#cry me a river all of me and nature boy

[unholyhelbig]

I just want to say I'm already hooked on the beast you made me. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 5151

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, animal bones, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Thank you all for the overwelming support on the first chapter! I truly didn't expect that much reception. I'm going to be traveling for the next week so the next chapter might be delayed a bit]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

1917, Rural Pennsylvania

A sweeping river cut through the patch of sweetgrass on the south side of the farm. It emitted a gurgling sound that often soothed your nerves. There was a rocky clearing sandwiched between the tree line and the plain of grass that had become a perfect spot for you to settle in and read the hard-covered books you’d gotten from the corner store.

Your father would bring back any book you requested from the city during his travels. You devoured them faster than he could provide them and had read ‘Eight Cousins’ ,Lousia May Alcott’s foray into the adventures thirteen-year-old Rose, enough to nearly tear the pages from the binding.

The book itself held the clean honeyed scent of the earth, of the secluded spot that you called your own. Your muscles would thrum from loading the bales of hay into your fathers ford. Your fingers were calloused, and dirt caked around your ankle in a dark ring. All of that vanished when you cracked open the book about a girl that was so much like yourself.

It was easy to lose yourself in the paragraphs, the hum of the river sometimes lulling you to sleep. Your mother would pack you a sandwich on warm, hand-kneaded bread, usually some salted meat and mayonnaise. She’d pack sweet tea and send you on your way, knowing that you wouldn’t return to the house until you saw a flicker of a firefly.

Today, you’d fallen asleep under the sun. The book was discarded, and your forearm draped across your eyes. It was easy to drift, and easier still to dream about leaving the small dairy farm for something bigger- the very city that your father would return from with new literature and arts, and spices that made your mouth buzz with flavor.

You were in a haze when the ear-piercing scream cut through the air as if it were a natural solid. Your ears pinched at the sound, heels digging into the coarse sandy shore. Maybe it was a dream. It could have been an animal that had sunk its pointed teeth into the artery of another.

So, you waited, panting with your heart in your chest and the corner of the book barely lapped by the muddied water. And there was this sound. It was no fox caught in a trap or bovine tangled up in the barbed wire fence around the property- no, this was familiar. This was your sister.

Helena was quiet, often described as demure and borderline submissive. Despite being younger than yourself she carried a certain poise about her. Mother would often boast about how she would have no trouble finding a husband, how the boys already fawned over the child of hers that was not feral and unkempt.

Her cry was the loudest you had ever heard her and it had you on your feet, scrambling up the bank. Once past your small world of wonder, you were greeted with an endless sea of sweetgrass that was waist high in some areas.

A warm breeze created waves against the landscape, the farmhouse a small speck among the expanse of land. Your head was spinning, it was hard to track exactly where it had come from. It took another cracking screech to set you North.

Your legs pumped until you were consumed in a blind speed. You’d been renowned for your quickness, for your dedication to get from point A to point B. The kids in your town often joked that you were steadier than a steed. Not only were you the fastest in the class, but the fastest in the county according to some. Still- only a child of fifteen, and no man would want to wed someone with speed. It wasn’t a practical skill.

There was a pit deep in your stomach whirled, instinct knowing precisely where Helena was yowling from.

Jorge had gotten there at the same time you did; his brow was leaking with sweat and he panted against the hot air that surrounded you both. Your older brother was tall and lanky, serpent-like with beady black eyes and pitch hair to match your father’s. His shirt hung low against his midsection, his skin pale despite his hours in the sun working the fields.

“Stay back, y/n.” He demanded sharply.

The old well was a mere foot in front of you both but neither made the effort to move forward. The aged wooden plank that covered the stone shaft had been splintered through the middle, worn from age and weather.

Helena’s soft cries echoed up. When your father had first acquired the property, the previous owners explained that it had been boarded up after of the bulls had fallen down and snapped it’s neck. It was too large to pull out and they left it to starve and then rot.

Your father never let any of his children peer down into the well. You wondered if something had pulled Helena here, or if she had simply forgotten of it’s existence. Jorge dropped down to his knees and did a cautious crawl as if his own two feet couldn’t’ hold him anymore.

You saw the exact moment his skin became waxier, almost a gray porcelain paleness that had a green tint. He was swallowing too much, his white shirt coated in the red clay dirt.

“What?” You asked, voice breaking “What is it?”

“Go get Mama.”

It would have been easy to listen to your brother. He was the man of the house when your father wasn’t there but with him pleading for your mother, for an adult, you got a rancid taste in your mouth.

Against your better judgement you edged close enough to the abandoned well. The sun was setting in a fire-filled orange haze with enough color and angle to get a good view of the bottom; a slosh of fallen grass and rainwater, and muck, and yes; the bones of a beast once left to decay and rot in its own silence.

Your sister was wedged within the ribcage of the befallen bull, almost as if she replaced the beating heart that stopped pulsing long ago. Her hands gripped at the sun-bleached bone, knuckles nearly the same color.

It took you a moment to make out the slick, and the red that stemmed from the center of her stomach. The head of the bull had shattered under her weight, all expect the stretching length of it’s curved horn. That was wedged through her abdomen, surrounded in a vibrant rose red that puddled and had already coated her hands.

Prints from her struggle were against the limestone edges of the well. Her eyes pleaded up at you; your kind and caring, and animal-loving sister was trapped inside the remains of one. You fought back the urge to vomit, the rash thought that if the bone ripping through her flesh didn’t kill her, then infection would.

“Y/n get mama!” Jorge hissed again, and this time you didn’t hesitate. You nearly tripped over your own boots with the fever it took to back away from the scene, the metallic scent of blood mixing deliciously with the turn of rotted soil.

You had never run so fast in your life.

Wanda Maximoff had never felt the cold that wormed its way to her bones before. It was the type of cold that almost wasn’t, a stinging, horrible feeling that had her startled from the folded metal chair. It collapsed within itself as the blinked the wine-dark color from her eyes.

She stumbled backward, only to be brought back to the starkness of the room by a soft grip on her elbow. Wanda allowed herself to be held, if not for stability but for comfort. Steve Rodgers had a welcoming hand on the small of her back, the other steadying her.

He was a solid force, and her reaction stirred him.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from her lips, “Jesus Christ.”

There was quietness to the room in the aftershock of the fallen chair. It was nicer than a standard holding cell. The walls were cream colored, triple enforced to keep people like you inside. There was a bed bolted to the wall, a bunk that was almost like a summer camp endeavor.

A charged glass wall was blocking you from the rest of the world. It was seemingly unbreakable, and in this moment, so were you. Wanda didn’t want to test the glass, nor did she know how to make sense of the memories- your memories- that had flooded every inch of her body.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling at a normal pace, as if none of what Wanda had just seen was flitting around your mind. Soft snores pushed past your lips, one arm hanging over the side of the bed while the other followed the flow of your breathing as it rested on your chest.

Wanda didn’t understand the secrecy and the precaution that surrounded you. The Avengers compound was a constant ebb and flow of different heroes, Inhumans and mutants. What made you so different? What made you an 0-8-4?

It was a term that Natasha had used only once that was usually attached to objects, not a person. It was an object of unknown origin and in that case, it was a power-filled object from space. Space. She’d been through different dimensions, but that, for some reason, struck her as terrifying.

0-8-4’s were never brought here, but then again, they’d never been alive either. Steve had told her that your energy signal was off the charts, and that they wanted her to dig around your head. Something that she denied doing at first. It was an invasion of privacy.

But, there was a certain pleading within Captain America’s eyes that scared Wanda more than the personal rules she set for herself when it came to her power. What she had seen, what she had felt was barely scraping the surface of what your mind contained. She wasn’t keen on pushing past that barrier for the conclusion of that story. Was it even yours?

“What? Wanda, what is it?”

“I… I don’t” She shook her head, eyes hardening as she stared into Steve’s “Where did you find her?”

He hesitated to answer, his eyebrows furrowing before he looked away from the witches’ prying eyes. She’d been part of this team for years now and they were still reluctant with what they were willing to share. Wanda clenched her jaw, then unclenched it before her stare flashed back to your resting form.

There was a small frown that creased your features. You looked so… harmless. You had shifted, folded into yourself as if you were scratching the surface of what flashed before her. Your arm was folded under your head, knees flush to your chest. A small, beautiful whimper escaped you.

“She’s in distress, Steve.”

“Discomfort, more like. It’s better for all of us that she stays in there for right now. The last thing we want to do is harm anyone but if that requires some temporary-“

“Imprisonment?”

“Containment.” He said firmly, eyes hard. Wanda crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent, letting him continue. She was sure she wouldn’t have been asked if not for her ability to worm her way into minds, to rearrange things. “What did you see?”

“A memory, one that can’t possibly be hers. The timeline doesn’t fit, this is a woman in her mid-twenties and who I saw was barely a teenager on a farmstead. To experience that much tragedy, that much fear and heartache.”

She started to pace, trying to not only work through her own thoughts, but yours as well. It could have been a story, and she was convinced of the fact save for the vividness. There was the feeling of grass tickling her arms and the sharp, undeniable stench of blood.

“Her younger sister died, fell through some rotted wood and fell to her death.” Wanda’s fingers pressed against the edge of her hairline. “She could have lived, but I have my doubts.”

He lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at her. His expression betrayed his compassion towards you, his stance uncomfortable with the topic. While the revelation was heartbreaking it hardly made you extraordinary. They’d all lost people, none had stirred Wanda as you did.

Wanda’s stare found his after darting to you once more, “Steve, I have the sinking feeling that what I saw was only scratching the surface. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of memories that were pressing in on all sides.”

The sensation of being observed is what pulled you from your fitful sleep. Exhaustion had washed over you like a tidal wave, all at once and leaving your mouth dry like a spoonful of salt. There was a stiffness that rivaled that of the grave you’d crawled out of, and you hoped that it was all a dream.

You were in your bed, in your apartment, after having one too many drinks. It was a horrible stretching nightmare that had plunged you into one sea of darkness from another. But even you weren’t that naïve.

Just as you felt a stranger’s eyes on you now, you had felt the dirt under your nails, the cold sodium-filled takeout as you attempted to chew it. More than anything, you remembered the burning feeling of the Black Widow pressed fully against your back, bending you over Jenn’s kitchen counter.  

“I would prefer if you kept the feeling of my wife’s body against yours out of your mind.”

You shot up with a dizzying amount of quickness, heart suddenly in your chest. There was an imbalance to the bed that you were laying on. It was smaller than your own and unfamiliar. The room was stark white. It hurt your eyes and you had to blink the color away. You pressed the heels of your palms close to your eyes.

It felt as if you were locked in a glass shower with an audience and stage lights. The more you looked, the more you realized it was a room, something with no personal effects but a bed and a dimmer switch that you itched to utilize.

A pitcher of water was on an end table. It wasn’t color exactly, but it was more than the rest of your surroundings. Possibly with the worst manners you’d ever exhibited, you drank straight from the pitcher, not remembering the last time you had a drink. Suddenly, you were parched enough to soak your collar.

Despite your audience, you continued until you felt your stomach protest. You used the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture, black dirt was smeared across your skin. It was then, and only then, that you forced yourself to look past the walls of your prison, your enclosure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said, walking close to the glass. You could see her clearly now, there was an heir of recognition about her, in the same way that there had been with the Black Widow.

“You were in my head.”

“For a while. It’s my job. But your thoughts are also deafening.”

“Sorry,”

This woman was intoxicating. Alluring and beautiful in her presence. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt hugging her form. You weren’t positive what time it was- what day it was- but it could be late into the night. She looked like she was roused from sleep, and a part of you felt guilty for the fact.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie.” Her voice was much more tender than it had been a few moments ago. “You can’t control being brought back from the dead. A lot of trauma comes with that.”

You stood shakily and walked closer to the glass. They’d taken your shoes and the tile under your feet was frigid. You crossed your arms over your chest and shivered into yourself. You didn’t want to think about the fact that they had undressed you, probably taken your clothes for testing. Instead they left you in a blue set of scrubs.

You averted your stare from your own reflection, not willing or ready to look too hard. You’d much rather look at this stranger, your heart not slowing, your head pounding. Nothing but a simple pane of glass separated you.

“And I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a fucked-up dream where I got hit by a car and then poof God, if there is one, decided that me of all people was worth bringing back.”

She lilted her head, quirked an amusing brow at you. A chill flushed down your spine and seemed to fizzle out at your toes. This woman was gorgeous and terrifying and made you want to squirm. But if this was prison, you had to assert dominance. Right? That’s what Wentworth taught you.

This cell didn’t look or feel like Wentworth, and this Warden had an amused smile tacked to her lips like she had heard your every thought. And she had. At least you assumed that she did. She’d mentioned her wife earlier, and the woman’s body against your own was plaguing you like a runaway freight train.

When she didn’t say anything, you clawed to fill the silence “I want to talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce? Honey, he’s off world.”

“Off… world.” You laughed, softly at first but then almost manically, tears forming in your eyes that you wiped away with your cold fingers. “No, no, that’s really cool. I worked a 9-5 and now I can’t talk to Bruce because he’s in Outer Space.”

“Maybe not outer space, maybe another dimension.”

You leveled her with a humorless glare. She had both of her hands up as if she wanted to comfort you, or the caged animal you had become. You had to give her credit, she seemed just as horrified as you were. She offered up a dim, faltering smile.

There wasn’t a way for you to process this in a gentle manner, there was no one to guide you through it other than Jenn. She’d done this before, lived a whole life that was flipped upside-down and she’d come out on the other side. It was the uncertainty that scared the hell out of you.

“You were in my head earlier,” You stopped suddenly, pressing your fingers against the glass. The woman didn’t flinch. Your frantic breath fogged with each exhalation. “Do you know why I came back?”

She shook her head, “No. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No.” A weak chuckle, you let your hands drop. “At least we’re on the same page.”

The nurse they allowed to enter through the side of the containment unit took cautious steps towards you that made your chest ache. All your life, people had said how welcoming and kind you were; how they were never afraid to come to you with their worries. It had bothered you before the incident, before your death, but now you missed seeing the stare of those who didn’t harbor any fear.

She was small, a mouse of a thing that had pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Her name tag read Julia. Your mind rushed with the paths she’d taken to this place. She must be interning here, much too young to hold a classification herself.

Your finger twitched on your knee, palm sweaty. It’s heat radiated through the thin blue fabric of the pants they’d provided you with. You hated needles, always had. But, you struggled to stay still and the effect that had on poor nurse Julia was making you fidget more.

There was a scent about her. It was under the layers of hairspray, nail polish, and shea butter. It was a sweet metal that made your stomach swirl. Was it her sweat? You’d never smelt anything past walking by the bomb that was the boys locker room, and it certainly had never been this tantalizing before.

Your eyes met hers, crystal blue and uncertain. “You’ll just feel a little pinch”

This is when you pulled your gaze back and instead focused on the cream colored walls. There was no problem with needles, you’d dutifully sit for your flu shots, but something about the sharp edge pushing through a layer of skin and fat before hitting your vein made you nauseous.

“We just need enough to run a few tests.” Julia soothed.

She was a normal nurse in that one, small way. Your mind was itching, blood seeming to congeal. It refused to cooperate and her burning touch was all but dominant against your skin. You both waited for the small tube to fill with black liquid. 

Finally, you felt her press the gauze against the crook of your arm and withdraw the needle. Another small pinch and then a massive relief. Her smell hung around you and filled the room. There was an undeniable urge to sink your teeth into her. To taste her.

You’d stopped the elevator just hours before to assess your penchant for brain consumption, but this wasn’t that. This was an intoxicating pull. This was animalistic, the same rush of emotion that had flooded you without prompting during your earlier conversation.

Julia squeezed your shoulder calmly, not entirely over her own reservations, but on the penance that she was a nurse and this was her job. You kept yourself rooted to the bed, fingers digging into the wood. She left the room and you could hear the compressed lock reseal you inside, breathing a sigh of relief.

That sweet odor lingered, and your reaction to it scared you more than anything. The wood beneath your fingertips splintered, and suddenly that anger, that fear, rolled away to shock. That wasn’t… normal. None of this was normal, but you weren’t exactly picked first in sports either.

You were a middle kid, a I guess I wouldn’t mind having you on my team kid. Suddenly your fingers were cutting through wood like it was butter. You let out an indignant squeak and shifted the blanket until the slashes were covered.

“Is everything alright?”

Wanda, you had learned that her name was Wanda, occupied her usual spot in front of the window. A slick sweat covered your forehead. She was holding a small tray that had a steaming bowl of soup and a delicious hunk of French bread.

“I figured you were hungry,” She lifted her chin towards the panel next to your door. “May I?”

“I’m at your mercy.”

And you were, truly. You hadn’t seen anyone but her since you’d woken up. There were shadows of others, people that made the pit in the center of your stomach grow three sizes. You knew exactly what they were doing, you watched enough true crime with Jennifer to know.

Here was this beautiful and powerful woman offering you food and words of comfort, and you allowed yourself to fall for all of it. Listlessly. Because what did you have to lose? You’d already died, and the thought of putting your family through the heartache of resurrection and then possibly enough committal to the ground was too much.

So, let her Stockholm syndrome you. The food smelled divine.

Wanda didn’t hold the same fear that Julia had. In fact, once the compression of air signified that it was okay for her to enter, she did so without hesitation. She set the food down on the equally dull side table and lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, making herself at home.

She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt that had the outline of SHIELD on its sleeve. You frowned, for a company that does everything in its power to keep itself hidden, they sure loved that stupid bird so much.

“Go on, sweetie. You can eat.”

Wanda had a command about her that made you fold and listen despite any reservations. You took up a spot on the far end of the bed and shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. An explosion of heady flavors coated your tongue, coaxing a low moan from your lips.

Blush rushed to your cheeks at the spark in the set of stormy eyes that watched you like a hawk. You rushed to break the tension. “So, what’s the plan here? Run a bunch of tests and keep me locked up?”

“Somewhat.” She paused, carefully thinking of her next words. “Y/n, I have the ability to get inside the psyche. Not only can I read every thought, every action, but I can control them too. It’s not something I like to do, nor something I want to. Not without permission.”

You frowned again. You certainly hadn’t given her permission to enter your mind before, and she tensed at the realization. But, you took another bite of soup and swallowed down the spiced broth. What’s done was done. You didn’t expect her to ask, much less admit to her wrongdoing.

“I prefer to ask. Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“Paralegal, the bar seemed like too much stress. But I’m good at my job. I was good at my job before a car turned me into sidewalk art.”

“Right, and your family, what about them?”

There was no desire to think of them and their perfect lives that you’d shattered with your death. Your mother used to sit in the tepid air on the porch swing, downing a glass of wine before she turned to you with tears in her eyes. She’d urge you to be careful working in the city. She’d plead for you to come home. More than anything, she’d utter the phrase a mother should never outlive her daughter.

“My mother is a seventh grade biology teacher and my father runs a painting business that’s been operating my whole life. They’re not very exciting people. They must be worried sick about me.”

Wanda nodded, “Any siblings?”

“Not anymore.”

She stilled at your words and didn’t pry. You were well aware of the fact that she could push through your deflections and learn the information that she wanted to know. But, you respected that she didn’t. Instead, she stared at you, and you stared right back, suddenly not hungry.

Wanda was someone that you felt the need to open-up to. Unlike the brief encounter you had had with her wife. Not that you let that word stick with you, not in the same way that her touch did. Again, you had to push the thoughts to the back of your mind, even if Wanda wasn’t prying.

Instead, she placed a warm hand on your thigh, sending a wave of shivers through your body. You suppressed a whimper at the sudden contact.

“I had a brother named Pietro. He was fast, unnaturally so. Neither of us ever wanted to be heroes, we didn’t think about the future like that. So, when the Avengers, these so-called saviors of the world, recruited us, we knew about the dangers. But it still shocked me when he died. He was my brother. He wasn’t supposed to be fragile like that.”

You stared at her with an amount of tenderness in your eyes that she wasn’t used to from the others. They cared, sure, but in the way that a co-worker would care enough to purchase cut flowers and a ‘sorry for your loss’ card. You were different.

“They’re our protectors.” You swallowed hard, mouth dry “when something drastic happens, it doesn’t seem real.”

“It still doesn’t.”

There was a lapse of silence that pushed memories in your direction. The burning cold weather on the day your own brother had died. You remember the scream that died in your throat and the way you’d knelt in the cracked snow until you couldn’t’ feel your legs or your fingers. It took an EMT with a heated blanket and a horror story about hypothermia to pull you to your feet.

“Jonathan.” You whispered.

She let out a questioning hum, pulling her feet from the floor and making herself more comfortable on the less-than-comfortable bed. “Your brother?”

“My older brother. I followed him around like a lost puppy, but he never complained. He was a hockey player and a damn good one too. He’d use the lake behind our house in Jersey to practice and one winter the ice broke underneath him. He drowned, and I was too weak to save him.”

Wanda let out a shuddered breath. You couldn’t read her facial expression. It was a mix of confusion, or sadness, but not pity and that was something you appreciated. You’d had enough pity, just as your family had enough grief without you adding to it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but both of you were startled when three quick knocks shattered the silence. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, stood on the other side. She showed no interest in breeching the containment unit. Instead, she leveled her wife with a dark stare and held up a folded piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Wanda whispered, giving your leg a settling squeeze.

She left the plate and exited the holding cell. Her words were muffled, but those unripe green eyes that Natasha possessed kept flicking to you nervously. She too, didn’t’ show pity. It was interest and if you were being honest, you thought you saw the smallest spark of fear.

Wanda took the paper from her wife, squinted at something you couldn’t’ see. You felt like you were at a parent teacher conference, just out of bounds of hearing but you could see their body language; the way that Natasha itched to move closer to Wanda, the fingers that the taller woman pressed to her lips, thumb creasing the paper.

Finally, Wanda turned back towards the glass. Natasha met your stare without issue, hitting the intercom on the other side of the cell. It was her who spoke, her raspy voice falling from the speaker.

“In the spirit of transparency, we want to be honest with you about your blood results.”

You stood from the bed, moving to one side of the barrier. They were intimidating like that, standing shoulder to shoulder with a natural beauty. It made you want to shrink. If not for the paper in their hands you would have curled into yourself at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’m dying.”

“No, honey.” Wanda shook her head, “Quite the opposite, you’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow and pressed the paper against the glass so you could read it. None of it made sense, it was lines of DNA that looked like musical notes. You shook your head, giving her a confused look.

Natasha scoffed, peeling the paper from the surface of glass. Wanda bit her thumbnail nervously. “According to these…You’re Asgardian, Kitten.”

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Wanda Maximoff #scarlet witch #black widow #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Wanda Maximoff x you #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Wandanat x you #Wandanat x y/n #Marvel

[anisangeldust]

Pretty when you cry 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: feelings are hard.

Pairing: young politician!Coriolanus x Fem!reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Coriolanus is stressed and needs you, emotional vulnerability, mentions of parental loss, crying.

A/N: just some heart-achy fluff bc I’m in the mood to coddle someone rn🎀

Masculinity and Bravado were drilled into the brain of Panems president since the day he was born, festering like an infection, multiplying like an invasion, until all he could feel was shame for feeling.

So often he’d find himself teary eyed, chanting soliloquies of “Men don’t cry, you aren’t weak, crying makes you weak.” like mantras around his apartment, such nonsense that those superior used to undermine his naturally empathetic soul.

It wasn’t until many moons later that he crossed your sacred path, your mere presence a soothing compress on his aching heart. Little by little, you cleared his night skies from its once insurmountable peril, the darkness that had consumed his soul was no longer seeping through his core, instead it soaked through his eyes, salty drops of crystalline water flowing down his milky cheeks.

At the moment, he was being comforted by his ever so generous and loving wife. The emotions he buried so desperately were now flowing like a river in front of his own personal Aphrodite, a tsunami of emotions flooding his soul, lapping at the weak spots of his delicate being. Never would anyone describe Coriolanus Snow as vulnerable, but right now he was. Your tenderness akin to the mother he lost so long ago, and his trembling frame that of a little boy. This is love in its rawest form, the ability to express vulnerability without judgement, the thing Coriolanus so clearly craved his whole adolescence.

Heaven was breaking down in your arms, having a rough day and coming home to you, the woman he loved with every ounce of his being, to have you hold his face and tell him it was all going to be okay; your murmured words like a warm compress on his aching heart.

So often he reminded himself that he was allowed to have bad days, being president was draining, and the cracks in his mask were deepening, he could no longer hide from the flood, he had to just make sure he didn’t drown. Luckily you were his life boat. Despite all his hard work, sometimes the darkness prevails, dawning cloaks of false serendipity, only to shed its light and consume your dignity. The darkness that clouds his vision, creeps into the corners of his mind, dampens his thinking, the darkness only you can cut through. He beam of light, his saving grace.

Coriolanus was a blubbering mess, your fingers running in his platinum curls a reminder that he was safe, that he was going to be okay. Slowly, he lifted his head from your chest and sniffled.

“I don’t deserve you..” he murmured, eyes red and puffy from crying so hard.

“Shhh, just lay on me baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you” you cooed, pressing his face back into the soft fat of your chest. As to which he happily complied.

The muscles of his shirtless back were relaxed, melting into you and your warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you like you were going to disappear if he let go, you were his most precious gem, a beauty unmatched by the most divine beings, a goddess amongst men, and Coriolanus was your most devoted apostle.

Slowly, his breathing regained stability, his pink lips no longer quivering, chest no longer heaving. You peppered his teary cheeks with kisses as he calmed down slowly. His mind slipping form consciousness as he fell asleep.

“I love you” he croaked gently, voice rough and tone uneven, the most vulnerable state Coriolanus Snow could be in, the one reserved for you.

“I love you too baby boy, so much. Now sleep, it’ll all be okay” you mutter as he flutters his eyes closed and lays on you completely, your own personal weighted blanket.

Coriolanus was truly sculpted by the gods, how else would he be so pretty when he cries?

#coriolanus snow #tom blyth #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #anisangeldust #hes so babygirl #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚angel #pretty when you cry #coriolanus snow smut #angel #angel dust #tom blyth x reader #tbosbas #tbosas #pretty crier

[lauraneedstochill]

Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face. 

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious. 

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.��

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and — 

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue 

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

#aemond targaryen #it took me 3 (THREE) months to find inspiration to finish the gif and I can't say I'm 100% happy so I will take NO criticism #to the ten people who will read this — I am forever grateful (I'm sending you cups of cacao as a treat) #my stuff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfics #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond the kinslayer

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

night! uh, can u do sum for me like, it would be very very cool from you. can you do like jason x apollo reader that she’s like a ray of sunshine with absolutely anyone and he’s like so in love but she doesn’t know until he wins capture the flag/war games (it depends on wich camp they’ll be) and he’s like “this win is for y/n” and she’s like “oh my father does he like me back?” pls pls??

oh and thank you thank you thank you for writing so well and about jason (he’s so perfect but so underrated i’m crying.) thanks again, i luv ur writing!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason grace x daughter of apollo! reader hcs

content: jason grace x daughter of apollo! reader hcs warning: none that i can think of???? author's note: this is for the THREE people that all asked for jason grace x daughter of apollo. it was really scary yall like coordinated that shit bc they all came in at the same time- also...why does apollo reader ALWAYS kick my ass like this was such a bitch to write and like...why???? stupid fucking god of poetry, suck a dick bro fr let me write in peace. im already dyslexic, what more could you want from me??

jason grace had got the hots for the sun's daughter

he couldn't help it

she was just so sweet from the moment he'd met her

he'd been helping leo with something in bunker nine

one second he was holding up sheet metal, the next it was crashing down against his already sensitive nogin

leo rapidly took the son of jupiter to the infirmary, where jason met you

"oh, jeez. another head condition, mr. grace?? giving that brain a run for it's money," you mused with a beaming smile and a soft wink

and jason was a goner

you weren't even a healer, you just liked to make the patients feel better with jokes or legit just your bubbly personality

from that moment on, jason used every excuse to be near you as much as he could

and everyone could tell what was going on with the golden boy

except, naturally, you

which frustrated jason to no end

"do you wanna come hang out in my cabin?" he offered, fighting off his blush mentally

"we always hang out in your cabin, silly," you replied with a winkle of your nose before linking your arm with jason and dragging him off, leaving him to sigh behind your back

"i- i like that shirt on you, y/n. looks really, really good," he tried again in the middle of archery practice, completely missing a shot to tell you that.

"thanks!! it's kayla's but she let me borrow it for today," you hummed, shooting a perfect bullseye shot without any effort, beaming a smile at the boy, who deflated at your lack of flirty response.

then, jason got a brilliant idea when he was talking to percy about capture the flag

he was gonna win, hopefully single handedly, and then do some grand romantic gesture and ask you on a date

should be easy for a child of the big three

except for the fact that his group was against the nike cabin, who were foaming at the mouth for a win

he prayed the gods, more specifically aphrodite, were on his side

the day finally came and jason was completely in the zone, never wanting to win something more in his entire life

well, maybe your heart but still

from the moment the conch shell blew, he was a man on a mission

people began parting out of his way, not wanting to get caught up in that mess

which made it easier to find the flag, some of the demeter kids even pointing him in the right direction

once he found it, he just dropped his sword and sprinted it over the river

bro was fast as lightening

and i think some people were kung fu fighting???

(that made me gag, i apologize-)

(could i delete it?? yes. but if i have to suffer the cringe, so do you.)

ANYWAYS, MOVING ON

jason and his team were dubbed the winners, the flag changing to match cabin one and laurels were placed on his head

bro was pracing around like a show pony, searching the crowd for you

"way to go, jason! congrats, but we're so getting you next time!" you giggled, beaming up at the blonde boy, who couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from you

"well, as far as prizes go, id say these laurels are pretty crappy," jason hummed, removing the crown of golden leaves from his head and inspecting it.

just like he practice in the mirror every morning leading up to this day, same with his words.

this is scripted and being spontaneous wasn't exactly the son of jupiter's strong suit

especially not around pretty girls

"do you guys getting better prizes at new rome or-?" you questioned and you would have said more but then jason gently placed the laurels on your head, smiling as you looked up at them in confusion.

"there, that's a much better prize," he smiled, which only widened as you blushed, ducking your head and causing the laurels to slip slightly

"that's- that's very sweet, jason," you muttered, rocking on your heels as you looked away from him.

the boy you were completely enamored with was telling you he thought you were a prize when you were certain he didn't even like you

like bro wtf???

"well, a sweet girl like you deserves very sweet," he added, enjoying the blush that was settling over your cheeks, "you wanna, maybe, go on a picnic with me?"

"YES- er, yeah, uh, that sounds great. totally, yes, im down," you reply, trying to desperately recover from your far to eager response.

"sounds like a date," jason mused, his smile unstoppable around the sunshine girl.

"more war spoils for the victor?" you teased, pushing the laurels pointly up on your head.

"if you were my war spoils, i'd never lose another fight."

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace x y/n #all my love ౨ৎ

[moth-nana]

hii! how are you doing? i hope u dont mind, this is my first time. may i ask for tokyo revengers Mitsuya, Draken and Rindou where they compliment or appreciate in general (words of affirmation) to their s/o but she reacted to them by crying? because she doesnt rlly get that much of attention and praises, so she gets emotional when she heard it. i wanna see howd they react to that. i hope this is okay!

Takashi Mitsuya, Ken Ryuguji, Rindou Haitani

Prompt: TR boys compliment/tell how much they appreciate the reader and the reader starts crying because she doesn't get to hear that as much/often as she should.

Words: 1 k

A/n: I'm doing well, thank you for asking. I got so excited when you asked this and had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do 🫶 ps: leave me reguests any time you want. I love making these🫰

Takashi Mitsuya

You and Takashi had started dating three weeks ago and you had just been introduced to Luna and Mana, his little sisters, who had been so nice. You had a really good time. You had played with them as Takashi had prepared supper for you four. Luna had given you lots of questions about yours and Takashi’s relationship and you had answered any questions as well as you could.

In the end all four of you ended up eating Takashis cooked curry chicken and rice that tasted so good. You were so happy just to be there with him and his sisters.

You sat next to Takashi on his bed listening to music that was coming from a radio he had turned on minutes ago. You leaned your head to his shoulder. You felt so calm and happy.

Takashi turned to look at you with a big warm smile on his face. “I really appreciate you being here,” Takshi nudged your shoulder in an affectionate way before continuing, “I really appreciate and care about you,” You had listened to him and held back tears. They weren’t necessarily tears of sadness. They were more like tears of happiness that came out of being cared for the first time in a long while. Your eyes couldn’t hold back those tears anymore and they fell down your cheeks like rain. Takashi looked slightly taken back before he hugged you. He brought your head to his chest, caressed your hair and whispered calming words to you. “Hey, it’s okay. You're okay.” He whispered to you. You nodded your head as you tried to stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks to your neck.

When you had calmed down he had whipped all your tears from your cheeks away with the sleeve of his shirt and smiled at you the whole time. “Don’t cry or you’ll make me cry” Takashi kissed your cheek and a spot under your eye. “I’m sorry… I just don’t ever get told anyone appreciates me like that.” You sniffled and he kissed the tip of your nose. “You should be.” He whispered.

Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

You and Draken had been on a date for the third time ever. He had taken you to eat at a restaurant. It wasn’t fancy but it was what you wanted. He had tried to pay but you had been quicker and paid for both of you which had stunned Draken for a good two seconds.

Draken had never really been that affectionate in public but you both had had long days and taking a walk when the sun was setting was something that seemed good after eating at a restaurant. You had exited the restaurant hand in hand.

You two had hopped on his motorbike and he had driven you to a place near a river that flowed down calmly. Your hands were attached to each other like it was the most natural thing ever as you two made your way to sit on the grass.

“I hope this won’t stain my jeans.” You laughed as you sat down next to Draken. He gave you a loving smile. “I don’t think it will.” He said and you giggled.

The sun was setting. It looked beautiful and all those golden and orange lights made you look like a goddess in Drakens eyes. He was admiring how beautiful you were. He had always thought that you were beautiful but oh, how beautiful you were now. Nothing had been prettier before.

“You are so beautiful.” Draken had whispered under his breath and that made you look at him. He had this look of awe on his face. And then he looked concerned as he noticed that a lonely tear had fallen down your cheek. “Hey, don’t cry.” He whipped it away but those words made all the tears that were sealed into your eyes flow down your cheeks and he was in a loss for words. You sniffed and nodded your head. You hadn’t been complimented like that ever before. He had cupped your face to the palms of his hands and he was wiping tears away with his thumbs. “Thank you.” You sniffed and then laughed. He kissed your forehead. “My beautiful girl,”

Rindou Haitani

You had had a long day. Your winter holidays had just started but all the stress of the last school week was not gone yet. You had three exams the past week that had taken all your energy. Now that you were sitting next to Rindou on the train towards your place after a date you were on you felt tired. You were happy but tired at the same time. If you could just close your eyes and fall asleep, your head on the shoulder of your boyfriend, you would.

You fell to your bed as soon as you and Rindou had made your way into your apartment. He watched you with a big smile on his lips as you were getting comfortable on your bed. You weren’t that tired anymore but feeling the softness of your mattress was comforting. You made space for Rindou to lay down next to you and he did.

You laid there both on your sides and faces inches apart. He had removed his eyeglasses that he had on a few minutes before so they wouldn’t get bent and you had been watching him. He looked eternal to you.

Rindou was admiring your face for all the little details that set you apart from other people. He had the urge to trail his finger along every line of your face, to memorize it entirely. “You are so pretty.” He whispered with a soft and affectioned voice that held so much adoration and love towards you. His compliment made your eyes fill up with tears that you couldn’t contain. Your tears fell to the pillow under your head. Rindou brought his hand to wipe away all your tears gently. “Hey, don’t cry.” He whispered “You are beautiful, gorgeous and my darling” He whispered trying to comfort you, succeeding to make you cry even more. Your lips held a smile but your eyes cried tears that contained all the frustration from the week before and the lack of compliments and appreciation you hadn’t received in a long time. “Thank you.” You whispered.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #draken x reader #ken ryuguji #draken #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #ken ryuuguji x reader

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi Angelll

OBSESSED WITH COWBOY SEVIKA UNIVERSE. How about Sevika and reader meeting Caitlin’s parents. Sevika and Cassandra defo are side eyeing each other while Tobias and reader are giggling bout their daughters.

Thank you Angel!!!!!!!!

YES LETS GOOOOO

men and minors dni

violet and caitlyn have been going steady for about a year now.

caitlyn visits the inn about once a week, staying a night or two in vi's room before she continues on her trek up the river. sometimes, she takes violet with her.

the two of them are adorable together. they're clearly soulmates, and they're both fucking dorks, and even a year into their relationship, they're still so shy and awkward around each other that they can barely look each other in the eye without blushing.

and now that things between the girls are getting more serious, caitlyn's parents want to meet you all.

violet's never met them. after the jail break, you and sevika forbade the girls from ever returning to cait's town-- worried that they'd be recognized and arrested again. you're all incredibly nervous. well, all of you except jinx.

the kiramman family is insanely fucking wealthy, and they're coming to visit and stay in your dingy little inn. violet's spent the entire week deep cleaning the room they'll be staying in with your help.

sevika's worried that cassandra, caitlyn's mother, will recognize her as the weary woman of the west. apparently, the matriarch of the family is also incredibly invested in local politics and crimes, and she's been consulted by several police forces for investigations into crimes sevika committed.

jinx has been thriving in the anxious energy-- getting away with much more trouble than she's usually able to with the rest of you so preoccupied with worrying.

and now, the night before the family's arrival, you, sevika, and jinx are cuddled in bed as you watch violet pace back and forth in your room.

"come lay down vi, you're making me dizzy." sevika says.

violet continues to pace.

"she's freaking out." jinx says with a giggle. you flick her forehead.

"be nice to your sister." you say. "that'll be you someday."

jinx scoffs. "no way, i'm never falling in love."

sevika chuckles. "no?" she asks, raising her eyebrow. jinx shakes her head no. "so you and that neighbor boy don't have anything going on between the two of you?"

you giggle as you watch jinx blush. "i don't like ekko!" she exclaims. this gets violet to pause her pacing, shooting her sister a glance.

"bullshit, jinx, i saw the two of you riding teddybear yesterday." violet teases. jinx's shoulders shoot up to her ears.

"shut up!" she cries. you chuckle and wrap your arm around her shoulders.

violet grins, abandoning her pacing to squish into bed beside the rest of you. "'oh, ekko, you're a natural!'" violet imitates jinx.

"whatever. at least ekko won't dump me when his dad sees the dump we live in." jinx grumbles.

"hey! it's not a dump!" you cry. sevika snorts.

"it's a bit of a dump, babe." she says. the girls nod up at you. you roll your eyes.

"well i'm sorry if our home isn't perfect-- i've been busy raising the two little shits that tried to rob me--"

"do you really think she'll dump me once her parents meet us?" violet asks, interrupting your rant.

"no." sevika says. "cait's a sneaky shit, and she's obsessed with you. even if they ban her from you and us, she'll be back." she reassures violet. vi sighs.

"i guess."

"go to sleep. we gotta be up early tomorrow to make that fancy dinner you want." you say, turning off the oil lamp beside you. jinx settles in your arms, cuddling against you, and violet cuddles into sevika's.

twenty minutes later, when both girls are snoring, sevika reaches across their bodies to poke you. you smile at her.

"we need a bigger bed." she whispers. you chuckle.

"remember when we thought they'd outgrow their sleepover phase?" you ask. she grunts.

"we were so stupid." she says. you giggle.

"we were young, too." you say. she chuckles.

"we're still young!" she protests. "it's not our fault these shits imprinted on us when we were newlyweds."

"we're not shits, you're a shit, sevika." jinx mumbles, eyes still closed, turning in your arms. you laugh and press a kiss to your head.

"jinx." you say. she hums in your arms. "you're gonna be nice to cait and vi tomorrow, right?" you ask. she remains suspiciously quiet, a little smirk growing on her lips. sevika laughs at the silence.

"c'mon pow-pow, you know you like caitlyn." sevika says. jinx huffs.

"she's... alright."

"she taught you how to shoot!"

"yeah, but she's dating violet. there's gotta be something wrong with her." jinx responds. you snort and ruffle her hair.

"if you're on your best behavior tomorrow, i'll take you to grayson's on friday for shooting practice." sevika bribes. jinx considers this.

"that'll only work if mrs. kiramman doesn't arrest you tomorrow." she mumbles. sevika groans, and you giggle, flicking jinx's forehead again.

"you're such a shit." you say. jinx giggles.

"g'night." she says. you kiss her head again.

"goodnight jinxy."

the kiramman's are... an odd couple.

upon their arrival, violet and caitlyn immediately scooped each other up in a hug. you watched with a smile as caitlyn tried for a kiss, and violet turned her face away, far too nervous with the kiramman's watching to kiss her girlfriend.

caitlyn stiffly and awkwardly introduced you all to her parents, and you take over for her once she's done, guiding the family into the tavern.

you've got a few guests in the inn, but you've closed the bar for the night to keep the family dinner private. you don't want to overwhelm the kiramman's with too much on their first visit, and you're sure your patrons would find plenty of ways to embarrass violet.

tobias is a kind, quiet man, who seems genuinely interested in you and your business. he follows you behind the bar to help you make drinks, and you both watch in amusement as your wives awkwardly talk to one another.

since she's arrived, cassandra's been eyeing sevika suspiciously, a furrow in her brow as she tries to place her. sevika seems to have noticed, and each time she catches mrs. kiramman staring at her, she quickly flees to 'check in on jinx.'

jinx is the only one acting somewhat normal, doodling away at the table while she waits for dinner.

"you have a lovely business." tobias says to you. you smile at him.

"thank you, sir."

"oh please dear, no formalities necessary. with the way cait's been speaking about violet, i'm sure we'll be family in a few years." he says, smiling. you sigh, some of your anxiety melting away as you look up to admire caitlyn and violet where they're nervously whispering to one another at the table.

"you've raised an incredible young woman." you say to him. he smiles. "i'm surprised every day that violet managed to woo her-- she's incredibly poised and intelligent and kind and patient. she's lovely." you say. tobias chuckles.

"well, i'm glad she behaves well for you. at home, it's a bit of a different story-- but i'm sure you know all about that, with two daughters." he says. you laugh.

"they can be a handful, huh?" you ask. he nods.

"i'm just glad she's found somebody like violet. she's been so much happier since they met." he says, a sparkle in his eye. "she's always struggled to make friends. but, each time she comes home from her little trips up here, she's so full of life and excitement. all we ever hear about anymore is violet, and whatever trouble her and powder have gotten themselves into." he says. you grin.

"they're a good match, aren't they?" you ask. he smiles and nods.

"oh-- oh dear. i better go check on my missus. it's never good when she gets that look in her eye." he mumbles, rolling his eyes at you as he grabs a drink and leaves the bar.

you watch in amusement as tobias approaches cassandra, handing her a glass and gently guiding her away from where she was studying sevika with her chin pinched between her fingers.

sevika comes behind the bar to take over for tobias, helping you make drinks.

"how's it going?" you ask. she grunts.

"she's fucking onto me." she whispers. you chuckle.

"thank fuck for statute of limitations." you say. sevika groans. "it's fine, baby. what's she gonna do, accuse her daughter's girlfriend's guardian of being an infamous outlaw over a 'meet the family' dinner?" you ask.

"she could!" she says. you giggle.

"so, you'll deny it. she's got no proof-- you just look a bit like some wanted posters."

"and i've got enough gold buried beneath the garden to last us a hundred fuckin' years." she whispers. you snort.

"i doubt she'll be digging up the garden tonight, babe." you say. sevika groans.

"i'm gonna fuck this up for violet." she says. you smile. there it is.

sevika's never been this nervous to be potentially recognized before-- if anything, she kinda enjoys it when someone positively identifies her. but, when it comes to her girls' happiness, sevika worries endlessly.

you put down the bottle you're pouring from and reach out to grab sevika's hand, pulling her closer and closer toward you until you've got your arms wrapped around her.

"quit worrying." you whisper, kissing her cheek. "you're not gonna fuck anything up. an awkward dinner won't kill 'em, and i don't think there's anything we can do that'll break up those two." you say, nodding over to where caitlyn's whispering in a grinning violet's ear.

you both watch as your daughter laughs, then turns to whisper something back in her girlfriend's ear. caitlyn giggles, hiding her smile behind her hand, and violet quickly presses a kiss to her cheek. cait blushes.

sevika sighs, relaxing a bit in your grip. "i guess you're right." she says. you smile and kiss her lips.

"the only one we gotta worry about tonight is jinx." you say. sevika groans.

"fuck, i forgot about jinx." she says. you laugh.

"you forgot about me?" jinx asks, popping up on the other side of the bar. you both jump.

"fuck! we gotta put a bell on you or something, kid." sevika says. jinx chuckles.

"mr. kiramman challenged me to checkers after dinner-- i told him he better get ready to get his ass whooped." she says. you snort.

"what'd he say to that?" you ask. she shrugs.

"he laughed. i think he likes us." she says. you smile.

"he'd be stupid not to." you say. jinx smiles.

"mrs. kiramman is still on the fence though. i tried charming her with a game of hangman-- she said she's never heard of it." jinx says, rolling her eyes. you snort.

"she'll come around." you say.

"she better." sevika grunts.

dinner goes pretty smoothly. with a few drinks in her, cassandra lightens up significantly, and seemingly forgets all the apprehensions she had about sevika. the two of them spend the night swapping embarrassing stories about vi and cait, much to jinx's delight and their horror.

tobias shows jinx a few magic tricks, which she loves, and caitlyn cringes the entire time, burying her face in her hands.

the girls get more comfortable as the night goes on and the adults loosen up, and by the time dinner's over, violet's slung her arm around caitlyn's shoulders.

cassandra compliments your cooking, and when you tell her most of the ingredients came from your garden, she grins.

"well, that's just darling!" she says. "oh, i wish we had a garden on our property." she sighs.

"you say that dear, but you know you would kill anything you try to grow." tobias teases. cassandra huffs and elbows him.

"he gifted me a bonsai tree for our ten year anniversary and i killed it in a month. i'll never hear the end of it." she mumbles. you laugh.

"you're not alone mrs. k. they all call me jinx because i kill every plant i touch." jinx mumbles into her food. you snort.

"oh please, like you didn't beg us to start calling you jinx more." sevika says.

"well yeah! it's a great cowboy name!" she says.

"you want to be a cowboy, dear?" cassandra asks. jinx nods.

"yeah, just like sev." she says, smiling. beside you, sevika freezes. across the table, violet and caitlyn both cringe. you stomp on jinx's toes under the table. "ouch!" she whispers.

mrs. kiramman looks over at your wife, a suspicious look in her eye.

"you used to be a cowboy?" she asks. you grab your wife's hand under the table.

"uh..." she says.

"a rancher!" you fill in. "a few miles up outside of town." you say. cassandra hums, still eyeing sevika.

"you know, i used to help police forces investigate the outlaws that wander this desert." she says. you gulp.

"mom, nobody wants to hear about your boring side projects." caitlyn says nervously.

"and there was always one wanderer i could never forget." she continues, ignoring her daughter.

tobias' eyes are darting between sevika and his wife. he seems to catch on to the predicament pretty quickly, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. you bite your lip.

"who wants to see another magic trick?" he asks, trying to change the subject again.

"the weary woman of the west." cassandra says, ignoring her husband. sevika's grip on your hand goes shaky.

"w-well... that's interesting." you say.

"yes, very." cassandra says, looking over at you. "i always felt a certian... kinship towards her." she says. you blink, trying to process her words.

"wha?" sevika asks.

cassandra shrugs. "as one of the only women in the oil industry, i understand how much harder one has to work in a male dominated industry. the weary woman never let any of the expectations of womanhood stop her-- and she never let the expectations of her career define her either." she says. "never killed an innocent, never robbed anything that was locally run. never got caught either."

it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

cassandra's lips tick up at the side, and she picks up her glass, nodding at sevika.

"when she disappeared, most assumed she was killed. i always secretly hoped she took her earnings and made a life for herself." she says. sevika gulps. "i'm glad to see i was right." cassandra whispers.

you grin, and across the table, caitlyn sinks in to her chair, sighing in relief. tobias laughs, violet blinks in shock, and sevika's jaw drops. jinx bursts into laughter.

"oh, fuck yes! i like her!" jinx says. "cait, why didn't you tell me your mom was such a badass?" she asks.

the rest of you start to laugh with her, too.

after dinner, you show tobias and cassandra to their rooms. they're both 'charmed' by it, which you're pretty sure is rich person talk for not completely disgusted, so you take it.

violet finds you in the hallway after you tuck jinx in.

"hey kid." you say. she sighs, her shoulders slumping, and she melts into your arms. you giggle and wrap her up into a hug.

"oh my god, for a second there i thought there was gonna be a shootout over dinner." violet mumbles into your shoulder. you laugh.

"i did too." you say. "they're way cooler than i thought they'd be. who knew rich people could be so interesting?" you ask. violet giggles.

"i knew. cait's the coolest, richest person i know." she says. you smile and press a kiss to her head.

"you know, now that you've met the family, the next step's gonna be marriage." you say. violet scoffs.

"oh please, sevika would kill me if i tried to get married before i turned, like, twenty five." she says. you laugh.

"i'd kill you too." you say. violet laughs. "i'm just saying. me and sev know a pastor who can make it happen when the two of you are ready." violet hums.

"you really think she's gonna stick around for that long?" she asks. you smile.

"i do, kiddo. you guys are basically soulmates. your families like each other. caitlyn's constantly detouring on her treks to visit you and..." you trail off, tears welling up in your eyes as you pull away to hold violet's face in both of your hands. "and she has every fucking reason to, baby." you say. violet blinks up at you, tears welling in her own eyes as she listens. "you're incredible. you're hilarious, and kind, and you're such a good fucking sister it kills me a bit. you charm the pants off of everyone you meet, you've got a knack for getting yourself into and out of trouble, and you're like, the coolest kid i ever met. or second coolest, sorry. jinx's got you beat in that contest." you say.

violet smiles shakily up at you, then leans forward to bury her face against your shoulder again, wrapping her arms around you. you kiss her head.

"i love you." she mumbles. you smile.

"love you too, kid." you say.

"i'm so glad i tried to rob you." she says. you laugh.

"i am too." you say.

you hold her until she catches her breath, then you wipe up her snot and tears and press a kiss to her forehead, ruffling her hair.

"now, go be with your girl. i'm sure she's just as stressed out as you are after tonight." you say. vi laughs.

"i'm surprised she didn't have a heart attack." she says. you chuckle.

you find sevika in the stables, feeding teddybear and the kiramman's horses. you wrap your arms around her waist, resting your head against her solid back, sighing as you hold her. she hums, then turns around in your grip.

"that wasn't too bad." you say. sevika snorts, leaning down to kiss you.

"are you kidding? were we at the same dinner?" she asks. you laugh.

"okay, it was rocky for a bit there, but it's all good now." you say. sevika snorts. "i'd even go as far as saying that i think they like us."

"oh definitely. i think mrs. k's got a bit of a crush on the weary woman." she teases. you laugh.

"she fuckin' better not." you say, glaring at your wife. she grins.

"jealous?" she asks. you roll your eyes.

"no. i'm just worried about tobias. it would break his sweet heart if he found out his wife was leavin' him for an outlaw." you say. sevika bursts into laughter.

"well, i got good news for him, because that outlaw's off the market." she says. you smile.

"yeah?"

"yeah. happily married, two kids, picket fence and all." she says. you snort.

"damn, what happened to her?" you ask. "she turned into a fuckin' softy. used to be so badass..." you tease.

"she fell in love." sevika says. you melt in her arms, leaning forward to press your ear to her chest, listening to her heartbeat. "with the most darling, wittiest, hottest bartender this side of the mississippi." she says. you snort.

"good for her." you say. sevika hums.

"yeah. it is." she says.

you look up at her, and she's smiling down at you, a sparkle in her eye. she gently reaches up, cupping your jaw in her hand, before swooping in to press her lips against yours.

"i love you baby." you mumble against her.

"and i love you darlin'." she replies.

"c'mon. let's get to bed." you say, dragging sevika back toward the inn. she stumbles after you, giggling as she goes.

when you're at the top of the stairs, sevika pins you to your bedroom door, leaning in to kiss you, swiping her tongue against yours. you hum against her lips and she smiles.

"think we can get a quick romp in before one of the kids needs us?" she asks. you smile, reaching behind you to open the door to your room.

"only one way to find out." you reply.

you both rush into your room, only to pause when you look at the bed.

sprawled out in the center lays jinx, an open book on her chest, her eyes closed as she drools onto your pillow. sevika chuckles.

"she's such a fuckin' shit." she laughs admiringly. you giggle.

"she really is." you say.

"'m not a shit." jinx mumbles, cracking her eye open to glare at the two of you. you burst into laughter and launch yourself onto the bed, crushing jinx as you land. she squeals.

sevika crawls in beside the two of you, wrapping you up in her arms, peppering kisses to you and jinx's heads.

"you're the biggest shit to ever shit, kid." sevika teases. jinx giggles, then yawns.

"everyone else had someone to cuddle tonight, it's no fair." she says as she settles back to sleep between you and sevika. you grin, wrapping your arms around her. where your hand lays on her stomach, sevika snakes her fingers between yours, squeezing your hand and winking at you. you smile at her.

"love you guys." jinx mumbles as she drifts off to sleep.

"we love you too, jinxy-poo." sevika replies. jinx snorts at the nickname, and thirty seconds later, she and sevika are both snoring.

you're able to drift off to sleep pretty quickly after that.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

[kimetsu-chan]

Can you write a Muichiro and Yuuichiro fic in which Reader lives with the siblings after their parents died? I think your writing style would suit this request very much ⊂(・▽・⊂) Also, please ignore this if you don't feel up to writing this 😌

~Comfort in a Time Like This~

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, thank you for requesting! This can be read as platonic or romantic. No pronouns specified.

TWS ⚠️: mentions of death and loss of loved ones. Please don’t read if these topics are triggering

The house had been so eerily quiet the past few days…. The silence was suffocating.

It had been like this ever since Mr. and Mrs. Tokito died three days ago. It felt as if Muichiro never got out of bed anymore other than to get some food or water. He would always just curl up into a ball with all of his mother’s favorite blankets and just… cry. [Name] of course couldn’t blame him. The Tokitos had been like family to [Name], so naturally, [Name] was also crushed by their death.

Yuichiro had been the exact opposite to Muichiro following their parent’s death. He’d been working twice as hard, and putting himself under twice the stress…

So when Yuichiro was out of the house and Muichiro was in his usual spot, [Name] figured it was about time the boys were comforted.

[Name] decided to start with Muichiro and slowly approached his bed.

“Mui…? Can i come sit with you..?”

There was silence in the heap of pillows and blankets before the part where his head lay moved up and down.

A nod.

[Name] lifted the blanket slightly and sat down in the open spot next to him. [Name]’s hands reached into his hair and began to scratch his head in a comforting way. [Name] thought for a moment on how to get him up from his bed.

“How about we go sit by the river? It’s nice and cool right now…”

Muichiro sighed but nodded in agreement. So gentle hands took his as [Name] slowly pulled him out of bed. Muichiro was about to take the blanket but [Name]’s hand stopped him.

“It’ll just get wet and ruined Mui, leave it here.”

Muichiro reluctantly agreed and dropped the blanket. He wrapped his arms around [Name]’s in a clingy way and rested his head on [Name]’s shoulder.

The short walk to the river was quiet but in a good way. Getting Muichiro out of bed definitely was the right choice.

They finally reached the river and sat down on the pebbly shore. [Name]’s arm wrapped around his neck and rested on his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a while before they heard the sounds of footsteps. They knew it was Yuichiro returning and when his footsteps got closer, [Name] thought he as going to berate them for doing nothing.

But no, [Name]’s other shoulder suddenly felt heavy with the weight of another head. A hand reached behind [Name] to comfortingly rub his brother’s back.

A few hiccups of a cry were heard before Muichiro turned to bury his face in [Name]’s neck. [Name]’s neck soon became wet with tears and Yuichiro stood up to walk to Muichiro’s other side. Yuichiro attempted to wrap his arms around both [Name] and his brother. He rested his head on Muichiro’s back and spoke in a small and choked voice.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been awful to you… I don’t have an excuse for it. I was so wrapped up in my own way of grieving that I didn’t stop to think of how you feel… I’m sorry”

Muichiro turned his head to look at his brother. He stared at Yuichiro for a bit before turning his entire head and pouncing on his brother.

“I forgive you…”

As the brothers continued to make up, [Name] sat back with a satisfied smile.

Maybe things could go back to how they used to be?

A/N: I hope you liked it!! And I hope its not too obvious how much better at writing angst rather than fluff I am—

Also feel free to always request something! I will rarely ever decline a request (I haven’t so far) and the only reason I would decline a request is if the person who is requesting makes me really uncomfortable, or the request itself has something I’m not okay with writing/drawing ♥️

#🍁 #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimmie asks #kny #Kim’s askbox #kimmie requests :3 #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #demon slayer muichiro #kny x reader #yuichiro tokito #yuichiro x reader #reader x yuichiro #reader x muichiro #x reader #reader x character #reader insert #gn reader #tw mention of death #tw loss #tw loss of loved one

[rainnmaybank]

Safe once again

vance x reader (GN)

masterlist

navigate my blog

warnings!!: mentions of bad parent relations, breakups

like most nights, this one was miserable. rain poured down drenching the aura around. y/n was wet down to the bones. small flows of lightning swam through the clouds lighting up the surrounding.

it seemed to be fight after fight, i didn’t matter if it was with their parents, friends or best friend. no matter where they went arguments sparked and burned them.

that night was worse then it ever had been, her mother spoke words she knew she didn’t truly mean. y/n never forgot words spoken out of anger.

the words rang through their head over, and over, and over again. “maybe you should leave, all you’re doing is annoying everyone”

in y/n’s mind that translated to we don’t like you, we don’t want you. like being kicked out by the only people you ever loved, heart wrenching pain snuck it’s way though their veins the farther they ran.

no particular place in mind, y/n just needed to get away from it all.

the storm rolled in quicker, wind picking up and thunder rumbling closer. the grab-n-go. of course that as the only place still open at this time of night.

y/n pushed on the door, ringing the bell over their head mixed with the howling noise of nature.

there was nothing they could do but wait for the storm to lessen. roaming around the store to seem busy, boys pushed and shoved each other around the infamous pin ball machine. she knew who was there.

y/n kept their head down, tear stained cheeks didn’t mix well with fluorescent lights.

eventually y/n had came face to face with the last aisle, the end showed the boys whom had been making all the noise.

y/n paced themselves walking down that row, not wanting to reach the end to quickly.

to say y/n was sad was an understatement. anxiety crept through their veins now, all that they had know just threw them away. deep sense of dread flooded their mind, heavy thoughts ran like a river. feeling how it felt to no longer have unconditional love, nobody ever realizing how damaging that really is.

every step brought them closer to the end, pace after pace. their mind never silenced. it spoke so loud they hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten to the boys. stopping themselves before running into them.

y/n raised their head only to be faced with the one and only boy who’d ever broken their heart.

vance.

for a moment it was like the whole world had stopped, their mind stopped, the sounds muffled in her ears.

he was exactly what they needed, what they missed. even if both of them were chaotic, they brought unspeakable peace to mind.

like starting death in the face, beautiful calming death. their worst nightmare but only need. they didn’t dare to speak a word in fear their voice would fail them.

like stabbing in their heart, pain intensified over their body, they weighed heavy to the ground.

vance glared over feeling the presence of someone not in his little group, a smug look covered his face till he noticed it was y/n.

his hands stopped playing as his mind lost focus, friends behind him confused looked at eachother then over at y/n, reading the room they stepped away from the two.

vance stepped away from the pinball machine examining y/n’s face as he approached them.

“you’ve been crying” damn those fluorescent lights. y/n spoke lightly “no i haven’t, it was the rain” they waved their hand towards the window. “yeah right, i wasn’t born yesterday y/n, what happened?” his hand moved brushing stray hair from their face

the warmth floating off his body was enough to crack y/n, tears swelled within their eyes once again, parting their lips and taking a deep breath y/n went to speak

vance stepped closer rubbing his thumb over their cheek, his voice was gentle in a way you hadn’t heard in a some time “tell me what happened” y/n slightly leaned into his hand as they began to speak.

“my mom…” was all they got out before the water works hit, that was all vance needed to hear pulling them into a tight hug.

vance waves bye to his friends as he took y/n out helping them into the passenger seat of his truck.

knowing the last place y/n would want to go was home, he took them to his place. his parents weren’t home.

y/n glazed outside watching rain drops racing down the window, the lightning light up their small town in ways it never had before.

stormy nights are just like stormy thoughts.

vance had brought them inside, handing them clean dry clothes and starting the shower, y/n was chilled to the bone from the cold drops of the sky.

he waited for them outside the door, sat against the wall thinking to himself.

the bathroom door creaked open to reveal a much warmer looking y/n, his heart skipped beats at the sight of them in his clothes once again.

pushing himself from the floor his body moved faster then his thoughts as he embraced them.

y/n had no fight left within, falling into his arms.

a safe place that never seems to run out of safety.

that’s what he was for them.

vance took them back to his room, “get comfy i’ll be right back” y/n nodded, exhaustion filled every inch of their body, back clashing into the mattress their eyes laid heavy.

it wasn’t long before vance had returned handing them a glass of water and a plate with their favourite cookies on it.

y/n smiled sleepily accepting his offer

they spoke few words as they shared cookies, warmth finally wrapped around the pair as y/n’s eyes closed small hums coming from their lips, vance smiled to himself taking the glass from their hands placing it on the nightstand.

he turned off the lamp beside him, wrapped his arms around y/n he sighed holding their body to his own.

vance was at peace once again.

y/n was safe in her mind.

#finney blake #robin arellano #the black phone #the black phone x you #vance hopper #black phone x reader #bruce yamada #robin arellano x reader #finney blake x reader #robin arellano platonic #vance hopper platonic #vance hopper x tough! reader #vance the black phone #vance hopper x fem!reader #vance hopper headcanons #vance hopper x you #vance hopper x reader #fanfic #black phone #the black phone x gn!reader #vance hopper x GN!reader #vance hopper x male reader

[hyuukais]

Over And Over Again

It was cliche, perhaps, to call it love at first sight. But it wouldn't be wrong to say he had you from the first hello. When the world only ever seems to deal you its shit deals, it’s easy to become protective of something good.

word count: 1.5k genres: taehyun x reader, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, some fluff warnings: implied bullying, language author: literally so eepy goodnight

The day was dark. Rain was battering down on the city. Clouds scraped the skyline, popping against the needle-pointed towers. Everything sat still in the winter chill and ice slowly crept along the ground. It ran up your spine, crunching with every step you took. Your uniform had become a second skin; you wanted to scream and itch and tear it all off. It dragged, sitting heavy on your frame. Your hair melded onto your neck, it flopped and matted to your forehead. Each step in front of you was coated in an unbearable fuzz, shifty and broken as you stumbled forward. 

Concrete met your skin, chest slamming into the textbooks tucked in your bag. Enough to scrape and bruise; a dull thud to knock away your breath. The blood washed off in the rain with the ice to soothe the cut, and no matter how you wanted to cry out, a sharp pain hit your sternum to quell the sound. You’d been doing so good. Keeping it all together. No matter the pressure building in your chest, welling up behind your eyes, you kept it tightly capped. Yet, you’d let it get shaken up too much until it all exploded. The salt of your tears mattered not to an earth already drowning in rivers. You couldn’t tell where the thunder stopped and the sobs began, but there you sat. Drenched in the exhaustion of a day in an uncaring universe where getting home no longer mattered. In the middle of the sidewalk, empty and alone with scratches slicing your knees and shivers raking your back because those girls stole your umbrella. 

How easily cruel words slipped from their lips; how fast they were to hatred. How they berated you, ripped up your notebooks, and stomped on your lunches; every day, something new for your torture. Going and going until you finally cracked. They would’ve been delighted to see you then, completely broken. Swallowed in the sky’s sorrows. At the time, you thought it was nothing but pathetic. You let the world have its way with you, curling into your knees in the cold. The rain hammered down harder, you lost yourself in the feeling, ready to give up to the freeze. Then it disappeared.

A shadow fell on the curb, brushing against your back. The rain had stopped pounding yet its sound still rang out. You peered up from the ground to a black umbrella hovering above. Two knees were squatted down to your eye level, covered in lightly rain-splattered slacks. A young man, wide-eyed like chocolate with soft locks to match, crouched over you as if he was worried. He wore a uniform similar to yours, the swirling text of the school on the breast of his navy blazer. A standard backpack hung off his shoulders. The umbrella was held steady in his hand. Something about him seemed familiar. When he spoke the words dripped like honey from his tongue.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes were red and every last piece of clothing you wore was completely soaked through. Saying yes would have been a blatant lie, but he still gave you the option. Either way you couldn’t get the words to bubble up further than your throat. You shook your head.

Something in his eyes deepened, with his brows drawn tighter. “Will you come with me?”

The length of his hand stretched out to you. It was foolish to think of taking it, the hand of a strange boy. Yet, something stirred in your chest. Once freezing over in icy cries, a new warmth was spreading. So you reached out to him. He pulled you from the ground, your bag still clutched in one arm. The full nature of the chill you felt finally hit, teeth clacking with each percussive shiver. You’d huddled in close to stay under the umbrella; the boy didn’t seem to mind. Soon enough, he was moving you two down the sidewalk, trailing for you to keep pace with the coverage. Thunder and rain and lightning and sleet left the only noise between you until he spoke again.

“I’m Taehyun. Kang Taehyun. I’m in your music composition class.”

It made sense all of a sudden. He did go to your school; he saw exactly what happened.

“Oh.” You left your eyes following every step you took, but you could tell he was looking at you.

“I actually really liked your piece. It was really good.”

You caught his eye, the twinkle of gold brightening his small smile. It seemed sincere, but it made you want to cry even more.

“...Thank you.”

He looked back ahead with a curt nod, “I’m sorry about what she did to your presentation. If I had to guess, she’s just jealous you’ve got real talent, she doesn’t.”

It was truly flattering, and you find it in yourself to muster a response, “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

Weight fell on your shoulder. Taehyun stopped walking. Looking up saw him staring right back at you, hand settled on your damp blazer. You wanted to keep walking, to tear away from his eyes and lead yourself off to your shady apartment building blocks from there. But that warmth was kicking up in your chest again. His heavy gaze kept you there.

“Y/n, I know we haven’t ever really talked, so you probably don’t know this but, I don’t lie. Not to spare someone’s feelings or cover something up. I don’t like to sugarcoat my words.” A gentle squeeze came from his hand, “So when I say that I think you’re really talented, that you have something really special, I mean it. I-I’ve always been a little too nervous to do anything, but ever since that first performance you did for the class, I’ve thought you were so cool. You with that guitar, I was just like ‘whoa, that’s someone I wanna know’. In fact, I really hope I can still get to.”

Teeth peaked from his lips, parted in a smile so contagious it hurt to try and hold back your own. Those boba-pearl eyes curled up into crescents. All of his charms, so boyish back then, sped up your heart until a smile peaked out.

“I’d like that.”

Impossibly, his grin stretched up wider with a heartwarming laugh. Taehyun’s hand fell away from your arm.

“Then, may I please walk you home before you catch a cold.”

You giggled along too, nodding as he led you away again.

You did end up getting cold, sniffles and sneezing ravaging your body for a week afterward. But you also gained something incredible, Taehyun. Of course, then your relationship was nothing but a sweet high school friendship. He still became the closest friend you’d ever had. You sat together for lunch and every class possible. He brought you into his own close circle, a few other boys you understood to be under the same entertainment company he was. Taehyun gave you something you never thought you’d find: love. Even when your relationship remained platonic, he so obviously cared about you in a way no one else ever had.

The years with him were quick to go by. Soon enough, he was debuting and going off to the states. Performing for seas of fans chanting his name. In all that time, it took you a year and a half to realize that you were unequivocally in love with Kang Taehyun. You could only praise the stars above that he happened to feel the exact same way.

Five years since you first laid eyes on him, Taehyun now lay, tucked against your side. Strands of pink fell away from your hands. His eyelashes dusted the rounds of his cheeks, fluttering softly in and out of consciousness. Two muscled arms squeezed tightly around your middle. Soft breaths tickled the curve of your neck, warming you better than the blanket draped across your lap. Indecisive and cautious of your boyfriend’s sleepy state, you only scrolled through various catalogs offered on the TV, never picking something to watch. Perhaps it was the sound effects or the click of every remote movement, a muffled grumble vibrated against your chest.

“When are you going to pick something?”

“Sorry, Hyunnie.” He shifted slightly against the couch, “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“Mm.”

You could see two, soft, caramel irises peeking out through his eyelashes. They swiftly met your eyes. You flitted back and forth between them both, catching each in reverence. Losing yourself in his sparkling gaze. So focused on his stare, you barely noticed his lips creeping up to yours before they were pressed together. You melt into the taste of his sweetness, swimming in the feeling of his love. His minty scent invades your head. When he pulls back, your eyes stay closed for a moment and your lips begin to break up into a grin.

“What are you smiling about?”

Your faces still hover close and you didn’t miss his tiny smirk as he spoke.

“I don’t know. Just the fact that my boyfriend is one of the best, most talented, and greatest people ever. And I think that, even in a million other universes with millions of other possibilities, no matter what, I will always choose you. Over and over again.”

#kflixnet #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt imagines #taehyun x reader #kang taehyun x reader #txt #kpop imagines #txt taehyun #taehyun imagines #taehyun fluff #taehyun fic #txt taehyun x reader #txt fanfic #txt fluff #taehyun angst #txt angst #txt headcanons #kpop headcanons #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop #taehyun fanfic #kang taehyun imagines #txt taehyun imagines

[lvrcpid]

Hi :)

could you please write something hurt/comfort romantic with Lo’ak x fem!reader with prompt 62 and 73! perhaps reverse comfort with reader comforting him 🫶🏻

prompt 62 & 73 w lo’ak! ☆

includes: fem!navi!readerxlo’ak. reverse comfort from reader. lo’ak being so utterly in love TEEHEE

—————————————————————————————

for as long as you can remember it’s been you and lo’ak. you two were the bestest of friends since birth.

his parents were close with yours because neytiri knew your mom before she met jake! you were a year older than lo’ak. him being 14 and you being 15, the same age as his brother, neteyam. the golden child in lo’ak’s eyes.

you and lo’ak began dating a few years back. you still remember that night like it was yesterday. although you guys were still young , lo’ak made it a priority to make sure everything went smoothly just for you. poor boy loved you so much it was honestly kinda gross.

with all the upsides of lo’ak , there were a few downsides as well. his raging jealousy being the main one. for his brother specifically. lo’ak always envied his eldest brother. he was constantly being overshadowed by him, constantly getting into trouble but it just seemed like neteyam could do no wrong. this infuriated lo’ak. like now, the brothers (mostly lo’ak were being scolded by jake for a simple mistake) they weren’t back by their curfews.

of course neteyam tried to take the heat for his brother but as always, jake assumed it was lo’aks doing. after jake dismissed the boys, neteyam attempted to put his hand on his brothers shoulder, lo’ak shook him off with a cold glare before venturing into the forest to cool his mind and body. the whole time he couldn’t think of anyone but you. how much he wanted even a simple hug from you to make this all better.

just his luck, you were sitting on a rock, dipping your feet into the nearby river, looking like the most beautiful girl in the world to him. your ears twitched at the sound of a branch snapping, immediately reaching towards the knife on your thigh, but when you heard your boyfriends small “it’s just me” you quickly softened and got up, greeting your boyfriend with a hug. the boy immediately melted into your touch and shoved his head into your neck, tears beginning to well at his eyes.

you noticed that something was off immediately with him. with a sad smile you held his face in your hands and tilted your head “lo’ak? what’s the matter love?” with those words lo’ak began to cry harder. he didn’t know what it was but your motherly nature warmed his heart. he loved you beyond words can compare.

the boy hates crying. especially infront of you. but in that moment he felt so overwhelmed that he had to. he just needed to cry.

you led lo’ak over to a nearby rock as he explained what happened, his voice sounded so broken and hurt. it broke your heart to pieces.

“i’m sorry im crying a lot, you don’t need to stay i’ll be okay.”

“no lo’ak, it’s okay to cry. i’ll be here for you. i love you okay?”

with a sad smile he brought you into a hug and kissed you all over your face. “i love you so much” he smiled, laying his head in your lap and asking you to talk about your day.

he know things won’t change at home. but for now;

you’re his home.

#avatar #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #awotw #jake sully x reader #kiri x reader #loak x reader #neytiri x reader #sully family x reader #tuk avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 2009 #— answered! ☆

[the-fiction-witch]

I know who you are...

Media The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet + Spooky

The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson! Yes you read that right, this concept I saw on posted by this amazing angel @afirewiel (Original Post) I fell in love with this concept immediately, thank you so much for letting me do this! I hope you guys all like it!!

The Night hung low over London, with thick storm clouds blocking out the stars, snow fluttering down from the clouds settled on the dirty streets. The light danced across the cobblestones as it flooded out the windows of the local pub that sat beside the river Thames,  within the pub people danced, drank and laughed unaware of what was occurring outside of it. Just out of sight down an undersized alley littered with boxes and broken bottles, stood a woman.

She was youthful with a head of light brown straggly hair, her face dirty, her body small and sunken, bound tight in many grey layers. She had a tattoo across her arm a mark known to many police officers that meant she had been caught for prostitution and let go so they knew if she was found again she would be hung. But that was not the most notable thing about her. 

That was the baby swaddled in her arms in a damp old cloth, the baby cried and whined from the cold and the dark. The baby couldn't have been any older than a few days, two weeks if it was a day. She held the child close to her as she watched people pass her by. 

Once the coast was clear, she began slow steps out of the alley crossing the snowy cobblestones with her bare feet towards the river. She seemed frightened but strong as if fighting her emotions back. She reached the edge of the stone pathway and gazed down for a moment at the dark murky water below. As she looked she broke a moment and let out a whine of sadness before she fixed herself again. 

She took a step back and lowered herself to her knees, she set down the baby in its swaddled blanket and unwrapped the cover exposing the naked baby boy to the cold, he whined and cried louder at the cold, he seemed desperate for her comfort but she would not give it. 

She wiped away a tear "I am so sorry my darling," She kissed his little head before she got to her feet, she pulled up her hood concealing her face before she scampered away and disappeared into the night. 

The boy's cry filled the air and echoed through a hollow London on this cold snowy night. His little body shivered, but all of this was hidden by the dark, the falling snow and the loud pub. 

A gentle sound began to be heard, that of water shifting and moving as if something was making its way out of the murky depths. A hand came over the stone as a creature human at its highest and serpent at its lowest slithered out of the water and climbed the stone, hair slimy and snakeskin-like, it sniffled the child and looked joyous which only caused the baby to cry more frightened of this creature. The Scylla wrapped its snake-like tail around the child and tried to drag it back to the water with her -

Suddenly the door to the pub opened, and light flooded out, The Scylla panicked abandoned the child and slithered back into the water to prevent discovery. 

The man staggered out drunk as a mule, Beer bottle in hand. He was dirty, and grimy, perhaps his late twenties or early thirties but he seemed far older, "Alright Alright, you bastardly lot!" He cheered to those who remained inside before he shut the door. He began to walk and sip his beer as he went but he stopped as he heard the baby's cries. He staggered over only just avoiding a fall into the river himself kneeling at the baby's feet. "'ello there... what are you doin' out here then?" He asked as he looked at the child, he seemed to fight a war in his head before he looked to the murky river. He sighed and looked to the clouded sky, "Alright, I knows it. I ain't apologizin' because we both know I'd do it again tomorrow. and it's you who give me this nature so... its as much your issue as it is mine." He said, Before he wrapped the boy up in the swaddle and lifted him up in his arms which seemed to silence the boy, "I've done some terrible awful in this life, but I'm askin' humble like... Watch over this one." He said to the clouds before he turned his attention back to the little boy, "Come on then, let's get you warm." he said as he took the baby with him to an old battered attic where many boys slept, and a woman sat working on some sewing. In a moth-eaten dress with a mess of red hair. 

"What ya got there Fagin?"

"Found him, Down by old Jack's," He said as he handed her the baby,

"What just laid there?" She asked as she cradled the boy, 

"Yep, laid in the snow." He said, as he went and sat on his bed,

"Why would anyone do that to such a sweet little boy?" She asked slowly as she let the baby sleep on her, 

"He was by the water Nancy." He said fear in his voice,

She seemed taken aback by those words as if they froze her more than any snow could. "Well, then he's a very lucky boy you found him." She nodded, "I take it no name or note then?"

"Course not."

"well... What do we call him then?"

"Baby."

"Fagin." She glared, "He was outside Old Jack's pub?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll call him Jack then." She said,

"Jack What?"

"I don't know."

"He was close to the dock? Dockson? Dockland? Dockins?"

"You can't call a kid Dockins,"

"Well, you think him up a name you're so smart,"

"...Humm, Dawkins?"

"Jack Dawkins, Alright." He nodded, "come on let's get some damn sleep." he said almost immediately he passed out leaving Nancy alone with Jack, 

"You're a very lucky boy Jack, luckier than most. I wonder who your father was..." She muttered, 

I finished up my work for the day and headed up to my room with a yawn, as soon as I opened the door I saw Fagin as he tried to make a break for it out my window.

"Are you breaking out?" I asked him,

"Just tryin' to scope the place out, get a feel for it."

"You know where on the second floor?"

"Yes, I realise that now." He sighed, "That's why I'm tryna get back in." 

"Well go on then," 

"I think my back's seized up, my hip, maybe my knee." He said sheepishly, "Alright, you try bein' in irons for four months, let's see how limber you are."

I rolled my eyes and helped him back in, even cracked his back for him, "There better?" 

"Thanks, Dodge." He said as he sat on my bed, 

"Off," I told him as I forced him off my bed, so I could get changed. 

"Where you off to?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Why?"

"Becuase normally I'd relax after work here but... you're here."

"So you're going to go walking in the woods?"

"Yes, I am."

"And what happens if you get jumped? or bounced? or worse?"

I rolled my eyes again as I changed, "This isn't London Fagin, and I am not six. No monsters and creatures are hiding around every corner waiting to bloody get me." 

"How'd you know?"

"Becuase I've been here a good while and not once have I ever seen anything concerning." 

"That's because you don't look hard enough." 

"I'm going out, stay off my bed, and out of my wardrobe," I warned him, as I took my jacket and headed out.

I didn't dislike a walk in the woods every now and then, and with him here I just needed some space every so often, I'd be stressed to all hell with him, and all this thievery business. He always said I was born for it but I hated it, I just want to work, to help people. That felt far more like my purpose. I did glance over my shoulder a few times as I got deeper into the woods, just out of habit, when you're stealing you get good at checking behind you, and Fagin had convinced me ever since I was young that monsters were always out to get you. I didn't believe him now of course as I am grown but... part of me still, couldn't help it. Until one glace I saw someone.

I froze up as I fully turned, there in the woods stood a woman.

She wore a dress of a fiery red with black flowers across the fabric, she wore black velvet gloves and a matching cape the good up over her face but I could have sworn I saw, she faced away at first with a symbol I didn't know on her cloak, but she turned to me and I could have sworn I saw purple eyes looking at me from the darkness of her hood.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I know who you are..." Her voice spoke like a ghostly echo of another time and place as if she wasn't really here, I froze up concerned this woman knew of my past.

"Do you? Well, I barely know who I am so I don't know how you do." I began as I tried to step back to put a space between us but her words stopped my feet.

"Jack Dawkins." She smiled wickedly, 

"Doctor, Dawkins." I corrected,

"Hummm... Your father would be proud."

"My- what do you know about my father?"

"I know your father well."

"Who are you? How do you know these-"

"You have been hiding an awful long time." She said pulling back her hood to reveal a head of sweet Y/c/h Hair, she was beautiful but ghostly.

"What do you know?"

"I know-"

"Tell me. Now." I demanded,

She smiled "You are Jack Dawkins, but neither of your parents named you. Your mother left you for dead outside a pub in London, raised by a crook, and betrayed by him, given a new life for skills you inherited, now you have built this life away from your past." She explained stepping slowly closer, "But your past... is coming back for you."

"How- How do you know all that?"

"I know everything." 

"Everything?"

"It would seem I know even more than you," she smiled wickedly,

"Tell me what you know,"

"You'd never believe me."

"Tell me." I demanded, "Please?" 

"Your father Is Hermes."

"Hermes?"

"Hermes. God of boundaries, roads, travellers, thieves, athletes, shepherds, commerce, speed, cunning, wit, politics, diplomacy, messaging, and humour," she explained,

"That- That's Insane! You're nuts!"

"You really believe your skills with thievery, your quick fingers came from anywhere but the gods."

"If... I was to believe this, what I'm a god?"

"Demigod. You're mother... Melody Sandringham, a whore on London's streets. Your father was there on business from Zeus and 'happened' upon your mother."

"My- My mother was a whore?"

"A very good one. Nine months later you entered this realm."

"Then- Then- if I was a... demi god why would she have abandoned me?" 

"Because she didn't. she meant to kill you. There are many monsters in this world who feast on the blood of demigods, the gods have long disrespected the monsters of this world and they enjoy taking their children." She explained, "That night she left you exposed so your scent would attract a monster who would take you. She didn't want the child of a god, it is a hard job... you're not a normal child." 

"She... she tried to kill me?" I asked those words felt like a knife in my heart, I always felt so awful that my mother abandoned me, but to hear she intended to kill me. 

"Do not blame her, she was trying to save herself pain. Most demigods are hunted and killed within the first few years." She said, "She was trying to give you a quick death. To save you from never being able to live a normal life. Until the gods intervened."

"The gods? FAGIN!"

"Son of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity. She can never see a child suffer, so send her son to take you into his arms." She explained,

"Fagin! Fagin is a demi-god! now you are nuts. have you seen him? he smells like a bloody sewer."

"To hide his scent from the monsters that lurk. He has aided many like yourself teaching you to survive, how to cover your sent, how to protect from the monsters."

"Oh my god... all this time he-"

"He ensured you survived. He raised you with his sister's aid."

"His sis- Nancy..." I said for a moment the thought of her hurt, to remember what happened to her. "Nancy was Fagin's sister?"

"Half-sister."

"why- why wouldn't they tell me? why did they never tell any of us who we were!"

"Because it was safer if you didn't know." She said, "Your skills were recognized by another, who too could tell your quick fingers came from the gods."

The moment she said it recognized by quick fingers I knew who she meant "Captian Grimm?"

"He saw you glow in your cell and he knew who was your father."

"Who was his?"

"Poseiden, god of the sea and waters, as well as of horses and earthquakes. The sea was his blood right and his father granted him mercy on it more times than can be recalled." 

it- it all made so much sense but it couldn't be true this woman she had to be mad surely!

"And who are you?"

"I am not important."

"Please... tell me, who are you?"

"Y/n,"

"Your father?"

"Hades, god of the underworld, and of death."

I froze up, "Th- Then why are you here?"

"I have come to warn you."

"Warn me? of what?"

"You have remained stagnant for far too long, the longer you stay in one place the easier it is to find you, Fagin ensured your scent was covered when you were young, and the ship protected you never in one place long enough, but now... your scent is only building and soon they will be here to take you."

"What will be here?"

"The monsters. Your scent is already known to them and they are on their way."

"How do you know that?"

"Becuase I have seen it. Profocsey is a gift from my father. I have seen your death and I have come to prevent it."

"Why? Why would you want to prevent my death?"

"Becuase I have also seen if you live. There is much more good you will do in this world that will not exist without you." 

"Will your father like you intervening?"

"My father and yours have come to arrangement the matter. He allows this for the greater good, in turn, my father takes your mother."

"I- I didn't even know she was still alive." 

"What do I have to do, to ensure I survive." 

"Let the blood build, and do not trust the captain," she said closing the gap between us, 

"Okay... thank you." I nodded, "How will I know when I'm safe again?"

"I'll return when you are," She smiled, she rubbed the tip of her nose on my own and gave my lips a gentle kiss, I was a little shocked but kissed her back wrapping my arms around her waist, she pulled back with a gentle smile,

"I look forward to it," I smirked, 

She backed away blew me a kiss and disappeared into the darkness as if she was never there. 

I rushed back to the hospital and up to my room where I found Fagin.

"My mother didn't abandon me, she left me for dead!"

"What are you going on about dodge?"

"My mother, you said you found me shivering, naked, outside a pub,"

"I did,"

"And you knew who my father was!"

"... I knew what he was not who he was. there's a lot of them you could have been any of them."

"When did you know who my father was?"

"You were about five or so once your skills revealed themselves."

"All this time... you never told me!"

"I was tryin' to protect ya dodge."

"By not telling me my mother tried to kill me!"

"Becuase if I did you'd hate her,"

"Yeah, I kinda do!"

"don't. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a kid like you? She wanted to make sure you didn't suffer so she offered you to the The Scylla"

".. the what?"

"The Scylla, lives in the Thames." 

"My mother was going to feed me to The Scylla!"

"She would have gotten ya if I hadn't intervened."

"Why would you save me?"

"... Because unlike most, I spent a fair time with my mother... and I promised her if ever I were to see one of you lot, I'd take you under my wing. You, sikes, potter, hell even that damn wet lettuce Oliver twist, all of you were, so I kept you lot safe from the monsters and madness that would have taken you if I didn't. and I ask no thanks for what I did Jack."

"Even Nancy?"

"She was my half-sister, I had to keep her around."

"And yet you left me in a cell."

"I had every intention of getting you out of there Jack, but by the news broke you'd escaped barefoot in the snow no one survives that."

"Oh so you went on your merry way?"

"Don't you think I mourned for you?" He said, "There are times in this life, when we have to face the loss of something so precious, it makes the heart clench just to think of it." He explained, "I mourned for you, we all did."

"You could have told me, now I'm grown."

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

"...No."

"How do you know now?"

"Another came to warn me." 

"Who?"

"A girl named Y/n. Daughter of Hades. What is she another demigod?"

"...Ohh gods-"

"What? Who- who is she?"

"she is... but Hades and Persephone's daughter."

"Oh." I gasped "I uhh... I just... I just had a chat with Hades and Persephone's daughter... ohh I'm going to the underworld and I'm gonna be tortured." 

"Why?"

I didn't answer just kinda sheepish, 

"Jack?" 

I didn't reply, 

"You just talked to her?"

I shook my head, 

"What did you do?"

"I uh... I'm in trouble."

"For?"

"I uhh... I may have uhhh"

"Spit it out, Dodge."

"I just kissed Hades and Persephone's daughter..." 

#thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #percy jackson #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of death and murder, swearing, alcohol, crying, kissing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty - A Union That is Happening Again

Chapter Twenty - A Union That is Happening Again

—-

2021-

You weren’t planning to go to the reunion. You never were, but now that you’re in New Jersey, and you’re not really ready to leave- you go to the mall and find a dress. Light and silvery, one that makes you think of Doomcoming.

You shake the thought out of your mind, taking a deep breath, and walking into the school, hearing the low sounds of music playing in the background.

Taissa and Shauna stand by the enterance to the gym, that place you remember so well- that last pep rally, years spent playing dodgeball in this place coming back to you.

“Y/N,” Shauna smiles. “I thought you were going back to the city?”

You shrug and ruffle your dress. “I was here. And close to the mall. Besides, it was already kinda late, so why not?”

Shauna nods, and Taissa looks you up and down. seemingly remembering something.

“Uh… are you alright, Shauna?” Tai asks.

Shauna takes a breath. “How is it possible this is the most scared I’ve been all day?”

You and Taissa laugh.

“Right?” Taissa changes her voice, “‘Oh, my God, hey girl. Hey! It’s been forever. What have you been up to?’”

Shauna pretends to look around, thinking. “Um, yeah. You know, gardening, dismembering my lovers corpse,” she smiles.

“Okay,” Taissa says, placing her arms around both of you, making you face the gym doors.

Suddenly, the doors you had came through opened.

Natalie throws her hands up, a purse in her hands, wearing a dark one-shoulder dress, and her signature lipstick.

“Wait up,” she says, smiling slightly.

“Wow!” Taissa exclaims, and you all laugh.

“I said I would come,” Natalie shrugs. “I made a deal, okay? All right? Let’s fucking do this.”

Shauna and Natalie open the doors, and all of you file in.

Immediately, all of the eyes in the room settle on the four of you.

You’re the survivors, the champions, the girls who came back and were never supposed to.

It feels vain, but you can’t help but let a smug smile settle onto your face, adjusting you’re already low-cut dress.

Misty hound you and walks over, and you all carve a natural path through the crowd, the girls who weren’t supposed to live, until you finally reach the table Jeff had saved for you.

“I can’t believe you’re all actually here,” Misty smiles, wearing a suit with bright red lipstick. “This is gonna be so much fun! Okay, let’s get a picture. Who can take a picture?” she asks, holding out her phone.

“Muriel! Muriel, get over here,” someone shouts, running over to you, a wine glass in your hands.

“Allie,” you mutter to yourself, realizing who it is.

You awkwardly place yourself in between Taissa and Natalie, Taissa thankfully wrapping an awkward arm around your waist, so the photo looks a little more connected.

“Photo of the year! Come on, nobody blink!” Allie shouts.

The click of a camera, a flash, and it’s over, leaving a spot in your vision.

—-

You spend the rest of your night awkwardly catching up with old acquaintances, until you finally slip away from a particularly horrible conversation with Gordon Rivers, slipping out into the hallway, where you find Natalie.

She’s staring in front of the trophy case you know holds pictures of the Martinez family. The trophy case where there’s a picture of you, too. A shrine to everything that happened in 1996.

Your heels click across the floor as you walk over to her, partly because you want to see him one more time.

“You’ll only make yourself sad,” you mumble after a moment.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters. “He… he really killed himself,” she says say after a moment.

“I know,” you whisper, thinking of the boy in the wilderness, the one you had once called your best friend- the one you had survived so much with.

There will always be a difference between anyone else and Travis, and the surviving girls from the crash.

All of you know each other in ways that no one could ever possibly know. All of you have burned in the exact same way, have the same scars, the same bad dreams, the same memories.

You all know hunger in a way no one else could ever know. You all know death in a way no one else could ever know.

All of you have stared into the jaws of death, been selfish and unafraid, and thrown someone else into it.

“Y/N…” she starts, but she can’t really seem to finish it. But you know.

“It’s alright, Natalie. I know.”

And there’s so much unspoken between the two of you, so much, so much history and love and things you could never even speak about without feeling like you were gonna throw up.

You can tell she still loves you like she did in the wilderness, and you still love her too. You feel it in your bones and in your organs, like a rotten and festering clump of cells, like cancer, like something is deeply wrong with you.

But something is deeply wrong with all of you.

"Natalie…” you start, her name feeling so familiar on your lips. “We weren’t meant for this,” you whisper, gesturing to this New Jersey life, settling done and getting jobs, being together.

Her bottom lips curls up. "Jesus Christ," she scoffs. But you know her too well, and she knows that. “Why the fuck would you say that?” she asks, hurt, but you have to say it before it kills you.

“Look at us before the crash. Look at us in the wilderness. Look at us now, Natalie.”

“You're insane. You don't even know what you're saying-”

You grab her hand and press it against your chest.

“I love you, Natalie." Tears fall down your face, and she looks away from you. “I have loved you for long I don't know what it's like to love anyone else- I don't even know how to love myself. I would have died for you out there, and we both know it, we were ready to die, together, and that's not- love isn't suffering, Natalie, and we had already experienced so much suffering that we didn't know the difference.”

She finally meets your eyes.

“Once I thought that peace and violence were the same thing with you. But now I know they're not. And I can't watch you survive, not when I know that both of us could be living.”

When she finally speaks, its a whisper, hurt and dejected.

“I love you so you don't have to love yourself.”

You smile. “Natalie.”

She grabs your face in her hands and kisses you, and all you can taste is your own tears and your own disgust with yourself, bubbling up inside of you. You kiss her back, hard, because some part of you knows this is the last time, some part of you knows you will always love her.

A part of you will always be the girl from the wilderness. Already scarred by the life she had lived before, blood already festering up in her hands, only to dump more fresh blood on her, so much it was dripping from your hands. A part of you will always be that girl from the wilderness. The girl who saw it before it happened, the girl who has felt it all her life, the girl who got used up and was left with nothing.

You will always be the girl in the wilderness.

You will always be it.

“Natalie,” you whisper again, finally pulling away for air, and she's crying now, and there's a million things you want to say to her.

You want her to hold you like she did in 2019, like she did in the wilderness, in 1996.

“I want us to live," you breathe. “I want us to live.”

She finally meets your eyes.

“And we don't know how to, and we'll never know how to live if we don't do it on our own. I love you, Nat. I love you and I want you to live, and I want to never hear a thing about it.”

—-

Shauna brings over shots to the table, passing one out to everybody, and you take it gratefully. Eager for this night to be over.

“Ooh, shooters! I’ve never done one of these before,” Misty says.

You have a distinct memory of doing these in a bar with Natalie, but you don’t look at her.

“Good call. I swear to God, if one more person tells me I’ve been in their thoughts and prayers… I will…” Taissa laughs, trailing off.

“I wanna make a toast,” Natalie suddenly says, standing up and holding out the shot glass. “I old friends,” she says, and everyone tilts their heads back.

The burn is nice, a good distraction.

“Can I have everybody’s attention, please?” Allie announces from the stage, her voice scratchy from years of using cigarettes. Someone boos from the crowd, people laugh. The smile drops from her face. “Shut the fuck up, Doug.”

You let out a small laugh, almost choking on your own spit.

“You’re a grown man.” She clears her throat. “WordDefinition.net defines a ‘reunion’ as ‘a union that is happening again. A convention of friends, relatives, or associates after a period of separation.’ And, indeed, a graduating class will forever be united by their shared highschool experience. But as the Wiskayok High… Class of ‘96… we are united by something even greater.”

You get a flash of antlers dripping in blood, and you have to rub your eyes to get the image out.

“Together, we went through a tragedy, and tonight, together, I’m hopeful we can finally, truly heal.”

The screen behind her changes from the schools logo to a picture of the team.

Everyone around the table exchanges wide-eyed glances, and you have to look away, remembering what had happened to some of those girls.

“But in order to move forward, we must first look back.”

“Only Time” starts playing, and the lights dim, a picture of Taissa carrying a soccer ball showing up on the screen.

“Oh, God,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut, hiding behind your hands.

“They were our classmates,” Allie continues, “Pur teachers, our friends. But they were more than that. They were strong. They were courageous. They were, and they remain, a true inspiration.”

A picture of you flashes up on the screen, a cropped photo of the school paper club in ‘96, leaving only you and someone’s arm around your shoulders.

Finally, your picture fades out, and Jackie’s pops onto the screen.

You watch Shauna take a deep breath in.

“Now, traditionally, we’d end tonight with a dance from our class king and queen. But while she isn’t here with us, I know that this is what Jackie would have wanted.” She points to your table. “Jeff! Shauna! Get up here!”

Lights flash, and Shauna mutters something that sounds like “oh, no, no, no, no,” even while everyone claps and Allie shouts encouragement.

After a moment, Jeff stands and offers her his hand, whispering something to her, and they make their way to the dance floor.

You lock eyes with Taissa, and it seems pained, but she starts clapping slowly, and you join her.

“Dance, dance, dance!” Allie shouts, and the cheering dies down, and “A Kiss From a Rose” starts playing.

A canon goes off, and confetti explodes all around them. Yellow and blue.

They whisper to each other on the dance floor, and you force an awkward smile onto your face, before deciding enough is enough.

You’ve had your fill of adventure, but you’re too close to the woods. You need to be in the city again. You need to be away from the wilderness. You need to push down the rot inside of you, fill yourself with monotony and Chinese food from the place two blocks away.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

[leiawritesstories]

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death

shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick

I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.” 

The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.” 

“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.” 

“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?” 

Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them. 

Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.” 

“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.” 

Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?” 

Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.” 

“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.” 

“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.” 

“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind. 

“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.” 

He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office. 

Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed. 

She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself. 

Maeve.

On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it. 

The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood. 

~

In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different. 

“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.” 

“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.” 

Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.” 

Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…

“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.” 

Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?” 

“Not on my face, no,” he answered. 

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.” 

“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked. 

“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled. 

Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin. 

“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired. 

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said. 

Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?” 

“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?” 

“No.” 

She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?” 

He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.” 

“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.” 

“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?” 

“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.” 

Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?” 

“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.” 

“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?” 

“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash. 

“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked. 

“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat. 

Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” Ren confirmed. 

Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there. 

“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.” 

“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab. 

“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.” 

“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.” 

“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.

Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings. 

Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed. 

“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.” 

“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”

“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?” 

“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently. 

She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same. 

~

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane. 

People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl. 

He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.” 

The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.” 

“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.” 

“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door. 

“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar. 

Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck. 

Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink. 

The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest. 

“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own. 

“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy. 

“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor. 

He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.” 

“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves. 

As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route. 

Time to move, Moonbeam. 

Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived. 

After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree. 

He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat. 

“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?” 

Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?” 

“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped. 

The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.” 

“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away. 

Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom. 

Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—

“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck. 

Farran crumpled to the floor. 

Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.

Easy. 

Right?

~

“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse. 

She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.” 

He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.” 

“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”

Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?” 

“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist. 

Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?” 

“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s. 

“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.” 

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.” 

Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why. 

Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces. 

And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military. 

If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late. 

~

Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts. 

Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table. 

But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t. 

“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess. 

The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. “Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards. 

“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view. 

Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.” 

She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression. 

“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.” 

“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes. 

“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words. 

Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?” 

“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table. 

He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.” 

When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?” 

“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.” 

Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?” 

“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.” 

“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?” 

She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.” 

“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water. 

“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket. 

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?” 

Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?” 

James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.” 

Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.” 

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled. 

Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.” 

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked. 

He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.” 

“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.” 

“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page. 

“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded. 

“You…you know the head chef?” 

“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order. 

“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.

Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.” 

“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.” 

“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.” 

“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat. 

James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables. 

Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.” 

“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.” 

He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.” 

She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.” 

“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her. 

“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.” 

“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.” 

She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.” 

The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet. 

“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.” 

“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?” 

“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled. 

Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.” 

A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.” 

“Possessive much?” 

He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.” 

Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.” 

The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.” 

James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?” 

“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?” 

“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently. 

In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress. 

Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.” 

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!” 

“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear. 

A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?” 

He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.” 

~

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling. 

He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?” 

Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?” 

Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.” 

“Yeah? How long ago was that?” 

Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.” 

“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.” 

“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?” 

“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.” 

“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.” 

“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?” 

Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.” 

“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing. 

“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected. 

“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn. 

Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?” 

“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.

Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him. 

“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was. 

He just happened to be on a different side. 

~

This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk. 

“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”

“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”

“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.” 

“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was. 

The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door. 

Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins. 

“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade. 

“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down. 

She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.” 

Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?” 

“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.” 

Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?” 

One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.” 

Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?” 

“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.” 

“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him. 

“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.” 

“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight. 

Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.

And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.

~

Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list. 

Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it. 

Blood. 

That coppery tang was unmistakable. 

Fuck. 

Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot. 

Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual. 

The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun. 

He’d found the source of the blood stench. 

He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards. 

He froze. 

Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall. 

Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds. 

As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead. 

Fuck.

He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message. 

Tread carefully, Lieutenant. 

There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes. 

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

TAGS: please let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction #tw: big bad villain hehe #tw: violence #tw: fighting #tw: blood #tw: minor character death

[bowandcurtsey]

Hello!Congrats on your 1.7k!♡

For the event can i request royalty/prince AU with nacht faust and f!reader?

Where nacht and the reader meet each other at a lake near the palace on the night when they were little,and because of that they became friends until adult.

Love your headcanon and scenarios you made (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

{1700 event}

Happy 2023, my dear followers, I've finally sit my ass down to get some works out! :3

Oh god this is sucha sweet request! thank you for sending this in. Royalty AU with Nacht aafghjlshaggf!!! He's such a prince good lord.

AU: Royalty AU Character: Nacht Faust x F! reader tw: long ass for aine's standards.

[10 Years ago]

Your dad had a job in the Royal Realm so you tagged along, just out of boredom and to see how the royal realm looked like in compared to your common realm.

It was BORING. the people were all quiet and none of them looked sincere. They gave you and your dad weird stares. You couldn't wait to go home.

At night, you decided to walk around the quieter side of the realm, although the people were crappy, the nature was beautiful. The trees were huge and the leaves were green and healthy.

The apples that grew on them were huge and bright red. The flowers seemed more vibrant. And the lake.. The water was clear blue and a little shiny under the moonlight.

*sniff sniff*

Wait. was that sniffing? You followed the sound that you heard. And you saw a young boy. He sat under the tree right beside the lake, his head in his hands and his shoulders trembling.

"are you crying?" you crouched beside the boy, who appeared to be around your age too.

He looked up at you, red streaks in his eyes and quickly wiped his eyes, "no i wasn't!"

You sat beside him, not wanting to expose him, "why are you here alone?"

"I ran out of my home."

"... why?"

"Because they are all biased! They love Morgen more."

"Who's Morgen?"

"My twin brother. He's friendlier. Smarter. Mom and Dad loves him more. I can't do anything right. I'm too dumb."

"Don't say that. I'm sure you're good at things that he isn't good at!" you looked at him with determination in his eyes.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Nacht asked.

"Er... Yeah. I'm from the common realm" you said quietly.

"What is it like there?" he asked with curiosity in his eyes. You could felt that this stranger wasn't like the rest. He didn't look down at you like the people you met today.

And so you started to talk. About your home. About how although the rivers weren't as blue, the grass weren't that green, but the people there were all friendly and caring. Everyone had a family and sharing spirit.

Nacht listened, his sky blue eyes lighted up as his mind painted a picture of a beautiful place outside his boring castle. He wanted to visit this place called 'common realm'.

"Bring me there." he said suddenly. "I'll leave with you tomorrow."

You stared wide eyed at the boy in front of you. "Tell me where to meet you."

"Are you crazy?"

"No, my name is Nacht," he raised his hand for a handshake.

"y/n.."

"Great. see you at 9am tomorrow at the kingdom realm gates?"

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

As promised, he met you at the gates on time and went with you to the common realm.

The common realm was indeed what you had described. Nacht was curious and spontaneous, which made the citizens in the common realm warm up to him really quickly.

You introduced him to the street markets, the neighbours kids who welcomed him and played with him; they taught him how to play marbles, hop scotch, police and thief and they even shared their snacks with him. Regardless of age, gender and size, they were all friends and welcoming of each other. Nacht loved the culture of the common realm, it was just so different from his royal realm.

"let's do this again. Every month! I'll come over and you can bring me to explore the whole common realm."

And that was how you and Nacht became friends for 10 years.

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

[now]

It has been 2 months since Nacht came to visit. He has never missed a single month for the past 10 years. Although his timings could be unpredictable at times, he would always come in the end, every single month, without fail. Even though you both had already explored every single land of the common realm AND the foresaken realm Nacht has never failed to come monthly to meet you and hang out.

He said it was a great 'breather' from the kingdom back at home. You both always exchanged stories from your own realm, Nacht's stories mostly consisted of him doing things that he hated to do; following ridiculous rules like always bowing to your elderlys even though they never acknowledged you.

3 months. And not even a letter. You started to get worried about him, did something happen? You decided to make a trip to the royal realm to check up on him. Maybe he was very sick? Or injured? He did mention that his parents always forced them to go devil hunting....

Of course you were denied entry when you tried to enter the kingdom. There were so many palace guards and with security and a nobody like you, wearing normal clothes easily got the attention of the guards. They denied you entry and didn't even pay much attention to you.

It was only when you took out a pendant that Nacht gave to you a long time ago, he said he got it for his 21st birthday but he didn't really like it. You showed one of the maids that were coming back from their errands.

"You are a friend of master Nacht..?" Even the maids were skeptical. Well, you couldn't really blame them since your clothes looked like theirs but they knew you should be someone special, seeing that you were young and polite.

Thankfully their palace maiden was smart enough to bring you through one of the back gates and brought you from the back palace, away from all the royal personnels.

"Master Nacht hangs at the back garden a lot these days.. maybe you can find him there." the maid gave you a sad smile, something that told you that something was not right.

You came into the garden from one of the side gates and you saw two Nacht. Right, he had a twin brother, Morgen. You recalled. One of them had blonde hair and the other had black hair. Did Morgen have blonde hair? The Nacht you knew always had black hair.

You slowly went closer to the both of them.

"I suggest that you don't upset mom any longer, Nacht." The black haired twin spoke to the blonde.

Wait- Nacht dyed his hair blonde??

"hah, and marry that good-for-nothing princess?" Nacht rolled his eyes at his brother.

Marry??

"You know that's what mom wants and she doesn't have much longer so..."

"Why don't you marry her Morgen?" Nacht scoffed, "since you're going to be king."

"What makes you think i'm going to be king?"

"Why not? You're everything that they wanted their son to be. You're the golden kid."

Morgen Paused for a moment, before clearing his throat, "Dad wants you to be king."

There was silence between the both of them.

"I know it's hard to believe Nacht, but he says I'm a goody two shoes and i lack the guts, whereas you have keen senses..." Morgen laughed.

"And you're ok with that?"

"We're brothers Nacht, I know you'll take care of me when you're king." Morgen smiled at his brother.

"Who's there?" Nacht looked in your direction. You panicked. Keen senses indeed...

Before you knew it the Faust twins stood before you, both of them stared at you wide eyed. Nacht in surprise and Morgen in confusion.

"y/n, what are you doing here?" There was a little remorse in Nacht's voice.

"you know her?" Morgen asked Nacht.

"I- uhm.. got worried so..." your tongue stumbled to find words.

"Sorry y/n..” he pursed his lips, as if trying to find the right words to say, “I was caught up with stuffs so.."

"Yeah, caught up in getting married I guess," there was a little hurt in your voice that also made Nacht's heart wince.

"so she's the reason you don't want to get marry princess h/n?" Morgen looked at his brother.

"Morgen could you just give us a moment alone?" Nacht death stared at his twin, to which Morgen gave you a little bow and smile and left the gardens. Nacht led you to a nearby bench and both of you sat down.

"I don't want any of this arranged marriage thing." Nacht started to speak. He was like your same old Nacht, except that he looked a little different in blonde hair.

"But it's against your mom's wishes, so you have no choice?"

Nacht looked at you. You knew him the best. He didn't have to say anything and it was as though you understood him, even better than Morgen did.

"technically i have never listened to my parents since young so.." you both chuckled at his joke, until Nacht's expression got solemn again, "but she's dying, y/n. and it's her final wishes."

"why this particular lady though?"

"She's the daughter of the king of the diamond kingdom. And now I just heard from Morgen that dad wants me to take over as king so that now makes sense to me. It's just for political reasons at the end of the day."

"but you being king means that you have to attend to king duties, right? And you'll be real busy." you gave him a sad smile.

Nacht sat in silence.

"Hey, I'm still mad at you for ghosting me for 3 months. Couldn't you even write a letter?" you burst the silent bubble.

"I asked Butler Jimmy to come tell you in person!" he turned to you in surprise before he realised something, "oh..."

"what 'oh'?"

"hah he's working for my mom afterall... maybe that's why she wants me to marry so quickly." he laughed a bitter laugh.

"I asked you this question before but you couldn't really give me an answer then. So now, what is it that you really want Nacht? I'm sure you thought about it before. You can't be thinking of sneaking out monthly for your whole life to the common realm..."

"I just want to live a life without rules and boundaries and be carefree. I want to surround myself with genuine and kind people and that's impossible here in the royal realm."

"But if you marry this princess and you become king, you can do anything you wish and you can change everything."

"so i should marry this diamond princess?"

"Why not? The diamond kingdom princess is rumoured to be pretty and smart." You said to him but your heart felt like it was breaking into pieces. You couldn't deny it at this point, you have loved Nacht since you had no idea when. But thinking of him being the king and being able to make changes to this hierarchical culture of the clover kingdom, you felt that it was for the better good..

Nacht sat in silence again as though really thinking through about your idea.

"and what if, when I become king, I won't get to see you and the people back at the common realm as often anymore?" he cocked his head to the side to see your face better.

"I'm just a nobody, Nacht..." you sighed, "if you being king means that the clover kingdom will be a better place, then I guess everyone will understand and root for you..."

"do you like the garden, y/n?" he suddenly asked.

You blinked at him and then paused for a moment to have a good look at your surroundings.

It was a small garden, but it had all your favourite flowers neatly planted on one half. The other half, you both sat on a little bench and there was a little hopscotch nearby. There was a beautiful oak tree with a treehouse on top.

Below, there was a little ground where there was a white circle, just like that one in your backyard where you and the kids played marbles together. There was a little pond where there are turtles and cheap fishes like those in the common realm, where the villagers all came forth to take turns to take care of the aquatic animals.

"Nacht.. this is-"

"Where i come when I miss the common realm."

It was your turn to keep silent now.

"Every month when I go over, i bring home an idea and I replicate as much as i can here. I also bring home a pebble or a rock and it's all there." he pointed to the pond.

You stood up to get a closer look, and sure enough, surround the pond were the kinds of pebbles you would see in the common realm. In different shapes, colours and sizes they surrounded the pond.

"Do you get it now?"

"G-get what?"

"I can have my own 'common realm' right here in my garden, but it's the person that's with me that makes it different."

"Since when did you become such a sentimental person?"

"Since I dyed my hair blonde," he laughed at his own joke.

"I can be king but I know I cannot change the mindset of the rich. And i don't blame them. It's just different perspective in life. Well, I can make changes and slowly changes their perception but it would really take a long time, or even past my generation."

"well, at least you can be the start to something different." the aching in your heart wouldn't go away. You knew this wasn't what you wanted, but you knew that it would be the best decision.

"you might be right y/n. actually, most of the time, you're right. except when you said that minty raspberry ice cream flavour would taste nice..."

"It wasn't that bad!" You laughed at his joke and gave him a playful smack, " but seriously Nacht, go for it, I believe in you."

“Thanks.” he patted your head, sending tingles all the way down your spine, “I'll be real busy for the next few months, y/n. I'm sorry I won't get to visit the common relam.. but I'll definetly pay a visit when everything is settled down.”

"sure." you said with a forced smile, "I have to get back now, before my dad realises I snuck out."

"Then I shall sneak out for a bit to send you back, since you came such a long way?" he gave you a grin, but in fact, he wanted to spend more time with you.

"Sir Nacht!" a maiden called out, "The queen..! Something is wrong!"

You both looked at each other with widened eyes.

"Just go Nacht, I'll be fine, take care of yourself." you pushed him away and you started leaving the garden from where you came from.

Nacht wanted to tell you to just wait for him. To wait for him to attend to his mother so he could send you back home. To wait for him to settle his family affairs. To wait for him to be king and when the time was right, make you his queen as well.

As he looked at your retreating figure, he thought about how you said you were just a "nobody". A "nobody" that took up so much space in his mind and heart. Because of you, he wanted equal treatment across all realms. Because of you, he had to be king, so there would be change and that you'll never be a "nobody" anymore.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell you to wait. Because he himself didn't know how long it would take for him to accomplish everything. Maybe you should really find someone nice and have a happy and simple life, just like he always envisioned to have his whole life.

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

[half a year later]

You looked at the papers: "Nacht Faust, our new king with great visions. " you smiled to yourself. Nacht Finally became king. You were excited for the new things you believed he would achieve, excited for the changes that were about to come.

"He is rumoured to be in preparations to Marry h/n, the princess of the Diamond Kingdom" the last paragraph wrote.

Your heart sank as you read this. You knew it was inevitable, but yet the news still hit you like a train going at miles an hour.

It's been 10 years. 10 years since you first met him. You knew him like the back of your hand, or even better. But yet at this moment you found yourself guessing about what Nacht was thinking. Did he really like the princess? Was he really going to conform to the rules and marry for politics and power? That wasn't the Nacht you knew. But then again, the Nacht you knew didn't have blonde hair as well.

People change, and maybe he did too. It's time for you to move on as well. Looking at the face on the papers. It was so familiar to you yet it suddenly felt distant. Like somebody you used to know...

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

[another half a year later]

There was news that the king would be visiting with his royal family. You were excited to see Nacht again, but the word royal family sent your heart into a faze again. Your mind flashed images of Nacht and a pretty queen by his side.

The day came and finally, from afar you heard a commotion. The new king was here to visit his people.

It was crazy. There were animals, carriages carrying gifts, marching bands, almost like it was a parade. You stood at the top of the tree house in your garden, overlooking the entire scene.

And there he was. Nacht, surrounded by guards but looking spectacular and handsome in his royal king robe. His hair was black again, pulled up nicely in a nice pony tail. The Nacht you have always known since you were 15 was right before your eyes.

At that moment, as thought he knew where you were, he looked up at your direction. He gave you a little grin. That grin he gave whenever he met you when he came to the common realm. The grin that was ready for more adventures.

He flew away from the crowd and landed straight in front of you.

"hi." his familiar ocean blue eyes smiled at you.

"your majesty," you gave a little curtsey, which made Nacht chuckle.

"cute." his smile was soft now, "how have you been?"

"fine, I guess. been busy with the harvesting season.." you looked at him properly now, he haven't really changed, but you could see the eye bags underneath his eyes. he must have worked hard day and night since he became king. "you?"

"busy and tiring. but i'm glad to be here again after so long." he looked around.

"I... heard you were marrying the diamond kingdom princess.." you just had to ask. You had to confirm it yourself and hear it from his mouth.

"Yeah.. that's what the rumou-" the noise from the marching band drew closer and closer that Nacht couldn't really speak. You heart almost broke into pieces, you were going to meet the queen.

They finally reached your door step. "I brought some gifts for you and your family, y/n."

You were trying hard to stop the tears from welling up, you forced a smile. You didn't want any gifts. You wanted Nacht.

There was a carriage waiting. That must be her inside.

"We don't need all these gifts..." you spoke bitterly as you looked at the exquisite clothes, jewellery and many boxes in front of you.

"er.. well.. is your dad in?"

"Oi!! Nacht!!" Your dad called out to him from afar, pulling a wagon of his harvest. "Been awhile kid!"

Nacht rushed over to help your dad and the dozens of guards flocked over to help, seeing their king do so.

"so erm, Uncle L/n, I'm here to officially ask your daughter's hand for marriage and to seek your approval."

WHAT? you blinked. twice. thrice.

Nacht turned around to look at you, "I think you didn't get the memo when I spoke to you about the garden back in the royal realm, y/n."

Your dad roared with laughter seeing your dumbfounded expression. He patted Nacht on the shoulders. All the guards tensed up, and Nacht shot them a glare.

"You're a good kid Nacht. Our country is safe with you. I knew this day would come. Take your gifts back, we don't need all of these, just take good care of my precious daughter."

"What???" you finally found your voice, "I thought you married the princess or whatever!"

"as I was saying... That's what the rumours said..." he sighed and looked around at all the people that were now gathered outside your fence, "meet your new queen."

The people and your neighbours cheered loudly for you. They've seen the both of you for years and they were all happy for you.

"What happened to politics and all?!" you were still struggling to accept everything. "and excuse me, did I agree to all of this?? what if I want to stay here and help my dad and..."

"well, the king has the final word I'm afraid," he gave you his usual smirk. "your dad will move with us if he wants. He's have a mansion of his own back in the castle. if he doesn't want to, I'll have guards and maidens waiting on him."

You looked at Nacht, the tears falling off your cheeks as the stone in your heart was lifted off your chest. you couldn't believe it. everything felt like a dream.

"hey hey..." Nacht looked at you with concern as he wiped the tears away from your cheeks, "do you really not want to marry me..?"

Nacht was usually confident with what he did. He came today wit excitement and joy, being finally be able to marry the only girl of his life. but he never thought about the possibility of you not wanting to marry him.

His heart raced as he suddenly thought about the possibility of you having someone else in your heart. Afterall it's been a year since he saw you and he only met you every month.. and he was the one that ghosted you so, what if..

Nacht Faust was sweating under his tunic.

"No... I mean yes.."

Nacht's heart was almost at his throat at this point.

You took a deep breath and Nacht found himself doing the same with you.

"I just thought all along that you'll be marrying someone else and now you're saying you're marrying me and I was all sad for a year for nothing and I hate you for that and yet I love you at the same time-"

Nacht pulled you into his embrace when he heard what he needed to hear. He held onto you so tightly like he wanted to all these years. From the day you reached out to him. To a young boy crying at the river banks. Not even knowing who he was, never wanting anything from him except his company, he knew you were the one since long ago.

Marrying whoever else was never an option in his mind. And today he finally gave you what you have always deserved.

#nacht faust hcs #nacht x reader #nacht faust x reader #black clover nacht faust #black clover oneshot #black clover fluff #black clover scenarios #black clover imagine #black clover imagines #black clover headcanons #black clover hcs #black clover fanfiction #nacht faust #black clover x you #black clover x y/n #black clover x reader #aine's 1700 event

[steponmeinejghafa]

Beautiful Girl in a Broken World (TW)

Summary: All your life you have felt powerless against Aleksander. But when he takes things too far, you finally find your voice to stand up to him. Genya attempts to belittle herself, but you don't let her.

Genya Safin x fem!morozov!reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Crying, fighting, mentions of sexual abuse, toxic parent.

Note: You're adopted, so it doesn't get weird, I swear. And I don’t remember the catacombs scene word for word, so bear with me :’) also, y/n has a certain amount of selective mutism.

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

Ever since you were a child, you had been a very quiet, gentle, and agreeable person. So quiet that you could slip out of a room of three people, unnoticed. So agreeable that you would commit a crime for anyone who you held close to your heart. So gentle that you couldn't bear to even think of raising your voice at anyone who made you feel bad.

Aleksander, your father, took these abilities for granted the very moment he realised how you could benefit him.

He kept you like a secret weapon, unleashing you carefully, using your abilities to his advantage. He gifted you to the Queen as her aide and deputy lady-in-waiting. He was twisted enough to use you as bait for the King, allowing him to do as he pleased with you as long as it meant Aleksander would remain General.

You couldn't say no as his rotten lips went over your skin, you couldn't push him away, because fear for yourself froze you in place, and fear of angering your father made all reason simply vanish from your mind.

Naturally, when the King tired of you, your convoluted father gave him Genya.

Sweet Genya who talked to you every day after you both helped the Queen prepare for her evenings. Kind Genya who always made sure you weren't left alone at mealtimes or during lessons. Beautiful Genya who had all the boys after her, because of her wavy auburn hair and unique amber eyes.

You were furious to find out what he had done. Till date you can remember the white-hot fury that had coursed through your veins as Genya arrived sobbing at your room the first night the King had forced himself on her. The way your skin prickled, your body threatening to unleash unforgiving darkness upon the land as you saw the blood on her thighs and clothes.

However, you still felt guilty about how you couldn't confront Aleksander about it. Still felt angry at yourself for being powerless under his heavy, dark-eyed gaze. Still felt so hopeless because the words died in your throat that day before they could escape your lips.

"What is it now, Y/n?" He had asked as you approached him timidly the next morning.

"Father, I heard that Genya had gone to the King's rooms last night," you had said, trying not to mumble.

"Yes," he had hummed, "She is my spy, Y/n. That doesn't concern you. Your time to serve as a spy for me has passed." With a wave of his hand, he had then dismissed you from the room.

You had wanted to tear out your father's eyes, wanted to scream how could you do this to her, to me? But you couldn't.

So here you were, outside your father's chambers while he punished Genya for deserting him on the other side of the door. Tears ran down your cheeks like rivers from your eyes, as you pounded on the door with your fists, your normally quiet voice raised to a shrill shout, calling out for your father to stop, calling out to Genya to see if she was okay.

He pulled the door open sharply and caught you around the collar, dragging you inside the room.

Your heart stopped in your chest.

Genya was weeping with her head buried in her hands, kneeling on the floor, quaking with fear. Black blood seeped from between her fingers as her shaky hands tried tailoring her wounds shut. You made a move to go to her, to put your arms around her and comfort her, but Aleksander held you back.

"Keep her in the cell," he said scathingly. "Tomorrow everyone will see her face. Everyone will be reminded of the consequences if they dare to try and double-cross me."

"No!" Genya screamed. It broke your heart.

You struggled against your father's iron grip weakly. "Father, no, please don't do this, I'm begging you!"

"Silence," he said sternly, as if you were just some otkazat'sya who he couldn't bother listening to, and you did just that.

Another win for him. Typical Y/n.

"Come," he said, beckoning you to where you knew he was keeping your grandmother.

Baghra. You adored her from the moment you had met her all those years ago. She didn't show it much, but you knew she adored you back. A rare phenomenon in her case. Aleksander had imprisoned her, just to work on another amplifier so he could defeat Alina.

"Sit down," your father ordered the moment you entered the room.

"Baghra," you whispered, trying to get her to look at you. "Grandmother."

She did look at you, finally, and gave a small nod of understanding towards you.

The guards had set up a second cage beside hers, and in that, they stuffed Genya. You made a noise of protest, but it was too soft for them to hear. You made eye contact with her and your e/c irises said it all.

I'm sorry.

You hoped she wouldn't look at you with loathing, hoped she didn't hate you now. Hoped that she knew how much you loved her, and that you would try your hardest to be heard, try to be a crack of thunder in a storm instead of just a gentle breeze on an autumn evening.

She looked at you like she always had, with warmth and adoration. Her blinded eye, too, somehow held that expression. It vanished, however, the moment the Darkling looked at her.

"Put out your foot, Y/n," your father ordered. You frowned and did just that, but you didn't see the mallet coming.

Aleksander nodded at the nearby guard, who took the mallet and swung it down onto your shin, shattering the bone with a sickening 'crunch'. You felt red-hot pain sear through your body, and cried out, clutching your leg gingerly.

"Why would you do that?" You screamed, shocking everyone in the room. No one had ever heard Y/n Morozova ever raise her voice. Hell, some of them thought you were mute. "I didn't do anything!"

Aleksander gestured at a Heartrender standing at the door, ordering him to extract some of the bone shards from underneath your skin.

"Hold her down," he ordered the guards. You thrashed about as much as your pain-riddled body would allow, sobbing uncontrollably. Both with pain and betrayal.

"Aleksander, stop this madness!" Baghra exclaimed as the Heatrender readied himself to remove the shards from your leg. "She's just a child!"

"A girl of nineteen is hardly a child," said the man with as much emotion as a teabag, speaking over your cries and screams of pain, as well as Genya's pleading voice. "Her bones are as valuable as yours, since she has some Morozova blood within her, and she is thus an amplifier."

"Do I repair the rest of her leg, General Kirigan?" Asked the second Grisha who had come in with the Heartrender.

Dismissively, Aleksander nodded, and the Healer set to work. However, with the missing chunks of bone, he said, "I'm afraid she will need a cane for the time being. If the cast doesn't work and she feels pain after the next one week, it means she'll have to use the cane for the rest of her life."

"No matter," shrugged your father.

How could he?

You waited till the Healer had fixed you up as best as he could, trying your best to ignore the pain which was still very sharp in your leg.

"What in the name of the Saints do you mean 'no matter', Father?" You scowled. "Does the fact that I'm a cripple now mean nothing to you?"

"Broken things are more fragile even if you fix them," said Baghra. "You know this, Aleksander."

"Y/n," Aleksander's voice was gentle and kind. He always did this. One moment he was the best father in the world, all kind words and sweet smiles, and the next, he was a monster in a man's body, watching as a stranger shattered his daughter's legs. "Think of how powerful we would be-"

"No," you said softly.

His gaze hardened. "No?"

You shook your head, "I'm done with your games, Father. This," you nodded at your leg, "This was the last straw. I cannot walk properly anymore. You mutilated the girl I love, and put my grandmother through things far too violent to recount. I loved you, she loved you, and Genya trusted you."

He rolled his eyes. "Where are you going with this?"

You knew you couldn't attack him. It would risk unleashing the nichevoya. So you used your words instead.

"Are you so oblivious?" You whispered. "All my life I have agreed with you, done as you asked. I let a man violate me in unspeakable ways, just because I did as you asked. You have used me, you have used my Genya, and you have used Baghra. You are a disgusting man, Aleksander Morozova. A disgusting man, son, father, and general.

Did you feel nothing when I came to you with blood on my nightgown, crying about the King? Did you feel nothing, when I said I didn't want Genya playing your spy?" Your eyes brimmed with tears. "Did you feel nothing when that guard smashed my leg and broke it like a stick?"

"Sacrifices for power," he sighed. "You are too young to understand."

"Age and eternity have made you emotionless," you shook your head. "They have stripped you of your ability to love, to cherish, to feel. You sacrifice to fill that void, you sacrifice because you know that alone, with your sins, you are not enough."

You felt fear seize your body when he caught you by the collar again and threw you nearly clean across the room.

"Learn your place, girl," he seethed. "I am your father. Never speak to me that way again."

You struggled to get to your feet, leaning against the nearby wall. Anger kept within for too long bubbled up within you, heating up into white-hot fury.

"My place, Father, isn't something you can dictate. This isn't Fjerda, this isn't the medieval times. I am a woman, a girl, a daughter. I have stayed silent for too long, letting you do with me, with others, as you please," you clenched your fists, darkness cloaking the room threateningly. "So, Father, do you ever want to say you're sorry? Will you try to make amends? Try to be a better person?"

"Quite the speech," he raised a brow. "But I am powerful, and no one will stop me from getting my Summoner. Especially not you."

He took you by the arm firmly and led you out, not caring that you were limping and hopping terribly. Genya cried out for you, begging him to be gentle, but with no avail.

"Stay in your room," he seethed, shoving you inside your room none too gently. "I have business to attend to."

You waited till he closed the door, and collapsed on your bed, screaming bloody murder into the pillow as you cried.

--Time Skip--

Night had fallen, and till then only one guard had knocked on your door to give you food.

"Cripple," he spat in Ravkan, making you nearly use the Cut on him in anger.

Your father hadn't returned yet from his twisted expedition, and you decided it was high time you broke your best friend and grandmother out of jail.

You knew that the guards deserted your corridor at exactly nine-thirty for patrol rounds. Quietly, or at least as quietly as you possibly could be, you snuck down the corridor to the room where you knew they were.

You slipped inside the room, and knelt in front of Genya's cage, breaking the lock with all your strength. It was rusty from lack of use, and came apart with the barest of snaps.

She avoided your gaze and covered her face with a hand, shrinking away from your touch. She didn't want you to see her this way. You found it odd, but shrugged it off. Naturally she wouldn't want to see you. You were the Darkling's daughter. She had no business looking at you the same.

"Please, get yourself to safety," you said quietly, moving away from her.

You felt hurt that she seemed to think you were like your father, that she seemed to fear you just as she feared him. You turned to Baghra's cage and broke the lock as well, feeling a little twinge of happiness on seeing her smile slightly.

You knelt in front of her like a knight would kneel before his King, ignoring the pain in your leg, and said, "I'm sorry for how my father has treated you. I'm willing to pay for his sins, I swear on it."

Baghra touched your shoulders gently, prompting you to rise. "Don't take accountability for Aleksander's sins, child. This was his choice, and he must pay for it. You are not defined by his actions, because you have proved time and again that you have tried your best to rebel against him."

You scoffed a laugh, helping her up. "I can hardly call cowering and giving unheard suggestions 'rebellion'."

"You'll understand what I mean with time, my dear," smiled the woman. She looked at Genya, who had laid waste to the table, save the bottle of amplifier which she now held in her hand.

You three escaped just barely, because your limp slowed them down. You apologised profusely along the way, and when they paused for a rest, you scoured for a branch which could double as a cane for you temporarily. When you did, walking became a thousand times easier. The entire journey, Genya didn't speak to you or look at you. Whenever you moved close to her, she'd scurry farther down the path, muttering to herself.

'I'm not like him,' you wanted to say. 'I'm in love with you, Genya, I'd never do anything to hurt you.'

But of course, the words didn't come.

Finally, you three came upon the hideout where everyone was. Genya was tackled in a hug by Alina, while you hung back, standing behind Baghra timidly. You knew you wouldn't be welcome there.

"Baghra," Alina said with relief, moving over to her. However, the second she did, the woman moved forwards to reveal your quietly standing figure.

Disgust painted everyone's faces and you saw people draw weapons, or, in the case of the Grisha, put their hands up defensively.

You didn't say anything.

Alina's piercing gaze was enough to make you want to shrink into the walls, and you nearly cowered with fright when she readied herself to attack.

"Alina," you were shocked as Genya spoke up. "She's harmless, don't worry."

"She's about as harmless as a viper," scowled the girl.

“Alina, trust me, she’s not like him,” said the redhead. “She’s the opposite.”

You put your hands up in surrender and shook your head, "I-I'm nothing like my father, I swear."

"I vouch for that," Baghra said with a nod.

"Fine," sighed Alina. She nodded at your leg, "How'd that happen?"

You cleared your throat and willed yourself to speak louder. "My father. He smashed my bone with a mallet to use as an amplifier."

"Saints," she scoffed, "That man is a psychopath. Tamar," she looked at the Heartrender, "Please see to it that she has a proper cane, and do help ease the pain a bit."

"T-thank you," you stammered, nervous of the girl who's eyes were no more scathingly trained on you. They were soft with concern, as she smiled slightly and nodded.

"Come on then," the Shu girl grinned, taking you by the arm gently. "Let's get you patched up better."

You nodded and followed her out, while Genya went to tend to Adrik.

Twenty minutes of excruciating pain later, your leg was mostly healed, but given the way it had been broken, they said there was close to no chance for your complete recovery.

A Fabrikator named Viktor fashioned a cane for you from the branch you were using. It was jet black, of course, with an intricate design of roses etched into the wood from the handle till the bottom which had a cap of silver on it.

You thanked him and Tamar smiled at you.

“Truly, you are unlike your father,” she said.

You blushed shyly and softly replied, “I’ve never found cruelty to be my area of expertise.”

Tamar patted your arm and helped you up, making sure you were putting your weight on the cane and not your leg.

You went to check on Genya, who, upon seeing you, fled from where she was sitting in front of Adrik, helping heal his hand.

“G-Genya?” You called out after her, your voice barely raised at all as you limped after her with as much speed as your leg would allow. “Please wait a moment, please.”

You both stopped dead in your tracks, when you ran into the Queen.

“You!” She gasped. “Guards! Guards!” She cried out, looking around frantically for them, her pale hair fluttering around her face.

She caught Genya by the wrist and seethed, “You both will pay for what you did! You monsters!”

“Please-please leave her be,” you pleaded, limping closer to the Queen, resisting the urge to beat her senseless with your new cane.

“Well,” she glared at Genya, “At least now you look like what you truly are,” she turned to you, “And you deserve to be crippled, you repulsive girl.”

“I-“ you faltered. You deserved it, didn’t you? You tried not to cry, as you gathered your thoughts, saying, “Please let her go,”

Genya yanked her arm out of the Queen’s grip, having had enough.

“Ask me how I did it,” she said, with venom in her voice. “How we did it.”

Your heart leapt. She mentioned you in passing, that was good. Perhaps she didn’t hate you after all.

“What?” The woman was baffled.

“Ask. Me.” Genya said forcefully. The queen made a nod as if to ask, and the redhead continued, “Y/n made the poison. She wanted her revenge anyway. So, I put it on my body, for weeks. So that every time he touched me, every time,” her voice lowered to a hesitant whisper, “he kissed me, he would take a little bit into himself.”

“All he had to do was stop coming to her bed,” you softly added in.

Seething, the woman replied, “He was your King,”

“He brought it on himself,” Genya spat.

“He took advantage of innocent girls, girls who couldn’t fight back, because he was our King,” you limped forward to stand beside Genya, mustering up courage to look the Queen in the eye. “It was because he was our King, we were terrified to speak. Because no one would’ve believed us. And even if they did, they couldn’t do anything about it. So do you blame us, your Highness, can you blame us, for taking matters into our own hands?”

“Oh? The Darkling’s mute little puppet girl speaks,” scoffed the queen, making you shrink back with shame. That tone stung you hard. Where they never took you seriously, where people only saw you as a pushover who had no voice. “You both are monsters, murderers.”

“Madraya,” Nikolai’s smooth voice was a saving grace in this fight.

“Nikolai! You heard them, arrest these murderers!” She said, looking at her son.

He looked horrified. “No,” he shook his head. “Not after what I heard.” He looked at her with disbelief on his features. “Both of them were under your protection.”

“They are servants,” she scoffed in disgust. “And the cripple is a puppet for the enemy!”

“And you, the Mother of Ravka,” he said. “Your subjects were to be like your children. All of them,” he placed a hand on your shoulder and brought you forward. Your eyes stayed riveted on the ground. “And Y/n? Just by being here, she has shown that she is no puppet for the Darkling.”

The Queen huffed and flounced off, skirts billowing around her as she did.

“Thank you,” you nodded and moved back, when Genya turned to leave.

“I’m sorry,” said Nikolai.

“It’s not your fault,” said Genya, as she walked away.

You limped after her, calling out her name in vain. However, you cornered her at last in her rooms.

“Saints,” you panted, your leg aching horribly. You leaned your cane against a wall and tried catching your breath. “Saints, that hurts.”

“Y/n, please leave,” she said, packing up a bag for herself.

“No!” You said, annoyed. She looked at you at last. “No, Genya, I won’t leave.”

"Why not?" She scoffed. "Look at me, Y/n."

"I always am," you said. "I am always looking at you, Genya."

"Are you, now?" She laughed drily. "Honestly, Y/n, you don't have to pity me, alright? We aren't on the same boat, if that's waht your thinking."

"I have always thought we were oceans apart, Genya. With you all confidence and kindness, while I shrank away from the slightest word spoken to me," you said, your e/c eyes shining in the dim light, making it look like they had stars in them. "But that didn't stop me from loving you."

She looked at you incredulously, "Loving me?"

"Yes," you smiled, limping over to her hesitantly. "Since the day we met, I never stopped loving you. And this day is no diffferent. Scars or no scars, you, Genya Safin, are stronger than Grisha steel, and more beautiful than anyone I have ever encountered. You are a beautiful girl in a broken world, and-and if anything, your scars make you more beautiful in my eyes. It would be my honour to say that I am yours, Genya."

She stepped closer to you, taking your hands in hers. "Can you bear waking up to a scarred old face beside yours every morning?"

"It isn't something to bear, because burdens and problems are what we bear. This is no problem. It is a trophy, a symbol of your victory and strength, my Genya," you smiled. "I understand if you wouldn't want me, though."

"Why wouldn't I want you?" She asked. You were too oblivious, in her opinion. Had you forgotten the nights you both slept together, wrapped up in each other's embrace? The times she'd kiss your forehead to make you feel better? The times she hadn't denied it when people asked her if you and her were a thing?

"I am a cripple now, Genya," you accepted it with a shake of your head. "You protect and care enough for people. I don't need you doing that for me, because it would just add on to your own personal burdens.”

Genya came closer to you, taking your hands in hers. Her seeing eye was a deep gold in the dim light—a shard of the setting sun sparkling with love.

“Have you never noticed that I am in love with you?” she asked, making your heart leap. “Do you know how many times I’ve kissed your forehead, wishing it was your lips? Wishing that we could embrace with just the sheets between our bodies?”

“Um…” you felt yourself lean on her palms slightly. “Sorry,” you nodded at her hands clasping yours a little tighter now, with the weight on them. “But why did you run from me?”

“Don’t be sorry,” she smiled sadly. “I ran because I thought that you would find me ruined now, with this.” She touched her fingers gingerly to her scars.

“Never,” you shook your head, shifting your weight to put more on your good leg, so you could hold her face in your hands. “My Genya, you should never think you aren’t the most gorgeous woman on the face of this planet, because Saints alive, I have never seen a woman so kind, loving, and caring as you. It shows on your face, and it only makes you more breathtaking.”

In the dim light, you saw her blush, just the barest dust of pink under her skin.

“That’s probably the most you’ve spoken in your whole life,” chuckled the redhead, leaning into your touch. It startled you, and in turn, made you blush a rather unsubtle red.

“I-um,” you tried pushing out the words which wanted to leave your lips so desperately, but all you could do as she stepped closer to you was exhale softly, “Genya…”

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name that way,” she smiled, looking up at you slightly as her hands rested on your waist. Her gaze skirted down to your lips and to your eyes as she asked, “May I?”

Your heart leapt, the words struggled again. You nodded wordlessly and she tilted her head up, pressing her slightly dry yet soft lips on yours. The words came again as you both stood there in the dingy underground room, just kissing.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your thumbs stroking her cheeks as you prayed to all the Saints that your palms weren’t sweating. You wanted this moment to last, this first kiss to extend into forever. The world faded around you, the panic of your father’s attack, the fear you felt in front of the Queen, all forgotten as you focused on Genya.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

The words didn’t come, they failed you again. But you didn’t mind this time.

You smiled against her lips, and kept your e/c eyes riveted on her as she pulled away, her face finally cracking into a large, bubbly grin.

You let your hands fall from her face and held her hands in yours, trying not to giggle.

“Did we just do that?” She asked.

Wordlessly, you nodded, folding your lips into your mouth as a loud, childlike giggle threatened to escape your lips.

She leaned up to kiss your cheek and whispered in your ear, “Perhaps we could work on your voice sometime?”

“Um,” you nodded your head and asked, “Would-would you help me?”

“Of course, Y/n,” she smiled.

“I-I’ll speak a hundred words a minute for-for you,” you said, out of breath suddenly. “It will just take some time…”

“We have all the time in the world, my love,” she brushed her thumb gently over your bottom lip, causing a shudder to go down your spine.

You took her hand and kissed it gently, before pressing another kiss to her cheek where her longer scar was.

“All the time in the world,” you repeated with a smile.

She nodded and took your hand, holding it while you grabbed your cane and the both of you walked out of the room, back to where the others were.

As the torchlight cast long shadows on the wall, and you sat beside her silently while the others gave strategies on their next move.

Ever so often you would glance at Genya, who wore a thoughtful look on her face. The dim torchlight fell from behind her, highlighting her profile in gold.

‘Why have you condemned her to suffer such hardships?’ You silently asked the Saints. ‘Why do you make every effort to make her suffer?’

The answer was a simple one, which you could practically hear those damned Saints reply.

Because fate isn’t kind to those who have beauty like hers.

Because she is a beautiful girl in a broken world.

———————————————————————

This one was so sad to write- but I hope you enjoyed it! I am accepting requests, so feel free to send over an anonymous idea or send me a dm <3

#shadow and bone #genya safin #genya safin x reader #wlw #female y/n #aleksander morozov #alina starkov #baghra morozova #tamar kir bataar #tolya yul bataar #nadia zhabin #adrik zhabin #sad #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #selective mutism #toxic parents

[s-creations]

🛁🛁 platonic bathing in like a lake or small river with the M & L & W²

🛁 Bathing together/platonic bathing (specifiy)

((Woof, this one is long and rather difficult to write, enjoy!))

Link to Post

Mario and Luigi couldn’t help but let out a groan as they dropped on their bags. Both followed soon after. Sitting on the ground as they leaned against the other in exhaustion. 

“You two really aren’t built for hiking? With all the stuff you’ve done so far? This is a worrisome development.” Waluigi casually pointed out as he placed down his own bag. Further back, Wario was already doing his best to set up the large tents, grumbling as he did so. 

“We���re not really one for nature.” Luigi argued back.

“City boys, right here, all our lives, never left the city limits. This is different for us.” Mario added on. 

“...Wow. Mushroom Kingdom heroes, right here. Can’t handle a little bit of nature.” 

The conversation paused when Wario let out a cry of triumph. Who stood back from his handing work on getting the two large tents set up. With that out of the way, he turned to join the conversation properly. “Think your sensitive skin is going to bruise sleeping on the ground?”

“Very funny,” Mario huffed, “This is just a different kind of terrain for us. Give us some slack.”

“Absolutely not! As your mentor, it’s our duty to make sure you’re ready for any situation.”

“Okay, ‘mentor’, what lesson are we being taught here?”

“How to rough it, in a very moderate way. If we need to leave the Mushroom Kingdom for something major, our best bet might need to be a sneak approach. So, how do we survive the wilderness with very little with us? We’re taking it easy on you two this round.” 

The twins groaned again, but didn’t argue back. Merely standing once more with their bags still resting on the ground. Mario stated, “Alright, what’s the first thing we need to get done.”

“Well, we have the tents set up-”

“I have the tents set up.” Wario interrupted his brother with his arms crossed. 

“Fine, whatever, they’re set up is the bottom line. Now we get the rest prepared and properly stored away.” 

Bottom line, it took a few hours before the camp was properly set up. Each twin paired with another brother so enough information was covered. Food safely stored, a place for a small campfire, tents secured so each set of brothers had their area set up for sleep. 

“And…that’s it,” Waluigi looked around, “We have it all set up. Nicely done you two.” 

“That wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.” Luigi admitted. 

“Well, with that being done, we should probably-”

“Heads up!”

That was the only warning given before Waluigi had grabbed onto the twin’s arms and pulled them out of the way. Rushing past the three was Wario, now wearing only his underwear, let out a loud ‘Woop!’ as he jumped into the river. Creating a large enough splash that Waluigi had to pull them all back further with a look of disgust. 

“Do you mind!” Waluigi huffed as his brother’s head popped out of the water’s surface. 

“No, I don’t,” Wario smirked back, “What are you worked up about? You’re gonna be getting here soon enough.”

“That doesn’t mean I want the rest of my clothing wet!” 

“What is happening right now?” Mario cautiously asked.

“Bathtime,” Waluigi replied simply, “We’re disgusting and this is the closest thing we’re going to get to clean water. Come on, clothes off.”

“Um…we’re good.”

“No you’re not. Trust me, nothing is more aggravating than trying to sleep covered in a good layer of dirt. You’re not going to be in your birthday suit, just your underwear, you’re fine.” Waluigi casually commented as he started doing as he suggested. 

Mario and Luigi gave each other a worried glance before starting to do the same.

“How long are you lot going to take, I’m almost done!” Wario called out.

“Not without soap you’re not!” Waluigi argued back, “I’m not going to be stuck in that tent with you if you’re going to smell like sweat.” 

“I have water washing over me.”

“That is not enough.” 

Being the first of the twins to approach the river’s edge, Luigi let out a yelp as he pulled his foot back out of the moving water. “It’s freezing!”

“Well, yeah, this isn’t indoor plumbing. Nothing’s here to heat it up,” Waluigi stuck his foot in, “And it’s not that bad. Come on, in you go.”

The twins stuck close together as they inched into the water. Realizing it wasn’t as cold as they originally thought it was. But still keeping their arms crossed to hold into the stable point of warmth they created. Only for that plan to end when Mario suddenly felt hands in his hair. Waving his own arms in a desperate attempt to push the other away.

“What are you doing!?” Mario turned, glaring at Wario. Who was holding a sheepish smile with shampoo covering his hands. 

“What? Just trying to help.”

“I can wash my own hair, thank you.”

“With how much you were whining about being tired? No way. Now hold still!”

Luigi only watched as Wario quickly wrapped an arm around the other twin and furiously scrubbed his fingers into Mario’s hand. All the while, the fire user was kicking his legs in an attempt to get Wario to stop or to break away from it. Just as Wario started, Mario was able to slip out. Quickly diving under the water to make his escape. Only for Wario to follow close behind. 

He was pulled away from the ‘fight’ feeling a tap on his shoulder. Finding Waluigi there with shampoo pools in his other hand. “Keep your eyes close.”

“Okay.” Luigi smiled softly and faced forward again. Remaining still as fingers gently ran through his hair.

Both respectfully ignoring the ‘fight’ between their brothers.

#s-creations #s-creations answers #anonymous asks #drabble #emoji prompts #writing prompts #yellow purple red green #mario #luigi #mario and luigi #wario #waluigi #wario and waluigi #they're all brother! #either by blood or by begrudging choice! #don't make this weird! #if anyone marks anything of a pairing you're being blocked!