#ring of honor x female reader

[serpentandlily]

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!! 

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission. 

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him. 

She haunted him. 

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court. 

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. 

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had. 

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today. 

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence. 

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to. 

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days. 

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry." 

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again. 

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too, 

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend. 

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond." 

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you. 

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half. 

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry." 

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too." 

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued. 

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself. 

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway. 

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.  

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her. 

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that." 

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.  

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely. 

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death. 

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby." 

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?" 

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her. 

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain. 

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?" 

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite. 

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving: 

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them 

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me." 

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind. 

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through. 

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight. 

You had always been far more special than you knew. 

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself. 

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you? 

And he could never hate you. 

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined. 

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either. 

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. 

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again." 

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart. 

Until all life was spilled from inside of him. 

Until his final breath carried with the wind. 

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

[queers-gambit]

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out - coming soon collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

[mothhball]

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

 “Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

[lilghostiequinni]

Endless

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Pregnant Wife!female reader x dad!Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy, Established relationship, pregnancy, talk of birth

Summary: Let's just say when your daughter is coming, Lando isn't the best in this crisis compared to the ones on the track.

Requested: NO / yes

With the birth of your son less than ten months ago, you were ready for your daughter to be born.

Don't get it wrong, you loved being pregnant because you had an excuse for when you wanted more food or when hormones got too much.

But it doesn't mean you like the over overprotectiveness of your husband, and you could do virtually nothing other than sit there.

Normally, you love your husband's overprotectiveness, especially when other guys don't get the memo and ignore the ring, but you can barely stand to go to the bathroom without him worrying about you moving too much.

You couldn't travel anymore so before you couldn't travel anymore, you moved back to England temporarily to get help from your parents, from Lando's parents and family.

So you could rest while they watched your son.

It was the week of Silverstone when things felt differently, you told Lando, and he had the team update him on everything every few minutes that he was on the track.

So when Race Sunday came along, and you woke up with contractions and had Lando take you to the hospital only an hour before he had to be at the race, which you made him leave to attend and told him to win the race for his daughter.

So, that's what Lando did; he raced, with the pit wall giving him updates on you every ten minutes.

He won that race and did the podium and an hour of media before racing off to the hospital to be with you.

When he arrived, you were asleep, and no baby was in sight.

You woke up to the slight shuffling he made entering the room.

You watched as he looked around the room for your daughter.

"She went for testing about twenty minutes ago. She'll be back soon. And your son will be here with his grandparents around the same time," You tell him quietly as your throat feels so raw.

"Did you name her?" Lando asks as he stands next to your bedside, holding your hand and running his fingers over the top of your head. He kisses your forehead and nose before resting his forehead on yours.

"No, that's is the honor of her father," You told him as you closed your eyes and kissed Lando's lips.

Lando waterly smiles and kisses you again as a nurse comes in holding your daughter.

"Oh, you must be dad," the nurse says as Lando nods and takes the baby from the nurse as she hands his baby over to him. "What would you like to name her?"

"Alaia. Alaia Valeria Norris," Lando doesn't look up from his daughter as he says her name.

You watch on with a smile.

You know Lando panicked the whole way to the hospital that morning and after he left, because he was worried about you, about your daughter, about any complications that might arrive, like that in the delivery of your son.

Another way you are sure is because if you hadn't gotten to the car yourself, you're sure that you would've been forgotten at home until the hospital.

But in the end, it was all worth it. You watched your husband win a race again, and you are watching your little family grow larger with each passing moment.

Every hardship that the two of you had to cross to get here was worth it.

Worth it for the endless love you feel for your growing family.

A/N: The winner of this poll.

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @ellen3101 @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

[rainylana]

Taste on an Image: New neighbor

Eddie Munson x female reader

a little longer than my usually one of these! just a fluffy blurb! no warnings!

“Why don’t you go say hi instead of standing there gawking.” Wayne shook his head, closing the door to the trailer as he gave his nephew a once over.

Eddie jumped, surprised by his uncle’s appearance. “I’m not gawking.” He swallowed. “I’m observing from afar.”

“Well whatever it is you’re doing is probably freaking her out.” Wayne pointed to you outside in the yard, a few trailers down the road as you hung clothes outside on your line.

“She doesn’t even know I’m here.” Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning against the mailbox. “Geez, she sure is pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah.” Wayne gave a gruff nod. “Go talk to her. Be neighborly. God knows no one else around here will be.” He patted his nephews shoulder and went inside, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.

You’d moved in just a few days ago, gaining the attention of Eddie like bees to honey. You were gorgeous, and by the looks of it, single. He readjusted his jacket and slicked back his hair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to make sure no absent crumbs were festering on his mouth. Last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself.

Eddie walked down the gravel road, waving awkwardly at the neighbors he past that were halfway drunk for the weekend.

“Hello.” He called out to you, standing near your mailbox.

You spun around, smile on your face that nearly made him fall flat on his back, and took a step forward. “Hi!”

God, he was in love already.

“Hi.” He repeated again, lifting up a hand he wasn’t sure what he was doing with. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. We’re neighbors. I live just a few trailers down.” He pointed down the road to his house, blushing as he did so.

“Oh, how nice!” You beamed, setting down your laundry. “I’m y/n.” You quickly walked toward him, extending your hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you. It’s sweet of you to come introduce yourself. No one has yet. I was starting to think I wasn’t wanted.” You laughed, tucking your hands in your pockets.

Your authenticity of casualness made his nerves settle. “Yeah, well, the people are weary of strangers.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of kids around here, too, so be careful when you leave. I almost run one over every time I pull out of my driveway.” He chuckled, brown eyes crinkling under the sun.

You laughed and he swore it made his heart swell. Two minutes in and he was already whipped.

“Is it just you?” He asked, peaking over your shoulder and back at your home.

“Just me.” You pursed your lips. “I’m from Chicago. I used to work in the news paper office downtown but decided I needed a change of scenery.” You shrugged your shoulders, the wind barely whistling over your words.

“I run the mechanic shop here in town with my uncle.” Eddie pointed over his shoulder down to his home. “I live with him. Have ever since I was a boy.”

“Well I’d love to meet him sometime!” You smiled. “Maybe you can show me around town later this week? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I’d be honored to escort you.” He smirked, giving you a wink that made you snicker. “Just give me a day. There’s a great diner that I can sweet talk the waitresses in giving us free desert.”

“You seem like you’re good at sweet talking.” You give him a playful look, crossing your arms.

“Well, I don’t like to brag.” He held out his arms, closing his eyes briefly in a smug look.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, looking back to your clothes line that was blowing in the wind. “I’d invite you in for something to drink but I’m afraid I’m not quiet finished unpacking yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held out a ringed hand. “You need any help? Wayne and I would be happy to assist.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head politely. “I’ll be finished soon. It’s mostly just my clothes and some decorations. I really don’t have that much.”

He could almost feel his uncle’s eyes searing into the back of his head.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself.” He stepped back. “Let us know if you need anything. Oh! And remember,” He pointed to your car. “You’ve got a mechanic for a neighbor if you ever need one.”

He left while he was ahead, feeling confident that he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He smiled the whole walk home, fists clenched in a celebratory manor as he practically skipped inside.

“Well?” Wayne asked, leaning against the fridge.

“What do you mean well?” Eddie snorted. “Like you didn’t stare at us the whole time through the window.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man hid his smirk behind his mud of coffee.

“She’s nice.” He plopped down on the couch. “She smiles a lot. She’s beautiful. I don’t know, Wayne, this might be the girl of my dreams.” Eddie laughed, shaking his head with pursed lips.

“Uh-huh.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t start planning a wedding yet, son.”

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

[thewulf]

Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

Taglist Sign Up: @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[togrowoldinv]

Sexiest Woman Alive

Milf!Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

Wanda is a renowned actress that you’ve been seeing for a while. She gets named the Sexiest Woman Alive and you show her just how much she deserves it

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, mommy kink, oral (W receiving)

Note: I know way back someone sent me an ask saying Wanda should be named the sexiest woman alive, so this is for you anon lol. Enjoy this!

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You have heard rumors that the woman you’ve been sleeping with is going to be named the sexiest woman alive, but you really haven’t put much stock in them.

The gossip blogs love to write about Wanda. who could blame them? Wanda is quite a sight to see. She hit it big after being in a few Oscar-nominated movies.

You met her on the set of her last movie where you worked as a producer. She didn’t seem like the type to be with someone like you, but there was an undeniable connection. Wanda suggested you two keep things casual, as being with someone like her is no easy task.

She didn’t want you to fall under the scrutiny of the media or for anyone to think less of her new movie just because she was sleeping with the producer. But things with her always felt more than casual.

Wanda brought you home this week to meet her kids and brother. She doesn’t get to spend near as much time with them as she wants to, so you felt honored that she invited you to join her.

You met the kids, Billy and Tommy, and immediately it felt like a family unit. Wanda didn’t say anything, but she could feel it too. Her brother, Pietro, felt the same way. It felt like home.

Wanda wakes up with a peaceful smile on her face. She rolls over and wraps her arms around you. You feel her breasts pressed against your back. Wanda drops a kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” Wanda says, her accent she usually hides slipping through.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you reply.

You turn in her arms to rest on your back. Wanda rests a hand over your heart and gazes into your eyes. It’s truly the perfect way to wake up.

She leans down and kisses you softly. You deepen the kiss until Wanda’s phone rings.

“Ugh,” she groans out, a pout forming on her perfect face.

“Ignore it,” you mumble. You pull her by the back of her neck closer to you again. She grins at that.

“It’s my agent,” she says.

She places a soft kiss to your cheek before she grabs her phone. She answers it. You can’t hear what the person is saying, but the smile on Wanda’s face tells you it’s good news. She hangs up the phone.

Wanda takes a deep breath and turns back to you.

“It sounds weird to say this,” she begins. You nod to encourage her to keep going. “That was my agent telling me that I’ve been named the Sexiest Woman Alive.”

“Wanda! That’s so cool! Are you excited?” You ask.

“I don’t know,” Wanda admits. “I mean am I really-”

“Let me stop you right there,” you interrupt her. “You are 100% without a doubt the sexiest woman alive.”

You kiss her to accentuate your point. Wanda happily obliges and kisses you back.

“You’re the sexiest woman alive,” you say between kisses. “And the sexiest mother alive. And the sexiest actress alive.”

“Mmm, you’re too good to me, baby,” Wanda says.

You grab her by the waist and flip her over onto the bed. You move your hands over her body as you kiss her. Wanda’s tongue brushes against yours. She lets out the sweetest moans.

“Let me show you just how sexy you are,” you say to her.

“Please baby. Show mommy how sexy I am,” Wanda replies.

You love when she gets like this. You lift Wanda’s nightgown over her head and throw it to the side. Your lips immediately go to her nipples.

“Yeah, just like that,” Wanda encourages you. She holds the back of your head to keep your lips sucking on her breasts.

Your hand sneaks down her abdomen to land between her legs. She wears lacy panties that you can feel her wetness through. You feel the way her hips stutter at your touch. You press harder against her core.

“Y/n, baby,” she moans out. “I need you.”

“Where do you need me, Mommy?” You lift your head from her breasts to ask her.

Wanda pushes on your head to direct you further down her body. You drop kisses to her abdomen and thighs before you dive into her center. You lick a stripe up her pussy. She moans at the feeling. Your tongue works against her as she continues to soak up the feeling.

“Please, I’m going to come,” Wanda says.

“Come for me, Wands. You’re so perfect,” you say.

She cries out and comes hard against your tongue. You clean her up and move back up her body. You kiss her deeply and Wanda moans into it.

When you pull away, Wanda still has a lustful look in her eye. You move against her to relieve some of your own tension between your legs. Wanda pulls you on top of her further. You get the message. You align your own pussy with hers and move slowly.

“Fuck,” Wanda says. “Baby, you’re so good.”

You pick up the pace at her words. Wanda loves watching you move against her like this. Just your two bodies working together to feel so good. Soon, you come together, and you fall onto the bed next to her.

Wanda kisses you softly and you rest your head on her shoulder.

“This is more than just casual, isn’t it?” Wanda asks.

“I think so,” you admit. “But for now, can I just ask you one question?”

“Sure,” she says.

“Can I go with you to your Sexiest Woman Alive photoshoot?” You ask. Wanda chuckles and you can’t help but laugh too.

To you, Wanda is the most beautiful, funny, and intelligent person you know. The magazine made the right choice.

You’re luckier than anyone in the entire world that you get to be with her.

[roosterforme]

Ready, Rough and Unromantic | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley has a rough day at work, he knows the only thing that will make him feel better is his wife. But will you let him dominate you? Will you let him use you just how he needs to? He shouldn't have been surprised by your answer or your response to him.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, rough smut, dominant smut

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"I am so proud of you, Roo," you whispered, kissing his neck and zipping up his flight suit. It was early, the sun was just peeking through the bedroom curtains, but you were up helping him get ready for the first day of his duties.

Bradley would be spending the week as an assistant instructor at Top Gun. Few people would appreciate what an honor this was, but you understood it implicitly. You hadn't yet bothered to dress for the day, but you decided to wake up early to wish him luck. 

He ran his fingers along your soft skin, completely bare for him except for your glasses and wedding rings, as he said, "I always want to make you proud, Baby Girl."

When Bradley tipped his head down to kiss your cheek, you giggled. The sound went right to the part of his brain that controlled his unbridled desire for you. All he had to do was squeeze your bare hip with his big hand, and you looked up into his eyes.

"Do we have time?" you asked softly before you bit your lip.

He kind of shrugged and grunted, but you were already lowering the zipper of his flight suit all the way down. Bradley let you take the lead on this one, and when you dropped to your knees, he was not disappointed. 

The way you wrapped your pretty lips around his cock... yeah, there would always be time for that. "You're so fucking good," he groaned as you took him deep, and he hit the back of your throat. You sucked on him until you were gagging, then you pulled him out as a strand of your saliva dripped onto your tits.

"This is for good luck," you told him before you tilted your head and sucked on his balls until he was pulling on your hair a little rough.

"Oh," he groaned. "My wife doesn't mess around." His words were deep and gruff compared to the long, soft moans you made as your tongue swirled up the length of his cock. 

You kissed the tip of him, whispered, "I love you," and then you gave him absolutely filthy head until he was cumming all over you. Your hollowed cheeks and warm hands had him fucking your face until cum dripped out of the corners of your lips. And when he spurted onto your glasses a second later, your giggle returned.

Bradley loved the sight of it enough that he wanted to make a mess with you later on when he had more time. Coat your glasses up real good. Maybe help you lick them clean. 

"Fuck," he growled. "I need to leave, Sweetheart." Bradley pulled you to your feet and placed a soft slap to your ass. You kissed him hard one time, and he promised he'd take care of you later.

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

"Tally, tally!" called one of the younger recruits into the radio. But his teammate and wingman left him hanging long enough that Bradley got himself quickly into position. A few seconds later, Bradley got tone on him and eliminated him. 

He was feeling great, and when the team landed along with Bradley, he took some time to show them where they went wrong and how they could improve. "As soon as you hesitate, it's over," he informed them, knowing very well that he had learned that lesson himself not terribly long ago.

The recruits filed back inside for lunch while Bradley joined Maverick and the other teachers to go over the plans for the afternoon. Honestly, he was having a great day, and when he was told he'd be taking another team up in the afternoon, he was looking forward to it.

But he must have been distracted. Or maybe he was the one who hesitated this time. Because as soon as Bradley managed to fly the two seater Super Hornet into a corner, he heard tone lock onto his own aircraft. 

He had been outmaneuvered by a twenty five year old student. 

Bradley landed his aircraft in a state of shocked silence, barely managing to communicate with the tower. He was mortified. And of course, as soon as he walked into the tower, everyone knew about it. 

"It happens," Mav told him. "It was your first day instructing. You'll nail their asses to the wall tomorrow."

But Bradley could see the looks on the students' faces. He could practically hear Nat's voice through her text message.

Are you fucking kidding me, Rooster? They took you out?

He wasn't even sure how she heard about it from the simulation classroom. But seemingly everyone knew. It took everything inside him to keep his shoulders squared and his voice calm. Because inside he wanted to rage. He wanted back up in the air. He wanted to meticulously pick off every single other aircraft one at a time until he didn't feel like a joke anymore. 

And that made him feel like maybe he wasn't ready to be an instructor yet.

"Fuck," he growled, slamming his locker door closed later. Absolutely nobody messed with him in the locker room. Nobody would even look at him. He was surrounded by dead silence everywhere he went. 

As he stormed out to his Bronco, his skin was crawling with the burning need to prove himself. To dominate his surroundings. When he started up the engine, he took a few deep breaths that did nothing to calm the rising temperature of his humiliation. The blazing desire to conquer. Overpower. Defeat.

He needed to get home to you. Somehow he knew you were the only thing that would make him feel better.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, he was practically panting. You were already home from work. This was good. When he opened the front door, he called out, "Where are you?" His voice was raspy. His body was too hot. 

"In the kitchen, Roo!" you replied. "Come tell me all about your day!" 

You had taken your boots and socks off, but you were still in your uniform with your hair pulled back in a tight bun. And you were up on the kitchen counter changing the lightbulb that he had noticed kept flickering. This kind of shit was his job to take care of around the house. You shouldn't have to be up on the counter like this. 

But as soon as he really looked at you, his cock throbbed with need. You looked at him over your shoulder as you finished with the new bulb. "What's wrong?" you asked softly, slightly alarmed. You must have seen the look in his eyes. He had never looked at you like this before.

Bradley knew you could make him feel better. If you let him do it. If you'd let him take his day out on you. 

He snagged you off the counter and into his arms as you squealed, but you quickly gaped at him as he carried you to the bedroom. 

"Bradley?" you whispered, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and searching his face.

He tossed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you, not bothering to remove his boots. You were silent, eyes wide and lips softly parted as he let you have his body weight. Your gaze was on his lips like you were expecting him to kiss you and be your sweet husband like he usually was.

"No," he growled, and your eyes darted up to his. You looked needy and uncertain. Bradley could tell you wanted to ask him what was going on. But then he read your last name on your nametag, annoyed that it didn't say Bradshaw yet. Very gently, he removed it, snapped it in half, and threw it across the room. Then he unbuttoned your shirt without a word and pushed it open wide. 

Your nipples were straining against your black lace bra. You were very subtly rubbing yourself up against his hard cock. Your pupils were dilated. You wanted to get fucked. 

"I hate your fucking name tag. Okay?" he asked, voice gruff as he wrapped his hand around the front of your neck. "I hate it."

You bit your lip and whispered, "You had a bad day."

"You told me you were going to get a new name tag," he grunted, pressing his hard cock against your thigh. "You said you submitted the paperwork for your name change."

"I did." Your voice was so needy. Bradley shoved his thumb into your mouth and watched as you opened wide and licked him.

"Get a new fucking name tag. And leave the light bulbs for me to change."

"I will," you said again with your mouth full of his thumb.

"Shut up," he growled, and your eyes went so wide as you moaned. "I'm not in the fucking mood. And I'm not going to be sweet. Not right now. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you cry. Use your pussy exactly how I want to."

You moaned around his thumb again. 

"Tell me that's what you want," he demanded. You nodded your head, and he withdrew his thumb. "Fucking say it."

"I want it." Your voice was breathy but sure, and Bradley was going to dominate you until your tears and whining made him feel better. Because there was always only you who could fix him.

He practically ripped open the front of your khaki uniform pants to get to you. Bradley yanked the fabric down your legs and sent your pants across the room to meet your broken name tag. Tiny, black lace panties cut low on your hips. He could see your tattoo. He could tell you were wet through the fabric. 

"You look like a little slut," he informed you. He watched you bite your lip as your back arched off the bed. "You shouldn't be this excited about being manhandled." Then the scrap of black lace met the same fate as your pants and the name tag.

Bradley had to commend you. You kept your mouth shut as he unzipped his flight suit, lowering the sleeves and pulling his cock free. You were silent as he rubbed himself through your wet slit. You didn't make a noise as he slowly slid himself inside your dripping wet pussy until he bottomed out. And only the softest sound escaped your lips as Bradley wrapped his big hands around your hips and lifted you slightly off the bed.

But you screamed when he held you in place, your ass in midair, and fucked you like you were his own personal toy. He slammed into your pussy with short, rough strokes. It was, in so many ways, the dirtiest thing he had ever done to you. And it felt to fucking good, Bradley could cum inside you right now. But your screams had him going harder, wanting to enjoy this feeling of control for as long as possible. 

"Louder," he told you. But he didn't really even need to say anything as he tightened his grip on your flesh and fucked you until tears leaked from your eyes. Your cries filled the room, so loud his ears were ringing from it. 

He withdrew from your body and let you fall to the bed. You were scrambling now, reaching for him. Looking up at him with tears in your eyes like you needed him to kiss you. 

He flipped you onto your belly before ramming his cock inside you again. Your hands were all balled up in the pillowcase as you cried out against the bedding. The rapid slap slap slapping noise of his body dominating yours was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard. The way you were letting him calm his nerves and soothe his ego, well if he hadn't already married you, he'd do it today. 

He palmed you softly before laying a solid smack right to the round of your ass. You moaned and sucked in a deep breath as he leaned down and put his lips next to your ear. "Tell me you want me to stop."

You shook your head and turned to look back at him, eyes red with tears. "Keep going," you hiccupped. "Please."

Bradley pushed your face back down into the pillow as you gasped and cried for him. He pumped his hips hard, grabbing at your thighs and your backside. Then he wrapped his forearm underneath you and pulled you up until you were on your knees for him. And how he had the perfect view of your body as you took him, full hilt, like a champ. You gorgeous pussy grabbed at him with each stroke, and Bradley spit on you where you were joined, making everything wetter.

"You like this, don't you?" he asked as you moaned and whimpered. "Huh? You actually fucking like this." He was so close as he spanked you just to feel you clench around him. "You fucking slut." 

He pressed his lips to your ear again and slipped his hand up to shove his fingers into your mouth. You were moaning and slobbering all over his hand, crying into the pillow. 

"You're perfect," Bradley growled as he filled you up with his cum. He fucked you with jerky strokes, pushing his load deeper and deeper until he guided you down flat on your belly with his hand on your ass. You were half crushed under his body weight, kitten licking his fingers when he realized he felt so good. So much calmer. You made everything better just like he knew you would.

But now he was slightly concerned that he had taken it too far, even with your permission. As he kissed along the back of your neck and ran his fingers softly up your arm, he whispered, "Are you okay, Baby Girl?"

Your voice was still a little watery with tears as you said, "I won't be able to walk tomorrow. And now I need to update my to-do list so I remember to order a new name tag. But that was hot. Do you feel better?"

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and buried his nose against your skin. He felt perfect. "So much better. Thank you." 

He helped you to your feet with the promise of a bubble bath. Then he assured you he could figure out how to make something for dinner. After he picked up all of the discarded clothing, he threw your name tag in the bathroom trash can while you sank down into the tub.

"I have an extra name tag in my office, you know," you told him with an eye roll and a smirk. 

"I know," he replied, bending to kiss your nose. "And I have an extra one in my locker. You can have it. We can match. It'll be cute." And now all he could think about was you wearing his last name on your khaki uniform every day. 

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

Okay, yes...okay, yep. That happened. Stay tuned for the upcoming (4th!) series with Roo and BG called Always Ever Only You! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper166

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[alastor-simp]

Alastor + Angel Dust Reacting To Female Reader Being A Really Good Dancer💃🏼

❥Summary: Your boyfriend and you have been dating for a while, and they are very interested in learning more about you. One day in the hotel, they discover a special talent of yours, leaving them starstruck.

❥Tags: alastor x reader, angel dust x reader, dancer, headcannon, boyfriends, lovers, hazbin hotel headcannon, boyfriend reactions, fluff, romance, some suggestive stuff

❥Warnings: A bit suggestive and swears

❥Notes: Always wanted to write something like this! Hope you guys enjoy.

✪Them Finding You✪

Both you and your significant other have been dating for a few months in the Pride Ring. It honestly came out of nowhere, but the both of you were content with each other. Since the relationship was brand new, there were still some things the both of you didn't know a whole lot about the other, maybe some favorite foods and fashion choices, but nothing more than that. The both of you would communicate and want to learn more about the other, but not to the point it made the other uncomfortable.

One afternoon, they were heading over to your room to bring you a snack from the kitchen, since it has been a while since they last saw you. Upon coming closer to your room, sounds of music could be heard from the other side. The door was slightly cracked, allowing them to peak through it. Looking through, their eyes widen at the sight of you, performing a very alluring dance routine.

✪Your Dance✪

Alastor🦌

🦌"My my, quite an impressive talent." Alastors gazed at you with smouldering eyes, smile widening at the sight of you.

🦌He had found you very shy and sweet when he first met you, causing him to drop his guard around you, as it would hurt his soul to treat you like he treated the others.

🦌Now he came to discover this side of you, and his heartbeat was skyrocketing. Never has he seen someone move so sensually before since his time in hell. Some of the moves you did cause some confusion as he was from 1900s, so he was more familiar with the Charleston or the Jitterbug.

🦌Your dance routine had come to an end, as Alastor saw you paused the music from your radio. Alastor had opened the door wide to your room, and began to clap his hands, honoring your little performance, causing you to jump in shock.

🦌"Bravo, my dear!" Alastor was smiling widely, as he made his way towards you, while your face was flushed pure red, having realized that Alastor was watching you the whole time. Alastor was right in front of you, head tilted at you. "What is wrong, darling?".

🦌Your broke out of your thoughts at Alastors question, looking to the side, twirling your hair with your fingers. "N-nothings wrong. Just..um..did you see all of that?" You hesitantly asked. Alastor chuckled at your question, leaning his head down further towards yours, making you turn even redder.

🦌"HAHA! Every bit of it, my dear! You never mentioned to me that you had an amusing talent like this." You kept looking down to the floor, twiddling your fingers. "Oh, I always loved dancing when I was younger, so I self taught myself certain moves and went from there." A hand made its way towards your chin, causing you to turn your face up towards Alastor, as he was gazing at you with desire.

🦌"It was very enchanting to watch. I wouldn't mind requesting a private show from you in the near future. Possibly in my chambers perhaps?" His finger traced your lips, as the static from his voice dissipated, letting you know he was being serious. Shivers spread through your body, and you felt like you could melt right now with how Alastor was looking at you.

🦌Nodding your head, you told Alastor you wouldn't mind doing that. Chuckling, Alastor leaned closer, placing a small kiss on your forehead. "Lovely~. Now, my dear. If you wouldn't mind, can I teach you some moves from my era? I'm sure you will enjoy it!"

Angel Dust🕷

🕷"HOLY SHIT ON A CRACKER!!!" Angel's thoughts exploded when he saw you busting a move in your room. Shit, you could move better than him!!!!

🕷Angel made it blatantly aware how good he was at his services in your relationship, including pole dancing. He cooled it down with you, as he assumed you weren't really use to that type of stuff and he believes in consent and making his lover comfortable in the relationship, so he put the very dirty comments and actions away for you.

🕷Seeing you dance like this was like a slap to the face. You were just a cute itty bitty little thing and here you were dropping it low, in HIGH HEELS!?! Oh no, this wasn't good, he was getting horny watching this.

🕷The music soon came to an end, and you slowly rose from the floor, moving your hands to fix your hair. The sound of the door slamming opened made you jump, and you turned to see Angel running towards you, picking you up of the ground and holding you up in the air.

🕷OH MY SATAN!!! TOOTS!!, WHEN WERE YOU GONNA TELL ME YOU WERE SUCH A SKILLED DANCER!! Angel kept spinning you around, smiling so wide his golden tooth was flashing so much. Your mind was still in a state of shock, especially now that Angel found out about your little hobby. "It's nothing special, Angel. Its just dancing."

🕷Angel had literally put you back down and began to shake you. "ITS. NOT. JUST. DANCING!!!!" He empathize each word with a shake. He soon stopped and placed both of his hands on your cheeks, making you look up at him, as he bent down a bit to reach your level. "That was by far the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life." Angel whispered to you, as he looked at you lovingly, rubbing his thumb against your cheeks as he continued to hold them.

🕷Your heart skipped a bit as you continued to stare at Angel. Smiling, you lifted one of your hands to place it against his own, muttering a "thanks." Angel smirked and began to pull you towards him. He sat on the bed, positioning your body to sit on his lap. "Would love to have you teach me some of those moves. Whatcha think toots? Would you mind being my teacher? I'll be a really good student, trust me." Smirking, you leaned closer, giving Angel a kiss, before pulling back "Sure."

-END-

Tag List:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

@lillylovesalastorsm1 , @alastorthirsty , @yukiinee ,

@daydreamtoropov , @cosmiccoralz

[krirebr]

More Than This 2

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~6.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, no noncon but some fear of it, excessive alcohol use, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Another part already??? This one has just been flowing right out of me. It occurs to me that I should probably explicitly state that this will have a happy ending! Possibly very far in the future, but it will happen!! 😂😭

Huge thanks again to @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and letting me know when I was on the right track.

Visual references for the ring and dress can be found here.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Despite your best efforts, the next three weeks went by in a blink.

The engagement ring arrived the day after your disastrous dinner with Ransom. It was beautiful—a round diamond with a smaller sapphire on each side, set in swirling filigree. You wondered who picked it. Certainly not Ransom. Probably someone’s assistant. It felt like fire around your finger.

You’d packed up the small apartment you loved so much. Sorting everything into what you would bring and what would be put into storage – the latter category was much bigger. You sat in your living room, surrounded by boxes, and cried, with Steve beside you and Lola nervously shaking in your lap. 

Your mother took you to pick your dress. She sat on the plush couch in the appointment-only boutique and sipped champagne while you tried on dress after dress that the attendants brought you. Her favorite was an ivory satin ballgown with off-the-shoulder short sleeves, a bow at the bottom of the back, and a very wide skirt. She cried when you put it on. You told her it was your favorite too, because you just didn’t have it in you to have an opinion.

 The Thrombey clan came into town the week before the wedding. Their time was mostly spent in meetings with Joseph and his team. Meeting the new extended family was to be left for the wedding festivities.

You hadn’t heard a word from Ransom. You’d thought of texting him a few times but couldn’t see the point in it. He’d made his feelings on you and your upcoming marriage clear. Any added effort would just be torturing yourself.

Then, suddenly, the rehearsal dinner was passing without incident. It was a catered affair, held at your parents’ house. Despite being one of the two nominal guests of honor, aside from the initial introductions, you were mostly ignored, as business remained the topic at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Ransom was there, of course, seated next to you, even, but he did his best to avoid you. You were torn between intense relief for the moment and absolute terror for what it meant for your future. When you noticed him quietly ducking out, you took the opportunity to leave as well, hoping most people would think you’d absconded together. The thought made you laugh bitterly.

You spent your last night of freedom snuggled up with Lola in Steve’s guest room. You barely slept.

Now, you sat in a plush robe in front of the vanity in the large hotel suite that sat several floors above the event hall you’d be getting married in in just over one hour. Steve sat sentinel in an armchair near you, already in his tux. People had been coming in and out all day – manicurists, aestheticians, makeup artists, hairstylists, your mother until she’d gotten called away for the pictures they didn't need you for. The female members of Ransom’s family too. His aunt, Joni, had only been in briefly, saying that the energy of the room was all wrong and she’d had to leave. Her daughter Meg had sat with you for a while, but she just kept complaining about how awful Ransom was and Steve eventually kicked her out, probably trying to spare you a panic attack. And then there was Ransom’s mother, Linda. She had been in a few times ‘to check on the progress.’ You’d tried very hard not to get stressed out by her, but she was very… severe, and you felt about a foot tall every time she looked at you. And now here she was, again.

“Darling,” she said, and you tried not to balk at the fact that you’d know this woman for less than 24 hours and she was already using endearments, “you’ll be needed for pictures soon and you aren’t dressed yet?”

You gestured to the two people at the rolling clothing rack who were carefully removing your dress from the garment bag. “We’re about to start putting it on. I’ll be ready soon.”

“Fantastic. Maybe it’s time for Steve to go then,” she cut a glance to your stepbrother.

“Not fucking likely,” he muttered. He’d been stuck to you like glue all day.

Linda’s eyebrows crawled up to her hairline. “I just think that some people might find it inappropriate for you to be in here while your sister gets dressed.”

He stood up and took a step toward her. “I’ll turn around,” he growled.

“Steve,” you sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t. You wouldn’t be, but none of that could be helped.

He looked at you carefully, his eyes flitting over your face. Finally, he nodded, “OK. I’ll see you out there then.” With a quick, reassuring touch to your arm, he left. 

Linda watched him leave and once he was out the door, she turned to you and said, “You and your stepbrother are very close, aren’t you?”

Something about her tone made you incredibly wary. “Yes,” you said cautiously, “he’s my best friend.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” she said with a thin-lipped smile that made it clear she thought anything but. 

You noted her reaction as you returned her smile and removed your robe. You let the attendants help you step into the dress where they’d pooled it on the floor. They pulled it up around you and you stood still as they fastened and arranged the dress on you. All under Linda’s watchful eye, her arms crossed over her chest. When it was all done and you’d stepped into your heels, you turned to her so that she could give the approval you could feel she was dying to give.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” she said. Just as you were about to thank her, she added, “Although, I suppose it would be hard not to be, with all these people working on you, huh?” Her tone was warm and friendly, but you took it as the cut down you knew she meant it to be. 

Still, you smiled. “Well, we should probably get down there, shouldn’t we?”

Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately when you arrived at the courtyard space reserved for photographs. Your mother was crying again. Joseph smiled at you, possibly the warmest smile he’d ever given you, and said “Beautiful,” but it was less like a compliment and more confirmation that everything was the way he needed it to be, like he was commenting on furniture. You smiled anyway and thanked him, then moved where the photographers directed you. 

This round of pre-ceremony pictures was reserved for the families. Ransom had already done his and then been dismissed, to ‘preserve the big reveal’ you were told. You’d been asked earlier if you wanted to do first-look photos and declined. That had been interpreted as you wanting to have the big moment when you walked down the aisle to him. Instead, you just knew that he wouldn’t give them the reaction they were looking for. You’d rather spare yourself that embarrassment. 

The thing about these arrangements was that while they were all about business and everyone knew it, people still wanted the trappings of romance. The big wedding at a fancy venue, awe on the groom’s face when he saw the bride in her dress for the first time, a joyful reception with speeches about true love. It had made you roll your eyes when you’d gone to friends’ weddings, but now that it was your own, it all made you want to scream. 

You posed with Linda and Ransom’s father, Richard, a benign smile on your face. And then it was Harlan’s turn. “You look absolutely lovely,” he said to you, kindly. “You’re going to be so good for my grandson.” You responded with that same placid smile. You wondered if anyone had told Ransom that he was going to be good for you. You doubted it. That part didn’t seem to matter.

Next, it was time for your own family. Your mother and Joseph, together and then separately, and then Steve joined you for the full family. Once that was done, the photographers started to dismiss you, but you stopped them. “I want a few with just me and Steve.”

They looked at you and then Joseph and Linda, “That’s not on the list of required shots.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “I want them.”

“Darling,” Linda started, and you wanted to growl, “I’m not sure there’s time.”

“I don’t care,” you said again, “everyone can wait the five minutes this is going to take. I’m the bride, I doubt they’ll start without me. Isn’t today my day?”

Linda took a step back and nodded to the photographers but you could feel her watching you as Steve stepped up to you. “And people think I’m the troll,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. 

You smiled, possibly your first genuine smile all day. “You are the troll,” you said. “I’m the sweet one who does what she’s told without complaint.”

He snorted, “Sure,” and turned his head as the photographers directed. 

When it was all done, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself as everyone but you and Steve began to make their way back inside.

“You ready?” he asked, concern all over his face.

You shook your head. “Not even remotely.”

He looked over your shoulder. “I know–” he began but stopped for a moment before he started again. “I know that if she had lived, we never would have met, but I still think, sometimes, about how much my mom would have loved you. Just as much as I do.”

“Steve,” you gasped.

He grabbed both of your hands. “You are the strongest, bravest person I know and you can do this.”

Your eyes welled up as you squeezed his hands, feeling like you’d completely fall apart if you let go. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, oh so gently, “all you have to do right now is get through the ceremony. That’s it. You don’t need to think about what comes after. Focus on what’s directly in front of you. Nothing else. Just walk down the aisle and say I do when it’s your turn. That’s it. You can do that. I know you can do that. I wish you didn’t have to, but you can.”

 You took a deep breath. And another. And then you nodded. “I can.”

He smiled, big and genuine and still more than a little sad. He pulled you in for a hug, exceedingly careful to not mess anything up, and said again, “You can. I know you can.”

Someone stepped out of the big French doors leading into the vestibule your party was gathering in and waved frantically at you. Another deep breath. “OK,” you said.

He just nodded and guided you back inside.

Joseph walked you down the aisle. It wasn’t your choice, but this day had always been more about him than it ever was about you, so of course he would be the one to walk you. You would have chosen Steve. But you also would have chosen not to do this at all. 

The walk was both agonizingly long and much, much too short. Ransom waited for you at the end of it, dressed in a designer tux and devastatingly handsome. You searched his face for anything, but he remained completely stoic, his eyes hard. You had to look away.

There were so many people gathered to watch your life change forever. As you gazed over the faces of the people seated on your side, you weren’t sure you recognized even half of them. You realized with a jolt that this was the most alone you’d ever felt, in this hall surrounded by hundreds of people, all eyes on you.

So much sooner than you were ready for, you’d arrived at the front, Joseph placing you in front of Ransom and joining your hands together. Ransom’s hands were soft and his grasp wasn’t nearly as harsh as you’d expected. You took a deep breath—every other thought since you’d stepped into the hall was to remind yourself to keep breathing—and met his gaze. It was still hard, but, maybe, maybe there wasn’t hate there.

Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough yet to be able to tell. 

The ceremony went quickly. You struggled to focus on the officiant’s words. It was like you were in a sort of fugue state. But you repeated after him when you were supposed to. You said ‘I do’ when you were prompted. You played your part.

Ransom did too. You’d half expected him to just not show up at all, or walk out part-way through, or something but he was under the same familial pressures as you, you reasoned. At the end of the day, you all just did what you were told.

Before you knew it, it was done. There was a ring on your finger and one on his. You barely remembered placing it there. You registered the officiant saying “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” and stared at Ransom. You expected him to swoop in and take what was his, but he paused. There was a clear question in his eyes. Shocked, you realized he was asking permission. As subtly as you could, you nodded. He gave a barely perceptible nod back and then he was kissing you. It wasn’t chaste, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t passionate either. Open-mouthed, but no tongue, and done quickly, the faintest taste of whiskey on his lips. Everyone applauded.

   The processional music started and you began to move without even realizing it, Ransom right beside you. And in that moment, when you had nothing else to focus on, no other immediate job to do, everything hit you. Holy fuck, you were married. This man beside you was your husband. One of your knees buckled and your steady leg caught the edge of your dress and just as you were sure you were about to go down, someone grabbed your hand and you felt another hand on your opposite hip, holding you up. “Wait to collapse in private, if you can,” Ransom murmured to you, dryly, then basically carried you the rest of the way down the aisle. 

You were both ushered into a small sitting room off the main hall for a moment of privacy as your guests were moved into the ballroom where the reception would take place and before you would take pictures with your new husband. Once the two of you were alone, you tried to steady your breathing and shove down the panic clawing its way up your throat. You were married. It had actually happened. It was real. You steadied yourself on the bookshelf beside you and tried to think about what Steve had said. Focus on what was directly in front of you. You’d gotten through the ceremony by doing that, so now it was just pictures and the reception. That was all you had to worry about. You could do that. You could.

“You good?” Ransom’s voice cut through your internal monologue and you turned back around to face him where he was standing on the other side of the small room, pasting that fucking smile on your face. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Today is just a lot. But I’m fine. Thank you for helping me, before.”

“Well,” he smirked, “I couldn’t have my new wife embarrass me thirty seconds in, could I?”

Your smile went brittle and a small voice in your head chanted fifty years of this but you tamped it down. Pictures and the reception. Pictures and the reception. That was all you had to get through right now.

There was a light knock and then the door opened. One of the photographers peeked in, a camera in their hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said. “Just wanted to get some intimate, candid shots, before we go outside for the formal pictures.” Their eyes moved between you and Ransom and you knew they were measuring the space between you.

You shook your head and tried to keep your tone friendly. “No need, just the formal ones are fine.” You didn’t need any more documentation of this day than was absolutely necessary. 

“Oh,” they said, surprised, “well, Mrs. Drysdale wanted–”

“Linda can fuck right off,” Ransom interrupted. “We’ll come outside now.” He shouldered his way past them and out the door. You just smiled and followed him, the photographer chasing after you both.

The pictures went quickly, you both seeming to want them over with as fast as possible. He didn’t say much to you, aside from the occasional exclamation like, “Jesus Christ, is this skirt big enough?” when he tried to move around you or pose behind you. The photographers kept trying to get you to look at each other, but when you did, it clearly didn’t give them the result they wanted, so they moved on quickly.

Afterward, you were escorted into the ballroom, where your entrance was met with applause. Your face was beginning to hurt from all the placid smiling you’d done all day. 

You blanched when you realized that you and Ransom were the only ones seated at the head table. You wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. 

There was still some time before dinner would be served. You could already see people beginning to make their way toward you to offer their congratulations to fill the time. A server appeared at your table and you asked for a glass of champagne. Ransom requested his usual scotch then added, “There’s an extra hundred in it for you if you make sure I’m never holding an empty glass tonight.”

You could see the disaster waiting to happen, so you tried a quiet “Ransom,” as the server left, not really thinking before you said something.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “If that’s the kind of wife you’re going to be, let me tell you right now, this marriage isn’t going to work. I don’t respond well to nagging.”

You took a breath, “I wasn’t trying to nag,” you said, “I just–”

“Ransom!” a loud voice interrupted you. You looked over to see Ransom’s uncle, Walt, approaching your table. You’d been introduced to him very briefly the night before. “Congratulations on finally growing up and settling down,” he said, once he stood in front of his nephew. You felt Ransom stiffen next to you, but his face just had an obnoxious smirk on it. Walt’s eyes briefly cut to you but then returned to Ransom. “Although, she’s pretty young, isn’t she?”

Ransom rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Well, it’s not like I picked her, is it Walt? You got a problem with it, go tell Mom or Grandad.” 

You bit your lip at being spoken about like you weren’t sitting right there. But you knew better than to cause a scene, so you quietly said, “Excuse me,” and left the table. Neither of them seemed to notice, locked in a hostile stare-down.

You’d only made it a few feet when someone you didn’t recognize was pulling you aside to offer their congratulations. You smiled and politely nodded through it and when it was done you were grabbed by someone else and then someone else. You crossed paths with Steve briefly before you were both pulled in other directions. You only got a break when they started serving dinner. You got back to your seat to find Ransom sitting alone, sipping his scotch as full plates of food were placed before you. You didn’t have much of an appetite.

You picked at your food and mostly moved it around the plate, while Ransom ate hungrily beside you. Neither of you said anything. After the second course was served, the speeches started. Joseph mostly spoke about the two families coming together and all the opportunities that represented. You wanted to stage whisper to him that it was customary to at least mention the couple at some point, but then he sprinkled Ransom’s name in. A brief mention of how proud he was to be gaining a son like him. You wanted to laugh. They barely knew each other. As if Joseph cared at all about what kind of man he was giving you to. You were finally mentioned at the very end as he toasted his “beautiful stepdaughter and her new husband. To a long and fruitful marriage!” You wanted to break something.

Harlan, for his part, was much more focused. He, of course, referenced all the new opportunities this would bring, it was why you were all here, after all. But he mostly talked about his grandson, how much he loved him, all the potential Ransom had, and once again, how good you were going to be for him. You wondered if you just started screaming right there, what people would do. 

As for Ransom, judging by his body language, he seemed to enjoy both speeches just as much as you had. You wondered if the rest of the guests could feel how miserable you both were and just chose to ignore it. Probably.

When the speeches were done and the tables were cleared, it was time for your first dance. Ransom made it clear by the way he stood up that this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. You tried not to let it bother you, it wasn’t like you were especially excited about this either, and kept your head held high as you came around the table to join him. He took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor and you were once again surprised by the way he held it gently when you’d half-expected him to drag you out there.

You hadn’t chosen whatever song you were about to dance to. You could’ve, probably, but you’d begged off of most of the decision-making for the day, unable to drum up an opinion on any of it. So you had no right to complain as the opening strains of “At Last” filled the ballroom, but you had to stifle an eye-roll anyway. Of course, they went for something that romantic, that cliche. They were all lucky you didn’t burst out laughing.

Ransom pulled you in close with a hand on your lower back, as you put one of yours on his shoulder and he took your other hand in his. It all felt strangely respectful, the way his hand didn’t wander from the small of your back and he held you close but not too close, with plenty of breathing room between you. You weren’t sure how to wrap your head around it, what it all meant.

He was a good dancer, most likely the product of formal dance lessons as a teenager, just like you’d had. It made it easy to keep your polite smile in place as all eyes in the room were on you.

“You’re good at that,” Ransom said.

You shrugged. “A variety of dance classes since I was seven.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant the smiling thing.” When you just looked at him, confused, he continued. “Unless you’re much dumber than I think, you hate this just as much as I do. But look at you, that smile hasn’t dropped all fucking day. You’re having such a nice time, aren’t you? Being the good girl they all expect you to be. Can’t ever let them know you’re upset. Oh no, that just isn’t done.”

You nearly tripped, but you had the good grace to keep going. You kept your face pleasant to everyone watching as you gritted out “And what am I supposed to do instead, huh? Glower and glare because I didn’t get what I wanted? Be an asshole to everyone? And where exactly would that get me? We’re both here, Ransom, stuck in this. At least my way of dealing with it doesn’t make anyone else’s life more difficult.”

He chuckled again. “No one’s but mine,” he said, but instead of just irritation, there was a glimmer in his eye, too, that you couldn’t begin to interpret. It was almost like part of him was having fun. 

The song ended, fading into the next, and more couples joined you on the dance floor. Keeping your hand in his, Ransom led you back to the table, depositing you there and grabbing his drink, before disappearing amongst the tables. 

Ransom didn’t come back. You'd stayed at the table for a bit, for want of anything else to do. When you got bored of that, you wandered through the crowd, accepting congratulations and trying to find familiar faces. You knew there were a few of your own friends in attendance, but you were afraid to face them, knowing you’d see pity on the faces of the luckily single and recognition on those who were already married. You wouldn’t see much of them anymore anyway, with you leaving for Boston the next day. You couldn’t think about that yet. Focus on what’s in front of you.

You were periodically offered champagne from a passing server and you accepted every time, leading to you now feeling pleasantly floaty. It was a nice break from just how very much you’d been feeling the rest of the day.

You arrived back at your seat, without really intending to, to find Steve waiting for you. He was staring into the corner of the room with a disgruntled expression. “I could fucking kill him,” he mumbled.

You followed his gaze and found Ransom with a group of Harvard-looking bros doing shots by the bar. You shrugged. “He’s getting drunk over there and I’m getting drunk over here,” you said as you downed your champagne and began looking around for a server. 

Steve sighed your name. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

He guided you to a chair and then sat down beside you. “Where’d you get off to?” you asked.

Steve rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dad,” was all he said. You nodded. For all that he wasn’t in your situation, as his father’s heir, he had many heavy responsibilities and obligations weighing on him. You were both caged in by this family.

“Does that mean you’re speaking to him again?” you asked, your voice free of judgment.

Even so, he grimaced. “Only when I have to.” He sighed and looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” you said, sincerely.

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He paused, then, “I wish there’d been a way for me to stop this.”

“Steve,” you sighed. It wasn’t worth talking about again.

Over by the bar, Ransom let out a loud, hearty laugh that carried over to where you were sitting. Steve glared. “You don’t deserve this,”

You shrugged. “It’s what I have, I guess.” Then before he could continue the conversation, you added, “Can we please talk about anything else?”

He looked at you carefully and then nodded. “Sure,” he said, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear, and then launched into a twenty-minute explanation of the painting he was working on. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for him. And you hadn’t even thought to ask a server for more champagne. 

The conversation only ended when your mother appeared in front of you. Steve stood up to greet her, smiling warmly, and then excused himself, squeezing your hand as he went.

“Honey, we’re going to go. I just wanted to make sure I said goodbye to you first.”

You stood up and hugged her. “You’ll be there to send us off tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, honey, no. Joseph had something come up and you know how hard it is for me to get around by myself.”

You felt the bottom drop out of everything. “You’re not going to say goodbye?”

“Of course, I am, darling. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Suddenly, only focusing on what was directly in front of you was impossible. You were married to a stranger who couldn’t stand you. Tomorrow, you would be leaving everything you knew to go to a new home where you didn’t have anything or anyone. And your mom wouldn’t even be there to say goodbye.

“Steve would come to get you, you know he would,” you tried desperately.

“Honey, no, I can’t,” she said firmly and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. “Now, come on,” she drew you into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Mom,” you whispered, your voice so thick. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” she pulled back and looked you in the eye. “I know it seems hard, now, but it’ll be easier than you think to keep him happy.” She gently touched your cheek. “All you have to do is listen, and not argue too much. You’re going to be such a good wife and mother. I just know it.” 

She leaned forward to hug you again and you went stiff in her arms. Everything she’d gone through – two marriages that weren’t her choice, a husband that was so cold to her and her daughter, a lonely life. And here she was, offering you up for the same fate. You didn’t know how you were supposed to bear this.

“Have a safe flight,” she whispered in your ear and then she was gone. You didn’t watch her go. You just sank back into your chair, ready for the night to end. 

A while later, you heard someone call your name. You turned around to see Richard. “I think it’s time for Ransom to call it a night.” You followed Richard’s gaze to see Ransom slumped over in a chair. You almost asked him why he was telling you. Then you remembered that Ransom was your husband now. Your problem, your responsibility. You nodded to Richard and thanked him, smiling at him, of fucking course. 

When you got to Ransom, he looked up at you and laughed. “Well, if it isn’t the wife!” he slurred. “We were just talking about you.” You looked over at the men on either side of him, equally drunk, and tried not to feel too humiliated. 

The crowd was thinning, but there were still people around and you could feel their eyes on you, so you did your best to keep your tone and face calm. “Ransom, it’s time to go up to our room.” 

One of his companions snickered and you were suddenly struck by what might await you in that room. You’d been so focused on just getting through the next thing that you’d protected yourself from thinking about what he might want, what he might demand, once you were alone. But looking at him now, as he struggled to stand up or get any control over his body at all, you hoped that you might be safe for this night, at least. 

Steve appeared at your elbow. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mumbled, low enough that it didn’t seem to be for you. Then louder he asked, “You need help getting him up to the room?”

You turned to him to answer, but then you saw Linda over his shoulder, watching you both carefully. You shook your head. “No, you can’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll–” Ransom took that moment to fall loudly back into his chair. He was way too big for you to handle on your own. You sighed and looked around for anyone who might help. “I’ll get Richard to help me.”

Steve looked at you confused. “I can do it.”

“I know,” you said, “but I just can’t let you. It– The way it would look,” you shook your head again.

You could tell he still didn’t get it, but he let it drop. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow. And if you need anything between now and then,” he sent a scathing look to Ransom, “you call me.”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t, as he squeezed your wrist and left and you went to track down Richard.

After much struggle, you finally got Ransom into the honeymoon suite, Richard retreating as soon as his son was safely dumped into an armchair next to the bed. And then you were alone with him. You just stared at him for a moment, then asked, “Can you get yourself undressed?”

“ ‘fcourse,” he mumbled, then thrashed around in his tux jacket. You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to still his wild movements, then tugged off the jacket. You carefully began unbuttoning his shirt, trying to touch him no more than absolutely necessary, but he still smirked at you. “That desperate to get me naked?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep going, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. “Hey,” he said, very seriously. He tried to lock eyes with you, but his kept drooping, as he continued. “We don’t have to do anything t’night. Not if you don’t want.”

You scoffed. “Yeah?” you asked. “Is that you or your whiskey dick talking?” You regretted it immediately, you were so tired. You waited for the insult to land, to see how he’d react, but he’d stopped paying attention, his head lolling against the back of the chair. You finished with the buttons and kneeled in front of him to take off his shoes. When that was done, you stood back up. “Please tell me you can get your own pants.”

He nodded, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, and stood up. He struggled with his belt for a few minutes, but eventually got it off, then pawed at his fly until he was able to undo that as well. As he moved to the bed, his pants slowly slid down his legs. You tried not to look at him, but you couldn’t help yourself. Under any other circumstances, you would find him so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How dare he look like that and treat you like this. Just another aspect of this whole fucking mess that made you want to cry.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed and then threw himself forward, collapsing onto it face down, lying across it diagonally. Almost immediately, he started snoring. You just stood there a moment, watching him take up the entire bed. Fuck. It was fine. It’s not like you were going to sleep much anyway. You tugged his pants the rest of the way off his legs and threw them onto the pile of the rest of his clothes. 

You turned your attention back to yourself and stopped, suddenly gripped by panic. You tried to reach behind yourself and begin unfastening your dress, but the line of delicate hook and eye fastenings was too difficult to get without being able to see them. And you couldn’t reach all of them anyway. Oh god, you were going to be stuck in your dress all night. 

There was no one to help you. Ransom was out like a light and would be too drunk and clumsy even if he were conscious. Your mom had gone home. You couldn’t call Steve. He would come help at the drop of a hat, but if anyone saw him coming into your room… No. You were completely alone.

Every feeling you’d tried to push down and ignore this whole awful day came bubbling to the surface. You finally cried, your body wracked with sobs. You couldn’t control it. As you did, you still tried to wrestle with your dress, but your panic and sorrow made getting out of it impossible. So you sank down to the ground and just let the tears come. 

When you were finally all cried out, you stood up and moved to the bathroom. You took off your makeup and took down your hair, redoing it in the way you always slept in. You brushed your teeth and finished up with your skincare routine. Then you went back into the bedroom and grabbed a blanket off the bed. You moved into the adjoining living room and sank down onto the couch, arranging your giant dress around you. You turned on the TV and settled on a marathon of some procedural crime show you were pretty sure you’d seen before. You couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted the night to go quickly.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @citronbun @ladyvenera @rebeccapineapple @alexakeyloveloki @dancer3205 @i-can-do-this-all-dayy @thecrandle

[needtoloveoutloud]

Shadows Of Our Past, Present, and (possible) Future — Series

My Hero Academia — Female!OC Fanfiction on AO3

Part One (Completed — 93k words):

The one where Shota Aizawa stumbles upon a back alley full of stray cats and ends up adopting a child

“Fine, then a cat? We both know how much you love those little furry…things.” At this, Shota paused the game and turned to the pushy blonde next to him. “I actually have considered that.” “And?” “And: also, no. It makes no sense.” Hizashi looked almost scandalized. “Makes no sense?” “I made a pro and contra list.” “Of course you did.”

When underground hero Shota Aizawa, twenty-two years old, is out on patrol one Friday evening, he doesn't expect that a single meow from a cat would lead him to find a homeless girl called Yoru. From then on, Yoru and Shota grow up together, make mistakes together, and try to overcome every obstacle life throws at them.

>> Read on AO3 <<

Part Two (Ongoing, regular updates — growing long fic — 231k words so far — READ PART 1 FIRST, PLEASE AND THANK YOU):

The one where Yoru Aizawa tries to navigate through life at U.A.

Two days after her fifteenth birthday, Yoru decides to drop the bomb on him. “I want to go to U.A.” “You want to go to U.A.” Her Dad puts the book he's been reading down on the glass balcony table.  “Yes, I want to go to U.A.” She slumps down on the outdoor couch next to him, grabbing the discarded book. “What are you reading?” ‘A Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi — The classic guide to strategy ’. She raises an eyebrow. “Reading that for fun, huh?” “Why do you want to go to U.A.? You never cared much about heroes. Besides Edgeshot, that is.” Yoru smirks up at him. “What, jealous?” “As if.” “You know, even if they sold Eraserhead posters, I wouldn’t hang them up. It would be super weird.” “Good to know where your loyalties lie.” He rolls his eyes. “Back to the topic at hand, why do you want to go to U.A.? Because Shinso wants to go?” “No.” Pause. “Okay, that may be part of it. But I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I really want to go.” “That might be so, but you still neglected to tell me why you want to attend there.” Yoru plays with her hair, noting how it’s time for another hair cut when she finds some splint ends. “I wanna be a hero.” Her Dad blinks. “A hero?” “Yes. Well, I want to help people and do some good with that shitty quirk of mine.”

When Yoru tells her Dad that she wants to attend U.A., she expects it to be a difficult path. She didn't expect all the awkwardness, blossoming friendships, confusing feelings, and near-death experiences, though.

>> Read on AO3 <<

Please heed the warnings/tags (TWs in the author's notes of chapters where they apply to).

This story is a mix of:

Slice of life

Hurt/Comfort

Angst/Fluff

Humor

Dadzawa

SLOW BURN Romance — Enemies to Lovers (Bakugo x Yoru)

Growing up, coming of age (hopefully lol)

Teenage awkwardness

Mixed media (pictures, music, chat screenshots (later on in Part 2), etc. — chat screenshots will always have the written text below, to make it accessible for visually impaired folks or people who use screen readers)

Author: NoBecksPleaseNo on AO3

Please don't copy the work, the character, the premise, etc. Also, no cross-posting anywhere, please and thank you.

Disclaimer: Yoru's image is AI generated and then edited/adjusted by the author. The other character images in the header are from Pinterest (besides the one of Present Mic/Midnight, that one's from the light novels) — unfortunately without a source. If you're the artist, and you're not okay with me using them, please message me and I will remove them. If you're the artist and are okay with me using them, please tell me, so I can credit you.

Besides the OC characters, I don't own any already existing characters from the My Hero Academia Universe — that honor belongs to Kohei Horikoshi.

[queers-gambit]

Shadows of the Past

prompt: the High King recruits you personally for the expedition headed by your intended, Herald Elrond. your company encounters the darkness and Galadriel portrays an apology to her friend.

pairing: Elrond x betrothed!female!reader

fandom: The Rings of Power -> no masterlist

word count: 5.1k+

note: wonky brain can think of nothing but this show right now i'm so sorry

warnings: cursing, spoilers, another reader insert for the haters, depiction of character injury, emotions are hard, small canon complicit angst, literal hurt and comfort, established relationship.

"Tell me again," your brother-in-law asked, "why you're not leading this company?"

You smirked, stepping over a fallen branch, "Because the High King has bestowed the honor to Herald Elrond, Daenor."

"Then why enlist you, too?"

"I am a mere emissary of the King. Besides, skills are required for this quest, Daenor, why would I not be employed?"

"Right, of course. I guess my question should be, what skills do you possess?" He teased, laughing when you shoved his shoulder playfully. "But truly," he asked, "why would the King send you both, so close to your wedding day? Why send you, too, if not to lead this company?" However, before you could answer, the air turned serious when the procession you followed came to a rather disturbing discovery upon the laid path.

You leaned on the intact stone while listening to Camnir discuss with Elrond possible paths forward after intending to cross a bridge over the gorge, only to find it in ruins and rubble. Elrond originally questioned the force that could've brought the ancient stone down in such a harsh and violent manner, thinking perhaps lightning, but another voice refuted this idea by claiming it was the Dark Lord, Sauron.

This familiar voice was that of Lady Galadriel - and while you've known her to be a fellow Commander, you were unsure of her title now. Yes, she was technically lieutenant of this company, and that was what she was addressed as, but you knew how stubborn the Elleth was and that she would not be so easily demoted.

You said nothing. You just listened as Camnir told Elrond they could take one of two paths: one so out of the way, it would add two weeks to their journey, and the other, down the same darkened path the Dark Lord laid.

Upon mentioning the path before them through the Hills of Tyrn Gorthad, Lady Galadriel twitched. She had been daintily ghosting her fingertips over the charred and mangled metal of the lanterns set on the imploded bridge, seemingly stuck in thought, then freezing. You couldn't see her face, only taking note of the brisk tension mounting in the Elleth's shoulders.

She spoke, "There is evil in those hills." The group shared silent looks, each with varying degrees of mistrust or caution. "Ancient, and full with malice," Galadriel glared at the landscape before her. "Sauron means for us to go that way. We must go another," She informed the group as if she were in a position to give orders.

From the crouch he took to observe the damage done to the stone, Elrond rose while speaking in a firm tone that overpowered the Lady's, "The Enemy is doubtless watching both roads." His eyes flickered over yours last as jetting over each of his soldiers, clocking the way you nodded in agreement. To you, it seemed common sense: of course, the bad guy was watching the paths that would lead the good guys to him! He was evil, not stupid! Elrond reminded his people, "This collapse makes it more critical than ever to reach Celebrimbor at speed."

"We won't reach anywhere with speed if we walk into a trap," Galadriel argued; the two friends (and distant cousins) held each other's even stare for several moments.

"What say you, Commander?" You asked, hoping to break the tension and little trance they were locked in. No, no, not out of jealousy, but out of protectiveness; wanting to break the ice for the sake of Elrond's authority.

"We go South," Elrond decided, turning from the fragmented bridge stump, ready to lead his company on, when Galadriel spoke again - from the same spot she had yet to move from.

"Commander, I must protest."

You did not move when the others did, you waited when Elrond paused and replied, "Your opinion on the matter has been heard."

He went to walk away again when Galadriel growled with a rolling tongue, "Elrond!"

You flinched to a halt in blinding irritation, upset by your peer's very audacity. Everyone halted around you, Camnir even shifting in his stance out of nervousness from the heat of your glare not on him. Your fiancé turned back to glare at his friend, ending with finality, "Opinion heard, lieutenant. We go South." He gave an encouraging command in Sindarin, leading only a few strides before pausing. When you automatically halted yourself at his side, he nodded and spoke softly while seemingly mindlessly grabbing your hand to give an affectionate and reassuring squeeze, "Lead them on, love, stay on the trail."

You glanced back at Galadriel, who was finally moving to keep up, and whispered for only his ears, "You sure?"

"I'm sure, go on," he confirmed, nodding again and offering a soft sort of half-smirk. His eyes, though, were squinted; indicating he was genuine in his displayed gentleness. With a squeeze to his hand, you offered one last stale look at Galadriel, who expertly avoided your eyes, then let go and walked forward to lead the way.

Behind you, Elrond snarled his scolding of Galadriel, insisting she shape up, forgo trust in the Ring of Power she wore, and if that wasn't possible, she needed to excuse herself. The Commander of the Northern Armies rebutdtaled that she did not desire to see any member of the company slain - a veiled response to her stubbornness to not abandon their quest and refusal to ignore her ring.

Forward, you marched.

Though you seldom showed it, you felt fearfully nervous when the night fell and your company crept further into what felt like infected wood. The ground turned spongey, a particular stench permeated the air, the darkness shadowed most all you saw. The trees loomed tall, the moon casted a bright silver light, and dead leaves crunched under booted, lithe steps. Elrond shared a nervous look with you, his hand only briefly brushing yours; a way to say he was there with you without being overly affectionate in front of his soldiers.

From the corner of his eye, Elrond saw your head tilt back in wonder before a fell voice hissed on the wind, "I am waiting for you." But in truth, nobody was sure about what they heard or did not hear. Perhaps they did not want to know, but still, the voice made the area further darken in suspicion, and once in a small clearing, all came to a halt to survey the surrounding area. There was a threat somewhere, but where exactly was yet to be determined.

Daenor questioned sharply, "What is this place?"

"Tyrn Gorthad," Camnir answered. "Known to men as the Barrow-downs."

You chimed in softly, "In ancient days, this was where they laid their lords and kings to rest."

"I feel no rest here," Daenor grumbled. "Even the trees seem ill at ease."

"Fear not," Vorohil chimed in, sounding amused while stepping up to (and through) your group's observation deck. "Dead men are no threat."

"Well, we've lived very different lives," you scoffed under your breath.

However, after Vorohil, Elrond followed; casting a look at the lot of you and reminding, "Keep moving."

You let the others pass ahead of you, trying to shake off your nerves and mentally prepare yourself for the hell you were walking into. Something anchored your feet, refusing to let go; every nerve in your body on fire and begging you not to wade into the dark. Your name was spoken gently, Galadriel's hand on your shoulder startling you.

"What is it?" She asked quietly.

"We shouldn't be here," you whispered, Elrond doubling back when he noted your delay. Not wanting a confrontation, Galadriel sighed and patted your shoulder before slipping away as your lover approached you.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly but urgently.

"There's something sinister here," you told him stiffly, stepping half a step closer, "watching us."

He took a breath, "If Galadriel's ring - "

"It's not that!" You insisted. "I feel it, Elrond, not the ring, not anything Galadriel said. I feel it."

Elrond's brows furrowed at the tips, like something hooked them to yank towards his nose. "Then stay close to me," he decided.

"We should move on, quickly," you snatched his hand to prevent him from parting; his gaze turning worried. "Please, listen to me."

"My love," he spoke softly, squeezing your hand, "it is a gravesite, nothing more. The dead cannot harm us."

"It is the living's influence I fear."

He sighed and nodded, "We will not linger." His forehead found yours to rest, "But do not stray from my side, it is of great comfort."

"To us both," you agreed, letting him pull back. Yet he did not relinquish hold of your hand, keeping it tight in his and leading you into the clearing the others were surveying.

"Commanders," Rían called, standing over the corpses of two horses... Attacked seemingly a time ago, and upon inspection, discovered the pairing bodily remains of an Elvish party.

Elrond questioned your name when you squatted, brushing aside debris. "Their barding is from Lindon," you told him, gently ghosting the leather with your touch. You looked up to meet his eyes, glancing over to see Galadriel, predicting, "The King sent a dispatch to warn Celebrimbor."

Galadriel nodded in confirmation as Rían discovered the encased message from the King in a decorative tube, asking, "This dispatch?"

Slowly, you stood from your position and held a silent hand out, being given the tube for inspection; all eyes on you, waiting for whatever your overly keen (even for an Elf) eyes would see. After confirming the contents, your eyes locked with Galadriel's, and she spoke what you both were thinking: "We must go from this place."

Elrond appeared ready to agree, tension mounting as your company seemingly felt the blanket of panic being thrown over them all. From the dark, a set of rotting chains shot out to coil around Daemor, yanking him into the toxic, spongey earth and across the clearing.

"Y/N!" He shouted in shock, and without thinking, your hands slapped into his as if in an effort to anchor him... But you were both yanked off your feet. "Commander!"

"Daenor! NO!"

"Help me! Y/N, Y/N, please!"

"Hold onto me!" You begged, being drug on your belly.

"Sister! Sister, please, help me! Help me!" He sobbed in fear, a vice grip on your wrists and hands surely to leave blemishes. "Don't let go! Pl-eeeeeaaaaaase!"

"Daenor!" You whimpered, struggling as the force that held you both hostage was too strong to maintain a safe, secure hold permanently - meaning, saving him was futile.

Your name was bellowed, being drug towards one of the opened tombs; but at the last moment, the tether that kept you and Daenor together was broken and he was pulled into the abyss of the grave. You whimpered in fear, slowly lifting from your belly and to your knees as Daenor's screams were silenced... In fact, the entire area turned eerily quiet.

Behind you, the others rushed to the scene and Elrond immediately dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around you. "Are you hurt? Hey, hey, look at me, are you hurt?" He demanded, fearful that the chains might shoot out again to finish the job to swallow you in the dark. He checked for any physical injury, but the tension was too great to ignore; the mouth of the tomb glaring at you, forcing Elrond to silence himself.

You flinched back into his hold when the gruesome sounds of crunching bone and squelching flesh was heard; indicating whatever was inside, whatever claimed Daenor, had disposed of his living body.

Elrond took advantage of your flinch to rock you back onto your feet, standing as a group as a voice hissed, "Cold old be hand and heart and bone, And cold be sleep under stone, Never more to wake on stony bed, Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead." Galadriel brandished her sword as the wights first emerged, revealing their zombified forms. You encouraged the group to form together in a circle as the demons emerged. The Voice continued, "In the black wind, the stars shall die."

"Prepare yourselves," Galadriel warned, the group arming themselves.

"What are they?" Rían trembled.

From perfectly between Galadriel and Elrond, you answered, "They are those who laid in the tombs, the Lords and Kings of old... Lore calls them Barrow-wights."

The creatures surrounded your company, leering, growling, sizing you up. In Sindarin, Elrond commanded, "Attack!"

In tandem, the group lunged; weapons striking the ghoulish foes but they merely disintegrated in air... Then reformed. It seemed that fighting only served to irritate the enemies, their collective hissing and screeching making stomachs curl and skin to prickle in fear. Galadriel clocked this first, warning Rían, "Still your arrow!"

But the Elleth was already locked and loaded, the string slipping from her grip to fire at a distant wight. But it only soared through the zombie's face, not stopping, directing towards Camnir - but Elrond intercepted, swiping his sword to cut its path and save his soldier. The creature rejuvenated.

"They're impervious to our weapons," Camnir voiced, fear inking his tone.

Elrond's eyes found yours, seemingly connected by a string of similar thought; remembering the old wives tales you once read a lifetime ago, ancient lore about Barrow-wights dating back to the time of Melkor. So, he sheathed his sword and told his soldiers, "Hold fast." To Camnir, the closest to him, he demanded, "Come with me!"

"Where are you going?"

"Help me open it," Elrond told him, trying to pry open the sealed tomb as you swiped at another wight's skeletal hand reaching for you.

"What?"

"Hurry!" Elrond barked in Sandarin.

Back in your group, Rían muttered nervously, "Commander?"

"Ease yourself, remain calm..."

"What do we do?"

"Make no sudden movements. Stay together, fend them off but don't engage a fight," you advised, "hold strong - "

A gasp cut off your words when chains coiled around your ankle; securing in a tight zip that knocked you off balance and back into the toxic dirt. You scrambled for purchase on anything, finding only wet leaves; and suddenly, the chain turned taunt with tension before you were being sucked back into another tomb.

"Commander!" Vorohil shouted, trying to reach for you, but just missing as you were reeled back over the dirt.

"Y/N!" Rían cried, alerting Elrond and Camnir of your situation. You whimpered in fear, sobbing as you couldn't fight the force; couldn't save yourself; only able to helplessly submit to your approaching doom after clawing unsuccessfully for salvation.

"No! No!" You yelped, trying to remove the chains, but another tightened around the first chain in a horribly tight, vice grip that strangled breath from your lungs from the pure burning sting. With the last of your air, you screamed, "Elrond! Please!"

You heard Vorohil sprinting after you, freezing in your escape attempt when a grisly, decayed hand extended from the ebony shadow of the tomb towards you. There was a panicked finality to your blood, fear clogging rational thought; never seeing Elrond, only focused on the threat pulling you in. But the half-Elf you meant to marry in only a few weeks time came surging onto the scene, sliding on his knees at the mouth of the tomb and swinging a sword to sever both hand and chains.

"Y/N - "

"Fuck's sake!" You snarled, unintentionally cutting Elrond off; shoving the chains from your leg, scrambling to your feet.

You were just about to thank Elrond when he instead encouraged, "Here, take this." He held out one of the ancient weapons excavated from the tomb, nodding with increased vigor before turning away when it was in your grip. You hacked and stabbed the wight that came after you, Elrond and Camnir tossing the rest of the company weapons to cast down the surrounding enemies.

"How?" Rían asked in shock, seeing the wisps of the last wights waft into the wind.

"According to lore, only the blades with which they were buried with will return such creatures to rest," Elrond explained.

"But the men buried here have been entombed for over a thousand years," Camnir trembled, turning to his companion.

Vorohil seethed, "I think it is safe to say that something has awoken them."

"No," Galadriel argued, glaring down at the wight's decaying body. "Someone... Awakening evil. Across all Middle-earth."

You ignored the conversation and slowly took a seat; leaving your weapon in the dirt while focusing on hiking up your trouser leg after discarding your boot. With a clenched jaw, you revealed the wight's chains left sizzling lacerations; the metal seemingly enchanted to burn damn near to the bone, creating craters, indentations, dimples to your otherwise pure and unblemished flesh.

You winced when fabric stuck to the wound, bearing your teeth while hissing through them; breathing turning staggered as the pain became biting. "Commander?" You heard Camnir question softly with concern, others turning to set their attention on you.

"It's nothing," you insisted, observing the wound and deciding a tourniquet was required.

"You're hurt," Elrond growled, surging forward and unintentionally knocking Galadriel's shoulder - but the Elleth didn't take offense. The others wanted to close in around you, but Galadriel held them back after witnessing you before. As Commander of the Southern Armies, you had seen many battles with Galadriel, and sometimes, you sustained injury; she's witnessed how you turned akin to a panicked animal when accosted with attention - no matter how genuine the concern.

"It's nothing," you repeated, reaching for one of your belts, "I'm fine."

"You're not - "

"It's a burn, Elrond, nothing more," you sniffled, feeling how far up the chain had gone; deciding to tie the tourniquet above your knee.

"Let me," Elrond whispered, laying his hands over yours that shook and trembled without abandon.

"Elrond - "

"Just," he snipped, needing to pause and take a breath, "please, let me help you."

Behind him, Galadriel ushered the others away to a short distance; deciding to gather whatever belongings of Daenor they could to honor his lost life. You met Elrond's worried gaze and nodded, sniffling, "Okay. J-Just above the knee, here," you showed him.

"I know, love, I've got yah," he breathed, shuffling closer and kneeling beside you while taking the belt. You pulled the material of your trousers straight, grimacing when Elrond first wrapped the leather around your thigh. "All right?" He checked, seeing you nod rapidly; no words used because you were holding your breath to prevent yourself from crying out. When Elrond first tied the leather, you whimpered and his eyes turned teary. "It's gonna get worse, love, just hang on f'me - " He warned you before suddenly tightening the tourniquet, making you yelp painfully. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I know it hurts, I know, I know, I'm so sorry," he repeated, your hands latching onto his forearms out of subconscious need to feel him for comfort while he secured the leather belt. When done, he reached for your cheeks and pet hair that escaped your braids behind your ears, encouraging, "Breathe for me, just breathe, love. You're all right, there you go. Breathe. Good, good, I've got you, I'm so sorry, just breathe, just breathe... Oh, I, uh..."

"What's wrong?" You worried when he trailed off; eyes full of tears and his mouth half opening while retracting his hands that you held by his wrists still.

"I've blood on my hands..." He splayed them in display between you two.

"It's okay - "

"Got it on your face," he frowned.

"It's fine," you insisted, sniffling sadly, "it's my blood, anyway. We should be moving - "

"You're hurt."

"I know, but it's not life threatening, I don't need coddled."

"I'm not coddling you - "

"You are," you half smirked, "because you're worried."

"Of course, I am," he scoffed, using his sleeve to wipe your cheeks and temples free of blood. "How can I not be? You..." His voice quaked with emotion, "You are my starlight, my fairest friend, my sweetest love. Seeing you hurt..."

"I know," you whispered, bringing him close so your foreheads met, "but I'm okay."

"For now."

You sighed, pulling back to respond, "Don't say that, don't even think it. Optimism is our only friend in this situation, else, what is the point of going after Sauron?"

He needed to take a breath, sniffling his own emotion. "Fine. We should rest until morning... Regroup, give you time off this leg for now."

You nodded, "You sure?"

"I think we could all use the reprieve," he admitted.

"Does that include you?" You asked while caressing the coils of chestnut off his forehead.

"I'm fine - "

"As I am?"

Elrond paused, then scoffed a small laugh and nodded. "I'm managing..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Hey," you whispered, bringing him back to your forehead, "you're doing an excellent job of leading this company. But we all have limits and tonight was a lot, you deserve the time to breathe."

"Time is something we don't have."

"We have enough for now," you insisted, more or less forcing Elrond to relent.

As Daenor's belongings were pulled from the tomb and buried in the scorched earth his killers had rose from, the company each offered you hollowed words of condolences for your loss. Beside Elrond, it was known, you and your brother-in-law were great friends - being the reason he met and eventually married your sister. His sword was embedded in the ground as a marker, the company gathered to silently pay their respects while their commander stood at the riverbed's edge in deep, solemn contemplation.

You held one of his daggers, intending to keep it in reminder; pocketing a few pieces of jewelry, intending to give it to his wife. However, all was interrupted when from a distance, you heard the booming rumble of drums. Not just any drums, but the beating sounds of a marching procession; something ominous and daunting. You perked up, standing to your feet as something dark and familiar started in your chest before sinking to your gut. By looks of your company, they, too, heard the drums and shared your worried thoughts; sheathing Daenor's dagger to your belt and surging for where Elrond stood speaking to Galadriel.

"Forgive my intrusion," you bid the pair, Elrond turning instantly.

"Are you all right?" His hand reached for your hip instantly, trying to help stabilize you - if you had been off balance.

Your hand laid to his cheek, answering swiftly, "I'm fine," before dropping your hand to rest on his bicep, "but we've heard drums - in the deep. Sounds like there's a host on the march."

This sent the company into action, tracking the sound of the enemy over leagues of wooded area. By the end of the day, at dusk, you all gathered slowly on a darkened clifftop; watching in horror as legions of orcs marched down the beaten path to the sounds of their war drums. "Orc treachery," Rían cursed upon sight.

"That trail...?" Elrond questioned, letting go of his secure hold on you to lower in a squat, "I gather it leads to - "

"Eregion, my liege," Camnir confirmed.

"We came in search of Sauron," Vorohil narrated everyone's thought and question, "And instead, we find Adar?"

"Could they be in league with each other or... Perhaps at war," Elrond thought aloud, you shifting on your bad leg for a moment to readjust your stance among the trees.

"A legion of Orcs have marched into Elvish lands," Galadriel spat in anger, glaring at Elrond. "We are all of us at war."

Elrond agreed, "Word of this must reach the High King before our host sails for Mordor."

The silence was calm in a resolute sort of way, everyone just pausing to bask in their shock and awe. This was shattered when a distant Orc shouted, "There!" An arrow thunked into the trunk of the tree behind you, a horse neighing shrilly as it galloped through the forrest towards freedom and away from its pursuers. Just as the company turned to face the enemy, another arrow flew through the air almost inconspicuously, finding its mark in the soft part of your chest just beneath your sternum.

You grunted when the arrow landed, taking half a step back and wanting to cry out. Instead, you just held where the arrow embedded itself in your flesh. You felt dizzy suddenly, clothes and hand saturating with blood as the arrow had pierced through the aorta artery to cause major damage. Irreparable damage. Fatal damage...

In a whisper, Elrond told his soldiers in Sindarin, "Hold!"

In the distance, the Orcs were heard complaining about the horse escaping while a few random arrows were fired off again in a last ditch effort to wound the animal. If you did not move, the mangey creatures did not notice, smell, or sense you. But you couldn't form a full coherent thought, just understanding your injury, the looming grace of Death soon to kiss you, that breath was becoming increasingly harder to come by, and the pain - the pain was aching, soon spiking.

You did not mean to, but your fear was too great to ignore, and you stuttered in a whimpered gasp, "El-Elrond?"

His head snapped over, seeing the arrow protruding from your chest and feeling himself crumble inside. You were choking on blood, trying to remain silent - and they all saw that effort. How blood came splattering from your nose as you tried to subdue your noise, but that only made it harder to breathe; inadvertently choking, a groan strangled from your lungs just as Elrond reached you. He held you to him with his chest and single arm anchoring your waist, the other lifting to lay his hand over your mouth as Galadriel glued to your other side for added support.

The company moved back several yards, covering ground swiftly before laying you down behind a natural outcropping of protective rock. You were struggling, unable to fight it any longer; hacking a cough, blood spewing, splattering, streaking down your neck, the pain insurmountable. Elrond's one hand cushioned under your head, tears in his eyes as he could only hold you as the Orcs were heard closing in, other hand once more clasping over your mouth.

Still, Galadriel was sandwiching you, wincing when Elrond's hand stifled your groans of pain as he strained himself to peak over the top of the rocks. When he lowered himself, your lover leaned his forehead on your temple and hushed in your ear, "I'm so sorry." Upon lifting, he met Galadriel's eyes, who had been examining your wound, only to find her's full of sadness. Her head shook with muted words - telling him whatever she saw wasn't good.

You whimpered lightly. The Orcs could smell an Elf.

You wrangled Elrond's hand from your mouth, "Lis-Listen to me - "

"Hush, do not - "

"Shut up and listen!" You hissed, keeping hold of his hand, "'M not makin' it outta this, love, you've gotta go. L-Leave me - "

"No!"

"Elrond. Leave me," you insisted, "and they'll k-know 's m-me they smell. Y-You have t'warn the H-High King."

"I'm not leaving you," Elrond grit.

You smiled sadly, "And I love y-you for that. B-But you h-have t-t-to."

"Not in this lifetime," he begged, a few tears falling. "Just give me time to think, I'll figure something out."

"Time... Is something we don't have," you repeated his words from earlier. Suddenly, Galadriel just knew something without words; a feeling; a sort of understanding that she could help in this moment. She heard you whisper, "I'm so sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen. W-We should've had so much more time - "

"Please, don't say that," Elrond begged quietly.

Galadriel took a sobering breath and moved her hands to the base of the arrow; pressing enough to make you wince and breath in sharply. Elrond went to tell her to back off, but paused when The Ring of Power she wore twinkled in the dark night - seemingly pulling you out of that fatal twilight. Your breathing turned slow... Eyes clearing of hazy pain... Life breathing back into your flesh...

The arrow fell out, making all three of you gasp. Galadriel's hands fell away as your own shot to where your wound had been - finding it healed between the fabric the arrow tore. You looked at the Elleth in shock, breathing, "You healed me...?"

She just nodded, Vorohil speaking in astonished Sindarin, "Amazing."

"You're - You're, you are - ?" Elrond stuttered in shock.

"I'm okay," you confirmed, caressing his cheek as he beamed down at you in pure glee. "I'm okay, love, I'm okay; Galadriel, she healed me," you sniffled, looking to your friend. "Thank you, my friend."

"Of course," she breathed, the Orcs heard shouting in the distance to overturn every rock. With a look of shared understanding, Galadriel told Elrond over your body while you tried to mop up some blood, "Get to Lindon. I will occupy them as long as I am able. Get her up."

Elrond huffed through his nose, but did as bid - not like he needed to even be told in the first place. He gathered you into himself and stood, making sure you were stable before looking back at Galadriel; slowly squatting again as she wriggled the ring from her finger. "Take it," she breathed, presenting Elrond with the band of jewelry. When he made no move, she snatched his hand and folded the ring into his grasp, "Take it, Elrond!"

"What will you do?" He asked begrudgingly, storing the ring in a leather pouch for safety.

"Something foolish, probably," she smirked, nodding in meaning. "Now, go. Go!"

"Elrond, love," you whispered, holding your hand out for his and heaving him to his feet. "With me, c'mon, quickly," you advised the others, beginning the trek down a new path in the woods. As you moved, you realized that Galadriel's ring hadn't just healed the arrow wound, but the Barrow-wight's chain, as well, which helps remedy your limp.

A semi-safe distance away, there came a decently loud and abrupt boom behind you, and upon looking, saw the trees up in flames. It was where Galadriel must've been battling the Orcs alone.

In earnest impression, Camnir narrated, "She scarified herself to save us all."

Elrond came to a halt when he realized his company members were captivated by the sight of heroics in action. So he interrupted their dreamy thoughts by calling, "No, you are mistaken, Camnir." He stalked forward through his delegates, telling them in their native tongue, "She did not do it to save us."

Tension simmered over each member.

"What?" Camnir questioned.

Elrond turned away from the spectacle with Galadriel's fire, consulting the dark again, speaking with ramped distain in Sandarin, "She did it to save the ring." His hand reached for yours again, the two of you leading the company forward with him calling over his shoulder in the Common Tongue, "Hurry!"

requesting rules and masterlist

[peachsayshi]

by your side. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ gojo x female reader ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

summary: gojo returns home after an exhausting two month trip away from you. 

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: I’m so h*rny for this man & that tight black tee of his this is my contribution to celebrate satoru gojo and satoru gojo only <3  you can find my other yan gojo posts: here & here. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; lovesick/obsessed/needy gojo; sleepy satoru; oral (f receiving); edging; dub con (ish?); pussy drunk satoru 👀; size kink; dacryphilia 

“Missed you,” Satoru exhales with a strained voice, his long fingers unfastening the knot around your waist, similarly to how you removed the white ribbon of the present he gifted you earlier this evening. 

The elder jujutsu sorcerers frustrated him with too many problems during his isolation period away from you, binding him with the shackles of responsibilities that he never asked for.

Exchanging phone calls, text messages and videos with you wasn’t enough enough to fill the empty void in his heart. Only now, as he smooths down the silk fabric of your robe, does Satoru understand how terribly deprived he’s been. 

How did he survive these last two months without you?

“I missed you so much, my sweet girl”

His words are laced with anguish and his pupils dilate at your soft skin peeking out from under your attire. He pulls the material away from you, watching carefully as it ripples off your body like water. 

Around your neck is the present that he bought for you; a string of white gold links draping down your clavicle with a heart shaped pendant resting just above your chest. He nips at his bottom lip, considering the idea of adorning you in even more jewelry. 

Two sparkling studs for your ears, maybe...a charm bracelet to compliment a pretty anklet... a band that would look complete around your ring finger...

The image makes his dick twitch.

You’re looking up at him from underneath your lashes, shying away from his intense gaze and drifting down to his muscular torso looking snug in his black fitted tee. All of a sudden your bed feels much smaller with him there, and a tingle ascends up your spine when he curves his strong arm behind your waist. The force of his weight pushes you down onto the soft pillows behind you. His limbs taking up most of the mattress, leaving you pinned underneath the expanse of his chest. 

You’ve forgotten how quickly he makes your heart race.  You’re still adjusting to this - getting used to the status of being his girl.

He tenderly touches his forehead to yours, a reminder of why the claim shouldn’t make you feel like a frightened kitten trapped in a wolf’s den.

Those words are pure devotion now, an affirmation of his love towards you. There are many who dream about basking in its abundance, and here you are greedily indulging for free.

Being loved by him is an honor that you have been pleasantly awarded.

You tilt your chin up to brush your mouth over his, initiating the first kiss with a chaste peck against his pink lips before leaning back to look into the depths of his blue eyes. 

He’s exhausted, you can tell, the bright color of his irises are muted and his mouth is twisting downward in a subtle frown. You know for a fact that he carries many burdens as the head of his clan and the strongest sorcerer, but what’s unsettling you is the sullen expression overwhelming his handsome face since his arrival. 

“I thought you would be happy to see me,” you state quite matter of factly, swiping your thumb over the blush blooming underneath his pale skin. 

Satoru leans into your touch, resting his cheek comfortably in the palm of your hand, and you can’t help but think how angelic he looks this way.

“I am, it’s just...I really, really hated being away from you,” he confesses through gritted teeth. 

You brush off the spark of nerves reacting to the visible sickness on his face, and trail your index finger down the bridge of his nose. “You’re home now,” you coo as you circle your arms around his neck, “I’m happy that you’re back.” 

His shoulders relax almost immediately, and he buries his relieved smile in the crook of your neck.  “Yeah?” he mumbles into your skin. “That’s nice to hear.” 

The sensation feels ticklish, but your giggle is quickly replaced by quiet pants as Satoru leaves a trail of kisses down your torso. His large palms find the back of your knees, and he lowers himself while spreading you apart so he can comfortably rest between your legs. The hand on your left leg curls around your ankle and he adjusts your position by bending your knee at a perfect angle. Meanwhile, his other hand lifts up your right leg, exposing the back of your thigh which he litters with tiny kisses and gentle nibbles.

“You don’t know...” he mumbles, “you don’t know how hard it is for me being away from you, it’s...” he interrupts once more, smooching your plush skin, “it’s unbearable...” 

His feathery admission gives you no comfort. Worry twists around your belly, caught between the grips of fright and excitement. A part of you refuses to believe that he is truly helpless without you around. However, it’s battling with your ego that’s showering with pride over the fact that this man would bend at your every will. 

Satoru presses his nose up against your clothed cunt to inhale your scent. The tension on his face dissipates, but his grip around your ankle tightens as he kisses you over the white cotton fabric. 

“M’here, Toru...” you soothe, threading your fingers through the frosty strands framing his facing, and pushing back his hair. “Here just for you” 

He releases an exaggerated sigh, “I feel so much better when we are together...” he admits, pressing his index finger up against the outline of your slit and rubbing over the damp patch that he formed with his tongue, “...when we are close like this.” 

You don't believe he’s lying. As a matter of fact, Satoru is honest to a fault when expressing his feelings about you.

You think it’s detrimental for a person to be this dependent, but your mind always finds a reason to rationalize his perspective.

Maybe it’s because you love him…or maybe it’s because he’s successfully bulldozed his way into your life that he now occupies every territory, making it impossible for you to turn anywhere catching a glimpse of his shadow.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

You don’t want to dissect these unsettling ideas, afraid of what your mind would reveal to you in the process.

Instead, you allow yourself to relax as your lover pulls aside your underwear to expose your pussy. He lightly rubs his thumb over your ankle, keeping you in place for him before placing a sweet kiss on your clit. You slowly massage his scalp as a gesture of encouragement, and whimper quietly when he flicks the tip of his tongue along the nub. 

Your right leg lazily falls over his broad shoulder when he releases his hold, your eyelids growing heavy feeling the stroke of his velvety tongue drag down.

Satoru eats you out for his own pleasure, and the man is starved having not tasted you for months.

He keeps you in this position long enough for you to feel like the room is spinning. You’re lightheaded, delirious, with the way he softly and slowly devours your cunt and slurps your arousal. The sound of tender smacks and his deep humming moans echo around you, and your hips buck against his mouth from how sensual he sounds.  

The brewing heat numbs you from the top of the head down to the tips of your toes, it’s burning so low that you’re desperate to prod the embers just to stir the flame. You lick your lip feverishly, tasting the saltiness of sweat and jab your heel into his back, but the pressure feels like nothing to him. 

Satoru doesn’t waver or pick up the pace because he’s savoring you down to the very last drop, and he looks so content with your slick dribbling down his chin. He goes deeper, pushing his tongue further inside you as he compresses his nose into your clit. The added pressure makes you choke out a pathetic whine, provoking your exasperation and your thighs start to quiver uncontrollably. 

You’re relying on your movements, grinding your hips out of desperation in the hopes to finally snap the rubber band of your pleasure that’s being stretched to its limit. 

“mmph...t-toru?...” you mewl as tears prick your lovely eyes. “toru?” 

“Hmm?” a deep voice replies, and Satoru slowly wriggles his nose as he continues to lazily fuck you with his tongue. 

“Satoru, I-...ah!” you yelp, finally grabbing his attention as you roughly yank his hair. 

He groans with annoyance, but slows down his movements. To your dismay, he doesn’t completely pull away and instead returns back to your sensitive clit. He languidly rolls his tongue over it, licking and sucking the overstimulated bud that the tears start to fall. 

“I can’t take this...I can’t take this...”  you sniffle, easing your hold as you try to push his head away. “need to cum, wanna cum so bad...” 

Only then does he look up from the mess between your legs, strings of your slick catch onto his chin and you contemplate how unjust it is that he looks this beautiful, contemplate how unfair it is that you are meant to temper your sinful thoughts around a man who is Adonis incarnate. 

His hazy eyes blink away his dream like trance, and you can see his senses returning back to the present. He arches his brow with slight amusement at your flustered expression but maintains an innocent tone when he replying.

“I got a little carried away...” he states before placing an apologetic kiss on your lower tummy. “Not enough for you, huh?” 

You pout slightly and shake your head no, attempting to lift yourself up on your forearms despite your shoulders trembling from how frail your body feels tipping so close to the edge.

Satoru envelopes you in the protection of his embrace. He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue and over his lips. He molds into your frame and your body lights up with sparks feeling how stiff  the length of his hard cock feels as he delicately ruts his hips over yours. 

You moan with every calculative thrust, spread your legs wide enough to feel his impressive bulge rub against you.

God, it makes you want to ride him senseless.

You’re yearning to have him inside you.

He pulls away from the sloppy, wet kiss then eases the grind of his hips as he pecks your cheek and jawline. He wriggles down, stopping to suckle on the tips of your pointed nipples and your heart stops when you realize that he still has no intention of making you cum yet.

“Toru, please...” you beg when he returns to his previous position, a gasp following your plea as he buries two fingers inside you. 

“I’m feeling much better, baby, I love you s’much...” he reassures, a wicked grin tickling the corners of his mouth as he steadily drags his digits back and forth, “I promise I’ll fill you right up…just need to make up for some lost time, kay?” 

The blood drains from your face, and you realize that you’re completely at his mercy.

“s’good to me, so perfect ‘n pretty...” he praises into your glistening cunt, but you’re too enraptured by the sensation of his tongue stroking your folds to notice the way his eyes darken as he looks at you.

If you did, then you would remember the danger of nuzzling up with a wolf whose bite would bleed you dry. 

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after, the end

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: It's finally their wedding day...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ full/ might not be accurate to real weeding speech in the 40s/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1,2k

The day had finally come, their wedding day. She was nervous, but she was able to go to London to buy a wedding dress, with Daisy and Elodie. Her dress was simple, it stopped before her ankles and it had long sleeves. She didn’t want an extravagant wedding dress, they were getting married on the base, they weren’t Catholics, but the priest on the base was going to marry them, so it’ll be legit. She’d ask Crosby to walk her down the aisle, Buck was the best men, Elodie was the maid of honor and Meatball was going to carry the rings, with the two kids guiding him. Her hair was down, she didn’t have a veil, just a dress and heels.

He was nervous, but he was really happy. He was marring his girl. ‘’You ready for this?’’ Buck asked, coming in the room. ‘’Yeah, I’m nervous, but it’s my girl, I can’t wait to marry her’’ He sign. ‘’Let’s go its time.’’ Corporal says, as he enters the room. ‘’Thanks, Corporal’’ Bucky says. ‘’She’s a good girl, I’m happy for you, Major’’ he says. ‘’I appreciate it, Corporal, thank you.’’ They entered the room, soldiers were sat, some were still arriving. Nurses were there too, almost all the men and woman on the base were there. The priest was waiting for him at the altar. ‘’Who thought we would see Bucky tie the knot?’’ Lieutenant Dye said, even if he went home because he did 25 missions, he came back to see his friend get married. ‘’Yeah, well you did steal my previous girl, I had to find another one’’ he laughed. Right now, he couldn’t even think about Lil, the only woman that mattered to him was his future wife. When Bucky commented about their previous relationship, she bent her head down, ashamed. ‘’Don’t worry, Lil, he’s the better choice for you. I’m happy for your guys’’ He reassured her. Dye smiled to the groom and took the hand of his lady. Lil smiled and took a relived breath.

Once again, she was pacing around the room, Meatball following her with his head. Harry Crosby came in the room, smiling. ‘’Are you ready?’’ he asked. ‘’I feel like I’m going to throw up.’’ ‘’I know that feeling, but don’t worry I can recommend you to an amazing doctor’’ Crosby smiled, she laughed, it calmed her down a little. She didn’t even know why she was nervous, they both loved each other, but she was nervous. ‘’I’m really happy for you. You deserve happiness, Y/n, you both do.’’ They both hugged. ‘’You’re my best friend, Croz, thank you for everything you did for me’’ She whispered in his ear. ‘’Now, don’t make me cry.’’ They chuckled as Daisy came to get them. ‘’It’s time’’ she simply said.

When the band started to play music, Bucky’s heart stopped; she was coming. He turned around to look at his girl. She was magnificent, her dress was simple, but it was made for her. After all, they didn’t have much time to plan their wedding and their budget was small. Harry Crosby was walking her, he was grateful for him, he took care of her when he wasn’t there. When she saw him in his uniform, she started to smile like she never did before, she’d saw him in his uniform before, but he looks wonderful. When Harry and Y/n reached the groom, Crosby wanted to say something. Normally, her father would’ve give her to John, but Harry needed to say words to him. ‘’Take good care of her, just like she took care of you. Y/n smiled, hearing the word his best friend said to her future husband.

When Meatball came down the aisle, with the two boys, the soldiers chuckled. Everyone on the base knew that Y/n and Meatball came as a pair, they were together all the time. When she worked at the hospital, Meatball was there too, he made soldiers smile. The two boys handed the rings to the bride and groom. They recited the vow that the priest asked them too. It was beautiful, making them promise to each other that they will love the other, no matter what. It said that they would always be there for the other and stuff that made some people cry. When it was time for their personal vows, Y/n decided to go first. ‘’Bucky, my love, when I first met you, I thought you were going to be just another soldier that crossed my path. I was clearly wrong because, I’m now in a white dress in front of you. I did not just fell in love with you, I feel in love with your smile, your humor, your qualities and your flaws. I fell in love with each version of you, the one you show when you’re with your friends, the person you are when we are alone, the person that you’re too scared to show me, but did before you trusted me, and I also fell in love with the pilot version of you. Words aren’t enough to tell you how much you mean to me, but I’m so happy that Meatball came to me that day, so I could meet my soulmate’’ She cried, they were happy tears. Bucky was crying too, he didn’t care if some soldiers thought he was weak, that was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. ‘’My darling, my forever, I feel like the luckiest men on earth, because I get to be your husband. When things were rough, I think about you. Your smile, your laugh, your beautiful eyes and your voice. I’m not as talented with words as you are, but I can tell you this, it’s so hard for me to put our love into words, because I love you in ways, I have never loved anyone else, but I promise that I will spend the rest of my life, searching for them. I love you, my darling.’’ If the crowd didn’t cry to Y/n’s speech, they cried at Bucky’s. Even the priest was about to cry. ‘’ In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride.’’

They didn’t have to be told twice, their kiss was full of love and passion. It celebrated their love and said all the words they couldn’t find. The crowd applauded and congratulated the newly weds. ‘’I love you Mrs. Egan’’ Bucky said, looking at his wife. ‘’I love you more, Mr. Egan’’ she smiled.

After the celebration, and almost 4 songs that Bucky insisted on singing, they both pack all their things. Because has a weeding gift, the Corporal gave Bucky the right to go home. After all, he was at 23 missions, he was close to 25. And Y/n made Elodie the chief nurse, because the Corporal also gave her the right to go home. They were going home, they both couldn’t believe it, but it was the case. A smaller plane, that was made for traveling, was waiting for them on the runway. The newly weds were going back home on the same plane as Lieutenant Dye. They hugged their friends, Y/n gave Buck and Croz the phone number at Bucky’s home. That’s where they would live until they could afford a home. When they boarded the plane, they were euphoric. ‘’Can you actually believe we’re going home?’’ Y/n whispered. He shook his head. ‘’The only thing I believe right now, is the fact that you’re my wife, and my ribs are healed’’ he chuckled. She giggled when the decide to steel his watch, putting it in her bra. ‘’Come and pick it up after the flight’’ she teased with a huge smile. It was the beginning of their life together, and they would savor each second, they had together, because they both knew how easily life can change. But it wasn’t on their mind right now. The only thing on Bucky’s mind, was to pick up his watch, just like he did the first time.

A/n: It's the end y'all!!! Thank you for reading this story. I already have more ideas, for other stuff. Love you all :)

[joaofelix70]

MISS DIPLOMAT & MR. CHARMING |

dominik szoboszlai x female reader.

author's note: this handsome man's living rent-free in my head. he's a freaking masterpiece. talented, funny, charismatic, attractive. i watched interviews, tiktok videos made by supporters and much more to understand a little bit of his language, personality and what he does towards friends and loved ones. laughed a lot! i made my homework as a writer, hope you enjoy it! (compliments and any kind of retributions are more than welcomed).

summary: your job is involving the commitment of unify the population and create interrelations to another countries, using the eurocup qualifiers and the hungary national team executions. you just didn't expect to fall in love with the no. 10's captain player.

words and characters: 1,811/11,223. it was three days working too hard on this story. i'm begging for your consideration, lol.

────

sports diplomacy: it's the unique power of sport to bring people, nations, and communities closer together via a shared love of physical pursuits. this responsibility is the reason of a transition between strangers to connected individuals, advancing foreign policy goals and augmenting sport for development initiatives. the complex landscape where sport, politics, and diplomacy overlap become clearer, as do the pitfalls of using sport as a tool for overcoming and mediating separation between people, nonstate actors, and states. the power of sport has never been more important. so far, the 21st century has been dominated by disintegration, introspection, and the retreat of the nation-state from the globalization agenda. in such an environment, scholars, students, and practitioners of international relations are beginning to rethink how sport might be used to tackle climate change, gender inequality, and the united nations sustainable development goals, for example. to boost these integrative, positive efforts is to focus on the means as well as the ends, that is, the diplomacy, plural networks, and processes involved in the role sport can play in tackling the monumental traditional and human security challenges of our time. credits: international studies association and oxford university press.

────

MLSZ (hungarian football federation) ──

new training ground at telki.

"i can't believe that being in places like this made up my most theoretically utopian childhood dreams. what a progress in front of me!" you still witness exciting moments where you pinch yourself, trying to believe in the reality that surrounds you: visiting the new training center of the players who are just a few meters away from you, getting ready to represent an entire country.

"your presence is our privilege. a voice of the spread of eurocup to our nation, right here…" the technical director gives you deference, obtaining a measure of humbleness and respect by you.

"the honor belongs to me in its entirety. grateful for having me, sir. while the view is immersive and captivating — my fervent congratulations to everyone involved — could we retreat from the pleasant glass-enclosed room and see everything closer, on the outside? please? i will never get used to this atmosphere." you pour politeness and charisma to the staffs around you, being directed to the proximity of the field and saluting the employees who pass through your path.

meet dominik — your szobo — instigates the nostalgic combination of detailed moments in which your thoughts display as photographic retrospectives. you're incapable to oppose the little enthusiastic laughs, fidgeting the rings between your fingers and avoiding possible suspicious glances from others. however, for you, this wouldn't actually work. the lives of you both are correlated, but different.

the training session is finished. clapping your hands and celebrating the performances, you greet the athletes and recognize some familiar people. nevertheless, reality slows down after those dark woody eyes capture through your soul. his arms tattoos are glorified by the sun's rays, the same illuminated smile is offered to you: that one you got during the very first time you saw him — instantly knowing he made you testimony the accuracy of freedom, catharsis and emotional amorous complement. that he'd be the one to introduce you what you never experienced, what you thought you'd never receive or deserve. what love truly is. when you were novices in your actual professions, not even imagining the future gifts of your unreal purposes.

"there you are!" intimately, dominik points at you, being reciprocated by vibrant nods and your old sort of secret — not that mysterious or serious — handshake. "még mindig emlékszel rá? (still remembering it?). you're a real one!"

"hogy tudnám elfelejteni? alábecsülsz engem. (how could i forget it? you're underestimating me)". your defensive actions demonstrate purposeful falseness. masking any sensitive, verbal or figurative communicative fragment from him is a difficulty that makes you give in over time. honestly, you never complain about this. it's like he wants to understand the factors and layers of you.

"a te kézfogás fickó. ne merészelj lecserélni engem. (your handshake man… don't you dare to replace me)". a shameless wink is send to you, butterflies acquiring space in your stomach.

"és hivatalosan is a szavamat adom rá. (and you officially have my word on it)." your gloss is pigmented against your fingers while you raise it up, displaying an oath, wondering if szoboszlai comprehends that his replacement in your life would be blasphemous.

"diplomata kisasszony, (miss diplomat)…" the hungarian fingerprints are shared and you recognize the sign to hold them, ready to perform your typical fashion icon moment. "gorgeous as always. go ahead! you know what to do!".

amusement surrounds you with the nickname's citation. although, you could feel some curious glances, from the outsiders, about the intimacy between you and him. "i appreciate, our top-class national bless…" you move your body in rotations to exclaim the outfit's characteristics, lifting your feet to show off the specificities of your heels. "how is your hair so well-groomed after sweating, though?" your arms cross and you raise an eyebrow in questioning, trying to hide your fascination.

"thank you, my number-one fan, but don't change the subject. finish our inside joke, c'mon!" dominik grabs his water bottle and spreads the cooling liquid on his forehead, wiping the glowing droplets across his face as he lifted his jersey high enough to exhibits his fortified abs.

your attention is directed to any surrounding scenery, throat being piked. szoboszlai pretends he doesn't notice, preventing to embarrass you.

"alright, alright! you've won, bájos úr… (mr. charming)". your final comment escapes as, practically, a whisper. you can't control the shy laughter, coupled with the considerable redness invading your cheeks.

"that's the secret to make my day!" using his tongue to reproduce a sharp noise, he matches your humorous reactions. "would you like me to show you the infrastructure changes? i'm just gonna take a shower!"

"i've already been granted a tour around here, but in case you insist…" during the dialogue, some athletes cross your space, wishing them good luck for the competition. your concentration on the activity is significant, at the point that dominik's silent admiration goes unnoticed.

"i mean, you know me! i'm gonna insist anyway, so…" he reaches your captivity, bringing you jollification.

"i'll rate you as a personal tour guide. now, go there!" jesting each other, you both exchange exaggerated reverences, like a challenge of who makes the most chaotic one.

────

walking around the area, various subjects are explored, informations entrusted. you ask and are updated about his ethereal younger sister.

portraits of the generations are framed. you magnifies his presence in celebratory pictures, dedicated to find him in the memories and achievements on that wall. pride shines from you and the hungarian finds it lovely.

"you know i'm a sucker for accents… they're much more than mere verbal characteristics, they're stories: life experiences, marks and scars. identities and cultural integrations." the topic is random. through generalized opinions, you're explaining conceptions and dominik is retaining mental observations. he exalts every scrap of your identity, like a faithful worshiper.

"basically, you're admitting being enchanted by my accent. i can see the stars in your eyes. a win is a win!" szoboszlai and his frequent attribute to physical touch, tickling your ears and playing with them. it doesn't bother you, actually: adoring the affection exuded by you and him. you feel like a little girl dealing with your one and only love.

"it's beautiful, how can you blame me? and hey, i know mine's making you grin too." he holds your arm, shivers running down your spine, the two of you being euphoric in the midst of your own enthusiasm.

"putting me against the wall? okay, hum… what were you saying before?" he's changing the subject and you have a natural wit to boo him. lifting his shoulders as a surrender, the hungarian focuses on the specific loose strands of his simple bracelet, which you get used to help him tie it again, willingly.

"trying to avoid the truth? fine! let me take care of you while i talk about my admiration towards globalization and communication. like, with every fiber of me…" you accept the conversation's direction and utter a 'voilà' towards the accessory's new appearance.

"that's why you're the best person i've ever seen doing this job." dominik compliments you, an act full of honesty.

"thanks a lot, mate. but which job? as your bracelet helper or my real one?" you provide tenderness, looking amused.

"i mean… both of them." szoboszlai chuckles, revealing courtesy by your continuous helpfulness.

"literally? because i know you know a lot of people. you're so young and already is the national team's captain." you nudge him in a form of tease. he's a starboy, it's undeniable.

"flattered! literally, thought. you were born for this, believe me." vulnerability collides to you, as his words are deliberated: emotions embracing you and warming your insides.

"dominik szoboszlai, my dear friend, you're gonna make me cry, right here. i'm sorry, i need to do it…"

innocent satisfaction builds strength over you and executes unthought-of approach to the tangibility of your gratitude — his colony enrapturing your sensitive olfaction — in the most out-of-control way. the sounds reach your hearing: a choir of angels singing hallelujah. he reciprocates the contact, laughing at your juvenile excitement. joining him and doing the same thing, harmonizing the triumph. in the separation of the touch, you both remain close to each other and the hungarian doesn't miss the opportunity to feel the softness of your side face, caressing the skin. appreciation and satisfaction invade your structure, delighting on the palm of his hand.

"just a dear friend? why are we pretending all this time?" dominik's reading you. the intimidation at the sight of him overhanging you is paralyzing. you don't usually back down, but in that instant — superior than your most repressed desires — your gasps are escaped.

"who is putting who against the wall now?" insisting and failing on your witty answers, shyness and uncertainty corrodes you.

"please, look at me! i'm not kidding anymore." his voice is questioning, intrigued — contradictorily vulnerable and calm — your rationality being fragmented, fragile.

"you know i'm not the kind of woman you're surrounding by, domi. i'm not an influencer, bikini model. i'm not a public figure. i don't live for the cameras and gossip platforms. i live to work hard. i didn't achieve any of this with some type of perk. my routine and your routine are based on traveling..." who could deny it? szoboszlai's always been all that you see. it's much more than a mere passion. your attraction to him is magnetic, intense, vivid. consequently, terrifying.

"i'm just asking for a chance, (your nickname). i don't lie when i say i've never met someone like you. i may be surrounded by a crowd and you'll still be the one to steal my attention, because nobody compares to you."

your eyelids are closed and the exhalation of his sigh penetrates your lungs with the numbing breath of life you've never experienced before. it's happening: the rare situation where thinking carefully about the pros and cons is unworthy, dumbness. your decision is made and the privilege's resolution unify your lips. the beginning demonstrates slowness and patience — the intensification through the concluded wait of the longed-for reality, transforming light and magical kisses into open mouths discovering each other and witnessing the endearment that both offer — hairs, necks, shoulders and waists captured.

"you're the first to create a meaningful presence in my mind and heart. i want you to be the last one too. i love you, kincs (my treasure). i'm finally brave enough to demonstrate it with no fears." dominik's forearm covers your upper torso. your back against his chest, noses resting on each others. rejoicing at the miraculous, incomparable circumstance.

"i love you, drágám (my precious). you're finally mine and it was so fucking worth waiting." his whisper: the living proof of celestial existence.

"how blessed we are…" intertwined bodies, coalesced essences. solitary melodies turning into the sweetest and most complete symphony.