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hard-core-super-star · 8 months

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kissing in the crossfire [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x anti-hero!reader

summary: you and kate are better off apart. unfortunately, you can't stay away from each other long enough to realize some puzzle pieces aren't meant to fit together.

warnings: mentions of blood + injuries; so much bickering; sprinkles of important backstory stuff; kate and R are exes and it's complicated; technically angst but there's humor :) [kate does aim her bow at R though so...yeah]

wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: GUESS WHO'S BACK AFTER SAYING THEY WERE BACK AND THEN DISAPPEARING PRACTICALLY ALL MONTH? ...did you guess right? anywho, this is a long-awaited request made by 🧞‍♀️ anon a LONG while ago. i...got a little carried away with this so do with that information what you will. i'll probably come back with some fluff to make up for this later. anyway, hope you enjoy, sending you love <3

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“You can’t be serious.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go, Bishop.” You offer her a smile from your spot on her kitchen counter. “By the way, you should probably hide your spare key somewhere else, that plant is too obvious.”

She opens her mouth, ready to say something witty back, but she stops once she fully notices your appearance. The torn-up clothes, the bruises scattered across your face, the blood trailing from your busted lip. She crosses the space between you in an instant, concern written all over her features despite how hard she tries to hide it.

“What happened?”

“Had an unfortunate run-in with some old friends of ours,” you explain. “I think they’re still holding a grudge.”

She sighs but you can't tell if it's because of your injuries or the ones you've inflicted tonight. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

“Where else would I go?” you reply, the slightest hint of sarcasm in your tone.

Kate either doesn't hear you or pretends not to in favor of walking away to find her first-aid kit. You could tell her most of the blood on your clothes isn't yours but that would only serve to start up the same old argument with her.

An argument that cost you the only healthy relationship you've ever had.

Although, in your defense, it’s not like the archer is entirely blameless for what happened…not that she’d ever admit that out loud when it’s so much easier to blame all your mutual problems on your lack of self-restraint.

“How bad is it?” Her voice brings you out of your thoughts but, unfortunately for you, your reality is just as bad as the memories attached to those blue eyes.

You shrug. “I’ve had better days.”

“Yeah, no kidding, idiot.”

It’s impossible to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her words even if you know there’s nothing but concern under her sarcasm. Concern that’s evident in the way she approaches you, soft and hesitant and nothing like the impulsive archer you know her to be.

It’s exactly the care you want, the care you need. You need Kate like the oxygen you breathe but you can’t bring yourself to let your walls down again. Maybe it’s stupid or petty or maybe you just like arguing with her a bit too much.

“You’re a terrible nurse,” you complain as she stands between your legs, a silent question shining in the depths of her eyes.

You send the smallest of nods her way despite how ridiculous her nervousness is. You’ve had more intimate moments than this and yet she lifts your shirt out of the way with the shakiest hands you’ve ever seen. You’d make fun of her if you weren’t just as nervous as she is right now.

It's the kind of nervousness that comes with the vulnerability you can't show around anyone else.

You've always had to be the strong one. The fast one. The one with unrelenting fists and an even more unrelenting sense of duty, whether that duty falls on the right side of the law or not. But Kate’s always been the one that looks through all of that…except your tendency to sort problems out with your fists.

You flinch when she drags an antiseptic wipe over the small gash across your stomach. “What happened to the warning?” You grumble, pretending like you can’t see the small smile that spreads along her face.

“You seemed too spaced out to need one.”

“So charming, no wonder all the girls throw themselves at you when you walk by.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you have an empty bed every night either.”

You know what she means but you can’t stop yourself from making fun of her. There are few things in the world that bring you as much joy as watching Kate trip over her own words.

“Are you calling me a whore, Bishop?” All it takes is a subtle raise of your eyebrow to send the brunette into a flustered ramble.

“What? No! Of course not- I mean, not that there’s anything, um, wrong with that, but-”

The sound of your uncontrollable laughter manages to stop her before she digs herself into a bigger hole. The laughter shakes your entire body and you both have to try really hard to ignore the way her hands brush against your skin every time you make those small movements.

Not so long ago, she would have taken the opportunity to wrap her arms around you and pull you close. Today, she merely watches you laugh at her with the rosiest cheeks you’ve seen lately.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, rolling her eyes before going back to patching you up.

Although, her version of “patching you up” pretty much only involves disinfecting the area and wrapping some gauze around your waist. She’s learned a lot from Clint but she’s still absolutely clueless when it comes to these things. Which forces you to question why you’re even here in the first place…except you don’t want to accept the answer.

She finishes her work on your stomach without another witty comment despite how badly she wants to point out how badly you flinch every time she moves. Instead of doing that, she settles her attention on your face. Mainly your bleeding lip and bruised jaw.

“Hold still.” Her whispered words are the only warning you get before she takes your face in her hands. You flinch and let out a soft groan when her fingers brush said bruise but you don’t move away. You’re captivated by those soft blue eyes despite how badly you wish you weren’t.

“Kate.” You don’t mean to say her name but it slips out before you can stop it. “You don't have to. You…you’ve done enough. I should go.”

“You’re still bleeding,” she says as if that’s enough of a reason.

And maybe it would be.

But there’s too much baggage between you for that.

“And whose fault is that?”

You don’t know why you say it, you just know you’re still hurt and that soft look on her face isn’t helping you accept the past. What happened isn’t really her fault, you know that. Accidents happen all the time in your line of business but she promised she would be there.

And she wasn’t.

And now you have two less family members and an unbelievable amount of people who want Kate’s head delivered to them in a box.

Kate Bishop single-handedly ruined your life by being the idiotic fool you love more than anything. But love doesn’t fit anywhere on your list of responsibilities. At least not anymore.

“y/n,” she sighs. “Let me help. Let me fix it.”

For a second, it sounds like she’s begging you to stay. To ignore the past and the many reasons why you should walk out that door and never talk to her again.

Her shaky hands pull you closer to her, drawing you in toward her sad eyes and parted lips. All you can do is watch, rendered speechless by her mere existence and the hammering of your heart as it tries to escape your chest.

It’s not until her mouth is mere inches away from yours that you manage to escape her spell.

“You can’t fix this.”

That’s the only warning you give her before you shrug her hands off your face and rise to your feet. You pretend you can’t see the thin layer of tears that gathers in her eyes as you force yourself to walk away.

It’s not until you slam her front door behind you that she breaks down.

And maybe you do too but you’ll never let her know that.

Needless to say, you spend the next few days miserable and irritable as hell. Which means you’re quick to accept the first job that gets thrown your way…without reading the entire folder filled with important information.

You only know who your target is and where he’ll be…with special security, courtesy of the Young Avengers.

Turns out, reading the entirety of the folders you’re given is a good idea, who would’ve thought, right?

Things fall apart almost as soon as they start due to you getting too into your own head about things and messing up your perfectly crafted plan, resulting in more than a few punches to the jaw and missed gunshots. Your target attempts to flee onto the roof and you’re quick to follow after him, leaving a huge scene in the lobby of the fanciest building you’ve ever been in.

You make it onto the roof in record time, ready to chase after your target but of course, when have things ever been easy?

“y/n!”

You groan, cursing Kate’s awful timing. “Do we have to do this right now?”

The answer comes in the form of an arrow whizzing right past your ear.

Your shock morphs into anger in no less than five seconds, forcing you to forget your mission in favor of yelling at the idiotic archer you can’t help but still love. It’s more than obvious to you that Kate’s just trying to waste your time but you’ve never been one to walk away from an argument with her.

“Did you just shoot one of your stupid arrows at me?” You turn around to face her, quickly realizing she’s still aiming at you, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration while she watches you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are you doing?” She responds. “Do you know who you’re working for?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you say while barely suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at her.

“Then you know exactly what I’m doing.”

Kate’s focus is unbreakable. She pays no mind to anything but her perfectly aimed bow and your reactions. The stray hairs that have fallen out of her ponytail are completely ignored, only serving to capture her and her natural perfection, the one that’s filled with chaos and stubbornness and a fire that’s unlike anything you’ve ever known.

You’re more than used to that fire…you’ve just never had it directed at you in the shape of a sharp arrow aimed right at your face.

If you were anyone else, maybe someone gentle or someone patient, or maybe someone not weighed down by so much trauma, you’d do the right thing and talk to the archer like an adult. But you’re not anyone else. You’re someone who thinks better with their fists than with their head.

And for a split second, you almost treat Kate like she’s anyone else other than the one person you’ve always loved.

“You’re-”

Your complaint gets cut short the second she lets her arrow fly.

It finds its target a few inches away from your feet and if Kate were to look hard enough, she’d find the real fear that’s started to slip into your features. “Don’t move.”

You swallow down the urge to spit out a snarky response at her face.

“Are you seriously going to shoot me?”

The seconds that go by are unbearable. You can hear the wind and the tension it carries between the two of you, you can make out the sound of New York traffic on the streets below, and if you focus hard enough, you can even hear Kate’s heavy breathing.

What you don’t hear, though, is an answer.

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the-whispers-of-death · 6 months

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Look, I know I already have ideas for the next part of Knight!Ghost & Life!Ghost, but let me tell you this idea that's completely unrelated to Ghost; John Price with a punk partner.

Anyone who sees him thinks his partner is well-tempted, wears muted or lowkey clothes. Someone who conforms to the ideas of society.

But John was drawn to you because you're the exact opposite what people expect his partner to be.

You have several tattoos and piercings, most tattoos having sociopolitical messages. Your clothes are sometimes vibrant, but always loud even when it's an all-black outfit. Your hair is dyed something different and vibrant almost every single time John sees you.

And you're definitely not a punk that's only in for the aesthetic. You're a rebel through and through. You go to so many protests outside corporate buildings, stop construction of many beloved parks. You've gone to jail several times for protesting, and John has bailed you out every single time.

Despite how angry you may seem, John sees the softer side of you. He knows you're just passionate about things you care about. He's seen you relax and smile while cuddled up on his couch with him. He's seen how tender you are when you're volunteering at a local pet shelter and so gently holding any animal, even snakes.

So whenever one of the 141 asks John about you, he's so quick to ramble and gush about how kind you are. How you're passionate about your beliefs. How much he loves you.

And when he one days says that you made it onto the front page of a local newspaper, they think it's because you won something like a cooking competition. Something that he should be proud of you, but not something that they think is truly out there and crazy.

Only for him to show said newspaper and point at the picture of you chaining yourself to a very old tree in a park that was about to be built upon while the headline reads "Local Activist Goes to Prison for Disrupting Construction".

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sailorstar9 · 3 months

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Your Best Friend's Jealousy

Y/N had known Donna for almost ten years. They met back in as teenagers when Y/N moved to Monstadt, next to Donna's house and they clicked instantly. Over the years, Donna became more than just a neighbour, she was like a sister Y/N never had. They supported each other through life's ups and downs and more.

But, as Y/N's wedding day approached, things started to shift. Diluc is the kind of partner every girl dreams about; supportive, loving and incredibly patient. When he proposed the previous year, it was the happiest day of Y/N's life. Planning their wedding, Y/N imagined the perfect day surrounded by friends and family.

However, Donna's behaviour had been a growing concern. Her drinking, once just a casual part of her life, had started to grow problematic. Donna had started flirting recklessly and often crossed boundaries, especially with men.

Y/N brushed off her concerns at first, attributing it to wedding stress and Donna's tough phase at work.

“Y/N, you know I'm here for you, right?” Donna asked one evening over drinks, her voice tinged with a seriousness that was rare for her.

“Of course, Donna.” Y/N replied. “You're my rock.”

But as the wedding drew near, Donna's behaviour escalated.

At Y/N's celebratory party, Donna was visibly drunk, making everyone uncomfortable. She whispered something to Diluc that night and Y/N saw his face tighten.

Y/N decided to confront Donna the next day.

“Donna, what did you tell Diluc last night?” Y/N ventured. “You seem… off.”

“Y/N, don't be such a worry-wart.” Donna waved a dismissive hand. “I was just teasing him. Lighten up.”

Y/N frowned; Donna's words did not match the look she saw Diluc's face.

This chapter of Y/N's life, filled with trust and friendship, was about to be tested in ways Y/N never imagined.

The weeks leading up to the wedding was a blur of decorations, tastings and final fittings, with Adelinde coordinating everything.

But, the shadow of Donna's odd behaviour still lingered on Y/N's mind.

One afternoon, while Y/N and Donna were reviewing sitting arrangements, Y/N noticed Donna chatting up Charles, probing him for information about Diluc.

Y/N tried to brush off the unease creeping up her spine; her mind adding yet another doubt to Y/N's ever growing mental list.

However, even more incidents began to pile up, each even more unsettling than the last.

On the morning of the wedding, the air was crisp and Y/N's heart was full of hope that the day would smooth over any lingering tensions.

As Y/N got ready, Donna flitted around, seemingly in high spirits which calmed Y/N down.

But as they stood in the plaza in front of the Favonius Cathedral, ready for the ceremony, Donna's mood shifted, becoming quieter with forced smiles.

“Stop the wedding!” Donna suddenly shouted, before Y/N and Diluc announced their wedding vows. “Master Diluc is the father of my child! I'm carrying the next heir of the Ragnvindr Clan. Master Diluc has to marry me!”

A blanket of silence enveloped the plaza as all eyes turned to Y/N and she felt her heart stop.

“Donna, what are you talking about?” Kaeya hissed, his voice as icy as the Vision he bore.

Donna looked at Y/N, then at the wedding guests, a twisted smirk on her face. “Master Diluc, tell her.” she cooed. “Tell her about us.”

Diluc kept his expression firm. “There's nothing to tell, Donna. It's all lies. Donna, this needs to stop, now.”

But Donna reminded unfazed, continuing her accusations as murmurs swelled.

Y/N realized this was Donna's version of some twisted revenge for slights only she perceived. As the chaos unfolded, Y/N realized it was more than just simple jealousy; Donna had planned this, with every intention of ruining what should have been the happiest day of her life.

“Y/N, believe me.” Diluc remained by her side. “We'll get through this together.”

“The Knights of Favonius will also stand with you.” Jean assured, Kaeya and Albedo nodding in agreement.

“Everyone, there has been a huge misunderstanding.” Kaeya announced. “Donna is not telling the truth. I have evidence of Donna's deceit. This isn't just about today. It's been going on for a while.”

Pulling out a folder from seemingly nowhere, the Cryo user revealed the numerous love letters written by Donna to Diluc, still unopened. “Adelinde kept these unopened. Let's read one, shall we?” breaking one of the envelope's seals, he began to read the contents, filled with inappropriate suggestions and declarations of feelings; feelings that Diluc never reciprocated.

Donna's face turned pale, her confident facade beginning to crack.

“Donna, this has to stop.” Donna's mother stormed up to her daughter. “Not only did you betray your best friend, but you've brought disgrace to our family. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Donna looked around, her usual bravado gone. “I was just upset. Y/N was always the perfect one; she gets to go to law school in Liyue and now she helps Master Diluc run the Dawn Winery as its legal consultant. I just wanted something for myself.”

“By destroying our lives?” Y/N spat. “Is that your solution? I never wanted to believe you'd go this far. Our friendship is over! Do not contact me ever again!”

“Donna, I think it's best if you leave.” Jean interjected.

“We're deeply sorry about this, Acting Grand Master, Master Diluc.” Donna's mother apologized and pulled her daughter off.

After the disruption settled, Sister Grace cleared her throat and the wedding continued.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #diluc x you #Diluc Ragnvindr x you #anti-Donna #kaeya being a supportive brother

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cielie-voss · 9 months

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I wish you a very unmerry christmas.

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: shitty family, some curse words, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, established relationship, pet names, kinda gender neutral reader.

A/n: I just absolutely hate Christmas, so this is my attempt to do something for other Christmas hater.

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

Wordcount: ~3.6k

“Hey, Y/N! About Christmas … “

The crunching snow under his feet made his attempt to sneak up behind me unnoticed fail spectacularly. As soon as the word ‘Christmas’ left his lips, I rolled my eyes and pressed my lips into a thin line.

“Sorry Eddie, I have already plans for Christmas. It’s mom’s birthday, the whole family is there, you know…”

"Oh yeah, right. I completely forgot about that.” The disappointment was written all over his face when I used my mother's birthday, which I hated, as an excuse not to have to celebrate Christmas.

“Maybe you’ll have time to come to me afterwards. Wayne would like to invite you and meet you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I starved him off with a fake smile. “I gotta go. See you, honey!" I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before running through the snow towards home. The sound that the fresh snow makes as you rush over it is about the only thing I really like about Christmas and winter.

Throughout my life, Christmas has always been filled with stress, arguments and the hideous charade of acting like a happy, functioning family. And that hasn't changed to this day.

For the next few days I tried to keep myself busy, whatever it was, to avoid Eddie. We've only been together for six months and it was our first Christmas as a couple, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him how much this day, this time of the year, was taking a toll on me mentally. Seeing his excited and joyful smile disappear from his lips would break my heart. Although he didn’t have a very good relationship with Christmas either, he still seemed to have the hope of celebrating a nice Christmas with Wayne and me after all these years. Without dispute. Without hate. Only love and security. And I didn't want to take this illusion away from him.

After history class, Jeff pulled me aside. “Since when is your mother’s birthday more important to you than Eddie?” He looked down at me with a frown, a hint of skepticism flashing in his eyes. Jeff was responsible for me meeting Eddie. Sometimes I'm not even sure if he intended to set us up together.

“It’s her birthday, that’s important.” Okay, even if I tried to sell this lie as sincerely and honestly as possible, I wouldn't have believed it either. And neither did Jeff, who knew me better than I would like.

“You hate your mother.” That was a fact. “Or do you want to break up with Eddie?” Something reproachful flashed over his face.

“Fuck, no. I won’t leave Eddie,” I reassured him. “But I hate Christmas even more than spending time with my mother,” I finally confessed and turned my gaze down to the dirty floor, which now only consisted of melted snow and grit from outside and therefore posed a huge slipping hazard.

"What? How can one hate Christmas?” His surprised look irritated me a little. Outside of my family, he was the only one who knew how disharmonious the mood at home was.

“How can one hate Christmas? I’ll tell you. I just hate everything about it. From that hypocritical 'I love everyone' attitude, to that damn snow, cold, the absolute terrible music and disgusting food. I would love to burn every one of those horribly decorated Christmas trees I see. And my family? They hate each other 24/7, 364 days a year, and on Christmas Day we all suddenly love each other incredibly much?” I snorted derisively and then continued my rant. “The stress of buying the right gift for everyone, it shouldn't be too expensive, otherwise the other person will have a bad conscience, but it also shouldn't be too simple and cheap, otherwise the other person might not feel valued enough. And don’t even get me started on this false joy over another pair of darn socks!”

“But you love socks,” Jeff interjected, earning a deadly glance from me.

“That’s irrelevant here, you know what I mean.”

“Y/N, I can imagine that in the past, Christmas didn’t bring up too fond memories for you. But don't you think you could give the celebration of love another chance? With the person you love?” Damn, he was right. Why did he always have to be right? I grumbled and ran my hands through my hair.

“I don’t want to disappoint him, not yet. He's so excited for Christmas and I don't want to ruin that for him. We haven’t known each other long enough and I don’t want to give him a reason to hate me so soon.”

“He won’t hate you.” Jeff's voice became quieter and gentler, his eyes tried to look into mine, but I returned my gaze to the wet floor. Yes, fear of abandonment is nothing nice, especially not when you have finally found the person with whom you are happy and with whom you can be who you are. Eddie loves me just the way I am. But I am still convinced that if I spoiled this Christmas, which he seems to be looking forward to like a little child, with my aversion, he would resent me and perhaps see me differently. And I don't want to jeopardize what we have, not because of such an unnecessary little thing. The bell saved me from this unpleasant interrogation and I was able to escape from my best friend.

Christmas and my mother's birthday were getting closer and closer, and with each passing day I began to isolate myself more and more. The last day of school before the holidays was pure torture. From all sides I had to listen to everyone around me telling me how perfectly all their families would spend their Christmas time, how happy everyone was to finally be able to sit together with the whole family again, drink eggnog, sing songs, bake and cook. And every time someone told me about it, I had to put on my mask, fake a happy smile, and make up lies so that I wouldn't spoil everyone else's anticipation with my unhappiness. I couldn't wait for the bell to ring one last time and send all the Hawkins High students off to their well-deserved Christmas. I gave Eddie a kiss goodbye, wished him and Wayne a merry Christmas and promised that we would see each other again in the next few days. And before he could say anything, I was already trudging through the snow towards home.

As I strolled through the cold and tried to delay my arrival home as much as possible, I was already making mental plans on how I could escape my family as often and as quickly as possible in the next few days to be alone.

My arrival was acknowledged by my family as always: silently and with the occasional eye roll. Without another word, I disappeared into my room and tried to somehow vent my anger. I leafed through my favorite book, but the pages seemed empty and without content, nothing that piqued my interest. Even when I tried to use my knitting yarn to somehow banish the emptiness inside me, I failed. With a deep sigh, I let the yarn and knitting needles disappear back into the basket from which I had taken them out just moments before. I stared blankly into a seemingly endless void, every now and then the voices of my neighbors playing in the snow outside my window caught my attention.

Time really passed at a snail's pace. When my sister called me to dinner, I crept downstairs and sank into the chair at the dining room table.

“How was school?” my mother tried to feign interest in me and my life after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“Good,” I mumbled after swallowing the dry, tasteless mush that was supposed to be meatloaf. “Everything’s fine.” She just nodded appreciatively and then went back to eating. As soon as I had satisfied my stomach's growling for food, I brought my dishes into the kitchen and quickly disappeared back to my room.

I tried again to pass the time with Dracula, read a few pages, and scribbled small sketches in the margins with a pencil.

After just a few pages my eyelids became heavy and I found it increasingly difficult to follow van Helsing's explanations. So I put the book aside again, slipped into my pajamas and wrapped myself in my blanket. Sleep soon overcame me, literally saving me from the yawning emptiness within me and the absence of my thoughts.

Actually I should be happy, I haven't slept so much in a long time. It seemed as if my body wanted to make up for what it had missed.

In the morning, Bobby Helms' voice coming from downstairs woke me up. ‘Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock’

Grumbling, I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my head in my pillow to shield my ears from the noise. Unsuccessful.

After just a few moments, my little brother banged on my door, just in case the music at an uncomfortable volume from downstairs hadn't already woken me up.

I responded with a loud “YES!” to stop him from punching a hole in my door. He clattered down the stairs. Much quieter - and also slower - I followed him a little later, after putting on the most hideous Christmas sweater and a pair of jeans. Staring at the steps below me with intense concentration so as not to fall and with the temple of my glasses between my teeth, I combed through my hair with my fingers and tied it into a rather messy braid with a worn-out scrunchy. When I reached the end of the stairs, I pushed my glasses up my nose, put on an almost ironic grin and hugged my mother.

“I wish you a wonderful birthday!” What a lie. Everyone knew it, but no one said anything.

“Oh thank you so much, my darling!” she replied and broke the hug. Well, that takes care of the most important part.

Finally, my grandfather shuffled down the stairs, grumbling and cursing capitalism, which he believed was the reason for this commercial exploitation of an originally pagan holiday claimed by the church.

To maintain the charade of a harmonious and loving family, we all sat down at the lavish breakfast table to celebrate my mother's birthday. Like every year, breakfast this year was quite quiet. Only the radio presenter's voice brought some life into this spectacle.

After breakfast I stayed for the obligatory birthday present-giving, then I disappeared into my room for some peace and quiet until dinner. This year I used an important project as an excuse to get away from my family, but promised to be back down by dinner at the latest.

We spent dinner in silence, just as we did breakfast. My grandfather, already a little drunk from the eggnog, started telling his stories from his army days again and filled the living room with the smoke of his cigar.

It didn't take long until a stupid comment from my cousin sparked a discussion between my father and my uncle, mom's brother. I couldn't say exactly what they were arguing about again. But it didn't interest me any more than my grandmother's neighbor's digestive problems. Absolutely not at all.

At a moment when everyone was waiting anxiously for the argument to become violent and so that no one would notice my disappearance, I sneaked out of the living room and sought refuge in my room. I put on the headphones from my Walkman, put in a Van Halen cassette and looked at the night sky that I had painted with Jeff's help on the ceiling above my bed.

It took a lot of effort to keep my feelings closed and buried deep inside. As soon as the first tears stung my eyes, I swallowed the flood of anger and hatred and sadness. Over and over again. Of course, somewhere deep inside me I wanted a harmonious Christmas. I longed for love, affection, and security. But what I was presented with every year was feigned affection. To the outside world, our acting might seemed realistic, as if we were a loving family like any other, enjoying our time together and appreciating each other. But when you know what's behind that mask, it's just pathetic. Even as a child, I had given up hoping for a merry Christmas. In addition, for us as children, Christmas was more our mother's birthday than Christmas, so of course we missed that Christmas anticipation that every child feels. A Christmas, peaceful and relaxed, without quarreling uncles and aunts, without snide remarks from my grandfather, without anybody making fun of how I looked, without my uncle, in whose eyes I am depraved and a Satan worshiper just because I refused to go to church and listened to music that violated christian values. Just one year, one Christmas, where everyone gets along and doesn't have to pretend. Maybe one day I'll make it. Together with Eddie. Maybe Jeff was right and Eddie is my Christmas miracle, igniting the spark in me and helping me learn to love Christmas.

With the music ringing in my ears, the turmoil raging outside my sanctuary disappeared and brought me some peace. After a while, without noticing, sleep came over me.

The next day the masquerade began again. After breakfast, the little presents were unwrapped and the annual disappointment was masked by false gratitude and joy before my mother turned the attention back to herself. She just can't help but always want to be the center of attention.

As I said goodbye shortly after the presents were given - I pretended that Wayne and Eddie had invited me - I thought I saw a glimmer of relief in my mother's eyes.

I slipped on my favorite sweater and one of the countless ripped jeans that my mother had tried to patch, against my will of course. I stuffed some cookies, a bottle of water and the book Eddie had lent me a few weeks ago - a very worn copy of The Hobbit - into my bag and drove my little Ford Pinto through the empty streets of Hawkins.

After a few minutes I came to a small cabin in the forest. As kids, Jeff and I found this abandoned cabin and made it our secret hideout. Over the years we have furnished it with old sofa cushions and patched leaky holes in the roof or the cracked windows with foil. I wiped the thin layer of dust from one of the pillows and settled in there with the cookies and the book. After a short while, however, I heard the hum of an engine and the light of two headlights crept through the cracks in the rotten wooden boards.

I carefully stuck my finger between the pages so as not to lose the passage I was reading and leaned to the side. Through the knothole in the wood I saw a dirty white van and a large figure dressed in black who got out and seemed to look around. I turned off the flashlight so as not to give any indication that I was in the cabin. But the next time I looked through the hole in the wall, the person was gone and the van's lights had gone out. I narrowed my eyebrows in question when the door to the hut suddenly and screechingly opened.

I stared at Eddie's face, perplexed, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Hey sweety." The greeting was, contrary to what I expected, friendly. I started to panic inside because I had told him I didn't have time to meet him over the holidays. Now that he found me here, alone, in the middle of the forest, he inevitably knew that this was a lie. But he didn't seem angry, disappointed or upset at all.

“How …” I couldn’t say anything else. I was confused and somewhat speechless by both his presence and his reaction.

He searched for the right words for a moment before answering me. “Jeff.” Of course. I could have guessed it too. "May I come inside?"

I nodded and put the book aside, inserting a candy wrapper between the pages as a bookmark. To my surprise, Eddie had a large basket with him, which he placed at my feet. Frowning, I leaned forward and tried to see the contents of the basket. But as soon as I leaned forward, Eddie pushed the basket further away from me with a cheeky grin.

“Well, well! Don’t be so curious,” he admonished me before briefly going outside again. When he returned to the cabin, he had a small, decorated Christmas tree in tow. I was already rolling my eyes internally. I had sought refuge in the cabin from all this Christmas madness, and now Eddie came here with that same madness.

“Eddie, I…” He didn’t let me finish and interrupted me with an excited tone in his voice.

“Give me just a moment.” With a raised index finger he indicated that I should stay seated and wait for him. And I did. He disappeared from the hut for a moment and returned with a baseball bat.

“I actually wanted to pick you up earlier, but your father said that you were already on your way to me.”

“Eddie, I -” And again he interrupted me and didn't even let me say my apology. But his gaze was gentle, caring, and not angry or disappointed as I would have assumed.

“I met Jeff outside and he gave me the tip about the hut.” Eddie sat down next to me and looked at me with these puppy eyes that made me weak. I felt absolutely horrible. I lied to him and avoided him. The fact that he wasn't angry with me or blamed me only made me more insecure.

He paused for a moment, looking awkwardly at the floor, before continuing.

"I overheard you and Jeff's conversation," he confessed. I sensed he felt bad about this. “It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I heard you and was, admittedly, a little curious. After you acted so distant, I thought you might want to break up with me.” Now it was my turn to interrupt him.

“Eddie, I would never leave you,” I promised him and put my hand on his knee.

“I know,” he said, the smile returning to his lips. “I overheard that you hate Christmas and are afraid of scaring me away.” He paused for a moment and looked deep into my eyes.

“I thought you would be disappointed. You seemed so happy about Christmas, I didn't want to spoil it for you - "

“And give me a reason to love you less?” he completed my sentence, to which I agreed with a nod.

“I would be an incredible fool to stop loving you because of this.” If only he knew what relief those words brought me. “If anything, I would only love you more if that was possible.” We both laughed and the mood immediately relaxed.

“Anyway, I have a present for you.”

“But I have nothing for you,” I replied, whereupon he reassured me: “It doesn’t matter. Nothing would make me happier than doing this with you anyway.”

I raised an eyebrow as I watched him unpack the basket. He pulled out two pizza boxes.

“Since you can’t stand all this Christmas food, how about pizza?”

Next he pulled two cans of beer out of the basket with the words “And eggnog is overrated and disgusting anyway.”

Now he turned to the tree. The Christmas tree ornaments glittered in the weak light, which illuminated the hut through the cracks in the roof and walls. He placed the Christmas tree in the middle of the hut and handed me the baseball bat with a big grin. He didn't have to say anything, I knew exactly what he was going to do.

“Where did you get that tree?” I wanted to know as I took the bat from him.

He shrugged his shoulders and explained in an indifferent tone, “I don’t know. From some front yard.”

My gaze wandered over the Christmas tree, the pizza, the beer, and my broadly grinning friend. To be honest, I couldn't ask for anything better at that moment. Even a 'real' Christmas, like the ones we see in films, couldn't top this moment.

“Oh, and before I forget.” He dug out a battery-operated cassette player from the basket, pressed the play button, and when the first beats of Metallica's 'For whom the bell tolls' rang out, he scoffed: "All those Christmas songs are unbearable anyway."

I was close to tears. I couldn't have dreamed of a better Christmas. I looked at everything he had brought with glassy eyes.

“Eddie, this is incredible.” My voice was broken and I had to try hard not to burst into tears of joy. Not because I was allowed to live out my hatred of Christmas. But because I was so touched and overwhelmed by what Eddie had organized for me. I had never experienced such affection before.

“I wish you a very unmerry Christmas.” He announced, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.

“Yeah, you too, darling,” I replied happily and reached up to kiss him.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me. This is the best worst Christmas,” I whispered against his lips. "I love you."

“I love you too, sweetie.” He looked into my eyes lovingly and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear.

I could never have imagined that Eddie and I would spend our first Christmas like this, standing in front of the burning remains of the Christmas tree, with pizza and beer in hand and Metallica playing in the background. And it was the first of many Christmases we experienced together.

_________________

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

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chubbyreaderchan · 1 year

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Y/n in every fandom but surprise they have Yautja spouse who protects them. (I used he for the Yautja because idk. It works for any gender of Yautja)

Stranger things? Rips Vecna apart with their bare hands for some reason. (I'm not caught up shhhh)

Harry Potter? Why are u afraid of this man little ooman?! Scary spiders? *Destroys entire forbidden forest and presents you with the skulls of every big game in there*

Twilight? Doesn't even flinch.

Buffy? Loves to hunt vampires and demons with you but won't let you do the majority of the work.

Same for Supernatural? Or he'd take you off planet.

Walking Dead? Zombie hunt and then off the planet again.

Other Slasher movie? Oh honey. Your Yautja laughs in the face of them.

Anyways, I need more Yautja content.

#yautja imagine #yautja x you #yautja x female human #yautja x y/n #im anti jkr but pro harry potter fic writers #for the most part #harry potter reader insert #twilight x reader #slashers x Reader #not series #he's not goku but i like imagining yautja in different situations #stranger things x reader

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mawofmeraxes · 2 years

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Nothing That Will Stop Me

request: hello! i saw your recent post and was wondering if i could request a jaime lannister x reader fic, where the reader was captured (much like he was in season 2) and he kept looking for her but couldn’t find her, and she finally finds her way back to him after months. and it’s like their reunion and he’s so relieved yet concerned and he takes care of her and yeah :)

thank you and i hope ur having a good day! and ofc feel free to ignore this if you don’t feel comfortable writing it <3

summary: After enduring months of suffering under the hand of your captor, the dragon queen Daenerys Targaryen, your memory and studies of the guards allows you to narrowly escape and make your way back home to the one person who never stopped trying to find you, Jaime.

characters: jaime lannister x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending, romance, reunion, captivity, wounds, cursing, imprisonment, almost death, murder, unsexual nudity, bathing scene, anti-daenerys targaryen

masterlist

In hindsight, maybe it had not been a good idea for you to accompany Jaime for the capture of Highgarden.

But you were a warrior just like he was, and neither your gender nor the expectations put upon you would stop you from participating in the fight that surely was to occur as you took Highgarden and all of its resources.

Your only regret was that Lady Olenna had to die.

While she may have seemed like a stone-cold bitch (and she was), she was also a woman that you had admired very much.

She would speak her mind with no regard or care for who was listening, got people to do what needed to be done, and even got shit done herself.

You had been suspicious over the true identity of Joffrey's murderer, as you simply knew that it could not be Tyrion who had done it.

So when Olenna had confirmed it for you and Jaime after drinking the poison, you were not surprised at all. No, you knew exactly why she had done it. For her lovely granddaughter.

The same granddaughter who was now ashes where the Sept of Baelor used to be.

Ironic, wasn't it?

Not long later found you, Jaime, and Bronn on the road back to King's Landing, watching as the carts and the men slowly made their way with the new resources.

Bronn had been paid handsomely, as was expected, and you just sat there and waited for what your lover wished to do next.

The main reason why you coming was a mistake, Jaime would later think, was that nobody thought about what the dragon queen would do in retaliation.

The Dothraki screamers were a sight to behold, and you had truly never been so scared of anything more in your entire life. Those men were ruthless, skilled fighters who knew exactly what they were doing.

And then Daenerys Targaryen herself flew in on her dragon and began burning everything in sight, and that's when you knew you were truly fucked.

You didn't foresee being captured at all. You simply thought that you would be slain in battle due to the chaos that surrounded you. Assumed that you would die while attempting to protect yourself.

Losing sight of Jaime was a clear mistake. You didn’t see him again during or after the fight. Perhaps that was a good thing, but you didn't know if that meant that he got away or if he was burnt to a pile of ashes.

When you later stand among the captured men being threatened by a dragon to kneel and submit to the new queen, you knew you could not do so. Simply for your loyalty to Jaime. No one else.

You would never betray him.

When you saw Tyrion Lannister you were not entirely shocked. Knowing that somehow you would be crossing paths with him again. And when Daenerys questioned a woman being a soldier you had simply stared at her, no words to say for the spiteful woman who had just burned so many men alive.

She was clearly ready to burn you alive as well, a look of pure rage and death in her eyes, but luckily for you, Tyrion's oh-so-smooth tongue and fanciful words about your connection to the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister seemed to sway her, and suddenly you were a prisoner.

You had lost track of time as the days went on. You did not know if it had been days, weeks, or months since you had been separated from Jaime.

You did not even know where you were at this point. Dragonstone? Where Daenerys had set up her base? Maybe you were somewhere in Essos, shipped off far away never to be found again before you die. You simply had no idea. All you knew was that you were carted off for days upon days on land before being brought onto a ship where you remained for a few more days. Before leaving the boat you were blindfolded and bound and dragged to the cell where you have stayed ever since.

You had thought about escaping of course, but you knew that your chances of surviving were slim, as all of the people in the queen's employ were ruthless and willing to do anything for her.

So here you remained. Unknowing if the love of your life was dead or not. Clueless as to whether you would be able to get out of this alive and try to find him.

But if he was alive, was he even looking for you? Was he even trying to find you?

You didn't know.

Maybe you never would. Maybe you would die in this dark, cold cell with no one even remembering who you are or what your name was.

But you didn't want that. You really didn't.

The only upside to being sequestered to the same cell day in and day out is that you've been able to just sit and watch when your guards changed, what time of day it was, how long each guard would stay for, and everything else that would help you plot your escape.

You knew exactly when the perfect time for you to attempt it was, the only problem that you were going to encounter was figuring out where exactly you were the second you got out.

Being brought here on a boat brought about the biggest problem that you would come across. If you were on Dragonstone, which would make the most sense, you would somehow need to find a smaller boat of some sort to cart you back onto the mainland.

So you hoped you weren't on Dragonstone.

You ended up being on Dragonstone.

Honestly no surprise there, you saw it coming from a mile away.

You could also see the dragons that circled in the sky.

If they hadn't almost killed you the day you had been captured, you would have thought them beautiful and majestic up there. But now, all you could think about was the death and fear they wrought.

Getting far away enough from the castle and using your knowledge of the maps you had studied had luckily gotten you to the single village that resided on the island. Finding some food and a boat to steal from there hadn't been any harder, and you had luckily been able to row yourself east until you hit land, rowing until you could barely feel your arms.

The plan from there was to start heading south until you would hopefully hit Kings Landing and be able to see if Jaime was there, hopefully still alive and breathing and not burnt to a crisp like many others.

When you did end up finding land, you decided that sticking to the coastline would be your best bet of not getting lost and went south for a whole day on foot until you reached Duskendale. When you asked the barmaid at the nearest tavern and inn how far Kings Landing was from there, she told you on foot it would take about a day and a half of travel.

Exactly what you needed to hear.

You spent the night at the inn using the coin that you stole while on Dragonstone.

It was honestly the best night's rest that you had had in ages. Whether it was due to the hay bed that you laid on or the fact that you knew that you were going to be reunited with Jaime soon, you were luckily able to rest through the night with no disturbances. You continued your journey in the morning.

You weren't used to walking long distances like this anymore. After your imprisonment, you were feeling weak and tired. The muscles that used to line your body were no longer strong due to disuse, and the lack of good food and water helped to ensure that you were not at your best.

So the day-and-a-half trip that was predicted turned to two and a half days, as you rested often and refused to push your body to the limits.

No use in rushing back home if you would just die along the way.

And almost three days later when you kept walking and began to see the red keep in the distance you could have cried in relief. It would only be a few hour’s walk and then you would be home. With Jaime.

If you didn’t die in the slums of Kings Landing first.

Arriving in the city was no different than the thousands of times you had done it before. The only difference this time was that you would have to make your way to the red keep on your own, with no guards or carriages to cover you.

Luckily you were not recognizable at this point as a proper lady. Your hair was marred with dirt and tangled from your imprisonment. Your clothes were ratty and almost falling off of your back. You blended in completely with some of the poorer folks of the city, and as you continued making your way through street after street you started to become worried that you wouldn’t even be allowed in the red keep at this point.

Luckily you had spent many a moon in the castle. Which meant that you knew some of the secret passages like the back of your hand.

It was easy to find the nearest one that led to Jaime’s room again. You had never forgotten it even when you spent moons alone in your solitude.

You had spent many nights sneaking in and out of his rooms, doing things that you shouldn’t have been doing, and going into the dangerous city when you knew it wouldn’t be recommended for a lady of your status.

But the lady of your status that you were supposed to be was non-existent, and the warrior you were captured as had much to say and much to do. Like sneaking into the city.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was being home.

You were walking up the last staircase now, taking your time as they took their toll on your weak frame.

Just a few more steps and the wall on the left would push straight into Jaime’s room. Opening up right behind a large tapestry that no one would have suspected.

Luckily the sun was still high up in the sky, meaning that you wouldn’t be coming into the room while he was possibly sleeping.

If he was even here.

During your time getting back to King's Landing you had much time to think about where Jaime could be. If he had made it out of Daenerys’ attack. You hadn’t seen him when you had been lined up with the others, but that could mean anything. He could have been able to get away or he could have been burnt to ash. Unrecognizable to everyone. A pile of ash.

You had to hope that he was still alive though. That he had made it out and had been hoping, waiting, and searching for you while you plotted your escape from the dragon queen.

Now would be the time to find out if it was all for nothing.

If you were to enter this room just for him to be dead, you would have escaped for nothing.

You would have rather died in that damp musty cell than come all the way here just to have your heart broken.

At this point, you don’t even know what you'd do if you were to find out that he was gone. You didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not while you were so close.

The door was right there now. All you had to do was push and it would lead you straight into his room.

When you did so, it didn’t feel like anything special. It was just any other secret passageway door. It opened until it was slightly hindered by the tapestry that rested against it. But you kept pushing with all of your might until there was enough room for you to slip through and push it back closed.

When you turned to take in the room it was like nothing had changed. It still looked the same as the last time that you had seen it. Lush, red, and gold, with some of Jaime’s belongings strung about.

And there, in almost the center of the room, sat Jaime.

He was at the table that you both frequently ate at, drinking a glass of wine and staring at the table as though it had the secrets of the world inside of it. He had a blank look on his face, not portraying any clear emotion.

You felt the tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of him.

After all these months, all of this struggle you had finally made it back to him. And he was okay.

He was alive. It’s the only thing you could have ever asked for. Prayed for.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the mere sight of him. Absorbing it all.

It was like he hadn’t changed at all. His golden brown stair still shined the same. His rugged beard that lay on his jaw was unshaven and messy, exactly how you liked it. The only difference was the bags under his eyes. He looked restless and like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was so heartbroken and worried over your capture that he had not been able to sleep properly the whole time.

Of course, you were right.

You couldn’t stand there any longer, you needed to hold him. Feel him.

“Jaime…” Your voice croaks out.

His eyes widen, and his head jerks a little but his eyes remain glued to the table. Like he can’t believe he heard your voice. Like you're unreal.

You murmur his name again, and this time he turns his head to look in your direction. His eyes are wide, full of shock and disbelief. “What…” He whispers it, the sound barely heard from where you stand across the room. He stands up slowly, eyes still on your frame as though you’ll disappear if he looks away. “Is it really you?” He questions, slowly stepping towards you as though you were a frightened doe.

A smile starts to spread across your face, your eyes widening in relief. “It’s me, Jaime.” And take your own steps towards him, meeting him halfway.

When you both come together again everything feels right. His arms wrap around you as tight as they possibly can, his right arm around your waist while his left wraps around your shoulders with his hand cradling your head. Your arms come to wrap around him just as tight.

You stand there for a moment, feeling the warmth that his body emits. His breath hot as it brushes the top of your head in quick pants. You can feel the scratchiness of the top he wears.

But then you feel the shuddering that begins in his chest and leaves his mouth as a sob. He pulls you in tighter, breathing picking up as he begins gasping for breath as more and more sobs leave his body and warm tears start to fall onto the top of your head as he cradles it into his chest.

Tears have started welling up in your own eyes at this point, soon turning into sobs of your own as you both hold each other with plans of never letting go.

At this point, Jaime had thought you dead. He thought that you had been either killed in the Reach or captured by the false queen and executed for being her enemy. But here you were. Warm, whole, and in his arms again. Although you did look worse for wear. Hair tangled in knots while your clothes lay in almost tatters on your body. You were dirty, mud and dirt smudged across your face and under your nails. But it was you, and at this moment you had never looked more beautiful to him. You were alive.

He loosens his grip around you and pulls back slightly so he can look at your face. His eyes meet yours and you smile in joy when you see that happiness that reflects back at you. “I thought you dead.” He whispers, his left hand moving from the back of your head to cradle your cheek.

You move your own hand to cover his, “I thought you dead as well. I did not know if you had escaped or not.” You turn away a little bit and close your eyes at the memory of the nights you cried until you passed out in the cell. Cried at the thought of him dead forever. “I had no way of knowing if you died. The fields were ash by the time she captured the rest of us.” You turn to look back at him now, the look on his face mimics your own.

“I had hoped for so many nights that you were not dead, but the thought of you captured did not sound any better.” A scowl starts to mar his face. “Knowing that that false queen had you this whole time-” He cuts himself off and abruptly pulls his arms off of you, not taking note of you jumping in shock at the action. He then starts to pace the floors of the room, running his hand through his hair. “I will have her head for what she has done.” He continues pacing, not looking at you as he shakes his head in anger at the audacity of that Targaryen whore before he abruptly turns his head in your direction and stops pacing. “Look at you.”

He walks back over to you, picking at the rags that cover your body. “I’ll have the maids prepare a bath for you.”

And then he’s walking towards the door, calling out to the maids for a meal and a bath.

All of the maids come rushing into the room in a flurry, and you just stand there and wait as Jaime directs them on what food and clothes he wants them to bring for you.

You only stand there waiting for a few short minutes before the bath is ready, as it’s the one thing he impressed upon the maids as most important.

When you walk into the bathing chambers the large marble bath that rests within it is full of steaming water filled with flowers and oils. You feel all of the stress simply fall off of you as you breathe in the warm air and let it soothe you.

Jaime walks in immediately after you, folded clothes resting in his hand for you to change into when you are done bathing. He sets them done before walking over to you, eyes wide and open. “Allow me to help you, my love.” He says and you simply nod while he begins to undress you.

He pulls off the tattered tunic that you wear, throwing it to the side before he unwraps the band you have covering your breasts, allowing you to breathe freely with no restrictions. Next, he rids you of the breaches that you wear, basically tearing them off due to the rips and holes that they already possess.

The entire time you watch him as he works, watching as he uses his one hand to help you undress, providing one of your hands in assistance whenever he has trouble. Something that you have both long since grown used to doing.

Once you stand bare before him he lightly grabs onto your shoulder to guide you over to the tub. “Rest in the tub for a moment, love.” He helps get your weak frame into the water. You only realize now how exhausted you are. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in months and using your muscles after going so long without has proven to be a strain on your energy. You simply nod as you feel the hot water soothe and calm your aching muscles.

You don’t know how long you sit there before Jaime is asking you to dip your head back into the water to wet your hair so that he can brush through it for you.

“I never wish to be separated from you again, Jaime.” You whisper into the warm air, turning your head so that your eyes can meet his.

He looks into your eyes, his green ones meeting your own, “Trust me, we will never be apart ever again.”

requests are open!

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ewanmitchelll · 8 months

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Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XVII): Anti-Hero.

Imagine Aemond is the King of Westers when you, a Greyjoy, rebel against his rule on behalf of a pretender to the throne.

Warnings: lots of drama, angst; smut, fluff ending like always.

***

•I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser. Midnights become my afternoons when my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.

Just as Aemond lands, rain begins to fall. Storms usually bring bad omens, but he takes his time in going back inside. He knows he’s expected and yet the prince has no need to rush inside.

His hair is soaked as well as his leather robes. Nevertheless, he acts as if he’s been barely touched by the foul weather. Iron doors are pushed so Aemond walks inside. The moment he does Ser Criston Cole greets him.

“I salute you, lord. It appears you bring me bad news.”

“Has my grave look delivered it?”

Aemond doesn’t show him any emotion.

“The king lays in his deathbed and has requested your presence.”

Tragedy has marked the few years since his older brother won his crown upon the longer period of time spent fighting Rhaenyra and her children. Madness followed when sweet Helaena went on her free will to the grave once the twins were bitterly deprived of their lives.

Because Lucerys had to be avenged for what Aemond caused. Their mother, some would whisper, did not last longer either. Victory came when most of the greens were buried and the blacks were dead and gone.

Now all that has remained is Aemond, recently a widower after his lady wife, the unpopular Alys Rivers, died in childbirth, preventing the greens to continue their lineage since their unborn child never breathed their first breath.

He tries not to dwell in the dark waters of the past if he does not wish to be drowned in the worst depression that could make any sane man sink into it.

But a path of blood has led him to this moment. One that he always desired. At what cost, though?

“I shall see him. No need to show me the way.”

Ser Criston doesn’t seem pleased with the cold remark of the prince who has been like a son to him, but the knight knows his place and lets him be.

Aemond soon takes the stairs and in this state, he walks to his oldest brother’s privy chambers. Once he gets in, unannounced, the silver haired prince is surprised by the bad smell that comes in.

It’s the smell of death.

“Brother”, the ghostly, pained voice reaches his ear in a most unpleasant way.

Aegon II is prostrated unhealthily in bed, the opposite of what his young self used to be. The weight of the crown costed much, but no price was high enough to restaure his sanity, health or, worse perhaps, his glorious past. In his eyes, there is nothing but the disgrace of another kinslayer, consumed by remorse.

A terrible sight to behold.

“My king”, he bows his head.

“Even in my darkest hour you are tied to formalities”, Aegon snarls in disdain. “It should have been you here, not me.”

“Time has always been a great thief, on that we agree, but do not think the shadow of death will not be casted upon me”, responds Aemond in a whisper.

“I should have been wiser”, says Aegon with eyes blurred by tears. “The older I grew, poorer were the decisions made.”

Aemond doesn’t know what to respond, opting for silence. In truth, he’s always been more of a soldier than a general. Always one to follow orders than give them. Or perhaps the civil war has led him to shape this perspective of himself.

“What good is there to think of what should or could have been done? The past is there for a reason.”

“How can you be so cold?!”

“I am being reasonable, logical even. Where is the need of being sentimental when pointing facts?”

“The woman whom you fought so hard has died! And here you are!”

Out of respect for the dying king, Aemond doesn’t pick this battle to fight. Not again. Not now.

“The crown is yours to use. But there is one thing you must be told before I’m gone…”

Aemond steps closer now, accustomed with the bad smell. The heat of the fireplace seems unwelcoming now that he’s friends with the cold.

“Yes?”

“Not every kin has perished in the war”, he murmurs.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, this is the first time in a while that Aemond has shown some emotion.

Aegon smirks at his brother, pleased to get him some reaction.

“Two of Rhaenyra’s sons are living”, but for some reason the dying king thinks it’s not his problem to give Aemond their whereabouts. Or perhaps this is remorse for all that he’s done.

Who knows? Who could tell what’s in his mind?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“I am not”, and as if he is suddenly tired of living, Aegon coughs.

Aemond spots blood in his brother’s mouth, but by now his heart and mind are divided in between genuine concern over Aegon, his last remaining family, and the whereabouts of possible pretenders to his throne.

“Aegon…”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, brother.”

That being said, Aegon’s life has been turned into nothingness. The old king is dead. Long live the new king.

***

• I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices. I end up in crisis (tale as old as time). I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)…

You stand in black leather robes by your father’s side the moment a messenger enters the great salon. Outside waves hit the shore violently, announcing a tempest that has been forming in the past twenty and four hours. Clouds have been obscuring the skies, but only by this twilight they’ve been producing electric sounds.

A lightening is heard.

“Well, lord. Under hospitality laws you are welcomed in this household”, says the chieftain of the House Greyjoy. “What news do you bring us?”

The messenger inspires some sympathy in you. He’s younger than your youngest brother and appears to have been made of summer. He knows naught of the perils that coming to Pyke might indulge him. But to his fortune Lord H/N Greyjoy is the head of the House at the moment, which means that he knows the aforementioned laws and would never harm a messenger.

“We have a new king”, by his accent you know he comes from a mid noble house of King’s Landing. “Aegon, second of his name, has died and transmitted the crown to his successor. His brother, lord Aemond Targaryen, is now the new king.”

“Ah”, says Lord H/N, playing with the knife. “A usurper following another usurper. Why does he care about us, often ignored by most Targaryens? Is he familiar that our laws somewhat differ even though we have been paying tribute and homage to them for a while?”

The poor messenger is sweating cold. You think wise to interfere when Lord H/N smiles benevolently.

“Young man, as bad reputed as my house is, we are honorable. At least I like to think my kin and I are. The laws of hospitality mean a great deal to us. But I appreciate the message you delivered us. I presume this means Lord Aemond is expecting that we submit to him as our overlord and king.”

The boy swallows again in relief. You see he’s considering correcting your father for the misuse of titles, but opts not to ruin his fortune.

“Aye, lord. The time to pay homage is soon.”

“Indeed it is”, your father strokes his chin. “These are the days I miss King Viserys. Many took him for a fool, but peacekeeping is the product of hard work. This is what made him a good king. And His Grace respected us, the houses that made his reign proper to rule.”

Then he stands, indicating the time to talk has come to an end.

“Tell lord Aemond that we recognize no king but the one who attends the name of Aegon III, son of the formidable Lord Daemon Targaryen and the queen who should have been, Rhaenyra.”

The warning is done. When the messenger leaves, you pity the poor lad’s fate. As you see the wind whirling against the sea, you say:

“The bad omen is sent by the God.”

It’s your elder brother, your father’s heir, who says:

“What do you understand of such things?”

You shoot him a gaze as if you are speaking with someone whose comprehension equals that of an ant.

“Great tempests like the one that’s been forming is hardly favorable. It is known.”

“A bad omen for the self pretentious new king”, you hear your father correct you. “This is our God preparing us for war.”

“War”, your brother repeats. “Was it necessary, father? We do not know whether the offspring of Queen Rhaenyra are alive.”

“They are”, lord H/N says in a tone that makes clear he knows many more things than he’s letting show. And here is how the schemes begin. “However, we must test the new king’s forces.”

Looking at you, his favored daughter, the head of Pyke says:

“Take with you a great number of men. You do well in tempests like this. The new king will assemble his army, but he’s not foreseeing our attack against his shores, assuming we are going to Lannisport again.”

You nod, unquestioning. Another brother, however, meddles:

“Is it prudent to underestimate the usurper, sire? He collects epithets that make quite a powerful sobriquet.”

“Words as those are meant to break fools by creating unreasonable fear of a man who is just that: a man.” And giving you a look, he says: “You may go.”

You hide away your fears, taking his orders. Unlike your brothers, you don’t question your father and you have no taste for blood. Though sensitive you may be—grieving the loss of your sister springs ago when she was forced to marry a green partisan only to die in childbirth and that of your mother by melancholy made you deal with your rage through violent seas—, you hide away your true self off the eyes of others.

Despite the beauty that brings admirers to your side, iron is set above it so though you never caused any death directly, you had enough power to bring it—which only means how fearful to some you can be, not to mention the protection and favor you have of the family.

Now here you are with the men under heavy rain. It’s time to scheme. Despite the bad feeling you bear with you—the fights you won previously during the civil war for the blacks usually occurred in calm sea, not amidst violent waves—, what else is there to do but to obey your father and overlord?

You turn at the ship and instruct your loyal men to follow you. But you do not enter in it before praising the God you serve and yelling after taking a long sip of wine:

“What is dead may never die!”

***

• It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Aemond’s coronation may have happened with no issues, but brought vices of temper that were not sufficiently tamed during his days of prince. One of which was the obsessive search for the lost sons of Rhaenyra.

Amidst this inconclusive search, the wolves of Winterfell are threatening to revolt at the same time the Krakens of Pyke delivered the message of subtle warning of war.

In spite of the circumstances, he is more than acutely aware of the fragile state of his kingship. This is the time to show his subjects he is not like Aegon.

Nay. He is better.

All the whilst the whereabouts of his nephews remain inconclusive and unknown, Aemond concentrates in issues that expect pragmatism of his part.

The North can still be dealt with the use of diplomacy and he sends his Hightower cousin to Winterfell with gold and an arrangement that works for his cause—presumably a match between a daughter of Lord Cregan and his envoy himself since Aemond has no desires in remarrying.

However, the Greyjoy assault assumes preoccupying colors. What could possibly lead an old house to open rebel against his rule?

“This is easy to resolve”, he shares his thoughts with Ser Criston Cole. “Their fleet will burn with fire and blood.”

Aemond does not fantom how the glory of his moment, albeit with a bloody path that brought him there, can be eclipsed by the refusal of a general acceptance of his rule.

Leaving personal vanities aside, cleaning his judgement of probable vices, the new king understands that the civil war of years ago has not yet been put to an end.

As he watches from the Red Keep the storm outdoors, calmly and steadfastly, a part of him comprehends that he may not be the best loved king time has witnessed and the pen of the maesters registered, but duty is what will always impel him to do what’s best.

If those will not see it through his good, may they see through his worse.

You cling onto optimism under the advantage that this is a surprise attack well coordinated, not a spontaneous sack in search for gold, nor an occasion fighting with random pirates.

This is not, however, a mere thirst for adventure being satisfied. The purpose, although ignored by you in great measure, is bigger than what your reason can conceive.

Perhaps you lack ambition to fight your wars, to be manipulated by your father like your brothers accuse him of doing—but what other choice do you have? He’s never treated you unkindly nor forced you upon an unwanted marriage, giving you liberty to do as it pleased you as long as you’d not forget your duties to your house.

You had your mother and your sister to tame your worse tendencies—whether to be slaved by the passions of the flesh or under the sins of pride—, some of which you’ve learned to repress. Now, however, you are where you belong. In the midst of chaos.

You do not like to fight it or to shed blood. To waste lives is a purpose you take no pride of. But leading others to it… or letting them choose to do what circumstances impel them to do so… this is what you are born to do. This is what makes most men fear you, comparing you to your father.

But they don’t see that, underneath this iron, there lies something pure and good. Sensitive. Aiming to be seen, aiming to be truly free of the duty that ties you to your family.

For however loved or useful you may be to your father, you are still under his command. Even here, even now.

However, it would have been prudent to question it, to have followed your instincts. For you have forgotten, or perhaps not have been told, that a storm never stopped King Aemond of flying his great legendary beast.

Waves clash against the ships, threatening to drown the men in them, or perhaps, as you hopefully attempt to see, leading you all to your destination.

But you miss a great shadow following above clouded skies. The night looks longer and deadlier, specially when it’s heard a roar right when a lightening bolt hits the ocean.

It doesn’t take long before you and your men pale as a shadow of the largest creature you’ve ever put your eyes on is casted upon the ship. You yell orders to separate the ships, with each carrying a beast to put it down.

The rain is too strong now and thus muffles your commands. To worse all, fire comes from above. Two of your ships are gone. You try not to succumb to your fear, soon leading the ship yourself. The desperation of your men is heard, but you try not to let the sound shake your core to join them in frustration.

Some of them opt to jump into the arms of the Drowned God and you cannot blame. But as you try to flee out of the dragon’s grasp, to your dismay you spot an outstanding number of fleet coming to your direction.

You flush violently.

“Fuck, we are ruined! This mission has been…”, your voice dies out. What is there to say? Has your father sent you to a trap?

“What should we do, lady Y/N?”, the second in command asks you.

“Never surrender”, your pride takes the iron shield back to surface. “If we must die, so be it.”

Aemond, however, has other plans. Despite burning and leading his own men to suffocate your rebellion before it reaches land, he wants to imprison the leader of it, which means you.

Soon, your ship is bombarded—and you watch as the king’s men slay all of yours, but you.

“Why are you sparing me?”

To no avail you seek death or protest. As if you are nothing, Lannister men hold you tight, removing you from the wrecked ship. By then you do not know whether you are weeping or the rain is washing your face. What difference is there?

You understand death is coming to you soon or later. Realizing that gives you strength, but paradoxically descend into melancholy.

***

• Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I'm a monster on the hill too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city, pierced through the heart, but never killed…Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

Aemond’s victory upon the two threats against his rising reign leaves him comfortable to deal with upcoming events. Whilst there is no indication that only the names of his nephews are alive in the memory of his enemies, with no bodies found he focus in the real threats and these have been placated.

But curious in meeting the leader of what he judges to be a piracy house, he expects to see you soon. Barely he knows, as well as you, what will result of this.

In the meantime, as comfortable as you are in new robes and in fancy quarters of the Red Keep, protected from the storm that is still daunting outdoors, you have your nightmares to deal with.

The sounds of the men screaming as they either embraced death willingly or were deprived of their lives with inutile resistance bend you to your tears. Never before you felt so weak for loving the sea, the wilderness in it.

What hurts more is the realization you were not born to be a soldier. A part of you always expected to be equal your brothers, but your failure shows precisely that you are not like them.

Lost in your contemplations, you are trying to think of a solution about leaving the place when you are surprised by the presence of no one but the king himself.

Aemond has no time to waste in delegating useless tasks that he can do it himself. Thus it is this anxious warlord comes to the chambers he located you.

Whilst he stands there, you and him share a silent stare. The silver haired prince is significantly taller than you, possessing, as you first notice, a long sword in his right side and a dagger in his left. The idea that he came protected to meet you almost makes you smile.

“What reason is there to your lips twirl in a smirk? You have no reason to commemorate”, his husky voice assaults your troubled mind, forcing you to focus on him.

“You came alone to meet me, lord king. Armed. Do I pose you enough danger for that?”

Aemond takes a seat before you. His good, lilac eye studies you intently. Despite feeling crimson paint your cheeks, you do not look away.

“You think too high of yourself, lady Y/N Greyjoy. I suggest you to know your place.”

You fold your arm, mockery rising to your eyes.

“Please, lord. Enlighten me what place is this when you have no morals to speak in such terms.”

Aemond is patient. And unlike many of the men that crossed your path, not tempted to easily demonstrate or slip into his temperament.

“I wear the crown and impose a defeat on your feeble attempt to overthrow me, lady Y/N. It is unwise to dictate the rules of this game.” And then he adds. “A game that you perhaps have not been prepared to play. Has your good father not instructed you on it properly? By the sounds of your defeat, I guess not.”

You clench your jaw. Despite the broken pride and the heat in your throat that might vert in unwelcoming tears, you hold back the instinct of throwing your hands around this king’s neck and break it.

But you’ve never been one back to violence, have you?

“Has the cat eaten your tongue?”

You stand at last.

“Why coming to insult me so freely? Kill me if you must, lord king. One less enemy to humiliate!”

Aemond too stands, hands contrived in his back.

“Nay”, he speaks in almost a whisper. “The rules are not yours to dictate. Besides, with your supporters dead, I have a guess that your father will not come for you.”

With a side smirk, he leaves you. Victoriously so. And as he closes the door, there locking you in, the prince hears your screams.

But he wonders what to do with you. This is not a typical rebel, nor a natural leader who easily inspires dissent. A soldier. The word brings him back to his memories when, as the right hand of King Aegon, his brother, he did what you are doing now. Obeying orders.

Intrigued by this comparison, he goes back to your quarters after he finishes dinner. Unannounced, he surprises you combing your long y/c hair, wearing a white night gown. As you readily stand before the noise of opening door, he sees not only fear behind your eyes… but comes to notice the strong firm breasts the silk poorly disguises.

However, to his own sake he best not to look too much in you.

“What are you here for, lord king?”, you ask away, throwing robes over your shoulders. “I-It’s too late for a visit and I shall not be your whore.”

Your words, much to your dismay, make him chuckle. Aemond pulls a chair and there sits, holding your uncomfortable gaze still.

“Despite the inappropriate hour, I had to speak with my lady”, says he.

“What for?”, you retort, still at a corner like a frightened animal.

“I will do no harm to you, Y/N Greyjoy. I am not my brother”, he clenches his jaw, waving his hand dismissively. “All I want is talk. You have my word.”

You hesitate and Aemond sees distrust in your eyes. He doesn’t blame you for this behavior. Now wondering what he’d do if his sister’s forces had captured him many moons ago, he comes to think he’d behave similarly. If not more rudely.

Eventually you cede and take a distant seat of him.

“Well?”, you say, anxious. “Speak your terms.”

“I did not come to bargain”, Aemond smirks. “Why, as a victor, would I do so?”

“I am not your trophy, lord king”, you frown your eyebrows in clearly displeasure. “Either send me home or execute me. Other possibilities are out of consideration.”

Aemond is entertained by how your pride takes the reins of the situation. Ignoring what you just said, he proceeds rather cautiously.

“You are a soldier.”

On that you don’t see it coming. You tilt your head and had not it been for a few scars over your eyebrows and on your neck, besides the calloused hands, he’d take you as a princess.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Patiently, the king explains.

“You were following orders to bring your men here. When we captured you, I’ve already had some informations about you. You are the only daughter of Lord H/N of Pyke, but hardly as skillful as your brothers… at least where bloodshed is concerned. You have a tender heart and even when you sack or pile you tend to have mercy on your enemies.”

You look at him in between astonishment and embarrassment.

“You planted a spy at my father’s household.”

Aemond’s lips twitch in a smile.

“You are clever, my lady.”

You feel a strange urge to weep, but you blink a few times, refusing to cede to it.

“I will not ask why. You’ve been counting on that, haven’t you? But seeing I am useless to my father, why keeping me here at your mercy?”

“I do not think you are useless to him. On the contrary”, Aemond rests his hand over his knee. “I know how cherished you are for him.”

“You are using me to bring out my family and defeat it publicly. My House will stand, lord.”

“There are many ways a House can perish, lady. But this is not about it. Disregarding what you may have heard about me, I was a soldier like you. Obeying orders blindly without questioning. However, I was born to hold a sword. You, perhaps, to command.”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond sees the value you have for your family, but what surprises him is that you don’t share the perspective.

They see the beauty in you, not the iron that lies underneath.

A thought he doesn’t find convenient to share. He stands, having collected enough for his judgement.

You watch as he stops by the door. He knows you have the urge to beg him to spare your family. It is an instinct that many would have in your position. But because you know that he studied you well, you say nothing.

You turn your back on him, disappointing your captor for sparing him of temperamental exhibition.

***

As days turn in weeks, you have been forced to deal with eminent loss of the main purpose that has led you there. Serving your family has not only brought you disgraces or exposed your fragilities to your enemies, but comes to nothing when no news of your father or brothers searching to avenge you reach you.

“A soldier is replaceable, whether by blood or not”, says Aemond.

This evening you two are dining together at his privy royal chambers. You realize the king is a lonely man with unseen scars. Like you.

“You have offended my honor and disgraced my pride”, you speak softly as you take wine to your lips. It’s sweet and part of you wishes it to be poisonous. “Until when do you intend to break my spirit?”

When Aemond raises his eyes to meet yours, your soul is perturbed. You wish you could look away, but not even vengeance is a scheme tolerable by your mind now.

“Despite the circumstances, I wish you had not seen me as such”, he speaks behind the glass he takes to his lips. “I believe there’s much to gain in here.”

“What’s there to gain?”

“Liberty.”

“By what means?”

No answer comes. As you now start to study him, you come to see him as not the villain many folks had moulded him to, but not the hero either. Somewhere in between.

Aemond doesn’t say. Silence again hangs in between you, but this time it has not the same shades of awkwardness.

By the end of the dinner, he is leading you back to your quarters. He sees that you still shake when he takes your hand.

“Lady Y/N…”

You look at him, deprived of your pride.

“Y-Yes?”

“This would all be different had you not openly rebelled against me on behalf of phantoms. I sought about the whereabouts of the princes myself and didn’t find them. Why letting yourself be the pawn of others game?”

You lower your eyes so he doesn’t see the depth of melancholy that has hammered these questions long ago, but the king lifts your chin, there gently holding it.

“What other choice did I have? You, of all, should understand what is like to be tied to the family. Have you never sacrificed anything for them?”

Aemond contemplates you in silence, words that echo that fatidic night where his mother claimed Lucerys’s eye for the loss he suffered.

“I have”, he admits. “More than you will ever know.”

A ghostly smile is seen forming shyly on your lips.

“Then we are not different. Soldiers, like you said.”

And then you stop by the door. Looking back at him, you find the king staring at you. Why, this time, does his intent stare shake you? Why do the parallels between you two bring something more?

Worse is, why does your prison doesn’t feel like one anymore?

***

Aemond leaves the council, certain that no more rebellions will spread. There had been no more words from Pyke, though he’s more than aware that the remaining of your brothers might attempt something in not a near future for he’s been informed that they plan another sack at Lannisport.

In that order, he instructs his spy to pay enough gold to have the Greyjoys protecting the bays of Westeros if they occasionally let go of supporting names that are nothing but a memory of days long put to rest.

However, a question remains: what to do with you?

***

You are allowed to walk freely through the castle. At first this intrigues you. As you love the unknown, you occasionally lose your fear as you start to explore this new environment.

But when going to the gardens and there spotting the sea, your heart aches. As you contemplate those calm waters, you wonder why your father had sent you in such a suicidal mission. He knew you had won previously in placid seas. It was never prudent to combat in ugly storms.

Such are your thoughts that you do not see him coming. Aemond has realized that for a long while he hasn’t come to enjoy a feminine companion, gotten now used to you.

Like a hawk in guard, he sets his good eye to scrutiny over you. This time, your beauty captivates his sight. Your y/c hair, falling down to the mid of your back, is only partially tied according to the local fashion; he notices it’s cleaner and better brushed too. As the sun lights on it, it makes it shine in almost a different shade of y/c.

The gown you dress is silk made and it slips delicately in your body, shaping your curves. Aemond’s good eye notices your hips, how firm they are. He thinks you look good in red and black, the colors of his house. This perception makes him smirk unconsciously.

Feeling you have been under observation, you promptly turn in defense mood, admonishing yourself for letting your guards down, until you see it’s the king, your captor, who’s been the observer.

“Staring is rude”, you do not know how else to greet him and curtsying is not an option; this means that you are subduing to his authority, and as much as you are thankful for his clemency to you, you still have your pride.

Aemond notices it, which amuses. Nothing different that what would have he done, had he been in your shoes.

“Not greeting your king properly is as well”, he remarks. “I thought that even the Greyjoys had some manners.”

You scoff at him in defiance.

“Who do you take us for? Barbarians?”

“No”, Aemond wrings his hands behind his back in his usual composed posture. “Only a folk who is often on combat with their own kin when not assaulting other shores.”

“Please”, you snarl in response. “Says the one who came to power after murdering a few of his own kin.”

Any sign of humor dissipates of the king’s eyes. Darkness casts its shadow upon his face and your smirk is instantly wiped off yours. You instantly regret saying it so, even though you cannot understand why.

“Do not speak of matters that you don’t understand”, the king addresses you in a cold tone.

“Then you should not judge a life that you never lived.”

No one admits defeat. Pride takes victory, thus separating one from the other. For the moment.

***

But your remorse begins to hammer against your conscience. You know if you wanted to make your way, you would. Perhaps seducing the king to buy your ticket to liberty.

As days turn into months and these begin to slowly turn into another year, no signs of the Greyjoys in avenging you shows that there is no point in going back home.

Have you been tamed? You fear to find the answer. It’s when you come for him.

“I need to find His Grace”, you ask Ser Criston, his closest advisor.

The knight looks down upon you and you detest to feel small by this man’s gaze. I’m still a Kraken’s daughter. But you keep the thought to yourself.

“He’s occupied at the moment.”

Sounds come from the king’s bedchambers and you narrow your eyes at what you hear. Why are you flinching upon hearing these scandalous noises?

You do not answer the knight. Lifting your chin, you storm out, perhaps prompted to do something very impulsive.

Which is, for now, getting yourself drunk. Now familiarized with the kitchen and collecting a few friends amongst the servants, you get yourself some good bottles to yourself.

“I do not think wise that you should drink alone, my lady”, a maid responsible to look after you named Gisla tells you concerned.

“Who cares if wine takes my breath away, dear? I am forsaken by all, a prisoner whose life turned into dust.”

As you lock yourself in your bedchambers, you get to wonder why the possibility that the king has found lovers to warm his bed should affect you.

Trying to dissipate these uninviting thoughts, you begin to unlace the gown he gifted you, ready to toss it in fire. Pouring wine in the glass, you try to release your caged spirit in the best way you can.

Now wearing nothing more than undergarments, you open the window in search of fresh air. Moon rises high at sky and when looking at the reflection it casts down the sea, melancholy strikes again.

Having calmed your temper, you start to reason with yourself. Who are you now? A memory that remains, a survivor long forsaken? As you taste the sweet flavor of red wine—Dornish, you are sure—you don’t see the king getting to your chambers.

Aemond is dressed in his usual robes, but looking somehow less than a royal. He throws his cape at the seat, his good eye scrutinizing over your melancholy. Almost twelve months have passed and somehow one remains unreachable for the other.

Under moonlight, he spots a free spirit caged. A woman born to rule, his other half in another life if defeat was meant to him. He did to her what others would do to him. And he realizes how unjust he was.

To secure his throne, he did what he must. But growing used to you, he refuses to let you go. The mere thought of you abandoning him is… unacceptable.

Nevertheless, the king wishes to compensate you. Desire arises, sparked by perhaps his utmost selfishness in keeping you with him.

Or perhaps you are only a gift by the Gods to put an end to this misery. His head is heavy with the crown he wears, a burden that tests his limits and feeds his ambitions.

Yet, all is set aside when he looks at you. Slowly he comes behind you. Sensing an enigmatic presence behind you, you abruptly turn only to find him this close to you.

“Lord king! Your Grace!”, you exclaim out of short breath.

“I see we are welcomed properly now, my lady”, he never noticed until now how deep your y/c eyes are, as if sea is calling him. “I have missed you.”

You scoff, trying to find a way out of his arms, but Aemond doesn’t let you to.

“Will you please let me go?”

“Nay. I was prepared to do so, but I am a selfish man, Y/N. I care about you.”

You clench your jaw, frustrated. So many men have been pushed away, despised and looked down by you, but this king… When you look up, you are trapped.

“You care not!”, your voice betrays your spiritual state. “You have been whoring!”

Aemond’s eye twinkles with amusement. He is now holding your wrists as he pushes you against the wall, his knee gently parting your legs. You feel a strange ache burning your womanhood, rising to your chest.

“What makes you think I was?”

His long, slander pale fingers wrap around your fingers, eyeing your chest with lust, perceiving the hardened nipples under the white nightgown you dress. Then he raises his eyes only to meet your inexpressible face completely red.

“I… It doesn’t matter how I think when it’s a fact”, you try to protest, but it dies incomplete in your throat the moment Aemond gently rubs his knee against your entrance.

You should not enjoy this, but by the Kraken, here is no ordinary man.

“And if it was? Why would you care?”, he is pleased to find some reaction in your eyes at the moment he speaks with his husky voice, a positive effect of him over you.

“I don’t”, you squeak as he continues doing what he’s been doing with his knee.

“Deny me, then. Send me away the way you sent your suitors all before”, Aemond defies you, aroused as you begin to rub against his knee, willingly this time.

Eyes locked in one gaze, no one is ready to surrender. Yet.

“My king should know better whom you speak to.”

“One day you’ll wake up with regrets if I leave.”

You move closer to take hold of his long face, fingertips daringly touching his cheeks, up to his eye—but despite your staring you don’t touch the eye patch. Letting them slip to his silvery hair, wrapping your fingers around his locks, pulling him closer to you.

“Will you dare to leave me, Aemond Targaryen?”

His eyelashes barely open as his lips remain close to yours, his left hand holding your waist as his right one leaves your neck, slipping vaguely and purposely over your breasts before resting over your waist.

“Will you stay, Y/N Greyjoy?”

When you dare to remove his eye-patch, Aemond surprises you by not fighting away your curiosity. Knowing how this means he trusts in you, it’s enough to knock down every other barrier you’ve held up to him.

“Must be exhausting to repress your sentiments to this anti-hero”, he stares at you intently.

“It is”, you gasp, spreading your legs as his hand finally moves under the skirt of your nightgown. But he doesn’t make to your core, not yet, which makes you mewl.

Aemond side smirks at you, waiting to bend you to his will. You barely breathe, but this time you turn the tables by letting another hand finding the way to his pants.

“My lady!”

“You did not take me as a damsel, did you?”, you chuckle, even though he sees you are misleading in your eyes.

In truth, as you feign a confidence you don’t have, all you did was having a limited experience with men. So you did know some things as he can tell by the form your fingers skillfully unlace his pants and…

“Shit!”, Aemond curses.

You giggle quietly, appreciating the mix of shock and libidinous in his wide-eyed gaze. It feels good to have his length throbbing against your hand, how you manage to have him under your control.

It feels so good to deflect him to you, to have captured your captor.

“Gods…”, his moans are sensually low, the pleasure stamped in his features making you wet in your legs.

What is meant to be an instrument of domination is now domineering you. And oh you want more… But then, you stop.

“Y/N…” Aemond groans in between annoyance and disbelief.

“I cannot do this”, you say, detesting to break the spell, but then…

He gives you a quizzical look, perhaps thinking many possibilities of why you are doing this to him after he let himself be so crudely open to you.

Precisely why you are surprising him again when you tell him.

“I am not your whore, Aemond. You either make me your wife and queen, or my life ends right here, right now”, you indicate with your head in direction to the opened window. “I am a Kraken’s daughter. I am the sea, I cannot be caged for longer.”

Maybe it’s the wine, but you are scarcely afraid of holding back a character that hasn’t fitted you for long.

“I grew to love you and even though I am forsaken by my family, more painful would be if I were deserted out of your heart.”

Aemond’s features sooth before your words. Indeed he’s been taken by surprise, a deed few would have claimed to do.

“You could have said this earlier”, says he, shortening the distance between you two, cupping your face with his. “I meant not to dishonor you, my lady.”

“I was afraid you would not…”

“…love you?”, he chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “I fucking do. Hence why I said I’m not prepared to let you escape. I cannot do so. And I am ready to make you my queen.”

One smile is enough to firm the peace between hearts in array.

***

• I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero…

Aemond admires the wild beauty that sleeps next to his side. His queen, at long last announced before the whole realm notwithstanding the disapproval of his council, his wife.

He begins to kiss your face, before burying his face against your hair. No more sorrow when your sea salt scent envolves him in a jolt of happiness never before experienced… not before Alys.

No more past to daunt his heart and torment his mind as his tongue slips to your ear, biting your earlobe and sliding to your neck, his hand pressing against your waist. His eyes remain glued at your peaceful, serene face, despite the shivers that begin on your skin and, as he discreetly pulls off the blankets, sees the exposed nipples hardening.

Aemond is careful not to wake you yet. Admiring your nude frame as his lips move to your neck, he keeps in mind the events of the day before. No protest came from Pyke as one of them is crowned their queen. But you are still resented to write them letters, despite the efforts of your brothers in renewing a direct alliance with the crown—to the Lannisters’ preoccupation.

The king is not here to please anybody, but you. He recollects how beautiful you were in a green, silk gown, appropriated for summer feasts. His mother’s tiara was placed above your head, and your hair down reinforced your sparkling beauty.

As his mouth leaves bruises against your skin, you move lightly, making incomprehensible noises. Aemond smirks, slowly turning over your body, always careful when doing so.

Contemplating your nudity under his gaze, he recollects the night before—and the nights beforehand where he took you as his wife, never able to leave your body, remembering how you mewled under his touch, how humbled you were when you begged.

“My lady likes to be commanded in bed”, he said in the occasion.

“Only you has possessed this right”, so you snapped in between short breaths.

Smiling at the retrospective moment, his lips now move delicate to mouth out your nipples, finally awaking you as his fingers move down to your womanhood.

“Oh Aemond!”, you cry out in pleasure, eyes open with despair, as your body reacts like a big wave sets to hit the shore violently.

“Yes, my lady?”, he takes his time in each nipple until your cries get louder, all the whilst his now two fingers make way deep inside you, already familiar with the walls that clench around it, the spot that is soon making you call his name.

And then…

“I need you!”, you whimper.

Your wishes are prompted complied. What a good way to start your tenure, you remember thinking. When looking at you, Aemond Targaryen knows he is not merely a king, but a man who finally found love in his lifetime.

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eyed #aemond targaryen fic #aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #taylor swift #anti hero #midnights

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sarahowritesostucky · 9 months

Text

📖"Body Heat" : a Snowpiercer-Marvel Mashup Story

Part 1 - "The Man"

Rated: Mature (non-explicit chapter, marked mature for dark themes)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x ofc

Tags: dystopia, food insecurity, post apocalypse, age difference (18/34), dark!fic, implied/referenced suicide, background character death (offscreen), poverty, arranged marriage, implied/referenced past cannibalism, hurt/comfort

Summary: She’s too young for him to be eyeing her up the way he has been, but this is the Tail section, and Curtis has caught other men looking more than once. Everything is a commodity in the Tail. Everything. It won't be too long before he has to step in and claim her.

Author's Note:

On Tumblr, forbidden ToS content categories are: "terrorism, hate speech, harm to minors, self harm, sexually explicit material, violence, threats, gore, and mutilation."

And while you ARE apparently allowed to write a fictional story about incestual, torturing, anorexic racists who rape, murder, kidnap, hate, cannibalize, terrorize, and self-injure in the plotline of said story,

you ARE NOT allowed to write an underage character who engages is any sort of sexualized conduct in a story.

For this one category and this one category alone, Tumblr staff (or at least one particular individual 😏on staff) makes no distinction between fictional stories and C.S.A.M. They can and will delete your blog without any notice.

So, in the face of this VERY SPECIFIC criteria for Tumblr's censorship choices, I have changed the age of a character in this story to 18. That's not how the story was originally written, and the story can still be read on Ao3, which does not arbitrarily censor their content. But my m/f stories seem to be most popular on Tumblr, so I wanted to include the altered version in my library here.

(To be spiteful, however, I have changed the ofc from 16 to 18 and Curtis from 28 to 34, thus WIDENING the original age gap from 12 yrs to 16 yrs😆)

🖤With that said, this is a dark story regardless, so if you're looking for fluff, I suggest you look elsewhere.🖤

Part 1 - "The Man"

The Man’s been dead for almost a day, the body already stiffened in rigor mortis and then relaxed again by the time anyone comes to take it.

They’d found him in his bunk just after breakfast yesterday, which means they’ve been keeping his wake for nearly twenty-four hours now, up at the front of the lead assembly car; his daughter and a few others who were closest to him sitting vigil with the body until the time comes. Mourning while they still can.

Jackboots visit the tail section only once per day—in the morning, with the food. That’s how Tailies tell time. So when one of their own dies, the funeral and the family’s goodbyes last only as long as the next arrival of the next pushcart with the next batch of gelatinous bars.

Bringing in food and taking out bodies—a callous reminder to Snowpiercer’s lowest inhabitants that their deaths are little different from their lives: cold, unadorned, hopeless.

Curtis keeps his distance once he’s paid his respects, and it’s quiet now as they all wait. A few people had given some nice speeches earlier, a decent eulogy capped off by the beautiful singing voice of the daughter that The Man has left behind: Rose.

Curtis watches her adjust the sheet over The Man’s body. He’s already been washed and stripped in preparation, wrapped in the old grey sheet that will be returned to them within a matter of hours. Nothing is wasted on Snowpiercer. The few pieces of clothing that The Man had owned now sit folded on the floor, ready to be given to their next occupants. The sight of his trademark checked shirt, unworn and available, is a point of mourning all in itself, Curtis finds.

New clothing always means death.

The Man had been a good person, a leader in his own right. Back when they’d first boarded, he’d been one of the first to volunteer his own flesh—though only once his wife had been killed and the mob was coming for his young daughter, too.

Curtis looks back up towards the front of the car when the heavy groans of unlatching metal come from the next section up. Rose’s face, covered in tears, also shoots up at the sound. Her eyes widen and her lip begins to quiver again. Her fingerless-gloved hand reaches for the body, clutching The Man’s shoulder one last time as the door slides open.

The jackboots bark for everyone to move back, since the funeral group isn’t sitting behind the usual yellow line of demarcation that’s taped to the floor, but then they look down and see the body. The lead guard sighs. “Oh, great,” he mutters. “Just what I wanted to do today.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow and his muscles tense, anticipating disrespect to the body—that he can handle, is used to, but if they lay a hand on her as the scene plays out, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to restrain himself. Rose is a sweet girl despite her circumstances, with an innocence and a naivety that usually only the train babies have, and Curtis has always done what he can to look out for her.

“Right,” the one guard says to the other. “Okay. Protein blocks first, then you can load ‘im on the cart.”

Rose stays sitting by the body as everyone lines up to receive their daily portions. Curtis makes eye contact as he steps up to the lead guard and takes his portion. “Be nice,” he says. “It’s her dad.”

Luckily, the jackboots don’t seem to be in any kind of foul mood today. They let Rose sniffle over the body for a few extra seconds before hefting the corpse onto the empty protein block cart. And then they’re gone. No muss, no fuss, no fanfare. Just like it always happens when a Tailie dies.

“What do you think they do with them?” Curtis overhears Ned and Peter saying, talking with each other as they nibble off their protein blocks not too far from Rose. “Throw ‘em out?”

“How?” Peter says doubtfully. “S’not exactly an escape hatch in this thing.”

“Course there is,” Ned argues. “Where d’you think your shit goes when you flush the—”

“Hey,” Curtis hisses, glaring at them and tipping his head discreetly in Rose’s direction. “Show a little respect.”

Ned and Peter mumble an apology and move off, and when Curtis looks back to Rose, she’s blinking up at him with red rimmed eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice deeper than usual as it emanates from a throat scraped raw by grief.

“I did.” Curtis walks over and slides down the wall to sit next to her. “He was a good man, your dad.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

Her nose sounds all stuffed up, so Curtis fishes in his pocket for his handkerchief. “Haven’t spoken to you in a hot minute,” he says, handing it over for her to blow her nose.

“Yeah well I hear you’re always planning the next revolution, so …”

Curtis scoffs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks her over, taking in the worn knit of her sweater, the colorless felt of her coat that’d once been blue and belonged to her mother. So many of the Tailies are worn down to nothing but dull, grey husks now, just like the clothes they’ve recycled for over a decade. But Rose is different.

For whatever reason, her skin is still clear, her hair still thick. The malnutrition hasn’t affected her the way it has most others. Her soul still comes through her eyes. That inner luminance makes her pretty, maybe even the prettiest girl in the tail section. Even though she’s still very young. Probably too young for Curtis to be eyeing her up the way he has been, these past few months.

But she’s about that age now, even though it feels like only yesterday he was scrounging up materials to make her a little doll she could play with. People grow up fast in the tail whether they want to or not, and Curtis has been on high alert for a while now because he’s caught other men looking more than once. He’s even heard some bits of hushed conversation, whispered from nearby bunks where the occupants didn’t realize he was there to listen. Everything is a commodity in the tail. Everything. And there’s no one else who looks like Rose. She’s only made it this far because of her father.

And now her father’s dead.

Curtis realizes he’s been staring a little too long when Rose’s eyes slide over to him in curiosity. He coughs and looks away, shaking his head when she tries to hand him back the handkerchief. “Naw. You hold onto it for me, Hon.” She tucks it shyly away in her coat, and Curtis is pleased. “So …” he hedges, not knowing what to say to her. There’s nothing he can say. All they have in the tail is each other, their people, and she’s just lost hers. “So … you still going by ‘Rosebud’?”

That gets a tiny smile from her, which warms Curtis’ chest in the same way that he can remember whiskey doing, a lifetime ago. “Nobody calls me that anymore,” she says. “Nobody but him. And you.”

“Yeah?” Curtis thinks on it some. “Well maybe you should retire it. It’s a girl’s name anyway.”

“Aren’t I a girl?”

He raises an eyebrow without looking at her. “You still have that doll I made for you?” He hears her scoff and knows the answer. Rosie helps look after the young children in the tail. Curtis has seen that shabby little doll floating around in various tiny hands for years now. “You’re a good person,” he says quietly. “Like your dad. He was good. I’ll miss him." He’s looking straight ahead across the assembly car when he says it, but he still catches her slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

“He didn’t act any different,” she says, voice tiny. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything that made it seem like he was going to …” She cuts herself off, swallows thickly and shakes her head. “I just didn’t know.”

Curtis holds out his hand in offer for her to hold, and she takes it. Even with the fingerless glove on, her hand still feels tiny in his. “How about Petal?” he suggests.

“Petal?”

“Yeah,” he decides. “Yeah that’s what I’ll call you. Petal. My rose petal.”

“Oh, god.” She groans. “No. Curtis.”

“No?” He turns his head to look at her, and this time he waits until she looks at him too. Her expression sobers as their eyes meet. Curtis reaches to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a beautiful word,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t I call you that?” His eyes skip over her face, soaking up the way her breath stutters, how a slow blush starts to fill the apples of her cheeks. “I promise I won’t tell anybody else,” he whispers.

She ducks her chin with a bashful smile. “Well, I guess so.”

In her lap, her other arm curls protectively around the small pile of belongings she’s been holding onto, drawing Curtis’ attention. Her father had been a large man, imposing, and yet the pile is so tiny. A whole entire life, compressed into less than one square foot in the end.

(Curtis does wonder, sometimes, what they do with the bodies.)

“He was one of our best,” he tells her. “Even in the Desperation. I remember how he was, how he volunteered. He was a leader. Brave.” His eyes slide over to the excuse for an artificial limb that's been cobbled together from an umbrella and a few old wire coat hangers, of all things. Now it sits, sad and unused, on the floor next to Rose’s leg. “You know who you’re gonna give it to?”

“What?”

He nods at the limb. “His arm. It’s the best one in the tail.”

“Oh.” She glances away from it, looking pained. “No,” she says. “I figured I’d just give it to you.”

“Me?” Curtis isn’t one of the few who’d volunteered in the Desperation—obviously, as he’s still got all four limbs intact. He wasn’t the same person back then that he is now. Back then he’d been a taker, not a giver. He looks away with a frown. “Give it to Phil,” he suggests. “He needs one, since his broke.”

Rose agrees that the arm should go to Coulson. She carefully sets the pile of clothing aside on the floor and returns to place her hand back in Curtis’ waiting one, this time pulling their joined hands into her lap. They sit there together like that for a long while, not speaking, just existing side by side. Some things have so much more value now than they did Before, including silent company and a comforting hand.

“Do you remember it much?” Curtis eventually says.

“Before?”

“No.” He never talks about Before, since it only breeds despair. “Boarding,” he says. “Do you remember?”

“Of course.”

He winces. “Oh. I didn’t know if you did. You were so young. I thought maybe … maybe you’d forgotten. A lot of the kids did, even some of the older ones.”

“Yeah. MJ was eight and she says she can’t remember at all.”

Curtis nods. “Sometimes it feels like a dream even to me, it was so long ago.” He’d been twenty-two when the world froze and people were reduced to animals all around him. Twelve years couldn’t erase that pain, but it could muddle it a lot. “I’m sorry you didn’t. Block it out.”

“I remember ... shouting,” Rose says, her voice teasing the memory out. “It was dark. And I remember getting shoved around, hiding against my mom's legs, being hungry ... how cold it was.” It’s been cold ever since, but never as cold as that night—the last night before the wind and snow and ice got shut out forever. She heaves a sigh. “It’s all a jumble in my mind, anyway. I couldn’t see past anyone’s coat.”

“You were little,” Curtis mumbles. “Short.”

“Well I was six."

He smirks and bumps her shoulder with his. “You’re still short,” he teases, while privately he thinks that it’s better that she was so young when it happened. It means her earliest memories are of cold and chaos, and that’s better than the alternative of having had more time in the World. It means less things to mourn. “What are you going to do now?” he asks, shaking his head like he can knock the past out of it. "Plans for today?"

Rose shrugs. “Same old, same old. Kids, stories. It’s my night to shower.”

Curtis turns his head towards her, brow furrowed. “You … but you’re not going back to you guys' spot, right?”

"'Course. Where else would I go?"

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, what he thought the alternative was supposed to be. Every square centimeter of the tail section is already portioned and claimed. New space doesn’t just appear. Nothing new ever appears, except babies, bodies, and the rats that Wanda breeds to supplement their diet.

“Rosie,” Curtis scolds. “No. You can’t go back there. Not where he—”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says stubbornly, pretending it doesn’t bother her. But she’s a horrible liar and that’s just another thing that's always made her so endearing ... and so vulnerable.

“Hon,” Curtis mourns,

“It’s just a bunk," she insists. "He slept there, he died there. I’ll probably die there too, one day.”

Curtis growls unhappily. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Hey, things won’t always be like this.” He catches her throwing him side eye and he glares at her. “They won’t.”

“Right,” she says, mouth quirking sadly at one corner before her gloved hand gives his a final squeeze and then lets him go. “Well. Not everybody has the big plans that you do, Curtis. Sometimes it's better to know what the future holds, even if it's this.”

“Don’t lose hope, Petal,” he pleads, but he can see that she’s dismissive of it. People lose hope all the time in the Tail. That’s what’d killed her father.

He sighs and looks back to the opposite side of the car. Now that the jackboots are gone it’s thinned out some, with some people gone back to their bunks and others remaining behind to munch on their protein blocks in the fresher air of the assembly car. Curtis spots a man several yards away who’s been openly staring at Rose. When the man sees Curtis looking, however, he hurriedly turns away.

Curtis scowls. “Hey,” he says, intending to take Rose's hand again and offer to have her spend the night with him. But her hand isn't there when he reaches over. She’s getting up, gathering her dead father’s pile of folded clothing items in her arms. Curtis frowns and gets up with her. He hurries to pick up the artificial limb. “Wait. Where’re you going?”

“Gonna give these to Gilliam,” she says, already on the move. “I want him to have first dibs." As if her father’s clothing would even come close to fitting Gilliam's shrunken and weathered old frame.

But Curtis gets up anyway and follows after her, not wanting to let her go just yet. He hurries along as she walks surprisingly fast for having such short legs. “Hey,” he says, talking to her back as they navigate through the communal living cars and the showers, and then into the cramped passageways of the market. “Hey, you know … you could come over tonight, if you wanted. My spot’s a pretty good size.”

“So is ours—” she says, faltering when she realizes her mistake. “I mean, so is mine.”

Curtis sighs and grabs her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. “Don’t go back there,” he pleads, cornering her into a cramped spot to face him. “Hey. I mean it, Hon. Don’t. You shouldn’t go back there tonight. Not alone, not where he …” She squares her jaw and looks up at him, expression stubborn as ever, and Curtis is struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her. “It’s too soon,” he insists, because she’d been the one to find The Man sitting up in the bed: straight backed and purple faced and all out of hope, a cord wrapped thrice around his neck. “Too soon,” Curtis repeats sadly.

“I’ll be okay,” she insists, nodding when he makes a face to show how much he doesn’t agree with that. “It’s fine, Curtis. Really. I appreciate the offer. And I get it, I do. But that's our spot, ya know? I’ve lived there for twelve years, and I—” her eyes cut away, glossy with the threat of fresh tears. She swallows thickly and won’t look at him again. “I’m not ready to leave it,” she whispers. “I’d rather stay where it still smells like him.”

Curtis isn’t sure what love feels like, but he thinks maybe it’s partly made up of the horrible feeling he gets in his guts when he sees Rose in pain like this. “... Okay,” he says quietly, taking a small step back so that she can continue on down the passage. The tail is made up of twenty cars, and they’re only several down from the forwardmost car at this point. “Gilliam’s probably at the back,” he tells her. He can see that she wants to be alone in her grief, though he hates the idea of letting her go. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping her face. “I’m right here if you need me, Hon. You know that, right?”

She smiles and nods with watery eyes, worsening the tug in Curtis’ guts. He thinks seriously about leaning in and kissing her, but winds up holding himself back like he’s done so many times already. Instead he just strokes his thumb over her cheek, finger ruddy against the clear skin of her face. “Okay,” he says again. He gently places the artificial limb on top of the stack of clothing she holds, then takes another step back. “I’ll see you at dinner?” he asks, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice. He wants to see her again, as much as possible. The more he can keep her in his sights, the better.

“Yeah,” she agrees, leaning up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. “Thanks, Curtis. For looking out for me. He'd feel better, knowing that."

He watches her go with a sense of trepidation, uttering a quiet, "Not doin' it for him," once she’s halfway down the car.

Masterlist

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billys-pretty-babe · 1 year

Text

Would It Be Better

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : Billy's girlfriend struggles a lot with her mental health and he feels like he can't do anything for her but just hold her and tell her she'll be okay.

Warnings : Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, mentions of past self-harm (cutting), brief mention of a failed suicide attempt (overdose), Billy cries a little, swearing, angst, fluff at the end

Word count : 838 words

A/N : This piece is dealing with many heavy topics that I have been dealing with for the past nearly four months. Please, please, please read the warnings because many of them are triggering and I will completely understand if you skip this. Don't be afraid to reach out if you need help. OOC!Billy.

He didn't know what to do. His heart raced, his brain pounded against his skull, his palms began to sweat. He heard the comment she made today in class, she whispered it under her breath but still he heard it.

"Maybe it would be better if I just left forever."

Now he sat in her room, her face looked lifeless, her eyes lost all light and it pained him, he swore his heart was going to stop. "Baby," he quietly said, "I want to help you but you gotta tell me what's going on." She sniffled and wiped her face, her hands covered by the red lifeguard hoodie that she adorned, the red lifeguard hoodie that she stole from him months prior during the summer, claiming he didn't need it.

"B, it's too hot for a hoodie. You don't need it right now."

His closet never saw the hoodie again. the hanger now had no purpose, just like how his girlfriend felt, purposeless, hopeless, worthless. "It h-hurts," she stuttered out, her breath trying not to catch in her throat. "What hurts, baby? Can you tell me?" She patted her chest twice and he wasn't sure if it was because she was crying or if an anxiety attack was going to start.

Billy moved closer to her, sitting on the edge of her bed and she reached for his hand and he let her take it as she squeezed it tightly, trying to reassure herself that he was indeed there with her. "Are you getting bad again," he softly asked and she nodded, not wanting to break down in front of him, she had to be strong, she had to be.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She shrugged, her breath choppy as she tried to inhale. "Didn't want to bu-burden you." He shook his head, "No, there's another reason, tell me what it is." She shook her head, her hands fidgeting and Billy caught it. "Are you cutting again?" She shook her head, "No."

"Can I see?" She nodded, putting her arms out and Billy rolled the sleeves up, her arms clean besides the fading scars that she made months ago, when he first found out about her depression. He fixed the sleeves, kissing her hands gently as he held them. "Tell me what's going on. I'm not gonna get upset, okay? It's not good to keep your stuff bottled up." She nodded and breathed, trying to calm herself down.

"I wanna die," she softly said, trying to make her voice soft enough that he wouldn't hear it but he did and his heart stopped and his stomach dropped. The same feeling he gets on rollercoasters and he hates rollercoasters, seen final destination too many times. "I feel so worthless and so useless, like I shouldn't be here." Billy squeezed her hand, letting her talk. "When did you start thinking like this?" She shrugged, "Last night."

Billy nodded, "Did you plan on," he had to stop himself, his throat was tightening at the thought of burying his girlfriend and he cleared his throat, "did you plan on doing it?" Seconds went by and no response, "I don't know," her voice was weak, ready to give up. "It's just too much, Billy and I don't know if I can keep going." Billy bit his lip, trying not to cry, he couldn't cry in front of her now.

"And I love you, I love you so much, B but it just hurts so fucking badly," she was breaking in front of him, everything crumbling before him. "Do you remember what I told you after you tried to take those pills?" She nodded, not looking at him before speaking, "You go, I go." Billy nodded, "Exactly because goddamnit, I can't fucking do this without you. I know it's hard but baby, I'm here, okay?"

He paused for a moment, his vision blurred with his tears as a few fell onto their connected hands. "I know it's hard to talk about this stuff but I'm not going to bury my fucking girlfriend all because I couldn't save her, do you understand?" She nodded and fell into his chest, her body shaking as she cried and Billy held her tightly because now he knew that she could slip through his grasp.

"I love you and I need you here with me. We can get you help but you have to be honest, you can't sugarcoat like you usually do." She nodded against his chest and Billy kissed the top of her head, holding her head tightly to his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat, how it beats for her. He rubbed her back with his other hand, letting her cry against him as he put his head on hers and cried with her.

They held each other tightly, too afraid to let go of each other but they knew she would get the help she needed and Billy knew that everything would be okay, whenever she decided that it would be okay.

#billy hargrove x f!reader #female reader #fem!reader #billy-eddie-steve-babygirl angst #billy-eddie-steve-babygirl loves soft!Billy #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x female reader #billy antis dni #billy hargrove antis dni

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morganwrites12672 · 2 years

Text

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Billy hates Hawkins, you show him it's not so bad.

** THIS IS NOT SMUT**

"You're not like other girls, ya know," Billy tells you. You scoff and light his cigarette for him. You light one up for yourself and take a drag.

You exhale, "No shit, Hargrove," you laugh. "that is exactly the compliment every girl is dying to hear," you laugh, billy wasn't going to get you that easy

"Well, you haven't made one comment on my ass," Billy says and you laugh. That was very true.

"Well, you haven't made one on mine. I don't know if I should be offended or glad," you say and Billy laughs.

"Maybe this shit hole isn't so bad," Billy says as you both take another drag.

"I could show you how good it really is," you offer and he smiles.

"I thought it wasn't going to be as easy to get in your pants," Billy laughs.

"No, I am going to show the you some cool places, strictly PG," you say and boop him on the nose. He looks offended.

"Did you you just?" He asks and you nod before walking to your car.

"Meet me at the arcade when you drop off Max, 5pm," you tell him and he nods.

He had it bad, as you drove off he stomped out his cigarette before getting in his Camaro. As he drives, all he can think of is you.

He hasn't felt this way before, he didn't just want sex. He had made the earlier comment as a joke, he knew you wouldn't be trying to get in his pants.

You made him feel things. He was excited to see you, your laugh made him get butterflies. He had never been excited to see a girl, other then for hook-ups.

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

It was a Friday afternoon, 5pm. You pulled up to the arcade and lit a cigarette while waiting for Billy. As you exhale your first puff, he comes tearing into the parking lot.

You stomp your cigarette as he exits the vehicle. Max flips him off, and you hear faint yelling before he walks over to you.

"Where we going, pretty girl?" He asks as Max look at him with disgust. You grab a bag of quarters from your car and smile.

"The arcade is the best place to hang out, but no smoking. There's to many kids," you say and walk towards the entrance.

"Are you kidding me?" Billy calls after you and begins speed walking towards you. He couldn't believe that you, you of all people, thought this place was cool.

"Take a guess," you say and open the door. Billy groans before following you inside. He didn't have to. He could of turned around and sped off in his Camaro. He didn't.

He sees you at a brightly colored machine labeled 'Pac-Man'. He groans before going to stand next to you.

"You try," you tell him and move aside. You slip in the quarters and billy begins to play. He actually isnt very bad at the game, for a beginner.

He soon gets caught up in the game as he realizes he won't be able to leave until he has the high score. If only he knew who held it.

You can't believe your eyes. The billy hargrove was playing a kids game, and he was having fun. He would be getting hell for this from now until the day you die.

Max walks toward the Pac-Man machine, she had a few extra quarters she wanted to use on something other then Dig-Dug.

She is in utter shock to see billy yelling at an arcade machine. He was with some girl, and he wasn't even smoking.

"I can't beat whoever '*your arcade name*' is," billy says and moves to let you try. You smile at him.

"It's me,"

"Seriously?!?" Billy asks with his hands on his hips, "you let me spend an hour trying to beat you?" He asks and you smile and nod.

Max turns around and immediately walks back to Dig-Dug. That was weird as hell.

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Please reblog if you enjoyed!

Requests are open

#billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #soft!billy hargrove #poor max #billy hargove x reader #billy antis dni #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x sister!reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargove imagine

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hogwartsandhawkins · 1 year

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Prove Me Wrong

Chapter 6: What The Hell Is Jess Logan Doing

Prove Me Wrong Masterlist

Summary: After Billy stays a little too late studying, Jess makes an unfortunate realization.

Warnings: Swearing, Eating/food, reader/jess being hella stressed with school. As always, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Note: I know I said maybe 9 chapters when starting this series. That was a lie. This is definitely gonna be longer than 9 chapters. Enjoy the long ride.

Their visit to Big Al’s was essentially the same as the last, with them ordering the same meals, Billy sure to order Jess a double patty again just to steal one once it was delivered, sitting at the same booth coincidentally, and even having the same waitress, whom Billy seemed less interested in making blush this time around. The only real difference this time was the way they were seated, as Billy decided to sit on the same side of the booth as Jess rather than across from her.

“So you’re telling me, pretty boy never let you touch his car?” Billy was now dipping his fries in Jess’s strawberry shake, even after her protests about Billy’s unwanted saliva in her perfectly good milkshake.

“No, it’s not him, it’s his parents. Don’t want me putting a dent in his bimmer, which I don’t blame them. He tried letting me drive one night after a party once, but I chickened out last minute.”

“So what’s the deal with you being scared of driving?” Billy was now out of fries, and instead, grabbed a spare piece of bacon that fell off his burger and dipped that in her shake instead, something Jess either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“I’m not scared of driving.”

“Yeah you are,” Billy contested dryly, popping the last piece of ice cream-coated bacon into his mouth before wiping his hands together. Jess turned her body to the right to face him placing her right thigh on the booth bench, her foot bouncing underneath their shared table.

“No, I’m not.” Instead of contradicting her again, he took his straw in between his lips and sipped until he heard the loud, disruptive sound of air passing through it.

“Whatever.” He then decided to steal her spare fries, dipping them in the ketchup she squirted on her own plate. Again, he was right, which was something that began to annoy Jess, the way his smug smile would come into play when he voiced certain things he’s noticed about her, the way he seemed to think he knew her better than she did, and the most irritating, he knew he was right. Every. Single. Time. About cheer. About her wanting him to take her to school. About both her lack of experience and fear of driving. What became even more irritating was the longer she thought about it, the more she realized she knew nothing about him. She knew none of his fears, or dislikes, besides his strange and immediate hatred for Steve.

What Billy would never admit to her, or even himself, was that he had spent the last two months getting to know her without her realizing. With having 4th period and after-school practice to watch her cheer, and 6th and 7th period to watch her study, he spent a decent amount of time figuring her out. Not to mention the random run-ins in the halls or at parties.

He remembered the incident she mentioned earlier, the one where Steve offered to let her drive from a party. It was Halloween. He had no idea what she came dressed as, all he knew is that she looked great wearing it. He remembered walking up to Harrington after beating his record and becoming the new “Keg King”, a name he thought was ridiculous but wore like a badge of honor anyways, and he remembered looking over at her first, standing next to Wheeler, making him almost too nervous to stare Harrington down in the first place. And then he remembered Harrington and her leaving the party, him obviously pissed at something, which Billy later came to find out was from some fight with his girl. Steve seemed to be a bit out of it, rubbing his chin constantly. Jess had run after him as he stormed out of the party. Billy couldn’t help but watch as Steve tried to change his expression from seriously agitated to indifferent but failed as tears welled in his eyes, threatening to fall if Jess dared to ask what happened. Instead, Steve quickly looked away and chuckled a bit. “You wanna drive, Jess?”

Don’t get him wrong, he watched everyone for the first month or so, trying to figure out who knew who, who was worth spending time with, who wasn’t, but over these last two months of getting to know her, he knew that she was insanely kind, incredibly smart, and didn’t look at him like a piece of meat. But over these last few days, he also knew that she talked shit about him to Steve behind his back, which he didn’t blame her for, as he regrettably did the same with Tommy and Carol. He knew that they may never be friends and that Jess would keep her promise he overheard to Steve, that he would be old news by the time their project was over, which made him second-guess his reasoning behind asking Mr. Crowley to pair the two up in the first place, something he would also never admit to Jess.

Billy and Jess walked up to the register together, and after she denied a to-go shake this time around, they were ready to pay.

“That’ll be $9.50”

Billy already had a ten ready, with another $2 he planned on handing over for a tip when he noticed Jess take out her own wallet. “What’re you doing?”

“I actually brought money this time. Good thing we went back to my place before we got here.” Billy couldn’t remember when she did that, most likely due to the fact that he was hyper-focused on her father, but it didn’t matter to Billy how she got it, she wasn’t going to use it. He ignored her and handed over the $12, telling them to keep the change.

“Let’s go, Logan.”

Jess followed closely behind him and attempted to hand him a $5 bill. Instead of taking it, he merely looked at her, annoyed, and spat “Knock it off Jess,” opening her door in the process.

“What?” She climbed in, and instead of answering right away, he just shut the door after he ensured she was in all the way. He then entered the car himself and shut his own door. Jess still had the $5 in her hand and tried one more time to hand it to him, saying he didn’t need to pay for her all the time.

“So did you get that out of your mother’s purse, or did daddy give it to you before you left?”

“…purse… But I get an allowance, you know…”

“Cute,” was all Billy had to say about that. He again ignored the bill lingering between her middle and index finger, and instead, stretched his right arm across the back of Jess’s seat, looked behind, and swiftly reversed out of their parking spot, heading back in the direction of Cherry Lane.

She now felt awkward about holding the $5 bill but was too stubborn to put it back, so she began to open his glove compartment when he snapped, “Jess, so help me god if you put that bill in my glove box.” He had his Ray-Bans on, which shouldn’t have been needed as the sun was set to the point where it wasn’t a problem, but she felt the corner of his eyes on her. She flipped the compartment back closed and defeatedly dropped the $5 in her bag.

When they reached the Logan’s driveway, the time was approaching 7:45, causing Billy to look at his watch, wondering whether Jess was wanting him to leave, or stay. So, he just sat behind the wheel, with the car still on. Jess noticed this as well, and thought it was him who didn’t want to come inside, “We can just start tomorrow if you want?”

Billy nodded his head in agreeance, well, more like acceptance, as he was mildly disappointed, and looked back at her. “See you tomorrow Logan.” She nodded with the same dispirited acceptance, and slowly gathered her things, or rather, thing, being her small bag. As she opened the door, she hung her right leg out, fully intending to leave, but stopped herself before she did and turned back to Billy, who had yet to look away from her.

“Uhm,” What the hell are you doing? “Unless… I do still need help in pre-calc… but I mean if it’s too late we can just do that tomorrow, if you want…“ What the hell are you doing? She began to mentally beat herself up for one, how dumb and possibly desperate she just sounded and two, actually wanting Hargrove to stay?

“Thought you didn’t want my help, huh?” There it was again, that smug look.

“I never said that.” Just let him leave! But Billy was already turning off the ignition, unbuckling himself in the process. He then reached behind his seat and grabbed his backpack, which was mostly empty, besides Jess’s old 7th-grade book, some of her handwritten notes, and his own notebook. Once he retrieved it, he opened his door and quickly left, as if he was anticipating Jess changing her mind. Jess continued to sit in the passenger seat, appalled by the way she practically begged him to stay.

“You coming or what?” She supposed she had to, considering it was her house, so she finally lifted herself from his seat, locked her his door, as she was always ordered to do, and walked toward her front door with Billy for the second time today.

The door was unlocked, as she had left it previously. While entering, she saw her mom and dad, sitting on the couch together, eating whatever her mother made for that night. Hearing the door open Mrs. Logan looked over her shoulder, “Oh hi hun, and Billy! It’s nice to see you again dear.” She quickly placed her unfinished dinner on the coffee table and hurried over to them. “You kids hungry? I just got done cooking.”

“Oh don’t worry about it Mom, we just got back from Big Al’s.”

“That’s right, I remember Stan saying something about that. Well, food is here if you change your minds.” And with that, she excitedly hurried back to the couch, where Stan was barely paying attention to what seemed to be a game show.

Jess grabbed her school bag that was sitting on the last step before hurrying up the stairs behind Billy. As she entered the room, she began to pull out her math notebook before discarding the rest of the bag at the edge of her bed. She searched her nightstand drawer for a pencil, eventually settling on a blue pen she found, and began opening to where she last copied from Billy’s notes. Without waiting for her to ask, Billy also opened his own notebook to where he thought she stopped and lightly tossed it to her side of the bed, sitting down on the other as he did so.

“Okay, so explain the long way to find a derivative again,” but as she kept peering down at both of their notes, she already grew frustrated with her hair falling in front of her face, making her constantly have to tuck the strands behind her ears. As he began to try and explain, she cut him off, “Ugh, hold on.” Billy watched as she reached for her nightstand again, where she retrieved a baby blue banana clip, opened it, and effortlessly gathered her hair behind her head as she carefully secured the clip. “Okay, go ahead.”

He must’ve not heard her, as he was still staring at her, carefully watching her scan both of their notes, side by side, making sure she’d written down the jumbled numbers and letters correctly. He watched as the shorter layers began to slowly become free of the clip, falling to the front of her face again, without obscuring her view too much. He watched as she continuously capped and uncapped her cheap pen, something she did a lot of in their shared 6th period, but never in their 7th, and he watched as her eyes quickly left the pages of their shared notes and found his own, wondering why he had yet to say anything.

“Don’t tell me you lied about being good at this stuff.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “You ready?”

And so, he began to explain how to find the solution long hand, something Jess found useless to know anyway. “I don’t get it,” Jess exclaimed hours later, “I shouldn’t be docked points because I just use the shorter way. What’s the point of there being a shorter way if I can’t even use it?”

“Dunno, I just do it.”

“Obviously, the derivative of X squared is two X, done. Why do I need this stupid formula?” She became visibly agitated, considering she still couldn’t remember the formula, and when she did remember it, she seemed to keep distributing the values incorrectly.

Billy seemed to find her frustration humorous, remembering that just a few days ago, they were sitting in the same place, with Billy being the one who was frustrated over their schoolwork. “It’s not funny!” Seeing Billy smiling at her confusion made her even more worried, “We have a test over the long-handed version Friday, and if I don’t get at least a ‘B’ then I’ll lose my ‘A’ in the class and my GPA is fucked.”

“Jess.”

“What?!”

“Take a break.”

“But I have to get this b-“

“It’s Monday. Knowing you, you’ll get it by Wednesday.” And with that, he grabbed his own notebook and tossed it toward his bag, which was laying by her bedroom door. That’s when he began to yawn. Wondering why he began to feel exhausted, he looked up at Jess’s wall clock, which read 11:25 “Ah, shit.” He looked at his own wristwatch, which was two minutes ahead of her own and got up from her bed, which was beginning to feel scary comfortable. He didn’t understand how he lost track of time, but he did, and now he was going to have to quietly pull his car into his own driveway, and sneak through his bedroom window, with the hopes that his father didn’t wake up from the noise.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize-“ she stopped before finishing her sentence, “Well, thanks for… everything,” is what Jess was able to come up with. She began to look down at her notes again, until Billy came to her side of the bed, grabbed her notebook, and threw it in the direction of her own bag.

“Get some sleep.” He then proceeded to leave her room, but not before turning off her ceiling light, leaving only her dim, bedside lamp to illuminate her room.

Billy made his way downstairs, trying as hard as he could to keep his heavy boots from making too much noise. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he was met by Mr. Logan, who was washing the dishes from that night. Mrs. Logan was nowhere in sight and had probably gone to bed by now, considering the time.

Based on Stan’s surprised expression, Billy came to the conclusion that Jess’s parents already thought him long gone. Before Billy could apologize for staying so late, he heard a gentle “purr” and looked down to see a cat he’s never seen before. He bent down to pet him, only for him to jump slightly and run off into the darkness of the unlit living room.

“That High School of yours really has you workin’ I see.” Mr. Logan was now drying a large skillet, hanging it from their silver pot hanger above the middle island when he was finished.

“Sorry for being here so late, Mr. Logan.”

“Don’t worry about it kid, get home safe.” The sentiment threw Billy off slightly, but he nodded to Mr. Logan, giving him a small wave as he opened the door, carefully closing it as he exited. It was much colder than it was when they first arrived back at Jess’s house, Billy being able to see his breath as he exhaled harshly. He looked back up at Jess’s bedroom window, which faced the front of the house, unable to see her ducking out of his view as she saw him turn back toward her. As she sat by her window, steering clear of Billy’s line of sight, she continued to scold herself for the events of today, hell, this past weekend. This is so stupid. You are so stupid. She sat against her ‘L’ shaped wall, lightly banging the crown of her head against it. But even though she knew better, even though she tried not to be, she was well aware: she was just like every other girl at Hawkins High. And just like every other girl at Hawkins High, she was well aware: she was infatuated with Billy Hargrove.

#billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove stranger things #billy deserved better #billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove deserved better #billy hargrove antis dni #billy stranger things #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x you

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xioyume · 2 years

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Hiya~Dear Author I'm just New in here and I got a very crazy idea for Young severus Snape when his Girlfriend is a k-pop Idol like she was very popular and Wealthy.. And her family really loves snape thanks!

Notes: Crazy ideas are the best ideas! Thank you for giving me the chance to write this, it sure is something different from what I’ve seen in the Severus Snape x reader tag and I love; I hope you like what I wrote too 💖💖

Edit notes: I’M SO SORRY! I WAS WRITING THIS BUT THEN SCHOOL GOT CRAZY AND THE HOLIDAYS CAME AND I COMPLETELY FORGOT! I APOLOGIZE TO YOU AND THE OTHER ANON I OWE 😭😭

Warnings: a little bit of enemies to lovers, the Marauders being little shits, Reader’s race and ethnicity are not established but she comes from Mahoutokoro

Young Severus Snape with a K-pop idol girlfriend

If we’re being honest here, Severus probably hated you when he first “met” you (aka when he saw you entering Charms class and he didn’t even said a word to you but ok)

You were a transfer student from Mahoutokoro School of Magic and already a celebrity in your second day at school. Many people at Hogwarts (especially muggleborns and halfbloods) listened to your music and found you and your voice as if it was heaven sent

Snape, on the other hand, didn’t find the appeal. He thought you were just another rich girl who wanted to show off her wealth and have everyone like her to keep her ego high

So he avoided you; boy already had some rich kids making him miserable, he didn’t need another one who was also a famous singer

This made you sad, since he caught your attention from the moment you saw him at the Great Hall and wanted to be his friend

And you may or may have not developed a tiny crush on that tall, mysterious, and pretty Slytherin boy you always sat behind of in almost every class

When you found out about his friendship with Lily Evans, someone less closed when it came to meeting people, you figured you could get close to Severus through her. So you reached to her and developed a friendship, formally meeting Severus when she introduced both of you

You started hanging out almost everyday and your crush on the Slytherin boy only grew stronger, especially when he became nicer to you

The three of you liked hanging out in the library or in the astronomy tower, your favorite place in school to relax and free yourself from class stress

But one day, a small group of Gryffindors came up to you; you knew them from your year, but never spoke to them. You guessed they were some fans, as you were accustomed to

They told you their names and that they were “big fans” of your music, and that they wanted to share one of their hobbies with you. You were taken aback a little, but found it very endearing and decided to go with them

That went as good as you can imagine, since you found them harassing your best friends, especially Snape who was getting hexed by Sirius

You stepped in and called them out, putting yourself between the Marauders and your friends to protect the latter, while Lily made sure Sev was okay. The commotion was enough for your head of house to appear; you told them what was happening and they managed to get the Gryffindor boys away from you

After that, Severus was more protective of you; seeing how you willingly stand up for him caused something inside his body to always feel a little fluttering sensation whenever you were close

Lily realized this and made it her mission to set you up

After an incident trying to grow some mistletoe near you and purposely leaving the two of you alone whenever she could, Lily squealed of happiness when Severus told her you finally got together after a night walk to the astronomy tower and a heartfelt confession under the stars he thought was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from

Now to your family

When you told Severus you wanted him to meet your parents, he panicked. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just thought they wouldn’t see him as an good suitor for you and make you break up with him

After so many constant reassurance, you managed to convince him do it and, during Christmas, Severus and you went to your house to meet your family

On the contrary of what Snape had in mind, your parents were very welcoming and nice to him. Your mom happened to be very invested in the study of alchemy and had various conversations with through the holidays; your dad was very grateful for the help in the kitchen he provided and around the house, getting his approval very quickly

Your baby brother was practically mesmerized by Sev, constantly comparing him to his favorite character from his book and telling him he loves him in a way that made your heart want to burst

During the train ride back to Hogwarts, Severus hugged you, thanking you for giving him the chance to have a merry Christmas and that you are the best present he could ask for

Needless to say, you shared your first kiss on that train wagon; a memory that you would always treasure

If you wish to be tagged in future works let me know, and again I’m so sorry 😭

#harry potter #harry potter au #severus snape #severus snape x reader #young severus #young severus snape x reader #severus snape x female reader #severus x you #anti marauders #anti james potter #anti sirius black #pro snape #platonic snily

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smittenbyvillains · 10 months

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TVA Loki and Yumi

Loki : how are you here ?

Yumi :

Loki : oh right … magic

Yumi : IM A FUCKING ANGEL

Loki : …… oh yeah so help me please

Yumi : with boyfriend problems or timelines ending ?

Loki :

Yumi : :)

Loki : fuck you.

#x reader #x reader stories #anti hero #loki marvel #loki series #loki season 2 #loki laufeyson #lokius #loki #loki odinson #loki show #mcu loki #loki x mobius #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x original female character

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going-through-shit · 9 months

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i’m so confused, i’m only really ever in the “your tags” section of this app bc i’m here to read Az(or character) x reader fics, and i filter by all my Azriel x Reader tags. Now i’m a very anti-elriel person but that’s not what i’m getting into lately there have been so many elriel posts showing up in the my tags section, and this has never happened before and i’ve been doing it like this all year, one of the filtered tags is even anti elriel. i’m just ranting cause i’m frustrated tbh

#azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel angst #azriel x female!reader #acotar #anti elriel #anti elain #pro azriel #anti azriel #pro gwynriel #pro azris

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anukulee · 1 year

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All I Ever Wanted

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Requested by; Skymoonandstardust (Tumblr).

NOTE: This couple's meeting and similar to His Maiden In A Tree, through some details have been changed. Keep this in mind while reading this.

Atop a throne Loki Laufeyson (formally Odinson) sat, his eyes drifting lower then him ever so often to face his subjects, a dream that he had held ever since he was a little boy. Yet rather then rival in such a feeling, Loki was dishearted, as finally the desire he had held for so long had finally been fufilled. Why is that, was a question that would often occupy his mind, invading his thoughts at the worst of times, times where Loki was supposed to be preoccupied in doing his needed kingly duties, such as listening. Rather then drifting in and out of conscious, only picking up what was needed. Loki's finger wondering to the top of his forehead, leaning towards his side, almost as if he was in deep thought over the issue, when truly his mind was else where.

Through the subject below seemed to take no notice of Loki's lack of attention as he continued to patter on with whatever issue that concerned him. As this non-sensensical rambling continued on, until something pulled Loki out, yet rather then it be the man kneeling in front of Loki it was someone else. "I believe we will be able to assist you, good sir, won't we brother," the person spoke, his voice as booming as one might expect of the man behind it. This voice belonged to Loki's adoptive older brother Thor, a title that he had been forced to acknowledge if he wished to remain as king over his sister Hela.

If not for the years of pratice that Loki had as a the silver tongue, he would've stuttered at the abrupt shift of the conversation. Especially one that he had been paying little to no attention to. Yet the words came flowing out of Loki as naturally as one might expect, living up to the reputation of silver tongue. "Yes, I believe we can, brother. Now if that is all you require perhaps Hela may see you out?" Loki refering to Hela Friggadottir, their adoptive sister currently positioned at the edge of the throne room, dawning her usual black attire, eyes boring into his, not buying a word that slipped out of Loki's tongue.

"We shall see brother, that is if this man can make it out," Hela noted, a small grin appearing on her face, one that very much mirrored her adopted little brother. While normally Loki might've take amusement in Hela's remark, his mind still remainded on other things, having no remark to Hela murderious comment.

"Now sister you jest right," Thor said speaking in Loki's place, lifting up his hand up in a stop position.

"And if I weren't how would you suggest in stopping me baby brother?"

"I have done it before sister, don't think I can't do it again."

"Yes, but you had the help of our dear brother, whose mind seems to be else where."

Upon hearing this comment, Loki seemed to snap back into place at least long enough to form a response. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"You mistaken me, dear sister my mind is entirely on matters here."

"So you claim brother."

"You dare speak against your king," Loki asked, his eyebrows tilting upward. It was at this moment that the subject seemed to take to leaving without Hela's guidence likely knowing better then to get involved in the matters of the gods, especially the ones of the former Odin children.

"Yes, if your mind is elsewhere I shall speak up. After all I didn't give up my quest just to serve an absent minded king, if I wanted that I could've done it with dear old father."

"Are you sure you would like to continue speaking dear sister," Loki asked, as with simple glow of his seidr, in Loki's hand materialized a dagger, one that he was prepared to aim towards his sister if need be.

"You wish to aim a dagger at me, Odin's rightful born? Dear brother I believe you must be mistaken, if you think this shall end well. Remember I am the goddess of death."

"And I am the god of mischief, I have died so many times I have long lost count."

Sensing the tension between his two sibling, Thor took this chance to place himself in front of the two stubborn beings. "While I enjoy your banter dear siblings, I believe we have other matters to attend to."

"Such as what," Loki and Hela asked in harmony, something that resulted in a mutual glare towards the other.

"I believe we have another subject to attend to."

"We do," Loki and Hela asked once again in harmony.

"Yes, and I can't call her in if you too are squabbling."

"Big words from your mouth brother, it's unusual," Loki remarked, the remark meant more towards teasing then the deggration one might think.

"I do learn things from you, brother," Thor remarked with a smile, which recieved the smallest smile from Loki's lips/

"I suppose we can continue this disucssion later sister."

"Giving up so easily little brother," Hela asked, her tone as teasing as one expect of a big sister.

"Never, but I believe our brother is right, we have other matters to deal with."

"Fine, but just this once."

"Indeed," Loki said, before motioning his hand towards the door. "Now open up, and bring our next person."

"I shall do it brother," Thor volunteered.

"You don't trust me do you brother," Hela asked, putting her hands towards her heart in mock concern.

"I do, sister, but I believe our brother would like to see this one," Thor said, as a smile began to peek under his features, and before Loki could ask what he might, he saw her. Upon seeing her everything seemed to stop.

"I see, perhaps we should our dear brother alone for this matter," Hela hinted, as a smile began to peek on her own features. Loki far too busy in other things to pay attention to the looks that was crossing his older siblings faces, as soon the two took their leave, as Loki was left alone with her…

Her head adored by a bright blue hood, her almost red auburn hair parted on both sides, flowing to the tops of her purple dress, blue eyes lingering up to face Loki's own green ones. "Is this the right time? I could always come back another that if that is what you wish," she asked, her voice far more nervous then what Loki would wish especially coming from her. Yet how he loved hearing she spoke, her voice just as angelic as he remembered.

This being the very thing that seemed to make Loki speak, his gaze no longer lingering merely on her. "Non-sense my dear you are always welcomed. Now come forth my siblings are no longer here so feel free to come closer. I promise I shall not bite."

"Are you sure for I have heard tales of you?"

"And do you believe them?"

"Perhaps, who am I too question your actions," she asked, a the smallest of smile began to peak from her lips.

At that moment all Loki thought was, there is my queen. A thought that wasn't uncommon especially in regards to her. A comment that he didn't hesist to voice. "For someone as shy as you, one might expect the comment that come out of your mouth."

"Perhaps, but it has kept me from the marriage market until now."

"Until now," Loki asked, his brows starting to furrow.

"Yes, it seems people think I am long past the age to marry."

"Marry," Loki asked, almost stuttering almost as if something was caught in his throat.

"Yes, unless you have a problem with that?"

At that moment so many thoughts began to run through Loki's mind. Her marry? She can't be of age not yet? Can she? I believe she is around Sif's age. Sif has yet to marry so why should she? If she is then who might marry her? Perhaps a noble man or if she is unfortunate she might marry Thor or worse. Why does her marrying someone make me feel like this? If she does marry Thor, why couldn't she marry me, Loki questioned, and with that very question did the pieces begin to fit into place.

This feeling in his heart almost as if he was jealous, when he should be delighted by the thought of her finding someone. The sense of something lacking whenever she wasn't in his presense. His forever lingering gaze whenever she is around as he was reminded of something from so long ago.

The moment of her finding him in that tree of there, one that stood there despite the test of time, despite everything that had happened. The moment she called out from the tree, choosing to talk to him, not knowing his position. Their friendly bickering despite her shy nature. The way she continued to stand beside him despite all the mischief he caused, even after finding out who he was was. Something that was confirmed all those years later when she had blurted it out. Moments that Loki found himself longing for now as he sat upon the throne almost frozen. Wondering just why he was longing for those days, and why wasn't he happy? Why do I feel so empty without her around, he wondered.

As if a light bulb finally went off in his mind everything became clear, he loved her. This being the reason why the very next words came out of his mouth. "Then why don't you marry me?"

At this the one Loki's now saw as his queen frozen, Loki's hands now on his mouth just a little too late now. "Marry you?"

"Yes," Loki uttered, his silver tongue forever gone, with that.

"Me marry you?"

"Does the thought digust you? Marrying a monster?"

"You are no monster."

"Then why do you stutter?"

"It's unexpected."

"Is it truly, we have known each other since we were children playing in that tree of ours?"

"Yes, I suppose we have?"

"So what will it be?"

"Are you even ready for this, or is this because you think I might be taken by another," Loki's queen asked, now taking steps to grow closer to the throne. As Loki made his way down slowly, his steps echoing across the room taking her hands into his ever so gently.

"My dear, I have everything I have ever desired since I was a child, despite this all day I have felt as if something was missing. Yet the moment you came in it was as if something felt more full."

"It did."

"Yes, and I can't express how much it hurt, when I thought you going to another and even my brother. It was then I thought how much I love us, especially out shared soft bickering."

"Is that all," Loki's queen asked, her eyes blicking far to flirtlessly almost as if she knew the spell she had cast upon him.

"Not even close, perhaps I shall say how much I love how one moment you might be shy, yet the next saying the last thing one might expect. Or perhaps the way your auburn hair glows in the light, the deepness of your ocean eyes, or even the way your hair falls just below your breasts."

"Paying attention to my breasts much?"

"You are going off track, what I am trying to say is that I wouldn't mind getting to know more of you."

"More of me?"

"Perhaps the way your face might become after a night of pleasure, or what the Midgardians call bed head. The way you would laugh beside me every day just as we did underneath our tree. The way you would listen and make comments alongside me in that sly way of yours. Or just for you to be mine."

"Are you proposing to me?"

"Perhaps, honestly I am not too sure, all I know is that I don't want to give you up, and wish for more. That you are all I ever wanted."

"I see."

"So what do you say?"

"I suppose we could try this, if I am all you ever wanted."

"So will you take me to be your king?"

"As long as I am your queen."

"You have always been my queen even when we were beneath our tree. So how about it," Loki offered, his hand now offering towards his queen's.

"I say lead the way my king," Loki's queen said, taking Loki's hand into hers, as the two began their journey, as finally, Loki would have everything he would ever want, all with his queen by his side.

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