s been so long, we never talked about anything and I take full responsibility for that. I left you, and I never intended to. Never. I’ve regretted it every day since.” Her voice trembles, admitting how vulnerable she’s been. Her gaze falls to the floor, shaking her head. "I didn't think you wanted me anymore."

“Baby, it’s not your fault. I promise. I will always want you. I said you were it for me, and I meant it.” He grabs her face again, forcing her to look up at him. “I am so sorry, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.” He cards his fingers through her hair, the tips of his fingers ghosting down her spine making her shiver. “I love you, Bry, I always have. I never stopped.” His eyes trace over every feature of her face, soaking in everything he’s been missing.

“I don’t deserve for you to forgive me so easily.” She whispers, and he shakes his head.

“No. None of that.” He kisses her again, unable to control the desire to feel her mouth on his. She sighs into the kiss, and he feels his heart pulling itself back together. “If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it’s me. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’ll give you anything…anything you ask for. Please just don’t make me leave without you.” He says against her lips. She grabs his wrists, bringing his hands to her mouth and kisses his knuckles.

“Take me home.” she whispers and he grins, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the room and down the hall, away from all of the people. Somehow Harry finds a backdoor and they sneak away into the night, laughing and running through the wet grass with their hands intertwined while Bryar’s shoes are in his other hand. Her head is spinning from adrenaline and nervousness. They find Harry’s car and she jumps into the passenger seat, Harry in the driver’s seat. He leans over the console and pulls her face to his once more, kissing her with everything he has. They drive away from the venue, her stomach in knots. Then she feels Harry’s hand snake over to her thigh, drawing small circles on her skin with his finger.

The drive to his apartment feels shorter than the drive to the wedding earlier in the day. They waste no time, practically sprinting into the building and up the stairs. He fumbles his keys and once the door is open, he pulls her inside. She doesn’t get a chance to take it in before he’s pushing her against the wall and kissing her again and again and again. The kiss is sloppy and wet, his tongue dancing with hers and teeth clashing together. He lifts her by her thighs, her legs instinctively wrapping around his torso. He forces himself away from the kiss, both of them breathing heavily and fast.

“Need you Bry.” He mumbles, dropping his lips to her collarbone and kissing lightly. “Always fucking need you.” Her eyes flutter closed and she hums. He knew how to make her melt with just his words, never forgetting what brings her to her knees.

“My girl. My sweet girl.” His lips travel to her shoulder, light touches leaving goosebumps on her skin, her body reacting like it’s never forgotten him. His tongue darts out, licking a stripe up to her ear and his breathing becomes heavy against her skin.

“Taste as sweet as I remember.” His voice drops an octave and Bryar audibly moans, forgetting that his words have always had such an effect on her. He pulls back, giving her a mischievous grin. His eyes have darkened and she down at him still holding her against the wall, her appetite for him becoming insatiable. She unhooks her legs, signaling for him to let her back down. Once her feet touch the floor she’s pushing his jacket off, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Her movements are frantic and shaky, fingers slipping over the buttons struggling to open them.

“Fuck it.” She says, fisting his shirt and ripping it open, buttons scattering around the floor. Her mouth waters at the sight of him. She pushes him further into his apartment, he smirks down at her, walking backwards until his legs meet the edge of the couch and he sits. She climbs on top of him, knees straddling either side of his waist and her dress rides up and around her hips. His hands find her hips, grabbing and forcing her all the way down in his lap. She groans when she feels his hardened length pressed against her center. He moves her hips for her, creating a friction so sweet she can barely hold herself up.

“Been waiting so long for this.” He murmurs, running his hands from her thighs up the expanse of her body. He pulls at the string on the back of her dress, making it unravel and it falls off her shoulders exposing her breasts to him. He dips his head forward and flicks his tongue against her nipple, causing Bryar to throw her head back, a quiet whimper escaping her lips while grinding her hips against him still. She lifts her hips, dropping her hands to the button on his pants. He lifts his hips slightly, allowing her space to pull his pants down just enough. She palms him through the thin material still covering him and he drops his head back with a loud groan.

“Need you so bad Har.” She whines, and that sets him off. He wraps an arm around her, picking her up and standing in one swift motion, carrying her to his bedroom. He lays her down gently, climbing on the bed to hover over her, his knee spreading her legs apart.

“Where do you need me, sweet girl?” He teases her by running a hand lightly up her thigh, trailing it back down. She sighs, grabbing his hand and putting him right where she wants him.

“Right fucking here.” she says through gritted teeth. His smirk grows wider, knowing she didn’t want to be teased. She’d gone without his touch for so long she felt starved. He pushes the lace covering her to the side, his finger swirling around her hole and the arousal that was already pooled there. Her eyes flutter closed and he watches her, studying her face as he slides his finger up, tracing small circles on her clit. She gasps, mouth dropping open, he inserts his finger to the knuckle and has her writhing beneath him. He thrusts his finger, hooking and finding just the right spot with ease. Her hips thrust upwards and he pushes in another, stretching her out and making her squirm under him.

“Being such a good girl for me, Bry. Always my good girl.” His voice is deep and he’s practically drooling watching her come undone from something as simple as this.

“Need more.” she begs between breaths.

“More?” His voice is low and gravelly as he kneels down, but he never takes his eyes off her. His fingers work her open slowly, her hips moving at a rhythm that matches his thrusts. She whines and cries and begs for more. “He never touched you like this, did he? So needy for something so simple.” he teases her, but she doesn’t want to think about Sam. Not right now. Even though he’s right, Sam never made her feel this way and she knows it. Harry can tell, the way her body is reacting to him makes it obvious she’s needed this for quite some time. He takes his fingers away from her and her breath leaves her lungs. She feels empty and the burning in her belly only heightens. The emptiness doesn’t last long, he brings his tongue to her dripping hole and licking all the way to her clit, flicking when he gets there. Her fingers tangle in his hair and he works his tongue on her clit while he brings his fingers back into play, pushing them into her. She feels the coil in her belly tighten, knowing that she’s about to let go.

“Shit, H. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—” she stutters out, her sentence breaking with a strained moan, and he works his fingers faster, lapping at her swollen bud. He shifts and stands over her, watching her unravel from just his fingers. He bends over, bringing his mouth to her ear and his warm breath tickling her skin.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you on my fingers, sweet girl.” he coos in her ear, his soft words are all it takes for the coil to snap and she’s clenching around his fingers, the ecstasy flowing through her.

“So pretty.” he murmurs as he watches her face contort into an expression of pleasure from above her. He brings his fingers up to her mouth, instructing her to open, and she does without question, tasting herself on him. He strips the rest of his clothes off, her mouth drooling at the sight of his cock finally springing free. A sight she’s been so desperate to see. He positions himself over her, tugging himself a few times before lining up with her.

He drags the tip of his cock down her folds once, collecting her arousal before he finally pushes into her, and its bliss. His chin drops to meet his chest, watching the way she takes him before throwing his head back again as he slowly works his entire length into her.

“Fuck, Bryar. Missed this. Missed you so much.” He grunts as he bottoms out and she writhes under him, her mouth hanging open from the overwhelming pleasure taking over her body. “S’like you were fucking made for me.” He stills for a moment, lowering himself so he can kiss her. She whimpers and whines into his mouth, grabbing his face with her hands not allowing him to pull away from her. She grinds her hips up, pressing their bodies together to try and create some movement.

“Go, Har. Need you to move.” she begs against his mouth and he pecks her lips again, shaking his head.

“Wanna savor it. Wanna go slow, feel all of you, baby. Missed you so much. Need to remember this.” She throws her arm around the back of his neck, holding him close to her as he drops his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking and lapping at her skin. He pulls his cock all the way out to the tip before he slowly pushes back in, setting a slow, torturous pace. So slow that it’s almost cruel. Bryar stifles a needy moan trying not to make him rush, but she needs him. Needs the way he used to be with her. She wants it to feel like they never missed a beat.

“Harry, please.” she gasps out as his hips meet hers again. His lips brush against her ear.

“Thought you were my good girl?” He nipped at her ear, and she was growing frantic.

“A-am.” she stutters, tears pooling in her eyes. “Being so good, just missed you. Need you.” she says breathlessly. She feels herself finally slipping. Slipping into that headspace she had only ever been in with him, only one she ever felt comfortable enough with when she was with him. The tip of his nose runs against her jawline, too gentle with her. He knows what he’s doing, riling her up and making her needy. He knows what she wants…he wants it too, finding it hard to resist falling into the familiarity with her, like not a single second has passed since the last time.

“Har, this isn’t fair. You’re being mean.” she cries between shaky breaths, feeling the tears starting to run. He pulls back, looking at her face once and seeing her expression, hearing her say he was being unfair flips a switch in him. He takes her by surprise and slams his hips into hers, causing her vision to go white and her mouth falls open again. He’s going hard, harder than he ever has with her and her thighs tighten around his hips and he feels her clenching around him.

“This what you want? Huh?” He says through a snarl, his teeth clenched together behind his lips. “This fucking mean enough for you?” He curses under his breath, bringing his hands to her thighs and pushing her knees to her chest, creating a new angle that somehow gets him deeper. She moans and writhes and her thighs shake in his hands, but she hasn’t said another word.

“That’s what I thought.” he mutters, looking down and watching himself disappear inside her, his head tipped to the ceiling and his eyes rolling back. She wraps her hands around his biceps, digging her nails into his skin. He shifts his weight, bringing her thighs flush with his torso and her ankles by his head, he kisses her skin there, and his movements never falter.

“Look so pretty taking my cock like this, Bry.” He grunts, and she’s falling apart. She can’t hold in any longer and she comes undone, the pleasure pulsing through her veins. She goes limp under him and her legs falling from his shoulders, her body exhausted from being worked this way. Her arms fall over her eyes and quiet moans fall from her lips. Harry grabs her wrists, pulling her arms above her head and keeping them captive there. He holds them together in one hand as he bends to kiss her, snaking his other hand down her body that shakes beneath him. He just needs one more. Needs her to cum one more time. His fingers dance over her hip, tracing lightly to her sensitive clit. He pushes his thumb against it and her body jolts and she cries out.

“H-Harry, no. Can’t. Can’t do it. Hurts." She can barely get the words out as he draws small circles around the bud. She looks up at him with wide eyes, shaking her head and pleading with him.

“You can. Know you can.” he encourages her, feeling his resolve coming quickly. If he could just get one more from her, he’d let her be finished. He was just so desperate to feel her clenching around him one more time, he longed for the feeling for so long. He finally had her where he wants her and he’s not letting her be finished that easily. “You take me so well, just one more. Need to feel you one more time.” He kisses her temple as her head falls to the side…and her third comes not long after that, his fingers slowly petting over her clit makes it so easy and she cums hard. The moment he feels her tightening around him he lets go, his hips stuttering and her name falls from his lips over and over, his head dropping to her shoulder with heavy breaths.

They lay there like that for a moment, his weight on top of her as she lazily wraps her arms around the back of his neck. Their heartbeats are thundering in both of their chests, and he hums as her fingernails run over his shoulder. They’re both silent for what feels like too long, but finally Harry stands and he walks off to the bathroom, bringing back essentials to help her clean up. He goes to his closet, pulling out an old shirt for her to wear, one he’s seen her in countless times before. They settle in the bed, and he pulls her to his chest, breathing her in, and he feels complete. She feels at home. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

Bryar’s phone rings incessantly until it dies, and she can’t find it in her heart to care. The adrenaline that was coursing through her veins for the past few hours was finally fading, growing sleepy while wrapped up in Harry’s arms, and that’s all she ever really wanted. It was fate, seeing him tonight, and maybe she always knew in the back of her mind that they would find their way back to each other. She lifts her tired eyes to his face, from his tousled hair to the stubble growing over his chin. Smiling, she brings her hand up to his cheek. He opens one eye, peeking at her. She smiles shyly at him, and he smirks back.

“Hi.” She whispers and the smile on her face grows.

“Hi.” He whispers back, trailing his hand down her arm. He moves closer, kissing her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips. She closes her eyes, nuzzling closer to him and breathes out deep through her nose.

“I love you.” She mumbles.

“I love you, Bry.” He says into her hair, the familiar scent of strawberry filling his senses.

“Forever?” She asks for reassurance, even though she already knew the answer, her eyes falling closed, sleep consuming her mind.

“Forever.” She hears him say quietly before she falls asleep with his hand drawing shapes along her spine, the scene identical to ones they used to share countless times, many years ago. She feels comfort. She feels safe. And if you wanted to make the long story of their love short…for her, it was always going to be him, and for him, it would always be her.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 𖥸· ─────── · ·

taglist: @indierockgirrl (tagging you because you said you wanted to be tagged in everything and i just love you so much for that <3)

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x fmc #fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #smut #right where you left me #wrongplacerighttime #exes to lovers #normal!harry #normal!fmc #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles au

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ichoosechoasandbeingqueer · 2 years

Note

Hello again✨ how about some hc's about Thorin, Fili and Dwalin reactions with human reader that they like👀 she offered to climb a tree to check that they weren't followed when suddenly a branch breaks and falls into the arms of them princess style. Would also be nice if he tried to fix her hair and/or beard by the twigs without knowing the detail of how important her hair is 👌

First off, Thank you for your ask! Its so cute and I hope my writing does it justice! For anyone else who wants to submit an ask, check out my post here.

Before we get started, I made the reader from a made up town/culture so don't look to hard into it. Simply enjoy!

Warnings: None

Trees and confessions...

The howls were getting closer. Night after night the gluttonous cries of the beasts grew louder and more terrifying for the small group you traveled with, and while the eagles had giving you quite the head start, Azog was quickly catching up. The last two nights you had slept without the light of the fire in fear that your enemies would find you.

As it was, the group was hidden amount a large cluster of trees, hardly a forest but enough to keep you all out of the open and hidden away from unwanted eyes. The only problem? You couldn’t see your enemies either.

“We could always send Bilbo up a tree?” Kili suggested, his hand scratching at the stubble on his chin, “he is the lightest and it would keep our cover,”

While smart, Thorin practically growled at the suggestion. The King’s eyes glanced at the limping hobbit, his battle scars from the attack still apparent on his tiny form.

“Absolutely not!” The King spoke again, “I will not risk Bilbo doing any more damage to his ankle before it is properly healed. We are already traveling slower then we need to be,”

“I could scale it?” you offered, “I’m no hobbit but I’m lighter than any of you. Unless we want to see Gandalf try?”

The wizards sent you look that made the entire group snicker. You simply battered your eyelashes and smile innocently at your old friend.

“Off you go then, before I change you into a squirrel to help get you there,” he huffed, sparking another round of giggles and a quiet question of ‘can he really do that?’ from Kili.

Silently wondering the same question as the young dwarf, you dropped your coat to the side and pulled yourself on the first branch.

“Remember lass, quietly, less you give us up,” Thorin warned.

You hummed in agreement, reaching for the next branch, and then the branch after that. You were human, not much taller than Kili, but you were quick and agile. You had to be living with a wondering village off to the East of even the Lonely Mountain. Your descendants had once been settled between Erebor and the Iron Hills, forced to start traveling after the dragon descended and took away the towns most stable trading source. Now your people were scattered around Middle Earth in search of stability. A stability that you would provide to them when you helped the Dwarf’s take back their homeland.

You made it to the top of the tree without problem, seeing no sign of your hunters or their beasts they rode on. With your heart light and a smile on your lips you began to make your way back down, freezing at the sound of a cracking branch beneath you. You vaguely heard Thorin call up to you before you fell.

…

Thorin

The Dwarven King was on edge. So much had happened in the last week he could not wrap his head around it. Azog resurfacing. Their descent toward the elves. His growing feeling for a certain human. It was all too much, and he constantly felt himself gripping the hilt of his weapon in an ill attempt to keep himself on guard despite his wondering mind.

When the sound of snapping caught his ears he spun on his heel, his sword drawn and his eyes scanning the surrounding trees. When he caught the sound of your gasp and the small squeak that left your lips however, he called after you in question. The second snap sounded before you had a chance to reply and before he could blink, he raced forward to catch you in his arms, his sword left lying forgotten in the leaf litter.

You body came falling through the trees hard and fast, making his knees shake as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest before you could hit the ground. He stumbled for a moment, kneeling to the ground to sit you in his lap as his wide blue eyes scanned yours for answers to his unspoken questions. You held a few scrapes and cuts from the branches on your way down, but other than that you looked ok, nothing broken or bent, and he let out a breath of relief.

You had your eyes clenched shut and your hands wrapped around your mouth to hold back your scream, and he smiled at you attempt to heed his warning of quiet. It was something he loved about you, your devotion to others, though sometimes it scared him how far you were willing to risk yourself for those you care about. It was a trait that he also shared, and the reason he had softened his views towards you during the quest.

You were shaking in his arms and he couldn’t help but pull you in further, pressing his head to yours and whispering reassurance that you were ok. He was not a patient dwarf, but with you he always tried. It took a moment before your hands became steady, and he wrapped his thick fingers around yours with care.

“Thorin?” you questioned, your voice a hoarse whisper.

“Aye lass, you’re ok. Your safe,” he cooed, his fingers leaving yours and running through your hair to rid it of the leaves that had settled there.

“I’m sorry! I tried to be quiet and I-”

“Hush now, I know. You were quiet. You did good. Are you ok?”

You gave a nod, “I’m ok. I got to the top and couldn’t- Thorin, what are you doing?” you cut yourself off, freezing in his grip.

He ran his fingers through your hair a few more times before paused, looking down at your burning cheeks in question, “there are leaves in your hair,” he said like it the most obvious thing in the world.

“Le-leaves?”

“Leaves, branches. You came down rather hard. I would not be surprised if I pull out of bird or two,” he chuckled sending you one of his rare grins.

“My ha-hair. You’re touching my hair,”

The dwarf frowned slightly, realising that you were not still shaking with adrenalin, but because you were uncomfortable. He drew his hands back like you had burnt him.

“I- I, forgive me. I did not mean- I had no intentions to- I should have asked,”

“It’s fine,”

“Are you sure?” he glanced over you again. He was terrified he had upset you, but you made no attempt to move from his lap despite not being able to look at him, and that left him confused, “It obviously means something. To darrow, hair is important. It shows one another comfort or friendship to brush or braid. I thought it was this case with your kin as well. I did not mean to offend you or upset you in any way,”

“Oh no, its not that!” you quickly reassured him, the red still tainting your cheeks, “and hair is important to my culture as well, its just seen as… well more so a romantic gesture then a friendly one,”

It took a moment for Thorin to make the connection in his head, but when he did, he blushed furiously. His mouth fell open and he gasped rather like a fish out of water. There were a hundred things he wanted to say, to confess, yet he sat their unable to voice a single one. Your eyes, once curious were now full of hurt and… was that disappointment?

You cleared your throat and wiped your hands on your pants, “I’m going to get off your lap now,”

“Wait,” he blurted not wanting to waist such an opportune moment, his hand shooting out to stop you from leaving, “I would not be inclined to ah, repeat the action? If you would be accepting of course! That is to say I would like to court you, if you felt for me what I do for you…”

He cringed at his words, his mind so rushed in thoughts that he could not thing of anything more poetic. He felt his stomach churn and he wanted to hide his face in his hands until your voice spoke softly.

“You wish to court me?”

Your eyes were back on him and once again full of hope, so beautiful and deep he felt lost in them. Lost in daydreams and fantasies. Lost for words. Again, he sat there, his cheeks burning under his beard and his lips parting while nothing came out.

“Thorin?” you asked hesitantly, the pain starting to seek back into your features.

“Mahal, curse my useless tongue,” he muttered to himself. Giving up on words, he slid a hand around your waist pulling you against him and pressing his lips against yours in frustration and hope. He grinned against your lips as you kissed him back, wrapping your legs around his body to press closer to his chest. You both drew back breathless and smiling.

“I know we still have much to face. Mirkwood, the dragon-” Thorin went on again, his nerves back.

“Yes, Thorin,” you cut him off, kissing him again, “I want to be yours,”

“Then I am the luckiest dwarf in the world,”

You grinned and pressed your forehead against his, content to stay there in his arms as long as you could.

“Well that was the most awkward proposal I have ever witnessed,”

“Mahal it’s about time,”

“Get some uncle!”

Thorin heard the others around them and was tempted to shoo them all away, but he simply kissed you again, all his worries temporarily gone.

Dwalin

It was instinct, a force of nature, a reflex that he caught you as you came tumbling out of the branches with a cry. The burly warrior had kept his eyes on you the entire way up and back, his heart in his throat as your climbed so far away from him. From his protection.

He knew better than to think you were useless, you had been traveling around Middle Earth alone for years now, but he couldn’t help but to want to keep your safe, hovering where he wasn’t necessarily needed, but willing to help you with even the easiest of your jobs. The others would often tease him over the way his demeaner softened when you got near, or the way he would follow you around like a puppy on a leash, but strangely the comments didn’t bother him. He knew he had it bad for you, and he was happy to be by your side however he could.

Was he brave enough to admit the feelings he had towards you? Not a chance. But would be there for you regardless? Absolutely. That’s why he caught you with ease, wrapping his thick arms around you and pulling you against his chest with worried eyes.

“Lass, what happened? Are you alright?” he questioned in panic.

You blinked slowly, glancing up at the tree you were in then to the ground, then to Dwalin himself who was still holding you close. One moment you were calm, the next you were wrapping yourself around his shoulders, your body shaking and your fingers clawing at his jacket to hold on and burry your face into the crook of his neck, your panic catching up to you.

Dwalin let you cling onto him wherever you needed to feel calm again and he rubbed soothing circles into your back with his thick fingers. He stayed quiet, no sure what to say to help, be he never let go. After a moment of silence you stopped shaking, Dwalin’s presence calming you in a way no other could.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into his neck, the edge of his beard tickling your cheek as you looked up at him with watery eyes and the scarred old darrow couldn’t help but to melt at the sight.

Holding you up with one arm, he wiped away your tears with a gentle touch, “Hush now dove, none o’ that. Ya’ safe and sound,”

“Safe,” you mumbled back, digging your face deeper.

“What did you see?” Thorin interrupted impatiently, his fingers tapping against the handle of his sword.

Dwalin scoffed, “Give her a second there would ya?”

“We don’t have time,” he glared back, raising a brow to question his best warrior.

“There’s no one out there,” you muttered before they could start bickering, “and if they are, they’re not finding us tonight,”

Thorin gave a nod, giving orders to the dwarfs around you to set up camp for the night. You let out a sigh and wriggled out of your saviour’s grip, Dwalin putting you down carefully.

“Ya alright lass?”

“Yeah, thank you Dwalin. Don’t know what I’d do without you,” you mumbled that last part more to yourself but the dwarf chuckled and flushed red.

“Don’t have ta be without me. I’ll always be here ta keep ya safe,”

And almost to prove it, he reached up and softly pulled a branch from your hair. You gasped as his fingers brush your hair, and your heart pounded in your chest at the implication. Without a second though, your fingers laced around the collar of his tunic, pulling him in and kissing him.

Caught off guard, Dwalin’s eyes widened before fluttering closed, his body sinking into the sudden kiss. Disappointment weld in his chest when you pulled back to breath but you didn’t let go.

“You just kissed me,” he grinned, pink tinting his cheeks as he squinted at you in question.

You blinked, “Uh, yes. That is what you asked of me, was it not?”

“Asked of you… what?” He tilted his head in confusion, “I didn’t ask- that’s not to say I- It’s just-”

“You don’t wish to court me?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean- Mahal’s balls,”

You took a step away from him, embarrassment written across your face.

“Wait! Wait! I mean I do wish ta court ya, I have for a while now and I would do anything to get you to kiss me like that again. I just don’t understand how I asked ya,”

“Oh,” you frowned taking his words in, “ah, well… in my culture, to touch another’s hair is a rather intimate action. It’s something only lovers would do. When you touched my hair, I guess I jumped at the chance that you might adore me the way I do you,”

Dwalin smiled, a gentle and pure look, “Oh dove I do adore ya, more than ya could imagine,”

“Then kiss me again,”

“Aye, anything for my one,”

And kiss you he did.

Fili

When the first crack sounded, Fili thought it was his brother messing about. He grinned and spun around to smack him playfully when he realised that his brother had wondered off to help set up. When the second crack sounded and you gasped from somewhere above him, his heart froze in his chest as he realised what was happening.

He didn’t have time to call for help, to ask if you were ok, before he spotted your figure falling through the branches of the tree you had climbed. With every piece of strength Mahal had granted him in his creation, he shot through the small campground and held out his hands to catch you, tumbling when his foot hit a root of the great tree.

You squeaked as you came down, falling into the blond dwarf’s arms and bringing you both to the ground with enough force to wind you both.

In a tangle of limbs and soft groans of pain Fili blinked away the discomfort, shooting up straight to check on you. He had been fast enough to twist your bodies so you landed on top of him and now you laid with your head on his chest, you face scrunched in protest of the soreness in your limbs.

“Lass are you ok?” he groaned out in worry, watching your eyes glance around before meeting his.

“Aye, I’m ok. You?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured now his heart had finished pounding in his chest at his panic.

“Next time I’m sending your brother up the tree,” you moaned, resting your head on his chest once more, finding yourself in a rather comfortable position with the dwarf. Fili chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and making you smile.

For a long moment, the two of you simply laid there like that, covered in leaves and tangled up against one another, relishing in one another’s presence. It was comfortable, despite the hard ground, and you hummed in delight as he raked his fingers delicately through your hair. He worked attentively to get each and every leaf out of your locks and you blushed in guilt of not wanting him to stop.

“Fili, what are you doing?”

He hummed nonchalantly, “Getting rid of the leaves. You can do mine once I’m finished,”

“Fili you- it’s just- well I can’t just-” you spluttered, your face burning red.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to I just thought… I though we were getting close enough too… never mind,”

“You braided Ori’s hair only yesterday,”

“Aye? They are my friend, what of it?”

“Your friend? Is that what that means to you then? What I mean to you?”

Fili paused his fingers and looked down at your face in confusion and hurt, his stomach tensing and his eyes beginning to burn, “Do you not see me as your friend?”

“Of course I see you as my friend!” you reassured, snapping your head up to look at his defeated face, “I would trust and cherish not one else more than you by my side… it’s just-”

“Just?”

“Well, where I’m from, touching and braiding one’s hair is seen as more than just friendliness. It’s ah… more so a romantic or intimate gesture,”

Fili felt his entire body burn under your gaze. He had not meant to disrespect your culture and your explanation made him want to run his fingers through your hair even more, not to mention the way you were gazing at him, almost like you too wanted him to continue. It was true he adored you, was drawn to you in a way he had not felt with any of his other suiters, but he was nervous. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if this wasn’t a nudge to continue but a warning to back off? He didn’t always understand humans and it was worse with you not knowing much about your culture as it was just a big of a secret as his own culture.

Fili also had a nasty habit of over thinking everything he did.

“Fo-forgive me, I meant no disrespect,” he swallowed nervously, “To darrow, the gesture of brushing or braid hair is intimate yes, but for any we hold dear to us,”

You watched him carefully, “So I am dear to you?”

“More then you know. In fact, if you feel the same way, the offer to brush my hair remains? In- in the way your culture means it to be? If you wish to remain as we are that is fine too its just- I thought maybe- I really like you, in that way too. And now I’m rambling, and I can’t stop it, words are just coming out and I-”

You cut him off with a kiss, stilling his words but not his tongue. He pulled you closer, one hand around your waist and the other returning to your hair. You both pulled away dazed and giggling.

“I would love to braid your hair Fili,”

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malarign · 1 year

Note

Request - y/n (female) taking care of Jake when he has a stomach bug and she has to pick him up from the company because he doesn’t feel good and the boys call her 🤔💞

sick

(when he is sick and you take care of him)

contains: idolbf!Jake x fem!reader | genre: fluff | tw! kissing, mentions of stomach problems | wc: 1,0k

reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated!!!

author’s note: just before you proceed with reading, thank you Anon for requesting! i really enjoyed writing this one! ❤️ also, i didn’t proofread this one 😬

“Are you sure you shouldn’t just stay at home today?”

“I’m sure babe, I’ll be fine,” Jake said kissing your forehead. He smiled when he noticed how you still had the same concerned expression on your face. “I promise I feel better,” he spoke putting his right hand on the left side of his chest.

His enthusiasm to go on practice with the rest of Enhypen made you smile and trusted him. But you had a really bad feeling about it. For the past few days whenever he came back home from either dance practice or vocal lessons, he complained about his constant stomach aches, making you worried. But every time you tried to make him stay and visit a doctor he refused, either saying it’s not that bad or that he feels better, just like today.

“I’ll be home pretty late, love. Our comeback is near!” he announced like the excited puppy he is.

The sight of his signature pose made you giggle and pull him by his collar for a quick kiss. Well, you intended for it to be quick but he certainly had other plans. He kissed you gently while keeping you in place by placing his hands on your waist. This made your hands travel up to his neck. You noticed how hot his neck was but before you could say anything the sound of his phone ringing made him go out hurriedly. You waved at him when he disappeared behind the corner and run to catch a lift.

You decided to brush off your observations and just spend your day as you planned. You packed your bag and headed over to one of your favorite coffee shops nearby in order to study for upcoming exams.

The day was perfect for studying; the weather recently became warmer so everybody around you wore light outerwear finally saying goodbye to winter clothing. Once you sat down and ordered your beverage you started revising the chapters that were the most problematic.

No matter how much you study you just don’t seem to get your head around that specific subject. Anytime you had problems with some questions you had Jake who was always willing to help you with hard topics.

You didn’t even notice how much you started thinking about him when you noticed your phone started ringing. Looking at the caller ID you smiled seeing Jungwon’s name.

“Jungwon! What’s up?” you asked taking a sip from your cup.

“Y/n, are you busy right now?” His serious tone made you nervous. You left the cup aside and answered.

“No, is everything okay?”

The other side was quiet for a while when he spoke: “Well it’s about Jake.” His words made you even more anxious, knowing what he was going to say next, but instead of Jungwon’s voice, you heard Jay.

“Y/n could you maybe come and pick him up? He really doesn’t feel the best.”

Not wanting to make them wait you almost immediately raised from your seat and went straight home.

“I’ll be there soon.” Not waiting for his response you ended the call and ran to your apartment, where you left your books and took the keys to your car. Driving through almost whole Seoul was quite problematic at this hour, with roads packed making you stay in long lines of cars. Once you arrived at his company’s adress you quickly got out of your car and ran to the entrance.

“Y/n!” You noticed Sunoo calling your name and waving at you smiling brightly. “That’s such a relief that you could come here. Honestly I’ve never seen him in such state. I mean, it’s not that bad! But, you know him, he always tends to neglect his problems, especially health ones,” he spoke quickly while walking with you to the elevator. His words made you regret that you had let him go today to work.

Both of you arrived at the right floor, and headed to Enhypen’s practice room. First thing you noticed was somebody’s figure laying on the floor covered with what seemed to be Sunghoon’s and Jay’s hoodies. Soon realizing it was Jake lying under the pile of clothes you run up to him. You squatted next to him and placed your hand on his forehead. You were shocked how hot his skin felt against the palm of your hand.

“Thank God you’re here,” said Heeseung walking up to you. “He kept on trembling even during the practice,” he spoke while pointing clothes he was covered by. “Was he okay when he was leaving for work?”

His question made you cover your face in your hands. “No, he wasn’t. But he told me he’ll be fine. Gosh, I shouldn’t have let him go out today!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Heeseung laughed a bit and patted your shoulder slightly. “It’s not your fault, you know that. He’s stupid for neglecting things like this,” he said making Jake open his eyes a bit.

“Hey, not stupid!” he huffed and winced at the pain he felt suddenly in his abdomen.

“Okay, let’s go,” you said taking the clothes off of him and handed them to Heeseung. You helped him get up, heart practically breaking at how shaky and trrembly his fig to sure was. Heeseung helped you with transporting him to your car and you hastily bid your goodbyes.

The ride home was quiet, gulit trip eating you from your insides, feeling ironic pain in your stomach. When both of you arrived to your shared apartment you helped him change clothes into more comfortable and warm ones. You silently checked his temperature and gave him proper medicine. While doing so he kept on looking at you, somewhat apologetically.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly, hoping for negative answer, but instead you pouted and looked at him, brows knitted in a frown.

“Honeslty, I am a bit. You lied to me.”

“I really thought I’ll be better though.” He tried not to giggle at your expression. You looked so cute in his eyes whenever you pouted. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not, stupid. Now I need to make sure you feel better before Bang PD murders me.” You smiled and brushed his hair off his face.

“Hey, not stupid!”

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

#enhypen fic #enhypen imagine #enhypen x reader #jake enhypen #jaeyun fluff #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader #enhypen fluff #sim jaeyun #sim jake #jaeyun fic #jake fic

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dev-mars · 2 months

Text

More Rewrite headcanons!

• She’s 23 in the beginning

• Irene is more commonly called The Matron out of respect for her

• Aphmau is unknowingly very charismatic

• She has a gentle sweetness and extremely strong empathy

• She was found in the forest by Visher and he brought her to Phoenix Drop

• Visher became a father figure to her like he does in rebirth they just have more actual time to together

• Visher encourages her kindness and empathy because much of the world lacks this but didn’t have time to teach her that her kindness needs to have its limits

• Visher names her Aphmau after a story he heard in his youth

• Aphmau experiences déjà vu all the time

• Aphmau had hopes finding out her past based on her markings that she believed were tattoos

• She has nightmares but can never remember them when she wakes up

• This means she goes on walks around the village a lot at night

• When Garroth can’t sleep either he joins her and pretends he simply needs to patrol the village

• Aphmau’s first thought when she saw Garroth’s face was that he had kind eyes

• Visher planned to take Aphmau back to Bright Port once he felt she was well enough to travel

• He had also begun to think of her as family and he was excited to introduce her to his wife and son

• Aphmau was near the dock when it happened and the explosion was meant to kill both of them

• Gene felt that Aphmau had been causing too much progression and hope in the village but her survival seemed to be supernatural in nature and he sensed that he had magicks that might be useful to him

• Animals are naturally drawn to her and Kiki noticed this immediately she thought at first this meant she might’ve had magicks similar to her until she realized it also applied to people. Her presence/energy is very bright leading people or animals to want to be near her.

• Once they moved past their initial bad impressions of each other Emmalyn started to teach Aphmau to read when she realized Aphmau couldn’t. Emmalyn taught her the basics but not enough for her to be able to read super well. Aphmau had more serious problems to deal with in the village so didn’t have time to keep learning.

• Once Aphmau officially becomes the lord she has to read official documents. She had trouble reading the formal language of the papers and tried hiding it because she didn’t want to ask for help. Garroth figured out she was struggling and began reading them to her and slowly teaching her.

• Way later in the story Aphmau will realize that she can read an ancient form of their common language from when Irene was alive

• Visher taught her about sailing and wanted her to sail to Brightport with his supervision when they left Phoenix Drop . He planned this so Aphmau would gain another skill and eventually if she took up as merchant like him she would be able to travel.

• Aphmau ended up making the journey to Brightport alone. She volunteered to deliver his remains while still grieving his death. Once she made it Brightport she was struggling to tie up her boat and was nearly in tears over it due to being overwhelmed and grieving Visher’s death.

• Laurance noticed this and without saying anything helped her tie up her ship. Then he asks if she’s alright. He cracks a joke that’s kind of flirty that makes her laugh distracting her briefly from Visher’s death. He doesn’t immediately full on flirt with Aphmau because she was clearly distressed. He compliment her before he’s interrupted by the ladies at Brightport throwing small rock because they think shamelessly flirting with another girl.

• They finally introduce themselves and Laurance might comment on the story she’s named after before pointing her in the right direction and saying goodbye. He says something like, “goodbye my dear Aphmau.” instead of calling her “love.” (idk man i just want their first meeting to be less cringe as much as I love flirty Laurance in the series his dialogue can be awkward and cringe at times. I just want him to be more charming in a natural way in their first meeting.)

• Once Laurance meets her again in Meteli “my dear” and other forms of it becomes what he calls her. At that time Aphmau realizes he’s been flirting with her and gets embarrassed but secretly doesn’t mind the pet name. Laurance does it out of affection and to annoy her until Garroth and Laurance have their bro talk™️ where Garroth admits his feelings for Aphmau. Aphmau feels disappointed that it stops but doesn’t question it too much.

• Laurance calls her dear or love one last time before making her leave him in the nether probably saying something like “Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be right behind you.”

Anyway more story ideas! Hopefully one day I’ll do something with them. Also I know that the reason Aphmau first goes to Brightport is for Brendon but I felt like that event is too similar to Garroth getting injured later and Visher has just died so to me personally it fits better for Aphmau to be delivering Visher’s remains. Plus I think the werewolf plot line can still happen without the moon herb thing.

#aphmau #aphmau mcd #garmau #garrence #garroth ro'meave #mcd rewrite #minecraft diaries #larmau #laurance zvahl

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secretsofblackthornhall · 2 years

Text

Ty to Dru

Hello Dru,

I’m back from London, and Julian and Emma told me to tell you “hello” and also “they send their love.” But that is not the important part of the letter, which is later. But you shouldn’t skip to that part, I will explain why soon.

Blackthorn Hall is actually pretty cool. It’s big and it’s old, and lots of parts don’t work properly yet, but Emma and Jules have done a lot to make it nice. There’s lots of bedrooms. I picked out one for me, which they called the “gray bedroom,” but honestly all the bedrooms are kind of gray. They said it’s so we can paint them if we want, they’ll be our rooms and we can decorate them how we like.

You’ll have to pick out the one you want when you visit, but I found one that I bet will be your favorite. It overlooks the gardens which I think will be the last thing to get fixed up, and so will continue to look creepy for a while. There are all these broken statues with plants grown over them, like they were trying to kill the statues. Like they succeeded in killing the statues. It looks like if you went walking down there the vines would wrap around you and pull you underground. You’ll love it.

I didn’t sleep well before we traveled to London and now I think it was because I was worried. Anush says our bodies often tell us how we are feeling even when our minds aren’t conscious of it. Like feeling nauseated before an important test. You probably know what I mean.

But it was good. Especially to see Jules and Emma. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I saw them. I think I felt it like Anush says, like a weird pressure in my chest that went away when Jules hugged me. Maybe it’s the same for you. Or maybe you already know how much you miss them. Anyway I thought it was important to say I also miss you and it’ll be nice when we can all be in the same house together again. I think Irene will like it there too.

Ragnor’s map did actually help, so it was good he came. He found a couple of places in London to check for more of those cursed objects, so that’s one step closer to un-cursing the house. I know, it would be cool to live in a cursed house. But it wouldn’t be fair to Rupert the Ghost, since he’s trapped there because of the curse. And anyway there’s all this renovation work that the builders won’t do until the curse is lifted. And it would be good if the house’s roof didn’t leak. That might be a little too gloomy even for you.

Now we’ve talked about the bedrooms, the house, and Ragnor, so if anyone asks you can tell them those are the things we discussed. We are now at the part of the letter where I have to tell you important things but I wanted you to have information you could share in case someone asked you if you had heard from me. I mean, if someone important asks you. If someone we don’t know asks you, Anush says you can say “Make like a tree and leave,” which I don’t understand but he says will definitely work.

So, the important part. Rupert the Ghost. I wasn’t really thinking when I wrote up above that it will be nice for us to all be together. I mean, it will be, but it’s not quite that simple, at least for me. See…Rupert saw Livvy. She wasn’t hiding or anything, and she didn’t act surprised that he saw her. But I’ve spent so much time worried about other, you know, living people finding out about her. It hadn’t even occurred to me that of course there are ghosts everywhere, all over the world, and they’ll all know she’s there. The ghosts here at the Scholomance know about her, of course, but Edvard and Prudence keep to themselves and nobody really pays attention to either of them. Prudence is always in the library pretending to shelve books (or actually shelving ghost books, I can’t tell) and Edvard paces slowly through the halls and barely ever talks. Sometimes he moans, but that’s just him complaining.

Rupert and Livvy had a couple of conversations with just the two of them, I guess about ghost stuff. She says she made him promise that he wouldn’t say anything about seeing her, but ghosts can lie. So what if he says something to Emma or Julian? What if he can tell that something is weird with the way Livvy is a ghost and he mentions that?

The thing is, it’s not just Rupert. Even if he stays quiet, I already almost made Emma suspicious by talking to Livvy myself. I had to tell her I was talking to you on the phone. I know about Rupert and I know about Edvard and Prudence, but there could be ghosts anyplace I go, and if someone else is there and they start interacting with Livvy I’m going to have to explain. I got used to Edvard and Prudence ignoring her but Rupert drifted right into the bedroom and asked her who she was.

Livvy says I shouldn’t worry. She reminds me that any Shadowhunter can see ghosts who want to be seen, like Edvard and Prudence, but that it’s much harder to see a ghost who doesn’t want to be seen, and that’s most ghosts. She says Rupert wanted to be seen — first by Emma and Jules and then by Livvy and me, though only Livvy's seen him really clearly— but if he didn’t, I’d never have known he was there. She says she’s able to hide herself from almost all people (even Jace, and he has latent ghost-seeing powers), and even able to hide herself from a lot of ghosts. And that even if they do see her, they won’t necessarily know who she is, it’s not like ghosts can just identify each other. And she says if she has to, she’ll just lie to them.

She said a lot of reassuring things. But it still gave me a cold feeling, which I think is my body telling my brain that I’m afraid. If Julian and Emma found out about Livvy, they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d feel like they had to do something, like lay her to rest. People don’t think ghosts can be happy, but Livvy is happy. She helps me with work and she tells me advice for Anush (he has a crush on Rayan’s sister Nasha) and when we’re alone we play games or I read to her. She can’t do everything but why would being all the way dead be better? Everyone calls it “rest” but no one really knows, do they?

Maybe you have ideas. Tell me if you have ideas.

Love,

Tiberius

#sobh #ty blackthorn #dru blackthorn #rupert blackthorn #jace herondale #ghosts #livvy blackthorn #anush joshi

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ultralightpoe · 2 years

Text

Blood of my Blood Pt 2 - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: There will be a part 3 soon, and maybe a couple mini chapters after. But the final part of the series is part 3

Warnings: Smut- reader gets lashed- Aemond kills

Word Count: 3,252

Description: Your affair with Aemond could be exposed to the court.

Part One --------- Part Three

Aemond had spent months as your lover, had spent every night he possibly could claim you as his, and he never once thought of you.

Well he thought of you, he thought of you while he ate and slept and rode his dragon. He thought of ways to make you smile and ways to kill your husband so he could protect you. You were on his mind every splitting second of every day.

But he never thought of you falling pregnant.

It was your job, you had said as much on one of the many nights he spent sleeping in your chambers, with you tucked under his chin while rubbing your bare back. Neither of you had spoken above a whisper, and yet your words were still so loud to him. He blatantly ignored them. The thought of you falling pregnant with that man's child hurts.

He never thought of the chance the babe would come out with silver hair and purple eyes. He was selfish. So fucking selfish.

If that babe came out looking like him then you would be killed, prince or not there were rules that needed to be followed. His mother would never protect you, neither would his father. He needed to protect you. He needed to step up.

He got you appointments with the royal maestor, spent afternoons walking around the gardens with you for the exercise the maester recommended. He had more guards posted around your room so your husband wouldn’t be able to hurt you during your pregnancy. Not that it mattered really, now that you had fallen pregnant the vile idiot didn’t bother looking at you.

Oh how Aemond wished to tear his guts out one at a time.

You were growing, your dresses now popping out and your breasts swelling in a way that had his pants tightening and a blush traveling his neck. He was taking care of you, he was making sure you were okay. Moments he could not be there he had you sat in a room with Helaena, and you absolutely loved her.

Aemond realized that Helaena would say her crazed thoughts and you would indulge his older sister by making up fairytales, using her words as a prompt.

Things were going great.

Then his mother found out.

She called for him in her bedchambers, sitting on one of the many seats in her seating room, already glaring when he came in. “I know Aemond.”

“You know many things, mother.” He snarks, hands coming to fold behind his back.

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare-” She snarls back, standing up with a hand on her stomach and another on her forehead in stress. “We both know you ended up being the most cunning of my children and you know I hate when you act-”

“Mother-”

“YOU’VE IMPREGNATED HER!” She screams, hands flying wildly. “I let the fucking slide, assuming you wouldn’t think with your cock like your brother-”

Aemond can only roll his eyes at that.

“But then she fell pregnant and her husband was made aware and so was his grandmother. There is no option for moon tea, but it’s fine. There is no way my cunning son would ever let her fall pregnant. Then the maestor tells me of his most recent question on one of the visits he has been paying him for-”

“You knew about th-”

“I KNOW EVERYTHING! I have many people in this castle watching you, including the Maestor. Who was more than willing to report that you were questioning for ways of sensing if it was a Targaryen child-”

“I need to know-”

“So you can plan everything in your favor?! Kill the child and-”

“I WOULD NEVER KILL THE CHILD NOR LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO EITHER OF THEM SO BEFORE YOU KEEP SPILLING ACCUSATIONS AT ME-”

“And what happens when the child comes out looking like him? Huh? When it is his child?” She asks softly, moving closer. “Will you hate the babe? Hate her?”

“I would be a better father than he ever would.”

“It doesn’t matter to you the descent of the child.” Alicent mutters, realization finally setting in.

“She matters. Y/n matters. I would be glad for that child to come out looking like his twin if it means nothing happens to her.” There were tears building up, teeth clenched as he looks to his mother. “They will kill her-”

“We won’t let that happen.” She admonishes, pulling her son in. “I just needed to know you weren’t going to destroy this family.”

“I would destroy anything if it meant she was safe.” And deep in his bones Aemond knew that he would have to.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond spent the next 2 months plotting, on how he would get away with this all and still keep you safe. He thought of this as he lazed in his bed one morning, you right beside him.

Normally he would be out, taking Vhagar on her daily ride. But the bigger the babe got further into your pregnancy the more tired you became. So instead he stayed in, watching you sleep peacefully in his chambers instead of your own.

He also felt a little guilty at the fact that he took far too much pleasure in keeping you up late.

The further along you got the more insatiable you got. Any touch from him and you were moaning, round after round, which he was more than happy for.

At this very moment he was looking at the marks he had left, from bitemarks to lovebites, all strewn across your skin as the sun showed in through the windows. He reached a hand to trace along one, before sliding it to your belly and feeling where the babe lay. This was something he did quite often while you slept.

Leaning forward he placed a small kiss on your stomach and began whispering to the child, praying to it. “You have absolutely no idea how much pride I would take in a child, but that would be a danger to us all, so just this once I ask you to listen.”

“Are you begging an unborn babe not to look like you?” You giggle, eyes slowly peeking open as you stretch to the morning, breast close enough for him to lick at. This draws a fiery laugh from you before a moan, moving back to avoid his touches.

“That is not fair.” You say, breathy pants taking over as he crawls closer, growling like a predator.

“Twas not fair? Was it?” He smiles, looking down at you as he leans over your figure, hair hanging down around you like a curtain and purple eye gleaming whilst his sapphire glints in the sunlight. “Why is that Little Bird?”

“You know how sensitive I am.” You smile, hand coming up to rub his neck lovingly while the other reaches to hold the wrist holding him up beside your head. “And it is far too late for you to do anything about it-”

“I am the prince, it is not far too late for me to do anything.”

“I am expected to see my husband and his grandmother today. Not to mention if I am seen leaving your quarters then it’s-” He interrupts you by blowing hot air on one of your nipples, drawing a moan from you. “Aemond-”

“Y/n.” He mocks your serious tone, kissing you on the lips softly before sliding down and tugging the blankets off your lower half.

“Aemond-” You warn, but it is too late, your lover has already set his eyes on his mark and is diving for your cunt in no time. He is licking and sucking, pulling you into him by your thighs and refusing to let up as you moan and crumble beneath him.

You’re mewling his name over and over and he just cannot get enough of the sound nor your taste. He pushes you closer, so his nose can begin rubbing your folds as his tongue expertly moves into you.

It’s not long before your back is arching and you are screaming his name.

He leans back on his knees, panting as he licks his lips hungrily. You had made a mess of his face and leaned up to wipe it clean when his wrists caught both of yours. “What did I say about lifting a finger during your pregnancy?”

“Am I not allowed to clean you up, my king?” You know exactly how to get what you want, and Aemond loves the playful look in your eyes as you speak the words. “Am I not allowed to clean the mess I made of my king? My one true-”

His lips are on you in an instant, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. You reach down and grip him softly, raising a brow. “Would a king leave a loyal subject wanting?”

“Well I would ask you to bend the knee to me….but after last time…..” He teases, watching your face heat up and you snatch your hand away.

“You jest too much, lover. It was not my fault-” You defend as he laughs, hands cupping your cheeks as you relive the memory of getting stuck on your knees and having him lift you off the floor due to your stomach.

“I was going to say, if you simply let me finish my sentence…” He smiles, hands moving to rub your stomach. “If you could not bend the knee to me…. I must do so for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him and he can feel his heart through his chest. “Aemond, what do you mean?”

“Marry me.”

“Aemond?”

“Marry me.” He begs, getting off the bed to get on his knees before it, grabbing your thighs to pull you to him. “Let me kill him.”

“You would dishonor yourself by doing so-”

“I’ve done far worse and would do far worse-”

“Aemond. You are not thinking properly.” You whisper, pulling him up to stand. “What would happen to me? To the babe?”

“You would marry me.”

“I would be scorned. This child would be treated like a bastard and it would ruin your family's honor.”

“Fuck my familys honor.”

You seem to lose it at that, tugging his neck down so he is at your level. “Don’t ruin your life for me-”

“Don’t ruin yourself for a fucking honor code-”

“Nothing will happen to me. You’ll protect me. I know it.”

You leave it at that, pulling him into the bed and letting him mark you over and over and over.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sit by your husband in court, hand stroking your stomach in quiet contempt as you stare at the ground, just as you always did when you were near your husband.

Aemond hated that. He hated how weak and scared that man made you. He wished you would rip his throat out with your teeth.

His brother elbowed him harshly, drawing his glare away from where you sat with that monster. Aegon gave him a sneer, already knowing, but Aemond was too far gone to care.

He hadn’t seen you all day, your husband had summoned you to his chambers last night for pleasure which pissed Aemond off to no end. You were so far along in your pregnancy, and if that man had been even the slightest bit aggressive with you he would-

He is once again drawn from his thoughts by his siblings, Helaena this time, pulling him by his arm as everyone leaves the throne room. “The little bird will scream as the dragon will unleash.”

His fists clench, heat traveling his neck as he looks down at her, letting her lead him. “What does that mean?”

He had given up guessing what her riddles meant a long time ago, but this one struck a nerve he hadn’t realized he had.

“Eye to eye. Fate laughs at us.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was separated from you all day. His sister Helaena had dragged him to sit with their mother for tea and then he had to attend a family dinner with his half sister and her bastard sons.

He got a small bit of release when he started a fight with his family, guards rushing to keep them separate as his uncle Daemon blocked his children from Aemonds attack.

It got worse when he entered his bedroom to find the grandmother. The old crone related to your husband, sitting on a settee with a smug smile placed onto her features.

His mother, who had come with him to bitch him out for his behavior, stopped short behind him. “Lady Mirva, might I ask why I find you waiting in my son's chambers?”

“You might want to shut the door.” She smiles, drinking from her goblet of wine. “I’m sure you don’t want the castle to know my next words.”

Aemond is stuck in place, one hand on his sword the other limply at his side. He senses his mother shutting the door before coming to stand behind him, a hand on his shoulder. “Speak.”

“She will be killed, you know?” She laughs, looking at Aemond. “The second that bastard comes out they will have her head on a fucking spike, Targaryen or not. They’ll probably kill the bastard too.”

“How did you figure it out?” Alicent asks, moving forward.

“You really think I would move into this place without at least some foresight. I’ve been paying your maids.” Clever. The maids would be the ones cleaning both their sheets and repairing the dresses he ripped.

“What do you want? You did not come here for nothing.” Aemond mutters, taking a step forward.

“I could say the babe died during labor, I have a maid in there with her now. It would be easy.”

“In with her…..now? What do you mean?” Aemonds heart stopped, his hands shook, one tightening around his sword. “Is she in….”

“I lashed her.”The crone admits, standing tall. “I beat her until she told the truth, and once she did I lashed her back until I drew blood. Labor started soon after that. I will make it a lot worse for all of you unless of course….”

“Let me guess…” Alicent starts as Aemond processes the words. “You want your son to become a lord, and earn his own land.”

“It’s what we have been fighting for since we came to this-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, Aemonds sword driving straight through her neck in a swift movement. Her eyes were wide with fear, blood leaking from her neck as her head slid off.

Alicent looked away in shock as Aemond wiped the blood off his blade.

The room stays silent for a moment as Aemond stares at the crones body, a sneer laced onto his features while his mother lets out a sob. “We’ll be ruined. Aemond. Once…..once people find out she was slaughtered in your chambers we’ll be-”

“She hurt Y/n.” It was all he needed to say for Alicent to stand tall, wiping her eyes. “You need to find Sir Cris-”

“I need to find Y/n.” He snaps, moving to the door only to be snatched back.

“The second you step into that room and that babe is born with white hair it is all over. Get Sir Criston, now. I will tend to Y/n-”

“Her husband will-”

“I will attend to Y/n. Go. Now.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He kept his word and got Sir Criston……then immediately ran to your room.

His mother would be a fool if she thought he would stay away from you. It didn’t take long to reach the rooms, the door already slightly open allowing him to open it wider and peak in.

Only to stop short at what he saw.

Your forehead was pushed up against Rhaenryas, hands fisted into the shoulders of his half sister's dress, sobbing for help. “Please don’t tell….please.”

“It’s okay, no one is going to tell. I can send Daemon if you want for him to find-” His sister tries to ease his beloved, helping her into the bed. “But if he is here they will know.”

It clicks, you had been asking for him, in your time of need you had wanted him. But that would put you at risk, and it became clear that he needed to leave.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your husband had been out on the town the night you gave birth, the night Aemond slaughtered his grandmother. You had spent hours in the room with Rhaenrya, and Aemond had sat outside listening and praying.

He was sure the gods were laughing at him in this moment. The man who had slaughtered so many for fun…….. Now praying for the life of his love and her child.

He was about to begin praying again, when your screaming stopped and the room fell silent. No…No no NO NO NO NO NO NO.

He launched up, ready to tear through the door until he heard the cries of a babe and the gasps of the maids.

“Lady Y/n……” He knew. That’s all he needed to hear to know. Shit. “You’ve given life to a boy.”

A boy.

He had a son…. You had a son.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your room stayed busy until the early hours of the next day.

Your husband finally made it to see the child and there was a constant stream of handmaids coming to check on you and your injuries. Aemond never got the chance to slip in, though he tried.

So he waited, going down to the training yard and taking all his frustration out on the poor guards training. He waited, to hear the news of your babe. To hear the gossip.

But nothing came.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, he was able to slip into your room.

He found you standing there, gripping the arm of a settee and doubled over in pain. A slight anger took over as he rushed to you. “Is there a reason you are not resting?”

“I was waiting for you.” You whisper back, turning to him slowly. His arms come up to catch you, wrapping around your waist as a feeling of pride washed over him.

“I heard the news. A boy…. You did it.” He whispers with a wide smile, setting you down. “You did amazing.”

“Aemond-”

“You need to get to bed, you have injuries from a lashing as well as making a son. You shouldn’t be-” You look shocked when he mentions the lashing but ignore it, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop him.

He kisses your palm as his eyes close, breathing you in. “I need to know you’re okay.”

You kiss his temple as an answer, before moving to go grab a small bundle from your bed, turning to move back to him. He’s launching up in a second to save you a trip.

He helps you lay on the bed, grabbing the bundle from your arms and filling his eyes well up with tears as he looks down at the boy.

Your hair. The child had your hair.

Thank the gods.

“It’s his…….” He’s ashamed to admit the disappoint crossed through him, but there was mostly pride. Then the babes eyes opened and Aemond gasped, his lungs exploding in his own body as the child stared at him.

The violet eyes that stared up at him completely wrecked Aemond, within moments he was quietly sobbing. Targaryen eyes.

This was his family. He just had to remove one thing in his way.

(Do you really think Aemond will let your husband live after this)

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