#she's has hundreds of years to dwell but no more!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months

Text

Rumoured Nights | S.R

This was written for the lovely and wonderful @foxy-eva milestone celebration. Congratulations love! 💕 I used the prompt - “someone has to unexpectedly share hotel room with their favourite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle.”

Set during 5.21 Exit Wounds - this ep just lends itself perfectly for a one bed fic.

Summary - a case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Category - smut NSFW Minors DNI

Warnings - one bed trope, friends to lovers, sex dream, cuddly Spencer, swearing, making out, Spencer is touch starved, canon compliant death, meddling BAU team, interruptions, fingering, handjobs, penetrative, protected sex.

WC - 7.5k (don’t ask me how, she’s wordy)

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.”

The comment was probably meant inoffensively, an off the cuff remark to make his coworkers laugh but instead only caused the youngest member of the team to blush furiously.

Spencer Reid shrunk down in the armchair, attempting to hide his embarrassment from the eyes of his fellow team members who now all looked upon him.

As far as he was aware, Morgan had never told the team what happened the one and only time they’d shared a room during a case. The confused looks being sent his way went to further that, thank god.

It happened a few years back when they’d been on a case in a town equally as small as Franklin, Alaska where they found themselves now. Like tonight, the BNB was small and they’d had to double up.

And Morgan had woken in the morning to find Spencer’s arms wrapped around him like he was the genius’s oversized teddy bear, and one of Spencer’s legs draped across him.

Morgan had pushed the younger man off of him and apparently Spencer hadn’t even so much as stirred. It wasn’t even until a while later Morgan had filled him in on what he’d subconsciously done in his sleep.

It was perfectly innocent. There was no more to it other than the fact that Spencer was painfully touch starved. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how long exactly it had been since he’d had another warm body to share his bed with, but if he did he would be able to recite how long it had been down to the minute.

It was an involuntary reaction. His subconscious must have gravitated him towards the body in his bed and held them without thought to who it was. In his unconscious mind, it didn’t matter who it was, just that he needed the comfort of holding somebody.

He was glad Morgan hadn’t woken him because he would have been a hundred times more embarrassed if he had to remember his inappropriate middle of the night cuddle.

While he relented to his own mortification, the rest of the team silently paired off. Garcia was quick to place her hand on Morgan’s arm, nabbing him as her roomie before anyone else had the chance.

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look of understanding and JJ smiled at Emily, the brunette nodding back at the blonde in response.

Spencer felt his stomach coiling into thick knots as he let his eyes glance across the room and land on you who had also noticed the non-verbal agreements taking place. You met his gaze and offered him a meek half-smile.

“Guess you’re with me, Doc.” You got to your feet, grabbing your bag off the floor.

You tried to hide the look of sheer delight from your eyes, tried to pretend that this wasn’t the best outcome to you. There had always been something about Spencer that you found magnetic, his brain intrigued you and he wasn’t at all hard on the eyes.

Through five years of working together you had kept your little crush underwraps, your poker face was second to none.

So you had to play it cool. You couldn’t show how utterly thrilled you were that the chips had fallen in your favour.

One by one the rest of the team stood with their bags and collected their room keys from the kindly innkeeper and headed towards the staircase.

You hung back for Spencer while he procured the key and with an awkward smile he followed you to the stairs.

“Good luck, mama.” Morgan smirked at you, clapping a hand down on your shoulder as you went to pass him by. “Pretty boy here is a secret cuddler.”

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice pitched, around five octaves higher than his usual cadence.

“She’s gonna find out sooner or later, kid.” Morgan winked at the younger man, causing Spencer to turn beet red again.

You shook your head with a soft laugh, averting your eyes away from Derek and towards the bottom step.

“Uh, thanks for the heads up. Goodnight.” You started up the stairs, hearing Spencer following behind you.

You met him at the door to your room and stood aside so he could unlock it. Like the gentleman he was, he held it open for you to enter first.

It was you who first noticed the initial problem. When Spencer sidled up next to you a moment later he saw it too.

One bed. There was only one freaking bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He was quick to speak, dumping his go-bag on the dresser.

“You’ll put your back out.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not Rossi.” He scoffed, indignantly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Spencer, your knee still hasn’t properly healed. I cannot in good conscience let you sleep on the floor.”

“I’m fine,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been walking without my cane for months.”

“With a limp.” You clucked. “If it makes you uncomfortable to share a bed, let me sleep on the floor, please?”

“It is statistically improbable that I will let you sleep on the floor, Y/N.” He folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

“Fine,” you shrugged. “It’s one night, Spence. We can share a bed can’t we?”

For the third time in ten minutes, Spencer’s cheeks burned bright red with his embarrassment.

“I, uh, you see…” he swallowed. “Morgan wasn’t lying about the cuddling thing. We had to share a bed once on a case and apparently I cuddled up to him in my sleep.”

A smile tugged at your lips and you felt a little guilty given how mortified he looked. But honestly you thought it was incredibly adorable and plenty endearing.

Spencer was known for having an aversion to touch, always citing how many germs could be passed in a single handshake and how it was actually safer to kiss. So the thought of him hugging anyone made you smile, even if it was when he was asleep.

“I just so happen to not totally hate that idea.” You tried to encourage him, not wanting him to be embarrassed.

“Y-you don’t?” He stuttered with a frown.

“It’s cute.” You smiled.

“I think the word you’re looking for is pathetic.” He sighed. “Who knows it might have just been a one off anyway. If you’re lucky, I’ll leave you alone.”

Lucky? Some luck that would be.

You hid your expression from him, the one that desperately loved the idea of him snuggling up to you in his sleep. You pushed it down, simply offering him a nod.

You just might be disappointed if he didn’t cuddle you.

***

The two of you took turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and changing into your respective pyjamas. Usually you slept nude, or at the very least just in your panties, but thankfully you kept a pair of shorts and a tank top in your go-bag in case you ever found yourself in this position.

You were already in bed scrolling on your phone when Spencer stepped out of the bathroom. He wore a set of dark green flannel pyjama pants and a matching long sleeved top, buttoned right up to his neck. You smiled in amusement at him as he padded across the room.

“Why does it not surprise me one little bit that Doctor Spencer Reid even sleeps in a button down?” You giggled a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I get cold easily.” He shrugged, his back now to you. “And we are in Alaska.”

You didn’t reply, simply watched him as he slid his legs under the sheets, his mismatched socks still adorned on his feet, and laid his long, messy hair on the pillow. He kept his back to you and he reached out and switched off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered, tucking one hand beneath his pillow.

“Goodnight, Spence.” You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes.

***

It was still dark out when you stirred in your sleep, eyes fluttering slightly as you pulled the duvet further up to your chin. You would have fallen straight back to sleep if it hadn’t been for the sensation of something heavily draped over your ribcage.

You were on your back, the ceiling staring back at you when you opened your eyes. It was then you realised there was something hard between your head and the pillow.

You looked to your side and blinked against the darkness, trying to adjust your vision. A messy head of hair was next to you on your pillow, so close you could feel the soft breath coming from parted lips tickling your face.

It was then you pieced together that the thing that was under your head and across your torso were one in the same: Spencer’s arms. One was tucked beneath you, holding you close to him while the other cautiously rested over you, just below your breasts.

His right leg was bent at the knee, slung over your bare thighs. His whole body was pressed up against your side and it was then you registered that something hard was digging into your left hip…

Oh, your eyes widened. Oh.

You looked back at the ceiling, body going rigid in Spencer’s arms. It certainly did not take someone with a genius level IQ to figure out what it was.

You tried to ignore it, willed yourself to go back to sleep and put it behind you. Maybe you were still asleep, perhaps this was just a really vivid dream. In the morning you would pretend it never happened, not wanting to embarrass the poor man.

But then the situation somehow grew even more awkward, if that were possible. Spencer nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, his face buried against your neck. His breathing started to grow frantic and his hold on you tightened.

And then he moaned.

Your stomach tightened at the delicious sound, equally trying to commit it to memory and forget it at the same time. But then it happened again, the sound deeper this time. There was no denying it was a moan of pleasure.

The third time he made the sound it was followed by the whimpered utterance of the word fuck.

And when his hips started to gesticulate, grinding his hardness against your hip, you had to do something.

“Spence?” You hissed, wriggling in his arms. “Spencer, wake up!”

His eyes shot open suddenly and he huffed out a breath. His eyes were hooded with his sleep, his plump lips parted in confusion.

For a few moments he just laid there, not registering his position or the bulge in his pyjama pants. He simply stared blankly at you.

“What happened?” He groaned sleepily. “Another body?”

“No….no. Not work.” You swallowed. “I uh, I don’t really know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it…I think you were having a sex dream.”

His eyes got really wide, really fast. As your words registered with him he also realised he was holding you, snuggled tightly against you. And at the same moment he also realised the part of his anatomy that had woken up long before his brain had.

And it was pressing right against your side.

He scrambled away from you suddenly, drawing all of his limbs close to his torso and burying his face into the pillow.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the cushion. “Fuck, I am so unbelievably sorry. I’m going to…”

He trailed off and quickly rolled to the edge of the bed but you were faster and you managed to grab his arm before he made it out.

“Spence, it’s fine. These things happen. Let’s just go back to sleep and forget it ever happened.” You gently guided him back to the mattress and he flopped onto his back.

“This is somehow more humiliating than when I cuddled Morgan. At least then I didn’t have a, uh…yeah.” He shook his head, not willing to finish that sentence.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Spencer. You were dreaming, and apparently it was a very good dream.” You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to cast light on the situation and make him feel less uncomfortable.

It had the opposite effect.

“I really don’t see how this is funny. I’m lonely ok? I’m so painfully lonely that the only kind of physical contact I can get with a woman is in my sleep.” He blurted out, his brain not quite awake enough to stop the words coming out of his mouth.

The room fell silent. Spencer stared at the ceiling, you stared at the side of Spencer’s face.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to hear. Spencer never talked about dating or anything of the sort and although Morgan had speculated he just kept his exploits quiet, you were never so sure.

Spencer was awkward and shy and had a hard time talking to anyone he didn’t know unless it was in statistics and facts.

So it didn’t surprise you to find this out, but it did surprise you that Spencer was offering that information out to you.

“I, uh…” you croaked.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I had a sex dream about you but in my defence I can’t control my-”

“Hold up,” you cut him off, leaning up on your elbow so you could look at him properly. “Did you say you were dreaming about me?”

His cheeks turned impossibly redder and he buried his face further into the pillow.

“I assumed you knew that part. I thought you said…'' he wracked his brain.

No, you didn’t tell him he’d said your name. He’d added that part, assumed that you knew who he’d been dreaming about. Fuck.

“You were dreaming about me.” You croaked, staring at what little of his face wasn’t covered by the pillow.

“Y-yes.” He whispered. “As if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough. I can just go and sleep in the bathtub or something. The lobby even.”

“Spence,” you gave his hair a gentle tug, trying to get him to look at you.

Reluctantly he lifted his head and his eyes were wide and guilt ridden, his bottom lip cushioned between his teeth.

“Yes?”

“Do you…have you…” you couldn’t seem to finish that trail of thought.

“Yes.” He clearly knew what you were trying to say. “It has happened before. More times than I care to admit right at this present moment.”

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly.

“So bathtub or lobby? How bad is this situation exactly? Does the bathroom put enough space between us or do I seriously need to leave the room entirely?”

“My preference would be that you don’t go anywhere.” You confessed, causing Spencer to frown. “I mean, unless it’s closer to me.”

“I…I’m not sure I understand.”

“Sure you do.” You smiled, shuffling closer to him when he wouldn’t move. “The real thing will be so much better than even your wildest dreams, Spence.”

An air of confidence washing over you, you finally got the chance to do something you’d been imagining for years and pressed your lips against his.

He whimpered at the contact, momentarily dumbfounded by what was happening. But he soon managed to snap himself out of it and quickly took hold of your face and parted your lips with his tongue.

As he deepened the kiss he rolled himself on top of you, already straining at the front of his flannel pants again. This time he was happy to roll his hips against you, really allowing you to feel him.

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound down into his lungs. He held your face with care but the kiss was all frantic tongues and the clashing of teeth.

It was years worth of pent up sexual tension for which neither of you had ever realised the other felt too, all spilling forth against the others lips.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of his pyjama shirt, he moaned into the kiss when your hands glided over his back, across his shoulder blades and back down his spine.

His own hands wandered at the same time his tongue hungrily explored every crevice of your mouth. His touch was featherlight down your biceps and forearms before falling towards your torso and following your lead, under the hem of your shirt.

His finger brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, up and down and up and down the skin, his fingertips making a mental note of how every dip and curve felt beneath them.

His teeth grazed against your bottom lip before nibbling on it lightly and then pulling away. He sat back and looked down at you, your hands dislodging from under his shirt.

His pupils were blown out wide and his lips were puffy and red. His chest heaved his haggard breaths while he fought for air.

You smiled up at him, reaching for the top button of his pyjama shirt. He let your deft fingers do their work, popping each button in turn and moving lower and lower down his abdomen.

When the final button was undone he shucked the material off his shoulders and tossed it aside. His long curls hung around his face, framing him perfectly and you didn’t think anyone had ever looked as delicious as he did right now.

His own hands brushed under your tank top again, palm flush against your stomach for a moment or two before he hooked his fingers in the fabric and started drawing it upwards.

He let out a feral moan as he peeled the top away to reveal your bare breasts beneath. You helped him get it over your head and it soon joined Spencer’s shirt on the floor.

He was open mouth staring at you, not even trying to hide it. You rolled your eyes with a soft chuckle, reaching for him and pulling him close.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” You spoke as you kissed him again. “Never seen a pair of tits before?”

“None that magnificent, that's for certain.” He mumbled in reply.

“Flattery will get you everywhere Doctor Reid.” Your hands moved to cup his clothed ass.

“Fuck,” he hummed, rolling his hips against you. “Keep calling me Doctor Reid and it’ll be over before it begins.”

You laughed at the insinuation, wrapping your arms around him and expertly managing to flip you both over so his back was to the mattress and you were straddling his hips.

His hair splayed out against the pillow and from this angle you were able to get a good look at what the good doctor was hiding in his pants.

You involuntarily hissed at the sight and his eyes never left your chest. His hands were pawing at your hips, cloying at the fabric of your shorts.

You raised your eyes to his face and waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did you made a show of grinding down against his lap, his mouth falling open as a moan erupted from his lungs.

The friction caused by his pants rubbing against him was nice in a way but he would much rather a different kind of friction.

He reached for your neck, pulling you closer so your bare chests crashed together and he kissed you deeply.

You continued to grind against him, feeling his hard member between your legs and wishing for fewer clothes to be in the way.

But before you could think about helping him undress further, Spencer’s hungry fingers were trailing up your thigh and grazing beneath the leg of your shorts.

His hand wove higher, he could feel the heat emanating from your core. His fingertips lightly brushed against your pubic bone and you whined into his mouth.

“Is that what you want?” He spoke against your lips, his other hand gripping the back of your neck tightly.

“P-please…” you whimpered, nibbling on his lip and trying to move yourself closer to his waiting fingers.

Spencer chuckled almost darkly, brushing his fingers over the same spot.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispered as your lips latched against his neck, sucking deep marks in his flesh.

“About as long as I have. Please Spencer, please for the love of god!”

The way you moaned so desperately for him made his head spin, no one had ever reacted like this for him.

He inched his fingers nearer to where you wanted them, but as he was about to give you everything you’d been waiting for, an ear piercing scream reverberated in the room.

You fell back as Spencer sat up, ears pricked and waiting in silence that now shrouded the room. Seconds passed that felt like hours until you both heard it again.

“Help! Somebody please help!”

“Is that…?” Spencer’s chest heaved in panic.

“Penelope!”

The two of you were suddenly out of bed and on your feet, scampering around to dress as quickly as possible. You threw a pair of jeans over your shorts, foregoing your tank top and tossing on a sweater instead before your coat.

Spencer grabbed his pyjama shirt and fought with the buttons whilst stuffing his feet inside his converse. He grabbed his jacket and scarf on his way to the door, before quickly doubling back and picking up his revolver.

You got your firearm as well, toeing on your boots as they two of you quickly dashed from the room. In the corridor you saw Morgan ahead of you, running towards the stairs.

“You heard it too?” You asked as you ran to catch him.

“You bet your ass I did.” Morgan hurried down the stairs with you in hot pursuit. “Pretty boy, wake the others. Y/N and I will check it out.”

Spencer nodded though no one was looking at him. He fell back, his hand holding the gun dropping to his side as he made his way back to the other rooms.

His head was still spinning, dizzy with the lust from previous moments ago. Maybe this was a sign to him not to cross that line with his friend. The line was blurred, sure, but not yet so much as it couldn’t be rectified.

All he could hope was that he hadn’t destroyed your friendship to the point of no return.

You followed Morgan hurriedly towards the front door of the inn, guns pointed in front of you. You could still feel an electric current pulsing through your veins from Spencer’s touch, your lips still tingled from his kiss.

You pushed it aside as a blast of frigid air hit you when Morgan opened the door and the two of you descended the front steps.

“Help! Someone help!” Cried Penelope off in the distance.

Morgan’s head whipped around almost three hundred and sixty degrees, eyes taking in the dark landscape to find what he was looking for.

“Over there!” He barked, nodding his head towards two silhouettes in the trees.

He quickened his pace, so did you.

You found Garcia on her knees on the ground over the dead body of a man. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth hung open.

“I…and he…and then…”

“It’s ok baby girl,” Morgan crouched down next to her, stuffing his gun in the back of his jeans and helping her to her feet.

You tucked your own gun away, leaning over the body and placing your index and middle finger to the side of his neck.

No pulse. You didn’t think it needed to be spoken out loud.

Garcia was sobbing, head buried against Morgan’s strong chest while he held her. The sound of crunching leaves alerted you to your company and you spun around to see the rest of the team running your way.

Hotch and Rossi still wore their usual daytime attire but JJ and Emily wore sweats under large coats. Spencer looked an absolute picture in his pyjamas, coat and scarf hanging limply from his neck.

He briefly made eye contact with you, but you broke it swiftly, glancing over at your boss who looked even more annoyed than usual.

“Get her inside.” Hotch spoke to Morgan. “Someone call the sheriff.”

Emily pulled her cell phone out and stepped away to make the call.

“He knew we were staying here. This was a big risk.” Rossi huffed, glancing at the faces around him and lingering a little longer on Spencer. “Kid, why do you look so flustered?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and you saw him swallow thickly. You looked away, focused on the body on the floor.

“I…” he squeaked, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I’m fine.”

And if anyone noticed his voice was several octaves higher than usual, they kindly didn’t say anything.

***

Over an hour later you all trudged back inside from the cold. The coroner had taken the body away and you would continue your investigation in the morning.

Penelope was fraught, never having seen a dead body in real life let alone having to witness someone die. Morgan tried to keep her calm but even he couldn’t bring her back from this spiral.

When she stormed upstairs you all watched her go. Morgan looked over at you, his eyes asking you questions before his words did.

“Can you…?”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

You moved past the others towards the stairs, you hadn’t so much as looked at Spencer in the last hour. He tried to make eye contact with you as you walked by but you kept your gaze forward.

Once you were up the stairs, Morgan sidled up to Spencer who was still watching you walk away.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been looking like a lost puppy for the last hour?” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man.

“What? I’m not! I’m…tired. I was sleeping when I heard Garcia.” Spencer averted his gaze.

“I hope that isn’t true.” Morgan scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer frowned looking back at him.

“It means,” JJ stepped forward, an amused smile on her lips. “We’ve all spent the last five years trying to get you and Y/N to see what the rest of us can see.”

“And what’s that?” He turned to JJ.

“Oh please.” Emily chuckled. “You think we don’t notice the tension between the two of you? Morgan’s been single handedly trying to get the two of you to bone for years.”

Spencer’s cheeks instantly turned red and he felt his chest tighten with his embarrassment.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on them and headed for the stairs.

“Go get her lover boy.” Morgan called after him and they all fell about laughing while Spencer shrunk away.

He was at least glad you hadn’t been privy to that. But he didn’t relish the idea of seeing you right now, that would surely be one awkward encounter.

***

You found Penelope pacing the length of her and Derek’s room, muttering under her breath frantically.

You cautiously entered, not wanting to startle her.

“I watched him die.” She spoke when she saw you. “I watched him take his last breath, Y/N.”

“I know.” You nodded slowly, coming close to your friend and placing your hands on her shoulders. “I can’t imagine how scary that was for you.”

“I just…” she whined a little. “When I was shot, all I could think was that if I die the last face I’m ever going to see is the man who killed me. I didn’t want that for him.”

“You’re too good for this world, Penny.” You squeezed her shoulders.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to sleep again.” She pulled free of your hold and started pacing again. “Tell me something, anything. Something to distract me.”

“Uh…” you scratched the back of your head. “You did everything you could to help him?”

“No, not that. Not about this.” She quickened her pace, arms flailing about as she walked.

“Uh…I’m pretty sure after tonight you can get Morgan to spoon you. All you need to do is tell him how scared you were.” You tried again.

“As delicious as that sounds, I don’t think Kevin would be too pleased about that.” She was a blur of colour, like a rainbow flying through the sky. “Please Y/N, I need to think of something other than this horrible night.”

Goddamnit.

You had the exact thing she was looking for, the perfect piece of information to take her mind off of this.

Goddamnit, here goes nothing.

“I almost slept with Spencer tonight.” You blurted out before you could change your mind.

As expected she immediately stopped pacing, halting in her tracks and glaring wide eyed at you. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, awkwardly waiting for her to say something. Slowly she stepped closer to you, eyebrows raising towards her hairline.

“You…and boy wonder?”

“Yes.”

“It’s about time!” She slapped your bicep and you growled at the impact. “Wait…did you say almost?”

“Yeah, we didn’t quite get that far.” You rubbed your arm from her assault.

“Why not?” She sounded incredulous.

“Because…the screaming? The cries for help?” You huffed.

“I…I ruined your first time with Reid?” She gasped. “No, no that won’t do. You are going to march back to your room and resume all previous activities. Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You shook your head.

“Why?”

“It was a dumb idea, Pen. We’re friends, we work together.” You sighed deeply.

“Friends who are utterly infatuated with one another and have been for the past five years.” She clucked.

“Guess my poker face isn’t as good as I thought it was.”

“It is not. You make heart eyes at him every time he walks into a room. And he’s just as bad!” Garcia sounded exasperated. “Go to him. Finish what you started. For the love of all things pink and sparkly.”

“Penny, I love you but it’s not gonna happen.” You shrugged. “I’m not ruining one of my closest friendships for one night of passion.”

“Ok…I do not like thinking of boy genius and the word passion in the same sentence.” She pulled a face. “That’s like thinking of my brother…gross.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way her body shuddered at the thought. You were pleased at least you had managed to get her to calm down.

“You gonna be ok if I go?” You smiled at her.

“Morgan will probably be up soon, I’m sure he can protect me.” She smiled back. “Just let him down gently ok? Reid is fragile.”

You rolled your eyes, backing away to the door.

“Goodnight, Penelope.” You blew her a kiss as you opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

Across the hall your own door loomed. Your chest tightened as you pushed forward, hoping Spencer may already be asleep so as to avoid an awkward conversation.

But you knew he wouldn’t be and that was confirmed when you entered your room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed as if waiting for you.

He looked up from where he’d been staring at his lap when he heard the door close. He pushed himself to his feet, his jaw set tightly.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” He blurted out suddenly.

“Me either.” You agreed, stepping closer to him as you got out of your jacket.

You unsheathed your firearm and laid it on the dresser next to Spencer’s.

“But uh…” he frowned, fighting an internal battle with his own thoughts. “Friendships are overrated right? I have plenty of friends…”

“Way too many friends.” You smiled and nodded as he reached for you, large hands cupping your face.

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He whispered and then proceeded to crash your lips together.

You immediately parted your lips and his tongue slid inside of your mouth while he pulled you back to the bed. You both fell to the mattress, you on top of him while never breaking the kiss.

He didn’t want to waste a second, didn’t want to risk being pulled away from you again and so his hands quickly found the hem of your sweater and helped you out of it.

You got his buttons undone and he guided you with a hand on your back, down to the mattress. He slipped the garment off of his shoulders and rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again.

His hands wandered down your torso to the button of your jeans. His lips trailed to your neck and brushed along your collarbones.

They moved lower, down to your right breast where he placed kisses on the swell of it before moving on and taking your hard nipple in his mouth.

You moaned and bucked your hips to meet his erection in his pyjama pants. He popped the button on your jeans and you helped him shimmy them down your legs.

When his lips moved to your neglected breast, you reached out and blindly groped him through his pants. He grinded against your hand, moaning around your nipple.

His large hand glided back across the plains of your stomach before inching lower. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of your panties before disappearing beneath the fabric.

His index finger located your clit and pressed firmly against it, another moan erupting from your chest. He pulled back from your nipple and looked down at you with a sinful smirk.

He started rubbing deft circles between your legs, his nimble finger a thing of magic. Wanting to return the favour, your own hand slipped inside of his pants and you grasped the base of his cock in your hand.

He moaned deeply, his finger working more frantically as you started to stroke him. He met your gaze, his lips parted and soft moans escaping between them.

“F-fuck.” He stuttered, moving his finger from your clit and running it through your folds, collecting your arousal on his digit.

His middle finger joined his index and pressed against your entrance. You increased your movement on his shaft as he pushed them slowly inside of you.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered as you clenched around him. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Why the fuck have we never done this before?” He whined, pushing his fingers as deeply inside of you as he possibly could.

You whimpered, bucking your hips against him as he moved in and out of you hurriedly and your strokes of his member were becoming frantic.

His head was already leaking with pre-cum and you swiped your thumb through it causing an animalistic growl to leave Spencer’s mouth.

It was too much and not enough all at once. You needed more, you needed everything.

His fingers slammed into you roughly, the sounds of your slickness filling the room. You twisted your fist as it moved up and down his cock and he was snapping his hips back and forth, practically fucking your hand.

“Fuck…I don’t suppose you have a condom?” You panted, desperate to feel more of him.

“Uh, embarrassingly yes I do.” He nodded, his cheeks flushing a little.

“Why is that embarrassing?” You slowed your pace and Spencer slowly removed his fingers from inside of you.

“It seems…presumptuous? It wasn’t like…I didn’t think…it’s not like that I swear. It’s, uh, a long story.” He stood up, locating his wallet on the dresser and unsheathing the small golden foil packet from inside.

“I believe you, Doc.” You smiled at him as you shimmed out of your panties.

Spencer’s mouth fell open at the sight of you laid bare for him. His hands started to tremble as he moved them to the waistband of his flannel pants.

He wouldn’t look at you as he pulled them over his hips, down his legs and kicked them off of his feet.

When he did look back at you, you were staring right at his crotch.

Your chest heaved with frantic breaths and you were rolling your lip between your teeth.

“Good god, Reid.” You smirked. “I need you like yesterday.”

He shuddered at the desperation in your voice and shakily ripped the condom wrapper over. He moved closer to the bed again, holding the base of his shaft in one hand and rolling the rubber over his tip with the other.

You spread your legs for him, welcoming him between them and wrapping them around his waist. He leant on his hands either side of your head, the veins in his arms pulsing as he held his weight above you.

He eyed your face, an almost delicate smile on his lips and you weren’t sure what it meant.

“What is it?” You asked him, reaching up to tuck his long hair behind his ears.

“You’re sure about this?” He asked softly.

“Very. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He breathed. “But I really don’t want things to change between us.”

“Spence,” you brushed your knuckles across his cheek. “Things have already changed between us. But not in a bad way.”

Linking your hands at the base of his neck you drew him close for a kiss. He moaned into your lips and you felt him finally pressing between your legs.

He held his shaft again and guided him where he needed to be, his blunt head penetrating you, stretching you to accommodate him.

He slowly sank into you, a long and shaky breath leaving his lungs. Inch by inch he ebbed deeper, your walls fluttering against him as your body made room for him.

When he bottomed out he stilled, glancing between your bodies at where he was now sheathed inside of you. The look on his face was pure bliss, as though nothing in the world had ever felt this good to him.

He lowered himself onto his forearms as he drew his hips backwards painfully slowly. But then he surprised you by roughly thrusting back into you.

After that there was no holding him back, like a man possessed he started fucking you hard and fast into the mattress.

He pounded against your cervix with each thrust, kissing you with a newfound ferocity. The room was encompassed by the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans which were being swallowed by the other's mouth.

He already knew he wouldn’t last long, but that was ok. He didn’t plan on this being the only time he fucked you tonight.

It was completely unexpected, out of the blue for the mild mannered doctor to be such a stallion. But it was electrifying, dizzying, the way in which he pounded into you like his life depended on it yet kissed with such gentle passion.

Resting all of his weight on one arm, his other hand manoeuvred between your sweat slicked bodies and his finger pressed deftly against your clit again.

He started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, hips still snapping back and forth, stretching your walls around his length.

He had a few beads of sweat trickling down his forehead which was scrunched up much like his nose was.

His chest was flushed beet red and his left arm which was holding him up shook with the exertion.

Your legs tightened around his waist, walls clenching around his cock. A combination of his rough thrusts and ministrations on your clit we’re bringing you rapidly spiralling towards your orgasm.

You assumed by the look in his face that he was close too and by the way in which he started to lose his rhythm a little, his thrusts becoming a little frantic.

You drew him in for another kiss. It was slightly messy, teeth clashing together and tongues fighting their way into the other's mouth.

He moaned deeply against your lips, his finger now rubbing against you rampantly.

“I’m s-so close.” He mumbled. “Can’t…don’t think I can…”

“Me too.” You agreed as you felt the tightening in the pit of your stomach. “Don’t stop. So close, don’t stop!”

And he didn’t.

The pressure was building and between his cock burying deep inside of you and his finger never letting up on your clit, you teetered on the brink.

And then as if a volcano erupted, you reached your peak, moaning into Spencer’s mouth as your body convulsed beneath him.

He felt you clenching around him as you came, causing a pressure to shoot through his member. He thrust deep one last time and whimpered as he felt the come shooting from his head in ropes, filling the condom.

His hips continued to buck lazily as if he simply couldn’t get enough of this feeling. His hand fell from its spot between your legs and he collapsed on top of you, panting and sweat slicked.

You could feel his heavy breaths as his chest moved against yours, could feel his heart erratically beating at his rib cage.

He nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath fanning across your skin. His hips were still rolling, grinding against you not ready to stop despite how worn out he was.

You stroked his cheek and moved your head so you could kiss him sleepily. He mumbled something incoherent against your lips.

Eventually his movements stilled briefly before he cautiously pulled out of you. He rolled onto his back and peeled the condom from his softening member, tying a knot in the end and tossing it lazily in the general direction of the trash can.

He shuffled a little, his arm finding his way beneath your head how you’d found it when you woke up in the night.

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the still slightly erratic beating of his heart.

“I never like being friends anyway.” He mumbled, making you giggle.

“Me either.” You slung your arm around his waist. “Whatever this is, it’s so much better.”

He placed a kiss of agreement in your hair and snuggled closer to you as his eyes fluttered closed.

He decided, as he drifted off to sleep, being a secret sleep cuddler maybe wasn’t so bad after all.

***

Down the hall, Morgan flopped on the armchair in his and Penelope’s room, eyeing the blonde as she stared at her laptop screen.

“What a night huh?” He ran his hand over his head.

“Yah huh.” She nodded, bouncing a little in the bed as she did so.

“You seem oddly chipper. Y/N manage to take your mind off of things?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Something like that.” A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth.

Derek sat up straight, scrutinising her curiously.

“Spill.”

“What?” Her eyes snapped away from the screen and over at Morgan. The guilt was written all over her face.

“You think I don’t know when you’re hiding something, baby girl? Spill.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

Penelope huffed out a breath, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.” He frowned.

“I think…I think Y/N and Spencer might be…you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Morgan’s eyes widened as he stared at her.

“No way.”

“Yes way. Apparently they almost and then, you know, everything happened. But I’m hoping that they picked up where they left off.” She was grinning from ear to ear and it must have been contagious because a smile broke out on Morgan’s face too.

“My man.” He smiled brightly, a glint of something in his eyes.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I too know when you’re hiding something Derek. Now you spill.” Garcia eyed him up, Morgan’s smile only grew.

“I’m just happy is all,” he beamed in amusement. “And I’m really glad I made up that story about him cuddling up to me in his sleep now.”

“You did what?” Garcia gasped, wide eyed.

“It started as a prank, just to wind him up a bit, embarrass him. And I thought if I brought it up tonight it would put ideas in his subconscious. Guess it worked.” Derek looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Derek Morgan, you are evil! Pure evil.” Penelope cackled, shaking her head at her chocolate thunder and his mischievous ways.

“I was just giving him a nudge in the right direction, he needs all the help he can get.” He grinned happily, pushing himself up and sighing wistfully.

“True, I love Reid and Y/N but they are so oblivious sometimes.” Garcia shut her laptop screen and laid back against the pillows.

Her eyes closed and as such she didn’t see the playful look spread to his eyes as his smile somehow grew, encompassing his entire face.

“And with any luck,” Morgan shuffled to the bed made up on the floor. “Pretty boy still had that condom I gave him.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

4K notes · View notes

watermelonsugacry · 10 months

Note

Could you do a blurb showing how Harry and 1dbandmate!yn reacted over the years when asked in interviews if they were a couple?? please 🙏

Always Asked

A/N: been in a writing funk lately but i'm happy i got this one done since i miss writing and posting to you all!! 💚

SUMMARY: Snippets of interviews over the years from when YN and Harry were asked if they were dating. (3.4k)

GENRE: 1dbandmate!yn, famous!yn

SINCE 2010 masterlist

2011:

Never in a million years did YN ever think her dream career would start so soon. It’s only been a year since she auditioned for the XFactor and now she’s sitting at a table next to her bandmates as hundreds of fans go down the line to get a copy of their freshly signed album.

With copious amounts of screaming comes along an abundance of questions thrown at the teenagers. Most of the time, it’s YN giving the screaming fans a beautiful smile, asking them how they are, and thanking them for their kind words before passing the signed CD case to Harry. With all the excitement in the air, she feels like she’s truly living the pop star lifestyle she’d seen many others live out.

“Hiya, love,” YN smiles at the preteen girl who’s practically vibrating with excitement at seeing the famous band. She also gives a polite greeting to the supportive dad of the young girl who has his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “How are you? I love your shirt.”

She compliments, smiling at seeing the young girl wearing a shirt with YN’s face on it.

“My dad got it for me for my birthday!” The little fan beams.

“Did he?” YN animatedly gasps with a smile. “Well, it was nice of him to take you over here, yeah?”

She signs the CD case with a heart over her name before sliding it over to Harry. His fingers brush over hers and the two of them catch each other’s gaze. A smile tugs on their lips before looking away just as quickly.

“Are you two dating?” The young girl practically screams out, her eyes bouncing back and forth excitedly between YN and Harry.

The two teenagers tense up, thrown off by the question in such a crowded place. Their management team is still media-training them and while they’ve learned so much already, they’re still getting used to taking what they’ve learned out into the field.

YN and Harry give each other a look, already knowing the answer but searching in one another’s eyes for maybe a smidge of something more.

“Lilly!” The dad scolds before letting out a chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” YN shakes her head with a smile, hoping it's convincing enough to not cause any suspicion. “Sorry Lilly, but Harry and I aren’t dating because quite frankly—” She beckons the little fan closer, cupping her mouth but still being loud so her bandmate can hear, “—he has cooties.”

Harry’s immediately furrowing his brows together and lets out a long and playful, “Hey!”

“Ew!” Lilly laughs, seeming satisfied with that answer before waving goodbye and walking towards the rest of the band.

Before they can dwell on what just happened, thankfully the next fan shuffles over for their own interaction and signed copy.

2012:

The band is at their first Brits Awards show and needless to say, they all got a little tipsy after their win. Their team didn’t even have time to give them a snack or water bottle to help sober them up a little bit before their backstage press interviews.

“Harry, how will you guys be celebrating tonight?” A journalist asks from the crowd.

“Erm,” Harry giggles to himself and it makes YN tipsily follow from her spot next to him. The hand that isn't gripping onto their award goes to cover her smile. “I think we’re just gonna hang out and stuff.”

“YN? Is there any lucky man whom you will be celebrating with?” Another voice in the sea of reporters asks.

“Nope,” YN raises her eyes with a tipsy smile and a slow shake of her head. She shakes her thumb towards her boys with a click of her tongue. “Just these lads.”

“Any lucky lad in particular? Perhaps a curly-headed one standing next to you?”

Almost as if it was planned, the two teenagers comically look beside each other, cranking their necks in playful search of who the intrusive lady was referring to.

“Me?” Harry dramatically questions, pointing to his chest with a bright, open-mouthed, dimpled smile gracing his face.

“Well, I mean he is part of the band, is he not?” YN sassily purses her lips together, her media-training to retain her “good girl” image slipping out of her alcohol induced brain.

Thankfully, before anything could be escalated further by the tipsy girl, the intrusive press, or the snickering boys, a member from their management team instructs the audience to move onto another person.

2013:

“You guys have known each other for what seems like forever now and your bond with the rest of the guys is so strong...”

YN reaches forward for a sip from her glass of water on the panel table in her seat in between Harry and Niall. It’s been a long week for the band as they do press for their new movie, This Is Us. They’ve been thrown left and right with interviews that YN can’t help but already be done with the repetitiveness of some of the questions.

“So then we’re all clearly curious to know if you and Harry are dating?”

“Nope,” YN pops the ‘P’ and shakes her head as if her actions were automatically programmed to respond in that way. She casually waves her finger between the two boys beside her, “But him and Niall are though.”

The crowd of press people laugh and chuckle as they see Naill gasp and Harry raise his eyebrows in playful shock.

“I mean, you kinda pointed it out,” YN puts on her media-trained smile good enough to win an Oscar. “These lads are like my brothers and our bond is so strong because we see each other more like family than anything else. I see them more as annoying than someone I'd rather date, to be honest,” she forces out a light laugh.

“Plus, as YN so kindly pointed out,” Harry leans on his elbows on the table as he looks to his crush next to him. YN can see his dimple dig into his cheek as he fights off a smirk. “M’happily in a committed relationship with Niall.”

Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of his bandmate as he leans back into his seat. He watches as she tucks her chin into her chest, her fingers rubbing over her lips to cover her giggle as the rest of the room breaks out in commotion.

2014:

“Can we assume that the rock on your finger is from a certain curly-headed lad?” The woman who’s interviewing them for the band’s new book Who We Are excitedly asks.

The band are all sat on an L-shaped couch as they discuss the contents of the hard cover book. Sat in between Zayn and Niall, YN purposely avoids her gaze from Harry as she answers.

“No,” YN lets out a forced chuckle as she looks down to fidget with the diamond ring on her finger. Anyone who has looked at more than three pictures of YN can tell that her favorite pieces of jewelry are her assortment of rings along her fingers. But only true fans know that part of her liking to the small jewelry is to help her fidget with them when she has anxiety. It’s an odd feeling however that the newly gifted one has been the cause of her increase in nerves. “It’s um, from me boyfriend—well, fiancé now—Matthew. Harry is like a brother to me so that would be quite weird.”

“Of course! I was only teasing, love.” The woman laughs with an over-exaggerated smile, clearly disappointed in the answer she was given. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” YN forces a smile, still twisting at the shiny ring that sticks out like a sore thumb.

2015:

“YN.”

“James.” She says with the same amount of playful seriousness, the audience in front of them laughs along. As the date of the band’s long-awaited hiatus comes closer and closer, their good friend James Corden interviews them in the same location where they filmed the music video for Story of My Life.

“Harold,” the host directs his attention to the band member sitting next to her.

The fans in the crowd only giggle in giddiness even further as Harry playfully throws a hand up in confusion with what the fans call his ‘frog’ smile.

“Now, we are all truly devastated when we heard the news that you and your long-time partner had called it quits a couple of weeks ago.” The audience laughs when James comically shakes his head no. YN even lets out a laugh when she sees the fans in the audience cheer at the news of her new relationship status. Despite the support she feels from the fans, it doesn’t necessarily calm the nerves at why the host brought the topic up in the first place. “Now we’re also all wondering if this may have possibly opened up, I don’t know, an opportunity for you to seek something with another lad?”

“Um,” YN lazily holds her microphone to her lips as she gives James the news that will hopefully shut down the conversation. “I think m’gonna just focus on myself for a bit. Yeh know, take a break from dating and all that.”

The room breaks out into chuckles when the host makes noises like he doesn’t believe her. He wags his interview cards in the air as he says, "I mean, both of your writing credits on some love songs tell me otherwise..."

Truthfully, the two friends can't deny that logic. They've either individually or co-wrote a plethora of love songs...that may or may not have been about each other. But will they ever admit that to a room full of their fans who have been shipping them since their XFactor days? Hello no.

“Well, the beauty that YN and I see in music is that songs are always up for interpretation," Harry interjects. "They can mean anything you want them to be, in any sort of scenario.”

“Yeah, like, lyrics don’t always necessarily have to come from a place of experience,” YN adds on, professionally keeping her voice from wavering in nervousness. “It certainly helps but that’s not always the case. Especially now.”

She can’t help but laugh along with the rest of the crowd as James holds an expression like he doesn’t believe a word they said.

“Okay, fine. Deny it all you want,” James puts his hands up defensively. “I just...I don’t know, I just think that this could really be Something Great.”

The room of fans (and die hard ynrry shippers) squeal and scream out in a mixture of excitement and disbelief from his use of the One Direction songs that are heavily speculated to be about YN and Harry.

“Whatever, it’s your guy’s decision at the End of the Day,” James continues nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile that shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Fans’ eyes bounce back and forth between the two band members in question. They see as YN has her hands clasped together on her crossed legs, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her witty comments to herself. Harry, on the other hand, leans his elbow on his knee with his index finger over his smirk. He tries to cover up his chuckle with a cough to his fist before pushing back his long curls.

“All we want is for you guys to live Happily ever after, is all.”

2017:

“Now, both of you little sneaky sneaks went to Jamaica together to make his album. Come on, tell me I’m wrong,” Nick Grimshaw teases, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning motion.

The two were currently on BBC Radio with their good friend that they’ve known since their days in the band. Dropping their first solo albums in the same week caused their fan bases to go into a frantic frenzy. The two have a full day ahead of them as their record labels and management teams paired the two up for a day jam-packed with press and interviews together.

“You are not wrong,” Harry laughs, adjusting the chunky headphones over his ears. He’s already rolled up his white button-up sleeves and discarded his picnic table-looking blazer to lay on the back of his chair.

“Sneaky sneaks?” YN chuckles next to him, leaning her elbows on the counter and moving her hips to rotate her swiveling seat from side to side.

“Well, I only say that because you guys are obviously dating now, right?”

“Do girl and guy best friends always have to be dating?” YN easily swerves the question back to the radio host.

“Well,” Grimmy tilts his head from side to side. “Not necessarily, but wouldn’t that be a good story? For your future kiddos perhaps?”

YN and Harry bark out a laugh.

“Sorry, m’getting ahead of myself. Maybe you lads would want to save that for your wedding day instead.”

“Can I swear on the radio?” YN playfully yet genuinely asks the host which makes Harry giggle.

“But I mean, what are your fans—and quite frankly, the rest of the world—supposed to think when a good majority of the songs on his album are about you, Miss Two Ghosts?” Nick teases with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

YN’s jaw humorously drops, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as a nervous laugh threatens to escape. The two knew that they would get poked and pried with questions and accusations like this since their trip to Jamaica. There’s no use in trying to deny their close relationship with one another, spending more time with one another than any of their fellow band members since the start of the hiatus.

Unable to quickly come up with an explanation, being so caught off guard, she turns to the only other person she can trust.

“Jenny?” YN playfully calls for her manager who’s behind the glass window of the radio studio, leaning forward to look at her despite Harry in the way.

“Help me, Jeffery,” Harry playfully pleads to his manager as well.

“No, no Jeffery. Jenny, get back in your chair, young lady.” Nick points out for the listeners who can’t see what’s currently happening. “Alright, I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” The host waves his hands, seeing the two visually calm down at the news. “Now, I’ll just play the one Harry wrote about YN. This is Two Ghosts!”

Harry playfully yells out an “Oh, no!” as he pushes himself away from the desk. YN lets out a humored scream at the same time, taking off her chunky radio headphones and tossing them onto the desk.

2020:

“Okay, a big question that I’ve been getting on Twitter since it was announced that the two of you would be on here today,” Roman Kemp waves a hand in front of him at the Capital FM Breakfast Radio headquarters as he looks onto the two pop stars in front of him on the Zoom call. The couple can be seen in two separate rooms: Harry in a naturally lit room while YN sits against one of the brick walls in her bedroom.

Harry has his purple robe on that his girlfriend gifted him a couple of years ago, looking as comfy as ever since he doesn’t have to get dressed up to go outside for anything lately due to being on lockdown.

YN on the other hand, didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get dolled up. Well, at least from the waist up. She wears one of her silk button-up blouses with her last name embroidered on the left chest, her hair neatly done up in a slick ponytail and her make-up nicely done. When she got complimented on her look, she clumsily lifted her leg up to show off her heart-decorated, fluffy pajama pants.

“And I feel like both of your fan bases combined would come out of quarantine to quite literally murder me if I don’t ask you guys this...” YN and Harry keep a mutual face on as they wait to hear what the host has to say. “We all know that you guys are an official couple now, but are you guys physically staying together at the moment? Like, are you guys living together or at the same house or...?”

The couple takes a second to process the intimate question. As Harry parts his lips to answer, he’s interrupted by his girlfriend speaking first.

“Y’know, we’re kind of tired of getting questions like this. I don’t think it’s really appropriate for other people to know about that kind of stuff,” The crease between YN’s eyebrows becomes more apparent and her shoulders move sharply after letting out a deep sigh.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry if I offended you guys—” The radio host quickly begins to retract.

“M’sorry but I think m’actually gonna log off now. Erm, thank you for having us.” YN curtly nods before the host and Harry’s faces fill the screen, both with wide eyes at the unexpected reaction from the go-happy pop star.

“Wait, did that really just happen?” Roman and the other two interviewers are deers in headlights, his eyes bouncing around the screen to make sure what just took place.

“I think so,” Harry sighs. “It’s just a sensitive topic for us, y’know. I can’t really blame her for what she did,” He professionally hides his smile as he hears the quick pad of footsteps coming down her spiral staircase.

“I really meant no harm, it’s just—”

“It’s just really hard to keep our private life private, you know?” Harry drags on with a deep sigh. “And it's just really hard for us to have to answer things like this. Like, we don’t really know what you guys expect us to do when...” Harry’s dimples dig into his cheeks, a boyish giggle comes tumbling past his lips when YN peaks her head sideways in front of his laptop camera.

“YN!” Romans scolds with a bright smile, infinitely relieved he didn’t just make enemies with the world’s favorite female pop star. He dramatically throws a hand over his heart.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! It was just too good and Ro, I think you’re the only one that would be able to handle a joke like that.” YN laughs as she slides in close to her comfy-looking boyfriend.

“So I’m assuming this confirms my previous question?” The host asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Harry smiles fondly at his love, discreetly wrapping an arm around her waist that’s low enough to not be shown on camera. “We’ve been living at YN’s place in LA for a couple of weeks now. And yeah, it’s been fun.”

2022:

In a full black suit, Harry is escorted to the next interviewer on the red carpet for the premiere of My Policeman. After a couple of initial questions, the eager woman asks, “Last thing before you get whisked away, on behalf of the fandom and everyone else on this planet, we just want to send a massive amount of love to you and YN.”

“Thank you very much,” He nods, putting a hand over his heart and trying his hardest to keep the growing smile on his face at bay.

“And we are all just dying to know,” She takes a quick, excited glance back to the camera. “If you’re going to drop the big question soon?”

Harry can’t help but huff out a laugh, the kind where his dimples dig into his cheeks and the crows feet appear next to his eyes. If they only knew that YN kept the ring he gave her—the ring that signifies their promise to become husband and wife on their anniversary—at home for the sake of privacy and for this very reason.

“Um,” He looks up in fake contemplation before giving her a cheeky shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?”

“Well, best of luck to you both.”

After being escorted away, the camera doesn’t stop filming Harry as he goes over to stand next to his fiancée on the red carpet. Although the camera can’t pick up what YN says to Emma Corin that makes the actress laugh, her beaming smile turns to Harry when she feels his hand on her back. He can’t hold back from planting a loving peck on her cheek before the two are escorted to their next section on the red carpet.

2023:

On a show in Cardiff, Harry adjusts a flag on his shoulder as he walks around the catwalk on stage. As he begins to sing Satellite, he makes a stop to sing to a group by the barricade.

It’s nothing new to YN and Harry’s respective shows when fans bring signs with something on it to get the artists’ attention. Honestly, it’s become one of the parts of the show they look forward to the most.

So when Harry’s eyes move over to a newly raised sign that says ‘shag?’ on it, he breaks out into a smirk. Part of the fun of when fans bring signs is that there’s always a handful that asks these sorts of questions: Are you single? Can I have your number? Are you dating?

It’s not so much the content written on the signs that makes the interaction so enjoyable; it’s the response that he gives.

Because all Harry does is break out into that dimpled, love sick smile that YN can’t get enough of and happily points to his wedding band.

Taglist:

@ashtongivesmebutterflies @cacapeepee

(let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 💚)

979 notes · View notes

tothepointofinsanity · 9 months

Text

Observation Log Series: Sayaka [II]

Rewatched some Sayaka episodes to see if I forgot any details - interestingly, I managed to observe her room this time. Magical girls and their dwellings seem to infer a lot about them [well, the home of a magical girl is just the shell of their Witch's labyrinth after all]. Unlike Homura who has a lot of frames hung up about Walpurgisnacht, coupled with gears and clockwork to resemble a swinging pendulum [which was, of course, shaped like an axe in foreshadowing of Homulily's 'funeral'] or Madoka's strange house full of chairs in one room, Sayaka's room....has a lot of mirrors.

It's probably picked up by many people prior already, but it's no less interesting as this seems to confirm the analysis on how Sayaka lives in an 'echo chamber' of her own depressive thoughts and is obsessed with herself not in a way that is purely selfish, but rather a desire for others to understand why she's infatuated with her own grief to begin with. Since this sentiment was not received, she spiralled.

In the second picture, you can also see more clearly a crown sitting atop her shelf. It eludes to the crown of Oktavia.

This is more of an observation for myself because I Think It's Cool, but when Sayaka's despair spikes during the scene of the men discussing sigma male shit or whatever, her eyes reflect the magic circles that is often seen bubbling around her to heal wounds. Here, as opposed to 'healing' purposes, it's the activation of her powers for the [possible] use of violence against human beings.

This one's a bit more obvious: the signboard behind both of them are a forecast warning on rainy weather and that individuals should optimally seek shelter as soon as possible < at first I interpreted this as a typhoon season warning, which was the stage set-up for Walpurgisnacht's arrival , but umbrellas aren't the emblems for typhoon storms, they're for rain. The sign is inscribed in the Witch runes we see, not the Japanese language, which wouldn't be far-fetched to say that it's a warning of Oktavia's imminent birth.

That's all for today. This analysis is rushed because I have assignments. but I wanted to just. Put it out there. Even if I am only five hundred years late/slow to the party.

#madoka magica #magical girl #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #pmmm sayaka #sayaka miki #Observation Log Series #Sayaka Archives

331 notes · View notes

aotearoa20 · 11 days

Text

correspondence and revelations shortly after Dagor Bragollach for @silmarillionepistolary

To, Caranthir Morifinwë Fëanorian Lord of the East

Dear cousin, it is with great sorrow which I greet you. The attacks of the Enemy took us all by surprise and I mourn the blow the loss of Thargelion will surely have on us all. Though I had never the chance to visit I had heard many great things of the eastern mountains, they were fair to behold, I am told, and I know that you loved it there. Still it gladdens me to hear that you and yours escaped for the most part unscathed. Know whatever aid and support we can spare is already on its way to you as you receive this letter.

I'm sure you know already that Celegorm and Curufin have taken up refuge among my people. You should know you they are well and whole. They, along with I, have sent letters detailing their arrival and stay. I have also sent some papers detailing preliminary adjustments to traderoutes and logistics for delivering aid among our people and allies. I am sure you have more than enough plans of your own and as always i defer to you judgement on such matters.

But all this aside I had another matter I wished to inform you of concerning one of the people of Haleth in Brethil. I have kept it to myself for some time but if anything has come from these last days is that none of us knows when doom will rear its head.

The Lady Haleth herself I met only a few times, when negotiating the terms of her people’s dwelling, and found her to be a woman of brusque and bright countenance. Indeed, when I learnt of her dealings with you I thought that the pair of you must have gotten on like a house on fire, else hated each other entirely. But I digress.

It was upon one of those meetings when I saw a child, I reckoned at the time, perhaps five by the count of Men often about her dwelling. No husband she ever spoke of nor did I ask. The child had her likeness and hearing of the tradgey that claimed the rest of her family, I thought perhaps his father had perished with her kin.

In truth, I thought little of it at all until some years ago, on a visit to the city of Menegroth, when I found a youth milling about the edges of the Girdle. It must have been two hundred years since I’d last seen him, the Haladin had since had two chieftains but the boy looked no older than twenty. He named himself a changeling in his own tongue and told me his father was one of the Eldar.

Erestor he called himself in Sindarin for though he’d lived among his people, at on the request of his mother had not taken her title. Instead he stayed as a counseler for his cousin and later his children and grandchildren. (The translation is a bit off I deem but he having learned more seems loath to correct it and resistant to advice) Either way, wishing to learn more of his father’s people and had come to Doriath to see if he may by his blood be permitted. I spoke with him a while and finding him genuine in his desire, brought him with me and vouched for him before Elu Thingol, the King.

Since then he visits the city every few summers and then returns to his people before the snows set in. He has had little trouble of it, for his mother’s features hide much of his fathers heritage and he is wont to pass through, drawing as little attention to himself as he can. But I found him curious and upon further investigation and despite his protests to the contrary, I am certain his father is Noldorin. In fact, on those rare occasions he does smiles without restrain cousin - were it not for his quiet temperament I know he did not inherit from his mother - I would have wondered if he was your own.

At any rate, considering the time and circumstances I first found him, it's likely it is that his father is among your people. I can think of any number of reasons such a thing would have been hidden from offical records but I truly doubt it could have happened without your knowledge. To the point, I thought, especially in the chaos of these days, you might pass on some news of the boy’s well being. I have had news from Brethil, written in the the his hand, they are well, if overwhelmed with refugees from Dor Lomin. But he is safe. Perhaps that might comfort his kin in Amon Ereb. And perhaps you could tell him that his child is a scholar in training. That he is happy, as much as any of us can be, and untouched by doom or darkness. May he remain so.

I hope I have not overstepped in my assumptions. Always I have hesitated in speaking on this subject. I just have with the loss of don't want to leave anything unsaid that ought to be.

That is all.

As I detailed before, i have sent ahead letters pertaining to more practical means. I have no doubt in your prompt reply. I wish you well, cousin. May Tilion watch your steps before the Dawn breaks.

Finrod Felagund King of Nargothrond

#this has been sitting in my drafts #waiting for the right moment #so here you go:)#silmarillion epistolary #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien #finrod felagund #caranthir x haleth #caranthir #erestor #erestor son of canarthir

61 notes · View notes

syrikif · 6 months

Text

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU, Written Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Chapter 8 (b): Little Things

Word Count: 2243

It’s past three in the morning.

Kenma ended his stream only minutes ago, having spent the past seven hours playing a hardcore Pokémon Nuzlocke (as decided by his viewers).

And he’s not even tired.

He sighs as he relaxes back into his gaming chair, his fingers idly messing with the strings of his hoody as he watches all the messages coming through on his discord server.

He frees one hand and leans forward just enough to grab his mouse, opening a clip that one of his fans sent in the chat. Kenma realizes shortly into the video that it’s from one of his own streams, an older VOD that’s most likely still up on his neglected YouTube channel.

He makes a mental reminder to start posting on the website more often; his fans clearly like watching the videos after all, regardless of the lack of uploads.

Kenma watches his past self yell almost incompehnsibly at the game he’d been playing, a soft smile coming across his features as he picks up on Kuroo’s voice quietly taunting him underneath all the screaming.

“Some things never change,” he mumbles to himself as the clip ends with the two roommates arguing over each other.

And suddenly it all feels so bittersweet, a sense of nostalgia filling his chest and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Because while things may not have been easy then, they were simpler somehow; less demanding of Kenma despite the fact that he’d had so many more pressing responsibilites.

He hears himself sigh and briefly wonders when exactly he’d started getting so old.

It’s almost laughable - Kenma reminiscing over his college years at the age of twenty-four.

He releases a low breath, his gaze straying from the chat to the list of active users on the side of the screen. Unsurprisingly, there aren’t as many people online as there usually is and one name manages to catch his eye.

Kenma rarely ever cares to check on things like roles and ranks in his server, he has moderators for that very task after all. But there is a role that he personally made himself when the server was first created, strictly for the purpose of having his friends in one place.

No one has been added into that level in years.

Until now.

Now there’s Y/N.

Kenma isn’t the person who placed her there (he didn’t even know she’d joined his server before this very moment) and the only other people with the ability to do so are his mods.

With this realization he remembers the message he’d recieved from Moe, one of his very first moderators, from earlier that day.

“You can thank me later.”

Kenma had been confused at the time, even assuming that she’d texted the wrong person and not bothering to respond.

Now he understands.

There’s only a moment of hesitation, his cursor hovering above that unmistable gray symbol, before he finally just clicks.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, long enough to feel a sense of dread beginning to sink in but too short to dwell on the feeling.

And it’s futile really, the way Kenma tries to hide his grin from the camera when Y/N finally answers the call wearing cat ears and a blanket that seems to swallow her whole.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she suddenly says, her gaze deepening into a glare.

Kenma wants to laugh because she probably knows exactly what he’s thinking right now. “Like what?” He does his best to appear nonchalant, leaning back into his seat and running a hand through his hair as he stares at her through the screen.

She looks different like this.

Or maybe he just isn’t used to seeing her on video.

“Like I’m some little kid or something,” Y/N huffs, her eyes rolling back as her blanket falls to her lap.

“More like a little cat,” he mutters almost unthinkingly. He watches her eyebrows furrow, her head tilting as his words reach her ears.

“Huh?”

Kenma shouldn’t tease her. He really really shouldn’t. “It’s fitting,” and yet he’s completely incable of resisting, “Kitten.”

Y/N’s jaw quite literally drops, her eyes widening as her face turns a satisfyingly bright shade of red.

And Kenma can’t help but think that she looks so- so- (what was the word?) something.

“Wh- what did you just?” She shakes her head, “You- why would you- ugh!”

Cute.

Yes. That’s the term.

Kenma thinks she looks cute right now.

The realization is slow to hit, his mind even slower to catch on as he watches Y/N fan her face and cup the skin of her cheeks.

It isn’t even the right word, honestly - to kenma - she looks adorable, cute was just the first thing that came to mind.

Why did it come to mind?

“You’re the one wearing cat ears,” he defends. He’s not sure what he’s defending at this point (himself? his thoughts? his weird obsession with cats?); he just doesn’t want her to take it the wrong way.

What would be the wrong way? Flirtaitiously?

But, if she were to flirt back, Kenma doesn’t think he’ll care.

“You piss me off,” Y/N suddenly announces, her voice full of exagerated annoyance, but there’s no doubt that she’s smiling at him - because of him.

No, he really wouldn’t mind at all.

~~~

“Favorite color?”

“Oh come on.” Kenma rolls his eyes, taking a small swig from the can of soda he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge just beside his desk. “You know my favorite color.”

Y/N gives him an incredulous look, “Um, since when?”

Kenma’s eyebrows raise, “Um, since the first day we met?”

“You’re literally lying,” she says with a mouth full of some sort of food. He doesn’t know what she’s eating at this point; first it was chips, then tomato soup, a thin slice of pie (Kenma’s sure that she was trying to rub it in his face), and now it seems to be a kind of fruit.

He’s never seen someone eat so many diverse snacks in one sitting.

Y/N’s eyes suddenly widen, “Shut the fuck up.”

Kenma’s at a loss for words, and he’s sure that Y/N can see the disbelief in his features as he sets the drink on his desk.

“No, like seriously shut up.” She lifts one hand, using her index finger to point at Kenma - or (more accurately) the camera of her webcam.

He blinks. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m trying to think here, okay? So shh,” she glares at him.

Kenma makes a show of pressing his lips together, mimicking the motion of zipping them up and tossing aside the key.

He can see Y/N trying to suppress a smile at his actions, a small huff of a giggle escaping her own lips when he pretends to struggle against the imaginary lock on his mouth.

Her face suddenly lights up with recognition, “Red!”

Kenma’s charade breaks. “That’s what you were trying to figure out this whole time?”

“I was right?” She suddenly looks confused, more confused than when she didn’t even know the correct answer.

“Obviously.” His head tilts, “Did you just guess or something?”

A sheepish smile, “Or something.”

“You just guessed, didn’t you?” It’s not really an actual question at this point, they’re both all too aware of what she did.

“Well I mean- kind of?” She shrugs, a clumsy movement that makes her appear so much younger than she probably is. “To be honest, I just happened to remember that Nekoma’s colors were red and black. So,” she hangs on to the word for a brief second, “Lucky guess?”

“Well what’s your favorite color?”

Y/N had suggested a scuffed form of twenty-one questions, a version with no drinking (not that either of them were against it, Kenma just doesn’t have any alcoholic beverages in the house) and no limit on how many questions they could ask.

It’s been years since Kenma had gotten to know someone like this.

She hums with consideration, “I’m not sure. I like all of them.”

“That’s such a cop-out answer,” he light-heartedly scoffs.

“Oh don’t even,” Y/N straightens in her seat, the black cat ears slipping further back on her head. “At least I didn’t make you play a ten minute guessing game,” she retorts.

Kenma tsks, “That was not ten minutes.”

“Well it felt like it. So hah!”

He laughs as he stretches out his legs, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants when he notices that they’re off-center. He looks back up at the screen, eyes fixated on the way Y/N tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“How old are you?” Kenma asks out of mere curiosity, because he knows she must be at least close to his age, but he feels so much older in comparison to her cheerful nature.

She’s staring intently at something off to the side, scrutinizing whatever happens to be there. “Twenty three.”

Only a year younger, maybe even less depending on her date of birth.

But-, “Wait,” his eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you date Sugawara in high school?”

He regrets bringing it up the moment he’s finished speaking, mentally cringing at the idea of talking about her ex’s.

Y/N groans, her face falling into her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“That bad huh?” And if Kenma’s being honest with himself, he feels strangely . . . relieved.

“Like I love the guy,” Oh. “In like a totally platonic sort of way though,” she suddenly rushes to explain.

Kenma nods, “Right.” He pauses for only a brief second. “So you were a first year when you started dating then?”

Y/N’s head tilts with obvious bewilderment, “What? Oh,” she laughs. “No, I was a second year. I just have a really late birthday.”

“Oh okay,” he releases a small breath of relief. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if he found out that one of Y/N’s boyfriends was a sick fuck that preyed on first-years.

That’s something he couldn’t let himself overlook, no matter who it was.

“Why’d it end then? Was he not,” he hesistates, “Good to you?”

They’re getting into dangerous territory now; it’s none of his business why their relationship didn’t last, but it feels like it should be. And he supposes that if they’re going to be friends and if he’s going to come into contact with said ex-boyfriend, then it would be better to know anyways.

Right?

Who is he kidding? That’s just an excuse.

He has no real reason for wanting to know, but that’s not going to stop him from asking.

Y/N shakes her head, a thoughtful expression painted across her features. “Nothing like that. It was almost like he was too good to me, you know? It was a good relationship but it was like so good that it was uneventful and boring. We just don’t mesh well romantically.”

Kenma nods as though he understands when really - the truth of the matter is that - his only relationship had ended on such bad terms that he hasn’t dated since.

“And you’re twenty-four right?”

“Yeah,” he confirms without thinking. Then his eyes narrow on her form, “How do you know that?”

She sighs deeply, as if even the mere thought of it is taxing. “Sho has not shut up about you since we met, it’d be more shocking if I didn’t know that at this point.”

Kenma smirks, “All good things I hope.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes, “That man is practically singing your praises.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Despite the confusing choice of words, Kenma feels himself chuckle at the idea of one of his closest friends boasting about him to a complete stranger.

“He just like won’t stop talking about how cool you are, or how you’re so fun to be around. Or how you’re the most awesomest - yes he used that word - person he’s ever met.” Kenma’s disappointed when she unexpectedly stops, her hands raising to massage the skin of her temples. “It’s honestly starting to get annoying. Like you’d think he was trying to make me fall in love with you or something,” she snorts.

Is it working?

The words are on the tip of his tongue, his stomach turning at the possibility of her responses.

Kenma swallows thickly, “So what? He’s trying to set us up?”

Some questions are better left unasked.

“I guess so?”

“That’s a little weird.” Only a little bit though.

Y/N smiles then, but it’s mischevious and temptingly playful. “Really? You don’t think we’d look good together?”

His mind races at the implication behind her words, his body growing warm from her teasing tone of voice. And he abruptly feels so thirsty, his tongue brushing across his lips as he watches the way her lashes flutter when she blinks.

“Now I never said that,” he murmers in return and he can’t tell if his voice is as throaty he feels like it is.

Her gaze flickers down somewhere below his face, and Kenma silently berates himself for his choice of lazy clothing, before slowly trailing back up.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, her eyes never straying from his. “Neither did I.”

Kenma’s breath catches in his throat.

He forces a smirk, “I guess we can agree on one thing then.”

Her grin comes back in full force, wicked and full of invitation, “I suppose we can.”

Yeah, Kenma definitely doesn’t mind when she flirts.

Taglist: @crazy-people-are-here, @existential-traveller, @peachesncats, @royalz658, @musicluverr, @tamimemo, @leathernourishingshoepolish, @captaincyberqueen, @dellalyra

Any names in bold are unable to be tagged.

97 notes · View notes

sollsmith · 3 months

Text

Fire in the Flesh

Chapter One

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: n/a

Summary:

After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon's actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.

Daella grips Maelor’s hand tighter as they enter the large hall. Her hand has seldom left his since they docked the ship in Maidenpool. She was surprised he had let her in the company of so many strangers, back home in Volantis he would have pawed her off him, telling her to go play with her dolls or called for a maid to take her from him.

This trip was different it seemed, as they arrived at the dark and ruinous castle she had heard her brother call ‘Harrenhal’, and stepped from the strange hathay, Maelor had offered her his hand and let her keep its hold since.

Hundreds, if not thousands of men and women lined the hall. The roof was partly caved in, letting some light shine down against the seemingly never ending slate floors. Daella leaned closer into her brother's side as she observed the people around her. She still wasn’t quite sure why her father had sent them both to Westeros. The endless conversations and planning that she witnessed between her father and brother over the last moon were all a little much for her four year old brain to handle.

In fact the only thing she really took from it was that her mother was a princess, and by default she believed that made her one too which she took some delight in.

As they made their way to the end of the hall, Daella was aware of the eyes on her and her older brother. She was aware of the whispers. Some she could understand, others she couldn’t due to the queer accents of the people. One older woman had gasped lightly when she saw the two silver-haired children walk past, grasping her husband by the arm, forcing him to look at them.

“Gods, it’s the very image of the king”.

Maelor didn’t give anyone a single glance. Daella knew he could hear and see what she did, but he simply held his head high and firm, and continued walking towards a large ground of men situated at the very end of the great hall.

Maelor, a young man of ten and four, was born in Lys shortly after their mother fled Westeros from Oldtown. He was tall for his age. Slim, but was strong enough and was continuing to build his strength, training with his fathers personal guards twice a day. His silver-hair, with soft curls, sat neatly at his shoulders. He had worn his best black and gold surcoat for the occasion, as well as the new boots and sword father had bought him before they left.

Their father, Alios, a wealthy sea merchant from Volantis, was a fiercely ambitious man. Before his two children were born, Alios had only one ambition to complete in his long list of endeavours and it seemed to be the only thing his wealth could not buy him. A home behind the Black Walls. Built by the Valyrian Freehold when Volantis was no more than an outpost of their empire, the Black Walls were considered the heart of Volantis, and only scions of the Old Blood able to trace their ancestry to Valyria are allowed to dwell there.

Alios, a freeborn Volantene, with his dark hair and lightly tanned skin was clearly not that of the Old Blood. So when docking in Lys in 85 AC, to trade his silks and sweet beets, and he heard the rumours of a silver-haired Valyrian princess in a pleasure garden, Alios saw his one way ticket to the ultimate dream. At first he had just planned to offer his hand to the girl, free her from the pleasure garden and offer her a life of riches and indulgence. But on their first meeting, it became clear to Alios that the girl had already found her freedom in the pleasure garden of Lys.

So he remained in Lys for the next month, visiting the brothel every night, and putting his coin down for the night on one girl. The silver-haired novice of the Faith. Princess Saera Targaryen, the ninth born child of the King of Westeros, Jaehaerys Targaryen. For if Alios was not to obtain a bride of the Old Blood on this visit to Lys, he was to father a child of it. After two months in the city, Alios left only to return eight months later to collect what would be his greatest treasure from his many years of travel.

A small pale haired, lavender-eyed baby boy. His ticket behind the Black Walls, a son, one directly from the last line of living dragonlords. Ten years later, when Saera moved her business to Volantis, she visited her son and his father. The meeting went well, and nine months later, Alios’ family grew when another small silver-haired, violet-eyed babe was left at the entrance of the Black Walls for him. A small note accompanied the girl; Daella, after my sweet sister. For you will take greater care of her than my father did of us.

When they finally reached the end of the hall, Daella scanned the various men that sat behind a long wooden table. Most of the men were old, some in long grey robes with chains around their necks, others wearing surcoats with various different colours and symbols on them. When scanning the right side of the table, a flash of silver caught Daella’s eye. In the middle of a small group of armoured knights, two young men with silver hair and eyes just like herself and Maelor stood speaking with some of the armoured men quietly. The plumper, kinder looking one caught Daella’s eye back, eyebrows raising and moving to elbow his taller, leaner and harder companion in the ribs to get his attention.

“Daemon look,” He whispered, smiling softly. Daemon turned to look at his brother, eyes following him to the two children that were now standing in front of the council of men.

“More of Saera’s bastards?'' Daemon laughs, watching as the young boy begins to address Maester Cassel to declare his claim.

“Seems so. Gods, they're a little young don’t you think? The girl can’t be much older than my Rhaenyra” Viserys replied, smiling widely at the little Valyrian girl whose eyes were locked on him and his brother. She smiled back before turning to her brother, pulling on his hand softly.

“Maelor, look!” Daella whispered, trying to get her elder brother's attention.

“Not now Ella! Sorry my lord, as I -”

“But they look like mothe-” Daella stopped as Maelor grabbed her by both arms and kneeled down her height.

“Not now hāedar. I’m busy, so please…” Maelor looks around, locating a small wooden bench. He quickly raises to his feet and take Daella’s hand leading her to the bench. He lifts her softly and places her on the bench, kneeling to her height once again.

“Kesā umbagon kesīr. Kesan māzigon se jiōragon ao istin iksan tetan. Gaomagon daor henujagon kesīr. Gaomagon ao shifang?” He whispers, smoothing the girl's soft curls sweetly and offering her a smile.

“Kessa, lēkia” Daella replies, swinging her feet now that they do not touch the ground. She watches her brother leave, returning to speak to the men at the tables, apologising for his little sister’s interruption. She plays with the lace hem of her dress. A gift from her father before they took sail to Maidenpool. Daella wasn’t impressed with the dress, it was made of black wool much like her brother's surcoat, and embroidered with golden leaves. A black lace bordered her neck, sleeves and skirts and the buttons along her back were embellished with pearls. She much preferred her dresses back home of pastel silks and cotton.

“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?” A voice asks, with a small hint of disdain. Daella whips her head up to see the younger of the silver haired men standing in front of her. He’s looking down at her, a stern expression on his face. Daella doesn’t answer because she is too scared to speak. Both her father and brother have warned her about speaking to men she does not know, and the horrors that have happened to little girls that do.

“Daemon stop it, you’re scaring the poor girl.” Viserys appears from behind Daemon, still smiling kindly. He kneels before Daella, looking up at Daemon before looking back at her.

“Pay him no mind, little one. Courteousness has never been my brother’s strong suit.” Daemon scoffs, rolling his eyes as Viserys addresses the girl.

“What’s your name?”

Daella remains quiet, staring wide eyed at the moustached man. Viserys laughs.

“I’m Viserys.” He says. Leaning towards Daella he whispers softly, but loud enough for his brother to hear, “the scary one is Daemon.” Daemon is once again rolling his eyes and scoffing in protest at Viserys interaction with the girl, but cannot help but let out a brief but small smile when he hears the girl giggle sweetly at Viserys words.

Daella glances towards her brother, seeing he has now finished with the council and is now engaged in conversation with a singular man. She turns back to the brothers in front of her.

“My name is Daella” She says, deciding the man can be trusted.

“Fuck me” Daemon snorts, “giving them our family names. Couldn’t they be more subtle about it?”

“That’s a lovely name” Viserys says, ignoring his brother's outburst.

“My mother named me. After her sister, they were princesses” Daella begins to overshare, deciding she likes her new friend Viserys. Viserys laughs as he looks up at Daemon who also can’t help but laugh at the little girl's outburst.

“Ella!” Maelor barks as he approaches, “Skoros gōntan kepa se nyke ivestragon ao nūmāzma vali gaomā daor gīmigon?” Viserys rises to his feet as he approaches, helping Daella down from the bench as he does so. Daella moves to her brother, placing her hand in his once more.

“Vaoreznuni. Pōnta jurnegon hae muña” Maelor finally looks at the men, first at Viserys and then at Daemon. Realisation suddenly comes over him, and moves forwards to bow lightly, “My condolences for the loss of your father princes. Please forgive my sister, she can be curt, she hasn’t begun her lessons on how to be a lady yet.”

“No, she was quite the delight. If anything, my brother here was the curt one.” Viserys booms. Maelor smiles, looking at Daemon. Daemon gives him a look of distaste before addressing him directly.

“I assume you are leaving then?”

“Daemon!”

“We leave for Volantis in the morning. I hope coming here has not insulted you. My father requested I make my claim known. That I have done, it has been rejected and now we will return to where I belong. I wish the best with your claim Viserys.” Maelor replies, eying Daemon as he does so.

“Thank you…” Viserys trails off, realising he does not know the boy's name.

“Maelor”

“Gods!” Daemon snorts again.

“An honour to meet you both, but we must get going if we want to make it to Mainpool before dawn. Thank you for entertaining her” Maelor says, wanting to escape this conversation as quickly as he can. He can sense the younger prince's growing agitation with their presence. He turns pulling Daella with him. Her feet just about keep up with him, before she and Maelor make their descent back down the hall, she sees a man watching them. The man and Maelor lock eyes, giving a small head nod to one another before continuing down the long hall.

Add yourself to my taglist here!

For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd

144 notes · View notes

boonsmoon · 4 months

Note

hey i was thinking about a romance by mu qing × f!reader, in which she is xie lian's older sister and in the old days mu qing had a huge crush on her, but because of the things that happened she didn't It has been seen more since Xie Lian was first expelled from heaven. in fact she was wandering all this time and became a supreme ghost queen, and then at the end of the book she would appear again and mu qing would see her and how would he feel? Would your feelings come back? Would he feel abandoned because she had been gone all this time?

With how this is written in ~questions~ I'll write this in hc format Also, I haven't finished the manhwa or anything, I've literally only watched season 1 of the donghua, so sorry if this is inaccurate

Request Masterlist Mu Qing x f!reader Genres:🎊🥀💞🧪

Unrequited Love Headcanons

Let's state the obvious, Mu Qing will under no circumstance confess within his comfort zone

Emotions? Feelings? Never heard of her

So when he was loving you, it hurt to watch you choose a banished god over himself

To put it simply, choosing Xie Lian meant abandoning godhood, and in turn you were also banished from Heaven

Xie Lian was family after all, and you had no beloved that was tethering you to heaven

Back in ye olden wanderer days, the goal was actually to keep Xie Lian from completely going insane; however, after his second ascension you lost track of his whereabouts

Your conviction to family though is actually what kept you out of heaven, because after being banished never sought out to ascend

Eventually after centuries of wandering you become a Supreme Ghost Queen

Rumors from gods and goddesses have compared your power to that of the Crimson Rain Sought Flower

It wasn't until you heard of the current state of your brother and the Supreme Ghost King that you would seek out your reason for banishment again

What you didn't expect was to find Mu Qing during this journey

You felt surprised, but nothing negative against the God or leaving him

That part of your life was long ago, you have no reason to dwell on it

This was no the same for Mu Qing; however, at first he felt relief in knowing you were alright

But then he felt betrayal, like a knife was stabbed through his chest a hundred times over

You abandoned your rightful throne for a family you haven't seen in hundreds of years, centuries of happiness you could have with him were lost with that singular choice of yours

While your feelings did not initially return, Mu Qing made it his mission to set aside your past decisions and rekindle your bond

kinda yikes ngl

hope yall liked this one because angst is NOT my strong suit

#tian guan ci fu #tian guan ci fu x reader #tgcf #tgcf x reader #heaven official's blessing #heaven official's blessing x reader #mu qing #mu qing x reader #headcanons

95 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Text

Consort

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Diplomatic fraternization is never easy and situations can turn on a dime. When you accompany your father to negotiate future ties between your two underwater kingdoms, one mistake changes everything.

Content Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding

Additional Notes: Before this week it had never even as a WHIM come across my radar to write anything Namor. But two-almost-three-days ago @artsynellyyy shared a ridiculously gorgeous unfinished piece of art she was working on, asked for some input, and it spurred a plot concept that just GRIPPED my brain and had me feeling THINGS. I don’t think I will be writing a lot of Namor, but I do know there’s certainly a part two to this because…there’s more story for these two in my head. There’s a particular moment that exists for them that as this developed, I knew could not happen yet for them, it would’ve been too rushed. So… just… Happy fourth installment of the 2022 Holiday Extravaganza!

A/N 2: Be gentle! This is my first attempt at Namor. I did some canon diving and research, but I did not dive deep into the Namor fandom because I didn’t want to get too influenced about established patterns or too intimidated about what’s already out there. Honestly kind of terrified to publish this one, so just... jumping out of the airplane and pulling the parachute okay bye.

“Let us speak without pretense,” the king of Talokan’s voice resonates powerfully through the throne room. “Tell me why you sought private audience with me today, Hamal.”

Standing at the right hand of your father, you observe the way he draws his shoulders up just a fraction more, the way his nostrils flare just before he speaks again. “Fine, I will speak plainly, Namor. Your recent dealings with the surface, particularly with the kingdom of Wakanda, is concerning to the kingdom of Fourchon.”

“Why should it concern you?” Namor patiently humors the conversation further, but you can read that the patience is wearing thin.

“King to king, I find it concerning because it calls into question whether we are moving into a state of volatility for all who dwell in the oceans, and I have no wish to see my people drawn into hostilities or war of any kind.”

“And you are here to ensure continued peace between our nations?”

“I am.”

Your heart isn’t racing, but the beats thrum more swiftly against your chest as you will this to go well.

“And what do you propose, Hamal? What does the kingdom of Fourchon possibly have to offer Talokan?”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs between the two rulers, then your father answers, “Her.”

Every muscle in your body seizes with dread, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widen, but every bit of diplomatic rearing mercifully allows you to keep your mouth from dropping open in complete shock.

“My daughter.”

You cannot look at either king, looking straight ahead to keep your composure, but you register the sharp change in Namor’s voice. “Fourchon is neither enemy nor ally to Talokan, and yet you come to my court with the arrogance of demanding peace between our countries when for more than three hundred years there has been nary a quarrel. Indeed, your small kingdom has meant nothing to me, an inconsequential player amongst underwater realms. We have maintained social civility only because you were not worth any more or less to me.

He pauses, and you can feel the tension rolling in waves off your father.

“Your offer is horrible, but I will give you what you came here to bargain and secure today for the sake of your people, despite the prideful blunder of their king. Now leave.”

You are desperate to acquiesce to Namor’s command after the humiliation of being offered first as a trinket or some form of tribute and then receiving by association a political rebuke, and you turn immediately to depart with your father.

“Not you, Princess,” his voice halts you.

You watch your father leave; he doesn’t look back at you or Namor.

“Come here,” the king of Talokan says.

You turn back to face him, squaring your shoulders and looking straight at him as you approach. Your father had asked for a private audience, and you are grateful for that as no one else saw the disaster that just took place.

He regards you openly. You focus on breathing evenly when all you want to do is flee from this room and let your emotions rage. When his gaze meets yours again, he tilts his chin and narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Do you not kneel for your king?”

Heat rushes from your chest up to flood your cheeks, and your throat feels thick with anger, but you manage to speak. “You are not my king.”

“Did I not accept the terms offered?”

“An offer you called horrible,” you say as you sink to your knees and bow your head as is customary.

“The offer, not you.”

Your head snaps back up at these words.

“And the offer was horrible in relation to you, not me.”

Your brow furrows in question.

“When your father made the overtures for this meeting, I asked my ambassador to share with me his outlook on your kingdom and your court.”

“You said we were inconsequential.”

“But an element that still exists.”

He evaluated the full landscape. You were under no illusions that the kingdom of your birth was small in comparison to Talokan or Atlantis, but he was a ruler who wasn’t fool enough discount the smaller players.

“My ambassador said,” he continues, “that your people love and respect you and that it is a loss to Fourchon that you were both second-born and a daughter of the throne instead of a son.”

Resentment spreads through your veins at these words. You’d fought the unrest of what you would not be able to do while also feeling confident in your brother’s ability to rule, that he’d proven himself worthy of his birthright.

“He said you were your father’s favorite.”

You had thought that, too. And yet… “How easily he would bargain me away would say otherwise.”

“It was clear you had no indication of his intent.”

A bitter laugh escapes your throat. “Truly. I thought he valued my presence, my counsel, even perhaps my help in diplomatic relations, but I was only a pawn.”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side.

“I think you are wrong. Stand, Princess.”

You rise slowly, with as much grace as you can.

He moves from the throne, stepping over the jaw that frames his seat of power, and moves down the steps toward you.

“In future you kneel for only me, no one else.”

You remain in your place as he slowly circles you.

“I did lecture your father for his arrogance on an improper read on the state of affairs, assuming Talokan would turn on Fourchon. However, as a king, I do not fault him for caring for the welfare of his people, or for overestimating the value of his kingdom,” he states, his voice warming with this admission. He comes to a stop in front of you. “And to negotiate safety and peace for his people?” He raises his right hand and draws his fingers down reverently along your jaw. “He offers you, his greatest treasure. He insinuates you are worth more than an entire kingdom.”

You open then close your mouth, unsure how to respond to this interpretation. Your eyes search his, but all you can see there is a resoluteness that he truly means what he’s just said. It’s disarming, and with the way your world fell out from under you only minutes ago, you’re unsure of what to trust now.

Namor radiates confidence, it rolls easily off him in waves, but when he takes a step closer, you can feel the heat of him. His fingers move over your shoulder and down the length of your arm, and you shiver but keep holding his gaze. Your instincts tell you that every moment in this room has been significant, it’s determining your future, every movement, every word, every observation.

He takes half a step closer, only a whisper of space between you now, and you hold your ground. He almost smiles, then he turns away, seizing your hand and leading you up the stairs of the dais, and you quickly lift your skirts so you can ascend quickly behind him. Up close you can admire the artistry of the jaw that encases his throne. Like him, it’s charming, beautiful, and dangerous, each intricate designs carved into the bone, and the teeth replaced with jade stones.

“Your father was right to anticipate a shift in my rule.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been king of Talokan for centuries, but my dealings with Wakanda have me considering eventualities of the future.”

Namor takes steps over the jaw, then draws you carefully in with him, still holding your hand as you step over the mighty frame, before finally releasing it. He turns back to look out over the throne room and further the drop off to look out over the kingdom of Talokan, but angles himself slightly toward you as well, and you mirror him. It’s a breathtaking view, and you imagine it is an altogether different manner of beauty with the court or an audience of people called to convene. But like this, still and quiet, it’s ethereal.

“You will be my queen.”

“That’s a bold declaration.”

“You’ve been offered to me in exchange for a promise of peace for your people, would you renege?”

You close your eyes briefly but square your shoulders and shake your head.

“Now you can choose your course in this.”

“Enlighten me,” you can’t hold back, though you do manage to keep your voice even.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but he’s speaking again before you can decipher it. “If I’m to have an heir, to secure the future, ensure stability for my people, I need a queen; but whether you merely bear my child or become my consort is something I cannot determine for you. I would prefer the latter.”

In the next second, he’s pulled you to his side and captured your lips in a kiss that is altogether slow and searing. His arm winds around your waist, bringing you flush against him, and your hands move of their own volition to rest on either side of his neck. Heat runs through your veins, and you know without question he could consume you.

You break off the kiss, but he respectfully retreats. He takes a seat on the throne, and you see he’s as breathless as you are.

But you broke off the kiss to ask the question that will haunt you if you don’t ask it.

“You’re truly ready to bind me to your side, just like that? You don’t even know me.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience. This is a marriage of opportunity.”

“I’m not–“

He holds up a hand to silence you, but it’s not in impatience, you can see that in his face, and he immediately says, “I will grant you that we do not know each other yet, but I know enough to know who you are. I have the trusted insight of my ambassador, but I also have accounts from people who have served and interacted with you here in my own kingdom these past two days, and biologically prolonged life or not, a king also doesn’t keep his crown or the respect of his people for as long as I have without being able to judge those around him well. You were taken by surprise today, but you are not naïve. You came to my court to be of counsel, serve, influence. Why should that not still be your fate?”

“A foreign princess?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out to you. “A queen consort.”

You search his face again. This was the moment. You could not read any falseness, arrogance, or cruelty. Indeed, though he was surprising you with this swift and forthright proposition, your intuition doesn’t question him or his intentions.

You take the hand he presented, and he pulls you forward, placing his hands on your hips once you are close enough and guiding you to sit astride one of his powerful thighs, the rich fabric of your dress sliding up your legs. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I want your mind, your body, and your soul,” he says, sealing it with your name, not your title.

“I want the same,” you say.

“You’re sure?”

“I need the same.” Being this close to him is both invigorating and steadying. The way he is looking at you, the way he is holding you, it’s also intimate and heated, and those feelings are amplified as he pulls you just a little closer.

“Then take what you need,” he commands in a tone that makes your heart soar and desire bloom in your stomach. He flexes his thigh against your core, and it spurs you to lean in and kiss him again, hungry for more.

He matches your eagerness. When his tongue seeks entrance, you open your lips, moaning. He begins rocking your hips back and forth over his thigh, and you know he can feel the heat and the wetness of the desire he’s stoked within you seeping through the silk of your underwear. As you take control of moving against him, his hands travel up your sides until he reaches your breasts, and his thumbs brush over the tender flesh. You both moan, him in approval, and you with pleasure. You’re swept away completely in all the sensations, in his passion, your body singing for him. He is a powerful force, one you will have to be sure to meet with your own spirit and fire so you aren’t lost. This union is for fulfilment for you both, not to be destroyed, diminished, or tossed away.

As you speed up, he drops one hand down to anchor on your hips, helping you grind down on his thigh. He keeps flexing it against you, and you whimper, head falling back.

“Keep going,” he growls against the column of your throat, kissing his way down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. “I love the way your body is trembling; I can tell you’re so close.”

“Yes, Namor,” you keen.

“K’uk’ulkan,” he says, and your head snaps back up, eyes locking intensely with his.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you repeat – the invitation to use the more personal name drops the intimacy between you two to a deeper level.

You both move with a desperate frenzy now, you craving the release and him eager to give it to you, his lips searing every inch of the exposed skin available to him at your neck, collar bone, pulling at the neckline of your dress.

“So close,” you cry.

“Let go.”

And you do, tight coil of ecstasy peaking and releasing, you cling to him, and as your body begins to relax wish pleasure, you press your forehead to his, both of your eyes closed now, sealing the moment in your memory.

His hands are slowly running up and down your back. “Jach ma’alob,” he croons softly. “This is enough for now; there will be so much more, my queen.”

Jach ma’alob = very good

PART TWO: COMPANION

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside for day four of AHE...

#namor the sub mariner #namor smut #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x female reader #namor fic #tenoch huerta namor #aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #namor x reader #to become his queen series #female reader

421 notes · View notes

violetriorsons · 5 months

Text

—in a world alone (we're all alone);

a collection of missing moments based on xaden's letters to violet. // pre-FW; iron flame spoilers.

part one.

“sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying garrick during threshing. she says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but i think i just reminded her of my grandfather.” — chapter 12 (iron flame).

.::.

The number one objective: don't die today.

It's proven to be a shockingly easy goal over the last few hours. A quick glance at the sun in the sky tells Xaden it's the start of the afternoon, and the biggest problem he's faced since Threshing started at nine this morning is the uncharacteristically strong heat for the beginning of October.

It's unsettling — he knows damn well that Fen Riorson's son is at the top of the hit lists of a number of cadets in his year (and the other years, for that matter). And he also knows Threshing is the best opportunity any of them are going to get to finally settle any bets.

It's why when his year dispersed this morning, Xaden had made a point to move in the opposite direction than Garrick and Masen. The target on his back is too big today to risk his only friends.

But so far, it seems his worries were for nothing. The few cadets he's come across over the last four or so hours have paid him nothing more than a wary glare, clearly far more interested in finding their dragons than wasting time trying to run a sword through him.

The dragons Xaden has passed by have also ignored him, both to his relief and mild dismay. The jitters in his chest persist, but for new reasons.

For months, the most common and accepted rhetoric he's heard spread throughout the quadrant is that no self-respecting dragon would go through the disgrace of bonding a marked one. That there's nothing worthy in the children of the people who had threatened the safety of human- and dragonkind all over Navarre.

Up until now, Xaden hadn't let himself dwell on the theory. His priority was keeping himself, his friends, and the rest of the marked ones in his year alive (a feat he's already fumbled, twice). But now, walking through the disturbingly quiet forest, there's no escaping the nauseating fear that everyone was right.

If he'd had the choice, Xaden thinks he might've gone into infantry to honor his father's wishes. He hadn't had the time to figure out for himself what he'd wanted to do with his life before fate and the lost Battle of Aretia had written his destiny for him. Before he knew it, the apostasy had come and tragically gone, and he was suddenly saddled with a hundred and seven souls to keep out of Malek's all-too greedy hands.

Three years ago, Xaden had brokered a deal with General Sorrengail to keep the orphans of his father's allies alive. He knows his father would've abhorred the agreement, but the man had also taught him well about making tough decisions. And making it through the riders' quadrant was their only shot at survival.

But now he's dreading that he might've sentenced them all to a worse fate: if the dragons aren't interested in bonding them, they'll all be doomed to relive their first year in the riders' quadrant over and over until Malek finally decides to collect his due.

Xaden hears the crackling of dragonfire in the near distance— too near for his liking. He quickens his steps as he searches around him in vain for any spot of blue.

Unlike Garrick this morning, Xaden did have a certain dragon from Presentation on his mind. An enormous, navy Blue Daggertail that had left him stunned when he saw it near the end of his deadly stroll yesterday.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he'd first caught sight of it, and had Garrick not given him a shove from behind, he's sure that he would've ended up a pile of ashes for daring to look a dragon in the eye for as long as he did.

It was an honest mistake. Xaden had felt something shift inside of him when he locked eyes with the beast, a sharp thrill that lingered long after the first-year cadets had all retreated to their bunks for the night.

Though judging by the icy narrowing of the dragon's eyes as it stared back at him, he thinks maybe the feeling was not mutual.

The thought is reinforced by the fact that he hasn't caught a single hint of her presence anywhere this morning. Idly, Xaden wonders if perhaps the Daggertail had picked another cadet at the start of Threshing, and his mood begins to sour.

But before he can linger any longer on his newfound worries, he hears a familiar shout nearby that has his stomach dropping.

It's Garrick.

All thoughts of the Blue Daggertail are forgotten as Xaden races in the direction of the shout.

The number one objective: don't die today. It goes for himself and especially for his best friend.

Xaden may or may not bond a dragon today. But if nothing else, he'll gladly spend the rest of the day making damn sure his friends make it out of this forest alive.

The shouting continues as he approaches, and Xaden recognizes the voice of Garrick's opponent just before they both come into view.

Prince Alic.

Xaden should've seen this one coming. He'd been too concerned about the target on his own back to consider that his friends have also made enemies in the quadrant all on their own.

The limp-dick, sorry excuse of a prince had wasted no time trying to assert dominance in the quadrant after crossing the Parapet this summer. He's been a terror to most, the Riorson son included, but Alic has had it out for Garrick since he lost to him during assessment week on the mat.

And apparently, he's decided Threshing is the perfect setting to enact his revenge.

Garrick's one of the best in their year when it comes to sparring, but the royal training the asswipe of a prince has under his belt makes him more than a worthy adversary. And though Xaden would be willing to bet that Alic snuck up on Garrick, any matters of honor and dirty tactics don't matter much if Alic makes it out of this forest with Garrick's head in the end.

Rage waves over Xaden and he barely manages to wrangle it back under control so he can slow his steps and assess the situation from a distance.

So far, Garrick seems to be holding his own well enough.

Xaden wavers, unsure of whether to step in or let his friend prove himself to any dragon who may be paying attention.

"I'm betting the prince loses his head."

The unfamiliar, feminine voice startles him out of focus from the fight. He hadn't noticed the giant shadow under his feet that now blankets his immediate area, and when he twists around to look for the source of the voice he finds himself face to face with the navy Blue Daggertail he'd been seeking all morning.

"Holy shit," he curses without thinking, and he just barely stops himself from scrambling backward. Dragons typically don't respond well to cowardice, and he doubts this particular one is any exception.

Her size had been daunting during Presentation, but having her right in front of him now, with her head lowered to his eye level and a bit too close for comfort, it dawns on him what a monstrosity of a creature she is — especially compared to the other dragons he's come across in the field today.

Suddenly, Xaden can't remember exactly why he'd been searching for her in the first place. Does he have a death wish?

The dragon's head moves forward, and Xaden locks his knees in place as she gives him a quick sniff at his chest before lightly blowing steam in his face through her nostrils.

"There's something very familiar about you." Her voice echoes in his head again, and his heart is threatening to break through his ribcage as she stays in his personal space and continues her perusal of him.

Xaden arches an eyebrow. Familiar? "Yeah, we kinda met at Presentation..." His joke falls flat, but he pushes forward. "I'm Xaden —" He stops short of saying his last name, and his earlier fear surges back with a vengeance.

Despite all it's cost him, Xaden has never been at odds with the war his father had started. Their country was corrupt, rotten to the core, and the price Xaden has been made to pay for his father's actions has only strengthened his belief in Fen Riorson's cause.

But would the dragon agree with that?

"Riorson," the dragon finishes for him, rather absentmindedly — uninterested, even — as she sniffs at his hair. She says nothing more, all her focus on her odd inspection of him, and some of Xaden's nerves give way to confusion.

Is it a good sign that this dragon is currently covering his leathers in snot?

As if in response, the dragon chuffs. "Better that than being charred by dragonfire, I would think."

Xaden's eyes widen in return. Did she hear his thoughts?

"Very true," he breathes. He tenses again, keeping quiet as he awaits judgment from the dragon he'd spent all night thinking about.

With no warning, the dragon lifts a claw and swipes it over the upper left side of Xaden's face, too quick for him to see it coming. The claw breaks the skin deep over his brow, nicking the eyelid he'd managed to close out of pure instinct, and digging through the top of his cheek.

"Fuck," he swears without thinking, instinctively lifting a hand to his eyebrow. His fingers come back bloody.

"There," the dragon says, sounding satisfied as she lowers her head to his level again. "Now I see it."

"Interesting word choice after almost taking my fucking eye out." He can't help himself from expressing his disdain as he works to keep the blood from seeping into his eye. "What do you see?"

"I'd given your grandfather a similar scar during his Threshing. It'd been accident then."

Surprise quells the anger. His brows knit together, the movement making the sting from his new wound worse. "You knew my grandfather?" He didn't even know his grandfather. From either side of the family.

"He came before you. But he didn't make it out of the quadrant." Her words are matter-of-fact, but there's an undertone of sadness that has Xaden believing she feels the loss far deeper than he ever could.

"I'm sorry...," he trails off, not sure how he's supposed to address her. He wipes more blood away from his brow before it gets in his eye.

"Sgaeyl," she offers distractedly, her eyes moving beyond him, to the sword fight still being waged in the tiny clearing behind him. "I said the prince would lose his head today. Why don't you go prove me right?"

Xaden turns back around and tenses, cursing himself for forgetting about Garrick.

Blood is now flowing from Garrick's left shoulder but he's paying it no mind as he raises his sword up to block Alic's attempt to slice Garrick's right arm off. As the two swords clash, Alic gets in a sloppy, but effective kick to the side of Garrick's calf that has him going down.

Garrick manages to twist his body last-minute to land on his side and avoid getting the wind knocked out of him. But the maneuver has his wounded shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

Xaden's moving toward them before he even realizes it, silently drawing his own sword as he approaches. His heart is hammering again as he watches Alic raise his weapon to take the final strike.

Xaden sword is quicker, and he runs it through Alic's back, deep enough that it reappears through his abdomen. Alic's response is a garbled groan, and Xaden lifts his foot to kick the prince off his sword.

Alic falls forward, the force of Xaden's kick sending him face-first towards the ground — right where Garrick is lying.

Garrick rolls out of the way just as Alic hits the dirt. His eyes meet Xaden's with a flash of gratitude as he works to get himself up.

Xaden waits to make sure his best friend is good before turning his attention back to the dying prince, who's working mightily to get up onto his knees.

"You're a... worthless piece... of shit, son of a... traitor..." Alic's rambles are out of breath as he continues to bleed out on the ground.

Xaden hears the dragon grumble behind him, and he can feel the wordless expectation emanating from her as she waits impatiently for him to follow her earlier command. He spares a quick glance at Garrick again, who's retrieved his sword but is distracted by the dragon who's stepped out from the trees and into view.

"Sorry I butted in," Xaden tells Garrick with a sheepish grin. "But I've been asked for his head." He tilts his head in the dragon's direction as means of explanation. Garrick's eyes widen, but he chooses to stay silent in the presence of the dragon, giving Xaden a firm nod instead.

Before he can think too hard about it, Xaden swipes his sword through the neck of the still-rambling royal. The man's head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Xaden works to keep his breakfast down.

Though not his first kill, it is the first time he's ever decapitated someone. It turns his stomach in the worst way, even as he feels a small twinge of satisfaction in getting to behead one of King Tauri's sons.

Perhaps he's not quite as monstrous as he's come to feel over the last few months — yet.

He's still got a dragon to impress, so he forces down the nausea, compartmentalizes any horror he may feel over adding to his body count, and bends down to retrieve the severed head by its hair.

He turns toward the dragon and tosses the head at her feet, making sure to keep his eyes off the ground and on hers the entire time.

She chuffs in what seems like approval. "Ruthless."

A heady rush of pride sweeps through him, giving him confidence as he admits to her, almost accusingly, "I've been looking for you all morning." Her earlier words about his grandfather finally sink in.

He came before you.

She'd chosen him. And now she's choosing Xaden.

She lets out another chuff. "I woke late. And I refuse to skip breakfast, even for Threshing."

Xaden smiles, glancing behind him to see that Garrick has disappeared. His smile wavers, and he worries over the wound in his friend's arm. Will he be okay to keep dragon-seeking?

"You care a lot for him. And for the others." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Xaden answers anyway. He forces down the trepidation over letting her in on his secrets.

The marked ones and Aretia are who he's dedicated his life to, and there's no point in trying to hide it from her. She needs to know who she's choosing, and what he'll be continuing to fight for. And all the types of monsters he's willing to fight against.

"You carry scars for the ones you're devoted to," she notes. "And now you'll carry one for me as well."

The reminder of the wound on his brow cuts through the adrenaline enough for him to feel the sting again. But her words erase any lingering resentment he may have felt over the scratch.

She steps forward. "Get on my back. The cadet you saved will be just fine, and your other friend has already been chosen. There's no point in spending any more time around here tempting the cadets who'd love to take your own head off your shoulders."

Xaden exhales in relief at the news about Masen, and decides to trust her certainty that Garrick will make it just fine on his own.

He hesitates for just a second, calculating the best strategy to make it up her leg. The gauntlet didn't quite prepare him as well for a dragon of her size. It's a challenge, but he makes it up to her back, avoiding the spikes at her neck, and reaches the divot with only minor embarrassment.

"Didn't you practice?" she chastises him, but her tone is light.

"Of course I did." He rolls his eyes. "But you're huge."

She chuffs. "Wait until you see my mate. You'll see who's the real monstrosity of a creature."

Xaden lifts a brow, fighting the discomfort of her knowing what he had been thinking earlier. "Is that always...?" He trails off, not sure how to phrase the question.

She scoffs. "Get used to it, cadet. I know everything about you. I always will." It almost sounds like a threat.

He nods, mostly to himself, knowing he'll just need time to adjust to it.

As a means of distraction, the dragon formally introduces herself. But she also launches into the sky as she does so, and her words are lost to the wind whooshing past Xaden's ears as he directs his focus on staying seated as she flies high above the trees.

He remembers her earlier introduction, though — her name is Sgaeyl. She's a navy Blue Daggertail, once bonded to his grandfather.

Unbidden, a memory from many years ago of his mother rises to the surface. She'd told him once that her father had entered the riders' quadrant while she was a baby. She never got to meet him.

"Dragons aren't allowed to bond direct descendants of their previous riders," Xaden notes lightly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling that comes from remembering his mother.

Sgaeyl stays silent, and Xaden interprets it to mean that she has little care for any rule that may stand in the way of what she wants. And what she wants at the moment is him.

"I could go mad," he continues absentmindedly. Judging from the excited flip his stomach just did at the thought of being wanted by this dragon, he may already be half-way there.

"You won't go mad," Sgaeyl asserts.

He arches his wounded brow. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I chose you," she scoffs.

He grins at the arrogance, but his chest fills with pride. And anticipation, as he sees the flight field getting nearer in the distance.

Soon, they'll be landing in the field. Soon, he'll be walking up the dais to look the roll keeper and General Sorrengail in the eye and announce the name of his new dragon — and relish in the shocked faces of Commandant Panchek, Captain Fitzgibbons, Colonel Aetos, and anyone else who doubted that a dragon would choose Fen Riorson's son — or any marked one.

Sgaeyl knows everything about him. And she chose him.

Xaden Riorson is officially a rider.

#xaden riorson #sgaeyl #xaden and sgaeyl #fourth wing #iron flame #fourth wing fic #empyrean fic #this really got away from me oops #it's way longer than i thought it would be #lina scribbles

70 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 3 months

Text

My mom bought me these boots from Zara in Denver a few weeks back. She could feel me sinking into a pit of rage, grief, and hopelessness. So, she came to meet me in Denver and upon landing, took me to walk the mall “just to get out and move through it.” My mother, a miracle, born to a father who was the sole Holocaust survivor in his family, knows a thing or two about battling anger and grief at a world fixated on annihilating Jews and our spirits.

I've been intimately familiar with the horrors of October 7th since it happened. Like countless Jews, I've meticulously followed every gruesome detail of Hamas' well-planned and well-funded genocide attempt. Every despicable act of torture, rape, and murder – etched into my bones. On top of that, I follow daily the relentless onslaught of people and communities celebrating, erasing, and justifying the slaughter, while denying our right to defend ourselves. Watching old friends ‘like’ and share posts constantly which dehumanize Jews and lie about Israel, putting our lives further at risk. Contending with all of this over the past few months has been unbearable. Like many Jews, I'm haunted both awake and asleep.

I've been debilitated, struggling to cope with all of it. How do we carry on in a country where so many wish us dead? How do we thrive in a place that dismisses our pain and disregards our countless contributions to society? How do I contemplate having children in a place where their lives aren't valued? How can I coexist with so many people who, at best, couldn't care less about the brutal murders of over 1200, the kidnapping and daily ongoing torture of hundreds more for over 119 days, while the world cheers for the rest of us to be annihilated? How do I sleep at night when all I can think about are the looming threats to Israel and the Jewish people, the treatment of our hostages, and the insidious web of hatred that constantly engulfs our existence?

When my mom handed me these boots, I thought they might be fitting for Israel, but I didn't really dwell on it. I knew the journey would be grueling. And while I thought I already knew the gruesome details, walking through the aftermath is a different level of knowing. These boots tread through miles of hell – the remnants of homes ruthlessly attacked by a kind of evil I couldn't fathom existed. An evil that deliberately targeted communities of Israelis dedicated to peace, only to be met with beheadings, rape, burning alive, and slaughter.

These boots tread through miles of desolation – the aftermath of thousands of terrorists and hundreds of so-called "civilians" perpetrating unspeakable acts against over a thousand innocent, peace-loving people. These vile rapists and murderers were the beneficiaries for years of those they heartlessly slaughtered. They were acquainted with so many of these good people, the very people they mercilessly killed. Several of these compassionate Israelis had welcomed these terrorists into their homes for years, offered them work opportunities, and tirelessly tried to help them lead a better life.

These boots ventured through charred remains, blood-soaked grounds, and homes, bomb shelters, and once-beloved personal spaces and belongings torn apart, covered in bullet holes, reduced to pieces and char – all obliterated by hours of relentless assaults by terrorists armed with thousands of machine guns, fire bombs, and RPGs. Weapons funded, in part, by American and European taxpayers, whose leaders for years knowingly funneled billions into a terror operation whose sole objective is eradicating Israel and every Jew from the map before extending their genocidal ambitions westward.

After coming back from our third trip to the massacre sites in the south,

@JordynTilchen

insisted on me wiping these boots down before stepping into our rental, but the weight of what they carried was too immense. I couldn't erase the traces of blood and death that clung to them. Instead, I brought them home with me wrapped in several bags. These boots hold more than just grime; they carry the echoes of unspeakable atrocities and the silent cries of hundreds and hundreds of innocent lives ruthlessly tortured and taken.

I've decided to give them a burial here, to acknowledge the horrors they tread through, the shattered communities and homes they traversed, and to honor the remains of the once-beautiful lives torn from existence that cling to them. As I do this, I promise to honor not only those brutally murdered and taken hostage, but also those who are risking everything to defend the rest of us. I promise to continue to do my best to not be consumed by what feels like a tsunami of hopelessness, but to pick myself back up and channel this endless grief and anger into meaningful action and resilience.

Eden Cohen ✡︎ עדן כהן

@edencohentweets

#Israel #October7 #Hamas Massacre #Operation Sword of Iron #HamasislSIS #BringThemHomeNow #BringThemAllHomeNow #HamasKidnappers

53 notes · View notes

futbol16 · 1 year

Text

Where’s Rio? • Barcelona Femení

I admit this is a bit late for a christmas fic, but I’ve only just gotten home today so please bear with me. Hope you like it!

Request: “Maybe for Rio story all the girls are getting ready to spend Christmas with their families and Rio is hiding the fact that she has no one to spend it with and didn’t want to burden the girls with her. She’s been a lot more quite and reserved during the holiday season as well. Around Christmas Eve all the girls contact each other and Alexia and Leah call each other unknowingly to check up on Rio and how she is finding Christmas with Alexia/Leah. When Leah asks Alexia, she’s like ‘How is Rio spending Christmas with the Putellas’ and Alexia is confused as she thought she was spending it with the Lionesses. With more contacts and team members confused as to where Rio is they find her bundled up, sad and exhausted on Christmas. Everyone feeling worse than ever, just Christmassy angst with fluff at the end”

Word count: 1,5k

The slight down turn of your lips during the last week before Christmas break had your team utterly confused. As far as they knew, Christmas was a holiday people looked forward to and they themselves were excited to get home to their families. At first they just thought you were tired after arriving from your last England camp but as the days passed and your smile failed to return they started to worry. Claudia and Jana had asked you about it before anyone else, they missed your cheerful behavior but you hadn’t given them an actual answer as you mustered up a smile.

When it’s the last training session of the year and your usual enthusiasm is missing, your best friend finally approaches you with concern written all over her face. The blonde pulls you into her side and although she doesn’t complain when you switch the position to hug her, she does note the tired sigh that leaves your lips. Still, even Mapi doesn’t get more than half sentences out of you and so she lets you relax in her arms for a little bit.

When Christmas eve rolls around and the Barca girls send their best wishes to each other, there’s one person who stays silent. Alexia stares at her phone, puzzled, as she scrolls through the messages in the group chat in search of your’s, only she’ll never find it because your phone is dead, sitting at the end of your coffee table. A frown makes its way onto her face, usually you were one of the firsts to reply to any messages. She doesn’t dwell on it for long though as she thinks about how much fun you probably were having with your national teammates, you needed it after the mood you seemed to be in all week.

It’s around 4pm when a rather unexpected caller ID appears on her phone screen and she excuses herself from her family to pick it up. It was fair of her to be anxious, the English girl only ever called her if there was an emergency regarding you and the last time that happened you were sitting in a hospital bed and she was asking for information on your wellbeing. She bites her nails as she picks up the phone.

“Hey, sorry to bother just checking in with Rio. How’s Christmas with the Putellas’?” Leah speaks into the phone and the smile in her voice is hard to miss, no doubt thinking of you dancing around the Christmas tree.

“What? Rio’s not here” Alexia’s voice wavers slightly as she feels the panic set in. “She said she’d be with your team”

“She was, she flew here for the three days last week. My mum almost begged her to stay with us but she said you guys were having a Christmas party.”

“We did but she wasn’t there. Leah, where's Rio? I haven’t heard from her and she’s been all quiet with us, what’s been going on?” the midfielder's voice gets louder as a hundred thoughts run through her head, Leah no doubt in the same state. Her sister glances back at her with a questioning look.

“Is Rio coming then?” Alba interrupts only to be left confused when her older sister shakes her head and goes back to biting her nails.

“She was fine last week, I don’t know what’s up. You think you could call her? She hasn’t been answering me.” Leah rambles on as she thinks of what could have happened to you.

“Same here, went straight to voicemail. Look, I’ll figure it out, okay? You go and enjoy your Christmas and I’ll update you?” the brunette thinks of a plan fast and after many promises of taking care of you and calling her as soon as possible, Leah finally says her goodbyes.

Alexia had been the only person you’ve told why you haven’t been doing your best and although you were reluctant to admit it, your captain had taken a very good guess at it and your expression betrayed you. It has said enough before you’ve even started explaining yourself. You didn’t want to go back to your mother’s house for Christmas despite the fact that you got along well with her new husband. Ever since your father’s death there’s been a tension between the two of you and arguing with your mother day in day out wasn’t how you wanted your break to go.

Upon hearing this, Alexia had invited you to her family’s Christmas and although her mother and sister were happy about it, you politely declined the offer claiming that you’d be with your English teammates. You didn’t want to be a bother.

You groan when your doorbell rings and you only pull the tighter blanket tighter around you as you ignore it. You stare off into space until the doorbell rings again followed by another ring and it keeps ringing until you’re pulling the door open with a huff. Your annoyed expression falters as you take a look at the girls standing on your porch and you stand there with your mouth opening and closing a few times until you find your voice, beyond surprised at their presence.

“What are you guys doing here? You’re supposed to be with your families.” you point out the obvious.

“You’ve been all sad recently so we decided we were gonna have Christmas with you” Aitana tells you with a shrug and you’re soon swept off your feet by your favorite goalkeeper. The girls enter your house and gently shut the door, waiting to get their own rounds of hugs from you, having missed them all week. You, however, cling to Sandra and bury your face in the crook of her neck, relishing in the bear hug. Your Spanish friends coo at the two of you but the soft smile on Alexia’s face is quickly washed off as you lift your head and wipe a few tears. You were wholly overwhelmed by the love and care your friends seemed to have for you. Everyone seems to move closer to you but your Barca captain is the one to reach out to you and she smooths the baby hairs out of your face.

“Come on bebé, let’s get you comfy” she nods her head towards the couch and Mapi and Leila immediately race off towards it and open their arms readily as they wait for you to be placed between them. You’re quick to curl into your best friends’ embrace and relax into the feeling.

Before you could even blink, Alexia, Patri and Bruna are off to your kitchen and you can hear the older woman helping the girls as they attempt to make enough hot chocolates for all of you. A hallmark movie is turned on but it soon becomes background noise as the rest of your friends pull out Christmas decorations, ones you didn’t even know you owned. For a while you stay with the two defenders and quietly talk to them as they try to lift your mood. Mapi and Leila grin at each other as they notice the small smile on your face and after a nice cup of hot chocolate, Alexia’s mum’s recipe, you’re up on your feet and helping the youngsters decorating the christmas tree.

During the evening you had been forced into an ugly christmas sweater and at one point Claudia and Jana had wrapped tinsel around you, laughing and taking pictures of their wonderful creation. They seemed to be more proud of that than the tree.

You climb onto Sandra’s shoulders and hold onto her hand tightly as you’re lifted into the air and she walks closer to the tree. With one hand still grasping hers, you reach out with the other one and carefully place the tree-topper on the decorated tree. The girls watch in anticipation as the star finally stands up on its own.

“Voilà!” you’re turned to them and you grin widely as the girls cheer like you’ve just scored a winning goal. Leila and Patri are probably yelling louder than anyone else and you laugh at their antics. The video that Alexia has taken is posted to her Instagram like the proud capitana she is and all the way back in England Leah feels like she can finally breathe fully again knowing that you were doing okay.

As the evening turns into night the girls settle in your living room with different blankets and pillows as another movie is turned on. You sit back between Leila and Mapi, soon joined by another member. Ona grins at you as she holds up the bag of mini marshmallows she brought and the two of you share it, occasionally attempting to catch them in your mouth’s as you goof around.

Eventually, your eyes slip shut and you drift off to dreamland with a smile on your face, your head laying on someone’s chest.

Alexia and Mapi quietly high five each other, careful to not wake up anyone as they celebrate their achievement of making you smile again.

#woso imagine #woso one shot #woso x reader #barca femení x reader #barca femeni x reader #futbol16

385 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 6 months

Text

"The Feathered Serpent's Daughter" Preview!

youtube

“Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water…”

Tyla – “Water”

Le Najo’ Ti’ le Kaano’.

That’s what her father’s private surface-dwelling home was called. The Serpent House. From the mouth of the snake-head looking entrance, and all through the serpentine winding of the connected caves that led to the warm waters at the heart of K’uk’ulkan’s earthly abode, Le Najo’ Ti’ le Kaano’ was Lewatle’s only connection to the land above Talokan.

As the eldest child of Namor and his Wakandan wife, Lebadi, Lewatle was the beginning of transformations in Talokan. The king of the Talokanil had produced another mutant with a human queen that ruled by his side.

The second and even more significant change had been her father’s numerous excursions to the surface world with his army, wrecking havoc and destroying humans who disturbed their tranquil waters. Lewatle’s curiosity about her human heritage grew. Her name was Wakandan, and she favored more of her mother’s physical traits as an African woman. Tightly coiled curls that became soft and bouncy in water delighted her father. Her round button nose, plump pouty lips and sultry eyes were her mother’s gifts. Her fiery tongue and truculent mannerisms came from the blood of K’ uk’ulkan entirely. It was probably why she butt heads with her father the older she became.

Lewatle sighed while standing in front of her mother’s black pearl-crusted mirror in the royal dressing room of their cave home. Her mother fussed with threading shark-tooth decorations on the braids she had made for the top half of Lewatle’s scalp that were scooped up into two afro-puffs.

“Why the sad look?” Lebadi asked, clasping a final jewel onto her daughter’s hair.

“Look at me,” Lewatle grumbled.

Queen Lebadi gazed at her daughter’s sad-faced reflection.

“I see my beautiful first born child. One who is about to go and become a lovely bridesmaid for her best friend.”

“Is that all?”

Lebadi touched Lewatle’s breathing mask and pressed her face cheek to cheek.

“What more is there to see?”

Lewatle flicked her hands down her body. The pale blue diaphanous huipil bridesmaid’s dress was held down at the hem by heavy deepsea clamstones to keep it from billowing too much below the surface.

“What?” Lebadi asked in confusion.

“Mother, you don’t see the problem?”

“No.”

Lewatle gave a frustrated sigh and stomped her bare feet on the soft earth.

“This is the fourth wedding I’ve been a bridesmaid for in the past two years. All of my friends are settling down, starting families of their own as adults. But here I stand, a grown woman at twenty and I still look like a fourteen-year-old…a teenager barely past puberty.”

“Most people would think that’s a blessing.”

“I’m not most people. My father is K’uk’ulkan, the great feathered serpent who has lived for five hundred years. I will probably look this way until I’m at least two hundred years old. Maybe by year three hundred I will look like a full adult.”

Lebadi held her index finger under her nose and laughed.

“This isn’t funny mother!”

The anguish in Lewatle’s voice brought a comforting hug from her mother.

“I’m sorry my sweet child. I forget how sensitive you are about it. I would love to keep you all young and innocent forever, but you must go on to live your own lives. It’s harder because you’re a mutant. Your friends grow older and you remain—”

“A baby.”

“That’s not true.”

“Father treats me like one.”

“No, your father treats you how he does because you choose to be petulant and disobedient.”

“Standing up for myself shouldn’t be seen as being disobedient. In the eyes of our laws, I was an adult two years ago. You both won’t let me live because my body makes you uncomfortable. Admit it. None of you can see past my slender frame, or my young face. I can’t even keep a boyfriend because everyone thinks it looks gross.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No…I was just sharing an example…never mind. None of you listen to my concerns.”

“That’s even more untrue.”

“No it’s not, Na’,” Lewatle said.

Lebadi lifted Lewatle’s chin with her adorned fingers. Whenever Lewatle used the royal informal Talokanil word for mother, Lebadi knew her daughter hurt.

“I feel for you. I truly do. I can never know how it feels to have my outside appearance not match my inside maturity. We know you’re grown but we choose to ignore it sometimes because your physical appearance tricks us into holding on to the illusion of childhood.”

“Could you speak to Yuum? He listens to you. I want to move to my own home outside of the Talokan palace.”

Lebadi’s face tensed.

“Yuum would never allow that. He wants all of his children to live with us until you all marry.”

“Na’, I can’t wait two hundred years until my breasts get bigger and I grow some fuller hips that’ll finally convince people that I’m not a child! You’ll be dead by then. Please talk to Yuum! You lived on your own at my age.”

“I went to university at your age in another city from my own. That’s different. I would’ve stayed with my parents if I went to school in my hometown.”

“So…you won’t speak to him?”

“If you went to school, he’d be more lenient.”

“I don’t want to go to school right now. I want to live on my own…explore…I have centuries to go to school.”

“Lewatle, you’re an heir. Your father agreed to give you another year of freedom, but he expects you to start university next year.”

Lebadi patted her shoulder.

“I suggest you go to the Talokan Templo Ka’anal. You could have your own dorm space not too far from the palace. I can visit you with the new submersible on free days there.”

“But Yuum would always be hovering nearby. If I go to school, I want to attend the Sayyil Templo Ka’anal —”

“Out of the question!”

Lewatle jumped and Lebadi stepped away from the mirror to look at the angry face of Namor.

“Yuum…I want to go someplace new.”

Lewatle lowered her eyes in the presence of her father.

Namor sauntered in wearing his blood-red cape that settled over his ceremonial battle armor. The tasseled metallic gold fringe at the bottom of the cape sparkled with the addition of hand-cut iridescent abalone shell beads. He strode closer to Lebadi and the fringe fluttered with an undulating motion that mimicked the movement of the sea.

His gold mantle gleamed on his chest and his hands rested on the thick jade and emerald belt carved with images of a feathered serpent. With his regal movement, the shoulder padding of the mantle resembled the articulating jaws of dragons whenever he moved his arms. The ruler’s graceful walk irritated Lewatle. She already knew he would shut down any talk of leaving the capital city. The serpent headdress with the lionfish plumage added a menacing quality to her father’s face. Ancient detailing in the gold and precious jewels reminded Lewatle that she too would be become ancient, like him.

It made her sad.

That sadness propelled her to act impulsive and wild at times. Her rashness perturbed her parents and deep down she knew that she acted that way to get under Namor’s skin. He claimed that she had reached her terrible twenties, the equivalent of a non-mutants terrible twos. In his eyes, she was still a toddler and would be treated as such.

Namor kissed Queen Lebadi’s cheek and admired the intricate powder blue face-paint and headwrap she adorned herself in. A heavy gold choker decorated with jewels only found at the deepest depths of the ocean covered her throat and upper chest. Her off-the-shoulder jade and cobalt blue royal dress blended the colors of Namor’s belt to create a complimentary look for his queen.

Lewatle waited patiently for her father to tend to her mother and hoped that she could slip away from his wrath. Her favorite older cousin, Namora, whom she treated more like an auntie, snuck into the entrance of the mirror room, hooking her fingers with a desperate beckoning motion. Lewatle’s winged ankles fluttered with quiet hummingbird speed and her body floated backward three inches off the ground in stealth mode. Namor caught her silent escape.

“Come here, daughter.”

Lewatle bunched her lips. Namora shrugged and crept away from the entrance, her loose orange tunic swooshing away leaving a soft draft of air behind. Lewatle floated humbly back toward her father with her head cast down.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She raised her eyes and Namor held out his hands to her. She planted her feet back on the earthen floor and clasped his fingers. He pulled her in for a warm embrace.

“Sayyil is not the best place to be at the moment,” he said.

“Only because you attack the surface dwellers in the north Atlantic. I want to see a different part of our empire, Yuum. If not Sayyil, then Calakmul…or maybe even Uxmal. Please, Yuum.”

She stressed “yuum”, the informal royal word for father and Namor kissed her forehead.

“One day soon you will fight by my side when needed, but until that day comes, your choices are to attend school in Talokan now…or live in the palace until you do decide to go to that university.”

“Or I could live here with mother all the time.”

Lebadi stroked the top of Lewatle’s head.

“You would grow bored here. Besides, all your friends are in Talokan,” Lebadi said.

Getting married and having babies. Moving on without me.

“We should get going. The submersible is ready to depart. Kaax and Acan want to ride in it with you,” Namor said to his wife.

Lewatle could already hear her two younger brothers whooping it up on their way to the submersible pool in the great hall. Five-year-old Kaax teased his three-year-old baby brother Acan and the distant echoing of their excited voices bounced off the cavern walls, their royal nannies scurrying after them. Lewatle’s mother touched the small swelling in her stomach hidden under the extra layer of fabric on her dress. The new baby wouldn’t come until the end of the year and the Talokanil midwives told Queen Lebadi she carried a girl for K’uk’ulkan.

Lewatle was happy for her mother and her younger siblings. They lived a content life in the wondrous cave system. None of her parent’s offspring breathed air, but they all adapted with the breathing masks and dual life above and below. Perhaps if they had more children closer to Lewatle’s age she wouldn’t feel so desperate to get away from her father’s control. For the longest time her parents thought she would be an only child, a lucky genetic gift that would never happen again. They tried a few more times to conceive without success until Kaax was born. Lebadi’s diet of Talokan food had changed her physically too. For a woman in her mid-forties, she still looked as young as she did when she first ran off with Namor. The vibranium rich sea plants kept her youthful and energetic. A royal doctor suggested that her slowed down aging would continue and this news pleased the king.

Lewatle didn’t know how the Queen Mother coped with spending twenty years separated from her own people. Wakanda was so far away, almost a fable in Lewatle’s mind. But she adored all the stories and vivid colorful images Lebadi painted on the walls and sketched in human art books that were pilfered from the small towns surrounding the entrance of Namor’s sanctuary. Lebadi spun tales, took care of her children, learned Spanish to help her husband spy on the local humans, and lived a pampered and spoiled life with Namor.

Lewatle wanted the life of her mother one day. Accepted that she would take over ruling all of Talokan when the day finally came for her father to pass on…if he ever did.

Life would be long.

But it wouldn’t be boring.

The young princess wanted to go to Wakanda and visit the land of her mother’s people. She had a plan to do it as soon as her father left to check on parts of the empire. While he was away, she would pretend to visit her friend who was about to be married in less than an hour. Queen Mother would believe her because she did it often enough in the past. Plus, Lebadi would be preoccupied with staying healthy for the new baby girl coming and looking after Kaax and Acan.

Namor usually stayed away for a week visiting a region of the other underwater cities every other month. Lewatle knew that the next planned trip occurred during Wakanda’s Mama Wati celebration. She grew up learning all about the festivities. She also had access to her mother’s old Mama Wati celebration dress. According to Lebadi, Wakandans spruced up in all kinds of costumes during that time, so wearing an underwater mask openly and mingling among the people would be easy. She’d wear her hair down to cover her ears. The wings on her feet would be covered by the dress.

One week in her mother’s homeland.

Lewatle perked up her face with a vivacious smile and grabbed her father’s hand.

“Come on Yuum! We don’t want to be late!” Lewatle said.

Namor grinned and Lewatle grabbed a hold of her mother’s hand too, pulling both parents toward the great hall.

The rest soon come!

#The Feathered Serpent's Daughter #namor fanfiction #Wakanda Forever Fanfiction #uzumaki rebellion #uzumaki rebellion writes #The Offering

31 notes · View notes

endlessly-cursed · 6 months

Text

A beautiful white owl flew to your windowsill, tapping against your window. You opened it, surprised to see an owl to your window at such time.

You notice the envelope: with red and blue, it has the Viscountess Primrose's symbol. Intrigued, you open it, careful not to ruin the rich and delicate material. It reads:

12th of November, 1900

My dearest friend,

If you are reading this, then you have been cordially invited to my annual Christmas Event! After last year's ball, much has happened. I am now a married woman, and with a little one on the way.

But I am not about to dwell on the past! I shall expect you at my estate's gates at 6:30pm sharp. I shall list besides what events to expect.

Have a good day! I hope to see you there.

Cordially,

Lady Primrose Somerset, Viscountess of Winbourne and Countess of Harrendale.

I. The Story

It is said that, every two hundred years, the moon eclipses the sun and the earth is engulfed in a waning white moon, a winter solstice that represents good fortune to those who have been kind and giving to their loved ones, and a lifetime of tragedy to those who have sinned shamelessly.

Primrose, though not superstitious, is a tad worried about the effects, for the last Somerset to have witnessed such solstice, Maria Elisabeth Somerset, had ended up catching a deadly illness, and would die disgraced in a duel a few years later, as a punishment for having usurped Winbourne's position to her cousin.

Now with a baby on the way, and recently married, she's doing everything she can to earn the favour of the solstice so she may be rewarded with good fortune. Hopefully, Christmastime is a time of miracles.

II. The Prompts

4th of December- Back at Winbourne

You're back at Winbourne for Christmas! Either relish in the hundreds years old manor, or reminisce your past years in the ball! Don't forget to congratulate the newlyweds...

5th of December- The Welcome Ball III

The ball has begun! Will you be the belle of the ball, or lurk in a corner, pining for you unattending loved one?

6th of December- Cocktail Party in the Gazebo

Lady Primrose has renovated her gazebo for the afternoon! It is a perfect time to catch up with the hostess and your friends! There is also a legend that whoever proposes at midnight will swoop their beau off their feet...

7th of December- Croquet On Snow

The game is on! Will you beat the invincible viscountess, or will she dunk you to the ground?

8th of December- Archery Shooting

Since the viscountess' delicate condition won't allow her to host a grouse shooting, she instead has for you an archery contest. Will your aim be true...or will someone else steal your shot and more?

9th of December- The Winter Masquerade

The solstice is here! Dress up as a socialite from the 1710s and try not to mix up the hostess with somebody...or worse, your beau!

10th of December- It's Beginning To Look Like Christmas

Your time in Winbourne is up! Bid your beau farewell for the holidays, or don't! Don't forget to thank the hostesses for their hospitality!

III. Main Rules

No NSFW please! Keep things either PG or SFW, this is Xmas

RSVP before December 1st! Write your letter of acceptance for the weekend in any way you'd like. The moment the clock strikes 12, the RSVP will be closed. You may add four OCs of your choice, no more, no less

Once you've RSVP'd, at least one post is mandatory on the event, it doesn't matter what day

Try to follow the narrative! The solstice is supposed to either give good or bad luck. Create a story of your OCs around that

Tag me in your posts!!!!! I want to see them all, no matter what are they

Tag your posts as #wwtgsolstice23

I won't accept people who I've blocked, go away geez

If I don't tag you, then you can claim an RSVP in my asks and DMs

IV. Taglist

@gaygryffindorgal @potionboy3 @hphmmatthewluther @nicos-oc-hell @camillejeaneshphm @cursedvaultss @cursed-herbalist @cursedlegacies @foundersofhogwartslegacy @unfortunate-arrow @catohphm @cursebreakerfarrier @that-scouse-wizard

#weekend with the grays: winter solstice #wwtgsolstice23 #hphl #hogwarts legacy #hp victorian era #oc: primrose gray #weekend with the grays #my events

20 notes · View notes

arctrooper69 · 2 years

Text

The Hands of Father Time

50 years is a long time. Kix searches for peace and closure.

A/N: Poor Kix. I don't know why I do this to him. He doesn't deserve it. I'm so sorry. I swear I'll write a happy one next time.

Warnings: PostStasis!Kix. Angst. Sad memories.

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

There's an old woman here who sits by the forest. She usually keeps to herself - silent as she meditates. If you take the time to listen, she'll tell you her story - how she fought beside some of the bravest men she's ever met. She smiles when she tells you about them, but it's always bittersweet. When one war ended, she bravely fought another when all she wanted to do was lie down and die. There's a longing in her eyes, gazing ahead at someone no one else can see. At dusk, she returns home only to come back at sunrise to sit once more in meditation.

She has nightmares sometimes. I've heard her crying in her sleep. It's always names. Jesse. Kix. Hardcase. I'm not sure who they are but I can tell she loves them. Or loved them. They're all dead now, I think. She misses them. Sometimes, when she thinks she's alone, I hear her whisper to them. She apologizes; begs for their forgiveness.

She's hurting inside. Even when she's awake, she still sees ghosts. They follow her around and steal her breath away when she dwells there too long. She watches them die again and again when she closes her eyes. That's why she's so angry. She's so sad and so scared, and so alone. Through the Force she tries hard to find peace, but it doesn't come. Go to her. Find her and she will find peace.

**********************************************

50 years is a long time. Kix sits in the back of a bar on a planet he's never been to before, holding the letter that he's read again and again.

But some things never change. Lights dance over the walls while rowdy patrons move to the music with a beat that Kix can feel in his bones.

"You seem lonely." A blue skinned Twi-lek saunters up to him, running her fingers lightly down his arm. "I can help with that." She winks at him, leaning so close that he can smell her perfume. Her outfit clings to every curve, accentuating every asset. Kix lets his eyes linger only for a moment before he shakes his head, politely dismissing her. She huffs and stalks away. "Your loss, handsome."

Kix leans back into his booth, closing his eyes. If he stayed here too long, he'd see Fives over at the bar, chatting up a pretty girl. He'd see Echo sitting not far behind, egging his brother on with a grin, all the while keeping an ever vigilant eye on his back. Blinking through the haze, Kix's eyes imagine Jesse challenging him to a game of whatever he and Hardcase decided to play that night. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear their voices.

This is too much. The noise. The lights. The thumping base that rattles his bones. The memories. But they're all long dead. You're too late.

Though he hasn't had a drink, Kix stumbles outside into the alleyway gasping for breath. He slides down the wall as his legs give way. The tears come heavy and hot. His breaths come faster and faster until his face goes numb, lungs aching for reprieve.

**********************************************

Fifty years is a long time. Kix slowly steps from his speeder. He'd been longing for answers but now he's afraid of what he might find.

A woman sits on a bench overlooking a neverending forest. Her silver hair blows gentle and free with every airy breeze. She knows that he's here simply by the beating of his heart and by the longing in his soul. Fifty years is a long time.

"I've missed you, Kix." Her voice is deeper than he remembers. He can't respond; his body won't let him. "I've missed you so much."

Yes, it was still her voice. Older, matured with age and wiser by experience, but still her voice. Even after a hundred years Kix would know that voice.

"I..." The tears came again, catching him by surprise. He sat down beside her, gently grasping her hands - now spotted and fragile with age. He held her close to his side. "I'm here now, Mesh'la. I'm here."

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

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

167 notes · View notes

sherbet-shark · 9 months

Text

|〘 ⋇ Content Warnings: 〙This fic is riddled with personal HCS about Yona’s vague home and herself and her relationship with her attendants. This fic has light spoilers from both, BOTW and TOTK Zora Quest line, and general totk. |

|〘 ⋇ 〙 Summary: Yona’s devotion and love for her new home and husband knew no bounds; the pair had been childhood friends but are now being thrust into an arranged marriage. Was it all too fast? The young queen dwells on her doubts, amplified by cruel words.|

|〘 ⋇ 〙 A/N: Hey guys, I’m sorry for dropping out of the plane of existence, I got really busy, stressed and burnt out from writing, school and irl. This is my first Canon x Canon fic ever and I am so freaking proud of it. I cannot wrap my head around this fic being 5.2k words at all, like 😳 jfc. Also!! YONA lovers unite!! She’s very cute and sweet I hope I did our girl justice. Pspsp @enigmaticfossil FOOD. This should go without saying but if you don’t like this couple scroll past. |

"The Zora Domain was once again saved from tragedy by your heroic Swordsman and our beloved King Sidon… I wonder what you might have said seeing your brother and him fighting side by side. While most unproductive, I cannot help that my mind often strays to what could've been, Lady Mipha."

Yona's words swell with bittersweet wonder as she wistfully sighs and peers at the Champion's memorial. Yona's speckled amber eyes searched the tranquil statue's face. What for? She didn't even honestly know herself. Perhaps a sense of relief, or Yona wanted a sign that their demure Champion was watching her brother thrive. What would Yona's childhood hero have said to their union? So many questions that would stay unanswered, the foreign Zora concluded. Her mind wandered to her dear husband, the stars to her night sky.

Despite his unending enthusiasm and carefree air, the Queen knew her husband well to know there was so much more lurking underneath his energetic and hopeful personality. From the outside, it seemed even fear allured him. If only they knew it was the very opposite. Sidon was and still is profoundly affected by his sister's tragic passing, more to say, the fear it caused. Who would blame him for his fear? One hundred years were a blink of an eye for the Zora. Yet time did not heal all. The emptiness in everyone's hearts still aches, just not as much anymore. Everyone can say her name and recount their memory of Mipha with a smile, but her presence would still be longed for.

Finally, Sidon resumed his monthly visits to Mipha's Court, something he hadn't done in a while, even prior to his fight with Ganon. It may be silly for some to speak with a figurine. But this simple action always made Zora fondly smile, recalling days when Mipha would always listen with kind words and a warm aura as she always did before her death.

At the Champion's memorial, Yona recalls an instant from their shared childhood when heavy rains poured down a river they played next to. The torrential downpour rose above the bank, capturing the tiny crimson-screaming prince down the waterway. The foreign Zora was the first to swim after him, willing her smaller verdant fins to move her faster. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached her fellow royal. The current lashed the young children, but undeterred, Yona carried him into a small cape. A moment of peace after a hurricane of freight, the water continued to thunder behind them. The tiny child tried to calm the quivering Sidon in her arms while attempting to mend a wounded foot of her own. Then, as all hope seemed lost, frenzied cries welcomed the duo as a frazzled Mipha and royal guards caught up quickly. Mipha soothed their cries, touching their cheeks and promptly healing any injuries.

"My Queen, it's well past the early evening hours. We wouldn't want the subjects, least of all His Majesty, to worry about your disappearance." Webbed footsteps lightly tread behind the Queen as Khira stirs the royal to the present, her voice woven in respectful concern for Yona. Her attendants always stayed close to each other and their Lady out of duty and fondness for each other's company.

Even if Chroma's youthful airheadedness got on the latter's nerves, it was still a comfort brought to the Domain.

Their homeland was nearly unattainable to those who couldn't breathe and tread water as swiftly as the aquatic race. In contrast, Zora's Domain flourished to the elements. While New Bay seldom had hazardous weather. Their home had air pocket caverns filled with seashell shops nestled deep into the sea's safe tides and swaying colors, hidden from the land and its residence—a true secret treasure amongst the merpeople.

"Yes, yes. Of course, I wouldn't wish for Sidon to worry. My apologies to you both. It is late, Chroma, Khira. You did not have to accompany me to the Court. No monsters have dared step foot after that Sludge Like." Yona turns, smiling at her loyal, protective attendants. Her golden headpiece jewelry gingerly clinks as she steps down the stairs; verdant hands glide down the polished handrails. The Caregiver knew full well her guards knew their way around the weapons and their water magic, but still, she felt bad for her friends staying with her so long. Yona was no stranger to marksmanship or training herself in purifying wounds and tainted water.

"Please don't worry about it, Lady Yona! We like looking after you; you're our friend, plus his Majesty asked- Ow!" The youngest Zora cheerfully bubbles, and the older guard swiftly jabs her. The new Queen tilts her head, sighing to herself. Even now, Sidon's still quite protective, isn't he? But still, a loving gesture all the same that makes her heart flutter and cheeks warm.

"Hush you! Do you not know when to flap your lips and when not to? On that note as well, how many times must I lecture you? It is Queen Yona, no longer 'Lady.' Have you no respect or idea of the importance of these titles? My goodness, do my words fall on deaf ears?" Exasperated, Khira shakes her head while glaring at her fellow attendant. The trio starts their short journey home as Yona's muffled laughter spills from her lips, watching her dear friend's antics. The young women stare down the waterfall leading down Lulu Lake.

"Please, be nice. Any more of your reprimands, and I'll go deaf." Squeaks the distraught retainer, dark gray eyes pleading to their Queen for help as they descend through the waters.

Even from an immense height, the radiant city's glow softens the carved-out cliffs, and the bright ore deposits dot the wet landscape, becoming a beacon of beauty and splendor. The sun's wonderous warmth far retreated past the Domain's reach, a touch of cold breezes caressing Yona's skin. Coming to the halfway mark, the Caregiver answers her friend's silent pleas. Standing before the marbled platform, the Zora Queen shifts her attention to her bickering friend.

"Khira, come now, I believe that's enough, we wouldn't wish any harm, and it is only the three of us. You can indeed allow one moment of reprieve. I need not worry about titles, my precious friends." Yona coaxes her friend's long-winded lectures, seeing the elder Zora sigh in defeat and allowing this rare moment of informality, much like the old times. Marching down, Khira and Chroma flank their Queen's side, scanning every direction for any monster or Yiga sneak attack. The clansmen weren't interested in the Zora royal line, but being cautious with the newly crowned royalty never hurt.

Their serenity shatters as a high-pitched undignified whine carries through, cutting into the air as they swim down the final waterfall. The young guards perk up and quickly unsheath their weapons, pushing their Queen further near the falls, providing a swift escape. "Your Majesty, Chroma, stay here. I'll go investigate." A hushed command tumbles from the dark dolphin Zora's lips, eyes narrowing and head tucked down for intimidation.

The royal guard crawls out of the pool, spotting a cluster of thick foliage suitable for an ambush. Rushing to the forest green bushes, Khira ducks down to spy on the ruckus while Chroma guards Yona with her spear, guiding her safely away from the unseen danger. The new ruler braces herself, summoning water to snake around her sharp claws.

"I can't believe Sidon's married already! Come on. He's hitched to some random Zora girl we've never heard of? It doesn't sound like a union from love, y'know? And that, too, he doesn't talk much about her. I don't know; it sounds so fishy. That wasn't supposed to be a pun, by the way." A brown-haired Hylian woman clad in some strange mushroom hat walks into sight, and it seems she isn't alone. The woman's other companions stroll by, a pair of other Hylians complain, and another person in glasses fiddles with their leather satchel.

This group seems relatively young while they remain unabashed, glad to blabber, Khira thinks. Anger wells up in her as the group's voices had no intention of stopping with their ill-meaning talk. She knows that Yona could hear this noise. How could she not? Even a Bokoblin would understand their mad rambles.

"Well, I mean, Khole, we don't know much about Zora's politics, so I don't know if it may be an arranged loveless wedding," The glasses wearing sheepishly, state as they twiddle with short brown hair looking back at their friends. It seems this group was returning from visiting the East Reservoir.

"Amia, you're talking as if we know about our own. After all, our Princess had up and disappeared. Only Hylia knows where she is. Of course, she's nice, but if she were our Princess, she would try to reinstate the crown rather than twiddle around in Hateno. We've been in shambles for a hundred years, and only now are we starting to come back. If my great-grandparents could see how this panned out, they'd give Zelda a big lesson about responsibility. I know they lived on the outskirts of Castle Town. They saw she didn't put her all into protecting us from the Calamity." Another crude voice cuts into the cloud of gossip, and the tallest of the group groans. This one must be Khloe, according to them.

"Khloe, that's not nice. She does some things like building the school. I appreciate that, and even the fact she's somehow alive makes the older and more devout folks more invigorated." The shortest man answers the group, trying to reel in their chat, eyes darting around the wandering travelers.

"I like that she made the school too, but that's all our Princess does; twiddle around, now poof! She's gone along with her silent little knight throwing everyone in all corners of Hyrule for a loop," The mushroom-wearing Khole snorts, not taking the hint and wrapping her arm around the small man.

"Besides, there's only so much teaching can do if they don't know how to fight; you're dead. But I don't even know if this royal has done anything substantial to this, 'Zora Queen.' She appeared out of nowhere too, and I heard the women who had their little fan club are still reeling." Yona has had enough of this slander, slashing into the dancing streams around her hands, instantly dropping into the tide. The young Queen knew their last statement wasn’t true in the slightest, reminiscing the many moments the club members loudly fawned over her and the coupling.

The Zora, as she evades Chroma's eased guard, at brazen conversation in their Domain where these Hylians should be more mindful. These ignorant speculations about their Princess; they didn't see how Zelda collapsed to her knees, too choked on her grief to properly beg forgiveness from former King Dorephan and the royal line. When she emerged from the ruins of Hyrule Castle alongside Link, they didn't see the solemn strength and wisdom that welled behind those teary eyes, renewing her vow of protecting everyone no matter the cost.

But what pained her more was that, deep down, their prodding at the royal coupling hit a sore spot in her heart. The optimistic prince and herself had no say in their engagement. Of course, they had visited each other's kingdoms as young teens. Her heart never wavered in her affections for him and his people, but she often wondered what he felt when King Dorephan told him. The royals scarcely had time to talk and be with each other in private, away from others, along with helping the ill-stricken Zora from the sludge, repairing the Domain and Sidon becoming the Water Sage, and finally helping Link defeat Ganon.

Years after the Calamity and its sting aftermath, they grew dearly fond of each other. He changed, his glowing with unending enthusiasm and the occasional naivete all genuine. But he seemed to hide his deeper emotions from the public, even with his dear father. Either for fear that it would make him seem inexperienced or because he wished to truly earn the crown, Sidon's grown used to hiding his whole heart even now. Yona hoped she'd prove herself to him and eventually be blessed to reach those parts of his soul, knowing he was safe with her.

They've had many conversations about their situation and the future after Link helped Sidon slay the beast that floats in the sky. But old habits formed from grief and feeling inadequate die hard. The King still hides from the outside, so much so that he loathes to admit it. After the kingdom's announcement, she doubted if he truly loved her the same way as she did him as the century passed and their visits grew prevalent. Throughout their youth, they eventually graced each other with the title of a beloved friend.

Did his heart worry for her out of genuine care or for appearances or necessity? Did he yearn to have her beside him as his bride, Queen, and equal because he loved her? Would there be a day that Sidon would smile and proudly show his love to the world like Mei and Fronk?

Yona understood betrothal gifts were essential to the Hyrulean Zora culture, but she wasn't taught that way. Only learning how to mend the armor from other fish scales, her people learned a sacred courtship dance to show their interest. Yona summons her rapid heartbeat to the clearing out of the pooling water, allowing them to see her. Chroma whispers for Yona to stay but emerges from the pool trailing her Lady.

"Enough of your useless babble," The zealous guard seethes, lunging at the group from the overgrown shrubs. Jumping out of their skin, the rowdy quartet leap into each other's arms. They shudder like leaves, eyes firmly screwing closed, far too absorbed in their well-being.

The Zora spear inches away from the supposed root of all this meaningless noise, "You have shown an inexplicable disrespect and regard for both your Princess and our Queen. Your prattle proves nothing among you and your ilk. Your eyes will never see the true nature of these critical figures, and perhaps that is not your desire," Khira grits her sharpened teeth, even the air around them stilled in anticipation.

The grip on her spear tightens with every passing breath as the group hesitantly opens their eyes. The spear aimed at the frightened woman pulls back, and the guard's posture loosens, showing a reluctant sign of mercy and growling while pulling her weapon back. "But I will allow you this grace as well as one warning. You will not sully any of the royal's names here—especially Queen Yona. One would think that Princess Zelda's diplomatic nature would pass for all her subjects. Consider yourselves lucky. I want to avoid pushing more work on their Majesties, so relieving the burden of taking your tongues is out of the realm of possibility."

"Khira! Enough! Stand down." Yona calls out to her fearless attendant; in her mind, she notes how uncharacteristically aggressive the Zora woman is and how strange it is to see her threaten visitors. The Hylians take shaky steps back, looking at the emerging figure. Startled gasps erupt as the attendant glances over her shoulder. Faltering in her angered resolve, seeing the smaller Zora's displeased face. Lifting the sharp spear away, the Caregiver walks in front so the visitors can see her, bowing her head to the cluster of people as they stay silent. The royal could feel their pensive eyes staring into her as if trying to figure her out by tearing her apart.

"I sincerely apologize for my attendant; this is the first time I've seen her act out in such an unsightly manner. This will not go unreprimanded, while this flagrant threat does not deserve quick forgiveness. Please do not think lowly of us. I seem to have pushed my guard to the brink of exhaustion, so much so that one believes violence would be the answer if I can do anything to appease you. You need only ask, and I will do it. But know that I am Queen Yona." The Queen steadies her breath as she lifts her head, jewelry gently clinking. Scanning their faces, Yona watches the group hastily cover their jabber. However, their words have done their damage making Yona feel miserable but still overwhelmingly riddled with uncertainty.

"O-oh, no, no, no, we're sorry. Uh, you don't need to do that. It was immature of us to talk like that. Sorry, you heard that, but you seem nice, but we're just going to go."

The group leader nervously chirps up as she eyes the serious Khira. Another ally of Khloe's speaks up, nodding and clinging to each other's arms. "Thanks for not hurting us. Bye." Making their escape, crossing the connecting bride to the city. Yona's forlorn eyes linger on their retreating forms.

"What was that? That wasn't an apology at all! And Khira, what in the world got into you." Chroma scoffs as she perches her weapon on her back, eyes frantically scanning her two friend's faces trying to understand them. The younger guard pouts to herself and quietly mutters, "And you always get after me for not bringing shame to the Zora name..."

Despite the rowdy crowd's departure, the young women felt the air thick with tension. Meekness gnaws at Khira as she ducks her head down, too ashamed of her reckless actions and making Yona speak for her. She would indeed badger the younger guard, but to think she would act so brutishly was beyond hypocritical.

"I am profoundly ashamed that you had to see that, your Majesty. But saying I feel guilty for silencing their larks would be a lie. I will not tolerate such belligerence towards you and things they don’t wish to comprehend." The Zora grits her teeth, spitting out a response, rising to look at her liege's back. The young woman partially turns, sapphire flecks eyes glance at her taller lady-in-waiting, Yona dutifully declares.

"Allowing emotions to cloud and open the way to conflict isn't like you, and I understand your reasoning. I find myself appreciating the wild gesture, but I will not tolerate any of your outbursts. Lest you want to stay in my service, being the head of state, is to preserve the peace to all that come and go from Zora's Domain, even to those without respect. We must rise above and show kindness," Light Green's side fins sway as she shakes her head. Yona's hand waved for Chroma and Khira to follow suit. She swallows the biting taste in her mouth, cupping her hands before her chest. She absentmindedly picked at her claws; the sound of clicks enveloped the girls as they fell in line, resuming their protective flank. Exchanging worried looks between each other.

"This should go without saying, but please don't tell Sidon. He's been busy, returning from his valiant battle alongside the other sages protecting the land and handling a kingdom. Something so small should not plague his mind. I'm certain I will forget this soon enough." Yona sharply inhales as she tries to lift her spirits, but her words drip despondence. Her heart twists in painful knots, knowing she's going back on her promise of being truthful and open to her love.

"We won't breathe a word." The duo candidly answer as they make their way across the pristine bridge. While a robust familiar figure happily waves in the distance, welcoming them blissfully unaware of what occurred.

The sinking feeling did, indeed, not disappear from Yona's mind. Their words echo in her head, and the festering sense of inadequacy and insecurity lurks in the corners of her mind. It had been a few days since her encounter, and she knew allowing such heated words to get to her was folly. Yona couldn't help her mind slipping into the depths of her doubt. Even to the point, her melancholic air alarmed the elderly councilmen and Exalted Dorephan. The new Queen lacked her signature sweet nature, replacing her charming aura with an absent mind.

While busy creating safe pathways and removing the debris strewn along the narrowing passage from the mainland to their Domain. Sidon grew worried for his Yona. It's been hard not to notice his citizens concerning whispers about her well-being circled the Domain, and his dearest barely stayed by his side after she visited Mipha Court. She seemed off-put and fidgety whenever he was near her. Even the little ones seemed fretful with Yona's unusual behavior, and her attendants acted peculiar, seemingly hiding something.

The warm afternoon sun beams down on Zora's Domain, an occasional breeze passing through his magnificent home. It's almost ironic that the weather contrasts the new King's worrisome thoughts.

"Naydra's eyes, What am I missing?" Sidon mutters, standing before the pristine balcony overseeing the Domain. His sharp eyes longingly linger on Zora's soft green form, watching her speaking with the fisherman, Mei. He was beyond glad the forgetful citizen returned from the Floating Fish Island. Admittedly busy, ensuring his best soldiers to Lookout Landing returned, Sidon remains steadfast in giving his people protection and grace as those before him. He was dutiful in looking after his people's well-being.

So many things happened in a whirlwind of events; first, it was the Upheaval, then the vile sludge desecrating his home, and finally, his unexpected coronation and marriage to his beloved, then assisting Link in his fight against Ganon. The royal Zora ponders if it was as overwhelming to her as it was for him. The young King certainly has no regrets, but the stress of it all tends to invade his mind even when the epic battle has ended.

Rambunctious giggles erupt from below, stirring him from his daze. His sharp eyes flicker between Mei waving to the young King and his darling Queen, now turned up to see him. A magnetic force pulled their eyes to meet, and he could feel his heart stop, breath hitch in his throat when a ghost of a bashful smile graced Yona's lips. Her golden adornments shine, accentuating her beautiful features. His cheeks flushed against his cold skin, and a heart-stopping smile painted his face. It could be only them in the world.

The moment broke too soon for his liking as Yona shyly averted her gaze. It looked like the floor was more enticing to her now; soft laughter rolled from him, uncaring of the whispered swoons and muttering about young love. Unable to tear his gaze away from Yona as the giggling fisherman bows and parts from the royal Zora. Nodding to something Mei told her, the young woman walks the stairs. Sidon's eyes follow her each step, and soon she stands by his side, making the void of her absence the past few weeks far more prominent than before.

"May we speak in private?" Yona's soft, tantalizing voice asks, her eyes peering up at him with sorrow and meekness clouding her usually cheerful aura. Sidon observes her expression, questioning what caused her heart such sadness.

Nodding to her request, he pauses, thinking of places for a private conversation. He knew the open grandeur of the Domain wasn't much for a solitary chat, so they had to travel somewhere close in case a danger arose but far enough so no curious ear listened. Coming to a solution, the crimson Zora answers, nodding to his Yona. "Of course, I'll have the guards notify my father if they need us."

The couple stroll beside each other to young Zora guarding the stairs to the Throne room. "If anything arises from my absence, find Queen Yona and I atop the Veiled Falls. Please tell the Exalt, thank you." Sidon instructs, giving them a polite smile and watching the faithful sentries obediently comply. In the corner of his peripheral vision, he hears the young woman's gasp. Yona’s eyes widen slightly at his chosen place.

"Now, shall we depart, Yona?" Sidon looks to his side. She doesn't meet his gaze but nods all the same. 'Still absorbed in her thoughts. I wish to know what's plaguing you so, my love.' The perplexed Zora thinks to himself, making their short journey to the Falls.

The two sit on the edge of the Veiled Falls. Sidon surveys the landscape before them, the glistening architecture proudly towering as his head turns. An overwhelming sense of pride and wonder swirls in him, overlooking his gorgeous home. The loud water tirelessly tumbles down the Falls, creating white noise and protecting them from potential eyes and ears, allowing them to speak as they please. The extroverted man feels the atmosphere melt away into a reflective air. His sweet empathic nature shines through, but so does a familiar nervousness, worrying he may say something unintentionally unkind. It's truly a marvel how Yona's mere presence reduced him to his shyer, composed side like they were still children.

"I know that I have been busy and thus haven't been with you by becoming crowned king, but it doesn't allow me to negate my husbandry duties… Now love, what plagues you so?" He tenderly questions his wife, seeing her steady her breath, and comes to terms with whatever tortured her.

"My King," Yona starts to wonder aloud, trying to gather the scramble of words in her mind. Her hands are cupping each other in her lap tense, and her shoulders tighten. While Sidon's brow furrows, she never addressed him formally like that before, not even when they were little ones. "I find myself wondering, has our union been too hasty? Am I truly the one you want besides you? Surely someone far more courageous would be a better match." Concern coupled with mere shock overtook him. His eyes widened, looking at her words. He desperately wants to cut her off and ask her, but he holds his tongue, wanting her to feel safe with him. 'Where in the world did this come from?'

"Those days ago, my attendants and I came across a group of people that brought up the validity of our union. I know it's foolish to listen, and in hindsight, it’s minuscule compared to the intrepid battle you returned from only months ago, but I want to be truthful about it." The woman explains. Yona stops turning to look at him. Vulnerability is etched on her face as he patiently waits for her sign to speak.

"If this has made you worry for this long, it’s no small deal. So that's what you've been dwelling on. Do you doubt my feelings?" He politely utters out, the sick tightening in his chest as he waits in anticipation of her answer. Yona says nothing, in silent agreement. She scolds herself for hurting him so much as he rises from his spot, holding his crimson hand for her. The young woman reaches for him as they stand together.

"You recall the importance of this place, yes? This was the last time I saw my sister alive. Days after, we came to mourn after being informed about my sister being trapped in Ruta. I ran to this place to drown in my tears, where no one could hear me. My desperate attempts to swim upstream, this mighty Fall, fell flat. Then miraculously, you came. You found me in the pool,"

"Crying together in each other's arms, I remember. I asked where you were, and I found you here trying to hide." Sidon's large hands engulf Yona's as she jumps in. The young woman knowing this story well, caressing her thumbs around his palms.

"Yes. At that moment, I saw someone I could call a friend. I discovered someone who could see all of me without fearing judgment. Someone that looked at the depths of my sadness and allowed me to grieve unashamed. Someone that I could share my accomplishments with. We were arranged to marry, but I was elated when my father informed me. I could not imagine anyone else by my side. You've continued to be a beloved companion. I fell in love with your compassionate, intelligent, selfless nature. Your ability to know what's troubled me among countless others made me want to return the favor tenfold," Sidon tenderly divulged, finally noticing Yona meet his eye.

The pure warm adoration in his remarks left the doubtful royal speechless. Strings of wispy white clouds pass overhead, shading the two. "I want to continue growing alongside you as the years pass. I want you to know that I will always love you. You, Yona, Are the only one I want to have on my side. I love you with all my heart." Sidon slips his hand away and brushes underneath her side fins, cupping her cheek and stroking her face as if trying to dispel all her worries from her mind. The smaller Zora nuzzles into his calloused hard-working hand, feeling at peace now unyielding to keep her gaze away from his steady eyes.

"I-I should not have allowed a stranger's words to cause such dismay. I'm sorry for doubting your devotion," She pauses, golden eyes fluttering closed, smooshing her cheek into his hand, angry at herself for significantly impacting how she acted towards him and those in the Domain.

"Will you forgive me?" Shame and relief wash over her, watching Sidon nod at her inquiry. His arm snakes around her waist while tugging her close to his chest. She hears the rapid pounding of his heart, feeling tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Willing them away momentarily, she peels from his broad chest, tugging at the gleaming silver prince his chest piece down.

Standing on her tippy toes, Yona wraps her arms around him, leaning into him while Sidon's finned arms securely encase her body in his. They share a sweet moment, their eyes slowly shut, and their lips collide in a kiss. Sparks fly across the two as Sidon deepens the kiss leaning toward her soft lips, wishing to melt into her touch. Quicken groans and gasps escape their lips, and hot puffs of air roll onto their mouths as they kiss again. It felt like gravity pulled them together again, as if it was torture to stay apart for even the air.

Savoring the taste of salt on their tongues, their lungs burn, taunting them to breathe momentarily. Begrudgingly, Yona pulled away. First, labored rasps heave from her petite frame, now noticing that Sidon lifted her from the ground pressing her close to his chest and sitting in his arms. The loud drumming of their hearts pounds in their ears as they silently look at each other. The noisy waterfall downs out their unsteady breaths as they slowly feel a smile perk on their warm faces.

"That wasn't an answer, my love." Mischievously scolding her loyal husband, Yona laughs to herself as he feigns cluelessness. She doesn't want to let go, reveling in his arms and in the love he gave her. "It wasn't? Well, I might need more time to convince you then." Sidon releases a husky chuckle, his voice a tinge of playfulness and desire, his eyes crinkling as his charming smile shines down at Yona, bringing her close again to steal another kiss.

Tagging: @hey-its-cweepy, @millybesippin, @twistthenoches @luvielle @millybesippin @rrasado @cxlemon

#sidon x yona #tears of the kindom spoilers #Queen Yona #king sidon #prince sidon #loz totk #sherbet writes #botw mipha #legend of Zelda #botw

33 notes · View notes