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lizthewriter · 6 months

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like snow on the beach / theodore nott

PAIRING theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader

SUMMARY christmas is your absolute favorite time of the year! the tree, the lights, the music, the food . . . however, to you, the most important thing about christmas is spending it with your loved ones.

your world falls apart when you find out you can't go home for the holidays. you're stuck at hogwarts with a bunch of stuffy professors and zero loved ones. however, you make an unlikely friend who also happens to be stuck at hogwarts for the holidays . . . and you find out he despises christmas. you make it your mission to prove him wrong.

TAGS theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader, christmas, holiday cheer, the power of belief, reader loves christmas, this is soooo dash and lily coded, inspired by dash & lily's book of dares, grumpy!theodore nott, simp!theodore nott, i'm a slut for pathetic men 😩

QUOTE "i've never seen someone so lit from within, / blurring out my periphery, / my smile is like i won a contest, / and to hide that would be so dishonest," - snow on the beach by taylor swift, featuring lana del rey

WORD COUNT 5.7K

WRITTEN 12.4.2023

You shoved your hands in your pockets - despite the fact that you were wearing gloves in this freezing weather, you could still feel the harsh wind nipping at your skin. Here you stood at Hogsmeade station, your friends boarding the train as you watched in discontent. They were all going home for the holidays this year, but you were going to be stuck at Hogwarts. No Christmas tree, no baking gingerbread cookies, no sipping on hot chocolate while snuggled in a warm blanket, no watching holiday movies. Just the freezing cold and your own company.

You plastered a grin on your face when the train began to move and waved to your friends. They bid you their last goodbye from their compartment window. Once the train disappeared from your sight, you trudged your way back up the path to Hogwarts. Well, the sight of the castle was beautiful, in the very least. You could see snow capping the towers and covering the shingles. But even then, it was just another reminder that you were here and not there, at home, with your family. There was only one thing to cheer you up.

"Afternoon Madame Pince," you greeted softly as you walked into the library. She sent you a stiff nod in return. While she didn't really like anyone in paticular, she was at least kinder to you than other students.

You knew exactly which books you wanted to cozy up with by a warm, crackling fire. Dashing across the library, you ammassed an entire stack of books, one that was tall enough to obstruct your vision. You waddled through another row, searching the shelves for one paticular title. Spotting it on a high shelf, you found a rolling stool and pushed it with your foot until it was directly under the book you seeked. You tried to place your pile of books somewhere, but it wouldn't fit on the sheleves and you couldn't plop them onto the floor without angering Pince. Stupidly, you decided to step up onto the stool, carrying the pile of books under one arm all while reaching for the desired book. Of course, you should have expected what came after.

You lost your balance, the books tumbling backward out of your arm, the weight of them pulling you down too. You fell off of the stool and expected your head to meet the bookcase behind you, but in your suprise felt someone catch you as your books loudly clattered to the ground.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, to let the adrenaline and fear run it's course before you turned towards your savior. He was tall, devilishly handsome, but with oddly dead eyes. He had an odd way about him - devastatingly beautiful, yet there was this aura of melancholy around him. It was unusually attractive.

"You all right?" He asked, his tone short and gruff.

"Yeah . . . sorry about that. Should've just put my books down somewhere, I suppose."

"What is all this noise?" Madame Pince's striking voice ring throughout the library, her footsteps approaching rapidly. Soon enough, she turned around the corner and let out the most horrified gasp, hand flying to her mouth. She glanced at the two of you with a dark, murderous glare. You suddenly became aware of the fact that his hands were on your shoulders and your back was resting against his chest. "You two! Out of the library at once! I will not have you diabolic teenagers destroying the sanctity of this library! Out! Out!"

She shooed the both of you out of the library and slammed the door in your faces. Now there you were, banned from the library, with no means of proper entertainment. Of course.

Bah humbug, you thought.

"Great," said the boy sarcastically. "As if I have anything else to do now." He sighed and turned around, bumping his head against the wall.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeaked, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Don't be," he responded, turning back around. "It's not your fault."

Realization struck just then - you recognized him. "Wait . . . you're Theodore Nott, right?"

"You've been stalking me, have you?" His tone was always one of solemnity, so it really wasn't your fault that you couldn't tell he was joking.

"No, of course not, I've just seen you in a few of my classes is all," you responded, quite defensively, but mostly out of embarrassment. "You're in Malfoy's gagle of friends . . . shouldn't you be at home with your family?"

"Shouldn't you?" He returns swiftly.

"Point well taken," you respond with a grimace. He didn't respond and neither did you - what was there to say? You had never really had to interact with him, you weren't friends . . . yet you felt some sort of pull towards him. Like an invisible string that kept you hooked. He did save you from falling to possible death after all. "Well, you know, now that neither of us have anything to do, we could . . . I don't know, hang out or something?"

"Why?"

You arched a brow at him. "You got anything better to do?"

A flash of a smile flitted across his face. "Point well taken."

You were once again snuggled in a large coat, a knit hat atop your head and a large wool scarf pooling out of your jacket. Theodore's hands were shoved into the pockets of his thick, plaid trench coat. His hair billowed in the wind as the two of you wandered the ground, snow falling around you.

"So!" You jumped in front of him and began to walk backwards, keeping the same pace as before. "What is your absolute, favorite part about Christmas?"

Theo simply shrugged. "I don't have one." Your jaw almost dropped to the floor - how could he not have a favorite part about Christmas? Christmas, to you, represented love, family, and compassion. You loved everything about it: the tree, the lights, the music, the food, the presents. In fact, there wasn't one thing you could pick as your favorite because you adored all of Christmas too much.

Your shocked expression didn't seem to suprise Theodore in the slightest. "You don't have one?" You reiterated in disbelief, stopping. He jolted when you stopped walking, the two of you damn near as close as you were in the library. "But it's Christmas?" Theodore shrugged again. "You don't like Christmas?"

"No, truthfully . . . my family doesn't really do Christmas," he responded begrudgingly, glancing out at the Forbidden Forest as though he were disinterested. Really, he just didn't want to get into detail about his personal matters.

"Oh," you could only respond. Now that you thought of it, you could only imagine what Nott had to deal with at home, being a pureblood and all that. You knew that a lot of pureblood families were abusive and strict.

Suddenly, everything became clear. His family may not do Christmas, but you certainly do . . . you want him to feel the Christmas spirit that you do. Doesn't he deserve to understand exactly what the holidays are all about?

He tilted his head in curiosity as a grin spread across your rosy cheeks. Your eyes glittered with excitement and something akin to child-like wonder. "You know what? No. I'm going to prove to you that Christmas is the best time of the year."

Nott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He kicked at the snow, staring down at the ground as he shook his head. "I don't think you can."

"Do I hear Theodore Nott turning down a challenge?" You asked, cupping your ear with a mock judgemental expression. "Are you scared that I'm right, is that what it is?"

Nott sighed, biting back a grin as he finally met your eyes. "Fine. But I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."

"Oh, we'll see."

Theodore would be lying if he said he hasn't had his eye on you. How could he not? How could anyone not? You were quite literally the most outgoing person in your year. You were friends with mostly everyone, give a select few, and participated in many different student organizations. You were modest yet brash, kind yet firm, intelligent yet open-minded. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, even if it made you unpopular with certain crowds. He admired that about you.

So admittedly, the main reason he had gone to the library was in hopes that you'd be there. He's trying building up the courage to talk to you in the past, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Must be the reason why he's not a Gryffindor.

He felt an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you - as if he were so light he could float away, but also regurgitate his lunch all over the hundreds-year old carpet. He built himself up in his head and finally followed you into the rows of bookcases. When he saw you struggling with your pile of books, he froze, insecurities clouding his mind like a thunderstorm hurtling through his head. But when you were about to fall down, he instantly forgot whatever he had been thinking about and jumped to your rescue. Catching you, feeling you pressed against his chest, his nose burrowed in your sweet-smelling hair, he couldn't help but feel his heart beating incredibly fast and hard.

Finally, when the two of you were outside touring the grounds and you had so optimistically wanted to prove to him that Christmas was the best time of the year . . . he couldn't help but want you to prove him wrong.

That's why he was fussing over his hair as he stared in the bathroom mirror, tilting his head back and forth. It took him a whole ten minutes before he decided his hair would never comply and threw on his favorite plaid trench coat. You hadn't told him where the two of you were going, but he trusted that you weren't trying to pull anything funny.

You turned around as he exited the Slytherin dorm, the portrait slamming close behind him. He felt his stomach twist nervously as he looked at you - you were dressed rather festively, wearing a short green and red plaid skirt along with a mahogany turtleneck. Mini ornament earrings hung from your hears, gently bobbing as you turned to face him with an excited smile.

"Ready? Wonderful!" You exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!" He joined your side as you began walking at a brisk pace up the stairs. You lead him outside, chattering about holiday traditions you and your family had. He couldn't help but be enraptured by you - the way your eyes twinkled with joy and your hands gestured feverishly. Your bright rosy cheeks and how your scarf made them look plump and adorable.

"Oh, sorry, I've been rambling on so much you haven't even been able to get a word in!" You said, chuckling nervously, hoping that he wasn't annoyed with you.

"No, I like listening to you talk," he assured you pointedly. "Go on."

"But -"

"Honestly. I don't mind."

He could see your shoulder visibly sag with relief and you continued to explain to him as you walked down stone steps towards a small little hut next to the forest.

"What's that?" He asked you, gesturing to the hut.

"You'll see," you replied with a secretive smile. Once you were standing on the front steps of the house, the sound of a dog barking resonated from within. You knocked on the door with force, three times.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" A gruff voice responded from within. "Oi Fang, back! Get back, you mangy mutt!" Suddenly, the door swung open and Theodore was taken aback. Before him was a man towering at eight and half feet, a long, gangly beard running down his front, and a rather excited dog at his heel. "Ah right! You told me you were coming down today - and you've brought a friend I see!" The giant man turned towards Theodore with a friendly smile. "Rubeus Hagrid - I be the Groundskeeper. Ah! Don't want to keep you two out here in the cold - come, inside! Inside!"

He ushered the both of you into his hut, which was rather quaint. While Theo's eyes danced across the hut, you were already removing your coat and making yourself comfortable. His eyes fell upon a pine tree sitting in the corner, as well as a pile of boxes sitting next to it. He glanced back towards you and found you placing a kettle on the gas stove and setting out three teacups.

"I thought we'd start with one of my most favorite traditions - decorating the tree. Hagrid keeps a tree in his hut and he's asked me to help him decorate this year!"

"Them boxes over there are filled with ornaments!" Hagrid told them, gesturing to the boxes. Theodore noticed that the dog (Fang, he supposed it's name was) had approached you with a wagging tail and you had bent down to pepper kisses all over it's face. "I really appreciate youse two's help! Tha's why I made some of my famous rock cakes for ya to take back up wit' ya to the castle!"

"Thanks Hagrid, that's really nice of you!" Hagrid handed you a large, bulky package wrapped in a floral tablecloth. You placed it inside the bag you had brought with you. All the while Theodore watched as Hagrid slung some kind of bag around his shoulder and called Fang to join him by the door.

"O' course! Just remember to eat them while they're fresh!" He exclaimed with a chuckle. "Don' want 'em too hard. Ah, anyways, must get going. I've got to do my rounds about the grounds with Fang. You two young'uns have fun."

"Bye Hagrid!" You said as he closed the door behind him, offering a cheery wave. Once Hagrid left, you went back into the kitchen to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the two of you some tea. "Here you go," you said slowly, more focused on not spilling the tea you were handing to Theo than what you were saying.

He took a sip of the tea, swallowed it, and then stared down at the yellowed water. You watched him in amusement, holding back your laughter. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

He placed the cup back down on the table. "That is absolutely abominable," he told you with a sour look, pushing the cup towards you. You laughed, placing down your cup as well.

"It's not the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, but Hagrid found these incredibly rare plants in the forest with healing properties! So he's been using them for tea."

"How did you come about to be friends with the Groundskeeper, I wonder." Theodore pulled out one of the kitchen stools, rather large in comparison to himself. It wasn't easy to sit atop it, but in the end he triumphed over the chair.

You shrugged in response, taking another sip of your tea. "Well, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have known him for ages so they introduced me as well. People are kind of - I don't know - weird about him, but he's honestly lovely and gentle. He's not anything like he seems at first glance." Moving on from that topic, you clapped your hands together excitedly and ran over to the pile of ornament boxes. You separated and opened each and every box, displaying all the different ornaments. Theo approached, scrutinizing the glass balls with the tilt of his head.

"Some of these are . . . interesting, I must say." He grabbed an ornament of a brown bear and turned it around in his hand. You plucked the bear from his hand, placing it back in the box. In your other hand was a long string of tinsel.

"There are a few rules to decorating the tree," you started, walking backwards towards the mantle over the fireplace. You flipped on the radio, Celestina Warbeck's "Nothing Like a Holiday Spell," softly playing in the background. "First, you must listen to Christmas music. Second -" You held up the tinsel in your hand. "- you always do the lights and/or tinsel first. Okay? So, I'm going to need help wrapping this around the tree. I'll stand on one side and wrap it around my half, then I'll hand it to you so you can wrap around your half and you give it back to me, all right? Sound good?"

Theo nodded - this didn't seem too hard, nor unenjoyable. You didn't notice, too caught up in your jolly Christmas spirit to notice the way Nott was fondly watching you humming under your breath, tinsel trailing on the ground behind you as you stood on the opposite side of the tree. Standing on your tip-toes, you leaned up to wrap the tinsel around the top branch but struggled. When he noticed you were getting nothing out of your efforts, Theo walked behind you and grabbed the tinsel out of your hand. His chest was pressed against your back as he reached up with ease and wrapped the tinsel around the first branch.

You froze when he had come up behind you, a blush painting your cheeks. It wasn't your fault he had decided to come so close and that he was so damn attractive. You did your best to hide how flustered you suddenly felt, no matter how dimly veiled.

He didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with wrapping the tinsel around the top area of the tree that you were too short to reach. "Uh, thanks. Just, um, when you're wrapping the tinsel, make sure you don't wrap it too tight or too close to another row, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he responded absent-mindedly, brows furrowed as he gave his task the upmost attention. He wanted to make the tree look perfect, just for you. He was trying to figure out how he should space the rows - as of now, are they too close together or too far apart? Maybe he should separate them a little.

"Don't think too much about it. It's not supposed to be perfect," you said, as though reading his thoughts. You grabbed the tinsel and began to wrap it around again. You handed it to Nott, who wrapped it around his side of the tree and handed it back to you. "It's supposed to look imperfect and wonky and unusual - that's what makes it your Christmas tree. Trying to make it look perfect takes all the fun out of it."

"So . . . the uniqueness is what makes it special?" he asked as he took the tinsel from you yet again. You were pretty special . . . unique. You stood out from your peers. Maybe that's why he was attracted to you - all his life, he was pushed for excellence. He was pushed to be perfect all the time and finding someone like you, so free-spirited and imperfect, well . . . he couldn't help but admire you.

"Yeah, exactly!" When you handed him the tinsel again, you said, "well, we're getting near the bottom. Just hand me the - yeah, the tinsel." You took the tinsel again and bent down as you wrapped it around the bottom of the tree. He followed you to the other side of the tree, preparing to finish the job once you passed the tinsel to him. "And I'll just finish this - oh!"

He hadn't realized you were planning on finishing the tinsel yourself and the two of you walked straight into each other. Your noses accidentally brushed together, your lips only centimeters away from his. You noticed an odd sort of glance in his eyes. It disappeared only a second later, but you were certain you saw it. A hunger, a longing. Like he wanted to kiss you.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not moving from where he was bending down.

"Yeah," you said breathlessly, quickly standing straight and clearing your throat. It must have been a flicker of light - there was no way the Theodore Nott liked someone like you. He was prim and proper, you were disorganized and eccentric. Not exactly a match made in heaven, especially in the eyes of his parents. "Sorry . . ."

You couldn't think clearly after that - all that was on your mind was a tall, quiet, brown-haired Slytherin boy who hated Christmas. But his especially those lips of his. Pink, full, just begging for a moment of your attention. Scenes in your mind played our what could have happened if either of you had made a move. Many ended with both of you in rather interesting positions.

Maybe it had just been you. Or maybe there was a spark there. You hoped, you dreamed, that he was feeling exactly how you were. You held onto this hope as you left your common room and rushed down the Grand Stairs to the Great Hall. You had another grand adventure in mind.

"What is on the roster for today?" Theodore had asked when you met him by the tall, oak doors of the Great Hall. The two of you set off towards the courtyard path.

"It's a suprise, silly!"

"Ah, suprises."

"What, you don't like suprises?"

"I didn't say that."

"How can you not like suprises?"

"If you don't mind me asking . . . why aren't you home for the holiday break?" Theodore asked as you slowly made your descent into Hogsmeade. He was kicking at the snow with his feet, secretly nervous. "You're not usually here."

"You've been stalking me, have you?" You replied with a wicked grin, remembering your first encounter. Theo flushed a bright red, his ears turning an especially poinsettia-like red. "I'm just joking." You sighed, your grin turning to a dismal frown. "Yeah, usually I'm at home for the holi's, but my parents are both away on buisness for work . . . so I had to stay here this year."

"You don't want to," he stated simply. You grimaced, shaking your head.

"Nope. I just want to sleep in my bed, my real bed, and wake up home on Christmas morning, surrounded by my family. But I'm stuck here." You sighed - talking about this didn't make you feel much better. You decided to brighten things up, sending a grin Theo's way. "At least I have you, Nott."

He stopped you. "Theo," he said, staring at you with those dark, alluring hazel eyes. "It's what all my friends call me," he added sheepishly.

The corners of your lips curled up, your heart fluttering like a fall leaf in the wind. "Theo," you repeated softly. "Well, Theo . . . perfect timing. We're here." You looked towards the shop on your right, the exterior wood painted a forest green with faded lettering. The window was frosted over, Hamilton depicting the festive scene inside. Warm fairy lights floated around the window, a variety of holiday-themed presents and objects on display not three inches from their eyes. "Holiday store. Perfect for getting gifts and getting in the holiday cheer."

"This was here all this time?" Theo asked.

You made a grand gesture towards the entire road you were standing upon. "I like to call this the Forgotten District. Great stores, but only the locals come here really. A fair few students know of it, but not many. Let's go inside."

You swung open the door, keeping it open with your foot as you entered so that Theo could enter right behind you. Though the ceilings were low and the room was so filled with whimsical trinkets and do-dads that it did feel a bit tight inside. "Hi Fred, how're you doing?"

"Good, good, and you?" Replied the man standing at the registers. He was a rosy-cheeked, middle-aged man with a round belly who looked rather friendly indeed. Almost like Saint Nicholas come to life.

"Great! This is my friend Theo! I'm introducing him to Christmas."

"Introducing him?" Fred responded in disbelief, looking towards Theo as though he were a puppy that had been ran over by a car. "My dear boy, you must have a look around. Take any one item you'd like with you, for free, I insist."

"Thank you, sir." As Theo gradually made his way into the shop, scrutinizing every little object, whether it was a spinning top or a rocking chair. You sent Fred a wide grin behind Theo's back, gesturing towards him with excitement. When Theo turned around, you stopped and quickly made your way to his side.

"Find anything eye-catching?" You asked, your exuberant mood quite obvious to all who could see you. You were grinning, watching Theo with that child-like wonder, standing on the balls of your feet while you took a good look at the place. You let out a gasp and grabbed a cute snowman mug. "Look at this! This is cute. You know, Mrs. Weasley would probably love this."

While you began to chatter on, grabbing various items and displaying them to him with starry-eyes, he couldn't help but watch with a sense of fondness. At some point, you realized he was staring at you oddly and paused. "What?" You asked with an awkward laugh, wiping your mouth with edge of your sleeve. "Is there something on my face?"

Unsure how to recover from having so blatantly worn his heart on his chest, looks away from you, his gaze void of any emotion now. "Nothing."

With each passing day, his fondness and adoration for you grew. You were so bright and exuberant, so careless in the way you bestowed that angelic smile of yours upon anyone. He felt honored, still, that he was a receptor of one.

You had begun to spend a lot of time together. Sneaking into the library and nabbing plenty of reading material, wandering about the castle and grounds, stealing food from the kitchens. However, whatever else you had planned to convince him that Christmas was indeed, gay with yuletide cheer, had not yet occurred.

You both were spread along couches by the fire in the Slytherin Common room, void of people except for the both of you. You laughed and talked until your lungs couldn't handle the action anymore - he was the first to fill the silence.

"My mother . . . she had loved Christmas," Theo said softly, his head still hanging off the couch. "As soon as November 1st came around, she would pull the decorations out of the cellar and start putting them up. Father insisted that she let the house elves do it, but she was firm in the belief that decorating was a holiday tradition that we should all celebrate together. It was her favorite time of year."

His tone sounded almost . . . sad. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and watched him. His eyes were just glazed over, water bubbling at the edges of his vision. "Your mother -"

"She's dead," he said in an empty tone of voice. Suddenly, as though realizing himself, he wiped his eyes and sat up. "Sorry, I don't really talk about that with anyone. I shouldn't have -"

"No, no, it's okay," you assured him with a kind smile. "I don't mind. Tell me more about your mom, she sounds really cool."

He hesitated, fidgeting with his fingers, before he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch. "One year when I was a young boy, she got me Fiabe italiane a cara di Italo Calvino for Christmas, or Italian Folklores by Italo Calvino. She would read it to me every night. After my mother . . . died, my father tried to erase everything that reminded him of her. Including that book."

"Oh no," you whispered, a hand hovering over your mouth.

He gave you a grimaced smile. "Yeah, but it's been so many years . . . I don't really care that much anymore, it's not a big deal."

To you, however, it seemed like a very big deal.

On Christmas morning, you woke up extra early and gathered your presents. You knew you looked ridiculous - hair frizzy and wild, still dressed in pajamas, presents flying in the air behind you. Finally, you entered the Slytherin common room and clambered up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, finding Theo's room.

Your pounding upon the door startled him awake and he practically ran to the door to yell at whoever decided to wake him at this ungodly hour. Instead, he found someone he didn't expect to be there at all - you.

"Merry Christmas Theo!" You shouted in excitement, throwing your arms around his neck. In your fervor, your focus was drawn away from the hovering presents and they soon clattered to the floor. He swung an arm around you, envolping himself in you, but you pulled away too soon to look back at your presents. "Oops."

"Merry Christmas," he responded, quite late due to the fact thatft he had just woken up. He opened the door wide so you could enter, and you sauntered inside with your presents hovering behind you once more. You say down on the floor, placing your presents gracefully down in front of you. He closed the door and turned to see you watching him expectantly.

He hadn't opened presents with anyone before, at least, not since his mother was alive. He had thought at first that he would be upset, you falling into his life and pushing him back into the world of Christmas . . . but he found that he actually enjoyed your company. More than he liked to admit. "Do you . . . want to open presents together?"

You flashed him a toothy grin. "Why else did you think I came over here, silly? Come on!" You patted the ground in front of you.

He shuffled over, gathering the small cluster of presents by his bed next to yours, and seating himself on the ground. "You go first."

"All right then." You grabbed an oddly-shaped parcel that looked like a lump of under-cooked bread. You unwrapped it with care, making sure not to tear the packaging. You pulled out a forest green sweater with the initial of your name and a container filled with mince pies. "It's from Mrs. Weasley! She knits sweaters every year for all her kids and their friends." You raised it to your nose with a content sigh. "Smells like her cooking too. All right, now you go on!"

Theod can't remember the last time he had recieved a homeade present, from someone so kind and motherly. He pulled a neatly-wrapped parcel towards him and unwrapped it, revealing a set of books he'd been wanting for a while. From Blaise. Don't go reading it all at once :)

"See? Opening presents can be fun!" The two of you continued to unwrap presents, chatting about what you had gotten. Finally, a wrapped present sat in front of you - both of you stared at it.

"You're not going to open it?" Theo asked. You shook your head with a knowing smile, pushing it towards him bashfully.

"Actually . . . it's for you," you said slowly with a nod of your head. Nervously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression. He looked rather . . . confused.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said, pulling the present into his lap. He stared down at it stubbornly, because he felt too guilty accepting a present from you.

"Oh go on, open it!" You encouraged, nudging him. He couldn't help but smile at your excitement, nothing the way you fidgeting in anticipation.

"All right, all right," he responded, raising his hands in mock defense. He untied the ribbon and gently unwrapped the present, making sure not to tear the paper. He froze once he saw what was sitting in his lap, staring up at him.

You watched him with trepidation. You didn't go to far, did you? You hoped that - well, you weren't sure what you hoped, but you wanted him to treasure the gift. You wanted him to say something, but didn't dare question him. You were afraid of his reaction.

"Fiabe italiane," he spoke softly, running his fingers along the spine of the book. It didn't have the weathered grooves his mother's copy had, but it felt like home. He turned towards you with an expression of disbelief. "How - you didn't have too -"

You offered a sheepsih shrug. "I wanted too. You sounded so . . . happy when you talked about your mother. But also sad, so I thought this might cheer you up. Brighten up Christmas a bit."

Theo kept staring at you with an odd expression - you weren't sure what to expect from him. You certainly didn't expect his lips to smash against yours, resting his hand on your thigh. The suddenness of the kiss left you in shock, unable to move. He took this as a sign that you were uncomfortable and unreceptive. But, as soon as he pulled away, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and tender. You couldn't help but smile as you pulled away and you noticed that his eyes had lost that melancholic darkness and was instead replaced with something much more merry.

"I think I'm starting to like Christmas."

You giggled, bringing a wide grin to his usually stoic face. "C'mere," you said, pulling him into a cuddle. "As long as I'm here, I will make sure that every Christmas you have is filled with love and comfort. All right?"

He glanced up from where you had buried his face in your shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?" He asked, starry-eyed.

You offered a mock uncaring shrug. "I know." You were both silent before you burst out into laughter. "I'm not." As Theo started to protest, you interrupted him. "No really! I'm not, I'm just showing you what a caring relationship is like."

"I still think you're amazing." He paused. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

You glanced down at him and brushed the hair out his face, pecking him on the nose. "Me too."

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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mrsnancywheeler · 4 months

Text

the river (3) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

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4.6k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mental illness, self-hate, suicid/l ideation, brainwashing, paranoia, mentions of trafficking, s/h in the form of scratching, breakups, no use of y/n, unedited, President Snow, threats, slightly mean!finnick towards conway

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick wanted to beg the doctors to see you, but he also was terrified of pushing you into another breakdown. So he'd settled for sitting outside the hospital room’s two-way glass at all times. He didn't sleep, he couldn't, nor eat so he just watched. At first you'd been sedated, but you were relatively calm if untrusting. Which was nothing, especially compared to Peeta who'd tried to kill Katniss. You were quiet, voice small and shaky except when your distrust took over.

A doctor had been trying to get you to swallow some pills with your water which you'd been adamantly refusing, “I don't know what it is."

“It's just a medicine to help fight off any infections you might have." The doctor explained and Finnick was grateful that she was more patient than the others. Yet you still looked uneasy, “We can go over what's in it and what it'll do if you want." The doctor suggested and you slowly, unsurely nodded. They'd showed you the bottle, read to you, and let you read the bottle information before you'd finally agreed to take it.

After hours of this Finnick couldn't help himself anymore, "I want to talk to her.” He abruptly stood from his chair and stared at the medical staff.

"She's calm right now, it might not be wise to do something that could disturb her.”

“Can't you just explain it to her somehow, I'll stay in a chair in the corner, won't move a muscle, you can handcuff me. I need to talk to her." There were sighs, hushed arguments before an agreement was eventually made. So, he stood outside waiting as the doctors tried to convince you to see him.

“Someone wants to see you now, if that's okay. He'll stay right in that chair, won't move at all, if you feel uncomfortable and you call out for us, okay?”

You looked at her, untrusting, "Who?”

She sighed and sat down on the hospital bed with you, she must have decided you were less of a threat and more someone who had to be communicated with. It hurt Finnick to know you'd let a doctor you'd never met so close, but were terrified of him. “You remember that you're married, right?"

“He wants me dead." It was like you couldn't get it off your tongue fast enough.

“No he doesn't." The doctor says, very decidedly and before you can get your next words out she insisted, “We'll all be right outside, so if he did want to kill you we wouldn't let him.”

You shook your head, “No, you wouldn't."

“Why do you think that?"

You laughed a little, “Because I'm a threat, you don't know what I did or didn't reveal, and everyone knows that I…” You trailed off. He couldn't grasp his head around the idea that you were still so attached to that perception of yourself, you did what you had to do, to stay alive.

"Coin granted all the victors rescued immunity. We've got no reason to want you dead.” Silence. You stared at her, she stared back at you. The words must have registered, but you seemed to be too deeply steeped in denial.

“I want to talk to Peeta.” The universe despised Finnick, he was sure of it.

"We can't let you do that.” She said softly.

"Why not?"

"He tried to kill Katniss Everdeen.”

You shook your head, "No, he wouldn't do that. They're just in his head, he'll remember.” The irony of it all, Peeta wanted Katniss dead, and you thought Finnick wanted you gone as well.

“Did they get in your head too?"

You laughed again, “No, no, they didn't."

“Then why do you think Finnick wants you dead?"

You take a deep breath in and sound frustrated, hands bunching up the thin hospital blanket, “They're not in my head! They just showed me what I wasn't paying attention to, I know what happened, and the things I've done. I'm not crazy.” Your voice shook like you were going to cry.

"No one here thinks you're crazy.” Finnick could tell there was more the doctor wanted to say, but was holding out in fear of you devolving. "He will sit in a chair the entire time and no one will let him any closer, I promise you."

Finnick prayed to whatever might have been that they'd let him have a moment, that he'd be able to help you. Your head was buried in your hands, “Okay." You finally muttered and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The doctor smiled, giving an encouraging squeeze to your shoulder as she stood up. Pushing the only chair in the room up against the far wall before exiting. Finnick was anxiously messing with his piece of rope when the doctor finally approached him. “You've got the go ahead, but stay in the chair, no sudden movements, it might startle her enough to make her panic."

“I understand." Finnick nodded and the doctor waited a moment before she opened the door, letting him slowly walk into the bright, white room. And there you were, legs pulled up against your chest like it would give you some extra barrier. He wanted to hold you, to tell you it was all going to be okay, but Snow had even taken that away from him so he sat in the chair. “Hi, sweet girl." He gave a soft smile while you wearily observed him. You were silent though, "Do you know who I am, angel?” He knew you did, but just needed to hear you say something, anything to him.

Every so slowly you nodded, hands rubbing at your neck, "Finnick Odair.”

He hummed a yes,"Mhm, good job. Do you know what we are?” Finnick tilted his head slightly.

You nodded, but it was like the words were stuck in your throat. Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, “I care about you."

He nodded, “We care about each other. We got married, do you remember that?"

“People keep saying it." Stinging pain covered his chest, Snow had taken what was left of your trust, your happiest moments, and left you with the husk of anxiety. “I'm sorry, I can't, I don't know." You hit your head with the bottom of your and started crying.

“Hey, hey, it's okay, don't do that, it's alright!" He wanted to leap up, move your hands away, and have you in his arms. “You don't need to feel bad, angel, can you just tell me what you do know."

Your face became sober almost immediately, “You want to kill me."

“No." He said just as fast, “I'd never want that-"

“You don't have to lie to me, I understand. I can't be trusted, it's a smart move." Hands were back to rubbing your neck.

"What you did to survive all those years ago, when we were teenagers, doesn't mean you're not trustworthy. I trust you." He felt like he was going to cry, he was back at square one, when you'd returned from your games, but now you didn't even trust him.

You shook your head rapidly, “You're trying to get in my head!" There the tears were and his elbows landed on his knees so he could hide the fact his hands served to hide his cries. The world would've been a much kinder place if he was dead, if you were dead, if everyone could just die and stop this endless circle of torture. This was his inescapable boulder he kept pushing up the hill only to see it roll down over and over again, maybe if he'd died the first time around or even in the quarter quell the finality of death would bring peace. His eyes must have been bloodshot when he lifted them from his hands, only to grab the rope again. He needed more rationality to talk to you, this could help him ground himself because if had to live, it had to be with you.

“You used to teach me to tie ropes." You eventually muttered out, curse you and the way you were trying to say something to help him when he was at his weakest, even though you were convinced he wanted you dead.

He looked up from the knot and tried to smile appreciatively even if his eyes were still watery, “Yeah, I did.” He swallowed even though his mouth was completely dry, "I am. I am teaching you to tie ropes.”

You maintained eye contact with him for a while, like you were trying to read into the depths of his soul and he hoped you would find how genuine he was being. You leaned your head back onto the wall, “I could always do most of the knots after the first few times, but I liked it when you would keep helping me.”

"I know.” He missed it, all the times you'd grumble about the activity until he was right behind you, hands on yours where you'd suddenly seem a lot less aggravated. Then you were sobbing and he dug his hands into the chairs arms rests to force himself to stay seated. Not being able to touch you, help you on top of trying to convince you that he loved you was like his own personal hell, so perfectly built.

“See I couldn't even stop myself from lying about that." You choked out through the tears, the rubbing of your neck was turning into scratching.

“That was endearing, I could never hate you for something like that, I could never hate you." You didn't respond to that, the scratching was getting worse, “Sweet girl, you're gonna hurt yourself, you gotta stop." He pleaded, but you were too far gone, muttering things too low to hear under your breath. “God, I can't even help you." Finnick could feel another tear falling down his face, he couldn't grab your hands, breathe with you, keep you comforted, it was eating him up inside and out. So he did the only thing he could, call out for the doctors who quickly marched in to stop you. That's when the yelling that could print his ears with the cacophony of your agony for all of eternity, began. It was remarkable how many people it took to hold you down and get you sedated,

Finnick wished he'd savored every moment he could've had with you. There'd never been a point in leaving you the first time, you were bound to be dragged into the Games, he wasn't the fire that burned you. He could've stayed with you, had so many more moments to think about. Time with you was precious, delicate and he would do whatever it took to have you back

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were like heaven and he should have known that was something he wasn't worthy of. It was easy to forget that though when with each month he became more and more infatuated, it felt impossible to be as in love with someone as he was with you and so quickly. It just seemed like you understood each other, were so similar, but also filled the gaps for whatever the other lacked. He wanted to take you out every day and when he was feeling more impatient for your company he'd buy out the whole stock of crabs just so you could be off earlier. By the first month of going out he has noticed an interesting development in who Finnick considered to be the worst thorn in his side, Conway.

“Who's that?" Finnick had asked one day, tilting his head in the direction of Conway and a girl who he was with.

You smiled so brightly it made him want to live in a world where it was his sunshine, “Oh, that's Meena! They're going out now." Maybe that thorn was finally being removed.

"She looks just like you.” Finnick whispered slyly.

“She does not!" You rolled your eyes and glanced over at her, "I mean we have the same hair color. So maybe a little."

"And you're both similar heights, same face shape, I wonder if you both have the same eye color too.” You playfully hit his arm as a warning.

"It's better than him being single and moping around, it was kind of driving me insane how melancholy he was being.”

“Because he's madly in love with you." Finnick teased, hands on your waist.

“No, he's just got a crush because he won't talk to other girls. And now he's out of his shell.”

"Because he's madly in love with you and you picked me.” He smiled, leaning his face in closer.

"You're such a dick!” Yet you were smiling and your face was so close to his.

"No, I'm just saying how lucky I am.” You rolled your eyes again and Finnick used it as the perfect opportunity to kiss you which you instantly reciprocated. He was right about Conway and Meena of course, right after Finnick had broken your heart, he'd heard through the grapevine that they'd broken up. Conway was able to take his place back as having some sort of chance with you.

He'd miss the way you'd lay with your head on top of his chest at the beach, didn't stray away from being seen with him in any sense, if the Capitol cameras followed him around you would easily fall into keeping up his appearances for them, he should've been more cautious. When he was upset and couldn't tell you why, you'd hold him, rub his back, do anything to try and help. Which is why when Snow showed up at his house in Victor's Village he felt like any semblance of happiness was being torn away from his grasp.

“President Snow." He greeted, slowly walking inside of the room.

“Mr. Odair, the Capitol has missed you, so much in fact that I had to make this very disappointing visit.”

"I wasn't aware I was needed back so urgently, or else I would have come.” Usually he was notified of the visits, who wanted him now, and when.

"Of course you would've, but would you have been fully there?”

"I don't understand what you're talking about.”

"Your performance, to be enjoying their company, has been lackluster. People aren't convinced that you're, how shall we say it, emotionally present on top of everything else.” He wasn't, it was so much easier to check out of everything.

"I'm sorry.”

Snow hummed, "If people aren't convinced, they're dissatisfied, if they aren't satisfied then I'm dissatisfied, and we both know the outcomes of that.” Everyone he cared about dead, him lonely.

“Yes, I'll do better."

Snow's smile was so menacing, snake-like it sent shivers down Finnick's spike. “Good, we wouldn't want any complaints trickling down, would we?” He turned on a projection of something Finnick couldn't quite decipher. "She's very pretty, I'm sure no one would be pleased if the dissatisfaction continued.” Finnick felt numb all the way through, it was you, arms around him. How could he have been so stupid as to not think about you?

"It won't.” Finnick said quickly, voice choking involuntary.

"Oh good, I wouldn't want to have to get creative with it.” Snow rose from the chair, “The train will be here to pick you up in two days, Mr. Odair." Then the man who smelled of blood and roses was gone, abandoning Finnick with the feeling of lead in his stomach. He had to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, make you less of a target, shrink the one already on your back. He sunk into the chair he was closest to. Trying to remind himself to breathe as he tried to figure out how he was going to break your heart. How do you spend almost a year with someone, praising the ground they walk on and then suddenly leave them in the dust. He couldn't be cruel to you, not when you were so kind. The idea that you would put your walls up again and completely shut him out made his chest ache, a pain that threatened to tear him apart.

He'd have to give you up, condemn you to the life you didn't want to live. Watch as you lose the hope of something newer, something that wasn't expected and settled for the life everyone saw for you. Maybe that's why Conway made him want to be meaner, his blood boil, because deep down Finnick knew that if he didn't have you, Conway's persistence to love you would pay off. You'd stop being the girl who would barter for things she enjoyed if only for a moment, there would be no more fantasies of your soul finally feeling complete, the way you'd both felt together. To protect you, he'd have to put a damper on the dreams.

Finnick hated thinking about how he was supposed to see you that night, how he'd promised to meet you at the beach since you'd insisted you didn't care about the weather as long as you could see him. He'd have only as long as it took to shatter the hopes of being with each other to memorize you. Your smile, your laughter, your playful banter, the way your eyes twinkled, the smell of peaches and the sea, and tasted like peaches and vanilla. For the rest of time you'd only exist as moments he cherished in his brain, distance would be pivotal. No more escapes from your life to his lavish parties, that association would still be close enough to get you hurt, you'd have to be cut off from any droplets of the Fountain of Love he was to you.

He'd steadied himself when the clock had finally ticked to the time that told him to go to the beach, to his ending with you. Time to subject himself to a lifetime of acting for Panem and you to submit to fate. The fates that had decided you'd both had your run and needed to get back on the roads planned out for you. It was windy and cloudy over the ocean, like he was being mocked. He stood there, staring at the stormy horizon that lay ahead of him until you appeared.

“Hi!" The way you smiled like the sun made him think he couldn't do this to you, to himself. He solemnly nodded in response and your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, you were so beautiful. “What's wrong? Are you not feeling good, we can just go inside, I'll make soup." This was a torture method, how was he supposed to hurt someone who wanted to take care of him at the slightest sensing of upset.

"No, I feel fine.” He said it too sharply and it visibly took you aback. You'd both bickered before, only when someone directly caused it, and then you'd both get over it. Usually someone would do something to get you both to laugh it off, but he'd never been harsh with you.

You crossed your arms like they would provide some sort of defense, the walls were already being put up as far as Finnick was concerned. “Sorry." You stopped looking directly at him, eyes focused on the sand, he wanted to say ‘No, I'm sorry. You're so sweet and you look so pretty.’ To kiss you, your cheeks, your forehead, for his lips to memorize you. The silence was brisk and awkward until you'd felt forced to break it, “So, are we swimming?" He shook his head and it was hard to miss the way you scoffed, “Okay, um, do you just wanna sit and talk? We can do that." How were you still so considerate and sounded so soft, when you were so annoyed? Maybe the barrier wasn't around you, but him because you made no move to give a comforting touch like you usually would, like you weren't sure it would be received well. “Finnick, if you're gonna be in one of your moods and not let me help, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna go home."

“I'm breaking up with you." It spilled off of his lips in a way that made him want to burn them off. He watched the look in your eyes go from concerned annoyance to sad shock.

“What?" The way your voice became shakier made him want to give up on the whole endeavor, say it was some fucked up joke he was dared to do. “What do you mean?" A small nervous laugh forced itself from your throat.

Finnick took a deep breath in, “I can’t be with you anymore.”

"Can't? What does that mean?” It would've been easier if you just cried and ran off.

"It's just not working out.” He didn't want to lie, say it's how he felt or what he wanted, but he had to get you away from the ticking time bomb.

"For who?” You sounded exasperated.

"I can't explain it, I just have to do this, it's better for you, for both of us.” He pushed down the part of him that wanted to start bawling, begging you to refuse to let him go. "I have to protect you.”

To his surprise you didn't pester on that question more and he watched a tear escape from your glossy eyes, "Don't say that.” You shook your head, bringing your hands up to your face to catch the tears. “You can't break up with me and say stuff like that, it's mean." He was confused and it was evident, "It makes me love you so much more.” No, no, no, no you couldn't say stuff like that when he was supposed to rid himself of you. It wasn't fair.

His fingers ran through his tangled hair, "I'm sorry. I really am, but it means you can't be around at all anymore, anywhere. You need to be as far from me as you can be." You tilted your head upwards, towards the sky, closing your eyes as you exhaled. "Say you hate me."

“What?" You looked at him.

“Say you hate me, hit me, tell me to go fuck myself, something. Be angry with me." He could feel the tears escaping, they were supposed to do that.

“Finnick, I'm not going to do that." Then you were unclasping the necklace, the one that you'd work every day since he'd given it to, and it was in your hands instead of around your neck.

“What're you doing?"

“Letting myself know it's over." Then the necklace was in the ocean, floating away, like any hopes and dreams of being with you. The way you'd built your walls back up, stopped crying, blocked him out from your feelings, astonished him. You trusted him enough to take him at his word, that he needed to protect you, and listened. Distance in the mind as well as in person. “Finnick, take care of yourself." You sent him a small, sad smile and then it was like the wind had blown you away. Out of his grasp forever.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“She agreed to see you again." Finnick's head shot up, the doctors wouldn't let him stay in your room so he initially had planted himself in a chair outside. Eventually they'd just rolled in a hospital bed when they realized he wasn't going to be leaving. He'd spent every second diligently watching over you, making sure you were alright from afar. You'd been sedated most of the time since your breakdown before except when you ate and sat solemnly with your thoughts. “Same rules apply, don't get closer unless she asks, keep a calm, steady tone." Finnick nodded with the doctor's words waiting to be let in.

“I understand." The door clicked open and he was back in that chair across the room. “Hey, angel. Are you feeling better?" Your blanket was pulled up as far as you get it over your knee that was pulled up, holding your face up.

You slowly shook your head, “It's cold." And he couldn't be the heat to contrast that, he couldn't even rise to get you a blanket.

“I can ask them if they can make it warmer or at least get more blankets."

You nodded into your leg,"I'm so lonely, I know you want me dead, but I miss you so much and I'm not even sure why.”

Because you had to know deep down that he would move mountains to keep you safe, that all that had really come forward was from your own self hate. "Why don't we play a game.” You looked at him confused, "You ask me if something is real or not real when you're struggling to tell. Just those words and I'll help you figure it out, angel.”

"How am I supposed to know you'll tell me the truth?”

"You just have to trust me.” You observed him like you were waiting to see a crack in the facade, for a muscle to indicate his deceit. You leaned back in the bed, letting your leg rest.

"You hate me, real or not real.”

"Not real.” You stared at the white ceiling.

"Why not?” There was a beat of silence, "I'm perfectly deserving of it, so why not?”

"Anything you think you did that's worth hating yourself over was something that couldn't be helped, you're so sweet, I could never hate you just because your hand was forced when you were a teenager.” Your eyes shifted back down to look at him, “You don't have to believe me yet, there's a lot going on, but it's true. I love you more than the ocean loves the moon.”

"There's just so much going on in my head. I want to believe you so badly, but something in my head says I can't.” You covered your face to try and hide the fact you'd begun to cry. The things he would've given to kiss away your tears.

“That's okay, sweet girl, I have all the time in the world to prove to that voice otherwise." It was painful to stay seated, to know he had to regain all the privileges he'd once had.

You rubbed at your neck again which worried him to no end, “Can you come closer?”

Finnick wanted to jump up, but he couldn't. "Are you sure?” You nodded and he ever so slowly stood up. "How close?” He asked.

You took some deep breaths to calm yourself before you answered, "Over here."

“You're sure?"

Your breathing was shaky, “Yeah." He was terrified of scaring you away. So he approached cautiously to see if you'd eventually startle, but you didn't. Then he was standing right beside you and it was even harder now not to reach out. Ever so slowly you grabbed his hands, fingers tracing around his palms, each callous, and then you were trailing up to his face. He was confused, but didn't make a mention of it. Your fingers lead themselves around his face, rose with his nose, like they were memorizing each crevice of his face. He shuddered when he felt your touch, it had been so long and your cold hands soothed his hot skin. Then your touch was gone and he instantly missed it, longed for it back. “Thank you. I'm sorry."

“It's okay, sweet girl." You moved away from him and settled yourself laying down.

"Can you lay with me?” You whispered out.

"Of course, angel.” Underneath his facade he was ecstatic as he slid into the spot you'd left for him.

"Can you just keep your hands on top of you, so I can see them?” Your voice was so nervous.

"Absolutely.” His hands landed firmly on his stomach as he lay there with you.

Maybe now the long rope didn't seem as appealing.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading and all the support! comments, feedback, reblogs, and likes are all super appreciated. my ask box and requests are open, I've got some I'm working on right now, love you all so much 💋

taglist: @aegonswife @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @libertyybellls @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery @ang3lflor @maxinehufflepuffprincess @prettybiching @miserablebl00d @wowzabowza69 @nomorespahgetti @problematicpastries @abaker74 @nj01 @whens-naptime @sarcasticbooknerd12 @cakes-hq @honethatty12 @s1lngwns @alliex-o

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #the lakes #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick x you

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breeloveschris · 4 months

Text

You’ll Never Understand pt 6

Pt 5 Pt 7

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Reader

summary: Y/n always been best friends with the triplets.. until one random day in sophomore year Chris despised Y/n, and till this day Y/n still don’t know why. Nick and Matt will never understand why Y/n has never stopped being sweet and caring to Chris as if nothing ever happened.

Warnings: cussing, kinda heated 💁🏼‍♀️

Who would’ve thought Y/n would be here kissing her “enemy”. But the only question she has is.. how long is this gonna last? It’s only been today but how was she supposed to know if he’d randomly start being mean again. She’s scared. His switch could flip at any moment. Or he could be using Y/n just wanting to get laid.

Chris deepens the kiss pulling Y/n onto his lap and grabbing her hips pulling her close. Y/n pulls away with Chris’s bottom lip in between her teeth making Chris let out a soft hushed moan. Y/n smirks at Chris rocking her hips into his lap. Chris throws his head back letting out a whimper. Y/n is about to tease Chris for it but before she can Chris just rolls his eyes grabbing her neck and adding pressure making her let out a loud moan. Chris smiles with hooded eyes and brings her back to his lips.

Chris licks Y/n’s bottom lip begging for entrance. She lets him. Their tongues fight for dominance, Chris’s winning. Y/n rocks her hips on his lap hard. She lets out a short gasp when she feels his hard on. Before anything could get too far there was a knock on the door. “Ugh. Great.” Chris says quietly with a groan. Y/n laughs and gets up to answer the door while Chris grabs a pillow and puts it on his lap.

Y/n opens the door with a smile, “hey guys!!” She said hugging Nick. “We’ve come to your rescue to save you from the beast that holds you captive!” Nick says holding his fist up like he was a super hero. Y/n laughs as she leads them into the living room where Chris is. “Thank god, y’all took fucking forever and I was stuck here with grumpy from Snow White and the 7 dwarfs.” Chris says with an eye roll.

“Y/n/n could’ve took you home if you would’ve asked” Nick said sitting beside Chris. “Yea Chris, I could’ve.” Y/n said seething. Chris just looks at her with a smirk “that got under someone’s skin eh?” Chris lets out a laugh before continuing, “where’s the food im starving.” Matt just rolls his eyes and passes him his food with a sigh. They all eat our food watching Snow White and the 7 dwarfs because Chris begged and begged thinking he was funny.

“Oh Y/n! Our friends Sam and Colby are throwing this influencer party, they said we could invite anyone and me and Matt decided to invite you and Madi since all y’all talk about when you’re together is their videos” Nick says letting out a laugh. “Nah dude I haven’t seen Madi in so long.” Y/n says throwing her head back with a groan. “I don’t want her going, don’t I get a say in this?” Chris says pointing at Y/n. She just let out a huff. “No Chris you don’t. You can bring someone yourself yes but I chose Y/n/n and Nick chose Madi.” Matt stated with a firm voice getting his point across.

Chris rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh and said the most rude thing he has ever said to Y/n shocking all three of them. “All I know is you better have a fuck ton of make up on. And I don’t want you in any pictures. Also don’t fuck anyone there, I know you can be slut sometimes” Chris said looking Y/n dead in the eyes. She laughs loudly and clenches her jaw. Through seethed teeth “fuck you.” Falls out of her mouth as she gets up and goes to the bathroom. Walking out all she can hear is Chris getting scolded. Y/n is confused, she doesn’t know if he’s being real or if he’s just saying that in front of his brother but either way she’s hurt.

Y/n walks back in the room with puffy eyes. Matt gets up seeing her, turning her around and pushing her in her room to talk to her. “Matt what are you doing?” She asks confused. He just sighs “I know what he said was wrong, so wrong but you can’t let what he says affect you” Matt whispers. “I know I shouldn’t but it’s hard when all I do is try and be nice to him and he just shoves right back at my face.” She said letting out a sob. Matt pulls her into a hug. “Y/n, you’re gonna have to stop trying to be nice for something in return. He’s made up his mind.”

Y/n and Matt go back to the living room. “Finally can we go.” Chris says standing up with a groan. “Y/n? You gonna be okay?” Nick asks also standing up. “Yea I’ll be-” she starts but gets interrupted by Chris, “she’s fine dude let’s go” Chris says opening the front door. Y/n doesn’t even spare him a glance. “I’ll be fine, y’all go ahead” she finishes with a smile, Nick sends her a soft smile and hugs her. Matt hugs her as well whispering “remember what i told you” before leaving, Y/n still hasn’t looked at Chris.

It’s been an hour since they left, and Y/n’s bored laying in bed scrolling on instagram when she gets a text, she looks at the name and lets out a groan

Chris 😓

Hey pretty girl, I think we played it off well. 😋

She sighs rolling over and out of bed, she needs a hot shower. She gets in the shower with lots of thoughts in her head not being able to focus on one thing. She’s upset that Chris could even think for one second that, that was okay to say faking it or not. She’s also upset with herself that she finds it hard to forgive him.. he was faking it but at the same time it was rude. She gets out of the shower throwing on pj pants and a sports bra. She goes to her room looking in the mirror seeing the hickeys. She groans going in to the kitchen to grab a whisk, trying anything to get rid of it.

Nothing worked, it’s way lighter now tho so she can hid it with make up. She ended up FaceTiming Nick and Matt while playing Fortnite for a long 2 hours before getting off for bed. She’s laid in bed scrolling through her notifications since her phone was on dnd while she was playing.

Chris 😓

Hello?

You there?

Y/n it’s been an hour, you can pick up your phone

Oh ok

Tell me why I just walked past Matt’s room and heard you’re voice

She sighs letting out a breath. She’s not answering him, she keeps reminding herself of what Matt said.

Nickelodeon 🍰🍒

Address* just in case we don’t pick you up tomorrow or if Chris decides to bring someone!

Y/n 😛🍑

Okay! Sounds good, it’s gonna be soooo good. Maybe Colby Brock will fall in love with me 💁🏼‍♀️

Nickelodeon 🍰🍒

Girl he’s like 9 years older then you😅😂

Y/n😛🍑

Shut up ✋🏼

Y/n laughs while putting her phone down and turning her tv on putting shameless on. She watched at least 2 episodes before getting a call, Y/n didnt even look at the phone and anwsered just wanting to watch her show. “Hello?” She said with a tired voice. “Pretty girl, why are you ignoring me” Chris said with a raspy voice. She didn’t say anything and just hung up. She scolds herself for not looking at the name. A mistake she’ll never make again.

It’s currently 2 am and Y/n can’t sleep, she hops on Fortnite for another hour and a half before getting sleepy. She lays laying in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about how fast her world just changed within today. She can’t help but think Chris just wanted to get laid, Chris is the type of guy to have random hookups so she wouldn’t be surprised if he attempted to do it with her. But Y/n is Nick and Matt’s best friend so why would he do that to not only her but them as well.

She slowly starts falling asleep when there’s a loud bang on her door. She jolts out of bed scared. She rolls her eyes at how scared she got so easily. She throws on a sweatshirt that was laying on her bed and goes and opens it seeing Chris. She rolls her eyes shutting the door. Chris beats her to it by putting his arms on the door and pushing it open. “What the fuck Y/n” Chris says slightly loud. “Shut up, you’re gonna wake people up.” Y/n said pulling him inside.

“I don’t care, you’ve been dodging my text and calls and you hung up on me.” Chris said with wide eyes throwing his arms up. “Please leave.” Y/n said looking at the floor playing with strings on her hoodie. “Not until you tell me what I did wrong.” Chris said crossing his arms. Y/n drops her arms clenching her jaw. “You don’t know what you did wrong?” Y/n raised her voice. Chris’s eyes widened slightly not expecting her to be that loud. Y/n lets out a laugh shaking her head. “You need to leave Chris. Now.” She said pointing at her door behind her with tears in her eyes.

“I told you. I’m not leaving. Till you tell me. What I did wrong.” Chris said stepping forward just wanting anwsers. Y/n puts her hand up before he can come any closer. Chris looks down at her hand in disbelief . “You’ve gotta be joking, there’s no way in hell you don’t know.” Y/n says throw gritted teeth. “You’re a fucking asshole to me all the time. You’re only nice when we’re alone. And all you want is a fucking hookup, but I’m not doing it.” Y/n continues getting louder with each word. Chris blows out air, “that’s really what you think of me?” Chris asks whispering. “Please leave Chris” she says looking at the floor again. “Whatever” chris says walking to the door and leaving

Y/n sighs rubbing her hands on her face. She walks to her room ripping off her hoodie and climbing straight into bed, she lays there for another hour before finally falling asleep

Yikes..🤧

Taglist: @lacysturniolo @mattsaq @junnniiieee07 @sturniolosreads @creamoncreamoncream2 @robins-scoop @blahbel668 @carolsturns1 1@sturniolopepsi @luverboychris @hearts4chris @freshloveforthefit @stuniolobbg @novasturniolo03 @alexb5598 @sturnioloa @nicksmainbitch @icedchailatee @bunbunbl0gs

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cherrythepuppet · 8 months

Text

Corpse Puppet [Part 9]

AU we all know belongs to our Lovely @sketchquill

"Frank! are you there?" Wally called out as he and (Y/n) entered a tall tower on the outskirts of the little dead town"Hello? ls anyone home?" Wally asked "Shut up! I'm almost done with this book!" A voice yelled, (Y/n) and Wally looked around to see who said that

It was a short girl with short messy dark red hair and light pink skin with an X on her forehead, She wore a black and white dress with a spider bowtie similar to Jack skellington's outfit"Cherry!" Wally exclaimed "Oh apple man!" Cherry said as she looked up from her book that was titled 'All Good People Here'

"Why are you here?" Cherry asked as she grabbed a perfume bottle and drank some"Well me and my spouse came to see frank" Wally said making Cherry spit out all the perfume "What's that?! Spouse?!" Cherry yelled

Cherry glared at (Y/n) making them freeze "Uhm- Pleasure to meet you, Miss" They said with a wave "Ill go get frank..." Cherry grumbled as she hop off the stack of books she was sitting on

After a moment Cherry had come back with a man who (Y/n) had assumed was Frank Frankly "Oh Wally! It's been a while how are you? Cherry says you have a spouse now" Frank exclaimed (Y/n) thought Frank looked familiar like they have heard about him before then something clicked in their head

"I do! Meet (Y/n)!" Wally told them making Cherry glare at (Y/n) even more, "Sir may i ask you something?" (Y/n) asked gaining Frank's attention "Did you perhaps know someone named Eddie?" They asked Frank's eyes widened "How did you-" he asked

"Eddie told me about you" (Y/n) said "You know him!? How is he?" Frank asked "He's been doing good and he missed you dearly" They told himCherry was still glaring at (Y/n) seeming to find them odd "Hm" Cherry mumbled as she appeared directly in front of (Y/n) and grabbed their wrist

"Your breathing...and you have a pulse!" Cherry yelled "Wally where did you find this person?!" She asked "We met in the forest we they said their vows perfectly!" Wally told her

(Y/n) stood there nervously "Cherry Jubilee! If you are going to start getting upset i suggest you go talk to sally or poppy" Frank said

"But!-" "No buts Cherry! Go!" Frank demanded as cherry groaned then black smoke and nothing as cherry was gone"I apologize about her...recently she has been upset" Frank told the couple

"What is it you needed?" He asked "We need to go up" Wally said as he pointed up "Upstairs?" Frank asked"To visit the land of the living" Wally said "Land of the living?" frank asked "Please, Frank!" Wally begged

"Now, why go up there, when people are dying to get down here?" Frank asked "Sir, l beg you to help lt means so much to me-...Us" (Y/n) spoke up"l don't know, it's just not natural..." Frank mumbled

"Please, Frank! Surely there must be something you can do!" Wally exclaimed "Let me see what l can do..." Frank mumbled "Where did l put that book? l left it here somewhere" he asked himself

"Oh it must be with Cherry I keep forgetting to tell her to stop taking my spell books" Frnak groaned Suddenly a book dropped in front of him with a sticky note on it, The sticky note had somethign written on it and a drawing of frank looking angry

"I despise that girl" He said as he opened the book "Here it is! A Ukrainian haunting spell Just the thing for these quick trips!" Frank exclaimed "So glad you thought of this" Wally whispered to (Y/n) "Me too" They whispered back

"Now, then where were we?" Frank asked"The Ukrainian haunting spell?" Wally said "Here we have it! Ready?" Frank mumbled "Just remember, when you want to come back, say 'Hopscotch.' " He told them

"Hopscotch?" (Y/n) asked confused as to why that word "That's it" Frank said as he cracked open a case of something then engulfed both Wally and (Y/n) in a black smokeThe moon shined brightly over the two as snow began lightly falling along with the wind blowing

The two were silent for a minute as they took in the sights and beauty of it all "I spent so long in the darkness I almost forgotten what the moonlight is like" Wally smiled and (Y/n) couldn't help but smile back at him

(Y/n)'s smiled faded after a minute thought "l think l should prepare Mother and Father for the big news" she said and wally nodded "l'll go ahead and you wait here" (Y/n) told him before they walked away Wally sat on a rock and waited for when (Y/n) would come back....

#welcome home #welcome home au #wally darling #wally darling x reader #corpse puppet au #welcome home oc #fanfic

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thelustybraavosimaid · 6 months

Text

...

....

.....

I want to specifically talk about book!Jon here because I'm pretty sure this person doesn't know a goddamn thing about Jon in the books or his personality to even remotely reach this conclusion. I'm, quite frankly, confused at this response. So I'd like to provide some quotes:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. (Jon XII, ASoS)

If a child was something Jon had always wanted, as is clearly stated here, why would he force Ygritte to get rid of his own kid?

Let's not pretend like he doesn't love her, either. Was the beginning of their relationship dubious? Absolutely. But he did love her:

"Yes." His voice was thick. "First we'll live."

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. (Jon V, ASoS)

Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body...and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted.

...

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. "She's with Styr, but she's not...she's young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she..." She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her... (Jon VI, ASoS)

And he did mourn her.

Though Maester Aemon said his wound was healing well, Jon bore other scars, deeper than the ones around his eye. He grieves for his wildling girl, and for his brothers. (Samwell IV, ASoS)

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. (Jon VI, ADwD)

It goes without saying that Jon is one of the most progressive protagonists in the series. He:

•despises rape,

•advocates for those perceived "weaker" for not fitting the typical Westerosi gender standards (i.e. Sam and Satin),

•breaks the mould of Night's Watch traditions for hundreds of years by allowing freefolk men and women ages twelve and up to join.

Jon Snow values bodily autonomy.

Moreover:

Burning dead children had ceased to trouble Jon Snow; live ones were another matter. Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen's men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. Jon had tried to dismiss them as his fever talking. Aemon had demurred. "There is power in a king's blood," the old maester had warned, "and better men than Stannis have done worse things than this." The king can be harsh and unforgiving, aye, but a babe still on the breast? Only a monster would give a living child to the flames. (Jon I, ADwD)

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. "You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter…her face…"

"Greyscale."

"The grey death is what we call it."

"It is not always mortal in children."

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago."

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child."

"I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

"If Stannis wins his war, Shireen will stand as heir to the Iron Throne."

"Then I pity your Seven Kingdoms."

"The maesters say greyscale is not—"

"The maesters may believe what they wish. Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again. The child is not clean!"

"She seems a sweet girl. You cannot know—"

"I can. You know nothing, Jon Snow.” Val seized his arm. “I want the monster out of there. Him and his wet nurses. You cannot leave them in that same tower as the dead girl.”

Jon shook her hand away. "She is not dead."

"She is. Her mother cannot see it. Nor you, it seems. Yet death is there." She walked away from him, stopped, turned back. "I brought you Tormund Giantsbane. Bring me my monster."

"If I can, I will.”

"Do. You owe me a debt, Jon Snow.”

Jon watched her stride away. She is wrong. She must be wrong. Greyscale is not so deadly as she claims, not in children. (Jon XI, ADwD)

Not to mention the conversation he has with Tormund:

"You are a free man now, and Ygritte is a free woman. What dishonor if you lay together?"

"I might get her with child."

"Aye, I'd hope so. A strong son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where's the harm in that?"

Words failed him for a moment. "The boy...the child would be a bastard."

"Are bastards weaker than other children? More sickly, more like to fail?"

"No, but—"

"You're bastard-born yourself. And if Ygritte does not want a child, she will go to some woods witch and drink a cup o' moon tea. You do not come into it, once the seed is planted."

"I will not father a bastard."

Tormund shook his shaggy head. "What fools you kneelers be. Why did you steal the girl if you don't want her?"

"Steal? I never..." (Jon II, ASoS)

So with that in mind, why would he force a woman of the freefolk — a group of people he had come to appreciate, and his first love — to drink moon tea? If she wanted to, she'd do it herself. But he would not force her. That is not how the freefolk work and Jon knows it.

#asoiaf #ramble

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theaudacitytowrite · 10 months

Text

Chapter 3 - The Council

Series Masterlist

<- Chapter 2

Summary: Loki meets up with the council for the first time and gets confronted with his past doings.

Warnings: internalized racism, a bad reference to the sex-pollen trope, cringey writing

Word count: 2.640

You had walked through the icy streets for a while. Everything here reminded you of medieval markets at the renaissance fair just on ice. The houses that were planted without a specific pattern rose around the, what you assumed, marketplace.

As you walked by some stands, Jotuns hastily packed up their goods. You smiled at one of the market traders, but she only rewarded you with a cold stare.

“Can I ask you something?” you quietly asked Loki.

“If it’s not a pun.” he huffed as he stomped through the snow. “…it’s not a pun.” you glared at him for ruining the perfect opportunity to lighten the mood, “I was just wondering why the Jotuns seem to-“

“Despise us?”

“Despise is such a strong word. I would’ve said that they seem wary of us.”

“Admit it, you wanted to say ‘icy’ in the first place.” Loki raised his eyebrow at you.

“Tsk, I would never.” you feigned innocence, “And stop deflecting my question.”

“Jotuns don’t like other beings. If you do not look like them, you are simply beneath them. They hate each and everyone, even their own kin.” Loki explained reluctantly.

“But why?”

“Because Frost giants are primitive beings who oppose any rules and generally create havoc and hassle.” you could hear the bitterness in Loki’s voice.

“So that’s where you got your mischievous side?” you chuckled out loud but regretted it instantly. Loki stopped dead in his tracks as he looked down at you sternly.

“I’m not like them.” he pressed through gritted teeth. Silence fell over you heavily as you continued your stroll.

“I didn’t mean to insult you…” you whispered sheepishly; your eyes glued to the path before your feet.

“Let’s just get back to our rooms.” Loki changed the topic. You walked in silence for a while when you arrived at the gardens before the palace. Your gaze wandered over the uneven path as you tried to navigate your feet around all the icy lumps and clumps that got denser the closer you got to the garden.

At first, you hadn’t even realised that the weird-looking clumps on the floor were flowers but as you got closer the icy clumps emerged into intricate flowers that glistened in the setting sunlight.

“Woow, look at these! They look like ice.” you gasped and let yourself fall onto your knees, right in front of the flowers.

“Don’t touch them!” Loki hurriedly exclaimed.

“Why? Are they poisonous?” your pulled back your hand instantly.

“No… but I don’t think you’d like their effect on you.” Loki hummed and hawed.

“Why? No… are you for real? Are they like these aphrodisiacs you hear of all the time?” you asked with a cheeky grin.

“Well.. yeah. Kind of.” Loki rubbed his neck awkwardly, “But they won’t bloom until spring if not disturbed.”

“What would happen if you’d touch them,” you asked with curious eyes.

“Y/N, I’m not going to explain this in detail. I believe you can imagine it without my help.” you could see a faint tint of red spreading over Loki’s cheeks. You loved teasing him, especially when you succeeded.

“Man, I never realised how prude you can be. This isn’t about anything nasty. I just wanna understand the science behind it. After all, I’m here to learn more about Jotunheim.” You shrugged innocently.

“Maybe another time. I have to meet with the council in a bit. I don’t want them to wait for me… in the end, they’ll plot against me if I don’t show up on time.” Loki cleared his throat.

“You really are something… so distrustful.” You shook your head slightly, “Try going into this a bit more positively. Might change how they’ll welcome you. This is strange for both sides Lo. All they know is, that you suddenly showed up. They don’t know for what.”

“I know these people.” Loki remarked almost sad, “All they know is to stir up conflict. I’m just trying to think ahead of them.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise you… in a positive way.” you shrugged.

His fists were clenched tightly as he approached the courtroom with long strides. His footsteps echoed through the icy hallways, bouncing off the walls. When he entered through the tall doors, he could feel the tense mood that lay over the room as he walked to an empty seat that was close by the socle in the centre of the hall. All the while he was closely monitored by a dozen of ruby eyes.

As one of the elders stepped onto the socle to begin the conference, he could hear hushed whispers all around him. He knew he wasn’t welcome here, that’s why he didn’t want to come back in the first place. The last time he had interacted with Jotunheim it hadn’t ended well. Loki’s attention was quickly pulled back to the present as the voice of the elder resounded through the icy hall.

"We are gathered here today as one to speak about the future of our nation. As we have known for a long time, the winters have become harsher and the…" Ymir, the elder suddenly began to hesitate for a moment as if he was searching for the most diplomatic words possible, "external influences have hastened the decay of our great nation. That's why we have come together to find a solution as a union of Jotunheim and… Midgard." Ymir drawled the last word, "Our rightful King has returned to assist us in our efforts and mend the relation between our nation and Midgard."

As diplomatic as Ymir tried to sound, Loki could still tell that the appreciative-sounding words were spoken with a hint of indifference towards Loki's efforts. He didn't seem to be convinced of the King's motives yet, probably assuming that Loki wouldn't pull through with his assistance.

“We don’t need a traitor to help us!” a voice suddenly disrupted the order, heads turning and chatter starting to erupt. Loki's eyes snapped away from the elder, scanning the crowd as to make out the instigator.

“Silence!” Ymir boomed sharply, “This is a court of order not chaos.” he scolded sharply.

“But the people are right, Ymir.” another Jotun raised from his seat, standing up to Ymir, “We are making progress already without help from any other tenuous realm. We don’t need their pity.”

Loki’s face twitched. How dare this arrogant Jotun to think he was too good to get assistance from outside this god-forsaken realm, let alone from Loki. If anything, he wasn’t worth Loki’s time or effort. Especially if he didn’t even want help in the first place. Loki glared at the impudent Jotun, his jaw clenching as he stared him down.

“We have everything under control. We don’t need help.” The Jotun grumbled deeply, shooting Loki a scornful glare.

“Yet your population is still shrinking alarmingly with each passing day.” Loki found himself sneering as he got to his feet before he even processed what he was doing.

“You helped decimate us in the first place.” The Jotun spat back, taking a menacing step towards Loki who didn't budge the slightest.

“But I have returned to help.” Loki continued sternly, “What more do you want from me?”

“How? Will you do to us what you have done to your father? Will you wipe us out like the other Frost Giants when you directed the Bifrost directly at us? Why should we trust you?” the Jotun growled with bared teeth.

Loki swallowed thickly. He knew that it wasn’t a smart idea to come here again. It was just a matter of time for the Jotuns to lunge at him for his past doings and end his life for goof. His body tensed up, bracing for the inevitable attack. What would they do to you once he was incapacitated to protect you?

He jumped a bit when the elder Ymir chimed in again, stepping between the two placidly.

“I know the emotions are still running high on either side of this conflict.” he began calmly, addressing the Jotun directly now, “But we have gathered to find a solution, not to stir up another war between the realms. King Loki has returned, despite his wrongdoings in the past, and he is here to help us as a nation to overcome the shortcomings that were caused by the conflicts of the past. We do not ask you to forgive him, but we urge you to think of the future of our kind. Your parents, brothers and sisters, children and all the coming generations. Think of them and what you could provide for them if we manage to overcome these trying times.”

Loki was surprised by Ymir’s words. Since when had the Frost Giant developed a sense of community or even empathy? And since when were children, not a mere necessity to continue their bloodline, devil-may-care? He was actually talking of families and lives and how they could improve their future, not just how to maintain the mere existence of their race.

Loki and the Jotun exchanged one last glare before sitting back down again, the session progressing more proficiently. The conference continued till late into the night as the Jotuns described their predicament in great detail to fill Loki in.

“Elder Ymir.” Loki approached him once the discussion had ended, the other Jotuns already leaving. “Thank you for-“ but before he could finish his sentence, the elder raised his hand to quiet Loki.

“If I may give you advice, your highness…. maybe if you did not oppose to your own skin as much you could be able to reach their hearts.” he looked deep into Loki’s eyes as if to reach Loki’s own heart with his suggestion. Loki felt taken aback by his request, his nose flaring as his throat constricted.

“I’m not opposed to anything.” he lied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Then it surely won’t be a problem to take a step towards your kind and get closer to a compromise, would it?” the elder remarked slyly.

“No… I supposed not.” Loki replied small as if he was taken back to being a young boy being led kindly in the right direction by his father. An odd feeling, Loki had to admit.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to come to a solution, sire.” Ymir gently patted Loki’s arm, “Just give your people time to process what’s happening. They’re scared, overwhelmed and wary. Give them some time to adjust… to build trust.”

“I will try my best.” Loki nodded.

“Thank you, your highness.” a small smile played on the lips of the elder, “Let’s get some rest and continue our negotiations in the morning.”

Loki nodded and as if he was under a spell, he parted ways with the elder, walking back to his chambers. On his way, he started to gradually snap out of his trance, as if he had been so shocked by the elder’s kindness, that he had forgotten all his effervescent emotions that wanted to spill over his lips during the discussion. Loki still didn’t like the idea of having to change into his Jotun form, but he argued with himself that this diplomatic mission would go over quicker if he’d make the first step towards reconciliation and show up as one of them to earn their trust. Even if he didn’t want to earn anything because he had nothing to prove to anyone... it wouldn’t hurt to get what he wanted quicker if that meant tricking Jotuns into believing he was one of them. After all, these daft creatures would eat from his hands in no time. Loki was sure of that.

Days passed quickly as Loki started to find his rhythm. During the mornings he could chat with you while having breakfast together while you talked about all your plans for the day. You had already managed to make friends with the young Maid Aria that had brought you to your room on the first day in Jotunheim. Loki envied you for your open nature and the ease you had to make people feel comfortable around you. Loki had been wary of Aria at first, but she had turned out as an exception to any Jotun he had ever met. She was timid and kind, always looking for ways to make him and you feel more welcomed and comfortable around the palace. And if you liked and trusted her, Aria couldn’t be too bad, that’s at least how Loki argued with himself.

As soon as Loki would leave the dining hall to walk towards the council, his skin would slowly start to change hues, getting paler with each echoing step he took until it turned from a soft sky blue into a rich dark blue colour that made his features appear even harsher, the intricate markings not helping either. Even his clothes changed into something more appropriate in Jotunheim. He felt exposed without his armour plate, feeling vulnerable to possible attacks by disgruntled members of the council. But as long as he was able to avoid any reflecting surfaces, he would be ok and soon forget about his changed appearance.

But Ymir had been right. The Jotuns were slowly warming up to the idea of Loki helping them. After their long days in court, he was finally brought out to inspect the damages the attacks by the Aesir had left. Not only the devastating impact of his own attack but also the liberation struggles of Odin and even Thor's visits had left their impression on the Jotunheim's infrastructure. Deep craters lined all over the terrain, pulling apart neighbouring houses and villages. Loki couldn’t help the feeling of shame and dread creep up as he saw all the destroyed homes that lay in ruins. The remnants of their inhabitors left behind to rot away slowly, a bitter memory of what once had housed a loving family.

Often times when Loki came back after these gruelling and draining meetings, he'd head directly to the living area of the palace, his shimmer set back into place firmly before he even entered the wing you were allowed to roam freely in. When he'd enter through the wooden doors, you either were welcoming him back with a huge smile and a tight hug, taking away all these negative feelings and thoughts he had gathered during the day. You would report your daily discoveries, making him forget anything that he had seen that day, even if it was just for a few hours.

On other nights, just like tonight, you were already fast asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, too tired to wait for Loki to come back. Loki couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth as he watched you sleep peacefully for a moment. And then he felt it again. He interpreted it as the envy of your ability to sleep so peacefully. You had nothing that kept you awake at night. You hadn’t done anything as horrible as he had done. Maybe it was fair that he would toss and turn each night, as he realised that he was indeed not any different than the Jotun's. He had been just as much of a monster as they were. Destroying the houses and the lives of innocent, no matter how awful they might have been or could've turned out to be.

Loki shook away these thoughts quickly, instead leaning over your frame and softly kissing your hair before he scooped you up into his arms to carry you back to your room, so you could get a well-deserved night's rest. Loki noticed that the wind outside had picked up tonight, the snow dunes whipping against the windows of the castle as he walked past them. The storm had arrived quicker than Loki had anticipated and it seemed to be quite substantial.

Intermission 1 ->

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @tendertalesmain @donttouchmylaevateinn @elius-learns-to-write @kokinu09 @midnights-ramblings @sititran @anonymousfiction211 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @iamalinarose @xorpsbane @vbecker10 @limiworld @ilovefanfiction @tinctureofmaddness @cosplayingwitch @tanushreeg27 @kellatron55 @scram1326 @mooncat163 @leucoratia @acefeather2002 @mochie85 @usagishira @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @awkward-and-indecisive @evelyn-kingsley @holdmytesseract @lokiprompts @peaches1958 @domesticloki @lovingchoices14 @vickie5446 @ladyjames78 @mcufan72 @avoliax @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @evelyn-kingsley @highkeysimpingforloki

Hope I didn't miss anyone. It's been a while since I used my tag list 😬

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki drabble #loki blurb #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason

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auriellethenymph · 11 months

Text

Imposter Sagau x Child Reader and Mother y/n. Feel free to use it tbh.

You can choose which one you wanna be. Mother y/n is the true creator of Teyvat but is deemed the 'Impostor' and is killed. Then Child reader is basically rapunzel w/ the hair n stuff and revives Y/n. I couldn't choose which role so I chose both🤪. Also, y/n doesn't have gold blood.

TW! Blood, angsty..?, Murder, and etc. This is my second one so take it easy-

Oh how they all wish they could take it all back.

The True Imposter sat on your rightful throne. Ei was the one who executed you. Morax held (name) as they wailed for their mother to return.

Y/n's blood, flowed as it held a sight of the night sky and bright day. (Name) cried tears of gold and jewels, all of them clattering to the ground.

"I despise all of those who wanted my mother dead! I will repay those who have helped us a hundred fold, but I will repay the pain to those who wanted both of us dead!"

The Fatui and Tsaritsa regret not securing The Great Creator. (Name) went to Snezhnaya, and chose the best nation for their mother to be reborn.

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

"All of you here, heed my words. My mother shall be reborn and I choose Snezhnaya to birth my mother's new vessel." (Name) told them during a meeting.

"It would be an honour Di-"

"Please, just call me (name)."

"It would be an honour (name)."

Soon, they prepared the best items for the Creator, ready to grant all their wishes. Suddenly, information leaked about the Creator's new birth.

The other Nations were begging to be the place of birth for the Great Creator, but the Divine Child refused all of them, choosing Snezhnaya for the birth.

"(Name), we have gotten what you have asked for, what is the next step?" Arlecchino asks.

"It is time, would all of you oversee the birth?" (Name) smiles gently.

"Really?! I-i mean... We would be honoured (name)." Childe is happy, I mean, to oversee the Great Creator's return?!

"It is an unmeasurable honour for you to let us oversee the return of the Great Creator, (name)." The Tsaritsa smiles, this time, she will protect you and your child.

Heading to the room, (name) lets their hair down, and shapes a circle, and their hair glows.

"Flower, gleam and glow.. Let your powers shine." Suddenly, (name)'s hair glows and so does the inside of the circle.

"Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine..~" Winds breezed and storms left.

"Heal what has been hurt.. Change the fates' design..~" The ground shook gently as snow calmed.

"Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine.." Waters unmoving, as fires gave a gentle warmth.

"What once was... mine..~" The forest was silent, as the final line of the incantation was said, a bright light blinded the entirety of Teyvat, as they cheered for the rebirth of the Great Creator.

In front of them, appeared the Great Creator, in all their glory, resting on a hammock swaying gently that hanged on the large tree that appeared.

(Name) graced a small smile as they went to their mother, tears flowing down their face, happily crying.

"Mama.." (Name) signaled to take you to the chambers they made for them. They were honoured for Snezhnaya to hold the place of rebirth, even oversaw it!

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

Days later, The Great Creator awoke as The Divine Child cried happy tears in their mother's arms.

"Mama! Waah!" If anything, crying would be an understatement...

A/n: If you got some of the references, Kudos to you!<3

#sagau impostor X reader #sagau #Fatui #Fatuu Harbingers #Reader #Name #Y/N #Creator #Sagau Imposter #Death #A bit angsty cuz why not??#sagau impostor x rapunzel reader #Rapunzel #Rapunzel reader

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catindabag · 1 year

Text

TBOSAS on Crack short take (24)

*How everyone survived (escaped) the bomb explosion inside the Capitol Arena*

Felix: Finally! Everyone’s here! Start lining up with your Tributes! We need to finish our-

Clemensia: Start the tour! Start the tour! *grabs Reaper’s hand and swings it*

Reaper: Ughhh! For the last time, little girl, stop grabbing and swinging my hand!😠

Clemensia: But- but it’s our first official school field trip together.🥺

Reaper: BOO. HOO. I don’t even want to be here!

Mizzen: Oh, don’t be too mean, Ash! She just wants to have a little date!😂

Persephone: Inside the Capitol Arena? That’s kinda f*cked up-

Apollo: Start the tour! Start the tour!🥳

Festus: Yeah, Class Pres! Start the tour! *pulls out a burger from his satchel*

Coral: Can I have a bite?

Festus: Mmm. . . Oh, here. *gives Coral a burger coupon* You can have this instead.😌

Coral: *sighs* Thanks.😒 But this is the 7th useless burger coupon you gave me.

Festus: Yo, I worked hard and dumpster dived with my friends all day for those coupon. So-

Coral: I’m starting to believe that you guys don’t even have any money.

Vipsania: Hey, Class Pres! Class Pres, Where’s the toilet?! I need to fix my eyeliner real quick.

Treech: Yeah, Class Pres! I also need to readjust my hat!

Dennis: Yo, Class Pres, I’m hungry-

Felix: Please stop whining! You’re all giving me a massive headache! Heck! I’m not even in charge here!

Dill: *coughs* Shut up, Treech! The Peacekeepers are watching!

Felix: *sighs* Thanks, Dill. At least you know what I’m dealing with.😞

Dill: Don’t be too harsh on yourself, Class Pres. You’re not the only one surrounded by a bunch of immature idiots.😔

Felix: But still, please forgive my children, Dill. The war took all of their “good” remaining marbles and never gave them back.

Dill: So they’re all crazy?

Felix: Except for Clemensia Dovecote. She’s the only “normal” functioning human being in our class.

Dill: That’s rough, buddy.

Felix: I mean, just look at poor Coryo Snow and Festus Creed.

Dill: Why? Those two are pretty “normal” to me-

Felix: They think dumpster diving with the rabid raccoons after class is a legitimate extracurricular school activity.

Dill: That’s neat. But who’s the craziest one in your bunch?

Felix: It depends on the situation.

Dill: Honestly, same. But it’s kinda tiring to always be the mature one in the group if you’re surrounded by 23 other idiots all day.😒 *side eyes Lucy Gray*

Lucy Gray: Even me, Dill? The Amazing Lucy Gray from District 12?

Dill: Especially you, Baird.

Sejanus: Shouldn’t Dean Highbottom be here by now? He’s in charge of us, right?

Coryo: I hope not. He hates me.

Lucy Gray: Why? Did you steal his lover or something?

Sejanus: STFU, Lucy Gray! I’m Coryo’s lover!

Coryo: *sighs* He practically despises me with a passion because my dead dad used to be his lover, bestie boyfriend, and karaoke pal.

Sejanus: And he also hates me because I’m Coryo’s fiancé!😍

Livia: We already know that, you idiot.🙄

Marcus: So Coryo’s mother stole Highbottom’s lover who was also Coryo’s father?!

Felix: But before that, Coryo’s rich boyfriend’s father also dated Coryo’s dad.

Jessup: So you’re telling us that Coryo’s dad dated some rich older dude from District 2 after he broke up with Highbottom?!

Felix: It was the hottest Capitol scandal back in their days. And even the outer Districts knew about them.

Coryo: Yeah. That’s sounds about right.

Jessup: That’s rough, buddy. *pats Coryo’s curls*

Lysistrata: To be fair, Highbottom shouldn’t even be in charge of looking after toddlers.

Marcus: Why not? Is he bad at his job?

Wovey: Did he stab someone?

Coryo: Well, the last time Highbottom was in charge of us, he turned one of our most awaited class parties into a disastrous embarrassing nightmare.

Sejanus: Oh, yeah! I remember that incident. Festus and Urban were hospitalized together for a week!

Festus: It was super serious! And our hospital bills were insane!

Urban: Don’t remind me, Creed!

Coryo: Persephone, Hilarius, and Dennis couldn’t even eat anything solid for five straight days!

Gaius: Lol. It got wilder when Mama Cardew tried to sue everyone at school after Livia slipped and fell on her own vomit!🤣

Livia: Shut up, Breen!

Sejanus: Even crazy President Ravinstill got involved.

Hilarius: Heck, yeah!

Felix: Ugh. Don’t remind me.😞

Coryo: But shortly thereafter, the President was then arrested by his own Peacekeepers for almost strangling the Dean to death in the name of justice.

Jessup: So Ravinstill went to jail?

Coryo: Nope. He was quickly bailed out by Highbottom himself to save face and to save Panem from being leaderless.

Apollo: To be fair, our poor Class President was throwing up everywhere.

Felix: Guys, please stop ruining my reputation in front of these good people.

Lucy Gray: But seriously, what happened?

Treech: Yeah! Tell us, pretty boy!

Coryo: So drunk Dean Highbottom apparently gave Palmyra Monty the important task of providing the food for our annual ✨End of The Year Class Party✨.

Marcus: What’s wrong with that?

Coryo: Palmyra may look nice and bubbly on the outside, but she’s infamously known to bring expired food.

Felix: Poison even.

Sejanus: She practically brought her mother’s notoriously deadly apple pies that would’ve killed everyone at that party.

Marcus: So you guys got food poisoned by Velvereen’s Mentor?!

Coryo: Pretty much. I even skipped school for two days because my body was sweating all over the place.

Lysistrata: Seriously, it was extremely embarrassing, Coryo.

Sejanus: I even had to sleep between the sink and the toilet for a week or two.

Felix: And after President Ravinstill was bailed out, he then tried to strangle Dean Highbottom again for negligence.

Marcus: Lol.

Felix: It was all because I was bedridden for almost two weeks.

Velvereen: Wait, what?!😱 You mean to say that my Mentor did all that?! My Mentor, Palmyra Monty?!

Coryo: Yup. That’s Monty for you.

Velvereen: But she’s been feeding me at the zoo!!

Felix: Wow! Good job, Velvereen! You’re a real walking miracle!

Facet: What the actual f*ck, Velvereen! All this time, you have been sharing and feeding me your Mentor’s expired food?!

Velvereen: How should I have known that they were expired?! She was eating them too!

Facet: You lying traitor!

Velvereen: I even saw her eating cookies yesterday!

Facet: So?

Velvereen: They were homemade cookies, Facet! Homemade!!

Livia: To be fair, Monty’s already immune to food poisoning.

Persephone: Yeah. She’s been eating expired hams, pies, and chocolate wafers since she was a child.

Mizzen: Chocolate wafers?! You have those here?!

Persephone: Well, if you win, I’m willing to give you a truck load of chocolate wafers to devour-

Velvereen: Where even is Palmyra Monty?!

Livia: Yeah! I thought all of us should be here, Class Pres!

Coryo: We did have a class roll call before coming here, right?

Felix: Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot! Palmyra called me yesterday and said that she’ll be staying behind.

Gaius: Why would she want to stay behind at school?

Felix: She said she wants to help prepare some snacks in the school kitchen.

Coryo: Our what?!

Gaius: Our snacks?!

Sejanus: I thought she was banned from cooking?!

Lucy Gray: *starts laughing and rolling on the floor again* And I thought my life was hard!🤣

Dill: Sucks to be you right now, Class Pres.

Livia: Who gave that dangerous walking anomaly that task?!

Florus: I’m calling the Peacekeepers!

Urban: Heck! Im calling the National Security!

Festus: Do you have a death wish, Class Pres?!

Felix: I’m sorry!

Apollo: I can’t believe this is happening right now!😩

Diana: And in front of the Tributes!

Gaius: She shouldn’t even be near the school kitchen!

Treech: Yo, is this what they call real ✨Capitol Drama✨?

Vipsania: No, not really. Monty’s shenanigans are just part of our class culture.

Felix: *runs to the closest Peacekeeper* Help! Sir, we need urgent help! It’s a true life or death emergency!😭

Peacekeeper: What’s the matter, kid? Why are you crying? Who’s been hurt? Should I call backup?

Felix: We need to get out of here right now!

Peacekeeper: Why?

Livia: Why?! Do you even know who my mother is?!

Felix: We all need to go back to school! The Mentors, the Tributes, the news crew, everyone!

Festus: Everyone?

Coryo: Even Lucky Flickerman?

Urban: Nah. We can leave Weather Boy and his annoying bird here.

Peacekeeper: I still don’t get it.

Coryo: *backs up Felix* You don’t understand, officer! Our lives are in great danger!

Peacekeeper: You’re just bluffing-

Coryo: The stupid Dean, his goldfish, the professors, our 2 stolen Bichon Frisé puppies are all going to die!😫

Festus: Stop. The. Tour! Stop. The. Tour!

Persephone: Yeah! Stop the tour!

Livia: My mother will hear about this!

Hilarius: I’m calling my father!

Coryo: Don’t you dare, Hilari!

Hilarius: But-

Coryo: Do you want your creepy old man to have another restraining order?!

Hilarius: No. *starts crying*

Peacekeeper: Fine. Fine! Stop crying already!

Felix: Good job, Heavensbee!

Peacekeeper: *grabs a megaphone* TOUR’S OVER! EVERYBODY OUT!

Coryo: Finally!

Lysistrata: Can we bring Jessup to school with us?

Sejanus: And Marcus too?🥺

Apollo: Why would you-

Coryo: Maybe that’s a good idea. We do need strong extra hands to force Palmyra out of the kitchen.

Felix: *sighs* Fine. I’ll call my granduncle. He’ll gladly give us his blessing and permission.

Tanner: Does that mean that we’re coming too?

Sabyn: Is that even allowed, Class Pres?

Felix: There’s no law that forbids you to.

Mizzen: Good! Let’s go! I’m hungry!

Coral: You’re always hungry, Mizzen.🙄

*Immediately, everyone exited the Capitol Arena (unscathed) and boarded the Mentors’ bus*

*BOOM!💥 The Bomb exploded*

Everyone: What the heck was that?!

Coryo: A bomb?! At this hour?!

Gaius: On broad daylight?!

Florus: The audacity!

Sejanus: An assassination attempt?!

Felix: NO WAY! FOR ME?!😱

Livia: Maybe it was for ✨me✨💅. My mother does run the largest bank in all of Panem.

Everyone: We know, Livia.🙄

Livia: Well, poor losers like Snow wouldn’t understand that-

Coryo: Go suck a di-

Felix: Just forget about the bomb explosion for a second! Besides, nobody got injured and nobody died from the blast.

Lysistrata: And thank Panem for that, I guess?

Hilarius: So what now?

Felix: Did you forget the real danger?! We still need to stop Palmyra from killing us via food poisoning!

Coryo: Oh, yeah. We should really prioritize that first.

Festus: DRIVER, SIR, START DRIVING!

Coral: Does this mean you’re postponing the Hunger Games again?

Felix: Well, if inconvenient incidents like these keep happening, we might as well end the Hunger Games right now.

Mizzen: End the Hunger Games, you say?

Sejanus: Oh, we totally can. You see, my fellow friends, our beloved Class President belongs to a certain powerful family. So anything he wants, he gets.

Marcus: So his word is practically law?!

Coryo: More or less. But it really depends on his so called “begging” skills.

Coral: Begging skills?! He needs to beg?!

Apollo: Yup! If he does it right in front of his family, then he gets a nice prize from his very powerful granduncle!

Jessup: So how’s your ✨begging skills✨, Class Pres?😂

Felix: None of your business-

Festus: Horrible! A four out of ten!

Gaius: I saw it once at a dinner party. It was so embarrassing. I even had to leave early because I couldn’t stop laughing.😂

Felix: You guys are so mean!😭

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outofgloom · 7 months

Text

DAYSTARS

Daystars burned orange above the tundra and the mountains of storm, and showed us our position. Five days we had tracked across the snowfield. Five warmthless days and nights on the waste, but the beast was close now. I splayed my many-jointed fingers upon the fresh snow and focused my uppermost eye, and I could smell it.

Aabar stopped beside me, knelt down to my level.

“How far, inspector?” she asked, and I could smell her impatience. Vortixx despise the cold and the stillness it brings. She was ready to end the hunt.

I sank my fingers further into the snowcover, twitched them against the stone beneath. Vaguely the shape of the terrain ahead revealed itself to me, the sloping up into hard rock and the ravine opening there, less than thirty bio ahead. I relayed as much.

“The beast wants to escape through the pass,” the Vortixx hissed.

“The poison jungles of Tren Krom are beyond,” Japra added as she approached, rubbing her arms to warm them. “Does it know that, you think?”

Aabar shrugged: “It’s only a Rahi.”

“A Rahi that is immune to all poisons, toxins, and paralytics, according to our employers. Maybe the jungle is its home, and it’s returning there. Or maybe it’s just smarter than we thought?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Aabar stood to her full height again, stretched her claws. “We’ll catch up by day’s end, and our commission is to kill anyways, not paralyze-and-capture.”

“I know, and it’s a shame. I’ve been itching to use the Makika-venom concentrate.”

“Next time.”

I spoke: “It is unlike the Makuta, to seek death for such a specimen.”

“Why do you say that?” Japra asked.

“They usually like their targets living, for their strange purposes.”

“We are paid to do, not to ask why,” Aabar said. “If the Makuta want this thing dead, that’s that.”

I nodded. She beckoned to the Olmaran hunters down the slope, made signs for them to break camp.

“It’s strange, I agree,” Japra said to me quietly. “We’ve hunted for the Makuta before, but this is different. The emissary called it something…the last living Keeta-beast, I think. I’ve never heard of it.”

“The scent is unique, yes, and the tracks…” I wove my fingers together in thought. “Maybe you should’ve learned to power-feed off of confusion, instead of the emotion of fear.”

Japra laughed. “Many times, my friend, they are the same thing.”

======

I stumble, and my traitor body leaves a trail to darken the white snow behind me. It is dark beneath the night and the driving stormwind, and I am slow because my legs are bent wrong now. Fortunately, it is also very cold, so the pain is dull.

Above and ahead, I can still see the last few daystars burning, though the air is full of ice. I set my course by them, away, away…

My lefthand fingers are crushed to ribbons and useless, but my right…My right can still feel. I spread my many-jointed fingers across the ground before me, to smell out the return path, back down the mountain. The ravine is far away now, back up the snowfield, and the wrecked bodies of my companions are frosting over.

There was nothing to be done. I had to leave them. It was my mistake. I should have seen it. So confident were we, so sure of ourselves, and then…and then…

I am the last, and I must make it back, tell them that our hunt was successful, in spite of everything. That we brought down our quarry. Someone must know.

I can still smell the beast, somehow, even though I know it is dead. Its scent clings close, like a memory.

I hope that it will fade soon, and maybe, someday, I too can forget.

======

It was midday by the time we reached the ravine, but the tracks were still clear. Even Aabar could make them out. Large, cut deep in the snow. Further in, it was dark, and there was fog pouring off the mountainside above.

The three Olmaran hunters readied their equipment, affixed spearheads, loaded the Sai-Lutu and the tangle-lines. Japra performed the breath-action to calm her nerves, and readied herself to feed upon the beast’s primitive fear. Aabar tested the charge on her electrified claws, then pulled the party’s Hau from her pack, handing it to me.

“Just a precaution,” she said when I grimaced. “The fog is heavy in there, so you will have to sight the way for us.”

I sighed and placed the mask on my face, felt the surge of its protective energy. I squinted my third eye through the narrow upper vent. It was constricting, but not as bad as other masks.

“When we reach the target,” Aabar continued, “sign the beast’s position, and then fall back.”

“That’s right. Leave the heroics to us,” Japra said winkingly. “Can’t have you claiming a greater share.”

I itched at the mask.

Forward we went at a steady, silent pace. The Olmaran hunters crept along the walls of the ravine, while Japra and Aabar followed just behind me, on either side. I crouched, and my fingers crawled across the stone, drinking the vibrations of earth and air, creeping my perceptions forward through the gloom.

Minutes passed. We moved ahead. The air was dull with fog. My breath steamed through the side-vents of the Hau. Slowly, carefully.

All at once, there it was. I stopped and gave the sign, pointed into the mist. Five bio ahead it crouched behind a fallen boulder. The smell was very strong, and I could almost make out the beast’s shape in my head: A long, lithe body, claws clinking on the stones. Two forelegs…and the rearlegs–

Japra stepped in front of me, gesturing for me to fall back. Aabar was already advancing, and the Olmaran hunters flitted past on their spider-like legs, spears raised. I retreated a few steps further. The rearlegs…the rearlegs were not legs, I realized.

Ahead, the air buzzed with electricity, and there was a report from one of the Sai-Lutu. A sudden roar, cut short, and I could hear Japra laughing. The smell of the beast…the smell was very strong here. Was it over? I stepped forward through the fog, saw the shape of the downed Rahi dimly. One Olmaran stood over it, and Japra was kneeling by its side.

The rearlegs were not legs, I saw. They were treads…Two treads, with two clawed forelegs. A great mouth on a long extendable neck.

“All safe, Lhanen,” came the voice of Aabar, a few bio away. She was cleaning her claws. “Just a Muaka, it seems. Biggest I’ve ever seen, but no match for us. This might be the easiest job we’ve taken.”

A Muaka. I scratched my chin. It was strange…I had tracked the beast all this way, through snow and sleet. There hadn’t been any tread-marks. I had thought that the beast I was tracking was a biped–

I turned too late. A vast shape loomed through the fog behind me, square shoulders topped by a huge domed head. A single red eye glared with grim intelligence…and rage.

A shattering blow struck my Hau shield and broke it, and I was flying backward into the cliff–

======

The fog had subsided when I awoke, and a layer of frost had settled on the bodies of my companions, and on me. The ravine was silent except for the low moaning of wind above.

I examined their broken bodies for signs of life. There was none. I wept over them, though there were no tears in me and every step and movement was pain. I could not bring myself to touch the body of the beast, however. It was too terrible, lying huge and still. I could not see what injury had finally brought it down.

It was not really a beast–not like we had been told. In the moment when it attacked, I remembered how it had looked at me. There was something in its gaze, some strange form of understanding.

That eye was deep with knowledge, not like the eyes of a simple Rahi. There was anger, and the desperation to survive, but there was also judgment…and calculation.

It was an old creature, maybe even wise.

======

My leg twists wrong again, and pain breaks through the numbness, up into my body, but I keep on, through the wind and dark. I won’t give up. Not yet.

I can still smell the beast. It annoys me. I shake my head, wring out my frostbitten fingers, wishing to leave it all behind. The night is complete now, and the wind is howling steadily over me. I must find shelter soon, and in the morning I will make it across the rest of the snowfield and down the slopes beyond. I am tired, but I can make it. I am sure.

One last daystar burns through the driving snow ahead, and I am walking toward it, fixing my course on it. I am sure that it will lead me home.

======

I stood before the great corpse and knew that I should feel anger, or something, at least, but all I felt was loss.

The creature had known that we were tracking it…that I was tracking it. It had known…me, somehow. I saw the bruise-marks on the armor of the Muaka. The creature must have taken down the Rahi-tiger and carried it ahead, set a trap for us. It had been cunning. No wonder the Makuta sought it, even for its death.

“F-forgive me,” I stammered in the cold air. “Forgive us.”

The great eye did not glow. It stared straight ahead. I could not bear to remain before its gaze any longer.

======

The last daystar is low on the horizon. Very low. It is still there, in fact, though the silver nightstars have now appeared. Closer now. It is getting closer as I walk.

It is not a star.

I stop in my tracks. I can smell it, and my fingers twitch at the sensation of its presence. It is alive after all. I did not touch it in the ravine. I could not bear to.

The eye continues to approach, though I am standing still, and I understand. I am no longer the tracker, nor the hunter.

It is both.

Red light beams through the snow-filled air, and I feel the heat of it on my face.

My voice rasps out against the wind. I don’t know why:

“Hear me,” I say unbidden, though I doubt the creature can understand my speech. “You are no beast. I know this now. The Makuta told us that you were Keeta Ongu, last of your kind.”

One last heavy step, and it stands over me, a black shape beyond the margins of my sight.

“I wish I had understood before, for the sake of my friends, but we hunted you and harried you, and now it is done. You are no beast. You are the last, and so you must survive.”

The eye does not blink, nor waver. I am transfixed.

“Spare me,” I say, “and I will tell the Makuta that you are no more. I swear. On the third eye of Kalmah I swear it. Judge me, as you did before.”

A moment passes, and I spread my arms wide, wincing at the pain. The black shape stands before me, and my sight is filled with the light of the great eye.

“You are no beas--”

My words are battered away as a sudden roar flattens me to the ground. The air shakes with the noise, and all my senses are overwhelmed as I wait for death to come. The smell of the creature is everywhere, all around, and my eyes register nothing but red, red rage, red judgment, red death--

======

I awaken face down in the snow. It is dark, and pain moves through my legs and through my ruined fingers. I feel the pull of sleep once more, and I wish to let go, but something stops me.

I groan and roll over with some effort. I am alone, and the wind has subsided. Snow is falling gently on my face.

My head throbs as I raise it, looking around. I want to lay back down, but I can't yet. I squint my third eye and focus. I can see my footprints and the dark stain of fluid leading back up the slope, still just visible beneath a layer of snowfall. I cannot have been lying here for long.

I raise myself on one arm, and the pain in my legs jolts my weary brain further awake. I crane my neck around, to look where the creature had stood.

But there are no other tracks, no sign of a trail. The snow is unbroken. Not only that, but the smell of the creature is gone. Not even a trace. My mind is fuzzy, and sleep pulls at me again. It is very cold, and though I am used to the cold, even my body has limits. Sleep, rest. Your companions are gone. You are alone. It would be better...

No. I struggle up shakily, stamp my twisted legs, and roar with the pain in them. The pain is real, even if my memories are confused. It angers me, and the anger is good.

I start walking again. This time, I will not stop.

Ahead, the nightstars burn silver above the tundra and the mountains of storm, and I rage at them, for they are so far away, and I have so far to go.

I rage like a beast, a wounded beast, because that is how I will survive. The anger warms me, and I feel my eyes burn red with it, red with loss, and with rage, red with death...

You are no beast. You are the last, and so you must survive.

I have come through confusion, to the other side of fear. I have seen the last of the Keeta Ongu, and looked into its eye with my own.

Judge me, as you did before.

I am no beast.

I am the last.

And so I must survive.

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