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fanwarriorfictions · 3 days

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Not Again - Part Twelve

Summary: Y/n is desperate to save her mate, they keep telling her he will be fine, but she knows something is wrong

Warnings: ANGSTY!!!! Madja is a good healer I swear, it’s solely for the plot

Series Masterlist

-Part Twelve-

Wake up, please wake up. Faint, desperate words in his mind. Not his shadows, the voice was female, with a soft, swirling accent like the mountain breeze running through his hair. There’s a feeling, like this female is everything, that he needs to get to her, to tell her something. Fight, Az, come back.

He tried, so hard, it hurt to much.

Mate, mate, mate.

The word beats in her head in time with his heart. She could feel it, beating in time with her own, across the bridge between their souls, the shadowy tether that she could feel like another limb connecting them.

Mate, mate, mate.

Azriel was her mate, this male, laying before her, thick bandages wrapped over the wound on his chest from the arrow he took because of her. Because of a broken goddess, because she knew the anger, the ferocity caused by a mate being hurt, would unlock that fire in Y/n, Mala’s own power, the only thing strong enough to finally kill her. Her mother had only a drop of it left, Y/n had inherited a deep well of it, deeper than she thought she had, a final gift from Mala.

Amren theorized that Deanna had opened the gate that brought Y/n to them. That she was trying to bring Y/n to whatever world she’d been trapped in, to use the power in her veins to gift her the death she desired, but something happened when the gate opened, the bond between her and Azriel had altered her course, had brought her to him. A gift from the Wyrd, to find her mate all the way across the stars.

Mate, mate, mate.

The gate Y/n had opened had been hijacked by Deanna before it could find Terrasen, and the goddess was able to take the Walking Dead and open her own gate. Amren assumed that, without Deanna’s interference, the gate would work as it should, that they would be able to try it again. She could go home now, could see her parents, her family, Terrasen.

Mate, mate, mate.

It had been nearly a week, since Deanna, since that arrow had pierced Azriel’s chest and she had felt that mating bond between them. Felt it thin as his heart slowed in his chest. It had felt like she was dying with him. A healer, Madja, had tried to lay her hands on him, Y/n had been so deep in a furious red haze that she almost burned the female alive. A red shield had surrounded her as Cassian had ripped her away, she’d almost killed him too, Madja had to heal the burns left on his arms. Feyre had been the one to finally calm her down, arms covered in cold water so she could hold onto Y/n’s scorching skin.

“He’s okay!” She had screamed, when the water had started to boil. “She’s healing him, Y/n look! It missed his heart, he’s okay!”

Y/n had watched the arrow clatter to the floor, the blood coating it, and the wound slowly stitching together beneath the healer’s hands. Feyre let her go, only when Y/n had gone practically limp in her arms. She’d crumbled to the floor, no longer supported by the High Lady, and she crawled towards him, laid down beside him, and pulled on that bond, refusing to let him go.

A week had passed, and she hadn’t attempted to open a gate, to go home, she’d barely even left his room. She couldn’t, not when he was still asleep, not when this bond in her chest was the only indication that he was still alive. Would she still feel it if she left? Will it feel like when he’d almost died, that thinning, that pain, that fear? The thought was so terrifying, so painful, she couldn’t even attempt it, wouldn’t step in that room that still smelled of his blood.

Wake up, shadowsinger, please.

He didn’t.

The inner court checked on her and Azriel periodically, rotating through, Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, over and over again. Even Amren had visited a few times, she’d been the one to finally drag her to the dining room to eat with the rest of the court.

“You can come back and wallow in your misery after you eat, girl.”

Amren didn’t practice kindness, not in the way many would. Forcing her out of that room, quite literally dragging her down the hall, was her form of being kind, of reaching out to make sure Y/n was okay. She wasn’t, she was far from okay, but she let the tiny female force her into her seat, met the concerned eyes of each of the court members, and ate whatever the house forced onto her plate.

“He’ll be okay,” Cassian says gently, his own voice weighed down by his concern for his brother, “Madja has healed worse injuries, he’s had worse.”

She didn’t want to know what those injuries were, “I know.”

“Y/n-“

“How long did you all know,” she cuts him off, looking between each of them, “That he and I were mates? I’m assuming you all know.”

A few of them had the decency to look ashamed. Feyre especially, who gives her mate a hard stare, no doubt speaking to him in his mind. By the way he winces, Y/n assumes it’s not a pleasant conversation.

“After the fight you two had,” Rhys starts, “I had Amren ask the Book of Breathings for more answers, she wrung the information out of it. I told Azriel what it had said, I left it to him on how to tell you.”

After their fight, when he’d disappeared for hours and hours, when she’d felt so lost and miserable, an echo of how he felt. He’d come back, had known exactly how awful she was feeling, called her a coward.

“I wanted to tell you,” Feyre says, glaring at her family around her, “I know how awful it is to be left in the dark-“

“He should have told me,” Y/n says, no heat, no anger, “Azriel should have told me.”

Cassian winces at the cold emptiness in her voice, “He wanted to, but he didn’t want to burden you with it, to hold you back from getting home.”

“He should have told me,” she says again, voice so cold, “He doesn’t get to call me a coward, while he was hiding this.”

“Y/n,” Mor’s gentle voice, “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Of course he didn’t, that’s not why she was upset. She knew that Azriel cared about her, cared enough that he would suffer beneath the weight of this mating bond alone so she wouldn’t have to. He would take an arrow for her, again and again, and that was terrifying, that he would die for her without ever telling her why. That he would die and leave her behind knowing that she lost the mate she hadn’t even known she’d had.

Y/n stands, ignoring the pity in their eyes, the understanding in the eyes of the High Lady’s, the anger on her behalf from Nesta, the disappointment from Amren. She didn’t want any of it, any of them, she wanted her mother, her father, her family. More than anything, she wanted Azriel.

Days passed, Azriel kept sleeping. Something was wrong, so unbelievably wrong, he should have woken by now, he’d been asleep to long. Y/n couldn’t do anything, the panic pressing down like the mountain had crumbled around her, pinning her beneath the red stone. She yanked on that bond, begging and yelling for him to, wake up, wake up, please, Az, wake up.

Nothing, just that faint steady presence of his heartbeat, the bridge of shadows dark on his side like he couldn’t even dream in his sleep.

Madja looked him over, changing his bandages, she found nothing wrong, he just needed rest. That’s what they all kept telling her, he’ll be okay, Y/n, he needs to rest.

She wanted to scream, to burn the next fae that told her he was okay, he wasn’t, something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Please, Azriel, I need you to wake up.

He wanted to tell her something, needed to tell her something. He tried so hard to wake, to reach for her, but he couldn’t.

I’m here, Princess. I’m here.

“Help,” she’s screaming, “Help, please! Cassian!”

Azriel’s body violently shakes beneath her hands, his skin hot and coated in sweat. She’d woken to his limbs colliding with her own, part of her had thought he’d woken up, but when she’d shot up, seen his eyes still closed, felt the intense pain coming from him down the bond, she screamed and screamed for help.

A seizure, he was having a seizure. She’d spent time in the southern continent, at the torre with her aunt. Learning the basics of healing because she was fascinated with it as a young teenager. There had been a man who was yelling for help, his wife had collapsed in the street and she was shaking. The healers had helped her, her aunt had described the situation as a seizure, told her what to do. She knew what to do, but in this moment she was panicking to much to do it.

The door slams open, Cassian running, dagger in hand, “Mother above.”

“Get the healer,” she screams, “Get Rhys, Feyre, anyone, please!”

That far away look in his eyes, “They’re on their way, just hold on.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” Y/n pleads, forcing herself to breathe, to do what her aunt had instructed her to do.

Cassian rushes to her, helping her haul his brother up and onto his side, “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know, a few minutes maybe,” she says, “Where’s Madja?”

“Almost here,” he answers, that look in his eye, “Rhys is flying them up now.”

Y/n gently holds Azriel, his shaking form beneath her palms, whispering down that shadowy bridge between them, You’re okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s okay.

She didn’t believe herself at all. Not even when the seizure subsided, not when Madja had arrived with a frantic Rhys in tow, not when she checked him over and found nothing outwardly wrong with him.

“All we can do is wait,” Madja says, laying a gentle hand on Y/n’s shoulder, before leaving with Rhys and Cassian.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

The room is pitch black, the moon and stars covered by clouds in the sky, the only light comes from the small candle in her hand. It still smells of his blood, the whole room reeks of it, his combining with her own.

The cut on her arm was a dull ache, barely noticeable beneath the pain and fear in her heart. Her blood was warm on her fingertips, she pressed them to the floor and drew, drew the symbols she’d memorized, drew the name she had learned as a child, one of many.

Her voice sounded hallow in her ears, the painful words tearing through her vocal chords. The blood turns green, casting the room in its sickly light. Her hands shook as she finished, wide eyes staring into the darkness.

“What is that?”

She almost sobs at the voice, at the woman who comes into view, peering into the gate. The only person she could think of that would know what to do, to save him.

“Yrene,” her voice broke as the woman’s eyes landed on her, “I need your help.”

“Oh gods,” her aunt sobs loudly, “Y/n, my darling girl where have you-“

The door behind her aunt flies open, a man as familiar as her own father running through, sword raised to protect his wife, “What is it? What’s wrong-”

He spots the gate, sliding to a stop, “Y/n? My gods-“

“Please,” Y/n sobs, “I need help, please something is wrong, he won’t wake up, a seizure, he can’t, I can’t-“

“Y/n slow down,” Chaol lowers his sword, “Sweetheart breathe, calm down, who’s hurt, where are you?”

“Yrene please, he needs your help,” Y/n begs, she falls to her knees, her hands raised over her head, palms up, “Please, help him.”

There’s a shift in the air as Yrene steps through the gate, Y/n sobs when her aunt’s hands grasp her own. Yrene pulls Y/n to her feet, supporting her weight. Behind her, Chaol takes a step towards them but Yrene shakes her head.

“Get Aelin and Rowan,” she commands.

Chaol looks ready to argue, but a sharp look from his wife has him nodding once, “Be careful, my love”

“Where is he?”

Y/n runs, forcing herself to slow down, to keep pace with Yrene’s human form. She follows that bond, pulling on it, feeling the heartbeat on the other side and nothing more. It was like Azriel was barely there, blocked, hidden from her.

She felt then, a rumbling power, night kissed darkness. Rhys was coming, he’d felt the portal open no doubt, she didn’t care to stop, to explain to him what she had done. He could wait, Azriel couldn’t.

The door to his room is wide open, the house already knew what was happening, the room lit by fae lights. Yrene didn’t hesitate, just ran to the bed, to Azriel.

“What happened?”

It was a struggle to keep calm long enough to briefly describe what had happened, that he’d been shot in the chest by the goddess Deanna, that he’d been in a coma ever since. Yrene lays her hands over Azriel’s chest, faint warm light glowing from her palms. Her magic searching, washing over him and into that wound beneath his bandages.

“What is this?” That night kissed power explodes into the room, “Get your hands off my brother!”

Y/n throws herself in his path, a cold harsh wind blowing him back, “Rhys stop! She’s helping him, this is my aunt, I told you about her.”

“You opened a gate? Alone?” His voice is scathing, “What if something had happened again? You almost died last time! Damnit Y/n, you could have asked-”

“I needed to do something, I couldn’t keep waiting,” she snaps, her voice breaking, “Rhys I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

The anger in Rhys shatters, “I know, Y/n, I know, me too.”

“I don’t know what’s going on over there,” Yrene calls out, “But I could use some help.”

Y/n turns from Rhys, offering no translation, “What? what is it?”

“There’s something here,” Yrene says, hand hovering over the bandages, “Magic, it’s old, older than the valg. It feels similar though, to what was paralyzing your uncle, it’s attached to his heart.”

“What can I do?”

“Hold him down,” she says, “Get the angry one to help, this is probably going to hurt really bad.”

“Rhys,” Y/n throws over her shoulder, “Help me hold him down.”

The High Lord does without hesitation, “What’s wrong with him? What is she doing?”

Almost in response, Azriel screams. Arching off the bed, wings flaring beneath him, almost knocking Y/n over. Rhys throws his weight over his brothers kicking legs, using some of that power to restrain him. Y/n’s own wind holds Azriel down where she can’t reach, keeping his arm from swinging into Yrene.

His screams are so achingly painful, shouting down the bond between them, the first sign of him she’d had in nearly two weeks.

“You’re okay,” she shushes him, “It’s going to be okay. Just hold on.”

He screams and screams, tears streaming down his cheeks. Y/n can only hold on, can only cry with him. Every feeling is thrown down the bond, like it had been opened like a door between their minds, pain, fear, agony, Y/n could feel it all like it was her own chest, like it was being torn open, like her heart was being ripped out.

“I’ve almost got it,” her aunt says through clenched teeth, “Just a little while longer.”

Hold on, just hold on. She hopes he can hear her, he only screams in response. Roaring loud enough to shake the mountain beneath them. She screams with him, her already hoarse voice shattering, she could taste blood on her tongue.

A bright silver light shines through Yrene’s warm healing glow. It nearly blinds Y/n, she has to squint to see what it even was. Slowly pulling it from Azriel’s chest, it looked almost like a worm made of moon fire, writhing inside a bubble of Yrene’s magic.

Azriel slumps to the bed, breathing hard and fast, his eyes do not open. Y/n collapses against him, cradling his head to her chest, her fingers running through his hair.

“What is that?”

She looks up at Rhys, “One last fuck you from Deanna.”

The magic reeks of the goddess, a shred of her left in it, mocking, laughing. Y/n holds out her hand, and her aunt wordlessly drops the silver thing into her hand. It writhes in her palm, she glares at it, at the final shred of the wretched goddess.

“Go to Hel,” she spits, and her palm lights in the deepest, hottest blue flame, until there’s nothing left.

Wake, wake up, here, she’s here, wake up, tell her, wake up! The voices hurt his head, adding to the pain that radiates through his whole body. It hurt, his head, his chest, his heart, it all hurt.

He couldn’t force his eyes to open, so he relies on his other senses. He was laying down, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets, warm. From the scent surrounding him, he was in his own room, but there was another scent, pine and snow and embers, home. It clung to the pillows beside him, he wants to turn his face into it and inhale deeply. He tries, but the motion causes his already aching head to scream in pain.

“Az?”

That voice, soft and swirling air, the northern breeze that caught in his wings and lifted him high into the sky. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, her voice, the one he’d heard in his dreams, the one begging him to wake. He had to tell her something, desperately needed to tell her.

“Princess-“ he coughs, his throat felt like sand paper, felt like he had been screaming.

“Here,” she says.

He feels the bed dip beside him, something cold presses to his lips, water. The cold liquid slides over his tongue soothing the pain in his throat. He drinks deeply for several seconds, groaning when she takes the glass away.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” she chides.

He wanted to open his eyes, to see her, to tell her everything, “Princess, I-“

Her hand in his, so right, so perfect, “I know, shadowsinger, I know.”

Azriel finally forces his eyes open, the sunlight shines through the open curtains, settling over her like a blanket of gold. Beautiful, so achingly beautiful. He could feel her, that tether of shadow more like a solid bridge between them.

“You know,” he breathes, “How-“

“You should have told me,” she stops him, her hand shaking in his palm, “Gods, Az, you should have told me. Instead, I watched an arrow go into your chest, I felt you dying on the other side of the bond.”

The words send a shock of pain through his chest, like that arrow was finding home in his heart once again. It echoes the pain she felt, still feels.

“It felt like I was dying with you,” she says, her eyes burning with lingering rage, “I killed her. I didn’t think, couldn’t, I felt that bond in my chest, knew that you were my mate, and she had tried to take you from me. I burned her to nothing but ash.”

Azriel could only stare at the female, she had killed a goddess, an ancient terrible creature, for him. His mate, his viscous warrior of a mate, gods killer.

“You should have told me,” she repeats again, and Azriel can feel the anger and the fear she feels, “You almost died, and I- I didn’t- I couldn’t- You“

“I’m sorry.” The broken words tear into his heart, “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

“I know,” she takes a deep breath, “I know why you hid it, I understand that, I just- I almost lost you before I’d even known I had you.”

Her face falls, looking down at the hands in her lap that fidget with the loose black fabric. Night court black, it almost seemed like mourning black to Azriel.

“Hey.” It takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to lift his scarred hand to her cheek, turning her face back to him, “I’m okay, you still have me, if you still want me.”

Her eyes are lined with silver tears as she nods once, a simple gesture that breaks and rebuilds every part of his soul. He didn’t need some big mating ceremony, didn’t need a party, didn’t need her to offer him food, just that nod, that simple yes, was more than enough.

Despite the pain, Azriel sits up, cradling her face in the palm of his hand, marveling at the sight of her wide eyes, no cold, no heat, just full of wonder. A single tear runs down her cheek and Azriel leans in, kissing away the drop.

“You’re my mate,” he whispers against her skin, it feels like a weight lifting off his shoulders, off his heart, “Mine.”

She pulls back, just enough to look into his eyes and say, “And you are mine.”

Azriel runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “My beautiful, wonderful, vicious mate.”

She smiles and he could fall apart completely. He looks down at those lips, soft and sweet, and Azriel kisses his mate, and for once in his life, everything felt right.

Y/n had been the first to pull away from the kiss, so achingly gentle, “You must be starving.”

Azriel’s eyes were firmly locked on her lips as he said, “Yes I am.”

Every instinct in him was roaring to keep kissing her, to do more than that. His mate, gods this was his mate.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two weeks, you need to eat.”

That gets his attention, his dark brows furrowed, “Two weeks?”

“The others are waiting in the dining room,” she says gently, “We can wait, we’ll go whenever you’re ready, but your family is desperate to see you.”

He’d been asleep for two weeks, they’d be beside themselves with worry, his brothers especially. There’s two voices in his head, one begging to see them, one that remembers that they’d also seen that arrow go into his chest, had watched as he nearly died. The other voice begs him to stay, to lay this female down and claim her in every way he could, his mate.

“You’re still recovering,” Y/n says, hand coming up to rest on the bandages over his chest, “Eat first, see your family. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet. That unspoken word, she wasn’t going anywhere yet. He wonders if she heard it too, wonders if she could feel his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Azriel wants to scream, instead he swallows it down and says, “Food first then.”

Y/n smiles and Azriel memorizes the image of her, tucks it away for later, ignoring the feeling of sand trickling down an hour glass, like their time was running out.

“Here, let me help.” She stands, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe.

Azriel throws the covers off, feeling the sore and stiff muscles throughout his body. He forces himself through it, to lift his arms as she pulls the shirt over his head, to breathe as her hands button the shirt beneath his wings. Each step he takes feels like fire lancing through him, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t complain, only holds onto her hand as she guides them through the halls closer and closer to his family.

“Hold on.” He stops, pulling on her hand just before they turn that final corner, “Give me a second.”

Worried eyes, searching him head to toe, “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you need to sit down?”

Azriel smiles, “I’m alright, Princess.”

“What-“

He doesn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence, his arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her to his chest. The smallest gasp leaves her lips and he breathes it in as his lips find hers. He needed one more kiss, to steady himself, to prepare himself for the overbearing love and care from his family.

Y/n holds tightly to his shirt, “Az.”

He squeezes her hips, his name on her tongue was one of his favorite sounds. He hums against her lips, memorizing the feel of this too.

“Az I need to tell you-“

It could wait, everything could wait. He needed her now, who knew how much time he had left with her. He kisses her like he was trying to steal the air from her lungs, so entwined with her, with the feeling of her mouth, of her hands, of her body, his defenses down. Not even his shadows warned him.

A blade pressed between his shoulders, between his wings, the sharp tip digging in just enough to sting, and a lethally calm voice, “I recommend you take your hands off my daughter.”

Tag list

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#a little shorter but whatever #I desperately want to write the next part #it didn’t fit in with this one #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again

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multifandomgirl08 · 30 days

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All That I Can Give [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Another Mother's Day and one of Nikita's first.

Warning(s): Talks of breastfeeding, implied sexual content at the end

A/N: Title from the song Give by Sleep Token.

Words: 4.6k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

Max had woken up early today since it was Mother’s Day. He had stayed in bed holding Y/N for a few moments, the feeling of her back against his chest. He opened his eyes taking in the quiet sound of the room with the sun peaking between the curtains. His eyes still felt heavy but he forced them open. He took in the sight of the cream walls, the couch leading to French doors that lead out onto the terrace, and the white sheets around him. He got up out of bed as quietly as he could before taking his phone off its charger.

He walked into his closet and found a pair of sweatpants and a white linen shirt getting dressed before walking through the bedroom to see that Y/N had turned over in bed, her hair now fanned out over her back as she clutched his pillow to her. He heard her let out a content sigh before nuzzling her head further into the sheets.

He had let Y/N sleep while he went to make her a cup of coffee the way she liked. He assumed that he was the only one awake in the house and that Nico and Nikita were still fast asleep.

Max quietly woke Nico up tapping on his bedroom door. Nico shifted in bed a little clutching his bedsheets closer to him. Max gave him a few moments to wake up before asking Nico what he wanted for breakfast. He got a half-muttered response back before letting him go back to sleep. Nico was quick to turn over hugging the stuffed Charizard plush to his chest that he had gotten for Christmas.

Max ended up ordering food from a breakfast place that wasn’t that far from the house. He didn’t want Y/N cooking today, as it was Mother’s Day and she should have it off from doing her normal routine.

He ordered Nico his requested pancakes, your favorite breakfast food, and ordered himself something that his trainer wouldn’t kill him for eating. He locked his phone standing in front of the expensive coffee maker that was put in after the kitchen was redone, watching your beloved mug fill with the brown liquid.

Over the last few months, Max had tried his best to spend more time with you and the kids on his days off. Sylvie would watch the boys one night a week in addition to the time she was there during the day while he was home. You and Max would end up going out to dinner to spend some time together, just the two of you. It was what you both needed. He loved the boys so much, but he missed you.

It was nice, like when you first started dating.

Once the mug was filled with your coffee exactly as you took it Max made his way back downstairs to where the bedrooms were. He stopped by Nikita’s room which was down the hall from the master bedroom, peaking in the open door to see that Nikita was still asleep in his crib.

He finally made his way down the hall back to the master to see you in bed with the red strap of one of your bras peeking out from under the sheets. You normally slept with nothing on when he was home, you must have gotten out of bed at some point while he was wandering around the house.

Max walked to your side of the bed placing the mug filled with coffee on your nightstand. Max watched as you turned over in the sheets, curling your hand around the edge of his pillow. Your hair was casting a light shadow over your pillow.

Max walked around to his side of the bed, letting the sheets pool around his waist once he was under the covers. He reached down, kissing you on the forehead lightly before your arm moved to settle around his middle.

"Mijn leeuwin," Max whispered into your ear. He heard you groan into his neck. He felt your long eyelashes flutter, tickling his skin, making him stifle a small laugh. He felt you hair move over his arm before your eyes met his.

"Happy Mother's Day, Liefde.” He said. He saw a smile spread across your lips.

“Thank you, Maxy.” He saw her reach her hand up lightly stocking his cheek, and then press herself closer to him kissing his lips.

It wasn't long before she had found a way to discard his white linen shirt at the end of the bed, her delicate fingers pressing into the skin of his naked back, and her other hand moved through his hair that she insisted he did not cut for a while.

His phone let off a loud bzzz sound from the nightstand.

“What’s that?” You asked him.

Max moved up in bed, lying back against the headboard before taking his phone off the nightstand.

“Breakfast,” He said, looking at the Uber Eats notification.

“I could have cooked.” You said resting your head on his chest. Max dropped his phone into the bedsheets. He would need to let the delivery guy past the gate in a few minutes.

“It’s Mother’s Day.” His hand moved up to stroke your cheek. “I don’t want you to do more than you have to today.”

It was a few more minutes before the buzzer went off for the front gate. Max got up, reaching for his phone to let the guy in. He was about to reach for his white shirt before he found it missing from the edge of the bed. You had disappeared into the bathroom. Max watched the little silver Renault car making its way up the driveway.

The sound of your footsteps made him lift his head a little to see you standing in his white linen shirt, and a pair of long white sleep pants.

He moved off the bed slowly walking close to you before pulling you into his chest, "You're stealing my clothes again."

You nodded back at him, quickly kissing him. He gave you a wide smile before pulling him out of the master bedroom and into the hallway so you could wake up Nico, and get Nikita for his morning feed.

Max walked to the front door collecting the bag from the driver. He said a quick thank you before placing it on the kitchen counter.

Nico had walked up the stairs still in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes when you had walked into the room holding Niki in one arm and your cup of coffee in the other.

Breakfast went relatively well. Halfway through Nico managed to spill juice on his rocket-themed pajamas. You told him to finish his breakfast before changing since you would be leaving to go out to lunch with Sophie, and Victoria in a few hours. Tom unfortunately couldn't make it because of something going on with work. It would just be the eight of you today.

Nico ran back downstairs to his room to change out of his sticky clothes. Max tackled putting the leftovers away, and you went into Nikita's room to change him out of the onesie he had slept in. He had been giving off bits and pieces of baby talk the last few weeks, making sounds and laughing when Max would pull a particularly funny face that caught his son's eyes.

You heard a light knock on the doorframe, and looked up to see Max. You were finishing up buttoning Niki’s onesie before going into the drawers to find a pair of pants that he hadn’t grown out of yet.

“Nico’s getting changed.” Max said.

“Did he pull out his Red Bull shirt again?” You asked with a smile. Max gave a small shake of his head, without having to say no.

“I told him no before he could get the chance.” You immediately knew the look that Nico had given Max. It was a pout that made Nico’s lower lip stick out.

You pulled out a pair of soft grey pants for Niki to wear and moved to put them on his little legs as they kicked the air.

“Did he give you his pouting face?” You asked. Max quickly pushed out his lower lip mimicking his son perfectly. You couldn’t help the smile that broke out after.

“Let’s hope that you don’t go pulling that face, huh Niki.” You tap Niki’s nose with your finger.

“Yes, or we will all be in trouble.” Max looked on into the room at both of you seeing you finish dressing Niki.

He watched you moved around the room, picking up Nikita’s diaper bag to restock it with a few things. Pacifier, two clean burp rags, and a few extra diapers just in case.

Max moved to pick Niki up, when he saw you turn towards them both.

“He’s not fully dressed yet.” You said putting your arms down, with the white velcro baby sneakers in your hand.

“I’ll finish dressing him, while you get ready.” Max walked closer taking the shoes from your hand and kisses your temple.

You quickly pulled out the black zip-up jacket out of an open drawer and laid it over the diaper bag. “Okay.” You said lightly brushing your hand over Max’s arm and then slipped out of the room to get ready.

You quickly check your phone before going into your closet to pick out clothes and put on some light makeup. You had to be at the restaurant at 12:30 so you had well over an hour until you would have to leave the house.

You had just finished up putting on your makeup when Max had come wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He turned the water on in the big walk-in shower.

“I laid Niki down for a short nap before we have to leave.” It was probably a good idea. He would be up the entire time you would be at the restaurant and wouldn’t get a chance to nap until you got home.

You let Max get undressed before looking into the mirror, watching as the water hit the back of his shoulders before moving to put on the dress that you had laid out earlier. It didn’t feel nearly as tight as it did the last time you tried to wear it. You had slowly been losing that last few kilos of what you had gained while pregnant. Max had told you that it didn’t matter if you weren’t at your pre-pregnancy weight, you still looked beautiful.

You had slipped on your engagement ring, wedding band, and a matching diamond band to wear around your other ring finger. Your everyday pair of diamond stud earrings adorned your ears before you pulled your hair to the side to clasp the second one on. The shower had turned off a bit after while you were in your closet looking for a pair of shoes, and moving things from your normal bag into one that you didn’t wear as often.

Max was still getting dressed so you quickly walked into Nico’s room to see him sitting in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

You had walked back into Nikita’s room to see him in his clothes minus the shoes that you had picked out asleep. You quietly moved him into the carrier that clicked into the car seat. It took a few more minutes to put Nikita’s bag by the door, and right after you went into the kitchen to fill a bottle with formula, so Niki could eat if he got hungry.

“Mama, can I take some of my cars?” Nico came up to you as you slid the bottle into the diaper bag. He was holding three Hot Wheels cars in his hands.

“Sure, but you may want to bring more. I’m sure Luka and Lio will want to play as well.” You suggested. Nico gave you the three cars that were in his hands, placing the blue, silver, and red cars in your hand and then ran back downstairs to his room to grab a few more. You placed them into your purse towards the bottom so they wouldn’t get lost. If you put them into the diaper bag, you wouldn’t be able to find them.

Max had come downstairs shoving his wallet, into the front pocket of the tan Ralph Lauren pants that he was wearing, the Rolex you gifted him sitting proudly on his wrist, with a light blue sweater on.

“Where is Nico?” Max asked quickly looking around the living room.

“He went to go get a few more of his toy cars.” You answered before you heard loud footsteps coming up the stairs. Nico had a few more of the cars in his hands and you had opened the lock of your Birkin for Nico to put them all in. You slid it closed while you heard the jingling sounds of your keys. Max had taken the carrier and your keys. Nico had your hand, as you walked to the dark blue Aston Martin that you normally drove.

After Max had locked the front door, he strapped Nikita into the car seat attachment of the carrier. You had Max drive, your hand on his thigh with his right hand on the steering wheel, only using both hands when he had to make turns.

Over the last few months, you have grown better at being able to multitask with two kids. Sophie, Victoria, and your nephews would be meeting you at the restaurant from the hotel. You were happy that the restaurant that Sophie had chosen had a preset menu for everyone. It would be easier on all of you given the kids.

When you had gotten to the restaurant, Max gave the key to the valet and followed after you and the boys to go inside. You could see Sophie and Victoria sitting out on the patio, already at a fully set table. You had pushed the stroller forward before stopping and accepting hugs from everyone. Luka and Lio peaked in on their little cousin until Nico had gotten their attention.

Once everyone was at the table, Sophie sat between Nico and You with Nikita in a high chair, so it was as if an adult was sitting between each child. Drinks had been ordered a few moments later when Sophie had started trying to get Nikita to smile from Max’s arms.

The waiter had come back to take your orders and then swiftly left.

“Ma,” You heard in baby babble from Nikita. Nikita didn’t pay Sophie any mind while he was drooling into the sleeve of Max’s light blue shirt. You snapped your head up fast, looking up from Nico over to Nikita.

“Wat Nikita?” You asked him slipping into Dutch a bit. Niki started to make grabby hands at you wanting you to pick him up. It took a moment for it to set in before you looked up at Max to see him smiling wide at you.

It must have been because you had been taking the Dutch lessons that Max was giving you seriously, and you were very slowly able to pick up the language. You were living in Belgium during the off-season, so it only made sense that you learn it.

“Mama!” Nikita loudly whined, his chubby face turning a light shade of red.

“Wil je mama Nikita?” Max asked Nikita. Niki just looked at Max with a blank stare before looking over to you and started to fuss in his Papa’s hold.

You reached toward Max to take Niki from him, marveling at your son whose first word you just heard. Nikita placed his head on your shoulder, moving his little arms back and forth before his little fist clasped around the thin chain around your neck.

“Max, he’s talking?” Victoria asked. Max gave a small shake of his head and then a shrug of his shoulders. He knew that Nikita wasn’t fully talking. It was mostly still sounds, and he would occasionally make grabby hands when he wanted you or Max.

“Not really, he’s mostly still making only sounds.” He answered. Victoria was quick to break into a story about when Lio first started talking.

You leaned down towards Niki, pretending to bump your head against his, “Burum, burum, boop.” Niki let out a loud laugh that felt like it could rival Max’s for a moment.

You looked up after Niki’s eyes shifted over to the little blue car in Nico’s hands. Niki didn’t try to reach for it. When Luka crashed the silver car into Nico’s blue one, Niki dropped his head to your chest, moving to stick his hand in his mouth.

After a few minutes, Niki seemed interested in visiting Sophie and pointed at her. She gave a big smile and was delighted to take her grandson for a bit.

Nico had come up to Max telling him something before Max kissed your forehead and whispered that he was going to take Nico to the bathroom.

“How are you, with the boys?” Victoria asked. She leaned back in her chair and fixed the bracelet on her wrist.

“I’m doing okay, a little tired with my work schedule but Sylvie has been a big help while Max isn’t home.” It hadn’t been easy, especially with your 30+ hour work schedule, but you had been able to manage before Niki was born. It would just take a little while.

“How’s the breastfeeding?” Sophie asked while taking Niki’s fist out of his mouth.

“It was going okay. But Niki eats more than I can pump so we’ve been giving him formula for about a week, he doesn’t seem to mind it.” You reached over and ran your fingers over Niki’s shirt. He looked up at you but didn’t seem like he wanted to leave Sophie’s arms. “He’s a good eater, just like his Papa.”

When Niki was a few months old you found it fascinating that he could fall asleep with the bottle in his mouth. It was like he preferred it over the pacifier. Then when you could take the bottle out, you found out that he was drinking the milk with his eyes closed.

“I remember when Max was really young,” Sophie said. “He would eat anything that I would make.”

You looked on a bit at Luka and Lio who were playing in the grass. They were mostly playing with the toys that Victoria had, abandoning the toy cars when Nico left with Max a few minutes ago.

The waiter had stopped by the table placing food down, when you saw the plate with carpaccio placed in front of you, and the salad bowl in front of Max’s plate, you waited until the waiter had left to switch them around. You looked up afterward to see Sophie laughing and Victoria with a big smile on her face.

You knew that it was strange to switch the plates as Max would eat both items regardless. Sophie gave you a reassuring pat on the arm.

Max had come back with Nico. He sat down in his chair and grinned at the carpaccio in front of his plate.

“Did Nico wash his hands?” You asked Max before he had the chance to reach for his fork. Nico had taken up not washing his hands in the last couple of weeks, saying that it took up too much time.

“He says he did,” Max said while filling his plate.

Nico was already back in his chair, and you quickly reached over for one of his hands to smell the strong scent of soap they used in the restaurant bathrooms. Nico then showed you his hands, his way of saying that they were clean. Nico looked right at you after, “Papa said to watch my hands.”

While Max had been at home after Nikita was born, it seemed like he had become the center of Nico’s world. He did everything that Max asked without complaint, while you sometimes had to ask Nico to make his bed twice, or to put his shoes away. Everything Nico did, Papa needed to be there for.

It was the way the cycle always worked. Max would be home for a few months, and Nico would cling to him like glue. He would play with his cars while Max was sim racing as long as he wasn’t disturbing him until Nico needed to go to bed. By the time June would come around Nico would understand that Max wasn’t home more then a few days a week and would stop depending on him as much.

The rest of the food eventually came. Everyone ate their fill, and you let Nico order something sweet to eat afterwards. Sophie had asked if she could feed Niki and you prepped the bottle with formula only having to ask for hot water that you could cool down with the bottle of still that was on the table. You pretended not to notice when Max had finished the rest of Nico’s desert after he had pushed his plate away.

You were waiting for the bill, and had rested your head against Max’s arm until the waiter came. You pulled away from Max a bit when he reached to pull out his credit card to give to the waiter. Max gave a nod to the waiter who slid the card into the little booklet for the bill.

“Y/N,” Sophie started to say. “Can we get a picture of all the kids?”

You just gave her a nod before asking Nico to go stand with his cousins by the bench that was next to the table. Nico let out a small huff before walking over. Sophie pulled out her phone taking a picture of all of the older boys, having Nico and Luka both hold Niki, after that Max took Sophie’s phone so you, Victoria, and Sophie could be in the photo as well.

There was a waiter walking by who was nice enough to offer to take a picture of all of you together. Max sat next to you with Niki in your arms and Nico at Max’s side, Sophie in the middle, and Victoria, Luka, and Lio to the left. Sophie took her phone back and told you that she would send you a couple of the photos while you were packing up Niki’s diaper bag.

The waiter had come back with Max’s card, he signed the bill leaving a generous tip before you all started making your way back to the cars, offering for Sophie, Victoria, and the boys to come back to the house for a bit.

Once it was pretty late in the evening, Sophie and Victoria said their goodbyes with Luka and Lio giving sleepy waves to both you and Max. Nico was already asleep on the couch, and Nikita was in his bed after Sophie asked if she could put her grandson to bed just before they had left.

Nico sluggishly went up to bed, and you watched to make sure that he brushed his teeth before changing and climbing into his bed. You tucked him in, kissed him on the forehead, and then watched as Max followed suit. Telling Nico good night hearing back a quiet “Night,” back. Max turned off the lights after you both walked out of the room. It was only 10 pm and you know that Max was most likely going to get on his racing sim for a few hours before coming to bed.

You made your way towards the master bedroom, pulling off the rest of your clothes from today, putting your shoes away, taking off your jewelry, and getting out a pair of sweatpants and an old worn-in shirt from the few things you had taken from Max’s closet over the years. It had a few small holes at the bottom hem and had somehow still held the scent of the Bulgari cologne he liked.

You went to wash off your makeup and could hear Max in his own closet, walking around most likely throwing his clothes into the hamper haphazardly. By the time the water was warm in the sink you saw him from the doorway that connected his closet to the bathroom, he was in a white shirt and a silver chain with his white gold and weaved carbon fiber wedding ring looped through it.

He never wore it on race days, always afraid that something might happen to it while he was in the car. So it was given to his trainer for the race on the chain, and was back on his finger the moment he could find his trainer after the race had ended.

You quickly took all of your makeup off, scrubbed your face, turned the water off, and then patted your face dry. When you had walked out to the bedroom, Max was in bed sitting on his phone texting someone back.

You took your laptop off the armchair that sat in the corner of the room and climbed on top of the sheets before opening the computer to see that you had no work emails from today. Holidays seemed to be the one time when everyone from your work was truly unplugged from their work life.

“Movie?” You asked once Max had placed his phone into the nightstand.

“Sure, but if you fall asleep I’m going to get on stream with Enzo and Crane.” Max teased knowing that you had a tendency to fall asleep watching a movie sometimes.

You closed your laptop then placed it on the floor turning over to look at Max. You pressed yourself up against his chest.

“Okay, I just hope Crane knows that he’s not allowed to flirt with you on stream.” You joked placing your hand onto his chest.

Max let out this big almost high pitched laugh, “Wha… Crane?” He dropped his head into his pillow. “Mijn leeuwin, Crane is the last person you need to be jealous of… Daniel on the other hand.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a bit. You were very aware of Max’s ‘bromance’ with Daniel. Sometimes Daniel would even go as far as to flirt with both you and Max, but never thought anything of it since that was just who Daniel was as a person.

“Well if you ever leave me for Daniel, at least I know that you’ve truly lost it.” You ran your finger over the planes of Max’s chest, stopping just where his sternum ended.

“I’d never leave you for Daniel. What would his wife say?” Max muttered as you curled up at his side with the TV remote in his hand.

“Probably what I would say.”

“And what’s that?” He looked down at you, with a bit of mischief in his eyes.

You moved the climb into his lap pressing your chest against his, “That I’ll make you live to regret leaving me.”

Max moved up just a bit before turning you onto your back. He boxed you in with your hands above your head, holding you down into the sheets, with one of his thick thighs forcing your legs open. You found a way to lock one of your legs around Max’s waist, your lips quickly met in a short kiss, a longer one followed, and soon after the TV remote was forgotten.

A while later you were pressed up against Max’s chest, feeling his fingers running over your naked back as you could feel the sweat slowly cooling against your skin. You pressed a few light kisses just under Max’s collar bone where his chest was flushed pink, feeling him shift under you, while he was still settled inside you with his hand on your lower back. You tucked your head against Max’s jaw, the feeling of the slow rise and fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

“Happy mother’s day, Mijn leeuwin.” You heard whispered into your hair.

You said nothing back and just tightened your arm that was over Max’s chest.

Translation(s):

Was Nikita? - What Nikita?

Wil je Mama Nikita? - Do you want Mama Nikita?

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv33 x reader #mv33 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine

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arcielee · 1 year

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Where Is My Mind?

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader’s subconscious has ruined her pussy. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2579 Warnings: Smutty smut, masturbation, little bit of spanking, oral (fem receiving), p in v, language, drinking. Author's Note: I did not think I would do a part 2, but I really appreciated the feedback from my first reader insert attempt and loved all the kindred spirits I apparently have on this godforsaken social media platform. ♥ Also, thank you so much @f4ll-for-you for your time to read this over! Tags (kindred spirits): @narwhal-swimmingintheocean This is dedicated to @fan-goddess because you made a call out to something and I already had 1k with that in mind. Series: Call It Dreaming

It had been three agonizing weeks since that night-that dream?-in Westeros and peace no longer seemed to be an option for your pussy.

At first, after you woke up, hot, bothered, and naked on the couch, you were grateful your roommates utilized a Friday night in a way that your school and work schedule did not allow. You were quick to wrap yourself in the blanket and flee into your room.

You took a moment in your full-length mirror to survey yourself: the thin gash between your breasts was not bleeding, but still had a delicious sting to it, and you had no idea where your clothes were. It must have been some sort of fucked up sleep walking? You cringe at the thought, promising to never watch House of the Dragon outside the safety of your bedroom again.

It was a very sexy dream, you tell yourself, returning to your bed and collapsing back onto it. Your mind wanders back, remembering the warmth of his hands on your body, the ache between your thighs when he entered you, the sensations of his hard chest pressed against your body…

Your hand trails to your cunt, your fingers desperate to touch and tantalize yourself the way Aemond Targaryen had. Your brow furrows with your concentration, your breath quickens with your motion, and your orgasm comes but it is like the tepid stream of tap water and the faucet was twisted shut.

You almost cry. My subconscious has fucking ruined me.

The thought does not linger and you return to your busy schedule of classes from morning until the afternoon and then your internship that went well into the evening. It was self-inflicted, a last minute decision to throw yourself into a master’s program for historic preservation. Though the internship’s pay was pitiful, it was manageable, and you had peace with your work, taking pride in visiting sites, your documentation process and photography for your filework later.

It had been perfectly soothing until fucking recently and now every quiet moment led to intrusive thoughts of a specific, fictional, one-eyed prince.

You refused to be broken by your mind, after all you were a modern, independent woman with items purposefully purchased for whenever a situation called for a DIY orgasm. Your free time was on the weekends and you politely decline your roommates’ invitation to go out with the lie that your lady time has arrived. Only after they left could you truly cater to yourself and what you needed.

Candles are lit, fresh sheets, every toy out on the covers and you sprawl back on your bed, your hands careful to trace where his hands had been, the bruising grip of his large palms, allowing your mind to flutter back to the Red Keep…

…and much to your disappointment, you find that you are still unable to bring yourself the release you had felt that night.

This is fine, your subconscious has not ruined you, you think as you scroll through your phone to find blood and flesh, assuming that is what your body was craving.

You had an ex that was a suitable candidate; you dated briefly when you both finished your B.A. but found the next steps of both your academic careers required too much time. It was an amicable end and you still sent the occasional text.

These texts were unlike the polite ones sent before and he was quick to reply. A week later, you were wearing a fitted black dress with a ribbed texture and an apricot cardigan over it, and ankle boots. You walk to the small bar that is only a few blocks away from your apartment, leaving a bit early to request a spiced rum drink for some liquid courage.

Your ex finally arrives and he is still just as traditionally handsome in a House Stark sense-oh my goddess, leave that G.R.R.M. thought alone-with a big smile beneath his beard and exuding the same golden retriever kindness as before. The conversation is pleasant, catching up on each other’s life updates until the rum floods your brain and the insatiable ache between your thighs demands action.

You grab him and the two of you fall away into a corner of the bar, but the moment you taste his lips to your own, you knew no modern man would be able to soothe the consistent ache in your lower abdomen, to satiate the void that gnawed within you.

He notes your change in your demeanor and breaks away. “Hey, it’s cool if we just remain friends,” he offers with his token, genuine kindness, completely unaware of your internal warfare with your mind.

There is a moment you think to protest, but decide against it. “Yeah, thanks, sorry,” you reply with a defeatist sigh. “I have, just, really been off lately. I think it’s because of my lady time,” you renew your lie.

“Oh? I could just walk you home, if you want?” You shake your head, “It’s okay. I am a few blocks away. Thanks anyway.”

Your steps are determined and you make sure to stop at the mart on the way home, grabbing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a cheap bottle of red dessert wine. In the solitude of your apartment, you grab two coffee mugs, one for ice cream and one for wine, making it easy to walk back to your room.

You throw off your cardigan and shoes, plopping onto your mattress, and fumble with the remote to turn on House of the Dragon, starting at episode eight.

My subconscious has ruined me, was your last thought, bringing a spoonful to your mouth.

And here you were, once again, standing in his same room and he, Aemond Targaryen, is seated in the same leather chair and facing the fireplace. The fire crackles loudly and gives a golden hue to the side profile of the prince. His posture is perfect, with one leg crossed on top of the other, his arm poised on the armrest and his thumb running the length of his fingertips and back again.

“You lied to me.”

Your eyes widen as he pushes from his seat and squares off to you; he is wearing leather trousers and a loose, white tunic with the sleeves rolled up to show his toned forearms decorated with silver hair. His tunic is not laced up and his hard chest peaks beneath, moving with his steady breaths.

Your heart pounds against your chest at the sight of him, your mind reviewing your last lucid dream of this perfect man who spoke so few words and you knew that you would not dare to lie to him, dream or not. You chew your bottom lip and allow your tongue to wet it, taking slow steps towards him, counting in-between each step to resist throwing yourself at his feet.

“What do you mean, my prince?” Your tone is controlled, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

He hummed and you swear you saw the hint of a smile touch his lips. “You said you were a whore that my brother had sent,” he continued, taking deliberate steps to close the space between you two.

Oh, that, you remember the exchange and were quick to say, “My prince,” lowering your lidded eyes. “I had only said that I had been sent for your pleasure,” your tone is coy and your arms cross below your chest to showcase the bit of cleavage allowed with the scoop neckline, noting the dilation of his lavender eye that roams your figure. “You made the assumption that I was just another one of your brother’s whores.”

You now can see the curl of his lips and you sigh your relief. He steps closer and reaches his hand to touch your jaw; his touch elicits a physical response and goosebumps ripple over your body, your nipples peeking beneath your dress. His lavender eye drinks in your figure. “You never did tell me,” he murmured, his voice dark and velvet.

“I have been sent for your plea-” you tried to begin, but he was quick to cut you off.

“Where are you from?”

Your mind floods with a response: How do I explain I am from the 21st century and he is the figment of my sexy imagination? Your eyes remain locked on the prince and you struggle to control your voice, “I cannot say.”

His expression is unreadable and his only reply is his low hum, then his hand grasps onto your hips, turning you and bringing your body flush against his chest. He nuzzles into your neck, pushing your hair aside so his mouth can suck and nip at the nape. His large hands grip onto your stomach and follow your curves, moving to the hem of your dress and pulling it to your hips.

You moan from his warm touch as his fingers trace the lace of your cotton thong and move towards your center, titillating your slit. You feel your clit pulsing from his touch and he hums again, hugging you close with one arm wrapping around your waist and his other hand cupping your cloth cunt; his hips roll against you and you can feel his bulge grind against your ass.

“So fucking wet,” he groans against your neck and more goosebumps ripple in response.

“Yes, my prince,” you say with your exhale, twisting to face him and find his lips.

He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss and your tongue responds with long, languid movements to drink in the taste of his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, bruising your lips against his own, and his hands trail the curve of your hips and to your backside, feeling the bare flesh of your ass. His palm rises and slaps soundly against your skin; you squeal in response. “My prince!” You pull back, your cheeks and nose flushed from kissing.

“You act as if no other man has handled you this way,” he smirks. “Wherever you come from, do the men there make you feel a certain way?”

Fuck me, I have never felt like this, but you feel shy with his question and instead say, “My prince, I have been searching for the pleasure you gave me and I have yet find anything that compares…”

Your answer is petting his ego, yes, but gods he was pretty. You did not expect him to speak further and your body pines to feel his touch, his lips once more. “And when you search to recreate,” his lips curl with his words, “the pleasure I gave you, did you use your hands?”

His tone is low, husky with his question and your cheeks burn when you nod yes.

“Show me. I want you to touch yourself.”

Before you can comprehend what he said, his hands grab the small of your waist and bring you back towards the bed. He pushes you back, your dress still bunched around your hips, and climbs on top to find your lips for a slow, lingering kiss before moving lower to grab the lace strings to remove your thong.

The cool air nips at the wetness between your thighs and he brings your fingers to his mouth, suckling to lube them. Your back arches from the tickle of his tongue to your fingertips and you pull back your hand, letting it fall between to caress your swollen slit, your eyes never leaving him.

He takes a step back and moves his hands to unlace the top of his trousers, his hand reaching to caress his cock and his steady gaze never leaving you. It feels sinful and you feel the first crest of pleasure wash over, a soft sigh slipping from your lips.

“Daor,” his voice pulls you from the edge, his gaze darkened on you. “Nyke mērī vestās renigon.”

No. I only said to touch.

He pulls the loose tunic over his head, his silver hair spilling onto his shoulders and his leather trousers low on his hips, his Adonis belt prominent on his toned abdomen. He moves to press his hands onto the peaks of your thighs, pushing the dress further up and you are quick to peel off the rest in time to see him dip between your thighs.

His mouth finds your center and you smother yourself in the bunched fabric of your dress as his tongue runs your slit. Aemond pauses and peers at you for a moment. “I need to hear you,” he says, his breath warm on your cunt and you are quick to throw the dress aside.

He returns his attention, his tongue lavishing you; your hands are eager to comb his silken hair and he hums his pleasure into your cunt. Your moans grow wanton and the pleasure builds towards your crescendo when he stops suddenly.

You prop yourself onto your elbows to look at him and the curl of his lips seem wicked. “I have been waiting for you to return to me,” he said simply. “You will not have your release until I decide.”

Before you can protest, he moves quickly, his hands sink into your flesh with his hold and flipping you onto your stomach, drawing you closer towards the bed edge until your legs drop and your feet touch the cobblestone. You feel his chest press against your backside and the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance before he sinks into you. You moan with his delicious stretch and he gives a low groan as he bottoms out in you, falling forward and pressing his lips to your spine.

“Just as I remember,” he growls, before his hands grab onto your hips and he ruts into you with a brutal pace. Your arms stretch in front to grab hold of anything as you feel him crash against you, his hip bones digging into the softness of your ass and reaching a depth that has your nipples taut with pleasure.

“My prince,” your cries are pitiful and you can feel his breath on your spine.

“Ñuha brōzi,” his tone husky. “Vestragon ūja.”

My name. Say it.

“Aemond, please,” you obey, the crescendo building again and you see stars flitting across your vision. “Aemond, Aemond…”

He can feel the flutter of your cunt but his pace does not cease until he feels you clenching, crying out as your orgasm rolls over your entire body; his thrusts slow with his release and he falls forward, wrapping his arms around you to hold you flush against him for a moment.

You are torn between the fortune of another successful sexy dream and your realization that your subconscious has absolutely ruined your pussy, but you push the thoughts aside when he pulls you back beneath the covers. You curl up against the prince, your head resting against his chest while his fingertips travel the length of your spine and back.

“You said I kept you waiting,” you say shyly.

He hums at first and then he says, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

“I will need to,” you feel an ache with your words. “But I will stay as long as I am able to.”

Aemond hums again and turns to pull you against his chest. You feel the press of his lips to your hairline and feel the flush of goosebumps with the murmur of his words, “Sȳz riña.”

Good girl.

#where is my mind #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #hotd fanfic #part 2 #thanks for reading #♥#Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader #aemond fanfic

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highladyandromeda · 25 days

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Shadows of the Heart

Part 5

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of blood, self-inflicted injury, a brief moment with unhealthy thoughts about body image (this is specifically marked with 1 star (*) at the start and 2 stars (**) at the end), unhealthy thoughts about pushing oneself too far

[Prologue], [Part 1], [Part 2], [Part 3], [Part 4]

Y/n was exhausted.

She could feel her muscles ache as she dipped deeper into the bath the house had drawn for her. The smell of tuberose and neroli drifted up from the bubbles surrounding her, the perfectly warm temperature adding to the pleasant atmosphere.

Yet she couldn’t get herself to relax a drop. Come to training, they said…it’ll be fun, they said…what liars, she thought.

Who invites an injured and recent coma patient to train, at dawn no less? Isn’t this the bloody Night Court? Y/n fumed, why do they all wake up so early now?

A glass of wine appeared by her side as if the house sensed her irritation as well.

Sighing she picked it up, and finished it immediately, a bottle appearing once she placed the glass down. She let out a laugh, wondering if she should feel offended that the house assumed her morale was so low. As if understanding her thoughts, a bottle of whiskey appeared and disappeared next to the wine, before a series of books dropped down. Judging by the titles and bits of conversation from last night, Y/n had a feeling the house was using a…tried and tested method of comforting raging females.

And speaking of rage, she was quickly losing the high of recusing Mor and returning to Velaris. Yes, she was exhilarated to see her family thriving, but the duties she had would quickly catch up to her. Counting down, it had been nearly 3 weeks since she disappeared from Vallahan and the magic tower must be getting frantic now. Not to mention, Demetrius, who’s sure to assign her so much work, that she’d not have a chance to leave the tower once she’d returned, or Ryder, who’s definitely praying that she’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Y/n knew she could use the investigation for the cult, the same cult she felt poisoned Mor, as her cover, but that excuse could only hold for so long.

Ugh. Stupid Rhys and his stupid bargains. She hoped Demetrius would receive her message fast enough, the only reason she forced herself to the training ring before sunrise. Her mediation session was a chance for her to send a holo projection to Demetrius’s office. The time-consuming aspect was not bypassing the wards of the house, which she should actually speak to Rhys about strengthening, but rather condensing her…situation and what she wanted him to do, as to expel the least amount of energy. Teleportation with blood meant her magic would take a longer time to recover. Besides, the last thing she needs is someone sensing her magical signature in the tower when she's been away for so long.

Luckily, she was able to mask her communications from the IC with her subsequent spar, which she convinced herself was necessary. It wasn’t because the moment she locked eyes with Azriel, she had this urge, this desperate desire to know what it would be like to go one-on-one with him.

No, she only offered because she knew she could last as the participant of a spar, rather than give up control for exercises or obstacles which would reveal her current weaknesses. She refused to think further on how beautifully he moved and met all her strikes, and how pretty he looked under her–No, think Vallahan, magic tower, angry masters….

Just recounting it all was giving her a headache, Y/n thought, dunking her head underneath the water. She almost wishes it could swallow her whole right there, and give her a reprieve from this.

She came back up gasping, water sloshing onto the floor.

*Y/n grabbed a towel, standing up and deciding that she might go too far should she stay in there any longer. She faced the mirror while drying herself off, looking closely at how prominent her collarbones were and how her ribs hit out. She looked away, trying to bury the simultaneous discomfort and pleasure she felt, the same as the morning when she changed into her leathers and needed to tighten them with her magic.

Y/n knew that she looked unhealthy and her magic could only take her so far if she let her body fail, but a voice at the back of her mind enjoyed the visuals, a lasting validation of her struggles. With her magic usually healing her immediately, Y/n rarely got the chance to convey her struggles, always pushing forward since it seemed the pain was never there in the first place. She briefly wondered if Azriel would understand, he seemed to know that sort of darkness, of both craving and despising it. **

Feeling a bit claustrophobic, she decided to step out onto a balcony before dinner, knowing that everyone would be there after she missed lunch. Though she could already feel her appetite disappearing at the thought of facing Amren and Nesta’s piercing gazes, not to mention Mor and Rhys’s overt concern. She raised a hand to her head, trying to rub away another impending headache before halting right at the balcony entrance.

Mother above, Y/n felt herself freeze in horror, unable to look away from the smeared and dried runes. All in blood, all in her blood. No wonder she slept for so long if she kept losing even more blood after this she thought, a cold dread settling in her bones.

Why is it still here…The thought that Rhys might hesitate to erase them, out of fear or respect, and that Amren and Nesta might see them as a curiosity to be studied, only deepened her sense of isolation. How could they not see the horror in what those runes represented?

The world began to tilt, a disorienting spiral that made her stomach churn. The vast sky above seemed to press down on her, the air growing thick and heavy, a physical force that threatened to crush her.

"Are you okay?" The concern in the question was palpable, but it only served to startle her further.

Cauldron boil me, Y/n thought, spinning around so quickly her knees gave way beneath her. But before she could fall, strong, calloused hands steadied her, the familiar touch of shadows wrapping around her with an almost protective embrace. She didn't need to see his face to know who it was—the shadows were a signature she'd come to recognize.

"Y/n, are you alright? You seem faint," the voice came again, soft and concerned, lifting her gently until she was forced to meet his eyes—hazel orbs filled with a depth of concern and understanding that momentarily stilled the chaos within her.

It was a connection, fragile and fleeting, but in that instant, Y/n realized she wasn't as alone as she had felt. The shadows that enveloped her, the hands that steadied her—they were a lifeline, pulling her back from the edge of her own darkness.

She swore time stopped for a moment before she felt the hands around her quiver, his gaze drifting to the runes behind before her actions caught up to her. It was then that reality snapped back into focus for Y/n, prompting her to instinctively step back and slip out of his gentle grasp.

In her quick withdrawal, an attempt to shield her sudden vulnerability, she missed the fleeting look of disappointment that crossed Azriel's features. Y/n hurriedly filled the silence that had grown between them.

"We shouldn't keep them waiting" she announced, her voice carrying a forced lightness that couldn't quite mask the disquiet lurking beneath. Her smile, tentative and fleeting, was an attempt to hide the depth of her unease from Azriel’s perceptive gaze.

Dinner was a silent affair, the burning stares and questions on Y/n waiting to reach the surface, especially after her display earlier that morning.

Each forkful of food echoed louder than usual until Amren, with her characteristic bluntness, pierced the quiet. "Y/n, the blood magic you used before...how did you know about it? "

Cassian, unable to resist adding to the conversation, jumped in with a grin. "Yeah, the teleportation was so cool! Are you part-witch?"

Amren's sharp glance cut him short. "She's a sorceress, you oaf. Obviously, she's mastered more than a few ancient tomes."

As Nesta voiced her curiosity, "Mastering tomes? What does that mean?" Cassian overlapped with, "How did you even find Mor?" The barrage of questions seemed to only spiral from then, with several of them wanting details on her magic and her discovery of Mor.

Amidst the several inquiries, Azriel, ever attuned to Y/n, noticed the tremble in her hands hidden under the table, a stark contrast to the calm facade she presented. His shadows stirred restlessly, a mirror to his growing concern.

Mor's complexion turned ashen as the fact dawned upon her—Y/n had ventured onto the balcony, the very place of their nightmarish ordeal. Attempts to steer the tide of questions fell on deaf ears, "Y/n, I... we didn't think..." Mor’s voice trailed off, her apologies swallowed by the growing fervor of curiosity.

Y/n took a deep breath, attempting to veil her frustration with patience, a task made increasingly difficult. They meant well, she repeated, she owed Rhys, she thought before the noise got to her. She hated being faced with curiosity and pity just as much as she hated being questioned–she had saved Mor and shown she wasn’t their enemy, wasn’t that enough?

With a huff that signaled her surrender to the inevitable, she pushed her chair back, its screech halting the interrogation, and drawing surprised glances from the table. Rising from her seat, she walked away, leaving a trail of astonishment in her wake.

Azriel reacted with swift concern, following her with a worry that mirrored the concern etched on Rhys, Mor, and even Feyre and Lucien's faces, while Cassian remained behind, a shadow of guilt tinging his features.

Y/n paused for a moment at the split between the staircase and the hallway to the balcony, debating the merits of locking herself in her room. She felt she deserved the right to scream into her pillow before rejoining them.

But the sound of footsteps behind her reminded her of the nosey nature of her friends here. If she tried to hide, there’d be no telling the lengths they’d go, she may as well just complete it now.

Upon reaching the balcony, Y/n summoned her magic, materializing a dagger in her hand. With a steady hand, she made a precise incision along her arm, her expression unflinching as crimson blossomed against her skin. She cast a fleeting glance at Azriel, her vibrant red eyes catching the light, mesmerizing him as her blood began its descent toward the magic circle below.

His shadows twitched uneasily at the sight; the others, having followed, stumbled into a collective pause, caught in a mix of awe and horror as they watched her blood reanimate the runes. Y/n commanded the runes to levitate, dripping and spinning around before she condensed them into a single, blood-diamond-like point, which then vanished within her grasp. Turning to face them with a smirk, she downplayed the gravity of her demonstration.

"See? Not a big deal," she stated, though her casual dismissal did little to ease the tension.

Azriel, moving with a purpose, reached for her, his shadows conjuring a cloth to softly wipe the blood, still dripping from her arm, away. The gentleness of his touch left Y/n taken aback, her heart skipping a beat at the care with which he wrapped her arm, his shadows having brought bandages as well. She couldn’t remember the last time someone else had treated her wounds, especially those so insignificant, so kindly.

Meeting his gaze, she was confused at his crossed expression, but before words could form, Mor enveloped her in an embrace, her apologies spilling out in a hurried flurry.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I should've—" Mor's voice cracked, the weight of her remorse tangible in the air between them.

"It wasn't your fault, Mor," Y/n reassured, her arms wrapping around her friend in a firm hug. "I would do it all over again for you," she whispered a vow that drew a fresh wave of tears from Mor, her embrace tightening in response.

As they finally parted, Lucien's voice cut through the momentary silence. "I must say, your control was impressive back there."

Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes, a playful retort on her lips. "I've always been this good, Lucien. Maybe you just weren't paying attention."

His laughter echoed around them, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "Is that so? We should spar sometime then. Test out that control of yours."

Y/n pretended to be annoyed but she was grateful to him for changing the atmosphere. Lucien always knew how to put others at ease.

"Sure if you think you can keep up. Feyre, you're welcome to join his side. He'll need all the help he can get."

Rhys chimed in with feigned indignation, "And why am I excluded? My mate should be my partner."

Y/n's laughter mingled with theirs, and her spirits momentarily lifted. "Because I've beaten you too many times, Rhys. It wouldn't be fair." She teased, earning a gasp of mock indignation from him.

Their laughter was a balm, easing the tension that had settled over the dinner.

Walking back, Y/n glanced at Lucien with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Resting her hand lightly on his shoulder, she leaned closer, her voice laden with playful intent. "Looks like we're teaming up then" she teased.

A knowing smile danced across Lucien's lips, a silent agreement forged in the span of a heartbeat. Together, they proclaimed, "We'll scatter them like leaves in a storm!"

The statement, filled with the memory of past battles, echoed around them, their laughter a symphony of friendship and challenge.

Feyre, caught in the ripple of their amusement, couldn't help but interject with a wry smile. "Well, I guess I'm stuck with Rhys then." Her words, light and teasing, were accented with the unbreakable bond she shared with her mate, even as they prepared to face off in friendly competition.

All the while, Azriel's gaze lingered on the casual touch between Y/n and Lucien, their laughter and the seamless harmony of their declaration stirring an unfamiliar pang within him. His stare was intense and unyielding, as he watched the easy rapport they shared—a connection he found himself envying, as he stood silently on the fringes of their banter.

Azriel's desire to offer Y/n the same sense of belonging and ease was palpable, yet he chose the quiet acts that spoke volumes of his intentions. As they walked back to the dining room, he found an opportunity to express his support. With a gentle touch, he slid Y/n's chair out for her, a gesture of silent solidarity that sought to make her feel seen and valued in the way he knew best.

"Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude a soft note amidst the evening's chaos of emotions. Though her gaze briefly wandered back to Lucien, caught in a moment of quiet tension with Elain, it was Azriel's thoughtful action that anchored her.

Amren's voice drew her back. "I’m sure you created quite the spectacle, sorceress”

In response to Amren's observation, Y/n met her gaze firmly. "I don't owe anyone explanations, Amren…But out of gratitude for the welcome back," she paused, weighing her next words carefully, "I will tell you that yes, I am a sorceress. A highly ranked one, at least in Vallahan’s magic tower."

Her eyes flickered to Mor, a silent pact of trust between them. She wouldn't reveal the intricacies of their reunion—how a royal meeting had spiraled into chaos and Mor's dismissal of her warnings had nearly cost them both dearly.

"Part of my work has led me to investigate a cult revering Koschei, a dark sorcerer," Y/n continued, her voice steady despite the weight of her revelations. "It was through this that I found Mor in danger. The use of blood magic wasn't a choice made lightly. It was the only method swift and silent enough to ensure our immediate return without leaving traces of magic that could be tracked. And given Mor's poisoning, traditional portals I could open—with their elongated passage of time—weren't an option."

The table fell silent, the gravity of her words settling heavily upon them. Each member of the Inner Circle sat a little straighter, their expressions alight with a mixture of awe and deepened as she explained further about her work and magic. The dinner conversation, initially subdued, blossomed into a vibrant exchange of stories and insights.

Lucien, seizing the moment, shared his own adventures and the bond he'd formed with Vassa, expressing a hopeful desire to introduce them, perhaps as a means to unravel the curse that bound the queen.

It was then that Rhys saw an opening, his voice slicing through the conversation with a proposal for Y/n. "Y/n! This is the perfect opportunity, if you feel up to it, why don't you continue your research here?"

Before Rhys could elaborate, Mor chimed in, eager to offer the resources at their disposal. "Exactly, the House of Wind has a wealth of books that could aid in your research. I can ask the priestesses to help—"

"I can help. You." Azriel's voice, cutting through Mor's suggestion, carried an uncharacteristic nervousness. "I mean, in your research. I can help you with the research." The room fell into an unusual silence, all eyes turning to him as he attempted to clarify, "If you're conducting research, that is. I don't want to rush you, of course. You need time to recover. I'm just—uh—offering since I have experience with such investigations... not to say you need my help. I—I thought it might be... more efficient, yes..."

Azriel's voice tapered off, his gaze skirting around the table to avoid Cassian and Nesta's barely concealed smirks and Rhys's poorly disguised cough of amusement. The surprise etched on everyone else's faces spoke volumes, each one silently wondering if they had ever witnessed Azriel speak so awkwardly and at length.

"Oh, I'd appreciate the company, Azriel," Y/n finally responded, her tone warm.

"You would?" Azriel's gaze snapped to Y/n, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes, only to be momentarily dimmed by her stern look toward Rhys. "Since I'll be intruding for the foreseeable future, I might as well be productive."

"I—I wouldn't want to invade, though," Azriel hurried to add, the earnestness in his voice unmistakable.

Rhys couldn't hide a snicker, quickly masked by a sudden straightening in his chair, bouncing his right leg up.

Azriel’s shadows whispered something about a kick, but his attention was already captured by Y/n's soft smile. "I'd welcome the help," she reassured, her simple acceptance igniting a spark of anticipation in Azriel.

A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I was traveling and then dying with studies. But the plot thickens...Are we curious about Y/n's work as a sorceress? I planned out the next scenes on my flight so I should have the next few chapters up in a faster succession.

And thank you to everyone who's liked/commented/reblogged this story -- it means so much to have you all enjoy this!

For my tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria @naturakaashi @sillymercury @itsswritten @xlosttdreamss @kennedy-brooke @xyzmeh @lucky7rosie @copenhagenspirit @collide-with-the-music @starsinyourseyes @dianxiaxiexie @maybefoxysouls @golden-canyon @violet-potter @thisiskaylin @acphengene @katherinejess @sevikas-whore @kalulakunundrum @hibye02 @madscamp02 @willowpains @jaybarding @kalulakunundrum @sevikas-whore @katherinejess @acphengene @thisiskaylin

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra

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melanieph321 · 6 months

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Okay hear me out: what about ruben’s girlfriend losing her memory temporarily, and ruben literally leaves everything to take care of her. He asks some time away from football to help her on her recovery journey, and he would make her one of his usual breakfasts, full of nutrients and he would help her exercice slowly and would help her remember little things at a time, and he would just do everything for her well being 🥺

THIS IS THE ONE, MY 100TH RUBEN FIC! 🥳🥳❤️❤️❤️🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳❤️🥳❤️🥳❤️🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

Love the many requests I've received, I have stories for days now 😅. But in honor of my 100th Ruben Dias fic I have written a 8 part series based on this request. Hope you enjoy!

Ruben Dias x Reader - Remember You and Me Part 1/8

Enjoy!

You slowly opened your eyes, groggily taking in your surroundings. You were in a hospital room, surrounded by your family and a man you had never seen before. The man, who you assumed was a nurse, was holding your hand and smiling at you.

"Hello, honey. Welcome back" your mother said warmly.

"What's going on." You grunted. The pain hit you all at once as you tried to sit up.

"What hurts the most?" Your mother was quick to pat you down, not wanting you to over extend yourself.

"My neck." You said and reached up to touch the brace that covered your throat.

"The doctors say you have to wear it for a couple of weeks. You were in a terrible car accident that almost left you paralyzied head down."

"What?" You tried to sit up again but squirmed as the pain hit.

"Careful." Said the male nurse, still holding your hand in his. "I know this isn't easy for you to hear Y/N," He said. "but the truth is that you've been in a coma for the last four days. You've had multiple injuries on your spine, ribs and if it wasn't for the doctors deciding to put you in a sedative state your brain would still be swelling."

Your brain swelled with all the information you were given. "I want to go home." You said. You hated the smell of hospitals and always have.

"I know honey, I know." Your mom stroked your head. "But I'm afraid it won't be that easy."

"Why not?" You looked around the room, meeting the faces of your family. They all carried the same expression of sadness and concern for you.

"What's going on?" You said through the tubes plugged in your nose.

"Honey..." Your mother tried to break it to you easily. "You don't live with us anymore, you haven't done so in the past five years."

"Um, what?"

"Honey, what is your last memory? How old do you think you are?"

"Mom what are you...I'm nineteen years old and I live with you, dad and Eddie. Why are you asking me these stupid questions? Why am I in the hospital, what happened to me?"

You were getting quite worked up, however your mother was patient. "Y/N, the doctors suspect a temporary memory loss as a result of your severe head trauma. You are not nineteen years old but twenty four years old. And you don't live with your father and I, you live in England with your husband, Ruben."

Your mother pointed to the nurse standing next to your bed, his hand still intertwined with yours.

"My what?" Your eyes widened in confusion. Husband? You had no memory of getting married. In fact, you had no memory of anything that had happened since you were a teenager. "What do you mean?" You asked, voice shaking. "I don't remember getting married."

The nurse smile faltered for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and explained. "You were in a terrible car accident a few days ago. And in a coma ever since this morning, when you finally woke up, not remembering anything. We've been trying to help you remember, but it's been a slow process."

Your mind was reeling. You had no memory of your childhood, your friends, your job, or anything else. It was as if your entire life had been erased.

"Mommy." You cried, letting go of the nurse/your husband's hand. "I want to go home, take me home right now."

"I know sweetie, I know." She brought you in for a hug, a tight and safe mommy hug. "The doctors say that your memory loss is only temporary, that it will come to you naturally as you go on with your daily life."

"Okay, so I'm free to leave the hospital then?"

"Yes, the sooner the better. However you have to leave with Ruben not us."

"What? I can't go live with him, he's a stranger I don't even know him."

The man's eyes widened in suprise, his expression unreadable.

"Yes, you do honey." Your mother was determined. "Ruben is your husband and you must stay with him. We will be here through your recovery, every step of the way. But for your memory to return to you naturally you must go back to living your old life, the life you spent together with Ruben, your husband."

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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scoobydoodean · 2 months

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what do you think of dean kicking cas out the bunker with no money nowhere to go freshly human? i know it was for sam or whatever but he could’ve helped cas out

I think I have addressed this several times, but I guess I didn't tag any of my posts well because I can't find them. So here we go again:

What makes you think that Dean kicked Cas out of the bunker with nothing? Everyone always assumes Dean did because Cas isn't staying in a motel in 9.06, but how many weeks has it been since they separated?

Lebanon, Kansas to Rexford, Idaho is a 13 hour and 34 minute drive by car. How did Cas get there? How did he get a job at the Gas N' Sip without any sort of credentials or identification paperwork? More pointedly, where did the cell phone Cas called Dean with in the beginning of the episode come from? Cas didn't have one when he fell. That was part of the problem when trying to reach Cas after the fall, when Dean was worried sick about him. This is a cell phone it's implied Cas hadn't been answering, when Dean responds to his call (where Cas gets right into the case) by sarcastically saying, "Oh, well, hello to you too, Cas. How are you?" Before Dean leaves the bunker, he also notes to Sam: "This is Cas. In case you forgot, he's not exactly Chatty Cathy."

Cas also never tells Dean where he is in Rexford or what he's doing there. He tells him a town and that Dean should check out the case on his own. It's Dean who takes the time to actually track Cas down. Cas is surprised when Dean finds him, and then Dean says he too is surprised—to find that this is where Cas is working. Meaning, Cas hasn't been keeping in touch (at least not with details) despite having a cell phone that Dean presumably gave him. He did what he's often done and put Dean on an info diet. So how exactly was Dean supposed to continuously bankroll him?

I need people to understand that Dean is not a sugar daddy with fat stacks of cash sitting around every corner. He couldn't just hand Cas thousands of dollars before Cas left because he wouldn't have had thousands of dollars to give Cas just lying around, to provide for him for weeks at a time. For the vast majority of the series, the brothers barely make ends meet. They do many transactions in cash earned from hustling pool and poker. They often stay in abandoned homes when they don't have the money for motels, which also tells you, as Dean says in 1.16, that credit card fraud is not easy and they don't consistently have access to these credit cards. Even if they had happened to have a third card for Cas lying around when Gadreel gave his ultimatum, it wouldn't have worked for long. So what makes you think Dean didn't give Cas cash and a cell phone before he left? And identification he could use? What makes you think Cas didn't simply run out of that cash over the weeks they were separated, and chose to work at the Gas N' Sip and find dignity in being a human (which is exactly what he tells us he did)?

We're talking about Dean here, who plainly begged Cas on the phone to worry about himself for once in 9.01 and get to the bunker safely. He literally endured beatings from angels over Cas in 9.01. When they found Cas dead, Dean was terrified out of his mind for Cas. He very clearly wanted Cas at the bunker with them—he wanted him safe. So why has fandom insisted upon this reading that doesn't make sense within that context—where Dean just ditches Cas with nothing suddenly?

I think some people take this moment with Cas as proof that Dean threw Cas out with nothing:

DEAN Well, the feeling [of surprise] is mutual. I mean, I knew you had to lay low from the angel threat, but, uh, wow. This is some cover. CASTIEL My Grace is gone. What did you expect? Do you have any idea how hard it was? When I fell to earth, I didn't just lose my powers. I – I had nothing. Now... I'm a sales associate (proudly).

But... this does not prove that? We already have the cell phone, and Cas being able to get to Rexford and get a job at a chain gas station that doubtless would have required paperwork establishing his (fake) identity. But also, do we all remember 9.01-9.03 and everything that happened to Cas over that period before Sam and Dean (worried out of his mind) finally tracked him down? Cas is struggling—yes—but when he says he had nothing when he fell, he is referring to the days of strife that occurred literally right after he fell.

During that period, Cas saw how difficult being human is—not having powers is—feeling hunger is—having to take time to brush your teeth and urinate and etc is—and decided that without his powers, he just wanted to be a regular Steve and find dignity in simple work, because doing what he used to do without powers is too difficult. So he took whatever Dean was able to give him, got to Idaho (how and why would he have traveled so far without money?) and put himself in his own personal witness protection program.

I'm willing to accept the premise that Cas not asking for help with finances to get a better place to stay was partly influenced by Dean telling him he couldn't stay at the bunker (though Cas's tendency to keep everyone on an info diet and try to handle every problem on his own has been around since forever). But contrary to the beliefs of many casgirls (who have literally hate bombed one of my mutuals over this subject before) I think once Dean finally got to tell Cas the context, Cas understood, and I don't actually think it weighed on him for the rest of eternity the way many seem to think it did. The same way that I don't think Dean still thinks about Cas breaking Sam's wall, or Cas abandoning him in Purgatory to die surrounded by a pack of gorilla wolves, or Cas beating him half to death for being suicidal, or Cas blaming him for the apocalypse, or Cas running off with the angel tablet after beating Dean half to death again.

All of 9.06 is ultimately about Cas hiding from everyone and everything—everything he is, everything he's done, and it ends with him deciding to stop hiding, even when Dean ends the episode telling Cas that he doesn't have to take responsibility for the angels or anything and that he and Sam can take care of it. Dean puts this kindly (because Cas is questioning whether he can actually sit on the sidelines), but let me put it unkindly: Dean is literally telling Cas he will clean up the mess Cas made for him and Cas doesn't have to take responsibility for any of it. This is a human—someone who in the episode points out that he has never had powers and therefore Cas can still be a hunter without them—telling Cas that actually, Cas doesn't need to take responsibility. He can become this regular person if that's what he wants—if he doesn't have the stomach for the work without his powers. Dean, the human, will take care of the problems Cas caused for Cas. And honestly? This is really what lights a fire under Cas's ass imo (without Dean knowing that). He's abandoned who he is and used to be, and in the episode, he realizes that he doesn't want to do that just because he doesn't have powers... and he isn't going to let Dean, who has never had powers, take care of all of his problems. Which is the point of pride underlying many of Cas's decisions to put Dean on info diets and ghost him and try to handle everything on his own. It's the primary reason imo that he doesn't call and ask for financial help in Rexford (not to mention, he's seen Sam and Dean slumming it in abandoned houses sleeping on the floor so why would he have higher standards than his human friends do?). That's the primary driving force imo—not Dean kicking him out of the bunker.

#9.06 #mail #season 9 #and cas is my best friend #dean and the family finances

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fallinforerling · 1 year

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LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. PART 6 - jb

A/N: I enjoyed SO much writing this, you have no idea. I hope all you love it was much as I did. See you next update! Also, I strongly recommed to listen to the song right when I marked it :) Makes it all better. AND, this is the last part without Jude in it, so prepare!

ೃ⁀➷ series/jude's taglist : ̗̀➛ my other taglists

: ̗̀➛ REQUESTS ARE OPEN !

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˛ * 。° 。 •˚.・。.・゜✭・.⋆·˚ ༘ .・。.・゜✭・..・。.・

“You can't keep going like this, honey” Mia said after you calmed down and allowed yourself to tell the whole phone call at your pace. “You need to get out of this city for a couple of days, clear your mind, go no phone and then come back to your normal life.”

“Mia's right. I haven't seen you this stressed and emotionally drained... ever. This isn't you. I won't allow one of my best friends to lose herself to a breakup.” Nikki said, giving you your second cup of tea of the morning.

“I know...” You didn't have the energy to think about anything else other than how much your life had changed in so little time. “But where can I go? What you guys have in mind sounds like a spiritual retirement.”

“Well... I know someone who owns a very nice cabin in Scotland...” Nikki shrugged when both you and Mia raised your eyebrows, questioning once again what was that about. “I make a lot of friends, okay?”

“We know” Mia shortly laughed, directing her full attention back to you. “So, what do you say? Does a week in Scotland sound like a bad or a good idea?”

“At this point?” You said, pointing at yourself: you had a cover over your shoulders, a cup of tea in your hands, and a puffy face thanks to all the crying. “Anything is better than this”

“You drink that, I'll make some calls” At this point, Nikki's phone seemed to have all the wonders of the world inside of it.

“One day, I'll be able to figure out how she does all of this,” Mia whispered, grabbing your cup. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Soup?” Besides the anger and sadness that came back with force, the three of you were still hungover. You felt like your head was about to explode from all the pressure.

“You got it”

While she was in the kitchen and Nikki was out on the balcony doing who knows what, you allowed yourself to go back to your room. Your phone was now charging on the night stand. Better to keep ignoring it.

The room was still messy, and even though you really wanted to go back to bed, cleaning seemed like a better option to keep your mind occupied.

The clothes were all dirty so you instantly dropped them inside your basket, reminding yourself to wash them later. Then you made sure all of the other things were at their place before making the bed. The bathroom was the nastiest part (lots of makeup wipes, cotton pads full of micellar water and a wet sink) but you cleaned it all faster than expected.

When you came back to the bedroom, you noticed your phone was buzzing again. It sure wasn't IG, since you silenced it. You came closer, relieved and concerned when you saw Jobe's name on the screen.

“Please God, some peace...” You said before picking up. “Hey?”

“Hey! Uh, I don't want to be, like, intrusive or anything but... Do you know what's going on with Jude?"

“Uhm... Be more specific.” Because you could think of a hundred+ things going on with that man right now.

“He's throwing a tantrum… I mean, not like a toddler type of tantrum, but he's fuming! He asked me for my phone and didn't want to say what for. I said no, of course, and then he got even worse. He's saying something about needing some way to communicate…” His voice became a whisper. “Would I be wrong assuming that is definitely something about you?”

You let out a sigh, feeling drained. Again.

“Yeah, it's about me” You sat on your vanity, rubbing your eyes. “Look, I went out yesterday with some friends and I happened to run into Gio… We took a photo and then some stupid people filmed us dancing. It went a bit viral, I think. I don't really know. Jude saw it and called me all morning until I picked up after waking up. He was asking me why I was with Gio and why I didn't tell him”

“That's insane, mate. What the fuck, he has no right to do that”

“I know! Well, he was calling to question me. It seems like some people are assuming that I'm Gio's girlfriend. I don't know if it's about his man ego getting hurt by me being mistaken for his teammate's girl or what, but I don't want to know anything else about it. So I blocked him.”

“Well, fuck me! His audacity has me speechless…”

“I don't want this to turn into a big thing. Just... Let him throw his little tantrum, he's going back to Dortmund in a few days anyways. He has to forget about it”

“You sound like the one that broke up with him, that's so funny” He laughed quietly, probably not wanting to call the attention of his brother. “Okay, I'll try to keep him on track”

“Thanks... And, Jobe?” You said, feeling more than grateful for having him.

“Yeah?”

“I won't have my phone this week, so don't get worried if you don't hear from me, okay?”

“Okay… Uh, I know this is stupid to ask, but are you still coming to my match? I'll understand if you don't. It's completely understandable with all that's happening”

A part of you wanted to say no, but it was Jobe. It wasn't fair to do that to him. Maybe Jude wasn't going to attend. You were praying for that.

“Of course I'll go. I promised you, and you know how much I want to see you play”

“Thank you” You could tell he was happy about you saying yes. “Talk to you in a week, then?”

“One hundred percent”

After the call ended, you just sat there. Jobe was like your little brother, and maybe his actual brother was the biggest asshole you'd ever known, but that didn't mean you were about to run away from everything that had to do with him.

You weren't a coward. Hopefully.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

song recommendation: cardigan - taylor swift

Leaving your phone at the bottom of your bag and not paying any attention to it was easier than expected. Nikki managed to book flights to Glasgow that same night, and while they were gone to make their bags, you stayed to clean up a little bit more the whole apartment. You were leaving for a week. You noticed that it was the first time that you did your bags in months where your destiny wasn’t Dortmund.

You grabbed comfy clothes, your laptop and tablet (you still worked from home), and some shower products. Most of your skincare was in the bathroom, but some were in the vanity. While looking for some travel-sized ones, you stumbled across a particular box in the bottom drawer.

It was blue, medium-sized and simple. Your hand flew directly to your neck, where a necklace rested comfortably. The jade stone was cold, as cold as you felt. You didn’t even realized you were still wearing it, but of course, you never took it off since the day it was gifted to you.

Since Jude gifted it to you.

You thought about taking it off, but you stopped mid-way. You didn’t feel ready to do something like that just yet. That necklace alone meant so much to you.

The way he gave it to you wasn’t absurdly romantic, but rather sweet. It was familiar. You were laying in bed, just looking at each other; then he got up and grabbed the little box from his closet. He said he saw it and immediately thought of you; of how well it went with your skin tone and than he was sorry for not giving it to you in a more romantic way. You loved it from the moment you saw it. You used to feel so happy when you remembered it was hanging from your neck.

Now all you feel is a deeply nostalgic feeling that makes the skin around the pendant burn.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Nikki's friend was kind enough to lend you a beautiful cabin in the woods for the week. He (or she, you weren't even sure of their gender) even sent a butler to pick you up from the airport and drive you around town so you could buy groceries. The drive to the cabin, he said, was almost two hours, but the whole scenario- the woods, the lake, the little animals running around- made it easier for all of you to not care about that. It was perfect.

The cabin was even better. It wasn’t exaggeratedly large, so you wouldn’t be bumping into each other the entire time but neither separated if didn't want to, which was good. You needed the space to think and heal alone, even if you loved the company of your friends.

The first two days were just you hanging around the house, making food, taking walks around the woods- Mia even discovered a tiny lake near the cabin, and lots of bonfires. It felt therapeutic to not know what was going on in the real world outside that cabin surrounded by kilometers of trees.

You don’t remember the last time you enjoyed nature and being (partially) alone this much. You also spent a lot of time alone in the woods or by the lake; you allowed yourself to cry, to mourn Jude, to blame him and then forgiving him. You didn’t forgave him for how much you were suffering the breakup, not just yet, that was still fresh. But you forgave him for breaking up with you, he had all the right to that.

You remembered all the good times you had together, the bad ones, the regular ones. It was a normal relationship even if you didn’t get to post his face on your social media, or if your dates had to be more private than normal people were used to. You loved him. You still did, even if you hated the idea of being weak because of your love.

And then, after all those days that you used to go through all the stages of a breakup, something you didn’t allow yourself to do the past three weeks, you were ready to let him go. To accept that your boyfriend, the one that loved you and appeared to be your soulmate, died the night he broked your heart. And that was okay.

So on the last afternoon before the butler came back for the three of you, you took a final walk through the woods and into the lake, and like physically detaching Jude from your heart, you took off the necklace and throwed it into the water.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * TAGLIST

@mentalbaddie | @taintedstranger | @mrs-dasilvasantoss @mbapbaesluvr | @erensfavgirly | @cinderellawithashoe @yoitsmo07

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taeloke · 2 months

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Overanalyzing 4KOTA Chapter 142 instead of just waiting for more info (2/2)

Part 1

This is the part where I talk about King and no one else. Also, this is more ramble than analysis by the end, and I'm making myself not worry about length this time, so...you have been warned :) As for Mertyl, I'll definitely talk about him again over the next chapter, though I might not say as much as I did the first time.

Firstly, look at this face. Remember all those seasons ago, when everything was peaceful for like a single week? How sweet and thoughtful this little guy was, especially against his own personal wishes?

This is King--regardless of how he's like on the outside.

Elaine herself described him as someone who tries to act tough but is really a crybaby. He's someone who can't seem to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. He always tries to hide his feelings to keep everyone else from worrying, but try as he might, anyone will see through his "tough act" if they're around him for long enough. Awakened or not, he's not King if he's not a highly emotional character like that. He's just a lot better at putting a cover over those feelings now. He's grown up for real.

If you read these last few 4KOTA chapters without remembering the original Seven Deadly Sins story, it only makes sense to look at him more like an ass of a father right now. There's a lot to his perspective that we just haven't gotten to witness yet, and one of the easiest conclusions to make from all of that unknown space is "King loves Nasiens more than the adopted son he raised." For crying out loud, he's giving an immensely scarce cure-all to a young man who introduced himself as a human without an explanation for why Myrtel hasn't received it yet. We don't even know for sure if he's tried using the Drug of Yore to treat Myrtel's condition in the past right now.

There's just one problem about that conclusion: King isn't like that at all. It only looks like he is because this family drama is fatally poisoned with tension and misunderstandings at this point. It's starting to explode.

Remember how way back in the series, King first thought Diane without her memories of him would be better off without him at all?

I think that's a lot similar to what he's thinking with Nasiens right now. If King didn't play a part in their present happiness, then what right does he have to want their love? He'd label that as too greedy or selfish in a way that he can't allow himself to be. He thinks he knows his place, and that place is somewhere forever distanced from his first-born kid.

But he can't just do nothing for Nasiens. Maybe just one totally subtle yet significant expression of love can slide, right? What could he, seemingly as nothing more than a ruler, possibly give to Nasiens to make him happy? Maybe if he gives Nasiens just one perfect gift, Harlequin will feel like he was good for his son at least once. He'll feel like he's finally atoned for losing Nasiens for too long and failing him as a father, and then he can let that "sin" go. Surely, Nasiens wouldn't be happy knowing the truth anyway. He'll be better off never learning about his true relations, since he's built his life without it already. Assuming that "logic" is what King's going through, a lot of his actions make sense to me.

And yet he still almost slipped up and spilled the beans.

Nice save, King, but if you gave Nasiens more time to think he would have realized what you really meant. Tioreh gave him time to realize she believed he's a fairy and his initial freeze then was the exact same.

None of this is easy for King. It isn't easy for any of them. In some ways, those past 2 years must have felt like forever to him. Precious time to have his first-born kid around that he'll never get back. And after 2 years of keeping distance...

"Sorry, I couldn't help but follow you."

"I just wanted to help you out, in any way I could."

King can't keep his distance anymore. His true feelings are starting to break free.

"Hee hee... Don't be shy, now. I just want to be of assistance."

Sure, King. Saying it like that totally doesn't make it sound like there's more to this, even with your confident/amused chuckle.

Of all the gifts he could give Nasiens, I'm sure King believed this was the one thing Nasiens couldn't refuse to accept from him. A powerful healing drug that he advertised as one-of-a-kind and a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. With it presented not only as that, but also as something that might bring Percival back, how could Nasiens reject such a gift? Right?

...And then Nasiens rejects the gift. Immediately, King gets so nervous that he breaks character.

He immediately started sweating too. King prepared everything up to this moment, and he has no excuse as Nasiens questions him and calls him out.

And Nasiens is right to call him out because of how this looks.

Nasiens, just like us, doesn't yet know what the truth here is. He's right to be suspicious and King needs to realize that plans in how the changeling duo is handled need to change right now. Ready or not--telling the truth is the only way to save what's actively starting to cave in.

But the sad thing is...I have a feeling that it's too late already.

Things are only going to get worse from here... I don't know how, and in a way that makes this feel more awful.

Sixtus should tell King that Mertyl saw him offer the Drug of Yore to Nasiens. There's no doubt in my mind that King will realize the problem once he has that information and try to do whatever he can to make things right. PLEASE don't make him too late again. At least give him a chance to talk to Mertyl before things fall apart if that's where all of this is headed.

#nnt king #4kota #mokushiroku no yonkishi #nanatsu no taizai #nnt #ramblings #I feel like I have even more to say #but i cant think of any more #and i want to send this today soo

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sirfrancisvarney · 3 months

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So as the show is halfway through, and before episode four drops, I've tried to put together and organize all the information I've gathered so far.

In 2005 (18 years ago), Anders Lund found Tsalal station. Raymond Clark joins. The shots of the website don't show when everyone else joins, but some of them join within the next few years. The source of Tsalal's funding is hidden by several shell companies that link back to Tuttle United.

Seven years ago (or possibly earlier), in 2016, Annie Kowtok insists on joining her friend on her visit to Tsalal station, and immediately starts a relationship with Clark. This behavior is apparently unusual for her. Did she go to Tsalal specifically to meet Clark? Why keep it a secret? Also in 2016, Clark bought a trailer. It's assumed this was used to meet Annie K in secret.

Next year, sometime in spring 2017, Oliver Tagaq left Tsalal for reasons unknown. In April, Annie is killed. She records herself, clearly frightened and afraid of getting caught, on her smartphone in what appears to be an ice cave, saying, "I found it. It's here. I found it, I found it. My name is Annie Kowtok. If anything happens to me please--" she's pulled away from the camera and she is heard screaming. The camera view at the end is on the skeleton of some marine animal encased in ice.

On April 18, Annie's body is found. She was stabbed 32 times with a star-shaped instrument, ribs and teeth broken. She was kicked after her death and her tongue was cut out. Four days later, on April 22, Clark gets a spiral tattoo that match's Annie's. I don't know how long it takes to arrange getting a tattoo, so I don't know if he already had plans to get it, or if he got it because of Annie's murder.

Time passes. At some point, Clark turns the trailer into a shrine of some sort for Annie. The mannequin in the bed is wearing her cardigan, and there are baby dolls and children's toys placed around it, possibly a reference to her role as a midwife.

Clark covers his research notes with writing, including repeated phrases and words such as "her eyes her face," "I can hear her coming/moving outside," "cold," "dark," and "her fingers." It's unknown when this behavior started.

Fast forward to the end of 2023. A few weeks before the show starts, Clark's behavior becomes noticeably stranger. At some point before December 17, he obtains Annie's smartphone, which appears to have video of her last moments, and he is assumed to have acquired her tongue. He could have gotten these at the time of Annie's death, or at any point since. If he didn't take Annie's tongue himself, maybe getting them caused his mental instability to get worse?

On December 17, the last sunset of the year, a hunter watches as a herd of caribou get spooked from an unknown stimulus, and flee. It's unknown if this is connected to the events of the series, or merely meant to be symbolic. On the same day, the water in the villages goes bad, for reasons unknown. The mine is blamed. Also on December 17, the scientists at Tsalal are living their lives, relaxing in the evening, doing chores. Anders Lund is going over old data on a whiteboard (no spiral is visible on his forehead). Molina is filming himself making a sandwich, when he sees Clark, shaking or shivering. Part of Clark's hair is dyed blue, and where his hair touched the parka, the dye has transferred. He has clearly been outside in the snow. When Molina asks if he's ok, Clark turns and says "she's awake," which is immediately followed by a power outage that also affects Molina's smartphone.

On December 22, the delivery guy arrives and finds the place empty. A figure moves inhumanly fast through one corridor, but no other sign of life is present. The TV is playing "Twist and Shout" in repeat. He finds Annie's tongue on the floor underneath a table (several feet away from where Clark had been standing) and calls the police.

The next day, Rose finds the bodies of the scientists. They are frozen together, almost completely buried in the ice, bodies twisted in agony. They are naked, with burnt corneas and blood from their ears. Some have scratched their eyes out or bit themselves. Lund has Annie's spiral drawn on his forehead. Somehow, he is also still alive. (I don't know if this is important, but Danvers had to brush snow away to see the spiral, but Rose knew about it and told Navarro. Maybe it was more visible when she found the bodies and snow covered it before the police arrived, maybe Travis told her.) The scientists's clothes were found folded neatly near the corpsicle. The shoes look like indoor slippers, and it's likely that the clothes match what they were all wearing the night of December 17. A single handprint was taken from one shoe. It appears to be missing part of the ring and pinky fingers on the right hand (or they just couldn't get the print of those fingers).

Lund wakes briefly. He tells Danvers and Navarro, and I quote, "we woke her. She's awake. And now she's out. She's out there in the ice. She came for us in the dark."

Those are all the relevant facts concerning the main murder case (to my knowledge) as of episode three. I suppose I could have included a picture of Annie's stab wounds, but I couldn't make any kind of pattern out of them, or take a guess at what the weapon was. There's also the snow Navarro hit in the first episode, but I couldn't tell what it is, or if it's anything more than dirt and snow piled on the road. Personally, they do not suggest a microbial origin or cause. Diseases take time to infect, and they don't progress in everyone at exactly the same rate. The scientists were found together, practically climbing over each other. They died at almost exactly the same time, apparently in abject panic. I don't think a disease can kill that precisely. How did Clark avoid getting infected, since he lived with them all? Plus, whatever happened to them happened shortly after the power outage, since Molina' left his sandwich behind. One would assume he meant to eat it, since he went through the trouble to make it. The death of the scientists, the power outage, and the water going bad are all too closely linked in time to be unrelated. I wish I had a map of Ennis. I'd like to see how close these are in physical distance.

I also don't think there are any real clues to be found in the website. Their bios look about like what you'd get if you asked someone to come up with backgrounds for people studying ancient microorganisms in glacial ice. Plus, I think most of the scientists are ultimately going to be unimportant as individuals. Out of all eight men, Lund and Clark are the only ones focused on by the narrative. When interviewed, the cleaning ladies only mentioned Lund (yelled at them for touching his stuff) and Clark (his crying, probably over the brutal unsolved murder of his girlfriend kept them from being able to clean his room) by name. Lund survived (for a while, at least). Clark is missing and is closely connected with Annie's case. Oliver Tagaq mentioned Lund by name when he learned the scientists were dead. (On a side note, I really wish Danvers and Navarro (mostly Danvers) hadn't been so hostile when questioning him. They might have gotten more information from him if they hadn't gone at it like assholes. Granted, that's practically an impossible task for Danvers.) The rest, sadly, don't seem to be important. They are effectively ignored and dismissed, much like how they ignored the cleaning ladies.

So what could have happened on December 17, and how is it tied to Annie's murder? Honestly, I don't know yet. I'm not sure there's enough information given to answer those questions. Lund's speech and the way the scientists died suggest a supernatural explanation, but other details surrounding their murder seem to suggest more prosaic, human causes. There's no sign of a struggle at the station, but maybe someone cleaned up after themselves. The way part of the note at the bottom of the whiteboard is erased looks unusual, like it could have happened accidentally. Maybe someone got knocked against it, or their coat brushed against the board when they were writing the message. It's also possible the murderer was able to make them all leave without a fight. The power had just gone out, so maybe they all gathered together to put it back on? Where's the circuit breaker or generator for the station? Maybe that's where the actual crime scene is. The folded clothes feel like something you'd make a person do right before you execute them, sort of like making your victim dig their own grave. It could also have the opposite motivation: I could see a person not in full possession of their faculties (like Clark, or maybe one of the cleaning ladies in a fugue state) instinctively trying to straighten things up. Both feel like very human actions.

Finally, who is "she"? Is that even the right question? When did "she" wake up? The scientists didn't seem to be doing anything that would trigger her awakening on the 17th, so it must have happened before. I wish I knew more about what made Clark's mental illness ramp up in the weeks before sunset. It feels like there could be an important clue there. Too bad Clark is missing and anyone else who could answer the question is dead.

#true detective #true detective night country #spoilers #long post #hope all of that makes some kind of sense #i still don't know how the polar bear fits in #i need to stop obsessing over this show #i have other stuff i need to do

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sammy8d257 · 3 months

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In the Week that Follows - Chap. 2: Day 1 - Cleaning (part 3)

An AvM fanfic Written by Sammy8D257

Part of the Watered Down Hot Chocolate Series

Cover Art / Day 0 / Day 1: 1 - 2 - 3 / Day 2 / Day 3 / Day 4 / Day 5 / Day 6 / Day 7 / Day 8

Chapter Word Count: 4740

Characters: King (He/Him), Purple (They/Them), (Only mentioned but Gold uses They/Them)

CW for this Chapter Part: Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Self-Hatred, Minor Swearing, King's Anger Issues, Poor Mental Health, allusions to unhealthy eating habits

[AO3 vers. (Full Chapter)]

(BRO I SWEAR I DID NOT MEAN FOR IT TO TAKE THIS LONG TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER. God I'm just happy its finally out now. I can't believe Day 1 is almost 4x the size of Day 0. alkslgjsdkgdls [head in hands] I hope you guys enjoy this!)

= O = o =

It was a little past 2 pm by the time they both were done eating.

King finished last and took the initiative to add their bowls to the pile in the sink. He made a mental note to rinse off the dishes and throw them into the dishwasher later. Turning back towards the table, King watched Purple place the now empty container back into their pink tote. A satisfied smile was on their face and King could feel it mirrored on his own.

"Sooo…" Purple glanced back at him as King spoke. "What now?"

"Now?" The younger stick said as they straightened and fully turned to face the other. "Now it's time to do the second part."

King tilted his head in confusion. "Which is?"

"I'm going to help you clean your house."

"Oh," The orange stick paused, the statement not fully registering. "Wait, you are?"

Purple nodded. "Of course. I can't just leave you to clean your entire house by yourself."

And at that, King just nodded. Really, he should have expected this to be Purple's response. With how dedicated they were to helping him, he should have assumed it would also extend towards his home as well.

"Yeah, okay that's," King stole a glance at the full sink at his back. "That would be nice. Thank you."

A smile so bright, King could have sworn the entire room got lighter, lit Purple's face at his words. After a moment, the younger stick figure coughed into their fist, their expression returning to something more neutral, but King could see the corners of their mouth were turned upwards.

"Right, ahem- So, I was thinking we could start by clearing out the easy stuff first," Purple made a hand wave gesture in the air. "You know, like all those books and stuff on the ground? We should organize those first before we clean anything else."

King nodded slowly as Purple explained their thoughts. Overall, it was a solid plan and a pretty easy one at that. Although the effects of the painkillers have since kicked in, King was still pretty tired and sore from the previous day. And Purple was right. The main room of the house was a mess of failed experiments, boxes, papers, and books. It would need to be cleared out first before any additional cleaning could take place. And really, it wouldn't take that much physical effort to organize through what could be kept and what could be discarded. At most, it would take a bit to gather everything.

With a final nod, King loosely crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "That sounds like a great idea."

Again, a grin broke out on Purple's face and they patted their pink tote once before taking a step towards King.

"Then let's get started."

Armed with a plan, clearing the main room goes incredibly well with various jobs being split between them. While King gathered all the discarded staff prototypes and welding tools, Purple went around the room collecting any easily picked up items. These ranged from small boxes to books to stacks of paper. Luckily for the two of them, objects like the daggers and the welding equipment that were strewn about the floor, were previously stowed away during the time Purple spent under King. The blanket that originally housed the pile of medical supplies was cleared away (King's bed becoming its temporary holding spot) and the piles of metal and books took its place.

From there, the pair set about organizing through their respective piles. The staffs were sorted into reusable scrap metal, sellable scrap metal, and trash. Although Purple had no knowledge of experience in the field, King occasionally asked their opinion on the viability of some metals.

"What do you think about this one?"

"Oh! Um, it's a very nice blue color! If you can't reuse it for anything, maybe you can get more for it because it's pretty?"

"Hmm… Probably not, unfortunately. It's painted aluminum. It might not sell as well but it should still be worth something."

Likewise, from their seat on the floor, Purple sorted through the stacks of books King had collected throughout the year. Originally, Purple had planned to just gather all the books and then place them on the bookshelf for future King to sort through, but upon picking up a book with a very clear library sticker along its spine, a separate pile was quickly formed.

King to his credit, looked incredibly embarrassed as Purple held a library copy of Welding for Dummies in the air.

"In my defense, I forgot I went there."

"Uh huh, and how long have you had these for?"

"Uh-"

"King."

"Only a couple of months-"

"King-"

"-to maybe a year?"

"King! That's a really long time!"

"I know! I know! I mean, hopefully if the book is still fine, we can return it and only have to pay the late fees and not the replacement costs!"

"Hmmm… let's just see how many there are."

By the time both of their original piles were gone and sorted, a couple of hours had passed. The afternoon sun still shone through the window casting the room in a warm glow.

King's pile of sellable scrap was not as large in comparison to his other piles of trash and parts that could be reused in future projects. Those piles contained bits of combined metal that King created in his attempts at making the perfect staff, so it made sense why the scrap yards probably wouldn't buy it from them. Though, despite the sellable pile being smaller, King reassured both Purple and himself that it would be enough to sell for a decent sum of money.

On the other side, Purple ended up with a stack of about 9 returnable and two damaged library books (turns out oil and burn marks are hard to get out of paper). Next to it was another stack of books that King owned and two boxes that Purple used to hold all the research paper found in the room. It was decided that the library books needed to be returned regardless of their physical status and to get their fees paid.

The two of them sat back and took a moment to admire their work.

"Huh, well that wasn't too bad," King remarked, stretching out his back to release some tension. "And it only took us until… 6:30?!"

King's mouth hung open in shock. True to his words, the clock's keys pointed a little past the half hour mark.

"Huh… I guess so," Purple squinted up at the clock before turning towards King. "I'd say it's about dinner time, right?"

The older stick figure blinked, taking a moment to register the other's question before nodding. Despite having eaten hours ago, all the manual labor had worked up an appetite in him.

Purple tapped their chin. "We already finished all the food I brought. So how about you wash up and I can get started on something to eat?"

A noise of protest sounded from King but was almost immediately shushed as Purple stood up. They had a sheepish look on their face.

"Don't worry about it. I like cooking! Plus uh…" Their eyes landed on King's hands and grimaced. "You've been touching metal for the past few hours. I don't think you should be handling food right now."

An embarrassed blush crept up his cheeks. Lightly, King wiped his hands along the bandages on his stomach, only to wince when it left a coppery brown stain.

"Ah."

"Yeah…"

"I should probably go clean myself up."

"It would be for the best."

Purple shot him a small smile as King hissed out a breath and stood up. Turning on his heels, King made his way towards the hallway bathroom as Purple headed towards the kitchen. Once again back in the bathroom, the formerly royal stick took a moment to reassess his bandages. Aside from metallic markings along his midsection, the rest of the wraps looked fine. He figured he probably didn't need to change them yet and instead opted to use a slightly damp paper towel to clean up the residue.

He had just finished his clean up when a call caught his attention.

"Hey uh, King? I think there's a problem."

King frowned. He stepped out of the bathroom door to find Purple poking their head out from the living room archway. They looked nervous but also slightly annoyed.

"What's wrong?" King asked. Purple stared at him, eyes narrowed, as he walked down the hall.

"You don't have any food here," They replied. "Or rather, the only food you have are boxes of instant macaroni and cheese, and ramen packets."

King raised an eyebrow at the younger stick figure's words. "Do you… not like mac and cheese?"

Purple huffed, the frustration growing on their face. "I do, but why are these the only sources of food in your house? You have a half quarter of milk in your fridge but you don't even have any cereal to go with it!"

King shrugged. "I'm not much of a cook."

And Purple sputtered as he sidestepped them to enter the main room.

In all honesty, King didn't really know why Purple was getting so worked up over this. Sure it wasn't ideal, but food was food. The easier it was to make, the easier it was for King to dedicate more time towards his goals. Though that was in the past, right now he was more focused on just getting something to eat.

From behind, Purple caught up with his walk towards the kitchen and fell in step. "Has that all you've been eating?" They asked quietly.

King shrugged again, taking a moment to glance back at the other. Their mouth was a hard line. "I also get takeout a lot."

Purple's face pulled into a scowl.

"What was the last thing you ate?"

King blinked. "Aside from that thing you brought? Um… "

He squinted at the pile of dishes in the sink, trying to remember if the last thing he consumed was cooked or bought. "You know, I don't remember but it was probably ramen."

A hiss of air escaped Purple's mouth as they mumbled something under their breath. After a moment they sighed. "Let's just… order something."

"Alright," King said as he made his way to the kitchen counter.

From one of the drawers, King pulled out various takeout menus. There were menus for pizza, Italian, Mexican, American, and Chinese cuisine, all of which looked worn from use and sporting little golden stars next to specific menu items. He handed them to Purple for them to look over.

"Pick something, I don't really care what you want," he explained, pulling out his phone. "Just let me know what you want and I can order."

The kitchen was quiet after that as Purple shifted over the pamphlets. After a moment, they silently handed the menu for a local Chinese restaurant over to King and told him what they wanted.

One phone call later and an order of vegetable lo mein, sweet and sour chicken, and a side of white rice was set to arrive in 30 minutes.

With that taken care of, King turned back towards Purple. Said stick figure was staring at his fridge with an unreadable look on their face. The orange stick chewed at the inside of his cheek. Was having an understocked fridge that bad? Sure it wasn't ideal but it never really bothered him. He didn't have time to go to the store that often and he was doing fine eating what he had on hand. Caring about food gets a lot harder when it's only yourself you're caring about.

Still, the stare that Purple gave made him uneasy.

"So… um," King said, breaking the awkward silence. "Let's say that I did have ingredients. What would you have made?"

Purple blinked in surprise. They brought a hand up to their chin and hummed.

"It depends on the type of ingredients you had on hand," King watched as they glanced around the kitchen. "Probably would have made something easy on the stomach. Maybe a soup?"

"Oh! Like that porridge thing you brought for lunch?" King asked. A small smile formed on Purple's face.

"Lugaw, it's called lugaw. It's a rice porridge dish," They said softly. "My mom used to make it for me whenever I got sick."

"Aw, that's actually really sweet-" And not for the first time today, King felt like ice water was dumped down his back.

Mom.

He jolted from his spot against the counter. "You're not a desktopper?"

Purple flinched, on guard from the sudden tone change. "What?"

"You're not a desktopper?!" A roaring panic rose in King. "You have a parent?"

"I mean-"

"You were born?!"

Whatever Purple said in reply drowned in the sea of King's racing thoughts. If Purple wasn't a created stick from someone's desktop or from some other media, then that meant they were born. And that meant they had a parent or guardian.

That meant he almost killed someone's kid.

"KING!"

Purple had his arms in a tight grip. They were trying to coax them down from their place at the sides of King's head. Huh, when did they get there…

Just like before, they were gentle in their actions, voice soft and calming even if he couldn't make out what they were saying.

Eventually, panic subsided and all that was left was a hollow numbness in his chest. Purple had settled themself next to him.

"King… are you-"

[DING DONG]

Two pairs of eyes shot up at the sound of the doorbell.

King startled, moving to push himself off of the counter but Purple shook their head.

"The door, the food-" King rasped. Purple only shook their head harder and pushed him towards a kitchen chair.

"Sit," They commanded. "I got it. Where's your wallet?"

King gestured towards the main room. "At my desk. Top left drawer."

The younger nodded. "Okay. Stay here. Focus on your breathing. I'll be right back."

And with that, they turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

Slumping into his seat, he could hear the faint sounds of Purple talking to the delivery guy. King groaned and buried his head into his hands. His mind was a mess of guilt and embarrassment. Guilt over the thought of nearly inflicting the same lonely torment he endured on to an innocent mother, and embarrassment because what the Flash was wrong with him?

Having the occasional breakdown every couple of weeks (or days) was fine but multiple times in one day? That was absurd.

Purple probably thinks I'm a nutcase.

He felt pathetic. But before he could spiral further, Purple strode in with a brown paper bag in hand. King lifted his head to watch as they gently placed it on top of the table. They shot him a glance with a question clearly forming on their lips but King paid them no mind. The smell of noodles and chicken was already distracting him from his previous thoughts.

"I used one of your 20s. The amount was $18.48. The change was $1.52," Purple quietly said and placed King's wallet within his reach. "You can check to see it's all there."

He glanced down at it, taking a moment to gauge Purple's own stare, before picking it up and tossing it onto the counter.

"Thanks," He muttered before turning back to open the bag. The other end of the table was silent as he pulled out the cartons of food and chopsticks. King could feel Purple's eyes on him but he ignored them, instead focusing on arranging the food out on the table. After a moment, he heard Purple sigh and move towards the dish cabinet.

They arrived with two plates, two forks, and a spoon as King finished opening all the takeout containers. They stuck the forks into the lo mein and sweet and sour chicken, and the spoon into the rice. With that they handed King one of the plates and settled into their seat across the table.

It was quiet as the two sticks added food to their plates and it stayed quiet as they began to eat.

King chewed on his chicken as he eyed Purple. The younger stick wasn't looking at him but he could tell that they had something on their mind. He cringed. No doubt Purple was going to ask him about his whole "freakout" over learning they had a parent. He gnawed on his chopstick. He hoped Purple didn't ask him too many questions. Frankly, even he didn't know why he reacted so viscerally and he did not want to explore those feelings at this moment.

From across the table, Purple took in a breath and King mentally prepared himself for the confrontation.

"Do you know of any places that buy scrap metal?"

He blinked. That certainly wasn't what he expected Purple to say. Though, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved that the topic of conversation was about the future and not the past. If Purple didn't want to bring up what happened in the last half hour then King was more than happy to sweep it under the rug.

King stuck his chopsticks into his noodles, "There's a few places we can head too. Copper and Steel is the closest one but Mety's has better prices."

Purple nodded. "Which one is closer to the library?"

"None of them are close per say, but C&S is on the same side of town at least," King chewed thoughtfully. "Why? Are you planning on checking some books out?"

"Well no," the younger stick answered. "I just thought that since we'd already be out, we could also get the rest of the errands done at the same time."

King paused, mulling over what Purple suggested. "Hmm… You know, that's not a bad idea. Nice thinking Purple!"

They beamed at him. "Thank you! So it's settled. We'll go to the metal place, the grocery store, and the library."

King nodded along. "Metal, grocery, library… That sounds good- Wait grocery?"

The orange stick looked over to Purple in confusion, second-guessing whether or not he heard them right. Purple, to their credit, held his gaze and blinked almost innocently at him.

"Well you did say we could go run some errands while out," Purple said nonchalantly. "Wouldn't it also make sense to get some groceries?"

King slowly blinked at Purple, taking in that little bit of sleight of hand. A disbelieving smirk formed on his face.

"You sly little stick," King shook their head and chuckled. "Alright, I get it. I need more food in the house. We'll go get some tomorrow."

The grin sent his way could only be described as self-satisfied as the purple stick hummed and took another bite of noodles. King couldn't help the snort of laughter at the younger's action as he shook his head again and continued to eat.

With plans for the next day sorted, the two started chatting about how to continue cleaning. It was decided that King would work on finding some sort of means of transportation to help carry the metal and books for tomorrow. Once that was done, he'd start sweeping the floors. Purple in the meantime, would focus on putting the remaining books onto King's shelf. After that, they would organize the rest of the papers and miscellaneous boxes on the floor for King to look through in the future.

Over food and conversation, the outburst from before slowly slipped from their minds and neither of them were too sad to see it go.

= O = o =

Nearly half an hour later and their Chinese takeout dinner was done. Just like before, King grabbed the used dishes and placed them into the sink while Purple gathered the leftovers and placed them in the fridge. With their meal complete, they made their way to the main room where King rummaged through his storage closet in search of bags big enough to hold pieces of metal. Purple busied themself with reorganizing medical supplies left out on King's bed.

By the time King had found a couple of sturdy yard bags, Purple had deposited the various items into one of the empty boxes from the floor. As he approached them, they carefully scooted the newly christened medical box to the head of the bed by the shelf. From there the pair started going about their assigned tasks to tidy up the main room. They worked in a comfortable silence with only the occasional comment or question interrupting their work flow.

This is nice, King thought to himself. How long had it been since he had another person in his space like this? Sure, Purple was there to help with the Minecraft plan but that felt different. He paused his sweeping to watch them work.

They were short, a whole head shorter than King and that left them on their tip-toes as they slotted some books back on the top shelf. Despite the inconvenience, Purple had a look of determination on their face. It reminded him so much of the antics Gold would get up to…

A feeling akin to fondness bubbled in King's chest and he shook his head to clear it. He turned back to his broom and he continued sweeping.

It was nice to have someone around again.

It wasn't until the sound of an alarm broke the quiet within the house, causing King to jump and Purple to scramble for their blaring phone. With a quick tap on the screen, the room fell back into silence.

King shook his head, a hand on his chest. "What was that?"

Purple, with their phone still in hand, blushed and rubbed at the back of their neck.

"It's my bus alarm," They said sheepishly. "It takes about 10 minutes to get to the nearest bus stop so I set it so I'd have enough time to get there."

"You're leaving?"

They nodded. "It's already almost 9. I'd like to get some sleep for tomorrow."

"For tomorrow? Yeah! That's right! You're coming back tomorrow?" Of course they'd be coming back. A few hours ago they made plans to meet back up the next day but that still didn't stop the hopeful lift in King's voice. If Purple noticed it, they didn't say anything.

"Mmhmm. I promised to help you, didn't I?"

"I mean, yes, but-" He stumbled over his words, a previous concern pushed itself to the front of his mind. "But, you also have to help yourself. Or, at least let me help you too."

The younger stick had started gathering their belongings into their pink tote but stilled at his words. Their eyes darted to meet his before darting down towards the medical box. For a moment, King thought they were going to protest like they did before but after a moment, they sighed and reached to pull out a roll of bandages and a bruise cream tube. They tossed those items into their bag.

"Okay."

"Cool."

"So… I'll see you tomorrow then?" A goodbye posed as a question, a small awkward smile formed on King's face. Purple readjusted the strap on their bag and hauled it over their shoulder.

They locked eyes with King and with a look that could almost be considered fond, replied, "I'll see you in the morning."

Then without a word, Purple turned and left the house, the door closing with a soft click.

A second passed, then two, then three. There King stood, staring at the closed door. Slowly, he turned around to face the rest of the room. It was silent again, but for once, it didn't feel as oppressive as it once did.

Maybe it was because for the first time in a while, the house was clean. Well not clean but it was as organized and tidy as it could be given the circumstances. Maybe it was because of the food King ate. He hadn't eaten that fully in a while. Or maybe it was because he wasn't alone anymore. Sure his house was empty at the moment, but Purple had promised to come back tomorrow morning. Even if they were… weird (and they were, a voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably assess those comments and actions he had filed away) but their help equaled companionship and who was King to complain?

Whatever the reason was at the moment, it was lost on King as he shuffled quietly towards his bed. The events of the day had well and truly begun to hit him. He was tired but it was a good tired. A satisfied tired. One that reminded him of trips spent camping from years ago.

Dimly, he knew he probably should clean himself up before going to sleep. He needed to brush his teeth, wipe the dust off himself, recheck his bandages…

But as soon as he locked eyes with the bed, he knew what his main priority was.

He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

= o =

Purple pressed their forehead against the bus's window, its coolness doing wonders for easing the tension in their head.

They were… content, for lack of a better word. King had a smile on his face when they left so they must have done a good job.

The closest bus stop to their apartment was on West 9th street. Glancing at the screen near the front of the bus, told them they had just turned on off of 5th Avenue. Purple closed their eyes. They had 10 more stops left before they had to get off.

Today went well. Not as smoothly as they had hoped it would but they were always ready to roll with the punches. Maybe they were just rusty when it came to this type of helping.

9 stops left.

A series of giggles and poorly hushed laughter brought Purple out of their thoughts. Cracking an eye open, they watched as a group of nicely dressed stick figures passed by their seat and took some of their own seats near the back. They looked to be around Purple's age and were excitedly discussing a new club that opened up. Purple closed their eyes again, letting their chatter fade into the background.

8 stops left.

King had been right. And that meant Purple had been wrong. But that was fine. Purple was wrong about a lot of things. That just meant they had to try harder to learn what was right for King.

7 stops left.

Today they learned that what they say can come off as condescending, even if that wasn't the original intention. King is more than capable of helping himself. Purple is there to only aid in his recovery and to make things easier. They owed it to him.

6 stops left.

Don't assume to know what's best, even if it worked well with their mother. King is not the same. Similar but not the same. Purple couldn't forget that.

5 stops left.

One of the stick figures for the group had pulled the cord, signaling for the bus to stop. Purple blinked and watched as they filed excitedly off the bus. One stick, lilac in color, met Purple's gaze. They smiled at them, giving a curious but confused stare back before a friend pulled them towards the nightlife. For one brief moment, Purple felt a pang of jealousy.

4 stops left.

They shook that thought out of their head and refocused their eyes out onto the familiar lamp post lit streets. Going out to "party" was not important.

3 stops left.

Two old men climbed onto the bus and sat in the front, quietly chatting about their day. Trying to get friends was not important (at least not yet, a smiling green face flashed across the back of their mind).

2 stops left.

A mother cradling a sleeping toddler walked off the bus. The child snuggled closer as the summer air hit their skin. Helping King was important. And by proxy, so was Purple. The bandages felt tight on their skin.

1 stop left.

The tired stick lifted their head from the window. They had a job to do. Nothing else should matter. They just needed to keep their priorities straight.

Purple pulled the cord and the bus slowed to a stop.

#Sammy8D writes #AvAM In the Week that Follows #AvM In the Week that Follows #AvM fanfic #alan becker #AvAM Watered Down Hot Chocolate #AvAM WDHC #animation vs minecraft #avm shorts #avm #King stick figure #the King #AvM King #AvA King #purple stick figure #ava purple #avm purple #Sammy8D Stick Stuff

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shesjustanothergeek · 10 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Eighteen

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Sorry for blue balling you for the past two weeks, but we're finally at the long-awaited feast for Aegon's 20th birthday! I hope my kitty meow meow gets everything he wishes for. Thank you so much for sticking with me through 18 chapters and counting! Y'all have no idea how much it means to me when I see every comment, note, or notification regarding this story. It always makes me so happy. :)

Chapter Warnings: Ableism, implied sex slavery.

"scream

so that one day a

hundred years from now

another sister will not have to dry her tears

wondering where in history

she lost her voice."

- Jasmin Kaur

You were in the guest chambers, readying for the feast that concluded this week-long celebration. The days had been daunting, anxiety and hardship looming over you like a cloud covering the morning sun. You hoped the future held a more effortless and less taxing light, but your sense made you believe otherwise.

Fiora and Dyana took to bathing you, assuring your flesh had no speckle of dirt or sebum, inspecting each limb, then scrubbing with a floral soap imported from Yi Ti. They changed the typical lavender body oil you wore to a sweet and uplifting scent of Port Wine Magnolia for the special occasion, the candy-smelling flowers that were one of the many planted in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden. Jeyne sorted your attire, holding pieces of different golden jewelry to the sparkling cider of embroidered fabric that was your dress.

It was not your usual color choice, finding comfort with your family's statement reds and blacks. But tonight was not about Houses and the game of thrones you constantly played. It was only an evening meant for you to unwind, perhaps indulge more in food and wine, and dance until your feet bled.

You were drained from the daytime already, desiring to crawl under your refreshing cotton blankets and sleep until your servants woke you in the morn.

Jeyne hardened your struggle with consciousness as her gentle movements in your hair made you relax further, leaving your black tresses in the same underlying style from before but braiding it elegantly and sticking twinkling Aurelian pins to hold the thickness together.

The three ladies ushered you out to the Great Hall, escorting you until you heard the waves of laughter and the hum of music. The tall oak and bronze doors were left open for the many entering and exiting guests, chuckling in their expensive and different-colored outfits, each aiming to display their wealth to those around them. Two guards stood on each side of the frame, hands hanging stiffly at their sides.

The fare had yet to be served, but the small group of musicians in the corner played a spirited tune for the people dancing and clapping between the rows of long tables, a substantial pile of gifts just out of view. You wondered if Aegon was asked for input on this. You were sure if he was that there would be much fewer male servants working tonight and more women as you took an open seat closer to the royal family.

You assumed that you would be given a place at the high tableland with them since you were also a royal, but every chair was taken though there was plenty of room to fit more. No doubt a detail Queen Alicent enforced to slight your faction of uninvited Targaryens and further plant the seeds of their secession in the court's mind. Everything with the Hightowers was carefully planned and crafted to the final minute detail. You were zany to think tonight would be any different.

A male orderly walking with a silver tray in his palm caught your attention, signaling him to ask for a drink while you waited for the celebration to begin with the arrival of the King.

From Aegon's elevated off-centered place at the royal table, he could see all who came and left, sizing each noblewoman on who would be the easiest to bed. He was drowning in his cups before you entered, his blurry vision creating an almost ethereal glow to your silhouette in the gilded room.

You looked stunning, utterly unaware of the Prince's gaze. Aegon nearly lost his grip on his chalice filled with his favorite wine as he saw your sandy dress, dragons of the same color sewn into the bodice, reminding him of Sunfyre.

Did you pick that shade specifically for him, knowing it was his favorite? Had you stood in your bed chambers in your thin chemise, nipples pert from the cold air as you stared between your plethora of gowns and, by chance, settled with something he adored? No. You were a pragmatic woman, meticulously determining your and your opponent's next ten moves. You choose this for him.

Aegon knew you weren't upset after last night, a sentiment of relief settling in his gut along with the wine. It was just the loss of your post-coupling bliss that allowed doubt to fester. His little dragon was finally experiencing the emotions and urges that came with eros and didn't know how to cope appropriately. He remembered when he first encountered it. That insatiable itch. Having been exposed to sex at such a young age, Aegon understood what to do and how to handle it, placing his fist on his more petite cock during youth and pumping it until ecstasy.

You had grown in many ways, but with regards to fucking, you were still that same little girl from Flea Bottom with those peculiar, searching eyes, looking to him for guidance as you asked for the knowledge of pleasure.

The band finished playing their last melody as the King entered, the dancers parting like the sea to make room for his chair as they carried him to the middle of the high table. There was a small bandage on his cheek that had not been there earlier, and it made you smile, knowing that someone took your words seriously. Viserys stood from his wooden throne, using the table for support as he raised his brass goblet to the room.

"A toast," he wheezed, gazing at nothing imparticular, "in celebration of this joyous occasion. My eldest son, Prince Aegon, is now a youthful twenty, married to his beautiful Lady Wife with two healthy children." You noticed Helaena fidgeting in her olive green dress, looking down at her empty silver plate. "Let us drain our cups to the children of the House of The Dragon! May they live long and prosperous lives..."

Viserys trailed off with a cough but was drowned out by the roars of people shouting "hear! hear!" to his toast, vibrating the high narrow windows as the musicians started another upbeat tune.

Servants dressed in red emerged from the oak and bronze doors, carrying plates and trays of different food. Scores of delicacies were served before you. They brought pigs, mutton, goose, venison, and enough hearty sides to feed the entirety of Flea Bottom into the Great Hall. The smell was enough to make your mouth water, waiting to be served after the royal family as you took a swig of your wine, your rings clinking against the cup.

Through the flurry of servants and maids, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. An uneasy feeling washed over you as a woman set a platter of meat on the table, blocking your vision for a moment but then revealing the fierce look of Dalton Greyjoy across the room. You had the urge to give him an annoyed expression for staring but thought better of it as you remembered his importance and position. Instead, you extended a smile, nodding your head as you began to plate heapings of food.

The eldest Prince was too engrossed with the arrangements of sweets in front of his mother to notice the exchange, sneaking a hand to snatch a sugar-coated puff pastry before the Queen could stop him.

Soon you had your full, eating in silence as the nobleman next to you was not one for conversation, no matter how you tried to start one. You could still feel Dalton's watchful brown eyes on you, attempting to ignore him as he observed every sip of wine and swallow of food you took. With the screech of Ser Otto Hightower's chair, he announced that the gift ceremony could commence, snapping Aegon out of his dessert-induced trance.

You were apprehensive about the present you got him, a simple, tiny box tucked into your skirt pocket. It was commissioned before what happened last night when you were in a happier and more sentimental mood. You regretted it sorely as you saw the different Lords and Ladies kneel before Aegon sat in a carved wooden chair before his family.

They bestowed him with countless grandiose and superficial gifts of swords, pelts, jewels, and a diamond-encrusted wine decanter. At one point, a Lord from Pentos came strolling in with two caramel-skinned women, all clad in turquoise and bronze. They were so beautiful and exotic-looking that they would shame the most gorgeous women in Westeros.

"A gift to you, my Prince," the man bowed, gesturing the women forward as their metal jewelry jingled. "My pick of the most beautiful desert flowers. May they serve you well in whatever way you desire."

The Queen bowed her head in embarrassment as her son eagerly rose from his seat, gathering the women under his arms as he thanked the man most graciously. Aemond placed a comforting hand on Helaena's back as she looked forward, not entirely seeing what was happening. Your expression mirrored Alicent's, looking away with downturned lips as Aegon stole a glance as he returned to his honorary throne.

You felt like a fool for getting him something so plain, the box it resided in burning through the palms of your hands. It would have been best had trusted your gut when walking into the local jewelsmith. At first, your present was meant to be an insult, knowing his desire for extravagant things and only getting something plain, but after the moment you shared in the Godswood, you decided to make an ordinary object into something special.

Your lip was nearly raw from your incessant chewing, feeling the thin liquid of blood pool into your mouth as you ripped a thin piece of skin.

After the line of people dwindled to only a few, you gained the courage to step in with the rest of the noble people, shifting your weight on the soles of your feet in anxiety. It also didn't help as you felt Ser Dalton stare at the side of your face, the urge to unsheath the dagger from your calve and plunge it into each of his annoyingly observant brown eyes. Life would be better without men in the world, you thought to yourself.

Soon you were only a meter away from Aegon and his two desert flowers leaning over his form, whispering words you did not want to hear as they trailed their fingers along his skin. He quickly swatted them away once he saw you standing before him. You inwardly scoffed as you bowed into a deep curtsy, your breasts nearly spilling out of your bodice, much to the Prince's delight.

He could now see you in all your beauty. The way your dress sparkled in the candle-lit room, watching your decorated chest rise with unsteady breaths. Aegon hadn't noticed the half-golden wreath of flowers on the back of your head, contrasting wildly from your silky black hair with rings of the same metal on your blanched fingers tightly gripping a small box. You were a picture of the Maiden with your radiant youth and innocence, and despite his best efforts, he felt his heart beat faster as he watched your painted lips move.

"Lady Targaryen, daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen," you introduced, even though Aegon knew who you were.

"Come now, sweet cousin! No need for formalities; we are kin!" He said jubilantly, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall. Aegon signaled a serving maid for another glass of wine, downing the entire contents of it and placing it back on the tray. "Now, what have you gotten me, cousin?"

You unfurled your grip, walking closer to Aegon before a steward came to have you gave the present to him. The Prince waved dismissively, rising from his chair as he met you at the foot of the stone stairs.

Opening the tightly sealed case, you took a breath.

"A ring for the eldest Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, crafted by the finest jewelsmith in King's Landing. Black garnet mined from the Dothraki Sea is the main centerpiece, and Rubies from our land in Westeros are embedded in the solid gold band," you paused a moment, steeling yourself for the consequences of your past actions as you angled the ring in the yellow light. "And here, a personalized message for His Grace."

As Aegon studied his nameday gift, you bowed your head, retreating a few paces. You saw his pupils dilate as he read it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

'For my sweet boy, Aegon.'

He left you to stand in uncomfortable silence, beginning to gnaw on your lower lip once more as he slipped the gift onto his left pinky, admiring it in the glow of the candles. Aegon met your gaze when finished, filling the gap you made with his tall but stocky body. You could smell the sticky scent of Arbor Red wafting off him, his lips stained.

Fear coursed within you at that moment, the memory of how he forced himself upon you the night prior flashing through your mind's eye, but you steeled yourself. Clenching your soft jaw and digging your nails into your palm until you were sure they broke the calloused flesh.

Aegon opened his arms, signaling he wanted to embrace in thanks for your present. You hesitated but leaned forward as you saw the hundreds of eyes watching you. He squeezed you harshly, nearly suffocating you as he brought his mouth to your ear, inhaling your candied scent before he whispered.

"You are too good to me, little one. I know you are frightened by what happened last night, but there is no need to be. Any uncertainties you have, your sweet boy will help you."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your knees nearly buckling as he pulled away and kissed both cheeks. You stood there for a beat too long, your head reeling at losing his warmth and the haunting things he promised. You swiftly curtsied again as you saw him plop down into his seat, a smirk on his rosy lips, and returned to your own.

You stayed there as the rest of the Lords and Ladies gave their gifts to Aegon, staring down at the food scraps on your plate, your appetite never returning, not even for dessert. When the sounds of stomping boots vibrated the stone floor, you still refused to look up, lost inside a blank yet cluttered mind.

You should be relieved that Aegon was not upset with you for abandoning him and that your plan could continue. You should be smiling, knowing that everything was falling into place, but you weren't. You were terrified. Terrified of what you had gotten yourself into. This was the only way to assure Aegon never ascended the throne, but the cost was almost too much to bear.

Your family.

Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and even little Aegon and Viserys. You had to think of them. This was for them. Everything you did was for them. Selling yourself to Aegon and giving in to his depraved desires would save them all from a fate that could break the Targaryen dynasty forever. A small price to pay for the sake of those you loved, you told yourself.

"Cousin?" A soft angelic voice startled you from your stupor. "Would you care for a dance?" Helaena asked, her palm facing upwards as you stared at the serval vein-like wrinkles expanding across it.

You gave her a polite smile, though it did not reach your eyes, nodding as you wiped your hands on the green cloth napkin on your lap. Keep your mind off the impending future for a moment.

"It has been quite some years since I last shared a dance with you Princess," you said as her delicate fist wrapped around yours. "I am much more skilled at the art now."

Helaena giggled, leading you out to the ocean of people. "I seem to recall us never needing any guidance on it before. 'Tis more fun to sway to your own beat." Her grin reached her ears, crinkling the creamy skin around her eyes as she spun you in a dizzying circle.

Neither of you paid attention to the other's rehearsed moves, creating your own as you jumped, clapped, and spun. It felt like you were both girls again, laughing as she linked her slender arm with yours, skipping back and forth, your skirts in your free limb. The momentum of your movements continued as you grabbed her hands, lifting one arm to twirl her underneath you, her golden hair tickling your chin.

Helaena was always a beacon of light in the darkness, the embodiment of the lantern the Crone used to guide those in her wisdom. Her laugh was like the first breath of spring after a seemingly never-ending winter, her voice as gentle as the early morning rain in summer. She was all heart and kindness and too good for this world, too gracious to deserve the hand she dealt with.

Helaena loved her family and was one of the few who treated your brothers with the same politeness as if they were anyone else. She had a deep bond with her brother Aemond, a bond that only blood could give. The type you could only dream of with yours. And despite the man she was forced to marry, she still loved Aegon. Not the way a wife would love a husband, but the love of siblings who were forced into something they had no choice in, pushed into the confines of duty.

You felt guilt for what you did with Aegon, the disrespect and shame you would bring upon her if anyone found out. You knew she would not feel scorn the way a partner would, though that did little to ease your conscience. While it was a relief not to hurt Helaena like that, she would still have that same sense of betrayal she did when Aegon went out to the Silk Streets.

You resolved your thoughts. Helaena would have to understand why you did what you did unless she desired to see the casualties of war.

Pushing those feelings down, you brought another smile to your lips, your cousin placing her hands on your waist and spinning you until your steps faltered, nearly tripping over your skirts. Helaena steadied you, closing the space as she grabbed your biceps with a guffaw. She moved a strand of hair that had fallen over your shoulder in your promenade, smoothing it down your head as she rested her palm against the base of your neck. You watched her with a curious but joyful expression as her other hand moved to grip the side of your face.

To anyone observing from the outside, it appeared as if she was about to kiss you, but if they saw the look within her amethyst eyes, glazed over, looking at you. No. Looking through you, they would see she was not in the moment.

"Hand turns loom; spools of green, spools of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread," she whispered against your face, your noses nearly touching. You grasped Helaena's wrists, trying to pull her away as her touch became painful. "Beneath the boards, rats bite; their teeth burn, a sacrifice of her blood, peace reborn."

Her words covered you in a blanket of dread, cold and unwelcoming, as her nails dug into your skin. A whimper escaped your throat, wriggling uncomfortably at the sting and confusion.

The guests around you continued dancing, unaware of the agony piercing into your flesh, Helaena repeating her words with urgency.

"A sacrifice of her blood, peace reborn. A sacrifice of her blood, a sacrifice of her blood, her blood, her blood, her blood."

"Sister," a baritone voice cut through the air. Helaena suddenly released you with trembling fists, stumbling backward into her brother, clad in black leather.

"Aemond," she gasped, grabbing him by his forearms. "A sacrifice of her blood," she heatedly whispered as you placed a comforting palm on her shoulder.

You glanced at Aemond worriedly, but his eyes were trained on his younger sibling.

"Sister," Aemond repeated, this time softer. "Mother requests your presence at the table."

Helaena nodded absentmindedly, ridding her mind of her trance as her brother's one-piercing eye trailed after her retreating form. You continued to stare at Aemond, your mouth opening to speak before he interrupted.

"Pay no mind to Helaena; she sees and understands things in ways we could never comprehend."

You wished to ask for more but knew you would only receive what Aemond allowed. He was so protective over his sister, and you understood why. In spite of having a fearsome dragon of her own and having done the difficult task of birth while still a child, she was not hardened, nor did she need to be. She was just Helaena, meant to be guarded and cared for, and that was enough.

You started into a curtsy to bid Aemond farewell, assuming he had only come to rescue his sister, but instead stopped you with the wave of his hand and outstretched it, an invitation to dance. Raising a quizzical brow, you stared, eyes flickering from his chiseled face to wrinkled palm. Perhaps he felt obligated to offer it after Helaena had frightened you, but you still hesitated as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"My Prince, I know you have never cared for me or my brothers, so do not insult me with this farce of chivalry," you said unabashedly, crossing your arms.

You expected Aemond to give you a sneer, storming away and back to the high table with the rest of his family, but he did neither. On the contrary, he laughed wickedly and unwrapped your arms as the music changed to a darker ballad, the minor chords sending tremors up your spine.

As the One-Eyed Prince led you into song, you focused anywhere but on him, your lips pursed and your body stiff, attempting to put as much space between your linked elbows.

You continued your silent dance, refusing to be the proper lady your Septa taught you to be as Aemond lifted you into the air by your hips at the swell of the tune, forcing you to seek purchase on his slender shoulders. An arrogant smirk laced his lips as he brought you to the ground, your digits burying into his leather tunic for balance. He didn't give a moment to recover as he took your hands in his, pulling you close to his chest before unwinding you into a subtle push movement as you struggled to become centered.

Before you could think to protest his nauseated action, he brought you back in, twirling your arms so your back was pressed against his front, a position that was hardly proper for the duty-bound Prince.

"Have you found yourself well to be back in King's Landing?" Aemond purred darkly into your ear. You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat, trying to turn your head to face him.

"It has been a rather eventful occasion, though it hardly looks of the Red Keep I know. If I were not any brighter, I would think this is the seat of House Hightower, not Targaryen," you replied coolly, voice neutral to not expel your beliefs.

He hummed in response, releasing you from his harsh embrace as you proceeded to the next step in the choreography. "It gladens me to hear you are in good spirits. I could not say the same if I wore your shoes."

You snuffed the instinct to sneer at the arrogant man. Tilting your head, you peered at him from your lower height as you began to circle one another, like a fox to a rabbit. Which one you were you did not know.

"Oh? And why would that be, your Grace?" you asked with feigned interest.

"If I were summoned to a place which held such harrowing memories, I would be aching to return home, not taking a permanent position on the Small Council," Aemond answered in a grandiloquent tone.

You had to resist the urge to bite at his jabs, nearly snarling your teeth before you took a calming breath, plastering your political costume that was a smile. You were keen to the art of backhanded courtly discussion and realized the second son was trying to get a rise out of you, tormenting the bastard princess when he could not do the princes.

"Time heals all wounds," you quipped shortly. "I've made peace with what happened to my family. They broke the law, and our honorable Lord Hand served justice." The Prince replied with a grunt to your lies, following with the other nobles in dance as they jumped and clapped on the beat. "Tell me, Prince Aemond, have you returned to Driftmark since that fateful night?"

You saw him stiffen as you repeated the movement from before on his other side, only to be stopped by an iron grip. "Do not presume to speak freely before me. I am a true-born prince of the realm, not a bastard to the Lord of Flea Bottom."

That had you smiling genuinely, rising to the tops of your feet as you met his one piercing eye with your two, brimming with barely controlled ire.

"A true-born second son, but not good enough to be the spare. A crippled boy whose eye was taken out by a child half his junior." Your words poured out like the molten steel of a sword, searing into Aemond's essence as the ballad ended.

Yanking your arm out of the Prince's grasp, you backed away; chin held high in triumph. He took significant bounding strides in your direction in response as you prepared to defend yourself just as Lucerys had. Perhaps you could carve out his working eye and offer it to the younger boy? He had told you of his fear regarding Aemond, the hatred he held in his heart for the loss of sight.

By the grace of the Seven, a loud shriek was heard from the head of the Great Hall, momentarily distracting Aemond as you scampered into the crowd of people, making your way to your seat. Luckily there was no danger to be found at the royal table, only Prince Aegon diving under the skirts of one of his desert flowers as men cheered and women turned away in shame. You ignored the disgust that came as you saw him lift her on his shoulders, his head hidden underneath the sheer layers of her dress.

***

The hour of ghosts was upon you, but the feast still raged, no signs of anyone retiring soon. The wine and mead had settled in everyone's stomachs, making for an ear-deafening obnoxious roar of laughter and cheers.

You, too, had begun to feel the effects of alcohol but had not ventured out to the dance floor since the interaction with Aemond. You were right to be cautious when he offered you his hand. It was only a ploy for him to gain superiority over someone he deemed less than him, but ultimately it failed, turning it around for him to become the victim of his own game. Life was cruel, but it was good not to be on the receiving end of it for once.

You rested your chin on your knuckles as you watched the twirling fools before you, yawning. You realized it was time to retire as you felt your fist slip out from under you, nearly slamming your face on the now-empty wooden table. Releasing a heavy sigh, you stretched your upper body, quietly groaning as you downed the last few drops of your drink.

"Surely, my Lady Targaryen, you are not retiring so soon," a familiar gravelly voice asked.

"I am, Ser Greyjoy. The hour grows late, and there is much to tend to on the morrow," you answered unhurriedly.

"I had hoped to steal you for a dance or two, but much of tonight, you were already preoccupied."

You scoffed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Not by choice, I am afraid. I would not have denied you had you asked," you replied truthfully, standing from your seat with another stretch.

"Well, if you'd allow me to escort you to your rooms, I'm sure we could make for lost time," he offered with the bend of his elbow.

You were exhausted from the facade required to put on for appearances and slouched as you took his offer without resistance.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of violet eyes had followed the whole night, observing his little dragon but never moving to mount. He hadn't felt the need to until the squid boy hooked himself on you, a problem Aegon knew he would have to remedy but was unsure of how as he fidgeted with the new ring on his finger.

Aegon watched you exit the Great Hall with Ser Dalton, a frown tugging on his crimson-stained lips as he took another swig of his Arbor Red. The girls beside him noticed his sudden change in mood, one tracing an extended slim index along his jawline to capture his attention, the other whispering something he did not care to hear. He saw the squid lord link arms out of the corner of his eye before one of the women brought a full cup to his mouth, your glimmering golden dress a distant memory in his drunken mind.

"I must say, my Lady Targaryen, you looked ravishing tonight. The whole court could not take their eyes off you. I was afraid I might have to defend your honor," Ser Dalton chortled, following your lead down one of the many corridors that led to the guest wing.

"That must have been why I felt like I was being stalked like a doe in the woods," you snipped with your nose in the air.

Dalton turned, his lengthy Dragonglass colored hair falling over his slim shoulders as he laughed, his canines glistening in the yellow torchlight. His teeth were so white, so sharp. It looked as if they could pierce flesh with a single bite.

The exhaustion, combined with the half a dozen glasses of wine you had drunk, lowered your inhibitions and made your lips loose. "I had half a mind to gouge out your eyes and feed them to my dragon," you joked.

Dalton stopped his long strides at this, causing you to jerk and do the same, stumbling around to face him. Suddenly, your world was a blur of colors, your head struggling to keep up with the fast movements of the Red Kraken as he led you to an untraveled hallway.

"Lord Greyjoy!" you shouted in protest, groaning as the abruptness made you sick.

"You speak lots of threats for a lady of your stature," he taunted, his toned arms caging you in.

It took you a moment longer than expected to process what was happening, but you were in no state of alarm despite the nonconsensual circumstances. You didn't feel the same rush of fear you had with Aegon, only raising one unamused brow as you gave Ser Dalton a lofty stare, almost daring him to try something as you released a huff.

"And what, prey tell, are you implying, Lord Reaper?" you questioned with a lazy tilt of your head.

Dalton laughed lightly, raising his arm to toy with a strand of your hair as he leaned closer. "Only, my Bastard Princess, that you have the fire of a true dragon born of pure Valryian blood, not something muddled with common folk."

"You think our people are beneath us?" you asked pointedly, arching your back to reach his slumped form. "What would happen if your armies raised their swords against you, hmm? Our people let us rule."

Lord Dalton dropped the hair he was toying with, running his digits through the rest until he reached your waist, pulling you flush with his. Your eyes widened in surprise as you felt his manhood press against your stomach, freezing for a moment as your mind went blank.

"With a dragon, no one could stand in my way. We could burn all who dare test the power of House Greyjoy and Targaryen. We do not sow. We will reap through fire and blood." Dalton leaned closer to you, his spine hunched like a startled cat from the height difference. "There was no mistake in my intention yesterday. You will become my wife."

Your head finally started working again; instincts pounded in from years of training controlling your movements. Wrapping your leg around Dalton's hips, you brought him closer, angling your body so that your skirt rose above your ankle. You snaked your fingers down his back, nails scraping his maroon woolen tunic, unsheathing the hidden dagger your father gifted and pointing at his chest.

The Lord Reaper of Pyke's brown eyes briefly flashed with terror but swiftly smoothed into their dark expression, a taunting grin on his lips.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you chortled. "I have heard many rumors about you." You pushed the blade tip further into his chest, where his heart would be. "Of you emerging from battle, drenched in blood from a thousands cuts on your body. Claiming a Valyrian Steel sword in victory. Of your countless salt wives who would rather throw themselves into the sea than bed you?" Dalton's pupils dilated as he watched your mouth move, nails digging into the plush skin of your waist. "You get bored of women too easily, and I do not intend to move from one forgotten position to another."

You clenched your leg, cinching him to you in a vice-like grip.

"Tell me, Red Kraken, will you bleed the same as I when you tear my maidenhead?" You slid the dagger tip dangerously up his chest, resting just below the notch in his throat and causing it to bob uncomfortably.

You observed Dalton licking his lips, hands sliding to the plump flesh of your arse as he ground his manhood into your heat. Both stared, willing the other to break it and lose the unspoken challenge. The many ways you could quickly kill him popped into your head with a sly smile, continuing to size him up as you saw the faint trickle of blood down his neck.

A chorus of giggles caused you both to default, the contest ending in a draw as you saw the two desert flowers from earlier walk in your direction. They draped over Aegon's sides; all smiles as he led them to what you could only assume were his bed chambers. You felt sick at the sight, unraveling your limbs from Lord Greyjoy and placing your dagger back in its holder. His hands moved to a more appropriate place on your body as you both turned to acknowledge the Prince's presence.

The searing emotion of betrayal coursed through your veins as bile burned your throat. How could Aegon whisper such intoxicating and mind-numbing things about your time together but, in a fell swoop, go whoring with two women he did not know? Anger tugged on your heart, inhaling a raging breath as you both bowed to the eldest Prince, his purple eyes bypassing you and Dalton.

A part of you wished for him to notice the Lord's improper hold on you, for Aegon to become filled with the same scornful rage he created within you, but you swallowed the thought down, turning to your escort to continue the journey to your rooms.

It was silent from then on, your wrath simmering just below the edge. You were certain Ser Dalton could sense it.

Once you arrived at the Guest Wing, you turned to him, swiftly ordering the guard at the door to walk to the other end of the hall so he could not overhear your words.

"If you wish so ardently to marry, Lord Dalton, I suggest you do it correctly," you commanded sternly. "You will court me properly as any other man would, then when the time is right, you will contact my father, informing him of your intentions. Just because I was born of sin and impropriety does not mean I want to live it myself." You raised your black eyebrows at him, waiting for a response.

"I understand, my Lady," he confirmed solemnly. "You will be given the respect you deserve and I hope you can accept my sincerest regrets for my actions prior."

You rolled your eyes, slightly probing your hip out as you stared at him, unbelieving. "Do not apologize," you said bluntly, "I know you do not regret it. Had you did then, that would have never happened."

You saw a slight smile grow on his thin pink lips.

"I expect a letter from you upon your return to Castle Pyke. We will converse and learn about one another until the time is right." You moved away from him, pulling the handle to your chamber door, and bid him goodnight. "Sleep well, Ser Dalton. I await your letter should you decide to write me."

As you enter your chambers, you couldn't deny your hope that you were just another one of his female conquest he would tire of, calling for your maids with a bell. You wanted to stick to your plan, and Dalton would be another obstacle in securing Rhaenyra's throne.

The same exhaustion from before crept through your bones as you slumped over your vanity, your servants arriving a few moments later to undress you.

Today had been fruitful, and you prayed to the Seven that everything would fall into place as time passed. You knew this would be difficult and had prepared yourself accordingly, though you sensed that something would happen to topple that self-perseverance as things tended to do, but shoved it away with the rest of your many doubts and worries.

As you drifted into a peaceful slumber, you dreamed of a time filled with less duty and more freedom, a distant memory of long ago filled with laughs and love that had now been forgotten.

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I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Aegon really needs to work on his drinking habits because he literally walked right past his girl with another man! He becomes a different person when he's under the influence of alcohol. If Aegon was only a bit tipsy, you know that man would've beat the fuck out of Dalton even though he is severely outmatched. I also want to mention that I purposefully don't have Aegon speak in High Valyrian when calling the reader "little dragon" because I remember Tom Glenn Carney saying something along the lines of Aegon hating the traditionalism of the Targaryen and being that rebel child, but at the same time he uses that God complex whenever he sees it as an advantage. Idk. Just a little peek behind the curtain of my writing lol. Thank you for reading!

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ezziefae · 5 months

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Thoughts while reading The Prisoners Throne Excerpt

Here's a rushed annotation of some parts of the excerpt that really drew my attention. Jurdan fans be ready for many surprises.

"Imagine you have a weapon. They had been in Vivi’s second apartment, standing on a small metal balcony. Inside, Taryn and Vivi had been fussing over Leander, who was learning to crawl. The Ghost had asked about Oak’s training and been uninterested in the excuse that he was eleven, had to go to school, and couldn’t be swinging around a longsword in the common space of the lawn without neighbors getting worried."

(this is a flashback) Taryn’s child makes their first debut!! Taryn named the boy Leander. (I’m assuming its a boy name) Since the Ghost is in Vivi’s apartments could that be a hint that he’s romantically involved with Taryn? Or it could also be that he’s accompanied Taryn to protect her. It's super cool to see The Ghost and Oak training together.

"Oak had actually liked making his own sword. It was huge and black with a bright red hilt covered in demonish faces. It looked like the sword of someone in an anime he’d been watching, and he felt like a badass, holding it in his hands. The sight of Oak’s blade had made the Ghost smile, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he started moving through a series of exercises, urging Oak to follow. He told the prince should call him by his non‑spy name, Garrett, since they were friends."

Love that Holly is still referencing anime in the Elfhame series. Can we also talk about The Ghost’s character development? In TFOTA series he always kept to himself, and now he’s letting his closest friends call him by his real name.

"The prince has been imprisoned three weeks, according to the tallies he’s made in the dust beneath the lone bench. Long enough to dwell on every mistake he has made on his ill‑fated quest."

THREE WEEKS??? What the heck have Jude and Cardan been doing for three weeks??? I honestly expected for him to be rescued asap. If anything Jude and Cardan have been carefully planning to save oak and I guess that takes a lot of time.

"His family must be in a panic right now. He trusts that Tiernan got Madoc to Elfhame safely, no matter what the redcap general wanted. But Jude would be furious with Tiernan for leaving Oak behind and even angrier with Madoc, if she guesses just how much of this is his fault."

I really want to see someone from Elfhame’s POV on Jude finding out on Oak being taken prisoner by Wren. I want to see a raging Jude. I’d be terrified to be in Tiernan’s place, since it was his job to protect Oak, and he failed that.

"Possibly Cardan would be relieved to be rid of Oak, but that wouldn’t stop Jude from making a plan to get him back. Jude has been ruthless on Oak’s behalf before, but this is the first time it’s scared him. Wren is dangerous. She is not someone to cross. Neither of them are."

OHH??? OHHH???? So many things are thrown at us here. Oak has a reason to believe that Cardan doesn’t like him??? To the point where Oak believes Cardan would even be RELIEVED to get rid of him? That was SUPER unexpected. Oak finally takes it in that neither Wren or Jude are people to cross. As much as I hate saying this, I want a Jude and Wren fight. That would be amazing. Not saying I want either of them to die, or get hurt, but that would be an intense scene.

“I can do better,” he says. “And perhaps you might bring me a little gossip to cheer the chilly monotony of my days.” “You’re very silly, Your Highness,” she says after a moment, biting her bottom lip a little.

Oak is using his most dangerous power, seduction. Screaming.

"He remembers Oriana’s warning to him when he was a child. A power like the one you have is dangerous, she said. You can know what other people most want to hear. Say those things, and they will not only want to listen to you. They will come to want you above all other things. The love that a gancanagh inspires—some may pine away for desire of it. Others will carve the gancanagh to pieces to be sure no one else has it."

I'm so glad holly is diving deep into this, We know that Locke also had this power, and how he was wielding it in TFOTA series.

"That night, he wakes to the sight of a snake crawling down the wall, its black metal body jeweled and glittering. A forked emerald tongue tastes the air at regular intervals, like a metronome. It startles him badly enough for him to back up against the bars, the iron hot against his shoulders. He has seen creatures like it before, forged by the great smiths of Faerie. Valuable and dangerous. The paranoid thought comes to him that poison would be one straightforward way to solve the problem of his being held by an enemy of Elfhame. If he were dead, there’d be no reason to pay a ransom."

Oak sees this snake, and he immediately thinks it was sent from elfhame to kill him. Which is insane for him to believe that.

"He doesn’t think his sister would allow it, but there are those who might risk going around her. Grima Mog, the new grand general, would know exactly where to find the prince, having served the Court of Teeth herself. Grima Mog might look forward to the war it would start. And, of course, she answered to Cardan as much as Jude."

"Not to mention there was always the possibility that Cardan convinced Jude that Oak was a danger to them both."

WHAT IS THIS DISAPPROVAL CARDAN HAS ON OAK?? The fact that Oak believes Cardan sent the snake to KILL HIMM, that's absolute madness. Like what the helll did this man do to Oak to make him feel this way?? Cryingggg.

"It yawns widely enough for him to see silver fangs. The links of its body move, and a ring comes up from its throat, clanging to the floor. He leans down and lifts it. A gold ring with a deep blue stone, scuffed with wear. His ring, a present from his mother on his thirteenth birthday and left behind on his dresser because it no longer fit his finger. Proof that this creature was sent from Elfhame. Proof that he was supposed to trust it."

THIS IS THE RING THAT'S ON THE COVER!! Now we know what the ring means to Oak!!

“Prinss,” it says. “In three daysssss, you mussss be ready for resssss‑cue.” “Rescue?” Not here to poison him, then. The snake just stares with its cold, glittering eyes.

Okay so Jude sent a snake as a messenger to Oak, to let him know that they're coming to save him in three days. Cool….coool.

“Give me longer,” he says, no matter that it’s ridiculous to negotiate with a metal snake and even more ridiculous to negotiate for his own imprisonment, just in order to get a chance to speak with someone who refuses to see him. “Two more weeks perhaps. A month.”

THIS STUBBORN BOYYYYYY. Oh I know Jude would be absolutely furious for that.

"Oak slides the ring onto his pinkie finger, watching the snake as it coils its way up the wall. Halfway to the ceiling, he realizes that just because it wasn’t sent to poison him doesn’t mean it wasn’t sent to poison someone."

BIG MISTAKE MISTER SNAKE, BIGGGGG MISTAKEEEE.

He jumps onto the bench and grabs for it, catching the end of its tail. With a tug, it comes off the wall, falling against his body and coiling around his forearm. “Prinsssss,” it hisses. As it opens its mouth to speak, he notes the tiny holes in the points of its silvery fangs. When it does not strike, Oak pries the snake carefully from around his arm. Then, gripping the end of its tail firmly, he slams it down against the stone bench. Hears the cracking of its delicate mechanical parts. A gem flies off. So does a piece of metal. He whips it against the bench again.

Oak really said “oh hell no, you're not killing the women i love, nah uh,” and then proceeds to kill it in a very violent unsettling manner. Everyone was right when they said that Oak was like Madoc.

Straun spits on the floor in front of the prince’s cage. “No amount of gold or gems will save you. If my winter queen wants you to rot here, you’re going to rot.” “Your winter queen?” Oak repeats, unable to stop himself. The falcon looks a little shamefaced and turns to go back to his post. He’s young, Oak realizes. Older than Oak, but not by so very much. Younger than Hyacinthe. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Wren made such an impression on him. It shouldn’t bother Oak, shouldn’t fill him with a ferocious jealousy.

THE JEALOUSY HAS ME CACKLING. He was imprisoned, neglected in his cell by wren and yet he's jealous whenever someone else has lovey dovey eyes for wren. This man is so down for wren, and I don’t blame him.

The Ghost taught him how to move stealthily, but he’s never been very good at it. He blames his hooves, heavy and hard. They clack at the worst possible times. But he makes an effort, sliding them against the floor to minimize noise.

Super cool to see how much The Ghost has impacted Oak's skills. The court of shadows in general has been a huge part in Oak’s training and it shows.

Oak moves fast, jerking Straun backward and covering his nose and mouth with the cloth. The guard struggles, but inhaling blusher mushroom slows his movements. Oak presses him to the floor until he’s unconscious.

THERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Welp, The excerpt ends in Oak escaping his cell…..after all thar chaos i've become too impatient. Just 3 Months until this book comes out !!!

#CARDAN DOESNT LIKE OAK?? THATS INSANE #JUDE AND CARDAN ARE REALLY COMING BACK #jude duarte #holly black #the folk of the air #jurdan #oak greenbriar #the prisoners throne #elfhame #the stolen heir #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #The Prisoners Throne Peeks

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mochie85 · 9 months

Text

The Redwoods

Part 2 of my Wanderlust series.

One-shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: The first stop on your road trip through California to visit all the National Parks. And it's colder than you expected. Especially at night! Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader Word Count: 773 (a drabble, really) Warnings: Fluff. Flirting. A/N: This is for @the-slumberparty's July Monthly Challenge. I picked prompt #9, Cuddling for Warmth.

Your teeth were rattling inside your mouth as you held your arms closer to you. The five layers of blankets and the two layers of hoodies and thermals couldn’t keep the cold from seeping through to you and settling into your bones.

It had been a week since graduation. It was already the beginning of June, but Summer comes late to California. The days were warm, and California nights can get extremely cold. Especially this far north and high in elevation.

“Nugget, if you don’t stop shaking, I’m going to assume you are not cut out for this and I’m gonna drive us both home. OW!” Bucky screamed as you kicked him underneath all the layers. You hated that nickname. It annoyed you so much when he reminded you of how short you were.

“Your feet are freezing, woman! Aren’t you wearing socks?” he scolded you.

“No!” you muffled, hiding underneath your wool scarf. Your toes went on the hunt, seeking his warm calf to seep all the heat from his body.

“Uh, uh. Nope! Stop! You are not-” he swatted your foot away. “You are not warming your icicle toes on me!” You giggled as he successfully kept you at bay on your side of the van.

The vintage Volkwagon Bus, that you managed to spruce up from the many ideas on your Pinterest boards, lacked insulation and calking. Bucky noted and whined as the two of you spent the last week sleeping in the back of the "ice cream truck," as Bucky had once called it.

“You’re lucky cuz Smokey decided to sleep next to you to keep you warm!” You said out loud.

“Ya, he sleeps next to me because he can’t get over how loud your teeth are rattling!” And as if he was agreeing, Smokey let out a small grunt growl.

“Traitor!” you sneered at your dog. Then you pouted, giving Bucky your saddest puppy eyes.

“Don’t!”

“I’m not doing anything!” you pouted some more.

“It’s not gonna work. Instead, what I’ll do- I’ll just drive us both home. Where we can sleep in our own beds. Watch Netflix on my flat screen instead of your iPad. And use indoor plumbing like a modern-day person would!”

Bucky was angry and you can tell. You didn’t think he would get so annoyed. Was that how he felt this whole time? It was only the first week of your two-month-long trip. Would he be like this for the rest of the time? Maybe he’ll give up and just leave you in the middle of the trip to go home.

You heard Bucky sigh and then groan in defeat. He watched you as you spiraled into your thoughts. Your face turned from a sad pout into a depressed frown, trying to mask the feelings you had inside.

The covers lifted, opening the small space in between you. “Get over here.”

You squealed as you rolled your way into his side, your back to his chest. “What are you 10?” he laughed.

“A lady doesn’t scoot!”

“Ha! But nuggets roll,” he mocked. Your feet sought his bare legs in revenge as he hissed inwardly at the contact from your cold touch.

“Hey, be nice! Be a good girl for me! I’m letting you steal my warmth here!” he growled into your ear.

His phrase caught you off guard. The low gravelly tone tickled something in you. It traveled all the way down to your aching core. Aching and neglected. And soon you didn’t need his body heat anymore. You were making your own! From the sheer bewilderment, you found yourself in.

When was the last time I had sex? Too long ago. That’s probably why you’re feeling this way. You can’t start thinking this way about Bucky! He’s your best friend.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” He asked.

“Nothing. I’m just- I’m just trying to get cozy,” you said adjusting and wriggling your body to fit his. He grunted at your movement.

“The sooner you get comfy, the sooner we can all go to sleep!” he chided.

You finally relaxed in his embrace. You could feel the heat from his wide chest on your back keeping you warm and toasty. Soon, you found yourself drifting off to the sounds of his breathing.

You must’ve turned in your sleep. When you woke up that morning, the first thing you saw were Bucky’s sapphiric eyes, heavy with slumber, focused on your lips.

Just kiss me!

Lord, You did not just think that! OK! First things, first. As soon as you get home from this trip. You are finding yourself a boyfriend.

If you can survive Bucky, that is.

⬅️Wanderlust | Lassen Volcanic Park (Coming Soon)➡️

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @vickie5446 @psychospore @mukagentropy @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

Your Lockwood. Enemies to lover was sooooo good, please I need a part 2🥺

a/n: so glad you liked it! of course i’ll write a part 2 i am extremely emotionally attached to this series. also to the person who requested the lucy carlyle x reader, it is on its way i promise

warnings: language gn reader

full series collection: here

"You, again? I saw you last week. My eyes can't handle this pain anymore."

Lockwood grins in your doorway. "Come on, last week wasn't so bad. We made it out alive. How are your hands doing, by the way?"

"I almost fell out of a window because of an abusive old man," you grumble. "And they're fine, but they still smell like Savlon, thanks to you. I suppose you'll want to come in?"

"If that's alright," Lockwood says. "I've got more business for you."

Groaning quietly, you move out of the way and gesture for him to come inside. "Alice left for work not long ago, so you won't scare her away. Come on, I'll put some tea on. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

You direct Lockwood over to your sofa, bought second-hand from some old couple in north London. That much is evident from its less-than-appealing pattern, but it's comfortable enough. Lockwood sinks down onto it, smiling gratefully when you hand him a mug of tea.

"So, what is it this time?" you ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Haunted mansion out in Harrow. A bit of a trek away, but it's good pay. Type Two again, but Lucy will be coming along this time, so hopefully a repeat of last time doesn't happen. We just need an extra pair of hands. It's a big space to cover for three people."

You cross your arms. "Bold of you to assume I want to work with you again. I could've died last time."

"But you will come with us, won't you?"

"I might as well," you grumble. "Nothing else on. Rent's this week. Any information on the house, possible ideas of who the ghost is, or will Lucy and I have to find that out for you?"

Lockwood smiles and, surprisingly, it doesn't piss you off as much as it used to. "George is neck deep in newspapers right now - I've just come from the Archives - so I'm sure we'll have much more than we did last time."

"Alright," you say. "I'm in, but I'm going nowhere near a window again, okay? You can fall out of it this time."

"Deal." He stands, and you almost forgot how obnoxiously tall he is. It's infuriating having to tilt your head to look at him. "Meet us at the station at four."

Making your way to the door, you say, "Be on time, this time. In fact, be early. That would be preferable."

"We'll try." Something about his smile makes your stomach flip. "Thanks for the tea. See you later."

The train ride is relatively peaceful.

You sit next to Lucy, who smiles upon seeing you, and across from Lockwood, who wears a shit-eating grin the whole ride, saying something about 'feeling good about this case'. You'd stopped listening to him two seconds after his arrival. You only start paying attention again when George starts to explain his research.

"Apparently," George says, consulting his notebook, "there was a fire at this house in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The exterior of the house didn't burn down, being made out of sandstone, but the inside was wrecked. Most people managed to escape the blaze, but three died - the lord of the house and his two daughters. The interior has been rebuilt, since, but I managed to find the original plans for the house's layout."

Lucy leans over the architectural plan. "The rooms have all moved around. Where do you think the fire stemmed from?"

"Reports say the lounge, which is now the dining room," George explains. "Lord Ammenby and his daughters, Susanne and Marcella, had seemingly fallen asleep there during the evening, and the fire was left unchecked. It consumed them before anyone could save them."

"So the source could be where the fireplace was," Lockwood guesses.

"Or where they were," you say. "Maybe even where they are now. George, do your notes say anything about where their remains were buried?"

He takes a minute to scan through his notes, flipping through pages. "There's apparently a big sycamore on the estate where the girls had a swing. The servants buried the family there with the thought that they could play in the swing for the rest of eternity."

"Bit grim," Lucy says, "but sweet, I guess. So, are those our three main guesses?"

"They're possible sources," Lockwood says. "Vague, but the best we've got."

"Better than last time," you say, frowning. "So, plan of action?"

Lockwood sits forward. "Lucy and George, you guys scout out the house. Lucy's Listening is more powerful, so you're more likely to hear if anything is going on in the house. (name) and I will take our chance with the tree. If we get nothing from it, we'll join back up with you guys."

"Should we have a signal or something?" you ask. "To save us shouting for help, or running backwards and forwards and risk getting ghost-touched? Like adjusting the lantern light a few times, or flashing our torches."

Goerge nods. "Good idea. Seeing as that ghost last week prevented me from hearing you guys, that's probably our best bet."

"One flash means everything is clear," Lockwood says. "Two means potential finding. Three means -"

"Ah, shit, there's a ghost, come help," you finish.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Lucy says with a snort.

It doesn't take much longer to reach Harrow, and the taxi ride to the mansion passes in what feels like mere minutes. Before long, you're all crawling out of the car, duffle bags in hand, chains looped over your shoulders, and rapiers at your sides.

Wrought iron gates tower before you, towering over you and casting twisting shadows on the slowly darkening pavement. You all pass through it and begin the trek up to the mansion - a hulking beast of sandstone, pinpricked with large windows and balconies. It's shaped so that there's a large courtyard in front of the entrance, hosting a large fountain with some kind of statue in the middle.

"Everyone remember the code?" Lockwood asks, eyeing the large double doors just ahead.

"One is good, two is alright, three is bad," George says. "Yes, we remember. Now, go. That's the tree over there, I think."

The four of you turn to the right, where a massive tree looms, covered in bright green leaves. In the breeze, a few flutter down from the branches, and a small swing moves softly. A shadow hangs below it, so large it almost reaches the mansion.

"Not creepy at all," you murmur. "Are we ready to start this happy journey?"

With big sighs, George and Lucy make their way into the mansion, holding the old and new plans of the layout. You and Lockwood share a look, a mix of confidence and worry - more on your part than anything - before trudging over to the massive tree.

"At least there are no windows for us to fall out of," you say, staring up at the tree. Its roots are so large that you're still standing at least six feet away from the trunk.

Lockwood breathes a laugh, checking his temperature gun about fifteen feet from the tree. "Fifteen degrees over here."

"Ten here." You frown at the hulking mass of bark and leaves. "Should we signal Lucy and George? I don't think this is just a chill from standing in the shadow."

"Not yet," Lockwood says, turning on a few lanterns. "See if you can hear anything first. I'll keep a lookout and see if they signal us."

Nodding, you look up at the twisting branches. Sounds around you drain out until you're surrounded by silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of a rhythmic swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of a swing. Someone, a young girl, giggles, followed by the sound of a man's chuckle. You can feel a smile play on your lips. They're happy. So happy.

A hand closes over your arm, grip tight. "Lucy and George are signalling," Lockwood says, his tone urgent. "Three flashes. We need to go."

"Wait," you murmur. "There's something..."

"(name), we need to go now. They're in danger."

"No... I can hear something... A woman's voice. Did George mention anything about a Lady of the mansion? I can't remember."

Lockwood tugs your arm. "I don't know, but we need to go help -"

"Get away from the tree!" Lucy's voice shrieks. "It's a trap!"

And then you hear it, the words, the malicious tone of a woman speaking to nothing but tree roots. Your heart thunders in your chest, and a heavy wave of nausea hits you. You stumble backwards, falling into Lockwood's chest.

"His wife, the mother," you manage. "She started the fire. She -"

"Get away from the tree!"

Suddenly, there's a bright light directly in front of you and you can't move. A ghost hovers over the tree roots, but it doesn't appear as it once was. No, its skin is charred and burned, oozing with liquid - blood, maybe? Clothes have melted onto its skin, and the sight is enough to make you even more ill. You'd throw up if you weren't in a ghost lock.

"Snap out of it!" Lockwood yells. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the iron circle he must have made while you were using your Talent. "It's Lord Ammenby."

Your joints feel a little loose-jointed and disoriented, but you're no longer ghost-locked. "He's a Wraith. He was burned alive by his wife..."

"We can discuss the fate of his death later," Lockwood says. "For now, we need to get to the source."

"Did you manage to see where he appeared from?"

Lockwood points. "In between those roots, there, but we don't have shovels."

You swallow your fear down, watching the Visitor approach slowly. "Crowbar?"

He bends down and retrieves a crowbar from his duffle bag, handing it to you. "I'll distract him, you get the source. George and Lucy will be here soon, so we'll hold him off."

"Wonderful," you grumble. "Because that went swimmingly last time."

"Hey." His hand clutches your wrist gently, and a tingle runs up your arm at the contact. "You'll be fine. Lucy and George are almost here. And I'll keep you safe. I promise."

You glance back at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "Okay. Ready?"

His grin gives you confidence. "I was born ready."

Drawing his rapier, he leaps out of the iron circle, drawing the attention of the Wraith. Almost instantaneously, Lord Ammenby's ghost launches at him, wailing.

You take your chance and sprint for the tree's roots, crowbar in one hand and a silver net in the other. Stumbling across the thick, gnarled roots, you manage to reach the area Lockwood pointed to - a gap, no larger than your fist. With a grunt, you slam the crowbar into the ground and begin hacking away at the soil.

Behind you, the ghost wails again, followed by a chorus of salt bombs and shouting. By the sound of it, Lucy and George have joined the fight.

The ground is packed hard and laced with roots, thinner than the ones protruding from the ground, but still tough, and the crowbar is proving to hinder you more than anything. As much as you don't want to, you reach into the hole you've created with your hand, digging around as deep as you can.

"(name), look out!" Lucy cries.

Looking up, you can see the ghost racing towards you. As quickly as you can, you tear your arm out of the ground and throw a salt bomb, momentarily stopping the attack, but Lord Ammenby is back sooner than you have time to process.

"(name)!"

A rapier blade passes clean through the ghost, and as the other-light dissipates, Lockwood's face, splattered with a little soil, appears. "Hurry!" is all he says.

Once again, you shove your arm back into the ground, scratching around with your hand until you finally feel it - the rough, scratchy feel of bones under your nails. Screams overtake your mind, and you can feel heat on your skin, but you push through it, shimmying the small cluster around until you're able to pull them free of the hole.

As you wrap the charred remains in the silver net, the ghost vanishes, and the dark estate becomes silent.

Lockwood, standing just in front of you, is panting, still in a defensive stance. Lucy and George aren't too far off, hunched and holding onto their knees as they catch their breath.

Standing, you wipe as much dirt and soil from your arm as you can. "Well," you say. "It seems we have a thing for men murdered by their wives."

"Lockwood, if you'd told me sooner that your tea tasted this good, I would've forgiven you sooner and worked with you more."

The boy in question laughs, reclining in his seat in the living room. "At least I know now."

"As long as I get paid, I don't see any more mishaps occurring," you say, leaning your head back against the cushioned armrest.

Despite closing your eyes, you're well aware of Lockwood's gaze on your face. You can feel it, like little pinpricks on your face, but you're too tired to mock him for it.

"You know," he says, and something in his tone confuses you - caution. "We make a pretty good team, you and I."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "As much as I hate to admit it, we do. Thanks for having my back out there."

"That's what friends do."

Something in your chest tugs. Other than your flatmate, there hasn't been anyone you can call a friend for a while.

"As long as that notion is correct?"

"I suppose it's not entirely out the window," you murmur. "As long as I get more tea."

"As much as you want." You can hear the smile in his voice, and, funnily enough, it makes your smile grow. "Do you want me to walk you to the nearest night cab station? It's quite late."

Opening your eyes, you slowly sit up. "That's alright. I'm sure I can manage."

His smile has softened into something unfamiliar. It's not his usual cocky grin, or that one of triumph, but rather something more personal.

"As long as you're sure," he says, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "But know that you're welcome to stay here if you like."

You roll your eyes. "God, it's like you don't want me to leave! I'll be fine. Want me to call you when I get home, mum?"

He laughs, and the sound of it makes you feel inexplicably content. "Just get home safe, yeah? I know where to find you if we need your help again."

"I specialise in husband-murdered-by-wife cases, so you're aware," you inform him. "And I'm particularly adept at window removals and gardening."

"Come on," Lockwood says, standing. "Get home before it gets any later."

"You're a bossy one today, Lockwood. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Go on. Get out of my house, you twat."

"Anthony Lockwood! I never!"

As you leave his house, you swear that his laughter follows you into the night like a companion.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #fanfiction #x reader #givemea-dam-break

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