#Because now its so Furious at you it's no longer on your side

[captain-hawks]

liability

levi ackerman x f!reader

summary: the tables are turned when you save Levi during a mission, nearly getting yourself killed in the process. he's furious, but you don't quite understand why.

word count: 1.6k

content: feels, confessions, kissing

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You startle as the heavy wooden door to the room bursts open, hinges groaning weakly in protest as Levi strides in, slamming it just as hard behind him. The warm glow from the small lantern sitting on the desk beside you contrasts sharply with the cold steel of the eyes it illuminates when he comes to stand before you, everything about his posture conveying the extent of the anger roiling dangerously inside of him. 

Carefully closing the notebook you were recording field notes in for Hange, you let go of the pencil in your hand and try to ignore how uncharacteristically ruffled Levi’s hair is, as if he’s been repeatedly dragging his hands through it. You quell your urge to comment on it—because any other day, you’d make a remark just to get a rise out of him.

But you know better than to poke the bear right now, not when you’re well aware you’re the origin point of the fury that he’s outright shaking with. A trail of dried blood remains crusted to the side of his face, matching the dark stains along the torn and tattered remains of his dark green cloak. 

He almost died today.

And so did you.

“That you were about to be Titan food if nobody stepped in to help you,” you offer in a flat tone, arms crossed over your chest.

Levi clicks his tongue against his teeth in annoyance, swiping a thumb across the cut on his bottom lip as he continues to level you with that piercing stare. “I was fine,” he snaps.

He was two seconds from being torn to shreds by the three Titans that cornered him while he fought to re-engage his malfunctioning ODM gear, and if you hadn’t come ricocheting through the trees to distract them, humanity may have very well finally lost its strongest soldier.

You tell him as much, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation, and he takes a step toward you, borderline shouting, “I told you to stand the fuck down.”

He had.

You’d locked eyes with him the moment you careened through the thick cover of the branches, had clearly heard what he shouted at you the moment he realized what you were about to do—and you’d promptly ignored his command.

“I didn’t hear you,” you shrug, though you both know it for the bald lie that it is.

He moves closer.

“I’m your Captain, and I gave you a goddamn order.”

“It was a shitty order. You would have died,” you retort.

Levi nearly closes the distance between the two of you, your back pressing against the wall behind you as the toes of his boots scuff against your own. With one hand splayed flat on the surface beside your head, his breath is hot on your face as he seethes, “You almost died.”

A Titan had grabbed you, almost crushing you to death in the process as your fingers fumbled for purchase on your sword, hoping that your last remaining blade would hold out. You hadn’t had time to think through a solid plan, your body having jumped into action without a second thought the moment you realized Levi was well and truly fucked when you could no longer see and hear him soaring through the air. So you’d acted on pure instinct, buying Levi the precious moments he needed to get his gear back in working order, and he’d then immediately killed the Titan that had you in its grip.

It was fine. You both survived.

Barely.

You’d hardly had time to say a word to Levi afterward, both of you caught up in rejoining the main fray of the battle alongside your fellow Scouts.

“I’m fine,” you counter, turning your head to the side to break the intense eye contact.

Levi grasps your chin, turning your head to face him again, mouth set in a hard line. “You’re reckless,” he growls. 

You sigh in annoyance, fighting a losing battle to temper down your body’s reaction to Levi’s close proximity, the whisper of his body heat like a beacon to your tired, weary bones. 

Right.

So maybe your reckless decision wasn’t just made out of the goodness of your heart as a Scout, but also was heavily inspired by one inescapable, undeniable fact—you’re in love with Levi Ackerman.

Your crush had been innocent enough at first, a bright flare of feelings sparking to life inside of you the first time you watched the way he effortlessly operates on missions. One would have thought that, as you became familiar with his cold and merciless demeanor up close, his piss poor attitude with you and your fellow Scouts would help quell the frantic beating of your heart every time he was in your proximity.

But that wasn’t the case, not at all.

Rather, you found yourself even more drawn to him, craving the few and far between moments when you’d catch him letting his guard down. The moments when, despite his scathing remarks, it was abundantly clear just how much he cared about each and every member of the Scout Regiment.

The moments when you saw just how far he’d go to protect those closest to him. 

And when you found yourself transferred to run under Levi’s command, stamping down on the inconvenient, endlessly smoldering embers of your laughably unrequited crush only became more difficult as you were forced into even closer quarters with him than ever before. The only thing that helped after that was Levi’s unfailing tendency to express one of only two emotions toward you at all times: stark indifference or annoyed exasperation. 

Unable to formulate a smart response to snap into the scant space remaining between your mouths, you mutter, “You’re reckless, too.”

Levi places his other hand on the wall on the other side of your head, effectively caging you in, his hair brushing against your forehead. “Well you can’t be,” he seethes.

“I’d argue that your life matters more than most of the others here,” you offer plainly, meaning every word.

“Not to me.”

You roll your eyes, “Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you, Capt—”

“Your life matters more to me,” he cuts you off roughly, voice nearly breaking.

If it weren’t for the steady pressure of the wall holding you up, you would have swayed. “What?”

One of his hands curls into a fist, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he takes a deep, steadying breath. “I was furious when you were switched into my squad.”

Yeah, he’d been downright incorrigible for days.

“I noticed,” you comment, deflating slightly. 

Your life? The lives of your fellow Scouts, of all of you. 

Of course.

“That’s not what I…” He stares at you, eyebrows knitting together, a strange expression on his face. “You don’t know, do you?” Stormy slate softens to the soft gray hue of the skies after a storm as his eyes scan your face. 

“I know that I annoy you to no end and you spent weeks petitioning Erwin to move me elsewhere,” you roll your eyes.

“Because my feelings make me a liability on the field with you under my command.”

Blood rushes in your ears, and your next words are so tentative, so small, “Your feelings?”

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly underestimating just how unbelievable the words coming out of his mouth are. “I can’t think straight around you,” he chokes out, his forehead falling against yours.

“But you…” you trail off, trying to reconcile the conflicting meaning of what he’s saying with what you’ve come to believe for so long. 

“I’ve been trying to avoid this, how I feel, because it wouldn’t be fair to you. It’s why I…act the way I do around you.”

Idly, you wonder if it’s actually possible to forget how to breathe. “What do you want, Levi?” you ask quietly, carefully placing a hand over his chest, his heart beating steadily behind his ribcage. 

He covers your hand with his own and murmurs, “Something that would be really goddamn selfish in the grand scheme of things,” glancing down at the winged emblem on his jacket.

“And what if I want you to be selfish?”

A sharp inhale from Levi is your only warning before he cups your face in his hands and brings his lips crashing into yours. 

Your body sinks into his embrace as he wraps you up in his arms, fingers splayed possessively along the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He kisses you hard, like he’s trying to convey everything that he’s been holding back, every touch he’s denied himself in your presence. 

The cinders in your chest ignite, burning hotter with each press of his plush lips against yours, each nip of his teeth along your bottom lip. His fingertips are a searing brand on your waist as he grasps your hip, tugging out a small, needy whine from your lips in return, and his warm, answering chuckle has your legs threatening to give out beneath you. 

You both freeze suddenly at the sound of two rapid knocks against the door, followed by the sound of Hange calling out, “Hey, did you want to go over those notes?”

The look Levi gives your notebook, innocently sitting atop the table, is downright scathing as he barks out, “She’s busy.”

“Levi?” Hange asks, tone brimming with curiosity.

“We’re busy,” he exhales, tilting his head up toward the ceiling in annoyance.

The answering noise that leaves Hange’s mouth can only be described as complete and total delight as they laugh before walking away, footsteps pointedly loud as they make their way back down the hallway.

Realizing that you had actually noted a few important things regarding new discoveries on Titan behavior, your eyes stray back to the notebook, uncertain. “Are you sure I shouldn’t just…”

“Absolutely not,” Levi cuts you off brusquely with another searing kiss, tugging you toward the bed in the corner of the room. “You’re mine tonight.”

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #dee writes

[colourstreakgryffin]

Yandere Muichiro, Tanjiro and Giyuu forcing his beloved to eat, and she spits the food out or turns her head to the side refusing. Because she is angry after the kidnapping?

Ooooh! Okay! This can be very simple to write about! It’s been so long since I’ve done a proper request so let’s go, here it comes!

Yandere Muichiro

“Darling… I am done with this foolish game, eat now”

Muichiro’s patience is running thin very fast as his fingertips press firmer on the pair of chopsticks he is holding out, the contents inbetween the eating utensils being a fresh hot salmon dumpling. It’s been fifteen minutes straight of this going on and on…

You, his beloved little angel, just refusing to eat the lunch he had spent almost two whole hours making, all for you and you’re rejecting him? What is he doing wrong? Why aren’t you happy? You’re with him now, you’re in the safety of his home and it’s so cozy, warm and perfect in this bedroom. What is there to dislike about this situation? Muichiro doesn’t get it

To you, you couldn’t despise Muichiro anymore than you already do. He took away your freedom, disorientated your senses, dragged you to this awful mansion and has tied you up to a futon by a pair of steely Nichirin metal chains, you cannot break free and he is forcing you to stay put all so obediently until he comes back. Everytime Muichiro walks into the room, you want to throw up

Muichiro, with furious sharp mint green eyes and a open scowl at your refusal as you stay silent and tilt your head away from him, uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and pull your face back into his forward-facing direction to pry open your mouth by your cheeks with no-longer gentle calloused fingers to shove the dumpling into your mouth, forcing you to close your mouth with his strong, stern hold as it looks like he is ready to snap your neck if you disobey him…

How could such a sweet, timid little cutie like Muichiro, the young adult you had fallen for. End up being such a sick psychopath like this? And what did you do to deserve this type of treatment? Kidnapped, socially-isolated, heartbroken and now being forced to eat food you are thousand percent certain may just be laced with some type of drug…

Yandere Tanjiro

Tanjiro sighs gently, on the verge of just losing himself but he will not give up at all, never, he cannot just risk being all flimsy whilst his beloved is incapable of caring for herself. His determination is made of titanium and his will is stronger than steel. The Kamado smiles warmly and sweetly, his pretty plum red eyes almost glowing as he, once again, picks out a chopstick-full of nice healthy seafood rice and places it in his mouth. Like with a picky stubborn child, he is demonstrating that the dinner he has brought for you on this fine cool night, is not dangerous and not laced with anything

The food, its quality and its safety is not the problem to you at all, the real problem is what Tanjiro has done to you… your ex-crush, the man you really liked. Ended up being a complete and utter dangerous monster to you, drugged you up with a simple cup of tea, dragged you back to his Estate and is now keeping your disappearance a secret, so nobody can try look for you as he has made sure everybody thinks you had passed away from a mission

Continuously spitting out the rice chopstick-fulls that Tanjiro gently but firmly shoves into your mouth, his tolerance over the ‘disrespect’ grows more and more unable to keep up. You just keep refusing him at every turn and he finds it so heartbreaking, he has done so much for you… so much. His love for you is so strong that he can’t stop thinking about you and it’s driving him mad, just as much as you refusing to eat the dinner is

Tanjiro can only hope the demonstrations he keeps doing for you will break through your stubborn barrier, he is only doing this for your health and your safety. Just eat the food already, you need some type of sustenances, you can’t starve yourself. That’ll make Tanjiro just lose his marbles to a uncontrollable state if he cannot make you digest anything beneficial and life-saving, especially when you clearly need it. Now, that you’re restrained to his futon and not going anywhere anytime soon

He is very ready to just begin begging as you close your mouth with a open hateful scowl directed at him, it makes his heart shatter further at how much you openly despise him, how angry and agitated you are. You’ve been this way for hours, for days and it’s getting tiresome. You just need to accept your new life, that’s Tanjiro’s thought process. He doesn’t like seeing you so upset and so irritate but he cannot risk you going out, where demons and men run around… it’s too dangerous

“Please, sweetheart… how about just half? Can you just have half?”

Yandere Giyuu

Giyuu is growing frustrated. So frustrated as he gazes the shattered ceramic bowl and the discarded of piping hot udon, the savoury liquid pooling over the large broken pieces of the cutlery. How disappointing and cruel… Giyuu is trying his best to make you eat, his precious sweetheart, the one woman he needs more than anything ever. He has gone far beyond any other person would to make sure you will stay with him, he can’t stand the fact you’re not cooperating him

Giyuu’s cold dark sapphire blue eyes slide from the destroyed remnants of the dinner he cooked for you to you directly, tied up with firm tight ropes up against his futon and trying to wiggle out of the grasp of the irritating binds. Giyuu won’t let you leave at all so there is truly no point for you to try, you’re never walking out of the door without him linked to your side, you’re never talking to anybody without his permission. He won’t take any chances and he cannot lose you, like he has lost everybody else in his life

“My love… was there something off about the udon?”

You didn’t even answer Giyuu, not at all giving him a single side-glance at your pure unadulterated fury bubbling over uncontrollably that you just desire to lash out at your kidnapper. The sweet, shy, small-voiced man you had enjoyed speaking to in your time of independent freedom. The one who went from gentle but interested to a full-blown threat as he took you away from humanity, he took away your ability to walk around and now suspects you to love him back?!

Giyuu, on his end, is just trying his best to prove to you how much you mean to him, that he has gone to such a extreme drastic, the most extreme drastic possible, to show you his undivided passionate love. That he is devoting so much of his time to you and taking care of you, the most perfect little housewife. You don’t need to do anything anymore. Don’t you want a man to take care of you and ensure no demons ever touch you? That sounds great to Giyuu as a whole

Maybe not today, but Giyuu will make you love him as much as he loves you, he will make you willingly accept every longtime cooking gift he presents you, he will have you all his to the point you don’t even want to go out anymore. He must, he needs you and he knows he can’t live without you nor with himself if you’re still running around the dead of night where demons prowl, you’re safe here and that’s the greatest thing a Hashira like him can do for his lover

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime and manga #kny imagines #kny hashira #yandere imagines #short story #yandere romance #yandere #kny #muichiro tokito #tokito muichiro #yandere headcanons #tanjiro kamado #kamado tanjiro #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #kny characters #yandere muichiro tokito #yandere tanjiro kamado #yandere tomioka giyuu #muichiro tokito x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #kny muichiro #kny tanjiro #kny giyuu #demon slayer muichiro #demon slayer tanjiro #demon slayer giyuu

[rainroses45]

Shattered Glass

☾description: Miguel and you get into an argument which leads you to see a not so pretty side of him

☾a/n: currently for other stuff for him and i just wrote this quickly at night NOT EDITED

☾song inspiration: love in the dark by adele

☾warnings: knife, angst, mentions of blood and puke, kinda yandere

His reflection glanced back at you like raindrops falling down a transparent mirror. Everywhere you turned, his red eyes laid there, following you as you tried to escape his harsh gaze.

Upon the shatter glass, laid the crumble flowers of mother earth, and what appeared to be her salty tears mourning the once’s gifted life. A pink tag ripped in half held two cursive names, one from and the other one to - both sharing a last name by choice, it was never by chance.

“Don’t you see I’m trying Y/n?!” His words ran across the once quiet room, scurrying towards the tippy top of the room searching for space in the already cramped atmosphere of tension.

“No.” You began once more, “No, Miguel - I don’t see, I don’t hear, and I mostly certainly to not feel like you are trying to change!”

“Vieja mendiga me estás cayendo tan mal!” Miguel gritted his teeth as he looked up from the celling then back to you. “That’s because you are too caught in your own selfishness, that you can’t lend a second of your precious time to witness anything other than yourself!” He pointed at you screaming again.

The clock had grown tired of hearing the same words being repeated, that its eyes only rolled back and forth in annoyance. Time had no place in this moment, and even if it did, what’s to stop you both from going all night?

It had been a simple disagreement at first. Miguel desperately yearned to have a child as soon as possible, while you wanted to wait a little longer for the violent, recurring missions to settle down. He wanted one now. You wanted to wait. The rest was history, which caused serval other topics to sprout from that one misplaced weed.

“Oh really?” You placed your hands on your hip, as you leaned forward. Your eyebrows shot up shocked at the words being thrown at you. “Says the man who’s never home!”

Miguel scoffs at your comment, crossing his arms and looking away from your furious gaze. “How do you want to raise this child Miguel?! Hm? Together, or do you just want me to play both roles as you go live in your office for the rest of our child’s li-”

“Enough!” He bellowed as both of his hands gripped his head. His palms covering his ears, in a desperate attempt to sound you out.

“No! No me voy a callar!” You stomped your foot down, shattering more glass, allowing your determined eyes to haunt every angle of your husband’s eyesight.

A silence began to sew its way into the air, making it appear as if all the wounds created were now stitched up to perfection.

Slowly you walked over the glass, and reached out to touch Miguel’s shoulder. A deep sigh escaped you in your tired state, even with this heavy burden of being a superhero, nothing could be harder than staying angry at someone who could die tomorrow.

“Miguel I’m sorry-“ Before you could finish, a blunt force pushed you to the wall, causing the chattery clock to fall down to your feet. It’s arrows spiraled down to the floor as it took one last bow.

“I said enough.” He whispered as his hand grabbed your jaw in place. A look of terror washed over you in gigantic amounts. His claws tug into your bruised cheek, leaving trickles of red to issue out of your veins, in a lagoon filled of bloody roses. So soft, so smooth, so very horrid, yet it blended in with his soul. The eyes always reflect back what’s in the soul.

You froze underneath his touch. A touch you once craved for warmth became the one that caused you whimper from the coldness brushing against your open wounds. Your husband, your Miguel, was now doing something he vowed never to do, and you just hung there - frozen as the memories of all the times he blemished you with his love brushed against your bruised heart in heavy blows.

It was not until you felt heavier in his arms that Miguel realized just what he had done. Quickly he removed his hands from your neck and took serval steps back. The scene in front of him made his stomach turn in so much disgust, he ran towards the apartment window to puke.

You groggy stood up as you held the wall behind you for support. The broken pieces were pushed away with your foot as you grabbed a knife from the kitchen. You didn’t want to hurt him, but he left you no choice - it was either be killed or let him suffer with a knife in the back.

Slowly, you take a peek inside the living room, only to find Miguel already slouched across the window wiping his mouth as tears flood his view. You began to walk back, but without being aware of your surroundings you accidentally crushed a piece of the clock, alerting Miguel to your presence.

“Amor?” He called out unsure if he heard you, or if his senses miss interpreted the noises inside his mind. You quickly hid behind a wall holding the knife towards you. You lowered your mask, allowing the blood to stain its once clean texture.

“Mi vida was that you?” He called out once again, “Please come out. I’m sorry.” With those words, your fear soon transformed into anger - boiling, hot hatred fueled by anger. The audacity he has to try and patch up the damage he has done with meaningless words!

“Lárgate Miguel,” you responded back, still hidden behind the wall. “Lárgate de mi vida!” You yelled out more determined than before.

“What?” He asked softly, still not being able to believe what he was hearing.

“You heard me Miguel.” Your voice surprising didn’t crack as you gripped the knife tighter.

His footsteps became louder as he made his way towards you, without hesitation you climbed to the corner of the celling in a defensive pose.

“Mi vida-“ He turned around believing you were still hiding behind the wall. “Where are you cariño?” Miguel spun around trying to see if you were in the kitchen.

“Ya no te quiero ver Miguel, por favor vete!” You wanted to cry, beg him to leave so you could continue on life without him, but Miguel never could listen. He was too stubborn to open his ears, this was also a component that was added to the argument.

“No amor por favor no digas eso por favor!” He began to beg to the hallway, unsure of where you were. “Perdóname, perdóname mi vida. No puedes dejarme solo, no puedo vivir sin ti amor. No puedo respirar, no puedo comer, no puedo dormir sin tener tu amor conmigo en mi corazón.” Miguel pleaded to the air as our - your tiny apartment echoed back his cries.

“Please Miguel, for me, for us…please leave, I can’t love you anymore.” Tear fled down your face, irritating your cuts, but it was minor compared to the pain in your chest.

Without another word, Miguel turned around to face the corner your currently were being held from.

“I knew you were there princesa,” You look at him in horror as he merely smirks back in fondness. “Pero no quiera decir nada because I didn’t want to scare you. But if you don’t love me anymore, I guess you leave me no choice then.” His movements were swift and precise. Your mask was ripped off of your face leaving your blood shot eyes matching his sinister red ones.

You were a fool to think a silly kitchen knife would protect you against the monstrosity of a husband. Miguel plucked it out of your hands, and before you could escape his grasp a familiar feeling hit you. His teeth tug into you, and before you could kick him off a feeling of numbness overtook your body.

The feeling of defeat never felt better seeing as he won nothing but false hope and life filled with grief. It didn’t matter in the end on how it ended, you will have the last laugh - it was canon.

I need to stop writing sad stuff…welp anywho I tried

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #no use of y/n #im sorry #im tireeed #spooderman

[silverstonesainz]

hello lovely !!

— 🪩 dance floor — with the prompt ❝ now you want me like i wanted you? ❞ for carlos sainz? thank you <3 !!

too late

and one day you'll grow tired and it'll be too late frat!carlos x reader 800-ish words warnings: n/a ?

d rambles. . . this took too long and for no good reason. i hope this was alright. thanks for requesting!! <333

anger had never come so easy. it flows, like waves rushing to kiss the shore. but the rage felt more like the riptide, like being pulled under angry currents and your lungs burning for air. 

you let carlos drag you through the tailgate, too furious to care about the curious stares and not-so-sublte whispers. you let him pull you along, allow him to lead the way until cold autumn air is blowing against your skin and the buzz of conversation dull behind you. carlos doesn’t turn right way, but he lets your go when he’s sure that you’re both out of earshot of the crowd of drunk college students. 

his hands are on his hips for a second before the right one is pushing his hair back aggressively. you clock the way he grips at the base of his locks, tugging before releasing and doing it all over again. his warm breath is smoke in the cold hair, comes out in quick clouds of aggression. you stand there, arms crossed across your chest, weight pushed onto one leg while the opposite foot taps impatiently.

“do you have something to say? because if not i’m gonna go back-“

“why are you here?”

your head jerks back, posture straightened and eyes squinted as you look him up and down. “excuse me?”

he turns, head in his right hand as he shakes it left to right. “with him. why are you here, with him?” 

him. him? 

“max?” carlos picks up his head, brown eyes down turned to compliment the scowl embedded into his face. you scoff, brows knit closely together. “he invited me.” 

“you listen to everything max says?”

a shot to your chest, the anger turning to humiliation, before quickly turning to rage. “you don’t get to talk to me like that, to throw some bitch fit because im here hanging out with a friend. let me be perfectly clear, a friend. max invited me— in fact you want to know who else invited me?”

“shut up.” 

you don’t. “lando. oscar. daniel. charles—“

“enough!” his chest heaves, puffs of hot hair coming out quicker, accompanied by eyes no longer warm and welcoming. “bragging is not very becoming of you.” 

“and jealousy isn’t becoming of you.” 

the anger, the jealousy, it mixes in the quiet. it mixes with poorly mixed drinks and cheap canned liquor. with the time spent apart, with the impending realization for carlos that maybe this time it really is over. but the worry a comes later. instead panic manifests itself in an ill kept temper and words he’d soon regret. 

he smirks, hides the way his heart trembles. “so how long do you need with your friend? a week, two?” 

you scowl, lurching forward to press a shove into his chest. he only takes a step back, a half amused hah coughed from the back of his throat. “fuck you carlos.”

“its only a matter of time,” he taunts, “you know it’s true. you’re mine.” 

your hands are shaking by your side, breath rattling in your lungs. there are tears, there are always tears when it comes to carlos. he’d seen every version of them, the ones pulled by hurt, or triggered by sadness, even the one caused by rage. he’d seen everything because it’s who he is. what he does. all this anger, all this pain, it’s always because of him. 

“i was never yours. just because you say it to me over and over doesn’t make it true. i am not yours.” 

who were you convincing? god you were his. irrevocably, unforgivingly his. and you resent yourself for the way you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re back in his back, back under his spell, and not doing a damn thing to stop it. your affections for the spaniard is a boulder rolling down a hill— unstoppable and bound to ruin everything in its path. 

but the rage makes you brave, makes you believe that this time it’ll be different. 

carlos tucks his index finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up at him so that you can see the warmth in his eyes, the lies they tell you. “you’ll always be mine.” he whispers. 

“not always. one day, i’ll grow tired of you.” 

“tired. of me?” he hums, shaking his head as his finger traces along your jaw, up the side of your face and pushing your fringe behind your ear. 

you find it in you to push his hands away, to push away the touch your skin had been craving since you had called it quits weeks ago. 

“what do you want from me carlos?”

“i only want you. i always want you.” 

a humorless laugh escapes your lips, a miserable smile curved onto them. “now… now you want me? now you want me like i wanted you?” 

a bit of silence. a bit of worry. a bit of regret. 

“well maybe you’re too late.” 

#🔖 house party #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz blurb #frat carlos

[beefboyandbabygirl]

W.I.T.C.H (Woman In Total Control Of Herself)

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

pairing: elf!jeonghan x witch!fem!reader

genre: fantasy, smut, straight up smut, fluff if you squint?

warnings: HUGE amounts of possessive behaviour, making out, knifeplay? (its arrowplay, a new kink i invented), degradation, manhandling, hairpulling, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), public sex, mindcontrol/witchery?

wordcount: 2k

a/n: alrighty i am BACK and more feral than normal, because this is way longer than it was supposed to be but oh well. this is technically a request/idea from the lovely @hwanghyunjinenthusiast who simply said elf jeonghan and "not sure if thats enough to go on" but here we are 2k words later...

The morning truly couldn’t get any better. 

You had awoken in your cottage, the sun kissing your skin through the curtains. A long, drawn out yawn escaped your throat as you stretched the fatigue out of your limbs, and you remembered that because of the full moon last night, today would be the perfect day to go searching for supplies. 

So you dug through shelves of potions and crystals for a dress, stepped into your best wandering boots and grabbed a woven basket for ingredients, not forgetting to make sure the protection spell on the cottage was properly set up. Then you strolled through the forest, listening to the frogs croaking “good morning!”, when they heard the familiar sound of your leather boots rustling the fallen leaves. There was no mistaking the forest was magical. Besides the talking frogs of course, the forest glowed. Glowed with all the power of the beings living there, the magic flowing through every flower petal, every root, every dewdrop. The forest wasn’t just scientifically, technically magical. It was also magical in the way humans used the word. Magnificent and wondrous, and you were so glad you got to witness it every day. 

After a long walk you finally arrived at the waterfall, the one where you always found the best, most fresh ingredients for your potions and practices. You began to pluck, humming an old melody to yourself as the contents of your basket started to increase. 

“Well, well, well. What a lovely surprise.”

You knew that voice. You knew that voice very well. 

Unfortunately. 

“How much of a surprise is it really, Jeonghan? I'm here after every full moon.”

The elf had been standing there for a while you assumed, because when you turned to face him he was on the other side of the waterfall, in the midst of sharpening his wooden arrows. And he didn’t even need to, you knew that. He was a high elf, born with a silver sword in his sheath. He could simply lounge around with his long blonde hair sitting perfectly, only the tips of his pointy ears peeking through all day. He didn’t have to hunt or fight if he didn’t want to.

And he didn’t want to.  

“Yes, well. You don’t own the place”, he replied, before he deemed his arrow sharp enough and nocked it to the bowstring. 

“No, I don’t. And neither do you. Though I am aware of how high elves like to think they own everything in this forest.”

Suddenly, a long sharp object flew past you, making a paper thin cut into your cheek and penetrating itself into the tree behind you. You looked back at Jeonghan, furious as you saw him, bow raised and smirking at your reaction. 

“Everything, you say?” The elf began walking towards you while you carefully brushed a finger across your cheek, noticing nearly no blood was falling onto it. 

“And that includes you, I suppose?” 

He was standing close to you now. Very close. So close you could have made out every imperfection in his skin, if he had had any. 

Curse elves and their absurd immortality. 

“Am I hearing you say you think you own me, Yoon Jeonghan?”

At some point he had kept walking, now pushing your body against the tree behind you, his arrow still sticking out of the bark. You dropped your basket to the ground. A witch like you should know better than to mess with the high elves, but something about Jeonghan hindered you from keeping yourself controlled with the help of your powers. 

Jeonghan reached over to the side of your head, pulled the arrow out of the tree and studied it in his hand for a moment. 

“Would you like me to?”

The next moment you felt something cold against your neck. The base of the arrowhead met your skin, and you let out a sharp gasp as he twisted it so the sharp side was now pressing into the flesh, but not roughly enough to draw blood. 

“Would you like me to prove it to you? I can own you, Y/n L/n. All that is required of you…Is that you allow me to.”

The ground below you felt like quicksand and your head was spinning. You shouldn’t do this, you really shouldn’t, no you should know better. You we’re in control. In control of yourself, your feelings, your responses. But there was nothing you could do to Jeonghan. He was resilient to all your charms and incantations, and even if he wasn’t you wouldn’t dream of what would happen if you tried to magically influence him. You already felt out of control. 

Why was it so thrilling?

“Yes…”

Your voice was weak. Heavens, you were already weak. 

“Yes what, witch?”

“Take me. I’m yours.”

That was all it took for him to be everywhere. His hair was in your hands, his scent was invading your nostrils and his crotch was pushed tightly against you, already grinding at a steady pace. The moans you were making against his lips were borderline obscene, sinful even. 

“Such a little whore, already moaning so loudly for me, out here where anyone could hear you.” 

Not completely true. Whether they were wizards, elves, orcs or another type of being, this place was fairly secluded. But the mere thought of somebody stumbling by you, seeing your dress bunched around your hips and Yoon Jeonghan sucking marks to your collarbones, only made you wetter and your moans louder. 

Soon enough your bodice was ripped open, and your undergarments gone. Jeonghan brought a hand to your soaked cunt, teasing slowly with a single finger. 

“What a good girl you are, already so wet for me, hm?”

His eyes flicked towards where the tip of his finger got coated in your slick, and as arousing as it was to watch his eyes glaze over in lust, it was equally frustrating that he was doing nothing. 

So you got it together. Breathed in through your nose, and closed your eyes, focusing. Focusing on his finger prodding at your entrance, his hot breath on your ear, his hand on your waist. Then you tracked. Tracked the strings of his nerves, through his veins all the way to his heartbeat. It rang loud in your ears, and now you could truly feel all of him. 

“What…”

Steadily, his breaths against your ear became faster, the tempo of his heartbeat increasing, as you focused on him and only him. 

“What…In the names of the saints are you doing to me witch?” 

He fell to his knees. Right there, in the outskirts of the forest, you watched as Yoon Jeonghan fell to his knees in front of you. You didn’t raise his heartbeat enough to hurt him, of course. Just enough to heighten his lust. Just enough to drive him mad. 

“You’re not the only one with tricks, Yoon Jeonghan. Now get to work before I stop your heart completely.”

That seemed to be enough of a threat for Jeonghan to begin licking and sucking at your pussy like a man possessed, or maybe he was just as sick of the teasing as you were. Clawing at his blonde locks, throwing your leg over his shoulder, you were letting him devour you as drops of water from the waterfall splashed onto your exposed legs. Never had you felt so featherlight, so completely, and it sounded ironic, bewitched. 

“Jeonghan, fuck s’good- Ah!”, you moaned breathily as he hit a spot that felt just right. When you looked down, you caught his eyes fixated on you, wispy bangs obscuring his vision but not enough to mask that twinkle of something in his eyes. Something intoxicating. 

Something possessive. 

As soon as your gaze had met his, you reached your high, hardly able to register that Jeonghan didn’t stop after. 

He was mumbling something dirty against your inner thighs, but the blood was still roaring in your ears and all you could think about was how desperately you needed him inside of you. 

“Jeonghan…More, please.”

His ministrations on your thighs didn’t stop as he responded.

“Hm? More what darling?” 

You caught your lip between your teeth, trying to hide the sudden downpour of bashfulness washing over you at the prospect of having to vocalize what you wanted from him. Him, this ridiculous, cocky bastard of a creature that you always thought you despised. 

 “Want…Want you inside me, Jeonghan please”, you whispered. 

He got up from his spot on the ground, now much bigger and taller when he was looming over you like this, one hand on the tree behind you to cage you in. 

“I think you can do better than that.”

You whimpered. 

“For heaven's sake Jeonghan, please, I’ll do anything!” 

A scoff left his lips as he smirked and ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking over his decision. 

“Probably shouldn't be making deals with a witch…But what the hell”, he mumbled before grabbing your hips and turning you around, so your hands were planted firmly against the surface of the tree. 

“For a beautiful witch like yourself, I will do anything.”

Those whispered words were enough to leave your cunt even more soaked, and it didn’t help when you felt the tip of his hard cock nustling in between your folds (you had no idea when he had got rid of his pants but oh well, magic right?). 

“Been thinking about this, you know? Everytime I see you here, ah-”

He pushed into you slowly, producing strangled grunts and moans from the both of you. 

“Everytime I see you, In these cute dresses, bending over every fucking second.”

Then he thrusted into you sharply. You would’ve fallen over if you didn’t have the tree to support you. 

“Always thought about just walking right up to you, and taking you right then and there. And everytime I saw you bathe here, fuck. Just wanted this body all to myself.”

The thought of him having seen you bathing in the waters, naked, should have scandalized you, but instead it left your legs wobbly and your mouth hanging open in a silent moan. 

It went on like that for a while. A long while, in fact, of him grunting lewd secrets and confessions against your skin while you begged him to let you come. And eventually he did, because just like you too had promised, he would do anything, especially if it involved having his cum dripping out of you by the end. 

He helped you get your undergarments back on, now obviously ruined, and then he kissed you. 

Not like he had just a few moments earlier. It was short and oddly intimate.

“What was that?” You tried your best to look disgusted. 

“A kiss, darling. Have I really fucked you that dumb?” 

You rolled your eyes at him and picked up your basket again. It suddenly felt a lot heavier. 

“Whatever, it’s not like it’ll happen ever again.”

He laughed at that. Fully, shamelessly, loudly laughed with his pants half on and his hair an absolute mess (and it was never a mess). There was something quite endearing about it. 

“Oh, darling…Oh, you’re just adorable.” 

Quickly he laced his pants up, and walked over to you again. 

“We’ve made a deal, haven’t we?”, he said, grabbing your hand in his. 

“Anything, no? That was the deal?”

No words could form in your tongue, his searing touch the only thing consuming your thoughts. You realized you might have actually gotten yourself into something very…Complicated. Complicated but strangely exciting. 

He simply smiled at your lack of response. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Y/n.”

His hand raised yours to his lips, as he planted the most gentle of kisses on your knuckles. 

Then he was gone. Walked into the mist between the trees and the grass and became one with it. 

You had no idea what to think of Yoon Jeonghan after that. 

Other than how you already wanted to see him again.

#seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan oneshot #jeonghan request

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

*

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

*

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

[cerise-on-top]

IT'S MEEEE! 😆 how're you doing?

I want some ANGST! But with a happy ending with Fluff!

Valeria/Laswell/Farah have a stressful day, and they are in a bad mood and take it out in the reader.

Take your time and take care! 🫶

Hello again! Welcome back! I'm doing fine, I'm just a bit tired right now, but I should be alright by tomorrow! First off, I'm so sorry this took so long! I tried to make it a bit longer than I usually would as an apology! There's not a whole lot of angst, aside from the girls having had a rough day and accidentally letting it out on reader, but I tried! I hope it's to your liking! Thank you for your request!

Valeria, Farah and Laswell Taking their Anger out on Reader but then Comforting them

Valeria: It was likely Alejandro who got on her nerves, chasing her like a dog would its own tail, only to never catch her after all. If she could, she would have him killed just like that. Much to her dismay, however, he was slippery, a trained killer whose only weakness was either himself or Rudy. But even the latter was hard to catch, so both of them meeting a fitting end would yet have to wait some more. At that moment, all Valeria wanted was to spill some blood. Anyone’s would have been fine. Walking through the door to your shared home, she watched you fold some clothes in the living room, putting them aside carefully so as to not put too many folds in them. Waving to her once you put down the sweater, you greeted her, wanting to throw your arms around your partner. Yet, fear struck you as Valeria glared at you, looking as though she was about to rip your throat out using her bare teeth. Thus, you kept your hug to yourself, a bit intimidated by her.

Instead, you tell her that you made some food, some vegetable stew, which she could easily reheat in the kitchen. Somehow, that information made her even more furious. Seemingly disappointed in your choice of cooking, she cussed. At first not at you, but when you tried to deescalate the situation, insisting that you could cook her a meat based dish as well, Valeria’s fuse blew. Her voice grew louder, almost booming, with her explicitly telling you that she didn’t fucking care about the food. It wasn’t the first time you had seen her act like this, but not towards you. Therefore you figured she must have had an extremely rough day. Even so, when she was done, you muttered an apology, going to your room and avoiding her for the rest of the evening so she could blow off some steam. It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known after all, but you still felt like a failure, awaiting the seconds, the minutes, the hours, until you could finally go to bed. Just hearing Valeria stomp around outside your room made your blood freeze in your veins.

It wasn’t until 21:23, as you were just about to head to bed, that you heard a knock on your door. Even without your permission, it was opened, showcasing Valeria on the other side, seemingly having calmed down a bit. Leaning against the doorframe, she complimented your cooking. It was as delicious as it had always been, very well seasoned and very filling after all. You did nothing wrong, she, too, assured you of that. While she won’t go into detail regarding what exactly happened for her to snap at you like that, simply mentioning a few sleazebags who had caught up with her, you will hear something that only ever leaves her mouth when she’s wronged you for no good reason: an apology.

If you let her in, then she’s more than happy to try and comfort you. Yes, it’s a bit awkward since she’s not used to doing so, but seeing your eyes wide, your body tense, all because of her does take its toll on her. If you don’t wanna be touched just yet, that’s fine, she can respect that. But if you do allow it, then she’ll gently grab your hand and squeeze it a few times. She’s tired too, so she likely won’t be doing anything big with you anymore that night, but she’s open to making plans with you and discussing them. She really wants to right her wrongs when it comes to you, so you’re more than welcome to make a suggestion. You wanna have a picnic with her? She knows Las Almas quite well, some beautiful, undisturbed spots coming to mind almost immediately. You wanna go shopping? You can ask her for just about anything you want, she’ll give you extras to go this time too. You wanna stay in and watch a comfort movie? While she may not be one for watching movies, she will make an exception for you. She always does when she can.

Discussing those plans with you, she’ll try to make you smile at least a little bit. Once she’s sure you’re not afraid of her anymore, she’ll give your cheek a little kiss, joking around a bit more than she did before. She won’t bother you for the rest of the evening unless you explicitly seek her out, but she will keep an eye out for you, leaving you a few snacks right in front of your door. Maybe even some money so you can get yourself something fancy and nice. Problem is, she likely won’t have too much time, but she’ll be damned if she won’t take better care of you, if just temporarily. Even though she’ll always try her best to take care of you, it’s you we’re talking about, after all.

Farah: Another stressful day during the revolution. With an ambush surprising her, leaving her and her people a bit more vulnerable than usual, with her almost losing some of her best and closest fighters, it was only natural for Farah to be a bit more on edge than usual. Normally so calm, able to calculate the best moves and maneuvers for just about anything, no matter what happens, this was something she did not foresee at the time, thinking she had had the upper hand instead. It was only when she finally had the time, just a day or two, for you, mad as she usually never was, that she walked through the door, throwing her gun to the cabinet. Despite not being such a loud person, a sniper had to be quiet and patient, after all, she made quite a ruckus when she had finally returned. You were ready to greet Farah, give her a big smile and make her feel welcome and home as only you could. Soon enough, however, you did feel that something was off. Despite being stressed more often than not, she usually wouldn’t scowl at you like that for no reason.

You offered her a hug, opening your arms wide despite your expression betraying your nervousness. Aside from a glare, you got no reaction. Eventually, you put your arms down and she greeted you, venom spewing from her words. The toxins could corrode even the strongest iron walls, leaving you defenseless in your fear. Did you do something this time? Likely not, Farah just got home after all, but the thought still lingered. Although she was normally so chatty when she was just a bit exhausted, she stomped away, not saying a single word to you. First the bathroom, then the kitchen and lastly her bedroom. The clanking of cutlery against a plate could be heard, but that’s about it. You felt awful, something properly terrible must have happened to her for her to act like that. But it wasn’t like you could change it, so you lowered the volume of your TV instead before turning it off entirely and reading something on your phone.

Another few hours had passed, you barely even dared to move a muscle aside from scrolling on your phone, much less make any noise. What if it was you after all? What is Farah was about to leave you for something you didn’t even know about? Your thoughts spiraled, with every following one being worse than the previous one. You folded the blanket and put it on the arm of the couch, ready to head to bed when you bumped into her. Quickly, you uttered an apology before being ready to dart off to your own room, but Farah held you in place, asking you if you had a moment to spare and listen to her. It was dark already, with the dim artificial lights doing you no favors in seeing her any better either, but she sounded calmer than before. Still slightly annoyed, but it seemed like whatever had gotten into her had lessened its grasp on her. Tugging you onto the couch, she apologized for giving you such a harsh and cold treatment, simply figuring that waiting until she had calmed down would be better than letting it out on you, who had no part in it. The situation was dire for her, she told you a bit about it. About the ambush, about the people she’s almost lost during it. She knew that she really shouldn’t have been acting like that towards you, and for that she apologizes one last time.

Once she was done explaining what had upset her to you, she’d be quiet, remorseful, until you’d speak up again. She’d love to make it up to you, you really didn’t deserve such harsh treatment after all. If you just want a hug or a kiss as a form of apology, she’ll smile at you, being more than willing to give you just that. However, she will also ask you if that’s everything you wanted. That would be your chance to ask for something reasonable from her. Sure, she won’t be able to buy you a new car, but you’re more than welcome to ask her for some alone time, just the two of you. She might only have a day or two away from the fight, which she was going to spend with you either way since she rarely gets to see you, but if you have special requests, that would be the best time to suggest them. There may not be too many fancy restaurants or malls nearby, but you can always just watch a silly movie or take a walk together.

Farah would literally swear to you that she’s going to make it back in one piece to you. After all, there’s no one else she’d rather roam the streets with during a beautiful cloudless night. Besides, she made two promises that night: to make it back to you and to make it up to you. Farah would fight any deities out there to make it back to you, no matter if it was a losing battle or not. If it’s you then she’ll fight as dirty as possible to see you smile again.

Laswell: She was likely taken off a case, in spite of her having enough evidence to prove everything that needed to come to light. With her wit, with her having the right people at her disposal, she could have brought this to an end. However, her incompetent superior had other plans, letting it all rot in darkness instead, until everyone forgot it ever even happened. Laswell was furious, no matter how much she argued, her superior wouldn’t budge and for that she silently cursed. Normally so calm and composed, this time she wished she could have blown someone’s brain out for being the dumbest creature alive. But alas, such a thing was illegal, if someone ever were to find out. She entertains the idea for a few minutes, but quickly enough shakes her head, thinking of other ways to accomplish her goal. Walking through the door, she already heard you singing along to some tune, the music unnecessarily loud. You likely didn’t hear her come in, which in and of itself wouldn’t have been a problem. On any other day.

Only when she turns off the music do you realize she’s here. However, her grimace was already telling. Shyly, you greeted her, but not much else, letting her speak instead. The fury had gotten to her head, her face being slightly more red than usual. This time, she was stern, telling you that you really shouldn’t listen to your dumb music this loudly at such an hour. She was going to get a massive headache from today, if only because of you needing to turn up the volume impossibly high. While Laswell wouldn’t yell at you, her words would be sharper than an obsidian knife instead. Indeed, she’s not trying to actively hurt you, in fact, once her little lesson on you maybe being a bit more quiet is over, she’ll feel bad, apologizing immediately. It would take her much, much longer than that to actually calm down, but once she sees your scared, saddened expression, unable to really say much, she’ll say she’s sorry and let you go, watching you as you quietly trot away with your head hung low. Sighing to herself, she already comes up with plans on making it up to you, but she knows she can’t control her anger as she was right now.

A few hours later, you’d hear the bell ring, but not be quite ready to leave your room just yet. It likely was for Laswell, not for you, so you simply stayed put, hoping that she had calmed down a bit by then. However, your ears would perk up upon hearing her knock on your door, asking you to come to the living room so you could eat something together. Despite being a little bit skittish still, afraid to anger her further, you soon enough noticed she had calmed down again, with your favorite takeout from a restaurant you usually suggest lying on the table. Once seated, Laswell opened the packages, handing you your food. In a much more serene tone, she’d apologize yet again. Your music wasn’t dumb, it wasn’t giving her a headache, she just had a very rough day and needed some peace and quiet. Laswell hopes you can understand this, even if she did treat you unfairly. She recognizes that, and that she also tells you, with her promising to try her best to not have it happen again.

Laswell won’t go into detail either regarding what happened, for obvious reasons, only that some inconvenience happened today, which upset her a great deal. But that wasn’t what was important at that moment. She was calm, hopefully you were as well. And if not, then she’d try her darndest to make it that way. Considering she, technically speaking, had more time that day, and the following ones as well, she’d be the one to suggest going out the next evening. Maybe a nice and fancy restaurant, maybe a show like a musical at the broadway. Or maybe the two of you just want to take a vacation somewhere nearby. Either way, Laswell has plans for the two of you, having brainstormed a few in the past few hours. She’ll get her way at work eventually, it just might take some time, so she’ll happily “indulge” her superior for a few days before going back to crack the case either way. It would make her all the less suspicious. Besides, she’d get to spend time with you as well, even if all you wanted was to just go window shopping at the local mall.

That evening, she’d likely just want to watch TV with you, continuing to discuss your plans for the next few days. But after that she’s more than happy to book whatever it is you want to do afterwards. While she might not be the biggest fan of such, she will even go to the nearest Six Flags with you and ride a few attractions just to see you smile and hear your laughter, as well as excited screams, yet again.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #farah karim #farah karim x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #thank you so much for waiting #I hope these suffice #I don't really have much else to say this time except I'm glad Christmas is over #now I only have to survive new year's eve #anyway girls are pretty epic right? #sometimes I watch the Valeria interrogation scenes and giggle while kicking my feet #I also sometimes think back on how Laswell slowly grew on me #second game during the ghillie mission I knew I was in love all of a sudden #Farah was the surprise girl for me since I didn't even know who she was before I started watching #but all three of them are intimidating and strong in a way where I want them in my life #I just have a thing for strong and intimidating women #I still remember my first woman crush: Jolyne from Stone Ocean #I remember thinking about kissing her and suddenly realising “wait that's not very heterosexual of me is it?” #it's been going uphill for me ever since #those are some very fond memories of mine

[loneamaryllis]

Merry Christmas @racfoam ! Here's a small gift for you!

A scene from a Harrymort AU where Harrie sold herself to Voldemort in exchange for peace.

"Look up."

The words were whispered in her ear, a sinuous demand that wound its barbed coils tight around her throat. She complied, helpless against the command, her eyes flicking up.

There, hanging from the ceiling, was a bouquet of mistletoe. Vibrant green leaves, white fruits dotted around the bulk of the plant, and a red ribbon.

Fuck.

Harrie tried to run.

Large hands clamped down on her shoulders, pinning her in place.

"You know what that means," Voldemort said, with a softness that belied the steel strength of his grip.

"No."

It didn't mean anything, because he couldn't force her into it. That was one of the few safeguards of the contract binding her to him. She had to obey most of his orders, but she was free to ignore anything regarding physical intimacy. He couldn't make her kiss him.

"It's tradition, Harrie."

"I'll make a new tradition. Stand under the mistletoe, punch you in your noseless face."

He chuckled, and the sound trailed down her spine like a ribbon of smooth silk.

"Still so fierce. You've been mine for six months now, and you haven't lost your fire."

She gnawed into her lower lip, unable to deny it. She was his. She had signed that contract and given herself to him, and in exchange, he had halted his attempts at taking over wizarding Britain. He no longer threatened Muggles and Muggle-borns. There was peace—at the cost of her freedom.

"One kiss," he said, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Just... one kiss."

She swallowed past the heavy lump in her throat. Something was churning in her stomach. Disgust, that was disgust—disgust when she pictured his snake-like face, the pale skin, the slits he had for nostrils, and those unnatural red eyes that always pierced right through her.

Yes, disgust only, she told herself, resolutely ignoring the low, cramping pull in her belly.

People were watching.

This was a party, after all—a Yule celebration—and there were guests from both sides. Death Eaters mingled with members of the Order of the Phoenix, while a few international guests were present as well. The orchestra was playing, and people were talking and mingling around the buffet, half of them oblivious to the mistletoe situation. The other half was looking at her and Voldemort.

The Malfoys were watching, all three of them, identical gray eyes on her. Snape was watching, from halfway across the room, a glass of Champagne in his hand as he stared at her, gaunt features set in a blank mask. Her friends—Ron, Hermione, Ginny—were watching, and they looked furious, but there was nothing they could do. Coming to her rescue would violate the terms of the contract, and Harrie had made it clear to them that—

—that she'd chosen this. That it was worth it. That she wanted it.

Another pulse of heat tugged at her core.

The bastard was keeping the soul bond wide open, wielding it as a weapon against her. His desire flowed toward her like a torrent, the water accumulating fast. Her mental wall wobbled.

He wanted a kiss? Fine. He would get a kiss.

Turning around, she grabbed him by the lapels of his stupid suit, tugged him down, and smashed her lips to his.

A solar flare of desire erupted between them. Voldemort let out a predatory growl and opened his mouth, his forked tongue flicking out. Harrie growled back.

Then she bit him.

Her incisors sank into his thin bottom lip, and the bitter flavor of his blood burst onto her tongue. She huffed in triumph, drawing back. He didn't let her move away. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers knotting in her hair, and he pressed their mouths together with ravenous greed, his tongue plunging between her lips.

Blood.

Blood and fire—she was burning, burning for him.

A final lick of that prehensile tongue against her own, and he let her go.

She hurriedly stepped back, her heart racing. Glaring at him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face felt too hot, her knickers too damp.

"What a delightful surprise," he said, with a sly grin. "My lioness has claws."

"That's all you'll get out of me."

His crimson eyes flared like a sunset. He lifted a finger to his mouth and casually ran it across his lips, before licking the blood with a swipe of tongue that was frankly obscene.

"That is all I wanted for now, Harrie."

She turned her back on him and lied to herself, twice. She pretended she wasn't running away.

And she pretended she hadn't liked that kiss.

#gift fic #snippet #harrymort #female harry potter #snake face voldemort

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

[bronzefuryfic]

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Thirteen: The Sacrifice / Previous Chapter / Directory

Something is lost, things have changed, but in the end... is there something to be gained?

Rhae was vaguely aware of the King's arrival—he was heralded by shouting and furious questions, many of which Rhae herself would like to know the answer to. What happened? Where were the guards? Who did this? 

But she couldn't focus long enough to hear the answers. Aemond had now, thankfully, been given milk of the poppy to ease his pain and dull his senses. The medicine must have helped, if only a little, because Aemond had stopped his howling. He'd even managed to resist squirming in his chair, though his nails still dug into the armrest as the Maester continued his work. 

Even as she watched the Maester carefully close the gaping cut in Aemond's face, Rhae could not reconcile the stitchings with the bloody bowl in which his eye lay. They'll put it back, she thought, though she has no idea how. She couldn't stop hearing its removal.

Snip.

Rhae finally tore her eyes away, unable to bear the sight any longer. She focused her attention back on Viserys, who had taken an uncharacteristically commanding tone.

"How could you allow such a thing to happened?" The King demanded of the Kingsguard Commander, Ser Harrold Westerling. "I will have answers!"

"The princes were supposed to be abed, My King." Ser Harrold said.

Princes?

In all the chaos, Rhae hadn't realized Rhaena, Baela, Luke and Jace were battered and bleeding nearby. Thankfully, none looked nearly as bad as Aemond—the worst off seemed to be Luke, sporting a bloody nose. Had they been attacked, as well?

"Who had the watch?" Viserys asked next. Ser Criston stepped forward in answer.

"The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace." He said, glaring daggers towards Rhaenyra's sons. Rhae felt her mouth fall agape. Her hold on Helaena tightened in surprise as she looked to Aegon to confirm he had heard as she did.

Jace and Luke... they did this?

But Aegon was still watching Aemond in horror, looking as though he were about to be sick.

"You swore oaths!" Viserys boomed. "To protect and defend my blood!"

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace." Ser Harrold said, bowing his head in shame.

But Ser Criston had none.

"The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace."

Viserys' face screwed up in anger. "That is no answer!"

For once, Rhae had to agree with him.

"It will heal." Queen Alicent managed. She was crouched beside her son, her voice choked with fear. "Will it not, Maester?"

A hush fell over the room—it seems all were as hopeful as Rhae that by some miracle Aemond's eye would find its way back to its socket. They all watched with bated breath as the Maester finished the last stitch. Using a small pair of shears, he wedged the blade on the spare thread holding Aemond's face together.

Snip.

"The flesh will heal," he said heavily. "But the eye is lost, Your Grace."

Rhae cannot help the groan that passed through her lips, the whole room echoing in defeat. The King hung his head regretfully. Aemond would spend the rest of his life a cripple.

Alicent looked wildly about the gathered crowd. Unable to face her disappointment, she searched for some other source. She looked to the Velaryons, to Viserys, and then finally settled her vengeful gaze upon Aegon. She went to him, grabbing roughly at the collar of his shirt.

"Where were you?" The Queen demanded. Rhae's heart dropped. With me, she thought, and prayed Aegon would have the sense not to bring it up now.

Aegon acted indignant. "Me?"

Alicent slapped him across the face so hard it knocked his head to the side. Helaena yelped and looked away, startled. In her shock, Rhae reached instinctively to pull Aegon away from his mother's fury. But her hand dropped just as quickly—it is not her place to intervene. And so she bit her tongue at the injustice and let her shame burn her throat, regretful that her first worry was for herself.

"Agh!" Aegon held a hand up to his cheek, which grew red from the impact. "What was that for?"

The Queen looked venomous in her contempt.

"That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!"

Aegon looked like he may argue, until he cast half a glance towards Aemond's bloodied face and bowed his head in silent agreement. 

The sound of the door swinging open drew the attention of the room. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had finally arrived, looking furious.

"What is the meaning of this!" Lord Corlys shouted, as Princess Rhaenys swooped to Baela and Rhaena's level to check their injuries and hear their tale.

"What's happened?" 

But before either girl could respond, another door opened and Princess Rhaenyra rushed through.

"Jace?" She gasped, spotting her pair. "Luke!"

Poor Lucerys let out a sob the instant he laid eyes on his mother, clutching her hand the moment she reached his side. Before the door could shut behind her, another passed through. But it was not Rhaenyra's husband Laenor that joined them, but Daemon. He kept his distance, leaning against the far wall and gazing about the crowd, just as he had at the reception earlier that day. 

The hall suddenly began to feel too crowded.

"Who did this?" Rhaenyra demanded, trying to move Luke's hand from his face so she could study his injury. Aemond twisted in seat, shouting his answer before the others could get the chance:

"They attacked me!"

"He attacked Baela!" Jace countered, taking an angry step forward. Rhae's eyes widened in surprise—what would cause Aemond to do such a thing? It's not right. It can't be right.

"He broke Luke's nose!" Added Baela.

A broken nose? Rhae's disbelief hardened.What does that matter? Aemond has lost an eye!

But the accusations continued to flood in.

"He stole my mother's dragon!" Rhaena cried.

Vhagar. Rhae thought of the booming roar that shook the castle—had he really done it? Had Aemond claimed the Queen of All Dragons? She thought back to their time on the boat, and how he'd wondered if Vhagar was on the island. And merely an hour ago, his vow to make himself stronger. Had he been planning this the whole time?

"Enough," Viserys said, but his command lacked both conviction and an audience. The shouting continued.

"He was going to kill Jace!" Luke screamed.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Enough," Viserys tried again, but still no one listened.

"He called us—!" Jace started, but Alicent joined the fray and drowned his voice.

"It should be my son telling the tale!" She interjected furiously.

"SILENCE!" Viserys boomed. At last the fighting took pause. All eyes fell onto the King—though, just behind him, Rhae could see Rhaenyra stoop so that Jace may whisper his unshared defense. 

Viserys clacked forward on his cane until he was in front of his second son.

"Aemond," He huffed, frustration clear on his face. Rhae clenched her jaw at the injustice. "I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

"What else is there to hear?" Alicent interrupted. "Your son has been maimed," she jabbed a finger toward Lucerys, who hid his face in his mother's skirts. "And her son is responsible!"

"It was a regrettable accident," said Rhaenyra, her expression unreadable. Alicent scoffed.

"Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush— he meant to kill my son!"

"It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!" Rhaenyra snapped, leaving Rhae more confused than before. Whatever happened, surely sweet Luke had no intent to murder. But what would Rhaenyra know? She'd only just arrived.

The Princess continued:

"Vile insults were levied against them."

Viserys looked at his daughter, uncomprehending.

"What insults?"

Rhaenyra's face turned steely.

"The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question."

Shit. Rhae thought. Aemond... he didn't...

But if Viserys knew what Rhaenyra was referring to, he does not show it.

"What?"

Blind old fool.

"He called us bastards," Jace said.

The self-satisfied smirk on Aemond's face was all the confirmation Rhae needed. It is the same look Ser Criston wore when he'd baited Harwin Strong into an attack.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons." Rhaenyra pressed, her voice unwavering. "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders."

Tortured? Rhae would have never thought Princess Rhaenyra so cruel. Aemond twisted in his seat, willful as ever, demanding she say it to his bloodied face. Even Alicent, always so critical of Rhaenyra, shook her head in disbelief.

"Over an insult?" The Queen looked to the King for support and found none. "My son has lost an eye!"

But Viserys only had ears for Rhaenyra, all anger for his son's injury disappeared.

"You tell me, boy." The King bore down on Aemond. Son! Rhae wished to shout, to correct... but her throat was clamped with fear. "Where did you hear this lie?"

Alicent looked nervous now—her husband had abandoned her cause, if he could have ever been said to be a part of it.

"The insult was training yard bluster," She interjected. "The lot of boys. It was nothing."

"Aemond," Viserys continued, eyeing the boy with contempt. "I asked you a question."

"Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?" Alicent tried again, glaring at Rhaenyra. "The boys' father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter."

This worked. Viserys looked about the room.

"Yes." He agreed. "Where is Ser Laenor?"

Now Rhaenyra looked flustered.

"I do not know, Your Grace. I..." She faltered. "I could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk."

"Entertaining his young squires, I would venture," Alicent leered.

But with no more distraction, the King turned his gaze back onto his son.

"Aemond..." He said dangerously. "Look at me."

With his remaining eye, Aemond glared up at his father.

"Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?"

For all his conviction thus far, Aemond hesitated a moment. Rhae recalled the numbing effect of poppy's milk from her own injury, and how cloudy it made her mind—it was not a condition suitable for testimony. He looked to his mother—

—And Viserys turned on her in an instant, his glare accusing. The Queen could not quite absolve her face of guilt.

But the King held his tongue of condemnation, looking back to their son to confirm of his suspicions.

But it had bought Aemond the time he needed. His eye flickered back to Viserys defiantly. 

"It was Aegon."

"Me?" Aegon asked in surprise.

But the elder had no time to recover his wits—Viserys clacked over to him, his frustration growing with each delay.

"And you, boy?" Viserys demanded. "Where did you hear such calumnies?"

Aegon's bottom lip trembled, staring into empty space as his mind no doubt raced for an answer. The King no longer seemed driven by a want for truth or justice, but a desire to see the conflict put to bed as quickly as possible—regardless of the consequences. He stamped his cane in fury.

"Aegon!" He yelled, spit flying from his tongue. "Tell me the truth of it!"

"We know, Father." He said at last. Viserys looked taken aback—we? Aegon turned to look him in the face, imploring. "Everyone knows... just look at them."

Viserys looked to Rhaenyra and her bastards, before looking wildly about the room for some other answer. Even when Aegon gave his father exactly what he asked for—the truth—it was still not enough.

"This interminable infighting must cease!" Viserys shouted. "All of you! We are family!"

Family?

The word cut through Rhae's chest but could not find its way to her heart, its edge having been dulled from years of disappointment. She looked to Daemon, still on the far side of the room, knowing with more certainty than ever that the distance would never be closed.

We are not family.

But Viserys continued, unaware his cause had been lost long ago.

"Now make your apologies and show good will to one another." He barked, clacking his way to the center of the room. "Your father, your grand sire, your—" he stamped his cane again, "—KING demands it."

The dread was suffocating. Just as the King had refused justice for Rhea Royce, he now denied his own son in favor of his preferred kin. Daemon and Rhaenyra, his real family, incapable of wrong and impervious to punishment. And if they could get away with murder and treason...

Rhae looked to each of her friends and saw the quiet comprehension creep in on them, too.

But Alicent, who had warned them all of this very outcome, could still not face her disappointment. She looked to Aemond, then back to her husband.

"That is insufficient." She argued. "Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

Rhae thought of what Ser Gerold had told her of Alicent's stand at Princess Rhaenyra's wedding—arrived late, cloaked in green. A beacon of defiance against the crown. Her heart soared with admiration, witnessing it now.

"I know, Alicent." Viserys said, exasperated. "But I cannot restore his eye."

"No," Alicent agreed. "Because it has been taken."

"What would you have me do?"

"There is a debt to be paid." The Queen glared at the Princess. "I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

The room buzzed as nobles erupted in murmurs amongst themselves—can she do that? The King looked nervously about.

"My dear wife..."

He is your son, Viserys." Alicent begged. "Your blood."

"Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment."

And what guides yours? Rhae thought. Some part of her knows that this demand is too much...

But she heard it again.

Snip.

And something inside her—somewhere deeper, and somehow stronger—cried out in agreement. Rhae found herself waiting in eager anticipation.

That's more fair, isn't it?

"If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will." Alicent declared. "Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."

"Mother!" Luke wailed. His cry was piercing, striking through the thick haze of anger and alcohol that clouded Rhae's mind. Suddenly, the fear in his tiny voice was punishment enough...

But not for the Queen.

"He can choose which eye to keep," She flared. "A privilege he did not grant my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenyra said, pushing her son behind her.

"Stay your hand," Viserys commanded Cole.

"No, you are sworn to me!" There was a gravel to Alicent's voice, fraught with emotion. It seemed she may roar as loud as Vhagar had, if she was denied yet again.

But Ser Criston could not help her.

"As your protector, my Queen."

The crisis of authority averted, the King turned once more on his wife.

"Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?" The Queen did not so much as nod her head, but it seems that her silence is all that Viserys truly wanted, for he continued:

"And let it be known... anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's son should have it removed."

He glared pointedly at Alicent, his meaning clear.

No exceptions.

He turned to leave, but Rhaenyra's insolence knew no bounds. Her response, unneeded and unasked for, dripped with salted satisfaction onto the open wound.

"Thank you, Father."

Snip.

Helaena flinched just before it happened—with the King's back turned, Alicent lunged for the Valyrian dagger at his hip, ripping it from its sheath and raising it high over her head.

"Your Grace," Ser Harrold sprung forward, shouting to his men. "Stay with the King!"

But it was not the King who was in danger—Alicent charged across the room, dagger raised, intent to take the eye herself.

Luke was one of the first to realize what was happening, his scream alerting his mother just in time.

"No!" The Princess caught Alicent by the wrist, driving her several steps back. There was more shouting as nobles rushed back and the guards rushed forward, all while the Princess and the Queen grappled for control of the blade.

Rhae could just make out Ser Harrold's voice over the commotion.

"Do not, Ser Criston!"

But Rhae had lost sight of things in the flurry of movement. Still holding Helaena tightly by the hand, Rhae pushed forward to witness the struggle. Aegon stuck close by her side, wide-eyed and pale, gripping her shoulder for support. Finally, Aemond rose from his chair to join them—standing in front. He created a barrier, however small, between them and the violence.

"Stay your hand, Cole!"

Rhae could only just make out what was happening over the tops of heads much taller than hers, but it's all she needed—Daemon's silver hair was easily distinguishable amongst the crowd. He and Ser Criston were locked in confrontation, neither able to protect the Princess or Queen.

"You've gone too far," Rhaenyra grunted.

"I?" The accusation strengthened Alicent's resolve, her grip on the dagger tightening. "What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" The King demanded.

It was useless—The Queen was spitting with rage.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" She lunged again, but Rhaenyra managed to hold her steady. "It's trampled under your pretty foot again!"

Ser Otto called out to his daughter:

"Release the blade, Alicent."

But the Queen was beyond reach—they had denied her justice, robbed her of dignity...

All that was left was her fury.

"And now you take my son's eye," Alicent heaved, pushing the dagger. "And to even that, you feel entitled!"

"Exhausting, wasn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness." Rhaenyra grimaced with effort, dropping her voice to a whisper so that only Alicent could hear...

"AGH!" The Queen shouted, slashing down with the dagger and slicing the Princess's forearm. Rhaenyra stumbled back, caught by Lord Corlys, as blood ran the length of her lower limb and dripped down her fingers.

Alicent breathed heavily, the blade slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.

Everyone looked to the King. But Viserys was at a loss for words.

Blood for blood... is it enough?

Aemond stepped forward in answer.

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange." All heads turned toward his mangled face. "I may have lost an eye... but I've gained a dragon."

Rhae felt a shiver run down her spine, remembering how Vhagar's roar shook the castle. She'd been so certain they were being attacked—and she was right, in a way. Someone had been. A dragon's call always signaled suffering.

It hadn't been the first time she'd heard it, and with a sinking feeling, Rhae realized it would not be her last.

She flexed her scarred fingers.

"This proceeding is at an end," said Viserys.

For now, Rhae thought.

All the guests were ordered back to bed at long last—no one seemed satisfied, yet everyone was relieved.

This time, Rhae went to her room quietly, and alone. Sleep did not come easily, and when it did, she was plagued by nightmares:

She sees Ser Gerold burning, but when she calls his name she bleats like a sheep. The flames billow and the smoke is suffocating. But when she thinks it will finally swallow her, she is dragged to safety by the charred remains of her left arm. It's Daemon. She tries to scream, but she can only bleat. Daemon shakes his head, amused. She tries to roar, but it is as though her vocal cords have been cut. Snip. No noise comes out now. Daemon looks disappointed.

"You should've stayed away," he tells her. She tries to roar and fails. He kisses the top of her head, but when he pulls back, his face is scaled and his eyes are narrowed into slits. Red wings unfurl from behind his back, and with a screech, Daemon slithers to the sky.

Rhae tries to roar after him. She fails.

Rhae turns around and finds that she is in the Red Keep's training yard, her bow in hand. She instinctively notches an arrow, but when she peers down its shaft, she finds Aemond on the other end. He's been chained to a post, a dozen arrows protruding from his left eye.  

Rhae drops her bow, horrified by what she's done. She runs to him, but the length of the shooting range grows with each step, until it has stretched so far she can't even see him. 

Rhae roars. It comes as a croak.

She turns back to see how far she's come, but instead finds herself inside the castle. Aegon sits on the Iron Throne.

Rhae draws closer and she sees the swords that make his seat have cut him wide. His blood spills down the throne's jagged steps and pools at her feet.

Rhae rushes to him, desperate to stop the bleeding. She tries to undo the fastenings of her cloak, but her fingers fumble with the clasp. She gives up, ripping the cloth from her neck and holding it to a gaping wound in Aegon's chest. It's only as the fabric becomes soaked does Rhae realize it's not her travel cloak, but a brides one.

Rhae roars. It comes as a strangled shriek.

It's too late—he's gone. Rhae turns heel and runs from the room and through the halls. Outside, she can hear Daemon's terrible, high-pitched call.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAARTCH!

Rhae pulls an unlit sconce and the wall in front of her swings open on hidden hinges. She prays for safety as she creeps her way through the castle walls—this isn't a passage she recognizes.

She reaches the other end and finds Helaena, staring out a window. Down below, King's Landing burns.

Rhae goes to her dearest friend, pulling her away from the destruction. Helaena's eyes are glassy and unseeing. The princess is taken by another of her spells.

"Promise?" Helaena whispers. Then her skin begins to wither and turn to dust. Within seconds, Rhae is left with nothing but the fabric of her dress. She rubs the velvet between her fingers, trying desperately to understand how this could've happened.

Gone... They're all gone...

 Rage and sorrow builds deep in Rhae's stomach, filling her insides before scorching its way up her chest. She doubles over in agony, falling to her hands and knees. Her skin bubbles and boils, until the flesh melts away to reveal glimmering bronze plating underneath. Her family's armor? Rhae tries to see through her tears, which evaporate from her face before they can slide down her cheeks. No, not armor—scales. Rhae writhes, her body unable to contain it any longer. She throws her head back as flames burn up her throat, expelling out her mouth in hot fury. 

RRRRAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHH!

...

Rhae shouted herself awake.

It was late morning, and the near-noon sun bathed the bed in warm light. But Rhae could still see stars, her head aching with the consequences of last night's binge. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her stiff, injured arm, and when her vision finally cleared, she was relieved for once to see the waxy, scarred tissue.

But relief from her nightmares were only a small reprieve, as she remembered the reality of her waking day.

Aemond...

Surely she couldn't visit him yet, nor should she—an injury such as his required a great deal of rest. But...

She was the head of her house—she did not need to wait on anyone's permission to leave her room and go see if she could visit her friend. Rhae thought of the long hours spent alone in bed during her recovery. Maybe Aemond would like the company?

There was only one way to find out. Rhae kicked herself free from her sheets and began to dress, trying not to dwell on the image of Aemond on the other side of her arrow.

Luke... he'd done it, Rhae tried to remind herself. Not me.

But this does little to assuage her guilt. If she had only spent more time with him the other night... would he have told her his plan? Could she have gone with him?

By the time Rhae climbed the stairs to the Princes' rooms, her head was still spinning—though she could not determine if it was from last night's wine or the questions rattling about her skull. She kept her eyes trained downward, focusing on each stone step, until she reached the top and found herself staring at a familiar pair of boots.

"Aegon," Rhae blinked up at him, his name catching in her throat. He looked as bad as she felt. She found herself longing to reach for him, but her hands balled into fists, swaying at her side indecisively.

Something was... different.

"You look like shit," Rhae managed, earning her the faintest of smiles.

"You're one to talk," Aegon replied, his voice hoarse. He too had his hands swaying at his side, clenching and unclenching restlessly.

Aegon bore a face of crushing defeat. Rhae recognized the look, though she'd never seen him so resolute. The King Viserys... Aegon's father... would never choose him. Not ever.

But that wasn't all.

"Rhae..." Aegon choked. She was reminded instantly of her dream, and the gaping hole in his chest. Standing in front of her, he looked just as pale. Her blood ran cold. "We... we..."

But he needn't finish—they'd seldom needed words to understand each other, anyways. He knew. And with sobering clarity, Rhae knew too.

"We tried," Rhae whispered, her eyes already brimmed with tears.

Aegon's head fell onto her shoulder as he sniffed and gulped simultaneously, barely containing a sob. Rhae's arms wrapped reflexively around him, squeezing tightly, holding him together as best she could.

Our relationship is at an end, Rhae thought hollowly. We must do our duties. The consequences of our folly... She thought of Aemond claiming Vhagar, alone. She thought of his bloodied face, and his mother's rage.

 Aemond knew, as did Queen Alicent—the stakes are bigger than our wants. We've been fools to ignore them, to gamble our safety on Rhaenyra's mercy...

She'd never have believed the Princess capable of such cruelty—it was a mistake she'd never make again. Rhae thought of the heir's words the night before, and of her demands that Aemond be 'sharply questioned'...

For the truth! For the truth Viserys will not admit, even when it is impossible to deny. He looks, but he does not see...

Rhae's fingers curled and clawed at Aegon's back, anger and sorrow causing her to dig deeper. Some part of her would rather see him torn to shreds than taken from her, just so that she may keep some scrap of him, and his love, all to herself.

But he's not mine to keep, Rhae reminded herself, burying her face into his shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth for what she knew may be her last time. But Aegon did not savor the moment as she did—his arms still hung loosely at his side. Perhaps he feared he'd be unable to let go. Aegon must be King. He must wed Helaena and claim every remnant of legitimacy Viserys will not grant him. And I...

Rhae thought of Daemon's warning—to get out of the way of what was coming. What wickedness would her father concoct for her future King and Queen? Her resolve hardened as she remembered her promise to Helaena—to always be there. No matter what. 

I must claim a dragon. I must wed Aemond and we must grow stronger, together. We must train and recover and we must be their battered shield. I will avenge my mother... and I will protect my friends from her fate.

Rhae slowly, painfully, peeled herself back to look at Aegon. His eyes were dry, though bloodshot, and his sorrow seemed to bob up and down his throat.

"I'll still be here," she said softly, her hands dropping back to her side. "You know that, don't you?"

Aegon swallowed.

"Not for me."

And without another word, he pushed past her, disappearing down the stairs from which she came.

Rhae took a long moment to steady her breathing and dry her eyes. He doesn't mean that, she tried to tell herself. For months he'd confided in her, and she in him. Their circumstances had changed, but surely all they had would not just... vanish?

She stared down the steps, wanting to descend after him. But some part of her was angry, too. After all they'd been through...

How can he say that?

Her heart ached as much as her head, and Rhae considered it might be best to throw herself back into bed and not leave for another week. At least she had the choice. It was more than could be said for...

Aemond. She'd come to see him, and she could not leave without trying. She made her way down the hall, wondering which room was his, until a door swung open and a Maester shuffled out. It was the same one who'd treated Aemond's injury. Snip.

"Come to visit the young Prince, I take it?" The Maester sighed when he spotted her. "As I told Prince Aegon, the boy should be resting."

"Is he awake?"

The Maester grumbled unhappily beneath his beard as he stepped to the side, as though to say: Just make it quick.

Since she'd last seen him, Aemond's face had bandaged and cleaned of blood. He blinked hazily as she approached the bed, but still managed to sit a little straighter as she took a seat beside his mattress.

"Oh, Aemond..." She whispered.

"Spare me your pity," he muttered, the hand closest to Rhae clenching into a fist. "I've been subjected to plenty already."

"That's not why I came," Rhae placed her scarred hand over his. "I thought you could use the company—though it sounds you've had plenty of that, too."

Aemond seemed to relax a little—Rhae knew it was not just his face that had been injured, but his pride. He had never been one to seek sympathies.

"Mother was here all night," he said. "I don't remember much..."

"That's for the best," Rhae said.

"But when I did drift awake, I could hear her weeping." Aemond continued, his brow furrowing. "And Aegon, he was the first to see me this morning. Would you believe it? He apologized."

Rhae's heart panged dully with a feeling she could not quite place.

"For what?" She asked.

"Stupid stuff," Aemond said, suddenly looking embarrassed. They sat in heavy silence, until he continued: "I don't regret doing it."

"Why should you? You've claimed Vhagar." Rhae only said it to make him feel better. She felt proud, and horrified—she always knew he was capable of claiming a dragon, and he'd never made it secret how he felt about his sister's bastards... But the consequences of his actions were steep, and she could not help but press him: "I just... wish you'd said something more. I could've been there."

"You were preoccupied," Aemond reminded her. "And beside... you would've tried to stop me."

In all her guilt for not being there, Rhae hadn't considered this. What if she had? Could she have stood by and watched Aemond risk his life, when she knew all too well what would happen if he failed?

"Maybe so," She admitted, her throat growing sore. "You're far braver than I."

The unbandaged side of Aemond's face grew pink.

"I fear it won't matter," he mumbled. "Vhagar deserves a rider that can match her in strength. I thought I could be a warrior worthy of her, but now..."

Snip.

"Just yesterday we had arrived to this island on a boat," Rhae said. "When we leave, you'll be flying. It'll take time... but you'll get better. And I'll help, in whatever way I can, okay?" Aemond's fist unfurled on the mattress, and Rhae gently turned his wrist so she may lay his palm on his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll do it together."

Aemond nodded, stifling a yawn.

"Together," he agreed drowsily.

Rhae looked to his bedside table and saw an empty cup—with her free hand, she picked it up and gave it a sniff, instantly recognizing the earthy fumes of poppy. The Maester must've given him more, just before she'd arrived.

"I should let you rest," Rhae said, rising from her chair.

"You can stay," Aemond muttered, his remaining eyelid already beginning to droop. "If you wanted..."

Rhae considered him closely—the boy... the man that may be her husband. She sat back in her seat beside his bed, his features looking especially soft as he was pulled back into slumber.

"Okay," She whispered. She rested her arm on the mattress and lay down her head, placing her hand back in his. "Okay." 

Next Chapter: Coming Soon!

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

#hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond x oc #aegon ii x oc

[harfanfare]

Unique Kisses: Ignihyde!

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Idia S. <3 (pocky kisses)

With just a few words, an offer to dress up in his favourite idol's cosplay and getting a special stationary-sold merch, Idia succumbed to your suggestion to play a pocky game. Receiving these gifts, he felt as if he was selling his pride, but its purchaser was you, so... 

Idia would eventually propose the idea, but after reading some fan fiction, you had an irresistible urge to recreate this game and play it with your boyfriend.

Besides, you are sure he knows the rules perfectly.

His cheeks and hair flush a furious crimson colour. Idia is intimidated, but he doesn't even think about complaining, at least not honestly. His reaction pours an unusual doze of animus and bravery into your veins as you open the pocky box.

“Don't move,” you instruct surprisingly calmly, as you almost sit on his lap (again, since when are you so confident?). His computer chair squawks quietly and rolls back a few inches, but the distance between you and Idia stays the same.

Perfect. He can't get away.

“I... I know!" he chokes and holds his breath as you put your biscuit stick between your lips. You look at him, idly wondering if Idia will dare to play this game.

You had no great expectations, but he surprises you. He moved closer and takes a bite of the dainty, trying not to look at you from under his lashes. Too preoccupied with the biscuit separating you, he doesn't even taste the sweetness of chocolate.

Idia knows perfectly well that life isn't a game. If it was, however, a current moment would have to be a hidden scene, unlocked only by an absurd amount of affinity points.

When he plays, his heart never beats as fast as it does now, although Idia prides himself on knowing the gems among otome games.

The biscuit disappears. There is no piece left. No distance. The kiss you share is short but sweet in every sense of the word. Warm. Chocolatey. Have it lasted a while longer, kiss would taste like fruity orange you drank before.

Idia's hands clench on the fabric of your t-shirt, right at your sides. He wouldn't have been able to control the shaking of his hands any other way. Being so anxious, he needed to muster up courage not to move away. And he held out. He is still beside you. He doesn't want you to move away, he concludes as soon as you separate.

...Well.

Fortunately, there are still so many pocky flavours to try.

Ortho S. (cheek kisses)

“Would you like to know a secret?”

Ortho does his best not to frighten you as he puts his hand on your shoulder. He set the boundary of levitation above the ground so that his face is almost at your eye level. Although you can't see his smile, you know it's here, hidden in his voice and shining eyes.

You nod, and Ortho flies a little higher. He gets so close you can feel the tongues of fire forming his hairstyle. They aren't hot. They resemble lukewarm water: soft to the touch, liquid but dry. 

“I am very happy that we are friends,” Ortho whispers.

Before you can turn around, he places a kiss between your ear and temple by pressing the warm metal of his mask against your skin. If it wasn't for the quiet sound of the kiss he play-back-ed, you wouldn't have understood Ortho's charming gesture so quickly.

“It's not a secret,” you sigh lightly. It's hard not to smile. You lean towards Ortho, who calculates your next move. The result must please him, because not only does he not turn away from you, but he waits patiently. You place a kiss on his forehead. “I also like you very much.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #ignihyde x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud #ortho x reader #platonic ortho x reader #ortho shroud #twst idia #twst ortho

[crusty-chronicles]

The Moon and Sun (Gon/Killua x Big Sib Reader)

Decisions: Alternate Ending

An: The alternative choice to the cannon path in our story. The only reason I didn't have Y/n stay behind is because there would be a lot less story and character bonding moments between them and the boys. Like most of the Chimera Ant arc would've been skipped over and what I have in store for the Chairman Arc wouldn't fit with this path. Buuuut- I do love my angst so here you go 🫴

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

Your eyes widened at the angry spike of Aura from Gon. The power radiating off was a shock to your system. Immediately snapping you out of your shock. Yet you could only watch in horror as that thing turned around with a grin.

No.

Not again.

YOU WERE NOT GOING TO LOSE ANOTHER KID

In an instant you were up and out of Kite's arms. Staggering harshly from the wound on your side. You quickly clasped your hands together, forcing every ounce of nen you had into them.

A mass of nen strings wrapped tightly around the ant. It's malicious aura lashing out. Trying desperately to overpower yours.

And it was working.

"RUN! HURRY! I CAN'T HOLD THEM FOR MUCH LONGER!" Your voice nothing more than a rasp. Straining painfully with the damage done to it.

"NO! WE'RE NOT JUST GOING TO LEAVE YOU!" Gon protested.

His own furious aura not helping you focus. Your strength was fading by the second. If you slipped up now, you were all dead.

It also didn't help to feel the hesitance from all three of them. As if trying to come up with a way no one would be left behind. But that simply wasn't possible.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the ant releasing even more of its aura. Turning around with a bit of effort against your hold. It met your eyes with a childlike glee.

"I can already tell...This is going to be fun."

You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage in fear.

Those eyes, they had nothing but bloodlust behind them. So empty and cruel.

"GOD DAMNIT! GET OUT OF HERE!"

Kite looked over to the boys then back to you. You would not be able to beat this thing. Maybe if you hadn't been injured you would've stood a chance. If he had been able to see its first attack coming. You were no match for it now.

He prepared to summon Crazy Slots, but a burning sensation consumed his wrist. Your promise. He was supposed to get the boys out of here if you fought. Or else he'd lose his nen.

But he couldn't just leave you when he knew you'd die. Not after everything. Those kids were strong enough to make it out of here if he stayed.

No.

He would just be dead weight without his nen. Nothing but a burden to you in this fight. No matter how badly he wanted to believe the opposite.

You were making a sacrifice, and he had to honor it. He just hoped you would be able to find a way to escape.

With that, he darted forward and tossed the boys over his shoulders. Setting a fast pace just as the ant broke free.

"HEY! LET US GO! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!" Killua shouted, trying to wriggle his way out of Kite's grasp.

"TURN AROUND! WE CAN'T LEAVE THEM WITH THAT THING!" Gon screamed, pounding on his back this time.

But he didn't listen to either of their cries. He couldn't afford to. If he did, then none of you were going to make it out of here. And as the Ant's aura spiked to an overwhelming peak, he pushed himself to run faster.

Kite wasn't nearly as fast as you, but it would have to do for now. At the rate he was going, they'd reach the border by daylight.

He could feel your nen at last vanish from his wrist. The conditions had been met. It was you who had stayed behind after all.

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

When you'd first summoned your nen, Pitou was intrigued. So far, they hadn't met anybody else who possessed the ability to do so. You were a Rare. Maybe the humans with you were Rares too? The possibility made it all the more exciting.

When you broke a tree in half and used it to swing at them, they were thrilled. They didn't know humans had the strength to do that. And when it actually hit them, Pitou found themselves temporarily winded. Another first with you.

But when daylight broke and you collapsed mid attack, they were disappointed. Sure you'd been getting weaker the more you fought, but they assumed your stamina was running out.

This wasn't stamina.

It had to do with the gashes on your side.

How sad. You'd bled out before they got a chance to beat you.

"Hmmm. Seems my new toy is broken. What a shame, I was really having fun." They mumbled to themselves.

Pitou approached your limp body and pulled you up by the scalp. Staring into your now dull eyes with a frown.

"I wanna do it again. I wanna experience that dream like moment again. Where you were my equal, and you made me question if I was gonna win. I want that again."

They let go and watched as your skull slammed against the ground.

"But you're already dying. No, you might already be dead. It's no fair." They whined.

They continued to stare down at you, wondering what to do with your limp body. The last of your red blood leaving your corpse. Then an idea struck Pitou.

"Yes, I think I'll do just that." They mumbled before dragging your body away by the arm.

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

"WHY WOULD YOU JUST LEAVE THEM!!! YOU KNOW THEY'RE NOT A FIGHTER!!! YOU KNEW THEY WERE STRUGGLING ENOUGH AS IT WAS!!! SO WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU BASTARD!!!!"

Gon had to hold Killua back from lunging at the silver haired hunter. The anger was something Kite had been expecting. These two loved you dearly, so to leave you behind wounded...He didn't blame Killua for being upset.

And although he wanted to provide the boys with a bit of comfort, he wasn't you. He wasn't a nurturing person. Never had been. The same words coming from you would be blunt and cold coming from him.

But he had to try.

He promised you.

Whereas Killua was furious, Gon was frustrated. He didn't care if this was for their own good. You were injured, and that thing was still there with you. You all should've fought together or die trying to take that ant down.

He said he wouldn't leave anyone behind, and he had failed. He said he wouldn't leave you behind. A feeling of guilt starting to weigh on his shoulders.

"We have to go back for them. You don't leave your friends behind to die. We have to go back." Although you weren't a friend. You were the protector. Family.

Kite couldn't help but notice the way Gon spoke just like you. 'You don't leave your friends to die if you know you can save them.' It was bittersweet in a way.

If Kite hadn't given you pushback that day, maybe things would have turned out different. Maybe he would've been able to stay behind and help you defeat that ant.

But it was too late to change the past.

He could only move forward. He didn't need the boys to like him, but he needed them to understand.

"When you make a promise to your friend, you keep it. We agreed that if you two were in danger, someone would stay behind to make sure you got out okay. And I'm sorry, I really am, that it was Y/n who chose to bear that responsibility."

You'd chosen to fight.

But it seems his explanation wasn't enough for them.

"Liar! They would never just leave us! If you're a coward, then fine! But me and Gon are going back!" Killua pushed past him, anger radiating in waves.

Kite had tried talking to them like kids, like you. Now it was time to talk to them like adults.

"If you go back there right now, you'd be making a selfish decision. They gave up their life for yours, and you wanna waste their sacrifice for your own piece of mind. You'd only end up getting yourselves killed for nothing."

And once again, his words had gone in one ear and out the other.

"They're not dead. Y/n wouldn't die that easily. So don't you ever say that again." Gon warned.

It was like talking to brick walls. But he couldn't really blame them for being in denial. A part of him believed you'd be fine, too. A hope that somehow you'd stumble your way out of the NGL.

For now, he needed contact his team as well as the association. If he was lucky, an extermination team was already on the way.

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

The amateur hunters were beyond believed to see Kite standing before them. He was okay. And as the seven of them reunited, they couldn't help but feel eyes on them.

The boys.

And their expressions looked almost sad.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why. You weren't there. You hadn't come back from inside the NGL. They weren't as fortunate to have their mentor standing before them.

But before any of them could offer words of comfort, one of the three hunters with them decided to speak.

"What the hell is this? Family outing gone wrong?" The one with sunglasses taunted.

The two boys glared him down, silently daring him to say it again. Kite could only offer a drained sigh. Already dreading the conversation to come.

"We were ambushed by one of the queen's royal guards. It had already learned how to use nen. Judging by the power it demonstrated, I'd say it's about as strong as a zodiac." He explained.

The hunter with sunglasses only scowled. But before he could throw in another sarcastic remark, the one in the suit took over.

"People overrate things that they can't understand. And that is a perfectly natural response."

These men were irksome. Already full of themselves despite not even seeing the ant face to face. But if they were the best the association had at the moment, Kite would just have to put up with them.

However, he was surprised when Killua of all people defended him.

"Overrate? You wanna tell that to our big sibling who could hardly hold them back!!!! You wouldn't even last five seconds with that ant, so shut up!" He snapped.

"So you left them behind to fend for themselves like cowards? Just ran away with your tail between your legs? And you call yourselves nen users." The one with sunglasses chastised.

This wasn't good. They were getting nowhere by arguing amongst themselves.

"It wasn't my choice to run away, and the reason why is none of your concern. Our friend is still back there. Their life is more important than petty squabbling. Destroying the nest is more important than standing around yelling about who's right and wrong." Kite scolded.

Today had already been enough without everyone at each other's throats. A level head was needed. It'd be so much easier if Netero stepped in and kept the two hunters in line.

Luckily, they finally seemed to get a grasp of the situation without their ego.

"Fine. Anything we should know about your friend when we find them?" Morel grumbled.

It was a start.

"They were wounded badly before the fight even began, so if they're alive give them immediate medical treatment."

"And if they're dead?"

However horrible it was, all possibilities needed to be considered. There was a high likelihood you didn't make it. It was wise to be realistic instead of hopeful.

".... Bring back the remains for a proper burial.."

But the mention of you being dead had quickly caught Gon's attention.

"They're not dead." His tone was final.

Like he truly believed you'd be okay. And if the opposite happened to be true, then he'd surely break.

"Now that kid's got spirit." Morel praised.

"Their name is Y/n and they've been injured really badly. They've got three gashes on their side, so please find them and bring them back safe."

There was nothing else he or Killua could do. Out of respect for your wishes. Even if it looked like they weren't listening before.

They had.

But they were still hurt.

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

Netero's explanation was simple: in order to enter the NGL, the boys would need to get the other halves of their game pieces. They had exactly one month to do so.

The air became tense once the extermination team left. With Gon and Killua standing away from Kite's team. He knew he wasn't on the best of terms with them anymore, but you left their care in his hands. He owed it to you.

So he had no other choice but to stay with them for that month. Maybe longer depending on if you were found. Well, he did have a choice, but it didn't feel right to leave them by themselves.

To navigate this grief alone.

"We'll see you in a month for sure?" Spin questioned.

"Preferably, but it just depends. I'll need you all to keep researching the Chimera Ants in the meantime. Find out everything you can about them. Especially how long it takes the king to hatch after a royal guard has been born. Can you handle that?"

"You can count on us. Be safe, Kite." Banana assured.

"I will."

Now the hard part would truly begin.

He could already feel the hostility radiate from Killua as he approached. And just when he was starting to warm up to him. But it was a valid response.

They were still just kids, after all.

"What do you want? Shouldn't you be leaving with your team, or do you just wanna rub it in our faces more?"

He had your temper, that's for sure.

And he knew the best way to get around it was to have patience. It would be the only way they were going to survive the month.

"I promised Y/n I would take care of you in their place. So that's exactly what I'm going to do. You can be upset, but that doesn't change the fact you need training." It came out harsher than Kite intended it to.

"We don't need your help. I sure as hell don't want it." Killua spat out.

Yet as he realized his choice of words, he froze.

'Language!'

It was like he could hear you. Your scolding. Damnit. He knew you wouldn't have wanted him to be mad at Kite. No, you liked him too much for that. You probably would have said something about focusing on the future, instead of what was in the past.

But he was just too mad to care.

He took a few steps before he was pulled back. He turned around with a scowl. But it was Gon who stopped him.

"Killua, we're not strong enough to do this by ourselves. We can't afford to be stubborn right now. And Y/n chose Kite. They trust him, so you gotta too. Do you think they'd be happy with you being mean to someone they cared about?"

No, no you would not be happy.

It was frustrating.

Killua wanted to hate Kite for leaving you behind, but he just couldn't. He was mad at himself for freezing up. For being too weak in the first place to help.

He knew it wasn't the silver haired hunter's fault, not entirely. For you. He was gonna give him a chance for you.

"Fine, but mess up one time, and you're out." He warned, making sure to point at Kite.

And that was enough. He didn't need the boys to love him the way they did you. Their trust would be enough to get through this.

It was a proper start.

—----------------

The first few days had been awkward. Trying to settle in as well as cope with your absence. The small home they occupied was quiet. Kite not wanting to press any boundaries yet.

He'd give the boys time to recover mentally before moving forward.

They seemed to be feeling better on the fourth day. Opting to search for clues on Morel's pupils instead of sitting in silence. 

They'd run into a woman named Palm that day. Turns out she was the other hunter's pupil: Knov. Her objective was the same as theirs. And even though she was on their side, there was something off putting about her. 

Especially as she absentmindedly continued adding sugar to her coffee while talking.

All three of them silently agreed you would've disliked her. Something foreboding radiating off.

"And I thought Y/n liked sweet things." Gon noted once she left.

"Yeah, she was just eating wet sugar at that point." Killua agreed with a shiver.

The mood had significantly lightened. Conversation flowing easier now that they had something to distract them.

"You know it's not nice to judge a book by its cover." Kite lightly scolded. 

A quirk of the brow from Killua let him know it didn't come out as blunt this time.

"Yeah? Well I am, and the cover's screaming 'Weird Lady Who'll Probably Kill Us In Our Sleep!'"

He had to disguise his laugh with a cough. Gon other hand, was cackling along with the other one. It was the first time they smiled in days. Things wouldn't be as tense now.

They made their way back 'home' after paying for their meals. Well, Kite had payed for them after much protest from the duo. 

"You can't buy my affection, I'm already rich." Killua pouted.

"Yeah, we can afford it so don't worry," Gon agreed.

"Then you'll get the next one. Think of it as a way of making amends."

It was a plausible explanation, but not the full truth. It was just a habit to take care of those around him. It'd become one after looking after the amateur hunters for so long. He didn't mind it.

It wasn't expected of him, but he preferred to either way.

He stopped abruptly in front of the door. Sensing a dark presence inside. Perhaps an ambush from Morel's pupils.

"Something wrong?" Gon asked.

"There's someone inside." Kite warned. 

"What do you mean there's someone inside? Are we being robbed or do you think it's…" Killua started.

"I can't say for certain, but keep your guard up."

But before any of them could move, the door quickly swung open.

"AHHH! WHY ARE YOU IN OUR HOUSE!" Gon screamed, now hiding behind the taller male.

"I thought it would be better if we stayed together. We'd have a better chance of killing Morel's pupils this way." Palm explained.

"So you just broke in!?!" Killua accused.

"You weren't here, so I decided to let myself in."

Alarm bells were ringing. She really thought what she did was justified. 

"Hey, substitute sibling, do something about the scary lady." Killua whispered, tugging on the sleeve of Kite's shirt.

Now the Y/n response would have been to tell her off and send her away. You always did have a knack for getting people to listen to you when you were mad.

However, Kite wasn't confrontational by nature. He wasn't a fan of the effort it took to argue. And at this point, it might've been a good idea to take all the help they could get. Still, it was wise to be cautious around Palm.

"You'll be staying with us for the month?" He asked.

"But of course, we are teammates after all. Though I have to warn you, I might not be so pleasant by the end of the month. You are positive they'll be able to kill Morel's pupils, right?" 

He didn't like the way her aura darkened. This woman was unstable. No wonder her mentor left her behind.

"Just don't get in the way and they'll be fine."

The boys spared him nervous glances, not exactly thrilled to be sharing a space with Palm. The more on edge they were, the harder it'd be to get them to focus on training. 

The objective just became even more difficult.

—----------------------

The first week of training had gone about as well as Kite thought it would. The boys had potential, they just needed the experience to go with it. Challenging them to a fight only further proved it.

Gon was too reckless, relying too much on his Jan-Ken instead of focusing on his surroundings. The amount of time it took to charge up left him wide open for attacks. It also used a lot of nen to start up. Energy he could've been using for other attacks.

Killua, on the other hand, was too cautious. Hesitating everytime he made a move to strike. Staying purely on the offense to try and read Kite's movements. But it wouldn't make a difference if he kept to the sidelines. Waiting for an opening instead of making one. 

There was a lot of work to be done if they even had a hope of beating Morel's pupils. But it wasn't just their strength they needed to work on. It was also their minds. They were too distracted. Auras weighed down by grief.

They missed you, but they wouldn't get anywhere by worrying about 'what if's.'

The second week had been a bit easier, with both boys making corrections to the way they fought. However, there was still something a bit off with the small assassin. 

While he was getting faster, he was still incredibly hesitant. Going in for a hit and backing away last second. It was during one of 'these attacks' that Kite noticed something.

There was a malicious aura near his forehead. Something dark with a feeling of bloodlust. Was there something planted inside of his head? Who would do something so cruel to a kid?

"Time out!" He called, making sure to unsummon his Crazy Slots.

"What? Did you hurt your hip or something, old man?" Killua teased. 

It was one of the many remarks Kite chose to ignore. Though this one was in more good faith than the previous ones. He gestured to the center of Killua's forehead.

"There's something there. Did your family put a tracker on you by any chance?" Because that was the only plausible explanation for what it could be. It was the only thing Kite could fathom being the reason.

But as Killua's face dropped and he started frantically scratching at his head, he realized it was much more than that. 

Fingers digging into flesh as a needle was slowly pulled out. His first instinct was to try and patch up the new wound. His second was to ask just what the hell that was. What did it do?

"Damn, he really got me," Killua mumbled.

"Don't tell me that's Illumi's?" Gon asked, eyeing the bloodied needle.

"It is. That's why I haven't been able to fight properly. I kept hearing his voice telling me to run away." 

So he knew the person that did this. Kite didn't know if that made it better or worse.

"If you don't mind me asking, who is Illumi?" He questioned.

"My big brother. Y/n would have hated him."

Definitely worse. What kind of monster would implant a needle into their little sibling's head? And why was Killua acting like it was normal? What other cruel things had he gone through to be this desensitized?

Maybe he understood your protectiveness a bit more.

"Hey, don't tell them about this when they get back, okay? I don't wanna stress them out." Killua added.

It was always a matter of 'when' with you. Not 'if.' Because for whatever reason, they refused to consider the possibility of you dying. And maybe Kite started to believe it too. It made things a little easier to pretend you were still okay.

It made moving forward easier.

And unbeknownst to him, that was the moment Killua gave him his full trust. No longer bitter towards him for leaving you. He was finally able to accept that it was your decision to stay. That Kite would be a good match for you.

He already put up with all of his tantrums, after all. Giving nothing but patience. And Killua appreciated it.

He already knew Gon forgave him long ago. How even though he was upset, was still grateful Kite stuck around.

He may not have been you, but he was doing a great job so far.

Kite had called it a day, telling the boys to get cleaned up before dinner. Although he wasn't too fond of Palm's presence, he was thankful she offered to make them food after training. His thoughts couldn't help but drift to you now that he was alone.

Did you ever cook?

It was embarrassing to think about you that way. Your affection for each other was mutual, but it didn't have a chance to go any further than that. So why? Why was he starting to wonder what it would be like to have you as a partner? To be able to explore these feelings.

It was best to push those thoughts down for now. Not to get his hopes up.

He hardly noticed when Plam approached him, her voice slightly startling the silver haired hunter.

"I do hope I'm not rude for saying this, but I'll let you decide how to train them." She started.

"However, if after a month we determine it would be impossible for them to defeat Morel's pupils, I sincerely doubt that I would be able to restrain myself."

At that Kite tensed up. Sensing her aura get darker by the second.

"What do you mean by that?" He was a bit worried about her answer. Especially since she'd given the same warning at the start of the boys' training.

"I must go to the NGL. I want to go right now in fact. If I'm forced to wait and wait and wait and then I don't get to go...Then I may end up killing you all." 

He quickly unleashed a protective aura.

"You won't lay a hand on those boys." Up until this point, he thought Killua's joke was just that. An exaggeration. He didn't really think Palm would act out on violent intentions.

But that was proven to be wrong. If she tried anything, he wouldn't hesitate to put a stop to it. Their safety was priority number one. 

No matter what, nothing would happen to those boys.

"I don't want to hurt them, which is why they should give up sooner rather than later. My rage won't be as bad as it would be then." Palm explained.

"They'll win, and even if they don't, you won't do a thing to them. Not on my watch." He sent her a small glare, singling the end of the conversation.

Palm didn't push any further.

Dinner was an experience that night. It started off with an innocent request from Gon that soon turned into chaos.

"Hey Kite. When we get Y/n back, is it okay with you if we spend the first day with them?" He looked a little embarrassed to be asking.

It made sense. The boys missed you like crazy. Who was he to deny them of catching up with you? Still it was odd Gon was asking for his permission.

"I don't see why not…Why do you ask?"

Nothing could have prepared him for his next choice of words.

"Well, I know you two really care about each other. And Y/n really likes being around you. So I wanted to make sure we'd get to spend a little time with them, too."

Kite sputtered over a response, not expecting the boys to have been so observant of your actions.

"Look, we're not even-" But Killua cut him off with mischief littering his aura.

"That reminds me! We gotta set some ground rules if you're gonna be dating our big sibling."

Kite's face went even redder. The last thing he wanted was to discuss your relationship with a bunch of kids. And you weren't even dating! 

"Please don't."

But did they listen to his plea? No. 

"No kissing or hand holding. None. I'll bite you if I see it."

"And no flirting with other women or men! If you make them sad I'll bite you." Gon added.

There had to be a way out of this conversation.

"I think my team's calling me." He tried to get up and leave, but was once again stopped by the sound of Killua's voice.

"Hey! We're not done talking to you! No stealing them away from us when we wanna spend time with them! You'll have to go somewhere else!"

Yeah maybe he understood why you called them demons so much. They were a bit more lively than he was used to handling. More persistent too.

But he couldn't deny enjoying their company.

He could see why you cherished your little family so much. 

"Dad! Don't leave!" Gon whined before slapping a hand to his mouth. 

Oops. He hadn't meant to say that. It was an honest accident. But Kite really was the closest thing he ever had to a father. He felt it more than ever this past month with the way Kite was taking care of them. 

Stern, yet caring.

Very different from the way you treated them, yet very similar. So while he hadn't meant to call him that, a small part of him felt that way.

Yet Killua's immediate teasing didn't help ease his embarrassment.

"You gonna stop looking for Ging now?"

He'd just barley missed the way Kite's eyes softened at the word.

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

They'd won.

They'd actually won and defeated Knuckle and Shoot. Both boys being completely exhausted from the ordeal. But they'd be damned if they weren't the ones to go into the NGL and get you back.

Seems even Netero was surprised by outcome.

Nevertheless, a deal was a deal.

By morning, Kite and the boys, along with Palm, were on their way back to the entrance. Meeting up with the rest of the extermination team before heading towards the nest.

The floors were empty, the ants having already evacuated. The King must've already hatched. They were too late to stop his birth. 

The various 'rooms' in the nest were vacant. Except one, which caught the attention of the boy in green.

"Guys!" He called out. 

The others entered the room, disgust quickly overtaking their expressions.

In that room must've been hundreds of giant meatballs. To the side of them were mountains of clothing and various accessories. Meaning those things…They were made of humans.

Killua picked one of the balls of meat up, inspecting it with a frown on his face. These poor people.

Gon approached the pile of clothes and froze. He picked up one singular article of clothing, catching Kite and Killua's attention.

This was your shirt. The one you'd been wearing throughout the expedition into the NGL. Soaked through with blood. And was that-

Your shoe.

Just one. Because you had thrown off the other one when you crushed that ant's skull. 

But surely it was just a coincidence. And they would've believed that had Kite not picked up what looked like his hat.

The one he gave you when you'd gotten upset with him that night. 

You'd been here.

"Y/n??" Gon cried in disbelief.

"Oh god, no please! Y/n!" Killua shouted, grasping desperately at Gon for support.

Was one of these balls of human flesh you?

Just like that you'd been killed and fed to the queen? Leaving not even your body for them to find. Just the remains of your clothes. 

And what about if you were still in this room? What could they do if they didn't even know which one was you?

All this time fighting.

All this time spent getting stronger.

And what was it all for if you were already dead?

"I'm so sorry boys." It was the only thing Kite could think of to say. Too shocked to properly give them any comfort. Because he'd believed you were alive too.

He figured if you died, there would at least be remains to bring back. Or maybe it would have been better if they found nothing at all. Because this...

Seeing what the ants did to humans to prepare them for the queen's consumption.... Horrific was the only way to describe it. 

This was your fate.

He should have stayed.

He should have gotten you out of there.

He should have tried to fight with you.

You didn't deserve this.

And the ant that did this to you would pay.

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

They spent another two months training. The boys inconsolable after finding out what happened to you. The only thing keeping them going was the thought of defeating the ant that killed you. 

And once again Kite had stayed. Sharing their ambition, but not wanting them to be consumed by it. Killing that thing wouldn't bring you back.

It might help them feel better, but you wouldn't have wanted them to dirty their hands with revenge.

Yet their resolve grew along with their strength. Preparing to enter East Gorteu and finish off the Chimera ants once and for all.

—-------------------

Knuckle and Meleoron were fighting with Youpi. Morel was distracting Pouf. And Netero just left with the king. Meaning Pitou was by themselves. The cat ant responsible for your death.

"Keep your guards up, and don't let your emotions get the best of you. The ant will use that as an opening to end your life. Got it?" Kite instructed.

Both boys nodded before starting to approach the turret's entrance.

But something was off. It was eerily quiet. The night still…until a being jumped down from the top of the tower.

All three of them immediately jumping back as the debris cleared. It was another ant. This one dressed head to toe in armor. It produced a strong Ren, yet it wasn't malicious. 

"Go any further than that and I'll stop you. I would prefer not to end children's lives, so run on home." It spoke.

And although the voice was muffled, something about it was familiar.

"We're not going anywhere, so get out of our way!" Gon shouted before lunging forward with a punch.

The ant easily dodged it, jumping to the side from another attack by Killua. 

"You two should've waited," Kite scolded before summoning Crazy Slots.

"TWO!"

Kite glared as his scythe appeared.

"Damn, not a good spin." 

But before he could use Silent Waltz, the ant jumped on top of the gigantic blade and kicked him square in the jaw.

They were fast.

He skidded a few feet before charging forward. The boys following suit, yet this thing was very skilled.

Ducking away from a slash and skittering back from one of Killua's lightning-based attacks. Grabbing both of Gon's hands and throwing him across the bridge.

"We'll never get past this thing!" Killua shouted, glaring the armored ant down.

Kite couldn't help but notice something about this enemy.

It didn't make a move to attack them from a distance. It stood guarded, yet still as Gon approached once again. And when he passed a certain point, then and only then did the ant strike.

But not with the intent to injure him. 

Just keep him back.

It was protecting something. Pitou perhaps? If they could just distract it long enough…

"Boys, you know when to jump, correct?" 

"You have an idea?" Gon asked after getting tossed back for the fifth time.

"Yeah, just be ready." 

With that, Kite brought his scythe back, preparing to swing it. And just like last time, a heavy fog rolled in. But the ant didn't seem fazed. 

Almost like it could see through it.

Kite took a few steps forward before letting his scythe slash through the air. A cyclone of wind encompassed him. 

But it dispersed before it could do any damage. The ant making one swipe with their arm. The power from it canceling out his attack.

"That won't work on me!" It shouted.

"But this will! Jan-Ken-Rock!" 

A fist coated in a fiery nen made contact with its helmet, knocking it off. The ant tumbled to the side, not expecting Gon's punch. However, that wasn't enough to keep it down.

It got up with a scowl, and as they got a good look at its face, their hearts dropped.

"No…It can't be." Kite whispered.

"You-You-Why are you here!?!? We thought-!" Killua had to stop himself. Unbelieving of what he was seeing.

"Y/n!?! You're okay!?!?" Gon exclaimed. His being lighting up with relief, but before he could approach you, Kite stopped him.

"That's not Y/n."

Because even though it had your eyes, your tired eyes with familiar circles under them…Even though it had your face…. Even though it had your voice…. Even though it had your speed…

This thing was not you.

It couldn't have been.

You would never fight the boys. You never would've attacked them. You would've rather died than hurt them.

The fox-like ears on the side of your head were a telltale sign that even if it was you, you were a chimera ant now. Your purpose was to serve the king.

So for the sake of keeping his sanity, this thing was not you.

"Y/n, c'mon! Why are you fighting us!?! Why didn't you try to get away!?!" It was Killua who was pleading with you now.

But you didn't react. 

You didn't move an inch until the boys tried getting closer to you.

"I already told you not to come any closer. If you do, I'll have no choice but to kill you."

Your words felt like daggers.

You never would have threatened them.

"Don't you remember us!?!? You're supposed to be the big sibling and we're your little brothers! Stop pretending, Y/n!" Gon pleaded.

You gave an uninterested stare. Blank and emotionless.

"Why do you keep saying that name? Was that perhaps related to my human life? I'm sorry to tell you the person you speak of no longer exists. I am simply known as The Knight." 

It was your voice, but it didn't sound like you. 

"What did they do to you!?!? The Y/n I know never would have allowed these things to brainwash them, so what happened!?! Be mad at us! Something! Just stop acting like you don't know us!" By this point Killua was sobbing. Gon crying with him.

And the more you just stood there, the more they broke. They expected everything except this. Except seeing you face to face.

"Boys, stand down." Kite ordered.

He told them not to let their emotions get the better of them. He warned them to be prepared for anything. And if they couldn't fight something that looked like you, then bringing them here was a bad idea.

They just couldn't handle it. 

The both of them backed away from you hesitantly. Wishing for a way to get you to remember. 

"I'll distract them. You two need to be able to get past them. Pitou is definitely inside. If you can manage that, you'll be fine. If you can't, go home while you still have a chance."

The duo nodded begrudgingly. Wiping away their tears before preparing to run.

Kite lifted up his Scythe once more, eyes piercing through your own. He watched you prepare to attack, no longer defending.

Your familiar aura radiating off. 

But it wasn't you.

This wasn't you.

And even if it was, he had to do this. He couldn't afford to hesitate. He couldn't-

"I think I like you…Is that bad?"

He froze mid swing, giving you the opportunity to swipe his legs. Your hand poised to pierce his throat. Of all times to hesitate, it had to be the one where you intended to kill.

Time seemed to slow.

Seconds feeling like hours as the boys ran past before stopping. Turning around and watching as your hand inched closer and closer to Kite's throat.

He prepared himself for the pain, yet nothing came. He glanced up at you confused. And to his surprise, your expression matched his.

"Huh. That's strange. My body won't let me kill you." Your hand shook, fighting with yourself to move. Yet for some reason it didn't.

"Tell me, what kind of trickery did you use to stop me?"

And it was at that moment Kite realized even if you didn't remember, your body did. Your body knew him. It was why you never really hurt the boys when they were fighting you. He wanted to fight off the hope it gave him.

To kill you while you were distracted, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Because somewhere inside, you do remember. No matter what the ants did to you." 

The ears on your head flickered for a second. Your expression thoughtful. The hand ready to kill him being set down for the time being.

"What was I to you then?" 

Not what were you. Not who did you used to be. But what were you to them. To the boys, you'd been their big sibling. Family. To Kite, you'd almost been a lover. But undoubtedly, you'd been important to all three of them.

"Our friend...We were almost more than that."

You backed away completely. 

"Then I'll give you one more chance to turn back. I won't stop next time." 

All the hope gone in one full swing.

You were gone.

"Hahaha! Aww, did we break apart your family!" A voice laughed out. One that you tensed up at. Immediately kneeling on the floor.

"Lord Pouf." You addressed. 

The butterfly ant was much smaller than he'd been previously. Using his ability to split off into clones. He fluttered from above, cackling at the events that just transpired.

Kite glared at him while Gon and Killua prepared to kill him. Their current objective on hold. 

How dare this thing.

"Did I strike a nerve? Don't you three get it? No matter what you say or do, they'll never remember! We altered their brain to get rid of any memories they might've retained in their past life! It truly is a fool's game at this point!" Pouf explained with a wide smile.

But he really should have kept his mouth shut.

"You altered their brain?" Gon asked slowly. The darkness hidden away in his aura rising to the surface.

"It's your fault they're like this?" Killua added. His own anger leaking out.

This.....this was you.

And the ants had done something to your brain. The faint line of stitching across your forehead clued them in enough on what they had done.

All at once, three furious nens spiked. Consuming the entire top of the palace.

"Can you two promise me something?" Kite started. His voice eerily calm.

"If I'm able to restrain Y/n, promise me you'll take care of the royal guards. All of them."

"I'll take the cat," Gon said, crackling his knuckles as he stepped forward.

"And I'll take the butterfly. The real him." Killua wasted no time powering up to God Speed.

These ants really shouldn't have messed with you.

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

MASTERLIST

Tags: @fandomhoe101 @justxiao @bekataylorgriggs

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An: Nothing but fluff for the halloween special. Y'all deserve it after this one 💀💀💀

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #gon x reader #killua x reader #mayhaps a kite x reader??? #big sib reader #older reader #found family #x reader #platonic

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

So, this is my entry for the Halloween themed Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge hosted by @pedrocontestsrus Thank you for organizing this! And if anyone else is interested in entering the competition, here's a link to the post with all the info.

I chose Prompt #2 Theme: A Dark and Stormy Night. However, I suck at short, so this is basically just a teaser which I'm gonna have to continue outside of the contest.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Game of Thrones AU, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader is attacked and abducted. Also, this is my first time writing Oberyn. Word Count: 4041 Author's Masterlist

   You run at full speed despite the darkness, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the furious pounding of your heart, even though you know that he’s already gone and that your running would only scare him off if he wasn’t.    The woods have always scared you and even now, in your mid-thirties, you still panic when you’re alone among the creaking old trees, spider webs and nightly active animals, all of whom seem intent on eating you. At least, to your own imagination.

   “Damned it, Casper…” you breathlessly curse the horse for leaving you, once you’ve been forced to a stop by the pain in your lungs.

   He’s normally very brave but being in the woods in the middle of a building storm is apparently too much even for his stout heart.    So, you’re left to walk the remaining four miles to your house, and not for the first time, you find yourself wondering why the hell you’d chosen to live all the way out here, surrounded by the very woods that have always been such a source of discomfort to you.

   “Because that was all you could afford, dimwit,” you chastise yourself out loud.

   The house you now live in had been put up for sale after the previous owner had been missing for a few years and was eventually declared dead, despite her body never being found.    It’s small and old, but well maintained and very charming, so you’d been surprised to be the only one interested in it.

   You’ve lived there for over six years now and while it’s a bit secluded and a little too far from town, you do love it.    The hiking trails leading up to the seven hills that make up the east boundary of the region run right by your property, and in daylight, you love to ride or just wander up to the peaks and admire the view.

   There are rarely any larger wildlife passing through so for the most part, it’s quite safe, so long as you remember to bring water and check for lose rocks on the steeper sections of the trails.    But now, in the near pitch-black darkness of night, you can’t even recognize the trail you’re on. So, why are you even out here?

   Well, that would be because you’d started out in daylight, as usual, but then gotten involved in a search for another missing person in the hills, which had left you out there until well after nightfall.    You had of course expected Casper to bring you home safe and sound, like he usually does no matter what’s going on around him. But unfortunately, on this occasion, the horse had lost its footing and fallen to the ground.

   He’d gotten up without trouble, but since you’d no longer been on his back at that point, he’d gotten spooked, probably by the reins getting caught in his legs or something, and had taken off.    You hope that he gets home without hurting himself, but you’re also quite angry with him for not recognizing your voice and staying by your side instead of running off on his own.

   But your thoughts are disrupted by a creaking sound coming from behind you, a sound definitely not created by a tree.    You stop, feeling a cold shiver move slowly down your spine, and you know that you’re in danger. You have no idea exactly what is watching you right now, but you know that something is.

   You hear that same sound again, mere moments after the first, and even as you instinctively set off running, too panicked to even know if you’re still on the trail, your mind tries to work out what the hell that sound is.    The winds are picking up, building towards the forecasted storm that has all the kids in town excited because of how perfect it is for the Halloween celebration, but it’s making it so much harder for you to hear if something’s chasing you.

   Unable to stop yourself, you throw a look over your right shoulder, and a strangled scream escapes you when you catch a glimpse of something impossibly large and strangely shiny, and then just teeth.    You try to run faster but you can’t. The dark world around you is a blur as you wait for those teeth to sink into your flesh and torture you to death. It seems to take so long.

   And then it happens.    You’re snagged to a stop so quickly that it makes your legs lift off the ground as they’re kicked forwards by the momentum.    Something has your shoulder between its jaws, but that’s as much as you’re aware of before the world fades away and nothing exists anymore.

-=¤=-

   You wake up on a bed in a room with a strange ceiling and stone walls. You’re groggy and only half awake, so it takes you a moment to realize that there are paintings covering the ceiling, making the stones look kind of fluid.    Beautiful images of stormy seas and a red sunset flow across the domed shape, bringing it to life in a way that stone shouldn’t be capable of.

   Then you remember, and bring your left hand up to examine your right shoulder, half expecting it to just not be there. But it is, and it feels fine.    You sit up, relieved but also confused that there’s no pain, and as your bare feet hit the cold floors, your eyes are drawn to the rest of the room.    It’s round and there’s a window in every direction, revealing the daylight outside, but also every detail inside.

   The bed is easily large enough for two people, and the sheets and blankets are the softest you’ve ever felt. There’s a loveseat underneath one of the windows, with plush pillows leaned against the armrests. In the middle of the room is a carpet which you can tell just by looking at it, likely costs more than your house. And the curtains, four matching pairs, all a deep red, somehow seem both heavy and feathery light.

   There’s a door to your left, and it’s standing open, so at least you’re not a prisoner. But you don’t feel like one regardless. All of this is so strange, because you’re sure that something bit you, but you can’t find any wounds in your skin.    There are holes in your shirt, though. And where’s your jacket? Why are you barefoot?

   You head for the door and find a winding staircase leading down, so this is apparently a tower.    At the foot of the stairs is a corridor and then more stairs, twirling the other way this time, so you keep heading down, passing closed doors and empty spaces until you reach a pair of large double doors that are left wide open.

   There’s a fire crackling inside and your cold feet and bare arms have left you shivering, so you head inside, finding the biggest open fireplace you’ve ever seen, in the other end of the huge room.    It must be a ballroom or excessively large dining room, but it’s completely empty, save for a padded short stool in front of the fire.

   You sit and warm yourself, trying to think back, to remember any details that might help you understand what’s happened to you, but nothing comes to mind.    And then a movement to your right startles you to your feet.

   “My apologies, miss. I have a habit of moving quietly,” a dark and low voice says, and when you locate the man who that voice belongs to, you’re momentarily stunned into silence.

   He’s tall and broad, but quite lean, with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a beard trimmed to accentuate that. He wears no jewelry, but his dark green coat has golden threads and small embroideries on the cuffs and along the collar. Shapes too small for you to make out at ten feet of distance, but which from afar remind you of snakes.    Still, it’s his eyes that rob your brain of most its function.

   So dark, but also incredibly expressive. He’s curious, intrigued, but wary. As though you might pose a threat to him somehow, which seems impossible to you.

   “W-… Where are my shoes?” you manage to croak, still unable to break away from his eyes.

   “I took your shoes and your jacket to encourage you not to run away once you awoke. I’m afraid I am going to need you to remain here for the time being,” the man explains, and suddenly your brain wakes up in full.

   “So, I’m your captive, is that what you’re telling me?”

   “Yes, and no. You are my captive, as much as I am yours.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean? I have no idea who you are,” you counter, getting angry because that’s all you can do to keep from panicking.

   “My name is Oberyn, and this is my home. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like, but I would recommend staying away from the basement. Especially at night.”

   “Why? Do you have more prisoners down there you don’t want me to set free?”

   “Oh, there are cages down there, and many of them are occupied,” he says, while taking a few steps closer to you. “But I doubt that you would want to release any of the creatures that are locked inside.”

   Creatures? What the hell does he mean by that?    He’s only three feet away when he stops, just as the outside light catches his eyes at a different angle, and you can swear that you see something else within them. A bright golden shine seems to illuminate them from within for just a fraction of a second, as if reacting to the sun’s rays.

   “The tower is yours. I will not venture there without your approval for the duration of your stay.    But the rest of the castle is my domain, and you move through it at your own risk. Do you understand?” he asks, to which your anger flares.

   “Understand? No… I really don’t.    Who are you?! What is this place, where the hell am I?! There aren’t any castles anywhere near the seven hills! And what the hell was it that chased me last night, and why do I have bitemarks in my shirt but not on my skin?    What the fuck is going on?!”

   He lets you scream and rant without so much as a twitch bothering his mustache, and says nothing as you begin to pace in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms in silent defiance, but also an attempt to guard yourself against all this strangeness.

   “You were bitten by a serpent,” he quietly says, just as you’re about to give up and leave the room.

   “It was a lot bigger than any snake, and it had a lot more than two fangs,” you counter, all but spitting at him now, further angered by the notion that he might be trying to convince you that you imagined the whole thing.

   “I didn’t say that it was a snake,” he replies, and you stop pacing.

   “And what is a serpent if not a damned snake?” you challenge, but he seems unbothered.

   “Is that all it can be? You must think broader than that, young one.”

   His words make no sense to you. Serpent, snake, fucking danger noodle, it’s all the same.    And “young one”? He’s at most five years older than you.

   “Please, just tell me where we are?” you finally ask, deciding that there’s probably no point in trying to argue with this mystery man.

   He looks at you for a good minute then, as if trying to decide if he should answer, and you notice that he doesn’t blink a lot, which is surprisingly unsettling.

   “We are six hundred and nine miles from your home. Give or take a few dozen feet.”

   That takes you a second to process.

   “What!?” you almost scream, unable to take any more of this incomprehensible nonsense. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had a fucking helicopter hidden in the woods, or something?”

   “Take a look outside the windows,” he calmly suggests. “I’m sure the snow on the ground will help you come to terms with the truth that you are no longer as far south as you think.”

   Unwilling to take his word for it, you walk over to the nearest window, where the view makes your heart sink. Because he’s right.    Not only are there several inches of snow covering everything in sight, but you also don’t recognize the landscape at all.    And that’s when the realization of just how much trouble you’re in, finally dawns on you.

   Turning away from the window, you now meet your captor’s eyes, for the first time with fear brimming within your own. Unable to stop yourself, you try to back away from him but there’s a wall in the way, so you start moving sideways instead, heading for the open double doors of the room.    He doesn’t try to stop you, but just before you turn your back to him as you’re crossing the threshold, his expression turns incredibly sad.

   You run through the halls, fully panicking now and having no idea where you’re even going. But then another set of large double doors are in front of you, so you grab the handle on one of them and pull it open.    It’s the front entrance. You’re standing on the top ledge of another staircase, this one twisting off in both directions, leading down to a massive courtyard.

   There’s a fountain in the shape of a rearing Pegasus in the middle, so big that the lilac shrubs which surrounds it barely even reach halfway up its hindlegs. And beyond that, is a giant garden of cherry trees and rhododendron hedges, in the middle of which, a wide driveway comes straight through, right up to the courtyard.    A driveway that’s so long, you can’t even see the end of it, where it disappears into the surrounding woods.

   You couldn’t run from here even with your shoes and jacket.

   The freezing wind brushes over your exposed skin, making you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself while sorrow suddenly burns through you, bringing tears to your eyes.    But then something soft and warm falls over your shoulders and you flinch, spinning on your heels and quickly backing away, further out onto the ledge to try and get away from him, which means stepping into the icy cold snow in just your skin.

   “Please…” he says, and he sounds alluringly soft and inviting now, which only adds to your suspicions. “I have no intention of harming you.”

   “Then how about you tell me what exactly your intention is?” you counter, barely able to keep your jaws from clattering with how badly you’ve started shaking.

   He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, somehow looking sadder and more tired with each milliliter of air that escapes him.

   “I just… I’m sorry. Please, come back inside before you get frostbite on your feet.”

   “That’s n-not an answer,” you challenge, already trembling all over now.

   “I know, this is why I’m sorry, but how is hurting yourself going to help the situation?” he wonders, and you have to concede that it doesn’t.

   You huff once in defiance, and then step forward, allowing him to wrap the blanket around you. But you hadn’t expected him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you inside.

   “Hey, I c-can still walk, p-put me down!”

   “The floors are cold here. I will put you down once you’re in a room with a rug.”

   “Or you c-could just give me b-back my shoes,” you gripe, and he hums in what sounds like a thoughtful manner to you, as if he’s conceding that maybe he was wrong to take them from you.

   But he says nothing more, and as he carries you through the empty hallways, none of which look familiar to you because this place is apparently a damned maze, you steal a few closer glances at him.    His skin is in better condition than yours ever has been, to the point where even his stubble looks soft. And his hair looks flawless. Not one strand of the curls on his head seems damaged or less bouncy than the rest. And the same goes for his beard and mustache.

   His clothes are perfectly tailored, and they look new, but they don’t smell like it. Instead, the only smell you detect seems to be his, and it’s not at all unpleasant. Contrarily, the longer you smell him, the more inviting the scent becomes.    You’re somewhat embarrassed to realize that you’ve stopped shivering with the warmth that spreads through you from within, just from that delicious scent.

   The room that he finally turns into is small and smells of paper, reminiscent of the old bookstore in the city back home, run by a sweetheart of an old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of the missing woman who’s house you live in.    She was the only one who’d come by with a housewarming gift after you’d moved in. That’s how sparsely populated your social circle is.

   It looks to be an office, of sorts. There’s a fireplace here too, already lit and crackling warmly in the far corner of the room. To the left is a desk filled with scrolls of paper and what looks like old maps of countries you don’t recognize, and to the right are shelves filled with more scrolls, books and scraps of paper.    There’s an armchair and a small sofa in front of the fire, and he sets you down on the sofa before kneeling in front of you to inspect your wet and freezing feet.

   You’re about to argue that you’re perfectly capable of tending to your own extremities, but something about his touch stops you.    His fingers seem warmer than they should be, almost feverishly so, but more than that, his skin feels like it’s giving off tiny electric impulses where it meets yours. And the feeling is highly intoxicating.

   He quickly examines your feet and then sits back and looks up at you again, where a curious expression flashes across his features as he notices that you’re suddenly a bit out of it. He seems concerned at first, and then… is he blushing?

   “If I get you your socks and your boots, will you promise me that you will not go running into the woods and getting yourself lost?” he asks, sternly holding your gaze while he looks for any traces of deception in your answer.

   Except you don’t give any. Because you can’t make that promise. Not when you still don’t know why he’s brought you here or why he intends to keep you here.

   “I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I told you that we are much too far away from any other people for you to make it there alive in winter?” he sighs, and he does seem genuinely worried that you won’t believe him.

   “Actually, I do believe you on that part. I just also believe that dying while running for your freedom might be better than living in captivity,” you explain, and once again, something terribly sad comes over him.

   “I really wish you could trust that I don’t intend to harm you, young one.”

   “Why do you call me that? I can’t be that much younger than you.”

   He chuckles drily at that, but it’s a sound of hopelessness rather than bemusement.

   “If only that were true…” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor for a moment before he rises and leaves the room.

   When he returns, only a few seconds later, he’s carrying your shoes and wool socks, both of which he appears to have cleaned, hands them to you and then steps back while you put them on.    For a moment, you contemplate more questions, but the more you think about the strangeness of this whole situation, the more you just want to pretend that it’s a dream and that you’re gonna wake up and laugh at yourself any second now.

   “The tower’s mine?” you find yourself asking, instead of any real questions.

   “That whole wing is yours for as long as you’re here,” he nods.

   “And how long might that be?”

   “For now, I can’t say with any certainty, but hopefully no more than a few days.”

   He does look genuinely apologetic as he says that, but you’re relieved to hear it. Somehow, you’d envisioned being a captive for years, locked away in that tower. But there’s something innately honest about this guy. You have no reason to trust anything he says, and yet you do.

   “And what determines how long my stay ends up being?” you wonder, while rising from the sofa and daring yourself to take one step towards him.

   He doesn’t react in any visible way to your truly minimal challenge, but you wonder if perhaps he likes that you don’t just accept your circumstances when they don’t feel right to you. There’s a little glimmer in his eyes that might just be a hint of awe.

   “How long it takes me to figure out how you’re still alive,” he quietly answers, bringing you back to the severity of the moment.

   Turning away from you, he reaches for an old-fashioned candlestick holder, lights the candle and then hands it to you.

   “Living light reveals the path to the tower,” he says, as if that isn’t the most useless piece of information you’ve ever gotten, and then gestures to the open door.

   Utterly confused, you step out into the dusky hallway, half expecting the wooden door to slam shut behind you, but it doesn’t.    When you turn back to ask him which direction to turn, you find him right behind you, already showing you to the right with a gentlemanly open hand aiming that way.    You nod your thanks and begin walking, still without a clue as to what the candle is meant to show you. Until it does.

   Once the dancing light hits a certain wall, a faint glow appears in a thin line running along the wall, around waist-height.    You follow it, seeing it fade away as soon as the flame isn’t directly in front of it, and before you know it, you’re back at those winding stairs.    Walking back into the chamber at the top, you find that nothing’s moved since you left.

   You walk around the room, examining everything more closely, finding two large and fully stocked bookcases hidden behind drapes on either side of the fireplace. There’s also a closet built into the wall next to the bed, and there are very old dresses hanging in there, covered with dust, making you wonder who the girl might’ve been that those clothes had originally belonged to.

   Realizing that you haven’t asked your captor how to get food or how he intends to figure out how you’ve miraculously healed, you spend a few minutes pondering on whether you’ve got the energy to make the long walk back down to look for a kitchen and ask if you’re expected to come down from your tower at any specific times.    But ultimately, you decide to leave it for now, picking out a book instead. You’re too stressed still to be able to eat anything anyway.

   The book keeps you occupied for the entire afternoon, and it isn’t until it grows dark that you eventually close it and get up, intending to go looking for that kitchen.    You’d left the candle holder in the window that faces the front of the castle, although you can’t see the courtyard from behind the main structure, but as you go to pick it up, a movement outside catches your eye.

   Peering down towards the ground, you see a door swing open, and then something runs across the section of the yard that you can see. It’s so fast that you can’t be sure, but it looks like it could be what attacked you last night.    And it looks like… a dragon.    A dragon that just ran out of the same castle where you’re trapped.

Part 2

Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this and I'm nowhere near done with it. Huge Thanks to @joelswritingmistress for inspiring me to take on Oberyn, I didn't think I ever would.

If anyone wishes to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

#PedroHalloween2023 #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones au #modern!au #halloween writing #sirowsky stories

[ndlqzrz]

Heyyy I Miss seeing sharky things but can you write something about sharky getting jealous of like idk Trent Alexander Arnold (I have a major crush on this guy) flirting with reader not knowing she and sharky are in a secret relationship and he can’t go like “yo why you coming onto my girl” cuz that exposes their relationship, also if you don’t know Trent was in guess the soccer player vid. Also I love your writing ❤️

HEYY!! Love this request & love Trent🤭 He’s so..😻🙈, AHAHA BUT FR, love this request and as I said before im not the greatest at this stuff so sorry if its bad or not what you were expecting<3

Concealed - Sharky

Summary : Trent Alexander-Arnold, a Premier League player, attempts to flirt with you. Despite your efforts to stop it, the person most infuriated by this is Sharky, your partner.

Warnings : SLIGHT smut, very short😭

———

Taking a seat in front of the mirror, you got prepared for the video as the makeup artist worked their magic.

It was for the Beta Squad shoot, your hair had already been styled, but just as your makeup was nearly finished, Trent approached you.

Standing by your side, you exchanged greetings as he settled into the chair next to you.

Though you recognized him, as did everyone else, You didn't realize he was flirting until he asked for your number.

Your lips parted slightly, a moment of silence overcoming you. You knew you needed to say no, yet finding the right words to tell him that was what stopped it.

You couldn’t tell him you were in a relationship, especially not with Sharky. So what if you just didn’t say it was Sharky?

A faint chuckle escaped you as you met his gaze, ‘Im actually with someone right now.’ You replied softly.

For a brief moment his eyes widened, before he swiftly apologised to you. Both sharing a laugh, closing the situation.

You were just grateful that it was Trent, because who knows what would’ve happened if it was another guy.

Getting back to the makeup session, a sense of relief washed over you as that moment passed quickly,

however, someone who remained unsettled was Sharky, observing the scene from a distance.

He was furious, but how could he be? He held his head in his hands, thinking it was time to make your relationship public following that.

Glancing in your direction, he decided to wait until you were both home to discuss it, not wanting to cause a scene.

———

As soon as you both stepped through the front door, Sharky ushered you into the bedroom, his tone serious as he uttered, '’There's something we need to talk about’’.

Sitting next to him on the bed, you offered a hug asking, 'What's wrong baby?'’ His eyes met yours, searching for the right words.

"I think I want us to make our relationship public," he whispered. Your eyes widened, a smile spreading across your face in response to his words.

Giggling, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek, pulling him closer. "What made you change your mind so suddenly?" you uttered, curious about his change in perspective.

He glanced away, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Well... Trent," he replied, causing you to playfully furrow your brow. "He'll be embarrassed once he finds out you're my boyfriend," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. Sharky smiled warmly at your attempt, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in, kissing you softly.

As you smiled within the kiss, your hand caressing his hair, Sharky, chuckling softly, broke the kiss to meet your gaze. "Once our relationship is public, no one can ever hit on you again," he whispered, gently nibbling on your ear, causing your breath to hitch. With a whimper, you managed to murmur, "Love you..." as his lips trailed down to your neck. "Love you too," he murmured back in a soft tone.

———

Probably could’ve been way longer but I didn’t know what to do, maybe smut but you never know🤭

#sharky #beta squad #trent alexander arnold #aj shabeel #king kenny #kingkennytv #niko omilana #chunkz #ndlqz

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

warning/s: SMUTT. NSFW

Larissa came rushing into your shared bedroom in the middle of the day halting her work and postponing a meeting with Noble Walker, she had a firm goal of overcoming her frustration and need—that was you. She had enough of your games, had enough of the handful teasing, fingertips lingering on those delicate areas but never doing anything beyond to ease the building ache your touch ignited, the suggestive comments you carelessly give, she didn't know if you were aware of what your words were simply doing to her, stirring her thoughts and brewing up the perfect storm in her core.

The door busted open, Larissa's towering figure was prominent even with your eyes were fixated on the book you were reading. You remained relaxed, unfaltering as the door closed again, the sound of lock clicking followed by the intimidating noise of your partner's footsteps, waltzing across the room.

You ignored her, flicking another page but the interest had already dissipated and replaced by the eager anticipation. You mindlessly skimmed your eyes over the words that didn't seem to be comprehensive at the moment but you stood your ground—that was until you noticed her hastily pulling her underwear down her endless calves and leaving it crumpled on the floor.

It forced you to look, to watch her saunter closer to the end of the bed and crawled all the way up to you.

"Larissa." Her name sounded breathless, rolling from the tip of your tongue as she continued climbing on top of you. Your gaze marvelled over the woman's body, drinking in her delicious curves until you feel your teeth sinking down your lip.

"You're going to make me come." It was not a request but a demand. Larissa Weems was demanding you.

It sparked a smirk on your lips, and a glint in your eyes that Larissa knew all too well for her liking. Whatever the game you were playing, you've won it, she yielded and it made her furious but riding your face while being furious was better than touching herself in her office that only seemed to drive her mad in a negative way.

She'd rather have you with the sickening upturn of your lips while her legs were spread open, hovering your mouth and fucking her than nothing at all.

"Then come up here. Let's see how wet you are for me, Principal Weems." It took her breath away and paused briefly to control her senses.

The book was no longer occupying your hands, heedlessly chucked away somewhere and now they were urging the older woman to move past your hips where she halted. She was simultaneously soft and firm beneath your fingertips, a feeling you always devour.

With both of her knees situated on the sides of your head, her scent became stronger, it was wet and intoxicating, your hands automatically bunching up the rest of her skirt to reveal her cunt drenched with her own arousal.

The look of hunger darkened your eyes, Larissa swallowed as her body followed your lead, lowering herself closer and closer to your lips, her hot wet cunt ached from the first blow of breath and her hands travelled to the headboard, steadying herself until your tongue took its first lick.

"Oh, oh god, yes...mhmm just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me just like that." She was humming profanities generously so, as soon as you started sucking and occasionally dipping the whole length of your tongue in her hole, forcing and stretching it all the way up as best you could, your nose nudging the overstimulated bundle of nerves.

She had her head thrown back, while her other hand found purchase in your hair.

Larissa was careless, loud, unconscious and confident on top of you. Whatever comments she received from her past lovers about her weight, how they couldn't possibly handle her on top, how they couldn't last in bed with her, leaving her unsatisfied because she was a whole lot of woman and they were just incompetent asshole who didn't have it in them to pleasure her, were whisked away.

So it surprised you, yes, when she voluntarily positioned herself on top and it was more than what you imagined. More than everything you witnessed in your whole existence.

You wanted to praise her, tell her how beautiful she was just like that, how perfect she was and incredibly delicious but you focused on bringing her to the edge, focused on giving her the greatest pleasure of being tongue fucked that she started trembling and panting.

More whimpers spilling her luscious lips, grip tightening in your hair—another thing that used to scare her, she was aware of the strength she had, barely touching you in the first few times, afraid to leave marks and hurt you but you assured her, build her up and just showed her how much it pleased you than hurt you.

She was bringing herself to her own orgasm as much you were, grinding herself down and matching the pace of your tongue. She was close, so close to coming and you knew exactly what would trigger her orgasm.

Her left thigh was left abandoned, you brought your thumb right to her clit and pressed it firmly, then in circles while your tongue carried on licking and sucking her entrance.

The skin between her brows creased, she was looking down at you and your eyes were never leaving hers. The look on her face right now was enough to make you come right on the spot. Then tightening sensation in her abdomen snapped, her legs shook and she felt warm spread down her thighs.

Licking her clean was the next best thing to making her come, you stared at her, still on top of you but no longer grinding. Larissa looked down, flushed and sweaty, with heavy lidded eyes and a smile on her lips, her touch was tender on your cheek and you leaned to her and brought her hand to your lips to place a kiss.

The next thing Larissa knew she was lying on her back completely bare, you in between her legs, hovering her body and your lips ardently kissing her, her own hands relishing the feeling of your warmed skin under your shirt.

But in a minute you detached from her lips, begun kissing her down to the column of her neck, to her collarbone where her freckles become more visible in your eyes as her skin was flushed in angry red. Your lips were sloppy and wet, tongue drawing patterns on her skin until it reached her peaked nipples.

The desire you have for this woman was beyond you, that you render yourself helpless when she started moaning encouragements and praise for you.

You kissed her until she was more than convinced enough that you planted more than a hundred kiss to cover her whole body, even the area most lips in her past never reached and desired. She felt so loved.

Then she gasped as you plunged two fingers in her heat without preamble, gaze was intensely fixed on her and willing her body to surrender once more.

"You feel so good." It came as a moan from your mouth, Larissa arched toward your body.

In less than a minute, she clenches around you, legs spread wider to let you go in deeper and deeper, her nipples were too pink and sensitive from your mouth. "You're so tight around me. You're about to come again, aren't you?" you whispered just beneath her ear, where you buried your face as your thrust increased its pace that the bed started to creak.

Larissa only gave you a nod, her fingertips digging on your back that would later leave faint marks on your skin.

"I want to hear you say it, baby."

She was obedient, such a good girl, because she immediately responded with "Yes, god, yes, (y/n)."

"Your needy cunt has been desperate for this since morning, yes?" if there's anything that drove her mad, it was the conversation you always tried to elicit during fucking.

"Fuck, yes."

But her eyes shoot open, the building heat in between her legs plummeted. "What are you doing?" she cried, her head rose from the mattress and looking at you as if you've grown another head.

You were doing what she hoped you wouldn't—denying her to come just yet.

"You're not coming just yet..." you trailed off, during being finger fucked Larissa's head was pressed on the crook of your neck, her strong arms wrapped around your neck and pulling you close. It was perfect but you wanted to see her face, her eyes, her mouth dropping as she was about to come.

"I want to hear you louder. I want you to scream if you must. I want your legs to shake. I want you to look at me. Can you do that for me, baby?"

She nodded, overwhelmed with what you just said. You smiled "Good girl. I know you can.", and pecked her shoulder blades.

"Now here was I?" you wondered aloud in amusement before a wicked smirk washed over the sweet smile you had.

With three fingers in, Larissa screamed, unrestrained, careless of who might be lingering. She fell apart for the second time, holding your wrist and keeping your fingers inside her cunt like a cork as her orgasm took over her body. She leaked when you pulled, warm and thick juices covering your fingers and visible to her eyes.

Now clean and clothed, Larissa stood in front of you, a few inches taller in her heels. "I have to go." She mumbled, lips falling apart and the sound of her whimpers were pleasure to your ears.

"Okay." you simply replied while your lips mapped the expanse of her neck to the edge of her collar that limited you.

"You can go." You added. She was trapped between you and the wall next the door, she could push you away and you wouldn't fight her but she wasn't doing anything. Her body wasn't her own.

"I'm not going to stop you." She felt your lips on her clothed breasts. Her fingers tangled in your hair. And her breath hitched her throat when you lowered yourself down until you were kneeling, hands on her hips.

"I won't hold you back." Your hands skimmed under the hem of her skirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake then past her knees until she felt your fingers hooked around her panties and pulling it down tentatively, watching how she would assess the situation. Waiting to slap away your hands but she only watched you as well with her pools of sapphire eyes.

You gave her the same stare, not breaking eye contact until the littlest of fabric pooled down her ankle and she voluntarily stepped out of.

She took the biggest breath, bracing herself for your mouth to meet her throbbing wet cunt as if you weren't penetrating her just a few minutes ago. She couldn't believe how ready she was for you again.

You took her underwear and tucked them in the pocket of your shorts. Placed a kiss above her mound that was covered with her skirt and stood up.

Larissa was bewildered.

"We can finish this when you get back, Principal Weems." You whispered, breath hot on her skin before placing the softest kiss on her cheek, brushing your lips on the corner of her lips to tease her and she chased you giving you the satisfaction.

"I'll see you later. I love you."

In a blink of an eye, you were across the room latching the doorknob to the bathroom.

Larissa Weems returned to her office contemplating where to start her work when her mind refuses to think of anything else other than being fucked.

#larissa weems imagine #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie

[bingo6776]

Confrontation 2/2

wednesday addams x reader

3.8k

sorry there is so little dialogue! i have no idea how i want to write wednesday yet. also, this is definitely not proof read, but we move

feel free to give me tips on how to improve, or ideas for more x reader or maybe wenclair fics!

twitter: @mozzarella_ball

ao3: :Im_Just_Gay

Wednesday was well aware that she was difficult, stubborn, and obsessive. They were traits she had spent years cultivating to perfection.

 She never thought that she would one day be wishing she perhaps hadn’t gotten locking her emotions away down to such an art that she was no longer sure how she could express, or even feel them really. In a healthy way, that is.

 That’s why she had warned you against dating her a year prior, oh how you should have listened.

Yet when your mind flicked back to the moment when you had confessed your undying adoration for the dark-haired girl, you didn’t think of the warnings that fell from her lips, only how there seemed to be no real bite to words, and how delicate and cold her lips would feel against your own. It was safe to say that from day one, Wednesday had avoided committing herself to you in a multitude of ways, to protect your untainted heart.

 She had sworn to herself that when you finally saw her for who she was, she would let you go, reasoning that if she kept a modicum of distance between the two of you, she wouldn’t grow overly attached.

But now Wednesday had had a taste of what it was like to be wholly yours, and for you to be hers.

  It was euphoric.

  The bliss that usually filled her, therefore, being suddenly ripped from her because of her own faults made her feel like she had been dropped headfirst into a vat of acid, her skin melting off of her body, the fatal liquid slowly forcing its way to the traitorous organ that was her heart. Wednesday knew she would much prefer for this to be her reality compared to the path her life was taking now, without you.

 Perhaps she was meant to be alone, to continue her bleak existence in solitude, not only for her own sake but to protect those she loved from the destruction she wreaked onto their lives.

 She was a Raven, after all.

 And then she was pulled from herself destructive monologue when her embodiment-of-a-rainbow roommate all but smashed through the door.

 “Okay, Addams, brutal honesty time. You’re in pain, and don’t deny it, its obvious. But you need to get your shit together. I’m sorry you’re suffering, but that does not mean you get to force every student who slightly bugs you to suffer with you,” the blonde huffed, her fists clenched by her side as she stood by Wednesdays bed.

 The furious werewolf only amused the girl, because she could make them suffer, and she would continue to do so, quite happily actually.

 Wednesday only smirked in response, turning back to the novel in her lap – she hadn’t been able to properly read without getting distracted since you had left, yet it was still a good prop for getting people to leave her alone. If you hadt wormed your way into her black heart, she would have had grandmama unleash thousands of curses upon you and your family for being the only thing she could think of.

 However, the book was failing her, if Enid’s consistent rant was any indication. Damn, the werewolf could talk.

 “- you cannot sit in the quad shooting arrows at people chewing too loudly,” that was a reasonable response to Wednesday, maybe Xavier would finally learn some table manners, “and now Yoko is too scared to get any blood bags after you threatened to poison her for calling you ‘Nessy’,” again, beyond reasonable. A bit too lenient perhaps, she’d have to work on her threats. “You need to fix what happened between you and Y/n.”

 “There is nothing to fix,” she gripped her book harder, the hardback slightly bending under the grip, “the relationship wasn’t working. She could not handle me, she left. The end.”

  At that, Enid slowly exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment as she did so. “You’re my best friend, I’m worried. Y/n’s been avoiding us like the black plague when you’re around, and when she does talk to us, they aren’t the same. You’ve been well, you know, more Wednesday Addamsy, and whilst you might like to think it’s a compliment, its not. A second year almost had a break down when she bumped into you earlier, Wednesday, for gods sake.”

  And for the first time in her life, Wednesday avoided eye contact so actively she wasn’t sure shed eve be able to drag her eyes up from the floor. Not for the second year, no, that was quite amusing to hear, but hearing that you had stopped spending time with your friends because of her hit a nerve she hadn’t expected it to. She hadn’t known you were making sacrifices to your social life to stay away from her.

 “Suck up your pride and apologise, its for the best. You’ll both be happier for it.” And with that Enid went back to her own side of the room, whether from fear Wednesday’s next war path would be in her direction, or simply being over the levels of angst the goth had been showing for the last week, Wednesday did not know.

 Wednesday hoped it was as easy as Enid made it seem.

  Wednesday craved you. She craved your presence, your laugh, your touch. She missed the way you would laugh at whatever soulless pit of media you had fallen down during her writing time, she missed the feeling of you leaning against her as you painted Thing’s nails.

 The never halting force of time meant that one week without you, had turned into a pitiful two weeks.

 Why hadn’t you come back to her, declaring your love for each other as a stronger force than this fight?

  She thought herself pathetic at the way her eyes would follow you wherever you went, latching onto you as if she were memorising every part of you until you walked away from her, again.

 Once, when passing each other in the hallway, she had tried to make your eyes fall on her, to overwhelm her with your gaze.

 You didn’t spare her a glance.

 You had so desperately wanted to fall into the never-ending darkness that were her eyes, to let her swallow you whole, to consume you. But if she truly wanted you, would she have not made some sort of indication already? She hadn’t so much as breathed in your direction for all you knew.  The key words being ‘for all you knew’, being so caught up in your own internal turmoil, you missed her seeking gaze, not seeing the way the tall Stoner girl that was walking by your side shrunk as you ex-girlfriend’s murderous eyes settled on her. She was in Wednesday’s place, by your side. Unacceptable, how dare she.

 A metallic taste filled the sadists mouth as she chewed veraciously on her own cheek to stop herself from calling your name, forcing herself to believe that you are incompatible. She was too morbid and dark, you were too soft, too innocent.

 She missed the way you turned around to catch a glimpse of her retreating figure.

 -----

 one week, to two, to three.

 You didn’t know how much longer you could take of not having Wednesday, in any capacity. You had thought she would have cared for you enough to at least attempt to be friendly, as friendly as Wednesday can be anyway. God, you just wanted her to threaten your life, to say she’ll pour silver down your throat in your sleep if you laugh too loudly again, only to smirk in such a small way that only you would ever be able to catch on to it.

 In your eyes, you were made from each other. Soulmates, made from the same stare, destined to live out your lives together. Apparently, she did not, over time you just hoped you could come to terms with feeling as if a limb had been sliced from your body, leaving a gaping wound and an unbearable pain in its place.

 And this is the very reason why in every class the two of you shared, you practically begged one of your friends to switch with you.

 “C’mon, I’ll owe you big time! I’ll do whatever you want for a week,” you all but whined at Yoko, you almost cringed at how desperate you looked when you saw your reflection in her tinted glasses.

 “And how many times do I have to tell you that I do not, in any capacity, have a death wish. I’ve grown rather comfortable in my immortality, thank you very much,” the vampire quipped, adding a quick ‘I learned my lesson last time.’ She still hadn’t drank a meal that she wasn’t scared was tainted with Garlic, she’d run to the infirmary not once, but twice thinking she had been poisoned – the first time she had drank too quickly, so no it was not her stomach pains being the first sign of her death, the second was just pure terror of the Addams’ unwavering eyes staring at her in the quad as she ate, making Yoko certain Wednesday just didn’t want to miss a second of her future torment.

 You looked up at the clock, there was only a few minutes until the class began, you knew the girl you were avoiding with everything in you would be here soon.

Sighing, you pulled out the best weapon in your arsenal. You would have felt guilty if gothic vampire hadn’t looked so smug as you begged for her to switch places with you.

 “If you don’t give your seat up right now, Tanaka, I’m telling Divina that it was you who lost her favourite book, and not Ajax.” Just to ensure you were getting your point across, you looked towards the siren through the classroom window. Divina, the usually calm and collected girl, had literally hunted the gorgon boy until she tired herself out.

 “You- you wouldn’t do that; you know she’d literally banish me from our dorm.”

 “Yoko, I am so far from kidding.”

 After a beat of silence, the vampire gathered her books as quickly as she could, muttering a “I’m going to shove a stick of wolfsbane up your ass.”

 Smiling in response at what you hoped was a joke, offering a dramatic sigh and “I wish it hadn’t come to this, maybe we can be friends again someday,” earning a snort from the now moody immortal.

 You were just glad that Enid had taken pity on you and sat next to she-who-shall-not-be-named in the classes where the rest of the students were too scared to even glance n her direction, for the first week you had just decided not to turn up to lessons. But alas, you were smart, but not smart enough to keep your grades up with no classes, no matter how badly you wanted to never have to lay eyes on the girl who still held your heart in her hands.

 Yet, despite the distance between you and the girl who tore your heart from your chest and thew it to the ground as if it was nothing more than an inconvenience to her oh so important mystery, you missed having her cool thigh against your own, missing the way the smell of ink, and dusty parchment encompassed you.

 Day by day your hopes that she would pull her head out of her ass dwindled.

 Yoko was astounded by how oblivious you were to Wednesday’s dark eyes were burning a hole in the back of your head, as if she could command your eyes to be on her.  

Unsurprisingly, you were both oblivious to the way Yoko was absolutely shitting herself convinced that if she breathed too loudly, or her if her pen was too loud against her paper, the Addams’ eyes would turn to her, killing her on the spot like the most powerful Gorgons used to be able to do, until they became no more than domesticated pet owners.

That class you had taken no notes, too busy trying not to see fi Wednesday was looking at your, Wednesday not having taken any being too busy to do everything to get you to notice her longing filled gaze.

 Of course, Wednesday was also drawing up more plans on how to torture the vampire as she sat beside her, thrumming with barely contained rage and debilitating melancholy.

  It was only when your separation from Wednesday was nearing the one-month mark that she felt she was going to go insane if she didn’t talk to you.

 She couldn’t function without you by her side.

 When she played the cello, the notes sounded dull and lifeless, a shadow of the swooping and haunting tones she used to be able to pull from the instrument when you had sat on the balcony with her, awe glimmering in your eyes, enjoying the comfortable silence that engulfed you once she had finished.

 Her writing had also taken a blow. She may have loved silence, but now she couldn’t handle it unless it was disrupted by your breathing, knowing you were merely feet away from her. One night, she had become so frustrated with the way she couldn’t move Viper’s story forward, she had taken to relentlessly hammering at the keys of her typewriter, no longer gracing them with her usual precise and delicate touch.

 Enid was lucky she still had her life after her threats of throwing the piece of equipment out of the window if there was even another tap on the keys, let alone another god forsaken ‘schwing’ as the werewolf referred to it.

  She hadn’t been able to sleep, her nightmares usually filled with the screams of the boys she’d allowed her piranhas to feast on, or the countless other poor souls who crossed her path, had been replaced with soft dreams of your voice, your hands combing through her hair, whispering sweet nothings whilst she was in your embrace.

 She woke up missing the feeling of drowning in everything that was you.

  She had spent the day watching you from afar in the quad, poking at your food, you would smile brightly at your friends who never noticed the dim look in your eyes.

 Her night consisted of sleeplessness – the only happiness Wednesday pulled from the agony she found in sleep was the dark circles that had grown under her eyes, she thought she looked more and more like a walking corpse each day. It was quite the ego boost.

 Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made her take the walk across campus to be standing in front of your dorm.

She had been able to walk to the dorm.

Now all she had to do, was actually get into said dorm.

 The Addams would never have thought she would be scared of a door. The psychic knew you were awake, like her you were a night owl and a morning person all rolled into one. That and the soft glow that was seeping from the bottom of the door.

 Gritting her teeth, she opened the door.

  Now was no time for manners.

 At the sudden intrusion, you sat up in your bed, phone clattering to the floor, your eyes were wide and alert, claws having ripped through the blanket that was previously covering your body.  

 “You can’t fuck do that, Wednesday,” you panted out. “I thought I was going to be murdered, Jesus.” The brief shot of adrenaline that ran through your body at the surprise visit stopping you from immediately telling the shorter girl where she could shove her probably half-baked apology.

 ‘I swear to everything good and holy under the moon, if she’s here to ask for my help on the murders, there’s going to be another body added to the list’ is what ran through your head as you stared at Wednesday.

 Completely ignoring your comment, Wednesday made strong and purposeful strides – her façade of confidence completely different to the anxiety bubbling in her stomach as if a thousand scorpions had made their nest there – towards your bed, looking down at you as she left a respectable distance despite how desperately she wanted to launch her body onto yours, wind her arms around your waist as tight as she could and never let go.

 You could slash your claws across every part of her skin, reduce her to nothing but bleeding ribbons of flesh, and she would only hold tighter.

 “I am going to talk, I would greatly appreciate if you would listen until I have finished,” neither of you mentioned the slight waver in her voice.

 “Okay,” was the only word you could think to say, your brain filled with how beautiful she looked shrouded n the shadows of your bedroom. Stupid fucking brain.

 “I am sorry for I have been behaving, before the … event a month ago, and after. It was in no way acceptable for me to place my own obsessions above our relationship as often as I did, it was cruel and unfair,” her eyes bore into yours, searching for any desire you may have for her to leave her.

 “Wednesday, this isn’t going to fixed with a quick and easy apology, I appreciate it, but this wasn’t just a one time thing, it was so many I lost count, there was more than just the ignoring me. You lied about where you were when you put your life in danger, you had neglected every aspect of our relationship until you thought it was an acceptable time for you to remember me, and even then, it was more than likely just so you had a werewolf on your side as protection in the wood,” you looked away from her eyes briefly, before locking with them again. “God, that stupid ass fucking normie, Galpin, probably saw you more in the last week of our relationship than I did in the last month of it. Can you understand how shitty that made me feel, can you grasp that at all?” your chest was heaving from the lack of oxygen you’d had as you forced every piece of pain you had felt over the past month into your words.

 You had only realised you were crying when the salty liquid hit your lips, a headache already forming from the amount of tears you’d spilled over the ethereal girl in front of you.

 “Y/n, I-“ she felt tears welling in her eyes, fighting against the urge to push them back down to the dark corners of her mind,. “I love you more than what I know what to do with. My love for you burns brighter than any star in the sky, my heart beats for you and you only”

 Wednesday felt a singular tear roll down her cheek, you both knew that to the usually emotionless girl it was an astounding portrayal of trust and vulnerability. You were so entranced by the path the tear carved out in her skin, falling from her eyes, and trailing down her cheeks. So entranced that you realised you hadn’t said anything in reply, as you were opening your mouth, Wednesday spoke again, with in a much softer tone than you had ever heard from the girl.

 Wednesday had already walked further into the mess that were her emotions, she decided to let it all go, to let it all burst from her body in such a disgraceful cloud of colour. “I know what I am, I have never denied the parts of myself that make it hard for others to stay with me. They have never bothered me until I finally saw how it was hurting you, tearing you apart, and I noticed too late. I had tried to tell myself it was the best choice for us, we were not meant to be, your love for me misplaced and vice versa. But my love for you could never be misplaced. It has always been you, Y/n, it will always only be you.”

 “Wedne-“

 “If you no longer see our relationship as a possibility, I will understand. I will love you from afar like the moon loves the sun, I will be by your side even if you cannot see me, my adoration unwavering. But.. please. Y/n, please take me back. I will be better for you, i only ask that you be patient and help me become a better person for you. I need you.”

 You stared up at Wednesday, you mouth open as you gaped at not only the words that are filled with the emotion but the way the features on her face had morphed from their impassive stare to utter heartbreak, a desperation to have you be hers again. She could no longer stand the bitter taste that filled her mouth, the sour smells the invaded her nose, that were nothing like the way you taste, the way you smelt. Like a forest ablaze in the most glorious spectacle of destruction.

 No words that you could conjure up would be bale to beat the novelists, so instead you grabbed her hands, pulling her down onto your bed. Your lips found her own as you kissed her as deeply as you could, attempting to pour every ounce of love and passion you held for Wednesday Addams. You skin tingled with a thrumming electricity when her hands held onto your waist, trying to pull you closer as if she wanted your bodies to meld into one.

 You knew dating Wednesday Addams would come with its challenges, Wednesday was Wednesday. she was difficult, stubborn and obsessive. But she was also kind, and loving.

You both fell asleep entwined in the other arms; you had spent the weeks after working on your relationship. Wednesday had learned how to have, you know, emotions and not combust, you had both learned how to communicate better. The only serious argument that had caused Wednesday to give you the silent treatment is when you had told her she would “absolutely adore” the “masterpiece” you would grace her with if she just put on your headphones. ‘Dance Monkey.’ You had made her listen to Dance Monkey, you best believe it’s still used against you in your relationship

 The natural sadist had even finally promised to stop saying she had poisoned Yoko’s blood bags. Although, that didn’t stop her from holding a wooden stake to the vampires back when she had tried to sit beside her in class before you had arrived. And if anyone ever said the vampire would find garlic cloves left outside her dorm every now and then, there would be no way anyone could conjure up any evidence to say it was Wednesday. Her hands were clean.

 Thing still can’t get the smell of garlic from his skin.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams netflix #its so bad but we move #yoko tanaka #enid sinclair