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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 3 months

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John Wayne (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 1

Hiii! Inspired by the song of the same name by lady Gaga, and these two(flash warning for this one) edits of Predo Pascal(🤭) Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, making out, pet names, Miguel being a big ass flirt, slight nsfw but no smut. Mentions of hanging and death Lowkey highkey very cheesy and cliché but in a fun way.

(Y/N)- Your name.

Word count: 2.1k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Bandits, cowboys, shoot outs, saloon fights, all things you’ve heard rumors about the Wild West while you lived in the city. Your classmates telling you stories they’ve heard from a long distance relative or from a friend of a friend of a friend.

But as you sit down at your fathers office at his new job, you couldn’t help but think that all those stories were nothing more than that. Stories. Lame, boring, make-believe stories. Who would have know that being the sheriff’s daughter in a dum-fuck nowhere town would have been so uneventful, on an exciting day, he’d lock up a drunk. You wish your parents had just stayed on the east coast as you let out an exasperated huff, dropping your pencil on your school workbook, and you lean back in his chair, letting your eyes wander to the ceiling.

“Alright O’Hara,” The muffled sound of your father’s voice was heard from the outside of the door, followed by some clinking. Causing you to sit in the chair properly before he appeared through the door. “Ima need you to sit tight in this cell for a few days ‘til the state sheriff is able to get down here and give me your reward money.”

To your surprise, a man in cuffs came through the door first. Your eyes widened in silent curiosity as you studied the new mystery man. You've never seen him in town before, because you were certain you would have remembered a man as handsome as him.

He’s getting arrested by my father what the fuck is wrong with me?

Your father didn’t acknowledge your presence, but that didn’t stop the other man’s eyes from falling onto you immediately. The definition of tall, dark and handsome, a towering frame, tan skin, semi-permanent wrinkles in between his brows and at the end of his lips, in indication he scowls too much, and his muscles, they could easily snap you in half if he wanted to. Dark worn out blue jeans, dust brown cowboy boots, a black hat, a flannel that emphasizes his arms with ever movement and-fuck he caught you staring. Warmth flared all over your face as you finally tore your gaze from his, barely catching the small smirk and hmph he let out in amusement. How could he not? When his captor’s daughter is checking him out.

It seems your father didn’t catch your wandering eyes, but he sure as hell caught his mischievous look in his, the rage quickly filling his face as he tossed the larger man in the cell quickly after taking off his cuffs. Locking him in before pointing an accusing finger at him with his right hand, while his left gripped the iron bars tight enough for his knuckles to turn white as he spoke. “Don’t speak to my daughter, don’t look at my daughter, don’t even think about my daughter.” He hissed the threat, before turning over to face you, visibly relaxing as his tone softened. “Ima step out of the room to make a few calls. Yell if he causes you any trouble darlin’.” You nodded, your fathers eyes traveled down to your abandoned work, “And finish your school work, you’re lucky to be attending college.” He added before leaving the room, an uncomfortable silence falling on you and the unknown crook. Keeping your eyes glued to your notebook despite your mind being elsewhere.

“So.” He finally spoke after cleaning his throat, moving to lean against the iron bars of his enclosure. “What’s your name preciosa?” He asked, his head tilting and his lips twitched upwards as he watched you. (Sweetie)

“My father told you not to talk to me.” You fumbled out almost too quickly, the words coming out rushed and almost panicked much to your dismay. Your face warmed up once more as you could feel his eyes bore into you, your eyes remained downwards, your hands balled into fist on your lap as you try not to think about him watching you as if you were in a cage and not him. You were certain if you met his gaze your combust into flash hotter than the sun.

He let out an unamused laugh, shifting his head forward as three of his fingers went to grab the rim of his cowboy hat, taking it revealing his disheveled brown locks, slightly wavy from being covered.

“Does it look like I’m the type to listen to authority, sweetheart?” God the nicknames were making you weak in the knees.

“Well, no-“

“Come on gorgeous,” He cooed, “indulge me.”

You bit on your bottom lip as you mentally battled with the idea, your father probably wouldn’t like the idea, but if it’s just your name, then what’s the harm right?

With a small sigh, you finally gain the courage to meet his gaze, almost dropping it immediately when you notice the look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way your kitten looks at a loose mouse. Like he would pounce on you if he wasn't confined.

“It’s…It’s (Y/N).” You finally utter, it came out meek, soft, you hated how it almost made you sound weak. His brow raised as he brought his hand up to cup around his ear, a silent way of asking you to speak up, but you could tell by the way his smirk pulled up he definitely heard you. With a huff and an eye, you repeat your name, with more confidence this time.

He released a low whistle as his hand dropped again, “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to giggle at the compliment or roll your eyes at the cheesiness, his accident drawing out a bit more while emphasizing beautiful both times. You went with both.

“What’s your name?”you asked, getting up from the chair you were sitting in and making your way towards the cell, not too close but close enough for him to reach for your hand and gently raise it towards his lips, placing a gentle kiss on it, it made your whole body tingle as he threw you a quick wink and a playful smirk.

“Names’ Miguel O’Hara, but you can call me Mig.”

—

Your father had informed you that Miguel would be stuck with him for a few weeks, due to the state chief being preoccupied with the bounty on Jesse James’s head, they were close to changing him apparently and he had all his attention on him at the moment. When Miguel was informed he only scoffed and grumbled, seemingly moody that he wasn’t top priority. You found it funny, it’s as if he wanted a bigger prize money attached to him, coming out a few thousand short of the other man.

You would never admit it, not to your friends, not to your mother and especially not to your father, but you couldn’t help but grow a bit fond of the cowboy. It’s cliché you know, the daughter of a cop falling for the outlaw but it’s hard not too when he’s always complimenting you or calling you pet names, and he knew how to hold a good conversation.

You’ve never acted out too much with your parents before, always did good in school, never snuck out, never went out to meet boys that didn’t ask for permission beforehand. So when you caught yourself sneaking at your father’s work keys in the late hours of the night to sneak out of the house and into the station to talk to the man whose mere existence cost more then the pure-breed horse you took from the stall every night to visit, it was invigorating but also utterly terrifying in the chances of you getting caught. Despite your initial fear, it didn’t mean you didn’t start to get sloppy.

Both with sneaking out, and with the cowboy.

—

A yawn escaped Miguel’s chapped lips as he lazily rubbed his face, trying to fight off sleep as he shifted around in his overly small bed, the only light source he had was the beams of pale moonlight that was seeping from his barred window. Heavy eyelids began to close when they suddenly snapped open at the familiar sound of keys jangling and the rattling of the doorknob opening.

“Took you long enough gatita, though you forgot about me.” Miguel spoke as he watched you with once tired eyes that were now filling with a different emotion as he watched you place your hand lamp on your father’s desk before you head over to him, keys in hand. Although the words seem like a joke, his tone was low and anything but humorous. (Kitten)

“Had to make sure my family was asleep.” You attempted to justify yourself as you unlock his door, not even getting a second to put the keys back in your dress pocket before Miguel grabbed you and pulled you into his room, his mouth greeting yours in a hot needy kiss. The keys drop to the wooden floor with a loud clunk as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and your fingers tug at the small curls at the back of his neck, only causing him to let out a groan at the pleasurable pain.

You too have been at it for about a week now, ever since your father informed you that the state sheriff would finally head down to your town to take Miguel of of his hands, he would arrive tomorrow morning, meaning tonight was your last with Miguel. He would be taken back to the state capital to be hung the following week.

“Ima miss these sweet lips darlin’…” He mumbled between peppering kisses down your jawline and towards your collarbone. A whine leaving your swollen lips you felt his large hands undo the buttons that cover your chest, leaving another dark hickey on you , before stopping for a second to admire his work. Seven hickeys, one for each day.

Your hands followed his lead, going under his sleeping shirt, wandering against his toned stomach, before he quickly pulled it off, turning you both around so your back was against the wall.

“Can’t get enough of you...”

“Me either…”

“Don’t forget about me (Y/N).”

“I won’t Miguel.”

Your lips quickly reunited with his as he started to drag the cotton fabric down from around your shoulders when the sound of the door office slamming opened caused you both to jump away from each other, a startled yelp escaped from you as you go to over your exposed breast.

Your eyes quickly darted to see who had opened the door, only to felt a lump build in your throat at the sight of your seething father, red face with anger as his shoulders rise and fell rapidly with each erratic breath he took.

“I thought I told you to stay away from my daughter!” He roared as he started to near the cell, making you quickly exit it, closing the door before standing in front of it so he couldn’t get to Miguel. “And you.” His eyes dropped to meet yours, anger, disappointment, betrayal, emotions you’ve never seen him directly towards you, it only made your throat tighter and your stomach drop. “I expect better from you. Do you know how many trains and banks he’s robbed! How many people he’s killed! I don’t want anyone like that near my daughter-“

“But father, I love him!”

Love. You’ve never once said that about a man in your life, you blurted it out without so much as a second thought. But it felt right.

This only made your father scoff. Not even caring about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You don’t know a thing about love.” He muttered in a low tone that made a shiver run down your back, his eyes narrowing down at you before gripping your forearm as he began to drag you out of his office, despite your best attempts to pull away from him. “It doesn’t matter either way. Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and next week he’ll be dead. You’ll never see him again.” He finished as he dragged you fully out of the building and back towards home, not showing one ounce of pity despite your cries making his heart ache.

—

Once he was alone, Miguel ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t even have one last night with you before he’d leave your life forever. A heavy sigh turning into a panic curse when he went to lean against the stall door and to find it not support his body weight as it usually would. Stumbling a bit to regain his balance, it only took him a few seconds to realize that, in your father’s angry rampage, he had forgotten to relock his cell.

—

Taglist: @loser-alert

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara au #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #cowboy Miguel O’Hara #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 fanfic #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #cowboy miguel x reader #cowboy Miguel O’Hara x reader #cowboy!miguel

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sunonyoreface · 1 year

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 19

An: Thanks for your patience, I am so excited about this part!! SMUT WARNING, it gets spicy!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100 (way too long!)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.

Photo credit to @ave661

Ghost towers over me, his dark shadow cast upon my cowering frame. Fearful eyes drag over the predator in front of me. How he analyzes my every move. How his black shirt clings to the thick muscle around his shoulders and arms as his chest eagerly heaves with excitement. How his gloved hands clench and release, ready to wrap themselves around me and tear me apart. This is what he was made for. This is the chase that sets him on fire, makes him feel alive.

“Now what’re you going to do?” his voice sounds like it could cut. After his initial attempt, I quickly cornered myself between the wall and the dresser. Now Ghost fills the entire walkway between the dresser and bed, leaving me with nowhere to go. Everything about his posture tells me he’s only seconds away from trying again. I spare a glance at the weapon in my hands and my grip tightens around it. “Your trapped, y/n, what’s your next move?” What the hell kind of training is this?

But I don’t get much time to think. The ambiguous soldier in front of me slowly stalks forward. There’s a vertical slit in his eyes like those of a wild cat who has just identified its next prey.

“If I wanted to kill you right now, how would you stop me?” he inches closer. My mind falters: the knife. The knife. But I can’t use it. I don’t know how. What if I end up hurting him? I feel my head start to shake, the word “no” at the tip of my tongue. He sees the fear finally catch up. “Use it, y/n,” Ghost urges me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the words are quiet on my lips. Tension fills my body.

“You won’t hurt me,” his words are immediate and almost cocky. The corners of his eyes crinkle from a cruel smile. Have I forgotten who he is? Don’t I know his reputation? He didn’t take his vest – his main source of protection off for no reason - I’m the furthest thing from a threat to him.

Ghost is done taking his time with me. He lunges forward with his arms outstretched. I make a last-ditch attempt at escaping by leaping toward the bed, but just as my foot touches the mattress a thick arm wraps around my waist and roughly pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand wrestles the knife from my grasp and as soon as the metal is gone from my hand, I feel the strangely familiar pressure of it against my throat.

“You’re not holding the knife properly,” he reprimands. Ghost’s chest pushes into me from behind and I can feel his arms flex as they constrict even tighter.

“Is this your idea of training me?” I bite back. Fear turns to frustration. How is it so easy for him to manhandle me like this?

“Come on, I know you can take it rough,” Ghost’s coarse voice brushes against my ear. “If you let the enemy touch you like this, you’re dead.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky it’s you,” thick sarcasm coats my tongue. I feel the hem of my shirt start to rise above my stomach as the electric heat from his body transfers through my skin. Then, just as fast as it happened, he lets go.

“Here,” he wraps my fingers around the handle in the proper position. “You’re not about to win a knife fight against a member of the task force. Your only goal is to create an opportunity to escape,” there’s a newfound seriousness to his voice. I turn around to meet his eyes. For a moment, I almost know what he’s thinking. If the Ultranationalist tries anything the next time he visits, Ghost won’t be there to protect me. I’ll be all on my own. This, and the wiretaps, are the best he can do.

“Okay,” I resign. “How?”

“You have to draw blood. Lots of it,” his lower lids squint as he gauges my reaction. How capable am I of violence? He hasn’t had the opportunity to witness that yet. If I’m being honest, neither have I. I’ve never been put in a position where I’ve had to hurt someone before. I don’t really know what I’m capable of. It’s a daunting possibility.

“Show me,” I force a nervous swallow as he closes the space between us. I feel my heart rate start to pick up.

“There are only two vulnerable spots that’ll slow him down when he’s wearing a vest,” Ghost starts to circle me. I don’t hear when he stops behind me. But I feel his large hand slowly snake around my hips, stopping on my stomach. His bicep flexes as he pulls me against his chest again. The back of my head is just level with his shoulders and I feel him bow down as the soft balaclava brushes against my hair. “His neck or his gut. Arms and legs won’t work, they’re not painful enough,” a shiver runs down my spine from his chilling words.

“They sound pretty painful,”

“Not enough. You need to do real damage,” the low vibrations of his voice against my skin makes the hair stand on the back of my neck. Ghost presses his fingers into the soft flesh between my hips and moves his hand back and forth in a straight line, tracing the vulnerable area. I can’t help the involuntary gasp that escapes my lips. “This is where you’ll aim. Drive the knife deep into his stomach and drag it across as far as you can. If he tries anything, I want you to spill his fucking intestines,” Ghost’s breathing deepens as he imagines the scene. His fingers press harder into my skin and some twisted part of me wants him to leave bruises, but not with his hands.

“Is that what you’d do?” the words are light on my tongue. Every part of my body he touches feels as though it’s about to combust.

“I will do so much fucking worse, y/n. When this is over and I get my hands on him, his own mother won’t recognize him. They’ll have to use his fucking teeth to identify him,” he growls. The pictures that flash through my mind are horrific. But some part of me likes it – knowing the extent that he is willing to go to for me.

There’s a palatable tension in the air. I can taste it: metallic and salty like iron. Like the desire for violence. Like the static before lightning strikes. I feel it radiating off him in waves that wash down between my shoulder blades. I believe every word from his mouth.

“Let’s try again,” I suggest, changing the topic.

Sweat rolls down my skin as we practise again and again for hours. Ghost lays out several different scenarios, from trapping me against the dresser to pinning me against the bed. He is relentless. But with every touch, every grab and push and shove and pull of hair, every time he presses himself against my hot skin, the desire to feel him in me grows even stronger. Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose. Because I know how much he likes to see his hands wrapped around my throat. And I know how he was filled with a jealous type of rage after that man had a knife pressed against the same spot. Every time Ghost’s hands pull me closer, it feels like I’m being reclaimed.

My heart pounds in my ears after so long without a break. When he pulls away after another round I finally collapse onto the floor, just for a moment, just to catch my breath. Ghost looks even taller from this spot as he watches me with his arms crossed.

“Get up,” he huffs, not nearly as out of breath as I am.

“In a moment,” even my voice sounds exhausted. My face is hot and I’m sure it’s flushed.

“I don’t want you lying on the floor,” Ghost grumbles. I feel the corner of my lips twitch at the thought that pops into my head.

“No?” I feign innocence. “How do you want me?”

“Watch your mouth y/n,” he snaps. Ghost steps around me to pace the room, but I don’t miss how he takes the opportunity to adjust his pants when he thinks I can’t see. A warm sense of pride blooms in my chest. He feels the same tension. The same desire as the night in the cabin. Maybe even stronger this time.

“I need to rest for a moment,” I lie my head on the floor while keeping eye contact with him. I can just see the edge of the black paint around his eyes, peeking out from under his mask.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got more in you than that,” there it is again. Sweetheart. I can’t even hide the effect it has on me. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from outright smiling. And it works. He has me up on my feet embarrassingly fast.

“Fine. Let’s go, I’ll win this time,” there’s fresh determination behind my words, but even I know they’re not true. I can tell he’s smirking by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. Ghost is enjoying this way too much. But I can’t lie, so do I. He knows.

Ghost comes at me fast. I know he’s holding back and yet his power is terrifying. He grabs me by the shoulders and whips me around toward the dresser. One of his hands tries to snatch away the knife, but I hold it just out of his grasp. Then he goes for my neck again as my back presses into the hard edge of the wooden dresser. Ghost is careful about the force he uses. He knows how easy it would be to seriously hurt me right now. His hands lightly hold my throat, just enough to immobilize me, but I know if this were any other man, I’d be in serious trouble right now.

With both hands occupied I take my chance and swing the knife toward his stomach. His eyes flicker down to watch the move. He still has time to stop me, yet his hands remain where they are. I let the tip of the knife gently drag across his shirt.

“You let me win,”

“It’s not ‘letting you win,’ it’s training you to take an opportunity when you have it,” Ghost’s eyes are back on mine, his hands still wrapped around my throat. He could’ve let go almost a minute ago and yet I feel his thumb gently rubbing up and down the tender skin just below my ear. “Besides, I was thinking about something else…” he trails off, a smug smile evident in his voice.

“And what’s that?”

“Places better than the floor,” Ghost keeps eye contact with me as he says this. I feel my stomach drop and that familiar ball of desire starts to form again.

“Better than the floor for what?” I furrow my brows in feigned confusion, but when he glances down my bottom lip is already drawn between my teeth. He knows he has me. There’s electricity in the air between us. Something magnetic simultaneously pulling us together, yet preventing us from connecting. I feel his hands twitch against my throat.

A low hum stems from his chest. “We could do this all night, sweetheart,” Ghost’s eyes darken. We’re close enough that I can see his pupils dilating and my reflection staring back at me in his eyes. I wonder what he sees as he looks at me.

“Yeah?” I murmur. “But we don’t have all night, do we? So, tell me what you want Simon,” my voice is low and seductive. Two can play this game. He pulls me closer. Our foreheads are almost touching as my hands find their place on the sides of his ribcage. The knife is still wrapped between my fingers.

“You already know what I want,” his voice deepens as his volume drops to a whisper. His scent wraps around me and reels me in. The metallic musk is warm and inviting. The scent of gunpowder no longer so alarming, but simply rather a part of him. But there’s something new about him too, something sweet and spicy that I can almost taste, that makes me want to wrap my lips around him and savour every part.

“I want you to show me,”

“I want to,” he barely whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his grip tightens enough that I can start to feel the effects of his hands. My cheeks are flushed and my head feels lighter than before.

“I trust you. Then and now,” I run my hands up his strong arms before tracing the tip of the knife against the mask and along the outline of his lips. Ghost takes the blade from my hand and places it on the dresser behind me. A warm sensation spreads throughout my body as his hands travel down the side of my abdomen, past my hips and thighs, before wrapping around the back of them and heaving me up onto the sturdy surface.

“Are you sure about that?” Ghost asks as he rolls the bottom of his mask up and tucks it out of the way at his nose. My lower stomach turns to static as my eyes latch onto his lips. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip. I think about how soft they’d be as they glide across my own.

Ghost rubs the outside of my thighs as he presses himself between my legs. There’s that unmistakable twinge of desire from the soft pressure. It’s like every time I look at him, the sensation grows and clouds my better judgment. This is dangerous. Everything about him is dangerous. And yet he’s so alluring. When I stare into those dark eyes it feels like someone is draping a velvet curtain around me, completely blacking out the rest of the world. The only thing left, is him.

“Yes, sir,” I don’t hide the teasing smile that crosses my lips. I know how crazy it drives him to hear those words drip from my tongue. My hands travel across his broad chest as Ghost loops his arms around my back. His lips brush against mine tantalizingly slowly. I dwell on the sensation of his warm, damp skin moulding against my own. A fuzzy feeling encases me everywhere until I feel the familiar sharpness of his teeth skirting my bottom lip, revealing what he really wants.

He’s like a dog with a taste for blood. Once Ghost took my flesh between his teeth for the first time, he knew there was no going back. I feel that same hunger now as his sharp canines move from my lips to my neck. The serrated sensation is startling as he attaches his lips to the tender patch of skin just under my ear.

“Simon,” his name escapes as a breathy gasp. My mind starts to slip, but I can’t let him mark up my neck. “Not there.”

He hums against my throat, sending pleasurable sensations through every nerve. I want him to keep going so damn bad. But he can’t.

“He’ll see,” I can barely make out the words.

“Good,” Ghost mumbles against my skin.

“That can’t happen,”

“I know sweetheart,” he croons, slipping his hands under my shirt. “But you’ve no idea how much I want him to,”

“What?” I lift my arms as he slides the shirt over my head and drops it to the floor.

“When I think of those dirty fucker’s hands on you all I see is red. I want to bash his fucking head in until his skull is dust,” Ghost presses a delicate kiss to my collarbone with those vile lips. His hands gently caress my shoulder blades and run down my back, stopping at my bra strap. “If they knew you were mine, no man would dare touch you,” my lungs freeze from his words.

“Yours?” I ask and his head rises. Ghost’s hand leaves my back to cup my face. His charcoal eyes meet my own with an indescribable intensity. They’re incredibly dark and thrilling and full of desire. And there’s nothing like them - nothing like Ghost. The feeling he stirs within me is so unique, so completely irreplicable, that no other person will ever compare.

“My asset,” he rasps. “Mine,” his thumb brushes against my lips.

“Just your asset?” I already know his answer, but I want to hear the hushed words fall from his mouth.

“So much fucking more than an asset,” Ghost presses his lips against mine. I’ve witnessed the violence he’s capable of, so to feel him handle me with such a level of tenderness is all the more significant.

“Show me,” I whisper against his mouth. I feel the sharp breath he draws in and the accompanying hunger.

Ghost’s hands return to the back of my bra and skillfully release the clasp. I let the fabric slide off my shoulders, before dropping it to the ground. It’s almost as if I can physically feel his eyes rake down my body and take in the sight before him.

Ghost hands press against my back, arching me towards him as he bends over to attach his lips to my sensitive skin. I slide a hand up the back of his neck and under his balaclava and wind my fingers through his thick hair. The heat of his wet tongue glides around my nipple and goosebumps rise across my chest. Then I feel that familiar sharpness that causes my breath to hitch and I know he’s about to leave bruises. If anyone ever sees below the hem of my shirt, they will immediately know I’ve been marked - no, branded as his.

He revisits the faded hickeys from the night at the cabin while also adding to the growing collection. The large bruises from all those weeks ago have faded from my torso and legs. So, he paints over them with his own.

As Ghost works his way lower and lower, I reach for the neckline of his long-sleeve shirt and tug it upward.

“Use your words,” his cool breath fans against my hips.

“Please?” without answering me, Ghost pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, baring himself all to me. Last time the only light I had to see was from the glow of the fire. Now, every inch of ink, every freckle, and scratch and scar littering his upper body are exposed. Not a single mark diminishes his magnificence. And while his beauty is altered from war, he is more stunning than any man I’ve crossed paths with before. The power he holds is almost beyond comprehension. Time and time again he leaves me in utter awe.

My eyes drag across the artwork painfully etched into his skin as his lips tease even lower on my hips. The throbbing between my legs intensifies with anticipation. The pictures tattooed on him are a brutal reflection of the horrors he’s witnessed and committed - of the people he’s lost. Like some part of him was afraid of forgetting and this was the only he could ensure he’d remember. My hand is cold against his warm skin as I run it up his arm.

At the same time, he reaches for the button of my pants, unhooking it with just one finger. Careful eyes glance up for permission before sliding them down my legs. Then, he quickly loops a thumb around my underwear and pulls them down immediately after. Ghost rests on his knees as his arms wrap around my thighs and pull me to the edge of the dresser.

The warmth of his lips lightly brushes over the faded bruises on my inner thighs and just when I think he’s about to add more, I feel the heat move up between my legs and press hard against my clit. The mask and black paint frame his eyes as he peers up through my legs with a half-drunken gaze.

“So fucking wet already,” his deep voice vibrates against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Is that all for me, Sweetheart?”

“Yes sir,” the words escape as a whimper. He has me wrapped entirely around his finger. In this moment I would do anything for him. Anything just to feel him touch me, to feel him pulse inside me with as much need as I have for him.

“Atta girl,” Ghost hums and then presses his tongue against my clit in wavelike motions. The pleasure from his movements consumes me as my head is thrown back and I gasp for air. “Look at me, sweetheart. I’ll stop if you don’t look,” and when I do, every feeling intensifies even more.

Ghost traces a wet finger around my entrance before slipping it in as his tongue continues to work in circles. He gently teases another finger before adding it as well, slowly stretching me even more. Simon worries about all the ways he could hurt me; thinks of all the reasons he shouldn’t be trusted and yet I’ve never had someone take the care he does to make me feel so damn good.

The waves of pleasure coursing through my body intensify as he picks up pace.

“Simon,” I plead. “I-I’m close,” the words feel like prayers on my tongue and only one god can answer them.

My knuckles whiten as my hands desperately grip the edges of the dresser. He curls his fingers and hits that perfect spot. Tremors travel through my legs and I feel myself climbing closer and closer.

Simon presses his other hand onto my stomach and adds to the thrilling sensation even more. His starving eyes never leave mine. The vibrations of his soft groans against my very core are almost enough to send me over the edge.

The waves of pleasure grow stronger and the only things I can focus on are those reflective pools of desire. The rest of the world blurs and all that matters is him.

Simon’s fingers curl against me again and every muscle in my body tightens all at once before simultaneously releasing. Yet he doesn’t stop. Even when my legs latch around him and cage him in as I ride my high, he doesn’t stop.

My heart races and with every breath I take, the air feels cleaner, purer. My head feels lighter and a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And as my body relaxes, Simon stands from his knees. His forearm brushes against my bare chest as his hand wraps around the back of my head and his lips press into mine. I can taste myself dripping from his mouth.

“You’re mine,” Simon murmurs against my skin. The addictive spice of his cologne fills the air. It lingers closer to the nape of his neck and mixes with the heat of his skin.

“Yours,” I confirm. As he pulls away, there’s something different about his eyes, something undeniably possessive.

Simon wraps his arms under my thighs and lifts me up with ease as my legs wrap around his back. My hands rest between his neck and shoulders. I let my gaze drop to the section of his tattoo that covers his shoulder and half his chest. There’s a collage of objects and events, a line of barbed wire seemingly wrapped around a man in a field. The sudden feeling of falling overtakes my senses and my entire body tenses as my back lands against the mattress.

His hands are still wrapped around my legs as he towers over the bed.

“Fucking hell,” Simon muses to himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

I feel that familiar pit in my stomach as he reaches for his belt. The quiet, clinking sound of metal fills the room and my heart rate starts to pick up. The tension in my lower stomach grows again as he moves to undo his pants and smoothly steps out of them.

I never thought I would enjoy allowing someone to have so much control over me. But as he stands over me and climbs onto the bed with a definitive goal in mind, I am willing to submit to whatever he wants.

The heat of his legs spreads to my sides as he straddles my waist. Simon has all the power in the world over me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Soft hands rest against his thick thighs as he considers the expression on my face. Wild hair frames my flushed cheeks. My lips are chapped as I draw them between my teeth at the sight of him. As his eyes continue down my frame, they proudly skirt across the marks garnishing my chest, past my hips, until he finally lingers on my hands gently rubbing circles into his meaty flesh.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Simon’s head tilts as he asks this. He grabs the tops of my hands and leads them up his thighs.

“I’ve a few ideas,” my voice cracks as I speak. I almost feel nervous again. As we reach the hem of his underwear, he slows but doesn’t stop.

“Every day,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “After every meeting with you, every time you grab my arm or whisper my name or look at me with those fucking eyes, this is what you do to me y/n,” he places my hands over the large bulge in his underwear.

I feel him throb under my hands as he strains against the fabric, aching to be freed.

“Every day I wrap my hand around my cock and imagine it’s yours,” Simon holds my hands in place as his hips subconsciously grind against the friction. “I think about what you felt like wrapped around me that night,” his voice is thick with desire. I feel myself gripping tighter as I long for his touch against my feverish skin. “No one’s ever done that to me before, y/n.”

“Simon,” my voice is unsteady. His eyes flicker up from our hands. “I need you.”

He leans down and cages me in with both arms, yet my hand never leaves his pulsing length. Simon’s breathing deepens as I stroke him above his boxers. He pauses, searching my eyes for something I’ll never understand. When our swollen lips meet and his tongue brushes against mine, I slip my fingers just past the band of his underwear. A low growl vibrates through his chest as my hand inches closer and finally grasps him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans as I pump his cock in my hand. The needy sounds escaping from his chest make me want him even more. As I trace my thumb around the head of his cock he starts to grind against my hand. “y/n.”

Simon grabs himself and slides his length along my entrance. I revel in the feeling of being trapped under him.

“Please Simon,” I whine as he teases me back and forth. The need to feel him is overwhelming. Fuck, he’s all I can think about.

“Look at me sweetheart,” Simon mumbles and as our eyes meet, I feel him push his throbbing tip in. “Does that feel good?” he whispers.

There’s a distinct tightness as he stretches me out perfectly around himself. Already I feel my walls clenching around him and he hasn’t even started thrusting. Simon slowly adds more length. He bites his bottom lip as he watches my expressions. He revels in knowing how feral he makes me.

“Oh, fuck,” the breathless words graze my lips. So damn good. Every small movement sends jolts of pleasure through my core.

Simon grabs my waist with his hands and starts to pick up speed. Each thrust feels like he’s reaching deeper within. And every time he hits that tiny bundle of nerves and I clench even tighter around him I feel like we grow even closer.

The muscles in his back flex as I wrap my legs around the vast space and pull him closer. My hands grasp his forearms cemented into the bed beside my head. My fingers and knuckles turn white from holding onto him so tight as his thrusts grow harder and harder. Fuck is he thrusting hard. Each stroke is so damn powerful that I can’t help the whines and whimpers that echo throughout the room.

As his intensity grows, so does the volume of my cries. Until a large hand wraps itself around my mouth and stifles the sounds. “Shh, can’t have anyone hear how good I make you feel,” Simon’s hot breath brushes against my ear.

His quiet grunts fill my ears as he picks up his pace even faster and he bows his head to the crook of my neck.

Every nerve in my body is overwhelmed with pleasure. His compelling scent fills my lungs. His desperate sounds reverberate through my ears. The pressure and friction of his body against mine are all too much.

I already feel another high coming.

Simon’s fiery lips latch onto my collarbones. As his head is bowed, I slip my hand behind the mask and feel his thick hair between my fingers. It's every small detail about him that drives me over the edge. His heavy breathing. How his hand presses hard against my mouth to stifle my moans. How hot his skin is against my own. Beneath my fingers, he feels so real.

Every thrust strokes that perfect spot so deep within me. I slip a hand between my legs and circle my clit. Behind my eyelids, stars explode with pleasure. I try and tell him how close I am, but the words don’t make it past his hand.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he moans into my ear. “I know you’re close,” Simon’s lips press against my ear. His sharp teeth gently tug at my lobe. Despite his hand, my moans grow even louder. He maintains a steady, powerful pace that rocks the bedframe and stirs my soul.

My hand circles around myself even faster to keep up with him. Every muscle in my body grows tenser and tenser. Inching closer and closer to a complete release.

I so badly want to close my eyes, but I know if I look away from him now, he’ll stop. I feel them well wet with tears from how fucking intense he makes me feel. The rest of his room, the base, and the world all disappear. All that matters is him. All I need is him. Simon. Fucking hell, Simon. My vision blurs and my walls tense harder than ever before.

Stars explode behind my vision as I stare into his eyes and I feel like I can reach out and touch his soul. White light blinds my vision and I feel my entire body freeze like I’ve been possessed by something otherworldly. Everything releases all at once and I ride the waves of pleasure that course through my bones. Simon replaces his hand with his swollen lips.

“You did so good sweetheart,” he rasps. But I know his mind is elsewhere right now. I sense how rock-hard he is in me. How his cock throbs with every thrust. I know he needs this as much as I did. How desperate he’s feeling right now.

“Don’t hold back, Simon,” I whisper into his ear. He pulls his head back to look me in the eyes. Being intimate with him has taught me just how much he values eye contact. This is how he connects. It’s not about sex, it’s about vulnerability. And this is a state he doesn’t let others see him in. Whether he’ll admit it or not, he trusts me.

I stroke his jaw and lock my legs around his waist as he quickens his pace. His breathing deepens and his hands tighten around my waist as he uses me as leverage to thrust even faster.

His lips part as quiet grunts and moans work their way through his chest. The soft sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. My walls clench around him. After my second, high every part of my body is even more sensitive. Feeling him inside me is borderline painful, but watching the look in his eyes is all that matters.

Simon’s thrusts begin to falter. His chest brushes against my breasts as he leans down and brings himself closer. His hands move to cup my face as his eyes bore into my heart. One last desperate moan escapes his lips as he presses his forehead into mine. He pulls out and finishes on the duvet before collapsing directly on top of me.

“Fucking hell, y/n” he mumbles into my neck. My hands wrap around his broad back and rest there as we both catch our breath. “You’re something else.”

A comfortable silence settles over us in the moments afterward. Simon gives me a Henley to wear and slips on his pants before settling back on the bed. His hands gently wind themselves through my hair as I lean against his chest.

I expect him to pull the balaclava back down almost immediately like he did last time. But he doesn’t. Simon leaves the fabric rolled up and his jaw exposed. As he rests his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, I gently trace my fingers along the sharp feature and down his neck.

My mind drifts to all the possible reasons why he wears it all the time. Why none of his soldiers know what he looks like. Why even after being so vulnerable with me, he choses to keep it on. But I won’t ask. I know if I’m ever going to find out it’ll be because he feels the time is right. But I don’t think I’ll ever find out. Because I don’t think I’ll know him long enough.

The time on his watch reads 17:04. There’s just under an hour before I have to be back in my room.

The soothing motion of his hand brushing along my hair is almost enough for me to dose off. His breathing is slow and even. His heart thunders strong and healthy behind his ribcage. There’s something so sure about him. Something safe.

“Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you read to me?” I think of his copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I skimmed across the other day. About the story of a boy who escapes an abusive childhood. Who finds freedom. And I wonder if he sees himself in the story. If he feels like he escaped.

“Would you like me to?” his low voice almost sounds tired.

“I would.”

He sighs as he reaches for the old beat-up book. Simon flips the worn pages open to a dogeared spot just over halfway through. He clears his voice and then pulls me further up his chest so his arms can wrap around my waist and hold the novel at the same time.

Simon’s voice is quiet and thick and comforting as he starts at the top of the page. I don’t know what events led here, but the characters sound troubled. My entire body relaxes and wishes we could stay like this forever. The looming threat of returning to my own room hangs over my shoulders, yet I try my best to push it away. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his warm skin against my cheek. Of the strength of his heart. I allow it to lull me almost, but not quite asleep.

“I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist,” Simon slowly reads the pages, leaving himself time to picture the scene.

My head moves with his chest as he breathes deeply. He’s like an anchor, holding me here, keeping me safe as the storm wages on around us.

His words fade and the room gets darker and darker.

When I wake up, I recognize my quarters.

And I recognize the looming shadow. His husky hand wraps around my wrist and demands my attention.

But this time, I’m expecting him.

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controld3vil · 1 year

Text

what she sow

PAIRING(S): AEMOND TARGARYEN X TARG!READER, AEGON II TARGARYEN X TARG!READER SYNOPSIS: Alicent sees herself in you. Her once-wild spirit dissolved in the flames of missed adventures and leisure. Before duty took her life away. But like her father, Alicent was bound to the realm. She scolds you whenever you make a brash comment or clash with your siblings. Out of everyone, Alicent finds comfort in talking to you but knows it’s a double-edged sword. You spoke truthfully and gave her the harsh reality every time. That you were a stubborn Targaryen. NOTES: - this one shot mostly revolves around the reader's life & perspective. implied relationships are referenced but aren't the main focus of this story. - excuse all grammar mistakes !! - cw: targcest; there are subtle hints but not explicit. if you’re uncomfortable, please do not read

DRIFTMARK was not as welcoming in its pursuit to give you comfort. You never favored the sea - it was a thousand miles away from your homeland. The grim-looking castle stood towering on its own, surrounded by the open ocean. The sun hid in the morrow today, and so did the radiant blue sky. You could feel a tinge of sadness as you glimpsed up into the void of dusty clouds. Regardless of the ceremony, the empty hole in your chest would not waver. The High Tide, a section of the Driftmark castle, was where most people visited in sorrow.

And as you stepped down onto the cold cobblestone, you took a deep breath. The apparent death of Laena Velaryon gathered many loved ones. She had only passed away a few days prior. Laena failed to give birth to her third child, her son. If not worse, Ser Vaemond persistently recited in high Valyrian. You understood the parts and pieces of what he was saying. In the memory of Laena Velaryon, let the Driftmark waves guide her soul toward peace. Or something like that you couldn’t decipher quickly enough.

You stood by, with your dark cloak next to your mother and siblings. Ser Criston made sure to stand by Alicent's right side. Your father, King Viserys, First in his name, was held by two knights, underseeing the ceremony in utmost sorrow. But compared to his children and wife, they were motionless and could not express empathy. You heard stories of Laena in your younger years. Your aunt and her family resided in Pentos, a thousand miles away from King's Landing. It was inevitable, partly because she was never interested nor cared.

You, the secondborn, did not want to bring shame to your family. But the Driftmark ceremony was tedious and cold. Not to mention, you knew no one besides the residents from King’s Landing. Staring at the ocean, you hope no one is looking at you for not paying your respects to your late aunt. Nothing on this god-forsaken island was worth contemplating. You knew this trip was dull as the most intriguing thing you sought out were the rigid rocks and dried-up seashells.

After the ceremony, the atmosphere became more relaxed. As residents and families alike walked on the canopy and talked. Your mother and Ser Criston Cole hesitantly stared at your father, who was seated in the center. You were holding your mother’s hand when she spoke to you.

“Go to your brothers and sister. Find comfort in them.”

You nod with haste, wanting to seek a sense of comfortability. Being surrounded by the unknown residents of Laena Velaryon did not please you. Why wouldn’t it? You never attended a funeral until now. It felt foreign, more uncomfortable than the grand parties back at King’s Landing.

You jog towards the nearest tent with drinks and tarts. The salted aroma of the sea was murky but diverged terribly with the freshly baked loaves of bread. Taking note of your presence, a servant girl presented a tray, a new batch of bread with various stuffings.

Politely thanking her, you grab the largest one. Sadly before you could delve into your savory snack, your brother’s obnoxious voice came down like a snap of a whip.

“I can't marry her.”

“You have to - it’s your duty.”

“You marry her then!”

“I would perform my duty to pass on the Valyrian bloodline.”

“She's an idiot– ow!”

“Not as idiotic as you,” Aemond turned to his right to find you, munching on a pastry. The same pastry you split into pieces and threw at your older sibling. Aegon lets out a scowl. “You were never suited for duty.”

“Pardon me,” The eldest son suddenly felt the urge to correct your claims. “I never said I'd refuse mother's marriage pact – Better yet, you should be envious of me and our sister. We’d be the first to marry in the family, performing our duties.”

“Mother says she will be our future queen.” Aemond jumps in, gazing at Helaena’s oblivious mumbling. His claims were purely harmless, though it was something your mother wanted you all to understand. Duty came necessary to bring to the realm. Sacrifices would be bargained with afterward.

Ignoring his words, you faced him head-on. “Call her an idiot again and I'll sever your tongue and feed it to the rats at King’s Landing.”

“That's awfully far from here, sister. Are you sure you can make it back on Gaelithox? Without plunging into the deep sea bottom?" He taunts, knowing it would only agitate you. Your dragon, Gaelithox, shared many qualities with you. Even after claiming him on your fifth-name day, you had trouble controlling him. He was not pleased whenever you mounted on his back. Numerous times, he jolted you off his saddle out of aggravation. Aegon could recite all the times you puffed annoyedly, pleading with the dragon as if he listened.

“Then I will feed you to Gaelithox. I'm sure he would enjoy a cunt for a meal,” You barked, trudging towards where Halaena sat. You knew what you said was disrespectful. Your mother would most definitely reprimand you if she heard. Calling your brother a cunt was prohibited. You spoke out of turn and will accept the consequences if Aegon or Aemond decides to tell your pesky mother. “Helaena, have you been sitting here all day?”

“Fret not dear sister, I've caught a spider,” Conversing with Helaena always soothed your sanity. You had a soft spot for her, attending to her mumbling and infatuation with insects. “Rivaling disorder will come to shake the tides. Solitude will not prevail.”

“Then we shall prepare for the tides,” Seizing your sister’s arm to head inside the castle. The cold and eerie palace. One that corresponded to King’s Landing but did not offer the reassurance your home did. “Come! Let’s rest!”

THERE WAS an inkling urge to rip all of the strings you’ve conducted. It didn’t look right. Embroidery was a lady’s sport, the representation of articulated beauty. Out of all of the girls, Helaena was the most skilled. She could’ve woven a thousand portraits and never gotten tired. The threads continually overlapped each other as she hemmed the final knot. She replaces the string with a different color and starts again.

“The trick is to keep track of the number of loops you’ve made,” She says, finding her rhythm in her work. Seeing your sister at ease consoled you. Her soft-spoken words were like an old childhood melody.

Sweet and soft.

Helaena never raised her voice. Only when she came to the world did her cries screech throughout the Red Keep. As a babe, you had no conscious memory. However, Helaena’s squealing gave you such a fright, you screamed. The mutual linger of anxiety was the only reminder of your genesis. It was a fuzzy recollection that periodically hovered in your head. For such an innocent girl, her cries would be the last thing you wanted to hear.

“What if you lose track?” You idly gaped at your sister’s handiwork. It was exquisite, resembling the sigil of the three-headed dragons.

“Then you best retrace the loops from the last knot you started on.” She giggled, tugging the needle in and out of the fabric. “Septa Rhea taught us that together!”

You beamed, “My apologies sister. I've forgotten.” You both knew that was sarcasm. You didn’t care as much as Helaena did about embroidery. A lady’s sport. Many things distinguished you unbecoming of a lady, and sewing was the least of your concern.

“At least understand the basic maneuvering of the needle, dear sister,” Your twin teased, slowly beaming as the corner of her lips moved upwards. “Mother would be upset if you abandoned your duties.”

“I have been practicing! No need to worry.”

“Even dragons lose their footing,” Helaena lightheartedly said. “Some may tumble into the sea like flightless birds…”

Your eyes quirk up to process her remarks. You couldn’t help but devilishly grin. “How dare you-!” Abandoning your work, you tackled her to the ground. Both of you giggled but were abruptly interrupted by the sounds of servants.

“Princess Rhaeryna is going into labor! Quickly bring the maesters!”

It stuns the two of you, ascending from the rug to pat down your gowns.

“We should visit our sister to help! I hear the birthing chambers is where many women gather to aid the–”

“It’s best if we do not intrude,” Helaena pats her skirt one last time and hauls you out of the room and down the passageway. “Mother would disapprove of such things.” Alicent forbade any of her children to even be in sight of Rhaeryna and her children. Her childhood friend was now a stranger to her. The discourtesy she bestowed on Velaryon and Targaryen's lineage was unrepairable. And the Queen Mother made sure to enlighten her children in such manners constantly.

“Follow your duties properly and the realm will be protected,” she said, caressing the heads of her four children one night. Her four children nodded, all too young to recall her words.

That afternoon, you roamed close to the gardens of King's Landing. They were nearly in color as winter was approaching its end. The flower bushes looked withered due to the frigid temperature. But soon they will prosper from their slumber, luminous with rich colors. Strolling down the gravel lanes, you pass by Jacaerys and Lucerys. Grabbing their attention, you ask them where they were running.

“We are going to the Dragon’s Pit! You’re welcome to join us.” Jace smiles while Luke nods with delight. The two of them were affixed on you whenever you joined them. Feasts, sword fights, or chasing through the Red Keep, they have become fond of your company. In the absence of your siblings' love, you were present whenever they asked.

“I’d be delighted to!”

In the waiting years for your egg to hatch, your father and the council members were worried whether your dragon would hatch. It was custom for a dragon egg to hatch at the same time as the birth of a Targaryen, becoming their life companion. But the dragon keepers reassured the king that patience was crucial.

Eventually, the gods shined brightly on you at the age of five. Despite many stares and pity whispers, you dismissed them. Even as a small child you were strong-minded and kept your thoughts clean out of criticism and jealousy. In a sense, Galitheox was alike — having to endure five years of isolation, unable to break away from the shells of dependency. You too felt imprisoned - the two of you in fire and blood were twisted in the bloodline and hierarchy of fidelity.

The day you recall the faint cracking sounds over the fire was one of the most rewarding days in your life. In excitement, you attempted to grab the egg but the dragon keepers defied your touch.

“You mustn’t touch, princess. Dragon eggs desire a place where they’re most comfortable.”

After you visited the Dragon Pit, your mother scolded Aegon and you. You were not involved in Aegon’s and Rhaeryna’s children's schemes but it did not bypass Alicent. She was enraged, more apprehensive about the reputation and well-being of her second son.

“You mustn't ridicule your younger brother. You know how passionate he is to have a dragon!”

You grimaced in silence when you saw the pig with wings strapped around its belly. Your older brother relished teasing, and he would giggle in delight at the humiliation of others. It was something you developed to distaste, a bad and annoying habit.

You felt your stomach pile with remorse at their laughter. You defended Aemond that day but were heavily criticized by their taunts. Your anger rose when they suggested you fetch your dragon to fly with Aemond. Everyone eventually exploded into name-calling that would’ve escalated into a physical fight. Fortunately, because of the distressed company of your younger brother, you held against it.

“It was only for mere amusement, mother—!”

“It should not and never will be! You brought shame into this family and humiliated your younger brother!” Alicent screeched, seizing both of Aegon’s fair arms. He had no clothes on, an appearance you were familiar with now.

Moping, you gazed down at your feet. You felt awful for not protecting Aemond. You treated him with respect since he was a babe. But you lacked the care your mother had for all of her children. Your protectiveness of him was relentless, yet you did not know how to console him, to reassure him of his insecurities. You accept ten times the admiration you deserve.

Calmly, Queen Alicent ushered her secondborn out of the room.

Sundown was mere minutes away as you strolled through the dimmed galleries. Dinner would come soon. And affairs were problematic to reminisce about. The Kingguards stationed around the palace peeked at you in question. The orange sky laminated brightly as the clouds surrounding King’s Landing grew darker. When night falls, the faint sounds of insects and chirping appear. The servant maidens who had completed their chores whispered in the dark corners. And the septas in the garden carefully minded their tongue, aware of Targaryen’s predicaments. Everyone in the palace was accustomed to the disputes all princes had.

The legitimacy of Jacaerys and Lucerys was always on the top of their tongues. It will never fade as long as they live. You wonder if their mother scolded them for the recent incident. Rhaeryna’s and Alicent’s relationship had plummeted out of existence since the birth of Aegon II. And the servant girls were naïve enough to whisper in hollow halls. You heard numerous rumors when Rhaeryna disregarded her father’s order to wed. And how Alicent’s proposal for marriage contradicted Laena Velaryron's. It saddens you how the deep scars of your family's past revoke the realm.

You weren’t mindful of where you were until the door of Rhaeryna Targaryen was in front of you. It was as if your consciousness wanted to find her. Would she allow you? Rhaeryna despised all of Alicent’s children, as someone said to you. Replace her legitimacy from the Iron Throne. You hoped it was not the case because your mother was inclined to pursue her duties as the second wife.

She never spoke to you only in telepathic stares. Her lilac eyes forever grimaced at yours, a gesture you could never recuperate. Knocking a few times, you voiced your greetings and asked for her presence. The doors were slightly open and only allowed light inside. The first time you saw Rhaeryna in days, she looked radiant. She was glowing with the aftermath of her pregnancy - sweat still presents on her forehead. She looked weary and slightly disoriented at the sudden visit.

Rhaeryna lets out a sigh at your name. “Please come in.” she smiles, which shocks you. She never smiled at you. “I apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting any visitors as the maesters have ordered me to rest…” Rhaeryna pushed her arms to allow entry. You strode into the room. Close behind you, your older sister shut the doors and found a suitable seat in her lounge.

For as long as you can recall, the firstborn of Viserys Targaryan and Aemma Arryn was fierce. She had a reputation as the first female heir declared to the Iron Throne. It fascinated you. Rhaeryna was given the duty of the realm at such a young age. Her purpose to wedlock children was now more demanding than ever. It was the power that was given to her that made her fierce. And the more desirable.

“I congratulate you on the birth of your third son, Princess.” You nervously chirped up, taking a seat across from her. “Pregnancy is a terrifying thing for all women. Yet you’ve done it three times.”

She laughs, buckling her chin down. The atmosphere felt bizarre because you’d never had a casual conversation with your half-sister. “I suppose you’re correct with that matter,” Rhaeryna mumbles, looking at you with those lavender hues. The same lavender hues from years before. “I thank you, Princess…” She acknowledged the atmosphere was tense. “Would you like to see him…?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “If you would allow it.”

“Come…” Your half-sister rises and puts a hand on her hip. “But you must be quiet since Joffrey’s been sleeping for quite some time.”

Rising, you immediately ran to her side and supported her weight. Rhaeryna beams up again and directs you to his crib. In quiet paddles, you could hear your nephew's tiny snores. His dark brown curls were the first thing that caught your eye. You mindlessly cursed at yourself for bringing up bad habits.

Taking a deep breath, you admired his other features. The silence you two shared was sublime. Staring down from the top of his lips to his tiny hands, you felt smitten. The babe was only a few hours old, but you wanted to spoil him rotten. The light blush he had reminded you of Rhaerynas. The sunset was beautiful, yet your nephew's face was more divine. The orange hues of sunlight highlighted his chubby cheeks. Joffrey’s long lashes resembled the smallest feathers.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

IN THE late evening at King’s Landing, the palace grows weary, and so have their residents. Dinner was tolerable - all the council meetings were pleased with their progress. The royal family was escorted back into their chambers to rest while the Kingsguard lurked around the shadows. Candles lit in every corner of the castle were burned out. Only a few in each corridor stood, barely hanging onto life.

As the moon slowly ascends, the sun goes down to rest. It was the same with those who resided in the kingdom of Westeros. The Queen Mother and her children descended to their bed chambers. As the servant girls followed the second-born daughter, she loosened her shoulders. The day was tiring as her mother demanded more of her time and assistance. Tedious and time-consuming.

Hence when the bubbling bath finally simmered, all of the maids huddled over the tub. One sprayed essential oils of lavender - another scattered small rose petals. The three remaining girls assembled around your body and began to unbind your laces. The dark crimson (almost velvet) dress hung down your hips luxuriously. It was one of your more favored dresses, gifted from the fine maker in Essos. The stitching of the swirls was intricately sewn, highlighting your curves.

It brought your title as a princess to the highest order. No man or woman could defy such beauty. The Targaryen characteristics only accentuated your playful charm. And those violet orbs that can pierce any living creature with a single stare. It glows between the moonlight like embers of a volcano. From the neck down, you remain poised. But on the occasion of a full moon, you loosen the tension between your shoulders.

Stripped down to your garments, you slipped out of them. There was a sense of comfort in these domestic times alone. You felt at peace as you climbed into the tub. The soft sizzling eased your body as you moved further down. The heat never harmed the Targaryens - it sympathized with you. The fireplace behind you was the only light source in the room. It chaotically twinkled, burning through the logs beneath them. The smell of incense lingered - like sweet wine waiting to be drunk. After a long day regarding your mothers' necessities, you wanted to disappear from the world.

You should no longer exist.

However, that dream will never come true, as the doors breached open - your train of thought with a dreadful visitor. “Princess, the Queen,” You sigh and gesture to the maidens. As soon as the doors open, your mother waltzes in hastily. She looked like she was in a hurry to get here. Alicent's brows were full of tension, and her mouth was slightly open in exasperation.

“Leave us,” She said, looking down at you. The doors suddenly closed. The room was hers to initiate. “I have some news to share with you.”

“What is it?”

“Well—“ Her breath staggers as she stumbles towards the nearby couch. Your eyes linger down at her clammy hands. Your mother, the Queen Mother, was anxious about what she was about to disclose. “Your grandsire and I have settled to wed Aegon and Helaena.”

Alicent had to flip a coin every time she spoke to you. You could explode, like a firework - if it displeased you. Or become soft and docile like a dragon - lazily resting in the Dragon's Keep. But both alternatives can be bittersweet. So when she made the decision, you had to be the first one to know. Not even Aegon or Helaena were aware of the news. If not for Viserys as king, she would’ve appointed you onto the counsel if she wanted. Alicent relied on your morals and decision-making.

But sometimes it came with a price.

“What…? Why—?”

“It was inevitable - but now, we have chosen a date,” She clasped her hands together, preventing herself from shaking. “For the ceremony.”

“Why have you come to me first–?”

“Because I trust you, sweet dear, more than anyone,” The last part was a lie. Alicent wanted to assure you that she still does have faith in you. “Aegon will be king - Helaena will be queen—“

“No… she shouldn’t!” You grimaced at her, dragging your knees to your chest. Even in the haste of rage, your disheveled state looked beautiful. “Why would she marry that twat? Their marriage will cease to exist the moment it is declared.”

“She is the most suitable. Helaena has shown devotion to her duties and will not fight against it.”

“Then I will!” Your slouched back straightens. “Why would you let her be married off to our cunt of a brother—?”

The slip of your name hangs on her tongue. With a sharp inhale, her lips narrow. “Hold your tongue.”

“Do you have no respect for her?! When she marries that idiot, he will treat her with no respect and love! Without devotion, their marriage will crumble. Her children will suffer the same fate!“

“She will be performing her duty!”

“What duty?!” You cried, face filled with burning rage. There was a contortion of emotions on Alicent’s face. Anger makes you look more beautiful. Because when your patience is at its peak of erupting, chaos debuts. “Why would you sacrifice your children for duty? Why is duty more important than your children?”

Sacrifice for duty? You were speaking nonsense, Alicent deciphers. She was more than willing to face you herself after dinner. All of the preparations have concluded with a check on a pamphlet. The Queen Mother had known the wedding would not be triumphant if not for her children’s well-being. You were the first she had to console - let you understand why she must accept this proposition. But the claims you made disbanded her attempts at peace.

“Why? Because duty is sacrifice!” Vice versa, your mother's fury had just begun. It was as if the two of you wanted to add more firewood to the burning fire. “To uphold the Targaryen bloodline is to maintain its course.”

“Then you don’t care for your children,” You ridicule back with a sneer. “Helaena should not marry him! She should have the freedom to do so!”

“Then who would you let her marry?!”

“Someone more kind and considerate. More attentive than our brother because she deserves far more than all of the suitors in Westeros. She is the righteous figure of beauty. She should at least be happy! I want her to be happy!” Angry tears sprung out your eyelids, blinding you to your mother’s shattered face. “Aegon doesn’t deserve her… She should have the right to do so….”

A minute passed, and all Alicent could think of was the look on your face. She has seen you broken down before but never torn to pieces like this. Your protectiveness over your sister was something she envied. The two of you had each other, never to be alone. She tries to clear her throat but fails.

On the other hand, silence offers you a moment to ponder. You felt shameful of your outburst, of shouting at your mother over a trivial matter of love. But you wanted Helaena to be free and content. It was an impossible justification as arranged marriages were more political arrangements. It pained you to envision how your sister would feel. Dressed in her wedding gown, she would have the most pristine and painful smile. It should be you in the Citadel, offering your freedom to the gods.

Your better half deserved that much.

“I understand your doubts, darling… I really do,” The Queen’s watery eyes trail back to you - and hesitantly rose up from her seat. Your body felt chilly even in the hot boiling bath. “But this is the only way. Rhaeryna had once asked for Helaena’s hand for her son, Jacaerys. I could not let her son have it her way…”

You hummed deliberately. She had mentioned Jacaerys proposal once before - it did not bother you. Jacerys always had a kind heart and was quite fond of you and your younger sister. However, the Queen Mother was grudgingly displeased with Rhaeryna’s children. Her sons and their dark curly hair and lack of Velaryon qualities.

You looked up at her, unaware of how close she was to the tub. “Then wed Aegon to me.”

It takes a second for Alicent to process what you just said. “W-what—? Dear, I don’t understand—“

“Wed him to me.” Sorrow filled your eyes. You lifted your head to meet her with a bitter smile. Your blonde hair posed carefully on your shoulders, slightly skimming the water. “I will deal with him right. He will obey.” Your mother acknowledged the strange fondness the two of you had. The two of you had a familiar sense of humor and danger. He would waste his ways with his whores. While you distracted yourself with old men about philosophy. Aegon tolerated you, unlike Aemond and Helaena - who did not stand for his despicable banters.

“You’re right…” For once, the Queen agrees with her daughter. Perhaps Aegon was the ideal match for you. However, she recalls the harsh critiques her father had of you.

She is far from a lady. Her redundancy to those ferocious beasts is beneath her. The princess is unbecoming of her maiden’s duties.

Your mother brushes a few strands of hair behind your right ear. A single teardrop ran down your face, taking in the shape of your face - she takes in the cruel truth.

“It’s too late for that… Your grandsire expects the preparations in a few days…” Your expression drops slightly, a habit you picked up from Alicent. Viserys protectiveness and her witted mouth - you brought out the best of the Hightowers and worst of the Targaryens. No longer should she demean your judgment - the truth that could’ve saved her children from years of torment and isolation.

“My cunt of a grandsire is as demanding as ever….” And for the first time, she didn’t mind you calling her father a cunt. She softly chuckles, taking in the heat and light from the fireplace.

THE SMALL rubbles of sand leaped back and forth as the royal carriage came to a stop. The Kingsguard in front of the entry of King’s Landing did not flinch, bearing on their duties. The frigid weather did not suit Westeros. The air was tense as the doors opened to reveal Princess Rhaeryna and her family.

Residing in Dragonstone was a calculated conclusion for Rhaeryna. Kings Landing only brought awful memories from her childhood. As she stared at the castle, disappointment shielded her eyes. Westeros’s King’s Landing did not change — it was like steel, lingering for the rust to overwhelm its bare roots. She did not miss the people or the nostalgic conformity. She ignored her thoughts and stepped forward, carefully holding her swollen belly. Her husband, Daemon, and sons came out after her. And her niece, Rhaena stood beside her, sensing her distress.

They all knew arriving here would be uneasy. But for Lucery’s claim to the Driftmark throne, Rhaeryna was determined. No one should challenge her children’s claims and indirectly spit in her face.

Ser Vaemond Velaryon should’ve rotted in the Stepstones a long time ago.

“Have you spoken to the dragon keepers about this predicament, Princess?”

“Not quite, though I’m sure they won’t have anything to say,” You worriedly march towards the desk full of scrolls and parchments. Trailing your fingers over all the papers, you search for the particular piece about dragon scales. “Gaelithox grows weary day by day. And there’s nothing I can do.”

You inspected all the dragons in the Dragon’s Pits during your study. You relished learning their manners and habits. But one of the unknown, not even the Seven could deduce, was the changes your dragon had. Gaelithox was ill, or so you thought. A cold? He wasn’t in severe conditions but was consistently troubled and did not desire to fly like usual. His albino scales were slowly flaking off like the skin of a snake. One by one, his scales fall off, revealing a darker shade, a dusty gray.

The dragon keepers could not come up with an explanation for this mystery. Anyone knowledgeable about dragons was gone - very few were in the presence of these giant beasts. Your dragon, your sole companion, was fighting an unknown condition. Yet you could not do anything about it. Gaelithox nuzzled against your frame - every time you spoke to him. He sighs - reassuring you it is not as painful as you feared.

“He’s as stubborn as a mule,” Sighing discreetly, you did not see your lady-in-waiting, Kiara. She patiently pauses and allows you to finish your conversation with the maester. “I cannot continue my research if he’s unwell.”

“You have more than enough time, Princess. His sickness will pass. Many of the maesters - including myself - will look into this predicament and let you know if we discover anything worthwhile.”

“Princess,” Kiara carefully voices. Your head turns, raising your brows in question. “The Queen requests your presence.” The maester beside you intertwines his hands and bows. You nod and steadily remove yourself from the library. Kiara smiled as you walked with her swiftly. After becoming your lady-in-waiting, she has become your trustful friend. It was rare to have a friend in King's Landing. Kiara took pride in herself - to have gained your trust.

And she knew you were troubled. The news of Ser Vaemond’s ridiculous assembly disturbed you.

After the loss of Aemond’s eye, some part of you changed. You did not understand why, at the time, Lucery's had a knife when nobody else had. He was the only one who held a weapon. Why was it fair for Rhaeryna to claim it as self-defense? In the process, Aemond’s claim about Vhagar angered Laena’s children. The night became more disastrous as the distance between Alicent and Rhaeryna's relationship faded. You held onto your dear sister protectively that night. Your mother was spiraling down in panic while your half-sister stood her ground. Even your father had to intervene and scold the two women. You had never seen him as outraged as he was that night. Viserys never yelled unless regarding his family.

And when he turned to Aegon after Aemond's accusation, you quickly held onto your older brother's arm. Out of fear of Viserys screams and the following events.

Perhaps you would have done something differently if you had more courage. You stare at your mother's back - worriedly pacing back and forth in front of someone's chambers. “Mother,” She jumps in shock. “You wished to see me?”

Queen Alicent flattens her dress. “Yes dear, I would like you to welcome our guests. Rhaeryna and Daemon are already in your father's chambers.”

Your eyebrows rose in immediate anger. “Why have you not informed me sooner?”

“I apologize, sweet darling,” Your mother rubs your arms consolingly. “I was… caught up in a council meeting.”

You thought about making a hasty remark but denied it. Nodding with a soft smile, you stepped back. “I will greet Rhaenrya and Daemon accordingly. It has been a long time since we last saw them.” Before your mother could say anything, you headed to the king’s chambers.

Alicent saw it coming. She failed to inform you of your half-sister's return. But you knew it was inevitable - no one was pleased for the heir to the Iron Throne to return. Many of the residents in King’s Landing were not fond of her from the start. Your steps speed up. Kiara, behind you, desperately tries to catch up. She calls for you to slow down - but you ignore her.

Entering the chambers of King Viserys, you notice your sister’s posture. She was stiff - standing beside her husband, sitting on an armchair near the fireplace. Both their expressions were in surprise to not be greeted by the Queen, but her daughter.

“Princess Rhaeryna, Prince Daemon,” You bowed with a genuine smile. “Welcome back to King’s Landing. I hope the trip was not as tedious as you anticipated.”

A playful chuckle erupts from Daemon. Despite your similarities, you two never spoke to one another. Though there are times - you hoped he would reach out and bond with you. His dragon, Caraxes, was exquisite, adorning itself in red blood scales. Stories say that when he arrived at the Step Stones, Caraxes burned hundreds of their enemies on the shoreline. Millions of burnt bodies lay on the sandy floor. You thought his efforts were admirable.

Your sister’s face morphs in relief. Her furrowed brows no longer tensed in thought, she returns the smile. “Thank you,” She breathes your name in hesitation. It’s been many years since the two of you spoke. You hoped she had fond memories with you when she still lived in King’s Landing. “It’s good to see a familiar face. None of the others dared to greet us at the gates.”

Your bitterness towards your mother was boiling.

“I do apologize. The council members were occupied, discussing regional matters —“

“You seem to have decorated the place quite nicely. Why is that?” Daemon’s tone stunned you. He sounded aggravated, more so teasing. Your lilac eyes trailed back to his like magnets. With his head slightly down and slumped posture, you felt intimidated. “You allow the Hightowers to plunder in with their pretty lights and stars. Did they remove the Targaryen flags as well?”

You felt as if he was pointing the blame toward you. Even when you had no control over which sigil to display in King’s Landing - it was as if you were playing a game of chess with him. He had just taken one of your pawns.

“Due to the King’s sickness, the Queen has taken matters into her own hands.” Your lips draw a narrow line. “And the council members do as they please.”

You wanted to block his attacks - to prevent checkmate. If you wanted to insult him, you would have - but the company of your dear sister was present.

“And have the maesters been able to deal with our father's sickness?” Her tone is more delicate than Daemon’s, more promising. Rhaeryna has always tried to maintain mutualism between her family but forever failed. You applaud her for her attempts. “Does he sleep all day in bed? Moaning like a dying dog?”

Her last sentence made your heart jump. You would have expected her to smile again - but she doesn't and holds Daemon’s hand.

“His sickness is inevitable,” You sneer lightly, shielding your hands behind your back. “The maesters tried everything even before you left for Dragonstone. It is an unrecognized sickness no one has witnessed before.” Daemon tightens his grip on Rhaerynas hand. “The councilman and Queen do as they see fit. Regardless of what they do, I have no part in their decisions. You must understand Rhaeryna - the councilmen have firm beliefs for the realm."

“And what do you know about the realm?” Daemon took your last words as an insult. “You, the daughter of my brother's second marriage with a whore of a mother. Tarnishing the Targaryen name with outlandish banners and statues!”

“Daemon enough—!” Rhaeryna snaps, releasing his grip. She steps forward with a stern look.

You glare at your uncle, and the sharpness of your hues brightens. “The maids will escort you to your rooms. I thank you for your patience today - I hope to see you again in the Red Keep… for your son’s illegitimate claim.”

Your eyes meet again mockingly. The rumors of Rhaeryna and Daemon are far more than true. In front of you, their gazes darkened. They were one of the same. Both held more than cruel intentions, glaring holes into your body. You knew you had stepped into the dragon’s pit, two voracious dragons snaring their teeth at you.

You had just lost Rhaeryna’s trust.

That late evening, you harshly plucked at the jewelry adorning your ears and neck. The small candles on your vanity table flickered as your eyes glanced at all the luxurious accessories, then at yourself in the mirror. The radiant blush on your cheeks lightly flushes under the candlelight, lashes carefully fluttering with ease. Your lips lacked tension, the adorning color of roses.

Between the pearls and rubies, you chose the custom-made silvers from the Narrow Seas. The pearls enhanced their diamond edges. You gracefully clipped them onto your ear lobes and unlatched the necklace that came with it. The chain somewhat resembles sea coral. The gold molded into a sea fan, the center representing a large pearl.

Kiara stepped beside you and gave you an approving smile. “They’re beautiful, Princess.”

“A talented jewelry maker gifted this on my fifth and tenth nameday.” You pleasantly reciprocated her smile. “He was a fine man.”

“He certainly had a keen eye,” Your lady-in-waiting teases with a mischievous tone. You couldn’t help but recall that day. It was hot and humid in King’s Landing. Fine carpenters and others stumbled upon your home to offer gifts. You and your sister did not favor extravagant parties. Yet it amused you when men came flocking in with boxes that required more than five men to carry. The man from the Narrow Seas was more than generous as he offered his entire stock. You knew he only did it for the crown. Yet out of all your gifts, his treasures caught your eyes the most. “Are you ready, Princess?”

You hum in approval and lift yourself from your chair. Dinner unexpectedly became a dreadful thing to look forward to. You wished you were flying on Gaelithox instead of being forced to converse with relatives. But then Kiara leads you out of your room and down the corridors. The night had already begun its course.

And when you first entered the dining room, none of your family members had gathered by the dinner table. Everyone was disassembled and socializing with each other. Rhaeryna admires the tapestries alongside her husband while Alicent whispers to the Hand. Aemond and Aegon seem to be chatting away about unknowns to you. And your nieces, Rhaella and Baela, were beside Jacaerys and Lucerys by the fire.

Helaena was chatting with a servant girl when you arrived beside her. “Be sure to feed them after their baths,” The maid nods and heads out.

You took her place and reluctantly snickered. “Have the twins been restless playing with their mother?”

“Quite, actually,” Helaena laughs, adorning her sweet smile you adored dearly. “We had to replace a servant girl in the morrow. It was a sudden request - they weren’t happy about it.”

“They are energetic when they are young.” You sarcastically sigh while Helaena nods similarly. You dearly cherished her twins - they both had the same curious look their mother had. Jaehearys and Jaehaera shared many similarities with Helaena - which made you relieved for many reasons.

A bell rings suddenly - everyone walks to their selected seats. You guide yourself next to your sister’s seat. Beside you, Aemond sits at the end of the table. However, across, your grandsire, Otto Hightower sits in front of you, already observing you as if critiquing your posture. The shuffling of footsteps echoed throughout the room as the Kingsguard carried King Viserys on a small carriage. Your eyes follow his arrival, never breaking eye contact. Everyone stares at the king.

When he sits between his wife and daughter, Viserys groans in pain. Your father stands and brings attention to him. It was a heartwarming speech - one that almost brought you to tears. For the longest time, you never had family dinners with your father. He was often too ill - converging with your siblings was already a daily occurrence. Your mother tries her best to involve everyone in the conversation. It’s awkward - her efforts are rewarded whenever you pitch in at someone's interest. Your small family is not as close as people expect you all to be - but you manage with the time you have with each other.

The king’s words remind you that family issues are unavoidable and tiresome. Steep wounds had damaged your family, those evident of your mother. Yet here you are with all of your family members in peace. For a moment, you relished their faces, all bearing the same characteristics and traits. House Targaryen is at its strongest when they are together. For centuries, your house stood as the most powerful, sitting on the Iron Throne. Without your disputes, you would have all stood together in King’s Landing.

When King Viserys removed his iron mask, you could feel your heart tremble. He jokes about his appearance - it makes your eyes water. Your father was a kind-hearted and generous man. Out of all the Targaryens, he was the few that cherished your heart. You loved him, you thought as you wiped your tears away.

Queen Alicent drapes her hands around his shivering form. She looks at her husband with tenderness. And for a moment, Rhaeryna was hesitant to speak. Yet she does it anyway and raises her cup. Viserys's words resonated through all of your minds. He wanted his family to stop fighting. Alicent and Rhaeryna sense remorse in their words, knowing their actions impacted many of their past accounts. You listen to your half-sister and your mother toast. Raising their cups to one another felt like a mutual victory.

And with a murmur, you hear Aegon’s obnoxious sniggering. It irritated Jacaerys much more to have him suddenly stand. All eyes abruptly rested on him as he nervously lifted his cup. Aemond suddenly stands as well - you skim at him with suspicion. He eyes down at you with a long empty stare.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” he starts, awkwardly punching Aegon’s shoulder. You feel a smile grow on your face. It felt amusing to witness. “We have not seen each in years. I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, uncles.”

Aegon clears his throat. “To you as well.” Alicent’s eyes flicker slightly in relief. And as if sensing your stare, your older brother glances at you. You mischievously quirk your head side-ups to mock him. Nothing to say? His eyes twitch in confusion.

Reluctantly, Helaena slowly rises to raise her cup. She salutes her nieces on their engagement to Jacaerys and Lucerys. “It isn’t so bad… Usually, he just ignores you… except when he’s drunk.” The crowd lightheartedly chuckles. Helaena was innocent in every way. She was endearing and lacked the malice many others had. You drink to her toast, gleaming at her with pride. She never deserved him. You can only guess your mother felt displeasure at her speech. When Queen Alicent declared their wedding, you had no power to veto it. What satisfied you now was the look on your brother's face - ashamed.

Yet they would have to refill one last time.

When Helaena takes a seat back down, you stand up. “And a final toast to those sitting beside the King.” All eyes dart up at you as you raise your cup again. Your arm was unnecessarily sore from raising your glass too many times. “Without you, the realm wouldn’t have been able to prosper. In a time of peace and tranquility, you have captured the hearts of the people of Westeros,” You nudge towards your father, partly. “And to those who stand beside him... Your deeds have not been forgotten. Those who are devoted to the crown will see it prosper. House Targaryen is thankful for all of your sacrifices and hardships. Long may we reign!” Daemon’s faint chuckle likewise makes you scowl slightly. The words you spoke of felt like molten lava. It didn’t feel right for the tongue to speak. Yet when you finished and looked at your mother, everyone cheered. She beams wholeheartedly at your speech, alleviated that you’ve harmonized with your father’s words.

Bitterly, you sit down and consume the last of the wine. It clings harshly down onto your throat. Like poison, it strips you of your senses and numbs you of your surroundings. Luckily, you feel Helaena’s hand wrap around yours with ease. She knows you didn’t mean what you said. The way you spit out your words like venom to everyone. You are not one to please others - it was not in your nature. You despise dinners more than ever.

“You did not have to do that, dear sister.” Helaena hums, plainly lets go of your hand, and starts eating. “You could’ve said something out of hand.”

“Yet I did not.” You respired, refilling your cup. “Do not underestimate my ignorance, sweet sister. If I wanted to humiliate them, I would have.”

“Mind your tongue.” She harshly whispers your name. “You shouldn’t. Not here with mother and father present.” You can tell by Helaena’s jittery hands she's uncomfortable. Is she afraid you will grow brash? Even if she fails to admit it, Helaena is afraid of you. It does not matter if she denies it. You see it in her lilac pupils whenever you’re about to snap. Her eyes quiver - her hands shake as if shaken from ice. Your dear sister did not want you to explode — make a fool of yourself.

You pity her compassion. She shouldn’t care as much for you. Helaena should not worry for you because you are capable of the consequences. Therefore when Jacerys asks for Helaena’s hand for a dance, you’re glad you see her jittery hands fade away.

The musicians near the doors began to play a playful tune for the two young dancers. The atmosphere felt festive with all of the food brought out. Queen Alicent felt relaxed, talking to her father. For the first time in many years, she's able to enjoy a delightful conversation with him. It felt right for her. Her heart flutters when she meets Rhaeryna’s eyes. They constantly beam at each other. They were together again — as a House and family.

Rhaeryna giggles at a comment Daemon says to her in her ear. She hasn’t laughed in years. Amused at his wife’s reaction, Daemon mischievously sips his wine. He's not one to mingle and apply useless conversation. Yet when he hears his lady wife giggle, he feels content. While beside him, Lucerys happily talks to his betrothed cousin. At first, he was nervous to speak but Rhaena was the one to reassure him. Together, they were an adorable pair Rhaeryna always thought.

In the corner, Aemond eyes his younger nephew. Lucerys mindlessly does not look at him but gleams at what Rhaella said. His right eye squints, wanting to pierce his nephew's head on a spike. Aegon, diagonally mumbles something unrecognizable. The wine is getting to him, he thinks. A glimpse, he believes he can see the teenage boy's eyes glance at him nervously.

“Scaring the poor child will do you no good, dear brother.” Your voice tunes him out of his gaze momentarily. He clenches his hand on the table at your sudden comment.

However, his gaze did not falter as he continued to look forward. In his perpetual, his eye senses you continue your pursuit, leaning closer to his chair. Your lips were a breath away from his ear - as your hand shields your mouth.

“Foolishness does not suit you. And please do not summon Vhagar, you'll frighten our guests.” You snicker aimlessly. Aemond’s glare now directs at you. Yet he does nothing and leans back in his chair. When he looks at his mother and Helaena, gracefully dancing with Jacaerys with the biggest smile on her face. He feels the urge to smile — at least they are happy. Yet when his eyes land on you, it feels unjust. You were chit-chatting with Aegon, both drunk to the core from the red wine. The two of you shout with slurs and boisterous laughter.

He ignores the pit in his stomach. “Final tribute.” He says when the Kingsguard escorts the king to his chambers. “To the health of my nephews, Jace… Luke and Joffrey.” Jacaerys released his hold from Helaena’s. “Each of them… handsome, wise…” he hesitated, yet rage fueled his words. “Strong…”

Alicent calls out his name nervously.

“Come, let us drain our cups for these three…” You glance at Rhaeryna’s expression, which displays disappointment. Grinning in delight, you raise your cup while Aegon follows your pursuit. “Strong boys…”

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourselves strong—“ Jacaerys punches Aemond with a forceful blow to the face. Your brother barely flinches as he backs away, laughing. Reluctantly, Aegon reaches for Lucerys and slams him down on the table.

Pure madness was overtaking dinner. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of your family fighting. Alicent quickly strides towards Aemond and questions him about his foolish action.

And with a simple curt, he says. “I was merely expressing how proud I was of my family, mother.” He turns back to Jace, “Though it seems as though my nephews aren't as proud as theirs.”

“You—!”

“Stop, stop.” Daemon steps in between the two and urges his son to let it go. His son obliges and goes to his mother hovering over Lucerys.

“Go to your rooms, all of you.” Your sister’s motherly voice reached your ears. The silence between the youngest sons of kings stared down at each other. Aemond is the one to break and leave.

You hastily follow behind him.

King's Landing was not the most pleasant place to be at night. The only moving figures were Aemond’s black coat and your laced dress. The clattering sounds of your footsteps only made Aemond’s pace quicken. It was until you see him reach a dark corridor you stop. The moon was impatient tonight as it illuminates lustrously upon your arrival. Your steps were slow and concise, not wanting to provoke his rage. You called out his name.

There was no answer.

The closer you come to the corridor, the snappier your heart beats. The enjoyment you deemed back at dinner was fading away. The adrenaline you had from your family’s gathering was now pumping through your veins. You called him out again, facing the dark wall of the cold entrance. You could see his figure standing in the shadows. His hair - even though covered by the darkness - is still beautiful. He enjoys the lack of light the night gives him. You can tell by his posture, leaning against the wall he was studying you. “Are you satisfied now, brother?” You are met with silence, encouraging you to continue. “Your foolishness truly exposed our family's differences.”

“And yet you spoke of unity tonight.” He breathes, and the vapors of his words flow into the night sky. His tone was ice cold, wanting to puncture your beating heart. He snaps in disgust - you guess by the change of his posture. “You said that House Targaryen united us all.”

“Yet I rose my cup to your tribute.” Your slow strides unnerved him. Your shoes - that can clank roughly against the cold cobblestone - made your presence stern. You were like a water serpent emerging from the depths of the ocean. Your expression - cold makes his heart beat faster. “You know I despise lying, Aemond.”

“Must you always fiddle with your lies?” He sneers, nudging his face fully at you. Your silence alerted him to your uncertainty and confusion. “Why did you toast to them?”

“Is it not respectable of me to congratulate our sister and uncle?” With a raised eyebrow, you felt a strong sense of rage. “Despite my distaste for Rhaeryna and her family, it does not demean my respect for them.”

“Respect is the last thing they deserve.” He releases himself out of the darkness and towers over you. His annoyance was like ticking a time bomb.

You can see his eyes flicker toward your lips. “It wouldn’t be fair.” Eyes colored in the darkest purple trail up to meet one another. You two stare at each other, too tense to move. “To you included.” Aemond freezes for a moment. It was as if he didn’t catch what you said. “How hypocritical of you to deem them without respect while you do the same.” You can feel a devilish grin come to your lips. “With a bastard.”

And like a scared animal, your brother jumps back. He doesn’t look frightened, mostly troubled — in his mind. Yet before you say another word, he brushes past you and dashes back into the darkness.

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 month

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Villain: Laormoch, Archfey of the Wild Unknown

Embodying the primal awe and terror of those places beyond the edge of the map, this ancient spirit of the land exists to test and torment those who stray too far from the safety of the familiar.

Though the old stories call him the" thane of the faroff" or an "invisible giant as big as the sky", it is hard to put Laormoch's physicality and the fear it evokes into words: How do you describe being lorded over by ancient trees, or the scornful glare of unfamiliar stars? His shape is only ever suggested by how it bends the natural world, but he is always distant, though always so immense that it feels like he may reach out and crush the viewer.

Adventure Hooks

The party stumble into a village to find its inhabitants struggling to recover after a disastrous hunt. Some wretched beast tore through some weeks ago and was only dispatched with great effort. It was a cause for celebration, at least until the thing was seen stalking in the woods, reading for another attack. To prevent it from assailing their walls and destroying their homes the village's best hunter leads the village's strongest on a sortie, downing the beast only after injuring many and losing a few. This has happened three times so far and the village's defenders are wearing thin. Perhaps the party could lend their aid once the beast is spotted again, and perhaps spend the intervening time trying to find its obviously supernatural origins.

Almost inconsolable, a great lord calls for the party's aid in rescuing his son and heir, who he claims was stolen by the sky itself: snatched out of his tower window by a great hand and carried off into the clouds. The servants and courtiers are skeptical, everyone knows the lord was so protective of his son he barely let the boy leave his rooms, let alone the castle, and it's likely the lad finally managed some means of escape. While they're considering exactly how to search for the lad the party will be approached by the Lord's bastard daughter, she was denied her inheritance by her father's traditionalism, and sees the opportunity to have herself recognized if the true born heir is never found. She'll ask that even if the party does find her younger brother, they either help him escape or leave him where he is, as it would be better for the both of him if he doesn't return to the castle.

Backstory:

Seeking to prove herself against a boastful rival, a hunter ventured far from her village into the deep wilderness, where she found and slew an elk of ethereal beauty, eating its flesh to sustain herself and taking its antlers as her trophy. Though she returned in glory, the beast had been marked by the Thane of the Faroff, who has raised its butchered body as a reverent and gifted it bloodthirsting branches to replace what was taken. The revenant won't stop until it's killed the hunter and torn her body to shreds, which will likely be sometime after she's gotten a good portion of the other villagers killed because she's too good at hunting and too stuborn to die without a fight. The revenant has more than one trick though, the branches animating its body bear seedpods which it scatters as it dies or gores others to death. These seeds eventually grow into twigblights, which are slowly massing in the forest waiting to overwhelm the village's defenders and open the gate for the revenant's final rampage.

Wishing more than anything to get away from the suffocating confines of his home, the young heir has found himself on the wrong end of a fairy bargin. Whisked off by Laormoch to his castle beyond the horizon, the boy has been forced to serve as the archfey's cupbearer as repayment for his captor's "kindness". The party will need to dig deep into the local folklore to figure out how and why the sky might snatch up a forlorn youth, potentially missing him entirely until they run into him while visiting the feywild for a completely different adventure.

Artsource

#villain #villain fey #archfey #wilderness encounter #encounter forest #encounter village #rescue mission #monster hunt #Laormoch

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asha-mage · 7 months

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Here's what I'll say about Siuan for right now, since their are still a lot of unknowns floating in the air: I think her actions in this episode are largely in accord with her book characterization no matter which way the show breaks on certain details.

Siuan's central character flaw in the books, the thing that largely leads to her downfall, is her default response to most problems being to exert raw force and control. It was how she handled the Hall of the Tower which allowed opposition to coalesces around Eladia and Alviarain, it was how she handled Gawyn creating a resentment in him that would drive him to side against her during the coup, and how she forced Min to remain in the Tower against Min's wishes which was the catalyst for Eladia realizing she could strike against Siuan at all.

And it's what Siuan does in this episode when confronted with a problem she does not have another way to deal with. Moiraine is with holding information from her? Go to Cairhien herself and seize the tiller of events with her own hands. Rand is running wild, derelict in his duty? Take him captive and bring him to the Tower where at least he will be under her eye and safe from the Forsaken. Moiraine is attempting to abscond with him as a result? Cut off her avenue of escape by any means necessary, even if it means damaging her personal relationship with Moiraine, possibly forever.

And that's the other thing to keep in mind: Siuan, like Moiraine, fundamentally does not trust anyone except her partner in conspiracy. She can't. For twenty years she's been on a quest that will lead to her stilling and execution if it is ever discovered. She and Moiraine are each other's confidants and allies, their deepest and most important loves. But even in the books Moiraine is withholding information from Siuan out of a sense of greater good. The difference is that in the show Siuan becomes aware of it in the show and of course she begins to doubt and loose trust in Moiraine as a result.

In her mind she has gone almost at once from being a partner, one half of a team that trusted in and depended on each other, to being on her own against the storm. If Moiraine didn't tell her about being stilled, what else might she be holding back? And if she is stilled, then realistically, how much good can she do for their cause now? How can she keep Rand safe from himself and the Forsaken, prepare him for what's coming, when she might not live another year? And that agony- that pain that the person she trusts and loves most didn't just betray that trust but also might not be around long enough for Siuan to be mad even be mad at her- has to be put aside because the mission, the duty, is everything to Siuan, just like with Moiraine. The stakes are too high for anything else.

So she falls back on the safety net of the Tower's traditions and secret plans. Take Rand to the Tower, keep him safe, prepare him for what's coming and trust to the Light for the rest. Take away his agency for his own good and the good of the world (something it should be noted she's wistful for the ability to do in TSR when she wishes she could keep hiim from a learning a word of the Prophecies, which is the same scene where she outright admits to Min she intends to try and control him in), and bring him firmly under her thumb. And what does Moiraine do? Enlist the aid of one of the Forsaken to break Rand free and flee to Falme through a Waygate, which is at best an INSANELY risky and potentially very stupid play, and at worst tacit confirmation of her worst fear, that Moiraine has gone over to the Shadow, and everything is on the brink of being lost.

And where does that leave Siuan? Isolated and alone and with no other fallback by her same response: to keep exerting raw force, to pressing the spring down until it snaps.

#WoT #Wheel of Time #WoT on Prime #Wheel of Time on Prime #WoT Meta #Siuan Sanche #moiraine damodred #Siuaraine #Siuanraine #WoT Book Spoilers #TSR Spoilers #I don't necessarily buy the theory that either Siuan has been compelled #Or that this is a Deep Play by her and Moiraine #Though of the two I'm more inclined to believe the later #Though it would mean we need a missing moment of Moiraine and siuan re-establishing their broken trust in the throne room #immediately prior to or after the reveal #I also just keep tilting my head because people keep surfacing the quotes from late series siuan about the oaths #when that's a lesson she had to learn as a RESULT of the events of the coup #partly through having her idealism restored by teaching egwene to be amyrlin #fair warning: I am always down for good faith discussion #but I will block without hesitation for bad faith takes or clowning

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the-kr8tor · 5 months

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He Beckons

Pairing: fae! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Tags: no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), TW blood, CW injury, CW gore, TW death, CW body horror, CW arachnophobia.

The Fall Masterlist

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PART II >>> PART III

Your mind almost breaks trying to comprehend everything all at once. It all screams at you, at the same time the quiet deafens your ears.

The first thing you've noticed is the wind, or the lack of it. There's no leaves rustling in the wind, no howling from the harsh blow of it; like it's forbidden for the wind to come inside, it stills, forever lingering outside. The air is stale, everything around you seems to be stuck in time. Idle and waiting for something that will wake them again.

Is this a dream?

Slowly moving your head to look over your shoulder, frightened, knees threatening to give out from the fear of the unknown.

Not knowing what's behind you is much more terrifying than bracing yourself to be braver and just look.

With trepidation, you dare look behind.

You feel like lighting has struck you dead on. Feeling it curl from your fingertips up to your heaving chest. It stops where your heart is, for a second you feel it stop beating, blood coagulating inside, choking and killing your body. But your soul, your soul has never felt more alive. You feel it lifting away from you in glee, fingers reaching out to him in a way you couldn't control. Then it snaps back to you like a taut rubber band. Life returns to you in a second, eyes adjusting to the light, you take all of him in all his glory.

Him.

Human in all physicality yet primordial in nature. He takes your breath away, skin smooth, free from any imperfections, glistening in the light like polished copper. Standing tall, his hand beckons you over in a come hither gesture. Arms covered in fine webs, more beautiful than any jewel you've ever seen. You don't move, still as a rock. He tilts his head at your defiance.

His torso in full display, save for a singular vine placed horizontally on his chest, its leaves mirroring the ones clinging onto the estate's walls. Muscles prominent under the deep green of his cloak, collar reaching up to his neck, its edges stop right under his jawline. It's pinned together by a blood red spider frozen in time, holding it willingly just for him. His unusually tall stature sends shivers down your spine. He towers over you, height far too tall for a human to have.

Sauntering over to your frozen state, your eyes drift over to his legs, the entirety of his lower body is covered in tree bark. With every foot step, he leaves wild flowers in his wake. Small, colorful and something that's not of this world.

Your lungs seem to forget how to breathe with how he looms over you, casting a long shadow, blanketing your entire body. He faces you towards him with just his pinky atop your shoulder, it's enough to send electricity right through you.

"I asked you, it's rude not to answer" there's a deep rumble in his chest, almost like a purr after he notices you bravely staring deep into his eyes.

Gold swirls in his eyes like an ocean wave, you feel like drowning in its waters.

Eyes shifting down, you see him smirk, tiny vines and leaves dance under his skin. Moving and breathing like a living thing in itself. His face looks like it was chiseled by the Gods themselves, fine marble cut to perfection.

He takes your chin in between his fingers, lifting it slightly so you could look into his eyes once again. You see something dark shift in his stare, swallowing a lump in your throat, you feel his searing gaze on your neck as it bobs up and down. His scent enters your senses, he smells like morning dew over a hill after rain poured over it overnight. Flowers, you surmise, mixes in with the scent. From his touch to his narrowed gaze, it overwhelms your very being.

Not a dream.

You feel something stirring inside your gut instead of just fear. Excitement perhaps? Or is it your mind playing tricks? Whatever it is, it's pushing you towards him like a puppet on strings.

"Are you alive in there?" There's cotton in your mouth. "Do you even have a tongue?"

With a shaky breath, you speak. "I have a tongue"

Pointed ears perk up at the sound, you notice the chip on the shell of his right ear. Thorns piercing the skin decorate his ears.

"She speaks" He lets go of your skin, stepping back to take you in. Flicking his eyes back to your face, he smiles in satisfaction.

With measured steps, cloak dragging across the grass. His eyes never leave yours as he rounds over a long table full of sweets and wine inside intricate glass pitchers.

Was that always there?

Sitting down at the head of the table, a tall chair made of marble with moss and engraved spiders decorating it. The large weeping willow looms over the entire table, providing shade from the mysterious sunlight. He gestures for you to sit right next to him. Your knuckles tighten as you fight with yourself.

Will you oblige?

Better judgment wins this round, you gawp at him like an animal cornered by a hunter. Afraid that if you lift your gaze from him for a second, he'll appear right in front of you and devour you whole.

"Who are you?" Your question echoes in the glade, you feel a blade of grass kiss your leg.

"Y'know I could ask you that myself, you're the one who barged in, hm?" He leans on the table, hand placed on his cheek nonchalantly. "May I have your name?" The sentence whispers right into your ears.

A trick, You purse your lips from forming your name.

He clicks his tongue after a beat of your silence. "Fuckin' hell, you're not very good at talking, huh?" His words are weirdly human, sounding like someone you would have encountered anywhere.

"I'm not giving you my name" knitting your eyebrows together, you briefly flick your eyes over to a dilapidated arch in the far right corner. You're sure that's the exit from this dreamscape.

Smiling, webs form around his arm right in front of your eyes. Nails as dark as death and sharp as a knife scratches at his cheek.

You've had enough of his charade, you lunge at the arch, running as fast as you can. Barely making it, your body stands still right in front of it.

"What–?" Your feet feels like it's stuck in a rat trap, unable to keep running. Looking down with a gasp, you see sticky webs cling to your jeans, tightening around your ankle, threatening to cut off blood flow.

"Not what you think it is, love. Trust me you're better off here" he moves his legs over to the arm rest, his back lounging over to the other. His hand absentmindedly stirring at the tea cup on his lap.

You yelp when a web pinches your skin. "You can't keep me here" bravery helps enunciate your words.

"'m not tryin' to, you're free to go. Didn't invite you in, remember? A bit rude of you, innit?" He drinks loudly from his cup, watching your face contort from pain into anger.

"Give me your name and I'll tell you mine" you seethe.

He laughs loudly, a booming sound like thunder clapping. "Shit, you've got some cobblers on you, tell you what." He sits up, throwing the delicate tea cup over his shoulder, it bounces right on the grass with a thud. "I'll say mine, just because I like anger on you better than fear" he winks, tilting his head, placing his hand over his chest.

"Got a lot of names but I prefer Hobie the best." He points with his long finger at you still stuck on the ground. "Now, your turn"

"Release me first," you say through gritted teeth. "Hobie"

He exhales at the sound of your voice uttering his name, lashes fluttering close for a split second. "'m not the one doin' that, placed that there just in case people like you decide to run into that entrance. Just like I said before, not good for either of us"

Hobie waves his hand, and just like that, the webs dissolve at your feet, releasing you. He waits with a tap of his nails over the wooden table.

"My name's–" you stop yourself, what will happen if you actually tell him your name? Will you get stuck here? Breathing heavy, you spot clovers growing on the foot of his chair. You've got a better chance with a lie.

"Clover, name's Clover"

"Well, clever Clover." He stands up to his full height, all seven feet of him. A large spider crawls over his chest. Alarm bells start ringing in your head. "What are you doin' here?"

Slowly craning your neck up to meet his eyes, you stop breathing while his stare bores a hole right through you, like a God looking down at his acolyte.

"I'm looking for a dog" you say in a small voice, toes clenching inside your trainers. Previous bravery gone.

"You're not gonna find her here" tilting his head, he picks up a stray leaf that fell right on your shoulder. Hobie twirls it in-between his fingers, noticing your slightly shaking form. "Are you afraid?"

Your neck aches, muscles shaking under your head. "No"

A half lie in itself, you're afraid of the uncertainty, not of the being before you. There's a strange familiarity between you, something you can't quite name.

"That's the difference between you and me, I can't lie." Grumbling, he crushes the leaf in his hand. "Trust me, dog's not here" Hobie brushes his knuckles over to the smooth skin of your cheek.

You flinch back but you stand your ground. "Did you take her?"

"What would I do with that dog?" Narrowed eyes, he chuckles darkly.

Still toe to toe with the otherworldly being, you even out your breathing, "Where is she then?"

Hobie shrugs, "dunno" he turns around, making his way back to his seat. "Why don't you sit down and have a cup with me?" Tempting, the sweet fragrant smell of grapes beckons you over.

You scoff, ignoring the temptation. "No, I'm leaving" you walk towards the arch again.

Lighting fast, Hobie takes you by your arm, wind rushes past you with how quick he moved.

"Don't. Do. That." His voice booms like a gong signaling your own death. There's a storm raging behind his eyes. Yet your body and soul flutters in his hold.

He steals your breath, eyes angrily looking behind you, at the dilapidated arch, the most normal thing in the entire glade. The wind whispers past your ears, listen, girl.

Guiding you away, his hold on you tender yet stifling. Hobie sits you down on one of the chairs whilst you watch him closely, looking for a sign that he might start attacking you with his claws. Instead of striking you down while he has you in his grip, he folds his knee, kneeling before you. Cloak pooling around his feet, drowning in green. Now leveled with your gaze, Hobie's eyes soften, releasing his touch over you.

"Don't go over there, that's not the way out" his voice soft, concerned and full of fondness. Without a second thought, he takes your hands, cupping each one in his large ones, avoiding his sharp nails from scraping your palms. Weirdly enough, you let him.

The ache in them wanes for only a moment.

Your heart pounds under your ribcage. "I need to get out of here" leaning over, you stare deeply into his eyes, pleading. Perfect eyes swirl into brilliant brown, liquid gold mixing within the pools.

As if waking from a trance himself, Hobie lets your hands go quietly, only lingering over to your fingertips for a brief second. You feel the history under his calloused fingers. He stands up, looming over you once again. Gold glimmering in his sockets, mouth agape. Face full of hidden loneliness.

Wordlessly, he puts both his hands over to the chair's armrest, your breaths mixing together in harmony. Then he pushes the chair over, and like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, you fall.

Darkness once again envelopes you.

Back hitting the moist grass, you sit up by your elbows. The sun slowly setting, the heavens above cries as large droplets of rain fall harshly on your skin.

Gasping, you return to reality. "What the fuck?" Your voice merely a whisper against the loud pelting. Eyes fighting to stay open whilst water spray on your face, you find yourself back on the edges of the woods.

A thick mist covering it all, hiding behind the curtains as it draws back down over the woods.

Not a single tree or blade of grass can be seen from the outside. You only hope Nellie's alright inside.

Standing up from the wet soil, you groan, trying to get your foot out of the mud. You take a deep breath, hands shaking from what transpired. His face stamped permanently in your brain like a song you can't get rid of, repeating over and over again.

—

The rain knocks roughly against the windows, fogging up the glass as you sit on the alcove. A stark difference from the marble chair you were on just a few hours ago. The warm cup tethers you back to reality, scalding hot on your bandaged hands.

Watching over the woods, your brows knit together, trying to recall what just happened to you. It seems like you've found yourself in a folk story, a story where parents tell their children so they stay away from the dark woods. Either that or the isolation is getting to your head already. But you doubt it, you've always been alone, so called friends ignoring you once they get what they've wanted from you. Exes leave you high and dry just before anything could get serious enough. It's safe to say you're used to being alone, used to your voice being unused for months on end. But you can't help feeling like life has passed you by.

That's why you took this job, because you're naturally a solitary person; even though you don't admit that it gets lonely sometimes and the silence at the end of the day makes you weep for the life unlived. It gets worse with every passing birthday you've celebrated alone in your home, there's a longing, a hole in your heart that you can't find anything to fill it with. You thought this job would be it, if people can't provide it, why not a change in career, right? You thought if you did a good enough job, Mr. O'hara would hire you permanently. Well, that's down the drain until you find his dog, wherever Nellie is right now.

Once the rain stops and the ground solidifies, you'll make your way back to the edge of the woods to try and get her back home. Until then, you'll sleep and rest. She's just fine, she probably knows the woods better than anyone.

As the night drags on, your eyes grow heavy, back sliding down on the cushion to sleep. Folded in half, you succumb to the sandman's call. Drifting, you hear fabric moving behind you.

"Hi"

You flinch back from the whisper in your ear, their breath tickling the shell of it. Yelling in surprise as you glimpse someone running outside your room, blue cloth whizzes past the hallway in a flurry. Feet skittering, a giggle making your heart skip a beat in fear.

"H-hey! You're not supposed to be in here!" Your socked feet hit the icy floors, cold seeping inside the fluffy material. Running after the culprit, you almost slip and fall over the handrail, vertigo almost making you sick as you look over the first floor. Your head turns towards the sound of thudding feet on the spiral stairs.

Following the sound from above, you spot the intruder standing on the stair landing. Dark curls in a neat ponytail, staring blankly ahead.

Your breath hitches in your throat as she looks up. Her smile marred by blood coagulating inside her mouth, empty eye sockets gazing up. Gasping, you fall to your knees, hiding yourself from her petrifying gaze. The wood scratches at your already injured hands, blood seeping out from the gauze.

She giggles again, running out of the house, she yells excitedly, "come find me!"

Your palms turn clammy, goosebumps erupt over the once smooth skin. Her small voice echoing in your mind like a siren calling you over. Despite better judgment, you stand up from your position, running after her in an attempt to stop the incessant ringing in your ears.

Busting the doors wide open, wild wind enters the abode, pushing you back inside. Your eyes sting, fighting the stabbing air with your arm protecting your face.

With a blink she appears right in the middle of the open field, the tall grass dancing at her feet. Nonexistent eyes watching you. Different voices call out to you in whispers. Both warnings and temptations.

"Run away" "Please help" "Come here" "Enter" "don't take her!" "beware" "Be wary, be wary, be wary, be wary" "My baby!" "Where is he?" "Don't be like her" "Listen to the wind, girl" "over and over and over" "tis not a place for you" "Punished" "Worse things" "turn around" "let me in!"

"I'm right here"

They overlap with each other, screaming louder whilst you fight off nature. The girl raises her arms for you, veins blue, thorns protruding out of her skin, ichor once again drips down on the grass, staining the entire field. A sea of blood red sways wildly in the gust of wind.

Your feet are swallowed by mud, hindering you from reaching the girl. You continue on, treading through the muck. You have no idea why but your mind is telling you she begs for your help, and only you could provide it.

Struggling, legs aching, the thick sludge slowly swallowing your bottom half, now rising up to your thighs, it's cold and prickly on your skin.

"Hang on!" You scream through the noise. The pained howls of the dead get louder and louder as you try to reach her. The mud now up to your chest, crushing your lungs. "Almost there!"

Your fingertips graze her palms, sighing in relief, the soil now clinging to you like second skin. "I've got you!"

Just before you take a hold of her, she suddenly gets flinged back towards the woods, into the dark void while you listen to her screams.

"No!" Your cry is muffled by dirt choking you, tongue tasting the bitterness, iron filling your lungs. The ground devours you whole, shouts silenced. Your hand only remains over the soil that has hardened. Burying you alive, suffocating, fingers stiff, twitching for a minute before you join the dead.

You wake up gasping for air. Body almost falling off the alcove. Coughing, you can still taste the earth on your tongue.

On wobbly legs, vision tilting, heart pounding, you run towards the bathroom, your hip landing painfully on the door. You're sure it'll bruise.

You don't even bother turning the lights on, feeling for the sink, hand sliding along the cold walls, memory guiding you towards it, you don't waste time opening it when the cool metal hits your bandaged palms.

You guzzle water directly from the faucet, trying to get the disgusting taste out of your mouth. Coughing violently, you finally get rid of the lingering taste with a final spit. Splashing cold water on your sweaty face, the warm water sticking to your lashes, you blink awake.

"Fuck" you watch the water swirl around the drain inside the basin. Evening out your breathing, you look in the mirror.

Instead of pristine tiles, the woods appear behind you, with every blink, glowing eyes materialize, staring relentlessly at you in between trees. Something else watches you, an ominous presence hiding amongst the benevolent ones. A shadow reaches out, clawed hand encircling your neck.

With a quick movement, you flip the light switch open. You're back inside the opulent bathroom, body shaking in fear.

"Not real, not real" you tell yourself whilst blinking back tears. "Not real"

—

Your hand tightens around Nellie's food bowl filled with dog food, it's been a full day since you went outside, too anxious to even look out the window. Yet you stand on the large porch, staring daggers at the soil. Your dream still frightens you, seemed too real for your brain to just come up with it. You can still feel the sludge choking you and the girl's bloodstained hands calling you over.

With an uneasy step, you stand on the moist ground. Sniffing from the cold, you shake the bowl, calling out to Nellie. Roaming around the estate, careful not to go over the edge of the woods this time, you find yourself standing outside the family mausoleum. The large concrete doors wide open, inviting you in.

The single skylight allows sunlight to filter through, highlighting the farthest center tomb, its engraving almost illegible from the wear and tear of time. A carved rose lay on top of the marble, its stem snapped right in the middle. Twin inverted torches sit on either side, guarding the person in their eternal rest.

You can't look away, the headstone seems to get closer and closer to you the longer you observe.

"Fuck no" backing away, you shake your head. "Nellie! Come girl before I lose my goddamn mind!" Your voice is carried by the wind.

You have an urge to go to your car and drive home, alas you've signed a contract, leaving now will definitely get you sued.

The sun slowly sets in the horizon, still no sign of the border collie. The cold freezes your bones, breath creating clouds with every yell of Nellie's name. You sit on the steps of the porch, dejected, huffing while shaking Nellie's blue bowl.

"I'll never find that dog like this" going back inside, fighting a sneeze creeping up your nose. You drop her bowl haphazardly on the floor, tin clanking on the floor, spilling dog food.

The metal necklace lay untouched on the counter, you have an idea but you don't like it one bit.

With a shaky breath, swallowing your fear, you take the necklace, closing the clasp around your neck. "I'm stupid and I'm gonna die" opening the fridge, you take a carton of milk and a jar of honey. "Can't fucking believe I'm doing this. This is stupid and I'm talking to myself."

Even with your mind full of apprehension, you find yourself outside, feet tethering off the edge of the woods. Armed with a torch, spool of thread and a bag full of milk and honey, you venture forth into the growing dark.

"Nellie!" Frustrated, you yell.

The light from your torch searches the ground for any signs of Nellie. Eyes flitting back and forth from the ground to the tree where you've tied a red string to its low branches. You're not getting lost this time.

"Nellie–!" You suddenly get flinged back, landing hard on the grass. Hobie looks down at you with a look you can't decipher. "Oh shit"

"You shouldn't scream in the woods, love. Something else might find you first"

"Like you?" You aim your frustration at him, regretting it almost immediately.

"Good thing I was first then, hm? There are worse things in these woods than me." With a helping hand, he reaches down for you. "Well?"

With a grunt, you hold his hand, not missing the familiarity of his skin against yours. Your heart beats loudly at the contact. Tugging you up effortlessly, his hand lingers for a second as if savouring the connection.

"I need your help," noticing his smaller stature, still taller but more human than before, you don't mention it. "Please"

"Blunt as always" turning his back, he saunters over back to his chair. You spot daisies stitched on his cloak, noticeably not a part of the original design.

"Can you help me find her, please. I'm worried"

"Worried about her or worried that you'll get in trouble for losing her" he raises an eyebrow.

"Both, she's a good dog, she doesn't deserve to get lost in these woods. And not losing my job helps too" you bravely take a step forward, the edge of the long table bumps your bruise.

"She's not the one who's lost" Hobie stares at you intensely, you stand on opposite sides of the table, watching eachother, learning and acquainting with every twitch of muscle and exhale.

Hastily taking out your offerings, the carton of milk sloshing as you place it on the table, the jar of honey banging loudly on the wood.

"Will this be enough?"

You jump back ever so slightly when he laughs loudly. A thunder strike sounded out. Slapping his knee, doubling over in his chair.

"What?" Hobie wipes a tear, chuckling through his words. "Milk and honey, really? Where'd you learn that?"

"Stories" you stand confused, finger playing with your bandages.

"From what? The thirteenth century?"

"Maybe" you say in a small voice, humiliated by the otherworldly being laughing at your face. Mumbling out quietly, "you probably don't even know what year it is"

"Tell you what," Hobie leans forward on the table, arms crossed over the other, lips curled into a smile. "I'll help you, for a price of course"

"If you want my first born you'll be waiting for awhile"

"Not that" he shakes his head.

The anticipation thrills you, ears waiting for what he asks.

"Just a thank you from you is all I need"

You blink in surprise, a second after that, realization hits you. "Oh" you're already thinking of a way to deceive the deceiver.

"Deal?" Hobie tilts his head, waiting for your answer.

"Only if she comes back home" you lay the condition. "Alive and well"

"'course and she will" he sits up comfortably.

"Deal"

He hums in satisfaction, "Sleep and old Nellie will be back" with those words, Hobie waves his hand, taking you back on the estate grounds.

Landing on your chest, the ground greets you once again. You groan out in annoyance. "Will you stop doing that?!"

You swear the wind laughs at you.

—

You wake up with slobber all over your face. Nellie standing on your bed, tail wagging happily once your eyes open.

"Nellie! Holy shit!" You hug her neck, nuzzling her wet fur. "Oh you're so dirty! Where have you been, old girl?" Petting her, she barks in reply.

"Yeah? You okay?" You scan her for injuries, finding none, relief finally washes over you. "Guess I have to thank him now, huh?"

Nellie sticks out her tongue, tilting her head in question.

"You hungry? Come on!" You and Nellie race each other downstairs.

—

"Hobie? I'm here to hold up my end" you wander the woods, fingers looped around the thread. "Hello?"

You hear shambling in the distance, chains rattling, rotting flesh fills your nostrils.

"Augh" covering your nose with your jumper sleeve, you continue calling out for Hobie.

Long arms appear behind you, enveloping your entire body. Your scream gets cut off with his large hand over your mouth, nails digging into your skin, leaving indents.

You're back in his abode, eyes looking up at his furious glare towards the pained moans. His arm protectively around your waist, you can feel his tensed body behind you; the spider on his cloak gazes down upon you, legs twitching at the sight of you.

The sounds finally fade after a moment, Hobie takes his hand away from your lips, turning you to face him, you find an angry slash on his chest with an identical one on his palm.

Without thinking once again, you take his injured hand. "What happened?"

"Necklace, don't mind that." He takes his hand back to his side. "Didn't I tell you to stop yelling in the woods?"

You ignore his question "What was that?"

"Something worse than me" he brushes his knuckles over the indentations he left on your skin. "You came back" you don't flinch away.

"We had a deal. I'm here to hold my end"

"Everything comes back here eventually" his eyes glazed over, Hobie fixes your collar, fingers grazing on your neck, he doesn't mind the sting from the metal. He comes back to his usual self, taking a precise step back. "What do we say then?"

"I-" his eyes shine knowingly. "I appreciate the help, Hobie"

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Clever as ever" you dance around each other like a well choreographed waltz.

"I am, aren't I?" You smile at your own ingenuity.

"You are." He copies your smile, hiding sadness behind it all. "Go home, Clover"

There's a sick longing in you. Biting and gnawing your insides, you have no idea if it's him doing this to you or there's something else making you feel this way.

"Will I see you again?" You blurt out, surprising yourself.

"Can't stop you, do what you want" Hobie once again turns his back to you. “You do know what I am, right?”

“Yes, you're an elf right?” you joke, earning a deep chuckle from him. Beaming at Hobie, satisfied with his reaction, you clear your throat. "Alright" you bid goodbye.

He looks over his shoulder, "Call my name in the woods and I'll send you back here" your heart soars at his comment. "Just don't yell it next time, not in that context anyway"

Hobie snaps his fingers just before you could reply back a quip. You land more softly this time. Eyes bright, looking up at the orange sky with a fond smile.

—

Once the dishes are cleaned, Nellie is fed and asleep, all surfaces dusted, doors locked, you lay on the soft bed, mind still reeling from the past events. The canopy swirls in your tired vision, making your eyes slowly shut close to slumber.

You dream of him that night, vision warbling, noises muffled like you're underwater. He looks at you with a youthful smile, head tilted, waiting, dying for you to answer back. Hobie looks almost the same, yet his eyes sparkle with anticipation, no longing underneath.

The air is warm and comfortable like a welcome embrace from a loved one, none of the biting cold that you're used to. Carnations and poppies dance without a care in the world.

Instead of the growing familiarity of the glade, you stand on a hill in the middle of the woods with him leaning on a large oak. Your long cotton skirt brushing along your legs, fingers clutching on the puff of your long sleeves, corset tight on your ribcage, his face stealing what little breath you have.

"I asked you, it is rude not to answer"

Your mouth moves on it's own, "My name is–"

A/N: sorry this update took so long 😔 ms rona was kicking my ass. Thank you for reading!

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cool-fancier · 6 months

Text

Unspoken Safety

Synopsis: You go against your bodyguard's advice, but she's always there to protect you, and a passionate kiss grows the connection between you.

The beginning of the night had been an exhilarating journey into the unknown, an opportunity to explore a new world away from the security of your daily routine. Anticipating a great time, you arrived at the party full of energy, ready to mix in with the drinkers and take in the energy of the place. However, you couldn't deny that Bada, your personal bodyguard, wasn't exactly happy that you went to the event.

You could sense the excitement in the air as you made your way through the lively crowd. People were mesmerised by the moment as they moved to the beat of the music that filled the arena. Smiles from others welcomed you, and you laughed and soaked up the party atmosphere as you joined in on their chats.

However, there was a faint discomfort in the background, knowing that you had ignored Bada's advise. She had brought up her concerns about your safety in a new place on several occasions, and she had cautioned you not to go to this event. She took her duty to safeguard you seriously. That was her job. Her only goal for the evening was to watch over you from the shadows, to make sure you stayed safe.

You had no idea that Bada was blending in with the crowd while her sharp eyes were fixed on you. She didn't like to stand out, and her amazing body let her fit in with the partygoers while keeping her instincts razor-sharp.

As the evening wore on, the contagious spirit of the party captivated you. You enjoyed the freedom of being free of your regular responsibilities and the spontaneity of the evening. You had become lost in the bustle and the excitement of the celebrations, unable to see Bada's messages.

Your phone vibrated with a new message all of a sudden. As you looked down, you saw Bada's curt text, "It's time to leave. I'm on my way. Stay put."

You realised that you had pushed the boundaries once more and ignored her caution. Now the party had gotten out of hand, much worse than you could have anticipated. You should've heeded her warning and stayed safe, but your impulsive side had won out. Upon hearing her order, you responded with a straightforward "I'm fine."

But whether you wanted Bada to come or not, a feeling of shame tugged at your conscience, and you knew she was on her way. She never would have left you on your own, especially in strange and maybe dangerous settings, because she had vowed to protect you.

Shortly after, Bada's towering figure emerged from the crowd, her tenacity evident as her eyes locked onto you. You felt a wave of relief mixed with frustration. The guests couldn't help but look at her because of her obvious presence. The mood changed, as if a mysterious power had stepped into the space.

With steady purpose, Bada moved towards you, and you realised there was no use in resisting. With a firm but kind grip, she took hold of your arm and led you away from the crazy celebration.

Every stride you took with Bada was met with an abundance of emotions that overcame you. It was exhausting, but her protectiveness also showed how keen she was to keep you safe.

You were now following her, finding it difficult to match her quick speed. "Slow down! You begged, still feeling the affects of the earlier adrenaline rush. "I can't walk that fast."

Bada's pace didn't slow. Her need was steadfast and her grip stayed solid. As you were being brought away from the party's clamour, there was a noticeable tension in the air. Though Bada's annoyance was obvious, you could see concern lurking beneath her tough demeanour.

Bada let go of your arm when you arrived to a nearby car, but she still turned to face you. Her serious face was shadowed by the night, and her tattooed arms were crossed over her chest. "Did you enjoy acting like a wild animal?" she said,her voice laced with irritation.

You playfully but slyly hit her back out of defensiveness. "What are you so pissed off about? It was just a party."

Bada seemed to look right through you, her eyes narrowing as her attitude stayed unwavering. "It's not just about the party. It's about your safety. I can't let anything happen to you."

There was a pause as you understood how deeply concerned she was. Bada's constant devotion to your well-being was evidence of the special relationship you two had. It was more than just a work assignment; it was a verbal promise and an unwritten agreement.

That's when you made the decision to become closer to Bada. You took a step closer and gently met her lips with yours. A kiss that expressed the feelings that had left unsaid, a kiss full of a mixture of longing, impatience, and affection.

You two gave in to the passion that had always simmered under the surface, and the tension that had been building all night appeared to dissipate. The world around you vanished as Bada's arms wrapped around you and drew you closer.

Finally, your lips parted, bringing your foreheads together, and you said, "I get it, Bada. I'll take extra care. I swear."

Bada's thumb stroked your cheek, softening her expression. "Good. Because I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Hand in hand, you and Bada left the party. You two had a relationship unlike any other, based on a special dedication and intense love. You couldn't help but think as you were leaving that, in spite of the difficulties, you would rather have no one else by your side to look out for and take care of you.

The evening served as a reminder that, on sometimes, you required protection against yourself—someone who loved enough to go above and beyond simple freedom. That someone was Bada, and her commitment demonstrated how strong your bond was.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #swf2 x reader #bebe #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter x reader

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mxnsterbabe · 21 days

Text

Male Onikuma/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,792 Tags & Warnings: character of colour (the reader) Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

Your best friend dares you to talk to the quiet, brooding new neighbour. Against better judgement you do exactly that; and find out maybe all he needs is someone to call his own.

You and Felicity huddled by the window, spying on the moving van that had just pulled up across the street. The night had crept up on you both, and the sudden commotion outside was an unexpected break in your quiet evening.

“I wonder who it is?” Felicity asked, her face pressed against the window. Her wild red hair and golden skin meant that anybody who looked over would surely see the two of you spying. If that didn’t do it, then her spiralling horns tapping against the glass would.

She tapped your shoulder as the van's doors opened, and you saw the moving team—a pair of orcs and a human— begin to unload. Then, trailing behind them, an enormous ﬁgure emerged, distinct from the rest, capturing both your attentions instantly.

"Is that our new neighbour?" Felicity whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity. The ﬁgure was a bear-person… what were they called? Onikuma? Yes, that was it.

He was towering and imposing, with fur as creamy white as moonlight, save for the hints of yellow around his ears and head that lent him a certain softness.

You nodded, equally mesmerised. It was hard to determine where his bulk ended and his fur began, blurring the lines between strength and gentle ﬂuﬃness. Despite his size, there was something undeniably cute about him.

As you both leaned in for a closer look, he turned, his gaze unexpectedly meeting yours through the window. The surprise made you both jolt back, Felicity letting out a small gasp as you ducked out of sight, hearts racing from the thrill of being caught staring at your intriguing new neighbour.

Felicity's laughter ﬁlled the room as she stumbled back too. "Well, that was smooth," she teased, peering back towards the window with an impish grin.

You couldn't help but cringe. "As if being caught gawking wasn't embarrassing enough," you muttered, though curiosity urged you to steal another glance outside.

"There's no harm in a friendly hello," Felicity suggested, her voice laced with mischief. "We should go over tomorrow, introduce ourselves. Maybe see if he needs any help settling in."

The thought alone was enough to heighten your embarrassment. "Just march over there after spying on him? That's even worse!"

Yet, as you peeked out once more, the sight of the Onikuma leaning over to pick up a box caught your

attention. The ease with which he lifted it, muscles moving beneath his fur with such grace, was captivating. Even from this distance, there was no denying he was handsome,

in a rugged, unusual way that intrigued you more than you cared to admit.

Felicity caught your lingering gaze and smirked. "Dare you to talk to him tomorrow," she challenged, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of a good dare.

You sighed, torn between reluctance and the unwritten rule that you never backed down from Felicity's dares. "Fine," you conceded, a mix of apprehension and a

surprising ﬂicker of excitement stirring within you. "You're coming with me."

"Wouldn't miss it," Felicity replied.

Pouring more wine, you and Felicity settled onto the sofa, the previous tension easing into a more comfortable lull.

Through the window, you noticed the Onikuma disappearing inside his new home, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment. The thrill of the unknown had been replaced by the reality of tomorrow's impending interaction.

"He deﬁnitely saw us," you murmured, taking a sip of your wine, the sweet taste doing little to calm your nerves.

Felicity chuckled, her carefree attitude a stark contrast to your concern. "So what? It's not like you were doing anything scandalous. Just a bit of neighbourly observation."

You frowned, picturing the potential awkwardness of tomorrow's encounter. "What if he knew I was spying? It's not exactly the best ﬁrst impression. He lives right across the road. If I embarrass myself, it'll be impossible to avoid him."

Felicity laughed, the sound light and infectious. "You're overthinking it, babe. It's just saying hello, not a marriage proposal. Besides, he's new here; he'll probably be glad for the company."

You couldn't help but smile at her dismissive take on the situation, though the knot of anxiety in your stomach remained. "I just don't want to start oﬀ on the wrong foot, you know?"

With a shrug, Felicity topped up her glass. "Look, the worst that could happen is a bit of awkward small talk, and then we go about our lives. Or, who knows, maybe he'll turn out to be a great friend. Or something more," she added with a wink.

Her words, meant to reassure, did little to quell the what ifs swirling in your mind. Yet, the night wore on, and the wine, coupled with Felicity's relentless optimism, dulled the edges of your apprehension. As you both laughed and planned your approach for tomorrow, the possibility of what's the worst that could happen? seemed a little less daunting.

***

The next morning, with the sunlight casting a soft glow over Oceanhall, you found yourself standing at the front door of the house across the street, Felicity by your side.

Despite her protests and playful jibes about your early morning enthusiasm, she accompanied you, her presence a comforting constant in the face of your mounting nerves.

It took a moment before the door creaked open, revealing Shinsuke in a state you hadn't anticipated. He was

sweating, chest heaving slightly as if he'd been in the midst of an intense workout. The surprise on his face mirrored your own, though you couldn't help but notice the way his presence seemed to ﬁll the doorway.

"Hi, we’re your new neighbours," you started, your voice steadier than you felt. "We, uh, noticed you moving in yesterday and wanted to say hello."

Shinsuke nodded, a brief ﬂash of acknowledgment crossing his features before he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Shinsuke," he introduced himself, his tone polite but curt. "I'm in the middle of a workout," he explained, a slight edge of impatience creeping in. "Then I have to run to the store for some fresh paint."

Eager to make amends for the untimely intrusion, you oﬀered, "We could help you with the painting if you'd like. It's no trouble at all."

Shinsuke paused, considering the oﬀer, before shaking his head. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you," he added, the politeness in his tone not quite reaching his eyes.

Before Felicity could jump in with her usual charm,

Shinsuke oﬀered a brief nod and closed the door, leaving you both standing on the doorstep, the quiet of the morning suddenly more pronounced.

Felicity turned to you with a raised eyebrow, the encounter not going quite as either of you had expected.

With a mutual shrug, you and Felicity turned back towards home, the brief encounter with Shinsuke leaving a lingering sense of disappointment. Felicity, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood as you walked. "He was

probably just caught oﬀ guard, you know? People aren't usually their best mid-workout."

You nodded, half-listening, your thoughts still replaying the brief conversation. Felicity's reassurance was a small comfort, but you couldn't shake the feeling that your attempt at neighbourliness had been more intrusive than kind.

***

Later that day, as you made your way home from work, your path inadvertently led you past Shinsuke's house again. This time, he was outside, a bucket of soapy water by his side, diligently cleaning paint brushes. The soft strains of music ﬂoated from a nearby radio, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying the warmth of the sun.

"Hello again," you called out, a tentative smile on your face as you approached.

Shinsuke jumped, clearly startled, and the sight of such a large, formidable ﬁgure being caught oﬀ guard by your greeting was unexpectedly endearing. He quickly regained his composure, though his reply was still marked by his usual brevity. "Oh, it's you. Hi."

You couldn't help but smile at his reaction, ﬁnding his reserved nature more intriguing than oﬀ-putting this time around. "How's the painting going?" you asked, nodding towards the brushes.

He followed your gaze, a hint of pride ﬂickering in his eyes as he considered the question. "It's... going well, thank you. The living room's almost done."

"That's great to hear," you replied, genuinely pleased for him. "I've always thought a fresh coat of paint can really change a place. Do you have a particular colour theme in mind?"

Shinsuke seemed to ponder your question, the music and sunlight creating a more relaxed atmosphere than your previous encounters. "Mostly neutrals," he ﬁnally said, "but with one wall as an accent. I got this bold ice-blue."

"Is it a ﬁxer-upper or are you just adding your personal touch?" you ventured, curiosity getting the better of you as you glanced towards his house. Its exterior gave nothing away; same as yours, just a squat little townhouse with a solid white door.

Shinsuke rinsed a brush, his movements deliberate. "It's modern enough," he replied, his voice carrying a note of consideration. "I just wanted to repaint and perhaps replace the ﬂooring with real wood. It feels more... authentic."

You noticed a hint of discomfort in his posture, a subtle shift that suggested the conversation might be encroaching on territory he wasn't entirely comfortable with. Maybe it was your time to retreat.

"Sounds like a solid plan," you said, taking a step back, preparing to make your exit. "Well, I won't keep you from your work. Good luck with the renovations."

As you turned to leave, Shinsuke stood, his full height becoming startlingly apparent. He towered over you, the breadth of his shoulders casting a shadow that enveloped you in its cool shade. Standing this close, you realized you

barely reached the middle of his ribs. He was taller than even the tallest forest troll you'd ever encountered, his presence commanding yet oddly comforting.

The sudden proximity sent an unexpected rush of warmth through you, his sheer size and the gentle giant aura he exuded igniting a ﬂicker of attraction you tried to dismiss. His fur, creamy white, seemed softer up close, inviting thoughts of what it might feel like to touch.

"Thank you," Shinsuke said, his deep voice breaking through your thoughts. "And... sorry if I seemed a bit oﬀ earlier. I'm not much for small talk."

His admission, coupled with the vulnerability of his stance, made you pause, reconsidering your initial interpretation of his discomfort.

"No worries," you managed, your voice steadier than you felt. "If you ever need a hand with anything, or just fancy a break, you know where we are."

Shinsuke's response was a smile, something you hadn't fully expected from the quiet giant. As he grinned, the sunlight caught on his sharp, chunky teeth.

Rather than ﬁnding it intimidating, you were surprised to discover it only added to his rugged appeal, lending him a certain wild charm. It was cute, actually.

Feeling heat creep into your cheeks at the thought, you were suddenly acutely aware of how intently you'd been observing him. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Shinsuke. I should probably let you get back to your painting," you stammered, hoping your voice didn't betray the sudden ﬂutter in your chest.

"Sure, and thanks for stopping by," Shinsuke replied, his earlier smile leaving a lingering warmth in the air between you.

With a quick, somewhat ﬂustered goodbye, you turned, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to retreat. Felicity, with a knowing smirk, followed closely behind, her presence a silent question mark hanging in the air.

Back inside, the familiar scent of dinner cooking did little to distract you from the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through your mind. Felicity, ever observant, glanced from you to the window, piecing together the silent narrative unfolding.

"What's up?" she asked, though the twinkle in her eye suggested she already had her suspicions.

Before you could muster a response, she peeked outside, catching a glimpse of Shinsuke still cleaning his brushes in the sun. The grin that spread across her face was all- knowing, and when she turned back to you, her expression was a mix of amusement and camaraderie.

"Ah," she said, the single syllable heavy with implication. "You've got a bit of a crush, haven't you?"

Your protest died on your lips, the evidence too damning, your blushing face a clear giveaway. Felicity's laughter ﬁlled the kitchen.

"Am I really that obvious?" you asked, still trying to recover your composure, even as Felicity dished out dinner with an air of triumph.

Felicity chuckled, glancing over her shoulder at you.

"Maybe your dark skin and freckles can hide a blush, but babe, your eyes give you away every time. They light up like a Christmas tree whenever you're even remotely interested in someone."

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your lips twitched upwards in a reluctant smile. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"Not at all," Felicity countered, setting plates down with a ﬂourish. "I've seen less sparkle in a jewellery shop window. It's quite endearing, actually."

The banter continued through dinner, Felicity's playful teases making the meal ﬂy by in a blur of laughter and mock indignation. Despite your initial embarrassment, the easy back and forth with your roommate lifted your spirits, and the earlier encounter with Shinsuke now seemed less like a daunting ordeal and more like a curious, perhaps even hopeful, beginning.

As you cleared the dishes away later, Felicity's voice softened. "You know, I think it's great. He seems like a decent guy... in a towering, bear-like sort of way."

You smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the evening's meal. "Yeah, maybe he is. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

"Exactly," Felicity agreed, her grin infectious. "Hey, if nothing else, you've made an interesting new friend."

***

For nearly two weeks, Shinsuke remained an enigmatic presence just across the street, glimpsed only in ﬂeeting

moments of renovation and the occasional early morning departure. Your own work commitments kept you similarly occupied, the rhythm of daily life left little room for neighbourly interactions.

Then, one evening, as you wearily stepped out of your car, the tranquility of the night was shattered by a sound so raw and primal it sent a shiver down your spine. It was a roar, deep and resonant, unmistakably inhuman, emanating from the direction of Shinsuke's doorstep.

For the ﬁrst time since your initial encounter, a ﬂicker of genuine fear ignited within you. The Onikuma's towering ﬁgure had always held an element of the unknown, but this unbridled display of frustration painted him in a starkly diﬀerent light.

Yet, as your eyes found his, the ferocity that had echoed in the roar seemed to evaporate. Shinsuke stood there, a large ﬁgure slumped in defeat, his shoulders sagging under the weight of embarrassment and a palpable sense of shame. It was clear he hadn't intended for you, or anyone, to witness him.

Compelled by a mix of concern and an unspoken need to help, you approached cautiously. "Is everything okay?" you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering echo of his roar.

Shinsuke's gaze met yours, and in the dim light, you could see the ﬂicker of concern in his eyes. "I... I've locked myself out," he admitted, the frustration evident in his voice, yet tempered now by a hint of vulnerability. “I just got the locks changed yesterday.”

The fear that had momentarily gripped you faded, replaced by empathy for the solitary ﬁgure before you.

Here was the gentle giant you remembered, momentarily undone by something so mundane.

Well, it happened to everyone once in a while.

Biting the inside of your lip, you said, “maybe I can help.”

"How can you help?" Shinsuke's question was genuine, tinged with a hint of curiosity as he regarded you.

Your body felt too hot as he stepped closer. You stepped back, your gaze inadvertently catching on a window ajar, a sliver of opportunity in the otherwise closed facade of his home. "There, that window looks open. Just big enough for someone... smaller to get through."

Shinsuke followed your gaze, a glimmer of hope lighting his features before he quickly masked it with concern. "It's too high, and... you could get hurt."

"I'll be careful," you assured him, your determination overriding the niggling voice of caution in your mind. You approached the window, assessing the climb, aware of

Shinsuke's gaze on you, heavy with a mix of gratitude and worry.

As you positioned yourself to make the ascent, Shinsuke moved closer, his instinct to assist clear in his posture. "Let me help at least," he oﬀered, his voice a low rumble.

You hesitated, eyeing up the window. Then Shinsuke.

He’d have to hold your hips to keep you steady, and the very thought made you shiver. "No, it's okay. I've got this," you said, more to convince yourself than him.

Shinsuke retracted slightly, his expression faltering. "I didn't mean to... earlier, I didn't want to scare you."

Your heart clenched at the misunderstanding. The desire to bridge the gap between you, to erase any fear with a kiss, was overwhelming. Yet, admitting your growing feelings for him now seemed a step too far.

"It's ﬁne, really," you managed, your voice softer than intended. "I know you didn't mean it. Let me just get this window, and we can forget all about it."

With that, you turned your focus to the task at hand, the unsaid words and unacted desires hanging between you like a promise yet to be fulﬁlled.

Your determination saw you scaling the short distance to the window once more, your focus solely on the task at hand.

Unfortunately, the ascent proved trickier than anticipated, and a misstep sent you teetering dangerously backwards.

Before fear could fully take hold, Shinsuke's arms were around you, pulling you back from the brink with eﬀortless strength.

In his embrace, you were acutely aware of the contrast between you; your dark and freckled skin against his downy cream fur. How soft it was, the feel of it against your hand…

"Are you okay?" His voice was laced with concern, deep and resonant, yet he seemed to shy away from direct eye contact, his gaze ﬁxed somewhere over your shoulder.

"Yes, I'm ﬁne, thank you," you replied, your heart still

racing—not from the near fall, but from the closeness, the contact that you both seemed hesitant to break.

Reluctantly, you wriggled yourself out from his hold, the loss of his warmth immediate.

Determined not to be deterred, you focused your eﬀorts and, with a bit more caution, managed to successfully navigate your way through the open window. The sense of accomplishment was ﬂeeting, replaced by an acute awareness that Shinsuke was still watching you.

Once inside, you quickly located the Yale lock and twisted it open, your actions mechanical as your mind raced with the encounter. Opening the door to a grateful Shinsuke, you were met with an expression that was a combination of relief, gratitude, and an echo of the same hesitation you felt.

"Thank you," he said, his voice grounding you back in the moment. "I... I appreciate the help."

As Shinsuke stepped into the hallway, the narrow conﬁnes of the space became immediately apparent. There simply wasn't enough room for both of you, and in a matter of seconds, you found yourself with your back pressed against the wall to make way for him.

Shinsuke's embarrassment was palpable; his low murmur of sorry barely ﬁlled the charged air between you. Yet, the proximity, the feel of his soft fur brushing against your skin, ignited something within you—an attraction, a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

It was a ridiculous impulse, perhaps fueled by the adrenaline of the evening's events, but in that moment, you

cast all caution to the wind. Leaning forward, you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a bold, impulsive kiss.

The sensation was unlike anything you'd experienced; his sharp teeth and the slight protrusion of his muzzle made the kiss awkward, unconventional. Yet, there was an undeniable rightness to it, a thrilling mix of danger and softness that sent your heart racing.

For a heartbeat, there was stillness, a pause in the world as if it too was holding its breath. Then, as if awakening from a daze, Shinsuke responded. One enormous arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you closer with a gentleness that made you shudder. The kiss deepened, his hesitation melting away into a rhythm that was all the more intoxicating for its uniqueness.

When you ﬁnally broke the kiss, Shinsuke was grinning, a genuine expression of happiness that lit up his features. As soon as he caught himself, his smile began to falter.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “my teeth-”

"Don't," you said quickly, not wanting him to hide away a part of him that you admired. "I like your smile."

He paused, a look of surprise ﬂickering across his face before settling into something softer, more thoughtful. "I know my kind aren't common here in Europe. I don't want to... scare you oﬀ," he admitted.

With a playful gleam in your eye, you retorted, "I'm not so easily frightened, Shinsuke."

To prove your point, you leaned in once more, capturing his lips with yours in another kiss, bolder and more

assured than the ﬁrst.

Your lips moved together with a familiarity that left you hungry, desperate for more. Shinsuke's arm, still wrapped around you, pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, his soft fur brushing against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

When you ﬁnally parted, breathless and with hearts racing, Shinsuke was beaming, his smile wide and unashamed. The sight ﬁlled you with a warmth that radiated from your chest, spreading through you with the comforting heat of a sunbeam on a chilly morning.

With a gentle chuckle, he said, "I think I owe you dinner, at the very least, for all this trouble."

Your agreement was immediate, the prospect of spending more time with him sparking a ﬂutter of excitement within you. "I'll have to thank Felicity for pushing me to talk to you," you mused, the thought of your friend's earlier teasing bringing a smile to your face.

Shinsuke's laughter was a deep rumble, a sound that you were quickly growing fond of. "Then I owe her thanks as well," he replied, his eyes sparkling with mirth and something tender that made your heart skip a beat.

As you stepped into his home, the warmth of the evening's potential wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you smiled.

#monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster romance #exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster x reader #tag: onikuma #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: poc #tag: sfw

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hoeforhao · 1 year

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Most Ardently // Wonwoo Fic //

✧. pairing: professor!wonwoo × student fem!reader (featuring mingyu and dino)

✧. genre: fluff, mild angst? very short smut(as i wanted to keep this as a pure emotional fic) minors dni, lots of pining and comfort at the end.

✧. warnings: nothing heavy, just a very slow burning romance based around my favorite novel, slight mentions of a yandere ex boyfriend,use of swear words, joking use of the word k!ll.

✧. synopsis: what happens when your one night stand becomes your new literature professor, taking both of you down a blissful lane of old school love.

✧. word count: 3.2k (approx)

✧.banner credits: to the sweetest @classicscreations

✧. author's note: as wonwoo fluff+smut won in the 50 followers poll, here it is finally. although it became more of an angsty fluff(i absolutely suck at writing puppy romance). hope y'all will enjoy it and if this gets some love, i'll bring out its prequel. last but not the least, if you enjoyed my writing then...

Likes, comments and reblogs will be heartily appreciated ♡

and on page 157 she fell in love...

"Love"~ a word meaningful only between the withered folds of literature, luring one into the Georgian haze.Realistically tho, finding a love that will entwine both soul and mind, seep through your cracks and reconcile the cores, is as strange as a diffident person like you getting raveled into a one night stand.

Quite literally clawing out your scalp, ensuring the inevitable headache later on, you kept on asking yourself, what made you so wild to sleep with a random ass stranger, that too on the night before fall semester started??!!!! The guilt clouded your mind so much so that the trance had to be broken by mingyu's hard slap on your shoulder.

"Are you dead or what idiot? The new professor's been here for over a minute now and called out your name almost seventeen times" the tall idiot sitting beside you, nearly howled into your ears.

Before the count could hit eighteen, you quickly pried up from your seat, taking a glance at the man standing in the teacher's place.

Why does his face look so familiar? That same hairstyle with heart shaped strands sticking to the forehead, those harry pottery glasses overshadowing the cat eyes, his exact little stubby nose and most importantly the bewitching plump dahlia lips.

No way it's who I think it is!!! It's definitely the hangover towering. How can he be -

"Ms y/n?"a soft hushed voice called out, pulling your train of thoughts to a sudden halt,"Mr Bennett handed over your thesis to me before he left." Only a single nod left your body as you took over the file and made your way back to the place beside the giant sized puppy,body completely washed off by an unknown tingling sensation.

"Morning students!! I'm your new literature professor from now,Jeon Wonwoo. Mr Bennett's knowledge and aura are indeed irreplaceable but still I'll try my best to bring out the beauty of literature to you guys." the man spoke, eyes a bit tensed up yet briming with a certain sort of joy.

Throughout the entire lesson, your beads were fixated onto your teacher ; as a person who would never let their focus sway, specially in literature classes, you now didn't even know what chapter the class was going through.

"Looks like someone is enchanted huh" your annoying ass bestfriend pushes you a little from the back as the entire class gets ready to head out for lunch.

"Y/n?" you hear the same raspy voice seek out your name. "Go go! Your prince is calling you!!" mingyu teases you again with a mocking smile on his face.

"Utter a single word after this, and I'll make sure you walk reverse footed the entire week" you stomp on his feet before turning around to listen to what your teacher had to ask.

"Yes sir?" you coo out softly, trying to make your racing heart less obvious.

"Meet me at my office after lunch. We need to discuss on your thesis."

"But I already submitted it to Mr Bennett once,then why again?"

"He ran short of time,while packing things up and couldn't scrutinize the papers properly, so now I'm in charge." jeon said as politely as possible.

"Okay sir. I'll be there in an hour"

"You can call me wonwoo" a light smile painted the older's face as he made your cheeks flush bright red with the comment.

Swirling around on your heels, you swiftly made your way out the room, not wanting to flash him with your blushing profile.

Stomping your feet in impatience and somewhat a little bit of anxiety, you wait for your beanstalk of a best friend to choose his drink from the vending machine.

"You're not choosing a wife Kim Mingyu. Hurry the fuxk up pls"

"Getting that worked up for a four eyed nerd! What a loser!!" mingyu spat out, while he bended down to collect his can.

"Says the one who has been bitchless since the cracking dawn of civilization. Oh wait you need to have human traits to get a partner, not that of chimpanzees" you spank his butt from absolute annoyance.

With a loud 'ouch' and his characteristic puppy eyes, mingyu rises up from his position and hurriedly drops you off at wonwoo's office door, otherwise who knows what more parts of him you'll break.

Cold sweats dripping down your face, you stand still at his door, an unfamiliar feeling shivering down your spine as you slowly bring up your hands to knock on the knob.

"M-may I come in sir?" why is it that you're shaking so much, is strange to you too. You haven't ever felt like this,not even when you met your bitchass ex for the first time.

"What are you doing to me jeon wonwoo" you whisper under your breath before stepping into the gloomy wooden space,following the green light from him.

Sitting yourself comfortably on the swiveling chair infront of his desk, you wait for wonwoo to speak up, legs shaking uncontrollably beneath the stilted plank.

"Welcome y/n. As far as I'm knowledged, your thesis is on Georgian Era pieces, and you've chosen Pride and Prejudice as your muse right?"

You just hmm in response, words refusing to leave your body, as you feel drugged by his honey voice.

"Let's get you started then" his eyes sparkling like fireworks.

Completely engrossed into your work, you almost became unaware of wonwoo's presence in the same room as you, posture quite stable now; oblivious of how quickly that composure is gonna get washed off of your body.

"Si-" picking up your head from the paper, you tried to call out his name as you needed some help with the summary, only to feel a hot breath fanning on your neck, his soft nose brushing againt your skin, as he stretches out his hand to the book infront of you.

"How many times have i told you to call me wonwoo, huh berrybub" the older's voice wooed into your system,his other hand gently tucking in the lose strands behind your ears.

"W-wonwoo can you r-read out this verse to me pls? I can't make out few parts of it" you were yourself astonished at how stable you sounded, completely ignorant of the shiver running down your spine.

"Anything for you y/n" wonwoo spoke out again,his wet lips lightly grazing against your cheeks, as he pulled the book into his hands and took his place back on the chair.

The rest of the session was as quite as a viva room, with him occasionally stealing glances at you, while you kept your eyes fixed onto the table.

An entire week went by like this, where wonwoo would read out the piece to you as you wrote your papers, with a regular comment of "if you keep staring at me like that y/n, then I fear we would be able to submit your work in time" from him. But that one suspicion refused to leave your mind no matter how much you tried.

Strolling down the hallway like a happy puppy, forgetful of all the worries with this newfound feeling of warmth and butterflies, you made your way towards the restroom, when suddenly a hand pulled you back into a dark corner.

"C-chan! What are you doing!" looking up at who this man was, you started feeling heavy in the head almost instantly, chest heaving up and down at the rate of a storm . It was no other than your yandere ex boyfriend, who cheated on you with your cousin sister!!!!

"Missed me princess?" his hands roaming all over your body as he pinned you down to the wall, a dirty feeling gushing over your entire body.

"It's over between us Chan. You knew that I would forgive anything but cheating. And you did the exact same thing. That too with Angie? Pathetic!!!" tears building up in your eyes as you try to sound as confident as possible. "And moreover, I don't think I have feelings for you anymore. Maybe it was never even love"

"Oh such a naive girl you are! You really think i give a shit about your feelings and all?" a devilish grin flashing on his face as Chan brings his lips closer to yours, hands gripping onto your waist tightly.

Your body was starting to give up, tears continously streaming down your face as you kept on praying for him to stop. But this is the 21st century, and God only helps those who help themselves. Coring up all the strength left in your body, you brought up your legs and karate kicked him on his groin.

A painful whimper left Chan's lips as he held onto his throbbing manhood, while you took this chance to run away from his grasp.

Running down the corridors, that now seemed to be endless, with his voice echoing through the walls "I'll not let you go off that easily bitch. Come back here", you tightly shut your eyes closed, desperately waiting for someone to save you from this nightmare.

And looks like the heavens finally listened to your helpless pleas as you felt a pair of bulky arms wrapping around your body like a warm blanket, pulling you into a bleak rim. Both9f your frames sandwiched against each other, hearts beating in unison, as your trembling body was now being warmed with the heat radiating off of you two.

You slowly look up at the man who saved you from that lunatic ex of yours; not like you already didn't recognize him from the strong scent of his cologne. Yes, you were unconsciously so in love with this boy, that you even remembered his smell.

As soon as your eyes met with wonwoo's, the first thing you noticed was some sort of burning rage in him, a fire powerful enough to burn down an entire forest in just a matter of few seconds.

"Wonw-" he didn't even let you finish your sentence before pulling you into the tightest hug, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he mouthed "I'll make sure to destroy anyone who dares to stain this blissful face of yours with teardrops, to lay even a single finger on your body", with an unreadable tone of anger yet sadness.

You hugged him back as tight not knowing what to say, completely taken aback by this sudden comment. Losing consciousness of what just happened with you just few moments back, you two kept on bear hugging each other as if it was the last day the Earth's gonna revolve 'round the sun, with wonwoo being the first to let go.

"I-i am sorry" that's the last thing you heard from him before he left you standing so empty in the dark, mind clouded with a bunch of unanswered questions.

"How can he leave like nothing happened, after what he did that day?" is the only thing that kept eating you out for the next few days, as you kept attending your college, both of you never crossing paths since the incident. Wonwoo didn't even show up to the classes, which surely was of no help to your intense craving. But you were highly stubborn yourself ; if he could ignore those close moments between you both so easily, you could too.

Another strange thing that bugged you was that Chan was never seen in the college campus after that day, ever again. Even his classmates failed to contact him anymore!!!

Throwing away these negative thoughts outta your head, you were strolling down the gallery, all ready to go back home as you suddenly took a halt before wonwoo's office. It was open and left unattended. You don't know what took over you and you entered the same place that gave you so many warm memories. With a silent sigh and sullen face, you carefully inspected the interiors, running your fingers along the places that were stained with his scent.

"Y/n?" the voice your ears have been longing for all these days, disrupted your probe midway. Turning around, your eyes immediately landed onto the figure standing at the door, the one your heart now beats for; at that moment all you wanted was to run to him, pull him into the warmest embrace and never let go.

But your self respect and self doubt was chaining you down, as you lifted up your feet slowly to leave the room, head hanging down low. "Sorry won- I mean sir. Sorry for intervening into your space. I'll be taking my leave"

"Don't! pls!" a muffled voice echoed around the room"W-we need to finish your project. I don't want you to fail because of me."

"It's okay sir. I can do it by myself. Thanks for all you've done for me till now" you blurt out quite sternly, with a hint of underlying taunt.

"P-pls" a sudden change of tone was evident in wonwoo's voice, as if he was on the verge of crying, which was enough to melt your composure. I mean who would want to see their loved ones cry because of them right?!

He guided you to your seat as he swiveled his own towards yours and sat right in front of you,with just a few inches gap between the two.

With a drooped down head, wonwoo pulled out the book from his drawer and took out a kitten shaped bookmark from the last done page. You lightly chuckled at the older's choice of stationary, while bringing out your thesis file.

"Let's start. Only some part is left" eyes still not daring to look at you , he started reading out the last few chapters of the piece, while keeping his gaze fixed between the folds.

Turning the pages to the one marked 157, wonwoo's voice came to a stall, slowly picking up his head from the book,his feline beads finally landed onto yours, hazed by a soft yet painful daze. Wonwoo soon started to read out again, but this time instead of looking at the book, he was looking at you, with a mixed expression of agony blended with intense pining.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Even though your mind wanted to go by the reason that it was just a line from the novel, your heart exactly knew what he meant. You wanted to let him know how much you loved him too, how much your soul craved for his, how long you've waited for this one moment....but you couldn't! A strange feeling of unjust kept you from running to his arms at that instant; so instead you got up from your chair and twirled around to leave the room as quickly as possible.

"Pls y/n pls don't leave me. Again!" two pair of arms wrapped around your waist tightly, immediately stopping you on your track. "You don't know how happy I was when I got to see you again that morning. I couldn't sleep for nights as i kept on squealing thinking about your smile lit face.You came into my life as the brightest ray when I lost all hope. Pls don't push me into the dark again."

Your heart clenched at the sound of soft sobs coming from your back, as you swiftly turned on your heels, only to be a met with a teary eyed wonwoo.

"I-it was you that night wonwoo?"drops now threatening to slide down your eyes. "They say the heart knows it all. No wonder why it always kept telling me that it was you" you said while wiping off the tears of his pale face.

"I've wanted to have you by my side since the moment you held my hand and pulled me into that hotel" closing the gap between you two as he softly placed his lips on yours ; pulling both being into a soft yet passionate kiss as you reverted back to him with equal thirst.

Grip never leaving your waist, he finally lets go of your lips, as you two gasped for some air, face all stained with fresh hot tears. Not long after, he attacks your face again, but this time painting it with affectionate sloppy kisses all over, as if a lost kitten found their home after days. He couldn't get enough of your body, as his wet lips gradually started going down your jaw and landing onto your shoulder, imprinting his teeth onto them.

Wonwoo gave a small tap on your legs and getting his intentions straight away, you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso, as he carried you towards the couch, unbuttoning your shirt in the mean time.

After he placed you onto the couch gently, sliding a cushion under your head, he carefully positioned himself on top of you.

"Can I?" soon afterward you gave him an assuring nod, wonwoo dived into your body, ripping off the white satin shirt of you, as he started placing wet sloppy kisses onto your chest. Fingers roaming around your clothed nipple, he swiftly freed your breasts off your bra and devoured them into his mouth ; earning soft alluring moans from you that were ringing like music to his ears.

Following a good thirty minutes of ravishing and worshiping your body, wonwoo finally plopped down on the couch, embracing you from behind as he pulled the covers over your bodies [do not ask me how a couch had covers pls]

"If you want you can leave me later, but please let's stay like this for some time" a whimper left his lips as he tightened the grasp around your belly.

Turning around to face him, you cupped his face onto your hands, rubbing your fingers onto his squishy cheeks as you softly assured, "Woo, I was smitten by you the exact day you came into our class. Maybe I couldn't properly recognize your face because of the alcohol, but my heart started longing for you since then. You have no idea on how hard I've tried not to fall, but look at me, I'm now head over heels for you. So don't even think about me leaving you, you dumbo. Neither are you allowed to leave, understood Mr!!" you flooff up your nostrils trying to imitate an angry puppy, earning the biggest flash of sunshine smile from bigger flooff beside you.

my darling,

you would never be unloved by me

you're too well tangled in my soul

finishing off your night with such a beautiful verse, you both drift off to deep slumber, entangled into each other's spirits.

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sandiaheadonline · 3 months

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Turaga Nuju sat alone in the observatory of a Knowledge Tower. All the lightstones in the chamber had been doused. He watched the stars make their flight across the sky in silence. His exaltation over Mata Nui's revival had been replaced by grief over the Toa lost in the fight.

Many centuries ago, disaster had forced the Matoran of Metru Nui and their Toa to relocate to a wild, previously unknown land. That disaster had in part been caused by the pride and overconfidence of the Toa Metru, of whom Nuju was one. After the Toa became the village elders called Turaga, they had tried to put the past behind them—all but Nuju. He adopted the language of flying Rahi birds in place of Matoran, only speaking the common language in emergencies. It was his way of reminding the others of what they had been through and the dangers of arrogance.

Of course, speaking another language meant Nuju needed a translator so others could understand him. He chose a Ko-Matoran hunter/tracker with a real respect for the natural world. Matoro had seemed taken aback by the offer, but eventually agreed to be tutored in Nuju's language.

Over the next 1,000 years, the Turaga and the Matoran would be almost constant companions. Matoro had shown himself to be efficient and trustworthy, keeping all that he heard in the Turaga's councils to himself. Nuju came to rely on him, both for his skills and for his honesty. He was a reminder of the true nobility in every Matoran.

And now he was gone.

The cold, analytical side of Nuju told him this was an acceptable exchange—one Toa for the life of the universe. It was, in fact, a small price to pay for such a monumental event. Feeling regret or sadness was not logical. After all, what was the alternative—Matoro living, and the universe dying? Would that have been better? For reasons he did not understand and never would, Nuju suddenly realized that the answer might just be 'yes.'

What sort of Great Spirit requires the death of a brave, noble hero for his survival? If a being as powerful as Mata Nui could not thrive without demanding such a sacrifice, then maybe existence needed to learn to get along without Mata Nui, he thought angrily.

Nuju sighed. No, that wasn't right. If Mata Nui was not worth saving, then Matoro had died for nothing. That he could not accept.

He looked down from the observatory to the streets below. Most of the Matoran residents of the city had not heard about Matoro yet, only that their world was not going to end, after all. They were rejoicing. Nuju felt even more detached from them than usual, for in his Knowledge Tower there would be no celebration. There would be only memories of a good translator, an honest Matoran, and—Nuju finally admitted—a lost friend.

-BIONICLE Ignition, Death of a hero.

Old Matoro and Nuju fanart I made around three years ago and the first fanart I made in this style. It will never stop hurting 💔

#bionicle #bionicle fanart #fanart #Nuju #matoro #Bionicle ignition #Ko Metru #digital art #Why did Greg have to keep reminding us about Matoro's death?#I mean during que celebration in the Coliseum after awaking Mata Nui we keep reading things like 'the survivors members of the Toa Mahri'#Or things like 'Their team looked so incomplete without Toa Matoro.'#We KNOW he's gone #Stop reminding it to us :'(

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gingernut1314 · 3 months

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The Luck Child - Chapter 1: Superstitions of a Dying Age

Buggy x F!Reader

Summary: You are called back to Marine Headquarters after five years of working undercover within the crew of the Wild Wood Pirates. There, you are told by your superiors who they wish to grant the title of Warlord to and are assigned a new mission: join the Star Clown's crew and make sure he dies if he fails in his challenge.

Warnings: spoilers for the anime (Marineford Arc and onward), canon divergence

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: This is done in collaboration with the wonderful @fanaticsnail and her Sapsorrow series--go read it if you haven't already!!! She also was brilliantly kind enough to beta-read this for me! And thank you @i-am-vita for creating the beautiful banner and storyteller collab masterlist!!

I actually haven't gotten to the Marineford Arc yet so please forgive me if anything is not completely right. I tried to leave things very vague for that reason but the events surrounding Buggy were just too perfect for this series! I hope you all enjoy!

“Not so long ago, in the depth of the Grand Line, where it is so cold, that very cold is considered quite warm, two cold hearts shadowed over the land. One beat cold in a cruel government, the other in a terrible beast: The Griffin. And it happened in a week with two Fridays, that the cruel government heard of a prophecy.”

The halls of Navy Headquarters were lit like they had allowed the very sun into its walls. No shadow graced its well-maintained halls, not even the likes of your own shadow to accompany you into the awaiting meeting hall. A meeting hall whose doors, which swirled with silver detailing, towered over you like some great, twin titans as you came to a stop before them.

Titans.

That was who sat, waiting for you behind those doors. Titans whose very will had sent for you days prior. Who had nearly torn the very delicate position in the pirate crew you had infiltrated to shreds.

The Wild Wood Pirates; a pack of wild women born from chaos and blood. Women whose power almost rivaled that of the Kuja Pirates and their Warlord Captain. They were a threat to the world government and all who bent the knee to their will.

A threat the government had not taken to so kindly.

Sending the Snake Princess of the Amazon Lily herself to destroy these wild women had been one of the many ideas sprung to deal with the hardened villains, but your superiors had thought of a different approach--a better, more calculated, and…gentler approach.

Spy on them. Become one of them. See how they slipped from the watchful eye of the Navy and how they could get from one side of the Grand Line to the other in a matter of hours.

And out of the thousands upon thousands of Marines to choose from for this task, they had chosen you.

You, the daughter of a well-respected Vice-Admiral and the strongest Marine produced from your class.

You, who was vicious in your attack upon the pirates that sailed the Grand Line.

You, who was bloodthirsty in your pursuit of the bandits and petty thieves that roamed the streets of the bases you occupied.

Wild. You were wild. Too wild, many a superior had spat, to be a Marine. So wild you had gotten yourself demoted and benched more times than you could care to count on your own two hands and feet.

It was why you had made the perfect candidate to infiltrate such a group of pirates. Unknown by most--overlooked--you and your savageness had been sent off to wander the Grand Line. Had been allowed to spread chaos and fear in your travels. Had been allowed to run wild.

You had earned your own little bounty, on the promise it would be cleared upon the success of your mission, and had been welcomed into the Wild Wood Pirates ranks with a few, messy kills.

It was crooked. Wicked of your superiors to allow you to do such horrid acts, but it was all in the name of discovery. Of committing little evils to behead that of a greater one.

You rose in rank gradually throughout the years you had joined their crew. Had gained favor with your new captain. Had gained such favor, you had been allowed on their main ship; The Robber’s Den. A grand vessel with a twisting and turning tunnel-like underbelly and home to a strange forest that grew over the deck.

Had just, after death and back-breaking labor, been allowed to be above deck as they traveled through the Grand Line at in-humanly fast speeds. The answers you sought had been in your grasp--your mission nearly complete when those very same superiors who had assigned you this years-long mission, sent a messenger bat to recall you.

You tugged at your white uniform. One you hadn’t worn in five years. Tugged and pulled and shifted it over your body, trying desperately to get comfortable in its hold.

Too tight, too thick, too itchy. It didn’t feel like your uniform any longer. It felt like a costume. A disguise. A poorly made disguise at that.

How had you ever had the patience to wear such a monstrosity?

The answer is you never had and coming fresh off the seas, where one did as they pleased, when they pleased it, the uniform was already trying your thin patience.

You shifted the cap upon your head, it having begun to itch right alongside your uniform, as you stared up at those giant doors before you.

In and out.

You willed--no prayed--for this meeting to be as swift as The Robber’s Den’s speed. An hour--an hour and a half at most is all you knew you had the tolerance for.

A progress report. That is what they had written in their letter. It would be a simple meeting. A very simple meeting, seeing as they had whisked you away from those Wild Wood Pirates before you could glean their biggest secret from them.

With a great, chest-expanding breath, you pushed your way into the meeting room full of glorified titans.

You wished beyond all hope to have your shadow by your side for company at that moment.

“Ah, so the feral girl finally makes her appearance.” The grating voice of Akainu spoke, stopping all idle conversation that had bounced around the rounded table and room. He was the first you spotted, signature pink rose on his breast and the basic, marine-sanctioned cap on his head, which led the eye to the large scars littering the right side of his body.

You let your eyes scan over the others around the table--all faces you recognized but many whose ranking seemed to have changed in your absence.

And Akainu, whose voice filled your ears with white-hot rage and made boiling magma to match that of his devil fruit powers roar through your veins, had been gifted the most gracious promotion. That of Fleet Admiral.

It did not surprise you he had climbed this high in rank. He was smart, cunning, and powerful. It did, however, have your curiosity stifling your coiling anger for a mere moment.

Why would a Fleet Admiral need to be present during a simple progress report?

You felt your muscles move on memory before your brain could rush to keep up with its sharp movements. Heels brought together, hips and shoulders on level, legs straight but not so firm as to lock up your knees, and right hand brought to meet your right brow in respect of your higher-ups.

“Forgive me, sir. I had been making my way to old headquarters before I realized its relocation.” The man let a mouth full of smoke escape his lips, which a half-smoked cigar still lay between.

“I didn’t expect anything else, Apprentice.” You hardly were able to refrain from outright snarling at the Fleet Admiral.

Seaman Apprentice. One rank up from being a lowly recruit. A rank you had received only a week before you were given your undercover assignment. “I see those wild women took every last ounce of civility from you.” He said, giving a wicked laugh at your reaction.

“With all due respect, Fleet Admiral.” Another member, sitting closest to the entrance, spoke up before you could lose your already lost temper. His chair blocked him from view, but you knew the dull voice of your father too well.

“Y/N took a great risk in joining the ranks of the Wild Wood Pirates. Took a greater risk still in coming here on such unexpected notice. It shows her dedication and devotion to our government.” Your father finished, making no such move as to look upon you. To see what had become of his only child in the time spent with the enemy.

Akainu let another mouthful of smoke filter out between his teeth, his dark eyes scanning over you from beneath his cap. Eyes that reignited that itch your uniform made crawl over your skin like a thousand ants had marched their way under it. It made your fingers twitch in want to relieve it.

“At ease.” He grated out, like he was disappointed in releasing you from the restricting position. You let your arm fall to your side before it joined your other behind your back, feet spread shoulders width apart. “I assume you have heard of the battle at Marineford and our…unfortunate happenings with the Warlords.”

Hardly. You had hardly heard such news had it not been for the News Coo bird you’d paid discreetly and at risk of your own personal being. You let your superiors know of your little knowledge of the battle.

“We are looking for others to fill the voids left by Teach, Jinbe, and Gecko Moria. We have filled two of these vacuums.” Akainu gestured for you to find a seat around the table. Your feet carried you to an opening next to the quiet likes of Tsuru, the Vice-Admiral hardly sparing you a glance. “The file before you holds all the information we currently hold on the pirate we believe might fill this last position.”

Your fingers smoothed over the fine-coursed blue file that sat before you, flipping it open you had not expected to be met with the sparkingly and laughing grin of a pirate whose reputation whispered around even the likes of the isolating Wild Wood Pirates. A reputation of cowardice and overall weakness that your crewmates had loathed.

A grin you had wanted to punch off his panted face ever since you had first met him in the flesh at the start of your five-year undercover mission.

You chuckled. No--not chuckled, laughed. A belly-shaking laugh as you grabbed at the edge of the wanted poster to tilt it towards your vision better.

“This is who you plan on granting the title of Warlord to? This bumbling fool?” You shook your head, wiping a stray tear from your eyes as your laughter continued to keep hold of you. “You are right, Fleet Admiral, I have been away from civilization far too long. You wish me to believe this clown is a threat to the Marines? To the World Government?”

“You have been gone far too long. You have forgotten your manners, Apprentice.” The rank had your laughter dying quickly in your throat. A rank hissed at you in a warning.

Manners. You truly did need to relearn your manners. If you didn’t, your higher-up would demote you to a lowly recruit--maybe even to that of chore boy and you would be nothing.

Nothing but a wild mess of a person--a failure. A reject. A disappointment.

“The Star Clown led a mass of prisoners out of Impel Down, of which he managed to escape with hardly a scratch.” You pursed your lips together to keep any remaining remarks down.

You hadn’t seen that in the news. Must have missed it in your isolation.

“He led those highly dangerous prisoners against us on the battlefield and still holds them under his command. He is becoming a threat.” Akainu all but spat your way.

“He’s just been lucky.” An admiral, sitting to the left of the Fleet Admiral, spoke, leaning back in his chair in dismission of the clown.

“Too lucky. We need to nib this luck at its source before it grows out of our power to control.” Akainu snapped at the admiral next to him, who hardly seemed phased. “If we--”

“A luck child,” Tsuru spoke from beside you, cutting off the Fleet Admiral. You almost threw the woman a wicked smile in approval had you not remembered she had a disliking of you right alongside the rest of her comrades. “Poor as penance, rich as snow, a great captain of a great captain. Wise men prophesied this child would one day achieve greatness.”

The room fell silent as the words fell heavy over the air. Words you had never heard once in your life, but ones that seemed to flicker in recognition in the eyes of the Marines around you.

“Have we fallen so low as to start believing old superstitions of a dying age?” The admiral to the left huffed. “It was no wise man who spoke those words. Gold Rodger was out of his mind by the time Death came for him. First this luck child, then that foolish proclamation about the One Piece. He was spewing utter nonsense.”

“Luck is a gift. A blessing. It cannot be undone.” The Admiral scoffed at Tsuru's words once more.

“Akainu, are you going to--”

“Then he is more of a threat than we originally thought. His escape, his ability to gather powerful individuals under his command, his connections to Red-Haired Shanks and the Rodger Pirates, and now this--prophecy.” The Admiral shook his head in disbelief at his superior’s words. “Something needs to be done about him.”

“Then why not just kill him?” You spoke on a gruff, gaining Akainu’s magma-filled gaze once more. “He is more trouble than he is worth. The other pirates mock him--he is their court jester, not their lord. Kill him and be done with it.” You all but hissed, throwing the clown's wanted poster down.

Akainu rapped his fingers against the marble table before him, deep in thought as he watched you. Watched you in a way you wished he would stop.

“You’ll find a map just beneath his bounty.” You pursed your lips together once more.

Manners. Remember your manners.

“As I am sure you have already gathered, we have not called you back for a simple progress report. You are to take that map to him as an offering to join his crew.” You pulled the map out from behind his bounty poster.

It was small. Old. Its detailing was lacking and few of the black lines that made up its image had faded with age.

How anyone was supposed to properly use it in its deteriorating state was beyond you.

“And what of the Wild Wood Pirates?” You asked, glancing back up to your superior.

“What of them?” He said, seeming utterly unworried. It fueled your anger once more.

“If they find out I left to join up with another crew they will not stop hunting me until I am dead.” You said, biting back the snap in your voice.

“Then sail clear of their territory.” Akainu snapped, uncaring to hold back his words’ own sharpness.

Sail clear of their territory--you almost scoffed. They had no territory. They didn’t care about such things. Power was all they cared about. Blood and chaos and pain. You went to tell him as such, but he was quick to shut your complaints down.

“You’re job, Apprentice, is to give him the map and join his crew. You are to take account of every last individual who has joined him, report it back to us, and make sure he finds this island. If he can find it and win the golden feather amongst its hordes of treasure, then he will receive a letter from us in due time telling of his new title. But if the beast that roams those lands defeats him, then we have nothing to worry about besides contacting the runner-up.”

You clenched your fist in your lap. Clenched it so hard you were almost certain you had broken the thin skin of your palm.

Join him. Join that fool? No. Never.

“Why would this feather be of any interest to him?” You asked, channeling all your frustrations into your grip.

“It is said to be of an opposing nature to that of the Devil Fruits. Legend says it frees its user from Mother Ocean’s hold forevermore. If the stories are to be believed, he would be able to swim as he pleased in her waters, never to drown. Maybe even be given the power to deify that of Seastone.” The Admiral to his left shook his head once more at the continued fairy tales and legends.

“And what happens when he fails to find this golden feather? When he fails to get eaten by this beast because he has run away like the slimy creature he is?” You asked, closing the file to keep those irritating green-blue eyes from staring at you any longer.

“Then you kill him as you see fit.” Akainu closed his own file. “You wild things do so love a bloody kill.”

Manners--oh but your manners were running very, very thin.

You pulled a thin-lipped smile to your features.

“As you command, Fleet Admiral.” Akainu chuckled darkly, releasing another mouthful of smoke.

“Very good.” He smirked, standing from his seat. “Then it is settled. Apprentice Y/N will see if our--Luck Child,” He said with another rumbling chuckle, “is fit for greatness as such wise men have prophecied. If not, he is better off dead and off the chess board.” You stood with the rest of the Marines around the table, right hand back on your brow as the Fleet Admiral moved through the room towards those great, giant doors.

The three admirals were quick to follow, and so on and so on until you were left standing in that too-bright, rounded meeting room with your father.

You felt no need for formal respect when it came to him, so you were quick to drop what little was left of your good manners and snarled like some raid animal in your frustrations.

You tugged and yanked at your uniform once more, loosening buttons and your necktie.

“Will you be--” You were quick to fix him with a daggered glare and a show of hissing teeth.

“I stopped needing your care long ago.” Your father hardly blinked at your wild behavior.

“You may have stopped needing it but I have yet to stop caring.” He sighed, standing from his seat.

Care. Like you were supposed to believe he truly cared for you.

You watched him pull something from the pocket of his white dress-pants. It was a rectangular envelope in a soft shade of periwinkle, with elegant and swirling handwriting that looped over the front.

You recognized it immediately for what it was. An invitation. One you had seen many times in the past.

“The Lady Aegea of the Magmere Isle is hosting her annual masquerade ball in three days time. Many ladies will be presented--” You held a hand up to stop him before he could continue to waste his breath.

“Have you forgotten I have been ordered to worm my way into yet another pirate crew by that time? If I am not killed for my betrayals, I will be no lady of any court you wish associations with.” Your father looked--tired. Older.

When had he gotten like that?

“I just want to see you happy.” That only had your anger spiking in your chest. A deep anger that had been building ever since your childhood.

“You raised me as if I was nothing more than another cadet under your command, remember?” They were words he had heard from you many times over. Words to rival that of the ballrooms and proper lady-like conversation and courtships he threw your way. Even when you had joined the Marines, he continued to offer you up on a silver platter to any lord brave enough to try for your hand and you continued to fight him. “I cannot help the path laid before me.”

“You can throw my biggest mistakes in my face, but it will not change my hopes for your future.” You scoffed at his words. Words that he spoke in a dull drawl that only had your anger coiling tighter around your heart. “Will you at least take the invitation? In case you change your mind. I will fight to have you removed from this assignment if you do.” Your eyes scanned over the invitation. You knew there was no way you would attend such an event, not unless it was forced upon you.

But if you took it now, it would keep him off your back for a little while longer.

“Fine.” You snapped, grabbing up the Star Clown’s file before making your way around the table to snag the invitation from your father’s awaiting grasp. “This means nothing of my attendance.” Your father only smiled--too excited for his own good.

“Of course, of course…though, I have been told Lady Aegea has invitited the great Lord Dacule Mihawk.” He was always invited. The swordsman was the most sought-after suitor in the blue sea and Lady Aegea had a strange fixation on him. Him and finding him a suitor. “And rumor has it he will be in attendance this year.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” You huffed, shoving the invitation amongst the rest of your newly gathered information, tucked away in the file you held. Though the Warlord had been invited to every last ball the Lady Aegea threw, he never once dared to show his face.

“He might be of some help to your mission. Him being a Warlord after all.” Your father said as you started out of the meeting hall, hardly sparing your father a final look. He was not saying this to be of any real help. It was his way of bringing the Warlord to your attention for potential courtship.

“Good day, Vice Admiral.”

“Wouldn’t you agree?” Your father called as you stormed out of those giant doors. Stormed out of those shadow-stealing lights and too-clean halls ways. Stormed passed fellow Marines making their way through the halls just as you did, though looking far less angered.

You yanked your cap from your head as you hit fresh air. Air that didn’t smell of cigar smoke and molten lava. Your uniform top was next, its persistent itching becoming far too much for you to handle.

Luck child, luck child, luck child.

Curse that foolish clown. Curse him and his horrid luck.

There was no reward in this for you. Nothing other than a death sentence, old wives' tales, your father's nags of marriage, and your submission to yet another power you had no interest in following.

Buggy the Clown was not that lucky. No man was that lucky and you would be the one to end this ridiculous string of good fortune.

Screams and shouting commands filled the roaring, storm-filled air as the Big Top was hit with yet another mountainous wave. Saltwater stung at Buggy’s eyes and made loose strands of blue hair stick to the sides of his face, which his make-up ran over, ruined. Saltwater that had his grip on the lines he had been retieing begin to grow weak, Mother Ocean’s power over him slowly starting to win.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Buggy screamed as he managed to retie the rigging despite his numbing fingers.

Screw Mother Ocean. Screw Devil Fruits and screw this freak storm that has come out of nowhere. A storm that had already claimed three of his men in its merciless hunger.

He spied Alvida, kneeling on the drenched deck, looking about ready to pass out. Her long, curling locks stuck to her smooth skin which looked all too pale in the muggy light the storm clouds allowed to slip through.

The water was no doubt taking its effect on her now, rendering her utterly useless.

Buggy grabbed for another loose line that was threatening to run free just as a large ball of wax rolled past dangerously, knocking a few of his freaks over as it headed toward the front of his ship.

Galdino, a fellow escapee from Impel Down and one of Buggy’s newest crew members, must have encapsulated himself before the water could do much to drain his own powers. Encapsulated himself in a rolling ball that, if didn’t kill someone, would surely roll straight into the ocean.

Stupid idiot.

Buggy’s muscles loosened then and, despite his best efforts, the line he had been holding fell from his grasp, shooting up into the rain and sea-spray-filled air. Something snapped and Buggy turned just in time to give a screeching curse as the main boom swayed low, knocking into him and sending Buggy flying.

“Captain!” The sound of his Chief of Staff, Cabaji, called as Buggy groaned at the pain zapping through his body.

“Get--get us out of this fucking storm!” Buggy hissed, his roaring coming out more breathy as he fought to regain the air in his lungs.

He hardly heard Cabaji’s response before the ship hit something solid.

Wood splintered and groaned and Buggy was, yet again, thrown through the air with a scream.

All he could do was scream as Mother Ocean stole all his fight and energy. Scream till his voice ran horse and his limp body was thrown overboard.

Buggy hit the cold water and was thrown in thrashing circles.

His lungs burned as he held his breath against the raging waters around him. Lungs and eyes and nostrils burned like fire had been poured into them. It was hell--and just when hell seemed to get the upper hand, to just begin to wrestle the air from his lungs, he was spat out onto a sandy shore.

Body unable to move, Buggy lay cursing the sea. Cursing Mother Ocean and the Grand Lines freakish weather. Weather that seemed was beginning to calm as if it had taken its pound of flesh from him, satisfied.

A wave crashed into Buggy, further numbing his body and sinking him into the wet sand beneath him.

Screw this. Screw sand. Screw water. Screw the air. Screw himself and his devil-blessed powers.

“Captain! Oh, thank the gods!” It was Cabaji’s voice again, growing nearer and nearer. Relief flooded through Buggy’s chest as his Chief of Staff came into view just as another wave crashed into him, stealing his breath once more before falling back into the vast sea.

“Get. Me. The hell. Up!” Buggy hissed as quickly as the saltwater would allow him.

“Right, yes. Yes, Captain.” Hands grabbed him under his shoulders and dragged his limp body further inland, away from the sea still wishing to drag him into their depths. “We thought you were dead, Captain,” Cabaji grunted as he continued to drag Buggy over the shore.

Of course he wasn’t dead. He was tougher then that.

The taste of salt water on his lips sent a shiver down Buggy’s spine.

From this angle, Buggy could just spot his precious ship laying on its side, beached like some great whale and looking like someone had taken some great hammer to its hull.

Whoever had been in the crow's nest was going to get murdered.

“You’re luck never ceases to amaze me, Captain Buggy.” Cabaji huffed, finally coming to a stop once he had made it to the rest of Buggy’s exhausted crew. He spotted Alvida slumped on the sand just as he was, teeth grit and hissing insults Mohji’s way, who had been trying to help her.

Luck--ha. Buggy laughed at such bullshit.

How was getting knocked into the ocean and nearly drowning lucky?

Tag list: @fanshavegottensotoxic , @lostfirefly

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sunonyoreface · 1 year

Text

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 16

An: Happy Valentines Day! Take some time to love yourself and cherish your beautiful soul :)

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 4100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

The thud of his helmet against the empty wooden dresser echoes across the otherwise silent room. My eyes snap open. The muscles in my back tense. Who is in my room?

My head slowly turns to take in the shadowy figure just feet away. It’s too dark to see almost anything. The only source of light is what creeps under the door from the hall. But I know he’s here. I can sense his movements as he turns around to face me. I hold my breath as I feel my heart start to race.

The ominous soldier towers over my bed. His movements are almost inaudible. When I squint, I can just make out the outline of the bulletproof vest strapped to his chest. As he gazes down a deep sigh escapes his chest. The tension in my muscles eases. Not a stranger after all.

I was scared Ghost was going to keep giving me the silent treatment. For once, I’m happy to be wrong.

“What’re you doing here?” my voice is barely audible as I push myself into a sitting position. Somewhere in the haze, part of me wonders if he’s real. Or if this is all some wishful dream. If so, speaking too loud would be a mistake. Maybe even speaking at all.

A gloved hand brushes down the side of my face as his feet inch closer to the bedframe. I so badly want to lean into his touch, to be comforted by him, to pretend everything is going to be alright. But just as I feel myself give way, another sigh escapes his chest. My ears pick up on his ragged breathing. The atmosphere starts to shift. There’s something off about him.

Just as I shift away from his touch, the same hand shoots out and roughly grabs my hair, yanking me down so my neck is exposed. His other hand quickly presses against my mouth as a painful cry escapes through my lips. Strong arms pull me toward the edge of the bed.

“I don’t think you were listening to me earlier,” the mask brushes against my skin as his threatening voice hisses in my ear. My blood runs cold. Not Ghost. Not Ghost. This man is not a Ghost. Who the fuck is in my room?

My entire body freezes. Any fight or flight instinct becomes completely scrambled and my mind feels like a broken record. I am at every disadvantage.

The man tightly gripping my skin is one of the best soldiers in the world. Who is trained in hand-to-hand combat. Who outweighs me by over a hundred pounds. Who is stronger than me. Faster than me. And already has his hands woven into my hair, exposing the most vulnerable part of my body.

Even if I somehow managed a lucky knee to his groin, the only exit is locked and I don’t have a key card. Only authorized personnel have access to my room. Whoever this man is, shouldn’t even be able to get in. But here he is.

And here I am: completely at his mercy.

“I’m going to move my hand. If you scream, I’ll cut your throat,” he threatens. Two sets of wild eyes meet. His pupils are completely dilated and I find myself staring into terrifying black pits. Rage and excitement fight for dominance. “Understood?”

I attempt a small nod. What I do understand is that part of him wants me to try and get away. His fingers twitch against my scalp. He wants an excuse to hurt me. The hand around my mouth slips off as he reaches for something strapped to his chest. The silver hunting knife glints in the dark.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“I just told you,” there’s a tightness to his voice, as though he’s restraining the rage that threatens to tear through the surface of his composed demeanour. “I won’t be repeating myself, so you better pay attention, little bird,” the name perks my ears. Little Bird. The other Ultranationalist, the prisoner, also called me by that name.

“I’m listening,” I feel the sharp blade of the knife shift around my throat as I force a dry swallow. The start of a panic attack pricks at the tips of my fingers.

“Good. Your father is hurt by your actions. He wants to know why you betrayed him-”

“I didn’t-” the urgency in my voice is quickly cut off.

“Don’t interrupt me you fucking snitch,” he snarls as the knife presses harder against my throat and his hand twists against my scalp, sending shooting tendrils of pain through my head. “You did. And now I have to risk being compromised to set everything right. So here’s what you’re going to do: You are going to help Price set a trap for your father. He expects it. When I stop by you will explain the details. All you have to do is tell the fucking truth,” the knife presses harder against my throat as he says this. “A lot is riding on this. Your father can only take so many chances trying to help you before the organization moves on.”

“Okay,” at this point I don’t know if the word even makes it past my lips.

“If you tell Soap – if you tell anyone, our contacts in America who are watching your friends and coworkers will take five of them. We’ve been tracking them with your father’s help. He wants you to know how serious this is. Their lives are at stake. Your life is at stake, little bird,” A sharp sensation tugs at the sensitive skin under the blade and I feel the first drop of hot blood roll down my neck and land between my collarbones. “If you think I’m the only one you have to worry about, you are even more stupid than I thought. We are everywhere and we are strong. And if you think you can keep hiding behind your father, you are wrong. The organization is the most important thing to him. Don’t be naive.”

Deep, visceral fear pulses through my veins. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as my breathing runs out of control. The air isn’t getting to my lungs. My chest burns as panic invades my lungs. I’m hyperventilating. Fuck. I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

“You had so much potential,” his tone changes as the tip of the knife traces down my throat, threatening to break more skin. It follows the path of the drop of blood, coasting past my collarbones, and starting down my sternum. A gross sensation creeps its way up the back of my neck where his hand is tangled in my hair. The knife lightly presses above my undershirt as he approaches my breasts, but just when I fear the gloved hand will go further, I’m released from his vengeful hands and shoved back onto the mattress.

His weight quickly shifts off the bed and then the thud of his boots retreats further into the room. I barely make out the shadow grabbing his helmet off the dresser. Then as a stream of light filters through a crack in the door upon his exit, I can just make out the white numbers sewn to the patch on his shoulder: 141.

I dream of the echo of his shoes against the cold cement floor. My ears ring as the sound grows louder and louder.

“Y/n…Y/n?” my head throbs as the thuds turn into knocks against the door. Burning light floods the room as Soap flicks on the light switch. I recoil from the terrible brightness. “You okay? Ya look like shite.”

“Thanks,” the bitterness in my voice is palatable. Sour and expired. Like a thundering hangover.

“You didn’t eat,” I hear the disappointment in his voice as he stares at the plate on the dresser.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Soap steps closer to the bed, concerned eyes raking across my form, completely hidden by the blankets. I tuck my chin into the softness, hiding from his gaze. Soap’ll think I’m just upset about my father, but he’s the least of my concerns. He can’t know about last night. “Can you leave so I can get dressed?”

“Five minutes,” he reluctantly agrees. “Price is expecting us.”

As soon as he’s gone, I rush to the sink mirror. Red is smeared across the base of my neck from the small cut. It was real. He is real. And out there, waiting for me to slip up.

Something tells me the slip of his knife wasn’t intentional. If he’s as smart as he claims to be, then he wouldn’t have left any marks. Yet here it is, Just above the neckline of where my shirt sits. I wipe away the dried blood with damp toilet paper then pull my shirt back over my shoulders so it sits ever so slightly higher on my neck. Then I tuck the bottom hem into the band of my pants to hold it there. If I brush my hair over my shoulders it won’t be as noticeable.

“Can we stop for coffee?” Soap nods, unusually quiet. The dining hall is busy as they finish up breakfast. He stops to talk to Konig as I head for the drink stand. I need something to clear my head. This is as close as I’ll get. I keep an eye on them as I fill the Styrofoam cup and then immediately down the first cup. The liquid burns my tongue and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I drink half the second cup before refilling it and joining Soap. I just need to get through this morning and then I’ll have time to think. Just get through this meeting.

“You’re gonna get the shakes,” he says eyeing the half-empty cup outside of Price’s office.

“I’ll be fine,” my trembling hands betray me though. But that’s not from the coffee. I’ve always handled my caffeine well and this stuff is far from strong.

Inside I claim the same plastic chair as Yesterday. Price is quiet as he types on the laptop and Ghost is nowhere to be found.

“Just a moment, sir,” Soap slips out of the room leaving just the two of us. My eyes flicker from the coffee to Captain Price seated behind the desk. His light eyes intently scan the screen as his distinct hat sits in the same place it always is. At first, I thought it was a fishing hat until I heard someone call it a boonie. Like Ghost and his mask, I’ve yet to see Price without it.

“You thought about our conversation?” he lifts his head to meet my eyes. The laptop lid is slowly closed and I feel my grip tighten around the warm cup.

“I did,” I fight to maintain a steady voice. He thoughtfully glances over my face. Price’s brows furrow as he presses his lips together. I know I look like a mess. My eyes are hollow and my bags stain the skin underneath. I haven’t seen proper sunlight in weeks and the life feels like it’s draining from my skin. Parts of my bottom lip have split from biting at the skin. I hardly look like myself. I also know he doesn’t really care. I’m hardly the first person here who can’t get a full night’s rest. All that matters is that I’m in good enough shape to help them out.

The door creaks open as Ghost quietly slips in followed by Soap. They nod to Price and find their respective positions. This feels too formal. And also completely unformal, to the extent that none of this is actually happening. It won’t be recorded, that’s for sure. It will cease to exist. I will cease to exist.

“And did you reach a conclusion?” he asks, full attention turning back to me. The coffee swirls in my stomach. Nerves eat away at what little confidence I had walking in here. I tug the neckline of my shirt up, making sure the cut remains invisible.

“I’ll help,” I state simply before pressing the cup to my lips and swallowing the last of the liquid. I feel Ghost intently leering at me. I force myself to look anywhere but toward him. Price nods once. He expected as much.

“Right then, I’ll have a script drafted up so you have time to review before tomorrow. Someone will drop it off at your room,” he shifts in his chair, about to turn away. I nervously pull at my hair, brushing it around my neck and shoulders.

“A script? What do you mean by a script?” my brows furrow together in confusion as he pauses to consider his answer. Price never mentioned how I’m supposed to help. Not that I expected them to tell me anyway. I’m not exactly the first person on their briefing list. Or the last.

“Same time tomorrow morning, you are going to give your father a call. Let him know you’re alright. That we want a peaceful resolution and are willing to work with him for a fair exchange,” I pull at my shirt again when I notice how closely his eyes analyze every expression. But it’s not just him. Soap and Ghost quietly guard the door with their total attention glued to my every action. There’s an air of doubt surrounding my intentions. Now is the time I should tell them about last night. If I leave it any longer their suspicion will only grow. But I run the real risk of hurting people from back home. My friends. People I’ve spent years of my life with. People that I love and don’t deserve a single bad thing to happen to them. Guilt twists in my stomach. I don’t doubt for a second the Ultranationalists will kill them.

“I’m going to talk to him?” My heart skips a beat and the styrofoam begins to crumple under my hands. How the hell am I supposed to talk to him? After all his betrayal, after knowing the horrifying acts of terrorism he’s committed, I don’t think I can even look him in the eyes.

“Over the phone,” Price elaborates. “But you’ll have a script and be briefed beforehand.”

“What will I be asking him to do?” I force an uncomfortable swallow. The urge to feel for the cut along my neck tugs at my fingertips as I grasp the cup tighter.

“You’ll be briefed tomorrow,” Price is curt as he stands from the chair. There are a thousand other things on his list more important than my never-ending spitfire of questions. “Soap, you and I are in the bay with the demolitions team.”

“Yes sir,”

“Can I just ask one more question?” their eyes latch onto me again. This one has been nagging in the back of my mind for weeks now and there hasn’t been a good time to bring it up yet. “Where’s my mom? Is she okay?”

Price exchanges a knowing glance with Ghost. He answers with a quick nod and a small sigh. “Your mother’s fine. She’s at your home in New York, guarded by a team of Ultranationalists at all times.”

“Oh,” his answer is almost too simple. “Thanks,” I say more to myself than him. Is it even true? This wouldn’t be the first time they lied to me and definitely not the last. Maybe he thinks I’ll be more cooperative if I think she’s okay. Or maybe she really is okay. Maybe my father cares more about protecting her than me. We never had guards when I was growing up. I always thought that was something out of our tax bracket, but that’s not the case. I tug at the back of my shirt again, making sure it doesn’t slip down my neck.

“Ghost, escort y/n back to her quarters. She’s not to leave for the rest of the day, meals included. I’ll call later,” as he steps out from behind the desk, Soap is already holding the door open. There’s an air of urgency surrounding their plans. Can the rest of the task force detect it? Or is it under wraps like everything else?

I start to follow them out the exit, but just as I’m inches away a strong arm reaches out, blocking the frame as the door clicks back into place, automatically locking. My chest brushes against the black fabric of Ghost’s sleeve. As my eyes slowly follow up the length of his arm, I notice his attention already on me. I sense a storm brewing behind his mask. The air surrounding us is completely still: a warning of approaching danger. On a summer day, the sky would turn green as the flies swarm and cattle huddle in the corner of the pasture. I fight the urge to follow their instincts and retreat into the corner of the room, but they have strength in numbers and right now I’m all alone.

“I thought I was supposed to go to my room?” already I feel myself walking on eggshells around him.

“Right. What’s up?” Ghost crosses his arms. “Soap says you’ve been acting weird all day.”

I shrug my shoulders, trying to play off the building tension in the air. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” his tone is cold as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. There’s a different type of tiredness attached to him today. From lack of sleep? Sure, maybe that’s part of it. But far from the whole reason.

“Nothing’s up,” I double down, taking a small step away from him. But I don’t get far. Ghost’s hand snakes out and latches onto my wrist. My fingers clench around the cracked coffee cup folded in my hands.

“Y/n, I’m not doing this today. Tell me why you’re acting like that,” Ghost is short with his words. Borderline impatient. I don’t focus on what he’s saying though. My mind drifts to his black balaclava and skull mask. What I would give to be able to hide like that right now. To stop him and Soap and Price from being able to psychoanalyze my every microexpression. To be able to retain my thoughts and emotions as my own. To disappear.

I tug at my collar with my other hand and as his eyes flicker to my hand I realize my mistake immediately. “See, you keep fixing your shirt,” he states.

“Let go,” I try pulling my wrist from his grasp to no avail. “Ghost,” I tug again and this time the crushed cup tumbles from my hand as his grip tightens. I know well by now just how strong he is, but I think Ghost underestimates his own strength sometimes. As his hand twists around my wrist, a throbbing pain shoots up my arm. “Fuck. Can you stop doing that?” he pauses for a moment, considering my request. “Just don’t… don’t grab me like that.”

“And you’re shaking,” the irritation behind his eyes switches to concern.

“Just had too much coffee,” it’s already too hard to hold eye contact with him. My gaze stays on the remains of the coffee cup, but as his hand tightens yet again I can’t help but react to the discomfort.

“No. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Do I?” I bite back. “Is it not enough that I’m about to get my father put in jail? Killed? Do I need to tell you every damn thought that crosses my mind too?” I overplay my emotions on the off chance he’ll decide it’s not worth arguing about. But then in one swift motion, he tugs me closer using my arm.

I brace myself against his chest with my hands, putting what little space I can manage between us. It’s hard to think properly so close to him. His scent starts to twirl around in my thoughts and makes me want to trust him. His sharp words pull me back into reality.

“Do you really think I don’t know when someone is trying to hide something?” Ghost’s hand brushes up the length of my arm, landing on the side of my neck, urging me to make eye contact. “Don’t make me resort to other options,” his low voice threatens.

“Like what?” I jerk my head away from his grasp. “You gonna torture me? Pull a couple teeth? Break a few fingers?” my empty words fly through the room and hit him with at least some impact. Enough to distract him.

“Do you still think that of me?” I note his change in posture as he leans away from me. A pang of guilt hits my chest. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. But it’s not like he’s respecting my boundaries either.

“You said so yourself, I don’t know how this ends,” I twist his words from the night at the cabin. Ghost’s dark eyes search for evidence against my claim.

“Y/n, I thought you trusted me?” his voice softens and mixes with confusion as his hands gently embrace my shoulders.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from taking my words back. I do. Fuck, I do. He’s seen me in my most vulnerable state, curled under his hands and gasping into his mouth. But I also trust the Ultranationalists to do everything in their power to hurt the people I love back home, if they haven’t already. I trust that we are in more danger here than anyone realizes. I trust that if I say something, people will die. I don’t miss the hurt in his eyes. But the urge to comfort him is overshadowed by the metastisizing fear growing taking over my entire being.

Fear courses through my veins and rattles my bones. It stains my every thought and desire. I’m terrified of more people getting hurt because of me. The weight of the possibility is crushing me.

But as Ghost’s intelligent eyes scan my frame once more and his arms pull me closer, his entire body freezes. I look up at him, his sudden silence concerning. And then I see where his eyes have landed: just above the neckline of my shirt. Ghost’s hands tense around my arms. His back stiffens and when he speaks I hear the thick restraint in his heavy voice.

“Who did this?” one hand leaves my arm, his fingers wrap around the hem of the fabric to pull it lower. His warm, bare knuckles brush above the swollen cut, a thin scab starts to form in a short, straight line. The air is so tense it feels hard to breathe. If I were to try and run now, it would feel like navigating through quicksand.

“I did,” I whisper. “It was an accide-”

“Damnit y/n.” my name reverberates through Ghost’s heaving chest. A strange mixture of feelings flood my mind: hurt, anger, guilt, pain, fear, sorrow, fear, yearning, fear, fear, fear. “Stop hiding from me,” behind the mask his brows furrow and his bottom lids pull tight, just trying to understand why the hell I’m acting like this. He thought we were past this.

“I can’t,” my shaky voice is just above a whisper.

“Did they threaten you?” he pushes. The familiar edge to his voice is back, but I’m not the intended victim of this blade.

“Please stop,” I beg.

“Was it the Ultranationalists?”

I start to shake my head, but the swell of terror in my eyes is all Ghost needs to confirm his suspicions.

The charged space between us starts to shrink despite neither of us moving. No one dares to make the next move. I see the thoughts racing behind his mask. I feel the vengeance buzzing under the pads of his fingers. Ghost is ready to unleash all Hell on whoever did this. It’s exactly what I was afraid of. If he acts now innocent people will die. I will die.

“Is there somewhere safe we can talk?” his eyes snap up, my soft words bringing him back to Earth.

Ghost nods so subtly, I almost miss it. His knuckles linger on the cut a moment longer, trying to absorb the pain he’s brought onto me. I break our contact and start toward the door before I get too accustomed to his gentle touch.

“Y/n,” I feel the heat of Ghost’s chest press against my back. Strong fingers press into my hips, urging me to turn around. My heart clenches at his softness. I long to feel his flesh mold with mine. To hear his husky voice against my ear as our breaths synchronize and our bodies connect. As I look up, those dark pools mirror my own, but with a deeper sense of urgency. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

I wrap both my hands around one of his and raise it to my neck. I press his calloused fingers to the ridge torn across my skin and revel in the tenderness.

“They already have.”

Pt 17:

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #cod ghost #cod fanfic #cod imagine #soap cod #cod #cod mw x reader #ghost mwii #call of duty mwii #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #he knows

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kittyball23 · 5 months

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Effort (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Viva knows what she is about to do is risky, but she just HAS to make the effort, if it means seeing them again…

A/N: Taking place before TBT; Viva did mention that she thought many times about leaving, so this was one of those times (also, incoming Cliva 💚💛)

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Night had fallen upon Putt Putt Village.

Per the usual proceedings in the town, nightfall meant the curfew was up and enforced. No Troll, young or old, was allowed to be out and about once the sun set. It was sensible, common knowledge, really. For nightfall was a time in which dangerous creatures would lurk about, hidden by the shadows, watching, waiting, listening intently for any unlucky soul who may sweep along their path and end up falling prey to their malicious whims. And no Troll wanted to take that chance when those dangerous creatures were… Bergens.

Even in thought, the awful word sent a shudder down the Putt Putters' spines, and made a scream just barely hold back within their throats. For good reason, too. Nobody wanted to be caught and eaten, suffering an awful fate having their bones crunched underneath the monsters' teeth, and their hopes flushed away in the similar manner that they would be once they were passed from the hideous creature's stomach. In short, the curfew was critical, and thankfully, every Troll was well aware of it. Especially Viva, Putt Putt Village's Queen herself. It would be impossible for her not to know the rule, given that she herself had been the one to write it. She knew curfew meant getting indoors, locking the windows and doors tight and turning the lights out. She knew it meant no one was to go wandering around the village, and definitely not without a chaperone. She knew it meant letting anything extracurricular be saved for the following day, and that safety was the highest priority. So, she also knew that she was breaking the very rule she made.

The Putt Putt Queen had impressively mastered the art of stealth, tucking herself with her hair to camouflage as one of the golf balls. She was silent but fast, swerving her way through the main square, past her people's varying residences, and farther still from the settlement. It was only when she had reached the town’s borders in which she finally came to a stop, unrolling herself and standing to her full height (made even taller-looking with the great stack of wild, golden hair atop her head). Viva beheld the gate that was there, sturdy and firmly in place. It would be crazy to unlatch the padlock that kept it closed, separating the harsh, cruel dark world that lay beyond from their sanctuary. Viva took a deep breath. Well then… call me crazy! Viva leapt up to the lock, undoing it with ease, and hopped back down to the ground. She let out a breath and smiled to herself. Whew! Easy peasy!

Next, the Queen grabbed the edge of the gate and tugged. It was rusty and old, as Putt Putt Village had not been inhabited by its original Bergen residents for ages, and gave an unpleasant crrreeeaaak as she pried it open. The sound didn't last long though. Viva didn't need to open the gate all that much, since Trolls were not too big. She could easily slide by the crack of space she'd made. Viva gave herself a quiet little high-five. Yes! Nailed it! Now, it was time for the most critical step in her plan.

Viva, feeling optimistic, readied herself to step forward, lifting one warmered leg up high and putting on a face of pure determination. Yes! she thought to herself, feeling giddy. Why, with what awaited her at the end of this, she wouldn't even need to give herself a high-five or a thumbs up. And just thinking about it made her heart soar!

Alrighty, here we go!

Viva chinned up. Here she went, bravely into the outside world, full of unknown threats, full of malice and evil, and wrought with towering creatures who'd caused her to be left in this predicament in the first place. There she went anyway, leaving her people behind, leaving her one home in which nothing bad had happened to her, leaving her sanctuary, her place of protection to go off somewhere where she wouldn’t be protected, where she'd be vulnerable, where she could be captured and eaten alive at any given moment and without warning.

Yes… here I go!

Her foot went down, but she was stunned to find that instead of propelling her forward, she had taken a step backwards. Actually, more like ten steps backwards, on wobbly legs that were trembling violently alongside the rest of her body. She'd hardly noticed, however. Her focus was fixated on the world beyond the gate, and Viva was unable to turn away. It was dark and dank, full of forest and mystery and things that she could in truth care less to know about. A black hole ready to devour her…

NO!

Viva shook her head, battling her nerve-wracking thoughts with persistence. She did want to know about that world, if it meant finding them. And the Putt Putt Queen would be darned if she, trained in battle and quick-witted, wouldn't be able to set her worries aside and finish what she'd started.

It's just one night, she assured herself. It won't take me long. I'm sure it's not THAT far. It only seemed far because I was little. But I'm NOT little anymore. I'm a grown woman! And I'm GONNA do this! I have to… She's out there, not in here, where it's safe. She's out THERE where it's… it's…

Despite the words being in her head, she still failed to get them out, as though the physical constricting of her throat was preventing it. A loud sound filled her ears, rhythmic, and it was incredulously difficult for her to tell whether it was the pounding of her own heart, or the horrible, ominous footsteps of a Bergen coming right towards her, licking its chops in anticipation of tasting pink Troll flesh. Or perhaps it already got a taste of pink Troll flesh.

Beads of sweat formed upon the Putt Putt Queen’s forehead. She can't be dead. She CAN'T! Viva refused to believe it. It was NOT so! And she was going to prove it, if it was the last thing she did! She willed her body to relax, her feet to move forward, her knees to bend… but it didn't work. Her mind was stuck, paralyzed, unable to comply with any of the commands she issued to her body. The sounds grew louder, more pronounced, more frightening. Viva felt her breathing get shallow. Her head began to spin, the dark visions around her a blur. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the gate. She needed to get out. NOW!

I can do this! I can do this! I can -

"Viva!"

A voice rang out across the night air, making Viva jerk her whole body. Her eyes snapped wide, a gasp escaping her lips, and a horrid vision of the way the dirt and rock had collapsed in front of her - blocking her off from the father and sister she longed to see again - flashing before her eyes. And she couldn't take anymore.

Her legs buckled under her and her vision went black.

__________________________________________

Clay wrung out the cold towelette in his hands, water droplets dripping into the sink with a few silent plinks. Silently he moved through his dwelling, past rooms filled with stacks of pending paperwork and beelining it to the couch. Pity filled him at the golden-curled Troll who was strewn there, limp, nearly looking lifeless.

He prevented himself from shuddering. It was something frightening to see her like this. Putt Putt Village’s Queen had never looked so weakened as she did at that moment. The pink in her skin was pale in its hue, her mouth slightly slack. Carefully he bent down next to her, brushing away some of the strands from her face so that he could properly apply the compress to her forehead, previously warm with sweat.

Viva knows better, Clay thought. So what was she doing out there?

As though it were in reply, his eye suddenly caught sight of something peeking out among Viva's wild hair. He raised an eyebrow and, in curiosity, pulled it out. Turned out it was a scrapbook, only a few pages long. The front of it depicted Viva, notable for her pink skin and golden hair. The other two figurines were another pink Troll who looked quite similar to her, only with dark, magenta hair. The other was an orange Troll with the same dark magenta hair. He flipped through a couple of pages, and suddenly understood once he saw the trio depicted doing all sorts of activities, from bad dances to candy necklaces.

This is her family...

She'd told him once, hurriedly, of the events that took place that Trollstice. The escape that divided her from the rest of the group, from her father and her sister, and had turned Putt Putt Village into what it was today - a town of survivors who lived in seclusion, away from the threats of those dreadful Bergens.

Clay shook his head and shut the book. On one hand, her act was foolish. Why would she, Queen of their town, do such a risky thing and leave them high and dry, putting herself in the path of danger at the same time? On the other hand...

At least she's making an effort.

He couldn’t say the same for himself.

It’d been years since he’d seen his brothers, and thus far he’d been content in not having them be a part of his daily life. But still, he couldn’t help but wonder…

How big IS Baby Branch? His youngest bro probably wouldn’t even be recognizable at this point.

Did Floyd get his solo career kicking? Even before the band had broken up, he could remember the magenta-haired Troll longing to compose his own music one day.

What’s going on with Spruce? He wished he knew. Spruce wasn’t just a brother, but a close friend, and he only hoped that wherever he was that he was doing well.

And then there’s John Dory… Clay frowned. Did he really care about him? I mean, he can’t STILL be the same old ‘perfect-perfect-perfect’ionist that he was back then… could he? Years had changed Clay from being the Fun Boy of the group.

But before he could reason whether or not his oldest brother had changed, he suddenly heard stirring beside him. Viva twitched, her expression contorting to one of worry, her eyebrows furrowing.

“No… no, no!” she began exclaiming in her unconsciousness, her limbs coming to life and starting to thrash. “Dad, I’m still here! Please don’t leave me!”

Clay winced, alarmed, “Hey now! Easy, Veevs!" he tried calling at her.

But Viva continued to writhe.

"Don't LEAVE ME!"

"Viva, wake up!”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a rough shake. The Putt Putt Queen's eyes flew open, and she let out a startled cry.

"Viva!" Clay said loudly, "It's okay! You're alright! There's nothing to be afraid of."

For a moment, she was bewildered, not really looking at him. He could tell she was still lost in whatever she'd seen in her nightmare. But then...

"Oh, Clay!" She burst into tears, shooting her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight against her. Clay froze in his spot for a moment, shocked. Viva wasn't like this at all. This was not the chipper, happy go-lucky girl he'd befriended and saw on a day-to-day basis, the one who lived right up to her vivacious namesake. This was a broken Troll, one who was trying desperately hard to put the pain of the past behind her but couldn't, and was crying hysterically because of it. Clay's heart broke just listening to her sobs.

Gently he returned her embrace, rubbing his hand up and down her back and trying his best to soothe her. "It's all right, girl. Nothing to be afraid of. You're still here. I'm still here. We're good, yeah? Everything's fine, you're safe." His voice wavered at the end, betraying the depth of his emotions. He didn’t want to show Viva the extent of his feelings towards her. This was not the right moment.

Still sniffling, her head buried in the crook of his neck, Viva nodded slowly. Slowly, her sobs calmed into hiccupy sniffles, until they finally began to die out. It took a while, but Viva eventually leaned back, wiped her cheeks, the makeup around her eyes slightly smeared, and her breaths ragged. Reddened eyes looked into his ocean blue.

"I'm sorry, Clay," she whispered.

Shaking his head, Clay replied softly. "Nah, no need to apologize. Bad dream, right? We all get 'em."

Viva didn't respond. She was looking down, thinking. "You'll never leave me, right? I-I mean... Putt Putt Village," she amended, hiding a blush, and glancing back up at him hesitantly.

Clay didn't know how much that question would affect him until he really started to consider the answer. That was a big promise. How was he to know what would happen in the future? No, he didn't exactly foresee leaving the village... but at the same time, who knew what curveballs life would bring? He could certainly say that if his teen-self had been told he’d become one of the leaders of a clan of survivalists, he probably wouldn’t have believed it. But for now...

"Hey, you can't co-run a place without the 'co' part of it now, can you?" he joked. He reached over and tapped his elbow with her, making her giggle.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Realizing she was still clutching him close, Viva blushed and quickly released him, sitting up on the couch and rubbing her arm shyly. She peered around suddenly, with a curious look. Clay watched her, a little confused, until he realized that she had had yet to enter his home. "Oh, wow... so this is where you live?" she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t think anyone else would want the admin building, so kinda claimed it. It’s not so bad for me, but… I’m sure it’s kinda boring for others.”

Viva was still looking around as he was talking, taking everything in. The place was much bigger than it looked from the outside. The stony gray walls, the muted green carpet, the dull color scheme. No pictures. Hardly any furniture aside from the couch, a table, and a desk stacked with bills and other finances. It suddenly hit Clay just how very plain and sparsely decorated it all was.

“Okay, not kinda boring… too boring,” Clay took it upon himself to correct.

“No,” Viva said, putting a hand up. “I like it.” She looked around again as if to be sure, and grinned. “Yeah… I really do! Seems like you got it all down-packed and organized, dont’cha?”

Clay shrugged. “Well, yeah I guess…”

“Not like me, that’s for sure. I have candy stashed all over my home. Half the time I can’t even remember where I hid it!” Viva giggled. But then she stopped. Thinking of her home brought another thought in mind. She hated to feel imposing, but the thought of going back out, even if it was just in their village, was making that pit in her stomach return. “Hey, um, Clay? Would it be, um, okay if I… stayed here? Just for tonight? I just, I…” Her hands began to shake and tears pooled in her eyes. This was a silly thing. Clay had other business to attend to than to be dealing with her and her petty fears. This was ridiculous!

But to Clay, it wasn’t. “Make yourself at home,” he said without hesitation. She needed the sense of safety, and if sleeping over for one night was what it would take to get her back to feeling like herself, then so be it. “You can take my bed if you want… without me in it, of course,” Clay said, fumbling in his words. “O-or you can take the couch, but, I know it’s not the most comfortable, so, um… but it’s whatever you wanna do! Whatever makes ya clever,” he finished, trying to sound cool but feeling embarrassed by his babbling.

To his relief, Viva smiled back at him, charmed by his sweet offer. “Thank you,” she said gratefully, standing up and stretching her legs.

“Uh, yep, of course,” he agreed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, and trying not to let her gorgeous smile get to him too much.

"Hey," she said, taking out a string from her hair with one hand and some candy beads with the other. "Wanna make some necklaces in the meantime?" She shook them out at him and grinned slyly. "Or do you want me to braid your hair?"

Clay chuckled and took the first option, sidling up next to her. "Candy necklaces will be good.”

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #cliva #clay trolls #viva trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #brodacious fanfiction

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