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seiwas · 3 months

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₊˚⊹｡ i'll be good to you | nanami kento

wc: 1.5k

summary: nanami’s half-hoping you call a fourth time.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, reader wears makeup and heels, drunk calls, a bit angsty and a bit hurt/no comfort but it isn’t all that sad i think

a/n: this ran away from me again! but this is a brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, and already gone

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

you are here -> part 2

Nanami moves in numbers.

It comes with his personality—practical and efficient, forward thinking.

Predicting deals from 9-to-5 looks a lot different from dealing deaths by a ratio of 7:3, but the tactics remain the same, the stakes still high; every move is precise and calculated, analyzed to be accurate.

So he’d known—the day he decided to pick up his blade again was the day he’d deal his final blow—at you, and the relationship you built together.

A strategic takedown of something he deemed doomed from the start.

That’s what he wants you to think, at least.

When his phone rings three times—the first in the middle of lecturing Yuuji, the second while going overtime underground, and the third just moments ago, bleeding out on a bathroom counter, Nanami realizes that the probability of him ever speaking to you again, alive and breathing, is a number he can’t predict.

So he waits, linen pants and a cotton shirt while sporting a drink by his kitchen counter.

Strangely, he’s full of hope, half-good and half-bad—that you’ll call back; that you won’t. The line between the two blurs.

It always has with you.

A friendly face—that’s all you were supposed to be; his work neighbor a few cubicles down his. It started with polite nods, a few casual waves, maybe even small smiles on a good day. Your schedule was terrible, much like his—one of the first ones to arrive and the last ones to leave.

Then, you finally moved past just a friendly hello; something about bread, he recalls, an attempt to exchange recipes on sourdough. It started then, with you leaving a cup of coffee on his desk and he saving an ‘extra’ sub for you.

(Except, it’s never an ‘extra’ with Nanami; he’d never do anything miscalculated.)

Suddenly, you’re the first face he looks for in the morning, and he’s the last person you check on before clocking out at night.

For a while, he didn’t know what to call you—a coworker? Friend? Someone he has dinner with at 12 midnight?

You set it straight after the seventh ‘date’.

Now, when his phone rings the fourth time, he picks up.

You’re cursing on the line, the sound of metal clinking on tile muffled in the background.

He waits for you to talk, half-hopeful and half-nervous at hearing you speak.

You always used to drop your keys by his door—your haphazard way of looking for his amongst five of yours.

“Shit,” you grumble, the lock finally clicking open.

He hears your footsteps, the sound of your heels landing as if they’ve been hastily kicked off.

A party, perhaps? Or a night out?

There’s a funny feeling that sits in his stomach when he thinks about you coming home from a date, one he knows he no longer has a right to.

It should be good, he thinks, you’re moving on.

He stares at his glass, liquor blurring into ice—brown edges fading into something lighter, near transparent. For a moment, he wonders if this was a mistake, if you hadn’t meant to call him at all. He’s considering putting the phone down to save you the embarrassment.

But—

“Finally,” you spit out, clumsy and a little too honest.

To anyone else, you’d sound normal, but Nanami’s known you for years, has loved you for just as much, and this sounds a lot like the version of you that’s lost track of how many you’ve had to drink—the same one he’s had to tuck in bed, with your arms clinging onto his neck while dragging him under the covers with you.

He takes a sip.

“Was starting t’think you died or sum’in.”

It’s impossible for you to know the truth, he’s made sure of that—it’s why he let you go in the first place.

“Someone offered to buy me a drink t’night,” you mumble, wood scraping against your floorboards. The exhaustion in your voice is palpable.

He has no idea why you’re telling him this.

“I asked f’r bourbon,” you breathe, shaky, “on the rocks, because—”

That’s what he always got, what he introduced to you when you asked him why he likes it so much. 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, with time as an aid, mellowing its intensity to flavors of smoky caramel, vanilla, and a touch of spice.

He gives a lowly hum, swirling the drink in front of him.

“Was it good?”

(The drink, the date. The potential new guy.)

There’s silence on the other end of the line, too long to be considered thoughtless. His watch counts the seconds.

“Not as,” you finally answer.

Another bout of silence.

He wonders what you look like, if you’re wearing that lipstick you know is his favorite; if you still smell like the closest thing he’s ever had to a home. Do you still keep an extra handkerchief in your purse? That obnoxious cow print he now uses to remind him of the life he used to know?

You sniffle.

“You fucked me up, Kento.”

He knows.

“How c’n you say this… is what’s best f’me when it hurts this much?” you hiccup, a sob caught in your throat.

When Nanami ended things with you, he gave himself 30 minutes. Any less, he would have regretted it, and any more, he would have taken it all back.

“Y’re so unfair,” you breathe out shakier than the last, broken more than anything, “din’t ev’n ask me what I wanted.”

He knows.

And he supposes he deserves this, aching at the way you fall apart on the line.

He takes another sip, longer and fuller, dragging out his gulp.

“I still love you,” you weep, voice unsteady, “and I f’cking hate you for that, y’know?”

Your words burn more than the alcohol down his throat.

His eyes start to sting, brown glossing over. There was a time when your ‘I love you’s’ gave him reason to wake up in the morning; when they got him through the day and lulled him to sleep at night.

But this one, this time, he knows, will haunt him for the rest of his life.

(He’s never wanted anything more than to say it back to you, right now.)

“I apologize.” the words come out stiff, squeezed out as he puts down his glass.

“I know,” you scoff, managing a chuckle while sniffling, “like that’ll do ‘nythin though.”

Nanami clenches his jaw, fingers tightening around his drink. You always were the perfect bite to his snark, acknowledging things straight up, as is.

And you always had a hunch of how things would end up.

You know that this call is pointless, that he won’t take you back by the end of it. You also know that each and every one of his decisions comes from a series of calculated predictions, that once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it. You know how Nanami works, that he moves in numbers.

Except, you never know his reasons—that the truth of all this is that he’s sworn to himself that he’ll be good to you. There’s no point being with an empty man, and dragging you into the dangers of sorcery would be cruel, even more unfair to you.

The line is quiet for a while, filled only with your attempts at steadying your breathing.

“Did you drink enough water?” he asks, a little out of nowhere but completely in place.

You snort, pushing back your chair, “Shouldn’t say things like that,” your footsteps are picked up by the mic, “makes it sound like y’care.”

He hears you gulp a glass down on the line, lips curling into a sad smile.

“D’me a favor?” you slur, followed by a yawn.

He hums.

“Stay on ‘til I fall’sleep?”

And for once, he doesn’t think so hard about it. This small thing can’t possibly skew the damage he’s already caused you.

“Okay.”

A creak sounds from your end, the sofa you both used to spend your weekends on; it’s been thoroughly broken in, love seeping through each crevice and dip. It’s selfish, but he hopes you still feel him through it—giving you a safe place to rest, soft and tender in keeping you close when he can’t.

You shuffle, pillows muffling the microphone as you move around; then you mumble, sleep-laden, “Don’t forget to turn the lights off.”

It shouldn’t affect him this much, but the reminder calls back every instance you’ve ever said it to him: whispers over his shoulder, while dragging your feet away from his home office; a peck to the tip of his ear before nuzzling his neck while he reads; a shout from your bed, for him to hear within the echoes of the bathroom walls.

You both have terrible sleep from odd hours at the office, but nightmares have always persisted with him more. Turning off the lights was a reassurance, a quiet ‘I love you’—a reminder that it was okay to fall asleep, you’d be there when he wakes.

His eyes zero in on the light switch to his right, humming his response.

The call runs for 31 minutes.

a/n: other tidbits i wasn't able to include—reader is able to hold liquor well, and used to drink with nanami often but doesn't understand the appeal of his preferred drinks; reader is able to go head-to-head with nanami's personality but is also a lot more vibrant and loud; reader also doesn't know about the jujutsu world (in case it wasn't obvious). i also envision nanami becoming less himself towards the end of their relationship, which is also when he starts considering going back to sorcery.

thank you notes: big thank you to @augustinewrites for half-mothering this fic 🥺 what would i do without your sad ideas and songs to match!! and to @mysugu and @soumies for ofc!! listening to me talk abt this all the time lol

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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lmskitty · 4 months

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The JJk fandom has some INCREDIBLE writers and artists and I just felt like showing a bit of love so here are some of my fave Satosugu fics!!!

Audience by @c-valentino

"Three years after the KFC breakup, Satoru caves and visits his old friend late at night with a problem. They are far from what they used to be, but when he hopes they might get a second chance after all, assassins show up to hunt down Suguru."

As you like it by planetarypedxng

"Ieiri Shoko has laid down the law: the three of them will hereafter hang out only at Geto’s place, because Geto is the perfect host, and because Shoko refuses to clean up after anyone, least of all men, and because Gojo’s room always disgustingly reeks of sex.

Gojo had laughed at that, a little too loudly, perhaps, and curiously did not have a single comment about it. What can he say? The truth? That he was still a virgin?"

Falling in love is easy. Admitting it is not. By @ellionwrites

"At 20 years old - sharing an apartment and joint Jujutsu missions - Geto and Gojo are inseparable. But it takes Geto going on a first date for them to start to figure out their feelings."

Two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay) by @hollow-lime-green

"Geto Suguru has almost two decades of practice pretending not to see things that are clearly there, and Gojo Satoru has a well-documented history of being the most socially-stunted motherfucker alive.

That’s how they got here.

Love is in the hands by @thequeenofsarcaasm

That’s also why neither of them know where the hell they’re going with this."

To be a woman by @sadgreekboys

"After getting kicked from his home for being queer, Geto Suguru comes across his old best friend/first love, in a gay bar. He finds a new home in him."

close your eyes (nothing changed at all) by themoonisdead

"Satoru is the strongest. She is a woman. She is not meant to be those two things at the same time.

VIRGIN GETS WRECKED BY BEST FRIEND [FREE PORN VIDS] (18++) WATCH NOW!!!!! By Daisy__dupes

"That day in xx village, suguru makes a call" -what if Suguru had called Satoru for help that day?

Over the Threshold by @fushiglow

(Satoru gets hit with a sex curse and asks Suguru to help him!!!)

4AM by damiselart

"Larger than life K-pop idol, Satoru, approaches introverted record producer, Getō Suguru, to collaborate on his debut Japanese-language studio album. They both get more out of the experience than expected — for better and for worse."

(Tattoo artist Geto and model Gojo. Hot as fuck.)

Post-It Notes by monochromevelyn

"Shoko was sick of watching her two best friends pining for each other. Don't worry, she had a plan to move things in the right direction."

The Two-Headed Calf by malneiro

"Gojo gets a knock on his door late at night: Getou is sick and Mimiko and Nanako don't know who else to turn to."

Vows to Amida Butsu -

" Gojo has a great idea. Geto thinks his classmate should at least ask him cutely instead of just announcing his intent. Consent is important, after all."

and Long Bitter Autumn - both by Daphnerunning and Galiko

"Five years after his best friend left Jujutsu High to become an evil overlord, Gojo Satoru can't sleep. And there's not THAT much difference between a butt dial and a booty call, semantically speaking."

There are so many amazing satosugu fics and most of the writers listed here have multiple incredible fics but these are just some of my absolute faves!!!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#satosugu #fic rec #goge #geto x gojo #jjk smut #satoru x suguru #gego #gojo x geto #stsg #sgst

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 23 days

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Can you write where Ethan as Ghostface kidnaps reader to keep her from the reveal because he loves her and doesn’t want her to get hurt but she falls in love with his masked self so he ends up revealing himself anyway

kinda had to change this a tiny bit, but still got that stockholm syndrome vibe. also I've never done this trope so this might not be great, i tried.

masterlist

“shit. it’s a trap!” chad yelled as he paced around the floor. the lights in the theater cut off cloaking the space in an ominous darkness.

arms stretching in front of you, trying to keep yourself from running into cabinets or people. your heart was hammering against your ribs, quick uneven breaths leaving your mouth. “guys? guys!” not hearing anything back from your friends.

“anyone-“ a gloved hand covered your mouth and it muffled your horrified scream. ghostface got you, you’re already dead. you tried jerking away from them as they dragged you away and further in the abandoned theater. the scratchy material of their robe rubbed at your throat and tickled your stomach.

you could feel the muscle of the stranger beneath their costume, physically telling to you that you were out matched. your harsh breathing from your nostrils filled the hallway along with two steps of footsteps. their hold was tight but not restricted, if you could just kick or swing maybe-

“i wouldn’t try anything, sweetheart.” a low voice whispered in your right ear. they didn’t have the standard ghostface tone, but it sounded like they were trying to disguise it. an involuntary shiver racked your spine and hitched your breath.

continuing in their rush to drag you away they brought both of you to a cluttered closet, sneakers bumping into fallen bottles and soft rolls of towels. practically being shoved into a metal shelf and causing a wooden broom handle to clatter noisily to the linoleum flooring.

"help! help-"

"shut up! i'm trying to save you!" your captor growled and their clunky boots carried themself into your limited space. their towering stature staring down at you through those empty black eyeholes.

"save- save me?" you stuttered, "you've been trying to kill us for a week! sam! chad! help me-" scratchy fabric covered your mouth and part of your nose causing your breathing to be short and panicked.

ghostface leaned in closer, "well you seem like the only good one so I'm being generous and deciding to spare your life. now, i have to go after your friends, but you're gonna stay here until i come back and everything will be okay." waiting for a beat before rushing out back into the light and leaving you to sub come to the dark.

did it make you a bad person, or a bad friend if you were relieved that a serial killer decided you were worth keeping alive? you'd be willing to play their little game for however long until you were ready to run free and disappear, they seemed to have a sort of liking to you. maybe an obsession, they would've been stalking you if they knew your every move and location.

it kinda made you feel a certain way. a romantic, unhinged sort of way. you've heard of people saying how their partner is obsessed with them, but having a stranger being so obsessed with you they're willing to kill everyone else to keep you...

maybe your ex's were right. you were a bit sick in the head.

you weren't sure how long you were locked in the closet. could've been ten minutes could've been an hour, but when you heard rushed footsteps outside the door and the lock turn you rushed forward and threw your arms around your kidnapper.

"let's go before the cops arrive." was all they said after a minute of your hug. your dropped your arms, but they reached for your left hand and dragged you behind. you followed like a lost puppy.

when an exit sign came into view they halted to a stop causing you to bump into their back, confused by their decision. "what's wrong?" rounding to stand in front of them, hands still locked.

"i- i have to stash the costume. don't- don't want you to see my face." they almost seemed worried, concerned about your reaction to their identity.

"hey," you stepped closer, hand reaching to caress the mask, "it's okay. i'm not gonna run. i- i want to stay with you, you saved me." voice dripping in seduction and honey. eyes doeing to further convince them of your alliance to them only.

with their free hand they gripped the chin of the mask and slowly lifted it away until to came free and you were greeted by the shocking sight of- "ethan?" his sweaty curls shading his eyes.

he didn't say anything, just bit into his bottom lip while watching you closely waiting for that inevitable switch that always happens when the killer is revealed in movies. but all he got was a creeping smile changing your face and you saying, "when we're safe i'm gonna make out with you so hard, killer." before he rushed to stripe the black robe off and you both rushed out the deserted building.

hand in hand. grinning like the psychos you are.

#erin's blurb request #ethan landry scream 6 #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry angst #ethan landry scream #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x gn!reader #ethan landry fic #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry blurb #jack champion image #jack champion scream 6

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takitafulily · 6 months

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"I've lost everything..." "Not me, I'm still here."

The angels have won, and demons are doomed.

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad

Characters: Satan

Warnings: whb content (mdni), hurt comfort, might be ooc, very experimental

AN: First WHB fic! Watched too many fantasy c-dramas recently and welp here we are- This is an au where the angels (somehow) takened over Gehenna and the reader is pulling Satan into safety.

The warm blood stained your clothes as you dragged Satan's heavy injured body further into the alleyway, praying to fate that no angels would find you here. Ppyong had accidentally separated from the group early on in the battle, and you didn't know what happened to Satan's subordinates after you scattered. You just hoped they were still alive.

You opened the door to a random pub that happened to be tucked away in the alleyway and dragged Satan inside. It was eerily quiet without the loud chatter of its usual visitors and the overwhelming welcome of Gehenna's devils, and the pub just didn't feel the same. You laid Satan down in one of the rooms, trying not to look at the giant gash ripped open into his body, bleeding profusely, and searched around for a first aid kit. Coming up with some disinfectant and bandages, this was all you could work with.

A sharp sting of pain made Satan hiss in delight, and he opened his numb eyes to see you gently and carefully try to wipe away the blood from his wound using a torn piece of your clothes. The sting didn't come from the piece of fabric, he had quickly figured out, as another drop of tear from your concentrated eyes fell down onto his exposed flesh, the salt irritating his skin.

"... Don't cry, MC. I want to see you rage like a roaring flame. Go on, rage."

Satan lifted his bloody hands and smeared your face with red as he wiped away the tears dripping from your eyes.

"How can I rage when you're like this?" You sobbed, chocking back the loud wail you wanted to let out as you saw nothing but blood, blood, blood. Satan's blood.

"You should go. Go and hide before they find you." Satan tilted his face away, his face unreadable, drawing his hand back, away from your warmth. How badly he wanted to hold onto to you, to protect you. But he can't risk your life. He is no longer able to protect you. Not like this.

"I'm not leaving you here, I'm staying." You gripped the piece of blood-soaked fabric in your hands, staining your hands in red as you tried to hold in more tears. You knew. You knew if you left, this would be it. If you left, this will be the last of Satan and Gehenna.

"Why stay, MC? I've lost everything, I have nothing left."

The way Satan looked at you now was so different from the confident and proud Satan you knew, the menace who'd kick anyone who looked at you wrong. It twisted your guts as reality blows up in your face. How wrong this situation felt. He should be commanding you to stay and watch him snatch the victory from the angels, to cheer him on as he teared into the enemy like butter. Yet he's asking you to leave, to abandon him, to run before you're also in danger.

It's like he's took the reigns and gently put them into your hands, giving you the choice to ride or to drop it.

You had a choice.

"Not me, I'm still here. And I'm not leaving anytime soon."

#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #whb #whb mc #whb satan #what in hell is bad satan #whb satan x reader #whb x reader

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myhairpintrigger · 1 year

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HII IM DEEPLY AMAZED BY UR WRITINGS CUZ U GOT ME GIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL AND KICKING MY LEGS. ANYWAYS!!

I would like to request angst to fluff for Aleksander where they were past lovers but reader was killed just like what happened to Luda. Eventually on the present time (Alina's timeline ig), during the winter fete, Aleksander saw reader's face as Alina was doing her magic showcase ig and Aleksander followed reader outside (maybe for fresh air) and then thats when reader started getting flash backs maybe a headache (DO UR MAGIC HERE LOVE) and maybe when whe wakes up, he's asleep by her side and she just says "Sasha?" in that sweet tone and ALL FLUFF

(SORRY IF THIS WAS A BIT LONG, IM KINDA HAVING AN ENERGY OUTBURST)

hi my anon baby <3 i worked on this for a couple of days. sorry it’s so late!!! i feel as if i’ve seen a couple fics like this and i tried to make it as different as i could while still staying within the margins of your request… i hope it’s okay.

warnings: canon typical violence, character death (kind of?) blood, angst, fluff, all of it. just all of it.

word count: 4.7k

of Wildflowers & Damnation

(aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

Some days were easier than others. Just as on the other side of the coin, some days were harder. Inconveniently, today happened to be one of the harder days for Aleksander. He tried to reason with himself often that after nearly five hundred years of living, that he shouldn’t be so affected by loss anymore.

That didn’t make it any easier, unfortunately. He’d lost so much in his life, that he didn’t mourn so heavily, and then he’d lost you.

He’d met you nearly two hundred years after the creation of the fold, and to say he loved you would be to say it was only a bit cold in the arctic, which is to say, it was a gross understatement. He loved you more deeply than he ever knew was possible, and perhaps that’s why it was so terribly hard to accept even all these years later, that you just weren’t alive any longer, while he lived on.

He had tried to bring you back, he really did. Much to his mother’s dismay, for the second time in his life, he resorted to the use of merzost to heal you. But you never woke.

Aleksander stood silently near his door. It was nearly time for him to find Alina, to join the festivities at the Winter Fete, to show the country’s most influential just how powerful the Sun Saint really was. He knew it was time to go, but his mind wouldn’t rest. It wouldn’t stop replaying your last day with him.

The two of you walked hand in hand through the forest that was just behind your small home. Aleksander wasn’t normally one for such plain and domestic types of endeavors, but the wildflowers were blooming in the valley at this time of year, and he wanted nothing more but to see you smile at them, as you did every year before that.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Sasha?” You had asked him softly and looked up at him with a big grin. You better than anyone knew that he wasn’t much of a flower person, but the question was still on your mind as you walked together.

He thought to himself for a moment as he peered down at your excited face and then he shrugged, “Oh, there’s too many to choose from, my lovely. Perhaps a dandelion.”

“Dandelions are weeds, Aleksander.” You pointed out and he shook his head and nudged your side.

“They still bloom, do they not?”

You didn’t seem to like this answer, because you simply huffed under your breath and gave his hand a little squeeze, “Okay but I meant a real flower. Not a little yellow weed.” You insisted.

He thought for a moment longer and then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, “Alright. Poppies.” He finally conceded and you seemed to like this answer much more than the last, because you hummed and sidled up to him sweetly, your head resting against the side of his arm.

“Poppies. I would’ve taken you for a rose person.” You mused.

“And why roses?” He asked, curious to hear your response.

“Because. They’re terribly beautiful, but you wouldn’t dare just grab one recklessly. They’re covered in thorns. You have to be gentle with them, work around the thorns. Then it’s yours to have. Kinda like you. Just gotta work around your thorns.” You replied and then let out a tiny giggle, “At least, that’s what I did. Seemed to work out just fine for me.”

Your words made his chest feel as if it was flooding with impossible new amounts of affection for you and he stopped the two of you where you walked and he leaned down to delicately wrap both of his arms around your waist. You eagerly wrapped your tiny arms around his shoulders and he moved down a bit more, closer to your level.

To Aleksander, you were the sweetest thing in the world. Everything from your kind smile to your fiery attitude made him swell with love for you. To love and be loved in return was such a strange concept for him to grasp. Especially when the returned love was given by such a gentle soul such as yourself. He often found himself unworthy of such a love, unworthy of your kindness, your care, your acceptance. You knew of his past transgressions, yet you loved him anyways, always insisting that mistakes get made. Everyone messes up. To the world, he was The Darkling. The Black Heretic. A wicked man with a soul as dark as his eyes. That version of himself even existed in his own mother’s eyes. But to you, he was simply Aleksander.

He held you even tighter now and he buried his face in your hair for a long time before he slowly pulled away from you and brought his hands up to delicately cup your face. He held your face so gently as if he was convinced it would shatter between his fingers and he watched your eyes, fascinated by you.

“What a sweet little thing, you are. What did I ever do in this life to have been blessed with such a love?” He asked softly, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours a few times.

“If I had to guess, it might have had something to do with your sympathy for weeds. I suppose they need love too.” You teased, and he didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your teasing before he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. You kissed him back and placed your hands on top of his, letting out another little giggle into his mouth. He pulled back and watched you in amusement, a smile spreading across his own face.

“What could you possibly be laughing at during a moment like this?” He asked and you scrunched your nose up and patted the backs of his hands a few times.

“Your beard tickled my lip.” You replied gleefully, your eyes meeting his in a mirthful gaze.

He slowly pulled away from you and took your hand again, pulling you into his side as the two of you started to walk once more, “Shall I cut it then?” He asked and chuckled.

You practically skipped alongside him as the two of you walked and you shook your head, “No. I think you look handsome. But you might need a haircut soon. You’ve got bangs nearly.” You pointed out and reached up with your free hand to push a strand of hair away from his eyes, “Don’t worry. I can do it for you.” You added and laid your head against the side of his arm once again.

He laced his fingers in between yours and gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he led you down along the dirt path, “How have your lessons with my mother been going?” He asked.

It was your turn to nearly roll your eyes now and you took a quick glance up at Aleksander, “Well. She doesn’t like me much, and I’m still not very good at controlling my fire so… to be continued. Maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t want to learn anymore. I have no use for these powers.” You replied and tapped the side of his hand with your pinky finger.

You were an Inferni, a poor one at that. Normally Aleksander would protest and tell you to embrace your gift but he didn’t this time, resigning to let you speak your mind. If you didn’t want to pursue your abilities, he wouldn’t force you, “I don’t think she dislikes you.” He replied down at you finally.

“Oh, I think she does. She’s always got a backhanded comment locked and loaded just for me.” You argued with a little sigh.

Aleksander knew it wasn’t you that she disliked in specific. It was just the fact that his mother disliked the fact that he was selfish enough to let himself love you. She always insisted that he’d ruin you, just like the girl he loved before you. She insisted that he wasn’t meant for you, always telling him to set you free before he inadvertently broke your wings. Deep down, he knew his mother was right. She usually was. But he couldn’t bring himself to ever make you leave. Not now. He was too far in.

He shook his head a couple of times and sighed, “She’s not exactly inviting. But that’s not to say she dislikes you. Don’t pay her any mind, my love.” He replied and then brought your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could place a few light kisses to your knuckles.

He lowered your hands back down between the two of you once again and he glanced up over the hill in the distance. You two were nearly to the small valley and he could tell your excitement was growing, because your steps got more hurried and you occasionally would let out giddy squeals and hums.

A snap of a stick on the path behind you had Aleksander sweeping you in front of him as he turned around to survey the area. The two of you had stopped walking now and he looked around behind both of you, finding nothing.

“What was that?” You asked quietly and glanced up at your lover, feeling a bit uneasy.

“I’m not sure, darling.” He replied cautiously and turned back around to glance down at you.

Your eyes were already fixed up on his face. You didn’t look scared, but you didn’t look like you felt too secure either, and he didn’t blame you. Something had shifted in the forest around you two, there was a strange feeling. You grabbed onto his arm tightly and you gave it a little tug.

“Sasha, we don’t have to go any farther. We can head back home now.” You whispered, but he shushed you softly and turned back around slowly to check the path behind the pair of you.

A small snapping sound came again, but this time it was now in front of the two of you. There was a little shuffle and another snap and he felt you yank his arm again.

“Aleksander.”

He turned around as your grip on his arm loosened and he looked down at your face, which was now drained of color. You wobbled a bit and fell forward onto him, and he swiftly caught you with a shocked exclamation of your name.

He held you upright and that’s when he saw the arrow that had lodged itself in your back and stuck out through your chest. He wildly looked around and had spotted two men in thick furs darting out from behind a tree. Drüskelle. He had barely a second to move the two of you before they let loose another arrow and he retaliated quickly.

One of the men let out a yell in their native tongue and Aleksander wasted no time in quickly diving down to the ground with you as another arrow flew. He gently sat you up against one of the small trees on the edge of the path and turned around, and with zero hesitation, finished the two men off easily with The Cut. As they fell to the ground, he looked around for more. When none came, he turned to you and scooped you up into his arms as quickly as he could, not daring to pull the arrow from your chest quite yet.

“Hey, hey. Y/n. You’re going to be alright.” He insisted.

But the way your head lolled to the side weakly made him think otherwise. You didn’t respond to him, but you looked up into his eyes, tears beading in the corners of yours.

“We’re going home. I’m taking you to my mother, we can fix this.” He promised and didn’t wait a single second more before he was dashing off down the path with you hanging all but limply in his arms. He could feel the warmth of your blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt and he grit his teeth, refusing to let himself panic. You were going to be okay. You had to be. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Aleksander was going to let you go now that he had finally found you after years upon years of being alone. He didn’t notice the tears gathering in his own eyes until they were falling down his cheeks and you let out a distressed sound.

“No, Sasha. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” You whispered hoarsely, and the sound of your voice only made it worse.

He ran straight out of the forest and through the field behind your home before he finally ran through the back door. He laid you down on your side atop the round wooden table in the middle of the room and he yelled for his mother, who came shortly after he called.

“Mother. We need to do something. Drüskelle, in the forest attacked us, and they-“ he started frantically, only to be cut off by the older woman.

“There is nothing you can do, Aleksander.” She said shortly and then shook her head, “We don’t have a healer nearby. We aren’t healers ourselves.”

He looked over at you, and you seemed so much smaller than usual now, curled up on the table with an arrow still protruding from your back, “Mother, there has to be a way. I will not let my lover die.”

“There is no way. There is no natural way for us to save lives. You know this. Bid her goodbye.” She said sternly.

His head perked up a bit and he reached out to make sure you were still alive by touching your pulse.

Weak, but still there. Just barely.

“But I can. I can do it, I’ve practi-“

“You cannot!” She protested and held her hand up to her son, “You will not! You will take whatever time you have left and say goodbye, for it is only the way of life. We see life come and go and we remain. Not even you can change that. I’ll give you space. That is final.” Baghra said sharply and turned on her heel to leave the two of you alone.

Aleksander was at your side in half a second, and he crouched down to be level with your face. Tears were rolling across your face and your lip trembled fearfully.

“It doesn’t hurt, Sasha. Don’t worry about me please.” You whispered and he reached out to brush tears from your eyes.

“I’m going to fix this. Okay? You aren’t going to die today. I swear it.” He promised, but his faith was running thin. He reached out and he grabbed your arm gently and held you in place, “I’m going to remove the arrow, okay? And then we’re going to heal you.”

“You are not a healer, Aleksander. Don’t do this.” You begged softly and he looked down into your eyes again. He pursed his lips and shook his head a few times.

“I won’t lose you. I won’t walk this earth without you by my side, do you understand?”

“No, Aleksander, no.” You protested, trying your best to sound stern like Baghra had, but your voice faltered and he knew you didn’t have much time left.

He ignored your protests and grabbed hold of the arrow and quickly pulled it out of your back, and whatever voice you had left was spent on the wail you let out as your blood began to freely spill out over the table. He quickly threw himself over you, only to find you shaking. He looked down at your face to learn that your shaking was from your silent sobs and he frowned deeply.

He was going to save you. It was going to be alright.

He closed his eyes and placed his hand over the bleeding hole in your back, wracking his brain for the strength to use the magic so forbidden that had been abused by his ancestor, to heal you. To save you.

He let out an agonized yell and finally felt the same cold, pricking sensation spread through his veins that had occurred the day he created The Fold. He felt stinging in his fingertips as he pushed out everything he could from his hand into your wound. Into you.

At long last, the stinging stopped and subsided, and Aleksander realized you’d gone still under his touch. He felt a little splash of relief and he turned you around onto your back, only to find your eyes closed. He felt his face drain of all color and he shakily reached up to feel your pulse against your throat.

Nothing.

To say the days following were that of pure anguish was to put it lightly. He’d taken you to the valley of millions and millions wildflowers and laid you to rest there. At least he knew you’d be somewhere you loved.

For weeks after your death, Baghra was full of warnings and disappointment for him, chastising him for using merzost once more.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Aleksander. You may have very well not healed your lover, but you don’t know what you’ve done. This will come back to you one day. You will regret it. There will be punishment.” She warned.

Not that he cared.

“Let me regret it. Let it haunt me for the rest of my days, woman. It’s not the only ghost that hangs above my head, now.”

You didn’t recall much. At all. All you knew is that one day you suddenly did recall, as if it was the beginning of your life.

Amnesia the doctor called it. You’d likely had a head injury and forgotten things, that’s all.

Whatever you were before, whatever life you led, it was erased from your mind without a single clue as to what it had been prior. In the last few years that you started recalling, you’d worked as a dress maker in the city of Ketterdam. When one of your clients had graciously invited you to come to Ravka’s Winter Fete with her and her daughter in trade of two elegant gowns for them, you’d accepted her offer immediately.

So there you stood, in the hallway of the crowded Ravkan palace, eyes traveling the faces of everyone who passed by. The two girls you’d attended with had gone off to greet the royal family, and you’d stayed back, opting to survey the crowd instead. You’d heard word that the Sun Summoner was going to be putting on a display in only a few short moments, and just as the thought crossed your mind, it all began. It started with a whirlwind of activity, and you watched the Grisha throughout the room showcase their abilities skillfully, and the sight invoked a strange feeling deep within your chest. You had the sudden urge to bring your hands together just as they did, feeling as if you could perform alongside them. You fought the urge back and flexed your hands a bit at your sides, shaking off the strange feeling.

Your eyes travelled to the front of the room and they fell upon a girl and a man, standing shoulder to shoulder, both wearing black. You assumed it was the Sun Summoner and who you had heard to be General Kirigan, the fierce Ravkan general who also happened to be Grisha. As the pair began their display of power, you felt your head begin to ache dully, and once the Sun Summoner’s light lit up the entire room, the pain in your head only grew sharper.

Everyone in the room seemed to be filled with excitement, and as the display was done, the volume seemed to increase tenfold, making you clutch your head between your palms.

The pair at the front of the room turned around and when you saw The General’s face, you blinked a few times. A thought clawed at the inside of your mind, begging to be let free. But you didn’t know how. You didn’t even know what it was. He seemed to notice you shortly after you noticed him, and you could’ve sworn you saw a look of complete astonishment cross his face as quick as a flash of lightning.

Suddenly the room seemed to blur out as if in your periphery and you gasped as little flickers of imagery flashed behind your eyes.

A field of flowers, the darkest eyes you’d ever seen, and fire. You furrowed your brow together and you leaned your hand up against the nearest wall, your chest rapidly rising and falling with short, quick breaths. Disorientation fell upon you and you found yourself stumbling through the crowd of partygoers and out of the room. The bustling hallway was a struggle for you to navigate, but you eventually prevailed and found the door to the courtyard. You all but went falling out the door and you stumbled clumsily until you reached grass and you held your hand to your chest as you stopped running. You felt sick to your stomach and your hands began to feel clammy and you swore that you heard someone calling your name- though you were unsure how you knew the name was yours- because you hadn’t been called by it before. You couldn’t even respond in anyway before your eyes rolled back into your head, and you were collapsing backwards towards the ground.

Aleksander felt insane when he followed you out of the palace. He’d had days where all he could do was think of you, but never once had he seen your face anywhere but his mind. He called after you, but you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did, you didn’t respond. He walked briskly up to you just in time to watch you collapse, and he lunged forward to catch your falling body in his arms awkwardly. The strange angle at which he held you up at made you look so small and fragile, and he hoisted you up into his arms. It couldn’t be you. There was no possible way it could have been. He didn’t dare look down at your face for a few moments, standing there in the courtyard with his jaw set firmly.

Finally, he did dare to look down, and when he did, he almost found himself collapsing with you. Sure, you were unconscious and your hair had become a bit tousled, but there was no mistaking the face that he saw. It was yours. His y/n.

He looked around wildly, trying to come up with an explanation for the mere fact that his very dead lover was here. How you were here. He buried you. He reached up with one hand and he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheeks. He refused to let himself feel relieved or happy or excited. If this was the punishment his mother had promised him years ago, he wouldn’t give in. But he couldn’t just leave you. Not out here, not like this. He stood with you in his arms for a while longer in contemplation before ultimately deciding he’d take you back to his chambers and wait for you to wake. If you woke. Then he’d proceed to ask who you were, to figure out what was happening.

He carried you off through the night towards the nearly deserted Little Palace, and once inside, he made a beeline for his bedroom. Once he reached the shelter of his room, he closed the door fast and locked it, looking around to make sure no one was inside. He promptly walked you to his bed and laid you out on it, staring down at you. The urge to lay at your side was consuming his every thought and he ground his teeth together, fighting back a round of tears.

Yours was the face he saw when he fell asleep. Every night. Some dreams were pleasant. You and him in the flowers, or even in bed together, happily. He’d hear your laugh, your hums, your sweet voice… all of it. Some dreams were not so kind, and these were the ones where he relived your last moments over and over again.

His endless patience had seemed to run out and his will to remain complacent broke. He’d take the pain of having to lose you again if this wasn’t real, he’d be damned all over again to feel the emptiness of your loss if only just a moment of his time could be spent by your side one last time.

So he kicked off his boots and removed his black decadent kefta, and he slid down into the bed next to you, his eyes not leaving your face once. He reached out across the minimal space he gave between the two of you and he grazed his fingertips across your cheekbones, up into your hair, down the side of your neck and along your jaw. Everywhere. He traced the outline of your lips and he swiped the pad of his thumb across your chin. Not a single thing had differed from his memory. If you’d told him he’d plucked you out from behind his eyes and laid you out in front of him, he would’ve believed it.

Oh yes, if he was to be damned with the consequences of trying to save you, then he’d take them. He’d take them graciously if it meant one last night at your side.

He was unsure of when he fell asleep, but he didn’t ever realize that he had until he felt hands on his face. His eyes shot open and he expected sunlight to light up his room, but instead it was dark, with only a glimmer of silver light filtering through the window. He frantically looked across from him on his bed and he reached up to push the hands away from his face, but once his eyes focused in the moonlit room, he dropped his hands and found himself lost in your eyes instead.

Your hands stayed against his cheeks and you seemed to be at a loss for words. He knew the feeling well. It was mutual.

The state of unconsciousness you had fallen into had been one of unrest. Memories upon memories began to flood your head all at once. Still, you were unaware of how you were alive and how you had come to be unearthed, but you assumed it must have had something to do with the merzost that you so vehemently opposed him using.

He reached out to touch your face so gently, as if he thought you were only a figment of the moonlight and would disappear underneath his touch. When you didn’t, he let out a sigh, one that sounded terrified and relieved all at the same time. You couldn’t find your voice while you stared at him, your mouth wanting to form a thousand words all at once.

Until it settled on just one.

“Sasha?”

To Aleksander, this was the sweetest sound he’d heard in his entire long life, and he couldn’t help the tears that loosed themselves from his eyes. He could only nod in response as he wrapped his arms around your small form and he pulled you against his chest.

If this was damnation, then he’d embrace it with open arms, and if this was a second chance to save you from the consequences of his past, then he’d do better this time. Whatever the case may be, he wasn’t going to leave this room until he was sure you wouldn’t evaporate into nothing. He laid his hand ever so protectively against the back of your head and he leaned his own head down until his lips touched your hairline. He could’ve whispered a million things to you at that moment, promised you everything, sung you praises and profess his love until he ran out of the breath to do so with, but he’d never been one for that many words all at once. So he leaned down to press his lips against yours, and it said everything he couldn’t all at once. He pulled back slowly and he tipped your head back a bit so that he could gaze down at your face, unchanged by all this time.

And so he uttered out a promise, one that he intended to keep this time, no matter the cost.

“Yes, my sweet girl. It’s me, and I will never lose you again.”

#aleksander morozova x you #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x you #the darkling x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x reader #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone

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highwayorgantrade · 1 year

Text

An Echo In The Dark (Part I)

Pairing: König x Female!Reader x Ghost

Request: No request no thoughts just big scary men

Summary: On a recon mission gone horribly wrong, you, Ghost, and Konig are subject to an experimental drug created by the enemy.

Word Count: 3.3k

Song inspo: IN MY MOUTH - Black Dresses

Warnings: Oh my god i am so sorry, sex pollen, (dub-con because of said sex pollen.), degradation, praise double penetration, anyone wanna go to Paris?, oral (m and f receiving), mention of drinking, mention of war, cursing, mentions of drugs (it's the "pollen."), choking, minor mention of a tummy bulge if you squint and assume.

Author's note: Genuinely, for once I don't know what to tell y'all, I just... I don't know. Oh! My best friend @quizzyisdone helped me come up with this! She's an astounding author and if you like what I write, you'll LOVE what she writes. Reader's code name is Echo (again).

When Laswell had called you to inform you of a new mission, excitement bit at your stomach. You liked your job, you liked (most) of the people you worked with, and you liked the adrenaline. The feeling died down as you eyed the bar across the street. This was definitely the address she gave you, a random location in London. It was kind of nice - not a dive, but not too fancy that you would stand out. Smart.

As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted by Laswell's face glancing up at you, and Ghost and König leaned over the table, untouched drinks in front of them.

"Hey, what can I get ya?" The bartender smiled widely at you, and the thought that he didn't know of the people in the room made you smile back.

"Jack and Coke, please." He nodded, and you took your place at the table.

"Jack and Coke? You have the taste of a 50 year old man." Ghost greeted you, keeping his hands crossed on the table. König stood when you approached, and sat back down wordlessly. You knew he was a shy person from the training grounds, so the action didn't offend you too terribly.

"Hello Ghost, still judgmental as ever." You narrowed your eyes at him, but a smile still crossed your face. "König, all good?"

"I'm happy to see you're still alive."

"Echo, we have kind of... a situation." Laswell leaned in to you. "We have intel of something in the Kangal mountains."

"Intel of 'something'? That doesn't sound too promising." You raised your eyebrow. "You know I'm in." Laswell took a breath, and held it as the bartender placed the drink in front of you.

"All I know definitively is that the location has been mostly abandoned, but something in there is a major security threat."

"Mostly abandoned?" König glanced at Laswell. "So it's lightly guarded? Is there another location?"

"If there is, we need to find where. I genuinely do not know anything else." She looked frustrated at the lack of information.

"And what of your informant? How do they know there's 'something' here? It sounds like a trap." Ghost leaned back in his chair and shook his head slightly.

"My informant is to be highly trusted, and their identity is confidential." She took a deep breath. "I requested the three of you because I know that your personalities together is... quite the force. Ghost - You think things through. You're analytical. König - you're damn good with a gun, and your skills are top notch."

"You can be our muscle." You grinned at him and kicked his foot under the table.

"Echo's talent is that she's fucking insane." He shot back at you and returned the kick, causing your chair to shake. Laswell shrugged.

"In layman's terms, yeah." You shot her a look of playful disbelief.

"Alright." Ghost stood, sighing. "I'm in."

"I will see you in the mountains." König nodded at you and Ghost.

"This is gonna be fucking awesome."

"The room you're looking for is going to be on the north corner of the building. Let me know when you think you've got it." Laswell's voice crackled in your ear, a slight comfort that you were still connected to her in the large facility. Your eyes met with Ghost, and he nodded at you, wordlessly confirming that he heard the direction. The building was spooky, there was no doubt about it, and every so often, you had to resist the urge to shiver, even underneath your uniform and gear. You felt as though you were walking straight into darkness - you didn't know exactly what you were looking for, and you didn't know who was behind it.

"10-4. Approaching location now." König's rough whisper came through your earpiece, and seconds later, he appeared behind Ghost soundlessly, looking even more threatening in the dim lighting of the hallway. Ghost turned to see König behind him, and jumped at the sight of him.

"Fuck, mate, you're creepy." Although the comment was under his breath, it still felt loud compared to the silence around you.

"Could say the same about you, skull-face." You were quick to come to König's defense. Although your personalities were best for the job, they could clash, a little more often than not. And while you never talked about it, you could tell that König's size was an insecurity of his. Ghost glared at you from behind his mask, and huffed. "Let's get a move on, then."

Hallway after hallway, your stomach jumped at the possibility of somebody standing in your way. Or multiple somebodies. However, there was never a soul. It seemed like even the rats and cockroaches deemed this place condemned. Eventually, a door came into view with a language written on it that you couldn't understand. 'Коркунуч - Ачпаңыз. Кошумча химиялык заттар'. That's not Russian.

"Uh, Laswell, we're on the north side. I got a black door with some fuckin' words on it. None I can recognize." You spoke quietly in the radio, hoping that she would have a translation for you.

"That's it. Nice job. Search the room and report anything that looks suspicious or out of place."

"10-4."

"I'm gonna kick in the door. Be prepared if someone hears." Ghost took a deep breath and braced himself, but was stopped by König's hand on his shoulder. He reached for the door handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked.

"That was easy." You chuckled at Ghost's glowering, his eyes narrowed at the door, like it was the door's fault for being unlocked. Quickly, you raised your weapon, and shouldered into the room, quickly scanning the corners for any immediate dangers. "Clear."

Ghost and König filed in behind you, closing the door behind them. The room was dark, save for a dim fluorescent imbedded in the ceiling. Dust was settled on everything, and it was clear that nobody had been in this room for ages. File cabinets upon file cabinets lined the walls, and a table sat in the middle of the room, papers and manila folders littered the top, and the desk in the corner didn't look any more organized.

"Ghost, set in on the desk and see if there's anything. König, search the table, and I'll work on these cabinets." He nodded at your direction, and began flipping through papers, trying to find anything he could understand. König ripped his hood off, and leaned over the table.

The cabinets all looked in the same state of disrepair, save for one that looked just slightly out of place. Okay, you've been flying on sheer dumb luck all the way up to now, why stop? You pulled open a drawer, and the cabinet jolted at the force, a lock preventing your progress. You were met with a simple black screen with a keypad. Fuck, there's a code?

"Hey, see if any of you can find me a 4 digit code." You called, giving a light kick to the bottom of the cabinet.

"Try 1992, it's on this newspaper." Ghost tossed the paper at you, and you looked it over. Is that...

"Hey, is this Bill Clinton shaking hands with this guy?" You stared at the paper harder, trying to place the location.

"Yeah, that's the UN HQ in New York. What country joined the UN in 1992?" Ghost looked at you, and you shrugged.

"Must not have been very happy about it, I guess. Come look." You tilted your head toward the cabinet, and König joined you and Ghost. "Let's pop this bitch open." You mumbled, and typed in the code. A click sounded through the room as the drawer was unlocked. "I'm so fuckin' good." You grinned to yourself, and Ghost nudged you with his boot, reminding you that he was the one who gave you the code. Whatever. Your paychecks would all be the same. Hopefully.

As soon as you pulled the drawer open, a grey gas filled the room, and you could only think about Ghost's comment earlier.

"It sounds like a trap."

Before you could react, the gas filled your lungs, and the expectation of pain filled you, weighing heavy in your chest. Despite every single danger alert going off in your body, your couldn't bring yourself to move. It was like your legs refused to work, and panic filled your mind. Was this lethal? Was this one of the gases you learned about, where it would destroy you from the inside out?

"God fucking damn it!" Ghost roared, and bolted for the door, attempting to air the room out. König grabbed your arm, and it felt like he had just touched you with a branding iron. Even through his gloves, his touch was burning.

"Ow, fuck König, that hurts, fucking stop!" You screamed at him through your haze, but he only ignored you. Your mind was fuzzy, and you could barely comprehend that you were being moved outside the room. When the wall met your back, you heard the slamming of the door and the coughing of the two men next to you, trying to clear out whatever the hell had just infected you all.

"Echo, she got the worst of it." Ghost struggled for air, and his shaking hands reached for his canteen while he crouched next to you. You couldn't feel the cold air anymore, and you felt like you were on fire, and there was a feeling of... Want? You wanted something? Yeah, you wanted to not fucking die. Panic rose in your throat, and you hastily ripped your gear off in a desperate attempt to try and get as much non-contaminated air as you could.

"Echo, what's going on?" König appeared at the other side of you, taking steady, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "Talk to us, what's happening?"

The feeling was unbearable, and any breath you took to try and speak was cut short by a fit of coughing.

"Focus." Ghost growled, and put the canteen up to your lips, forcing you to drink. "Don't cough. Just take it."

The command made you widen your eyes, and the burning cooled down, from a death sentence to a serious discomfort.

"Good, good. You're doing so good." König's eyes were still wild, worried. You didn't mean to choke at his words, but it felt like your chest tightened just at the praise. The desire in the pit of your stomach grew stronger. "Come, we need to get out of this hallway. There's a different room up here. Can you walk?" You nodded your head, but you were unsure. If you couldn't manage to distance yourself from being sprayed with a mysterious gas, how could you walk? "Up you go, then."

You can walk because he's telling you to walk.

What the fuck? No. You can walk on your own accord. When you stood, the hallway spun slightly until you could reorient yourself to your surroundings. Ghost stood at the entrance of the room König referenced, and before you could react, König wrapped his arm around your back, and picked you up, supporting your legs with his other arm.

Being this close to him was calming the pain in your body, and replacing it with pure euphoria. You had never thought about König in that way before this. Sure, he was attractive, and the sheer size of him made you wonder if you could see the bulge of his-.

"Lay her on the table. I don't want her moving by herself until we can figure out exactly what the hell that was." Ghost's voice modulator was rough, and it sent shocks straight through you. When König set you down, you gripped at his shirt, desperate to keep the feeling alive.

"It's hot. I'm fucking hot." You groaned when he pulled away, and pouted at the loss of contact. This room was almost the same as the other one, but there were no file cabinets, only a folder placed on a desk, the table you were placed on, and a few scattered chairs.

"I know." König shook his head and leaned against the wall, his eyes clenched shut. "Ghost?"

"Right there with you." He fingered through the file, reading whatever was in it. "König." Ghost's tone had completely shifted, but you couldn't be bothered to pick your head up to look at him, you were focused on a point on the wall, trying to keep your imagination from wandering at Ghost's voice. König met Ghost at the desk, bent so he could read whatever was on that paper. You trusted that whatever you needed to know, they would tell you.

"Does that mean-?" König's voice was soft, a harsh contrast to Ghost's.

"Echo, stay here. König and I need to talk." And with that, they both exited the room swiftly.

The only thing on your mind was seeing Ghost and König together, and the thought caused another jump in your lower stomach. The feeling of König's hard chest against your body returned to you, and you were only reminded of the heat that seemed to be radiating out of your body. On instinct, your legs pressed together, and it appeared that any rational thought you had was left in the room you were poisoned in.

God, it was really was hot in there. The hushed, and sometimes harsh whispers of your team were barely registered in your brain, as something in you had become animalistic - powerful, hungry, and downright scary. The only thought swimming in your mind - If it's so hot, take off your top. Ghost and König wouldn't mind. They said they were hot too. It would be fine. The scraping of the door opening had interrupted your action, leaving your uniform top half-buttoned.

König's hands grasped at the straps of his gear, and Ghost's eyes never left yours, even in your partial state of undress. It would be a lie if you said you didn't enjoy how affected the pair looked.

"Echo, what are you doing?" König's voice sounded strained and low, and the rasp went straight through you.

"'It's hot." You whined, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. The animal was circling now - you were toying with your prey. Teasing it.

"Yeah, we, uh," König cleared his throat. "We know it's hot. It's- scheiße, it's intolerable." He looked seriously uncomfortable, and Ghost's silence wasn't helping to ease your tension. "The gas we were sprayed with was a... Drug, of sorts."

A drug? That's what this mystery enemy was hiding in the middle of nowhere?

"In short, the drug was being tested for use for the purpose of..." He hesitated, struggling to find the words he was looking for, and König only seemed to get more nervous as he was met silence.

"Repopulation. Dying country." Ghost finally spoke up, and you just barely caught his eyes flicking down to the exposed skin of your chest before they met yours again. "The heat, that feeling that you've got - that we've all got - it won't go away. Not unless we-" He took a stuttering breath, his hands clasped together. "Complete the objective."

The tension in silence combined with the way they were staring at you, it's like they were expecting you to blow up any second. König was clearly nervous, his eyes jumped between you and the floor, and Ghost's eyes were unreadable. The creature that was clawing at your throat, circling König and Ghost, begging you to give the command - was now uncontrollable.

This would be easy.

"Ghost, does König look... scared to you?" You could barely recognize your own voice. That low, purring tone was unrecognizable. Ghost blinked, taken aback by your question, before he snuck a glance over at the man beside him.

"He looks fuckin' terrified." He leaned against the desk, arms crossed against his chest.

"I don't know why. I don't bite. Do I look like I bite, Ghost?" You hopped off the table, talking to Ghost, but walking toward König, cocking your head to the side. A slight smile tugged at your lips when you approached him, stopping just before him.

"You might." Ghost was entertained, watching the way you toyed with the man in front of you, like you didn't have to crane your neck to look up at him. You weren't as tall as either one of them, but you had König wrapped around your finger.

König's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and the grip on his gear had tightened, threatening to snap the harness that clung to his torso.

"Do you want to find out, König?" You stretched out his name, the meaning of the word not lost on you. The heat inside you was growing stronger again, and the want was turning into pure need. You needed them, and this pull was unlike any other desire you've ever had.

Your hand reached up to the back of König's head, his eyes were wide as he made purposeful eye contact again, asking you one last time if this is what you wanted. His head leaned down next to yours, your lips next to his ear.

"I want you to find out." You whispered, and your low voice sending shivers down his spine was the breaking point for him. König ripped the earpiece out, and threw it on the ground before gripping your hips and pushing you back onto the table, his lips meeting yours aggressively. The grip he had on you was nearly bruising, but you didn't care. In fact, you wanted more. Your fingers twisted in König's hair, pulling him closer to you - you knew the sound of his moan would stay implanted in your brain forever.

When the back of your thighs met the table, his hands slid from your hips to the bottom of your thighs, sitting you on top of the table. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you arched your chest into him, feeling his erratic breathing and the low vibrations of his groaning.

"God, please, König." Your voice was low and breathy, and the outline of his length against his pants was driving you absolutely crazy. A dark laugh interrupted your thought process, and you looked over to see Ghost watching you intently. König took this opportunity to start going in on your neck, leaving dark bruises in his path.

"You haven't even touched her, and she's still begging for it." Ghost's remark was snide, but you could barely focus past the feel of König unbuttoning your shirt in a frenzy, his hands shaking in the adrenaline. You glared at Ghost, your eyes half-lidded, and leaned back, giving König more access to your chest.

"If you want something, you're gonna have to speak up." Your tone matched his mockingly, and he rolled his eyes at you before flicking them back down at König pulling at your boots and tossing them... Somewhere? It didn't matter right now. Ghost cocked his head at you, his arms still tightly crossed around his chest.

"Could say the same for you, love." He pushed off the desk with his hip, your eyes following him until he walked behind you. Fuck. You wanted to keep looking at him. The feeling of König's mouth on you was gone, and when you looked down at him in irritation, his hands hovered above the belt of your pants, staring up at... Not you, but the figure that now stood behind you.

A gloved hand snaked its way around your neck, and fingers tilted your head back to see Ghost leaned over you, his gaze intense. You could see why people were intimidated by him now that he was standing above you, his chest rising and falling. His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, and you finally got it.

They weren't your prey.

You were theirs.

#könig call of duty #könig x reader #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x könig x reader #call of duty mw2 #cod fanfic #female!reader

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 9 months

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Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 7: Father and Daughter (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 7: Father and Daughter

A hunt, a reunion, and a conflict. A normal day in Westeros then.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Nothing of note, save for parental trauma and a notable lack of Daemon shenanigans.

Word Count: 5.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: OH MY GOD IM ALIVE???? Yeah, it appears I am 😭 I'm so sorry about the long wait on this chapter, the past two weeks have been wild for me ever since I came back from my vacation. 1. My dad crashed his car? 2. I had like five projects due during the past two weeks and I had to write in a report and evaluation about my project groupmate who essentially did nothing 😐 if I could beat someone's ass without getting suspended, istg... 3. I've been suffering from a lot of chest pains recently, which kinda stopped me from doing my thing for a while 4. I had insane writers block for like a week and it was horrid 😖 but luckily, I'm back now, and hopefully updating more often! And also I've learnt that my classmate is following me on tumblr, I am a little mortified, but hello regardless. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 💕 no Daemon cameo unfortunately, but he'll be back next chapter, and messier than ever.

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

109 years after Aegon's Conquest

The doors to the room burst open, and you stepped in, a little out of breath. Lord Hobert Hightower and the Hand, who were standing closest to the doorway, were engrossed deep in conversation when you walked in, and you heard something along the lines of “It’s only a matter of time before Viserys names him heir.” You try not to frown at that, nodding politely to them before heading over to the crowd gathered over at the other side of the room, cooing at the heir in question: little Aegon, who was celebrating his second nameday.

“Ah, Y/N!” Viserys exclaimed happily, gesturing for you to come and stand between him and Alicent, whose face was radiant with happiness. Viserys signalled for the wet nurse to step forward, and before you knew it, little Aegon was in your arms, babbling in that toddler frenzy of his. The assemblage of lords and ladies stepped closer to you, much to your discomfort, as you forced a cheerful smile and bounced Aegon up and down in your arms, which made him squeal with delight. “I fear that Aegon might come to see you as his mother sooner or late, Y/N, given how much he adores you.” Viserys claimed. You flush at his words, and Alicent soon steps in, smiling, “Tis true. Aegon always perks up when he’s in your arms.” You were sure you would melt into a puddle if you were subject to any more of their compliments. “You flatter me, Your Graces.”

In the periphery of your vision, you saw Ser Tyland Lannister attempt to get Viserys’ attention, and you handed back a now fussing Aegon to his nursemaid. Alicent shuffled over to the feast table, and she smiled brightly as you approached. Placing a hand on her swollen belly, your heart fluttered with delight when you felt a slight kick. Though the horrors of childbirth still plagued your mind, being there for Alicent’s relatively smooth birth with Aegon had made your fears lessen a little.

“How’s the babe?” you ask. “Only active when you’re here, it seems,” Alicent laughed. “They never seem to kick for anyone else other than you. I think they will adore you as much as Aegon does.” You chuckle, stroking Alicent’s belly gently. “What if the kicking is a sign that the babe will dislike me?” Alicent patted your hand, “Definitely not. I have no doubt in my mind that you will be dear to the babe.” she said with conviction. You blush at her words, “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

“Can someone tell me where in the Seven Hells Rhaenyra might be?” Viserys’ frustrated bellow drew you and Alicent out of your tender moment. Alicent’s face twisted with worry, and you were sure your face was a mirror image of hers. “You came in later than the rest of us. Did you see Rhaenyra anywhere?” You shake your head glumly, “She wasn’t in her chambers, or her apartments.” Alicent sighed in exasperation, “Viserys has questioned nearly every courtier in the room, and not a single one of them has a clue. Where might she be?” You chewed your lip, thinking back to the snippet of conversation you had overheard between the Hand and Lord Hobert. “She’s upset right now. The two of you were…” You refrained from finishing the sentence when you saw Alicent wince. “Do you have any inkling on where she might go to cool off?” “I don’t belie-” A look of realisation dawned in Alicent’s eyes. “You know somewhere?” You ask her urgently. Alicent nodded, “I’ll go find her. You should stay and satiate yourself before the journey.” “Are you sure?” You ask her, concerned. Alicent squeezed your hand gently. “Don’t worry about me. I think I can get Rhaenyra to see reason.”

You glance pensively at Alicent’s retreating figure. Sighing, you approached the refreshments table, smiling gratefully as a servant handed you a plate with some slices of roast pork. You heard your name being called, and turned around to find Viserys. “Your Grace-” you moved to curtsy, but Viserys stopped you, “I told you, no need for such stuffy courtesies when you are with me.” You smiled wryly, “I thought it wouldn’t apply in a room full of courtiers.” Viserys waved away your words, “You are my family, Y/N. There are no such constraints within your own kin.” You smile sadly at the word ‘family’. It was a little sad to say, but you definitely did feel more of a kinship with the current members of House Targaryen over those of your own house.

“Speaking of kin,” Viserys’ voice turned serious. “I am in need of a favour from you, Y/N.” You snapped to attention. “Whatever you need, Viserys.” He sighed, looking mournful and irritated at the same time. “It has been nigh three years since I have wedded Alicent. Time after time, I have tried to approach Rhaenyra, but she shuns me away every single time. The rare chances she actually sits down and listens, she sulks like a child and only provides me with short responses.” Viserys sighed again, whatever sadness he had turning into disappointment and exasperation. “This is not the way the heir to the Iron Throne should behave.” He looked at you beseechingly, “I implore you, Y/N. I believe what Rhaenyra needs is for a motherly figure to talk to her, and persuade her to abandon such foolish antics. I fear Alicent would not be able to serve such a role, since Rhaenyra’s ire is directed at the both of us. But you,” You swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen how close Rhaenyra kept you after Aemma’s death. For months, apart from Alicent, you were her closest confidant. I know naught of what has transpired between the two of you, but I believe you to be the best person for this tiresome task. Will you do methis favour?”

Your expression was resigned, but you forced out a smile nonetheless. “But of course. I will do my best, Viserys.” He closed his eyes in relief, clapping you on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Y/N. Thank you.” You gave a tentative smile back, painfully aware of the numerous eyes glued to the both of you. What you failed to notice, however, were the heavy gazes of Otto and Hobert Hightower on you.

An awkward silence weighed upon the royal wheelhouse as it made its way to the Kingswood. You glance uncomfortably between Viserys, Alicent, and Rhaenyra, watching with some pity as Viserys attempted to make conversation with his irascible and sullen daughter. A miniature dragon thrust in your face soon drew your attention however, and you looked down to frown admonishingly at little Aegon, who blinked his wide violet eyes at you innocently. The little devil, you were sure he was trying to garner your attention on purpose. Earlier, he had been weeping inconsolably, much to the nursemaid’s and Alicent’s distress. But when you had taken him into your arms, he had ceased his tears immediately and gave you a cherubic smile, which made Alicent give you a knowing smile and Rhaenyra to look at the both of you in disdain. The expression of disdain had yet to depart from Rhaenyra, as you played patiently with Aegon, flying his dragon miniature around him and smiling as the toddler spun his head around to follow the motions of the dragon with rapt fascination.

The tension in the wheelhouse was not lightening in the slightest bit, as Viserys began talking about Rhaenyra giving him grandchildren, of all things. You had to stop yourself from groaning in exasperation. If Viserys truly wanted to reconnect with Rhaenyra again, why was he digging himself into an even bigger hole? He should know that after Aemma, Rhaenyra would be disinclined to entertain notions of childbirth. You wanted to put your head in your hands, but Aegon poked you in the cheek.

“No one’s here for me!” Rhaenyra’s angry outburst halted all activity in the wheelhouse, including Aegon’s. You froze, looking up at Rhaenyra, but her bitter gaze was focused solely on her father. All of you endured the rest of the ride in silence.

The rocking of the wheelhouse soon came to an end. You remained seated as Viserys and Alicent stepped out to the raucous cheers of the crowd, allowing Aegon’s nursemaid to take him from your arms. You remembered Viserys’ plea, and took in Rhaenyra’s wistful expression. “Hail, hail! Aegon the Conqueror babe, Second of His Name!” You grimace when you hear the tasteless remark.

Rhaenyra’s fists were clenched at her sides, and her eyes were shut. With frustration, or with sadness, she didn’t know. Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand taking her fisted hand and unclenching it. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. “I don’t need your pity.” Rhaenyra tried to sound snappy, but her voice was hoarse. You didn’t answer, instead intertwining your fingers with Rhaenyra. She reluctantly opened her eyes, only to see you directing a hostile glare to the outside commotion, as more and more voices heralded Aegon as the Second of His Name. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at that, letting some of the tension seep out of her muscles.

At least there was someone in her dark and lonely corner, even if that someone’s trustworthiness had yet to be ascertained.

You were sitting next to Alicent, as she held court with the various noble ladies who had attended the hunt. You listened, silently sipping from your goblet as they conversed about the ongoing war in the Stepstones. You watched as Larys Strong and Rhaenyra soon joined in the conversation, though a slight frown of distaste was soon visible on your face, when Lady Lannister and Lady Redwyne in particular, began picking on Rhaenyra. You had to hide a smirk when Rhaenyra made a well-directed jab at Lady Redwyne, and the smirk only widened when you saw her pig-faced dog gobble greedily at the cake on her plate. How fitting.

“You know, Lady Y/N.” Your head snapped up as Lady Redwyne addressed you. She had a displeased look on her face: clearly she hadn’t missed your smirk at her expense. “I was…pleasantly surprised to hear Her Grace appointed you as her chief lady-in-waiting.” Your eyes narrowed, your dormant prickly nature coming to life once more. “It was a great honour, Lady Joselyn. One that I am greatly grateful to Her Grace for.”

Lady Redwyne gave you a smile, that you knew from all your years of court politics, was filled with ill intent. “I must say, if you were out in the battlefield fighting on the Stepstones, the war would be won by now.” You felt Alicent stiffen next to you, and you instinctively reached out to put your hand on hers. “What are you insinuating, Lady Redwyne?” Alicent’s tone was sharper than usual. Lady Redwyne attempted to school her features back to deference, but her lips were curved upwards. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was not attempting to insinuate anything. It was a compliment to Lady Y/N.” You levelled a fierce glare at her, but she seemed unaffected, looking at you straight in the eye. “It is a well known fact that she and Prince Daemon had tempers that rivalled each other. With such willfulness, she would make a formidable opponent on the battlefield, would she not?”

You were about to deliver an equally cutting and backhanded response, but you were surprised when you heard Rhaenyra speak up once more, “Yes, Lady Redwyne. But as luck would have it, she is the Queen’s lady-in-waiting now.” Rhaenyra’s tone was acidic. “And I am certain that she will carry out her duties with skill and grace. The Queen will not be able to find someone as capable as her.”

The ladies were stunned that Rhaenyra had spoken up for you, none more so than you and Alicent. “The princess is right. Lady Y/N has been a dutiful lady-in-waiting and companion. The Seven have truly blessed me with her.” Your eyes water with gratitude, as Lady Redwyne and the other ladies fall silent after both the princess and the queen’s swift defence of you.

So this was what kinship felt like.

Night had fallen, and the air was ablaze with the smell of smoke. You had sat faithfully by Alicent all day, as she entertained lords and ladies alike. You had not seen Rhaenyra in quite some time though, and you worry about where she could have wandered off to. Your anxiety only increased tenfold when you saw Viserys’ goblet never straying from his hand, and he had been lifting it to his lips moreso after his conversations with the Hand, Jason Lannister, and Lyonel Strong, in particular. Alicent was clearly on edge as well, her brown eyes watchful as she witnessed her husband lose himself in his cups. When Viserys abruptly left the tent after a brief, yet intense conversation with Lyonel Strong, Alicent got up to go after him, but you gently pushed her back down to her seat, giving her a reassuring look. She should not need to see her husband in such a misbegotten state, while in her pregnancy, you thought to yourself, as you wrapped your shawl around you, shivering in the cold night air.

You eventually found Viserys by the huge bonfire, downing yet another goblet of wine, while being guarded by two Kingsguard. They nodded at you as you passed. You went straight to Viserys, taking the cup whilst he was distracted. “I think that’s enough for you tonight, Viserys.” Your voice was soft, yet firm. He gave you an enervated smile. “The night is cold, you shouldn’t be out here.” You hand the goblet over to a Kingsguard. “Who will look after you, then? And make sure you do not drink yourself into a stupor?” Viserys laughed heartily, before he coughed. You reach for him, concerned. He stared into the flames, looking like he wanted to step into them himself. “Y/N.” “Hmm?” Viserys took a deep breath, trying to control the slurring in his voice. “What do you think is the foundation of House Targaryen’s strength?”

You tilt your head to the side questioningly, “That is a trick question, right? Of course, the answer is House Targaryen’s dragons.” Viserys smiled ruefully, turning over to face you. You were taken aback by the blazing intensity, perhaps even madness in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Y/N. It began with a dream.” He turned back to face the fire. “When Daenys the Dreamer had the dream that prophesied the end of the Valyrian Freehold, that dream saved House Targaryen. While all the other dragonlords were destroyed, it was only us who survived.” “I know of that tale. Your grandsire told us that tale when we were younger.”

Viserys didn’t seem to hear you, however, his bleak gaze still on the fire. “In my line, many had been dragonriders. Very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of dragons, next to the power of prophecy?” You shivered, and not because of the cold. Yet you continue listening. “When Rhaenyra was a child, I saw it in a dream. As vivid as these flames, I saw it. A male babe, born to me, wearing the Conqueror’s crown. And I so wanted it to be true, to be a dreamer myself. I sought that vision again, night after night…but it never came again. I poured all my thought and will into it. And my obsession killed Aemma.” You looked away at that, your heart wrenched with grief. “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss of grief and regret. That naming her heir would set things right.”

“Are you saying you regret naming Rhaenyra heir then?” Viserys looked grieved. “Oftentimes, yes…I have. I worried that I had named Rhaenyra out of anger towards Daemon, not out of love, or for the good of the realm.” He moved to grip your shoulders, tears in his eyes. “Y/N, I never imagined that I would remarry. That I would have a son. What if…what if I was wrong all along?”

You stared into his despair-filled eyes. “I cannot tell you if you’re wrong, Viserys. There are only two paths ahead of you now, and as King, you must be prepared to take one, and soon.” Viserys chuckles, drooping his head. “What if I’m not sure what path I should take?” Your voice was quiet. “Then the realm will descend into chaos.”

The both of you were silent, staring at each other in the firelight. While you couldn’t say that you approved of Viserys’ decisions in the past three years, after all this, he was your friend, and he was just a mere mortal, plagued by regrets, grief, and hesitation. Just like you, and everyone else. Even kings were not infallible to weakness, you surmised. And in that moment, there was a mutual understanding and grievance shared between the both of you: the burden of choice.

The morrow brought about clear skies and sun, much to the delight of the lords partaking in the hunt. It did not alleviate your worries however, as Rhaenyra still had not returned to the encampment. You found yourself milling about today, much too tired to suffer the thinly veiled jabs the fellow noblewomen were directing at you about your infamous temper.

You were dressed in a simpler riding outfit today, to mingle around with the various smallfolk and merchants that had set up stalls in the encampment, hoping eagerly to attract some lord’s attention and earn a few gold dragons. You beamed as you sampled a rather delicious roast pork skewer, giving the stall owner - a rather plump woman - two golden dragons, much to her glee. You strode back to the main tent, feeling satisfied, when you suddenly heard the sound of hooves. You turned your head as a palomino horse skidded to a halt, and a familiar man, with more grey hairs than he had the last time you saw him, dismount from the horse and take off his riding gloves. His eyes light up as soon as he catches sight of you, and without giving you a window to escape, he strode towards you. You chew your lip in dread as he approached.

“Father.”

“Y/N.” He beams at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners. You smile awkwardly at him, fidgeting with your fingers. His smile falters a little when he notices your hesitation. “I haven’t seen you in years, daughter. Does this momentous occasion not warrant a hug?” You inwardly sigh, and reach out to embrace your father. Your father grins at you as you pull away after an awkward pause. “You have grown, daughter. You look beautiful.” “You flatter me, Father.” “Come, walk with me. We have much to talk about.” You swallowed, but followed as he set out for the forested edge of the campground.

The both of you strode in silence for a while, before you ventured to break the silence. “The King didn’t mention you would be joining us for the hunt, Father. Why the sudden change of heart?” He sighed. “Can an old man not choose to be in nature once in a while?” “Of course you can, father. I was just concerned: you are no longer in the pink of health, and riding all the way from Highgarden to the Kingswood is a gruelling journey.” Your father waved his hand dismissively. “Twas nothing. I might be getting on in my years, but I recently found a new source of reinvigoration.”

“Oh?” you cocked your head curiously. You sincerely hoped the new source of reinvigoration was not a new bid for your hand. Your father smiled, “I recently remarried to Lady Clarice of House Fossoway.” Seeing your confused look, he hurried to clarify. “Of Cider Hall.” Surprise creased your features. “But…wasn’t that Mother’s maiden house? Lady Clarice was her cousin, was she not?” Your father’s smile was beginning to look strained. “Does it matter, daughter? What matters is that I am happy with her, is it not? And I am certain she will give me strong sons soon.” You regard him with a degree of caution, noting the shift in his voice. In your years of dealing with court politics, you could instinctively tell when a situation was about to go from bad to worse. “I did not know you had any plans on remarrying after Mother’s death.”

“And whose fault is that, daughter?” Your father’s tone turned chiding. “I know you’ve been ignoring all the ravens I’ve sent to you over the past few years. Specifically, those with letters attached from me pleading for you to just find yourself a match at court or select one of the eligible lords in the lists I sent you.” You blushed, looking sheepish. Matthos sighed. “Daughter, you are no longer young. It is past time you are wed. I only want what’s best for you.”

“But-” you blurted out, “What if I don’t think getting married is what’s best for me, Father?” Your father looked askance at that. “What else could a young lady such as yourself desire other than marriage?” You bit your lip, “Father, the truth is…I do not think I have a desire to wed now…or ever.” You were beginning to get anxious as your father’s face lost some of his paternal tenderness. “Five years. I had hoped that our time apart had given you some time to reflect on your…misconceptions.” He gripped your shoulders, an intense blaze in his eyes as your heart began to thud with dread. “The matter of marriage is not one that you can dismiss so easily anymore, Y/N. It entails the survival and future of House Tyrell. You must do your duty and wed a respectable lord, for the sake of our house.” Though you had heard those words aplenty, today, it was like something uninhibited had seized control of you, as you burst out. “Why should I care about doing my duty to House Tyrell?” you snapped. “I have made it clear that it is not my intention to ever take a husband, now and in the foreseeable future. You claim this is all done for my own happiness. So why can’t you just respect my wishes?”

“Because you are not just some poxy peasant who can gallivant about as you please. You are my daughter!” You were shocked when your father suddenly raised his voice. Trepidation had dimmed your previous righteousness. He tightens his grip on your shoulders, his expression filled with an anger you had never glimpsed before. This…this was not the father you remember. The father you knew had never once raised his voice at you, always treating you with patience as his only child. Though he was prone to bouts of frustrated pleading when you did not acquiesce to his wishes to get married, he had never once shouted at you like that. Or even gripped your shoulders with such forcefulness you feared he might strike you. “You are just as useless as your late mother.” You were stunned, your eyes searing with hot tears. “Do not insult Mother like that. She was the most wonderful woman-” “Wonderful, you say?” your father snorted. “If she were so wonderful, then she would have provided me with a strong and healthy son to succeed me! Instead, she left me with a daughter who is ungrateful and strangely determined to remain a spinster all her life.” he spat out the words with such vitriol that you were taken aback. “If she were so wonderful,” your father continued with his rant. “Then would House Tyrell be in imminent danger of collapsing, all because the only heirs I have are your incompetent, doltish cousins who will run the legacy our ancestors and I have built to the ground?” He moved to clasp your hand tightly in his, looking desperate and angry all at once. “Daughter, your father is imploring you. You must get wed, and provide me with a grandson. You cannot let House Tyrell go to ruin.” You stare at him, feeling beleaguered. “Do my wishes mean nothing to you?” “This is because your wishes are obscenely unreasonable, Y/N.” your father snaps. “It is practically unheard of for a woman of your status to not wed.” “It is not!” you insisted, “I am the chief lady-in-waiting to the Queen now, I have duties I must perform. And there have been histories of lords whose daughters were largely spinsters. Moreover, you have remarried.” Your voice became desperate as you tried to make your father see reason. “Lady Clarice is young, she will give you many sons in due time. Suitable heirs to Highgarden. I do not understand why you are putting all this pressure on me.” You took a deep breath, preparing to make your final stand. “I want to enjoy the rest of my youth, Father. Not to sit in a castle, entrapped in a loveless marriage and pumping out potential heirs for my husband and for you. I want to live my life, free of constraints.” You looked at him, unshed tears in your eyes. “Please, father. This is the one thing I have ever asked of you, and that is to respect my wishes.”

Matthos was silent for a long while, and you held hope, briefly, that you might have gotten through to him with your pleading. “Foolish, insolent girl!” Your hopes were dashed as your father flung off your hand, shouting at you. “How can you be so selfish? To not take responsibility in ensuring the continuation of our house’s line?” “That is your responsibility, not mine!” you shouted back. Seeing that pleas would not get to your father now, you resorted to fighting fire with fire instead. “Had you really cared about continuing our house’s bloodline, you would’ve remarried years ago!” You could see how your shouts were drawing the attention of some courtiers, given how close the both of you were to the camp for royals. You heard the faint sound of hooves behind you, but you ignored them, too engrossed in your argument with your father. “Producing heirs is a lord’s responsibility. So if you are accusing me of not doing my duty, you should first be reprimanding yourself.”

Your father’s face grew red. “You little brat! How dare you say these things about your father!” “I spoke only the truth,” you shot back. He raised his hand, and for a moment you were afraid he was going to slap you for your outburst. Instead, he went to grip your shoulders again, “For years, I have raised you, clothed you in the finest silks, fed you, and put up with your ridiculous whims and wants! I’ve been patient, I’ve been loving and understanding when you rejected all the marriage offers you received. I’ve pleaded, and even given you the time and freedom to find a more suitable match at court. Yet you cannot even perform your duty as my daughter. No longer.” Your heart stuttered a little. “What do you mean?” Your father gave you a cold look. “I’m saying, if you do not get married by the end of the year, you are no longer my daughter.” Your eyes widen with horror. “I will effectively disown and disinherit you from House Tyrell, and if I sire any children by Lady Clarice, they shall not support you either.”

Your voice was tremulous, “Father, you…you cannot be serious. Do not let your anger cloud your judgement.” Matthos Tyrell looked at his daughter, his face one of disgust. “You wanted to enjoy your youth without constraints. And since you seem to enjoy being lady-in-waiting to the Queen so much, I’m only granting you what you wished for, am I not?”

You stepped back, feeling winded by your father’s words. However, you nearly jumped when you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “Ah, Y/N!” You were not sure whether you felt more mortified or relieved for Viserys’ timely presence. “Your Grace!” Immediately, your father’s distaste gave way to deference, as he straightened his posture and bowed before the King. You inclined your head respectfully, wondering if Viserys had overheard your conversation. “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation.” Oh, he definitely overheard.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Your Grace. I am delighted to be in your presence.” Your father gushed on profusely, as Viserys stepped toward him. You hung your head, still abashed by your father’s threats, when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder once more. Alicent smiled at you understandingly, and you grimaced when you realised she had also overheard the unpleasant exchange. Still, you shot her a grateful look for her show of support.

“I must offer you my sincerest felicitations for Prince Aegon’s second nameday, Your Grace.” Viserys laughed, “Your felicitations are greatly appreciated, Lord Matthos. I must extend you mine as well, for your recent remarriage. I see it is treating you well.” Your father beamed, “You are too kind, Your Grace. And indeed, my lady wife pleases me so. Now, the only thing that would make me the happiest man in the realm would be my daughter finally settling down with a respectable match.” You stiffened at that, something Alicent took notice of, and she offered you a sympathetic look. Viserys chuckled, “That you and I can both agree on, Lord Matthos. There is nothing more I desire right now than seeing Rhaenyra being wed to a deserving man who will treat her right.”

“Oh, I am sure Her Grace will have her pick of men. She is ‘The Realm’s Delight’, after all. Any man who weds her will be a lucky one.” Your father’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, as he glanced at you. “Moreover, Her Grace is young, comely, and lovely to behold.” Matthos sighed, shaking his head as he chuckled, “Mine own daughter is not in possess of such qualities, I’m afraid. She is getting on with her years, and though I love her deeply, as her father, I must admit she has quite a temper on her. She's not quite the attractice match, which gives me a headache,” Matthos jested with the King, causing you to wince and look away. Alicent looked disconcerted at your father’s tasteless jesting, tightening her hold on your shoulder. However, the both of you did not notice the flare of annoyance behind Viserys’ eyes, so his next words surprised the both of you.

“Lady Y/N has been nothing but a delight to have at court, Lord Matthos. In spite of her age, I’m sure she has no shortage of suitors.” Viserys’ voice was amiable, polite, yet it carried an undertone of firmness and reprimand such that Matthos looked a little stunned, worried that he had overstepped. You looked back to the pair, your eyes wide with disbelief. “And should Y/N ever find herself unwilling to marry, the Red Keep will always welcome her. She is like family to me, after all.” Your father fell silent, and you locked eyes with Viserys, looking lost, yet appreciative all the same. Viserys gave you a reassuring smile, and you could see the sincerity behind his intent. Your eyes prickled with touched tears, but the moment was interrupted when you heard shouts across the campground, startling your party. You turned around, only to behold the sight of Rhaenyra, stained head to toe with dried blood, a commanding aura in her swagger as her sworn shield, Ser Criston, trailed behind her, along with two servants carrying a dead boar. You lock eyes with her momentarily, and she gives a small nod of acknowledgement to you, although her eyes turned cold when they looked upon her father. You heard Viserys sigh, and you saw how Viserys looked both annoyed and relieved for Rhaenyra’s safety, while your father just looked bewildered, perhaps even a little scared. Despite yourself, you smiled a little at the scene.

Alicent and you were chatting in her chambers, laughing in hushed tones as you rocked Aegon to sleep in your arms, when the Hand entered the room, requesting to speak with Alicent. You handed a sleepy Aegon to his nursemaid, before curtsying and exiting the room, painfully aware of the Hand’s weighty gaze upon you as you did.

Alicent knew that her father had not visited her out of a gesture of goodwill, and as she listened to his rather maddening reasoning that Alicent should attempt to make her husband see reason and name Aegon heir, she only stayed silent. There was no point in countering back anyway - the Hand always seemed to have a dozen other reasons to quell her opposition. She felt uncomfortable, for speaking of this was treason, and the babe shifted in her belly, causing her to sigh.

Otto observed his daughter, noting with mild exasperation that she wasn’t paying heed to anything he was saying. So, he decided to change the subject. “About your lady-in-waiting…” he began. Alicent’s head snapped up, “What do you wish to discuss of Y/N?” Otto let a smile play over his lips: it was quite evident his daughter cared for the Tyrell lady, and from his further observations over the past three years, treated her akin to a maternal figure. Which might make it easier for her to accept what he proposed next. “I overheard a rather…interesting conversation she had, with Lord Matthos today.” Alicent showed no visible reaction, but she stared at her father, feeling an all-too-familiar feeling of dread settle in her gut. “I think half the campground overheard their argument. What of it?”

Otto hummed softly, “It seems her father is worrying about her marriage. Which is a reasonable worry - she is on the cusp of her twenty fifth nameday, is she not?” Alicent nodded slowly, eyeing her father with caution. She knew him all too well, how he was tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair - he was scheming. She recalled how upset you were when you spoke with your father, citing your dreams to enjoy your youth and be freed of the constraints of marriage. In later years, she had come to both see you as a cherished companion and a parental figure of sorts, and she cared for you, deeply so. You were her only source of comfort in the Red Keep, one who did not expect or demand anything of her, someone she felt she could truly be open with. She glanced fearfully at her father.

She had to put an end to this. She must save you from suffering the same fate she did.

“Father…you are not planning on taking a new wife, are you?” Alicent fidgeted with her fingers nervously, her eyes fixed on Otto. He was quiet for a long while, and in response to her question, he only stood up and went over to his daughter, placing a hand on her swollen belly. His cryptic answer disturbed Alicent. “You worry too much over matters that do not need worrying about, daughter. Your concern now, should be Aegon. Raise him well, and raise him strong. He shall be an important man one day.”

Come the morrow, the Godswood was completely devoid of any life. Which proved to be a boon to you, who was seeking some reprieve from the busy atmosphere of the Red Keep and the somewhat maddening task of having to feed Aegon - due to his tendency of smooshing the food in the face of whomever had the misfortune of feeding him, most commonly you.

You sat on the stone bench, staring despondently at the Godswood tree. While you were never particularly religious, either to the Seven or to the Old Gods, the happenings of the hunt have driven you to pray with increasing fervency these days. What you prayed for, you did not know. Was it for the hope that your father’s heart might soften and he might be persuaded to leave you be for the rest of your life? You scoffed to yourself, knowing how improbable it was. Fiddling with the pendant - Aemma’s pendant, you sighed, tilting your head downwards to the ground.

You were startled when you heard movement next to you, of another soul taking a seat next to you on the bench, her posture ramrod straight, and her expression blank. Rhaenyra’s linen sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze.

“I suppose neither of us are in the best of spirits,” Rhaenyra’s voice was stilted, like she was reluctant to break the silence first. You lifted your head upright, looking at her with a tentative smile, “No, I suppose we aren’t.” An awkward silence highlighted the chasm between the two of you. You wondered, had this truly been the girl of fourteen who confided in you about everything? Now, it seems there is a stark contrast to the Rhaenyra you once knew to the Rhaenyra before you. Though of course, you were to be blamed for that.

“My father has just ordered me to embark on a tour of the realm. A marriage tour.” Rhaenyra’s bitter tone roused you from your thoughts. “I do not know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps it’s because you are the only person in the Keep who might have the slightest sympathy for what I’m going through.” Rhaenyra’s voice lowered to a slightly malicious pitch, but there was no disguising the hurt behind her voice. “Or maybe it would be false sympathy. But it is better than none.”

You winced, wanting to reach out and take Rhaenyra’s hand, the way you knew she loved. Physical touch was Rhaenyra’s favourite way of receiving and expressing affection. A wane smile pulled at your lips as you heard her words, “You might be cynical, but I have more sympathies to your plight than you might think, Princess.” Rhaenyra was surprised by the resignation in your tone. She recalled the scene she had seen when she returned to the royal encampment at the hunt that day. “...does it have something to do with your father?”

You let out a sad laugh, “Indeed. I have been forced into a situation much more precarious than yours, I would say. My father has given me an ultimatum: I must wed by the end of this year, or I shall be effectively disinherited and disowned as a member of House Tyrell.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her stance immediately shifting to one of sympathy and guilt. “Does your father jest?” “I’m afraid not,” you remark with a despaired, cynical laugh, “Father’s patience has worn thin when it comes to me, I’m afraid. I should’ve known it foolish to think that I could escape from the ramifications of duty to my House.”

You were a little mortified to find your eyes prickling with tears. In truth, you were frightened to the bone. Two paths were set in stone before you now, and neither were pleasant. Rhaenyra hesitated for a while, before reaching out to take your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. You were startled by her sudden gesture, as the flood of familiarity rushed through your veins. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “This is a horrible situation to find yourself in.” She looked hesitant, “I know you’ve always been of your own mind, Y/N. I just want you to know…that you are not alone. Should the worst come…I’m sure that my father will not turn you away in your hour of need.” Her lips turned upwards wistfully, “I will not too. The both of us are stuck in similar predicaments, are we not? Daughters forced to marry off at our father’s behest. We must stick together.”

“...thank you,” you said quietly, touched, “I do not deserve your kindness, after all I have hidden from you.” Rhaenyra’s smile turns somewhat bitter, “What is done cannot be undone. What matters now is the future.”

The cool metal of Aemma’s pendant dug into the flesh of your palm, as an idea came to you. “I have something for you,” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew misty as you presented the ruby falcon pendant to her. “I think this belongs to you. I’ve been holding onto it for the past few years, but I think it’s time you have it back.” Rhaenyra takes the pendant, clasping it to her chest as she looked mournfully down at it. “I thought it was naught but ashes now.” You bit your lip, seeing how relieved yet pained Rhaenyra looked made you regret not giving it to her sooner. You had clung onto it for selfish reasons over the past few years, unwilling to let go of Aemma. But now, you felt it was time to let go of the past, and brave on into the future. “I hope that having this piece of Aemma would make you feel more comforted on your marriage tour.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were misty, as she clasped the pendant like it was worth all the spice and gold from the shores of Essos. “Y/N.” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Hmm?” “Do you think…that Mother would’ve been proud of the person I am today?” Rhaenyra swallowed, looking downcast. “...I fear that, ever since I was named heir, since…Aegon was born, Father’s disappointment in me has been growing by the day.” “And why would you think that?” you asked, concerned. Rhaenyra took a shaky inhale, “I know that Father did not name me heir out of choice. It was a critical time, after Daemon had left, and the Realm would be plunged into unease upon the disinheritance of my uncle from the line of succession.” She bit her lip. “Father even told me as much. He said he had wavered at the notion of making me heir.” Your eyes flickered with shock and a little bit of righteous anger. “He said that?” Rhaenyra nodded miserably, and you patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “He told me he would never waver again, but it is a little hard to put my faith in that, with….with Aegon’s shadow looming over me.” Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head upwards. ”I just…I wish I could do something to be better. To prove to Father that I’m not just the right choice to the throne because he named me heir when he had no choice. I want to show him that I possess the qualities to rule the throne. The marriage tour would be a start, but I just detest the idea of having to bind myself to some lord to prove my worthiness to the throne.”

“I understand how you feel,” you commiserated, and she rested her head on your shoulder. “The expectations of a woman’s duty often cast a shadow over our lives.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, feeling at ease with you, even if it were just for a brief moment. “Mother was fond of saying that marriage is a woman’s duty, and childbed is our battlefield. Especially as royal women,” Rhaenyra’s voice was thick with emotion. “I understand I must do this, for the good of the realm, but…why is it so terrifying? To have my worth determined on my husband and the number of children I can bear in service to him and the realm.” The setting sun glistened off a tear slowly making its way down Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Y/N, do you think my mother would be proud, watching me doubt her teachings?”

You reached out to wipe her tear away, your other hand’s thumb gently stroking her hand that you still held. “You are her daughter, Rhaenyra. I have no doubt that you could be the most dastardly miscreant, and she would be proud of you nonetheless.” That got a bleak smile from Rhaenyra, “Truly?” You nodded your confirmation, smiling fondly down at her. “Truly. Though luckily, your moral character is rather upright.” Rhaenyra laughed, and you smiled, happy to have made her laugh. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Rhaenyra whispered to you.

The two women stayed like this in the Godswood for a while, each swarmed by their own thoughts. So different, yet so similar in their impending doom, and duty.

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666

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A/N: All I gotta say is: ruh roh, trouble is brewing. If you have made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. I aim to release chapter 8 by next Wednesday, hopefully something unprecedented doesn't happen before then though.

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melanieph321 · 3 months

Text

Dominik Szoboszlai x Black Reader - First Sight Part 2/8

The corner shop challenge

This story is about the night reader met her boyfriend Dominik and the series of crazy events that led up to the beginning of their love story.

Enjoy!

The conversation between you never died out. It's not like you fought to keep it alive as the two of you were walking side by side, it just refused to die.

"Okay, let me ask you a question." Dominik said, walking beside you, warming his hands in his pocket.

"Shoot."

"It's a hypothetical one."

"Yes, ask away."

"Alright, but the rule is that you must answer truthfully."

"Rules to answer a simple question? How intriguing." You smiled.

"Yes, but it's like a game. You can ask me anything afterwards, I promise to give you my sincere answer."

"Got it, just get on with it." You said, a bit excited to hear the question.

"Okay so, would you rather fuck a goat without anyone finding out, or would you rather have people believe you fucked a goat even though you didn't actually do it?"

Your steps altered, your eyes batting clueless at him. "Um...come again?"

"Like, would you rather have sex with a...."

You held up a silencing hand. "I heard what you said, I just...just why?"

He grinned. "I told you that it was a hypothetical question. It's mostly for me to get to know you better."

"Right, because asking 'Hi, what do you like to do with your life', doesn't cut it anymore?"

"It doesn't though." He chuckled. "People don't dig deep to answer those kind of questions, therefore they aren't sincere. I'm asking you to be sincere with me Y/N."

There it was again, that stupid spark. During your short walk to the corner shop you noticed that whenever your name escaped his lips your heart simply jolted. It was an amazing feeling and an annoying one at the same time.

"Fine." You sighed, allowing yourself to ponder the question.

You emerged in front of the corner shop, the question not yet answered as you stepped inside. However Dominik was patient with you, letting you take your time. Perhaps he really did want to know how your mind worked?

"I'd let people think I fucked the goat." You nodded. "How traumatizing it would be for both me and the goat if we actually did it."

Dominik nodded, just taking in your answer, not really judging you for it.

"What would you do?" You asked.

"Ah ah." He shook his head. "You can't ask me the same question I asked you."

"Why not?" You frowned.

"It's the rules of the game."

What a silly game, you thought.

"Ask me something else."

"Okay, okay."

You took a walk around the shop, thinking of interesting questions to ask. The bell above the door rang as people were coming in and out. Dominik looked conflicted of what kind of six-pack beer to choose from the many brands. Now and then his gaze lifted, glancing over to you, chuckling when he saw that you were already staring back at him. "Got a question for me yet?" He teased.

"Okay I got it." You said, leaving your aisle and joining his. "But it's more so a challenge then a question." You cleared your throat. "If that's allowed?"

"To challenge me?" Dominik's stance changed, his eyebrow twitching with his curiosity. He went from respectfully flirting with his eyes, to now leaning against the beer shelves, with a look that said, if you challenge me to go down on you, I will.

"Yes." You nodded, with your hands behind your back as not to give away your trembling hands. "I challenge you to strip naked, pop a can of beer and chug it down right here in this aisle."

"What?" He blurred out. More so surprised by the question itself then appalled by it. He was still smiling. "You want me to do what?"

"You heard me." You said, hands on your hips. You regained some of your cool following his quite hilarious reaction. "But if you're not up for the challenge Dommy, I won't force you to do anything."

"Please don't call me that." He said, kicking off his shoes.

"What? Dommy?" You tried to ignore the fact that he was doing exactly what you asked him to do, stripping down, right there in the beer aisle of a corner shop somwhere in Liverpool.

"Yes, that." He sighed.

You chuckled. "What, you don't like my new nickname for you?"

"No, so stop calling me that before it catches on."

"I bet Trent would like it." You said, but quickly held a gasp from escaping your mouth as Dominik's hands gripped the hemn of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Your eyes widened at the sight of his hairless skin and outlined abs. He had tattoos on his arms and across his chest, one tatto running up his sleeve, the other cutting of just below his elbow. And whatever the ink on his chest meant you were here for it.

"Like what you see?" He smirked, catching you staring as his hands went to the strap of his belt. "One thing you should know about me Y/N..." He said, removing his belt with a violent jerk. ".....I never say no to a challenge."

The air in your lungs disappeared, your heart beating fast as Dominik stripped himself of his pants, along with his underwear, leaving you to stare blankly at his dangling dick.

"Hand me that beer can will you?" He arched his back, standing proudly in the nude. He gestured for you to hand him one of the cans of beers behind your back. You did so with your eyes squeezed shut.

"What's the matter Y/N, you didn't think I'd do it, did you?"

Along with his teasing you heard the sizzling of the can of beer as he opened it. You heard him tilt it's content upside down and chug it down his throat. Although a loud burp let you know that he was finished, you refused to open your eyes until you knew that he had gotten dressed again.

"Hey, you there! Stop that!"

Your eyes flung open, only to see Dominik with panic in his eyes.

"What are you doing in my shop?"

Turning your head, you saw that an older man was charging down the aisle with a field hockey stick in his hands, looking more than keen to bash your heads in with it.

You looked to Dominik and he looked to you. "Run!" You said simultaneously. But as Dominik took off in one direction, butt naked by the way, you dropped to the floor, gathering his clothes. You then ran for your life, out of the corner shop and onto the lit streets. You and Dominik got separated as he ran out before you, but then you saw a pale figure shivering behind the nearest dumpster. It was Dominik, crouch down, covering his dick with his hands.

"Oh my god, Dominik!"

You rushed towards him, handing over his clothes, helping him get dressed.

"Fuck me." He muttered, still shivering to the point of his teeth rattling.

Suffering from terrible guilt, you did the only reasonable thing by pulling him towards you, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "I'm so sorry Dominik, so fucking sorry."

His chest vibrated when he chuckled. "Don't regret a challenge well done Y/N."

How could he be laughing and making jokes, you thought. Dominik was basically on the verge of getting pneumonia because of you.

"Shit, your still so cold." You said, feeling it rub off on you. You were still hugging him tightly, no plans of letting go until his body stopped trembling against yours.

"Don't worry, I'll warm up." He spoke against your temple, assuring you that the cold wasn't that bad. Still, you refused to let him go, at some point becoming one with his heartbeat slowly pulsating against your ear. His hand went to stroke your curls, the soothing sensation indescribable. "You know..." He whispered. "If you wanted to see me naked you could have just said so before we left the apartment. Hey, I would've joined you for a quick shower in Sami's bathroom if you had...."

"Fucking dickhead."

Dominik couldn't help but to laughed as you pushed him off of you, breaking up the hug. The tender moment between you lasted briefly, his body having stopped shivering. He was back to himself.

"So were to next?" He asked as the two of you left the back of the corner shop.

"Well we still haven't bought any beer." You said. "Not that I'll ever recover from the sight of you chugging one down naked."

"Oh come on, don't lie." He smiled. "You loved seeing me complete your challenge. I'm surprisingly impressed how your mind works Y/N."

You lowered your head, hiding your smile.

"I say we head downtown, I know a guy that can hook us up."

"Fine." You muttered, trying not to make it obvious that you were happy that your night with Dominik wasn't over just yet. Little did you know that it was only the beginning.

#fanfiction #football imagine #dominik szoboszlai x black reader #dominik szoboszlai x reader #dominik szoboszlai imagine #dominik szoboszlai #dominik x reader #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst #trent alexander arnold #liverpool fc

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sexydoffyman · 10 months

Note

Katakuri with a sweetheart of a woman, kind and gentle to everyone, especially to him but can and will kick ass faster than anyone believe

SHE'S NOT SO WEAK

genre: fluff

word count: 479

A/N: Katakuri is yall's favorite. I have written most about him🪲<– This bug is fucking adorable.

In his eyes, you were the most adorable thing. He thought about you as if you were made out of glass. He viewed you as a fragile little thing. He always saw you holding tiny flowers in your purely peaceful hands. If he grabbed a flower like that, he'd probably unintentionally tear it apart. He saw you pet stray cats and old dogs outside. He saw the innocent animals gently hop into your embrace. You resolved problems and arguments with words. Words that inspired everyone that heard them. You were the definition of peace.

You were waiting for Katakuri at a small bar located on the west of the wheat island. You planned to have little fun with him at a bar after his meeting with Smoothie and Cracker would come to an end. You were patiently waiting for your man to enter through the front door of the bar. "Are you waiting for someone, miss?"

Katakuri walked through the streets of the island that he ran. He was happy to spend the rest of his day admiring your sweet and soft personality. He already saw the bar a few kilometers in front of him. He sped up his pace, so he could be with you as soon as possible. When he was pretty near the bar, he noticed some commotion. He got a little worried and hoped that whatever happened, there you weren't involved in.

He rushed into the bar and saw a group of people circling around someone. When he walked in, he got everyone's attention. He was respected by everyone there. And so everyone made a way for him to look at what was going on. He saw a man unconscious on the floor. He was still alive. It was just a casual bar fight. Now it was time to look if you were there and unharmed.

He looked at every corner of the bar, trying to find you. He didn't have to search long. He heard the sweet voice that he fell in love with. He looked the way it was coming from. You were chatting with the barman like nothing ever happened here. He sat down next to you and started questioning you. A couple of "Are you alright?"s flew out of his mouth.

While he was checking if you had even the slightest scratch on you, the barman spoke. "You don't need to check if she's fine" Katakuri gave the barman a glare with written, "You just fucked up." all over his face. The barman just chuckled and continued talking. "She just put that man to the ground in a matter of seconds."

Katakuri looked your way surprised. He knew that he found the one. He pat your back and ordered you a beer. Tonight will be fun. No matter who interrupts. He knows that he doesn't have to worry anymore.

#one piece #one piece requests #one piece x reader #one piece x you #requests are open #one piece x y/n #requests open #one piece x female reader #op katakuri #katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri x reader #katakuri one piece #katakuri x you #katakuricharlotte #katakuri x y/n #katakuri x femle reader #fluff #one piece

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

Text

The Civilian and the Reluctant Hero

Summary: When Shireen's city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren't any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.

------.

There’s a man in the garbage.

Shireen tries to keep walking. She watches her red heels take one step. Then another. She stops just past the mouth of the alley, unable to keep going. She glares down at her shoes.

It’s not safe to go see if that man is okay. Even before her city fell under the control of a Supervillain, it wouldn’t have been safe. It’s almost two in the morning and the streets are deserted, the only pedestrian being idiots like her who missed their last train home from visiting friends. Only about half the streetlamps are working. The bulbs are shattered in some, switches have burnt out in others. Apparently, supervillain dictatorships don’t care about repairing them. Everybody tries to avoid driving. The asphalt is chewed up by the Supervillain’s henchmen sparring all over the place. The street – once a main thoroughfare – looks like the set of a zombie movie.

Keep walking, Shireen tells herself. Her hand tightens on the strap of her satchel. She doesn’t have pepper spray anymore. If any of the Supervillain’s henchmen caught her with a weapon, they could brand her a Hero.

The whole city knows what their loving Supervillain does to Heroes.

Shireen turns on her heel and tiptoes into the alley. There aren’t any more Heroes here. Nobody to save the day or look out for people who are passed out on top of piles of trash. Maybe that’s why she’s carefully approaching the man in the garbage. She’s not going to save anyone, she knows that. But, maybe, she can help make sure he does whatever he’s doing in a hospital or something.

“Hey,” Shireen says. It’s a short alley with only one door. She eyes it suspiciously, but the restaurant it belongs to is long past close. She turns her attention back to the man lying just in front of the dumpster on several black garbage bags. “You okay?”

The man doesn’t respond. He’s wearing all black and if it weren’t for his shiny chestnut hair, she wouldn’t have seen him. His chest rises and falls which at least means he’s breathing. His head is turned away from her, but his neck doesn’t look broken. There’s blood running from a nasty cut at his temple, but it looks dry at the edges. She circles him so that she can see his face.

Shireen stumbles. “No,” she breathes. “No way.” She feels like the world is spinning, the battered brick walls on either side of her swirling into a kaleidoscope of color. The man is wearing a mask. A familiar gold mask that mimics the face of a porcelain doll with high cheekbones and a small slit where the mouth would be. There’s blood covering the forehead section, dark and ominous against the gold, but she knows this man. This mask.

King Midas. Their city’s strongest villain before the Supervillain takeover. Feared by all for his ability to turn anything (or anyone) into any sort of metal. A B-rank villain who always seemed to be one step in front of the heroes, the media, the citizens. King Midas, the villain responsible for the collapse of the city’s historic clock tower, for the theft of countless masterpieces, for the extortion and blackmail of every major politician to get elected into office.

King Midas who laid down his life trying to help the Heroes escape their execution. He failed. Their villain who always won failed that day and he lost his life in the process.

But he tried. And now he’s alive.

Shireen kicks off her heels and runs to get her car.

----------------.

Shireen stares at King Midas from the doorway to her bedroom. He’s still unconscious, but looks better with the tan bandages she’s wrapped around the cut on his head and the few she found on his torso. It’d been easy to cut off the remainder of his black shirt to get to them. Then, embarrassed by his semi-nudity and her own audacity in cutting his clothes off, she’d thrown her pale pink throw over his chest. He’s too tall for her small couch and his black boots hang cartoonishly over the armrest. On the coffee table beside him are a few bottles of water, a granola bar, a tray of fruit, and some ibuprofen.

She closes the door to her bedroom and pushes her dresser in front of it. Then, for good measure, she sets her laundry basket on top for added weight.

What the fuck am I doing?

Shireen ducks into her closet. She hid here when the Supervillain takeover happened, hunched over her phone as the Heroes were executed on live TV. Ever since that day, it’s been less of a comforting space and more of a suffocating one. She lurches out from behind her clothes and starts pacing her bedroom.

The best case scenario is that King Midas wakes up, takes the offerings, and leaves. Nobody can know that she fished him out of the garbage. Should she have written a note with instructions on it? He’s a villain, would he follow the instructions of a citizen?

She remembers the last time she saw him. The Heroes all lined up in front of City Hall, bound and powerless. The Supervillain twirling his gigantic scythe like it was made of straw. She’d counted the Heroes frantically, hoping that one of them would be free to save the rest. But all three of them were on their knees as the Supervillain raised his weapon above his head.

King Midas appeared just before the first swing. For a terrifying moment, Shireen had been convinced that he was the one who’d let the Supervillain past their city’s defenses. But then he’d spoken. He condemned the Supervillain’s actions. He told the Supervillain that the Heroes were property of King Midas and King Midas alone.

He’d fought. She remembers his mask catching sunlight, a gleaming gold next to the endless night of the Supervillain Apocalypse’s power.

She remembers the dull sound of his body when he fell, the sound transmitted directly into her closet by her phone’s excellent speakers. It had felt like the collapse of her entire world and she’d had to shut off her phone before Apocalypse killed the heroes too.

Why did King Midas try to help them? Why did he go so far as to lay down his life? And why, after seeing the Supervillain’s scythe enter his body, was he still alive?

Shireen doesn’t know. It’s not safe for her to know. She finally settles in the corner of her room so that her bed is between her and the door. King Midas will leave when he wakes up and then it won’t be her problem anymore. She’s okay with not knowing.

Civilians never live long when they know.

-------------King Midas POV-------

Waking up after getting thrown through downtown like a rag doll is not fun. Waking up after thinking he was going to die while getting thrown through downtown like a rag doll?

Priceless.

Grant’s legs are asleep. He’s on the world’s tiniest couch and the armrest is cutting into the back of his knees. He flexes his toes to encourage blood flow and sits up slowly. A soft blanket falls off his bare chest and into his lap. What?

His wounds are bandaged and he’s shirtless. There isn’t anyone in the room with him, but it’s clearly someone’s apartment. There’s a utilitarian kitchen tucked into an alcove, a shoe rack by the front door, and a coffee table between him and the TV. Could he have broken into a civilian’s apartment while concussed?

He feels something strange happen in his chest when he sees the water and food on the coffee table. There’s a tray of fruit, clearly cut by hand, arranged on a plate. There’s a granola bar, several bottles of water, and ibuprofen. He didn’t break into a civilian’s home.

Somebody saved me.

Grant has never been saved before. He’s never needed saving. Or at least he didn’t before this year and that dickhead Apocalypse came to town. Now it feels like he’s needed saving every other day, but nobody’s actually done it. He touches the granola bar with one finger. It’s a fig and nuts combo which is his least favorite flavor. He glances at the door he can sense his saviour behind. If they didn’t want to see his face while he was unconscious, he doubts they’ll barge in here to see it while he’s awake.

He unwraps the granola bar, removes his mask, and takes a bite.

Scratch that, this is his favorite flavor now. It still tastes like his grandmother’s house, but now it also tastes like the first piece of kindness he’s received in a long, long time.

He’s grateful that his saviour stays in the other room while he drinks the water and finishes the bar. Nobody has seen him cry in a long time. He doesn’t think he’d be doing either of them any favors if he professed his undying loyalty while sobbing, mouth full of fruit and granola.

He wipes at his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t had a chance to rest in weeks. King Midas finally admits that he’s tired. He’s tired of getting beaten up. He’s tired of battling every single day. He’s tired of always losing and never winning.

Honestly, he doesn’t know how the Heroes put up with him for so long.

Grant feels like he’s ten-years-old again as he sniffles. Saving the day is hard, much harder than the Heroes ever made it look. He’s been asking himself for months why he’s even stuck around to try and recover the city when nobody will thank him for his efforts. There are a hundred reasons why he feels obligated to stay, but when has that ever stopped him from leaving? He’s always been a villain.

He twists open a water bottle. It’s the best tasting water he’s ever tasted. He thinks he can finally understand a little bit of why the Heroes do it.

Grant finishes the fruit and takes the ibuprofen. He won’t endanger his saviour any more than he already has, which means he needs to go sooner rather than later. His shirt is in tatters on the floor so he wraps the throw blanket around his shoulders. They gave him food, water and medicine. Surely they wouldn’t mind sacrificing a blanket too?

He puts his mask on and feels better than he has in a long time. Which is saying something since he’s half-clothed and his mouth still tastes like fig and he’s just come to the realization that he’s probably going to get beat up again tonight.

A Hero’s work is never done. If he knew that, he would have never stood up to Apocalypse all those months ago.

He pauses on the way out the door. He has no doubt that his saviour is awake and listening. If he was in their shoes, he’d hide in the bedroom too. It’s safer that way. “Thank you,” he calls.

“…you’re welcome,” a woman says very quietly from the other side.

Grant swallows. Somehow, he expected her to ignore his words. He expected her kindness to go no further than what she’s already given him. But she heard him. She spoke to him.

“Someday, I’ll repay you,” he blurts out. He flushes under his mask. What is he talking about? Repayment? That’s a very Hero thing to say. He’s never felt like he had to repay anyone before. He’s King Midas! It’s his due—

“Oh no,” the woman says in the same trembling voice. “No thank you.”

No thank you? Grant opens his mouth to question that, but he hears another door open in the apartment building. Time to go.

Without another word, he slips out of his saviour’s apartment and back out onto the streets.

----------------.

Grant gets back to the penthouse before noon. He doesn’t bother buying another outfit on the way and the front desk doesn’t even flinch when he comes wandering in with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his mask dangling from his hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Aurum,” Michael says without looking up from his newspaper. “You have no messages.”

Sometimes Grant wonders if Michael even noticed Apocalypse taking over the city. The building’s manager has never missed a day of work and have never asked unnecessary questions. Grant nods and beelines for his private elevator. “Good, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Grant leans against the smooth, metal walls of the elevator and closes his eyes. It moves without him having to touch a button and he breathes in deeply for the first time in 24 hours. He’s home. He’s done for the day. And, considering it’s before noon, he might even avoid having to answer any unwanted questions.

The doors slide open and Grant steps out into his penthouse. Bright sunlight filters in through the thin curtains hanging over the floor-to-ceiling windows. The gentle sound of running water comes from the koi pound in the atrium to his right. The air conditioner is on at just the right temperature for a nap--

“Yo! Batman’s back!”

Grant barely resists the urge to get back into the elevator. Of course they’re awake. Of course. The one day he doesn’t mind them sleeping until four o’clock and they’re all rushing out to greet him

“I am not Batman,” Grant says for what feels like the millionth time. He fits his mask back on his face before turning to glare at Blue. The teenager doesn’t look the least bit sorry for upsetting him. They’re sitting in the koi pond and grinning up at him. Grant scowls. “Get out of there!”

“I need the water to practice my power,” Blue says. They hold up their hand to show the thin layer of water coating it. The koi swim in lazy circles around them. “Don’t you want me to get my powers back?”

“Yeah, Batman,” Yellow says. She’s eating macaroni directly out of the pot with a metal spoon. She scrapes it along the bottom. “The sooner we get our powers back, the sooner we get our city back. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted my archnemeses to not be actual children,” Grant snaps. Even when he was dying in that pile of trash, he wasn’t this irritated. “Don’t use a metal spoon in the pot, you’ll ruin it.”

There’s a gust of wind and Red is suddenly behind him. The boy is the oldest of the lot, but still barely eighteen. He throws an arm around Grant’s shoulders. “Just buy a new one, Batman.”

“I am not Batman.” He shrugs off Red’s arm and stalks to the kitchen. The teenagers follow him like ducklings. “All of you need to go put your masks on.”

“Why?” Yellow asks. She’s got braces. If she was wearing her mask, he wouldn’t know she has braces. She points at him and then to herself with her macaroni spoon. “You already know our faces.”

“No, I don’t,” Grant says. “I’m blind.” He hesitates in front of the liquor cabinet before passing it entirely. He’s uncomfortable drinking in front of literal children. “I don’t even know your names.”

“I’m Cal—” Blue starts to say.

“ La la la!” Grant rips open the refrigerator and yanks out a canned coffee. “No secret identities!”

“You’re rich, you’re mysterious, you adopted three orphans and spend your time waging silent battle against the evil of the city,” Red says. He’s already sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of orange juice in front of him. He gestures to the stool across from him. “That’s pretty Batman of you.”

“I am the evil of this city,” Grant says but even he can tell his heart isn’t in it. He sinks onto the stool and takes a pathetic sip of his coffee. “I didn’t sign any adoption papers.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Yellow says. She drops her meal into the sink and hops up onto the stool next to Red. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

Grant thinks about responding to that. He could say that he won’t sign them, obviously. He could say that they’re all idiots for living with him, the villain who spent the better part of last year beating them soundly. He could say that he doesn’t like them at all. He could monologue about his evil plan to nurse them back to health only to sacrifice them in the fight against Apocalypse.

He could, but…

At the beginning, all of those things were true. He knew that they were going to lose that day in front of City Hall. He knew what he was doing when he threw himself in front of them. He knew what it would cost him. Turning their clothing to metal at the last second was a Hail Mary move. He didn’t think that Apocalypse would actually fail to realize that all of them lived through the murder attempt.

But he did. And they lived. Sure, Red, Blue and Yellow were burnt out and badly hurt by the fight, but they were alive. He planned to use them to get Apocalypse out of his city…before he found out that the most persistent and versatile group of heroes to ever be assigned to him were children.

He thinks that’s when his plan really started going off the rails.

“You’re back late,” Red says casually. Grant opens his eyes to find the teen studying him. Red frowns at the blanket wrapped around Grant’s shoulders. “What happened to your shirt?”

Grant sighs and removes his mask. They’ve all seen his face at this point anyway. “I found your rocks.”

The three teen superheroes immediately turn serious. Red’s eyes flare with crimson light and Yellow’s long, golden hair lifts around her head in an ethereal breeze.

Blue leans forward. They’re the least outwardly affected, but their gaze is focused and intense. “Did you get them?”

“No,” Grant admits. He tries not to feel guilty when they sag in disappointment. “There were guards everywhere.” He gestures to his blanket-shirt. “I barely escaped with my life!”

“I definitely want to hear the story of the pink throw,” Yellow says. Her blonde hair settles in a puff around her shoulders. “Later. Apocalypse has our power stones? He didn’t destroy them?”

“They’re on display,” Grant says. He pulls out his phone and flicks to the most recent picture. It’s of a glass case on a pedestal. Inside are three crystals. Ruby. Sapphire. Topaz. “In his residence.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was literally thrown through a wall after taking that picture, so they might have been moved.”

All three teens shake their heads, eyes fixed on the picture. While powerful in their own right, the stones act as some sort of power store for them. At least that’s what they’ve told Grant. Their recovery without their power stones is slow. With them?

They��re basically invulnerable.

“He won’t be able to touch them now,” Red says. He’s the first to tear his eyes away from the photo. “They’re an extension of us. If we’ve got this much power back, our stones will be recharged. It will feel like falling onto the third rail if he tries to touch them again.”

“Either way, I’m going to try again as soon as possible,” Grant says. “I don’t want to risk him destroying them when he figures out who broke into his house.”

“Were you seen?” Yellow asks.

Grant shakes his head. “It’s only a matter of time before he finds someone who did though.” He thinks of fig granola bars and a small voice denying repayment. His jaw clenches. “It’s been getting risker and risker. The sooner the better.”

The teens nod grimly. Grant doesn’t know why they became Heroes. He doesn’t want to know. Nobody with powers enters this field with a good story to tell. But he sees the determination in their shoulders and he’s sad. He’s sad because they’re kids and they’re not supposed to be the ones doing the saving. They’re supposed to be the ones getting saved.

He wonders if anyone ever gave them granola, fruit and water.

It’s in that moment that Grant finally admits that he’s made his decision. He isn’t going to be King Midas ever again. King Midas died the moment that he leapt between these Heroes and certain death. King Midas disappeared when he saw what true evil looked like and how it nearly destroyed these kids.

He thinks about telling them that he has no intention of letting them near Apocalypse again. He’s going to protect them as much as possible from the Supervillain, even if he really dies in the process. He wants to tell them that, someday, they’ll be safe again, but he doesn’t.

Villains might lie, but he’s not a villain anymore, is he?

“I’m going to take a nap,” he says. He pushes back from the kitchen island, leaving his phone and mask behind. They won’t suspect what he has planned so long as he doesn’t have his mask. “Or maybe just go to bed. You kids order a pizza or something. I’m too tired to cook.”

Red and Yellow cheer for pizza, but Blue squints up at him.

“You good?” they ask. Their eyes flick to his blanket and then to the bandage wrapped around his head. “You go to the hospital?”

“A…friend patched me up,” Grant says. Later (if he survives) he’ll ask about how to repay a civilian when they tell you not to bother. Later, when it’s safe, he’ll figure out how he can ever begin to thank that person for their moment of kindness. That kindness is what’s giving him the willpower to do what has to be done. He ruffles Blue’s short and spiky hair. “I heal fast.”

He lets his comforting smile fall as he turns. He does heal fast. Faster than they know.

It’s Grant that leaves that night to defeat Apocalypse once and for all. Not King Midas. Just Grant.

That’s probably why he wins.

-----

Thanks for reading! I do intend for there to be a second part to this which will be posted on my Patreon this weekend and also published in a Superhero Anthology at the end of this month!

Next week’s story is already up on my Patreon if you’d like to support me an see it a full week early :)

Summary: Dulce is a Hero. The people who made her one better hope they never see her again.

Thanks for reading!

#my writing #my super powers #shireen and grant #King Midas is a big softie #the villain adopts heroes #but the heroes sort of force the issue #as they should

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meshlasolus · 3 months

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The Winner Takes It All

Episode 7

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, fluff, sad goodbyes (finnick refuses to actually say goodbye) and canon typical violence... like, a lot of it. Anyways, happy hunger games.

Chapter Summary: The countdown is on. The goodbyes need be said, the tributes must prepare themselves. The bloodbath is soon at hand, a daring start to the 71st hunger games.

Word Count: 3.0k

okay listen this is the beginning of a long and winding road. there's nothing in this chapter for me to fear for my life over but lord above the next few chapters might make me get my ass kicked (in a loving way ofc)

“Mercedes,” he said softly, handing to you the final pieces of your official game attire. “The Greek goddess of joy and happiness.” You smiled, the description of your name was the exact reason it was given to you. You hadn’t been named for five days, mostly because your parents had been expecting a boy. In those five days, you’d smiled so much more than any baby they had ever seen. The name only seemed fitting, as you had been filled with joy and happiness. How ironic that a person with such a name would end up here?

If any of the tributes were able to sleep peacefully last night, you would be thoroughly surprised. Once you’d finally reached a restful state, your mind jumped you awake every single time to remind you once again that you were hours away from your possible demise. The bloodbath. All careers are expected to run straight into the chaos. If you want to keep them as allies, it is your duty to do what is expected. You have to conform to stay alive.

Even though you’d rather grab a knapsack and run far away from the center of the arena, you know that you’re signing your death certificate if you do. It doesn’t matter how strong you are. You have to stay with the allies you made, or you’ll be at the top of their list. Lukas can help you if you need it, you know that for certain. Even if you don’t really trust the others, Rodey, Copelin and Freeda seem nice enough. You know to watch your back with Estelle, but otherwise, you think you’ve made a solid enough impression that they won’t double cross you.

Yesterday, on the flickerman show, you all were too busy celebrating to focus on the fact that there was still another tribute with a perfect score, from district eleven. His name was Brock. You assumed that he was going to be the biggest threat against the career pack. You didn’t listen to his skills or even his interview, but you knew that if there was anyone to be afraid of, it was him.

“You ready?” Lukas called to you from your bedroom door. You’d been given a temporary change of clothes for the time being until you were able to make it to the site of the arena. There, your stylist would be waiting to dress you in your actual game play attire.

You nodded, standing up and going to meet him where he stood. He seemed so calm, as did you on the outside. Perhaps it was the way you both were trying so hard to be strong, emotionless, or maybe it was simply the fact that you just wanted to get this over with. After all the pageantry is over, the only thing left to do is die. You just wished it wasn’t such a long process. The games were about sending a message, and that message was that the tributes were not just sacrifices, they were pawns. They were used to show just how much control the capitol had over everything. If they wanted to punish the districts, they could have just lined up twenty three kids every year and shot them down… but the hunger games were about exuding their influence, to let the people know that they could never fight back, and here are the consequences.

Finnick and Mags were waiting outside of the tribute center. Both of them looked sullen, as you can imagine this was a hard thing for them. Having to watch the tributes they worked so hard to prepare, leaving the building where there was a last sense of security. It made sense to say that even in the proudest of moments, they would still be sad for what they have lost. Even if one of you wins, one of you will become a permanent addition to the arena, and there’s nothing they can do about it. All they can do is hope that at least one of you comes home.

Finnick was up late last night thinking, as were most of the other people in the building. He left the party kind of early, as even though he wished to distract himself, he had no desire to sit and think about the many outcomes of your future. Especially whilst surrounded by those who knew all too well what it was like to see the end of someone’s future. The end of someone’s life. They were all victims of the Capitol, but they all had blood on their hands that wasn’t their own. Finnick had more than most, and he understood that there was always a price to pay for his life being spared… but thinking that today is the day that he loses his best hope, he has no chance of resting until the games are over.

“This is where we part ways,” He said solemnly. The vast expanse of the sunrise getting higher was nothing today. It meant nothing because it couldn’t be appreciated. Even though the colors of the sky were brilliant, lighting the scene in the colored hues, it didn’t matter, because it didn’t change anything about today.

“Thank you Finnick, you’ve given us a better chance than we ever had.” Lukas reached his hand out to Finnick, and likewise, Mags had stepped forward to embrace you. Her warmth and sweetness was the only thing that brought a taste of home to this journey. You only could dream of seeing her again, and feeling her arms around you.

“Stay strong, don’t let your guard down. Most importantly, stay together, no matter what happens.” Finnick’s last words of advice had no need to be said, because Lukas had already understood their importance. He just wanted so badly for Lukas to know that you were his best ally. He knew Lukas wouldn’t cross you, probably wouldn’t even kill you if you were the only other person alive… but he had to make sure those words were repeated until the last second..

“Mags,” Lukas turned to her, his heart leaping in his chest at the mother he never had. The mother he always wanted but was denied. “Thank you.”

You traded places with Lukas, letting him say goodbye to her as you know he wants to. You turn to Finnick, looking up to those sea green eyes. They reflected your sadness, but you tried not to dwell on it. You might never see him again, you don’t want to have the last memory be a sad one.

You reached for each other, arms clinging around your bodies in an attempt to stay close, and not be forced apart. Whatever the outcome, this embrace will be remembered. You didn’t want to cry, but tears came to the corners of your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to try and force them to a stop. Your face was tucked into his shoulder, the smell of him was what you would take into the arena today. You’d dwell on it, and think of it if you died later.

“I h-have so much I w-want to say to you.”

“Then say it when you get back,” he whispered in reply, his arms becoming impossibly tighter around you until you all heard the engines of the carriers start up.

It’s time to go.

You all part from each other, beginning to walk to the separate carriers awaiting on the landing pad. You look back, and Finnick is staring on, trying to catch every last glimpse of his favored tribute before it’s too late. He’ll be seeing you on a screen, but that’s not good enough.

As you board the aircraft with the other tributes, he gets one last look at your bare shoulder, and the windswept hair sitting over it. After that, the only thing he can do is remember. If that’s the last time he ever sees you, he doesn’t know what will come next for him.

Dalton made you smile, a familiar face in the darkest hour, right before the chaos.

“Mercedes,” he said softly, handing to you the final pieces of your official game attire. “The Greek goddess of joy and happiness.”

You smiled, the description of your name was the exact reason it was given to you. You hadn’t been named for five days, mostly because your parents had been expecting a boy. In those five days, you’d smiled so much more than any baby they had ever seen. The name only seemed fitting, as you had been filled with joy and happiness. How ironic that a person with such a name would end up here?

“Based on what we’ve been told to prepare for the tributes, I would say you’re looking at a humid climate. Maybe desert or tropical. The directions were to provide breathable material… It could be biome, even.”

You weren’t sure if this rundown was something all the stylists gave. Or if there were just a few that cared more about their tributes. Dalton seemed to care more than any other Capitol member you’ve met thus far, which made him something of an ally in himself.

“Will there be a l-lot of water?”

He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

“There’s no way to know for sure. You might be looking at an oasis, it might just be small portions meant for tribute survival. There’s no real way of anyone knowing yet.”

You nodded, standing up and pulling the short sleeve tunic over your head. It was so thin it could be considered mesh, but it provided full coverage of your torso, hiding the black and gray sports attire you were given to wear beneath it.

“The cargo bottoms lead me to believe that they want you to travel lightly. The pockets will provide ample room for things you might grab out of the packs. My advice would be to leave anything of substantial weight and only keep what you need.”

They want you to be quick on your feet. They don’t want you to be easily stuck in one place… does that mean you’re going to be chased? By something other than tributes?

There was a loud alarm sound that buzzed in the outside hallway of the private room. You looked to the ceiling with fear… it was starting.

“Hey,” he snapped your attention back one more time. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. And I hope we meet again.”

“Thank y-you. I hope I s-see you again, too.”

He leaned in and gave you a simple hug. Nothing long and lasting, but comforting enough that you could leave the room feeling better than you did when you went into it. You wished Finnick had been the one to see you off. Sadly, that didn’t fall under his job description.

Dalton walked you into the hallway and down to the chamber labeled ‘female, four.’

Your heart started racing, and you realized only now how tired you were. Having tossed and turned and been completely and totally anxious the night before, you felt the sting of exhaustion hit you as you stepped into the lift.

“Don’t be afraid. You are stronger than you could possibly know.”

The lift sealed, and though you wanted to say something in reply, you feel as though words would have failed you anyways. Your words always did.

The anxiety heightened when the lift moved, the upwards drag of the mechanisms turning your stomach to mush. You’re a career. You will survive the bloodbath. Your allies are the strongest ones in the arena. You will survive through the day.

When the arena showed itself to you, it seemed to be something of a rainforest. Barely any sun for the giant trees overhead, even in the clearing. It was humid and sticky in the air, which meant water would be everywhere, and as you were assuming, rain.

This rainforest probably was crawling with capitol mutt wildlife, and you couldn’t help but feel like that would be the main danger.

The clock was counting down at the cornucopia, thirty seconds remaining until the games began. You searched the platforms for an ally, and found two. Freeda and Rodey. Rodey who seemed to like you quite a bit. You would stick by him until you could find Lukas. He must have been further on the other side, because you certainly could not see him from here.

Rodey happened to make eye contact with you, and you nodded to him, getting into a running stance. His head tilted towards the left side of the cornucopia, where all the weapons were spread out across from the food. He would run there first, so that’s where you would go.

Your heart was beating harder and faster than ever it has before, and with every tick of the clock, every number counted down, it got faster, and faster, and faster… until the clock hit zero.

Your feet were running the mossy grounds the second you stepped off. Copelin was the first to reach the center, grabbing a spear and a knife, throwing the knife at the first non-career tribute that attempted to grab something, you didn’t dare look behind you at whoever it was he’d hit, you only heard their cry of pain before a cannon sounded. The first of many, and you hated it already... You finally saw Lukas, as he was the second one to a weapon. He took a short sword, and tossed to you a long weighted club, you'd made it there third. You didn’t intend on using it, but it was good to have. Freeda was seen next to Estelle, running and grabbing the bow and arrows. You heard the cry of an angry tribute behind you, turning to see the boy from seven with an ax. He was coming at you with incredible speed, but you managed to use your club to deflect his first hit. You were about to try and unarm him before a Kunai knife was thrown from behind you and into his face. He was down immediately, and you didn’t have time to think about the fact that he was the first death you’d ever witnessed, you only listened to the second boom of the cannon, now connecting the sight and sound. You just stood up and turned to Rodey, his arms holding out a sword for you to take. It felt heavy in your hands, and even though you could easily bear the weight of the blade, you doubted you could take the weight of what it would do to the people around you.

Lukas hadn’t killed anyone yet, but he aided both Copelin and Estelle in taking down the girls from six and eight. Your kill count was zero, and your assist count was zero. You were going to do everything in your power to keep it that way. This wasn’t training anymore. There weren’t any prissy Capitol snobs that could punish you for not doing as they say. You’ve come to die, and you won’t go out a murderer.

You decided to busy yourself, to make it look like you were helping the team, but without seeming like a coward from staying away from the fight. You rushed behind Rodey and Lukas, hearing three more cannons go off as you scrounged through the supplies. Ropes, sleeping bags, medical supplies. Hell, even snack bars. You started packing them into the backpacks, seeing as though they only contained a flask, a rope, and a hunting knife.

You weren’t sure what the plan was yet, but you knew you would be needing all of these things at some point, so it made sense to gather them together instead of letting them get taken by run-by tributes. You mentally apologized to them, for taking the resources that could mean the difference between losing or keeping their lives. It was you or them, that was what you needed to start thinking. But you really hated the thought that your life should be considered worth more than anyone else's. It’s not.

Several cannons and a bloodbath later, the fighting stopped. You had gotten everyone a backpack, handing it to them once the career pack was the only group left on the field. It was only when you turned around that you started to feel sick. All those cannons, the sounds were of little consequence until you saw what they left behind. Fallen tributes. Eight, you counted. They all lay in the mossy patches on the ground, a once beautiful clearing already tarnished with the blood of the district's children.

You didn’t say a word, just handed out the packs you’d prepared, letting them look through and grab what they wanted, keeping what they did and exchanging what they didn’t. You did the same, grabbing Lukas by the arm and pulling him to the side. You opened the top of your pack, showing him the rope and lures you'd stashed away. There had to be water somewhere in this jungle, and when you found it, you were sure that fishing would be a good option to keep the other food supplies stocked up.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding to you and giving you a once over. You had splattered blood of that kid from seven on your face. Your hands, even trying to hold strong, were shaking. The expression you wore was a facade, but he could see the tinge of guilt hanging in your eyes, even though you hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. He had. He killed a boy, the one his age, from six. He kept reminding himself that this was self defense. Every single person in this arena was fighting against one another in self defense, because none of them wanted to be here. Even the careers who volunteer don’t want to die, they just like the attention. Now, when the fun is mostly over, they would rather be in their own districts as well. Every child in this arena just wants to go home, and in order to do that, the others must die. Lukas is no different from every other tribute in this hell hole, and though his mind feels heavy, he tries to lighten the load by thinking that perhaps he can go home at the end of this. All these dead kids around him are providing him a way home, even though it comes as a great cost of sacrifice. “Are you okay?”

You look back at him, and all you can do not to fall apart is nod. He understands the need for silence. Your mouth couldn’t even say the words you wished to anyway, so you’d rather spare yourself the trouble and not say anything at all.

“Alright,” he turned in the direction of the others, walking back and feeling your presence follow behind him. The others looked at him in expectation, in waiting. Lukas was the top dog, he’d be giving the orders. Copelin leaned forward, wiping the blood off his hands into his pants. He turned to Lukas fully, raising his voice in a question.

“What’s the plan?”

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair #thg finnick #the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin #meshlasolus #thg series #katniss everdeen

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iamnotokaythx · 9 months

Text

poor… guys? poor guy. - platonic!yan!eclipse & gn!reader

cw: post ruin dlc, gn!reader, all lowercase, platonic, yandere eclipse, 2nd person, i count eclipse as one person like steven universe fusions, not rly a cw but reader lives on a farmhouse bc HOW THE FUCK do you fit SIX animatronics in a 1b 1ba studio apartment

summary: you used to work with sun and moon at the daycare, but after the fire that decimated the pizzaplex, you wonder if your favorite animatronics are still alive.

this fic is not 18+, but my other content is. mdni.

you miss the daycare in the pizzaplex—you didn’t particularly love kids, but the attendants were endearing and it paid decently well. of course, you hadn’t been back since that little kid let the place on fire.

it had been… a couple years, but one night you were just bored enough to break in. you didn’t want to before, you knew it’d be swarming with annoying kids. that, and it felt disrespectful to break in to a place you once held dear.

it was just as torn up as you assumed it would be. you sighed at how dark the place was. you seriously needed to find a flashlight soon, most s.t.a.f.f. bots had one but it looked like the few you’d run into had already lost their flashlights.

you checked through a couple rooms, but the only place you were really looking for was the daycare—you just wanted closure, that the daycare attendant was really dead—or, as dead as a robot can be. where was map-bot when you need them?

you saw the red of a toolbox and opened it, but to your dismay there was only a ‘fazwrench,’ which you’d used before when you were a technician, but you were moved to the daycare when some other guy who was a lot more qualified than you was hired. you pocketed the fazwrench anyways—it might be useful.

you see a s.t.a.f.f. bot with a flashlight and you approached it. it sprung to life and pointed the flashlight at you, but it died afterwards. you scooped up the flashlight and clicked it on, finding a torn up map that told you where you were.

if the pizzaplex wasn’t in so much disrepair, you’d have already known where you were, but crumbling walls and graffiti had covered much of the area and messed with your sense of direction.

wading through the rubble, you find the massive doors that you had grown accustomed to stepping through every night. the door creaked open and you held your breath, surveying the collapsed wreckage of the playpens. as you took a step inside, you heard a clattering.

“hello? anyone here?”

you asked tentatively, hoping to the gods that the only beings in here were you and the rats. you can’t hear anything else.

“…got it.”

you called out. you stepped forward and began looking around.

“if anyone’s here, i’m just looking for the sun and moon animatronic.”

you announced, kicking a couple balls around from in the ball pit. worst case, some stuff had collapsed on him and broke him completely. best case, he was pinned down or in the ball pit or just hiding.

“i know you.”

you hear an animatronic voice say. it’s not quite sun and definitely not moon, more like a much softer, friendlier mix sun, so you’re wondering who exactly it is.

“i know you! you’re my best friend!”

“wait, hello? where are you?”

“look up!”

looking up, you see what looks to be sun, but he’s odd. his sun rays are out, but so is his night cap. his clothes are a mix of both, and his face looks like a mesh of both too.

“which one are you?”

you ask, watching as he lowered himself down from the wire.

“i’m eclipse.”

he speaks like the host of a kid’s show, enunciating each word. eclipse brings you in for a hug, his wires and bare endoskeleton poking you.

“ah, scraping me a little there.”

“oh, i’m so sorry! where have you been, friend? i missed you! i can’t clean up alone, you know. we have a lot of work cut out for us, we need to clean up before the kids come.”

he set you down sitting criss-cross in front of you, yet still managing to be as tall as your chest.

“um, s—eclipse, the pizzaplex is abandoned.”

you explain gently. actually, it could have been sugarcoated a little more, but whatever.

“what?”

“it’s abandoned. there was this massive disaster that happened a couple years ago, and nobody did cleanup. i was trying to find you.”

“well, that can’t be true! can it?”

“it is, eclipse. don’t you see how crumbly the whole building is? and the graffiti?”

“but… i just came back.”

“yeah, i’m confused about the whole ‘you’ thing, too. i’ve never met you.”

“yes you have! you met both of me.”

“they’re both you?”

you echoed.

“of course!”

sun’s voice came from the robot’s speaker this time.

“so when will the children come back?”

eclipse asks, his head spinning in a circle.

“eclipse, we need to get you out of here. i don’t think anyone is going to come back.”

you decide. eclipse stands up.

“leave? i can’t leave the pizzaplex, friend! i’m programmed not to.”

“eclipse, you can’t stay here. you’re going to end up rotting here.”

you remember the fazwrench in your pocket.

“come here, i can turn off that command. i’m so lucky i live alone.”

you mutter. this is a stupid decision. bringing home a 7-foot tall robot just because you liked it a couple years ago. stupid, stupid.

“you know how to code? that’s amazing!”

…okay, he’s not so bad. you smile softly as he allows you to plug into him. it’s rather easy to recode him, fazbear entertainment should invest in more security.

“you should be good. how do you feel?”

“i don’t feel very different, but i know you changed me. thank you, friend.”

“do you know how to get to parts and services? i’m kinda directionally blind.”

“why do we need to go there?”

“i still have my key. i can raid them of spare parts and fix you back up.”

“really!? you’ve always been so thoughtful.”

you chuckle at his words.

“do you know where it is, though?”

“i do! i can patrol at night, remember?”

“right. i remember the lock-ins.”

you followed him outside the daycare. he took one last look at his room.

“i wish fazbear entertainment still did lock-ins.”

eclipse sighed. before stepping out, he paused.

“wait, can i bring something? please?”

“sure? as long as it’s not very big.”

“it’s not! i’ll be right back.”

eclipse ascends into the air and returns to the stage, disappearing behind the curtain to a room. he returns a couple seconds later with a handful of papers in his claws, all child-made art for him.

“okay! let’s go to parts and services.”

“do you want me to carry that for you?”

“would you really?”

“sure.”

you open your bag and carefully slot the papers in so they don’t crinkle more than they already are.

“thank you!”

he again says gratefully, bringing you into another spiky hug.

—

when you open the door to parts and services, a couple rats scurry past. they don’t bother you.

“alright, just go lay on that bed over there.”

you instruct, unlocking the animatronic parts closet. you sweep all of the extra parts into your bag and rummage through the clothing.

you find the sun/moon outfit and some eclipse-specific spare parts in a box high up. they hadn’t been touched in ages, it looked like the repairmen neglected sun and moon in favor of the glamrocks.

you found just enough to put him back together, luckily, but you couldn’t find the paint. you’d been looking for a couple minutes when you give up.

“hey, eclipse, have you seen the paint anywh-“

you find him standing behind you. his mask makes it to where he’s smiling 24/7, but he’s definitely not pleased.

“you’re taking a long time.”

“sorry, i’m looking for paint. go lay back down, i’ll be there in a second.”

“it’s right here.”

he picked up a small bucket of paint nestled inside a cluster of cobwebs in the far corner of a shelf. with his massive 7 foot frame, he towers over you and reaches for it without even leaning over.

“thanks, eclipse…”

you mutter, nervous by his behavior.

“let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

“okay!”

he snaps back into a cheerful demeanor.

“so what happened to you? you lost a foot, your endo’s peeking out, and some of your sun rays are broken.”

“some of the play place collapsed on me.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. listen, i’m gonna power you off while i do this, okay? you might be able to think and such while i’m repairing you, but i don’t want you moving or talking in case i mess up.”

“okay, you can power me off.”

he says, laying back and waiting.

you wedge the spare foot back on him carefully. once it’s in place, you begin unscrewing eclipse’s facial plates. you cut off his clothing so you can wipe down his endo with alcohol wipes.

after the cleaning, you slip the fresh clothes on him and then begin placing new or cleaned plastic body pieces on. you even remove, clean, and repaint his eyes, giving him back the blue irises that had long since faded into white.

you put the new faceplate on with a click and then power eclipse back on. he blinks—actually blinks, since his old faceplate’s eyelids were kept permanently open by food buildup from little kids. he looked better than he did when you worked with him, not to brag.

“how you feeling, eclipse?”

“oh my. i feel wonderful!”

he hops up and stares at a cracked window, looking at his reflection.

“alright, good. i kinda wanna leave asap, i don’t like being here this long. minor sense of foreboding in my bones.”

—

passing by the front entrance, you hear crying coming from a robot voice, unmistakably roxanne wolf.

“is that roxy?”

you whisper to eclipse. he bristles and looks back over at you.

“it is roxy. but you said we had to leave, right? so let’s go.”

he says a little louder than necessary.

“who’s there!?”

roxy asks, standing up and stumbling around.

“i can hear you. gregory!? get over here!”

she sprints into the foyer. eclipse hooks his hands around your waist as he ascends back into the air—you’d never been more grateful for the cable he can fly with.

“i feel bad for her.”

you murmur. she looks absolutely awful.

“but you have me, remember? your best friend? you can’t take her too.”

“i have to do something. i’ll come back, maybe tomorrow.”

“without me? i should come too. she’s dangerous, remember? she was going to hurt you.”

you sigh.

“sure, eclipse, you’re more than welcome to come too.”

—

you’re lucky he’s able to bend into a shorter shape. you kinda wonder how to fit his gangly frame, but he curls up into a ball for the trip over. he apparently doesn’t like car rides, so he keeps his hand safely entwined in yours.

“so, i live on a farmhouse, but my animals share a barn. there’s another barn that i fixed up so stray cats had some shelter, you can live in that or we can figure out how to fit you in my house.”

you said. he stares at you for a moment but ultimately decides.

“your house. it’ll be safer. i can protect you and clean the rooms and help make food.”

“okay. you’ll live in my house, then.” you decided.

#eclipse fnaf #eclipse x reader #eclipse fnaf sb #fnaf ruin #ruin dlc #x reader #tw yandere #yandere eclipse x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #idk what other tags to add #yandere eclipse

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