#it's kind of the experience ive come to expect | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

2K notes · View notes

hearts4renaa · 10 months

Text

ONCE BELIEVED

summary: what they thought love was versus what you showed them it really is. featuring xiao, childe, diluc, scaramouche, albedo, and alhaitham.

contains: 0.7k words, little drabbles for each boy 🫶 fluff

a/n: finally some fluff 😭 this piece was pretty personal for me to write, since i used perceptions of the loves ive seen through my people watching/people around me/personal experiences. enjoy 🫶

Xiao thought love was a useless phenomenon that only mortals experienced. He didn’t think love was all that special, nor did he understand how someone could devote their entire life to one person. To love was to be attached. To be attached was to get hurt. However, you taught him that love did have a use; to bring out the best in each other. You brought out a different side of Xiao. A softer, gentler side that was able to relax at your touch. The side of Xiao who finally felt like each breath of air in his lungs were ones of life, and not as a reminder that he is still suffering. The side of Xiao who was proven wrong about love, but he could never be more glad than he is. Xiao knows what true love is now. Love is you.

Childe thought that love was fiery and passionate all the time. He thought that to love was to kiss dramatically in the rain, to dance in the moonlight. To forever be caught up in the thrill of it all, like a never ending adrenaline rush. But being with you made him realize that love isn’t just a thrilling roller coaster ride. Sometimes, love is the quiet laughter at night, sweet kisses on each other's foreheads, or the comfort of simply sitting next to each other. Love doesn’t always have to be burning brightly; sometimes, it’s a calm flame in the corner of the room. It may not be dramatic, but it illuminates everything around it.

Diluc thought that to be loved, he had to be worthy. He thought that he had to perfect himself in order to be loved, that he had to meet certain conditions. But then you came around and flipped his entire worldview around. You showed him that he didn’t need to be extravagant, or strong all the time, or perfect. He just had to be Diluc. Your Diluc, who does extensive research on grape juice just to find his favourite kind. Your Diluc, who wakes up early on Saturdays to make you a hot drink to serve to you in bed. Your Diluc, who brings you small trinkets with that lovely smile. Your Diluc, forever yours.

Scaramouche thought that love was like a business deal. Two people come together and realize how they could benefit off each other; that’s what it really is, right? Otherwise, how could you possibly devote your love, your trust, your time, your life to someone? But he gets it now. The moment you got through the smallest crack in his walls, it all came crashing down. The way you knew him, the way you saw right through all his bluffs and best defences. Despite the many roundabouts, you went through the labyrinth to his heart, all because you loved him. Love doesn’t always need a rhyme or reason. Sometimes, you love for the sake of loving. And loving you is one thing he’ll never regret.

Albedo thought there was a formula for love. He thought it could be calculated, predicted. You start as friends, you touch their hand to spark interest, then you flirt and so it goes. It’s ironic, because his love for you was not planned at all. In fact, it hit him like a truck. He didn’t expect any of it at all. He was so stunned that he was in denial for weeks before Kaeya literally had to call out his heart eyes for you. But now, the spontaneity of your relationship is what makes him happiest. What should the two of you do today? Stay home cuddled up in bed? A picnic at Windrise? Perhaps Albedo could draw a portrait of you? The unknown is can be scary, but not with you. And as long as you are by his side, he will go wherever the wind takes him.

Alhaitham thought that all forever loves have to go through some sort of major conflict within their relationship. He thought that you had to fight for your love. He thought that love was something you had to almost die for. When you came around, it’s as if all stars aligned. Every failed love led the two of you together. It’s as if the two of you were molded for each other. From the silent understanding stares or soft smiles from across a room, anyone outside could see the love flowing from the two of you. Of course the two of you had disagreements like any couple, but things never exploded beyond repair. At the end of the day, the two of you knew you’d be okay. Some things are just meant to be, and the two of you are one of them.

#genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #alhaitham x reader #albedo x reader #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 4 months

Note

omg i just read a bunch of your work and it’s all so good???? it’s so rare to find imagines fanfic writers that are so clearly passionate about their work and it’s so awesome anyways i have a request !! i absolutely love your frail reader stuff… my health is kinda shit too so it’s really nice to read !! could i ask for dottore trying to attach an IV or help them but they’re scared of needles? dottore realizing they’re not scared of *him* but of just . the needle . and also being really really sweet and gentle while checking everything like vitals and whatnot since being checked up by a doctor puts them on edge usually . BASICALLY i’d looove to see dottore being sweet while working with a patient as opposed to . how he usually is 😭

Dottore is a man who finds himself fascinated by many things. Most obviously, his research. His experiments. The limits of a human being, the stars of this world, the truth of Teyvat. How far he could push himself and others to satiate his curiosity.

And last but certainly not least, you, his darling.

…Who was now huddled in the corner of his lab, refusing to move. Why? Because it was time for you to receive your first shot. You had only recently woken up from sleeping for four hundred years, so he stuck to other forms of medicine rather than needles in the beginning. But it had gotten to the point where needle injections were necessary for your health. However, you certainly didn’t find this new information pleasing.

You’d peek out, see him with that large pointy grin with a needle in hand, and then try to inch even closer to the wall as if you were trying to disappear into it as you whimpered. Now, Dottore finds you predictable and unpredictable at the same time. Predictable because being with you for centuries has certainly allowed his mind to adapt and memorize all of your little quirks and possible reactions. Unpredictable because there are always times he finds himself surprised and then mildly exasperated at your behavior. But that’s what he likes about you. You’re not a boring doll like his other test subjects.

But this reaction… once again, he supposes he expected it but he didn’t at the same time. Funnily enough, Dottore is no stranger to your little tantrums when it comes to taking care of your health. Some kind of bizarre reaction from you wasn’t out of the question because he remembers the first time you ran away from taking your medicine.

—

When you realized your life would consist of daily checkups, your body constantly being hooked up to a lot of different things you really didn’t understand, and a whole bunch of other changes, you thought you could do it. You really did. Sure, it wasn’t easy, and it was scary and confusing and you cried at how different you were now but, you were getting through every day and that was what mattered.

However, ironically, your greatest enemy in life became medicine.

You should be grateful really, to have Dottore as your doctor. Although he certainly wasn’t a doctor to his other “patients”, he most definitely was to you. And he was a terrific one - attentive beyond human capability (not even including his segments), skilled, knowledgeable, adaptable, and attractive was also a good bonus. Hell, if it were anyone else besides him, you’d long be dead.

But one thing you absolutely despise is his talent for making the hardest-to-swallow medicine known to mankind.

Dottore had given you lots of different types of medicine since you woke up, experimenting with which was the most efficient. Although he did study how other bodies reacted to it before it entered your own system, it really didn’t spare you any pain because you always ended up dreading it. It wasn’t fun, no, but you had accepted it as your routine.

Pills weren’t fun, but at least they were a quick swallow after you finished hyping yourself up to drink it. And, they were small or medium-sized. No biggie, right? But then came one time when you were utterly tricked. When Dottore presented you with medicine that you could drink easily rather than a pill, you were ecstatic.

The syrup medicine was a nice color and looked like it would taste fine! But no, you should have known that the Doctor was a deceiving son of a- you get the point. The medicine tasted absolutely horrible, violating your taste buds. You would have spat it out, but it was already almost down your throat. You were genuinely thankful that medicine ended up being unhelpful to you because you don’t think you could have managed to swallow that every day.

Despite how every time you moaned and whined about it, you would steel yourself and take it anyway because you didn’t want to make Dottore’s life any harder, with how diligently he was working on these medicines solely for your sake.

But at one point, you just couldn’t take it anymore. What caused you to snap?

A pill that Dottore presented to you, that looked big even on his large hand. He had looked at you expectantly, while you looked at him incredulously, as your lover then placed it in your hand and set the glass of water to the side for you.

Okay [Name], you’ve endured all these trials so far. Surely you can handle this? You took a deep breath, slowly working up the courage to swallow it as Dottore waited, curiously looking at you. With a burst of energy, you brought it to your mouth, intent on gulping it, but stopped last minute. Your bravery had left you, as you brought the pill back to the table again. There was no way, just no way that was going in your throat without getting stuck. Just the thought of it was making you feel sick and anxious.

“I’m not doing it.” Dottore sighed.

“We’ve been through this countless times, [Name],” he shook his head as he walked to his desk, prepared to gather some things to work on because he was familiar with your agonizing long waits of trying to force yourself to drink your medicine. “Either you take it yourself, or I will be more than happy to help you myself.” The methods Dottore takes to “help” you take your medicine can be left up to the imagination.

“You won’t need to help me… because I’m not drinking that!” In a flash, you had bolted out the door, leaving the doctor alone in the room, blinking and processing what just happened before he rubbed his temples. Never, not once have you run away from taking medicine. Yes, you whined and begged him to let you skip it, just for one day (which he never indulged you in) but in the end, you’d always give in to your fate. Dottore walked over and picked up the pill, examining it. Was it really that bad?

Well, no matter. You’ll end up taking it anyway. His harshness comes from a good place at least, it is for your own sake after all.

Although you did put up a good fight, you never really had any chance of escaping in the first place, considering your rather poor health and stamina (and this is Dottore after all, no one gets away from him). But you just needed to put off that blasted medicine for a while longer, which was why you found yourself in your current situation.

In a stand-off with Omega, who had come to collect you and bring you back to Prime’s office, so you could finally take the pill. Beta was there too, as he was supposed to be helping, but he looked to be amused by the whole thing. Pointy teeth showed through as he watched the whole show, hands in his pockets.

The “show” in question was how you were hiding behind a random Fatui agent, using the poor man as a shield, his soul definitely having left his body by now. Every time the segment tried to come closer, you’d physically move the agent’s body to block him from you. And well, even they couldn’t just kill the man like that. It would be quite funny, were it not for the fact that Omega was beginning to grow impatient and mildly annoyed that the other Fatuis were watching this go down. Not to mention the back and forth you two were having about how important it was for you to take the pill, versus your numerous arguments as to why you weren’t. Beta was just there cackling at the older segment’s predicament. But then all of a sudden, Omega backed off with a smile, giving you a chance to escape once again. Yes, you turned around, ready to dash for it, and then ran right into a solid wall.

There Prime Dottore stood, looking down at you with an unamused expression, at this little cat and mouse game. He didn’t really want to show this level of affection to you in front of the other agents, but he had no choice but to grab you and pick you up in his arms so you couldn’t run away anymore.

The other Fatuis could only stare at the scene, you kicking and flailing your arms, vehemently repeating how you weren’t going to drink that blasted thing, and about how evil and cruel he was. Eventually, he was able to make you swallow the pill, with the help of his other segments holding you down.

In the end, he had to ditch that pill because the struggle and tears you put up after that just weren’t worth it when there were better alternatives.

—

However, at least this time you didn’t run away. Instead, perhaps you thought holing up miserably in the corner would somehow make him sympathize with you and that he wouldn’t give you the needle. Unfortunately, you were incorrect. Dottore’s patients are to receive whatever treatment he deems necessary, even if it is you. Nevertheless, you are indeed a special patient. A special patient who receives special treatment, both medically and emotionally. So, it does make him feel a tiny bit sorry for you, seeing how scared you were.

Though a part of him wonders, are you truly that afraid of a mere needle? Perhaps because he works with it every day, he cannot see how it could cause that much nervousness. Was it because of how he used it on others? Of course, you were no stranger to his less-than-ethical experiments on other people. But surely you knew that you wouldn’t be subjected to such conduct? Dottore ponders for a little while as you continue to crouch in fear. He wonders if he taught Zandy how to use the needle if that would make it less scary for you. But on second thought, you would probably get mad at him for trying to do that to his child segment.

But regardless of what either of you thought, you were getting that injection.

“[Name],” For once, his voice isn’t the normal tone that he takes on when you’re being difficult. So you lift your head and your eyes peek out from your knees as you pout at him. Dottore had set the needle to the side and walked closer to you, reaching his hand out to you, expecting you to get up and take it. With a sigh, you acquiesce and clasp your hand with his as he pulls you from the ground. Though you keep your eyes on the floor and your shoulders drooped, because you know that your fate is imminent. But Dottore tilts your chin so you’re forced to look up at him anyway.

“Why are you so insistent on acting like this?” Your partner questions.

“Because needles are scary,” you whine.

“But I am the one administering it. Nothing will happen.”

“Well, obviously I trust you,” you sigh in defeat. “I know you’d never hurt me. But that doesn’t make needles any less scary. And no matter what you say, I know I’ll still feel that prick of pain! I really don’t want it, Zandik!” You look up at him with pleading eyes. His fingers stroking your hair feels nice but it does little to relieve you of your anxiety. At that, Dottore merely stares for a few seconds before he pulls you to the operating table and helps you up. Well, at least you attempted to change his mind, you thought as you resigned yourself to the pain. You squeeze your eyes and tense your body, preparing for the inevitable prick, but instead, you feel hands slipping down your shirt and cool metal being pressed against your chest. Your eyes pop open as you turn to narrow your eyebrows at Dottore.

“What about the needle?”

“Forget about it. I will handle it another day,” Dottore waves off your concern, and all the stiffness in your body releases. Oh, you were so, so grateful.

“Now breathe in for me,” Dottore requested. “And out. In. Out.” You did what he asked and he hummed as he recorded your heart rate or whatever he usually does, before moving to your back and repeating the same process. You liked how his hands felt on your body. They weren’t rough, uncharacteristically gentle even. Even though right now it was just professional procedures, it felt comforting. His hands always felt comforting.

Now that you think about it, although it sounds entirely untrue, Dottore was… the only doctor you had good experiences with. When you were a kid, you really didn’t like them. They usually… put you on edge. Unlike most children, the promise of candy did little to stop you from getting antsy during a check-up, and even the nicest doctors had their patience tested. But Dottore and the segments, well, despite their… tendencies, they did make you feel a lot better with your condition and all. It was really nice, to have people who wouldn’t give up on you or your health since you’ve been given up on in the past.

“I’ve heard that Alpha has been showing you the collection of Khaenri’ahn machines lately,” Dottore’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was fiddling with the variety of tools he used for the check-up.

“Hm? Oh yeah, we have!” Dottore moved to examine both ears as you spoke. “I mean, studying Teyvat’s new language all the time gets so boring. So I just make him show me the cool stuff during breaks!” Although Zandik’s fascination with the machines was much greater than yours in the Akademiya, his enthusiasm had rubbed off on you too and you found yourself intrigued as well. One thing that had never changed though, was his habit of dumping all his thoughts on you. Seriously, once you got Alpha talking, he wouldn’t stop until every detail of his research had been covered. It was cute. It reminded you of how Zandik used to do the same thing late at night.

“Is that so?” Dottore had moved to check your eye, shining the light at it.

“Mhm! You know, seeing all the things you know now, makes me think back to how much you searched for answers all those years ago. Pushing and pulling me all those places,” you smiled, thinking about how you were always dragged to all parts of Sumeru for him to quench his thirst by hopefully obtaining fruitful results from the expeditions. It was tiring, but good times. You wished you could go back. Dottore then tapped your lips and you opened your mouth as he briefly examined it before returning to his clipboard. For some reason, you feel as though this check-up is dragging on a lot more than usual, but you didn’t really question it because why would you question spending more time with your beloved?

“Yes, and you never failed to complain, did you? You grumbled more than you spoke about the data,” Dottore replied as he continued to do whatever other tests on you before he pulled up your sleeve to wrap the cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re lying! I always engaged in conversation with our research,” you stuck your tongue out at him. “I always pulled my weight! Maybe you were too busy mumbling to yourself and spilling ink everywhere instead of listening to me.” Zandik had a habit of that. Getting too lost in his thoughts and leaving you to babble like an idiot when he wasn’t even paying attention. Dottore only chuckled as he continued to work, pumping the device. You didn’t even notice that he was also preparing a needle with his other hand, because you continued to ramble on.

“And you know what, you were always far worse. In the beginning, you were either talking about research all the time, or complaining about others, or complaining about me.” Just because Dottore was all suave and smooth and poised now didn’t mean you forgot about how much he was not anything of those things back then! The more you reminisced about it, the memories of being slightly infuriated by his attitude came rushing back. So much so that you didn’t register the cuff being swiftly removed from your arm, nor the feeling of Dottore adjusting your arm and the prick of something being injected into you.

“And!! Pantalone always tells me how much you complain to him about not only the budget but also a wide variety of things! And Bina too, I’ve heard numerous stories of those poor agents falling victim to you, hmph,” you awaited a response but Dottore didn’t humor you like he usually did. So you turned to look at him, but instead, he was carefully placing a bandage on you. You blinked once at the sight, then at him, and then at the empty needle on the tray, the contents empty. It didn’t take long for your brain to process what happened.

“You… you tricked me! You said I wasn’t going to get the needle!” You fussed but Dottore only smirked, his sharp shark-like teeth on display.

“Yes, I did. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Did you feel any pain?”

“Well…” He was right, you didn’t feel a thing. With all the conversation and his quick yet efficient fingers, the needle didn’t hurt. Ugh, so that was Dottore’s plan… getting you all riled up and distracted so he could finish the job. It was sneaky… but as you tenderly brushed the injection site that was a little sore, you were oddly touched… it was sweet. He didn’t need to go out of his way to do this. Really, another large pill situation could have happened.

“No, you didn’t,” Dottore finished the sentence for you before rolling down your sleeve and cleaning up the area. “There was no need for such drama in the first place. I told you that it would be fine.” You pouted at his bluntness. It was a bit mean, but he lived up to his word. You should have expected that. He always does, when it comes to you. “You have to stay here for a bit. I need to see if the shot will have any immediate adverse effects on you.”

“O-Okay,” you replied, still a bit dazed by how Dottore managed to do that. You wondered, just… how quick were his hands?? Then he placed a kiss on your lips, catching you off guard once again, but he pulled away before you could reciprocate. Ah, it was probably his way of saying ‘well done.’

“H-Hey, don’t just walk away! I deserve more kisses for the ordeal I just went through! Come back here!”

Dottore ended up giving you lots of kisses everywhere as he pinned you down on the operating table. If all check-ups ended like this one did, well, you’d look forward to them a lot more…

—

Bonus:

“Dottore?”

“Yes, [Name]?”

“Can you make them… gummy?”

“Make what gummy?” A few seconds of staring at you makes it click in his head. “No.”

“Please!!” Immediately you pull out your best pleading eyes with a pouting lip, having no shame in dropping to your knees and wrapping your arm around his leg in the tightest grip you could muster. “Please, if it were gummies instead of actual pills or needles, I’d never complain!” Dottore sighs, trying to shake you off but to no avail. It seems you’re dead set on this.

“At least some of them, please, I’ll do anything.” By this point, your face is buried into his leg, all but begging for him to make medicine that is gummy. It was so ridiculous it would make him laugh, but the idea of him and his segments having to not go through the unthinkable in order for you to take your medicine is honestly quite appealing to the doctor.

“Alright,” he complies, which causes you to shoot up from the ground and grasp his hands with glee. “I will experiment to see what I can do.” You smile widely before thanking him profusely and kissing his cheeks and then his lips. Although he enjoys your affection, Dottore finds himself wondering if you’re okay yourself, because who gets this excited over gummies for medicine? And then he hears your next question.

“Can you make them different flavors too? And oh, gummy bear-shaped too! By the way, my favorite flavor is-”

“[Name].”

“I’m sorry.”

608 notes · View notes

matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

Note

HEYYYYY so ive been thinking, what if reader is like good at singing and one day when vox tells her he’ll be out for a meeting and then they start busting down them tunes not knowing vox came back and then after theyre done singing vox is just like “wow that sucked” (bro does NOT want to compliment them🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🚫🚫)

Sing-Song Shenanigans

A/N: HAHAHAHAHA I've been wanting to incorporate this into a new interlude and now this has absolutely given me the chance to- Vox at this point is practically wrapped around our dear Reader's pinkie, he's just in denial about it not to mention absolutely clueless. He compliments (Y/N) easily whenever he can pull the charm but his default is usually: "Haha lol u suck + ratio" while he not so subtly overheats and melts on the other side-

A/N: Also- this is the song Reader sings- I know the voice for Vox is outdated but the point is just it's his song that Reader sings lololol- Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one and as always- happy reading!

youtube

You honestly didn't know if you should've expected this or not.

For someone as egotistical as Vox-

It kind of made sense that he would've straight up written his own theme song.

You only joked about it offhandedly-

Only for him to actually send you an audio file with a song he wrote and SANG.

Did he just have the file on hand or something??

You just looked up at the TV screen dumbfounded.

"I never aired it, I was just an up and coming overlord when it was made."

Came his nonchalant reply, you could only guess he shrugged but since his face was all you saw it was just a guess.

"I'll give it a listen later, you weren't finished with your story!"

"Right, where was I?"

And just like that, you both continued talking well into the night.

You'd actually almost forgotten about the audio file when Vox disconnected and bid you good night and adieu.

But seeing it in the chats when you opened your phone reminded you.

Well, it was probably cringe and you could make fun of Vox the next time around-

So you gave it a listen.

Only for the song to be pretty catchy and good.

Like the beat was stuck in your head good.

You didn't think that would've been the case at all.

And he said he didn't air this??

What the hell Vox???

Before you knew it, the darn thing ended up playing on loop more times than you would dare recall.

Too bad you couldn't include it into your playlist since that would mean having to publish it.

And you were just not ready to have that conversation with Vox yet.

Especially when it meant admitting that you liked listening to his singing.

And fuck THAT.

You absentmindedly hummed the tune on the way to university-

While you traversed between classrooms-

Even during breaks.

It only hit you that it actually was stuck in your head when you were asked about it.

"Yoooo (Y/N), what's that new bop you're listening to? It sounds pretty good from just your humming."

"Oh uh... it's a song a friend wrote. He sent it to me to... ask for my opinion!"

"Really? Can you send it to me too? I want to give it a listen!"

At least they didn't notice your awkwardness answering their question.

But because you didn't want to make it seem even weirder-

You hesitantly agreed to let your friend listen in as well.

Only for them to seriously cement what you didn't want to hear.

"Dude! They should publish this! It's a banger!"

"Eh? You think so?"

You knew the last thing Vox needed was another ego boost.

Maybe you could just keep silent about this whole thing?

"Hell yeah! What's their name?"

Or not.

Fuck.

"Of the song-?"

"The artist you goof, what does your friend call themselves? Surely they've got to be making music for a while with this experience."

Your friends had absolutely no idea you were friends with a technology demon overlord.

Even if it was their shenanigans that summoned his presence in the fucking first place!

You still couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or grateful for that fact-

What the hell were you even supposed to tell them??

"Uhhh... Vox?"

"Vox? That's a weird name. I almost thought you said 'aux', like the aux port."

You didn't notice that before, was his name actually an alias?

You weren't even surprised at this point if it was.

"Y-yeah, it's a mix of the words voice and aux! He came up with it!"

You pat yourself on the back for that bullshit reason, who cares at this point if it was right or not-

You could always just ask Vox personally later.

"Well you should ask him if we can make a music video for it!"

"Excuse me what-"

That immediately made you blank.

Did you seriously hear that right-

A fucking music video???

Problem was, you were way too deep into this conversation to back out now.

"Yeah! It would work for the music project the school's been encouraging!"

Right... the community music program your university's been doing to help spread the names of up and aspiring artists.

Problem being how in the fucking hell were you supposed to dodge a very blatant unspoken issue.

Which was the fact the song's writer and producer had been dead for DECADES.

That and you didn't even want to think of the ego boost Vox would get if you told him that your friends wanted to make a music video of his theme song.

They didn't know about him, but you were sure it would immediately go to the overlord's head.

Could this day get any worse??

"Uhhh- yeaaaah- I'll see what I can do?"

"Come on (Y/N)! You've got to at least try and convince him! This'll be a hit once it's out!"

You hated that you agreed with the fact the song most likely would be a hit.

Especially with the new rise of electro-pop.

God fucking damn it-

So that's how you found yourself pacing your living room waiting for Vox to finish with his meeting.

Well, if you guys were to make a music video anyway... might as well practice right?

Vox was a little bit concerned when you suddenly shot him a message during a meeting asking to meet up.

Especially when he couldn't really figure out what was wrong.

You seemed just fine a while ago?

Did something happen in class?

He looked back at your messages in the chat while he wracked his brain for any clues.

"Hey uh- if you're not busy I need to talk to you?"

"Why the rush doll? Miss me already?"

"In your dreams Samsung! Something came up and I need to talk to you."

"I'm in a meeting right now but I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

Suffice to say, he rushed the meeting so it would end quickly.

Vox didn't really even care that there were some things that still needed polishing with the presented concept.

It was a problem he could deal with later.

First, he needed to check what was wrong with you.

So you could imagine his surprise when he saw you on his feed dancing and singing.

Had you connected your computer up to the TV while waiting for him?

Vox just silently watched your antics while a familiar tune played in the background to accompany your actions.

"So I'll corrupt, manipulate, control what they see~"

Admittedly, the overlord found himself enraptured by your movements and singing.

He really couldn't help but stare as you danced around and performed to no one in particular.

If he'd only known that you would like his music sooner-

Maybe he'd have sent you more.

"I am the master of obscuring through our technology~!"

Vox didn't really think much of the song he'd sent you the other night.

A slight nervousness hit him when he was about to sleep wondering if you'd like it-

But clearly-

He didn't need to be worried at all.

"I'll sell your every single weakness back to you for a fee!"

A part of him wanted to just appear and see if you'd notice-

But the risk of cutting your performance short stopped him from going through with it.

"Don't be a fool and stand there droolin'-"

Vox couldn't help but chuckle, well-

That line was more ironic that it should've been in this situation.

"Get those Eyes. On. Me!"

His fans whirred loudly at this point, while your dance moves were quite clumsy and even random compared to more seasoned dancers-

Vox couldn't help but think you were just friggin adorable.

"Take a chance, play my game, get the rush in your veins~"

He really tried to keep his cool-

The overlord really really tried.

But he couldn't help the stupid grin on his face when he discreetly appeared on your TV.

"I'm sending out my signal download into your brain~!"

That was when he realized your eyes were closed.

It seems like whether or not he'd have appeared you wouldn't notice.

"And I'll be conquerin' the airwaves, I'm on all of your screens-"

As much as it was his theme song, Vox felt like you could rock the vibe just as well.

Which was so hilariously disconnected that he couldn't help but softly chuckle imagining it.

Well, maybe it was about time you realized he was actually here.

"So pay up motherfuckers, you belong to Vee!"

You screamed in surprise when you heard his voice from behind you.

The direction of the speaker was far enough for you to realize your digital companion appeared on the TV.

Of course he just had to join in at the last moment!

Wait-

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?!"

Your face was beet red from embarrassment, he wasn't supposed to see any of that!

"Long enough, I didn't realize you liked the song that much dollface!"

You practically swore at him up and down as Vox laughed and mercilessly teased you.

He seriously could've given you any hint if he arrived!

The fucking jerk-!

"I'm not doing it for you! My friends gave a listen to your song and they want to make a music video for it!"

Vox hummed thoughtfully, he was still on his high watching you get all shy and flustered.

You were so fucking cute-

"I'll agree to it on one condition."

You were almost too scared to even ask, weighing your choices before eventually daring to inquire.

The grin the overlord gave you immediately made you regret pushing forward with it.

"Fine fine, what's the condition?"

"That you perform and sing in the music video and send it to me."

"What?! Why?!"

Vox just laughed at your expense, the fact you were practically steaming out the ears because of him was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day.

"Why not? Can't I have a look at the final product I'm agreeing to?"

You stuttered and huffed, he had a point there.

Fucking hell....

You should've never agreed to that fucking music video!!!

"Oh shut up, you just wanna see me sing and dance."

"Not really, your performance sucked."

"Oh fuck off Vox!"

The overlord just continued to laugh at how blushy and red you got.

Maybe he did enjoy your singing and dancing.

Well, it's not like he'll ever admit it.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x you #get off my screen series

302 notes · View notes

pomegranatesandribcages · 3 months

Text

yes im still talking about abigail but i just cant wrap my head around how some people call her evil and manipulative.

she had to experience both of her parents and her best friend being slaughtered in front of her, then the whole world turns against her, successfully ripping apart any support systems she couldve had at such a pivotal time in her life. when she looks at hannibal like that, when she clings onto him, thats real.

HE is the one manipulating HER, actually. he saw her vulnerable at this time, clearly in need of a father figure with fucked up daddy issues and swooped right in. she was just a pawn to sacrifice to get will closer to him.

alana notes that she comes off as manipulative after the accident because of the way she chooses to withhold information. i think here, alana is expecting too much of her. shes expecting her to immediately be open to pouring her heart out to these strangers shes never met. if theres anything abigail has learned in her life its that the adults around her are not to be trusted. she casts a skeptical gaze over the gifts alana bought her, too, as if confused as to why a someone would choose to be so kind with seemingly nothing to gain.

ive seen people point out her expressions and mannerisms, and to that i say your honour my client is literally just a girl. she is the exact same in her nightmares, hallucinations, and alone, when theres no one to manipulate. she is genuinely afraid, cautious and heavily traumatised

im still rewatching s1 so i might add more if i rediscover some more scenes but yeah :p

abigail haters dni unless u wanna brawl!!!!!!

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #abigail hobbs #will graham #hannigram #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #murder husbands #garret jacob hobbs #alana bloom #writing #essay writing #character analysis #media analysis #im hyperfixating again #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

166 notes · View notes

loneliestluvr · 4 days

Text

𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

part 1. part 2.

pairing: eris vanserra x archeron oc

synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

warning: depression, worthlessness, cauldron trauma, angst, that’s kinda it for now tbh.

word count: 1.9k

taryn thinks: ive been thinking about eris vanserra for a long time and reading lost bonds by @readychilledwine about tamlin kind of gave me some inspo and motivation i haven’t had in a while to write this. also ttpd because ive been down in the dumps and feeling angsty so… enjoy!! 🫶🏼 i apologize if it’s a bit scrambled lol, i just wanted to write it out.

The fabric Nuala and Cerridwen had dressed her in erased any and all traces of the truth. The destitute it had felt her life became since this newfound immortality ripped everything Blair Archeron had ever known away from her, tucked away. Hidden behind the gauzy chiffon.

There had been small pockets of awareness, of feeling like she had control over herself lately. Where she didn’t rot away in bed, or a chaise— alone and wrapped in the quiet of her mind. Staring into open space, ghosting through whatever this life was.

Those times were hard to come by, and even when the war against Hybern was raging it was decided Blair would stay safe in Velaris. Where she had always remained. Where she did not leave, until today.

It was a pointed argument among their small circle that this life was no better than what Feyre had been through with Tamlin, but Blair did not fight it. Simply… existed inside of it.

It wasn’t that nobody tried to help, they did. They asked questions, gave the second eldest sister every chance to open up. To get out, to experience this new world. To talk.

Elain would argue even when she did, it was mere hollows of the person Blair had been who responded. The echoes that remembered how to speak, that walked so smoothly and carelessly that she seemed to float on a hot wind.

Blair was not fearless, she was not cunning, she was not soft, nor was she anything that her sisters were. She was simply… other.

And maybe that was the furthest thing from simple, that there were no words to describe the ethereal beauty of her hollowness. Maybe there never would be.

Blair didn’t seem to mind, and she got away with it.

Content was the feeling that seemed the most appropriate to describe the life she lead now. Moved into her youngest sisters River Home, with a large room at the end of the house overlooking the winding waters. The gardens Elain had crafted and tended when she wasn’t at the townhouse sat below, the large expanse of the land out to the river in full view. The snow capped mountains that danced across the skyline, one’s she sometimes watched Feyre paint in front of from her window day after day, month after month.

She supposed she had it coming when Nesta was forced to the House of Wind. When her older sister by a mere year had pointed out that Blair had amounted to nothing in the time Nesta had been taken hostage inside that House on the side of the mountain. When Nesta had been expected to work and be something, Blair had still remained as useless as before.

“She is adjusting,” Feyre had argued on Blair’s behalf. Blair had been the kindest of their sisters to Feyre when they were in that cabin, poor and broken and nothing. Who had helped with no qualms, who had genuinely cared for them all— even their seemingly worthless father. “—she did not ask for this, the same as you. At least she is not drinking herself to death.” The smartest of them, as Feyre had described to Rhys’ Inner Circle before those meetings in the mortal realm, others would have thought the same if they knew her before.

Before she became this… thing.

“You let her wither away, sitting about in her sadness and grief and her muteness. I would think she had forgotten how to speak if it weren’t for the utterly mundane responses she gives.” Nesta had barked back at their little sister while Blair sat by the window, unmoving. Her face a mask of cool indifference like she wasn’t quite hearing anyway. “How is what she’s doing any different than what I have? Because she isn’t spending your money? Because she hasn’t tainted Rhysand’s precious Court image?”

She didn’t care how they spoke of her, didn’t care to defend herself from Nesta’s forked tongue— it took more energy than she had to argue. Blair could have washed away right into the water that rushed through the river she stared into for all she cared.

Everything had just gone so… wrong from that point. As if Nesta’s breaking point was seeing her first baby sister be so broken and discarded, she had ripped into a secret nobody had even bothered to tell Feyre or Blair— that Feyre’s babe would kill her.

The rest had been a blur like usual after and here they were, dressed and gowned in the finest clothes they had. In the short time since finding out about Feyre’s deadly predicament, everyone seemingly had agreed with Nesta about Blair’s lack of presence in their court… or any at all.

The only people who knew she existed were those that were present when she was forced into the bitterly cold water of the cauldron. When it had felt as though she drowned, that she had died there and something else had filled her body. Felt as though she could only see herself from outside of her body, outside of whatever she had became.

Blair Archeron would be making her debut to the Court of Nightmares in the same fashion Feyre would be revealing her pregnancy. She didn’t know much else, didn’t care for the details or even why Nesta had been training in dances they both knew since childhood. Just what she was to wear and to come when called.

To admit the dress she was now wearing wasn’t utterly beautiful would be a disgrace in itself, and she looked stunning.

Despite her pointed ears being viewable, Blair’s long and heavy gold-brown hair had been curled gorgeously, cascading down her freckled and fair bare back to cover where her dress did not. Kissing and tickling the skin when she moved her head, half of her hair pulled back from her face into loose twirls and braids.

Her face painted in light cosmetics that she didn’t need. It was no secret that her beauty came first out of the four sisters, even before dear Elain’s— skin freckled, dark lashes and brows, cheeks usually tinted pink naturally. But her eyes, her eyes were the rarest of her sisters and what made her so profoundly different.

A base of that gray-blue that grew more vibrant as it met her pupil. But the flecks of nearly golden amber splattered like an artist had flicked their wrist in a rush is what made them so different.

Why the black of her dress fit her so much better than it did poor Elain, her second youngest sister nearly washed out by the bleak darkness she had been presented to wear.

The dress clinging to Blair’s torso was bedecked in gold sparkling beads that formed lines of detail along the bodice and the hem by her feet, the fabric black beneath it. Hugging tight to her figure. Eating and drinking had gotten easier after the war and had allowed her to fill out again.

Her full breasts wrapped tight to her chest where they sat prettily, the dips in her hips and waist outlined by the sheer sleeves that flared well past her hands, capped around her shoulders but left her back utterly bare despite the illusion of the chiffon looking like a cape.

The dress hung from her body as she waited almost carelessly to enter the throne room of Hewn City, and Blair felt a little like she might die.

The air here, anywhere, was so much colder than the sweltering heat of her bedroom where she kept the fire roiling day and night— where she felt like she was at home even if it was just in her head. Sleeping on the floor in front of it most nights, where the crackling of the fire could drown out the sound of her thoughts. Where the warmth could make her feel something other than empty.

Now. Feyre’s voice rang warmly in Blair’s head, echoing outside of the thick walls of forest she’d been taught to put up. Spruce and oak, winding paths lined with red poppy’s and orange geraniums, fogged over meadows to traipse through at will. A maze for anyone else, with no beginning and no end.

The rest of them had gone in a half hour ago it seemed, Blair to be used if they needed to pull a distraction or anything. She would be introduced no matter what, but timing was to be used as an advantage.

The towering doors to the throne room boomed open as Blair turned the corner to the hallway, the curls in her hair bouncing with every step despite the light wind billowing through her flowing sleeves as if she were gliding.

The music continued as she kept her head high and entered the space, hands folded neatly in front of her. A small upward twitch of her pretty red lips, her face calm and still.

Still as the room became when her feet hit the marble across that threshold.

She walked, one foot in front of the other. Head in a full fog before she even entered the throne room— but there was a tug. Something that had almost made her stumble, but she sucked in a tight breath as she focused on the dais ahead.

Pulling, tugging, a line going taut the closer she became and her vision cleared. Someone that had been in deep discussion before Blair entered, someone now turned to face her as everyone else did.

All but the Court of Dreamers gaping at her, at her beauty. So much different than her obvious sisters, a third sister to the High Lady of the Night Court, but so much the same that it was easily distinguishable. Gasps and whispers filling Blair’s now clear ears, but she didn’t look anywhere but the male in front of Rhys and Feyre— as much as she wanted to. As much as she pleaded with herself to look away, she could not.

The bright auburn hair, the pale and freckled skin of his handsome face. All fae were gorgeous, she’d been told and equally come to learn but… just the very look of him made her skin heat.

A look of something similar washed through his amber eyes, the matching amber to the flecks in her own, his throat bobbing.

Something like devastation went through this male and though Blair couldn’t tear her eyes from his as she finally made those last steps to the dais, she could see Rhys’ mask slip ever so slightly from the corner of her eye before it went back up.

There was a part of her, so enamored by whoever this person was— and something about him made her slip back into consciousness. That outside look at herself faded back into her own body and she didn’t realize until she breathed again that her heart had been beating so rapidly.

Or that she hadn’t addressed her High Lord and Lady.

Or that they’d demanded the crowd go back to dancing and drinking and eating.

Or that all she did was face this male, a look of shocked confusion painting her usually dull expression because somehow, someway, she felt like she knew him.

And that the tug she felt, that line, went utterly taut before him.

🏷️: @thehighladywrites and anyone else that wants to be added to a tag list for this or anything else lmk lmfao

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra #autumn court #night court #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x oc #oc #your honor i love him #me when mating bonds😦#cassian #Azriel #blair archeron

84 notes · View notes

cheeriecherrymain · 8 months

Text

papa!Viktor blurb, anyone?

A/N: slowly, slowly, recovering from the creative drought ive been in

it's nowhere near a waterfall again, more like a frustrating dribble, BUT. It's something. But anyways, here is a Papa Viktor Thought Blurb (listen, my sister is almost three months old now, and I am so besotted with her, she's my favourite tiny person, and i am full of Caretaker Feelings)

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI (not explicit, but very very suggestive), afab!Reader, pregnancy, labour and birth (again, not explicit, but still with some depth), papa!Viktor, no beta no editing we simply die

Imagine Viktor, and him believing he'll be alone for his entire life - working so hard to make some kind of legacy for himself, putting everything he has into his creations and his machines. Every calculation, every experiment a labour of love.

This is how the world will remember his name.

At least, he hopes.

But then he meets you.

You're charming, he has to admit. You make friends wherever you go, and you have a weird habit of bringing people out of their shells. There's just...something about you that makes others want to bare their souls to you. Something that draws people in.

Like you have a tangible sort of gravity, and wherever you go, someone ends up in your orbit.

He won't mean much to you, he thinks, after conversing with you a couple times. You're creative, like he is, and you're enjoyable to talk to. But nothing more. Sooner or later, you'll continue on somewhere else, making waves and drawing attention. And in your wake, he will be left to sink. It's what expects.

Except...

You don't leave.

Your chats start out small. Short and sweet, a How are you today? wondered whenever you pass each other in the halls a couple times a month, curious about the goings-on of his life.

He never has anything interesting to tell you about. No adventures or tales to tell, nothing beyond the walls of a cramped and cluttered office.

You must be bored, he thinks.

But then you start seeking him out. Instead of just catching up for a couple minutes whenever you happen to walk past each other, you hunt him down in his office - and god, he wasn't lying when he'd told you it was cramped.

You're amazed he even has the space to think in there, with how tight it is. Yet you still shimmy yourself into the tiny room, careful not to disturb any piles of papers, and find a careful seat on a spot of open floor beside his desk. There's no room for a second chair, and you've always made it clear that you dislike standing when you're having a long conversation.

It's nice to sit down and rest somewhere together, you'd told him one time.

You grow closer after that. From seeing him a couple times a month, to a couple times a week, to literally every day. You don't seem to care that he never has anything 'exciting' to share with you, even going so far as to chastise him for calling himself uninteresting.

Your experiments are cool, you'd insisted, while leafing through one of his old journals. It's incredible to get to see how your mind works, and how creative and inventive you are. You have so many ideas, Viktor, and I really believe that they could help people.

Something changes in him, after that. He'd always been quieter around you, listening to your stories, and dutifully answering your questions: never quite letting you in.

Now he looks forward to seeing you.

His heart skips a beat every time he hears you knocking on his office door, a chipper little pattern reserved only for him. You know that he doesn't always like dealing with students after hours, so you'd come up with a way to let him know that it was you who was greeting him.

Things progress...surprisingly natural.

He's not subtle by any means, even if he thinks he is. The moment he realizes that he has feelings for you, all bets are off. His cheeks dust pink whenever you're around, his palms get sweaty and he fidgets, and the staring.

Looking at you with ill-contained admiration and affection.

You can't not kiss him.

You spend the next couple years having the time of your lives. Moving from classes and overbearing internships, to actively working on experiments. Collaborating with each other, drawing up ideas and debating functionality and form. The two of you get so heated when you're creating things together.

Neither of you are surprised when it devolves. Wide gestures and hasty chalkboard sketches, impassioned explanations and wild eyes - you bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over him, in all his dishevelled beauty. Hair a mess, tie crooked and loose, shirt partially unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Many nights are spent like that, cooped up in his little laboratory, surrounded by sketches and blueprints and scribbles and stray notes. His fingertips digging into the soft of your skin as he kisses the breath out of you. The rhythmic clunking of his crooked desk most telling, as he draws forth your little squeaks and sighs of delight.

Absolutely ruining you, filling you, stretching you open. Feeling the way you tremble in his hands, held tight to his slender body as he reaches so deep into you that you'll feel him for days.

Sinking his teeth into the side of your neck when he finds his own release - to stay quiet, he tells you. But you both know it's his way of marking you.

Claiming you.

You're his. You're his person, his love, his partner. Your eyes only ever shine the way they do when you look at him.

Your body, splayed out and spread before him, quivering and gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - his.

Your taste, sweet on his tongue - your mouth, your skin, your arousal that drips out of you whenever he so much as looks at you.

His.

And he knows, without a single atom of doubt, that he's also yours. So entirely entangled with each other, neither of you knowing how you'd managed to exist separately before now.

How had you possibly found beauty in every day, when you'd never heard his voice? Never caught a whiff of his sweet shampoo as he ambled past you? Never felt the warmth of his touch, or the puff of his sighs on your cheek? Never known the tickle of his hair on your bare skin as you slowly woke every morning to find him curled around you, his face smashed into your back and soft snores emanating from him?

No matter, you think. You have him now, and that's what's important.

...until everything changes.

You miss a period.

You tell him about it.

You're both on edge, but he tries to remain optimistic. Cycles can be upset sometimes, he tells you, as if you don't already know. (You're certain he's really just trying to reassure himself.)

But deep down, you know.

You can feel it in the all-encompassing tiredness you wake with every morning. In the random bouts of nausea, and the sudden food aversions. The back aches, and all the sudden new smells you can detect.

You know something is amiss.

And he knows, too, when he finds you one time in the middle of the night. Standing in your shared little kitchen, in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the open refrigerator.

Pulling pickles straight out of the jar, dipping them in mayonnaise, and sinking your teeth into them. Like they were to most delectable thing you'd ever ingested.

You're both terrified, of course.

You're not really surprised that you've managed to fall pregnant - not with the way you two lust after each other practically every night, and sometimes in the morning. Maybe even once or twice in between meetings, when you're both squished together in his compact office.

Neither of you ever thought you'd become parents.

And certainly not right now.

But...you want this, you realize. You want this with him. You want a family with him, you want the evidence of your love - you want a future with him, and you want to see what beautiful little person you'll make together.

Would they have his eyes? Yours? He hopes they have your smile, he tells you, eventually.

It takes you by surprise, his words, what with how quiet he'd been since you'd both figured everything out. You'd been worrying that he wasn't really on board with keeping the baby - with being a father. And you hadn't blamed him, really.

You'd been beyond stressed at the idea of raising a child alone. The thought of him leaving you, leaving behind something so intrinsically tied to him, had been slowly breaking your heart. You hadn't wanted him to stay simply out of obligation - you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the eventual resentment that such an action would breed.

But to know for certain now that he'd only been anxious?

That he wanted this with you, and was excited?

You're so happy that you immediately burst into tears, squeaking and sniffling and snotting uncontrollably while Viktor bites back a laugh and herds you into his embrace. Stroking your back and murmuring the sweetest things to you while you try to catch your breath, leaving gentle kisses all over your face.

Telling you all about what kind of person he hoped your little one would be.

Your smile, most certainly, he said, resolute. You have the most beautiful smile. You light up the room wherever you go. Maybe your sense of humour, too. And certainly your compassion.

Your tears slowly began to lessen, as you let yourself be lulled by the comfort of his arms around you.

Your hair, though, you insist, smushing your face into his shirt. You look so pretty in the mornings, all fluffed up and in disarray. It's the cutest shit I've ever seen.

That garners a laugh from him.

I want them to have your eyes, as well, you admit, albeit somewhat shyly. I've never seen a colour like yours, so intense and complex. Way back when we first met, and you looked at me for the very first time? I almost lost the ability to breathe. It was...it was like I knew, right then. That you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.

He squeezes you a little bit tighter, stooping down to tenderly slot your lips together. Slow, lazy, intimate. Sharing breath and warmth and love and-

He takes you again.

Right there, in the dim quiet of his office, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway might hear you. Spoiling you absolutely rotten, speaking praises against your skin as he brings you over the edge again and again and again.

Pupils blown wide as he sinks his fingers into you, crooking them perfectly as to reach the spots he knows will drive you mad. The papers strewn around the room don't matter - they don't even cross his mind, as you wriggle and squirm and quiver and cry out for him.

How could they, when all he can focus on is the way you look when your body tenses up, another wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins, culminating in your lovely little noises, and the addicting feeling of your pleasure dripping down his fingers and over his palm, soaking him thoroughly.

He would be happy to have you like this, as frequently as you would let him.

He knows how sensitive you must be by now, not only from his ministrations, but also from the way your body is changing. He's done his fair amount of reading since discovering your pregnancy - he's aware of all the ways you might be feeling.

The hunger, the exhaustion, the aches and pains.

The all-encompassing, single-minded lust you might go through.

He's ready to please you, however you might want - his fingers, his mouth. And whenever you might want. You could wake him up in the middle of the night, for all he cares. You could nudge him from the sleep that he so desperately needs, and he'd ask not a single question besides What do you need, darling? How would you like me?

What he doesn't expect is his own desire.

You're beautiful. You always have been beautiful. Even as things change, he was absolutely certain that you would never stop being beautiful.

It's you, so of course he's going to want you.

But seeing you now, whining and looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky, specifically for you? Your tummy already growing round with the life that you've made together, visible proof of your love? Desperate whimpers falling past your lips, begging him for more, for him to fill you up again and again and again?

He can't resist you.

Even when he starts to ache, and his arms start shaking, and his throat is raw and dry from breathing hard and calling out for you.

He can't resist you.

You're insatiable.

So is he.

He's a little more careful as the months progress. Manhandling you less, digging his fingers into the soft fat of your hips a little gentler. He's cognizant of how you're most comfortable, watching in awe as you tremble on top of him, grinding down on him and taking his entire length into you like you were made specifically for him.

Nearly every day, you beg for him.

He loves you.

And when the time eventually comes for you to waddle carefully into the labour centre, meeting your midwife along the way, Viktor tries to keep his worrying quiet. Tries to stay by your side as a supportive pillar, regardless of how well or not he might actually be able to hold you up.

Holding your hand, kissing your knuckles. Trading his fingers for a stress ball when you squeeze a little too hard (and then another stress ball, stronger this time, when the first one explodes in your fist after a couple minutes. It shocks both of you, but to his surprise, you start laughing).

He tenderly dabs the sweat off your forehead as the hours go by, keeping your hairs from pasting themselves to your face and neck. Staying nearby as a source of comfort, but not so close that you feel smothered by him - allowing you the space you need to wiggle around as you see fit.

Telling you stories to distract you, listening to your complaints and observations as his words become unable to mask the pain of your contractions. Doing his absolute best to bite back a fond grin as you breathlessly curse him for doing this to you.

I didn't mean it, you tell him, as soon as the words leave your mouth, your eyes wide and tearful with sorrow.

I know, he promises, leaning forward to press his lips to your dewy skin.

You sigh happily.

It's not for another couple hours that your baby finally decides to enter the world.

You're beyond exhausted, and Viktor is starting to get fidgety with his worry. Is it supposed to be taking this long? he wonders internally, keeping his questions to himself so as not to stress you out even more.

The midwives, to their credit, are incredibly skilled. Staying by your side throughout the whole process, carefully monitoring everything they need to in order to make sure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy. He knows that they would say something, if anything was truly wrong.

And when the little one finally arrives, she does so kicking and screaming, making an absolute ruckus in the quiet room. The door is shut tight, keeping the sounds of the busy establishment at bay, and the curtain is drawn for your privacy so no one can see in when the staff come and go.

But when your girl begins shouting her absolute displeasure into the air, Viktor swears he can hear some quiet clapping and cheering from the hallway. He doesn't know if it's for your success, or for something and someone else entirely - but for a moment, he likes to believe that there are some strangers out there who are happy for him.

They don't know his story, and they don't know yours - but they've heard a great cry from somewhere hidden and full of struggle. An all-encompassing wail that confirms the presence of life, shouting to the world I am here, I am alive, and I have absolutely no idea what's going on!

He doesn't know when the tears start trailing down his cheeks.

Perhaps it's when he first lays eyes on your girl, pink and cranky and a little bit squished. Putting up a fuss on your base chest, scrunching her little face up as you speak softly and tenderly to her.

Perhaps it's when one of the midwives hands him a very soft towel, instructing him on how to carefully pat away the blood and fluid still clinging to your child. His eyes growing wide when he oh so gently cleans her off to reveal more of her tiny features.

She's still new, and needs time to decompress (so to speak), but he stares at her with such rapture. Taking in every inch of her, burning her face into his mind so that he might never forget her. Ever.

She's still new, and yet he can already tell that she has your nose. And your lips. Your smile, he realizes, with a palpable joy spreading through his chest.

His tears eventually dry, if only so he's able to better see you and the newest member of your family. Laying kiss after kiss to whatever part of your skin he can reach. Stroking the tips of his fingers over your girl's hair - her tiny arms and shoulders, her chubby cheeks, the bridge of her nose and over her brows.

But some two hours later, when you're finally allowed to rest in your comfortable hospital bed: when your baby is now dry and fed and swaddled up happily in Viktor's arms?

The tears begin again.

Privately, in the dim of the room, while you snooze a couple feet away from him, he weeps. Silently, and without so much as a sniffle. He cannot stop the wetness that rolls down his face, even if he wanted to.

Your girl is finally relaxed, after her grand, dramatic entrance. On the edge of sleep, warm and with a full tummy, making funny little expression while she dozes.

Much to Viktor's delight, she has a head of fuzzy brown hair - dishevelled and sticking in every direction, not matter how the midwives had tried to tame it. It'll settle down in a few days, they'd promised. But he didn't care.

The wild mop on top of her head rivalled the chaos of his own. The same shade of chestnut, though perhaps less coarse in texture. Maybe it will grow to the same thickness eventually, he thinks, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagines how much he's going to have to help her with it as she grows.

Brushing the inevitable tangles out with a soft brush. Pulling the strands back into braids so she can run around and play easier - or maybe little buns on the top of her head, he realizes, the image conjuring up in his mind.

All at once, pictures pop through his head, so vivid and bright that he can almost see them appearing in front of him.

Watching your daughter grow. Sleepless nights of taking care of her, catering to her every whim. Making sure she's fed, and comfortable - entertaining her with silly little toys that make silly little noises, bright colours painted across them. Reading her books with bright, enticing visuals for her to stare at, despite the fact that she doesn't know what words are.

Making trinkets for her as she gets a little older. Things that help her learn, but that also keep her excited and enticed, encouraging her exploration of the world around her. Teaching her to walk, by helping her strengthen her little legs. Sitting on a footstool, a wide smile on his face, as you hold her by her arms and support her as she figures out how to use her legs while upright. Leading her right over into his waiting arms.

Until she's able to balance on her own, after a number of weeks of practising together. Pushing herself up into a wobbly stance, doing her absolute best to try and balance. Maybe she stumbles a couple of times, but she's persistent -stubborn, like he is- and continuously rises back up until she's able to make it over to him on her own. Giggling and wiggling when he scoops her up and praises her and showers he in affection.

Teaching her about anything and everything, the bigger she gets. Answering every question she has, no matter how confusing or senseless - encouraging with his own suggestions, and prompting her to discover some answers for herself. Putting together little experiments for her, so they can learn together and so he can watch her eyes widen with the joy of new information.

Fixing her toys for her whenever they break, as she brings them to him with misty eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Papa, it fell apart, she says sadly. To which he pulls her onto his lap, regardless of what work he was doing, and helps her repair the damage. Letting her watch and observe when she's still too small to hold a screwdriver, and carefully explaining things to her when her motor skills start to develop more.

And then helping her figure out in what way her toy broke, when she's a little bigger. Asking specific questions, so she can work to connect all the dots herself. Helping her gather the materials that she needs in order to fix things herself, and praising her to the high heavens when she presents the finished product to him.

The little thing is slightly lopsided, but he fully believes that it adds to its charm - tells her as such, when she sighs about it not being the same as before.

It's a little uneven, just like me, he says, with a laugh.

And, much to his complete shock, she wraps her little arms around him, and gives him her strongest possible squeeze.

It adds to your charm, she parrots back to him with complete honesty. I like you, Papa.

And once again, for the umpteenth time throughout his daughter's life, his eyes well with tears and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She could go anywhere she wanted, once she grew up. Learn anything, do anything, be anything. Perhaps she'd enjoy the sciences, like he does - machinery, and building, and designing, and inventing. Maybe she'd get into art, and spend her days painting or sketching, or writing, or making music - inspiring other people with the things she makes.

It doesn't matter, though. Because no matter what she ends up enjoying, or where she goes in her life, Viktor will support her with his entirety. Even when she grows all the way up, and inevitably leaves home to begin her own life, whatever that may be.

He knows he's going to cry then, too. So many years together, and yet it will still never be enough.

But for now, he sighs, staring adoringly down at the tiny infant in his arms. For now, they have time. He vows silently to never waste a single moment with her, and never pass up the opportunity to spend time with her. No matter how busy or frustrated or tired he gets, he won't let her grow up feeling unwanted or unloved or unimportant.

He'll give her a better life than he grew up with, and that is both a promise and a threat.

After all, he would do anything, for her.

His greatest creation.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #viktor blurb #viktor reader insert #arcane reader insert #i am slowly rising from the dead whoops

360 notes · View notes

jesterwriting · 6 months

Text

when you have a little sister who you’re raising headcanons

pairing: crocodile x reader & mihawk x reader (separate)

contents: reader has a little sister, mature!reader, though it's vague as to how old they are, mentions of past child neglect, slight language

word count: 2k words

note: this is my first time writing for mihawk i hope i was able to do him justice. ive had this idea for a while, it's one of my absolute fav tropes ever.

playlist: slipping through my fingers by abba

Life was hard when you had a younger sister. It was through no fault of your own, and it certainly wasn’t hers either. The blame rested on neglectful parents who left you both on the wayside. You were much older than her, the first of your parents many mistakes. By the time your sister was born, you were well out of the house and stable enough to get legal custody of her. Your parents were more than happy to sign over their parental rights, neither wanting to be weighed down by another child so late in life — not that they paid much attention to you in the first place. For all intents and purposes, you considered your sister the closest thing to a daughter you could get.

She was yours, and you were hers. It was as simple as that.

While you hated your parents, the same resentment that fogged your logical mind was never present when it came to your sister. She was so young; sweet and kind with a heart of gold. There was no reason for you to blame her for the circumstances of her birth. Besides, you loved her far too much to even bother. You remembered her first toddling steps, her first words — you cried laughing when a loud exclamation of ‘FUCK!’ echoed from her mouth. How much she hated the taste of carrots but would never grow tired of them if they were dipped in ranch. You remembered how lonely you were on her first day of Kindergarten, and how proud of her you were when she came home, touting stories of all the new friends she made.

Every year that passed, she grew more and more into the wonderful person you knew she would be. You couldn’t fathom how your parents weren’t bothered enough to be in your life. Raising your sister was the most fulfilling thing you had ever experienced. Everyday was a gift that she granted you in broad smiles and pudgy hands.

Even then, you couldn’t help but mourn the countless experiences you missed out on. Your childhood was not one you looked back fondly on, with nights alone and afraid, sobbing for a mother who would never come. Those empty days when you would stare at the happy families around you, wondering what was so wrong with you that made it so your parents didn’t love you the way others did. The young adulthood that was supposed to set you free was unceremoniously interrupted by a sweet little girl who looked at you with such innocent eyes, you knew you couldn’t let her carry the same scars you did.

Your sister didn’t know what you gave up to raise her, and a part of you hoped she never did. God forbid she ever thought she ruined your life. You would die before you allowed her to carry that burden.

Dating was hard, but thankfully, not impossible. First and foremost, your sister’s opinion on any prospective partner mattered even more than your own. Despite her age, she had a knack for sussing out people’s true intentions in a single glance. You always went into dating expecting the long term. If you were going to invite someone into your sister’s life, it’d be someone who would give her the stability and kindness that she deserved.

It was hard to find someone who was willing to deal with your particular situation. Every first date, the first thing that left your mouth was that you had a child in your life and the expectations that came with that. Many left after this, though you refused to give up. You deserved companionship, there had to be someone out there for you. Finally, you met someone who didn’t balk at the prospect of your sister, and after several months of dating, you decided it was time to introduce the two most important people in your life to each other.

Sir Crocodile

It was winter when you met him. Crocodile was intimidating, so much so, you found yourself nearly shaking in your boots when you first saw him. It was your first, and decidedly your last, blind date. To say you were surprised when you saw the former warlord sitting at your designated table, waiting for you, of all people, would be an understatement. Crocodile was polite, even cordial to you, pulling out your chair for you and allowing you to indulge for the first time in a very long time. Money was tight these days, though you kept that little tidbit of information to yourself. When you questioned why Crocodile was on a blind date of all things, his expression shifted to one of annoyance, your only reply being a low grumble under his breath. You worried you ruined the date with your silly question, only to be pleasantly surprised when he invited you to meet with him again. And again after that. And again after that. Each date topped the last in terms of extravagance. It wasn’t until on a quiet night, sharing each other’s company, that he confessed he liked you more than he should allow himself. With his thumb against your lips, he swore to never let you go. After that declaration, you decided to put Crocodile to the ultimate test. Meeting your sister.

You invited him to spend Christmas with you. Even if the first introduction didn’t go well, Crocodile was too smitten to allow you to leave him that easily. A silly little girl’s opinion of him would not be his downfall. If he failed once, he would try again and again until he got it right. Crocodile fully intended to woo that little girl with toys and gifts, approaching your humble apartment looking like an evil version of Santa Claus. Considering the expensive items he showered you in, you couldn’t say you were surprised at this turn of events, though you couldn’t help but fondly roll your eyes as you approached the door. For once, Crocodile wasn’t accompanied by the scent of cigars, having snuffed his out on the ride over. You told him, under no circumstances, would you have him smoking around your girl. To be honest, Crocodile did not expect this whole charade to end well. He wasn’t good with kids, and really, he didn’t like them all that much anyway. For you, however, he would try.

Crocodile’s insistence on bringing gifts worked in his favor. The second your sister saw him enter the apartment, presents in his arms, she started to vibrate with excitement. “What are those?” She asked, too polite to automatically assume they were for her, even if she was silently hoping that was the case. When Crocodile set the bags down and invited her to help herself with a wave of his arm and a smile that looked more like a grimace, she squealed, diving into the pile with vigor. Your sister was a little ray of sunshine, with the uncanny ability to worm her way into even the coldest of hearts. She spent most of the day hovering around Crocodile, not the slightest bit intimidated by his stature or his harsh expression. Even his former warlord status had no effect on her, considering she didn’t even know what that meant in the grand scheme of things. You smiled as you watched the larger man allow your sister to use him like a human jungle gym. Though he looked displeased, he couldn’t hide that glimmer of fondness in his eyes. Not from you, at least.

Dracule Mihawk

You met Mihawk in the spring. It was a chance encounter at a local winery. For once, you wanted to take some time for yourself and do a little wine tasting, not expecting to meet the most intense pair of golden eyes you had ever seen in your life. You found yourself frozen in place for a moment before he turned back to his wine, casually swirling the glass it was in. Feeling out of your depth, you hesitantly sat next to him and tried to enjoy yourself despite those eyes boring a hole into the side of your head. With a grin that was more than a bit forced, you said your greetings, and much to your surprise, the man struck up conversation. He introduced himself, and your soul nearly left your body when you realized you were interrupting a warlord of the sea’s wine tasting, though you managed to keep your head enough for your own introduction. Mihawk’s company was pleasant. He was quiet, choosing to listen more than speak himself. Whenever he did grace you with his voice, his knowledge of wine was without comparison. Very quickly, you found yourself smitten with his intelligence, your previous nerves being replaced with something a bit more reminiscent of your school years. Before you could work up the courage to ask if you could see him again, Mihawk beat you to the punch. As if he was asking the weather, Mihawk asked for your contact information. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest when you explained the situation with your sister, worried that whatever connection with this mysterious man would dissipate in an instant. Mihawk merely blinked at you. “If that’s all. I have more than enough experience in dealing with the young.”

The months passed slowly, and as summer came to a close, Mihawk told you it was time for him to head home. If you were so inclined, he would be honored if you and your sister cared to join him. You snickered, admitting you wouldn’t be going anywhere until he passed your final test: meeting your little sister. Mihawk accepted graciously — you noticed that competitive glint in his eye, as he was about to treat introducing himself to your sister as seriously as he treated swordplay. Unlike Crocodile, Mihawk did not sully the special occasion with gifts. He wanted your sister to like him for him, buying her affection felt more akin to cheating than anything else. While Mihawk had little experience with children, he couldn’t imagine it being any different than living with Perona and Zoro for two years, so he was going into the situation with a certain amount of confidence.

Your sister was similar to you. Just like with your first meeting, your sister did most of the talking. First, asking why his eyes were that color, then to tell him all about her friends at school, and finally, how he seemed ‘pretty cool’ but he wasn’t as cool as her favorite teacher. Mihawk took all of this in stride, nodding along to her rambling, even going so far as to offer her a small smile when she showed off her art project she was going to show off for show and tell the following day. Your sister had a knack for art, and you loved her creative mind. The whole time she talked to Mihawk, you couldn’t help the fond expression that crept up on your face, nor could you control the full force of your blush when you realized Mihawk was studying you. He liked that look on you. The love you held for your sister was commendable and he respected your dedication to her. In the end, as much as he would love to have the two of you in his home, Mihawk decided that it would be best for the two of you to remain on your island. Your sister seemed very comfortable with her classmates, and there was little he could offer her in terms of companionship at his dreary castle in the middle of nowhere. You agreed, but before you could mourn the loss of yet another relationship, Mihawk made it known that he would visit the two of you as often as he could. (Spoiler: It was very often) During your sister’s summer vacation, the two of you spent those three months in Mihawk’s home, as happy as can be.

#one piece x reader #crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #sir crocodile x you #dracule mihawk x reader #crocodile x you #mihawk x y/n #dracule mihawk x you #.jesterwrites

360 notes · View notes

malewifeharem · 2 months

Note

OHH HAIIIII!! SORRY THIS SI THE FIRST ASK IVE EVER DONE. CAN YOU DO BEELZEBUB OR DIAVOLO YANDERE ALPHABET LIST THINGY PLEABSE?!1 THABK YOU!!!1 >ᴗ<

~ MGᝰ.ᐟ

yandere!diavolo alphabet

彡- ,, yandere om! diavolo alphabet (template from @dear-yandere eheheheh)

cw ⁞ OMSWD CHAPTER 16 SPOILERS , mentions of babytrapping, violence, abduction, manipulation, just general yandere behaviour??? not proofread.

an ⁞ FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU FOR THE HONOR OF TAKING YOUR FIRST ASK??????????? i've never sent an ask cuz im too nervous even with anon mode on haha :3

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

his love for you is deep, sure, but you have to remember that he's a crown prince — he doesn't have the time to love you as much as he wishes. he tries to compensate for that by showering you with gifts originating from all three realms, all of them being worth more than your house.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

he doesn't get messy, no no. barbatos does! he just needs to say the word and his loyal butler will get it done, no doubt. there are probably dozens of bodies rotting in the dungeons below the castle, but that's not for you to see or worry about.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

i can see his duality switching up very quickly depending on his mood. he could either be gently cooing to you, almost begging for you to not cry. OR he could be really sadistic and cruel, taunting you to no end — reminding you that you are his for the rest of your life — both as a human and as a devil and angel.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

he guilt trips you to noooooo end. what do you mean his gifts are too expensive for you? do you hate him? well, if you don't, you simply must accept them all! he gives you no room for negotiation, how could you anyway? his parents aren't around anymore, don't you feel sorry for him?

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

he doesn't like showing you his vulnerable side. he needs to be strong so you can rely on him, after all! thank god (is god the right word for him???) he's spent decades learning how to maintain his composure.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

he would intimidate you into breaking your resolve. he would transform into his demon form and coerce you with threats like tying you up in the basement. i don't think he'd ever actually do that though — he knows human lives are fragile.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

he takes his relationship with you very seriously. he expects you to rule next to him — he still needs to prepare you for that role, so don't you dare leave.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

although diavolo would never keep you in the castle basement, he will throw you in there for a few minutes just to scare you. he did it once as a last resort after you threw a fit — locking you in one of the clean cells. you were quickly fished out though, he can't risk having you go around and finding the corpses of the people you know.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

he wants you to rule devildom next to him so marriage is a given. having heirs is up to you but he will be very disappointed if you say you don't want any — he may even consider baby trapping you at one point. he probably gives you etiquette lessons too, making sure you know your role in the near future.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

he gets very jealous but doesn't want to admit it to you. he'll find excuses for getting rid of your close friends and family — you've heard some absurd reasons before but you don't dare question him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

very very affectionate. he likes to keep you around him as much as he can. whether or not that means resting in his bedroom, lounging in his office while he works or sitting on his lap on his throne. he's shameless too, he'll initiate pda anywhere and anytime he wants.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

he cant decide if he should properly court you or just claim you as his immediately. he is the prince of hell, how and who are you to say no? he ends up choosing to court you instead but he runs out of patience eventually, and just abducts you with the assistance of barbatos.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

although you'll most likely never see his true colors, he's literally insane. if it weren't for his amazing composure, he'd be lashing out at everyone and everything for even breathing the same air as you. you've noticed him tense up to the point where he's almost shaking from rage. (he's gonna pop and burst like a balloon eheh)

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

if it's a light sentence, he lightly slap your face and remind you to obey. if you've done something horrendous, he'll lock you in his room till you've learnt your lesson. he's sick, while he carries on with his day, he imagines you clawing at the door, begging to be released from your confinement. (i dont think it wld get that far)

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

you're not allowed to go out of the castle grounds. the gardens are still available to you but anywhere outside of the fences is a no no for you. you're not allowed to talk to any staff and angels except barbatos. he and the brothers are for you to use at your disposal, feel free to work them to the bone if that's what you wished.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

you may mistake him for being patient since he's quick to forgive you for your insolence but no. he's not used to not getting what he wants immediately, but he will forgive you easily. (aka he's impatient)

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

death isn't an escape for you, it doesn't matter if you're reborn as an angel or devil in your next life — he will have you either way. screw harmony between the three realms, he'll start another celestial war if it means he can have you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

he doesn't feel guilty at all. he has never been told no before in his royal upbringing and he feels entitled to have you to himself.

"only a fool would let go of a girl like you."

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

his mother passed early in his childhood and he hasn't seen his dad in decades or even centuries. no one around him is comfortable enough to talk to him normally till innocent you arrived in the devildom. you're too precious to him, he wants to know more about you. no, he needs to know — everything about you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

he'll gently coo at you, telling you that everything will be fine as long as you're with him. what could possibly harm you when he's the future king? (you yourself, duh)

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

(skip... if someone cld tell me what a classic yandere is pls do)

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

if you could somehow get in contact with the angels, you could get them to rescue you. although, in doing so, you might just start a war between the two realms.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

physically no, but he likes using fear to instill obedience in you. (read H)

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he quite literally kisses the ground you walk on, going as far as to collect some of your belongings to worship. he wouldn't build a shrine but he does secretly store all of them in a little safe in the corner of his room.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

after the events of the first game. he was really tempted to abduct you after belphegor almost offed you though. (do the calculations yourself ehe)

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

i don't think he would intentionally break you, but he also fails to realize that the fear and paranoia he puts you in is leading you down the same path. (so yes but unintentionally)

77 notes · View notes

transgenderer · 1 year

Text

theres this comparison i read once, from someone talking about the experience of having been poor and suddenly becoming like, solidly middle class (he wrote an article about the daily experience of being poor that did really well and started a mildly successful substack, iirc) is that you dont feel as well off as youd expect you would, money is still kinda tight (less tight, but not un-tight), because theres a lot of like, "hidden necessities", things that are so obviously beneficial if you can afford them but which you simply do without and bear the suffering of lacking if you cant, like yknow, doctors appointments when you need them, nutritious food, not working two jobs, etc

anyway ive had this connection brewing in my mind for a while that a lot of the disconnect and weirdness when comparing modern life to premodern life comes from this kind of effect. like especially with medicine, theres a lot of expensive medical care that is genuinely a significant burden that was in some sense lacking as a burden in the past because like...you just died! or like, ditto with food. etc, i think the concept generalized

not sure how meaningful the connection is, or if im just drawing strings

311 notes · View notes

therealdisneyfan2319 · 1 year

Text

The Spider and The Witch Chapter 1: The Experiment and The Flu

Summary: Peter Parker and Y/N L/N are junior biochem majors at Empire State College. Peter needs a volunteer for his research project, and a series of events leads Y/N to come down with the flu...or does he?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Language, blood, needles, description of medical procedures

Word Count: 3.6K

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“I don’t know how I managed to let you talk me into going to the lab with you this early.” You stretched your arms out as you yawned, keeping your arm just so to keep your coffee upright.

“Dude. It’s 10 am,” Peter chuckled.

“These good looks don’t just happen, man. I need a full nine hours.”

“Maybe if you went to bed before 3 am-” “Now wait a minute. You’re lecturing me about going to bed early when you used to pull all-nighters slinging webs around Queens?”

“Shut up!” He swatted your arm before you had the chance to pull away. “At least I was doing something productive with my life, not playing Pokemon-” “Completing the Pokedex is extremely productive. Now it might not be the same kind of productive as extracting the Spidey mutation from your genome sequence, but categorizing all the Pokemon from the Galar region is an important, time-consuming task.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he rolled down the sidewalk next to you. You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee as you shook your head. This sort of banter was typical of your friendship. Peter was one of your closest friends and easy to joke with, but you also worked well together. It didn’t hurt that you were both biochem majors and had the same sort of scientific mind. Since you met in world civ last fall the two of you had been as thick as thieves. It didn’t matter that he was three years older than you, a grade above you, or that he used to be Spider-Man. Finding out that the guy in the Stark tech wheelchair who loved Led Zeppelin and Star Wars was once the friendly neighborhood superhero was not what you expected when you went over to his dorm to hang out for the first time. Peter was used to people freaking out when they found out and was thrilled when you shrugged it off.

“So what exactly are we doing today?” you asked. You had volunteered to help him out with a research project he was working on. He hadn’t told you much about it, only that it was being funded by Tony Stark and dealt with genome sequencing.

“Nothing too crazy. I need to take samples of your blood. I’ll use those as test subjects against my blood. That’ll be the control sample.” He punched in a sequence on the keypad on the arm of his chair. Tank tracks dropped down from the bottom of the seat as the chair began to climb the stairs to the science building.

“You know how to take blood?” you asked, holding the door open for him as he wheeled into the building.

“Yeah, well…yeah. I mean Sam taught me how to start an IV and drawing blood is the same principle, right? You gotta find the vein.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna die,” you mumbled as you turned down the hall toward the lab Peter worked out of. It was one of the newest labs on campus. Tony Stark had donated a sizable amount of money toward the Empire State College science and research division with the provision that all the money go toward funding better facilities for students. The new building had just opened at the beginning of the semester. Peter was more than excited to have a space stocked with the latest Stark technology to work on his newest endeavor. It was more convenient than trying to head upstate to the Avengers Compound a few times a week.

“I won’t let you bleed out on me, man. Worst comes to worst we’ll just throw some webs on it and send you to New York Pres.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about all of this? Because it’s totally not.” You hated needles. You hated doctors. The thought of someone who was decidedly NOT a medical professional fishing around your elbow for a vein made your stomach flip flop. Maybe a large coffee wasn’t the best idea for breakfast…

The bright fluorescent lights in the lab snapped on as you opened the door. They seemed unnecessary as sunlight flooded the windows that took up the entirety of the easternmost wall. The overhead haze added to the sterile feel of the room: the latest in Stark Technology, ranging from microscopes and test tubes to autoclaves and fabricators, shone brightly against the lights. It was nerd heaven, stuffed to the brim with everything anyone could ever need for any experiment they could dream of. You threw your backpack on a lab table adjacent to where Peter was setting up his laptop. Once you were done helping him out, you figured you’d swing by the library to start cracking on the paper for your art history course.

“So I already took my own samples earlier this week,” he explained. “I’m storing them in the fridge over there. Mind grabbing them for me?” He motioned with his head to the mini fridge that sat next to the sink. You walked over to the fridge, seeing a rack of blood vials sitting on the bottom shelf amongst the Petri dishes of spores and sole can of Coke. “Don’t drop it,” he cautioned as grabbed a ziploc baggie of medical supplies out of his bag.

“Whoop.” You fake tripped, stumbling around and swinging the tray to and fro aimlessly. He shot you a somewhat serious glare. You returned a toothy grin.

“Dude if you drop that-”

“Relax, Pete. I’ve got steady hands.” You placed the tray on the table in front of him with the grace of a swan. “See?” You raised your hands up defensively. “Steady hands. I should be a goddamn surgeon.”

“Ah yes, Dr. Y/N L/N, the surgeon who hates blood.” He dumped the contents onto the table. Out fell some rubber gloves, a rubber tourniquet, needles, tubes, alcohol wipes, and cotton balls. You gulped at the sight of the paraphernalia. “So why don’t you just sit there and roll up your sleeve so we can do this.”

“Are you sure you can’t just, like, prick my finger?” Plopping onto the stool you rolled up the sleeve of flannel.

“Do you want to sit here and fill up these tubes one drop at a time?” Peter asked from the sink. The tray of tubes, empty ones and ones full of his blood, sat next to him as he washed his hands.

“Good point,” you muttered. It felt like you were chewing on the flannel from your shirt.

“Just relax, I did it on myself the other day and I turned out just fine.” There was a slight waver in your friend’s voice as he spoke. Try as he might to hide it, Peter was nervous, too. He snapped on the baby blue gloves. You turned your head away, refusing to look until he was done. “Can you just make a fist for-good okay, yup, I see the vein.” The sudden coolness of the alcohol against your skin made you shiver, but you refused to look. Even as you felt the slight prick of the needle against your skin you kept your eyes firmly shut. “Told you I wouldn’t let you bleed out,” he chuckled, replacing the now full vial with an empty one.

“How many vials do you need?” You strained your neck as you tried to look as far away as you could from the scene unfolding in front of you.

“I don’t know, I did six of my own. That should be enough,” Peter shrugged.

Six vials of blood? Why did you even decide to do this in the first place? You could’ve been back in your dorm in the comfort of your bed, sleeping the morning away, instead of having your blood forcibly removed from your body. Peter definitely owed you big time.

He removed the tube from your arm, handing you a cotton ball to stop the bleeding. “That should be it. Mind putting those back in the fridge for me?”

The second your feet hit the floor your knees wobbled. It was probably psychosomatic, but the sight of all your blood sitting inches outside where it should be made you the slightest bit queasy. “Yeah, no problem.” You shook your head quickly. There was no way you were going to let yourself puke or, even worse, drop the vials and have to do it all over again.

It took all your effort not to look down at the plastic tray in your hands. You concentrated all your effort on staring down the refrigerator. That ultimately meant neglecting your untied shoelace. Before you realized what was happening you found yourself tripping over your feet. While you managed to not lose your balance completely, the sudden jolt sent two of the vials crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you set the tray on the floor. There were shards of glass and blood splattered across the marble tile. You quickly glanced over your shoulder, hoping Peter hadn’t seen your mistake. Much to your relief he was engrossed in his notebook. That bought you some time to quickly clean up the mess. You looked around for a roll of paper towels, spotting the roll next to the sink and tearing off a few sheets. The crimson puddles looked like they’d be easy enough to clean up. Not thinking too much about it, you knelt down and started blotting at the spill. A sudden stab caused you to recoil from the ground in pain. As you examined your hand, you noticed a small scratch on the pad of your thumb.

“You good?” Peter’s voice broke you away from staring at your hand.

“Yeah. Dropped one of the vials and cut myself. I’m good.”

“Was it one of mine or yours?”

“Uhh, mine.” Truth be told you had no idea if it was yours or his. There was no way to know which vial was which. Peter knew. He probably had it marked down in his laptop or something. But you remembered that his vials were facing you when you pulled them out of the fridge. That meant yours were away from you and there was an empty spot there. Yeah, it’s mine. “You need me for anything else?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Peter focused intensely on his laptop, typing away as you finished cleaning up your mess and putting the samples away. “Are we still on for dinner tonight? Ned’s dying to try out that new Thai place on Watts Street.”

“Yeah, shoot me a text. I’m headed to the library for a bit.” You slung your backpack over your shoulder as you headed for the door. “See you.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

******

You spent the rest of the day in the library researching and typing and revising your paper. The minutes ticked by as you lost yourself in the endless barrage of Western paintings you thought looked all too similar. Yet as the day passed you found yourself feeling strange. At first you thought you had been studying too long. The words on your laptop screen seemed fuzzy and you found yourself re-reading the same paragraph on Donatello about a dozen times before anything seemed to click. Then the library seemed to drop ten degrees before abruptly shooting up another twenty. Sweat on the back of your neck ran down your shirt and chilled you as fast as it cooled you off. The lights were suddenly too bright and even the silence was too loud.

Shit, you thought to yourself as your felt heat radiating off your forehead. It was probably the flu. It had been making the rounds through campus for the better part of a month, so you weren’t completely surprised. Closing your laptop and shoving your books in your bag, you texted Peter as you left the library:

Got the flu. You and Ned go without me. I’m gonna go to bed.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t long, but it was a near-impossible task in your ever-worsening condition. Every step felt like you were trudging through molasses. Your legs were as heavy as cement and you prayed you wouldn’t trip because you weren’t sure you’d be able to get up again. Tears clouded your vision. Rubbing your eyes didn’t help. The only thing on your mind was downing half a bottle of Nyquil and passing out as soon as you got back to your room.

Much to your relief you walked into an empty apartment. Peter and Ned must’ve already left for dinner. You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag at the front door. There was no doubt in your mind that this was the flu: you felt like absolute garbage as you shuffled to your bedroom. As you flopped on the bed, clothes and all, your body felt like it was made of lead. Bone-crushing fatigue consumed you as you shivered on top of your bedspread. You prayed that you’d be able to get a little bit of sleep to help dull the pain.

When you woke the following morning, you were surprised to find that you didn’t feel sick at all. In fact, you felt better than you had in a long time. There wasn’t any evidence that you felt so poorly only a few hours ago. You swung your legs around to the side of the bed and stared at the floor as you thought about what you were going to do all day, but when you tried to stand up something was off. As you stretched your arms above your head, you felt something engulf you: it was your blanket. It was stuck to your hands.

Did I spill Nyquil on my hands? you wondered as you tugged at the fuzzy fabric. No, I didn’t take any Nyquil last night.

It took a considerable amount of effort to tear just one of your hands away only for it to stick on the wall as you balanced against it for support. Paint flaked away as you ripped your hand away. At that point you weren’t sure if you were still asleep or not. Squeezing your eyes shut, you reopened them to find flakes of drywall still attached to your fingers. What the hell? You shook your hands, trying to free yourself of the debris, but as you flicked your wrist downward, you heard a loud thwack. The sticky white residue covered Marty McFly’s face on the Back to the Future poster that hung next to your bed. That same white residue balled up on the inside of your wrist. When you tried to pull it off, a long spindly web came with it.

Oh fuck.

The implications of what just happened were huge to say the least. The vial you broke yesterday wasn’t yours: it was Peter’s. His blood contaminated yours when you cut yourself and now you had…spidey powers? It couldn’t be. This all had to be some sort of nightmare. You were just a normal guy trying to make it through college relatively unscathed. Sure, your roommate was an Avenger and that was a little weird, but other than that your experience was pretty normal. You had no interest in having superpowers or saving the world whatsoever.

“Everything okay in there, man?” Peter asked as he rapped on your door. It momentarily snapped you out of your panic.

“Uhh yeah, yeah. I’m good,” you hollered through the door, still looking at the web in your hand.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Just, uhh, knocked my blankets off the bed.” You wiped the web up with a tissue, praying that it wouldn’t stick to your hand, too. It didn’t, much to your relief.

“How are you feeling?” he called as you started taking off your clothes from the day before. A long shower would help you figure out what your next move was.

“Good. Great actually. I feel fine,” you responded, throwing your dirty t-shirt on the ground. “How was dinner?” “It totally sucked, man. You didn’t miss much,” Ned’s voice was faint as he yelled from the kitchen.

“Bummer. I told you that you should’ve done Indian instead.”

“Well hey if you’re feeling better why don’t we go for lunch?” Your stomach grumbled at the thought, but images of getting stuck to the subway pole loomed in your mind. “Yeah, sure,” you responded absentmindedly while kicking your pants off and grabbing a clean pair of sweats off your bed.

Wearing nothing but your boxers, you opened the door fully intending to go straight to the bathroom. The second Peter and Ned saw you their jaws dropped.

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed.

“Wha-?”

“Woah! Y/N, when did you get ripped?” Ned asked. You were thoroughly confused. None of your hobbies included going to the gym or working out. What were they talking about? The lights came on in the bathroom and as your eyes adjusted to the brightness you were shocked. It was like someone took a chisel to your body overnight. There were muscles in places you didn't know there could be muscles. The reflection in the mirror showed you defined pecs, swollen biceps, and the faintest outline of a six pack.

“What the hell?” you mumbled in disbelief. Your fingers traced over your chest, taking in the new body you’d inadvertently fallen into. It was a surreal experience seeing an unfamiliar body in the mirror. It was almost like you were watching someone else live your life while you watched from outside yourself.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” Peter asked as he wheeled himself in front of the bathroom door.

“Yeah. I’ve just got spidey powers now.” It didn’t even feel like you were the one saying those words. Haze clouded your periphery, forcing you to focus on the newness of your body. It was an out-of-body experience in every way. There was no way to really process the profundity of the situation.

“You WHAT?”

Time stopped. Everything stopped. Peter’s face contorted with dozens of emotions in the blink of an eye. Glass shattered on the kitchen floor as Ned’s glass slipped out of his hand.

“Umm, yeah I guess. I’m starting to think that was your blood that I cleaned up yesterday.” You half expected Peter to be furious at the truth, but the beaming grin on his face told you otherwise.

“It worked! Holy shit it WORKED!” He spun his chair around excitedly, whooping all the while. “Mr. Stark, oh man, he’s gonna be so excited! He’ll want to meet you. Man, now he doesn’t even need to look for someone to be the next Spider-Man because…oh this is great, I can teach you everything! That way you’ll be WAY ahead of where he thinks you should be and he’ll let you onto the team fas-”

“The next Spider-Man?”

“I mean yeah, Mr. Stark will definitely want to talk to you about it,” Peter replied.

“Dude, I’d kill to be Spider-Man!” Ned added, sweeping up what remained of his glass.

“No way, absolutely not,” you groused as you stormed out of the bathroom. “No offense, Pete, but I don’t want to be an Avenger.”

“You don’t have to make a decision now. I don’t even know if he’ll ask. I mean he probably will but that doesn’t mean anything. He might just want you to come in to do, like, more testing or something.” Peter gingerly walked back his excitement. The prospect of training the next Spider-Man brought a sense of optimism back into his life that had long been forgotten. Losing his identity as the local neighborhood web slinger stripped away a core part of his identity: Peter Parker and Spider-Man were one in the same. Sure, he still used his powers and webs when he could, but it wasn’t the same. Tony had offered to make him an exosuit after the accident, but he knew that he couldn’t do it anymore. One close brush with death was more than enough for him.

“Look,” you sighed, “I’m not you. I don’t want to go out and swing through Manhattan and stop burglars or fight weird lizard things. I just want to be a normal guy doing normal guy things with my normal guy friends if I can even call the two of you normal.” Peter chuckled half-heartedly.

“Wait, can you stick to the ceiling?” Ned suddenly asked. You sighed again, shaking your head as you extended your arm up and jumped: you stuck. “Woah! That’s sweet!”

“Yeah, it is kinda cool I guess,” you chuckled as you watched your fingertips completely suspend your dead weight from the ceiling. Getting used to your new body was a curious sensation. Everything felt sharper. Colors were brighter and bolder. You saw incredibly small movements even from the corners of your eye. Your body felt stronger and faster and more agile. It was strange, spending your entire life as a regular human being and then waking up one day twenty years later with these weird spidery feelings tingling inside you.

“Do you want one of my web shooters?” Peter asked as you dropped down.

“Web shooters?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied questioningly as he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can actually make webs, do you?”

You responded by mimicking the hand gesture Peter frequently showed you, flicking your wrist downward as a raveled strand of webs flew out of your wrist. Peter ducked his head out of the way in the knick of time while Ned’s jaw dropped in amazement.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

226 notes · View notes

liloinkoink · 6 months

Text

a year ago today, i sent @unexpectedly-haunted an idea i had for a renchanting au based around Ren as a god and Martyn as his follower. we spent quite a while tossing around a concept for the au in which i laid out an idea i'd had and he helped me flesh it out

the next day, Haunted came back to me with a design for Martyn in the AU, and i, unwilling to be undone, sat down and wrote a 500ish word oneshot, 20 Questions. i didn't really expect it to go further than that--i didnt even intend to write for it again!--but you guys greatly surprised me

the immediate support i got for my silly little drabble in the form of kind words, excitement from friends, asks and interest from followers, and even art from strangers motivated me to keep working at the AU. i dont think ive ever received so much love, support, enthusiasm, or kindness on anything else i've written in my life. i truly dont know how to thank the lot of you enough, nor do i know how to express how much all the love this fic has received means to me

what i can say is that Lamplight is now 45k words and counting, writing it and seeing how much you guys enjoy it has been an absolute blast, and continuing after those initial 500 words is one of the best decisions i could have made. ive made a lot of really good friends, met a lot of really cool people, and had a lot of really amazing experiences because of this fic, and i couldnt appreciate it more

to celebrate and show how far this idea has come... i'll put a cut, but if you want a few more screenshots of our initial planning convo, i've thrown them in (up until the point you hit plot spoilers). quite a few things have changed or been abandoned, but there are also pieces that have stayed completely the same (martyn's paladin oath from torchlight, for example, is almost verbatim the same as the oath i made up for him day one)

first, tho: thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying lamplight!!! and

#says words #lamplight au #i guess you could also argue the birthday is 11/7 bc thats the day it was posted but whatever #anyway im gonna be annoying abt this all day #nov 6 national holiday for all the other tumblr reasons but also ITS MY SONS BIRTHDAY

84 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 3 months

Text

The ties that bind

Pairing-Dave York x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Series summary- Dave is a private investigator who tracks down soulmates. He’s tasked to find Frankie’s, but what happens when he finds you and wants you all to himself?

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, angst,fluff,(m) masturbation,talks of loss of a parent and spouse, kissing,lots of music references, PTSD,slow burn

WK-7.9k

A/N- If I knew what was going to happen with Dave and Frankie I’d tell you but I don’t yet. Santi and Alicia (that’s all I’m going to say). Reader has some tough decisions to make.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter IV

You were starting to worry that Dave hadn’t contacted you since your lunch date. He didn’t really owe you anything. As much work as you’ve done on yourself you can’t quell those thoughts that run wild. What had you done wrong? He seemed genuinely interested in you, but maybe you were reading too much into things.

Your shirt clings to your sweaty skin, another unbearable hot and humid Florida day. The only difference is the store ac went out again and the repair man won’t be able to come in for a few days.

Your current predicament is the only distraction from your own mind threatening to drive you crazy.

You contemplate closing the store for the day as you stare up at the poor excuse for a ceiling fan. Slowly whirling the warm tepid air amongst the room. The sound of the soft crackle of the speaker can be heard signaling the record is done but the back of the store might as well be a mile away.

Your phone buzzes and you glance down seeing Dave’s name on the Lock Screen. Part of you wants to ignore it but you told yourself you would work on not getting upset over trivial things.

“Hello.”

“Hi hummingbird.” He sounds a little distressed and you prepare yourself for the let down. “I’m sorry I haven’t called…or texted.”

“Mmm.”

“There was an emergency and I had to go home. I know that’s no excuse but I want you to know that I’m sorry and I’d like to see you again when I get back.” It’s all rushed out like he’s out of breath but he sounds sincere.

You were honestly expecting him to ignore you and the apology is something foreign to you. Taking accountability is admirable….but.

“Did Mrs. Dave need you home with the kids?” You hate the bitterness in your tone but the heat and your emotions are running high.

He sighs deep on the other end. “I know you have no reason to believe me. I’m not married and there’s no one waiting for me at home.” As much as it hurts to say out loud it’s the truth. “My last name is York by the way.”

“I’m sorry.” You let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t mean to be so crass. I really like you and that scares me because I know next to nothing about you.”

“If you give me a chance I promise I’ll tell you everything.” You can sense the desperation in his voice. “I actually have something planned for you if you’d like to spend some time with me tomorrow night?”

It’s sweet that he’s already thought of you. You really want to see him again and you know Alicia will be busy with Santiago anyway. You hope what you’re feeling are the good kind of butterflies at the prospect of spending more time with him.

“Okay…I like surprises.” Your voice perks up a little at the end.

“Great, I’ll meet you at the store at 7. It’s not a far walk from there.”

You’re curious and excited as to where you’re going. You find yourself nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wait for one of you to hang up.

“I’m gonna hang up first so we don’t end up doing the thing.” You hear him chuckle on the other end with a faint ‘bye hummingbird’ before you end the call.

****

Frankie has had a day to calm down and clear his head. He decided against Santiago being his lookout for Dave. He wanted to have this experience all on his own without the threat of an altercation or further involving Santi who is now majorly distracted.

Santi and his connections called in an anonymous tip about Dave’s house being compromised which will surely put him out of commission for a few days.

Plenty of time for Frankie to swoop in and have you forget all about Dave.

It’s really so simple…he just needs to tell you who he is, how he met Dave and leave the ball in your court. Things aren’t ever really that simple.

It stings a little as he exits route forty one and sees the ‘Welcome to Naples’ sign. You were right under his nose but you might as well have been on the other side of the world. What were the odds that he’d ever find himself here let alone walking into the place you worked. One in a million he thinks.

He cranks up the ac in his Jeep as if that’s going to quell the heat trying to penetrate his skin through the windows. He probably should’ve done his hair instead of wearing his hat but now his sweat soaked curls are trapped underneath.

He subconsciously brushes his thumb along the roses where his ring used to be as he sits on the street where you work. His fingers tapping some song that’s been stuck in his head against the steering wheel as he practices what he’s going to say to you.

Fuck it just go

The sun beats down on him as he slams the door to his Jeep and crosses the cobblestone street. He takes a few deep breaths not quite the way his therapist instructed but close enough as the window with the plants comes into view.

He had a plan to peruse the store if you were busy with other customers. He had a general outline of how he would approach you if you were alone in the store. He was however not prepared for the sight of you standing at the window as you flipped the closed sign.

****

You can’t take this anymore, it’s too hot and no one has come in for hours. Your boss can shove it for all you care. He can’t even be bothered to check in once a month. Closing up shop and going to the beach with Alicia sounds like a much better way to spend your afternoon.

You peel yourself off the chair at the front desk and grab your purse. As you flip the closed sign on the window you lock eyes with a rather handsome and distressed looking man.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost as he scrubs his hand behind his neck nervously. You’re not sure when the record store became a beacon for hot middle aged men but today was certainly not the day to entertain anymore. You hastily fix your hair and smooth out your shirt, while trying to put on your brightest smile.

“I’m sorry, we’re closing early. The ac is on the fritz and I just can’t sit here anymore.” You’re not sure he heard you as you wait for him to respond. “If you…want to come back tomorrow I can set something aside for you?”

“You’re so beautiful.” He says like he’s in awe as you give him an inquisitive look.

“I think we have that one,it’s just not available as a single. You’d have to buy the album.” He laughs as he realizes what he’s just said out loud.

“I ugh…sorry. I meant…never mind.” Fuck he’s totally bombing this. “You know I can take a look at it if you want. I’m pretty good with my hands.” That sounds worse than he intended but he can’t stop the words before they leave his mouth.

You glance over your shoulder at the empty store as you bite your lip.

He seems to notice your apprehension. “I’m not a creep or anything.” He takes off his hat running his fingers through his gorgeous curls.

“Hmmm, that sounds like something a creep would say.” You grin at him and lean back against the door signaling for him to come in. “I would appreciate it honestly, I have no idea when they’ll be able to come take a look. Then I’ll have to wait for approval to have it fixed and it’s just a whole thing.” You stop your incessant rambling when you see him taking in the surroundings.

His hands are on his hips as he stares at the posters on the wall. He’s broad and his shirt stretches taught along his back. He rolls his shoulders and turns to see you still standing in the doorway gawking.

Now who’s being a creep

You clear your throat and fix your face to a neutral expression as you gesture for him to follow you toward the back.

Goosebumps trail along your arms as you walk in front of him, it’s assuredly not cold enough to cause such a sensation. His cologne and sweat is flooding your senses… perhaps you’re ovulating or something similar to desperation.

“You’re gonna have to talk handyman, I can’t stand the silence.” You tease as you peer at him over your shoulder. “Or maybe I can put some music on. What’s your preference?”

He tries not to focus on the way your hips sway when you walk and of course any music he’s ever listened to has left his brain entirely.

“Queen.” He blurts out and you laugh. It’s so disarming he relaxes his shoulders a bit. The letters of the cities are hard to make out on the back of your shirt but he can tell it’s Queen from the design.

“You cheated handyman.” Your voice drops to a flirtatious tone that he can’t ignore. You lift the dust cover and place a gently used record into a sleeve of The Essential Mozart.

He leans on the table next to you, so close his breath ghosts over your neck. “So you're a classical gal.”

You snort as you raise your eyebrows. “No one’s ever called me a gal. And yes I enjoy the occasional Mozart, Debussy, Bach—.”

“Okay now you’re just showing off.” You notice the dimple in his cheek when he says it and the way his arms look as he fold them across his chest.

“I’ve gotta put this useless music degree to some use.” You absentmindedly thrum through the records on the display until you find the one you want. “ aha…Queens greatest hits.”

He scoffs as he takes it from your hands. “I would hardly say it’s useless by the collection in your store.” He flips it over and gives you a questionable look. “And I would hardly call these the greatest hits.”

You snatch it back as you narrow your eyes. “Not my store. Although I’ve dreamt of running my own.”

Noted

A momentary glossy expression crosses your face as you carefully place it on the cloth. He watches as you delicately handle each piece like you’re plating a five star meal. You gingerly place the stylus on the edge as he hears the familiar sound of record buzzing just before the music starts.

Is this the real life?

Is it just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide no escape from reality

You turn to him, arms crossed mirroring his stance as you lean into the table. A bead of sweat glides down your neck as he follows it to the v in your top before his eyes meet you again.

Open your eyes

Look up to the skies and see

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, I stand corrected. But you have to admit there’s a few questionable picks here.”

You brush past him and he gets a whiff of something strawberry, maybe your shampoo. “I’ll admit it when you fix my ac handyman.” You wink and he’s no longer disguising that he’s checking you out because you’ve been shamelessly checking him out since he stepped foot inside.

He follows you into a small stock room, mostly empty boxes and a shelving rack with old paint and a few picture frames. He can see the old unit in the corner as you bend over to open the side panel. Fuck. You’re making it very hard for him to keep his mind in an appropriate place as you stand and wipe your hands along the back of your jeans.

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’m looking at. I’ll get out of your way.” It’s too small in here as you awkwardly maneuver past him and he brushes against you murmuring apologies as you hold your breath.

He somehow already found a flashlight amongst the odds and ends on the shelf as he crouches down to take a look inside. You watch the way his shirt lifts up slightly revealing a small sliver of skin on his back.

“Now who’s being quiet.” His muffled voice comes from inside the unit.

“I just didn’t want to be a distraction while you’re working.” You hear an uncomfortable grunt as he sits back on his heels. He smirks at your stance as you lean casually on the wall with a perfect view of his ass.

“Mhm I’m sure…” He turns his hat around and it somehow gets impossibly hotter. “Listen, you can distract me all you want if you happen to have a screwdriver?”

You chew on your lip as you think and then start rummaging through the shelves when you find one amongst an abandoned project.

“Will this work?” You hand him a flat head and he looks particularly pleased as he takes it from you.

“This is somehow exactly what I need.” He resumes his work and you wince as you hear some questionable noises coming from within. “There’s just some ice build up on the evaporator coils.” His voice raises a little so you can hear him over the sounds of ice chipping from metal.

“Whatever you say handyman.” You pull out your phone to check the latest text from Alicia. You’ve been giving her subtle updates just in case he decided to turn into a weirdo.

“Francisco.” He says as your finger hovers over the send button of your last text. You watch him rise and lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

You’re staring at the way his soft belly dips into the front of his jeans. You wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers along the seam of his boxers.

“Breaker?” The corners of his lip curl up into a smile as he catches you mid thought. “I need to see if this worked.”

“Sure ya…right over here.” You stammer out as you point him to the small box on the wall.

He flips a few switches and the sound you make when the air comes out of the vents is bordering on sinful.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You’re ecstatic and he’s got that satisfied look on his face with just a tinge of pride.

It’s a flicker of a moment as he hands the screwdriver back to you. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest when you see it.

Distinctly your hummingbird tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. There’s no way he can’t know. Things were too easy with him, it’s almost laughable that it feels just like they said it would.

You turn to leave and stumble searching for the door handle, he pulls you back just as you're about to faceplant. “Slow down there. I can’t fix you if you break.” His voice in your ear and his hands on your waist…it’s all too much.

“Sorry I’m a little clumsy at times.” You grip the handle with an unsteady hand as you step out into the hallway. “There is a bathroom at the end of the hall if you need to wash up.” He offers a polite thanks as he takes in the concerned look on your face.

****

He stares at his reflection in the small bathroom mirror wondering where he went wrong. Everything was going so well. It was almost too easy. Maybe he was coming on too strong. He takes off his hat and splashes some water on his face. He’s looked better, but he’s definitely looked worse.

Get it together Morales

He sees you when he returns seated in the lounge chair. The music has stopped and your foot is nervously tapping on the floor as you finish texting and place your phone face down on the table.

Your face is expressionless as you look up at him. “Have a seat please.”

He’s trying to think of something to say but he’s lost for words.

You cautiously grab his hand as he sits in the chair next to you. “Can I see?” He nods and holds his breath as you turn his arm over. Goosebumps raise on his skin as your soft hands trace the patterns of the wings on his forearm. Your breathing hitches as a small jolt of electricity runs through his veins.

He notices the roses on your ring finger. Roses meant for someone else, yet they look so perfect on you. Like they were destined to be yours.

“Why roses?” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clears his throat and shifts in the chair. “They were my ex-wife's idea. I didn’t dislike them.” He sees your shoulders drop a little at the confession.

“Why a hummingbird?”

He sees you smile then, while he waits for your answer. “My mom…she always said I had endless amounts of energy.” You tilt your head and point to his other arm. “What’s with the hawk?”

He tenses a little and his fingers flex in your hand. “Sorry, if this is too much.”

“Don’t be.” He quickly interjects “I’ve wanted to know for so long…everything about you.”

“I don’t even know who you are.” You try to keep your voice steady as he stares at you with those deep brown eyes. “You don’t even know my name.”

You tell him then…he has to pretend it’s a name he hasn’t heard before.

How does he even begin to tell you? Telling you about Dave would ruin everything.

You stand from the chair before he has a chance to start. “Do you maybe want to talk about this over some drinks? I owe you at least for fixing the ac.”

He relaxes at that as the air of flirtatiousness returns to the room. “If you think I’m letting you pay you are sadly mistaken.”

In the few brief seconds you had to yourself, Alicia practically screamed at you to go for it. Her tone let on that she may know more than you think but you shelved that for the moment and decided to be spontaneous.

You hold your hand out. “Let's go handyman.”

He snickers under his breath. “How long are you going to keep calling me that?”

Your hand in his feels right as it should, when you lead him to the front of the store. Dropping it briefly to grab your purse and keys to lock up.

“I doubt Francisco is your real name, so we’ll see.”

****

After the initial shock wore off of learning that Santiago was the one who tipped him off to you, you settled into the idea of how nervous he must have been to approach you.

You’ve got a crash course over the last hour in Francisco Morales. He prefers Frankie and you think that suits him better. He was a helicopter pilot in the military but now he flies commercially. His apprehension when you first mentioned the Blackhawk tattoo was something he wasn’t sure he was ready to address with you.

The way you listened so intently to his story of how proud he was when he first joined, he left out some of the more gruesome details of his time in the service. When he retired he wanted to commemorate it somehow and you were the one that ultimately helped him with his decision.

Your hummingbird was your first tattoo, your mom actually let you get it when you were seventeen. It was one of the last things you did with her before she passed. Frankie wanted to match. The guys gave him shit for it but seeing the way your eyes lit up when he told you made it all worth it. The whole ‘birds of a feather’ sealed the deal.

This isn’t quite how Frankie thought he would be spending his afternoon. He followed you out the store as you confidently led him to one of your favorite spots along the beach. A small bungalow bar overlooking the shore. Despite you having told him you weren’t from here, you seem to be a regular. The older red haired waitress Trudy gestures to your usual spot that's open and sends a wink your way.

You ran through all of the stereotypical questions, favorite color, favorite movie, favorite food. Hobbies, dreams and aspirations. He didn’t laugh when you mentioned you were afraid of the dark. You didn’t laugh when he said he was afraid of the rain.

You talked about your dream of owning your own music store, getting to curate things to your liking. Much like you did at your current job…but it didn’t belong to you.

Frankie didn’t necessarily give off rich guy vibes but he let on that money was no longer an issue. He recently became part owner of the company he currently flies for.

It’s so easy, like long lost friends catching up. The way you listen so intently as you rest your head on your hand. He catches you often looking out into the water like you’re waiting for something.

Maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time or perhaps he wants all his cards on the table in case you determine that his baggage is too much. You don’t really think it’s baggage when he tells you that he’s in recovery and his ex wife left him for her soulmate. He’s been putting in the work to better himself, and if she hadn’t left you would’ve never met him.

In between the plate of shared nachos and beers the conversation shifts to you. You decide since he’s shared such intimate details about his life that it’s only fair you return the favor. You tell him about your mom…the reason you believed in soulmates in the first place. Your mom and dad, highschool sweethearts. Somehow destined to spend the rest of their lives together. When she got sick it all happened so fast, too fast for you to come to terms with the fact that your dad had already moved on.

The idea of soulmates left a sour taste in your mouth after you moved out of your dad and step moms home to go to college. It’s why you think you were so inclined to not find yours. People fell in love everyday and lived happily ever after without theirs.

You and Frankie’s stories are so similar in some ways.

You signal for the bartender to bring you another round before you tell the rest of your story. A comfortable buzz runs through your veins as your foot brushes the inside of his calf under the table.

You gasp as he grabs your ankle and places it in his lap. “Ticklish?” You shake your head as he raises an eyebrow at you. His fingers trace the gun tattoo and your body betrays you as you nearly kick him in his stomach. “The jury's out, maybe I should keep testing.”

“No please.” You giggle and his hands travel further but stop just before the crook of your knee before he gently sets it back down.

“So…what kind of gun is that?” You ask cautiously as you tilt your leg to the side.

He sighs deep. “It’s an M sixteen…it was a dare.” He hangs his head a little, knowing how that must look on someone like you.

“Oh right of course.” You say sarcastically as Trudy drops your drinks off at the table.

“Can I get you two lovebirds anything else?” She clicks her pen to the pad as you both lock eyes and burst into laughter.

“No Trudy, we're fine, thanks.” She sends you a mischievous smile as she tends to the other patrons.

His eyes widen as you take a rather large sip of your drink. He can tell you have something to say so he waits patiently as he takes you all in. The way you squint your eyes when you’re thinking, the way you tap your foot when you're nervous. How bright your smile is and how everyone you seem to cross paths with has a special connection with you. It’s why he’s not prepared when you tell him about your ex.

“The gun was the last straw.” You trace the lines of condensation on your glass. “He couldn’t take anymore reminders that I wasn’t his.”

“You don’t belong to anyone.” His voice is stern as he takes your hand. “I would say sorry but…it’s his loss.” He gently presses his lips to your fingers and you have to fight to keep yourself calm.

“Ya…hers too.”

You squeeze his hand as you take in a sharp breath. He sees it then, the thing you were waiting for. As the sun sets through the palm trees and the yellow bleeds into red and orange. It’s a task not to watch you instead of the aquamarine water and the gentle waves kissing the shore.

Something so simple, that so many people take for granted and he thinks this may be the most perfect day he’s ever had.

Without second guessing himself he leans in close. “It feels wrong if I don’t kiss you right now.”

Your face is mere inches from his and you’d be a fool not to admit that you wanted to kiss him in the stock room earlier. “What are you waiting for?”

His lips are soft against yours, it’s like he’s breathing you in with each passing second. Your hand plays with the curls at the nape of his neck as he cradles your jaw. You don’t care if anyone’s watching right now because you’ve dreamt of this moment a thousand times. It’s electric, sending a shiver down your spine and he groans as you pull away biting his bottom lip.

Your forehead rests against his as you catch your breath. “I didn’t want to give anyone a free show.”

He chuckles and pecks your lips one last time. “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”

****

The walk home felt like you were floating. His hand in yours as he tugged you close. Stealing kisses whenever he could. The heat of the day was long forgotten as the gentle breeze rolled in with nightfall. It scared you a little how fast you fell into this domestic bliss with someone you just met. But isn’t that how it’s supposed to feel? Isn’t that why people are made for each other?

As you approached your apartment you could see from below the light was on, no doubt Alicia waiting up for you to hear all about Frankie.

“Well this is me.” You point up to the loft as you await the dreaded conversation that you’ve been wanting to avoid all afternoon.

He can sense your shift in mood as you rock back and forth on your feet.

“Frankie I…really want to see you again. I want to see where this goes.” You sigh as you look down at the pavement.

He grabs your hands in his as he steps into your space. “But?”

“But I met someone recently. I’m supposed to see him tomorrow.” You shrug as you look up at him. “I’m not the type of person to just abandon something, it’s not in my nature to be that cruel. I want to at least see it through, even if that means I’m letting him down easy.” His face is unreadable as you wait for his response.

He swallows thick trying not to let on that his blood is boiling. He can’t tell you who Dave is, he’s too far gone.

His hands drift from yours as they travel up your arms, your heart rate picks up and your eyes are wide with desire. His large hand cradles your face as he caresses your jaw. “Like I said…you don’t belong to anyone. You’re free to do what you want, all I ask is that you give me a chance. Do you think you can do that?” The way he asks you and the look in his eyes you would say yes to anything.

You nod your head in his hand as he licks his bottom lip, still tasting your chapstick from earlier. “I wouldn’t mind something to think about on my date.”

His eye twitches slightly at the word but he quickly recovers. “I was hoping you’d ask.” His lips meet yours again and the way your body fits against his is almost too much. Your hands grasp at the back of his shirt as he consumes you. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as you feel the obvious bulge in his pants, a little overwhelmed at how quickly he’s got you falling to pieces.

“Get a room!” He inhales sharply as you laugh against his lips. Your laugh grows at his obvious confusion because of course you recognize the voice of your best friend.

“Ignore her please.” You half whisper as you kiss the small patch on his cheek where the hair is missing. “I don’t know how Santiago is gonna handle all that.” You gesture up towards the open window.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll find a way.” He pulls you into one last hug and reluctantly steps away. You have to distance yourself from him or you just might invite him up right now. “Don’t have too much fun tomorrow.” He says it in a teasing tone as he walks backwards, not wanting to tear his eyes from you.

“I’ll try.” You wave at him as you hear Alicia buzz you up to your apartment.

****

“How.could.you.keep.that.from.me.” You mercilessly hit your friend with a pillow as your crowd over her on her bed.

She laughs as she blocks your futile attempts at causing any permanent damage. “Once he told me it was too late to let you know.” She tilts her head feigning innocence. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sure.” You huff as you roll over laying next to her. “I’m so fucked.”

“Not yet.” She laughs and dodges your last blow with the pillow. “I’m just kidding. I’m glad we can finally go on some double dates…maybe tomorrow?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you playfully.

You sit up against her headboard as you tuck your legs beneath you suddenly feeling a little ashamed. “Well…I’m actually going out with Dave tomorrow. I told Frankie and he seemed to be okay with it.Now saying it out loud it sounds a little ridiculous and to be honest with you, I have no idea what I’m doing.” You facepalm as you throw your head back ending your rant.

She sits up next to you and gently pulls your hands down, giving you that look that only you know a friend would give. She knows your mind is running a million scenarios of what you should be doing and how you should be acting. Trying to be ten steps ahead of every situation so you don’t find yourself in the one that landed you here.

“Listen to me.” She rubs your hands softly grounding you. “You don’t have to figure it all out yet, you’re just going on a few dates. As long as you’re upfront with your intentions with them, and they agree, what more could they ask for?” She sees you staring off into space not quite grasping her words. “Babe, you just met Frankie.”

“Ya and I let him stick his tongue down my throat. In public. Twice.”

“No one said you can’t have a little fun. And just so you know, I’m very jealous and very happy for you.” She nudges you slightly as you sink back under the covers. She rolls over to her bedside table and turns off the light. “I take it you’re sleeping here again.”

“Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine.” You whine as she laughs and gets under the covers.

It’s quiet for a moment as you think over everything you learned about Frankie. How fiercely he loved his friends. How passionate he was about his work. How he loved so deeply despite being hurt. How easily he opened up to you and how comfortable he made you feel. You trusted him with things you hadn’t told anyone but Alicia after just a few hours of knowing him. You also can’t stop thinking about his lips, and they felt against yours. How you fit perfectly in his hold like you were meant to be there.

The phone on her nightstand buzzes illuminating the dark room. She laughs as she stares at the text and sends a quick message back. You’re trying not to eavesdrop as you move your head on the pillow trying to make out some words.

“Santi says hi.” She says as she turns toward you with a smirk on her face.

“Oh…he’s Santi now? Well tell him I said hi.” You reply half in a whisper.

She clears her throat. “He also said you might need Frankie’s number if you want to see him again.”

You groan as you roll over realizing both of you forgot to exchange information in your haze of the whirlwind afternoon.

****

“How do I look Fish?” Santi holds his arms out with a stupid grin on his face.

“Like an asshole.” Frankie grumbles on the couch with his arms crossed in defiance.

“Look hermano it’s not my fault you didn’t tell her.” Santi grabs his keys from the table and Frankie looks on at him wide eyed.

“How is this not your fault? What was I supposed to say!” He stands and Santi holds his hands up trying to calm his friend. “Oh hi…I’m your soulmate. I hired someone to find you for me. They did, and now you’re sort of daring them.” He rips his hat off aggressively, running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”

Santi regards him cautiously. “Sorry Fish, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Frankie sighs heavily through his nose as he plops back down. “I know Pope…I'm sorry. You like fine by the way, I hope you have a nice time.” He grits out the last part.

Santi punches him lightly in the shoulder “I know that was hard for you to say so I appreciate it. Plus you said so yourself she really likes you. Don’t think about it too much.”

****

Easy for him to say. He was about to go on a date and Frankie was gonna sit here and try not to stew.

You’ve consumed his thoughts over the last twenty four hours. He knew meeting you would be overwhelming but he did not anticipate falling head over heels, rom com, quintessential love at first sight, completely crazy for you. The thought of Dave being anywhere near the parts of you he wanted to explore made his blood boil. His mind ran wild last night with the scent of you still on his clothes. The way your body felt pressed against his, the way you said his name Francisco like some forbidden secret.

His hot shower ran cold as he stroked himself to thoughts of you. Imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. The way your breast would feel on his bare chest as grind down on him. The soft moan that escapes you when he bit down on your lip and how you would sound if you didn’t have to be so quiet.

You awoke something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He can’t think about it anymore sitting alone on Pope's couch half hard. He needs to go home and hope sleep comes easy tonight so he doesn’t have to think about the prospect of losing you before he’s even had a chance.

****

The last two hours have been chaotic to say the least. You both needed to get ready at the same time so of course the hot water ran out. Alicia blew a fuse in her bathroom trying to blow dry her hair so now she was in yours while you sat on the floor in her room in front of her floor length mirror doing your makeup.

Judging by the pile of clothes on her bed you don’t think she was planning on bringing Santi back to the apartment. Perhaps she wasn’t planning on returning either as you notice a small overnight bag placed next to her door.

She rushes into her room and grabs the bag before placing a kiss to the top of your head. “I gotta go hon, he said he’s coming up but I don’t want him to think I’m messy.” She wildly gestures to the state of her room as you meet her eyes in the mirror.

“He’s gonna have to figure it out at some point.” You state dryly as you finish your mascara.

“Not tonight though.” She fixes herself once more before addressing you. “Please try and have fun tonight. Call me if you need anything, you know I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“I got it Alicia.” You laugh as you wave her off.

“Oh and don’t wait up.” She yells out over her shoulder before slamming the front door.

You breathe a sigh of relief that you’ll at least have a few moments to yourself before meeting Dave at the store. You loved your friend but you could tell her nervous energy was bleeding into your mood. So many emotions were running through your head. This would be your first real chance at getting to know him. You were giddy at the thought that he had a surprise planned for you. In the five years you spent with your ex he’s never once planned a surprise. It didn’t really bother you but it was just one of those things you assumed you would never get to experience. Looking back on it now you realize it’s a blessing in disguise that he broke up with you. You had put up with so much apathetic behavior that it became second nature to put yourself last.

Your phone pings on the floor beside you and you glance down to see Dave’s name.

Dave: Can’t wait to see you hummingbird

You sit for a moment trying to come up with a clever reply when another text comes in.

Frankie: I hope u have a nice time tonight

This can’t be your life right now.

can’t wait to see you too 🥰

You double check that you sent that text to the correct person.

I promise I won’t have too much fun 😘

There’s a feeling you can’t pinpoint at the moment. You’re not sure if it’s even right that you’re feeling this way. To be the object of two men’s affection is a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in. It would be a lie to say that you’re not riding this high. The end game however is something you haven’t quite worked out.

****

The sun is just starting to set as you make your way down the familiar street towards your work. Checking your reflection in every car parked alongside it like it’s somehow going to drastically change. He didn’t really give you very many details so you opted for a long black sundress and some strappy sandals. Your phone and lipgloss tucked neatly into the brown cross body purse Alicia got you for your birthday.

His back is to you when you see him, his hands in the pockets of his tight blue jeans. Almost sensing your presence he turns to you with that devilish smile on his face. He’s in front of you in a few brief steps, his woodsy cologne invading your senses and a hint of aftershave. The black short sleeve button up pulls taught along his biceps and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing him.

As if on cue he pulls you into a tight hug, you wrap your arms around his waist feeling his muscles flex in your grasp. He sighs long and deep like your embrace was the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity. He doesn’t say anything for a while as you both just sway for a moment, like two lovers who’ve gone weeks without seeing each other. It’s so comforting you almost forget about the impending doom of having to tell him about Frankie. You decided on the walk over that you would be upfront with him from the beginning. Just in case he wanted to call things off. You didn’t want to come off as some girl who wanted a free date from him just to break the news to him at the end of the night. Ultimately you would leave the decision up to him and go from there.

“Hi hummingbird, I missed you.” He speaks softly into your hair as you try to stay on your feet.

“I missed you too.” He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes. It feels wrong but it’s true, you did miss him.

“I hope you like what I have planned for us tonight.” His eyes twinkle when he mentions it again but you can’t quite meet his gaze. “Something on your mind?”

You take a deep breath and put a little more space between you as he holds your hands in his. “I have a lot to say before we go on our date so just give me a moment okay?” He nods once acknowledging what you said.

He’s stoic on the outside but internally he’s starting to panic. You didn’t say you didn’t want to go on the date but there’s clearly something wrong.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you and getting to know you better, but I have to be clear about some things since you’ve been gone. I’ll spare you all the details but…I met my soulmate yesterday.” His hands tighten their grip a little but you don’t seem to notice. “I know this may sound confusing but…I’m not going to just drop you for someone I just met. At the same time, I feel like it would be crazy to not give my soulmate a chance.”

You stare down at the ground hoping it will stop your rambling and give you the words you practiced in the mirror that are coming out all wrong. “I understand if this is too much-“

He cuts you off as he tips your chin up with his finger. He’s comfortably stepped into your space again and you wouldn’t know by the look on his face that he’s seething.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a really long time, and I’m not about to back down from a little friendly competition.” Your eyes are challenging him when you don’t pull away. He leans in, his lips barely ghost over yours like he’s waiting for permission.

You’re not sure what reaction you were expecting from him but it certainly wasn’t this. You’re sick of trying to predict what your life is going to do and instead decide to go with the flow.

You kiss him first.

It almost knocks you off your feet how different he is from Frankie as he takes back control. He’s more sure of himself like he’s kissed you a thousand times. His hand travels behind your head, while the other grabs your waist. You gasp at how close he has you pulled into him as you taste the hint of mint and something else that’s entirely Dave. He chuckles a little at how he’s already got you so worked up. If it’s a competition you want then it’s a competition you’ll get.

“It’s not really customary to kiss before the date.” He’s a little breathless and you laugh as his muscles twitch beneath your fingers.

“I don’t think anything we’re doing is customary.” He huffs at that, yet you have no idea the full weight behind it.

“I’m just glad I haven’t lost my touch…it’s been a while.” He laces his fingers with yours. “I hope you like what I have planned.”

“Oh I’m sure I will.”

****

You don’t care how ridiculous you sound as you scream the lyrics to don’t stop believing at the top of your lungs. It’s just one of those songs no matter how many times you hear it or how many times it gets overplayed, you can’t help yourself.

Dave is doing his best to hide the fact that he’s been singing every song word for word as he hovers close behind you in the crowd.

He was a little nervous at first when you arrived at the venue…picking a concert for a first date was a bold move. He’ll be replaying the excited jumps you did on a loop in his head when he revealed it was a Journey cover band. He remembered from the first time he walked into your store and somehow got lucky when he saw a place on the waterfront hosting the special event.

You’re a stone's throw from your impromptu date with Frankie the previous night. The setting is much similar as you look out onto the water. Your stomach does a flip every so often when he possessively shields you from someone getting too close, or the way his hands instinctively wrapped around you during the slow songs.

Thankfully he made time before the show to get some dinner at one of the many food trucks outside the venue. You’re excited giggles when you said you wanted to try everything so that’s exactly what he did. You both shared a little from each one and of course donuts for dessert. You also shared a lot with him about your life. No doubt hoping he would reciprocate.

He rarely if ever talked about his wife with other people and most wouldn’t consider the topic a great first date conversation. Except for you. The way you made him want to open up and be better at sharing. It wasn’t awkward at all, in fact it felt a little freeing. If only he could tell you that’s how he found you. Resigning his life to helping people find their soulmate, it’s really his karma that he’s now competing with Frankie. He did this to himself and now the question lingers in the air of how he found you and why don’t you know about who Dave really is. He’s not sure what kind of game Frankie is playing but it’s making him uneasy.

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he glances down to see the aforementioned name.

Francisco: I hope ur having a nice time let’s talk soon

He hears a small gasp from you and immediately breaks out into a cold sweat. He tucks his phone into his pocket hoping he hasn’t been found out this way.

You’re staring at him with those sad eyes half pouting and it’s quite possibly the scariest and most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “It’s the last song.”

His eyes tell a different story than yours as he takes your hand. “We’ll just have to make the most of it then.” He spins you in his arms and you feel a bit like Cinderella, you’re time at the ball running out soon.

When the lights go down in the city

And the sun shines on the bay

It’s hard to enjoy your favorite song when he’s singing it so sweet in your ear. His face nuzzled in the crook of your neck as he sways with you. Your stomach is doing flips for an entirely different reason now because you know at the end of the night you won’t be calling it off with Dave.

Prev/Next

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @missladym1981 @legendary-pink-dot @brittmb115 @christinamadsen @heavennumber2 @anoverwhelmingdin @guelyury @hannahkatharine @heareball @vabeachazn @frogjumps-world @jessthebaker @littlenosoul @adriennemichelle98 @syrupsstuff @pixielou5

#frankie morales x reader #dave york x female reader #santiago garcia #francisco morales smut #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x dave york #dave york x f!reader x frankie morales #triple frontier au #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #triplefrontier #dave york angst #francisco morales fanfiction #santiago garcia x you

63 notes · View notes