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charliemwrites · 2 days

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Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #reader fic #from specgru with love #specgru reader #keegan p russ #john soap mactavish

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ozzgin · 3 days

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Yandere!School Q&A 2

Answering some of the questions involving the Yandere School universe. Gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW/suggestive in parts.

Just curious, is there a difference between men and women in the yandere/darling academy?

Not at all. In theory, there could be a difference in uniforms, as seen from the occasional depiction of skirts, but that's really up to the student. As in, they can wear either, regardless of gender.

When it comes to you, on the other hand...I feel like they'd either ask you to wear pants, or heavily reinforced skirts. Too many creepshots and perverted attempts otherwise.

I know the yandere school verse is meant to be silly but I’m genuinely invested in the lore and worldbuilding now. What classes are taught in both schools? Do the darlings resent the yanderes? WOULD THEY BEAT THE YANDERE STUDENT’S ASS IF THEY GOT FOUND OUT??? SO MANY QUESTIONS SMFKEDKK

To be honest, I still haven't considered all the logistics!

I'm imagining a mix of both when it comes to classes: you have yandere-specific courses, and then general subjects with some practical applications. Obviously you can't do without mathematics, for example. If you don't understand double integrals, how will you determine the area you need to cover to reach your Darling who's running for the hills?

Also, I don't think the Darlings would be too upset. After all, they are studying solely to find themselves a yandere one day. What is a little baffling is that out of all the damn darlings in school, this guy ends up chasing after a ‘yandere’ student.

One of the Yanderes at Yandere Academy is bound to be a Platonic, and they're probably going insane watching every student and teacher going after the school Darling. Do you think they'd be on the staff or a fellow student?

There's plenty of platonic yanderes, both among the students and teaching staff. They make up the security brigade, ensuring your safety and keeping dangers away. If other students let their infatuation go overboard, they will be quick to correct it.

In fact, this is where their yandere skills shine most. Taking care of you.

Ohh what about yan art teacher using reader as the model for nude portraits in class?

That'd be like opening Pandora's box. What's to guarantee that the students won't go feral? Even as a regular model, removing any article of clothing within the artistic depictions is strictly forbidden. The other teachers already have to sort through stacks of confiscated fanart involving you, they don't need a boost in lewd creations.

Unless you mean a private encounter with Yan!Art Teacher for some extra credit. That's a whole different story. 👀

for your yandere school au if I was in readers situation, and I got a free full?? scholarship?/ to a fancy school?/? I no longer need to go along with family tradition I’m getting that free scholarship it’s not like I particularly needed a bunch of people to stalk me 🤷

I'm kind of hoping that Yandere School comes with a full scholarship, too. Bonus points if they offer legacy benefits. Reader comes from several generations of graduates, after all.

Not to mention, you already have a bunch of people stalking you, if we are to count the yandere family members. You'll feel right at home.

The darling is christian in some other scenarios right? What if in sex ed class, she said that she would only do that if she got married? Imagine every single yanderes trying to be a good husband material but the darling is so damn clueless about it

I don't think the religion was ever specified, but you're free to imagine it however you'd like, anon. I can definitely picture the yandere students perking their ears at such statement and taking it as a challenge. You want to wait until marriage? Then they’ll bring the marriage over right now. You have to wonder if there’s some current fashion trend you’re unaware of, as every student has asked for your opinion in rings. You’d assumed it’s a question involving their own, personal acquisitions, so now there’s a bunch of classmates fighting outside because they all got different answers and clearly only one of them holds truth.

That one teacher who got all those accidental smut submissions about Y/N is gonna be feasting tonight

I suspect most teachers have a neatly organized storage full of content involving you. Whether it's accidental submissions, confiscated doodles, illegal photos and so on. Hell, they probably trade the stuff like collectibles.

"You got the fic I asked for?" one teacher asks lowly, resting against the wall.

"Uh huh."

Another teacher swipes through a thick folder with the efficacy of someone who does this too often.

Imagine yandere school y/n slips up and accidently calls a teacher mom/dad. Or worse (or perhaps better depending on who it is), mommy/daddy. y/n is embarrassed, yandere students are jealous, and teacher is now horny.

Terrifying affair. The teacher will have to evade weeks, maybe even months of assassination attempts coming from the students and parents. Reader probably joked about it at the dinner table once, and the mom/dad has been spiraling ever since. How could such a mistake happen? Have they neglected their darling child?

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” one student will stutter, terrified to find Reader’s parent behind them.

“I’d say it’s pretty obvious, you’re doing a terrible job. Hand me the binoculars”, they demand in a whisper, glaring at the object of their envious stalking: the teacher.

How would the readers parents/fam react if the reader complained about the school staff or a student? [Gym teacher dress coding reader] With this as personally speaking I would be really annoyed. The yan family could also take it as an insult because I know for a fact they make sure the reader has all the best stuff. As well how they're bothering or unfairly treating the reader. And if the yan fam connects that the school is yan (students and staff) they would FLIP OUT. But that's out of the point

I’d say it depends on their relationship. Remember, Reader’s parents are graduates of Yandere School, so it’s entirely possible they were taught by the very same teachers and staff. Thus, they might be reluctant to question their authority.

“You have to understand, I had my best intentions in mind”, gym teacher will explain to the parents with a solemn face.

“No, you’re right. We’ve seen the way those kids look at our (Y/N). Who knows what perverted thoughts linger in their mind?”

The grey-haired man dabs a handkerchief across his forehead, visibly paler.

“E-exactly. It was all to protect (Y/N) from any indecent, uh, risks.”

Gym teacher prob got a forest downstairs

Only one way to find out. Better put on your adventurer's hat! 👅

Okay but like, the poor principal having to deal with the entire Yan!academy

He probably stares in the mirror every morning, noticing yet another grey hair, or that his eyebags have gotten worse. He's going to need an early retirement. "I tried my best", he mumbles to the portraits of the previous principals.

How would the yandere school react to reader being hypersexual? P.s can I be raccoon 🦝 anon? [I'm afraid you'll have to pick a different emoji, anon, as raccoon is already taken]

I mean, I can totally picture a playboy/playgirl kind of Reader who skips class to smooch one of the students in a storage room. Or Reader getting too flustered and excited and begging one of the teachers for "help" after school. I'm sure most would comply without hesitation.

Though you may have to deal with a horde of jealous partners who don't like to share. Next thing you know, you have to compile a sexy time chart and schedule the smooching to fit everyone in.

hai ! this is related to yandere school, i’m curious to know what if reader decided to accept the scholarship to darling academy? like i can imagine readers parents worried and proud while clumsy yandere is absolutely celebrating abt it :D

Knowing Reader’s luck and Clumsy!Yandere’s misfortune, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more yandere students lurking the Darling Academy grounds. Or even worse, some darlings begin to develop intense feelings for Reader. Worry not, your clumsy best friend will always come to your rescue.

#yandere school #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere parody

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kaces-graham-crackers · 2 days

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Stirring the Quiet - Sips with Stardom

Jenn Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N's morning is stirred when Jenna arrives before opening hours. She finds herself sipping coffee and sharing stories with the star again. Between bodyguards, family, and an unexpected promise, Y/N's day becomes more than just her regular routine—a start to a little more, one sip at a time.

Word Count: 2.9k

As I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar smell of Chinese takeout filled the air. The sounds of laughter and clatter of utensils echoed from the kitchen. Kicking off my shoes and slipping into my slippers, I sighed in relief. Home. Before I could take another step, Mr. Noodles—my black-and-white tuxedo cat, complete with his signature black bowtie—greeted me by weaving between my legs, purring loudly. "Hey, Noodles," I chuckled, bending down to scratch his chin. He meowed once, flicking his tail, and followed me into the kitchen. Marcus and Caleb sat at the table, surrounded by various takeout containers. Marcus dug into his lo mein while Caleb balanced his fork in one hand and scrolled through his phone with the other. "Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!" Marcus called out, waving his fork in the air dramatically. "Yeah, too high on your horse to join your big brothers for dinner? Caleb chimed in without even glancing up from his phone. I rolled my eyes and dropped my bag onto the floor, giving Mr. Noodles a final pat before sitting down at the table. "Whatever you say, peasants, you wouldn't believe the day I had." Marcus raised an eyebrow, grinning. "What happened? Did Tom Cruise stop by to argue with his reflection again?" Caleb snicker. "Or did Chris Hemsworth come in to try and order his post-workout protein shake?" 'Ok. So maybe I don't only keep celebrity conversations with just Wilma.' "No, I still don't know what kind of gym rat demands a coffee shop to make a protein shake," I said, grabbing some fried rice. "But actually, it was Meryl Streep. She and her manager walked in, supposedly for a meeting. And they broke into a feud over whether or not she should be having hot chocolate and a donut." Both of them looked at each other, chuckling. Marcus leaned back in his chair to scratch Mr. Noodles under him. "Meryl Streep, defending her sugar right? You go, girl!" I grinned, stuffing a dumpling in my mouth. "Yeah, his face when she chewed him out was priceless." Caleb's full attention is on me now. "What about Will Ferrell? Did he drop by and give any hints about his upcoming movie?" I shook my head. "No Will Ferrell today. But Liam Neeson came in, ordered tea and a jelly donut, and then tripped on his way out. Spilled tea all over the place." Marcus and Caleb both froze mid-bite before bursting into laughter. Marcus set his fork down, "Let me guess, he threatened the floor after that one, right?" Caleb swallowed his food, "I can just imagine him giving his famous death stare. What did you do?" "I gave him another one, free of charge," I shrugged. "The man looked so heartbroken. I couldn't let him walk out like that." They laughed again, shaking their heads in disbelief. Marcus wiped his mouth, "Man, only in your line of work do we find out Meryl Streep and Liam Neeson are out here having bad days like the rest of us."

We kept eating, trading stories about our day. Marcus talked about a guy at the gym who almost dropped a barbell trying to impress some girl. At the same time, Caleb vented about the latest office drama. While leaning over to offer the piece of chicken on my fork to Mr.Noodles, without even thinking, I casually mentioned, "Oh yeah, Jenna Ortega came in today." Marcus froze, his fork nearly dropping, while Caleb slowly lowered his phone. Both of them stared at me in studded silence. "Wait...what?" Caleb asked, voice rising. "The Jenna Ortega?" It took me a second to realize what I had just said, and I immediately felt my face heat up. Damn. "Uhh...yeah. She was just, you know, having coffee." Marcus leaned over the table, grin growing wider. "Are you seriously telling me you met Jenna Ortega and didn't freak out? Come on, you've been obsessed since she made it big on Wednesday." "I wasn't obsessed!" I protested, feeling my cheeks grow even hotter. "And it wasn't a big deal. She's just a regular person." Caleb raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you...like talk to her?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair and throwing my head back. "Yeah, we talked a little. She was reading a book I loved, so we ended up geeking out about the author. She already read it, too, just revisiting it." Marcus' grin grew, looking smug. "You geeked out about a book...with her? And you're sitting here acting like it's no big deal?" I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "She's just another customer like anyone else, guys," Caleb smirked. "Uh-huh, sure. Except you're blushing right now." I could feel the heat creeping back into my face. "Am not." Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Our lil sis rubbing elbows with big stars. Be careful if she wants to meet us, we're totally gonna embarrass you." I groaned, covering my face. "Shut Up, Please!"

After dinner, I headed upstairs. Changing into a pair of comfy sweats and a loose T-shirt. Noodles, ever my loyal shadow, hopped onto the bed and curled into a little ball beside me as soon as I laid down. He purred, vibrating through the blankets. I grabbed my phone and, doomed scrolled through Instagram and TikTok. But no matter what I did, my mind drifted back to Jenna. The way she was there—from anxious to completely calm in the café. It was hard to match that with the version of her I'd seen on the screen. And the fact that we actually talked? That was still sinking in. Then there was the blush. That small, subtle blush when she realized she was the last one left in the café caught me off guard. Jenna Ortega, the same Jenna who played the confident, intense character on screen, blushing because she'd lost track of time in a quiet little coffee shop? It made her seem so much more...cute. I immediately slapped my face. 'No, no, not what I meant. I meant human.'" When I looked over, Noodles' eyes were wide, and his tail flickering. I must have startled him with that slap. After a moment of us watching each other, Clearly unimpressed, he huffed and circled a few times, kneading the blankets before settling back down. "Sorry Noodles...What do you think? I murmured, my fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes behind his ears. "Do you think I made a fool of myself?" He responded with a soft purr, utterly unbothered by my internal crisis. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, my mind replaying every detail of the evening: the way Jenna smiled when I brought her the donut, her casual posture as we talked about horror novels, and, of course, the way she blushed. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't Jenna Ortega, the actress. She was just...Jenna. A regular person who got lost in a book, just like me. I sighed, rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. "I'll probably never see her again, right?" I muttered to myself. Noodles meowed softly in response, unbothered by my troubles. But a small part of me couldn't help but hope that maybe she'd come back. Noodles stretched, yawned, and moved closer, curling up beside me. I smiled at his contentment, but my mind was still swirling with thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder if this was it or if I'd get the chance to talk to her again. Maybe she'd come back. With her lingering in my mind, I eventually drifted off to sleep, contemplating the unexpected conversation that had turned my usual day at work into something unforgettable.

The next morning came far too quickly. My alarm blared, and I groaned, rolling over to smack the snooze button. Mr Noodles, the early riser, pounced on my chest and meowed directly in my face until I finally gave in. "Alright, I'm up," I muttered, pushing him off and dragging myself out of bed. After a quick shower, I threw on some clothes and grabbed my bag, ready to head back to The Daily Grind. As I patted Mr. Noodle's head one more time before slipping out the door. I headed out the door, keys in hand, and my phone buzzed as I locked up. I answered. "Hey, Y/N! You're going to have to open up today," she said, practically out of breath like she was jogging. "The twins are dragging their feet and won't put their shoes on! She yelled that last part as I pulled out of my parking spot. "Mama couldn't take them, so I got stuck on babysitter duty again. I'll be in later." I chuckled, imagining the chaos on her end. "No worries, Captain, I can hold down the fort until you come." "Thanks! Oh, and by the way..." Wilma's tone shifted to something more playful. "How did things go with Primera last night?" I paused for a moment, feeling my face heat up. Of course, Wilma was going to ask. I couldn't avoid it, but...did I really have to tell her everything? I could already picture the girl tackling me if she had to find out on her own fruition. "Y/N? You still there?" Wilma prompted, clearly sensing my hesitation. I sighed, knowing there was no way out. "It was fine. We just talked a bit more," I started, trying to keep my voice casual. "Mhm, sure," Wilma replied, egging me on. "And?" I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth creep up my neck. "Jenna...actually walked me to my car," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "And then she teased me, said I had somehow 'charmed' her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She flashed that smile—half playful, half serious—like she knew she was messing with me. Honestly, it was impossible not to blush." "Wait, hold up, She walked you to your car?" Wilma interrupted, her voice dripping with amusement. I could practically see her grinning on the other side of the phone. "And what smile? You've already memorized her smile, huh?" I groaned, blushing. "It wasn't like that, Wilma. She was just being...friendly." Wilma laughed. "Friendly? Please. You're a natural-born flirt, and you don't even realize it. And with "that" smile? She was totally into i—" "I wasn't flirting!" I protested; the thought of Jenna's smirk made me doubt my words. "She was just messing with me." "Oh sure, because it's so easy to charm someone with those smooth barista skills," Wilma teased. "You better brace yourself when she comes back. You're in trouble, Y/N." "Yeah," I admitted, resting my head on the steering wheel. "And then her bodyguards showed up out of nowhere and scared the life out of me." Wilma's laughter echoed through the phone. "Bodyguards? Of course. This keeps getting better by the second! What else? I know there's more." I sighed, already resigned to the teasing. "She made me promise that the next time she comes by, I'd share some of the stories about some bodyguards at the café." There was a beat of silence, and then, as expected, her laughter doubled. "Y/N, you've got her hooked! Wild café stories? She's definitely coming back now. Congrats—you've got yourself a celebrity lover. You're basically famous." "Wilma, seriously," I groaned. "Please don't blow this out of proportion." "Oh, honey, it's already out of proportion," her voice full of playful mischief. "You've charmed Jenna Ortega, and now she's coming back for more. I can already see it—this is how it all starts." I rolled my eyes, fully aware of how this conversation would go. "You're impossible." Wilma snickered. "Well, look at you—handling business like a pro. Don't let the fame go to your head, mascot. Remember to stay humble when you're hanging out with Hollywood Royalty." "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, though I couldn't suppress the small laugh. "I'll try not to let it change me."

"Alright, gotta get these monsters buckled and shipped off to school. Don't have too much fun without me!" "Sure, I'll try not to, and hopefully, I'll survive the first horde," I said, grinning as I hung up the phone. As I pocketed my phone, I shook my head, a smile lingering on my lips. I was starting to get used to the teasing. I grabbed my bag and headed inside. The sun crept up, casting soft light through the windows as I unlocked the door. Stepping inside, I could still feel the leftover warmth from yesterday. The café was quiet and still, just how I liked it before the rush. I went to the back, checked in, and threw my stuff into my locker before heading to the employee area. I slipped into my all-black barista uniform—simple black pants and a fitted black shirt before getting my apron from the hook by the door. The apron was the only pop of color, a warm brown that stood out against the dark. As I tied it around my waist, I fell into work mode. First things first: the plants. I grabbed the watering can we kept under the counter, filled it up halfway, and made my way around, giving each hanging plant a good drink. The soft trickle of water and the rustle of leaves was strangely calming, making the café feel like it was waking up, too. I always made sure to take extra care of the plants; Wilma was obsessed with them. Her grandmother had a green thumb, and she followed suit. So she'd notice if even one leaf looked droopy. Next up, I headed to the kitchen to bake the day's pastries. The scent of flour and sugar greeted me as I pulled out the ingredients. I started with the croissants, carefully rolling the dough before placing them on the baking tray.

While they baked, I started on the rest of today's menu items. If a customer wanted anything else, we'd bake it fresh for them. Next, the muffins were mixed with batter and folded in fresh blueberries. The lemon scones were last—I zested the lemons, mixed the dough, and shaped them perfectly before sliding them into the oven. As they finished in the oven, the warm, sweet smells began to fill the café, and I could already imagine the regulars lining up for their favorites. Once they were done, I arranged the croissants, muffins, and scones, which were still hot, and I knew they'd be the first to go as soon as we opened the doors. I also double-checked the coffee machines, making sure they were clean and ready to brew all day long. Once the plants were watered and pastries set, I headed to the front window to hang up a new poster advertising an upcoming poetry night we were hosting. Wilma printed and designed it with bold artistic letters and a little sketch of a coffee cup next to it. I used a bit of tape to secure the edges, securing it to the front window and centered for everyone to see. As I finished up, I wiped down the tables and chairs, making sure everything was spotless. The last thing I needed was someone complaining about a sticky spot on a table or chair. I rearranged the cushions, giving the booths that extra welcoming touch. Everything was in place by the time I was done, and The Daily Grind was ready to go. The café had this lived-in feel that always made me smile. It was the kind of space that felt like a warm hug—for anyone who needed it. I poured the fresh streaming brew into a mug, fixing it up just how I liked it, feeling the warmth spreading through my hands. As I leaned against the counter, taking that first comforting sip, a familiar figure appeared outside, her bodyguards in tow. I wasn't even officially open yet, but when Jenna Ortega knocks, who am I to not answer? I walked over to unlock the door, letting her and the guards in. Jenna wasn't in her usual hoodie this time. Today, she wore a stylish see-through white tee paired with a pair of plaid pants with high heels. Looking casual but chic. "You look nice," I said, feeling the comment slip out naturally. Jenna smiled warmly. "Thanks. She added, "I have an early interview for an upcoming film...and then some other boring meetings," her tone was slightly sarcastic. I gave her a teasing look. "Boring? Sounds like you've got a rough life," I joked, rolling my eyes playfully. Jenna chuckles lightly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Yeah, it's tough being me," she shot back. I shrugged, "Well, technically, we're not open yet, but I've already got everything set up, so if you want, I can get you and your crew settled in." Jenna exchanged a quick look with her bodyguards, who nodded back at her. "Thanks, that would be great." I turned to the guards, who had positioned themselves quietly near the entrance. "So, what can I get you guys?" The taller two, who had a more serious demeanor, spoke first. "I'll take a hot coffee. Black, with two pumps of vanilla and a dash of cinnamon." The second guard, who seemed more talkative, said with a small smile, "Tea, please. With milk and one sugar. I'm more of a tea guy myself." I nodded and then looked back at Jenna, expecting her to give her order, but I beat her. "Iced coffee with caramel and whipped cream, right?" Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Not bad. I guess I'm predictable." Jenna leaned her back on the counter as I got to work preparing the drinks, glancing toward the front. "What's that about?" she asked, pointing to the poster I hung earlier. "Oh, that? We run an event for people to come to enjoy poetry or music with their coffee. It's pretty laid-back. Kind of a 'grab the mic if you feel like it' vibe." Jenna nodded, looking at it. "Noted," was all she said softly. "Here's your drinks," I called. Each drink lined up. I handed the bodyguards their drinks, and they settled into the bar area by the cash register while Jenna and I sat at one of the tables, far enough away to talk privately.

"Sorry to inconvenience you again." Jenna replied, smiling briefly before glancing out the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her drink, a little distracted. "You look like you're lost," I teased. "Something on your mind?" Jenna blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and giving me a small smile." Just thinking about the day ahead. Meetings, interviews...nothing too exciting." She glanced at me, smile falling slightly. "But I guess everyone has their own version of busy, right?" I nodded. "Yeah, but at least your 'busy' involves making movies. Not a bad gig." Jenna chuckled softly, "True, but you'd be surprised how much of it is just waiting around, talking about things you've already said a thousand times. It's not all glamorous." I tilted my head slightly, "I can imagine. It's like running a coffee shop. People think it's just pouring drinks and chatting with customers, but there is a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff no one sees." She looked up around me, a spark of intrigue in her eyes. "Yeah? Like what?" I shrugged. "You know, making sure machines are maintained, cleaned, and functional, keeping the inventory stocked, baking pastries fresh every day, And don't even get me started with dealing with the occasional difficult customer, celebrity or not." She laughed, her smile returning tenfold. "I guess we both deal with our fair share of drama, huh?" I grinned, nodding. "Exactly. but hey, at least you get to wear cool outfits. All I get is this apron." She glanced at my apron. "Well...it suits you. And besides, I'm sure you could pull off one or two if you tried." My blush crept up, but I sipped from my cup to cover it. Jenna gave me a playful smile, taking a sip of her own. "So," Jenna began, "Where's Wilma this morning? I feel like I'm missing the other half of this Daily Grind dynamic duo." "She had to drop off her siblings at school," I explained, getting comfortable. "We've been best friends since preschool. Never really been apart, even traveled across the country to open this place together." Jenna's curiosity grew. "That's amazing. No wonder you guys make a great team; you're like a hive mind." I nodded, laughing at the thought. "As terrifying as that is, we do make a great team. Wilma's practically family. We've seen each other through school and jobs. It's been an adventure." Jenna's gaze softened as she asked, "And your real family? Are they around?" I shifted slightly, setting my drink down. "My older brothers, Marcus and Caleb, live here in California with me. We share an apartment together. But the rest of my family, my parents and younger sister, are back in New York." Her eyes lit up. "Wait, you've got a younger sister too? Same here—she can be such a pain, always finding ways to bug me, but that's little sisters for, right?" Jenna chuckled softly, a mix of affection and exaggeration in her voice. "She keeps me on my toes." I chuckled, adding, "Tell me about it. Sometimes, it's a lot of deciding whether to ship her off or not, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. And then, of course, there's Mr. Noodles." Jenna's brow furrowed in confusion, gnawing at her straw. "Mr. Noodles?" I smiled, nodding. My tuxedo cat. He's the real boss of the house." Jenna gasped loudly, startling her guards. "I need to see pictures. Now." I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the dozens of photos I had of Mr. Noodles, and handed it over. Jenna's face lit up with a huge smile as she swiped through the photos. "He's adorable! Look at this gentleman; his tie is too cute! How can you ever leave him to go to work?" I shrugged, shaking my head. "It's tough, but he's got work too. He's a professional napper around the clock, so he manages without me." Jenna handed the phone back, shaking her head in return. But my brain froze; her fingers brushed against mine for a brief moment. It quite literally—shocked me. "Thanks," she said, her hand lingering just a second longer than I expected before she pulled away. "No problem," I replied, trying to calm my racing heart.

"I think I might be in love with Mr. Noodles more than anything else." she joked. I laughed as the door swung open, and Wilma burst in, a disheveled mess, panting like she had just run a marathon. "Sorry, sorry! I swear, herding those beasts into the car is like trying to wrangle lions." Jenna, her guards, and I all turned to look at Wilma, who attempted to play it cool, straightening up as she wiped her brow. "Don't mind me. I'll be in the back getting ready." But before disappearing, she shot me a cheeky smile and said, "Keep charming, mascot." I quickly drank from my empty mug, hoping the ground of the mug would swallow me whole. Jenna raised an eyebrow, "Mascot?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. I rubbed the back of my neck, "Yeah, it's just Wilma's nickname. She has called me since we opened the café, and she says I'm the face of the place." Jenna let out a laugh, "That's cute. It suits you," she teased, her smile growing. She added, "So, do I call you Mascot now, or is that just reserved by Wilma?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "More like trademarked; she's big on original nicknames but doesn't mind if they stick." "Alright, then, I'll have to go to the drawing board." She chuckled. Jenna's guards glanced at each other, then at the phone in front of them, before standing up. "Ma'am, we've got to head out. Your manager's been calling non-stop," one of them said, holding up Jenna's phone. It read 25 missed calls and 12 growing messages. She sighed, clearly not ready to leave, but she nodded. "Alright, guess I've got to go face the music." She stood up, and I offered to top off her coffee. "You've got a busy schedule. Want a refill to help get through it?" Jenna smiled gratefully. "That would be great, thanks." I quickly refilled her cup, handing it back to her as she pulled out some cash. I frowned, confused. "You don't have to—" She cut me off with a smirk. "I never paid for my drink the other day, and I'm covering today, too. Keep the change as a tip for the drink and for treating me like an actual person." She handed me the cash, along with a piece of paper. As Jenna and her guards left the café, the door softly closed behind them. I stare down at the money. Suddenly, I felt a pinch on my arm. "Ow!" I yelped, spinning around to see Wilma scolding me. "That was to snap you out of it. Also, for not charging your celebrity crush like a regular customer," she teased, hands on her hips. I shot her a look. "I was! I was just caught up in conversation. And besides, Jenna's a good tipper." Looking back at it, I realized the paper wasn't just her receipt—it had her Instagram handle scribbled at the bottom, along with a note that read, 'Thanks for the coffee and conversations again, Slick. You still owe me some more café stories.' I stood there, dumbfounded, as Wilma yelled back, "Come on, mascot, it's opening time before I take your tip!" Snapping back to reality, I shook my head and pocketed the receipt and money. "Alright, alright, I was just counting!"

#jenna ortega x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #wednesday addams x fem reader #tara carpenter x female reader #slow-burn

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foreverisntenough · 3 days

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 10 - A Little Lost | ‘Act II’

word count - 10k

Since the day you left Madrid, Jude had been carrying a small notebook with him everywhere he went. At first, it was just a place to spill his thoughts, a space to process the whirlwind of emotions he didn’t know how to navigate. But as soon as he wrote the first sentence, he realized that every thought, every feeling, was meant for you. The notebook became his way of speaking to you when he couldn’t, of telling you everything he had kept inside for far too long. It started with small things—mundane moments that he would’ve shared with you if you were still in his life. He wrote about away games, detailing flights that were rough with turbulence, knowing you would’ve hated them. You’d always been nervous during flights, especially when the plane shook, and he could so vividly imagine holding your hand, comforting you in that quiet, intimate way only he knew how. He wrote about a brand event he had to attend, the kind you would’ve loved. He pictured you in a stunning dress, his hand instinctively resting on the small of your back as all the people in the room transfixed on your smile and envied him. He missed the way your presence made even the dullest of events shine. But as time passed, the pages of the notebook filled with more than just small anecdotes. They became love letters—confessions he hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud. He wrote about his dreams, both the silly ones and the ones that left him aching. He told you about the night he dreamed of you in his arms, just like before, and how waking up without you felt like losing you all over again. He confessed to arguments with his teammates, like the one he had with Toby, and how in the heat of it all, he had just wanted to call you and vent, knowing you’d calm him down. He wrote about his mum, how she missed you. How she’d bring you up every now and then, asking if you were doing okay, her voice full of concern. His heart would clench every time because he didn’t know. He didn’t know if you were okay, and that uncertainty gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. But most of all, the notebook became a testament to how much he loved you. Page after page, he poured his heart out in ways he never had the courage to do while you were still together. He wrote about how he should have told you how much you meant to him when he had the chance. How he regretted every fight, every misstep, every moment he let you slip away. He described the exact moment he realized he was in love with you—how it hit him like a freight train, and how terrified he was of it. And yet, despite his fear, the feeling never left. If anything, it grew stronger with every passing day, every page he filled. There were entries where he simply wrote your name over and over, as if seeing it on the page made you feel closer to him. Others were longer, detailing his apologies—how sorry he was for everything. For not being brave enough, for letting his insecurities come between you, for pushing you away when all he wanted was to pull you closer. And then, there were the moments when his love for you spilled out uncontrollably, when he wrote about how much he still needed you. How he missed your laughter, your voice, the way your presence made everything feel right. He missed the feeling of your hand in his, the sound of your breathing when you slept next to him, the way you’d nudge him playfully when he teased you. Every small detail that made up your relationship was etched into those pages—his heart laid bare, vulnerable, and raw. Jude carried the notebook like a lifeline, as if each word he wrote to you was a tether, keeping him connected to you in some way. Even though he wasn’t sure if you’d ever read them, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop writing to you, telling you all the things he should have said while you were still his. There was one night, after a particularly bad game, where he sat alone in his hotel room, staring at the notebook. His hands trembled as he picked up the pen, the words spilling out faster than he could think. ‘I love you,’ he wrote, the words stark on the page.

'I love you more than I know how to explain. And I’m terrified I’ll never get the chance to tell you that now. In my dreams you’re touching my face and asking me if I want to try again.'

It was the truest thing he’d ever written in that book. As the days passed, the notebook filled with his deepest fears, his sincerest apologies, and his undying love. And every time he flipped through the pages, he could feel you there, even though you were so far away. Even though you hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever. It was the only way he knew how to keep you close, even as the distance between you grew wider with every passing day. He just hoped, somehow, some way, that you’d feel it too. That maybe, one day, he could find the courage to give you the notebook, to let you see how much you had always meant to him. But for now, it was his silent confession, his love letter to the one person he couldn’t forget. There were nights when Jude found himself staring at the ceiling, the quiet of his room almost suffocating. He had the notebook nearby, as always, full of the thoughts he wished he could share with you, the words he never got to say. But tonight, it wasn't enough to just write. He missed you physically, emotionally, in every way imaginable. And though he had been longing for the closeness that came with sex, it wasn't just about that. It was the intimacy, the connection, the way your body pressed against his felt like home. The way, in those quiet moments, it was more than just physical-it was how you anchored him, how you made him feel understood and whole. Tonight, though, one memory in particular replayed over and over in his mind.

It was just after your holiday in Greece, the first time you came with him to Madrid. Everything had been easy then, carefree. Nothing had happened yet-none of the arguments, none of the jealousy, none of the heartbreak. In retrospect, Jude realized he should've known even then how special you were to him, but at the time, it had all seemed so light, so effortless. He remembered the day like it was yesterday. The sun had been scorching, golden light spilling over the back garden as you lounged by the pool, the scent of suncream and chlorine in the air. You were glowing in that tiny bikini, the one that had him doing double takes every time you moved. But it wasn't just the way you looked-though you were undeniably stunning-it was the way your laughter filled the space between you. The way it made his heart skip a beat every time you smiled, the kind of smile that reached your eyes and lit up your entire face. You'd been teasing him, like you always did, a playful gleam in your eyes as you suddenly jumped up and ran, your laughter trailing behind you. Jude remembered watching you, a mixture of joy and something deeper-something he couldn't quite put into words yet-bubbling up inside him as he chased after you. The way your skin shimmered in the sunlight, turning a different kind of gold, made his breath catch. He remembered how his hands finally caught your waist, pulling you close, your laughter turning into something softer as you pressed your lips to his neck. It was in that moment, as he held you close by the pool, your bodies slick with water and heat, that Jude had felt something shift inside him. He hadn't known what it was then-maybe he had been too afraid to name it—but he could feel it now. The way your lips on his skin felt like a fire he would gladly burn for. A fire he would willingly let consume him, over and over again. He hadn't realized it then, but it was already happening.

As he lay in bed, Jude dropped his head back into the pillow, the weight of that memory making his chest ache. He wished he could go back to that very moment-to feel the simplicity of it again, to hear your giggle echoing in his back garden as you tried to escape him, only for him to catch you and pull you back into his arms. He wanted to be back there, in the sunshine with you, before everything became so complicated. Before he messed it all up. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, frustrated at the fact that you were so far away. He missed you more than he knew how to express, and on nights like these, he felt that loss in the deepest parts of himself. It wasn't just the physical distance-it was the emotional chasm that had grown between you, a gap he didn't know how to bridge. As the memory faded, Jude reached for the notebook again, flipping to a blank page. He began to write, the pen moving across the paper as he tried to capture that feeling, that moment with you, in words. Maybe one day he'd find a way to share it with you. Maybe one day, you'd know how much that memory meant to him, how much you meant to him. But for now, it was just another secret confession, scrawled in ink, tucked away in the pages of a notebook that was quickly becoming a record of everything he was too late to say. He closed his eyes, the image of you in that bikini, laughing as you ran from him, still fresh in his mind. The ache in his chest lingered, wishing for just one more chance to hold you, to feel your warmth, to make you laugh again. He laid there for a moment and as much his heart was aching… something else began to ache. Jude couldn’t get the image of you in that bikini out of his mind. He couldn’t get the images of him taking it off you out of his mind.

As the scorching Spanish sun beat down on the pool in the back garden, laughter and desire intertwined. You found yourself in a playful mood, donning a skimpy bikini that showcased your gorgeous figure—a sight that immediately captured Jude's attention. He stood tall by the pool, his athletic build glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His tanned skin, a golden hue, contrasted beautifully with his deep brown eyes, which at the moment were fixed on you with unapologetic desire. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you teased him, running around the pool deck, your laughter echoing across the garden. The game of cat and mouse began, and Jude, eager to catch his prey, gives chase. You giggled as you darted between the sun loungers, feeling the warmth of the stone beneath your bare feet. His footsteps closed in on you, and just as he reached out to grab you, you let out a playful squeal. Jude's strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you found yourself enveloped in his embrace. He pulled you close, your bodies pressing together, the heat between you intensifying. You wiggled playfully, feeling the hardness of his muscular body against your soft curves. His hands roamed freely, exploring your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"Gotcha, angel!" Jude whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending a delightful tingle down your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, a perfect mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins. He tightened his hold, lifting you effortlessly off the ground and carrying you towards one of the plush pool loungers nearby. Gently, he laid you down, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze sent a jolt of arousal through your body. You reached up, running your hands over his hair, gripping it, pulling him closer for a kiss. His lips claimed yours passionately, and you responded eagerly, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm. As the kiss deepened, Jude's hands wandered, He untangled the ties of your bikini top with skilled fingers. He pulled away slightly, his eyes sparkling with lust, and then slowly he moved his lips down your body, using his teeth to untie the knot, sending a thrill through you. Your tits spilled into his waiting hands. He worshiped them with his touch, squeezing and caressing your sensitive nipples. Moans of pleasure escaped your lips as his skilled fingers worked magic, driving you to the brink of ecstasy. He lent down, replacing his fingers with his warm mouth, suckling your nipples and leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. Your hands grasped his shoulders, urging him closer, craving the feeling of his skin against yours. Jude's hands traveled lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms. He hooked his fingers and slid them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze and the Madrid air. The cool breeze brushing against your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise. His name fell from your lips in a hoarse moan the moment you felt his fingers running through your wet folds. With his fingers between your legs now, you were practically dripping for him. You looked at him with your jaw slacked and lidded eyes. He unraveled you with each movement. His fingers making quick work sinking knuckles deep inside you. His fingers hit the perfect spot inside you with every thrust and curl of their tips. Your back arching uncontrollably. A puddle on the surface of the chair you were laying on formed, your juices running down his hand. The way his breath felt against your sin as he kissed it and the force of his fingers, it all had you rushing towards your orgasm. You whimpered with gasps of air. Your pussy was absolutely soaked but you couldn’t think, your mind had gone blank.

“Let go, baby. Be a good girl f’me. Cum f’me.” Jude said sternly instructing you and you wasted no time at all. Your orgasm was never ending. He persistently kept his fingers at work inside of you, slowing slightly but drawing your high out. “Good girl. So fucking good f’me.” Jude cooed as you attempted to hold onto his muscular arm to prevent him from moving any more. He gave way and removed his fingers as he kissed your lips with his before he drew away and forcefully pushed his thumb in between your lips. You willingly opened them for him and looked at him doe eyed and desperate for more. He kept your lips agape as he slowly spit into your mouth before hungrily kissing you again. Jude wrapped your legs around his waist. He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your soft core. You arched your back again desperate, inviting him to take what felt rightfully his. With one swift motion, he entered you, filling you with a delicious fullness. The sensations were overwhelming as Jude began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. His eyes never leaving yours, and you could see the raw desire reflected in their depths. He sets a relentless pace, his body pounding into yours, each stroke eliciting moans of pleasure from both of you.

"Oh fuck, Jude," you cried out, your voice hoarse with passion. "Yes, right there!" The pupils in his dark eyes dilated when he felt his cock pulse inside you. Every movement was slow, deep, and intentional. His lips curled into a smug smile hearing that he was doing a good job. You dragged your ankle down his back muscles. He was finding out quickly exactly how to touch you, how to drive you wild. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, ensuring every thrust hits your sweet spot. The sounds of your pleasure fill the outdoor air—moans, gasps, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin. As the tension builds, you can feel another orgasm approaching, a tidal wave of sensation ready to crash over you. Jude could sense your impending release and quickened his pace, his own breath becoming ragged.

"Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice thick with lust. You moaned pulling him down to you more by the back of his neck dragging your nails harshly down his muscular back. He rested his forehead against yours sweetly as he continued to rail into you. “Cum one more time f’me baby. Feels so good. Doing so well f’me.” He whispered between the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy. His thrusts sped up, rolling his hips into you as he chased his own orgasm. Your body tightened around him, and you cried out his name as the waves of pleasure washed over you once more. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you rode out the pulsating orgasm, your body trembling with its intensity. He thrusted harder, faster, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the bliss. He sunk his teeth into his perfect lower lip. You silently begged him to cum. His head tilted back. With a final powerful stroke, he emptied himself deep within you. Ropes of his cum filled the velvety inside of your pussy. He pumped you full gradually and slowly stilling. Your pussy continued to flutter as you panted beneath him. Your chest rising and falling. He softly stroked your hair and gently kissed you. “Did so good f’me.” He breathed, his voice filled with admiration. You smiled breathlessly as he kissed you again in a way that Jude prayed you could feel just how much he adored you with each one. In the aftermath of your passion by the pool, Jude collapsed onto the small space on the lounger, moving you to be on top of him now, both of you sweaty and satiated, keeping your bodies intertwined. You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As you stood, fingers grazing over the delicate fabric on the rack inside the department store, you let out a heavy sigh. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, and the artificial high of retail therapy wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. You thought the expensive price tags and shiny new outfits would mask the ache, but instead, it all felt hollow.Winnie came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist in a gentle hug. She giggled softly, trying to lift your spirits.

"At least you'll have an amazing top to wear when you're ready to get back out there," she teased lightly. But the words, meant to comfort, only made you feel worse. Your eyes welled with tears, and you sniffled, turning away from the clothes.

"I don’t want to get back out there, Win," you whispered, voice trembling. "I don’t want to show off for anyone else. I don’t want any other eyes on me… it’s not the same." You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away before it could fall. Winnie turned you gently, her face softening in concern.

“Hey, it’s okay to feel that. You’re hurting, and no amount of shopping is gonna fix that.” You sighed, blinking back more tears, your throat tight.

"I just… I only want to look good for him. Jude. He’s the only one who made me feel alive, you know? I used to get dressed up and know he’d look at me like I was the only person in the room. Now… I don’t feel like that anymore. I feel dull, like nothing will ever be the same without him." Your hand fell from the hanger, the top you were about to buy suddenly meaningless. Shopping couldn’t fill the void Jude left behind, no matter how many racks you combed through. Winnie squeezed you tighter, trying to ground you as your words hung heavy between you. She rested her chin on your shoulder, feeling your pain as if it were her own.

“I know, babe,” she whispered, trying to soothe you. “It’s okay to feel this way, you know. You don’t have to be ready to move on. It’s okay if all you want is him.” You shook your head, blinking back more tears as you stared blankly at the clothes in front of you, the vibrant fabrics and trendy designs suddenly feeling meaningless.

“I feel so stupid,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should be mad, right? I should be out there, showing him what he’s missing, living my best life. But I can’t. I just… I can’t.” Winnie turned you around in her arms, forcing you to look at her.

“You’re definitely not stupid. You’re in love. That’s not something you just get over in a snap. And you’re allowed to feel how you feel, even if it’s messy or complicated.” You sniffled, biting your lip as your eyes darted to the ground.

“But it’s more than that, Win. I wish I wanted to go out, find someone else, let some random guy sweep me off my feet, make Jude jealous. Hell, I wish I wanted to go fuck someone else but I don’t. I really don’t. The thought of someone else… It makes me sick. The idea of anyone touching me the way Jude did… it’s not even a comparison.” Your voice cracked as the weight of your feelings pressed harder on your chest. “I tried that. I just want him,” you admitted, your heart breaking with every word. “I want to be in his bed, wearing his t-shirts, listening to him laugh at something stupid I said. I don’t want to go out and meet anyone new. I don’t want to pretend like I’m okay. I just want… him.” Winnie sighed, her face soft with sympathy as she watched the tears finally fall.

“I get it. I do. And I wish I could say something to make it all better, but I can’t. Only time will help… or maybe Jude will come to his senses and fix this… would you want him to?” She paused, her eyes searching yours, as if she was trying to find some glimmer of hope within you. You pouted at her, giving her the obvious answer that of course you did. “Well, until then, you’ve got me. And we’ll get through this together, okay?” You nodded weakly, but the ache in your chest didn’t lessen. You pulled away from Winnie slightly, looking around the store, your heart heavy.

“I just don’t get it, you know? I used to love coming to Bergdorfs. I used to get so excited to find something new, to go out and show it off. But now… now it feels like none of it matters.” You ran your fingers over a top you had been eyeing earlier, the fabric soft beneath your fingertips, but it didn’t bring you the same joy it once would have. “I don’t even want this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Winnie. “I know I sound dramatic but none of it means anything without him. What’s the point of getting dressed up or going out if he’s not there to see it? If he’s not the one taking it off at the end of the night?” Winnie’s arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, as if she could shield you from the pain with her embrace.

“You don’t have to do it for anyone else,” she murmured. “If you don’t want to go out, don’t. If you don’t want to move on right now, don’t force it. It’s okay to miss him, and it’s okay to still want him. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Even if it’s hard.” You sighed heavily, the exhaustion of everything catching up with you.

“I’m trying,” you said softly. “But it’s like… suddenly, New York isn’t home anymore. Nothing feels like home without him. The city feels empty, cold. And I’ve never felt so far away from him… from myself.” Your voice cracked again, and Winnie’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not far from yourself,” she said gently. “You’re just hurting. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to grieve this, to feel lost. But you’ll find your way back. Whether that’s with Jude or without him, I know you will.” Her words brought a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remained.

“It just doesn’t feel like home without him,” you repeated, more to yourself. “He is my home, and now I don’t even know where I am anymore.” Winnie pulled you in tighter, her heart breaking for you.

“I know, babe. But we’ll figure it out. Whether that means getting back to him or finding your own way again. I’m here, and we’ll figure it out.” For a moment, you just stood there, holding onto her, the weight of your heartbreak pressing down on you. You wanted to believe her, that you’d find your way back to yourself, but right now, all you could think about was how much you missed Jude. How much you still loved him, even after everything. You sighed again, pulling away from Winnie and running a hand through your hair.

“I don’t want to meet anyone else, Win. I don’t want to move on. I just want him.” Winnie nodded, her eyes filled with understanding.

“I know. And that’s okay. You don’t have to move on. But maybe… maybe you should tell him that.” She sympathetically smiled at you.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the black sheer lace dress you had bought on a whim clinging to your body like a whisper. You could see your underwear beneath the fabric, and you almost laughed at how absurd this all felt. Yet, you couldn’t help but indulge in the fantasy for a moment, wondering what it would be like if you did go to Aurelian’s party. The new clothes from your shopping spree with Winnie sat scattered around you in your wardrobe, a reminder of how hard you were trying to distract yourself. An hour and half a bottle of Dom Pérignon later, you were sitting on the floor of your wardrobe, staring at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen. The bubbly had loosened something in you, making you braver—or more reckless, depending on how you looked at it. Without thinking too much about it, you picked up your phone and shot off a flirty text to Aurelian, switching to French.

‘Qu'est-ce que je suis censée porter à ta fête si je viens? Quoi qu'il en soit, je me sens déjà un peu sous-dressée…’ [What am I supposed to wear to your party if I come? Though, I already feel a little underdressed]

You pressed send before you could stop yourself. Your heart raced as you waited for a reply, feeling a strange mix of excitement and guilt swirl in your chest. When Aurelian’s response finally came through, you bit your lip as you read it, his words making your cheeks warm.

‘Je ne t'ai jamais vue sans être magnifique. Je suis presque sûr que ce n'est pas les vêtements qui comptent…’ [I’ve never seen you look anything but magnificent. I’m pretty sure it’s not the clothes that matter.]

His implication was clear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself smiling at his smooth compliment, your heart beating a little faster. You could feel the tension in the air between you, even through a phone screen, and for a moment, you wondered if you should let yourself lean into it. Aurelian's next message popped up with an innocently enough question.

‘Alors, à quoi pensais-tu?’ [So, what were you thinking?]

You stared at the text, the decision looming large before you. You could send him a photo right now—show him the drunken, seductive mess you were in this dress, the dress you probably wouldn’t have worn for anyone but Jude in the past. A part of you wanted to flirt, to let Aurelian see you this way, to forget for just a moment how much you missed Jude.

But as you sat there, the phone still in your hand, you sighed. You couldn't shake the ache inside you, the ache that had nothing to do with Aurelian. It was Jude who filled your thoughts, Jude who made your heart race when you sent those types of flirty, suggestive photos. Jude who you were still in love with, even if it hurt like hell.You let your phone drop beside you, not replying to Aurelian’s message. The thought of sending that picture, or even entertaining the idea of someone else, just didn’t feel right. It didn’t fill the void you were hoping it would. It only reminded you of what you were missing—what you still wanted, even though you had tried to convince yourself otherwise. With a heavy sigh, you rested your head against the a cabinet drawer, the sheer dress now feeling more like a reminder of the distance between where you were and where you wanted to be. You weren’t ready to move on. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You were sitting on your couch, half-watching the cityscape outside your window mindlessly when your phone rang. It was your mum. You answered with a smile, but the moment she mentioned your dad had watched the Madrid match, your stomach twisted in knots.

"He was so excited, you know? Your dad, watching the game. And then... well, I’ve been feeling like I’m keeping something from him," she said softly but you could almost hear her smile through the phone. "I mean, about you and Jude." You froze, your throat tightening.

"Mum, we’re not... we’re not seeing each other anymore." You sheepishly admitted hating each word as it came out of your mouth.

"What do you mean? I thought—" There was a pause on the other end of the line, the confusion hanging in the air like a weight.

"It’s over," you said quickly, the words feeling foreign, like they didn’t belong to you. "I ended it." With every follow-up question she asked, you felt your resolve crumbling, the walls you had built up to protect yourself beginning to crack. And then, as you tried to explain, your voice broke, a sob you hadn’t expected rising in your chest. Tears slipped from your eyes, and it was like you couldn’t stop them once they started. You never cried, not like this, not with your mum. The moment she heard the hitch in your voice, her tone shifted. She dropped into the familiar comfort of French, her voice soft and maternal.

"Ma chérie, oh non, mon bébé, ne pleure pas. C’est bon, je suis là. Papa et moi, nous sommes là pour toi. Viens nous voir, viens à Paris.” [My darling, oh no, my baby, don’t cry. It’s okay, I’m here. Dad and I, we're here for you. Come see us, come to Paris.] Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, but instead of comforting you, they made the ache worse. You cried harder, the sobs tearing out of you, unexpected and overwhelming. There was something about her offer, the thought of going back to Paris with a broken heart, that made the hurt feel even sharper. Paris had always been your sanctuary, your favorite place on earth. You didn’t want to taint it with the sadness that now clung to you like a second skin. The idea of walking those familiar streets, eating at your favorite cafés, all while carrying the weight of your broken heart—it was unbearable.

"I... I don’t think I can, Mum," you choked out between sobs. "I don’t want to go to Paris like this. I really don’t want to ruin it." You muttered.

"Rien ne peut ruiner Paris pour toi, ma chérie.” [Nothing can ruin Paris for you, my darling.] She soothed, her voice soft and steady. "Paris misses you almost as much as we do." But you shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it.

"I feel so lost. I know I haven’t known him for that long but I don’t even know who I am without him anymore. And if I go to Paris like this, I’m scared it’ll never be the same again.”

“Tu es forte, mon amour. Plus forte que tu ne le penses. Et peu importe ce que tu ressens maintenant, tu retrouveras ton chemin. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.” [You are strong, my love. Stronger than you think. And no matter how you feel now, you will find your way back. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.] Her words were like balm on a wound, but it didn’t stop the fear from gnawing at you. You hadn’t realized how deep this heartbreak had cut, how much it had seeped into every part of your life. Even the thought of Paris, a place you’d always associated with joy and love, felt tainted now.

"I just... I don’t know how to do this, Mum. I don’t know how to move on." You wrapped your arms around yourself, the tears slowing but your chest still heavy. Telling your mum you were hurting made you feel like a little girl.

"Tu n’as pas à savoir maintenant. C’est pour ça qu’on est là. Come to Paris, ma chérie. Papa et moi, on s’occupera de toi." [You don’t have to know right now. That’s why we’re here. Come to Paris, my darling. Dad and I will take care of you.] You cried quietly as she continued to console you, her words soft and loving, trying to bring you comfort in a moment where comfort felt impossible. You knew she was right, that eventually, you’d have to find your way back to yourself. But right now, in the middle of the heartache, it felt like you were drifting, lost and untethered.

After what felt like your and Jude’s denouement you were struggling with the overwhelming weight of your emotions crush your resolve. You couldn’t do this alone—not anymore. The only person you could think or want to call was Whitney. Whitney, who had always been there for you, who understood the unique challenges of loving an English footballer, a man with a similar life as Jude. With trembling hands, you dialed her number.

“Helllooo” Whitney sang. “What’s up?” When Whitney picked up, her voice was warm and familiar, instantly calming some of your anxiety. But you couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped you.

“Whit… can I come stay with you? Please? Whit…” You whimpered as you began to bawl.

“Of course, you can. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The concern in Whitney’s voice was immediate. You tried to gather herself, but the tears kept coming.

“I just… I can’t be here. I need to get away. I need to be somewhere safe. I can’t be alone like this.” You wept as your whole body shook of fear and heartbreak.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Whitney assured you. “Just get on the next flight over here. Come be with me. Trent and I are here for you always.” Whitney sympathetically told you.

By the time you arrived at Trent and Whitney’s house, you were exhausted—emotionally, physically, completely drained. You stood at the doorstep, your heart heavy as you padded in the lock code Whitney gave you. As you opened the door, the alarm bell rang through their massive home that was filled to the brim with love and warmth that made you want to cry upon entry. The other thing that made you want to cry was their sweet little two year old girl, Teddy running towards you. Her bare feet pitter pattering on the flooring.

“Y/N!” Teddy exclaimed, her tiny face lighting up with pure joy. “Miss! Missed!” She giggled as the dimples in her cheeks sank. You felt your heart swell at the sight of this little girl you loved so much. You dropped to your knees and scooped Teddy up into a tight hug, letting the warmth of the embrace soothe you for a moment. But then, the tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable. Trent appeared at the door next, concern etched on his face. He watched as you clung to his daughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. Without a word, he walked over and gently lifted Teddy from your arms. He kissed your temple softly, offering silent comfort.

“It’s okay,” Trent murmured, holding Teddy close as she babbled nonsense about missing you happily in his arms. “Whatever’s going on. You’re gonna be alright.” He cooed.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Whitney said softly, leading you into the cozy living room after she appeared at your side, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. You settled on the couch, and Whitney handed you a glass of wine. “Talk to me,” Whitney urged gently. “Tell me what’s going on.” You took a shaky breath, staring into the wine glass as if it held all the answers. You knew you needed to talk, to let it all out—but the words felt stuck in your throat. Whitney waited patiently, her presence a steady, calming force.

“I messed everything up, Whit. I tried to protect myself, and I ended up pushing him away. I don’t know what to do.” You whimpered. Finally, you looked up, your voice trembling. Whitney reached out, placing a comforting hand on your knee.

“I hardly think you messed everything up. He cares so much about you. I’m here to listen so let’s start from the beginning,” she said softly. “I’m here for you, Y/N. Whatever it is, whatever is best for you, we’ll figure it out together.” As the night went on, you poured out your heart, the tears falling freely as you recounted everything that had happened with Jude. All the things Whitney already knew, all the things Whitney didn’t. All of it, dirty and otherwise. She listened, offering support and understanding in a way only she could. The wine helped to dull the edges of your pain, but it was the kindness and warmth of Whitney and her little family that truly began to soothe the deep ache inside you. After a long, emotional conversation, Whitney noticed your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. But she also knew that you needed more than just one person to lean on right now. With a reassuring smile, Whitney pulled out her phone.

“I think it’s time to bring in another opinion. It’s only right,” Whitney said, giving you a wink as she tapped on her screen. Moments later, the familiar face of Winnie appeared on the screen. Winnie’s bright smile greeting you with her usual energy.

“Wow, thanks for the invite! I didn’t know you were going over Y/N.” Winnie teased seeing you and Lauren on the same couch but then she paused, taken aback by the expressions on your faces. “What’s going on? Look like you’ve had a good cry.” She asked a bit cautiously. You managed a small smile as Whitney explained the progression of your situation. Winnie listened intently, her face softening with empathy as the story unfolded. She was rambunctious and fun, but she also had a deep well of understanding that made her the perfect person to talk to when things got heavy. After that night at the club, Winnie had been there for you. Both of these girls always were.

“So let me just recap here.,” Winnie said, leaning closer to the camera as if she could step through the screen to be with you. “You and Jude are head over heels for each other, but you’re both too scared to admit it, so you’re pushing each other away, sleeping with other people and then just not talking about it?” Winnie summarized the situation a bit too bluntly.

“Win… they’re in love with each other.” Whitney rebuffed. “Sure, Jude’s been fucking stupid but Y/N now has created distance… rightfully so by the way.” Whitney turned to you, squeezing your leg. “Problem is, now, there’s a chasm they don’t know what to do with. Y/N is trying to weigh what to do.” Whitney sadly smiled.

“What’s gonna hurt less.” Winnie responded. “But…” Winnie piped up again. “I mean… a little pain isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s horrible but on the other side of it... I think maybe an in person conversation, if you can manage it might be good.”

“I agree. And then if the direction turns you get to decide. You get to call it. You clearly love each other and saying it over the phone just isn’t right. Not when it’s real love.” Whitney ever the romantic cooed. You blushed at the ideas, nodding hesitantly, trying to keep your composure.

“I really love him… I think.” You pouted at them. Feeling not much better about Jude specifically but much better talking with them. “I’m such a fucking sap now. Whitney, you did this to me.” You whined falling into her lap dramatically. Both girls giggled as you dragged yourself to sit back up.

“Love is amazing!” Whitney sang kissing your forehead. She had no quam introducing you and Jude. She thought love was great. You usually watched Whitney’s relationship from a distance, thinking it was crazy she was down so bad for a man but now you understood her more than ever. And at the moment you envied her happy relationship more than ever.

“The make up sex will be amazing!!” Winnie added, mocking Whitney’s tone. Whitney chuckled, shaking her head. Before you could respond, Teddy came bounding into the room, her little feet pattering against the floor.

“Mama!” she called out, her eyes lighting up as she spotted Whitney. She climbed up onto the couch clumsily, nestling herself into Whitney’s lap, and wrapped her tiny arms around her mother’s neck. Whitney kissed Teddy’s cheek, holding her close as she continued the conversation.

“It’s not easy, Y/N. But pushing him away because you’re scared will only hurt you both more.” You and her both exchanged sad smiles. Teddy let go on Whitney and clumsily flopped onto your lap giving your thigh a hug smushing her face against your leg. She could sense your sadness and even though she probably couldn’t understand why, her silly hug did more than she knew. Just after, Trent appeared in the doorway, looking slightly sheepish. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, running a hand over his hair. “She slipped away from me. She’s quick y’know.” He laughed. You smiled at the sight of Trent, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the normalcy of the scene.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “I could use all the cuddles I can get.” You cooed. Trent chuckled, giving a quick hello to Winnie and then Teddy a playful nudge before scooping her up. Whitney gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Trent plopped onto another seat in the room with Teddy, the two of them falling into their own little conversation.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said softly. “But you should be honest with yourself about how you feel, you should ask him point blank how he feels, you deserve someone who will love you fearlessly. Not all this bullshit he’s been doing. At the end of it all, do what is right for your heart, your peace. Just please take care of this girl because she means a lot to me.” Whitney smiled as she pinched at your waist. Winnie nodded on the screen in agreement, her expression serious and stoic.

“Exactly. We’re here for you, Y/N. Whatever you decide, you’re not alone in this but also don’t pretend cheap navy polyester blend sheets are ever going to make you feel the way white Italian made Frette sateen do.” She meant it metaphorically but maybe seriously as well about bedroom antics. Whitney shrugged partly agreeing about the bed linen comment. You were a group of three, well four including Teddy, very spoiled girls. You looked at the two sisters and then at Teddy, who was now contentedly playing with the hem of Trent’s top. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so lost. After the conversation with Winnie wrapped up, Whitney decided it was time to shift the mood to something lighter.

“You know what we need? A Chinese,” she declared, already pulling up the menu on her phone.

“Whit, baby, you know I can’t have that—I’m in season.” Trent, now lounging comfortably in the corner of the couch with Teddy perched on his lap, raised an eyebrow in protest.

“You’ll survive. Y/N likes the place we order from here so that’s what we’re getting.” Whitney shot him a playful but firm look. Trent sighed, defeated, while Teddy giggled at her father’s expense.

“Dada no hungry?” Teddy chirped asking Trent, grabbing at his shirt. “Like ‘neese.” She giggled, unable to properly pronounce ‘chinese’ just yet.

“Nah, baby bear. I’m very hungry!” Trent corrected her as he dramatically squeezed Teddy tight to him, locking her in place as he began to nom on her chubby cheek teasingly as she squealed and giggled. You sighed hearing Trent call Teddy his little nickname, a two year olds giggle booming in the room, your best friend watching her family. You felt so lonely in a moment when you couldn’t have been less alone. Soon enough, the smell of takeout filled the house. You gathered around their dining table. Trent’s eyes lingered longingly on the orange chicken, but he dutifully stuck to his more athlete-friendly meal, occasionally sneaking glances at everyone else’s plates.

“Mama, no tanks.” Teddy, still on Trent’s lap, scrunched her nose at the sight of broccoli on her plate. It was simply genetics but there was something funny about watching both Trent, over orange chicken, and Teddy, over broccoli, give Whitney their best identical puppy dog eyes pleading for her approval.

“Ted, baby, gotta eat those please. Just a few bites for me, cute girl.” Whitney replied, not missing a beat. “You… “ her eyes flashed to Trent. “Learn some self control. Eat your grilled chicken and set an example for your daughter.” She giggled. “Eat your broccoli.” She smirked, moving a container more towards them. With a dramatic sigh, both Teddy and Trent picked up a piece of broccoli and nibbled at it. As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally, drifting back to the earlier topic. Trent, who had been mostly quiet regarding the Jude situation, finally chimed in.

“Look, Y/N, I get it. Jude’s been a…” He paused momentarily to cover Teddy’s ears. “He’s been a fucking idiot because he’s scared, just like you are. But being scared doesn’t mean you should just give up on the whole relationship.” He cooed. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth, and you looked at Trent, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration.

“T, Jude and I aren’t even in a relationship. We’re just… I don’t even know what we are. And at the moment really nothing at all.” You sighed, upset that it wasn’t like you were repairing something with a boyfriend. Jude was nothing to you because you never got to labels and that was the problem. Trent leaned forward slightly, his expression serious but kind.

“You say that and I know that Jude should’ve fixed exactly that but you’re more than just nothing, that’s for sure. But if you just push it all away and ignore what you want, you’re never going to know what it could be.” He softly smiled at you. Whitney nodded in agreement, giving you a similar gentle smile.

“I don’t want to pile on because I know it’s hard but T’s right, you know. You can’t let fear control this. Jude should be the one to fix it but if it’s something you want it’s worth maybe at least asking one more time.” Whitney pouted a bit being a hopeless romantic. You took a deep breath, letting their words sink in. You knew they were right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Still, there was something comforting about the way you all sat around the table, talking through the mess of emotions that had been haunting you for weeks. When you finished your meal, you felt a little lighter, as if the weight of your fears had been shared among you all. Teddy, after finally eating her vegetables, grinned triumphantly as Whitney handed her a small bowl of ice cream.

“See? Not so bad. You and Daddy are so picky sometimes ” Whitney teased, running her hand over Trent’s head whilst pressing a kiss to Teddy’s hair. You smiled, feeling a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this confusing thing with Jude. And if you stumbled along the way, at least you knew you had people who would catch you. As the evening wound down, Whitney guided you to the guest room, a comforting hand on your back. You carried Teddy, who insisted on following you two, her tiny arms wrapped around your neck. When you reached the room, you gently placed Teddy down before flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. The weight of the day, the emotions, and the uncertainty all seemed to catch up with you at once. But the despair was short-lived as Teddy, ever the little bundle of joy, clambered up onto the bed beside you, mimicking your flop with a giggle. The sound was infectious, and despite yourself, you found a smile breaking through. You leaned over and planted a few playful kisses on Teddy’s cheeks, each one drawing more giggles from the little girl. It was moments like these that made everything feel a bit more manageable. Whitney sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a sympathetic smile. She knew you were still hurting, still conflicted, but she also knew that you needed to confront those feelings head-on.

“You should talk to Jude, Y/N,” Whitney said softly, her tone gentle but insistent. Hearing Jude’s name, Teddy’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Mama, miss Judey!” she exclaimed, her voice bright and innocent, free of the complications that you were grappling with. Your heart clenched a little at Teddy’s words. You hugged Teddy close, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

“Me too, Ted. Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Whitney watched you, her heart aching for her friend but also hopeful that this might be the push you needed.

“He misses you too, Y/N. Don’t let this slip away without at least trying to fight for it.” You nodded slowly, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to say to Jude, all the things you were too afraid to admit even to yourself. But as you lay there with Teddy cuddled up beside you, you knew that Whitney was right. It was time to stop running, time to face whatever this thing with Jude was—no matter how terrifying it might be. You laid in bed, the darkness of the room doing little to quiet your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, thoughts of Jude filled your head—his smile, his laugh, the way he made you feel both terrified and alive all at once. You watched the hours tick by, each passing minute only intensifying the ache in your chest. You missed him, more than you wanted to admit.

You accompanied Whitney to one of Trent’s Liverpool matches. After the game, you two along with Trent and his brother, Marcel went out for dinner. You didn’t feel happy per se but you felt relaxed and just comforted by their normalcy and the layer of wine rushing through your system definitely helped lighten your mood. As Whitney excused herself to the bathroom and a fan engaged Trent in conversation, you felt a sudden charge of freedom wash over you. It was like a door had opened, offering a brief moment to do something reckless. Marcel's arm had found its way around your shoulders, and what started as an innocent gesture quickly shifted into something more intense, at least in your mind. In Marcel’s mind it was more in a platonic friend way steadying your drunk movements. You leaned in closer, feeling the alcohol take hold of your thoughts, pushing boundaries you might not have dared cross otherwise. Your thumb brushed over Marcel's lips, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of them with a glint in your eye. You were testing the waters, watching for his reaction, letting the thrill of mischief spark through you. Marcel smirked despite himself, recognizing the shift in energy, the subtle tension that had bloomed between you two. His heart raced momentarily, tempted by the familiarity of this dynamic. You had hooked up before, and that memory lingered, pulling at the edges of his resolve.

"You have really nice lips," you murmured, eyes flicking down to them and then back up to his face, the challenge implicit in your voice. Marcel chuckled, his hand gently closing around yours as he pulled it away from his lips.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said, with a soft laugh.His tone light but cautious. "They get the job done." He cooed. You giggled, flashing your eyes down to his lips again, emboldened by his response. The banter felt dangerous, electric. There was a fire in your belly that only seemed to grow as you watched his smirk soften into something more serious. The thrill of pushing the line, seeing how far you could take it, was exhilarating. You felt like you were barreling toward something you couldn't quite control, but instead of stopping, you let yourself teeter closer to the edge. The energy between you two was shifting fast, spiraling into something much more charged. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would hurt but craving the rush of it anyway. You felt alive in a way you hadn't since things with Jude fell apart, and it felt dangerous, intoxicating.

“I know.” You cooed with a a smug smile. For a split second, you let yourself imagine it—the temptation, the thrill of crossing that line again with Marcel. You were flirting with danger, and a part of you loved the recklessness of it. But Marcel wasn't moving. He hadn't leaned in. He hadn't taken the bait. You could see it in his eyes, the internal battle he was fighting, the temptation wrestling with his conscience. The way his gaze flicked away from yours, the way he gently squeezed your hand as if to ground himself, it all told you he wasn't going to let this go any further. Not tonight. For a moment, you felt the excitement drain, leaving behind a hollow ache. You weren't really after Marcel. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really.

“Lucky you,” he teased, playing along with the joke you started, but there was an undertone of seriousness as his gaze lingered on you a little too long. Marcel’s soft laugh echoed in your ears, his casual response almost distracting you from the sting of rejection you felt coming. You giggled, but the sound was empty, your heart heavy with the weight of what you knew was coming. You sighed, the giggle fading, and pouted without meaning to, feeling childish but unable to stop yourself. The alcohol had lowered your guard, and now, there was nowhere to hide from the vulnerability that was surfacing. Marcel noticed the shift in you, and instead of pulling away, he turned to face you fully. Gently, he lifted your face from where it had been resting against his shoulder, cupping your cheeks with his hands. His touch was soft, tender even, as he looked directly into your eyes. “Listen, it’s not that I wouldn’t,” he began, his voice low but steady. “Or that I’m not interested. You’re gorgeous, and trust me… I hate that I’m saying no. That the right thing is no.” He paused, watching the way your eyes searched his, needing more from him, something to fill the emptiness you’d been carrying. “But you don’t actually want this.” You felt the weight of his words settle over you, sinking in as tears began to form on your lash line. You blinked, trying to hold them back, but it was no use. He was right, of course. Deep down, you knew you didn’t want this. Not really. Marcel wasn’t the person who filled the aching void in your chest. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really. Still, the rejection hurt. Your cheek leaned further into his hand, seeking comfort in his touch. You nodded, unable to form the words to admit the truth aloud, and Marcel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the warmth of his embrace. You pulled away from the hug, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. You managed a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes as you glanced up at him. You blinked, the haze clearing just enough for reality to settle back in. You felt a pang of regret. Not for what almost happened, but for the emptiness that made you chase after it in the first place.

“Would you, though? If things were different?” The question slipped out, your drunken state loosening your tongue. It wasn’t a fair question to ask, but you needed to know, needed some kind of validation that you still had ‘it.’ Marcel chuckled softly at first, but then his face grew serious. His eyes darkened, his gaze holding yours as he leaned in closer, his hand sliding down to your waist, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. He whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Y/N… You know the answer.” He smirked. “We’ve lived that answer so trust me…you have no idea,” he said, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “If things were different, you wouldn’t still be sitting at this table.” The confession sent a rush through you, a sense of relief flooding your system, like a validation you hadn’t realized you needed. It was a reminder that you still had ‘it,’ that you were still desirable. But as the relief settled in, so did something else—a deeper realization. You didn’t want ‘it’ with Marcel. You didn’t want to be here, chasing after validation from someone who wasn’t the person you truly wanted. You wanted Jude. You wanted the warmth of his arms around you, the sound of his voice telling you that you were the only one for him. No matter how good it felt to hear Marcel’s words, they weren’t enough to fill the void. With a sigh, you pulled away from Marcel, giving him a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you whispered, unsure if you were thanking him for the compliment or for stopping you from making a mistake. Marcel just nodded, his expression soft, understanding.

“You’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “You’re just... a little lost right now.” And he was right. You were lost, but maybe, just maybe, you were starting to find your way back. As Whitney returned and Trent's conversation ended, the moment dissolved into the background, just another part of the night. But the lingering feeling stayed with you, a reminder of how far away you still felt from the person you used to be-and the person you wanted to be again.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 11 - Go xx

#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope y'all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.

The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.

Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.

You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from King’s Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.

The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his… ailment.

Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncle’s personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.

It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end.

Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldn’t be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didn’t understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.

Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.

“The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,” Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you weren’t there to assist him.

You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestors’ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue.

The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies.

This hadn’t gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.

“Se Blākuata Rāsho drāñot vilinio viartis,” (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning.

The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emerged—your mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.

“Drāñot,” your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.

Meeting your mother’s strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. “The mouth.”

She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. “Mouth! I knew that, sister. You needn’t answer for me,” he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.

“If you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,” your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.

If Jace knew the answers, you wouldn’t have to help him, you thought reproachfully.

You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands.

Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. “I will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,” as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.

“Drāñot. Drāñot,” your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardys’ words would magically appear in his mind.

“And made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,” you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him.

You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldn’t have the same unrest they did with your mother.

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.

“No!” He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. “I-I want to keep going.”

You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.

Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. “Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas.”

“Aegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,” you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters.

“Aegon… ordered that the trees should be… killed,” he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands.

“Felled. ‘Tis a related word,” your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. “I don’t expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.”

“A king should honor the traditions of his forebears,” your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking.

“That sounds like something your sister would say,” your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you weren’t paying attention.

That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today.

“Unless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,” she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps.

You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your mother’s lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his son’s cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.

He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your father’s death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your father’s death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasn’t capable of plotting the murder of her children’s father.

You didn’t outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear today—a gift from your stepfather.

You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.

“Another raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,” a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon.

The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Prince’s foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand.

You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence.

On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels.

The Prince told himself that he didn’t care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemond’s, untainted by neither her nor his grandfather’s fingers.

He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.

Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.

As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keep’s gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasn’t on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.

Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon.

“Uncle Aemond, I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now I’ve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsire’s successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldn’t be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my father’s son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. I’m sure you feel the same. Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brother’s long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. ‘Tis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim. Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which I’ve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful. Until we meet.”

Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble.

You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image.

He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brother’s words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.

“Worry not, brother. We’ll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.”

Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.

The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegon’s Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in.

Aegon’s Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your mother’s nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlys’s serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen.

“You should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,” Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maid’s cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades.

You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwina’s mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. “I will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. ’Tis much faster on dragon back,” you quipped.

“The Princess wants you all to arrive together,” your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness.

“To show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,” you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. “I have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.”

Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to King’s Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it.

“I understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,” Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone.

In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. “This a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.”

The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegon’s Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you.

A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemond’s eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you.

Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though King’s Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomnd’s relentless teasing regarding your birth.

The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys.

After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.

This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your mother’s insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to King’s Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didn’t mind.

It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the host’s kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Green’s absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress.

The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblings’ legitimacy to the throne.

As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mind’s eye.

Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yours—a united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Luke’s fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates.

While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keep’s walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.

It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your family’s relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons.

While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didn’t provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your House’s history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep.

“I would say it’s nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon.

You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfather’s butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to King’s Landing, Luke’s legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadn’t plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes.

This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicent’s doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. “Why don’t you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.”

You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. “Yes, Mother,” you responded in kind with a sniffle.

You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the sky’s brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.

The Godswood was the only place within the Keep’s grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to King’s Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it.

Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegon’s appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncle’s character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of.

You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their mother’s consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.

The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms.

“Grandmother!” you called with unspoken joy in your tone. “Tis a pleasure to see you after so long.”

She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. “I wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.”

You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my father’s mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.”

She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit.

Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She needn’t, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a… bastard.

“I shall leave you in peace, Princess,” you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.

You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildren’s arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didn’t care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls.

There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom.

Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side.

Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.

The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears.

The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.

Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.

“Unhand me, Aemond!” you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.

Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncle’s piercing grip righted you again.

“Must I?” he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. “You’re a strong lady. I’m certain you can overpower me.”

Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.

“You believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,” he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. “Your hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.”

His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.

“Do not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.” A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.

The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight.

Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.

“You hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?” he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives.

The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his mother’s petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.

“Don’t insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,” you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.

Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncle’s pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire.

“And what of you?” Aemond rebuked. “You cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragon’s blood runs thick and even more so between twins.”

You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.

“You spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,” you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.

“Perhaps,” he breathed with an air of superiority, “but I don’t believe it to be treason to question your morals,” he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity.

The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.

For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved family—your weakness.

The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.

Excitement curled the Prince’s toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemond’s lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.

“You ignorant bitch,” he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldn’t dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not.

Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes.

“I’ll scream. Just as I did that night.”

“Then do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,” the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. “I shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?”

He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes.

“You will let me go. Now,” you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.

“And then what will you do? Run? Men in King’s Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.” Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs.

You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you.

There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.

The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldn’t name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.

As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemond’s ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece.

Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncle’s scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.

Rhaena acted like Aemond wasn’t there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal.

“What did he do to you?” your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.

You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. “Prince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.”

Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.

“Do not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,” your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.

Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers.

You needed Jace—to feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.

“You are quick, niece,” Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, “but that quickness will do you no good in King’s Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.”

Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.

As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up.

Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keep’s summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.

With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved.

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Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , *@p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

*bold means I can't tag you for some reason ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

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mentalmeles · 2 days

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Well. While the brain rot has me, I wanna talk about some lines in ‘Trust Love’ that have been bothering me lately. Mostly how they blatantly reference Penny and how she just might return once more.

Yes, it’s that kind of Penny posting. If you don’t subscribe to the Penny 3.0 theory or think she should stay dead, please carry on and let me have my silly little thoughts in peace. Also this is 100% Nuts and Dolts propaganda. I will not apologize.

ANYWAY! Onto the lyrics!

Right now, your hopes are shattered / Just pointless ever after

This line obviously talks about the loss of hope. Penny, time and again, has been the character to symbolize hope. The most obvious time this has been done was during Jinxy’s auction in Volume 9.

Ruby is inexplicably drawn to the jade marionette, which we all know turns out to be one of Penny’s swords. (And ofc let’s not forget that weapons are considered an extension of their owners in this world.)

Without knowing why, Ruby wants it and tries to wager for it. But Jinxy asks for something in particular—something Ruby has lost.

“Enough hope to fill [a] jar.”

I also want to point out that the pov making it look like the jade marionette is fitting inside the jar as well as the star charm tied around the top are not at all coincidences. This is the show telling us point blank that Penny is the personification of hope. Or at least Ruby’s hope.

But Ruby just lost her. She has no hope left.

But in time, you'll find / Through love, your power just shines

(I felt the need to put this gif here since it is exactly what plays during these lines in the Volume 7 intro, so let’s just sit and think about the implications of that for a moment. Cool? Cool.)

When you don't know where to turn to / And you're sure all hope is gone / When the day you waited for won't come / And dark won't yield to dawn / Trust love and open up your eyes

Now these lines are what get me. They talk about Ruby losing hope and direction, caught in darkness. Now, while this is the intro song for Volume 7, it’s clear that Ruby has not lost her hope yet. If anything, she just got a big chunk of it back.

And I’d argue that even In Volume 8 when shit has hit the fan and it just keeps coming and coming, Ruby hasn’t lost her resolve yet. There are definitely moments when she comes very, very close to it and she falters, but she does end up maintaining it for the most part.

(I can't find it, but imagine the gif where Ruby is looking down at Penny's unconscious body and is tearing up while saying "It's all...too much." Wow. Such a pretty gif.)

(It's also funny how these moments where Ruby's doubts are the strongest are taking place when Penny is seriously wounded and incapacitated, now isn't it? Surely that's just a funny coincidence...)

But then she and the rest of team RWBY fall into the Ever After and, after learning about Penny's second death, Ruby's mental state just falls deeper and deeper.

But then the lyrics tell Ruby that all she has to do during this dark and harrowing moment is to 'trust love.' Who's love is she supposed to trust? The song has been relating to keeping hope up till now, so it's not a stretch to say that she's supposed to trust the love she had for Penny, platonic or otherwise.

Trust love, the truth is there, but sometimes in disguise

These lines are certainly interesting when put into the context that they're also related to Penny somehow. Personally, all I can think of is when Penny transferred the Winter Maiden powers to Winter. I'm definitely not the first to mention this, but it's awfully suspicious that the aura glow was yellow and not green, isn't it? Sure, there were motes of green, but that isn't what happened when Fria gave Penny the powers previously. So why the change? Unless the truth, while there, is disguised. The truth is that Penny is dying and giving up her power, but it's disguised somehow...

The way's uncertain but we're together / Movin' toward the light / When we trust in love and open up our eyes

Mention of Ruby being together with someone. Obviously, this could just be referring to team RWBY or the whole group being together, united under the mission of saving Remnant from Salem. But, again, when mostly every other line has been tied to hope--and by extension Penny--, it's hard to believe it's talking about that. So, maybe a reunion with a certain someone that hasn't happened yet? A reunion that will bring Ruby back towards the light--towards regaining her hope--once and for all? I mean, if Ruby's character arc in the second Justice League crossover movie is where her arc will go in the show proper, it's not too far of a stretch.

(The reason I mention the Justice League crossover movies is because Ruby's arc in the first movie was very reminiscent to the arc she had about her leadership role in Volumes 7 and 8. So, since she became very self sacrificing in that movie, diving headfirst into mission after mission with no regard to her safety, maybe that's what will happen in Volume 10 too? Maybe having the potential of getting Penny back will be the thing to make her stop?)

Anyways... I don't know if any of this really made any sense and I might just be rambling nonsense, but yeah. Some things that I noticed and felt the need to shout out into the ether.

Thanks for reading!

#rwby #greenlight volume 10 #penny polendina #ruby rose #nuts and dolts #nuts n dolts #mechanical rose #penny 3.0 #the star child speaks #long post

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coolnighttimetravel · 3 days

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Yandere Ten Stoneheart cult au x kind reader

CW: yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, kind of suggestive (?).

Imagine an au where you have an issue with the debt. No matter how much you try to make money, you always end up broke. Poor thing, about to get sued by your annoying landlord.

Luckily, IPC noticed your struggle and decided to offer to work for them. You'll get a high payment and be able to pay your bills. All you have to do is to sign a contact and your wish will come true. At first, everything went fine. Untill, you meet with ten stoneheart. Oh, how adorable you are~.

While dating each other, Aventurine and Topaz also fall for you, due to your kindness and caring persona. Since day one, Numby already begins liking you, and later in a few days even becomes attached to you. It warms Jelena's heart so much that's two of you get along so well. Kakavasha feels accepted by you. Just like Topaz, you don't view him as the luck tool, but rather as the person. Every time, when they get injuries, you always stare at them with those adorable concerned eyes. A type of eyes, that's they want you to look only at them. Lately, they've been feeling jealous whenever someone even looks at you. You don't even imagine how much they desire to own you. To hide you somewhere safe and protect you from the cruel world.

Jade is someone you never got along with. Her cunning, sly, and manipulative personality never appealed to you. Yet, Jade has strange feelings towards you. The way you glare at her and coldly reply at her questions, make her attached to you even more. The purple haired women can't stop thinking about you. She wants to know every detail about your life. Your weakness, strength, interest, etc. Jade plans to convince you into making a wish. You can ask her everything you heart desire, but in return, you have to become her personal assistant. Wouldn't it be perfect to put a collar on your pretty neck? Turning you into an obedient pet, who'll do everything for their mistress. She'll assure you that your dependent life will become happy.

Sugilite is intrigued by you as a person. He’s amused how much you want to help people in need. Sugilite hates that you spend so much time with Jelena and Kakavasha. It would be much better if you become his house partner and make meals for him. And as the reward, Sugilite will always spoil you with the delicates. The silver haired guy it's greedy after all, and he'll never want to share what belongs to him.

Obsidian eagers so much to mark you. To bite your bare throat, so everyone knows to whom you'll belong to. The red haired lady would do ANYTHING to have you, even by murdering someone. Every time, when Obsedian think about you, it is usually the two of you bathing in the pomegranate juice. Getting held tight by her, so you'll never escape her grasp. Staying with her for an eternity no matter what!

When you finally realize their unhealthy obsession towards you, you try to end the contact with IPC. You thought you could escape? You poor naive thing. Didn't you read the contact? The one who signs it never escapes from IPC. After all, they'll always turn life into paradise for the miserable people. How can you leave them? If you do, your life will be even worse before joining them. Without IPC, you're not able to survive.

But don't you worry, ten stonehearts will give you another option. Aventurine and Topaz will keep you secure, Jade will make your life richer by depending on her, Sugilite will feed you even more than in your entire life, and Obsidian, well there are secrets that she still keeps for the surprise… Sooner or later, you'll realize that you will be much better under their wings. After all, they'll turn your life into eternal bliss.

I might make it into the series and add other characters, once we'll know more about them. I will write platonic for Opal, though. If you're not shy, you're welcome to give some ideas. However, I will respond slowly since I'm busy.

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lotuseye · 2 days

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yes, satoru, i will - it's the day of the parade.

satoru gojo and his special grade sorcerer ex-wife are assigned to a mission together. part ii , trash magic.

word count: 1566.

genre: multi-chapter.

characters: satoru gojo & special grade sorcerer ex wife.

trigger warning: none.

he is every bit of an annoying ass she remembers him to be.

it was a hard, long, thorny process - her learning curve embarrassingly flat when it came to satoru who indulged himself lavishly with the fruit of being the only person she had ever feel seen with. on par, with. understood with. it had not been what she had pictured for herself, for either of them, to end up with an entire hall filled with things they no longer spoke of, oceans stretching for thousands of miles between them. it wasn’t the divorce, not really - there would have been no divorce in the first place if he was capable of the same empathy she had felt in their youth, or at least what she thought to be empathy, when after loads of paperwork signed seemed like the whim of a teenage boy who did not understand what kind of a commitment he was getting himself into.

now, she could not call satoru someone that could not commit, that could not dedicate, when she has watched him work tirelessly year after year all for a better world for them. when he religiously waited upon suguru, when he stood tall against the upper echelon and when he decided to return to jujutsu high as a teacher, having found his hope in the young. he became the benefactor, mentor, older brother, father - whatever his students needed him to be, without complain, without hesitation. how could she, when he brought megs home, the boy of six with his father's eyes and his zenin pride? no. if she could say that, everything would be much simpler. less filled of heartache.

satoru was perfectly capable of dedication, commitment, and effort.

just not for her.

“ i am going to say something, but i don’t know how well you’ll take it. ” she spits out what she had been imagining rolling out of her tongue for the past half and an hour. she had time to ponder on their walk in the star corridors, having decided to start with the most reasonable option, which was talking to tengen to see if they had any inkling on the problem. that, and also simply checking on them would not hurt, especially considering the unstable frequency of the barriers that kept them all safe and sound, suppressed the emergence of cursed spirits and let the world become a more breathable place for sorcerers, even for a brief moment.

“ look at you considering my feelings, ” pleased and still lighthearted despite the alarming situation at hand, she doesn’t need to look over at him to know that he’s grinning. he wouldn’t, if he knew that she was about to open the box of pandora, but it was what it was - the hazardous bliss of ignorance. she can already taste the regret, bitter in the back of her throat like her very own curse to swallow. footsteps slowing down, yet not coming to a halt, keeping her gaze on the dimly lighted marble.

“ do you think it might have anything to do with the last star plasma vessel? ” she asks, and as soon as it leaves her mouth it sounds like a sane thing to ask and the most horrendous memory she could have brought up for him in the first place. his infinity almost buzzes in her ears, as she ruefully endures the sudden cold that creeps on her bones. he knows what she’s talking about, of course he does. the day he came home with that hollow look in his eyes, the very look that haunted him for years to come. riko amanai’s death cost them a lot more than they could afford, an entirety of a class disintegrating over time, a painful decay & an eventual dissolving in the unforgiving waters of grief.

“ it has been fine over a decade, ” satoru is not offended, but perhaps it would have felt better if he was - anything would be better than the self-hatred that dripped like the petals of a belladonna from his voice, shame and guilt so unbecoming of him. “ if something was wrong, wouldn’t it show itself sooner? ”

a valid question, to which she doesn’t have an answer to but a shrug, now feeling like she’s brought it over for nothing. “ you’re probably right, ” she concludes, now a lot softer than their initial greeting. it can’t be helped, the tenderness she had for him would survive foes greater than anger or disappointment. they were no longer children, and they knew better than to sulk over the unfortunate circumstances they have had to navigate in life. satoru, despite the intentional reservation on her part, was too precious to be discarded with so little care. he had been her best friend, once. “ i’m sorry, i was just thinking about what might have triggered this. ” she offers an apologetic glance, and it is satoru’s turn not to return it, keeping his head straight on the tiles that thud under their each step. “ nah, don’t be. what happened, happened. if you have a point, we can’t ignore it. anyway, ” he grasps the two handles of the doors that lay across him, and pushes it open. “ we’re about to find out. ”

.....

good news was that it wasn't what they feared.

bad news was that it was something much more difficult.

“ any clues on how to get this over with? ” she asks to the six eyes, steps much faster than the ones that brought her here, wishing to be done with the place as soon as possible. tengen creeped her out, and the tomb of the star corridor very shockingly did not make it to the list of her top ten vacation destinations. something about the energy that accumulated in the room overwhelmed her, dialed up to eleven, each cell buzzing with the overload of cursed energy. “ because i don’t know how we are supposed to figure out the problem of tengen glitching because they are losing their touch with humanity. what do we even do? take them outside to go touch some grass? take them out for dinner, roll them up in tinder? ”

he is laughing, and it is absurd - so absurd that she smacks him in the shoulder. “ don’t laugh, ‘toru, this is serious! ” but even as she says it she can’t help but snorting at the visualization of her own suggestion, tengen taking a stroll in the park, waiting for a blind date in the restaurant in the corner. “ tengen in tinder? ” he is still chuckling, and the sound is preciously kept and saved in-between her ribs. “ what does their bio say? foundation of jujutsu society, likes ping pong and fishing? ” and now they are both laughing, and as idiotic as it sounds, she does not remember the last time she laughed in satoru’s presence. “ shut up, satoru, ” she snorts once more, letting the last lights of the day blind her momentarily as they walk out of tengen’s quarters. “ good to know that you’re still an idiot. ”

“ an idiot who you still call ‘toru, ” he drawls out, nudging her ankle with his foot, teasing & coy. she offers him a knowing look. “ old habits die hard, ” she shrugs. “ don’t get any ideas. ”

“ alright, alright. ” hands up in surrender, it takes him a moment to realize she is walking over to the limo that has been waiting up front, the engine starting at the sight of her. she doesn’t need to look over to know satoru is trailing behind her with an arched brow. “ calling it a day already? rude of you to leave me alone. ” she turns halfway just to arch an eyebrow. “ some of us don’t have rct to reset their cooked brain, six eyes. us humble mortals need their beauty sleep to stay so brilliant. ”

before she is done with her sentence satoru’s heavy palm slaps the roof of the car, lanky frame doubling over to take an intrusive peek inside the driver’s seat, ijichi’s meek sound of terror muffled through the windows. “ ijichi, get the fuck out, ” satoru yanks the driver’s door open, gesturing the man outside with a far-fetched grace. “ i’ll be driving her myself. ”

“ but… but the orders were clear… ” ijichi trails, stammering, eyes finding the expected guest of the ride to which the woman replies with placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “ it’s okay, don’t worry about it. i’ll give you a call when i need you, yeah? ” the urge to apologize on behalf of her ex husband is strong, but if she had attempted to apologize from every single person satoru was rude to she’d never get anywhere ever - so a kind smile is all that is offered and ijichi knows better than to push around. with a nod, he disappears from the sight of them in mere seconds, leaving the estranged couple. satoru, pleased, slides to the other side of the car to now pull the passenger door open, hand extended to her. “ may i take you to your hotel, ma’am? ”

the grin that curls the corners of her maroon glossed lips is absolutely diabolical. “ who said i’m staying at a hotel? ” just the look on his face is enough for her to break it off with a pat on his shoulder, cracking a bright and amused grin, slipping inside the seat. “ i’m just fucking with you, drive me to shoko’s. ”

“ you are not seeing the pearly gates, woman, i tell ya'. ”

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iloveyanderes · 1 day

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EVEN MORE YANDERE/SAGAU IDEAS!!!!!!!!!!! WITH A LITTLE LESS YANDERE ON THE SIDE😉 BECAUSE I FORGOT TO INCORPORATE IT BETTER

1.A girl gets isekai’d after a boy she’d bullied had enough and killed her. She woke up in the body of a really kind girl in genshin that everyone is obsessed with, she decided to pretend to be this girl as a means of survival, as these people would most likely kill her if they found out she wasn’t that kind little girl. Along the way She met a boy who ended up being her first true friend, making her realize what she has done and wrong giving her the courage to want to change. Just when she got better leading to the path of redemption the boy was found dead completely crushing any type of kindness in her heart, she realized all the genshin characters had killed him so she vowed to kill them all but not before ruining all of there lives first(I actually attempted to write this a long time ago on wattpad but it never went into fruition, so this might seem familiar)

2.Small sagau idea but it goes like this: girl has golden blood for a completely different reason then the sagau idea, ends up in genshin and everyone mistakes her for the creator and she's freaking out trying to convince everyone she's not the creator

3.Genshin impact x Ichigo from tokyo mew mew reader. With your transformation, cat ears and tail, and the actual ability to turn into a cat everyone is trying to get a reaction out of you(look online and you’ll understand why) I'd imagine yae would take advantage of it with the whole gorou situation as proof. Also there is no way inazuma doesn’t have a bunch of light novels or manga on magical girls

4.Dragon reader vs bird reader. You’ll get no further explanation

5.Sagau idea where instead of the reader being the creator they are a holy saint/saintness who's supposed to represent the creator as their prophet who will feel nothing but utter devotion when they see the creator. However on the day that you prophesied the creator would descend something goes wrong, when you lay your eyes on them the only thing you feel is fear and disgust. It’s immediately prevalent that This is not the creator but a demon, everyone else believes this to be the creator however so you can’t really do anything without the fear of being killed or worse, so you resolve to find the true creator while pretending to still love this demon. Meanwhile the demon is someone who always believed themselves to be better then the creator, they’re jealousy blinded them until it turned into envy where they wanted to be the creator. Quite literally trapping them down in hell when they were supposed to descend and taking their place. Since they want to be the creator that meant they had to be loved by everyone including you-especially you. The saintness meant to serve the creator and adore they’re every movement, so they casted a charm spell that seemed to work on everyone-except for you. It doesn’t matter they’ll do anything to get your love- because it belongs to them not that creator-they deserve that destiny

6. Not a genshin nor sagau thingy but what if a genshin archon reader accidentally falls asleep(can be any element you want but I chosen dendro for this) and wakes up thousands of years later where teyvat has become nothing but an empty shell, eventually you get picked up by the astral express after wandering the empty planet. you adventure all the new worlds, help the trailblazer while ignoring their weirdness, and find a way to mourn all your lost comrades. It’s discovered that elemental energy had mixed and muddled with each other eventually forming into something more murky and hallow which made the Aeons, you discover this when they start to hunt you down as there obsessed with you and the idea that your the last ‘pure’ being in the universe, something they want to obtain.

#yandere #fyp #fypfypfypfypfypfypdypfypfypfypfypfypfyfpfyfpfyp #platonic yandere #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #sagau #sagau x reader #sagau cult au #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin imagines #genshin self aware #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai impact 3rd

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davey-in-a-minivan · 3 days

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Isabel Lovelace My Absolute Beloved

Lovelace is one of my favorite examples of one of my favorite kinds of characters, which is: woman who the world is trying so hard to kill and emerges beat up and spitting out teeth and still going.

(Relatedly, Eva Olivia Moreno is one of the few White Vault characters I really loved and it's on the strength of the joy I felt when i realized that not only had Eva NOT died when a rockslide separated her from the team, but instead dragged herself three days over the mountains, alone, covered in mud and blood and bruises, WITH ALL THE TEAM'S DATA DRIVES, to let the world know what was going on and demand rescue for the others. LOVE HER. Alessandra "Cockroach" Strong of the Penumbra Podcast ALSO falls into this category and I would've loved to see more of her)

Interestingly, I think Lovelace plays a similar role in-universe for Eiffel and Minkowski, in that they first encounter her as a 'character' in old audio logs whose survival they are rooting for at a remove -- when Eiffel and Minkowski listen to her logs but it's unclear whether she made it off the station, Eiffel shushes Minkowski's skepticism and says "let me have my badass space commando chick!!" In the absence of conclusive evidence he clings to the idea that she survived, for what i suspect are two reasons: (1) it means it's possible to survive and gives him and Minkowski a sliver of hope, and (2) it's not fair for her to die after trying so hard to save herself and her crew, and if she survived he can believe that there's some fairness in the universe.

After Kepler shoots Lovelace, Minkowski tells an imagined Lovelace how badly she wanted to get Lovelace home because she wanted to believe that she could go home, which feels like an echo of Eiffel's earlier sentiment--obviously by now Minkowski knows and cares about Lovelace as a person, but she's also a symbol of the ultimate survivor, who will do whatever it takes to get home. If Lovelace, who fought harder and longer, with more skill and fewer limits than Minkowski finds herself capable of, and still didn't survive, what chance is there for Minkowski and her crew?

WHICH MAKES IT SO FUCKING SATISFYING WHEN LOVELACE LIVES AGAIN.

I need you all to know--Lovelace was "dead" for, what, an episode??--in that time my then-roommate and I put up a SHRINE to her memory. She was too cool and tragic and extreme and funny and hot to die!!!

I'm very glad the universe and Gabriel Urbina agreed.

It's not only satisfying because I'm obsessed with her and wanted her back (which I admit freely). It's a riveting development in the story of the unkillable Captain Lovelace where we finally see that she CAN'T be killed because she's already dead. Functionally she's a ghost in the story, haunting the Hephaestus until she finishes her unfinished business, and there's a delightful sheen of destiny to her arc where I was like oh fuck they've already done their worst to her and she's still going. She's going to win this. I don't know what it'll cost her, this could still be a tragedy, but she's GOING to succeed.

What does this mean for the rest of the original crew looking to her as a symbol? Eiffel, Minkowski and Hera do survive, like Lovelace. It is possible. But it costs them a lot. Weeks after Lovelace dies, resurrects, and has the day-ruining revelation that she's actually the alien clone of the dead woman she thought she was haha, she talks about the discomforting effort she makes to be the real Lovelace, not the person that Goddard turned her into. I think once they return to Earth the rest of the crew will struggle in similar ways. Minkowski need to believe that Lovelace could come home, and she did. But none of them could be the same as they were before.

Now, obviously the extremes Lovelace had to go to in pursuit of survival and justice were difficult and upsetting for her. But they were also hot!! SO let's wrap this up with some of the most iconic Lovelace moments according to me:

1. The "run and hide" monologue Eiffel and Minkowski find - HOT. sorry i know this comes on the heels of her describing the harrowing tragedy of her crew members' deaths but like

that's hot!!! go girl, kill em all!!!

2. THE DEAD MAN'S SWITCH. she said im going big AND going home, through the power of insane resourcefulness and this nuclear bomb i made

3. "variations on a theme" is suuuch a good minisode

4. disabling the airlock during the clone jacobi situation without telling anyone

5. NAPALM

6a. broadly, the hostage situation during the coup, where she goads kepler into focusing on her instead of eiffel

6b. SPECIFICALLY the part of the hostage situation where she gets the show's one "fuck"

7. alien possession lovelace!!!! i know it wasn't quite her melting kepler's hand off but god it's a fun scene

8. time loop lovelace. i love a good time loop and the contrast between her yelling and goading and shooting things in the last argument but also being, like, pretty chill and pragmatic about it--this is just her method of causing enough trouble to break the loop--is fun

9. hera's and her intersecting journeys re: what it means to be a person

10. distracting cutter so minkowski can stab him with the harpoon!!!!!!

in conclusion: WHAT A CHARACTER

#if i forgot any iconic lovelace moments PLEASE remind me in the tags #wolf 359 #isabel lovelace #podcast women manifestos

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pinkchaosnight · 2 days

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so here is my adar request. basically in which the fem!reader is taken in ep 5 instead of galadriel. once in adar's tent (during ep 6) they talk and get into a heated discussion about sauron and eregion. their banter gets so intense that glûg walks inside to see if everything is okay and then they both snap at them in union and then glûg whispers something like "oh no, dad and mom are fighting" idk something humorous lol. (excuse my grammar mistakes - English is not my native language). i need tension like air.

omg , tysm for this ask. its absolutely flawless. i enjoyed this ep so much! i have initially thought of doing a small imagine but somehow it turned it into this long, also i diverged from the ask slightly too🥹. i have changed some dialouges and scenarios. i hope you enjoy them!

pull of threads - (adar × fem!reader)

summary: dinner with adar is never straightforward is it? when especially you are captured and essentially sort of a prisoner?

(reimagined rings of power ep 6 where reader gets captured instead of Galadriel)

pairing : adar x female!reader

notes : english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for the errors you might encounter. i have not properly edited, so please let me know if you find any error.

the uruk leader seated across you is poking his food with a vigour, as he regards you with suspicion. humiliation might be the nicest thing you can describe about what you are feeling right now, (along with some other feelings too but you blatantly ignore them) being captured as a prisoner. you were Lady Galadriel's friend and the her aide, until a few months ago when you retired from your post. everything that was going on was so overwhelming that you had to step away from your duties and that's exactly what you did. you travelled around, mostly staying in woods and forests and praying orcs don't chase you. you almost succeeded too until you recieved a letter from Lady Galadriel stating she needed your help, now that they are going to warn Celebrimbor about Halbrand being Sauron. you were reading her letter without a care for your surrounding that unfortunately resulted in you being captured and brought to the uruk camp. and thats why you were currently in this situation, being seated in front the uruk leader. Adar, he is called, as you recall from the days Lady Galadriel captured him many months ago.

the tent which was made up of dirty rags, was surprisingly warm, with a fireplace and a huge table laden with food. combinations of food that seems almost a disgrace to the plates it hold ; with berries, onions and meat. whoever did the dinner should be tossed into the cliff. the said uruk leader was now biting into a piece of meat from god knows what, as he watches you. if he is hoping to catch something from your expression he has another thing coming for him, as you keep your face as emotionless as you can, although Eru knows for how long.

" from my brief time in your Commander's capture, I guessed she was intent on finding Sauron. almost consumed by the thought of it, one might say." his words sliced the depth of silence that hanged between you and him.

" former Commander. and it is none of your concern what her intentions are. who are you to know her mind? you who could not even resist the allure of Sauron's words?" you reply in a monotonous way, hoping he doesn't find anything there.

Adar stops as he hears those words, as he slowly puts down the piece of food he is chewing. he remembers the first time he saw you; being chained up after being captured by Galadriel. all around him was dark but you came with a jar of water and a loaf of bread for him, when everybody was kind of neglecting him, except for when they needed information and torturing. that simple act of kindess and the conversions that ranged from 'hello' to a simple 'have a good day' that followed from your side warmed what little was left of his beating heart. he remember you being firercely loyal to Galadriel yet having a mind of your own to speak if necessary. he remembers how you disagreed when your commander spoke of his children as slaves. and above all, he remembers how you exuded a sense of warmth in that cold space.

now he looks at you in surprise as he leans forward "former?"

you squirm uncomfortably in your seat. after all, how could you let him know that one of the reasons why you left the army and being her secondin command, was his words? the converstion between him, Lady Galadriel and you, when he was captured really messed up your perceptive. other elves could not see but you saw what he was trying to say; that the uruks were just as worthy of lives and living as other creations of Eru, as each had a heart. you remember disagreeing with Lady Galadriel when she mentioned them as slaves, and Adar's eyes flashing in you direction, with ambiguous emotions.

shaking out of your reverie you say "yes, i am no longer her second in command, so its really useless to have me captured in here. i can offer you nothing. "

adar chuckles at your statement, as he rises from his seat and strides towards you. he stops infront of your chair, as he looks at you with an intense stare. and you couldn't help but stare back at him. those eyes, surrounded by scars and years of mutilation, made your heart ache with pain. you wonder what he was thinking, what he was plotting behind those somber eyes of his. you always wondered what happened to him after you ran away from the campsite that day. you retired and wandered in woods after that incident, with nothing to keep you company but fragments of him in your memory. love and hatred have a fine line separating them; you often heard from your friends and in those lonely nights on the woods you wandered if that is true. if you can cross that line with bravery. something that you are afraid to reveal to anyone. he was the one in your mind and on the other side of that fine line, as swirls of feeling wound up in your heart. a dangerous feeling to have for man who is going to kill you......one day.

"who says you can offer me nothing?" he says as he strides close to your face and tucks a strand of hair back. funny he did that because you had the same thought too, of brushing the loose hair of his and tucking it back. "my children found this in your bag" he says as he pulls out the scroll from a table behind you. "we know the elven army is approaching to find Sauron, in Eregion. And that has all the confirmation i want. and i know Halbrand is Sauron"

desperation washes over you as you see the scroll of paper Lady Galadriel wrote and gave you to read before she parted ways. you never got a chance to read the rest of paper as she and you went seprate ways, before you got caught by his minions.

" whatever your plan is, it is not going to work " you say with venom, as you stand up in anger (or so you thought stubbornly), coming face to face with him.

"do you know what Sauron promised me? " Adar asks you as he studies your expression flits from anger to confusion "children, he promised me children. and he made that promise into weapons of wars, my children mere tools for his gratifications, something which can be eradicated at his whims" he says, his voice a tad quite and flushed with sadness. it took all my willpower to keep my hands from reaching his and comforting him.

" you are going to kill him Eregion, aren't you?" i ask as realisation hits me a few seconds later. he moves back a few paces, widening the tantalizing distance betweeen us and doesn't reply as he keeps his back to me.

" you cannot, i think it is his plan too. i just have feeling in my heart this is exactly what he wants. for you to lead your army to him. we must ask Lady Galadriel's advice" i say as he turns and shoots me a look of disbelief.

"why should i listen to the words of someone whose race is hellbent on eradicating us from the face of this plane?" he shouts as he paces towards you, shaking with anger. "i did not capture you to hear your advice. Eregion will fall and Sauron with it" he says as closes the distance between us, trapping me between the chair and him.

"i want Sauron to fall too, i want to kill him and make sure he is permanently wiped off from this earth. but not in this way." i shriek in his face, which was merely inches apart from mine.

"i do not know why you care if i lead my army or not " he hisses as he moves back from me again, his eyes capturing my own ones in anger and perhaps sadness.

there is a tipping point for everyone's anger and you could feel his words pushing you to yours. you could no longer hold the feelings erupting inside you as you shouts." i care because this will all be ending in blooshed. i care because all my loved ones are going there and i don't want them to die. i care for the lives that will be sacrificed if you chose to follow this foolish plan of yours. and i care that something will happen to you and you will not make it out alive"

reality of the words registers in your brain as soon as the words escape your mouth. you have opened your heart and mouth and let all the dam of emotions you kept inside to turn into a river. and now you are going to suffer the consequences, preferably being submerged in those same waters, which you so kept in binds inside your now erratically beating organ.

Adar was stunned, staring at you in utter silence. his heart tingled, with the same warmth he felt months ago in your presence. his ears has always been the receiver of abuse and bad news, never the object to receive the sentiment with which you uttered the words quite a few seconds ago; words with care...and love. he slowly steps forward you, his hands unclenching from the remnant of his anger and reaching towards your face "you ....care about me.....?" his voice is a mere whisper, tinged with something you couldn't place. this goddess, this beacon of kindness care about him?

you wanted to melt into those eyes of his, that is oh so mysterious and perhaps you would have, if the tents did not flap open suddenly.

" lord father, glûg here. i heard shouts coming from outside. i was worried and just came inside to check if you are okay and if nan--" glûg stops as he sees you standing closely to his lord father. you notice his surprise being replaced with a slight smirk in your direction.

"get out" adar and you both says in unison, as you turn towards the orc in annoyance.

"certainly lord father" glûg says as turns away to exit "just lover's quarrel, lord father and naneth better make up". he exits as quickly as he can, muttering to himself.

you turn your head towards him, only to catch his eyes searching your face "yes i do care about you...." your voice is shaking but not in anger and with some other emotions you tried so hard to bury.

a flicker of emotions passes over his eyes as he glazes his vision over you "you think you are the only one who cares? why did you even think i captured you instead of your Commander, when i could have easily caught her and gotten the information too? why did you think you never encountered any orcs while you were sauntering through the woods? never have you escaped from my mind for a moment from the day we met. i tried so hard to keep every emotions i am feeling, hidden from you. but tonight i can't and i won't. i know i am a monster, an abomination for someone so kind as you. but tonight i am baring the one thing that has not been tainted by the evil , to your hands."

he places your hand on his chest, as you your eyes brim with tears. you feel his heart beating erratically, mirroring yours. "from the day you pulled me from that dark abyss, i decided that this heart will only belong to one person, to the one person this heart wholeheartedly loves."

time stops as you hears his words, it is like honey being poured into your ears. "so does mine too" you reciprocate, as you places his hands on your chest. "you are neither a monster nor an abomination. you are beautiful as Eru's any other creation. i even left the army because of you. because you keep on invading my everyday thoughts. and i kept thinking of how you are my enemy and i how i should hate you. but my heart never responded to any negative emotions, for all it had was love for you."

fianlly you can let this emotion run free, this plaguing need for him that you tried so hard to conceal. you would have stood there for eternity, for all of your immortal life, with his warm hands pressing yours into his chest. no words are exchanged betweeen you two in these seconds; no words are needed as the beating of your heart and the measure of your breath are enough to convey the feelings pouring off from both of you. he slowly closes the already miniscule distance betweeen you, as you step forward at the same time too, the tantalizing distance between your lips almost unbearable. you can feel his breath near your mouth, as your lips part with breathlessness and need. you just need to lean forward and place your mouth. you slowly reach forward, just enough to press the lips against his----

" lord father, i got a sudden report that---what is happening here?" glûg's voice rang across the tent as you and adar both turned to his direction.

" GET OUT GLÛG" you both cries in unison as poor glûg scurries off, being banished from the tent second time. but not before he catches a warm smile passing over his lord father. glûg catches from his peripheral vision, of his lord father pressing a chaste kiss in your cheek before placing his forehead against yours and smiling a genuine smile, which he has never seen.

'things will be good from now on' glûg thinks as he passes over to the next tent, thinking of the elf that thawed the ice of his lord father's heart. the one his lord father told him about months; the one lord father instructed him to call naneth in the future. and the one who made his lord father whole again after eons.

extra notes - all the asks i got, i will update them by this week itself, tysm for requesting! please leave a like and reblog and if you enjoyed reading them. hope everyone have an amazing day :)

#adar #adar x you #adar x reader #adar rings of power #the rings of power #adar x oc

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gabessquishytum · 1 day

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I know it’s not terribly creative, at least not compared to all y’all, but-that Dream/Hob/Calliope with plant biology? I’ve been turning a similar concept over in my brain for longer than I’m gonna admit, and with Gabe’s permission, I’m releasing it into the wild.

Mermaids, but make them like seahorses-a female to produce the eggs, a male to fertilize, and another male to do the carrying. And if it so happens that one of the males is more human shaped than the others, that just means he’s extra safe from predators, and absolutely perfect for Dream and Calliope’s clutch.

Anon you say it's not creative but this is actually incredible!!

I'm imagining a Hob who gets shipwrecked in some unexplored corner of the ocean. He's treading water but resigned to the fact that eventually, he'll drown. Until he spots a pair of mysterious creatures lurking nearby. Dream and Calliope had originally come along thinking that Hob would be a tasty snack, but now they have other ideas... Calliope's mother was a sea goddess, so she has strong enough magic to essentially give Hob gills and allow him to breathe under water. Dream is the one who wraps Hob in his arms and takes him down deep, deep in the ocean... where Hob sleeps for a long while, and eventually wakes up in a beautiful, dark cave.

Dream and Calliope learn to communicate with their new house guest, and enjoy trying to feed him various different foods. Hob is very grateful and respectful but that doesn't stop him being fascinated by his new friends! Especially when they mate with each other, right in front of him... Hob watches and blushes and tries not to think about it too much, but then one day, when Hob has acclimatised to the deep ocean and built up his strength, Calliope beckons him close.

She proceeds to explain, through words and hand gestures and a diagram drawn in the sand, exactly how she and Dream would like Hob to join them in mating. She explains that they want a family, and that Hob could be a part of it. Despite the utter strangeness, Hob finds himself agreeing to the plan! He wants to repay his friends for their kindness. He also really really wants them both to fuck him.

And they do. First Calliope fills him with her eggs, and Dream eagerly does the same with his seed. Hob can only cling onto the seaweed and let the waves of bliss take him! He adores Dream and Calliope so much, with their cold smooth bodies and sharp teeth. He wants to be good for them. He wants their babies inside him. And oh, he certainly gets his wish.

Calliope and Dream dote on their beloved mate as he carries their spawn, day after day growing a little bigger. He's so beautiful, such a perfect creature. Their treasure to be guarded from the world. They can't wait to breed him again - this was exactly what he was made for.

#the sandman #immortal throuple #dream x hob x calliope #nsft #cw pregnancy #cw mpreg #cw monsterfucking #cw drowning #cw oviposition

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rs-hawk · 3 days

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(1991 Disney version) Beauty and the Beast au where they met as kids,belle was 8 while Adam was 11 but Adam has been recently turned into a beast,he act a bit bratty but in reality he’s a kid scared of his own situation

Happy Beauty and the Beast week! Here's Day One. I really hope you like it.

Hope this goes without saying, but this is just a fluff piece.

Maurice hated the idea of taking his daughter to that spoiled Prince's castle, but what choice did he have? The Prince's parents had died, and while he was nothing more than a low level engineering advisor to the boy's father, he knew that he was still expected to check in on him, and this would be his first large celebration without them. Maurice also knew that he couldn't leave his motherless daughter at home alone. Not to mention, while he didn't like to admit it, he understood that the boy truly wasn't terrible. He was dealing with more than any child should have to.

It was a short journey to the castle, but when the rain started, Maurice pulled the cart to the side. Belle, bundled in her small cloak, was huddled close to her father, trying to keep warm and somewhat sheltered from the rain.

"Father, we're going to be late," she said through chattering teeth.

"I know Belle, but it's not safe to continue in this kind of weather. We have to wait out the storm," her father sighed, looking up through the canopy of the forest at the falling rain. "Why don't we make ourselves comfortable, hm? You can take a nap so that way you have plenty of energy to make it up to Prince Adam. I'll let you stay up later so the two of you can play when we get there."

Belle puffed out her cheeks and furrowed her brows, looking incredibly cute, but also incredibly annoyed. "But father, I don't like playing with him. He always has to win and if he doesn't, he's mean and will ignore me for the rest of the day."

"I know Belle, but he lost both of his parents. He's just trying to control what he can. You can be nice for a night, can't you?" Maurice was trying to be sympathetic to the boy, though he understood why it was frustrating for his daughter.

The girl hung her head, as if ashamed. She had lost her mother, but at least she still had her father. She couldn't imagine life without either of them. "Okay. I can be nice, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let him win."

The rain suddenly stopped, and the clouds parted, allowing for the bright moonlight to rain down. "Well, look at that Belle. Maybe we won't be late for the party after all."

With that, they headed off towards the castle, with no idea what was in store for them. When they arrived, they were confused to see that there didn't seem to be anyone else there. Just the typical servants. Maurice took the horse to the stables while Belle dried off. After that, they made their way to the front doors of the castle. No one was there to greet them.

"How odd," Maurice muttered after knocking again. This time when no one appeared, he opened the door for himself. "Potts? Are you there? Cogsworth?" the man's voice verberated throughout the empty hallways, reaching for the ears of the servants he was closest with. No one answered. "Belle, maybe you should wait here."

"No, I want to come with you. It's scary here," Belle said in a soft voice as she grabbed her father's hand.

"LEAVE," suddenly a booming voice filled the entire castle, but it sounded young. Belle's ears perked up. It sounded almost like Adam. "I said LEAVE!"

"Adam, what are you doing?" she huffed, letting go of her father's arm to walk towards his voice. "We were barely late at all. There's no reason to talk to us like that."

"Belle," Maurice reached for her, but she had already begun to run off, his heart pounding in his chest as his blood felt like it was turning to ice.

"Leave peasant," the voice, somewhat like Adam's but somewhat different, came again.

"Why are you being so rude? I came all the way here, in the rain, to come to your party. The least you can do is greet me properly," Belle called back, stopping at the top of a set of stairs and looking around. Where was he?

Finally, Maurice caught up with Belle, huffing and puffing as he did. "Belle, please, I think we should leave. Prince Adam clearly does not want our company at the moment."

"No! He's being rude," the girl insisted, darting off towards the library, where she knew Adam often spent time.

The large doors were partially open, and she saw a flickering flame inside. That gave her the courage to finish pushing one of the doors open. Inside the library was a small, furry beast of a boy. Unable to keep it inside, a scream ripped from Belle's throat. She stumbled back, and the beast covered his ears, shrinking into himself.

"I told you to leave," the beast whispered with a cracking voice.

Belle stopped just as she turned to run. She recognized that voice. Even as her father was screaming her name, she turned back to look at the puddle of fur and self pity on the floor. "Adam?"

"You really should use my proper title," the beast muttered, pulling his tattered cape tighter around him.

"Are you okay?" Belle asked in a soft voice, cautiously walking over to him.

That was all it took for the boy to break out in tears, grabbing at his ears. "No! How could I be? Look at me? I'm a monster. A beast."

Belle sat beside him, twiddling her thumbs. Adam didn't make any move to get up, or to seek comfort with his only friend. Finally, Maurice made his way into the library. He ran towards his daughter, ready to strike the creature she was sitting beside, even as she shouted protests. However, when the small beast looked up at him, he faltered. He knew those eyes.

"Prince Adam?" he asked, stumbling to a halt.

The boy nodded, now extending and retracting his claws. "Can... can you get Mrs. Potts? She's in the kitchen, and I can't see her right now."

Maurice nodded dumbly, still staring. "Alright my boy, but after that, you'll tell me what's going on here."

"Okay," Adam whispered, plopping his head back on the rug in front of the fireplace.

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lil-frenchfri77 · 3 days

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Begin Again Chapter 2

Summary: Ever since Bella came back to Forks things between y/n and her boys have been different. Embry and Quil stopped answering phone calls and texts, they’ve even been avoiding her everytime she shows up at their house. So y/n does the only thing she can think to do, she latches onto Jacob just like Bella, and when he starts acting like Embry and Quil did, she makes the decision to not put so much effort into a friendship that is clearly one sided. But what happens one day when Sam’s pack is in town at the same time as y/n and her new friends and two certain boys imprint on their former best friend? And what happens when a former best friend doesn’t feel the same way?

Authors note: Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!! I am actually so freaking excited that so many people liked the first chapter. When I posted this I never thought that I would be getting any kind of traction or reads but the 20 people that liked my first chapter are really making me feel good about myself and my writing skills. I don't know how consistent my chapter updating will be I have a really hard time with sticking to things but the enthusiasm i'm feeling after posting for the first time is really making my productivity flow.

Not beta read, lemme know If there are any egregious spelling or grammar errors and I will 100% go back and fix it

Word count: 1.8k

Embry Call x Fem!Swan!Reader x Quil Ateara

Slight Stiles Stlinski x Reader

Chapter 1 | Master list | Chapter 3

For the next two weeks your routine is almost exactly the same. You meet Scott and Stiles by your locker every morning and sit with their friends at lunch. It is such a crazy thing to think that if you had gotten to school any later that day then you would have never met them. And looking back, you can’t imagine not being friends with them now. They were filling the void that Embry and Quil had left in your heart.

Your life was looking up and you were doing great, even Bella seemed to be doing better. She was hanging out with you and Jacob, and had even started going out with some of the kids from school. You and Stiles were getting closer to each other too. You spent most of your time in class, the ones you shared, talking to him and goofing off. You both had gotten in trouble a few times but that didn't deter you from talking. Like now.

“Hey, so I was thinking about going into town this weekend, I need to do some clothes shopping and I was wondering, if perhaps, you’re free?” You had been meaning to ask him for the past few days but you had only now just worked up the courage. It was the first time you would be spending any time together outside of school and you were nervous.

“Oh, uhh. Yeah totally!” His response was almost instant and the way that his cheeks turned a light pink told you that he didn't mean to answer you that fast. “Um, I mean, Yeah. I’m down to go with you.” Stiles blushed even harder and then turned forward to pay attention to what the teacher was saying.

“Okay, cool. I’ll come pick you up around noon on Saturday?”

“That’s good.” That was the end of the conversation. It seemed he was too caught up in the fact that you had asked him out to remember to talk to you for the rest of class.

After school that day Jacob was leaning on your car, waiting for you to come out. He had been doing this a lot lately, waiting for you to get out of school so he could get a ride from you back to the reservation. Which didn’t really make sense to you but you figured if he liked doing this then why change it.

“You will never guess what I did today.” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth when you got close enough to him. You couldn't wait to tell him about your hang out with Stiles on Saturday. “I asked Stiles on a date and he said yes!” You couldn't contain your excitement. It was too hard to give him the time to guess what you did so you decided to just tell him.

“Wow, that's a big step for you.” Jacob smiled, glad to see you happy. He knew that after the last few months you had that you deserved all the happiness you could get. “When are you going? Your sister asked me to go to the movies with her and this Mike guy on Sunday night and I really don't want to have to deal with it all alone.”

“Well, we’re hanging out Saturday afternoon so I'm totally free to go with you guys on Sunday.” Jacob had had a crush on Bella for as long as you could remember, but you knew that he didn't want to be stuck in an awkward situation with her and some other guy.

“Sooooo?” Stiles drawled, “what exactly are we looking for? Or what exactly are you looking for?” You two had been out for about 2 hours now and so far all you had found was a puffy green jacket and a pair of fluffy brown socks, which you only bought because they matched Stiles eyes.

“I don’t know yet. I guess I'll know when I see it.” Your reply was nonchalant but you knew exactly what you were looking for. You just didn't want to let him know before you actually found it. Last week when you and your dad were in town you had seen a book that Stiles had been talking about religiously and with his birthday coming up you thought it would be the perfect gift.

“Do you want to grab lunch too or do you want to just eat at my house?” you ask him, not seeing the way he turns to look at you with heart eyes.

“We can go to the diner after you're done shopping.” He suggests.

“Yea totally.”

That’s when you heard it, the loud rumble of laughter from a group of boys at the other end of the street. You both looked up to where the noise came from. A slight gasp came from your parted lips as you saw Quil and Embry play fighting with the other boys from Sam’s group. Your face dropped as the two boys seemed to look up in unison and lock eyes with you.

“Do you know them? They look like they know you.” Stiles asked, looking over at you to see you in some kind of trance staring at them. “Hey, y/n/n? Are you okay?”

That seemed to snap you out of whatever daze you were stuck in. You looked away from them and back to Stiles before nodding and grabbing his hand to drag him into the nearest building. Which happened to be the bookstore you were looking for in the first place.

“Sorry about that, they were just some old friends of mine. We don't really talk anymore and I haven’t seen them in some time so it was kind of shocking.” The apology spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it but that make it untrue. It was hard seeing them like that, happy and having fun when they left you feeling the way that they did. But you also couldn't help feeling a sort of resentment at them.

“Nah it’s alright.” He dismissed taking a look around the bookstore. You had completely forgotten why you were in this store for a second, but when you remembered you had to hurry and spot the book before he could.

Luckily you were able to find it and discreetly buy it while he looked around the store and grabbed a few things off the shelfs. When he was done checking out you slipped your hand into his, locked fingers, and led him out of the store.

They had never felt like this before. As they locked eyes with you they saw their future flash before their eyes. You, Embry, Quil, and a happy little family. The euphoria and sense of calm that washed over them as they saw all of this was the most exquisite feeling either of the boys had ever felt. It was like nothing they had ever experienced and they had an inkling that they would never feel it again without you.

When they watched you grab that boy's hand and run off it was like their entire world came crashing down. Their hearts, now beating in unison, felt like they were cracking. Before they could ever have you, you were gone and with someone else. Embry looked away first, face crumbling under the weight of these newfound emotions. He had never felt anything so fast, and to have it all ripped away from him so suddenly felt like a knife right into his soul.

Quill was no better. The two boys had always shared everything growing up, they were the closest to each other of all the pack members. So it made sense that they would imprint on the same girl. And of course that girl would be their childhood best friend. The same girl they pinned after for years before turning for the first time and never speaking to her again. It was the hardest thing they ever had to do, and now, because of their actions, they were reaping the consequences.

The dejection and rejection they were feeling was amplified by each other, every emotion coursing through their veins heightened by what the other was feeling. They wanted to whine and curl up into a ball at your feet and beg you to forgive them for the rest of their lives if that's what it took to make it up to you.

It seemed as though the other boys around them knew not to say anything. No teasing remarks or mocking jabs were taken at the expense of the boys. All of them could sense that Embry and Quil had just imprinted on you. Everyone saw the way that you ran off like the sight of them would burn you if you looked for too long.

“Come on, I think it’s time to head back.” it was Sam who spoke up. Always the one to take charge and take the lead in situations where no one knew what to do. But even now, he was struggling to find the right words to say or the right actions to take that could help these boys. He had never heard of an imprintee rejecting their mate.

“No, but, we should go talk to her.” Embry whined out. Just the thought of leaving you behind after just finding out that he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with you sounded like agony. He would rather never be able to shift again than leave without you.

“I think it's pretty clear that she doesn’t want to talk to either of you right now. Give it time. Think about how you want to approach her, what you’ll say. Right now is not the time or place for any of this, especially after that reaction.” Sam reasoned. He knew that getting everyone back to the pack house right now was his only option. He couldn't let Quil or Embry do something stupid and impulsive that could put people in danger.

Everyone could see the way that the two boys hesitated to do what Sam asked. The longing and desire to be with you, so present in their eyes that they were waiting for something to happen. So Sam did the only reasonable thing he could think to do in that moment, and he commanded everyone to head back to the pack house at that instant.

Begrudgingly Embry and Quil did as they were told and turned around to head back to the house. Looking back every so often, while the shop you had disappeared into was still in sight, to see if they could catch another glimpse of you through the windows or see you leaving. Just as the shop was about to disappear from their view the door gently swung open and you walked out laughing, head thrown back and a hand on your stomach as you full body cackled at whatever the mystery boy you were with voiced. Said boy, who was holding your other hand as he exited the building after you.

It tore their hearts even further in two. So with their tails, real and figurative, tucked between their legs they made their way back. Heads hung low and spirits completely drained.

What had started out as a normal Saturday had officially become one of the worst days of their lives.

#embry call imagine #embry call x reader #quil ateara x reader #teen wolf #twilight #twilight saga #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #teen wolf imagine

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sugdenlovesdingle · 2 days

Text

I FINALLY DID IT!

I finished my pride fic! With an hour to go until the episode airs!

@flufftober 2023 Day 27: outdoor event

Austin Pride (AO3)

Owen and Gabriel go to pride with their sons

---

“Have you ever been to one of these? With TK?” Gabriel asked, tapping the ad in the paper open on Owen's kitchen table.

“Been to what? A camping supplies store?” Owen joked, turning the paper around to see what Gabriel meant. “Oh, that. Yeah, a few times. Back in New York. Never here though. I didn't actually know there was one.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Have the boys said anything... to you... about... going?”

“No, no I don't think so... although...” Owen trailed off, grabbing his phone and unlocking it and scrolling through his work calendar. “TK did schedule time off work that weekend. So my guess is that they're going.”

Gabriel nodded again.

“Are you... thinking of going too?” Owen asked. “Have you ever been?”

“No. When I was young... well... I don't think there was ever one where I grew up. And by the time I ended up in the big city... It's just never been on my radar.”

“Not even when Carlos or your girls were growing up?"

Gabriel snorted and took a swig of his drink. Andrea would have his head if she knew he was day drinking with Owen and not at his PT appointment.

“You know the mess we made of things with Carlos. So no, I've never been. Not with Carlos, not by myself.”

“But you're thinking of changing that?” Owen guessed.

“Well... it's definitely been on my mind more lately.” Gabriel admitted. “But I'm not sure it's my place.”

“Why not? Everyone is welcome at these things. That's kind of the whole point of them.” Owen chuckled. “The first time Gwyn and I went with TK was when he was 15 or 16. I don't know which one of us was more nervous.”

“What was it like?”

“Loud. Colourful. Lots of happy people. Everyone was in a party mood. We had fun. Even more so the second year when we actually marched. And a drag queen called me a DILF.”

“A what?” Gabriel asked, confused.

“DILF. It’s an acronym.”

“For…?”

“Dad I’d like to…” Owen raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink. “You know.”

“Dad I’d like to what?”

“You know… get freaky with...”

“What? Oh! I… should have known what that F stood for.”

Owen shrugged.

“I didn’t. I looked it up when I got home.” He laughed. “TK told me to never mention it out loud to anyone ever again.”

Gabriel nodded and tried to imagine having such memories with Carlos.

“But apart from that… what is it like? One of those parades.”

“Well in New York there were a lot of advocacy groups marching. And it was quite political. But there were also a lot of people marching because they just… wanted to. Celebrating who they are, who they love.” Owen said and laughed. “You should have seen TK’s face when this guy from a gay health clinic gave him free condoms and lube. And then turned to me and gave me some too because “sexual health is important no matter your age.” He said using air quotes. “TK was 17 I think. He refused to look at me the rest of the day. I slipped the condoms and lube in his backpack though when we got home. I didn’t know if he was actually having sex back then, but if he was, I wanted him to be safe you know.”

“Yeah…” Gabriel agreed and tried to remember if he’d ever talked to Carlos about sex, let alone gay sex, let alone safe gay sex. He knew Andrea had sat their girls down when they hit puberty, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever doing so with Carlos. “Would it be… weird… if I were to go to that parade?”

“As a spectator?”

“Maybe? Or participant.”

“I don’t see why it would be. We could go together!” Owen said, getting excited. “We could march with the boys! We could get matching shirts!”

“Oh… I uh I don’t know if Carlos would want me to. They’ve probably got plans with their friends.”

“We can all march together!” Owen pointed out. “Maybe that friend of Carlos’ I got talking to at the wedding will be there. What’s his name again… something with a J I think. He had some killer moves on the dancefloor.” He shook his head. “Anyway let me call the boys and then we can figure out our outfits.”

Before Gabriel had time to stop him or even make him take a breath and discuss things, Owen had pulled up TK’s contact and hit call.

“TK, what are you and Carlos doing the weekend of the 30th?” He said the second the call connected, not bothering with hello.

“The weekend of the - wait that's pride weekend. I scheduled the weekend off. It's already been approved. You're not making me change it now. We have plans.” TK replied, apparently not bothered by the lack of greeting.

“Yes, yes, I know. But what kind of plans? Are you marching in the parade?”

“I don't know... maybe. Why? Please tell me you're not planning on marching with the entire 126?”

“What? No.” Owen said immediately. “It's way too short notice." He paused to think. “But it's an excellent idea for next year. Remind me to talk to the AFD brass about it. We could build a float or use one of the ladder trucks! We could probably find some rainbow decorations or just buy some pride flags. Maybe we could get a local artist to design something for us! We could set up a competition! Maybe we could even get the winning design as a mural in the firehouse!"

Owen was getting more and more excited and started moving around the house to find a pen and paper to write his ideas down.

"Dad, dad, DAD!" TK all but yelled down the phone to get his attention. “Is that why you called? To talk about your ideas for an LGBT+ friendly firehouse?”

“No, you just gave me that idea.” he scribbled some key words down on an old receipt.

“So why did you call then? On my day off. That I'm spending with my husband who magically also has the day off. And we're enjoying that. Together. Alone.” TK said, emphasising the last two words.

Owen caught the implication but decided to ignore it.

“Oh yes, right. I wanted to know what your plans are for the pride weekend because we thought we might join you and march in the parade together.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Me and Gabriel. It'll be a multi-generational father and son thing. We were thinking of getting matching t-shirts printed. For all four of us.” Owen said, looking at Gabriel for confirmation.

“Wait, my father wants to go to pride?” Carlos asked and Owen briefly wondered if he'd been on speaker the whole time.

“Yes! It was his idea. He wants to share the experience with you. With both of you. And me I suppose. Even though I'm not gay. I mean... there was that one time in college...”

“Ok please stop talking.” TK said quickly. “I really don’t want to hear about your college hook ups.”

“It wasn’t a hook up!” Owen protested. “More like a… mutual understanding and appreciation.”

“Uhuh. Yeah, sure, Carlos and I have those all the time. This morning actually. He was very appreciative. And understanding. He’s also very good at following instructions. Very eager to please.”

“TK!” Owen heard Carlos say after some sputtering and coughing. He assumed TK had made him choke on his drink.

“What?” TK said innocently and Owen could practically hear the shit eating grin that was without a doubt on his face. “I was just saying we have a lot of these mutual appreciation moments. And how much I enjoy those.”

“Yeah, please don’t.”

“I can’t talk about how much I appreciate my husband now?” TK asked. “My big, strong, hot… so incredibly hot you wouldn’t believe…”

“TK…” Carlos warned but it came out more of a mix between a giggle and gasp.

“Guys, focus, please.” Owen interrupted them. “What colour are we thinking for the shirts? I was thinking pink, to fit the theme.”

“Wait what theme? When did we agree on a theme?” TK asked, distracted.

“The pride theme. Pink for pride.”

“Shouldn’t it be rainbow themed then?” Carlos asked, sounding somewhat more composed.

“I’m not sure I’d look good in rainbow colours.” Owen mused. “Yellow isn’t really my colour. It washes me out.”

“Dad, just wear whatever you normally wear.” TK said, sounding like he’d resigned himself to the fact he wasn’t getting out of going along with his dad’s idea. “We don’t need a theme. Carlos and I have our outfits planned out already.”

“No we don’t.” Carlos protested. “I told you, I’m not wearing that in public.”

TK sighed.

“We’re still discussing our outfits.” He corrected himself. “So just wear whatever. Nobody is going to pay attention to what you’re wearing… unless you’re in drag or wearing ass-less chaps.” He paused. “Please don’t wear those.”

“I don’t think the cowboy look is really for me.” Owen mused. “But I do still have my motorcycle outfit…”

“If you wear that I’m not walking anywhere near you. And that’s a promise.” TK swore and Owen laughed.

“I guess my outfit is still a work in progress too. Gabriel and I will brainstorm and we’ll let you know what’s what.”

“Sure. But no leather and if anyone calls you daddy, I’m out of there.” TK warned him before ending the call.

Owen laughed and sat back down at the table with Gabriel.

“See? I told you the boys would be on board. Now, what do you think. Pink or rainbow?”

The next few weeks consisted of Owen forwarding every outfit idea he had to Gabriel as well as their sons in their family group chat.

TK shot almost everything down right away, while Gabriel was unsure and let Owen decide for them both.

“Ok, the boys said they’d meet us at the starting point of the parade. It’s not that far but we should get going soon if we want to get a good spot. You want to get behind the advocacy groups but still near enough to the front that people still pay attention.” Owen said as he let Gabriel into his house a few weeks later. “I have our shirts and signs right here.”

“Signs? What signs?”

“The signs we agreed on…” Owen said slowly as if he was talking to a child.

“I don’t remember agreeing to signs. What do we need signs for when we have the shirts?”

“We agreed it would be nice. I had them made especially. They’re laminated.” Owen held up one of the signs. “I know a guy who makes those yard signs for politicians, he made these for me.”

“Right. Well… I think… I’ll just stick to the shirt for now.” Gabriel said, warily eyeing the sign Owen was holding.

“Alright. Well… I’ll just… take both of them then. Maybe I can convince Judd to march with us too. He’s a father too and I think he and Grace mentioned taking Charlie to watch the parade because she likes colours.” Owen rambled while Gabriel looked at the two matching t-shirts laid out on the kitchen table.

“If you’re not sure, we can just go and watch. The boys won’t mind.” Owen suggested, picking up on Gabriel’s unease.

“No, I promised Carlos I’d march with him, so that’s what I’m going to do.” Gabriel said resolutely. “Andrea and the girls said they’d come watch too and I don’t want to let them all down.” He picked up one of the shirts. “Where can I change?”

When they arrived at the parade starting point, Owen seemed to feel right at home and within five minutes he’d become best friends with a few of the drag queens also getting ready to march.

“I’m here with my friend.” He gestured to Gabriel. “We’re consuegros actually. Our sons are married and we’re marching with them… but I don’t think they’re here yet.” He looked around. “We got matching t-shirts and we’re marching as a family.”

“That’s nice darling but you have to look the part if you’re going to march. That t-shirt just won’t do. Let us give you a make over.” She looked back and forth between Owen and Gabriel. “Both of you.”

Fifteen minutes later Owen had a rainbow flag painted on his cheek and both of them wore rainbow sashes, though Gabriel had convinced their style team to tie it around the rim of his hat instead of wearing it the way it was meant to.

One of the queens had called it Texas-chic and he liked the sound of that.

“Carlos! TK! Over here!” Owen yelled and waved when he spotted their sons in the crowd.

TK waved back and dragged Carlos with him over to their fathers. Owen did his best to hide his disappointment when he saw neither of them were wearing the t-shirts he’d made for them.

“Why aren’t you wearing the shirts we agreed on?”

“It’s too hot for those.”

“We’re wearing them.”

“That’s your choice.” TK said with a shrug. “And besides, I’m here with my husband, I’m wearing the ring he put on my finger, and his last name. I think people are going to get the message that I think being gay is ok.”

“I have the shirts in my backpack.” Carlos told them and shrugged at the raised eyebrow from his husband. “Your dad put a lot of time and effort into them, TK. The least we could do is wear them for half an hour.”

TK lovingly rolled his eyes at him.

“You’re such a boy scout.” He said and kissed Carlos’ cheek. “But I’m fine wearing what I’m currently wearing.”

Owen decided to drop it and just stood back and let the chaos unfold as his and Gabriel’s style team set their sights on TK and Carlos.

Before long they’d painted rainbow flags on their cheeks, put temporary tattoos on their arms, and managed to talk Carlos into taking off the tank top he was wearing underneath a mesh shirt, much to TK’s delight.

By the time the parade started moving, someone had given all four of them little rainbow flags to wave, and Owen was trying to find a way to both wave his flag and carry two signs.

The four of them started walking with the rest of the crowd, waving their flags and waving to the people watching from the sides.

There was a DJ on the back of a pickup truck playing party music, and TK convinced Carlos to dance with him when the parade had stopped for a moment.

Someone shouted at him to put a ring on it when they saw Carlos’ moves, and he just laughed, held up his hand to show off his wedding ring, and yelled back he’d already done that.

The song ended and the two of them walked back to where Owen and Gabriel were standing and watching them.

A few people had noticed the “Free dad hugs” signs they were holding and came to ask for a hug. Owen happily obliged but Gabriel seemed a little awkward and unsure what to do.

“Are you ok dad?” Carlos asked him and Gabriel nodded.

“I’m fine. It’s just… a lot to take in.”

Carlos looked around.

“Yeah… I was kind of overwhelmed the first time I went. The first time TK dragged me along.” He smiled to himself .“We’d only been together a couple of months by then. It was a lot but it was a great experience.”

Gabriel smiled.

“I'm proud of you.” He told Carlos and squeezed his shoulder. “I know I haven't always been the best dad to you but I'm so proud of the man you are. I'm so proud to call you my son.”

Carlos swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Thanks dad. That... means a lot.”

“I should have said it sooner.” Gabriel shook his head. “Before I got this shirt made. Before I let Owen convince me all this was a good idea.” He said and laughed, gesturing at himself in his brightly coloured I love my gay son shirt and the rainbow sash around the rim of his hat.

“I don't know, I think it suits you. You blend right in.” TK said, trying to relieve the tension somewhat. “You're one of us now.”

Gabriel laughed and in a rare public display of affection pulled both him and Carlos into a hug.

“That puts me in great company.”

“I agree.” Owen said, joining their group hug. “You boys are the best thing to happen to us.”

The parade started moving again but as they marched, more people started to approach both Owen and Gabriel for dad hugs.

Owen thrived in the attention and somehow managed to bring out a whole new version of Gabriel, who seemed to enjoy being able to make people happy with a small gesture.

“Are you seeing this?” Carlos asked TK. They were walking a few steps behind their dads, watching it all unfold.

“Yeah. Looks like my dad finally had a good influence on someone.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos fic #my writing

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