#why must you be so fine Gene????
Note
Hi! I wasnt exactly sure if you’re taking request but i was hoping for something with Lucifer and a babysitter reader. Maybe they baby sat Charlie, and they just have a lot of tension. And then maybe them reuniting after him and lilith have split and it all goes down 👀
Love your slowburny Lucifer fics 🙏🙏
!!!
First off, thank you! I'm really glad you enjoy my stuff! I've been struggling with writing recently, so your request was perfectly timed lol
Also Yes! I'm always taking requests!
Plus, it's such a good request.. so good, I had way too many ideas for how it could go. So - this is a 2 parter >:) Suffer
CW: No smut yet, just suggestive fluff for now
Suffer | Lucifer x Reader
It really was a happy day in Hell when the royals introduced an heir to the throne. A darling daughter, who was the first of her kind; A hellborn baby, birthed by a sinner and an archangel. No one really knew what to expect or what kind of powers she held. But they had to be immense. She had to be some kind of beast, based on her genes alone. In theory.
One look at her, all swaddled up in her mother's arms, Lucifer fell in love all over again. Sure, he was ecstatic to hear that he was having a child, but he didn't realize how much of an effect she’d have on him. She was an absolute angel. Mostly. Great powers must be controlled, and that isn't exactly something an infant can comprehend. It was innocent at first, with little fireworks coming from fingertips, toys being lost in portals, and horns and tails emerging during temper tantrums. Nothing a good nanny couldn't fix.
That’s what Lillith’s mindset was, at least. It was a heated debate between the married couple, with Lucifer arguing a child needs to be loved and adored by their parents. He was willing to put in the time, why wasn't she? Of course, Lilith was a busy demon, with the whole empowering demonkind with her voice and songs thing, but too busy to handle her own baby?
“She’s gonna be an adult before we know it. Can’t you spend a few decades seeing her grow up..?” Lillith delicately takes her cutlery to her mouth, picking at the dinner she shared with her husband, who was seated on the other end of their lengthy table.
“Unlike you, my love, I have duties to attend to. Someone has to keep things running smoothly, to keep every demon’s hopes as high as they can be. You remember what it was like falling, being all alone and left in an unfamiliar world? I wouldn't want anyone else to feel that way. Would you?” He hated to agree, but did so anyway. She always knew what to say to make him feel guilty. Either way, she was right. He really didn't do much nowadays. He worked in his shop more, his newborn daughter becoming a great source of inspiration, but Lillith handled most of the publicity. Which, in Hell, is one of the only purposes for royalty. Lucifer didn't need to create life anymore, Hellborn creations were multiplying just fine. Probably a little too much, actually. He had all the free time in the world to shower his daughter with affection.
“ I mean..! I guess not, but they're filthy little demons, and this is your daughter! You want to leave her in the hands of some stranger? It’s just.. not right..! She needs a mother, Lily!” He was clearly passionate about this. Slamming his fists on the table, he sent ripples through the poured wine in front of Lillith’s plate.
“Lucifer. You’re causing a scene.” He hated when she said that, too. And again, he shrunk back in his seat, keeping his mouth shut. They had been drifting apart for a while, the distance not doing them any favors. He had no interest in interacting with demonkind and was fully comfortable with letting Lillith take that on, so they became more distant as she tended to Hell’s growing population.
When she rose from her seat, he finally perked up, hoping to meet her eyes. She was already halfway out of the room. “I’ll do all the work, darling, not to worry. I’ll make sure any candidate is thoroughly interviewed and trained, I promise.” Her voice was reassuring, even with the heartless subject matter. Leaving Lucifer alone in the room with some imps that usually stand along the walls, he spotted her almost untouched plate. pushing away from the table, he nearly knocked his heavy, ornamented chair onto the ground and left through another exit.
—
“Oh, Charlie.. Your mother loves you very much.” He swung the bundled-up baby in his arms, reveling in the sound of her giggles. Pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, he placed her carefully in her golden crib. Standing over her, he leaned onto the railing, watching her large red eyes flutter shut. “And.. I will shelter and adore you, sweetheart. I love you, more than anything.” He wiped a little tear that began to well up in his eye when he spoke and struggled to finally pull himself away. Protecting himself from his intrusive thoughts, he held his arms across his chest and turned to leave her nursery.
“Aww, that was so sweet..” The figure leaning in the doorframe caused him to let out a startled yelp. “Who the Hell.. You have to leave, whoever you are.” He became immediately defensive, holding his hand away from the crib in some form of protection, but he still spoke in a hushed voice. If you were just an imp he wouldn't be as worked up, but you were a sinner. A sinner who suddenly appeared in his daughter’s room. “O-oh! Um, sorry, I thought the queen would’ve.. I’m your new nanny..?” You let out a nervous chuckle, shrugging your tensed shoulders. And now? You’re admitting you're the very demon who’ll be raising his daughter alongside him. He dropped his arms, letting out a scoff, clearly unenthused. Looking you up and down, he stood there staring daggers. After a moment of awkward silence, you held out your hand to shake his, but he didn’t respond to it.
“What are your qualifications? Where did you come from? What makes you think you’re worthy of laying hands on my daughter? The princess of Hell?” He circled you, in an attempt to intimidate you, despite his small stature. “Well, um... When I was alive, I was the oldest kid at the foster house I grew up in. It wasn’t the best facility, so I basically raised most of the girls there.. I’ve seen it all, I guarantee.” You tried to lighten the mood with a quick smile, but it didint do much. “And Lillith approves of you?” You nodded, gripping the hem of your skirt nervously. “Hm. I am not as easily swayed as my wife. She’s my daughter, too. You’ll have to do better than - “ An ear-piercing wale comes from behind him. The commotion must've woken Charlie up. “Oh! No no nono..” His demonic presence faded to reveal what he really was. A father. He scooped her up and cooed, hushing her and swaying her slowly. It did nothing to help. That’s when another fact clicked in your mind; he wasn’t just a father, he was a new father. He lets out a nervous groan, wiping tears away from her heated cheeks.
“Your majesty..?” You slowly approached him, both of you still on edge. “May I?” He was clearly still debating the idea, but another loud wail had him hesitantly passing the swaddled child to your arms. He had such a light hold on her, you noticed his hands trembling when he finally released her into your grasp. You held her close, her front against your chest as you hummed in a low tone a little tune. You picked up a little trick, the vibrations from your chest helped calm her down. The action of swaying the baby and engrossing yourself in the little song running through your head actually calmed the both of you. You still spoke softly, in a low tone, “Thank you, sir. For trusting me with her, i mean. I’ll be here for anything you need. Anything she needs.” You sent him a warm smile. He simply nodded his head slowly, still witnessing the miracle that is someone with experience caring for a child. Maybe this could work out.. What could go wrong?
—
“I’m gonna getcha!” A high-pitched giggle filled the corridors of the manor, Lucifer rounds the corner to follow after his surprisingly speedy toddler. He was mostly having fun with this little game of tag but was also mildly concerned by her growing distance. “Gotcha!” A pair of arms swooped down from around another corner, scooping Charlie up as she let out a playful yelp. You held her in a tight hug, before adjusting your position to hold her up comfortably. Lucifer panted, smiling at the sight of you and his daughter, despite him being out of breath. “G-good catch.. Hoof..!” He stretches his arms upwards, then places them on the small of his back. “Aren’t you the most powerful being in Hell? Why are you acting like a middle-aged dad with a broken back?” you laughed through your words, the sound making Charlie laugh along. He stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, a pout on his face. “Uh, It’s for fun? Ever heard of playing pretend?” You bit your lip to prevent yourself from mocking him anymore. “Don’t laugh!” You shook your head, then watched him open his arms out to you. Or, to Charlie, actually, but you stepped back instead of handing her over. “Oh, I forgot to remind you, you actually have to head to the Heaven Embassy in a bit, so I’m gonna put Charlie down for her nap instead.” He dropped his arms and grimaced. “Right..”
This mid-day nap was a sort of tradition for Lucifer and his daughter. It was one of the few moments that Lucifer looked forward to these days. You knew that. As much as you enjoyed your job, it came with the unfortunate privilege of seeing Lucifer in his slumps. You rarely saw Lillith, actually, but that made sense. You were only here for Charlie while Lillith couldnt be. When you did spot her iin passing, you’d hand Charlie over and let the two of them have a sweet interaction, usually a quick hug and peck on the forehead, but that was usually it. You’d always notice Charlie clinging onto your shoulder and looking back in her mother’s direction whenever she handed her daughter back to you. It always crushed your heart to hear her go silent after those moments.
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to help get her ready for the gala tonight? You should be back in time and it won't take long. Lilith only wants her to make a quick appearance, so it shouldn't be too much work.. Good bonding moment, too!” His eyes sparkled at your invitation and he was quick to accept it. “Thank you, dear. I’ll find you after that meeting.” As he goes to walk past you, he places a hand on your back. He does this often, but as the years went on, it shifted from your shoulder to your shoulderblade, and now he delicately places his hand on your lower back whenever he can. It made you anxious at first.. Was anxious the right word? Either way, you didn't stop him.
He leaned in to place a kiss on Charlie’s forehead, becoming increasingly close to your own face. It wasn't a quick motion. He pressed a dramatic kiss onto her head, letting out a mwah! sound as he pulled back. But before he did, he looked up to you with half-lidded eyes. The eye contact seemed to last forever. And you ever wanted it to stop. A small hand came up and patted Lucifer’s cheek, a childish giggle breaking the moment between you two. What were you thinking? He’s your employer, he’s a king. He’s kind, and sweet, and tries really hard to be a good dad. Nope! Stop it.
“Right! Meeting! Heaven! Gonna.. Yup, I’ll see you.. Uh..” You finished off his words, “ - tonight?”
“Exactly! You got it! Bye, Darling!” He waved his hand off and walked off in a random direction that you were pretty sure didn't lead to where he was supposed to go. “I-I was talking to Charlie, by the way!” You heard from around the corner. You couldn’t stop your laughter with that one. “I know.” You said it softly, not letting him hear the slight disappointment in your voice.
The Gala wasn't a new event, Lillith held them often. Lucifer made his appearance with Charlie, then usually would make up some excuse to get out of the room. Gathering the leaders of each ring of Hell and some of the more powerful overlords, and demons, it was still a big deal. You dressed up Charlie often, since she would throw a temper tantrum when any of the stylists would try to get her ready. You didn't mind, you actually enjoyed prettying her up. You stalled for as long as you could, before beginning to dress her. You wanted to wait for Lucifer, but you assumed he got caught up in some kingly duties. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Don’t be upset. Stop missing him.
“Sorry - Sorry! I'm here!” The blonde demon rounds the corner, hopping on his one foot to balance himself before stopping firmly in Charlie's room. He was wearing an incredibly elegant suit. A dark purple sash cinches His waist, which was only visible because his jacket was hung over his shoulder. His shirt was speckled in gold, matching his hair when under certain light. “Had to convince them I could finish getting ready on my own! Damn stylists, can't catch a break with them.” He let out an awkward laugh, followed by a hoot. He sees Charlie, in her dark purple dress, with small poofed out sleeves, made of a transparent tool. “Charchar! Look at you, kiddo!” He scooped her up and held her close while he swung around. “You're beautiful, sweetheart.” He knew she wouldn't understand that until she was older, but never stopped him from praising her.
He pressed his forehead against hers, laughing along with her. You hated to break the tender moment, but you cleared your throat, bringing the attention back to you. “She's just about ready, just got her hair left.” He placed her back in the chair as you went for a brush. Working through her hair piece by piece, Lucifer suddenly stopped you. “Um.. can I try?” You nodded eagerly, handing the brush over. He swiped slowly, ebing startled by the crunch of a knot, he froze and pulled it away. “It’s okay, you won't hurt her - “ You didn't need to help him this way. Honestly, if anyone were to come in and witness this you could be fired. Still keeping that in mind, you place your hand over his, and guide the brush indirectly, to carefully work through her hair.
After far too long, you pulled your hand away and went to grab some other accessories. His brain was completely fried by the interaction, if this were some looney cartoon, smoke would be puffing out his ears. You weren't as calm as you were coming off as either. Why did you do that? You’d face a fate worse than a second death if anyone saw that. After letting your face cool down, you turned back and bumped Lucifer over with your hip, to take his spot directly behind Charlie. Placing your hands on her shoulders and kneeling down a bit you smile at her reflection. “What do we think, hun? Ponytail? Pigtails? Buns?”
“Braids!” You look at her with a questioning hum. “Pleease!” Braids it is. You start to section off her hair and quickly wrap one clean braid down her back. It only took you a few minutes to do it, leaving bystander Lucifer to sit in awe. He did that a lot. Whenever you’d do something with Charlie that came as second nature to you, he would watch intently. After you noticed his gaze, you began showing him how to do whatever task you had on hand. He needed those moments with her, you knew that. “Wanna give it a shot?” He jumps, as if you had just caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. “A-Are you sure? It looks kind of complicated, I don't want to ruin her hair if - “ You interrupted his nervous rambling by calling out his title. “I’ll show you, just come watch.” He nodded, almost too quickly, and rushed to stand near you. Very near you. He stood close enough to let your shoulders touch whenever you would lift your arm a certain way. You unfurled the braid you had already done, making Lucifer let out a little sound of disappointment, that you’d ruined your hard work just for him. After attempting to explain it, he manages to struggle his way through a messy braid. He saw you holding in some kind of laugh and sent you daggers. “No - no! It’s good! Especially for your first time, it’s holding up pretty well! Here - “ You pulled the braid back out, then restarted it, letting him pick it up at an easier place. You took his wrists every so often, to turn his hand in the proper direction before letting him go on.
The focus between the two of you suddenly became intense. He stuck out his tongue a bit, too engrossed in his styling to notice. You stood behind him, your hands pressed on his back, while you stood on your tip toes to observe what he was doing from over his shoulder. Pointing out little pieces of hair that were falling out, you would reach out your pointer finger to gesture towards it, only bringing you a bit closer together.
“Is.. Is that it?” He stepped back slowly, giving you the chance to back away with him. You swung around and examined the braid that he had probably spent too much time on, with an overly dramatic hum. Tapping your chin and squinting your eyes, you researched the braid as if it were some puzzle to solve. “It looks great, Lucifer.” Looking towards him, you were expecting an overly confident grin at the acknowledged accomplishment but instead, was met with a wide-eyed bundle of nerves.
“Sir! I-It looks good, Sir! Well - I’ll let you finish getting ready and take Charlie to -” Reaching out your hands to pick Charlie up, Lucifer stops you by grabbing your arm. “It’s okay! I mean, that’s.. That’s my name! Makes sense for you to call me that, considering its my name, so - “ He lets you go and starts fiddling with the clasps on his sleeves. “It’s okay.. for you to do that..” You smile to yourself, going back to tidying up Charlie’s get-up, doing little things like putting on her darling little shoes and tying a ribbon at the end of her hair.
Lucifer then stood in front of the mirror, brushing off his shirt and slipping on his jacket. It was a dazzling plum-colored suit coat, with golden clasps across his torso, and a golden shoulder plate, that allowed a sheer cape to drape down his left side. He was absolutely stunning. You did your best to avert your eyes, staring at him felt like staring at the sun. You only turned in his direction when he cleared his throat to get your attention. “Sorry.. dear, but uh… If you’re done with Charlie, I just - I’m struggling a little bit here..” You watched him attempt to adjust his lopsided tie, finally drooping his head with a sigh of defeat. “Wow, I thought you wore one of those every day, what’s the problem?” The teasing always helped lighten the mood, you placed your hand on your hip as you leaned your weight onto the vanity. He glared at you again, letting out a huff before mumbling under his breath. “It’s a clip on..”
You let out a breath you had been holding in, partially from keeping in your laughter, but mostly from the nerves. With the combination of you wearing house slippers, and him wearing his particularly taller pair of boots, he managed to look down at you when you approached him. You should've made it a quick motion, you’ve tied bowties dozens of times, so it definitely wasn't a new task for you. But instead, you took your time. You carefully traced your hands up to his neck, tugging on both ends to pull it as far forward as it could go. You stopped to straighten the collar of his shirt, then delicately knotted the tie with ease. Your breath became heavier when you rested your hands on the finally tied bow, feeling his heart pounding against the side of your palm. After he caught you in your act, he stepped back, the image of his wife suddenly popping into his head. “Ahha.. Well, um - Thank you. I’ll take Charlie, it’s about that time anyway!”
"R-Right.." you suddenly felt guilty for your actions, worrying that you overstepped some lines. He didn't seem upset or uncomfortable, he was just silent. As he lifted Charlie from her chair, the vision of the two of them left you breathless. A beautiful pair, with porcelain skin contrasting against a palette of muted purples, and the biggest, brightest eyes. Charlie's braid hung loosely down her back, same golden strands accented in the light off the room. You almost wanted to be in the moment with them.
"Hey, so.. if you think you have time, you're welcome to go down to the ballroom for a drink or.. something... if you want." He really had to consider if that was a good idea. The thought was sitting on his mind while he enjoyed the view of your focused expression on his tie. He watched your eyes light up at the notion, his heart swelling with.. with something. "Oh! I mean - The queen talks about it like it's this big important fancy thing, but.. if you think it'll be okay.. I'll - um - " She thought for a moment, looking around the room. "I don't exactly have anything to wear.. I'll join next time, if the invites still open?" You smiled, but it was strained. And he could tell. "No problem! I'll have her find something for you, then you can slip in whenever you want. No pressure!"
With a wave of his hand, a little imp girl came from a portal he had conjured up. Peeking inside, you saw a vast collection of gowns. The imp took your hand and dragged you in silently. You stumbled, then stammered something out, something that should've been a thank you, or a show of appreciation, but you were too stunned by the situation. He waved, then Charlie waved, then the two were out of the room.
The picture of them together ran through your mind. Not just them in matching outfits, but whenever he would press his forehead against hers, or he would show off his horns when Charlie was prodding at her own. Or when they really seemed like a family. Lillith was never in those pictures. Fuck, don't be jealous. You're getting paid far too much money to feel anything like that. Plus, you're being treated to an elegant evening gown without even asking. You don't get to be jealous.
Luckily, the imp rolled out a rack of dresses, it was stuffed to the brim, but was still a more manageable collection compared to the entire room. You sifted through them, and each one that twisted your face, she took off the hanger and set aside. After narrowing it down, you were stuck on two dresses; a sultry red dress, with an incredibly high slit and a stretched velvet material that hugged you in all the right places. Definitely a head turner. Even if this gala had a V.I.P list, maybe some handsome individual could help you distract yourself.
But the other option was a glistening lavender color, the neckline went across your shoulders, turning to gloves that tapered at your knuckles. A sheer corset held your curves in place, and it was paired with pearl accessories, to go with your sleek white heels. Both were gorgeous of course, but turning your hips and taking in how you looked in that lavender gown.. you could see yourself fitting quite nicely into your mental picture of Lucifer and Charlie. You would never admit that's why you picked it. You were prettied up, your hair pulled to one side with pearl clips scattered within the strands, and a little touch of makeup that you really didnt want, but was convinced without a word by the stylist. You looked like royalty. And that made you feel good in so many ways.
—
Lucifer said you could "sneak in", and you thought it best to take that literally. Waving and greeting all the workers in the kitchen that you knew, you finally slipped through the door where the caterers traveled from. You went straight for the bar, not because you needed a drink - well, I'm sure that's part of it - but because you had no idea what to do. What, were you supposed to walk straight up to Lucifer? Or Lillith? The idea of seeing Lillith suddenly made your stomach churn. You realized that you actually got there in time to see the introductions for most of the more esteemed guests. They went through the sins, who were larger than life, then a flared announcement for the Morningstar family was belted out.
Lucifer stood with a devilish grin, looking handsome as always. Lillith was still stunning, her gown trailing behind her.. but it was black. It wasn’t purple, or plum, or lilac, it was just black. It may not have looked like a contrast to everyone, but it upset you for some reason. Charlie stood between them, looking incredibly calmed considering the intensity of the moment. Lillith was holding her small hand, but the difference in height made her strain to keep their fingers intertwined. You cringed watching her stand on the tip of her toes to keep contact with her own mother.
Quietly, as to not interupt the announcements, you beckoned the bartender to bring you a drink. You sat and sipped, your back arched as you leaned your weight onto your elbows. What were you doing here? Was this all worth it? To have your little Cinderella transformation?
"Hello, darling.. and who might you be?" A sultry voice came from behind, causing you to swivle in the chair to face where it came from. It wasn't Lucifer, which left you mildly disapointed, but you definitely weren't upset at the curvy woman standing in front of you, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination. The swishing demonic tail wasn't something you hated either. A real fox.
"Oh, a friend invited me, I didnt want to cramp his style, so here I am." As you spoke, the bartender brings a tall flute of champagne over to the gorgeous demon in front of you. She glides to sit in the seat next to you. "Hm - well, I'd hate to see you all alone tonight, mind if I keep you company, love?" She slid her fingers up your arm and you have no idea how you managed to keep your cool. "Not at all~" maybe it was the confidence of your new appearance, but you had no issue with spending the night with this stranger.
All of a sudden, Charlie was plopped into your seated lap, causing you to look up towards an intimidating Lucifer. Examining the sudden shift in mood, you were relieved to see Lillith talking to some demons on the other side of the room. "Glad you could make it! Charlie here - reeaally missed you, thought I should say hi." He smile was forced, you noticed a slight twitch in his eye. "Ah, I see you've met my nanny! Quite a beauty, wouldn't you agree?" Lucifer came incredibly close to you, leaning in and placing his hand on your back. The only issue was the low cut of the dress, allowing you to feel his warm hands on your skin. You hoped he didn't feel the shiver run up your spine.
Taking a hold of Charlie as she climbed up your lap to hug your neck, you let out a natural laugh, feeling like yourself for the first time tonight. Looking back to your conquest, who was definitely about to ask you to "get out of here", you see a face of absolute disgust. Oh, right. You're just a sinner to these higher ups. And a working class one at that. Nanny wasn't the most flattering occupation apparently. She made a terrible excuse to get out of the conversation and walked away a little faster than she should've.
"Sir! I have no problem watching Charlie tonight, but - I was about to -" your face flushed as you tried to explain how you were just trying to get laid tonight. “Get a drink, right? Make sure you stick to the non-alchoomic stuff, hun, sounds like Charlie gets to stay up late tonight!" With a hefty pat on your back, Lucifer stepped away to talk to another random demon. What the fuck? Lucifer had beckoned the bartender over again, and when you looked back to the counter, you see a sad looking soda water. With a sigh, you guzzle the drink just to wet your dried throat.
As much a you loved Charlie, there was no better chick repellant. And even for the brave souls who decided to approach you and still show interest, Lucifer would suddenly appear, keeping his hand just above your tailbone as he mentioned your hard work as his employee. Maybe it was the word nanny, or the intimidating presence of the king of Hell, but he had to be doing this on purpose. You kind of hoped he was doing this on purpose.. After one too many fleeting suitors, you worked your magic and calmed Charlie until she fell asleep in your arms. You hummed a little tune again, the method was something she became accustomed to after you started taking care of her.
"My my~ what a sweetheart." A broad shouldered demon approached you, his lower voice ringing throughout your chest. "Isn't she? She's exhuasted, I should really get her to bed." You never took your eyes off of Charlie, making it easy for him to slip a hand around your waist." Ah, you’re her caretaker, hm? Well.. what do you have going on after you get her to bed?" His hand trails down to your hips, starting to trace a circle with his thumb. You swung away, a look of disgust on your face." Probably going to bed. By myself." You hissed. You never had a problem handling those kind of advances, and you'd do anything to keep Charlie safe, so you kept your distance. "You don't have to do that, baby~ why don't you show me around the Morningstar manor?" He closed the distance, and as you go to step back, your back hits the bar. "N-No thanks, I'm.. not..." You would have gotten nervous in the moment, if you didnt see a blonde headed angel approaching with horns threatening to burst out.
"Stay away from her." A small puff of flames came from Lucifer's snarl as he reprimanded the thug. He scoffed and stepped away as if nothing had happened. Probably the smartest thing for him to do at this point. Lucifer's suddenly glowing red eyes returned to their normal hue once he turned his attention to you. You froze in place. It felt like you were in trouble too. "You're okay?" He spoke blankly, you couldn't tell what emotion he was trying to convey, let alone how he actually feels. You nodded, keeping a hand on the back of Charlie's head." Get her to bed." With a dramatic turn, his transparent cape flew behind him and he returned to Lillith's side. He placed his hand on the small of her back.
You wanted to cry. To scream and drink until you can't think of anything. Charlie was your main priority, though. You took her to her nursery as soon as you could. Carefully changing her into her pajamas, a cute little onesie with ducks printed all over, then placed the drowsy toddler into her bed. "Oh Charlie.. You are so lucky to be so loved." You spoke geniunely, no matter your feelings, the amount of love Charlie is given and how much she gives in return was always so unbelievable to you. She was made of pure joy. Brushing some hair away from her face, you stepped back, taking your time on returning to your room.
"That is so sweet." You shot your head up, unpleasantly surprised by Lucifer's sorry face. "She's in bed, what do you need from me?" You spoke softly, as to not wake her. "You look beautiful. I just.. didn't get a chance to say that earlier, is all." Your face twisted in digust. "You know, you weren't the only one who thought that tonight. That was the first time I've been hit on in months. Couldn't you let me just enjoy the night..?" You were becoming increasingly frustrated, and it was translating clearly through your words. He flinched at your aggression, suddenly becoming defensive.
"That filfthy demon was feeling you up..! What else did you want me to do?" He started to match your energy, quietly responding in an aggitated state." Not him, the rest! I was about to leave with that lady at the bar, and I'm sure others would've enjoyed my company if I wasn't getting handed a toddler every second." You'd regret that one later, referring to Charlie as just a toddler. "That's your job, dear. Remember why you're here." He puffed out his chest, becoming increasingly close to your figure. You shrunk away, your eyes widened at his words.
"Oh- Oh, no, I didn't mean to - wait, I wasn't - " He stammered, his intimidating stature immediatly dropping as he say your eyes start to glaze over with tears, which only flowed down your cheeks after batting your made-up lashes. "Nonono! Please don't cry I - um.. " his eyes darted around the room, before reaching his arms out and reeling you in to a tightening embrace. Your chin sat on his shoulder, the shock momentarily keeping the water works at bay.
"I got nervous, okay..? I didn't want anything.. bad... to happen. I didn't want to lose you in there." Those words shouldn't tug at your heart strings at much as they did, but that and the low rumble of his voice just slightly hitting your ear made it impossible.
"I-I can handle myself.." You sniffled, your breath becoming heavier as you felt his hands start to explore your back. He rested one hand on the small of your back, sending a familiar warmth to your chest. But then, his fingers traced upwards, holding onto your shoulders for a moment, before lightly clawing down your bare back. He traced over a certain spot that tickled you the wrong way, causing you to force out a little yelp. You both stopped for a moment, the only thing you could hear was the uneven pants coming from your mouths. He pulled away for a moment, keeping his hands on your shoulders. Then eyeing you up and down, he ran his grasp across the length of your arms. "I known you can.. you're wonderful." He somehow spoke as if he was completely unaffected by the intimacy he was just showing you. Your breath only picked up more, instantly regretting what you were about to do.
With a small leap, you pulled him in by his collar and messily met his lips. It couldn't be a quick peck, that's too confusing. You wanted this to last forever. He kept his lips sealed shut at first, but that didn't last long. With a shakey breath against your lips, he pulled you in by your waist suddenly, bringing you as close to him as he could. The motion took the air out of your lungs, forcing you release a vocal sigh. He only held you tighter after that. Your arms trailed up and around his shoulders, combing through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He broke for a moment, his kisses traveling down your lips to your jawline, then down to your neck.
Flicking your hair back, he latched an incredibly wet kiss on the softness of your neck. Lucifer took the invitation of your strapless dress to fully cover you in kisses, occasionally running his tongue up the length of your neck. A panting mess, you pulled him back up by his chin, finally getting a good look at his face. He was falling apart at the seems. He looked desperate to get back to working on your neck, like he hadnt been intimate with anyone in years. You needed his lips against yours again. Holding his jaw, you pressed a kiss on his lips, then squeezed your thumb amd index finger to open his lower jaw and push your tongue into his mouth. He let out a nervous moan, before quickly catching up to you.
This wasn’t right. This part wasn't in your mental picture of a perfect family. And you knew why. Your thoughts were silenced, feeling his mouth trail back down to your collarbone. He thumbed at the top of your long glove, beginning to pull it down. God, never let this moment end.
But you forgot. You're in Hell.
With a frantic patting on his shoulder, you quickly attempted to get his attention. When Lucifer met your eyes again, they had gone wide, and he finally noticed you shaking. "Hey, hey! What is it? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"
"Yes." He froze. He slowly turned his head to the door. Lillith.
—
"Darling, please, I'm sorry, you know you're the only one for me - it was a long night, mistakes were made, let's just move on, hm..?" He was begging for this moment to be over, as Lillith moved past him and approached you. You had to crane your neck to look at her, your entire body trembling. You had mascara running down your eyes, and your lipstick had smeared in all directions. Lillith lifted your head up even further, wiping some smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth. "Lily..?" Lucifer let out softly. She let out a soft sigh. She didn't seem to be angry, which seemed to make you more nervous than if she was. "D-Don’t.. don't hurt her..." It's like he was scared to stick up for you. That, and the fact that he just called this past interaction a mistake, weighed heavily on your heart. "You think that little of me, my love? I would never. It was a mistake, after all, just as you said." She spoke so calmly but knew exactly what to say to make you cower in fear. You let out a pathetic whimper, "P-Please... I'm s-sorry, Your Highness..." She smiled and tightened her grip on your jaw for a moment before letting you go. You didn't realize she was actually lifting you up slightly until you were dropped down. “So.. we can talk and figure this out, right? Lily?" She kept her eyes off of the anxious mess that Lucifer was becoming." Of course, love. We'll talk in the morning. Oh, and obviously - " She turned towards you just before leaving the room.
"You're fired.”
—
HA
Anyway, there is absolutely a part 2 for this don't worry and I'll get to it.. eventually.
!Taglist!
( @vififofum @thornwolfy235 @tinywolfiegirl @chipper-chip @bat-boness @misfitgirlwrites @nayomi247 @lonelynmisunderstood )
#There's a reference in here someone please get it#hazbin hotel#hazbin#lucifer hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fandom#lucifer hazbin#lucifer morningstar#lucifer magne#hazbin hotel smut#lucifer fluff#lucifer morningstar x you#lucifer x reader#lucifer x reader smut#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer smut#lucifer x you
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you're out of touch, i'm out of time
aegon ii targaryen x reader
wc: 3.3k
summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated
cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)
read on ao3, divider by saradika
You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous.
You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.
There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young.
He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him.
“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”
“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”
You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”
“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”
“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”
“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”
“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”
The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”
“No,” you say, and he deflates.
He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”
You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint.
He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics.
“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid.
The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table.
“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief.
“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”
You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.
He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters.
You nod politely, and tell him yours.
He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”
“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”
“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”
You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes.
“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”
You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it.
“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”
“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”
“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”
You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.
“What’s your deal?”
He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”
You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking.
“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”
You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say.
“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition.
“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”
“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”
“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”
“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”
“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”
“Who!?”
“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it.
“Only because I want to,” he says childishly.
You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search.
‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’
The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage.
You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.
“What does your little brick do?”
You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”
You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he?
“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”
He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.
“And what were you doing before this?”
“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”
“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”
You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again.
“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment.
He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”
“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now.
“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.
You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?
You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”
That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.
“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger.
You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained.
Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out.
Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed.
“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”
“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge.
“A what?”
“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”
“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”
“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”
“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”
Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.
You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you.
“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”
“Yes, yes, whatever.”
You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon.
What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin.
It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family.
The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.
When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year.
“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”
Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually.
“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”
“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.
He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”
“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”
“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”
“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”
Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”
“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”
“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock.
“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”
#don't love this but i need to get it out of my system in the hopes that someone else will#my work#aegon#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#i cant be fucked adding more tags#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#excet thst one#yootioot
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"Thy should learn its place."
"It is beneath me."
The Creator scoffed at an annoyance, the fact that someone dared to use her gene blessed to mortals for their own advantage?! Out rageous! But her connection to the realm has been disconnected from Celestia thyself. They dare challenge their Creator?
Challenge accepted.
Part 1, Part 3, Part 4
Liar Reader. SAGAU. Cult AU. Impostor-ish AU. OOC. Manipulator Reader.
—e—r—a—w—a—n—U—
The same looking figure as you was talking to Kujou Sara. Really unfortunate.
So the plan to avoid characters at all causes, yeeted to Celestia.
What do you do?! What do you do?!?!
Wait, just go back to where you are and leave with your boat!
You were about to walk away when...
"Halt! Show yourself, intruder!"
Kujou Sara commanded and took out her bow and put the '(S/M)' behind her as a sort of protection.
Well. Shit.
You walk out of your hiding place and despite the fact that Kujou Sara dropped her weapon a little bit, you could feel her guard is still on.
"State your name and purpose!" Kujou Chic- Sara demanded. Geez was she always this loud? Man her vocal cords must hurt, her own issues meh.
"Akeldama Kagema, I am an adventurer. I came here for a commission." You lied smoothly, keeping up a facade of a serious and hardworking.
Kujou Sara eyes you up and down. 'Strange, why do I feel a divine like aura on this stranger...?' Kujou Sara thought quietly, unbeknownst to her guard dropping.
(S/M) chuckled awkwardly, gaining your and the yokai's attention
"So, Kagema-chan, what exactly is your commission?" Wow. No formalities? Straight up -chan and comfy? You keep up your facade.
"I had to take care of a hilichurl camp." You lied explained. (S/M) seemed skeptical of your answer, "Just a hilichurl camp? That's your only commission..?" Clearly she knows nothing about the Adventurer's Guild does she..?
"Only in Kannazuka. I still have other commissions on other islands of Inazuma." You cleared things up.
"Ohh! I get it!" (S/M) sickly sweetly said in false fascination.
"By the way. Kagema-chan, I noticed that you're bruised and your clothing doesn't really seem adventure-like!" Perceptive people suck but are also hot. "I am very aware of my clothing choice but it's the only clothing choice I have. But it didn't cause a hindrance or whatsoever." You lied replied professionally.
Before (S/M) could speak, Kujou Sara unconsciously cut her off. "I'll patch this stranger. I can't trust this stranger to be anywhere safe with you (S/M). You are after all an oracle and the only person that's personally connected to the creator. You should visit the Kamisato Estate for some early discussions regarding the festival and ritual for the creator."
"Ohh yeah!" (S/M) says in realization, and her face turns red, 'Ayato...' She thought quietly. She then faces the both of us and bows down. "May the Creator guide you!" She says in a hurry and runs away.
Oracle? She- she already took the role of an oracle? Fuck! Now what're you going to do... Maybe just act like an adventurer? Yeah...
You were thinking deeply, unknown to your surroundings of someone watching you. "Akeldama, is there something wrong?" Finally formalities! Kujou Sara asks in either suspicion or worry.
"I'm fine. I was just shocked about the news of an oracle..." You clear things up. Kujou Sara nods, "I totally understand you, I, first, did not acknowledge her, until, I felt myself being awakened." That was just a coincidence, or was it?
Awakened? What does she mean by that..? "Ah.. you don't seem to have a vision.." Does she mean pulls?
"It's when shooting stars in the sky get a color of gold or purple which will give you a connection to the creator. It's like wishing for fate." Kujou Sara explained. So it is pulls.
"Ah. Now I'm kind of envious of you vision holders. Getting your own personal connection with the creator sounds like a dream come true isn't it..? It almost feels like, she'll give you everything to just get you all acolytes a connection to the creator hmm? It's a really really special deal.." You became out of character from your facade.
Kujou Sara's eyes widen at your statement, she's never thought of it as that special as you do. It's as if she's not pledging her utmost devotion to The Creator! You're right.. the probably only reason The Creator hasn't awakened every vision acolytes is because they might have been growing weaker in the other world and that's why she sent an oracle now because she wanted to see what we personally feel. Oh she apologizes very much, does she need to sacrifice and do something about it?!
You hid your smirk. Kujou Sara seems bothered... Guess your statement got her mind to chicken in.
Now you just wonder what challenges you'll face at the acolytes you haven't awakened yet.. you'll find out soon.
This chapter is short for a reason 😔. 1. I couldn't do anything until next week to see what lies beyond the poll.. and also because I didn't want to write for others in this specific chapter.
I'm so sorry for being lazy ig 💔
Anywho. VOTE IN THE FIRST PART NOW CAUSE THE DEADLINE IS NEXT FRIDAY!!! Just know that the most popular given mask has its own ability that'll help you out in future conflicts!!!
Taglist: (?)
@khalhaimdad @yourlocalstranger123 @undecidingfate
#genshin sagau#genshin impact sagau#sagau#sagau cult au#sagau x reader#genshin x reader#yandere genshin x reader#yandere x reader#impostor au#genshin impact#yandere#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact x female reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin x you#yandere genshin x y/n#female reader#reader
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I need to see Papa Wolffe doting on his child rn—
A New Addition
Summary: Wolffe gets to meet his newborn several hours after she's born.
Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader
Word Count: 700
Warnings: Discussions of mother's dying in child birth (what do the clones know about natborn births, after all)
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni
A/N: So. Not exactly him doting on his kid, but a first introduction is not a bad way for the story to go, right?
You stir awake at the light knock on the door, and you smile at the familiar face that pokes into the room. Familiar, in part, because Wolffe has millions of identical brothers, but also because he’s Wolffe, and you’d recognize your riduur even if he was dressed identically to his brothers.
“Hey, can I come in?”
A warm smile crosses your face, “You don’t have to ask, love.” You reply gently.
He slips into the room, silently closing the door behind him, “Just making sure.” Wolffe crosses the room and takes a seat next to you, and then he immediately reaches out and smooths some hair out of your face, “How are you feeling, cyare?”
“Exhausted.” You reply with a small smile, “But also, really good.” You lean into his touch, “How are you?”
“I wish I had been here for you.”
You hum softly, “Not your fault.”
“I still feel bad,” He takes your hand in his and brings your joined hands to his lips to press a light kiss against your fingers, his gaze is locked on the small cradle next to your hospital bed, “Is that her?”
You laugh softly, “It is. Our Ellie.” You extend your fingers to brush against his cheek, “Go on and introduce yourself.”
He starts, “Am I allowed?”
A slightly louder laugh falls from you, “She’s your daughter, Wolffe. Of course you can.”
He releases your hand and stands to walk around the bed. Once he’s at the small cradle he just stares into it for a moment, “She’s so…small.”
“She’s only a couple of hours old, riduur.”
“The Tubies never looked so small back on Kamino. Is she healthy?”
“She is. Just small. My fault, I’m afraid.” You reply with a small smile. And your smile grows as you watch him reach into the cradle to scoop the infant into his arms.
“She looks like you,” Wolffe murmurs as he cradles Ellie in his arms.
“Really? I think she looks like you.” He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing Ellie into reach. She’s still asleep. “Those Fett genes run true,” You joke quietly, as you brush a light finger against Ellie’s dark cheek, and then up through her dark curls.
“My coloring, maybe.” Wolffe allows, “but she has your features. A perfect mix of us.” He pauses, “Cyare,” He admits, his voice quiet, “I don’t know anything about being a parent-”
“Shh. Neither do I. We’ll learn together.” You smile at the baby, and then up at Wolffe, “We’re going to be fine, I know it.”
“Well, if you say so then it must be true.” Wolffe teases as he leans in and kisses your forehead, “My brothers and General Koon are in the lobby, can I take her to meet them?”
You hum thoughtfully, “Why don’t you give Ellie to me, and then you can bring them in here to meet her?” You offer.
Wolffe flashes a small grin, “Even better idea, I know they’re worried about you too. Cody made the mistake of asking General Kenobi about natborn childbirth, and they were convinced that you were going to die.”
“Well, not on Coruscant.” You admit with a tired smile as you take your baby from him.
Wolffe blinks, “Wait, what?”
“Women generally don’t die in childbirth on Coruscant unless something goes really wrong.” You clarify as you adjust Ellie on your chest, “If my midwife had been concerned, I would have reached out to the temple for help, Wolffe. So, no need to worry.”
“...okay. I’m going to go and get the others.” He kisses your forehead once more, and then he ducks his head to kiss Ellie’s head, before he circles the room again, and steps into the hallway.
Only minutes later, the room is flooded with people. General Koon immediately takes a place next to the bed to quietly talk to you while Wolffe shows Ellie off to his brothers.
And when they leave an hour later, Ellie’s picture has been taken a dozen times, and she’s been officially named as the Wolfpack’s mascot. And also the mascot for most of the other Battalions as well.
After all, she is the first niece.
#star wars#tcw#commander wolffe x reader#wolffe x reader#star wars fanfiction#x reader fanfiction#answered asks
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Ayoo ok so, hear me out
How about Wally with a s/o whos vision is getting progressively worse and they end up getting glasses? Since hes a puppet i suppose he can be confused about how do our eyes work n all
Coming right up Anon! :D
One of the best things about visiting the big city you used to call home is that your local optometrist is still there. Thanks to that, Dr. Iris managed to measure the perfect glasses for you. Now you can see well, making the train back home much more enjoyable, since you can see the scenery outside the window clear as day, even at night. You wonder how the neighborhood is going to react seeing that you now have glasses. It’s going to take time to get used to having a new weight on the bridge of your nose, but you can manage that.
You just wish Julie and Barnaby won’t tackle you when they see you. Wouldn’t want to get your glasses broken when you just got them. You didn’t have to wait long though because the train stop to home is coming closer. And when the train stopped, that’s when you took your cue to stand up, get off and walk all the way to the neighborhood.
“Neighbor!”
“Julie! Barnaby! NO!” You braced yourself, waiting for your body to hit the ground from the weight of their hug, but it never came. And when you looked at why is that. You saw Frank holding Julie back and Eddie keeping Barnaby still in his spot. So not only can the mail man lift anything, but he’s also strong enough to stop anything!
“Now Julie! I know you’re excited, but you must give our neighbor their space. They had a long journey.” Frank scolded like an older brother would do to their misbehaving sister.
“I know that, Frank! But I can’t help it! Neighbor has been gone for three whole days and I just want to see if they’re okay!”
That gave you a little laugh “Thanks Julie, but I’m okay. The doctor just said I needed some glasses.”
“Glasses?” All four of your neighbors say at the same time before walking up to you to see your new glasses.
“Now how would you need that little fella?” Barnaby asks.
“I—”
“Hi Julie, Hi Barnaby, Hi Frank, Hi Eddie. What are you all—” A fifth puppet joins the scene.
“Wally! Look! neighbor’s back! And she’s got glasses now!” Barnaby announced.
“Glasses? What are those?” Wally asks.
“We’ll find out soon Wally. If our neighbor is feeling up for it.” Frank says, being the ever-considerate puppet that he is.
“It’s fine Frank, I can explain to you what this is.”
Julie suddenly gasps “Wait! So even FRANK doesn’t know what it is?”
Frank sputters and huffed “How would I know? I’ve never encountered them before!”
“That’s because it’s a human thing.” You said, and with that simple statement, everything clicked for everyone. You explained further “Whenever our eyesight is getting blurry, we need to wear glasses to see clearer.”
“Oh! I get it now!” Eddie says, but then concern laced his face at a thought “Wait, does that mean you went to the big city blind?”
Everyone gasped at the thought, but you were quick to quell their worries “No no no no! I’m not fully blind, and the doctor said I’m near sighted, that means I can see things when they’re up close, but not when they’re far away.”
And with that, everyone calmed down again. Knowing that you were safe.
“Oh! Does that mean my sight will also become clearer with glasses on?”
“Wally, I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Frank is right Wally, the doctors have to measure what glass to put in my glasses so I can see clearly. It really depends on how bad your sight is.”
“Why, whatever do you think caused this blurry vision of yours neighbor?” Barnaby brought up.
“It runs in my family, and I guess it’s about time my family genes caught up to me. But not to worry, I just need to keep my glasses on the entire time, only taking them off when I sleep.”
“Oh! That’s the most, I’m glad you’re okay neighbor. I was worried for the past few days.” Wally sighs. And for some reason, that made Barnaby chuckle, saying: “Wally buddy, you’re always worried about our neighbor here.”
“I can’t help it though, at least they’re okay. And that glasses made them look the absolute most.”
“Thanks Wally.” You gave a smile, a smile that Wally believed that it’s the absolute most.
Barnaby, Eddie, Julie and Frank can see it clearly. The two may be oblivious to the fact, but the rest of the neighborhood will wait for the day. Where you and Wally can tell each other that fact.
#wally darling#wally darling x y/n#wally darling x you#welcome home#wally darling my beloved#wally darling x reader#wally x reader#welcome home arg x reader#fanfic#julie joyful#eddie dear#frank frankly#barnaby b beagle
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⇝ 32 - (✍︎) double date
“It’s nice to see you again, y/n.” Ei smiled at you softly. She’s always been fond of you.
“Yes, it’s been so long. I hope you’ve been doing well?” You asked awkwardly.
“I’ve been well. How about you? I hope Kuni here has not given you too much trouble.” Ei talked in a way that seemed like she already knew what occurred. Which you won’t even be surprised about if she did know, since Miko probably told her. That and she has connections.
You smiled slightly and looked towards Scara, unknowingly the smile on your face grew. “It’s fine. He’s making it up to me, so I’m giving him an equally hard time.”
“That’s a relief. Don’t go easy on him.” Ei laughed softly. It made you wonder if their family all had a pretty laugh. Must be a gene thing, maybe it runs in the family? “It’s good that you can put a reign on him. You balance each other out.”
“That’s… haha, thank you.” You couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, you decided to take her statement as a compliment.
“I have always supported the two of you together.” Ei leaned onto the balcony as she looked out at the tall buildings in front of you two. She had a distant look like she was also having a conversation with herself.
“Wha- where did this come from?” You sheepishly rub your nape, as your eyes nervously wander and eventually lands on Scara which makes you more flustered once you make eye contact with him. You smiled at him reassuringly when he gives you a worried glance.
“I am aware that Kunikuzushi has done… some things that have hurt you. It would have been completely understandable if you had cut all contacts and never forgiven him, but the fact that you stayed…” Ei stares at you for a moment then glances at Scara briefly with a fond look. She looks back at you with a grateful look and graces you with a warm smile. “I’m thankful. That boy has always felt lonely, to know that you are by his side is a relief.”
“I am not that heartless. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t even give him a chance to make up for his wrongdoings. He is not the only one repenting, since I have also done terrible things.” You confessed with a sigh, then you closed your eyes as you took a deep breath. Behind your closed eyes, you could vividly see the efforts Scara has been putting for the past week which makes you grin like a fool. “His efforts and his willingness makes my heart flutter to be completely honest. Seeing him this soft on me makes it hard for me not to like him more.”
“I know. I know you are both trying your best for each other. In any case, it’s evident that he is much more at peace now.” Ei said in deep thought. “He smiles more frequently. I think you’ve given him a bit of solace.”
You smiled slightly, “Is that so? I’m glad.”
Ei looked at you seriously and asked, “Then you like him?”
“Yes. Kuni is precious to me.”
“I see.” Ei looked satisfied. She looked at the direction of where Scara and Miko were, beside the food bar, and you follow her gaze curiously. You are quick to notice that they are both walking towards the both of you now. Scara has a cheeky smile on his face which makes you overthink whether he heard your rant conversation with his sister or not.
“Ei.”
“Yes?”
“Fuck you.”
Ei snickers.
-
“Honestly, I was fully expecting the double date to be cancelled.” Miko has a sly smile and you can’t help but feel it’s directed at you.
Why is this couple out to embarrass you tonight?
You give Miko a glare, but that makes her smirk widen. “But of course, I’m not calling anyone out,”
“I wish it was called off.” Scaramouche deadpanned. Everyone in the table paid Scaramouche’s unfiltered comment no mind, mostly because they’re used to it. “Why did we have to do this on a company’s official event? I thought we would have more privacy”
“If I had known, I would have dressed myself more appropriately.” You commented. Scara turned to you, looked you up and down, then spoke with nonchalance.
“But you look beautiful.”
You didn’t know if it was the way he said it or because he said it in front of Miko and Ei that you feel embarrassed. Either way, you feel your whole body heat up.
“Thank you. You look really good in that outfit yourself.”
Scara smiles cutely.
You feel like you’re about to faint from both his compliment and how he practically sparkled when you complimented him.
And Yae Miko wants to tease the both of you.
“Look at you both acting so lovey dovey~”
You and Scara look at Miko with a sour look.
“It’s not flirting.” You said.
“We’re just complimenting each other.” Scara added.
“So defensive for no reason, I wasn’t saying it like it was anything bad.” Amusement glints in her eyes. “You two are always so easy to rile up.”
-
You squint your eyes as you catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde and brown hair.
‘Is that Hu Tao and Lumine?’
You put your hand on Scara’s arm to get his attention. You lean into his ear to whisper so only he could hear your query. “Is it just me or does that look like Lumine and Hu Tao?”
He looked around then he spotted the people you were talking about along with a mop of ginger and green hair. “No, it’s not only you. Venti and Childe are also here.” He pointed to their general direction.
“Why are they here?” You said outloud, it was mostly a question to yourself.
“Perhaps the youngest of the Kamisato siblings invited them?” Ei suggested with a lazy smile. Was she trying to reassure you? Well with a smile like that, how could you not be? Again, the Raiden family and their pretty faces.
“Fair enough.”
You mentally set a note to yourself to have a chat with them later.
-
“Let me drive you back.” Scara insists. The ‘double date’ is now finished and it was time to go back. After saying your goodbyes to Ei and Miko, you were left alone with Scara.
“Alright.” There was no reason to refuse, especially if he was offering. You bite your lips to stop yourself from smiling. Small things like these that he does always have you teetering to the edge.
“Am I this affection starved?”
And after much debate (not really) with yourself, you decided that yes, you are. Maybe with a side of mommy and daddy issues too, but that was besides the point.
Once inside the car, he asked you questions about the double date. Like how his sister treated you and if you were, at some point, uncomfortable. You reassured him, his sister was wonderful. That tonight was amazing.
“I’ve never been on a double date before. I’m not sure if that was how it was supposed to go.” You confessed.
“Me neither. But it’s fine right? It was all about spending time together.” He said softly.
A beat of silence passed by. You look at him briefly and before you could stop your mouth, you blurt out a question that you’ve been wondering. “Do you prefer being called Kunikuzushi or Scaramouche?”
“As long as my name is uttered from your lips, I have no objections.” He answered too quickly. Without any hesitation. Like it was a natural response. You’re rendered speechless at his nonchalance and his words echo in your mind.
“As long as it’s uttered from your lips.”
The rest of the ride is quiet. Scara — or Kuni — or whatever, has a mischievous smirk at your lack of response. The drive passes too quickly.
“We’re here.” He turns to you with a smug smile that seems to have been glued to his face. The same annoying one he used whenever he knows he’s won. “Unless you want to stay with me longer?”
“I’m fine!” You grumbled, your ears tinted pink. You quickly unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the car door.
“Dream of me.” He said with a teasing tone. You hate him for that, because you’re gonna be thinking about him whether awake or asleep.
“Fuck you.” I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight. You don’t say the rest of the statement. He would absolutely delight in you admitting to that. You raised your middle finger to emphasize your point.
“I’m sure you’d like that.”
“Shut your mouth. Right now.”
“You should do it yourself.”
“I will tape it shut.”
just a hater — [ prev | masterlist | next ]
Synopsis: In which you major in astronomy and scaramouche is the biggest astronomy hater (in your eyes). What happens when someone confesses their feelings for you, and you not knowing how to handle affections, suddenly blurt out that you are already taken. By who? Well, scaramouche of course.
a/n: oml fontaine is dropping in 10 days or smth. time passes too quickly, i cannot believe we’re like halfway through 2023 wth. anyway, i started reading the cruel prince trilogy and cardan 🤭
taglist: @lovelyiez @linn-a-a @itsyourgirlria @beriiov @kunikuzushiit @bubiblossom @jiminscarmex @starfruiitzz @baelloraa @bleedingwhiteroses222 @zanashair @criminalinthemaking @dee-zbignuts @shizunxie @lxry-chxn @mangobee @sukunasrealgf @reverse-iak @monochromaticelliot @scaranaris-lil-niko @zannivrs @lovely-scaramouchie @ireallylikehamsters @angryhope @monaypo1 @shirmxie @pooonyo @ladyv1n @thenightsflower @aerinrin @suzukara @lfgceo @elysiasbae @saoiirsee @kairxse @prefesro @purpl3bo1 @insomni4ac @otomegame-oneshots @mcryv @kunikuzushisbeloved @cupids-chamber @justawalkingdisaster @scaraapologist @elakari @hishui @loveroftheoldestdream @doppoluvbot @crowbird @lunavixia @mirology @k1an4a
#genshin impact#genshin smau#genshin fanfic#genshin textfic#genshin texts#smau#kunikuzushi#genshin kunikuzushi#scaramouche x you#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x reader#jah - just a hater#genshin wanderer#jah - chapters#scara x reader
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riding fakie | ksj
(or, the one where you think you’re getting a fake boyfriend, but you end up with a whole lot more.)
→ pairing: seokjin x f. reader
→ genre(s): enemies to lovers (lite), fake dating | humor, fluff, angst
→ rating: mature
→ warnings: based entirely on this edit i saw ages ago so good luck, swearing, reader is a trust fund kid with awful parents so classism and screwy family dynamics, a very brief but referenced two-night-stand with taehyung who has a foot fetish (canon) and is ultimately plot irrelevant, this is lite enemies to lovers so sometimes they are not very nice to each other, kissing. i think that’s it? this is mostly tame, all things considered, but i will revise if needed.
→ word count: 14.2k
→ written for: the catch of the century collab. thank you to @raplinesmoon / @joheunsaram / & @kithtaehyung for hosting and allowing me to participate! ♡
→ thank yous: my holy trinity for keeping me inspired and accountable and letting me know when i don’t word good. @the-boy-meets-evil / @hot-soop / @effortandmore. also my husband who actually skateboards and helped me to sound knowledgeable but will also never, ever see this.
→ a/n: [looking a whole lot like the dehydrated spongebob meme] hey, long time no see. this fic absolutely kicked my ass like nothing has ever kicked my ass before, but it’s finally done and here. i don’t think i’m super happy with how it turned out and i think it’s probably rushed, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! now, if you need me i will be sobbing on the floor holding a locket with seokjin’s picture inside.
[THE THREAT]
The thing about privilege is—
Well, nothing. It’s just there, propped up in the corner, looming over every aspect of your life. And usually it’s fine. You want for nothing. People just hand things to you. But, just like the apple tree and Isaac Newton and the Law of Gravity—everything that goes up must come down. Nothing gold can stay. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You might have your name and your money and your status, but you also have your parents and your brother.
Your brother, who has somehow found someone to marry him and is planning a wedding.
Your parents, who are threatening to revoke your trust fund if you don’t attend. And bring a date.
“I don’t want to hear it,” your mother says, preemptively cutting off your protests. She’s always had a knack for dictatorship, and another one for doing so as she barks orders to the hired help in the background. “This wedding is very important for us as a family. Do you know how bad it’d look if you not only didn’t show up, but showed up alone? It won’t do.”
On your end of the line, sitting at some bougie outdoor café with an overpriced latte in hand, you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t it look worse to cut off your only daughter and leave her destitute? God forbid, what if I have to get a job?”
An aggravated click of her tongue. “I don’t know where you got that smart mouth of yours, but it’s unbecoming. I’ve at least managed to talk your brother’s fiancee out of including you in the bridal party, so you could show a bit of gratitude instead of being a brat.”
(Impossible, you think. Your brother had taken all the suck-up genes and left nothing for you. Alternatively, you’d taken all the backbone, so it’s almost even.)
“Why don’t you ask the youngest Jeon boy? They’re coming anyway, and it would look good for your father if the two of you were seen together.”
You grimace. “Jeongguk? Absolutely not.”
Another click. “Fine, but don’t you dare even think about showing up with some—”
“Piece of shit loser,” you finish for her. Usually she’d scold you for swearing, but it’s apparently allowed in the name of shitting on the middle-class. “Yes, Mother, I get it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare sully our good family name by associating with the poor.”
She doesn’t trust you, you can tell by the way she huffs and starts mumbling under her breath, but it’s clear she’s just as done with this conversation as you. “You have three months to figure it out.”
Privilege can go to hell.
[THE SEARCH]
Park Jimin is a lot of things.
He’s got money. He’s got hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers for no reason other than he’s hot. He’s got a closet full of in-season designer clothes, so he’d look stunning hanging off your arm in a tailored suit. He’s got charisma and charm and that innate ability to talk to anyone about all that boring shit you can’t stand.
Most importantly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, too. He’s on your level.
Park Jimin is telling you no. “Sorry, I’ll be out of the country that weekend,” he says. He doesn’t look sorry. “One of those things I can’t skip. You know how it is.”
Your eyes narrow. “You’re full of shit.”
Park Jimin’s got a laugh that rings like Tiffany crystal. “Maybe.”
Still, you’re not above begging. The list of acceptable arm candy candidates (which you’ve taken to calling The Armcandidates, because you also got all the humor genes) is rapidly dwindling, and although Jimin’s not bottom of the barrel, he’s close. “Jimin, please. Whatever you want, I just need this one favor.”
“Don’t barter with things you’re not willing to give up,” he chides, nothing but heat. Would you fuck Jimin to keep your trust fund? Pillowy lips, slutty little waist, thighs that could crush your head like a grape—you could definitely do worse, all things considered.
“Who says I’m not?”
Jimin would come dead last in a poker tournament, the way surprise flashes across his face. “Well, in that case, I’m actually sorry I’ll be out of the country that weekend.”
You groan, head dropping onto your folded arms. “Can’t believe I outed myself like that and you’re still turning me down.”
Laughter trails behind him as he disappears into his massive closet. “Have you asked Taehyungie? He loves weddings.”
“The last time I talked to Kim Taehyung, he jerked off on my feet and cried. I don’t think I could look him in the eye, let alone invite him to my brother’s wedding.”
Jimin snorts. “He’s actually quite lovely once you get past the foot stuff. Think about it.”
Regretfully, not only do you think about asking Taehyung, you actually go through with it.
One day you’re talking to Jimin and the next thing you know, you’re once again on your back in Kim Taehyung’s bed. No weird feet shit this time, you’d told him, and, well, here you are. Skin tacky from sweat, entire room stinking of sex. Kim Taehyung is weird as hell but he’s unreasonably hot, and you’d made it all of ten minutes in his presence before folding.
(The last time it’d been five, so you’re making progress. Surely that’s something to be proud of.)
“I actually came here for a reason,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. Beside you, Taehyung hums an acknowledgement. You try not to wonder if he’s staring at your toes and that’s why he’s breathing so hard. “I need to bring a date to my brother’s wedding or my parents are gonna cut me off.”
He whistles. “Damn, that’s cold. Fully?”
“That’s what they say.”
“And you’ve decided to ask me? I’m honored, angel.”
“I asked Jimin first, to be fair.”
Taehyung’s face falls comically. “I’m no longer honored,” he jokes. “Jiminie’s great at weddings. He said no?”
You shrug. Something about his rejection still stings. You’re trying not to take it personally. Or think about it too much. “Said he’s going to be out of the country that weekend. Told me to ask you because you quote-unquote ‘love weddings’.”
“He said that?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched higher, dopey look overtaking his features. “Wow, we’re so in sync.” Wistful, like he’s lovesick. “We really must be soulmates.”
You choke. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“Uh, no. Is the wedding the weekend he’s going to Milan?”
That ‘no’ seems to be carrying a lot of weight. You eye him suspiciously. “Apparently.”
“Ah, I’ll be in Paris. I asked him to come with me and he told me no, too. Guess you know how it feels.”
You sit up, sheets clutched to your chest. “Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”
Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How much time do you have?”
You roll your eyes. “About three minutes.”
“Next time, then. Sorry I can’t help with the wedding. You’ll find someone, though.”
Another day, another rejection. You tell Taehyung not to look at your feet as you get dressed to leave.
Jung Hoseok isn’t generationally wealthy, but he’s got enough money to be deemed respectable in the eyes of your parents.
He’s also got a 24 karat smile and a meticulously highlighted and underlined study guide for your upcoming exam, so he’s currently ranked number one on your Armcandidates list.
“Hobi, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”
He eyes you over the lid of his coffee cup. “A few times, yeah.”
“Jung Hoseok,” you singsong, “actual sunshine, number one human, best thing since sliced bre—”
“If you finish that sentence with some fire of my loins Lolita bullshit I’m leaving.”
You pout. “I need a favor.”
He tosses the study guide in your direction. “Just take it. I have another copy in my bag.”
“Not that,” you say, but you take it anyway. Hoseok’s study guides are a thing of legend: even if you don’t use it, you’ll be able to sell it to some idiot underclassman for a week’s worth of coffee. The bougie kind with whipped cream on top. “I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”
Now it’s his turn to choke. “And you’re asking me?”
“Yeah? What’s wrong with asking you?”
He shrugs, suddenly antsy, like he’s too big for his skin. “I don’t know. Don’t you have, like, actual prospects? Every dude in our cohort wants to date you.”
“Because I’m hot and I have a shitload of money,” you retort, and Hoseok makes a face that says yeah, fair. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ask any of them. We’re friends, and I trust you. Additionally, your family’s rich enough to get my parents off my back and we’d look good together.”
“Ah, yes, that last point is very important.”
You scoff. “Of course it is, it’s my brother’s wedding. Do you know how many pictures I’m gonna be forced to take? Hundreds. Possibly thousands.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It will be, which is why I need a brother-in-arms. A confidante. A comrade.”
“Have you asked Jimin? He’s great at weddings.”
You nearly start shrieking. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“...Is that a yes?”
“Of course I asked Jimin. I asked Taehyung, too. They’re both going to be out of the country and are probably fucking, and that’s not particularly something I want to get in the middle of.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “It could be serious,” you argue. “Like, Actual Feelings kind of stuff, and that shit gets messy.”
“Yeah, fair,” Hoseok concedes, out loud this time. “Plus Tae has that weird foot thing.”
“Exactly! So you get it.” Finally, a lead! “Will you come, then?” You flutter your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Hobi.”
“When is it?” As you rattle off the date, Hoseok digs through his bag for his phone. Then he pulls up his calendar and frowns. “Shit, no can do, either. My elective rotation starts that prior Monday.”
“Ew. What elective are you taking?”
Hoseok nearly blinds you as he smiles. “Reproductive endo and infertility.”
Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that one you applied to ages ago? You got it?” He nods. “Oh my god, Hobi, that’s amazing!” You launch across the table to hug him. “I still hate you for bailing, but think of all the tiny raisins you’re gonna help bring into the world!” You wipe away a fake tear. “You’re a god amongst men, Jung Hoseok.”
He takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Speaking of which, how’s the volunteer gig in the ER treating you?”
“It’s fine.” You groan, put-upon, and sometimes Hoseok is so smiley and endearing that you feel guilty unloading all of your burdens on him, so you aren’t going to. Not unless he asks. Because he’s prone to dramatics and neuroticism but not like you are, and you know it can be a lot for someone not expecting it.
However—
“That’s good. Is that annoying guy you told me about still bothering you?”
Wrong question.
You cock an eyebrow. “This is the third time this week.”
In front of you, Kim Seokjin just grins, dried blood cracking on his plush lower lip. “Yep.”
“It’s Tuesday,” you deadpan. The grin grows wider, warping the purple-black bruise beneath his eye.
Because he’s arguably the most annoying person on earth, Seokjin just hums an acknowledgement, leaning further against the reception desk. “Well,” he says, voice interlaced with honey, “you’d have to take that up with the Babylonians, since they invented the modern calendar. Not much I can do about that.”
A pause. Then, “You’re really fucking annoying, do you know that?”
“It's a bit rude to insult someone seeking out your services, don’t you think?”
You roll your eyes, pushing your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Not really. Not if it’s you.”
Surprisingly—or maybe not, considering everything seems to roll off his back—a laugh comes tumbling out of him. “Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelming to be blessed with the sight of this face not once, but three times in a week. I can understand and excuse your insensitivity, so I won’t report you this time, but—”
Ignoring him, you slam a clipboard onto the space between you. “You know the drill.”
“What if I’ve forgotten it?”
“Name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment.”
“You know my name, you know where I live, insurance hasn’t changed, and I’m just here to soak in your sparkling personality.”
With as murderous a stare as you can muster, you push the clipboard further in his direction. It hits something solid. Probably a rib, judging by Seokjin’s pained wheeze, but you don’t get paid enough to care. “Do you need a pen?”
“Why, so you can stab me with it?”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
He rolls his eyes. Thumbs through the intake forms and pretends to read them, even though the last time he had to sign one he’d just drawn a stick figure giving you the finger. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your sociopathic tendencies? Might do you some good.”
With prolonged eye contact, you toss a pen in his direction. Hits him square between the eyes. “A million times,” you deadpan. This is where you’d blow a bubble and pop it if you were allowed to chew gum on the clock. “I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable case of bitchitis. It’s a very tragic burden to bear. Fill out the form.”
Seokjin huffs. Stays standing right in front of you as he does as you say, ignoring the line of people behind him that’s rapidly stacking up. Someone towards the back yells at him to get out of the way, but the protest dies immediately once he turns around and smiles. You think an elderly woman faints. She definitely bobbles, at the very least.
“Thanks so much for your help,” Seokjin says, handing the forms back with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. They’re free of doodled middle fingers, so you wave him off. “Have a great day,” he lobs over his shoulder. When you look down, he’s giving you the finger at waist-height.
“Have the day you deserve,” you fire back.
Your skin needles with anxiety for the rest of the day.
Seokjin comes into the emergency room again on Friday.
He’s got a large gash just above his eyebrow that’s gonna need stitches. You tell him as much as he fills out the same forms as the day before, and he tells you to tell him something he doesn’t know as he rolls his eyes and winces immediately.
“Here’s something you don’t seem to know: karma is real, and she also thinks you’re an asshole.”
You get the finger again for that one. Honestly, you can’t say you don’t deserve it.
“Kiss my ass.”
You pretend to pout. “Health hazard. Against hospital policy.”
Seokjin pauses. Seems to study you for a while, and then he’s cocking an eyebrow and asking, “What do you actually do here, anyway? Besides be a giant bitch.”
Wordlessly, you point at your name tag. There, right beneath your first and last name, lies the answer to Seokjin’s question. He squints. Winces again. “You’re a med student?”
Again, you point at your name tag.
“That means I can write a complaint.”
“Go ahead,” you retort. “My mother’s on the board of directors, and luckily for you she already knows I’m a giant bitch.”
Seokjin snorts, jaw dropping slightly. Just enough to draw attention to his mouth, which you’ve seen a hundred times for a hundred different injuries, but it looks especially sinful today. Maybe it’s just because he’s being mean to you, which is something you might need to explore with Taehyung in exchange for pictures of your feet.
“Ah, I should’ve known. You’ve got overwhelming nepo kid energy. Probably never had to work for anything a day in your life, huh? Probably a legacy to whatever shit-tier medical school was bribed into accepting you, too.”
Until now, you’d thought your banter with Seokjin was relatively harmless. Barbed, sure, and definitely effective. You’d throttle Seokjin if given the chance, and you know he’d do the same. But it’s never been outright cruel.
You try to look unfazed. Try to look like you don’t care about Seokjin and his words at all, because they’re nothing you haven’t heard before. Not like you’d asked to be born to your parents, so shit like this usually rolled off your back.
Now, though—
Your face must fall, just a little, because Seokjin immediately looks remorseful. Moves to say something, but you’re retrieving his clipboard and intake paperwork before he can stutter out an apology. “Thanks. They’ll call you back shortly.”
“Hey, I—“
“You can take a seat over there,” you interject, eyes locked on your computer screen. If you tear up, you can just blame it on eye strain.
You don’t see Seokjin for another two weeks.
And that’s… fine. His absence has given you some time to digest, some time to mull things over, decide if you’re actually upset or if you’d gone temporarily insane. It’d taken ten days, but you came to the conclusion that it’d just been a fleeting moment of sensitivity. People are mean to you all the time in the ER; if you took each insult or attack on your character to heart, you’d be in for a world of hurt.
So, yeah. You’d had a rough day and Seokjin saying you were a good-for-nothing nepot stung a little. That’s it.
Because you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. You’ve managed to piss away an entire month without securing a date to the wedding, and now you’ve got time breathing down your neck. Two months, your mother’s shrill voice shrieks in your head, and it devolves into weeks and days and hours the longer you let yourself spiral. It’d seemed like so long before: you’d been so certain you’d have a date by the end of day one, and then the universe had to go and humble you. Cruel.
But the universe is also fair, because one day it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Seokjin, and the next it’s a painfully slow Thursday afternoon and he strolls in with splinted fingers and a sheepish, weary expression.
“Uh, hi.”
You look up from your computer, taking in all the bruises and scars that dot his face but take nothing away from the beauty of it. “Sorry, exorcism hours ended at noon.”
Seokjin swallows, nostrils flaring. He looks like he wants to argue, just because he’s him and you’re you, but he acquiesces with a little nod. “Fair. I deserved that.”
“Here for the usual?” you ask, tone dry and neutral. When Seokjin doesn’t answer, you grab a clipboard and start your usual spiel—name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment—and then there’s a choked-off sound, not unlike a cat dying.
He looks pained when you dare a glance. Face contorted into a grimace, just like all the parents who bring in their constipated babies. “No, no,” he says. Sucks in a deep breath, and you nearly roll your eyes in exasperation. This guy’s acting like he’s about to give a speech at the goddamn United Nations. “I’m here to… apologize?”
You blink. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you?” A pause. “Yeah, definitely telling you.”
“Okay.” Another pause. Seokjin fidgets, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, wipes probably-sweaty palms on his jeans, picks up every pen in the cup and drops it back in. “Well, the floor is yours.” More silence. His face seems to shift into reluctant acceptance. “Any day now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Okay.”
“I still think you’re really mean—”
“Sure, that’s fair.”
“—but I’d like to make it up to you. I think.”
“You sure are thinking a lot. Wanna give those brain cells a break?”
“Fuck you,” he replies automatically. “Here I am, trying to be nice—”
An idea strikes you then. Parts the hazy recesses of your mind like the Red Sea, and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. “How were you planning on making it up to me?”
Because he’s not wholly an idiot, Seokjin sends you a pointed look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
You’re sure your smile looks straight out of a Creepypasta, but there’s an opportunity here, and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers. “Because I just so happen to need a favor, and here you are, ready to dish one out.”
“I never said it was a favor.”
You pout. “But Seokjin,” you whine, “you were so mean.”
One of his eyes twitches. “Why does this feel like a crossroads deal?”
“I think the Grinch felt similar. Right before his heart grew three sizes and he saved Christmas.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and you can almost see the scales tipping in his brain, weighing whether or not it’s a good idea to entertain you at all. Which is impressive, all things considered, because he doesn’t even know what you’ll ask for yet. He could be expecting something humiliating at his expense, or a monetary bribe—you’re pretty certain asking for a date will catch him fully off-guard.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing big,” you reply easily. Twirl your hair around your finger. Bat your eyelashes. “Just a little date.”
Seokjin sputters. “A what.”
“A date,” you repeat. “I just so happen to need a date to my brother’s wedding, and you just so happen to be overcome with guilt. It’s a win-win.”
“We don’t even like each other!”
You click your tongue. “Even better, because I don’t like my brother, either!”
“So this is… what? A game? Some kind of petty revenge? Bring the guy who looks like me to your brother’s wedding to rebel against your parents?”
“Yes, absolutely,” you answer, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. Seokjin doesn’t seem convinced. You sigh. “Look, you can say no. Or I can throw in something extra if it feels unfair—”
“Like what?”
You shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to prepare a fucking offer sheet, Seokjin. What do you want?”
“Depends. What’s this all entail? Is it a one-time thing or do I have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
You choke. “My boyf—” But then it hits you: your brother will hate this. Your parents will hate it even more. Without even needing to ask, it’s clear Seokjin isn’t from your world, and if they’re ready to disinherit you for showing up to your brother’s wedding alone, might as well commit to the bit. So you clear your throat and smile again. “And if I say yes?”
“It’ll cost more,” Seokjin deadpans.
You nod, feeling a little like you’re swindling this poor man. “Add it to my tab, boyfriend.”
[THE MEETING]
Finding a date was supposed to be the hard part. Turns out, it’s only the beginning.
Your parents are thrilled and a little stunned when you tell them you’ve secured a plus-one. (So is your brother, but you have better luck with him listening when you tell him to fuck off. It’s a little hard to say the same to your mother and father when they’re dangling a trust fund in front of you like a carrot.) And, in true upper echelon form, they grill you. For hours. Family name, family business, how you met, what their intentions are, blah blah blah. You feel a migraine coming on somewhere around question two.
Eventually, your mother says, “I don’t know about this,” and your father grunts in agreement. You don’t think he’s used full words in years. Not with you.
“What’s there to know?” you whine, nearly rolling your eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a date.”
Your mother flutters around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at you. It’s weird seeing her like this: almost like a real mother, almost like she’s going to say something comforting and serve you a plate of freshly-baked cookies instead of huffing and puffing at everything you say and treating you like a pariah. “Do you even know this young man?”
“Of course I know him.”
“Do I need to remind you that it’s bad etiquette to bring a first date to a wedding?”
There’s a pang of annoyance that you have to tamper down. “It’s not a first date.”
“Oh? You’ve been seeing him regularly?”
This time you do roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” your father says, not bothering to lower the newspaper in front of him.
“How did you—”
“Is this young man your boyfriend?”
You think about what Seokjin had said: It’ll cost more. Not, you couldn’t pay me eight billion dollars to pretend to date you. Not, no thanks I’d rather die. Just, it’ll cost more. So, as you sit in this opulent kitchen with your parents and some ungodly amount of Italian marble, you think there’s nothing you wouldn’t pay to make these people miserable. These people, who never saw you beyond a status symbol. That traditional nuclear family tucked behind the white picket fence. Two kids. Golden retriever. Pool boy. Family vacations to five-star resorts, only your parents smiling in the pictures before they abandoned you and your brother with the nanny.
So, no, Seokjin isn’t your boyfriend. Not really. But he’s willing to play the part and that’s good enough. “Yeah,” you answer, and one simple word stops your mother in her tracks and gets your father to finally abandon his stupid newspaper, and just this little bit of power feels nice.
“Oh,” comes your mother’s reply. She shares a look with your father.
Because the patriarchy is alive and well and he loves to play the arbiter, he says, “I think we should meet him.”
And, because you’re not an idiot, you say, “Don’t forget the rule was that I had to find a date, not that you had to approve them.”
With a huff, your father disappears again behind his newspaper.
You: i need another favor
Rapid Onset Migraine: how much
You: shouldn’t my boyfriend want to do nice things for me out of the kindness of his own heart
Rapid Onset Migraine: no
(“Shouldn’t you have him saved under his actual name? Maybe a little heart emoji?” Hoseok asks, looking over your shoulder. “Unless he has a degradation kink, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that someone named Rapid Onset Migraine is actually your boyfriend.”
“Shut up, Hobi. It’s one of those things that are violently affectionate and ironically cute.” A pause. Then—“Do you think Thunderclap Headache is better?”
“No. No, I definitely do not.”)
You: you don’t even know what the favor is
Rapid Onset Migraine: don’t care
You: fine
You: i would like to formally demand your presence at dinner with my parents this thursday at 7
Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m busy
You: i will literally venmo you rn to cancel your plans
Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m suddenly free. @jin-k92
Rapid Onset Migraine: five hundred dollars please
You: fuck off
You: $50. final offer. take it or leave it
Rapid Onset Migraine: leave it
You: sent. see you thursday!
It’s Tuesday night and you’re fresh off your shift, headed to your car, looking forward to doing nothing but absorbing into your couch and maybe using that new bath bomb, when someone on a skateboard crashes into you.
You’re on your ass before you can process, stunned, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. A familiar face enters your line of sight, not looking all that apologetic. “Whoops.”
You groan. “Worst boyfriend ever,” you retort, sticking your hand in the air. “At least help me up.”
There’s absolutely no grace in the way Seokjin hauls you to your feet. Doesn’t bother to steady you when you bobble, either, and you have half a mind to give him the finger. Instead, you say, “Are you stalking me?” and delight in the split-second of panic that overtakes his features.
“No,” he eventually says, expression right back to neutral. “You’ve already agreed to date me. Why would I need to stalk you?”
“There’s at least seventeen different problems with that statement and I’m not going to touch any of them.” You take a second to look him over: no obvious injuries, still obnoxiously attractive. Hair a little longer than usual, rogue strands hanging loose and framing his face. No one should be allowed to look like this. He really, really gets on your nerves. “Why are you here, though? You look fine.”
“I am fine—”
“Uninjured,” you clarify, which earns you a scoff.
“I’m that, too,” he snarks, “but I came to find you to figure out the game plan.”
“Why didn’t you just text me?”
“I was already in the area,” he lies.
“Uh-huh.”
“And I thought I could con you into buying me dinner.”
“What’d you do with the fifty bucks I sent you the other day?”
Seokjin looks at you like you’re dumb. You’re really starting to wonder if you are. “I spent it.”
“On what?”
“Are you my accountant now?” he huffs.
“No, but you’re not my sugar baby, either. Buy your own dinner.”
He bats his lashes at you. “But honey…”
“Fuck off, Seokjin,” you say, stomping towards your car. Unsurprisingly, he’s right behind you, the wheels of his skateboard noisy as they glide along the concrete. “This is why you’re always needing stitches?” you ask, knowing he’s close enough to hear.
“Yep.” A louder noise; probably some kind of trick. You’re not going to dignify him by watching and being impressed.
During your second semester of college, Hoseok had gotten you into this horrible habit of parking far away. So you get your steps in, had been his reasoning, and it’s hard to say whether you’d given in to the 10,000 steps per day hysteria or just Hoseok’s convincing, evil little smile, but you still do it. And you’re really regretting it now, when you have to traipse through a half-mile of parking lot with the world’s most annoying person on your heels.
“Are you gonna take me to dinner, though?”
That’s how you wind up sitting across from him at a diner.
His cheeseburger is demolished in record time. Fries are halfway gone, too, by the time he asks what the plan is and seems genuinely shocked when you say there isn’t one.
“What do you mean there’s no plan?”
“There’s no plan,” you repeat, dipping your own fry into his ketchup just so he has to swat your hand away. “I mean, dinner is at seven, but that’s it.”
Seokjin looks confused, like you’ve tilted his world on its axis. “There’s gotta be a plan,” he argues. “There’s always a plan with you trust fund kids.”
Another dig, and you can tell by the way he avoids your gaze once he makes it. “There’s really no plan,” you say, ignoring the quip. There’s a reason you’ve got a fake boyfriend, and it’s not because your parents are benevolent and easy-going. “I don’t care what you tell my parents.”
“Now I know for sure you’re setting me up.”
You shrug. “Believe whatever you want.”
Seokjin studies you, clearly still unconvinced. “You’re telling me,” he begins, sticking the straw of his root beer float in his mouth, “that I can just walk in there and sabotage you? That I have carte blanche? That I can tell them you literally paid me to be there?” You shrug. There’s a disgusting slurping sound. You grimace.
“Well, I’m hoping you won’t, but I certainly can’t stop you.”
“You’re terrible at fake dating.”
A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want to delve into twenty-plus years of parental trauma, especially not with this guy, but sometimes it can’t be helped. “Look, I don’t want to go to my brother’s wedding. I don’t like him, and I don’t like my parents. No one else wanted to fake date me”—you hold up your hand to kill the obvious comment before he makes it—“and, honestly, my parents are gonna hate you and that’s the entire reason I asked for your help. So, no, I don’t care what you tell them, because I don’t care if they approve. I’m sick of them making me jump through hoops just to be their kid.”
Unfazed, Seokjin breezily replies, “You obviously care enough to keep taking their money.”
“I consider my trust fund to be reparations.”
“That why you were so touchy about that nepotism comment?”
Nodding, you fidget with the hem of your scrub top, hands suddenly sweaty. “Well, it doesn’t feel great to have my accomplishments credited to my last name or whatever, but it’s not something I can stop anyone from assuming.”
“Are they?”
“It’d be naive to think they aren’t.”
“You got into med school, though,” Seokjin says, and you tamper down the flush that’s creeping in. You are not going to care about any man’s acknowledgement. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”
“Can you tell my parents that?”
A laugh bellows out of him, and you’re horrified to learn it’s a terrible sound. Everyone in the diner turns to stare, and you’re flushed crimson and trying to duck under the table.
Still, you can’t help but smile. Your parents really are going to have a stroke.
To your delight, Seokjin is good at getting people to hate him. Like, really good—almost scarily so.
He’d shown up twenty minutes late, having ignored the dress code entirely, clad in a pair of ripped black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arm tattoos and innumerable scars proudly on display. He hadn’t bothered to shake your father’s hand or introduce himself to your mother, just fell into the seat next to you, stage-whispered a, this place is a shithole huh, and stuck his nose in a menu. When the waiter came by, he ordered a bottle of wine older than the two of you combined and the most expensive entree on the menu.
Now, an hour in, your parents are teetering on the edge of a major cardiac event.
“So, Seokjin,” your father says, voice gritty and forced, “what do you do?”
Seokjin shoves a large piece of meat in his mouth, making sure to smack his lips. “What d’you mean?” he asks, the question garbled around the food.
“For a living.”
Scarily good, you think. Seokjin pretends to choke, pretends to look shocked and appalled. “I don’t work,” he answers, tone bang-on to the one your parents use when they’re being condescending. “My parents give me money, and I figured I’d date this one”—he flicks you in the temple—“until she becomes a doctor and can support me. Then we’ll get married.”
Your mother gasps. Your smile is involuntary.
Your father, on the other hand, knocks over his wine glass. Spills it all over the table, goes red in the face, and it’s the most distressed you’ve ever seen him, usually composed to a fault, immovable. “You’ll do no such thi—”
Seokjin fakes a yawn. “You ready, babe?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just stands, tosses his napkin on the table, and grabs your hand. The two of you are out of the restaurant before either of your parents can utter a word.
Feels like one of those movie moments, you think: the cool breeze in your hair, against your flushed cheeks, your hand in Seokjin’s, both of you not daring to breathe or make a sound until you’re safe outside, away from your parents and their gobsmacked expressions. And then you crack, just enough for laughter to spill out, and Seokjin snorts, another horrible sound, and before you know it, the two of you are collapsed against the side of the restaurant, tears in your eyes as the brick scrapes against your skin.
Maybe something shifts. Maybe the smile Seokjin sends you is genuine.
[THE RELATIONSHIP]
Much to your horror, fake relationships aren’t all that different from normal, authentic ones.
Which means two things: one, that your brother and his wife-to-be both received an earful from your parents about Seokjin and The Dinner, and two, you still have to compromise.
The first one wasn’t so bad. Your brother had called you and issued a vague threat, of course, because he’s never had a sense of humor about anything, but you hadn’t answered so it’d been easy to delete the voicemail and forget about it. And, luckily for him, your future sister-in-law was far more lax. Bring him, she’d texted. He sounds like a good time.
You’re not sure you’d describe Kim Seokjin as a good time, but you replied with a thumbs-up emoji regardless.
All of that had been fine. You’re well-versed in dealing with your family by now, so it’s easy to let their bullshit wash over you and down the drain like rainwater.
No, it’s the fake but has to look at least semi-real relationship that’s proving to be difficult.
Because you don’t like to compromise. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and you don’t want to hear about it from anyone. But here you are, doing a quasi-photoshoot with Seokjin so he can “soft launch” you on his Instagram—which, honestly, is a little daunting. He has a lot of followers. Not surprising, considering the way he looks, but the thought of being perceived by hundreds of thousands of strangers makes you feel like you’re wearing your skin inside-out.
“Can you try looking less constipated?” he asks, tone dry as toast as he scrolls through the series of selfies the two of you just took.
You scoff. “First of all, I don’t look constipated.” Really, you don’t. “Second of all, why do you even need to do this? We only have to convince my parents, and you pissed them off so bad I’m not sure they’ll ever ask me to bring a date to anything ever again.”
“Because I have a competition next weekend that you’ll have to go to, and I don’t want anyone asking any questions.”
“What if I’m busy?”
“You’re not,” Seokjin retorts, all conviction. “If I had to clear my schedule for that dinner, you’re free for this.”
“What if I have a school thing?”
Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him through his phone camera. It’s really not fair, the way his face is. “Do you?”
“No, but what if?”
He takes another picture and cackles, gleefully showing it to you. “See? You definitely look constipated.”
With a glare, you wrestle the phone out of his hand and aim it the way you want—the way you know looks good. And maybe you do a little pout, too; do that thing with your eyes that looks seductive and a little dirty. Not because you care about what Seokjin’s followers think, because you’re hot and you know it, but because you want him to suffer. Just a little bit. It’s illogical, the way you want him to look at this picture and feel… something. Half pride, half longing.
So, you angle and pout. Delight in the caught-out expression on Seokjin’s face this time, like it’s the first time he’s learning that you’re hot and that it troubles him a little. “Is that better?” you ask, sugar-sweet.
Seokjin doesn’t respond, just posts the picture to his Instagram story.
Skateboarding has never been your thing.
Your brother had gone through a phase, once. Spent all his allowance on the video games and collected CCS catalogs, spending imaginary money as he’d thumb through the pages and circle everything he wanted. Never bought a real board, though—just developed a superiority complex because he listened to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 soundtrack one too many times and thought it was a legitimate substitute for actual pre-teen rebellion.
However, fake-dating Seokjin means you’re getting a crash course.
“What do these do?” you ask, holding up a set of wheels. There’s an alien holding a bong on them. They make you laugh.
Seokjin eyes you from across the shop and pointedly ignores your question. Instead, the disgruntled guy behind the register answers. “They’re wheels,” he says, tone clipped, which you answer with a surprised noise, like you’ve discovered something new.
“Wow, wheels,” you intone. “Cool.”
Done picking out new grip tape, or whatever the hell he’d said, Seokjin plucks the wheels from your hand and puts them back where you’d gotten them. “Fascinating invention, huh?”
The man behind the register smells like weed. Reeks of it, actually, and the stench is almost overbearing as you sidle up next to Seokjin at the counter. Yoongi, his name tag reads. You don’t think he looks like a Yoongi, because it kind of lends itself to a stoner character, but it also sounds kind of sweet, and the man in front of you looks like he could snap you like a twig and enjoy it.
Then—“Oh, you’re Instagram girl.”
You scowl. “I’m who.”
First, you’re reduced to nepotism and your family name; now it’s Instagram. There’s a huff halfway out of your mouth when Seokjin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. You think he’d press a kiss to your temple if this was real. “My beautiful girlfriend,” he says, playfully hip-checking you.
Yoongi looks between the two of you, then pushes the tape back in Seokjin’s direction. “You know you don’t have to pay for this shit, man.”
“Sure, but I can. I have a rich girlfriend now.”
He yelps when you step on his foot with the heel of your boot. “Aren’t you so lucky,” you grit out.
You don’t see the way his gaze softens, but Yoongi sure does.
Anticipation crackles in the air.
Feels like the day you’d sat for the MCAT—that brand of nervous, determined focus, bordering on excitement. Something that will really only go one of two ways with a million variables, and it’s a small relief to not be the one in the hot seat.
Hoseok had been there last time. Now, a man that’s seemingly all limbs plops down beside you, ungraceful and awkward.
“You’re Instagram girl,” he says, before sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.”
Seems like Seokjin’s idea of a soft launch is anything but. Briefly, you wonder how many more people are going to forego your identity entirely in the name of Instagram, but it’s kind of nice, too—nice to be someone other than your parents’ daughter, your brother’s sister, your family name. There’s a long way to go before the patriarchy is smashed entirely, because it’s not so nice to be newly reduced to Seokjin’s girlfriend, but baby steps.
For now, it’s all right.
For now, there are far worse things you could be.
“Hi, Namjoon,” you finally reply, because he seems out of place and nice enough—nicer than Yoongi, at least. Definitely far less gruff and abrasive.
He chokes a little, like he’s surprised you responded to him. Not for the first time, it’s just sort of par for the course when you are who you are. “Oh, sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing under the guise of the relentless afternoon sun. “I just—recognized you? And couldn’t help myself? Which probably sounds really creepy, which was not my intent, it’s just—Jin doesn’t bring anyone to these things. Like, ever. So it was a little shocking! Kind of like meeting a celebrity? Even though I’ve never really done that, either. Oh! I met Greta Thunberg once. That was cool. It was, like, on accident, though? So…”
On and on he goes, bless him, because he just talks endlessly without expecting a response. You look around: the bleachers are starting to fill up, awestruck kids with humored parents, and you wonder what that’s like. To have an interest in something and have it nurtured, instead of having to live up to expectations you never wanted. Maybe you would’ve been a skateboarder, too. Maybe you would’ve shucked all those societal norms and did something you wanted, even though it doesn’t really matter now.
“Hey,” you say, stopping Namjoon’s latest spiel in its tracks, “do you come to these things often?”
Namjoon lights up like Christmas. People must not ask him about himself much. “Yeah! Well, sometimes? I’m in grad school, so I come when I have time. I thought it’d be a good idea to get two master’s degrees, so I finished my first one—in philosophy, before you ask, which was pretty stupid, because what am I gonna do with that, you know? But I guess it worked, because I had a full-blown existential crisis and decided to get a second one to put off the inevitable second existential crisis over what I was going to do with my life—”
“What was that one in?”
Namjoon startles again, and it’s almost hopelessly endearing. “Huh? Oh, Botany and Plant Pathology.”
You blink. “Plant pathology?”
“Yeah! It’s really interesting, because everything’s connected, right? Like, you can’t really fight climate change and food insecurity if you have all these diseased crops and forests, and I leaned pretty heavily into biological philosophy for my first degree, especially environmental ethics and conservation—”
“...And you come to skateboarding competitions for fun?”
His ears turn red; his cheeks and neck follow shortly thereafter. “I like physics, and skateboarding has a lot of physics.”
Just your luck. “Can you explain to me what’s going on, then?”
Namjoon does as you ask, and takes his job very seriously. He explains the rules and the implications, the rankings and what they mean for the future, who’s who and the major players. He explains tricks as they happen—how they got their names, who did them first, notable events. You remember your brother screaming at the TV the night Tony Hawk landed the 900 at the X Games, and Namjoon’s smile is so bright when you tell him about it.
“Yeah, that’s—that was so fucking cool, man. You know he was 31 when he did that? I think about that sometimes. There’s all this emphasis on aging, this juvenile notion that life peaks in your twenties, that you need to have it all figured out before you’re thirty: the job, the marriage, the house with the white picket fence, and it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything at my age, and I just think: Tony Hawk landed the first 900 when he was 31 years old, and now 10 year olds are doing it. That’s fucking dope.”
He’s off on another tangent almost immediately, telling you about how he’d met Seokjin and how they became friends. You hear none of it. Seokjin comes in second place. You don’t remember much of the celebration, either.
You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. Feels a bit like drowning.
You’re good at compartmentalizing.
You have to be, growing up in the family you did. Because Namjoon’s words had rattled you, sure, but you can’t linger on them. Lectures still need to be attended, hospital shifts still need to be worked, and it’d really hurt Hoseok’s feelings if you bailed on your study sessions, so you have to tuck away all those wayward thoughts for later.
Not until you’re alone, tucked into bed far too early for someone in their mid-20s, do you think about it.
Well, it’s less ‘thinking’ and more ‘ah, these are the existential crises Namjoon was talking about.’ Certainly not your first crisis, and it won’t be your last, but it’s still… unnerving. Being a doctor was something you’d always been rock-solid about. You hadn’t wanted to go into business like your father and brother, had no interest in kissing ass in the political sphere and wielding influence like your mother, but you’d been told all your life you had to do something. Something important, something impressive, something worth bragging about—because what were you worth if your parents couldn’t talk endlessly at fundraisers about how much better you were than everyone else?
You glance at the clock: almost two a.m. There’s only one person that’ll be awake at this hour, even though you shouldn’t. Seokjin has one job, and it isn’t talking you off the proverbial ledge in the middle of the night. Still—
You: you up?
Rapid Onset Migraine: this is happening a little fast don’t you think?
You: ??? huh
You: wait no
You: that’s NOT what i meant
Rapid Onset Migraine: yeah sure
Rapid Onset Migraine: well obviously i’m awake
Rapid Onset Migraine: you ok?
You: yeah, i’m sorry to bother you about this
You: i think i’m just having a bad time?
That’s that, you think, because minutes pass without a response. But then your phone’s vibrating, lighting up in your hand. Rapid Onset Migraine flashes across the screen, his contact photo set to a meme of Handsome Squidward just because you’d thought it was funny.
“Hello?”
“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I needed to make a pot of coffee before I had this conversation.”
You hum. The comment doesn’t sting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee.”
“I don’t,” Seokjin answers. “Well, not usually. Only if I have an early flight or something.”
“Or need to talk through your fake girlfriend’s two a.m. existential crisis?”
“Yeah.” Seokjin laughs, and it’s almost enough of a balm. “But I’m friends with Namjoon, so I’m an expert in those by now. I keep weird hours, anyway, you know? I’m either skating or gaming, so he used to call me at, like, four in the morning because he’d read too much Kierkegaard or Beauvoir and was spiraling.” You hear him take a sip of coffee. He starts sputtering immediately. “Shit, that’s hot. Fuck, I think I burnt my tongue off.”
“Luckily you know a doctor.”
“I do,” he says, and his tone is warm. Almost proud? “Anyway, what’s going on? You read Being and Nothingness, too, or what?”
For a moment, you’re just quiet, trying to think of the words to say. You’re well aware of your privilege, make a conscious effort to not throw it around the way others might, so there’s a lot of guilt that comes with something like this. You know what people probably think: poor little rich girl, with her family money and their connections, it must be so hard to be her. It’s not, and you’re fine, but—
“Did you always want to skate professionally?” you ask, because you figure it’s safe. Doesn’t give it all away, even though Seokjin’s smart enough to read between the lines.
And, to your surprise, he plays along. Doesn’t call you out or press on the bruise, just says, “Hm, no, not really.”
“No?” you repeat, incredulous. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he confirms. “This is really embarrassing, but I wanted to get into software engineering or coding. Whatever would let me make video games.”
“Why would that be embarrassing?”
“Because it’s me?” Seokjin forces a laugh, pure self-deprecation. “That’s the kind of stuff people like Namjoon do. And that’s—it’s fine. I’m good at skateboarding and I get paid to do it. That’s the kind of thing kids dream about, right? Getting paid to travel around and skateboard all day?” He sighs, and it’s broken in a way that’s unsettling and familiar. A sound that could be coming from your own lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it and I’m thankful I get to do this as a job, it’s just not what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”
A brief silence, and then Seokjin’s talking again before you can reply, which you’re glad for. Everything feels off-center. “Is that what’s going on? School stress?”
“Maybe,” you admit, still a little breathless. “I’m just… struggling? I think? With knowing what’s actual desire and what’s just expectation.”
“Ah, I see. I don’t think I can really help with that beyond empathizing, but I’m sorry you’re going through it.” Then, like he’s telling you a secret, “If it helps at all, I think it takes a lot of courage to do this kind of introspection. It’s not easy, especially when you’re likely to find things you don’t want to.”
You can’t help but snort, but it’s gentle. Quiet, though still loud in the stillness of your bedroom. “Thanks,” you eventually reply. “Surprisingly comforting.”
“Yah, I’ll have you know I’m a very comforting person!”
“Of course you are.”
“Besides,” he says, and his tone takes on such conviction you’re sure you’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth next with no hesitation, “it’s fine if you decide this isn’t what you wanna do. It’s never too late, or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great doctor.”
“Or whatever,” you echo, smile creeping up on you. “That makes it sound so easy.”
“I guess it is.”
What’s it like to live like that, you wonder. Completely devoid of expectations, just going with the flow, doing what you want without crippling fear of the consequences. Must be nice, is your conclusion. Life doesn’t work like that for you, and you’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with that, so it’s fine. You’re on a path and maybe it’s not what you would’ve chosen had you had time to look at all the possibilities, but you’re on a path and it’s yours.
You want to say this to Seokjin. You want to thank him, both for the pep talk and the unfounded confidence, but your eyelids feel heavy and he’s just babbling now, something about the first time he landed a tre flip, and it’s soothing. Comforting.
Sleep takes you before you can think about it too hard—think about how Seokjin used to be nothing but a menace, the worst part of your day, and now he’s not.
You’re on another night shift, third in a row, and you’re the kind of exhausted that has you smelling colors.
Nothing makes sense. Your bones hurt. When you think about going home and finally going to bed it feels like when you’re starving and wait too long to eat and don’t feel hungry anymore. Then you finally do and it’s not satisfying, kind of makes your stomach hurt, and the cycle repeats.
Seokjin texts you to check in. After your two a.m. convo, you’re hyperaware of how much time you spend venting, so you assure him you’re fine. He drops off a coffee and some snacks, anyway. Just because he’s already up.
—
There are other hangouts. You don’t call them dates, because that word has implications and meaning and this is fake, but you have them nonetheless.
Overindulgent takeaway, equally expensive alcohol that has sat unopened in your apartment for far too long, shitty movies playing in the background, and Seokjin’s inability to stop talking. He sneakily lobs popcorn at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. This prompts an all-out war, and you both have tears streaming down your faces by the time Seokjin calls a truce.
Just days later, you spread out a gingham blanket in the park. Seokjin makes up bullshit constellations, gives them horrific names and backstories, and revels in the sound of your infectious laughter. When your head feels too heavy to hold up, you lay back in the grass and try to keep your heart in your chest when Seokjin does the same, slender fingers searching out yours in the dark.
You want so badly to kiss him. Want to crash your mouths together and kiss him breathless, but you don’t.
On your third hangout, you cover each other in silly temporary tattoos and take too many selfies. Seokjin snorts at how dumb he looks in the filters and asks you to send him some, immediately setting a particularly couple-y shot as your contact photo.
And if you get butterflies when he posts one to his Instagram story? Well, that’s your business.
—
Seokjin gets the dumb idea that he’s going to teach you to skate.
Which is not only dumb because it’s impossible, but because you’re sure your skeletal system is probably insured for millions of dollars, knowing your parents. You can’t do any of your clinical rotations with broken bones—instant dismissal—and Seokjin knows this, but he’s annoyingly persistent and assures you you’ll be fine, so you relent because you trust him, despite all odds.
Physically, you are fine. Seokjin holds onto your waist and doesn’t let you fall, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to unwanted skateboarding lessons. Emotionally, though? Not so much. You’ve been close to Seokjin before. Enough to feel his body heat; enough to get goosebumps; enough to nearly become delirious with your want to taste him.
Normally that’s fine. But now, as he uses one hand to hold your waist and the other to hold your own hand, you can’t think of a single logical explanation for depriving yourself of more of this. Because he’s steady and warm, and sometimes you teeter and he grips tighter, causing your mind to wander and think about things it shouldn’t. You’re only human, and Seokjin is an otherworldly brand of handsome, so you don’t beat yourself up over it.
Still. It ignites something, that’s for sure, and if it’s anything like Seokjin himself, it won’t be easy to extinguish.
—
It’s by complete accident that you meet Jeongguk.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You’ve met him before, at some bougie function your parents dragged you to, but it was brief and forced and awkward. Jeongguk was weird back then. Still is, probably, judging from his entire… presence, now.
He’s dangling upside down from a tree branch when you meet him for the second time.
“Oh. Jeongguk. Hi?”
“Hi!” he says, smile brighter than the sun, and before you can ask him why he’s upside down in a tree there’s a massive camera in front of his face. “Are you here to see Jin?”
Here is a public sidewalk, but you don’t say that. Instead, you say, “I’m on my way home. Why are you in a tree?”
His response is nonverbal, just a finger point dead ahead of you. Some Brutalist architecture leftover from the ‘50s—a large set of stairs, public fountain, weird art sculpture, a small crowd. Doesn’t take long to learn what they’re there for: Seokjin grinds down the rail, lands perfectly, nearly skates into the street and gets whacked by a car. Everyone cheers.
Ah, that explains the camera, too. You vaguely recall your mother telling you the youngest Jeon went to school for filmmaking. She hadn’t sounded impressed. You wonder what she’d think if she knew he was your delinquent, skateboarder, fake boyfriend’s videographer. Probably something aneurysm-inducing.
“He’s so cool,” Jeongguk says, whimsical and dreamy in a way that sounds like he has framed photos of Seokjin on his walls. Maybe his picture in a heart frame, like that one meme. “You’re so lucky.” There’s definitely some jealousy there.
You raise an eyebrow. “You wanna date him instead?”
Jeongguk seems to mull it over. Doesn’t move from his spot in the tree, either, and you reckon he’s got another sixty seconds before you forcefully turn him right side up. “Nah. He seems really happy with you.”
“We’re not—” Together, your brain finishes, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. So you cough, hope Jeongguk hasn’t caught it, and say, “Yeah, we’re not doing too bad,” instead.
—
“I think you’re too far gone, personally.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes. What does Hoseok know? Okay, he’s probably the smartest person you know, but that’s medicine. He hasn’t had a long-term partner in years, so yeah, what does Hoseok know.
“I am not,” you insist, because the majority of your time in this library has been spent defending the validity of your love life, not studying. “Hobi, look.” You sigh, snapping shut your notebook. A migraine is forming just thinking about the amount of reviewing you’re gonna have to do at home to make up for this. “Does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things? Life is fleeting and we’re all inconsequential, so I understand why you’re grilling me on this and not the MLE review book we paid for—”
He pulls a face. “It was fifty bucks! You’re acting like I’m out thousa—”
“Not the point!”
Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Presses his fingers deep into his frontal sinus points. “I think it not being the point is the point, though? None of this was necessary. You could’ve just brought him to the wedding without having to pretend he’s your boyfriend.” You move to protest. He waves you off. “I know you wanted to get back at your parents. Your parents suck, so I get it, but don’t you think this is a little much?”
“How?”
Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to sigh. Put-upon, like he’s a beleaguered parent talking to a very idiotic child. “Uh, how about the fact that the two of you are going on actual dates, for one? And they’re definitely dates, so I don’t want to hear it. You took him to a Michelin star restaurant, quote-unquote, just because.”
“I was hungry!”
“Sure, okay, whatever you say.” He throws his hands up, clearly defeated, and it settles all wrong in your gut. Hoseok gets mad, sure, but never at you. Not even annoyed. “Have you given any thought at all, even considered just a teeny-tiny bit, that this might not be as fake as you think?”
“No,” you retort, petulant, because it is fake and you don’t need Hoseok to tell you that.
But Hoseok is smart, you know, so you were never going to get off easy. “I think you actually like him.”
“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”
“And I’ll say it a hundred and one, if I have to. Fuck, your head must be made of concrete.”
“Could be,” comes your breezy response. “Maybe that’s why my mother hates me.”
Hoseok chokes. Knocks his tea over and onto the MLE guide, which prompts a distressed shriek from him and a harsh shushing from the rest of the library.
So much for it only being fifty dollars.
—
Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi does leave his skate shop, which comes as a shock for a man who has severe cavedweller vibes.
“Hey, Instagram,” he says, smelling like actual cologne and laundry detergent instead of a dispensary as he stands behind you in line.
Yoongi is clearly talking to you. You know he’s talking to you, but you still pause, fragile like a deer caught in headlights, and look over your shoulder as if he could be talking to anyone else. “Uh. Hi?”
He squints. “You are Instagram girl, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I thought so, but you looked at me like I was the one who’s stupid so I wasn’t sure.”
Did he just call you stupid? “Did you just call me stupid?”
Yoongi shrugs. “What’s good here?” he asks, changing the subject. He definitely called you stupid.
“I—most things? I don’t know, I always just get a cold brew with oat milk.”
He grimaces. “Ew, gross. I’m gonna go grab a table. Grab me a medium iced americano.”
You order him a small, purely out of spite, and Yoongi doesn’t come to this coffee shop often enough to know the difference so he doesn’t even notice when you set it down in front of him. Takes all the satisfaction out of being petty. He must know. “Thanks,” he says, not looking up from his phone as he unwraps a straw and stabs his drink perfectly in the center.
“Sure. I’ll send you a Venmo request.”
“Oh, I don’t have Venmo.” He finally looks up. “Are you going to Jin’s thing?” All he receives in response is a blank stare. “The skate comp. Second qualifying round for the big championship event? Surely he’s told you about this.”
Let no man ever say you’re a bad liar. “Ah, yeah, of course! Med student brain. It’s all memorizing neural pathways and… stuff… and forgetting skate competitions.”
“Hm,” comes Yoongi’s response, and he quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t question you further.
(You bring it up to Seokjin later, expecting him to laugh it off, extend an invitation out of obligation. Instead, he laughs in a way that sounds fond. Says, “Yoongi beat me to it,” in a way that brings his scarlet red neck and ears to the forefront of your brain, and follows it up with, “I’d really love it if you came, but I understand how busy you must be right now,” that has your skin flushing all the same.
You’re loath to make promises, but sometimes they’re easy.)
Time is not on your side.
You barely make it to Seokjin’s second competition. Barely have your ass in the bleachers, hairline dotted with sweat and anxiety coursing through you, before he’s dropping into the bowl for his first run.
He’d mentioned it offhand. Told you it wasn’t a big deal if you couldn’t make it, because he knew how busy you were with school and that you needed to study because exam season was relentless, but he’d looked so relieved when you joked that it wasn’t so easy to get rid of you, that you’d be cheering him on from the first row. That being anywhere else just wasn’t an option.
And that had… taken you aback. Watching him skate is a good enough distraction for all those thoughts. You don’t have to dwell on the whys: why the thought of sitting in your apartment, nose stuck in a book instead of being here, had been so unconscionable. Instead, you’re able to focus on him, which is almost worse. Because the way he looks—wind pushing his hair back off his forehead as he skates around, calf muscles flexing every time he kicks, shirt fabric darkening under a light sheen of sweat, smiling at kids and the countless people he knows—is a little overwhelming. You’re winded for two reasons.
It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone do something they’re passionate about. Seokjin especially, but you’re biased. You want only good things for him.
His first run finishes. He chews on his bottom lip as the judges huddle together. Numbers flash on the scoreboard. Good—great, even. You know what the stakes are: score high enough and he’ll advance to the championship. More sponsors will fall in line. Someone will present him with one of those comically large checks that he’ll probably spend on god-knows-what at Yoongi’s shop.
More skaters follow. Highs and lows. Seokjin watches them all, enraptured, just as happy for their successes as his own. Someone bails out right next to him, arms out to break their fall, making a sound an arm should never make, and Seokjin’s there right away. He’s good.
Except the universe doesn’t always reward goodness. His second run starts off well: smooth as butter, impressively technical. Seokjin is fluid when he skates. Makes it look easy, like you could hop on a board and do it just as well. You watch him, but you almost like watching everyone else watch him more: the wide eyes, the whistles under their breath, the nods of approval. Seokjin’s got all of it, truly thrives on the admiration. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good.
You know it’s coming. That trick he’d told you about—the one he’s never been able to land during a competition. The one that’s gnawing away at him. He’s going to try it, and you’re holding your breath as he kickflips, grinds his board along the rail, does some kind of dismount that looks absurd and impossible to your untrained eye.
Then he’s on the ground.
He’s still for a second. Huffs in frustration. Back on his board before you can blink.
Seokjin’s not a child, but you know it stings. You’re overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, the way he’s done for you countless times, but you shouldn’t so you don’t. The two of you don’t talk until after, and by then it might not matter.
It isn’t until he’s about to drop in for his final run that he scans the crowd. You want to believe the look on his face when he spots you is relief, but it’s painted over in a nanosecond. He smiles, smug but content, and then he’s shoving his helmet back on his head, clapping someone on the back, and he’s off.
Maybe the universe does reward goodness, because everything goes right this time.
Seokjin lines up to attempt the trick again, because if he’s going to go out it’s going to be on his terms. Completely unshakeable, the kind of attitude that gets plastered on those bullshit inspirational posters about falling down nine times and getting up ten, and you wonder, briefly, if it’s stupid. A good score would be enough to get him through, but he wants to do this.
And he does.
Everyone around you erupts as soon as the trick is landed. Seokjin calls the run early—just a handful of seconds left, anyway—and his fellow competitors are on him immediately. Someone picks him up in a bear hug and spins him around, and the joy on his face is so pure, so unbridled, that you almost cry.
But the wait is torturous. His second run had gone so poorly and those in the top spots had done so well that it’ll be close, even with a gazelle flip under his belt. Nothing is certain, and the way you can barely bring yourself to look at the scoreboard is proof enough. Seokjin is good, and you want only good things for him, and you can barely look at the scoreboard but you can’t look away, either—
The roar of the crowd is deafening.
A freeze-frame moment. All around you, there are fists in the air, shrill yells of Seokjin’s name, maybe a chant, nothing but chaos. You can hardly hear yourself think, but you can see just fine, and what you see is Seokjin’s gaze locked on yours. The corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. A flicker of hesitation before he’s gracefully shrugging everyone off of him and making his way over to you, and then it’s just reflex. Here, you know what to do.
You barely flinch when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.
Everything is soft. Feels a bit like floating.
Seokjinnie: do you wanna come over later?
Seokjinnie: i can either cook or get takeout, your choice
The apartment is small and you love it because he kisses you at the door. Seokjin has lips you want to memorize, so you kiss him again as he pulls away. The two of you kiss for a long time: throughout the “tour,” which is just the large studio space and the bathroom, all over the kitchen as he finishes cooking, until he exaggeratedly pulls out your chair, until you have to shove food in your face to keep your mouth off of him.
Seokjin has the kind of lips that leave you questioning if it’s really this easy.
Because Hoseok had been right: this isn’t fake for you anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, if you’re being honest, and maybe before this would’ve been a realization that scared you, but this doesn’t. Not when it’s Seokjin. So, yeah, maybe it is easy.
“Wait,” he says, chest heaving, gently pulling away from you. “Before I—wait, I have to talk to you about something.”
You just smile, hands still grazing over warm skin. “I think I already know.”
He stills. Takes a few seconds to reboot his brain before he’s smiling, laughing in a way that almost sounds unhinged. “God, yeah. Yeah, me too. But it’s—not that.”
“What, then?”
Immediately it’s clear this is not going to go well. Seokjin sighs, tilts his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck is gorgeous, littered with marks from you, but you gear up for a fight nonetheless. “The competition,” he says, as if that’s enough explanation. “The final round got pushed up.”
Your stomach drops. You know what’s coming, but you still ask, ���To when?” because you’re a little bit masochistic. Because maybe you’re itching for the fight. Itching to say see, I told you so, I knew this was never going to work, because it’s always been fake. Itching to hurt, because you want what’s familiar when you hurt.
“Saturday.”
The day of your brother’s wedding. “Of course.” You snort; the universe loves a good dose of irony.
He sighs again. Looks so genuinely distressed that you find it hard to truly be upset. “I’m sorry. I just found out today.”
“It’s fine,” comes your instantly reply, auto-generated. Some silly, naive part of you refuses to spiral, stubbornly convinced you can salvage this. You’d found a date. That was the rule. You’ve done exactly what your parents asked of you, and you think with a rueful smile that they’ll probably be relieved when you show up alone.
But Seokjin’s not convinced. There’s still turmoil painted across his face—some silly, naive part of him clinging to something stubborn, too. “I’m going to ask you to be there.”
Yet another freeze-frame moment. The part in video games where it’s clear you have a very important choice to make, neon signs practically blinding, saying you better choose right, better not fuck it up. But you’re going to. You’re going to say no, and it’s going to hurt Seokjin, and you have about ten seconds to come to peace with that.
“I can’t.”
To his credit, Seokjin doesn’t look surprised, and you think that might be more painful. He’d expected nothing from you and you still let him down, so his snort is sardonic and derisive when he says, “Of course you can’t.”
And your tone is defensive and disbelieving when you retort, “What’s that supposed to mean? What exactly do you expect me to do here?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to do anything, I’d foolishly hoped you’d say yes.”
Your jaw drops. Snaps shut when you swallow around the lump in your throat, because you’re not going to cry at not living up to another set of invisible expectations. “It’s my brother’s wedding, Seokjin. It’s not some small thing I can blow off.”
“Is that it?” he challenges, eyebrow quirked, expression bemused. “Or do you not want to lose your precious little trust fund?”
“Are you serious? Of course I don’t want to lose it, but I—”
“You don’t even like your brother,” he continues, giving you absolutely no reprieve. No chance to catch up, catch your breath. “You don’t even like your family, but I guess you like their money. Nothing was ever gonna be more important than that, huh?”
“That’s not fair, Seokjin.”
He hums; knows you’re right. Doesn’t try to get in anymore jabs, but he looks broken. “I don’t think this has been fake for either of us for a long time. It was stupid to think you’d go against your family on this, but I thought maybe, for me—”
“Again, that’s not fair.”
“I know it isn’t fair,” he shoots back. “I know that. I just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t skip this, and you’re not willing to skip yours, so I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”
“I can just go alone,” you say, because it seems simple. “I already did what they asked, so I can just go alone. It’s fine.”
“It’s not like that for me.”
You’re stunned into silence. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s irrational, but it’s… the principle. For me. I’m never going to match up, you know? I’m never going to be from your world. I can make all the money in the world doing what I do and I’ll still never come close. So I had this stupid thought in my head, like, if she comes then it’s real for her, too. It means something. If she’s there, we can figure it out.”
“And that’s the only way? It’s only real if I do this one thing? Doesn’t matter how we feel?” You laugh, exasperated, and you’re up and halfway to the door. “That’s bullshit, Seokjin. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations you’ve got of me if you never tell me what the fuck they are? You know, that’s—this is exactly what my family does, and you—you know that, what the fuck.”
“Hey, no—”
“I can’t belie—” Things go all glassy. Crystalline. You need to get out of here. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m sorry.”
“Wait—”
You press harshly into your eyes. You’re not going to cry over this. “Good luck, Seokjin.”
[THE CHOICE]
Things come full circle during another two a.m. crisis.
You’d stared at the ceiling. Scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Ignored Seokjin’s texts and thought about texting Hobi but decided it wouldn’t be fair and instead went cross-eyed watching some questionable late night paid program. Tried to disregard the crippling weight on your chest. Couldn’t. Thought about what Namjoon might do, because he seems well-versed in these sorts of crises, and looked up Sartre quotes on the internet. Got as far as one and quit, both because it hit too close to home and because all you can think about is your last two a.m. crisis.
Seokjin’s voice had been so soft. It wouldn’t have that same tenderness if you called him now and that stings, knowing you had a good thing, something velvet, and you let it go.
And still you think about Namjoon, about the ethics of conservation: when to preserve and when to let die. Does preservation ensure survival, or does it stave off the inevitable? It all gives you a headache, because nothing is guaranteed but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.
Jimin goes to Milan. Taehyung posts a selfie looking sad and beautiful on some balcony in Paris. You don’t want to be like them, doing some perpetual song and dance. Resisting an obvious thing.
Your brother answers on the second ring.
“Hello?” Groggy and confused. A voice you’ve heard a million times that still feels indistinguishable from a stranger’s.
“I can’t come to your wedding.”
A moment of silence, both literally and for your trust fund. “Uh, okay.”
“I’m sorry,” you rush out, because it feels important to say even if you don’t necessarily feel sorry. “I, uh—I am sorry, because I like your fiancée and I know this is probably a huge inconvenience considering your wedding is in a few hours, but I can’t—”
There’s some rustling. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to your brother in the middle of the night before. “It’s really fine.” He yawns. “This couldn’t wait ‘til the morning, though?”
“Not really.”
“Alright. Why do you sound like you’re about to have a panic attack?”
A lightbulb moment: he doesn’t know. “I am. You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That Mom and Dad threatened to cut me off if I didn’t show up at your wedding with a date.”
More silence. Then, slowly, the trickle of laughter. Just a quiet snort at first, and you’re a little confused, wonder if you should be laughing too, if he’s laughing at you, and then it compounds until he’s nearly in hysterics. “Oh my god.” He’s almost shrieking. “Holy shit. That’s why you brought that guy to dinner, isn’t it? The one they hated?” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound like this.
“Yeah.”
“That’s fucking hilarious. Fair play.” You wonder why you’ve spent two-plus decades hating this man on the other end of the line. “Okay, then. Why can’t you make it?”
You talk until you’re hoarse: about the competition, the fake relationship that hasn’t been all that fake for weeks, about the trust fund and growing up under the weight of your family’s money and expectations and always coming in third behind societal ass-kissing and your brother. You’re not looking for an apology but you get one anyway. A heart-to-heart in a moment that’s not entirely built for one, because the sun is coming up and your brother is still getting married in a few hours even if you won’t be there to witness it.
“All right, I really gotta go, but listen: I’ll talk to them, okay? And I’m rooting for you. Maybe in a few weeks you and Seokjin can come over for dinner, if it all works out.”
“Yeah, sure.” You agree readily, and it’s nice to have someone that shares your name in your corner. “I’ll make sure he behaves.” Your smile drops, chest cracked in half. “If it works out.”
Your brother says goodnight and wishes you well. Hangs up, and the silence is deafening and consolatory. You think about the Sartre quote again: Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.
Whatever happens, you think you’ll do just fine when it’s on your own terms.
Perhaps naively, you expected the day of your brother’s wedding—and subsequently Seokjin’s competition—to be gloomy. Of course, the weather is perfect. Mid-70s, light breeze, cloudless blue sky. When you’re wounded everything feels like an attack, so maybe before it would’ve felt like the universe was mocking you, saying look how beautiful and intact the world is when you’re falling apart, but you see something else.
You’d done a lot of thinking. Soul-searching and introspection and all those uncomfortable, vulnerable things you and Seokjin had talked about before, and you’ve made it to the other side, so a cloudless blue sky on a beautiful afternoon doesn’t feel like an attack. What you see is clarity being reflected back at you.
But it still takes a lot of courage. Instead of putting on a stunning, designer dress and painting on a smile to pacify your family and anyone else important enough to be granted entry, you’re pulling on normal clothes and normal shoes. It doesn’t matter if your hair and makeup are done. Everything feels wrong for a moment, like you’re forgetting something important, and you suppose that’s normal. This is arguably the biggest and most consequential decision you’ve made thus far in your life. No wonder you’re out of sorts.
Normally, this is where you’d compartmentalize. Tuck all that discomfort away for later: a problem for Future You. But that had been your go-to for years, and it did nothing but turn you into an emotionally constipated mess, so you’re done with that—trying to be done with that. Which is fine, because you don’t have a plan, not really, but sometimes it’s enough to simply show up, so that’s what you’re going to do.
Rejection is likely. You’re smart enough to know that, and you’re mature enough to accept it, if it comes down to it. But you don’t want Seokjin to feel rejected. Not again. That’s more important. So you’re going to show up, heart on your sleeve, and if he rejects you, fine, but you’re going to be there. And you’re going to cheer when he wins, even if your voice is drowned out.
Another packed event. It helps to feel anonymous when your sympathetic nervous system is working overtime like this. You’re trembling by the time you find a spot—a little out of the way, no room left on the bleachers. Seokjin probably won’t see you here, wouldn’t think to look, and it’s okay. You’re here for him but you’re here for yourself, too. Just to prove you can. Just to prove that you’re still human.
It all goes by in a blur. The skaters you don’t recognize, some you do. Scores that are both meaningful and meaningless until they aren’t. Seokjin’s name gets called and your stomach drops, but it’s okay. You see Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jeongguk, all nervous energy and bit fingernails and cautious smiles. They don’t see you, but it’s okay.
Two runs happen in a nanosecond. Seokjin holds steady in third. The guy sitting in first falls on his final run, and it’s best of three so you’re not breathing easy yet but your fingers start tingling with anticipation. The guy in second does well but nothing good enough to improve his score. Your phone’s blowing up in your pocket. Presumably your brother’s told your parents by now, and you can wait just a little longer to get cut off. What’s in front of you is more important, it is, and you know it when—
Call it divine intervention, but Seokjin looks up just as he’s about to drop into the bowl. Looks right at you, and the tingle spreads from your fingers all over. Another freeze-frame moment; the two of you are getting good at this.
He smiles. He wins.
Feels a bit like falling in love.
As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤
#btswritingcafe#thebtswritersclub#btshoneyhive#btscarnivalnet#bts imagines#bts scenarios#seokjin imagine#seokjin x reader#jin x reader#seokjin x you#jin x you#bts fanfiction#bts fic#seokjin fanfiction#jin fanfiction#seokjin fluff
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Lucien x Nesta friendship drabble
Nesta introduces Lucien to her chosen family! @sonics-atelier I wrote it :))
Nesta surveyed the Autumn Court male coolly. She could see the similarities between his face and Eris’s. Her sister had not overstated his cruel beauty. Since she was now married to his brother, and he was in turn mated to Elain…she supposed she would have to get to know him now. That didn’t mean she was going to make it easy on him. She let pure dismissal freeze over her stare as she looked him over. Lucien Vanserra did not balk from her stare. A ghost of a smirk flitted across his face as she continued to stare him down.
“Are you admiring my metal eye, or just contemplating killing me, Nesta Archeron?”
Nesta couldn’t help the small smile that spread over her face. There were few who could tolerate her spiciness. Cassian had been unable to; he had loved her spiciness, sure, but only when it was directed at others. Not him. But both Lucien and Eris loved it. It must be those Autumn court genes.
“I was just wondering…” She gestured to that eye. “I forgot who made that for you. Or did you make it yourself?”
Lucien laughed. “By the Cauldron, no. I have a very dear friend in the Dawn Court who specializes in this sort of thing. She herself has a metal arm, you know.”
Nesta straightened. “What is her name?”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just for a friend,” Nesta said evasively. Lucien snorted. “You’re going to have to give me more than that horseshit if you want me to reveal her name.”
“What’s the big deal?” Nesta snapped.
“I don’t know you,” Lucien said simply. “I’d like to know why you want to know. You’re married to a brother I haven’t had a proper relationship with in centuries and possess incredible powers in the Dread Trove and that death magic you got going. Forgive me for being cautious.”
Nesta sighed. She wanted to argue further, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “Fine. One of my friends, Emerie, is an Illyrian. The Illyrians have a barbaric practice of cutting their women’s wings. So… I was wondering if this friend of yours could possibly make her metal wings.”
Lucien gaped. “Are you fucking kidding me? How is such a practice still occurring after all this time? Hasn’t that stupid Inner Circle done anything about it?”
“Apparently not,” Nesta said. “But about the wings…”
“This seems within her ballpark. Why don’t I take all of you to see her? Nuan will be able to judge better than me.”
Nesta nodded. “Let me talk to Gwyn and Emerie and get back to you.”
Later that day, Gwyn and Emerie arrived in tow with Nesta.
“Do you really think she’ll be able to make the wings?” Gwyn asked. Her teal eyes were as large as saucers and filled with hope. Emerie was taut as a bowstring by her side, not daring to voice the hopes in her mind.
Lucien only smiled gently at Gwyn. “Nuan hasn’t failed yet.” As if in emphasis, Lucien’s metal eye whirred to focus more fully on Gwyn. Emerie jumped away, cussing, but Gwyn grinned. “That is so cool.”
Lucien smirked. “It gave me the ability to see things that nobody else can see. So, in a way, losing my eye was a blessing.”
“How did you lose it?” Nesta asked.
Lucien turned to her. “You probably know that Prythian was ruled by that tyrant Amarantha for fifty years.” Nesta nodded. “Well, I told her to go back to the shit-hole she crawled out of. So, she clawed out my eye.”
Emerie’s jaw dropped, and Gwyn murmured noises in awe. Nesta raised her brows, impressed against her will. “That’s exceptionally brave of you.”
Lucien shrugged. “I don’t respond well to threats or tyrants.” Flame sizzled in his brown eye. Nesta smiled. “Neither do I.”
Lucien laughed. “I figured as much when you made a death promise to the King of Hybern.”
Nesta smiled at Lucien. She didn’t know him well, but she had already decided she liked the male.
“I’m not sure I can winnow all three of you,” Lucien said. “You should probably bring my brother, Nesta.”
Nesta nodded and came to get him.
Lucien was left alone in the room with Emerie and Gwyn. “Who cut off your wings?” Lucien asked. Ok, maybe not the best icebreaker, but they’d asked about his eye so it was only fair.
Emerie grimaced. “My father.”
Lucien swore, low and vicious. “Asshole father. I can relate.”
Emerie scoffed. “Wonder what it’s like to have decent parents?”
“Beats me,” Lucien said. He turned to Gwyn. “Do you know?”
Gwyn shrugged. “I barely remember mine.”
“That’s a step up from being traumatized by them, I suppose,” Lucien said, and the three of them laughed.
Nesta returned to the room with her husband in tow. “Lucien, can you take Gwyn and Emerie?”
“Yes,” Lucien said. He avoided speaking to his brother. “Hold on tight, my ladies,” Lucien said softly to Nesta’s friends. Gwyn was positively beaming at him, and Emerie was little better. Nesta wasn’t sure if she should be glad the two of them were so comfortable in another male’s presence, or irritated that they’d fallen for the Vanserra charm so quickly. Not like she could talk, though.
Eris had a shit-eating grin on his face as Nesta faced him. “Looks like my brother might just steal your friends away from you.”
“That would only make me as friendless as you, Eris.”
Eris chuckled. “Why do I need friends when I have you, Nesta Archeron?”
Nesta blushed as Eris winnowed them away.
The dawn court was exquisite. The colors in the sky were so soft and comforting, like honey. It wasn’t quite as beautiful as the Autumn Court, but it had its own charm. It was a little chilly, and Lucien was about to offer Nesta his cloak when Eris beat him to the punch. He shrugged, offering his cloak to Gwyn instead, who gladly took it. He led the way to the metal workshop he had frequented countless times to hang out with his good friend.
Nuan squealed in delight when she saw him, running over to hug him. “Lulu! I missed you!!”
Nesta turned to Lucien incredulously. “Lulu?”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “She earned the right to call me that after she made my eye.”
Nesta and Eris wore identical smirks on their faces, and Lucien was about to roast the shit out of them when Nuan spoke again. “Are we here for the Illyrian?”
Emerie stiffened ever so slightly. “I stopped being Illyrian the moment my father cut my wings. I am a Valkyrie.”
“As you say,” Nuan said.
“Yes, Nuan. We were wondering if you would be able to make prosthetic wings for her.”
Nuan inspected the shredded wings. “This has been cut highly unevenly,” Nuan said. “I may have to cut a little bit more off to make it more even. Under a faerie drug, of course, so she wouldn’t feel anything.”
Nesta said, “Emerie? Are you ok with that?”
Emerie was staring at Nuan. “If I let you do that, would you be able to make wings for me? Would I be able to fly again?”
“You would need to relearn how to fly, of course, but yes, I can perfectly make usable wings for you.”
Silent tears poured down Emerie’s face, and Nesta and Gwyn moved to embrace her. Lucien’s heart strained at the camaraderie, the easy acceptance and understanding. Something he had had himself, once upon a time. He shut down the thought.
“How much would it cost?”
“Seventy faerie bits, but for my favorite customer, I’ll give you a 15-bit discount,” Nuan said, swatting his arm playfully. Lucien grinned. “You honor me, my lady. And how long will it take to make?”
Nuan thought. “I was actually halfway into a wing project, which I think I can perfectly mold to fit her wingspan. Overall, probably a day?”
Lucien turned to his companions. “Are you all fine with staying?”
Nesta arched a brow at Lucien. “And do you have a place where we can stay?”
Lucien gasped in mock horror. “Of course I do! What sort of male do you take me for, Lady Death?”
“Certainly one with a death wish, foxy.”
“I’m perfectly happy to stay if everybody else is,” Eris said. “It’s not like I had anything specific going on today.”
“Same,” Emerie said. Gwyn nodded in agreement.
“Then come with me, everyone.”
“Are you ready?” Nuan asked Emerie. The jagged edges of her ruined wings had been evened out so that Nuan could attach her new microfiber wings. “They’re not quite bat wings,” Nuan admitted. “They’re closer to Peregryn wings, but that just means they’re softer and more flexible. And more colorful, if you’d like.”
Emerie’s eyes widened. “You mean I can make them whatever color I want?”
“Of course.”
Emerie grinned at her companions. “How cool would it be if I had purple wings?”
“It would match your friendship bracelet,” Nesta said.
Lucien snorted. “You guys have friendship bracelets? And you were making fun of my friend’s nickname for me.”
Nesta grinned at Lucien. “Yes we have friendship bracelets, and we are not ashamed, foxy.”
Lucien shrugged. “If you say so.”
Later, Nuan carefully approached Emerie with the purple wings. “Hold still,” she commanded. The wings were very complicated, with many interlocking pieces, but finally Nuan got them on.
“Flap,” she ordered. Emerie obeyed and was stunned to feel the wings obey her. Nesta and Gwyn were squealing in the background, Eris’s hand squeezing Nesta’s tightly. Emerie sobbed over and over again, thanking Nuan for the gift, and Nuan hugged her. “It’s no better than you deserve, Emerie.”
Later, when Emerie, Gwyn, and Eris had all left, Nesta and Lucien were left alone together.
“You’re not bad, for a Fae male,” Nesta said. Lucien laughed and shook his head. “A glowing recommendation. I’m going to tape that to my wall. Nesta Archeron said, and I quote, ‘you’re not bad.’” Nesta smiled. “You must be very well-connected, if you know a tinkerer like Nuan.”
Lucien shrugged. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”
“That sounds far more High Lord-like than people like Beron or Rhysand ever will be.”
Lucien let Nesta see all the power simmering in his veins. “That’s why my brothers tried their very best to break and kill me.”
Nesta smiled. “Perhaps you could take over the Spring Court from Tamlin. Or rule over Hybern. There’s a power gap there, isn’t there?”
Lucien nodded.
“I don’t know you very well, but I can’t think of anyone more suited to rule,” Nesta said. Frank. Honest.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Nesta Archeron.”
They may not be friends just yet, but there was a budding relationship there. It hadn’t taken long for both to grow to respect the other immensely.
#nesta archeron#pro nesta archeron#lucien vanserra#pro lucien vanserra#eris vanserra#pro eris vanserra#nesta x lucien#neris#the valkyries#emerie of illyria#emerie#gwyneth berdara#pro gwyneth berdara#nuan acotar#lucien x nuan#fanfic
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This is an official distress call, over
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f! Reader
Part of the Spitfire Universe. Can be read as a stand-alone but best enjoyed if you have some background.
Summary: Unca Wooster is having such a great day, especially since his favorite nephew is having an extended sleepover at his house. His girlfriend is even calling him in the middle of the day which she hardly ever does! Such a great day…… oh no.
Bradley was having such a great day.
He made pancakes for breakfast.
He got Eli to school on time.
He got to see his girlfriend for a minute or two at drop off.
He made it to work on time.
He got to fly.
Just such a great day. He’s been loving all of the extra Unca Wooster time he’s been getting in. Jake and his wife wanted to go away for an extended weekend for their anniversary and Bradley was first in line to watch his favorite nephew. He might have thrown some elbows to beat out Coyote but nobody needs to know that. (He’s not sorry)
Penny, Mav, and Amelia have Ellie for the weekend. Mav made sure to pull Bradley aside and let him know that if he needed help with Eli to just let them know.
Pshaw! Why would he need help with Eli? He’s the best kid ever! Bradley still wonders how Hangman could have made such a great kid. Must have been all his wife’s genes because he definitely doesn’t see Jake in the kiddo at all.
Bradley was on his lunch break when he noticed his phone vibrating in his pocket.
A surprise call from his girlfriend! See?! Best day ever!
“Hey baby, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He says as he answers his phone.
“Bradley, what the f word did you do?!?!” His girlfriend scream-whispers to him on the phone.
Huh. He wasn’t expecting that at all. What could he have done? He’s been having the best day ever so clearly it had to be nothing.
“Ummmmmm nothing? What are you talking about? What’s wrong, honey?”
He hears you sigh, “What did you watch last night with Eli?” He can hear some sort of commotion where you are but can’t quite make heads or tails of it. Probably in your classroom, which you shouldn’t be, you should be on your lunch break right now.
Bradley thinks back, they watched a lot of stuff, “Umm Paw Patrol, we watched some Bluey, threw in some Wild Kratts for educational purposes, and then I think Jaws was on when he was falling asleep. I put him to bed once it was over.”
“You let a baby watch Jaws?!?!” You scream-whisper at him again.
“Hey! He’s not a baby! He’s a big boy. He barely watched it. He fell asleep after like 20 minutes.”
“I’m gonna beat your a word. I really am. Is Phoenix there? Let me talk to her.”
“Why the violence, honey? I’m sure he’s fine,” Bradley assumes.
“Oh my sweet naive and dumb boyfriend. You think he’s okay? That’s cute. That’s really cute. Super cute. He’s definitely not clinging to me right now sobbing and telling me he’s never going in the ocean again because he’s going to get ‘eated by the scary gray shark in the water.’ and he definitely isn’t refusing to lay down because what if a shark gets him in his sleep,” you say exasperatedly.
Ohh. Fuck. Shit.
“I shouldn’t have let him watch Jaws,” Bradley said as he hung his head.
“Ya think?! Oh my God. I can’t believe you let him watch that. You’re never getting him to sleep tonight. It was a miracle the rest of the class went down for naps because when one overtired kid cries then they all cry. And they were all asking me why Eli won’t go in the ocean anymore and why sharks are scary.”
Bradley winces. Maybe he could wear him out a little when he picks him up. Let him play for hours at the playground.
He hears his girlfriend sigh then hears a kissing noise that he assumes went onto his nephew’s head. Poor little guy.
“Before you even ask I already told him I would come over and help protect him. He’s clung to me all morning and if his parents aren’t home and it’s just you then he clearly needs a responsible adult.”
“Hey now, I’m a responsible adult,” Bradley grumbles.
“But are you? Because you let him watch Jaws and I don’t think you’re allowed to be in charge of the tv anymore,” you say. He can hear you mumbling something to Eli.
“That’s….. fair. That’s a fair choice. You are in charge of the tv.”
“Okay I gotta go. I’ll see you in a bit. I’m gonna google some shark week stuff that shows sharks NOT eating people to help this little boy out.”
“Okay I’ll see you in a bit. Bye honey. Tell Eli I love him and that I would never let anything happen to him,” Bradley said with a sigh.
“You got it. Bye Bradley,” you say before the call disconnects.
Bradley runs a hand down his face.
“Why so glum?” A voice asks, walking up from behind him.
“I did something stupid,” Bradley explains while he turns to look at Phoenix.
Phoenix laughs, “What else is new? So what’d you do?”
“I traumatized Eli.”
Phoenix smacks Bradley’s arm, “Why the hell would you do that?! That poor sweet boy!”
Bradley pulls his arm closer to him then rubs it, “Ow! Don’t hit me!”
Phoenix leers at Bradley, “Don’t do stupid things. What. Did. You. Do?”
Bradley sighs, “I let Eli watch a little bit of Jaws last night and now he’s terrified of the ocean and won’t nap because he’s scared a shark is going to get him in his sleep. Don’t worry, I already got yelled at over it.”
Phoenix gasps, “You should lose custody. Like immediately. No more Eli for you.”
“My girlfriend said she’s coming over tonight because Eli needs a responsible adult,” Bradley explains.
Phoenix laughs, “Only you would get yelled at and then essentially grounded by your girlfriend.”
“Jake’s wife grounds us all, all the time.”
Phoenix shakes her head and points at Bradley, “No, she grounds you all. She’s never grounded me. I don’t do stupid stuff like this.”
Bradley grumbles.
“Well let me know if your girlfriend can’t stay the whole weekend and Eli needs a different responsible adult. I’m happy to help,” Phoenix smirks at Bradley.
“I got him. I won’t do something like this again. Promise.”
“Suuuuuure ya do,” Phoenix says as she shakes her head at Bradley.
When Bradley went to pick Eli up that afternoon Eli raced into Bradley’s arms, scrambling to get picked up.
“Woah buddy! Slow down! I got ya,” Bradley says as he scoops Eli up to gently set him on his hip.
“I can’t be down, Unca Wooster, I can’t!” Eli said as he hid his face against Bradley’s chest.
It was then that it hit Bradley just how bad he messed up. Poor kiddo. He felt so bad.
He watched as you walked over to the two of them holding Eli’s backpack, “He can’t be down, Unca Wooster, he can’t.” You shook your head as you handed Bradley Eli’s backpack.
Bradley holds Eli close as he leans to speak to you, “I’m gonna fix this.”
You shake your head, “No, I AM going to fix this. Don’t worry. I got a plan. You’re taking us to the aquarium tomorrow by the way. I’ll see you in a bit.” You wink at Bradley as you walk back towards the rest of your students.
Bradley sure hopes you have a plan because he sure as hell doesn’t.
#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#rooster x f!reader#spitfire universe
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Been thinking about this, but which members of La Squadra would be childfree(have almost or completely no interest in having children) and which would like to have a family(if given the chance)? And how big of a family?
Not my forte, but I'll do my best!
Risotto: He strikes me as the type that, given the chance, would have settled down to continue his family's business and had at least one child. I headcanon that he was an only child because being a large baby, the pregnancy and birth was quite difficult and his parents decided not to risk another one. If he faced the same risk with his first child, he would stop at one to spare his partner, but if size was not an issue, he would be content to have several children.
Formaggio: On paper, he is definitely childfree, and had probably bailed on relationships with partners who either started entertaining the idea of having children together, or were too relaxed about contraceptives. He's too independent and carefree to actually want children of his own, and yet if he had to babysit, he would find that he's actually quite good with children, and from there it might not be out of the question with the right partner to have some.
Prosciutto: He is fully capable of being a provider and mentor to children, but having any of his own is not a priority to him in the slightest, and he would not be enticed to make any in order to start a family. Children would have to happen to him in the form of say, becoming acquainted with a worthy child who is up for adoption, or an unexpected pregnancy popping up with a partner that he is firmly committed to. Would definitely draw the line at two.
Pesci: He thinks children are fine and it must be nice to have a family, but he is too self-conscious about passing down his genes and doubts his own ability to take on such a huge responsibility and be a good parent whether his child turns out typical or not, so he tends to play it safe and never really think about it. It would take a very capable and confident partner for him to risk it, and even just one child would be quite nerve wrecking for him to handle.
Ghiaccio: He is in a similar boat to Pesci, but he is much more firmly childfree on account of having his hands full just trying to manage his own temper and energy in a constructive manner. He's also in the camp of "why bring more children onto this bitch of an earth" so he would equally scoff at any of the others expressing interest. I tend to headcanon him as asexual on top of everything else, so the idea of having sex to have children would be quite repulsive to him.
Melone: He is more chill about the idea than the others in the sense that with his disabilities, children are mostly out of the question, but if he managed to have one, he would probably be excited... at least until said child entered their defiant phase, at which point he would start wondering why he ever thought this would be a good idea. He's basically the reverse of Formaggio: on paper children sound good, and then they say no to him once and he's done forever.
Illuso: His opinions are mixed. As a middle child from a numerous family, he knows first hand how messy children can be, and he's not exactly in the right place mentally or emotionally to start a family. On the other hand, he loves drama and would probably get a kick out of observing his own children have blowouts, as long as he didn't have to deal with any of it. Three would be plenty, and he fantasizes about them tearing each other apart over the inheritance.
Sorbet: Absolutely agrees with Ghiaccio about it being cruel to bring more children into life's great shit show, and his frugal nature also rejects the idea on financial grounds. He is probably the most normal about being childfree - you will not find him having arguments either for or against, and if pressed, he will dismiss any attempts with it being a personal preference and his choice. The most he could tolerate is being an uncle, as long as the child liked plants and opera.
Gelato: He, on the other hand, loves children, and not just the idea of them one way or another. To him they are as precious as kittens and puppies are to most people, and he really enjoys their company because kids are very honest and also little freaks with unique ideas and views. If he could, he would have a gaggle about him at all times, but he is also one of the worst enablers ever, so it's probably a good thing that he can't go out and start a family of his own.
#jjba#la squadra#risotto nero#formaggio#prosciutto#pesci#ghiaccio#melone#illuso#sorbet#gelato#squadrah headcanons#squadrah original
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Why NejiTen should be canon
Before I say anything, I can recognise that NejiTen is not canon, although I want it to be lol. Everyone has a right to their own opinion, so I ask that you respect mine, and if you want to challenge it, you can *politely* do that in the comments.
The major countering ships to NejiTen are: NejiHina and LeeTen, so I will talk you through why these ships don't work out.
First with LeeTen (because I don't want you quitting after the drama of NejiHina). Lee and Tenten are seen as very close throughout the series, though Tenten makes it clear that she finds Lee annoying and hot-blooded. This is the opposite to Neji, who Tenten seems to admire a lot, since she liked to train with him, and even put on lipstick in the manga for his chūnin exam finals. They seem like the perfect best friend duo, in my opinion. Romance doesn't need to be involved in every since best friend duo, there are enough of them already. In the Boruto series, Lee is seen with his son, Metal Lee. Many think that Tenten is the mother, due to the eye shape, and I think she could easily be. I mean, she's the only kunoichi in Konoha in the same age group as Lee (I think, I haven't fact checked yet), and the girl in his team. Tenten is probably the easiest choice for Lee's wife that Kishimoto could've made. However, if they were to be married and have had a son together, they would now be divorced. This therefore means, that if they had got married, then the relationship would not have worked out, and LeeTen would've failed. If they had not got together, then Lee would've married a different woman, and even if Lee then divorced that mystery woman, they clearly do not have mutual feelings for each other any more. They might have had feelings for each other, at different stages of their lives, but they either both grew out of their crushes or it was only one-sided to begin with.
Second. The NejiHina incident. I'm sorry, but I will have to go on for even longer than LeeTen, because some people don't understand that this ship is incest, and I'll tell you why. Excluding the fact that Neji had strong resentment towards Hinata for quite a period of time, they still wouldn't work out. Their relationship only evolved into *family* love, as confirmed by Kishimoto, just as Boruto loves Himawari, or Temari loves Gaara. What's wrong with a "big brother-little sister love"? Why must everyone make everything romantic? Neji cares deeply for his cousin, as does Hinata. She calls him 'Big Brother Neji', showing that she only sees him as her older brother. Besides, Hinata was so deeply in love with Naruto, she would've never agreed to the marriage. Moving on, a lot of people, from a range of cultures, some of which invite cousin relationships, think that Neji and Hinata getting married and producing heirs is okay. Some of them (purposely?) forget that the reason you don't have kids with your sibling is because it increases the chance of genetic defects dramatically. Although having kids with your cousin is legal (at least where I am), it still has quite a high risk. These people try and back it up by saying that the Hyūga clan would've wanted a pure Hyūga-blooded heir. Hm... Uchiha clan, anyone? Sure, this was common, but there are plenty Uchihas that are so distantly related that it would be fine to have offspring (such as Itachi and Izumi). The same could be said about the Hyūgas. Maybe Neji would've been their best option for a pure blood husband, but there would've been other choices, more people that were much further distanced in relation. I've got this far, and I haven't even mentioned another key fact: you know that Hiashi and Hizashi are twin brothers, right? Identical twins, to be exact. Lemme show you something: "Identical (i.e., monozygotic, or MZ) twins share 100 percent of their genes". You see that? It means that Hiashi and Hizashi share the same DNA. And this means that Neji and Hinata are genetically closer than cousins. They're actually genetically half-siblings. Hm. The Hyūgas are smart enough to figure out that it probably isn't the best idea to inbreed them, right? Well. That doesn't matter, because even if they overlooked all this incestuous evidence, there's this. Hinata isn't even the current heiress. If Neji survived the war, he would not have married Hinata in Boruto. If the Hyūga clan forced him to marry the heiress, and have children to keep a pure bloodline, he would've married Hanabi. Hanabi is the current heiress, so she would be the one married to Neji. Got it yet? Neji and Hinata would never have happened.
The last reason NejiTen should be canon: their chemistry. Tenten is shown to greatly admire and respect Neji, constantly calling him a genius, and she has blushed because of him in the manga several times. He believed in her abilities enough to sit under the practice dummy she was hitting with kunai. Neji comments that her fight would be interesting, showing that he thinks she is a good fighter. He is also shocked at her defeat, further proving that. In the first databook, Kishimoto confirms that Neji and Tenten trained every day for a month in preparation for Neji's chūnin match against Naruto. During this training, Neji reverse engineered and perfected the moves only reserved for the main branch of the Hyūga clan, mainly the Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms and the Eight Trigrams Palms: Revolving Heaven. You should also note that while all the other contestants trained with jōnin, Neji chose to train with Tenten. "During one of their training sessions, birds are shown flying in the sky and Tenten tells him that she is exhausted and can't keep going. Neji responds that he thinks he used too much of his chakra and faints. Tenten is seen running to him and asks him if he's alright." Tenten wore a different outfit to watch Neji's match, and as I said, in the manga she also wore lipstick. After his fight with Kidomaru, Neji remembers seeing Lady Tsunade with Tenten. In the Shippuden, during Team Gai's fight with Kisame, Neji rushes to Tenten's side when she seems to struggle in the Water Prison.
In the image above, it shows the two finishing each other's sentences. They can communicate with little dialogue and know what the other is thinking with only one word. Tenten winks at Neji and invites him to go to the bathhouse with her, both in the anime and the manga. Later, after Neji's death, in the manga, she expresses anger, thinks about Neji and asks why he left her. In her memory, Neji doing the "nice guy pose," which has been performed in the past by Gai, Naruto and Lee. The pose signifies that one will keep their promise until death, as Lee states to Sakura during the beginning of the Sasuke retrieval arc after Naruto does the pose and promises to her that he will get Sasuke back. Neji doing this pose before Tenten implies that he promised her something that he intended to fulfill until his death. In the anime, Tenten holds her hands in a prayer and asks why he left her as she remembers Neji doing this "nice guy pose" to her, then she walks away crying and says that she's never going to forgive him. The implied promise that Neji made to her is not known, but it was significant enough for Neji, who tends to be stoic and serious, to use the cheerful and significant pose his "hot-blooded" sensei and teammate have used in the past. When caught in the Infinite Tsukuyomi, Tenten dreams of more mature versions of Lee and Gai as well as Neji being alive and by her side. She's the only person whose Tsukuyomi dream involves not only Neji being alive, but being with him.
They are shown constantly beside one another throughout the entire story, similar to the couples Asuma and Kurenai, and Shikamaru and Temari. While Neji is very formal and strict, he is shown to be comfortable around Tenten. He isn't shown to mind when she teases him or winks at him. He is also rarely portrayed as a character who apologizes to anyone, but he is shown apologizing to Tenten. In both the manga and anime, birds are present during the scenes where Neji and Tenten are shown alone together. In the manga, the only male character Tenten is shown alone with is Neji.
Other Trivia include:
Tenten's name and Neji's themes compliment each other. "Tenten" literally translates to "heaven heaven" in Chinese, while "Hyūga" translates to "place in heaven." In the new Chūnin Exams arc, Neji is shown holding two heaven scrolls with the characters 天天
Tenten's weapons shop in Boruto is named 忍具転転転, which directly translates to "Ninja Tools Turn Turn Turn." Furthermore, the characters "具転転" in the name translate to "revolving." Thus, the name of Tenten's weapons shop can be a reference to one of Neji's primary moves, Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven.
During the blank period, Tenten wears a uniform that includes a dress with a flame pattern similar to the flame in the Hyūga clan's emblem.
Neji and Tenten are depicted as compatible: the Databooks reveal that Neji is a Cancer and Tenten is a Pisces. In Western astrology, Cancer and Pisces are considered a compatible and harmonious pairing. The Databooks list Neji's blood type as O and Tenten's blood type as B. The blood type personality theory popular in Japan considers O and B blood types romantically compatible.
Neji, during his death, is portrayed as a Phoenix on fire. In the anime, Tenten utilizes the moves "Twin Rising Dragons" and "Exploding Dragon Strike." In Chinese folklore, the Phoenix and Dragon pair symbolize perfect harmony and balance between yin (Phoenix) and yang (Dragon).
Among the Konoha 11, Neji and Tenten were the only ones who were 18 years old during the Shinobi war, whereas Naruto and Hinata were 16 years old and the rest were 17.
Neji and Tenten share the same hairstyles as Hashirama Senju and his wife Mito Uzumaki.
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How about one where Paul Stanley gets turned on by a fan who happens to be a tomboy, but there's just something about her that gets him going, so much so that he wants to "pleasure himself in the dressing room when he's alone", and the reader walks by overhearing it thinking he's not feeling good, so she comes in and realizes what's up and, yeah😏😏😏🤣🤣🤣🤣
Thx for your request <3 hope u like it and sorry that it took so long.
[Kiss]
Paul Stanley x Tomboy reader
⚠️ Smut ⚠️
—
The boys were getting ready for the show. U were new and it was ur first day as a stylist so u were led by a lady that worked a bit longer with Kiss to show u what u have to do and how u have to do it. She told u to help Paul Ace with his costume so that's what u did. While helping Ace to fix his costume, he made little jokes to make u laugh as he noticed that u were very shy at ur first day. Your giggled shyly at the beginning but got more comfortable with time and even laughed later.
Paul was sitting and doing his make up while looking to the side from time to time hearing you laugh. At first he was like "whatever" but then when he turned around to really look at Ace who was annoying him, he noticed u.
A blushing and laughing, cute tomboy. He was surprised cuz usually the girls dress really girly around the band or just comfortable to work but u were different. He somehow liked ur style which was weird but something about u and the ur style really turned him on.
Paul stood up and walked over to Gene, telling him that the show has to start a few hours later cuz he doesn't feel well and has to go to his room to chill a bit. Gene of course nodded and let him go with a worried look in his eyes.
" Y/n can u please get some new hairspray, we ran out of two big bottles." A worker asked u.
"Sure but where can I find them?" U asked.
"In the end of the long hallway where the boys room are and then just left."
"Alright, gotcha" U nodded and went out to get them.
While walking past Pauls room u heard a weird noise coming from Pauls room. U knew that he didn't feel well so u stopped by his door and looked at it.
"Should I check if he's ok or just leave him alone?" U thought, standing there for good 3 minutes not being sure. After thinking for a while u got urself to knock at his door but apparently he didn't hear it cuz u didn't get an answer so u just walked in. I mean how had could it be right?
U opened the door and flinched at seeing Paul sitting on his couch with his dick out in his hand. That's like the worst thing that could happen when u just walk in. Seeing Pauls dick.
U quickly apologized many times and Paul flinched as well when he saw u coming in, trying to hide his member what didn't really work. The two of u were so shocked that u just started apologizing and him telling u that it's ok at the same time.
After calming down a bit a big smirk appeared on the starchilds lips.
"Why don't u come in?" He said.
U shyly looked up and nodded slightly before closing the door behind u and just standing there with your hand holding ur second arm in a shy way.
"I'm sorry that I just walked in..I heard noise so I thought something happened and that u maybe need hel-" Paul cut u off.
"It's okay darling. I'm perfectly fine as u can see." He smirked.
"And now that ur here, why don't u help me out a bit? I mean the show must go on and the fans are waiting. U caused the problem."
U didn't move an inch still looking down.
"Come here" he said ina friendly manner.
U looked up a bit and sat down beside him on the couch.
"Why don't u fix the big problem?" He said calmly.
"I will" u overcame ur shyness what got him surprised a little.
U smirked at him and got down on ur knees.
First u stroke his long member to make him even harder and after that u let his tip slide between ur lips which made him groan deeply. U smirked and after a while started sucking it and playing with his balls. From time to time u licked them even what made Paul go crazy.
He grabbed onto your hair and moved it himself as he was close to cumming. After a while he cummed in your mouth letting his cum drip down your throat. When he pulled out of your mouth he opened his cabin to get a condom out. U quickly sat up to take it from him and put it over his dick.
"Strip" He commanded but in a warm not command kind of voice.
U obediently stood up and started striping. His eyes wandered from your breasts all the way down to your legs. When u were completely naked he told u to sit on him. U did as told and started slowly moving up and down feeling his dick deep inside u making u moan out. His big hands made his way from your waist to your breasts, squeezing them. With time u got quicker with riding him what made u both moan at the same time but u still being slightly louder than him. Your hands were resting on his chest while u looked down into his brown eyes, then kissed him.
While riding his hands stroke over your whole body down to your butt where he placed a little spank that made u flinch a little. As he saw that u liked it he did it again and again. After a good amount of fucking u were ready to cum as he hit your g spot just perfectly, making u see and feel heaven. U moaned that u had to cum, he nodded and also started reaching his climax. While he started thrusting into u as u were riding him, u gripe on his shoulders tightened. U felt every muscle of u clenching up and getting tighter around him. His dick started twitching and his breathing became faster. Seconds later the both u cummed at the same time. U gasped out loudly as u felt his load fill u up. After thrusting into u a few times more, he leaned back and breathed out. U rested ur whole body on his chest and cuddled into him, trying to catch your breath.
"Fuck that was so good." His eyes were closed and his breathing became calmer but heavier.
"Are u feeling better now?" U smirked and looked up at him.
He laughed a little and nodded. "I do. Thank u nurse". He smacked ur butt and after cuddling for a while u put your clothes back on, got the hairspray and went back to the rest of the group.
#kiss band#kiss#kiss army#kissblr#paul stanley#paul stanley imagine#paul stanley x reader#paul stanley smut#paul stanley one shot#ace frehley#gene simmons#peter criss#classic rock fandom#tomboy
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👻୧‿︵‿︵ ash vs. evil dead sentence starters
these are quotes taken from the starz series ash vs. evil dead. send in one of the prompts below for my muse’s response. please change pronouns/names where you see fit.
First thing I got to do is see a guy about a book. Must be some spell I can say to undo all this.
The other first thing I got to do is some cardio, ’cause my heart is jackhammering like a quarterback on prom night.
One false move, and I will Second Amendment your brains all over this truck.
We’re not leaving a trail of blood and guts behind us, we’re keeping Michigan moist.
There’s one thing I learned from [name]. Shoot first, ask questions never.
Last time I was here with a girl, I was hopin’ to get laid.
If I’ve learned anything from you, [name], it’s that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
Hey, I’m looking for a friend. He’s, uh, tall, dumb, smells like… bread.
You fought this thing before. Maybe you just got to finish what you started.
Yes, I’m upset. Yes, I’m behind the wheel. Yes, I’m drunk. And maybe my license isn’t the fancy kind from the DMV. But at least I’m drunk!
Without good, there is no evil.
With all due respect, your tiny brain is a lot safer without my problems inside it.
Trust me, once you get jacked in the face, it’ll all click. I can’t even get my nut up to rumble unless I’ve had a good shot to the chin.
Once again I saved the world. Now it's time to get the girl.
Most people go through life thinkin’ they’re totally safe. People like us, we know the truth. Life is hard and dangerous, and sometimes you just gotta chop off somebody’s head to survive.
I kill demons, not people. Unless those people are demons, who look like people. And then I kill people, but they’re not really people, they’re demons. You understand?
Never get between a papa bear and his cub.
What’s out there knows that you’re alive, and it wants you to be… un-alive.
Well, good news I found a piece of pie with no blood on it. Anybody want a bite?
To save those two, I would submit to a prostate exam.
This town is only big enough for one asshole, and that asshole is me.
Sometimes what you think you saw, it’s exactly what you saw.
Someone needs to wash your mouth out, kid. And that someone is me.
Now I’m gonna kill you, just like I killed your father! I didn’t really kill your father, that just kinda sounded cool.
I gotta warn you, you’re gonna want to leave your husband for me, and I can’t let that happen. Family values.
I’m not drunk enough to know if this is good-weird or bad-weird. But I’ll get there though.
I’m going to be like a ninja losing his virginity, quick and discreet.
I told you. A good shot to the face always gets the juices flowin’.
Thanks for the opinion, appreciate it. Now you can take it, turn it sideways, shove it right up the old poop chute.
When you get back to Hell, work on your aim.
Do you know what evil is, [name]? It’s power without fear, without guilt, and without pain.
Hey, good looking. You here to break me out or break me in?
I'm gonna get you pregnant later.
I'd know that caboose from anywhere.
Even if this goes perfectly, there's a good chance you'll die.
Well, [name], it's been fun catching up. Sorry I got to kill you.
Don't you get it? Everybody dies here. It's just a rule.
If once you start down that path, forever, it will dominate your destiny.
Did you just Yoda quote me?
Alright, look, we get this done quick enough, we might have time to stop for churros.
Yeah, well, your cooking was shit.
Yeah, I remember when I was like you. Young, dumb, full of… conflicting emotions.
Sweet musical Jesus, that's your friend? Oh, she's filthy and fine!
She haunts my dreams. Just kidding. She does, though.
Do me a favor will ya, thank your mother for me? She passed her genes down to you in all the right places.
Damn, [name]. Badass.
Why are you covered in blood?
So look, uh, I'm not a grief counselor, but if it's any consolation, I have had to kill and bury loved ones before. A bunch of times, actually.
Oh sure. I'll just sit here with the police officer we tied up and rethink my recent life choices.
Get ahold of yourself, woman!
I'm gonna say a lot of dumb things.
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Blanket Thief
So I decided to do something different today, and I found a prompt for this particular writing practice. And, thank you@starrrgazingbunny for giving me a list of clones to write for.
Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader
Word Count: 1035
Songs: None
Warnings: None
Prompt: "I wondered why I was freezing, turns out you stole the whole blanket."
The War was supposed to be over. ‘Supposed’ being the keyword in that sentence. It wasn’t, of course. You are clever enough to know that the death of Palpatine isn’t going to really change anything.
And you are smart enough to recognize that this war was probably going to happen even if Palpatine hadn’t been pulling the strings in the background.
You roll over in your bed, pulling your fleece blanket up tighter around your neck. You had come to Kamino several years ago, at the bequest of your uncle.
“Come on, kid.” He had said at the time, “It’ll be good experience for your career. And you’ll be well paid.”
So you came to Kamino. Following those sweet, sweet credits that you were promised.
And now here you are, several years later, still on Kamino, still getting paid a lot of money…though now you remain because Master Shaak Ti made the request that you stay to help with the de-chipping and the gene therapy for the cadets…well, and the adult clones.
Of course, you’re pretty sure she made the request that you remain because you’re one of a handful of people that Alpha-17 actually trusts with the Cadets. The other people being your fellow natborn medics.
You bury yourself deeper into your blankets as your mind drifts to Alpha-17. One of the oldest clones, a trainer for the cadets, and the most stubborn and bullheaded man you’ve ever had the pleasure, or displeasure, of meeting.
He towers over everyone, and is the most dangerous person on Kamino.
He drives you completely insane, challenging your expertise on a daily basis, butting heads with you over the way you taught the medic bound cadets. And you challenge him back, having full blown fights in the hallways over how the cadets are, or had been, treated.
Jango used to tell you that there’s no point in fighting with Alpha-17, that he was just a human looking droid. He stopped saying that the first time you verbally eviscerated him for having the gall to compare Alpha-17 to a droid.
The night was the first night, of many, that Alpha-17 made himself at home in your room. And your bed.
You had earned his respect with your desire to protect the cadets. And you had earned his affection with your desire to protect him.
At this point in time, Alpha-17 is living with you. Much to the amusement of the cadets in your care. And the vod’e who couldn’t help but make suggestive comments to you when Alpha-17 isn’t within earshot. They think it’s hilarious that Alpha can’t help but leave marks where everyone will see them.
But it’s late, and so is he. Stuck doing paperwork for the tubies who will have normal childhoods, unlike the rest of their vod’e.
You grumble under your breath, and eye the empty space next to you. It’s fine, you suppose. You can sleep without him, it is just so much colder when he’s not in bed with you.
Frustrated, you roll over to his side of the bed and bury your face in his pillow, and try to fall asleep.
It must have worked, because the next thing you know, you’re being moved back to the cold side of the bed, your side of the bed, and the blanket is getting adjusted around you. “Mm…Alpha?”
“Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” His voice is low, more of a rumble that you feel than words you can hear. You feel the bed dip and you instinctively bury yourself against his side. You feel him shift, and his arm drapes securely around your waist, and you release a happy sigh as you press your face against his chest.
You swiftly drift back to sleep, secure with the knowledge that you’re safe because Alpha is with you.
The next time you wake up, it’s because Alpha is prodding you awake, “Cyar’ika, wake up.”
You whine and bury your face into your pillow, “Go ‘way. ‘s early.”
You hear him laugh quietly, “Absolutely not. Wake up, cyare.”
You huff and turn your head to squint at the chrono next to the bed, “Why? It’s…5 am? Alpha…” You whine.
“Don’t you ‘Alpha’ me,” He smooths his hand across your head, “I woke up freezing,”
You turn and squint at him, finally noticing that he’s not covered in a blanket, “Well, maybe you wouldn’t be cold if you were using a blanket.” You snark.
He raises a single brow, and he reaches over to lightly tug the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, “I wondered why I was freezing, and then I realized that you stole the whole blanket.”
You look down at your cocoon, and then blink up at him, “...sorry.”
He shook his head, and a laugh fell from his lips, “Don’t worry about it, cyar’ika. It’s time for me to get up anyway.” Surprisingly nimble fingers untuck the blanket from under you, and then effortlessly untangle you from your cocoon, and he smirks as he smoothly ripped the blanket off of you.
You weakly gripped the hem of the blanket as you release a noise of unhappiness, but he is strong enough to just tug it out of your grip and throw it at the end of the bed. “Alpha! It’s cold!”
“Hm. I can fix that,” Alpha says with a slow smirk.
You squeak as he rolls over you, effortlessly pinning your hands over your head with one hand, and his other hand dips under your loose tank top, tracing random shapes against the bare skin over your ribs. “I thought you said you needed to get ready for the day?” You ask, a small grin playing on your lips.
He glances at the chrono, and then leans down and bumps his forehead against yours, his eyes locked on your lips, “I have 90 minutes. I bet I can warm you up in that time.”
You squeak, and giggle, as he crashes his lips against yours, silently demanding that you submit to him.
Coincidentally, you’re both late for work that morning. And, when you finally show your face, you have several new marks on your neck that your uniform isn’t quite high enough to cover.
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Hello! I just finished your fic The Couple Down the Street and absolutely adored it! I read though all of your ficlets here on Tumblr with that tag, and I saw you have some about kid Piper and one about teen Piper. I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about adult twenty-something Piper and Herbert/Dan when she’s in med school or university or whatever she ends up doing! :)
"Come on," Piper murmured, pacing the tiny floor space of her dorm room. "Pick up, pick up..."
After five rings she assumed her call would, yet again, go to voicemail, but a voice miraculously crackled to life on the other side.
"Hello?" Herbert replied, sounding grouchy as ever. "What is it?"
Piper sighed with relief and sat down at her desk. "Dr. West, hi. How are you?"
"Busy," Herbert grunted. She could make out the muffled sounds of groaning on his end, followed by Dr. Cain's miffed voice asking Herbert to pass him more restraints. "Is this important? What do you want?"
"Um, sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were still picking me up from the airport tomorrow? You didn't respond to any of my texts."
There was a momentary pause before Herbert replied, "Dan said he'd do it."
Piper thought she heard Dan's voice in the background, piping up, "Did I?"
Piper bit her lip to keep it steady and tucked some of her long, blonde hair behind her ear. She'd been thinking about cutting it for a while, maybe giving herself an Anne Hathaway style pixie cut by watching a tutorial on Youtube, but she knew her mom would throw a fit if she came home for Christmas practically bald. She'd probably lament that her blonde genes were wasted on Piper and what a shame they hadn't been passed onto Candace instead. Just the thought of her sister's smug face had Piper rolling her eyes.
"Can you please just get me?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes with the hand not cradling her cell phone to her ear. "I don't fly in 'til six."
Herbert clicked his tongue and she could perfectly imagine his irritated expression. Or maybe she couldn't. With her away at college, studying pre-med, she'd only been able to see him a handful of times each year. Every time she saw him in person, she was surprised at how old he looked. He was only sixty-one, hardly the decrepit old man Dan joked he was, but every new liver spot, every deepened wrinkle, every white hair made her chest tighten with anxiety. They were physical signs of all the time she was missing out on. Time away from him.
Her first choice of college had been Miskatonic University, so she could follow in Herbert's footsteps, but Dan had been adamantly opposed. Herbert had suggested he could set her up with some of the contacts he stilled maintained in Zurich, where she could get a world-class education, but the thought of being out of the country, so far from everything had made Piper cold with dread. So, they had compromised on a newly furnished university in Washington, where Piper was only a few hours by plane away.
A plane she would be catching shortly, unbeknownst to her mother. Piper hadn't told her mom she'd be coming home for the long weekend, wanting to spend every moment she could with her mentor, catching up on lost time both in and out of the lab. She'd scraped together the money to buy the plane ticket by writing out essays for her classmates on the side. She knew Herbert would have a field day if he knew she was putting her academic integrity at risk, but when needs must and all that.
"I don't see why you can't just get a taxi," Herbert said. "It'd be more convenient-"
"You promised!" Piper snapped, irritation finally getting the better of her. She squeezed her phone tight in her clammy grip. "Just like you promised you'd come visit me over spring break, which you never did. So, could you please just do this one thing for me and pick me up tomorrow?"
"Fine, fine," Herbert sighed, sounding exasperated. "But if your flight gets delayed, I'm not hanging around."
Piper's foul mood immediately evaporated. "Okay!" she replied cheerily. "See you then."
Herbert hung up without saying goodbye, as was customary for him, and Piper set her phone down with a smile. She glanced up at the photos pinned to the corkboard above her desk, some of the only things she'd brought with her to college from home.
One was a recent shot of her and her dad the last time she'd gone to visit him in the nursing home. Another was her excitedly holding up her pet gecko, Hela, on her sixteenth birthday. Dan was in the shot beside her, shying away from the reptile Herbert had gifted her. Hela sat in her tank now, on the edge of Piper's desk, basking under her heat lamp.
The last photo was taken during her high school graduation ceremony. Piper was in her hat and gown, squeezing her diploma in both hands and grinning at the camera. On one side of her stood Herbert, his hand resting on her shoulder. He wasn't smiling but pride shone clearly in his eyes. On her other side stood her mother, Mandy, who was glaring at Herbert over Piper's head. It had been a miracle to even get them standing that close to each other without the both of them engaging in passive aggressive psychological warfare.
It was Piper's favourite photo.
"That your sugar daddy?"
Piper jumped in her seat and spun around to see her roommate, Claire, slipping her shoes off in the doorway. Piper hadn't even heard her come in.
Squeezing her phone in her fist, Piper gagged. "Shut up. Oh, my god. How many times to I have to tell you? He's my mentor."
"Mmhmm," Claire hummed, bouncing her eyebrows suggestively and making Piper want to hurl her phone straight at her head.
Instead, she huffed and spun back around in her chair, pulling her laptop open. She'd have to get busy and finish all her studying before flying out tomorrow. Just the thought that she'd be back in Ohio the next day, Dr. West waiting for her at the airport, was enough to warm her up and make her smile.
#thanks so much for the prompt! im glad you liked the fic :)#i think piper's relationship with herbert definitely starts to change as she gets older#she still idolises him but is mature enough to not let him push her around so much#ive often thought about what a coming of age story would look like for piper#probably something wild lmao#re-animator#my fics#the couple down the street#asks#writing prompt#herbert west#piper skrelpton
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A Softer Side
Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Female Reader
You are a Strong, and as such you have spent much time in the Red Keep with your Lord Father the Hand. After crossing paths with Aemond many times, you have forged an unlikely friendship at only ten-and-four.
This chapter is safe for all ages. There are some things that may be problematic such as a young betrothal (at 14), Targaryen incest sometimes mentioned, some self-deprecation and insults from other characters, (Especially "your" mom).
Other chapters will mention the terrible things that happen to the Strong family, Aemond's disfigurement, and once they are older may be suggestive or more. But for now they are kids and literally thinking of nothing but being happy with each other. This is more of a prologue to explain their relationship than anything, really.
I am not planning on following canon and allowing the dance to happen because this is a reader insert so like...why not be happy? Also book lore says Aemond was 10 when he lost his eye but I'm aging them up to 14 because betrothing people at 10 would be WILD. (14 is still wild but it's GOT so) Anyway, enjoy!
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You were luckier than your fellow noble girls in many ways...and yet unlucky in others. The Red Keep is your home, surrounding you with royalty of all kinds. Your mother told you before you left that it would be almost impossible not to make a good match, even at your age of ten-and-four and with your "plump" figure. No matter her words or her scoldings, it seemed like you just were inclined to be softer than others. It wasn't a crime, but for a noble girl in your time it may as well have been. You weren’t unlucky because of your softness, of course, your body is your body, but there are people that just don’t understand.
You walk just as much as the other girls, embroider, read, eat like them, and yet your body has decided that you must be bigger. In your own eyes, you suspect that it must be due to your "Stronger" genes. Yes, the daughter of someone who produced a hulking giant like Harwin and a smart, cunning whip of a man like Larys might also be unexpected in terms of body type. Lyonel was large, your mother was small, and it was only a coin toss to see which you would be.
Like your father, you seemed to retain weight in your middle. You are young, though, and according to your mother could "lose your baby weight at any day." You scoff and remind yourself that this may be the body you are in forever, which is fine by you. Either you find a lord that doesn't mind your weight or you don't, and you end up a maid. But those are the same options presented to every young girl in the kingdom, so you refuse to feel sorry for yourself.
Your father did see a lot of himself in you, though. Pitying and understanding glances thrown your way during your mother's lectures at dinner. If she ever revoked your food, your father would sneak up a plate to your room while Harwin kept watch. But with your father's position as Hand of the King, you were left alone with your mother more often than not. Eventually, you begged him to take you to the Red Keep with him, just as he did for Harwin and Larys. He could never seem to refuse you, and your mother agreed quickly as well.
Yes, you were lucky to be in the Red Keep and away from her now. It was your opinion that she wanted you out of her hair as much as you wanted out of her reach. And you did seem to come to your own when away from her. You stopped shrinking down at dinners or around others and began to straighten your back like a proper lady. The weight hasn't gone, just like you suspected, but that's alright with you. It at least keeps Aegon's interests away.
The elder son of Queen Alicent was cruel, and his face shows it each time he glances at you. He seems to hold almost a hatred towards any woman or girl that didn't fit within his type, and that decidedly includes you. Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys treat you like any other person, as their own mother has a figure like yours. But...Aemond...
Aemond was one of your best friends here. You were of similar ages and had initially met when you both waited outside the small council chamber for your fathers. Aemond would try to catch even a glimpse of Viserys as he stormed away from the meetings, while you would await your own father who would escort you either to the dining hall or your rooms depending on the time of day.
You began to speak quietly with Aemond outside the hall one day, surprised when he answered back. He is sweet, that much you can say, and soft-spoken. Many may call him reserved but you believe that to be fair after he has been ignored by his father and insulted by his brother and nephews. You began to invite him to eat with you and your own father after the meetings, wanting for him to not be as alone in the world.
He accepted the first time and would follow you with an unspoken look at each meeting from there on. He seemed to begin to open up to you and the Lord Hand, to a lesser extent. Your own father seemed to be impressed and proud of your ability to bring out a talkative and excitable side to the prince. You have always had a gift for relating to others and bringing out the best in them.
All you really had to do was observe and remember. You knew that Aemond likes to read, as you saw him under the Godswood with a book on many of your strolls, and you knew that he knows much of the history of the seven kingdoms. So, at the first dinner, you asked him about his favorite story. His eyes widened and, with a little prompting, he began to regale you of a tale of knights and princesses and nobility and dragons, of course. He said more words that night than your Lord Father had ever seen. And you listened intently, your hand on your chin and a small smile on your face. You found yourself happy when the prince was happy.
And he began to take more notice of you outside of your dinners as well...and you him, of course. He would glance up from his reading as he sat under the Godswood, waiting to catch a glimpse of you as you walked by. Eventually, he would even invite you to sit with him, asking if he could read to you. You accepted, and would sit next to him on his blanket, politely listening to his soft voice. Sometimes he would have you read to him, which gave him the ability to look openly at you as your eyes focused on the words.
It is a beautiful, peaceful moment such as that today. You are currently under the Godswood, allowing yourself to lay down by Aemond's side as he reads from a heavy tome. He seems to be taking pauses in between some paragraphs today, your eyes meeting as he glances down at you with a soft smile. You are, of course, unable to know his own thoughts, which center on how pretty you look with your hair shining in the sun, a soft, contented smile on your face. But near the end of the chapter, as he pauses once more, you glance up to see that he is not looking at you, but ahead.
You pull yourself up to rest on your elbows, shocked to see your own father and the King himself standing in the walkway, looking at the two of you. You and Aemond quickly get to your feet. He bows while mumbling out a "father" and you curtsy while welcoming his grace. Both of them have small smiles on their face, and Viserys almost seems...lighter...maybe even happier than you have seen him in a while.
They move on, leaving you and Aemond are a bit shaken. After sitting in silence for a moment, looking at each other with a slight awkwardness, Aemond slams the book closed as he moves to get up. "I-I am sorry, truly, but I must leave you now to practice." You nod with understanding, standing up and making a shoo-ing motion. "I understand, Prince, go on! Become Strong like me." You smile at him and show him your "Strong" arms by flexing. He laughs and his eyes light up with almost determination, "I-I will become S-Strong for you, you will see!"
He runs off, as you turn and roll your eyes at his enthusiasm, your heart feeling the warmth of content. You find yourself walking to your own practice with embroidery, humming to yourself as your shoes echo on the stones. Though it isn't as impressive as a sword, you were actually happy to be able to create something with your own hands and thread. It was frustrating at first, but like Aemond's sword fighting, you practiced.
You are proud of the progress you have made, and the other ladies like to gather and coo over your work. Currently, you have been embroidering a scene from Aemond's favorite story. The flags of the tournament were difficult to get as detailed as you wanted, but the knights are almost glinting in the sun thanks to your skill.
As you finish off a thread, you hear murmurs of "Lord Hand" and hear the clatter of rings being set down. You look up to see your father and quickly set down your work as well, rising to your feet. He smiles and grabs your shoulders. "My dear, I have a surprise for you at dinner tonight." Your face contorts in confusion as you are about to ask what, but your father shakes his head. "I cannot tell you until you join us, but I would like for you to go to your rooms and prepare yourself instead of meeting us outside the small council chambers. Put on your best dress, make sure your hair is presentable, possibly take a bath after laying in the dirt..."
He scrunches up his nose in an obvious jest and you both laugh. You nod your head, ever the dutiful daughter, and pick up your embroidery. Your own father prefers to lead you to your rooms, (with Harwin being close behind if he was available), as it gives him time to discuss your opinions of the Red Keep and your happiness as you walk. "Now, what have you been making here?" He asks as you leave the room.
You try to hide the embroidery but he snatches it from your hands. "Ah! I recognize this well. You have a talent, my dear. Or...at least I believe you do. I know not of embroidery myself." He smiles and you giggle. "But what made you so fixated on creating this scene in thread?"
You blush and look down as you continue to walk, fixating on your shoes. "Oh. Well...Prince Aemond's name-day will be here before we know it. I...I wished to have a gift for him, and so...I made him his favorite scene from his favorite story."
Your Lord Father nods as you continue to look down, his face showing almost triumph as his assumption was right. He remembers that first meal with Aemond just as well as you do. You look up to him, your hand reaching out for your work. He gently places it into your hand, and you look at it as you speak. "Will Aemond be alright if I do not meet him as usual after the small council meeting?"
Your Father smiles as he looks down at you, "Yes, I will meet him and escort him to our dining room." He places his hand on your shoulder. "Do not worry, my child, he will understand your delayed arrival soon." You nod and look up at your door as you reach your chambers. The doors swing open under your hands, and you allow yourself one glance back for reassurance at your father before you close them behind you.
You find your father had arranged for a few handmaidens and a hot bath to be ready for you, and you gladly sink into the fragrant water as your hair is quickly unbraided and gently washed. Once you are clean, you dry off and then step into your best chemise and dress. As your handmaidens braid your drying hair neatly once more, you run your hands nervously over your front, feeling your soft middle.
The handmaidens help you with the finishing touches to your look, catching flyaway hairs and wrangling them into place. They also give you just a hint of perfume your mother had sent with you, the smell reminding you of home. Once they are finished, the sun is falling behind the ocean, and you must head to dinner.
You find your own brothers standing outside your room once you exit, both Harwin and Larys looking towards you. Harwin smiles with his entire face and seems to want to give you one of his all-encompassing bear hugs, but Larys gently places a hand on his chest. "Not yet, brother. She must be presentable for the dinner." You smile gratefully at Larys, knowing that he thinks more deeply about things sometimes than Harwin.
He gives you a very cryptic glance back. It is almost a smile, but guarded. Though you spend more time with Harwin, you always enjoy time with Larys. His advice was what kept you sane in the Red Keep when whispers about your body followed you in your first few weeks. Though his struggle is much different than yours, you both are able to commiserate and get advice from the other. You worry that, as a girl of ten-and-four, you cannot even begin to give Larys any useful advice...but he sometimes seems to be comforted just by your understanding and listening ear.
He continues to give you the cryptic look as he softly speaks, "Good luck, little sister." And you hear his cane clack against the stone as he moves in the opposite direction. Harwin shakes his head a bit and grabs your shoulder in comfort, telling you that you look beautiful as you walk down the stairs and towards the hall.
"Harwin?" He glances down at you. "Why is this dinner different? Did I do something wrong?" Harwin moves to your front and kneels in front of you as he grabs your shoulders, stopping you from entering the dining room just yet. "You have done nothing of the sort." His eyes are open and loving. "You are a wonderful daughter for our father and a kind sister. Anyone would be happy to be counted amongst your acquaintances. Remember that." You nod, confusingly, as Harwin nods back and stands up. You did not notice upon first glance, but Kingsguard are stationed at the door.
They open the doors for you, and Harwin places his hand on your back to lead you into the room. Your face of confusion turns to shock as you see King Viserys where you do not expect him for the second time today. Queen Alicent is by his side at the head of the table, and a quick glance to Aemond shows his look of shock as well. (Though you do not know that he is more shocked at your beauty than his own father) You quickly curtsy as you are announced, looking to the King and Queen and doing your best to give them your Graces.
The King smiles and points to a spot next to Aemond. "Please, join us young one." You glance to your father and he nods. Usually you sit across from Aemond, but tonight would be different, it seems. You walk to your seat and are surprised to see Aemond stand up and pull it out for you. You blush, thank him, and sit down, letting him push your chair back in.
The King gives a slight toast to "new friends and the Strong bond between family" and begins to dig in. You glance to your father who has also begun to eat, taking it as your own cue to do so as well. You find a singular piece of potato that interests you, spearing it with your fork. The voice of your mother spears through you in much the same way, "Must you be so happy to eat, child? At least appear as if food holds nothing to you even if it is clear to everyone that it does."
You slowly bring it up, trying not to appear too hungry, and eat, glancing over at Aemond to see that he is also unable to eat with his usual fervor. At least you weren't alone in your lost appetite. Your father clears his throat and you look to him. "So, my dear daughter, would you like to discuss your day as usual with Aemond?" As straightforward as ever, your father. You nod but glance in what you think is an imperceptible way towards the King.
He chuckles as your eyes meet. "Oh, she is a bit frightened of me, it seems, Lyonel." You blush a bit, feeling ashamed that the King can tell. "Just pretend I am not here, child." You find yourself speaking without even thinking, "Pardon, your Grace, but that is easier said than done." You shock yourself and look down to your plate in shame, before you hear the King let out a loud, surprised laugh.
"Very well said and observed." You look up once more to see that his face is full of mischief. "Then instead, pretend that I am an old man who cares not of the manners of court for the time being." You stay quiet, causing the Queen to interject. "My dear, we are your friends here. You may discuss whatever you want freely with Aemond."
She gives you a gentle smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes as you turn from her to Aemond. He is blushing heavily at this point, and you try to very slowly and gently grab his hand in support. He looks to you and you begin to speak in a soft voice. "H-how was training today, Prince Aemond?"
He looks to you and then to his father...then down to his plate. "O-oh. Well...I was k-knocked down by Aegon once more. Many times, in fact." You feel his shame, and the urge to comfort him makes you truly forget about the King. "Aemond, that is alright. You are younger." You smile and continue, "And besides, the best knights learn from their mistakes and losses and use them to become Strong."
He turns to you in thankfulness, "S-Strong like you?" You nod, "Exactly, Strong like me!" And you pick up your arm, showing him your "muscles." He giggles and you smile and then you remember where you are. You slowly look to the King and your Father, lowering your arm and blushing at forgetting your manners and behavior. The King begins to eat again, saying through a mouthful of food, "Well, go on."
You feel so ashamed that now you are the one who cannot speak, and Aemond instead is the one who talks. "My Lady Strong, what have you done today?" He squeezes your hand and seems to be looking only at you. You inhale and respond. "Well, you know I embroider as all Ladies in court do, but that must bore a Prince such as yourself."
Aemond shakes his head. "Nothing that you do bores me, My Lady." He has slightly reddened cheeks as he continues, "You are interesting in everything that you do...to m-me that is." He smiles at you, truly this time, and you smile back.
"Well, that is good to know, My Prince." You have completely forgotten about the royalty in the room once more, basking in just talking with your dearest friend. "I will bring a nice, dusty old tome from the Maester's Library to read tomorrow at the Godswood. It should thrill you to hear about all of the proceedings of court from times of peace."
You muster up your best proper voice and continue, "Yes, and on the 12th day of millions of years ago, a King decided to have tea with his friends. They spoke at length with each other and then retired to their rooms." You collapse a bit into your normal posture and use your normal voice once more. "Quite riveting, if I am not mistaken."
Aemond truly laughs, his own thoughts away from his father watching over him. Then he looks at you with open enthusiasm. "If I am to hear about it from you, then I do not mind." He squeezes your hand once more, "You have a way of making history interesting to me."
A jarring sound of utensils being set down brings you both from your conversation, and you suddenly, again, remember that the King has been watching you with his son the whole time. You look to him apprehensively, expecting to get a lecture about respect towards history or the Prince. But instead you see his face still holds his previous smile.
"Well, it seems my Lord Hand is right once more, wouldn't you agree, my dear?" He looks to the Queen, who slowly nods. "It does appear that, though we thought him to be biased..." She glances with almost coldness at your father, "...he once again does his best to give you an accurate reading of circumstances." She looks to her son at the end of her sentence, and notices your joined hands. She seems to soften a bit, almost unable to keep up any pretense.
She looks to the King. "I say that the Strong's have been excellent allies to the court and..." She pauses, "...Lord Strong has been a decent Hand of the King these years." She gathers herself. "I await your decision, Lord Husband."
You stop for a moment...decision? But The King stands, with a bit of difficulty, and the rest of the table follows suit. He grins at his son and begins, "I believe that the best way to reward years of service and ensure continued loyalty would be the joining of House Strong and House Targaryen." He brings up his goblet in a motion for a toast, and you all follow suit. "I, Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby join my own House and House Strong by betrothing mine own son Aemond Targaryen to Lady Y/N of the House Strong." Your eyes open wide in shock, unable to even move as he continues his speech, "...you will be wed once you turn ten-and-eight, and from then on you will be bound. We all hope your union to be one of joy and prosperity." He brings up his goblet to drink and everyone follows, with the exception of you and Aemond.
You glance over and him and notice that he has already been looking to you, a blush on his face. He gives you a small smile and motions to your cup. You hurriedly bring it to your lips to mirror the King's movements, and he does the same. Once the toast is finished you all sit down, the King leading in his own stead. He looks to you both and speaks, "It does seem that the two of you already have a bond of friendship."
You feel your face heating up but continue to look to the King. "You know, the best marriages are built based on not only duty, but friendship and love." The King seems to deflate then, lost in his own thoughts. The Queen worriedly holds his arm and you take hold of Aemond's hand in comfort once more.
"I-I seem to be ready to retire for the night," The King almost whispers. There have been rumors around the court of his failing health. He seems to lose himself and his energy even after the smallest of exertions. The Queen nods to the guards and they all summon around the King, ready to escort him. Viserys looks to you both once more before he leaves the room, and his eyes seem to hold such sadness as he softly speaks, "My son, treat her well."
And with that, the doors shut, leaving you, your Father, and Aemond alone once more. Your father clears his throat and calls for your brother to enter the room. Surprisingly, both Larys and Harwin enter, and they join you as you all take a seat once more. Food is brought for them, and they begin to eat, Harwin glancing between both Aemond and your own untouched plate.
Aemond seems to shrink a bit under his critical gaze, but he also looks to see that you haven't eaten much. He squeezes your hand and looks at you with imploring eyes. "My Lady, won't you eat? You cannot stay Strong without it, you know." He tries to grin but his own worry is palpable through his attempt at humor.
You shake your head in disbelief, "I-I cannot find myself able to even think of hunger at the moment after...after..." You look to him. "...So...we are to be betrothed then? Just like that?"
Aemond seems to shrink even more, releasing your hand. "I am sorry if I was not the person you had wanted." He almost whispers now. "I know that I do not even have a dragon. I cannot be the best for you."
Your eyes widen, understanding how Aemond could misunderstand your question. The pause in the sounds of cutlery against plates makes you look to your family, who had indeed stopped eating to listen in. You glare at all of them, especially at Harwin, who brings up his hands in surrender and continues to eat. The sounds give you a bit of cover.
You grab his hand gently, trying to hold it tight so he can't escape again. "My prince," you say lowly, "There is no one I would rather be with than you. I-" you pause, breathing in shakily. "...I was only worried that you would not be happy with me. I am not a great beauty nor from a Valerian House." You feel what Aemond had felt, now, wanting to draw your own hand away. "I cannot offer you what others could."
Aemond grips your hand tightly now and shakes his head. "No! No! I...I cannot think of another who has been here for me like you. Or another who I have wanted to share my time with such as you. You are my..." He pauses, "...my greatest friend. It is an honor to be betrothed."
You sigh, realizing that maybe friendship IS the best you could hope for from a Targaryen Prince in your marriage. You nod. "I agree wholeheartedly." He looks to your plate once more. "Then please eat for me, my betrothed. You deserve to be happy and taken care of. I-I will take care of you." Squeezing his hand, you take your utensils as directed. Your brother makes a disgusted sound and you look to Harwin, who rolls his eyes and pretends to gag.
You stick out your tongue at your much older brother's childish antics, and you decide that you will eat your food if for no other reason than to spite him and his disgust at your friendship with the Prince. Once finished, you stand up and announce that you will retire to your rooms. Harwin stands as well to escort you, but Aemond grabs your hand.
"Y-you wouldn't mind if I walked you there as well?" You shake your head and look to your father for approval. His face is full of such warmth and pride that it almost makes you want to run to your rooms to escape it, not used to being the center of such happy emotions. He nods, "Of course, Prince Aemond. Harwin will escort you both to my daughters chambers, where you can say goodnight."
You gently take Aemond's outstretched hand with a blush. He at least was doing his best to appear to be the perfect betrothed, and you would do the same. Though you know that it will not be difficult to try on your part. You walk in silence, mainly, Harwin occasionally chuckling lowly, causing you to glare at him. Once you reach your chambers, Aemond brings you in front of him, holding both of your hands.
He looks nervously at Harwin, and you glare up at him once more, signalling him to turn with your head. He rolls his eyes and turns his back on the two of you, crossing his arms. Aemond smiles softly at you, his eyes shining. "Would you close your eyes for me, my Lady Strong." You do, giving him a small smile in return. You feel his breath on your cheek for only a moment before his lips replace it, you eyes opening in shock as you see the Prince give you a chaste kiss on the cheek.
He pulls back and his cheeks are bright red, you bring one of your hands from his to feel your face, which is warm as well. You almost feel as if your body is made of some sort of ice that can melt into the floor when his free hand caresses your face where he kissed it. "G-goodnight, my Lady Strong."
You softly respond, "Goodnight, my Strong Prince."
He blushes, looks down, and releases your hands, allowing you to enter your room. You glance back at him once more to see him watching you intently, you wave, and close the doors behind you.
Filled with childish glee that one almost never gets to experience in a world such as the one you inhabit, you rush to your bed and grab one of the soft pillows, using it to mask your squeal of happiness. Aemond would be your Husband. Aemond would be your HUSBAND! Even if he would never love you as you him, it would be so much easier to move through life with him by your side. Your handmaiden looks on in happiness, herself, before tapping you on the shoulder.
As you babble to her about the day, acting like the child you are for the first time around her, you get ready for bed. You are so excited from thoughts of your future rushing through your head that you cannot even think to get to sleep. It is, of course, not your fault that you couldn't see the future. Perhaps if you could, you might have worked to stop what was already in motion. Though realizing it was out of your control, you might have felt dejected.
At least, you might have forced yourself to calm down and sleep, as it would become very difficult for you to do so in the very near future, as a deep, dark dread is approaching on the horizon. For your family, especially.
#lawrites#plus size reader#aemond x plus size reader#aemond targaryen x plus size reader#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#house of the dragon fanfic#Strong reader
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ahhlehlehlehleh
I put this here