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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months

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My Little Muse ~ HHJ [M]

WORD COUNT: 4.9K (you broke my 2k streak hehe thank you)

GENRE: mafia!AU, continution of THIS piece, hyunjin simping for reader,building of relationship, fast paced, insta love, SMUT MINORS DNI (You WILL be blocked) cunnilingus (female recieving) protected sex

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

"Do you even know who that was?" The lady behind the counter of your pain shop questioned, her eyes scanning over your body as she looked at your appearance trying to see what it was that Hyunjin liked about you so much. You weren't even that special - to her at least. It was obvious by her tone of voice that she was annoyed by you because of a random man asking you out on a date, but it wasn't as though you asked him to pay you any attention.

"N-No." You stuttered a little, your eyes never straying from the man as he straightened out the black suit he was wearing and climbed into the back of a black SUV. Part of you was intrigued by him, he seemed so charming and confident when he'd told you to go on a date with him.

"That's Hwang Hyunjin." She stated as if it was meant to mean something to you, but you were new to the City and you had no idea who anybody was. You weren't much of a gossip so you didn't read town magazines, you mostly kept to yourself spending time at work or painting at home.

"Is he a celebrity?" You frowned, turning to look at the lady who was biting back a smirk. You could tell she wanted to say but she didn't, she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders at you.

"Good luck, he's relentless when he sees something he wants." Before you could ask what she meant she was going toward the back of the store while you looked around nervously wondering if everyone working inside of the store knew of the man.

It had been weeks of non-stop gifts coming to your apartment and your workplace and it was safe to say it was getting a little out of hand. It had started small at first, the occasional box of chocolates - which you never ate in case they'd been tampered with - then there were some notes that were left at your desk - all cute and sweet notes from HHJ but then when he realised you weren't responding the gifts got bigger.

One morning you'd walked into work to find a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers on your desk with a note attached, "I asked your boss what kind you liked, go out with me tonight? HHJ" Rumours were spreading quickly around the office that you were dating him which wasn't true. He'd given you his number a few weeks ago - along with one of the notes - and you'd saved it into your phone but never called him. You weren't sure you were comfortable going out with someone as the likes of him.

You weren't stupid, the moment you'd left the paint shop and headed home - empty-handed by the way, you weren't going to take such expensive gifts from a stranger - you'd researched him and found out everything there was to know about Hyunjin.

A ruthless leader, the tabloids painted him as a "kind-hearted" man who helped a lot of businesses grow and kept them protected from others who threatened to cause harm to the business or who stole. But if you dove deep enough there were articles that painted a not-so-pretty picture of him, a killer who took what he wanted whenever he wanted it and you didn't know which side to see.

Everyone you'd asked at work about Hyunjin had said nothing but kind things, everyone seemed to like him but you were never sure because of his title. "Mafia leader" didn't really scream "green flag" mostly, red flags all over with a hint of green if you squinted really hard enough.

"Yn, you've worked enough tonight. Head home," Your boss grumbled as he looked at you and over at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine pm and you'd already been there since 7 am, it was safe to say you were overworking yourself but you didn't care. You'd been hoping to wait out the black SUV you could see from your office window but it was still there and had been since 5 pm.

"But-"

"He's still going to wait there no matter how long you hold out," Brady told you, shaking his head.

"Give him what he wants. If he gets his date maybe he'll leave you alone." You sighed a little as you packed up your laptop and slid it into your bag, maybe Brady was right but you weren't sure you liked your boss telling you to go on a date with someone.

"I'll think about it," You mumbled, making your way toward the stairwell, counting down the steps until you'd be outside and in front of the black SUV that was waiting for you.

As soon as you stepped onto the pavement Hyunjin - along with two huge men - were waiting for you,

"You won't give up, will you?" You quizzed, wrapping a scarf around your neck as you tried to beat the cold air that was whipping around.

"Not while I'm alive," Hyunjin said with a cocky smile plastered across his cheek. He was standing there in a simple suit and yet it was like the freezing temperature didn't bother him one bit. You sighed a little looking at him and then at the two men who appeared to look cold.

"Fine. ONE date. That's it!" You told yourself that you were agreeing to this so that the two men beside Hyunjin could finally go and get warm again.

"Okay, one date." He nodded stepping to the side and offering you to get into the car. It was either a car ride home with him or the subway so you began to walk toward the car,

"You're not going to fight for more than one?" Not that you were complaining but you had expected a little fight from him after all the effort he'd done to get you to accept. As you stepped into the car Hyunjin pulled you back so that your back was against his chest and he whispered in your ear,

"Trust me, I know you'll be begging for more." His breath caught against your skin and that's what you blamed the butterflies that were fluttering inside of your stomach on. There was no way you were attracted to him, not when he was a walking red flag, so you brushed the feeling away and sat in the back of the car.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday. Wear something fancy," Hyunjin told you with a smile, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your skin softly. He wasn't going to drive home with you tonight, he trusted his driver to take good care of you which was why he'd been sending him every morning before work as well as after. He couldn't stand the thought of you riding the subway every day, not when there were dangerous people about.

Not to mention, now that you'd been associated with him you were a walking target already and he wasn't going to let anything happen to you.

"I don't have anything fancy." You contended but he smirked at you, he'd already taken care of something he'd wanted you to wear for him.

"I'm sure you'll find something." With that he shut the door and tapped the side of it, watching as the car drove off into the night.

Hyunjin hadn't lied when he told you that you'd find something, when you'd walked into your apartment the other night there had been a box waiting for you with your name on it.

Inside was one of the most stunning dresses you'd ever laid your eyes on and you dreaded to think how much money it would have cost him. But there were more pressing questions you had. How did he get into your apartment? and How did he know your dress size? All things you were planning on asking him as you waited for him inside the lobby of your apartment building. It was far too cold to be waiting outside in your gown - which was what it was, a ball gown. Something you'd never thought you'd wear.

A long silky green ball gown that slit up your left leg and stopped just below the top of your thigh, revealing your leg in a sexy - yet classy way. You had no idea what Hyunjin had in store for you but you were a little worried,

"Miss Yln, Mr Hwang is here," You nodded at your doorman - Ted - said as you slowly got up from the chair and let out a deep breath. You were nervous about all of this, but you were more nervous about meeting up with Hyunjin, what if he didn't like the dress on you? What if he changed his mind and left without saying anything?

You had no time to question anymore as a hand slowly took yours and a kiss was placed upon your skin, you hadn't even noticed you were outside until you felt him touch you.

"You look beautiful, as always," He whispered to you, looking at you and taking in your appearance. His personal shopper had been right the dress was perfect for you, he had half the mind to stay in all night instead of taking you out with him.

"T-Thanks, you look good too." "Good" was an understatement, you don't think you'd ever seen a man look so hot in your entire life. He was once again in a suit but this one was different, he was in a tailored suit with a bow tie and looked just as fancy as you did tonight.

"We should get going, don't want to be late." He nodded over to the limo and your eyes bulged out of your head,

"Where are we going?" You quizzed as he took your hand in his and helped you into the back of the black Limo. It was dark inside except for some LED lights that lined the underside of the seats and some fake stars on the ceiling.

"An event I was invited to," Hyunjin answered, not giving you the answers you clearly wanted from him but he was enjoying getting to toy with you a little.

You'd come into his life so unexpectedly and he loved it, he found himself thinking about you when he knew he should have been working or when he was painting. Sitting in his art studio at home were countless paintings of you, all in different scenarios but you'd become his muse.

"What event?" He chuckled a little as he shut the door to the limo, glancing at you with a smirk on his face. He already loved that you asked him so many questions, you had a backbone and it was nice to have someone around him like that. Everyone else was so quick to bend to him and he hated how dull and boring that was. With you, he had to fight for what he wanted and you fought back just as hard.

"Do you always ask this many questions?" He arched a brow, holding out a glass of champagne for you to take and you studied it for a second wondering if you could take it or not.

"Yes, and you won't get out of them by avoiding them. I have many, starting with how you knew my dress size and how you got into my apartment?" You took the glass from him, watching as he took a drink from his own and you downed the glass that you were holding.

"I trust you did research on me?" He wasn't stupid, he knew someone would have told you his full name and you would have googled him sooner or later. Besides, he wanted you to know some things before going forward with a date with him,

"Well...Y-Yeah but that doesn't answer-"

"I'm a very powerful man, Miss Yln, I can get into any place I want and once I was in your place I found your dress size." He said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world for someone to do and you didn't know if it scared you or excited you.

"Do I need to sweep for hidden cameras?" Something you hadn't thought of before, what if he had it set up so he could see you changing?

"Spying isn't my style."

"No, but stalking seems to be." You grumbled at him, making him laugh with you, but you weren't joking.

"I wouldn't call it stalking. I was giving you gifts."

"And sending a car all of the time, finding out where I lived." You reminded him and he rolled his eyes playfully at you. It wasn't as though he'd paid for someone to give him your address, it was public information if you looked hard enough.

"Where you live is employer information, wasn't my fault you worked for me." Hyunjin shrugged you but frowned at him, you didn't work for him as far as you knew.

"I work for Brady."

"Who works for me. It's a big world out there, my little muse." The nickname sent a tingle up and down your spine and you hated yourself for it. You were supposed to be turned off by him but the more time you spent around him the more drawn to him you were.

"Muse?" You raised your eyebrow and he smirked at you a little,

"A source of inspiration."

"No, I know what a muse is, why are you calling me it?"

"It's a cute nickname," He shrugged not letting you know just yet that you were the one thing keeping his art alive and he would do anything to make sure he didn't lose his inspiration now he'd found it.

"This place is huge." You whispered to Hyunjin as you walked around the huge art gallery he'd bought you along to. All of the walls were painted a brilliant white colour so that the canvases and other art pieces stood out among the masses.

"It's lovely to see you Mr Hwang, and with a date? It's already rare to see you out but even more rare with someone with you." You stared at the journalist who seemed to be buzzing with excitement as Hyunjin dropped his arm to be around your waist, and your stomach flipped.

Those damn butterflies inside of you needed to stop, you wanted to crush each and every one of them for feeling for Hyunjin,

"I trust you'll keep everything off the books that you see here tonight. I wouldn't want Yn scared off."

"Of course, it's lovely to meet you Yn." The man bowed to you before leaving you both alone and you were a little speechless.

"Does everyone bend to your every command?"

"Everyone except you." He stated as he took two glasses from a passing waiter, handing one of them to you before drinking all of the contents from his own. He was nervous and he hadn't been this nervous for something in his whole life, at least not for a long time but being here, with you, made him nervous.

"You hate that, don't you?" You giggled drinking slowly from the glass and watching your date as he turned to look at you and smiled,

"No, I actually kind of love it."

"Why?" You didn't understand how a man who could get everything he could ever want by the snap of his fingers would ever want you. He could have anybody else and yet he wanted you,

"You don't make life boring. You're excited," He told you while looking into your eyes,

"So, you like me fighting you back?"

"My little muse, I love everything you do." Before you had time to process anything else he began to walk with you toward some paintings that were hanging up.

"Tonight's function is about raising money for schools." You frowned as he told you this.

"Art schools, if we raise enough money we can add more scholarship programmes for kids who can't afford to come to schools we provide." If your heart wasn't already singing for him before it was practically making an album devoted to him by now. If you were listening to him right he was building art schools for people,

"We?" You stuttered a little, there was no way it was true. Everything you'd been reading about him and it had never once mentioned this.

"Hmm, me and a board of chairmen. My name isn't on anything, I don't want people to know about it and use it against me. Or destroy it," He stared down at you, your eyes hadn't moved from his face the whole time it was like you were seeing him in a whole new light right now,

"What made you decide that was what you wanted to do with your time and money?" Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak but his eyes glanced behind you and he smiled warmly,

"Geum Ji Eun," He greeted, you spun around to see a teenage boy who bowed to you both and you did the same.

"It's beautiful, no?" Someone with a thick British accent asked causing you to turn your head to see someone standing beside you. You'd spotted him around as you'd been walking but you smiled a little at him, trying to be as polite as possible,

"Ah, now I see the real reason for your stare, you're the woman in the painting," You'd been staring at the painting for almost ten minutes now trying to figure out why Hyunjin would have painted you and displayed you here. The piece was labelled "Little Muse" and it wasn't the only painting that displayed you as the main focus but it was the one you were most drawn to.

It depicted you inside of an art studio in a white button-up shirt and shorts while painting on your own canvas, it was clearly something Hyunjin had created on a whim since you'd never done anything like that but it was beautiful.

"I don't think I am, I think it's just a coincidence," You laughed nervously looking around for Hyunjin but you could no longer see him from where you were standing.

"I don't think so, I think Hyunjin painted you for a reason." The man stepped closer to you and all of the hairs stood up on the back of your neck letting you know that something wasn't right.

"That reason being?" You backed off a little but he continued to step forward until you hit something hard behind you, panicking you looked up to see a bald man who could have been 6''5 looking down at you with an angry scowl on his face.

"He wants people to know you're his," The first man growled out, stepping toward you so that he was almost touching you,

"I suggest you move away from my future wife or I'll make sure you die a slow and torturous death," You said nothing about the future wife comment but watched as the two men scattered away from you clearly terrified of Hyunjin.

"Future wife?" You questioned him as he stepped closer to you, looking down at you and scanning your features trying to see if you were hurt or scared in any way but you didn't appear to be.

"How is it, that two men can scare you and you completely forget about them and ask me about something I said?" He laughed a little and shook his head at you, you were braver than he thought.

"I knew you'd never let them hurt me." You spoke without thinking about it first causing you and Hyunjin to freeze in place. He didn't think earning your trust would be as easy as it was.

"You trust me that much?"

"I-" You did and you didn't even know why, but you did and you weren't going to lie about it to him.

"I'm not sure why, but I do." A giant smile took over Hyunjin's face and he took you by your arm and began to walk around the gallery with you once again.

Throughout the rest of the evening whenever you were introduced to someone Hyunjin made sure to introduce you as his "future wife" which would have been something that put you off but for some reason it didn't. It only made you giggle and shake your head at him.

"Thank you for an amazing night," Hyunjin said as he slowly leaned forward a kissed your cheek, sparks flew from the contact and your stomach felt as though it was going to explode.

"Do you want to come up for a hot drink?" You found yourself asking, you didn't want the night to end and you needed more of him.

"Are you sure?" You nodded at him and Hyunjin paid his driver to wait for him but you smirked a little.

"Spend the night," As soon as the words left your lips Hyunjin's cheeks blushed bright red and you turned to walk into the building, swaying your hips a little as you knew he'd be watching you walk away from him.

"You're so hot," He groaned as you got into the elevator of your apartment, your body was pushed up against the mirror as you looked back at him a giggled.

"Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands and lips to myself all night?"

"No one told you to," You whined out at him before he kissed your neck softly.

"You enjoy challenging me, don't you? Fuck, it turns me on so much whenever you fight back at me." He groaned a little before kissing up to your lips and kissing you deeply, grabbing your neck and pushing you into him.

He wanted to take his time with you and be gentle but he couldn't, not when he was craving you as much as he did right now. His lips moved to your neck and he began sucking on your skin, smirking as he heard a moan escape your lips that was almost as beautiful as you.

"I need to taste you," He groaned sinking to his knees in front of you making your eyes fly open,

"Hyunjin, we're in public,"

"I want to taste you, so I'm going to," Besides it was almost two in the morning it wasn't as though someone was going to get into the elevator with you.

He pushed the dress up and found you naked below the silk,

"No underwear?" He smirked before he gently began rubbing your clit making you gasp out, you were soaking wet for him and he wasn't going to waste a single second waiting to get to your apartment. His tongue dragged against your slit and you whined at him,

"Please...Hyunjin," You begged no longer caring that you were in an elevator with him right now.

"Spread your legs, I want full access to what's mine." He ordered and this time you didn't fight him, you moved your legs further apart and he placed one of them over his shoulder. He was ravenous for the taste of you, he wanted nothing more than to make you cum for him as he sucked on your clit slowly pushed two fingers into you and stole your moans away from you,

"That's it, little muse, let it go." He moaned out as you began to work your hips on him, grinding yourself into his face as he thrust his tongue into you. Your hands slowly moved to his hair and you gripped onto him tightly as you rode his face, moaning his name louder each time you rocked your hips.

"F-Fuck," You swore out, your eyes screwed shut as your orgasm hit you knocking you over the edge as you screamed his name out.

Hyunjin slowly raised and smirked as the elevator arrived at your floor and you stormed out dragging him but his blazer as you tried your best to hurriedly open your apartment door.

As soon as the two of you were in your apartment you threw your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him desperately, kicking off your shoes and biting down on his lip.

"I need you," You moaned out, the orgasm you'd gotten in the elevator wasn't enough, you needed more of him, all of him and you weren't going to stop until you had him.

"You sure? I don't want you to regret it," You knew he was teasing you and you hated him for it as you unbuckled his belt and pulled him free from the confines of his pants.

"Does it seem like I will?" You moaned out, pumping his cock in your hand slowly as he let out a low groan,

"I want you," You begged, pushing the head of his cock to your clit and rubbing yourself against him, the friction simply wasn't enough for you,

"Don't I deserve it?" You put on a pleading voice and Hyunjin growled, if he wasn't careful he was going to lose control of you and he wanted to savour every second he had.

"Tell me you want this," He ground out, looking down at you as you giggled a little.

"I want you to fuck me Hwang Hyunjin." Without a second to lose he followed you to your bed and smirked as you stripped out of your dress hurriedly making him strip too.

"You sure?" He smirked as he watched you glare at him,

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," You mumbled as he laid you down on the bed, his head dipping down as he licked your breast biting down on your nipple and tugging it with his teeth, you whimpered out and your legs spread further apart. You pointed to the nightstand and Hyunjin ragged it open, finding a condom and rolling it onto himself with not a second to spare.

It was slow at first as he thrust into you, looking down at you as he gave you some time to adjust, his lips kissing you hungrily as you tightened around him. God, he was bigger than you thought he was and your eyes squeezed tightly as you tried to ignore the slight pain you were feeling, you knew it would pass soon.

“You’re so tight, little muse.” He groaned, slowly pulling out of you and thrusting into you once more, your walls stretching around him each time as you whimpered his name out.

"You're just too big," You hissed, pulling his hair a little as he groaned,

"But you can take me, can't you, little muse?" He teased pushing into you deeper and you could have sworn you could feel him in your gut,

“H-Hyunjin,” You moaned out, looking at him as he smirked a little.

“Faster…Please,” You begged before he nodded at you, thrusting in and out of you a little faster this time, your whole body shaking as you moaned his name out so loud you were sure your neighbours were going to complain but you didn’t care.

Sex with Hyunjin felt like nothing could ever harm you again, like nothing else in the world mattered as long as he was fucking you.

“I want you like this every night,” He groaned out, thrusting harder as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes.

“I want you everywhere, over my desk, in my office, fuck,” He grunted out as his cocked pumped in you again, the sound of your skin colliding growing louder inside of the quiet room.

“I need you all the damn time.” He grunted as he kissed you deeply, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer. God, you felt so good he never wanted this to end but he could feel his orgasm rushing closer each time you clenched around him and you weren’t far off either. He could tell by the way your mouth formed an O and your moans turned into quieter whimpers.

“Hyunjin,” You warned out as you squeezed around his cock, his hips moving at a faster speed as he grunted your name out. The new pace of his cock made your orgasm hit you like a truck and you cried out, squeezing him as you cried his name out loudly. Watching you lose it for him sent him over the edge as you milked his cock of everything he’d been holding back,

“You’re mine, little muse. My future wife, mine.” You slumped against the bed as you nodded at him, whimpering as he pulled free from you and discarded the used condom into the bin inside of your room.

“Yours.” You mumbled to him as he let out a breathy chuckle and made his way to your bathroom, running you a hot bath for you to relax inside of before he took you for a second time that night.

Throughout the years your relationship with Hyunjin only grew stronger the longer that you were together and you were always his “little muse” no matter who came into his life, including your daughter whom he called “mini muse”. The two of you were the light of his life and he was so thankful to run into you all those years ago in the paint store - which he bought and renamed “little muse” after you got married. It was safe to say Hyunjin was more than obsessed with you.

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lxvebun · 2 months

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flurry of colours

synopsis: asking the genshin boyfriends what color they see you as

content: Alhaitham/Kazuha/Wriothesley x gender neutral reader. Fluff! Use of nickname darling/dove. Wrio is pretty short I wasn't entirely sure how to write him😭. English is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes♡

D*rk content blogs do not interact (*a)

Alhaitham

"It's not your problem if Kaveh's struggling with his color schemes, darling" he replies quickly, not even bothering to look up from the page in his book.

"Archons, Haitham, it's not like that. Just look at me and imagine what color I radiate :)

he sighs a little, closing the book but keeping his fingers between the pages. Even if he thinks it's a bit of a silly question, he does take a moment to let his eyes trace over you, shamelessly letting them linger on your lips too. for a second you think he's actually going to answer your question but then you see him failing to suppress a smirk and his gaze meets yours with an expression you can only describe as Are you serious?

"Humor me Alhaitham"

Alright, let me think.. he completely closes his book this time, placing it in front of him on his desk and rests his head on his hand

"Colors can actually invoke a lot of thoughts and impressions. Most people associate red with warmth, and passion, but also with danger or fear depending on the context. A lot of people view black as a masking color be it clothes to hide certain parts of yourself or the shadows in your nightmares, but you can also see it as a protective color as it doesn't reflect. Blue is usually related to the sea, the lighter tones with sunny mornings walking along the shore, darker tones of blue can relate to the deep cold unknown depth that's hidden from prying eyes......if I had to describe you a color..it would be green. Not necessarily because of the associations with it, wisdom, calmness, and hope. which do apply to you don't get me wrong, but green is my favorite color, and you're my favorite person. Simple as that. Now, care to read with me for a bit?

*he's so annoying but he does it so well. Bites him*

Kazuha and wrio under the cut♡

Kazuha

kazuha has been a bit gloomy as of lately. His usual flowery words have lost their petals, His leatherbound notebook has not made an appearance in a while, neither have the little poems he writes for you to wake up to, and his fingers are clean, not covered with his usual, and at this point, you believed to be permanent, ink stains. It's clear he's been going through the infamous writers block. something that most artist go through and also get out of but it's nonetheless an infuriating part of being an creative individual. But since Kazuha has made you his muse as he told you many many times before, who are you to not try and help inspire your lovely boyfriend.

It takes you a while of bringing him to random locations for sunset walks or stargazing and asking him random questions until one finally hits the spot. His eyes immediately lighting up as he turns to you with such a warm expression of love and adoration you're pretty sure your heart skipped a beat

"That's a very beautiful question, dove"

He takes a moment to think about it, eyes lovingly tracing over every little detail of you, the backlight of the sun, the glimmer of the waves shining in your eyes

"I don't think describing you as one color does you justice. You shift hues as softly and gently as the day shifts into night, and the sun makes place for the moon in the sky. But if I do have to say just one, I see hints of purple in you, but that could also be because the color reminds me of my hometown and everytime I look at you, my soul feels at home" He answers with a new found excitement in his voice

"Actually, maybe I can use this for a poem-"

*i'm projecting can you tell?*

Wriothesley

You often come down into the fortress to spend some time with him on his break. With both of you living on different levels of Fontaine, you'll take any chance you can get to be around him and even when it's not officially his break time, he could never say no to you....or tea time

That's why you're here now sitting on the edge of his desk as he hastily discared the paperwork to make room for the teapot and biscuits. As quickly as the tea flows, the conversation passes from deep and meaningful, romantic ones, to terrible jokes and banter as both of you just talk about whatever comes to mind.

So he doesn't raise an eyebrow when you ask him what colors remind him of you. it's quite endearing how he just goes along with whatever silly questions or requests you throw at him without making you feel embarrassed about it

"Probably between a pearlescent white and a warm honey yellow."

"Interesting answer...why?"

"the colours remind me of the sun and the moon, and living at the bottom of the ocean here in the fortress we don't have either of those of course. You're the closest thing I have to feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin or experiencing calm atmosphere of the moonlight. And to be honest I prefer you over the real thing♡"

Hes so cute *cries*

Thank you for reading angels!♡

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesely x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #kazuha x gender neutral reader #genshin fluff

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

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rogue ink

Daemon Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 3.4k ▪︎ masterlist

themes/warnings: fluff, language, very brief mention of smut

The reader is devastated at the loss of her precious journal, worried that it might fall into the wrong hands. And who better else to discover it, but the Rogue Prince himself?

It was a small thing.

A small, leather-bound journal. Filled with accounts of your days and nights, your deepest thoughts, your pains. An unassuming object, sort of tattered from use.

And it had been missing for three days. The gods were not good.

You searched everywhere. Every corner of your chambers, in all the pouches you had especially sewn onto your dresses, practically every inch of the Red Keep which you have called home ever since your family was invited to King Viserys' court.

And yet it was nowhere to be found.

It was immediately noticeable to your inner circle that something was amiss, but you just shrugged it off. One person you did confide in, however, was Princess Rhaenyra herself. The two of you quickly grew close after her former companion, Alicent, was sent off to wed some wealthy, Southern lord.

"So what if it has gone missing? Perhaps you have simply misplaced it? Anyway, we could easily get you a new one, y/n."

Your head swiftly turned in her direction, "I appreciate your tone of confidence, Rhaenyra - "

She nodded, making a playful show of curtsying.

" - but... I've scrolled down personal matters in those pages. Especially when it concerns..."

She paused in her step. Hands clasped behind her, she leaned forward, "Ah. I see."

When it concerns Daemon. But it need not be said aloud.

Rhaenyra has been privy to some of your musings about her beloved uncle. Only the ones that you would ever let befall on another person's ears, that is. Some of it... well... would be more than enough to make any maiden blush.

"How could I forget?" Rhaenyra smiled, "You fancy Daemon." Then her face turns sly, "He fancies you too, you know. But of course, I know why you would be reluctant to engage with all of... that."

Your hand reaches up in an attempt to hide your face from shame, "Gods, what would happen if anyone at court were to find it? It would only be so easy to determine that the thing is my possession. I've written my father's and mother's names on it, and yours, and Daemon's..."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you steady, "This court of sycophants never runs out of fodder for their dull conversations. Your journal might be spoken of for a day or two, then they shall move on to something of lesser import."

You sighed deeply, a mask of calm appearing on your visage, though Rhaenyra knew better.

It will be alright. Another half-truth. This loss will soon be a trifling thing.

If only...

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Daemon Targaryen has been having quite the interesting time as of late.

The pages of your small, tattered journal feel light on his fingertips, but he might be inclined to say that the mere feel of the parchment is exhilarating.

These thoughts were yours. These secrets, these desires were yours.

Truthfully, he has not been completely shy about his admiration for you. His precious dove. His sweetling. You thought nothing of it, knowing full well how he is. The Rogue Prince has been known to possess countless paramours.

And you are damned if you would allow yourself to be one of his mere passing fancies. To be bedded one night and forgotten the next.

He once thought that his admiration is not well-received, until one morning, when he watched as an object fell out of your dress as you sprinted down the hallway, headed to only the gods knew where. You bumped into several ladies of the court, mumbling rushed apologies, only to be met with irate stares, but you went on without any mind to them.

Daemon failed to hide the smile that sprung from his lips. He quietly shifted to the spot where you dropped something, and that's when he saw it. Your journal.

It could only be yours. Who else would scroll down that thinly veiled warning on the first page, dedicated to any stranger who might deign to read it?

Daemon, of course, believed himself immune to such threats and he hurriedly found a secluded place to sit down and immerse himself in the woman who has managed to take sanctum in his mind.

And his heart, but the notorious prince would still be loath to admit that.

A few pages in, with amusement dancing his eyes, his chest felt warm at the image of you inking these thoughts onto the parchment.

Then came – “Once more, if you might be a nosy intruder, turn away now, or the very worst fortunes shall fall upon you. I swear this on both the old gods and the new.”

Perhaps I should stop. After all, she just might impale me with mine own Dark Sister if she found this in my possession. Daemon’s hand hesitated as he was about to turn the next page.

He had half a mind to close your journal, partially resolved at returning it to your chambers without you even having to notice its loss, but his eyes were quickly drawn to the following words…

“I finally saw Prince Daemon Targaryen this morning.”

How could Daemon stop his perusing at that moment? He read on with renewed interest, yearning to know more of what you think about him.

“By the gods, he is as beautiful as he is infuriating. I was made to be the cupbearer in today’s small council meeting, and the Rogue Prince strolled in, well in the middle of the discussion, without any mind as to the disturbance that his late arrival caused, if any. Not a care in the seven kingdoms. He paid absolutely no mind to me, standing there in the corner.

But I saw him.”

Daemon found himself rolling his eyes. Of course, he would give off the worst impression upon the first moment she glanced at him. But then again…

She thinks me beautiful. Vanity had allowed him to glaze over the part where you call him “infuriating”.

I suppose I shall have further use for your precious book, my sweetling.

And so the next few days were spent raking your journal for passages about him. Daemon knows full well that doing so can be deemed a violation of your privacy, but if he can use this to get closer to you, then this is something that simply must be allowed.

In his eyes, it may even be necessary. He needs this. Wants it, even. He wants to get under your skin, and these pages all but symbolize that very thing.

After all, Daemon swore that he shall only read the parts wherein he is concerned, and that is well within his right, is it not?

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“Daemon is indeed something to behold. Yes, my opinion still stands.

However, I am not certain what to make of him. Is he to be trusted? No. Bloody well not. Is he kind? That is not really a word anyone would use to define him.

But… there is something… something in his eyes. Daemon is much more than the rogue scoundrel that his moniker deems him to be. He is more than just ‘dangerous’ or ‘unpredictable’ or a potential ‘second Maegor’ (Truthfully, I find it hard to believe that last thing). Daemon is… more than that.

I just can’t find the words to encapsulate him. Perhaps words never can.”

The days pass quickly, and Daemon finds himself opening your journal now and again.

He cannot help it. The more he reads, the more he learns of you. But that is not the only reason. He is also discovering himself, as it turns out - an image of himself that he has not entertained before.

Not only The Rogue Prince, but a person of greater value than his notorious misdeeds. He believes that you see something in him that not even he can see himself.

Something more. Something… good.

Though his intentions prove to be not entirely innocent, as is the usual case. He comes upon one specific part, with your penmanship turning into a nervous scribble. It is as if you were wary that someone might be looking over your shoulder and deign to discover what salacious scrawls you have put down about the Rogue Prince.

Daemon’s eyes hurriedly glide over the ink, basking in what he reads.

“I must confess something.

I know it is quite unbecoming of a lady. Of a maiden. But in the last hour of the owl, I…

I…

Oh, gods. I pleasured myself to the thought of him.

You know. It can only be him. Daemon.”

“Seven fucking save me.” Daemon finds himself cursing with delight at what he just read. So his sweetling does want him in return. Oh, you cannot even imagine what I will do to you…

“We have grown quite close, him and I. Daemon is… Daemon is aflame. There can be no better word for him. He is fire incarnate, and I am not afraid of getting burned.

Or… I don’t want to be. I just. Want. Him.

I want to feel him. I want to feel his lips on mine. Not long ago, he leaned in close and his musk enveloped me. His lips very nearly grazed my cheek. Silly me could not come up with a witty response then and there. A shame. But can you blame me? All I could think about was snogging the fucking Rogue Prince himself!

Ha! Gods!

Perhaps I have gone insane.”

Daemon chuckles freely, alone in his chambers, your journal firmly between both hands. Any clueless onlooker would think it strange, as the Rogue Prince does not make a habit of exhibiting such behaviour. The pleasure in the tone of his laughter rings true and genuine.

If it becomes known that the reason for this is the Lady Y/n, then only a fool would dare deny the centre of their prince’s affections.

“But I cannot deny it.

I cannot have him. I shall not… he is… he does not seem willing to devote himself to just one lady. One wife. There is never a lack of gossip about the prince’s exploits in the Street of Silk, and a hundred other brothels besides.

His need cannot be sated it seems. I… surely, I will not be enough to sate it.

And I won’t allow myself to be one among many paramours.

If I am to love, I have to be chosen as the only one.

However…

Mother spare me.

However… I find myself imagining Daemon’s hands roaming freely across the planes of my skin, fondling my chest, his fingers drifting downward until they are buried in the heat of my soaked cunt.

When the castle is asleep, I find myself writhing in my sheets, thinking about the prince’s massive co – “

A knock echoes across the chambers. Daemon’s head shoots up immediately, irritation blooming across his face, but his cheeks remain flushed from what he just read.

Who the fuck is this?

His squire enters, a gangly young lad of six and ten. He bows hurriedly, and with a shaky voice, he implores, “My prince, you are being summoned by His Grace King Viserys to the small council meeting.”

Has that blasted formality come round again so soon? Daemon shrugs, turning back to the pages. Though he can hardly focus with the snivelling interruption still present in the room, who risks arousing his master’s anger when he speaks once more, “Forgive me, my prince, but I have been instructed to report with - ”

“Will you remove yourself from my sight willingly, or shall I do it for you?”

“M-my prince… I…” The squire nearly stumbles backwards at Daemon’s wroth.

“Leave. The small council will have the privilege of my presence in due course.”

And so, Daemon is again left alone, his squire’s rapid footsteps practically bolting out the doors.

Smirking, he greets your journal like an old friend. “Now, where was I?”

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Your newly gifted journal boasts of a far more opulent appearance than its predecessor. Rhaenyra made sure that the Maesters bound only the finest parchment and leather for this very thing; the cover even has gold and red embossments, as well as inscriptions in High Valyrian.

You were reluctant to accept such a gift, but Rhaenyra was persistent. And everyone knows, there is no refusing the Realm’s Delight when she has her heart set on something.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know of the whereabouts of your journal… well, your old journal now.

Nestled in your usual spot in the gardens, you turn your new journal over in your hands, admiring the handiwork of the Maesters.

The rear possesses the inscription - Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra, se isse ōños hen skoros pirtra hembar… - which Rhaenyra explained as roughly translating to - In remembrance of my rogue ink, and in joyous anticipation of what lies ahead…

You did not fail to notice the deliberate placement of the word rogue, which can only be Rhaenyra’s doing. Clever.

Rogue ink. Rogue Prince. Am I to call myself Lady Rogue now?

“My Lady.” His voice calls out, nearly startling the journal out of your hands. Oh fuck.

“Prince Daemon,” you swivel around to his voice, and sure enough, he leans against one of the tall hedges, studying you. Not a care in the seven kingdoms, as always.

“Good morrow, sweetling.” He saunters over, permanent smirk on his lips. “That is a lovely thing you have got there,” he says, gesturing to the new journal in your lap.

“Why yes, it is.” You lay it down beside you, and he promptly picks it up without even asking for your leave.

“Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra…” He reads, the High Valyrian sounding musical on his tongue. Far better than how you attempted to voice out the same words.

“Hmm.” He hands it over, and sits right next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him.

“Rogue ink.” He mumbles thoughtfully, glancing at you.

“It was Rhaenyra’s idea.” You say, your throat suddenly feeling dry, your heart racing from his proximity.

“Ah, yes. I was very sorry to hear of how you lost your journal. Rhaenyra said you were quite devastated.” Daemon lies plainly. His beloved niece never shared this with him, for she knows you would not approve.

“She did?”

“I do recall, yes.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, choosing to let it pass. “Well, she was awfully kind in giving me this as a replacement. I could not thank her enough.”

Daemon smiles, casting his gaze downward, as if he is privy to a secret that is kept from you. Does the handsome bastard know something?

“It is a shame that I could not find it,” you sigh, “I am still perturbed by the thought of someone whose intentions are unsavoury, reading all that I have written.”

“Whatever would you do to them, were you to find out their identity, my sweetling?”

You shake your head slightly at the name he has given you. Anything to distract from the warmth spreading across your face. You lean in closer, suddenly, much to Daemon’s surprise, “Would you let me wield Dark Sister, so I might teach them a lesson?”

Daemon swallows, the sight of your darkened, mischievous expression spurring him on.

“I might,” he leans in, “but I am far too fond of myself to allow something like that to transpire. Besides,” his fingers languidly trace your jawline, “I have read that you are far too fond of me to do such a thing.”

Your stomach falls, the sensation so sudden that you simply freeze in place, with Daemon’s warm breath still fanning your face.

“You…”

Your face scrunches in a mixture of what can only be shock and anger and embarrassment. Daemon only finds it endearing. Adorable.

He starts, “Now, sweetling, try not to be cross - ”

You do not let him finish. You punch him in the shoulder, hard, making him lean away. Your legs seem to have a mind of their own, because you find yourself pacing quickly.

Gods, I just assaulted a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. More pacing. Who cares? It’s Daemon, and he deserves it.

The sound of his laughter echoes in the gardens, grating in your ears.

He stands, pulling something out of the pocket of his trousers, and presenting it to you. Your little, rogue journal.

Wrenching it from him, you can only ask, “You stole it from me?”

He looks appalled, “No, I would not do that. I found it. It might occur to you to thank me. Who knows what could have happened if anyone else besides me discovered your precious journal when you dropped it in a haste.”

“Thank you?” You stare him down, your left hand squeezing your journal firmly, threatening to destroy its very structure. “Why did it take so long for you to return it to me? Did you… did you…”

“Read it?” His eyes rake your face, over and over, enamoured by the passion he sees.

You say nothing. Of course he has.

“You must forgive my curiosity, sweetling. I could not help myself, plainly, to have some glimpse into your mind, into your heart… I simply… I had to.”

You soften a little at that. “Did you read everything?”

Daemon steps forward, overwhelming your space once more, “Not everything. Not quite.”

He gently pries the journal from your fist tucked beside you, and you watch as he flits through the pages as if it were his own. He whispers, “Only what you wrote about me.”

“Gods.” You desperately look toward the sky for some respite, not finding any.

He lands on the page he was searching for, a smile spreading across his face. “I am flattered, my lady, about how you envisioned us in what can only be… very compromising positions.”

“Enough, Daemon, please…” you bite your lip, as his hands drift across your stomach, settling low on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

The journal has been discarded by your feet, and Daemon only has eyes for you. His voice is genuine when he says, “You have written about me as if I were… someone else. Someone more.”

Your eyes catch how his tongue flicks across his lips. You start to give in, and say, “Daemon, I write only what I see.”

His lips are curled in their familiar roguish way, when he drifts even closer, tilting your face up at him with one hand.

“Daemon…”

“Sweetling… let me give you something to write about.”

In true Daemon fashion, he does not reign himself in.

His lips land on yours. The impact catches you by surprise, making you take a few steps back, and he promptly follows suit. Your bodies move in sync, until your back collides into one of the marble plinths.

His tongue pries your mouth open wide, snaking past your teeth in a frenzy. Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hands, and guides them to the back of his neck, so that you might hold him in turn. You do, burying your fingers in his silver tresses.

Your lips battle each other, and Daemon tilts your head back so that he might advance more. A low growl escapes his chest as his teeth carefully clamp down on your bottom lip, pulling at the flesh.

He pulls away, pleased at how swollen your lips have become due to his work, “If I were inclined to write as you do, the words would doubtlessly be a tribute to you, sweetling.”

You did not expect that.

Still reeling from the taste of his mouth, you finally smile, though wryly, “You could only be telling me what I wish to hear. Soften my anger at how you invaded my most intimate musings.”

He nods once, one hand reaching up to lean on the plinth above your head. His violet eyes bore into yours, burning with unmistakable desire.

“I could indeed.” He kisses you again, his lips briefly pressing against your own, with a gentleness that is quite unusual for the Rogue Prince. “But mayhaps I shall prove to be quite convincing.”

You take a deep breath, peering up at him in a haze. Your shaky nerves finally settle, and you drink him in. Your rogue muse. The object of your affection, as he now knows. “Prove it then. My new journal is in need of fresh accountings. What better thing to write about than the taste of your lips…”

Another kiss, and another.

“I am yours, sweetling.”

Been a while, loves! Hectic stuff + writing ruts can tend to cause such breaks, but I'm glad to be back and writing again ❤️

Yes, it seems that I sometimes take weeks (even months) to update series works. But then I'll get oneshot ideas, and they get done within a day (like this one). I can't explain it either 🙃

But anyway - series updates up... soon enough!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #matt smith

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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dad!Eddie Munson x fem!reader [0.7K]

“I really want a milkshake.”

You were whispering, almost nose to nose with the boy and you felt his huff of laughter fan over your cheeks, your lips.

“Really?” Eddie murmured back, just as soft, his hands curling over your waist and he shifted you closer to him, legs tangling warm beneath the sheets.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, nose nudging his now, his curls mixing with your own sleep mussed hair. “One from Jerry’s? Cookies and cream.”

The light that seeped in between the crack in the curtains bathed the bedroom in a warmth, the orange yellow glow making the corners of the small apartment bedroom seem cosier than they were. But there were mounds of blankets on the bed, too many pillows and Eddie ran like a space heater, so the January chill barely touched your bare skin.

“Extra large?” Eddie mused, his hand sneaking underneath your sleep shirt - his shirt - and curling around the swell of your tummy. “One big enough for both my babies, yeah?”

You were two months, almost three, your stomach protruding more than it had last week, firmer than before but barely noticeable under Eddie’s sweaters that you liked to steal. But your cravings were at an all time high, the need for sugar hitting you constantly, baby wanting something sweet no matter what time it was.

You groaned a little dirty, eyes closed and mouth curled into a smile, lips pressing to Eddie’s cheek in a kiss that he happily accepted. He pulled you closer still, ran a hand down your sleep warmed leg and hitched it to his hip, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He smelled like your shampoo, laundry detergent from the fresh sheets and spice. The lack of smokiness was something you were still getting used to, but as soon as the boy found out you were pregnant, he threw out every carton of cigarettes he could find in the apartment.

“Sounds real nice,” you hummed. “Like, really, really nice.”

“Is that a hint?” Eddie asked and you could hear the smile in his voice even though you couldn’t see him.

You curled a hand into his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and Eddie sighed happily, nipping sweetly at your neck, your jaw. “Maybe,” you whispered.

Eddie pulled back and pushed himself up into his elbows, his bare chest against yours as he leaned in for a kiss. He was all leftover toothpaste and Eddie, sweet and soft and warm. His gaze flickered to the digital clock on the nightstand, the red numbers flashing at him.

“S’almost two,” Eddie told you, voice mild.

You just curled two fingers into the silver chain that hung from his neck and pulled him back down to your mouth, lips sweet on his, this kiss softer and slower and full of a promise.

“Please?” You whispered against him. “Your baby wants something sweet.”

“Which one?”

You grinned, “both.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but it was all affection, one hand pushing at your jaw all fond so he could steal one more kiss out of you before he was rolling out of bed and shrugging on a shirt and sweats.

That’s how you ended up in the front of the car, knees pulled to you chest and socked feet on the chair. Eddie directed all the vents to you as the car got warmer, grumbling about how his van didn’t take this long to heat up but he smiled when you pouted.

“The van wasn’t suitable for a baby seat, Teddy,” you reminded him.

“You weren’t sayin’ rhat when we conceived the little devil in the back of it,” Eddie shot back but he was grinning and pulling out of the street, heading towards the truck stop outside of town.

The sign for Jerry’s diner was lit up in neon turquoise and fuschia, a beacon in the night and you clapped your hands when Eddie turned off the freeway, ignoring the way he laughed at you. But he gave you a kiss as sweet as the milkshake when he dove back into the car with it, hands cold from running across the lot

#Eddie munson #Eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie munson

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mrs-lockley · 4 months

Text

Once Upon a December

Pairing: Hades & Persephone AU, Miguel O’Hara x WOC!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Arranged marriage, implied age gap (reader is a couple centuries old and of age), mention of death and a child death/funeral (no actual death graphically described or specified), dark imagery of the Underworld, use and mentions of Greek mythology, conflicted feelings, magical realism, no time period specified Summary: In the early decades of your marriage to the god of the Underworld, you resented him for abruptly ending your maidenhood. As the decades go by, you learn that there is more to the man who rules the dead than you realize. One day, your husband takes you to Tartarus, the depths of the Underworld, to suggest a proposition.

Author's Note: Hi my little doves, I'm semi-back with a new fic! To be honest, this fic has been in my draft for 3 years (date of origin: 12/30/2020) with First Order!Poe originally, but I thought Miguel suited Hades much better. I have a few fics in my wips and it's honestly like Russian Roulette because i did not expect to complete a Miguel fic before a Jake fic, lol. Special thanks to @soft-girl-musings and @v4mpires0ap for supporting me in completing this and giving me feedback! This fic was also deeply inspired by this comic illustrated by @katadesmoi, another take on the Hades & Persephone myth. If you like to listen to music while reading, I highly suggest listening to this Once Upon a December playlist on Youtube. Happy reading! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs make my heart go warm 🤍

Tagging: @soft-girl-musings @v4mpires0ap @venting402 @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub but only if you would like to read it!

You have seen this place before. The place where the stars fall to the earth, where the roots meet the soil, where the ocean meets the shore.

Where the dead meet the living, where the living meet the dead.

Your reflection mirrors you in the sky as you look up to the clouds with the whispering images of Earth shining down on you. On Earth, the clouds weep at the loss of the sun, but other clouds have gone soft with crystals catching the last kiss of sunlight before nightfall. Other places show the yellow sun shining over glistening forests and beaches, and some a starlight projection over snowfall.

A snowflake flutters from the sky, and you stretch your palm to watch it melt on your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Underneath the moonlight, the trace of a smile tugs at your husband’s lips. He moves to stand beside you and the two of you gaze at the glassy sky above.

Miguel keeps his distance, a shadow’s length between the two of you.

For a brief moment, a sparkling ember is reflected in those brown eyes, only to quickly disappear within a blink and a slight shake of his head.

Your husband was not malevolent, nor was he benevolent. Miguel was a man whose moral conviction strongly aligned with the laws of nature, life, and death. He takes no sides, but only stands in the middle, seeing nothing but carnage to his right and hearing the wailing of tears to his left.

You met him once before your arranged marriage. You and your mother were at a banquet one evening, your first banquet after the war when he caught your eye. Standing at the side of the hall with a glass of red wine in his hands, everyone fell into a hushed whisper. It was rare to see the god of the dead at a gathering like this, especially since the collapse of a universe.

As your mother mingled with one of her sisters, your curious eyes drifted into his orbit. It was as if the darkness of the Underworld followed him into the light, but you were entranced by the shadows that caressed the contours of his face. Centuries of carnage and war clouded his eyes a deep brown, but in the dim candlelight, you could see that in spite of witnessing the heaviness of humanity, there were traces of his youth in smile.

A pair of older women passed you, whispering quietly about him.

The wine looks too much like blood in his hands, one of them remarked with disdain.

But not to you.

It was difficult to not notice him with his imposing height and stature. Even as he stood to the side and in the shadows of the banquet hall, the wine in his hands reminded you of the deep crimson of a pomegranate, waiting for you to cut it open so you could taste its juices.

Smoothing your hair, you quickly averted your gaze and distracted yourself by listening to your mother discuss the upcoming spring harvest. You smiled at your aunt as she pitched in, acknowledging how the winter rain would help water the crops and contribute to a bountiful spring for the mortal universe.

But as the conversation continued, your skin prickled. It was as if something was burning you, a small flame lit on your skin and was rapidly growing into a thunderous wildfire that consumed everything in its wake.

You tried to ignore the sensation as you listened to your mother and your aunt's plan for the harvest, but the longer you ignored it, the hotter the fire burned your skin. It was as if you were thrown into a wildfire with the smoke filling your lungs, traveling to your throat, and threatening to spill from your mouth. Their voices began to fade into the distance as the roar of your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Unable to ignore the feeling any longer, you began to look around to find the cause of your discomfort.

Your innocent eyes met his, and you could barely breathe.

His brown eyes darkened into what you would believe to be the darkness of the Underworld. It was as if he was pulling you into its depths– not seducing you into temptation– but revealing all of your secrets into the light.

All you could feel was the blood rushing to your face as he looked at you. You could not read the expression on his face as his eyes drank you in, but you could not tear yourself away. You were caught in his snare.

But as your eyes met, you saw something else. As he was reading you, you were reading him, trying to translate the pages of a book that was presented to you in an ancient language you discovered for the first time. The introduction was breathtaking, but the first chapter was consuming and inviting.

His eyes only left yours when you saw your father call and approach him. As he looked away, you too turned your eyes back to your mother and her sister. You could not hear what your father and Miguel were discussing behind you and your mother’s back, but you would soon learn that the god of the dead was blessed by your father for your hand in marriage.

There was no warning. One day, you were laying under the sun in the springfields with flowers in your hair, singing a love song from days of old. The next day, you were escorted to the world below you, climbing your way through its webs to become queen of the dark kingdom to your betrothed.

“I know you have assumptions about me.” Miguel’s voice is quiet as he speaks, barely above a whisper in the snowfall. “I cannot change them or how you feel, nor do I intend on changing your mind, but …”

His words trail off, his voice fading into the distant sound of the winter winds howling in the cavern.

Looking back up at the dome above you, you catch his reflection. A shadow crosses his stern face, its fingers stretching across his tan skin. In the dim moonlight, you could almost catch streaks of silver in his dark waves. The centuries have taken a toll on him, and while you were a couple hundred years younger than him, you, too, felt the heaviness in your chest.

“I’ve heard stories,” you tell him quietly.

His eyes remain on the sky above with an unreadable expression. The only sound between you is the silent snowfall and the white clouds that puff around your lips with each breath you take.

“Do you believe them?”

His question catches you by surprise. Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering in your throat as you think about how to answer him.

Your husband turns to you then, a stormy look on his face as he looks at you.

You remembered the stories and cautionary tales your mother told you about him. While you were tending the rose garden one day, your mother shared with you the stories she heard from the other gods after attending a banquet.

He was the reason one of the universes collapsed. He meddled into the mortal realm when he should have stayed where he belonged- in the depths and shadows of the dead.

He chased a young boy to the edges of the Underworld, all because the poor boy wanted to save his father from dying. Imagine how cruel a man could be to stop a boy from saving his father.

That man shows no mercy or remorse for the dearly departed. He only sits on his throne as he listens to their tears of sadness and cries of anguish. He would not even show mercy to a mortal man who ventured into the Underworld to bring his lover back to life– instead, granting an impossible task that doomed the poor man from the start.

Decades ago, you might have believed the whispers of the gods, goddesses, and other celestial beings as they spoke about him behind his back. For the first few decades of your marriage, you resented him for taking you away from your mother and the mortal realm. He stole you away from the sun with just a simple blessing from your father, and he had not even spoken a single word to you before making you his bride and queen.

What he did not know was that once, you ran away.

As Miguel was in the heart of the Underworld, you briefly escaped its darkness. It was winter in the land of the living, and somehow, you managed to sneak past the hounds, the souls, and the suspecting ferryman who stood at the crossroads between realms.

(Whether he knew your plan of escape or not, he did not say. The ferryman merely watched with unknowing eyes as you slipped past him.)

Your lungs ached as you climbed your way out from underground. Soil crusted beneath your fingernails, your skin covered in earth when the light of the winter sun nearly burned your eyes upon your ascent.

You did not know how long you wandered, but you walked until the soles of your feet burned crimson. The skies darkened into icy shades of gray and white before weeping for the loss of the sun and your fingertips mirrored the color of your feet.

Day turned to night, and before long, you stumbled upon an evening wake.

Outside the church, the deceased’s family mingled in the winter night. Their eyes burned with tears as their voices trembled with each word spoken. Loved ones gathered around them to offer their condolences while the children sat outside on the steps, playing with makeshift paper dolls and animals to pass the time.

You wondered if anyone saw you, but the thought of someone recognizing you never crossed your mind. While your mother advised you to stay out of mortal affairs, there was something pulling you towards the coffin, urging you to stay.

It did not take long for your heart to break.

Tears pricked your eyes as you gazed at the little girl laying inside the wooden box. You remembered her youthful spirit and jovial smile as she would sit under your favorite tree, weaving flower crowns and sharing fruit with some of the wildlife that dwelled in the forest. The nymphs and dryads spoke fondly of her whenever she visited the lake, and a few times, you remembered picking up the blooming flowers that she left behind as an offering.

Overcome with grief, you placed your hand over hers, whispering words of assurance and comfort to her. Her skin was cold to touch, but you did not shy away as you left behind a small white lily in her embrace.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, you immediately stepped aside. You assumed the man who approached the coffin to be her father as you watched him place the coins over her eyes, whispering to his daughter in their native tongue with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your heart ached for the girl and her family as you watched them gather around her coffin. No one noticed you while you walked away, following the fallen petals of dried flowers to guide you back to the world below.

It was as if nothing changed since your brief departure. The ferryman merely watched you with apathetic eyes when you returned, his boat filled with souls as he carried them over the Styx.

You did not meet with Miguel that day, but as you wandered the Isles of the Blessed, you heard a familiar voice ring in the air.

Not wanting to be seen or scolded for wandering off, you quickly hid behind a tree. Peeking from behind the trunk, your heart warmed to see that same little girl playing in the field with a man holding her hand.

Miguel.

You watched as he knelt down to her height, a gentle look on his face as he held her hands. You could not hear what they were saying, but from the smile on her face, you knew that he was nothing but kind and gentle with her as she adjusted to her new life in Elysium.

“What is your name, little one?”

“Gabriella.”

“Gabriella,” your husband repeated as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. His fingers paused over the lily tucked behind her ear. “This is a beautiful flower you have in your hair.”

She smiled as she removed it from her ear and offered it to him.

“I had it with me when the ferryman took me here. I don’t remember how I got it, but he told me to keep it.”

You held your breath as Miguel held the lily in his hand. It was not unusual for flowers to spring wherever you went, and you wondered if he knew that you snuck into the mortal realm under his watch.

To your surprise, he smiled at her as he tucked the lily back in her hair.

“He was right. You should keep it.”

You have not seen Gabriella since that day, but you never forgot her. Whenever you walked near the Isles of the Blessed, you could hear her laugh in the wind with the river twinkling in the shape of her smile.

His question hangs frozen mid-air as the snow crystallizes around you.

Did you believe the horrid tales, after what you have seen?

His eyes search yours as the two of you stand under the shadow of the earth, its roots tangling around you.

Of all the myths and legends you heard about Miguel, it would be easy to sway you into believing he was an apathetic man who ruled the land of the dead. He stole you away from spring, but in the decades that followed since your marriage, you realized that not once did he ever try to hold you back. There were countless times you snuck away into the mortal realm, and every time he could have held you back or ordered the hounds to follow you. Yet, he never did.

Perhaps you have judged him too harshly before learning about the man beneath the mask. While a part of you still resented him for the marriage, you could not bring yourself to truly hate him.

“I would have,” you answer him quietly, “once upon a December.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, amusement briefly flickering across his eyes as the ghost of a smile tickles his lips.

In the mirror above, snow continues to fall like kisses from the earth. Its kisses leave droplets on your skin, but as you turn to your husband, you could count the snowflakes like stars in the night sky as they melt into his dark hair and brown skin.

It was one of those rare moments where there was nothing and no one else in the world but the two of you. While Miguel was known to mortals under a different name and had a duty to follow in his realm, he gave you freedom to roam his world as you pleased without fear. You were his queen, and he treated you as such in his own quiet way.

While he kept you at arm’s length, you were no fool.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The cavern almost seemed to engulf him as the moonlight shined upon him. Whispers of snow glistened in his hair, and the perpetual scowl on his lips appeared to soften the longer he gazed at the sky.

He pauses, calculating his words.

“Long before the mortals named me, I stumbled upon this place by chance. It is safe to presume that the deepest depths of the Underworld to be a frightening place of terror and grief, but it is more than what the legends say.”

Miguel takes a step forward until he is directly underneath the center of the mirror. Behind him, the outlines of a tree stretched its branches around him with its root tangling your shadow with his.

The wind continues to howl like a wounded wolf in the dead of night. While the mortals would call this place Tartarus, it was not what you imagined.

A deep ache settles in your chest, its roots ensnaring the heart in your ribs as the winter breeze fills your lungs with sharp knives of ice.

“Only once in a blue moon could I walk into the world above, but here … it is the only way I could see the mortal realm without leaving mine behind.”

His eyes seem to mist in the moonlight, and your heart softens. The fortress of the castle he built around him begins to crumble, and for the first time, you see the lone king that resides within the darkness of its walls.

The longing of the sun, the yearning for something warm, for someone to hold.

As you look up at the mirror, you remember a time when you wandered the meadow in your youth and stumbled upon a stream where the carrion birds often flocked to. The nymphs, dryads, and your overbearing mother advised you to never venture near the river, but your youthful curiosity overcame you against their best wishes.

The birds followed your movements as you stepped towards the river. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above with thunder rumbling in the distance, but you remained steadfast. White peace lilies and roses bloomed underneath your feet as you fell to your knees to peer into the murky waters beneath.

Darkness swirled around your reflection as you gazed at the water below. The longer you looked, the more confused you were as you tried to decipher what lurked underneath the surface. What could cause the dryads and nymphs to urge you to stay away from this place? What worried your mother that you found a secret beneath?

You never told them about the river, nor did you ever return since that day, but as you look up at the familiar mirror above you, you wonder if the forbidden river drifted into the Styx. Perhaps the carrion birds were the ones who guarded the river in the mortal realm.

Perhaps as you wondered and peered into the dark waters, another face watched you from below.

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, urging you to look at him.

“I know a part of you must resent me for taking you away from your mother — and I do not blame you for it — but this…” He gestures to the mirror above, a soft expression relaxing the curves of his face, “is the only way we could see into the mortal universe. If I could bring a piece of the mortal world to you, it is the least I can do.”

Snow continues to fall with the winter winds howling around the two of you, causing a small flurry of snow to surround your two bodies. Frost begins to crystallize at your feet, indicating the official arrival of winter in the world above.

Your husband illuminates in the moonlight, a serene glow casted across his frame as he keeps his gaze on the sky. The corners of his lips curve into a lazy smile, and you could not help but think back to all the legends and myths you were taught about him, and the river that your mother warned you to stay away from.

If this was the face that watched you from below, how could you despise him for bringing a piece of your world back to you, especially when he was not welcome in the light?

“It is the winter solstice in the mortal world,” you tell him softly. The sky darkens above you, but you do not feel the cold as much anymore, not with the snowdrops beginning to surface from the frost. “The shortest day and the longest night of the year.”

You wonder what flowers would bloom in the spheres of the universe, what sky and stars the mortals see as they bask in the moonlight. While your marriage to the god of the Underworld dictated the seasons above, you lived long enough to know that the worlds above adjusted to your absence or presence in their own ways.

The first winter you spent in the Underworld, you were inconsolable. While Miguel tried to comfort you, you were distraught, crying tears of anguish into your pillow as the darkness surrounded you. For the first time, no flowers bloomed where you stepped or where you lay. Instead, only roseless thorns and weeds gathered where you walked, and in the world above, it was the worst harvest the mortals have seen in decades.

While your parents argued with your husband about the conditions and length of your stay, you blocked out their voices. The only sounds you heard were your cracks splintering through your heart as you mourned the warmth of the sun and the endless blue sky. As much as Miguel tried to coax you out of your chambers and into the dark gardens of his kingdom, you planted your roots into the ground, refusing to be anywhere near him.

Only for the winter, your father proposed. Your mother wept by his side, but your husband nodded in agreement, sealing your fate as swiftly as the seasons changed.

It took some time, but throughout the first few years of your marriage, you began to be civil with Miguel. Much like him, you kept him at arm’s length, watching him and trying to understand what kind of king he was to his subjects in the world below. While you heard the whispering lore and legends of him in your ears, you soon learned that he was not everything that the people believed him to be.

A cloud storms in his brown irises as he looks over at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “If I may ask, are you happy here?”

A bitter laugh threatens to spill from your lips, but you quickly bite your tongue.

It has been decades since you were taken to rule the world below. While you may not have lived long enough to control your godly emotions, you still felt an aching pain and loss as you grieved leaving your home.

“I did not have a choice in becoming your bride,” you answer, your voice laden with sadness and despair. “What say do I have as your wife?”

You were a younger goddess who lived only a couple centuries, but you had yet to learn the complexities of the universe. You still needed to experience the worlds around you, both above and below, but your maidenhood was cut short by the man your father arranged to be your husband.

Even with the decades behind you, time had yet to fully heal the part of your heart that grieved for your maidenhood. You were conflicted in your grief and loss when Miguel had been cordial and respectful, in his own sentimental way. A part of you may resent him, but you still did not completely understand the feelings you held towards him.

His brown eyes soften at your words, his lips slightly parted as white cotton clouds flutter in the air from his breath.

“You are not a prisoner here,” he assures you gently, approaching you as if you were a skittish deer in the woods. “I am truly sorry for the pain I brought upon you.”

You look up at him slowly, seeing nothing but remorse in his gaze. You wonder if he would ask for your forgiveness, but it was too late for that. It has been half a century since your marriage, and the world already recorded the event in the stars and the sky.

Miguel was a man of many things, but you know in his eyes, he is lawful. With the living and the dead, he merely rules over the departed to balance the universes. He only follows the rules of nature, but in godly matters, he follows the customs and traditions. A marriage only needs a father’s blessing for his daughter to be wedded without the husband needing to court or ask the bride. He broke no laws, but he did not fully understand the depths of your grief.

His voice is gentle as the winds quiet around him.

“I know it will take time for you to fully accept me as your husband, but I am a patient man. All I ask and plead is for you to give me a chance.”

The winter winds pull the air out of your lungs as Miguel turns with his hand outstretched towards you.

As you grieved the sudden end of your maidenhood, you reflect on everything you have seen. The gods and goddesses may indulge in heresy and scandals whenever they pleased, but from what you learned from their whispers, some of their stories did not reflect what you have seen.

The god of the dead was not cruel, nor was he kind. He often deals in absolutes and ultimatums, with the universes remaining in balance as he ruled over his domain.

Even so, you remember Gabriella’s smile as he held her hand in Elysium. A child taken too soon, but found comfort in the man who guided her to the Isles of the Blessed.

Perhaps he was kinder than you believed.

Snow gathers in his palm as he holds his hand towards you. It would be easier for you to turn away and loathe him for the rest of your days, but something stirs in your heart.

Darkness may have taken its hold over the mortal realm, but it has not fully consumed yours.

Your fate is already written in the stars, your marriage bound in a godly affair. While you are still a younger goddess in a single web of the universe, perhaps it would do you no harm to trim the thorns that protected you and allow a rose to bloom.

Slowly, you take his hand, his skin oddly warm against yours.

Your husband smiles gently at you and raises your hand to his lips.

“I promise to love and care for you,” he whispers, “as long as you are by my side.”

Snowdrops and hydrangeas begin to bloom from the frost that dusted the ground beneath you, tangling with the roots of the tree as you walk beside him, allowing him to guide you away from the moonlight and towards the river from where you came.

A comfortable silence falls upon you as Miguel rows the boat along the Styx, the water calm and quiet on the journey away from the darkness. The winter winds begin to fade into a distant echo, and as much as you wish to turn back to gaze at the world above one more time, you keep your eyes forward.

The winter solstice may have begun in the mortal realm, but the spring solstice has begun to blossom in the world below.

And in the depths of the Underworld, the tree that holds the mirror above sprouts a single crimson fruit, a small pomegranate in the start of spring.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x woc!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman-2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #spiderman 2099 imagine

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talkdutchtome · 5 months

Text

Glitch- chapter seven (18+)

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

warning . . . this chapter contains smut, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, use of petnames, very slight fdom -blink and you'll miss it-, if you don't want to read the smut there is a border where it starts and finishes so you can skip it )

a/n . . . i think this chapter might make some of you mad but this is a love triangle fic, it's going to be a lil messy, like me. i promise we'll be back to what you like for chapter 8. feedback is always appreciated, i love to read all of your thoughts )

“No”

Max’s words swirled around Y/N’s head long after he had left. She had asked him if he wanted to come in and he just said no. He didn’t say “I’d love to, but I can’t tonight” he didn’t even say “Thanks but I don’t think I want to, let's take things slow” he just said “No”. Quicky followed up by “Okay, Bye”. She was completely dumbfounded, stood outside her flat; as Max's abrupt departure replayed in her mind, each step he took away from her feeling like a punctuation mark to their strange encounter.

The second she found herself in her flat, the uncorked bottle of wine sat on her kitchen side, beckoned to her, and without much consideration, she filled a glass to the brim. The rich red liquid seemed to mirror the swirling thoughts in her mind, each sip a bitter-sweet reminder of the unexpected turn of events. Tonight was going so well; she didn’t understand what went wrong.

She replayed the encounter in her mind, trying to dissect what had just happened. She felt upset, a sting of rejection cutting through her. Yet, there was also frustration—why couldn't Max have communicated his feelings instead of abruptly walking away. If he didn’t want to take it further, obviously she wouldn’t be mad at that, she’s not a monster; but he could of at least spoke to her about it rather than just walking away.

The room was softly lit, and Y/N continued to sip her wine, lost in her own thoughts. The wine was becoming both a friend and an escape, pulling her further into a comforting haze. The recent complications weighed on her, each sip a fleeting attempt to numb the complexities swirling in her mind.

With each gulp, she dove deeper into her contemplations, navigating through the messy tangle of feelings. Life, once simple, now felt like a puzzle missing a few crucial pieces. The familiar sounds of laughter and joy were replaced by a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional clink of the glass against the table and the distant hum of the city outside.

The glass became a conduit for her musings, carrying the weight of her thoughts as she pondered the unexpected twists, the encounters that left her head spinning, and the undeniable shifts in relationships. Everything seemed burdened, complicated. As the night wore on, the glass emptied, and her thoughts grew hazier. Eventually, the weight became too much. She remembered sinking into the cushions of her sofa, the glass slipping from her fingers. Sleep claimed her, the complexities of life blending into dreams until the room was wrapped in a deep, velvety darkness.

The next few days passed, and the day of the first Chelsea game of the season quickly rolled around. As Y/N prepared for the match, the uncertainty surrounding Max lingered in her thoughts. The absence of any communication since the peculiar end to their evening left her grappling with a myriad of unanswered questions. She couldn’t bring herself to messaging him first, after all she was left with quite the bruised ego when he left like he did; so, the silence from Max had become a palpable void, and she started to accept the possibility that she might never receive the answers she sought.

Dressed in her favorite Chelsea shirt, with Mount 19 proudly displayed on the back; she made her way to the staduim, trying her best to push everything she felt about Max down to the pit of her stomach so she could be in the right frame of mind to not only support Mason but the whole team.

At Stamford Bridge, the buzz of anticipation hung in the air. Y/N took her seat in the family box, surrounded by the sea of Chelsea blue. Beside her, Louisa, Ben's girlfriend, struck up a conversation.

"Did you ever find out what was wrong with Mason that night at the gala?" Louisa inquired, her eyes fixed on the pitch as the players warmed up.

Y/N shook her head, her gaze following the familiar figure of Mason on the field. "No, I tried asking the next day, but he wouldn't say anything. It's been a bit weird since then."

As the game kicked off, Y/N found herself immersed in the ebb and flow of the match. The energy in the stadium was electric, and emotions swirled with each pass and tackle. Chelsea was facing Liverpool, a formidable opponent, and every moment felt charged with anticipation.

The clock ticked away, and tension mounted as both teams vied for control. Then, a surge of jubilation erupted through the stands. Mason had scored, his name echoing through the stadium as fans erupted in cheers. Chelsea took the lead, and the scoreboard displayed a triumphant 1-0.

Amidst the celebration, Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Mason's goal was a bright spot in a narrative that had become increasingly complex, and as the final whistle blew, sealing Chelsea's victory, for once Y/N just let herself feel happy; freeing her momentarily of the stress of day to day life. Her team had just won a very important game, and her best friend was the reason for that.

The vibrant cheers echoed through the stadium as Chelsea celebrated a hard-fought victory against Liverpool. Mason, the star of the match, was awarded the title of man of the match, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she made her way down to the pitch to assist him with media obligations.

Amid the chaos of jubilant players and buzzing journalists, Y/N found Mason, his face adorned with a triumphant smile. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, offering a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. The elation of the win permeated the air as they navigated through the sea of celebrations.

Once Mason had spoken to seemingly every media outlet in the UK and was ready to head to the changing rooms, the rest of the team had been and gone. Anticipating this, Mason invited Y/N to come in with him as he got ready rather than her waiting outside for him.

Mason was midway through changing when Y/N decided to seize the quiet moment and address the lingering tension from the gala. Maybe there would have been a better time to do that rather than when Mason was stood shirtless only wearing a pair of football shorts, but Y/N was never one for picking her moments well.

"Mason, what was wrong with you the other night? You seemed so sad." she ventured, her tone a mix of firmness and concern.

Mason, in his usual deflective manner, offered a unconvincing, vague explanation about being stressed. But Y/N, remembering the promise they made after their tumultuous encounter in Spain, was determined to dig deeper.

"Come on, we promised each other after Spain that we would be more open," she reminded him, the charged atmosphere subtly drawing them closer.

He glanced at her, the defensive facade momentarily faltering. The seconds ticked by, intensifying the electric tension between them. Y/N, her voice now a gentle yet insistent whisper, pressed on.

"Tell me, Mason. I need to understand," she implored, their faces now only inches apart. As he sighed, wrestling with his internal turmoil, Y/N's hand found his, pulling him back towards her. Their proximity became palpable, both aware of the unspoken emotions lingering in the air.

"It was hard, okay?" Mason finally admitted, breaking the silence. "Seeing you with Max, all close and flirty. It messed with my head."

The confession hung in the air, a vulnerable admission. Y/N, her voice nothing more than a whisper, continued her quest for understanding.

"Why would that be hard for you?"

Mason, caught between the desire to retreat and the need for honesty, hesitated. Y/N, sensing the gravity of the moment, held onto his hand, their connection unspoken but profound. Their eyes locked, and Mason slowly, almost hesitantly, began to lean down, his eyes never leaving hers and his hands coming up to cradle her face. Time seemed to stretch, the anticipation building with each passing second.

Then, all at once, his lips met hers in a kiss that held the weight of unspoken emotions. It was a collision of feelings, a dance of two souls navigating the uncharted territory of their connection.

As their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, it was as if the world around them slowed down. Mason's touch was gentle, almost cautious, as if he was testing the waters of Y/N's response. His lips moved against hers with a delicate grace, and for a moment, the kiss hung in the air like a fragile connection.

But as Y/N's hands found their way into Mason's hair, threading through the strands, the nature of the kiss shifted. The softness gave way to a growing passion, a shared desire that couldn't be contained. Mason, feeling the response from Y/N, allowed himself to be pulled into the depths of the kiss. It became more than a simple meeting of lips; it turned into a dance of longing and unspoken emotions.

Their connection deepened, and the kiss became more fervent, more desperate, as if they were trying to convey all the unspoken words and unexpressed feelings through the intimacy of the moment and quickly things progressed with Y/N breaking their contact to pull her shirt over her head, leaving her stood there in just a Chelsea blue bra and skirt she wore to the game.

For the first time since he kissed her, Y/N made eye contact, gone were his soft, honey coloured eyes, replaced by dark orbs staring down at her. It was like he was trying to take a mental image of the woman standing in front of him, lips swollen and parted, very slightly panting from the breathlessness that came from kissing him.

A second passed where the pair just stood in front of each other, almost as if they were giving each other one last chance to back out before things went beyond the point of no return. The silence was deafening and after a beat they reattached themselves to each other, with Mason pulling her onto him as he backed up onto a bench and sat down, bringing her with him onto his lap. His lips finding her collarbone as his hands grabbed her ass. The way his expert lips sucked and nibbled her neck sent shockwaves through her body and she found herself grinding herself against his lap, desperate for anything that would help the dull ache coming from between her legs, eliciting a low moan from the man beneath her.

It was evident the effect that Y/N was having on Mason from the growing hardness that she could feel under her, and when she removed herself off of his lap and dropped down to her knees Mason had thought he had died and gone to heaven. For the first time since Mason had kissed her, one of them spoke, “Is this okay?” she asked him, her hands hovering just above the place where he needed her the most, prompting him to nod his head ferociously. “Yeah it’s good”

With that conformation, Y/N settled herself between his legs on the floor and began to place soft barely-there kisses down his stomach until she reached the waistband of his shorts. Mason was squirming, she hadn’t even touched him yet, but she seemed to have full control of him, something he had never experienced before. The second that Y/N’s hands went to lightly tug at his shorts, Mason was lifting himself of the bench, allowing her to pull down his shorts and underwear in one go.

The sight of Mason’s dick slapping his stomach as his shorts were pulled down was one to behold. Y/N would be lying if she said she had never imagined this, put one thing she never considered was that he would be this big. She watched the way it throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the way a bead of precum spilt from his tip. And then in a move that made Mason whine, she placed her hands at the base of his dick, and darted her tongue out to catch the droplet. The taste of him was musky, almost sweet; and the most addictive thing she had ever experienced. She went in again, very slowly placing her mouth around his tip and swirling her tongue around it.

“Oh fuck Y/N yo-” Mason’s voice was deeper than she had ever heard as he called out for her, but when she took him further in her mouth, his voice gave out. His hands found her hair, grabbing in into a makeshift ponytail as she continued to bob her head up and down on his dick, swirling her tongue as she did so.

It was becoming all too much for Mason, the sight of his best friend on her knees for him, making him feel this good. He quickly found himself close to cumming, but not wanting this to be over, he used his grip on her hair to gently pull her off of him.

“That felt so good baby, but I don’t want to cum yet” he told her when he caught sight of her pouting at the loss of contact.

“I need to be inside of you Y/N, need to know how you’d feel squeezing tight against me” His words were sinful, and they made her desperate for him. He stood up, grabbing her hand to bring her up from her knees to before gesturing at her to sit down in the place he had vacated. Then he dropped to his knees, placed her legs over his shoulder and moved the fabric of her skirt out of the way, letting him see her soaked through panties.

He dived in, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her clothed pussy, running his finger ever so gently across her, before hooking it under her underwear and pulling them off. The sight of her cunt, glistening and wet made him again, wish he could take photos with his mind. Never wanting to lose this image for so long as he lived.

“Please Mase” Y/N spoke, her voice breathy and desperate.

Mason didn’t need to be asked twice, bringing his mouth to her, licking a long strip across her slit before attaching his lips to her clit. The way he sucked at and nibbled her sensitive bud made her see stars. And when he brought his hand up to start pumping his fingers inside of her whilst still attacking her clit with his mouth, she quickly found herself close to the edge. His expert fingers curving up to her, making her legs tremble and her toes curl.

“Oh Masey, I’m so close please don’t stop” she whined in between heavy breaths. At her words, Mason sped up his actions, bringing her closer and closer to cumming until she finally reached her climax with a squeal, trapping Masons head between her legs as she squeezed them together in the sheer exstacy she was feeling.

Once she had released her grip on the man's head, he came up to kiss her, the kiss was needy and desperate, and she could taste herself on his tongue. It was utterly filthy, and she never wanted it to end. If she could, she would stay in this moment with Mason forever, wrapped up in him and their pleasure, nothing else. Nothing complicated or uncomfortable, just simply pleasure.

Mason pulled himself off of her lips and took his place back on the bench, swiftly pulling her onto his lap. His manhood nudging itself against her warm core. His lips reattached themselves to her neck, suckling and biting; leaving marks peppered against her skin. He pulled back and admired his work, admired how good her skin looked littered with his marks, the way it made her look like she was his, she was only his.

“I’m going to fuck you now, is that okay?” Mason said, reaching for his hard dick beneath her, pumping it in his fist, prompting Y/N to nod her head frantically, desperate for him. “No baby I need words, tell me you want this” He spoke again, wanting to be sure that this is what she wanted, wanting to be sure that she wouldn’t regret this.

“I want this, please Mason I want this so bad” she told him, becoming desperate, her wet cunt clenching around nothing in anticipation.

So, Mason did what she asked, and lined up his cock to her pussy, gripped her hips and brought her down onto him; strings of moans and cries falling from both of their mouths as he began to stretch her. Wanting to take control, Y/N placed her hands on Masons chest and began to ride him, grinding down onto him after each bounce. Mason was quickly becoming unglued, the way that that best friend bounced on his dick, clenching around him made him go crazy.

Y/N quickly found herself becoming closer and closer to the edge, and when Mason started to rub circles on her clit, she fell apart. Calling out for the man beneath her as she came on his dick, her cunt squeezing him tight. The sight of Y/N reaching climax meant Mason was not far behind. He spilled out inside of her, filling her up with his cum as he kissed her deeply, moaning into her mouth.

For a second, he stilled inside of her, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath. She kissed him one last time before getting up off of him, feeling his cum run down leg as she did so. She tried to find something to say, anything to say; but she came up with nothing. What could she say? What did this mean? The cloud of lust had dissipated and the gravity of what just happened began to sink in.

After they had come down from the high of the moment before, the air hung heavy with an unspoken tension. As they both processed what had just transpired, a palpable awkwardness settled between them. They found themselves in a silent ballet of getting dressed and composed, each movement filled with uncertainty. The room seemed to echo with the weight of the unspoken. In a fragile quiet, they avoided eye contact, unsure of what to say or how to navigate the aftermath of their unexpected moment together. The atmosphere became a canvas painted with uncertainty, the seconds ticking away in awkward silence.

It was in this vulnerable moment that Ben casually strolled into the changing room, unwittingly disrupting the delicate balance that lingered in the air. "Where've you two got to?" he asked, sensing that something unusual had occurred. Mason responded a little too quickly, "Just got to talking. Lost track of time."

Ben eyed them with a confused look, sensing there was more to it but deciding not to pry. "Well, we're going out for a few drinks to celebrate the win. You two coming?"

Mason nodded, "Yeah, I'll come."

Y/N, still caught in her own thoughts, didn't immediately respond. Ben noticed her distraction and asked, "What about you, Y/N? Coming for a celebratory drink?"

She hesitated, glancing at Mason. "I, uh, I've got some work to do," she started, realizing it was a flimsy excuse.

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Work? On a match day? Come on, just one drink."

Caught in the moment and not wanting to draw more attention to herself, Y/N reluctantly agreed, "Fine, just one drink."

The bar buzzed with celebration as the team and their partners reveled in the victory. However, amidst the cheerful atmosphere, an undeniable tension lingered between Mason and Y/N. It wasn't the palpable anger like last time; instead, it felt like an uncharted territory of discomfort, as if both were uncertain of how to address the recent shift in their relationship.

Y/N found herself sitting in a sea of voices, yet she remained silent, her gaze fixed on her drink, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavily. Ben, ever the most observant yet oblivious man in the room, couldn't help but notice a string of subtle marks on Y/N's neck, a telltale sign of a love bite. With a mischievous grin, he couldn't resist teasing her.

He grinned, "Looks like someone had a good time. Max, huh? You guys enjoy yourselves?"

The question hit the room like a sudden chill, drawing Mason's attention. His jaw tightened, and he clasped his glass a bit more firmly, an expression of annoyance flickering across his face. Reece, seated nearby, picked up on Mason's reaction, his eyes flicking between his friend and Y/N.

Y/N chuckled awkwardly, attempting to diffuse the situation by offering a half-hearted explanation. "Oh, that's just a burn from my hair straightener."

Ben, persistent in his teasing, pressed further, noting, "But you have naturally straight hair, don't you?"

Y/N squirmed under the spotlight, feeling the discomfort escalate. "Well, I straighten it every day," she mumbled, her attempt at normalcy faltering. Before Ben could continue his line of inquiry, Y/N's phone rang, offering a timely escape from the awkward conversation. She quickly grabbed her phone, signalling a temporary reprieve from the scrutinizing gazes and the unspoken tension between her and Mason.

The night air felt cool against Y/N's skin as she stepped outside and glanced at her phone, revealing Max's name on the screen. She felt her stomach drop at the sight of his name across her screen; she had accepted that she wouldn’t hear from him again. Hesitating for a moment, she considered not answering, still stung by the abrupt way he left.

Eventually, she sighed and pressed the answer button. "Hi," she greeted cautiously, uncertainty lacing her voice.

"Can we talk?" Max's voice, though warm, carried an undertone of hesitation.

Y/N swallowed, the remnants of hurt and confusion lingering. Nevertheless, she nodded silently, a tentative "yes" escaping her lips.

As Max began to unravel his thoughts, Y/N listened, her emotions swaying with each word. "I'm sorry," he confessed, a heavy sigh preceding the admission. "I panicked that night. I've been bouncing around, one meaningless nightstand after another, and I don't want us to be like that. All I wanted was to stay with you that night, but I want more than just a moment. I want us to be more than that. These feelings make me uncomfortable and weird, and I'm so unsure about everything in life. Except for one thing – I'm sure I want you."

Tag list-

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#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #football x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fics #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #mason mount smut

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vintagestarlight · 6 months

Text

Couple's Trip

Summary: you and John take a trip for your anniversary and John has a very special question to ask

Pairing: John Price x gf!reader

Words:~ 2.0k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it folks :3), MDNI!!

A/N: so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I finally finished it! Probably the longest fic I’ve written and I’m not sure how I feel about it(I feel like I’m better at writing fluff pieces rather than spicy ones maybe?)but let me know what yall think! I’m working on another Price fic and a Soap fic so stay tuned! :)

A/N: As always likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback of all types are welcome and my inbox is always open! Hope you guys enjoy!!

***beware of typos lol

Your mind wandered as you zipped your suitcase shut. John announced you were taking a trip for your anniversary and refused to tell you where. "You'll find out when we get there love," he said with a laugh after you pestered him to tell you. You walked downstairs and set your suitcase by the front door.

Through no fault of his own John wasn't always around for your anniversary. He always tried his best to to have his leave coincide but it didn't always happen. Usually you just had a nice dinner at home or John would surprise you with flowers; both of which you enjoyed. Needless to say you were shocked but excited when John told you he had a few weeks leave and had something big planned.

"Hey hon, remember to pack your toothbrush this time," you said, doublechecking to make sure you had everything. "You forget it every time," you mused. "I'm not going to forget my toothbrush dove. And I don't forget it every time," Price argued; he checked his suitcase and realized he forgot. He went to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush to pack it away without telling you.

"Are you ready love?" Price asked. "I want to get going," You noticed your boyfriend seemed to be acting weird. He was very fidgety and it wasn't like him at all.

"You okay?" You asked. "You seem anxious to get going,"

"Yeah I'm fine love I just want to get there before dark," Price replied, taking the luggage outside. He loaded the suitcases into the back of the car and slipped his hand in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the velvet box resting in his pocket. "Well if we want to get there before dark we should get going," you called out and shut the door behind you, locking up the house.

You noticed the scenery started to change from hilly landscapes to dense woods. You started to get excited about what was at the end of your little road trip. The car turned on to a cobblestone stone driveway that led to a beautiful cabin overlooking a private lake surrounded by trees. "Oh John this is beautiful!" You said, looking out the window. "How did you know about this?" You asked. "An old mate of mine offered to let us use it for the week," he smiled watching you try and take it all in.

"This whole place is for us?" You asked, wondering if you could possibly see everything in just a few days. Price squeezed your thigh. "Just us," he said, parking the car. "Here love," Price stated. He fished in his pocket pulling out a set of keys. "Here's the keys to the cabin. Why don't you go take a look around, while I unload the car" he suggested.

You smiled and took the keys from him walking up to the front steps. You unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The living room was decorated in a way you would expect a cabin to be decorated. A large sofa facing a tv mounted on the wall, a large red rug in the middle of the floor, an end table with a lamp beside the couch, a tv stand, large fireplace, and a chandelier made from antlers adorned the living room. There was also a full kitchen to your right when you walked in.

You made your way to the stairs and found the master bedroom. A king size bed was the centerpiece of the room with a wool blanket draped over the end. The curtains were drawn and a soft light emanated from a lamp sitting on a bedside table.

Your footsteps were hushed by the soft carpet as you walked to the bathroom. The master bathroom was beautifully decorated in finished wood and white accents with a big claw foot tub; definitely big enough for both you and John. A window that faced the lake and woods let in a nice breeze and you couldn't help smiling, the fact it was yours for a few days finally setting in.

You came down the stairs just as John set down the last of your luggage. "So? What do you think?" Price asked, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him. "It's perfect John!” you smiled. "It's so beautiful," you planted a kiss on his lips.

Over the next few days the ring Price carried around burned a hole in his pocket. He tried finding the right time to ask you but everytime he tried he got nervous. He was the Captain of the most elite special forces team in the world and he couldn't even ask you to marry him. He sat at the edge of the dock, his fishing pole in his hands. He looked at the water waiting for a fish to bite and thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. If only I could just ask her. With a frustrated sigh, he got up to stretch his legs still holding the fishing pole.

These few days seemed like a dream to you. Getting to spend this time with John was something you didn't always get to have. You noticed your boyfriend's behavior was somewhat off. He was anxious and fidgety when he's normally the calm and self-assured one in the relationship. You saw him sitting at the dock fishing and you smiled to yourself. His behavior may have changed but him fishing certainly hadn't.

You opened the front door and started walking down the cobblestone path the sweet air warming your skin. You saw little firefly's glowing in the garden flying around. "Have you caught anything yet?" You asked, siting down in a lawn chair with him standing holding his fishing pole. John glanced over and saw you wearing one of his army green t shirts and a pair of sleep shorts; he felt his heart skip a beat and his cock swell embarassingly hard despite the spirited romp in the sheets a mere few hours prior. For some strange reason, it made his thoughts drift back to the little box still tucked away in his pocket; he carried it with him everywhere since they got here. He still couldn’t believe he had trouble asking you a simple four-worded question. It was almost laughable that something so simple had the Captain racked with anxiety. The man who was feared just as much as he was respected in the field. What if you said no? What if you didn’t actually love him and this was the push you needed to leave him? He grimaced as his thoughts got more and more out of control.

“No I think I missed most of them,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the water. You furrowed your eyebrows; something was up with your boyfriend. Not much fazed the 6’2” Brit so to see him so lost in thought worried you. You got to your feet and wrapped your arms around your lover; your hands dipped underneath the shirt he was wearing and felt the dusting of wiry chest hair. You ran your fingers down the strong expanse of his chest and abdomen following the happy trail that disappears into his waistband. “What’s wrong hon?” You asked. “Nothing is wrong I’m fine love,” He grumbled. “You’ve been acting strange for the past few days and that isn’t like you,” You persisted. "I want to know what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?” You reassured him. John shifted his attention from the still water to you and tried to think of what to say.

“Do you…still love me?” He asked with uncertainty. “Would I have let you put me in those positions if I didn’t?” You teased, referencing the previous bedroom escapades. Seeing his face didn’t change, you realized he was serious. “Of course I do. Why would you think I don’t?” You asked. “Well…sometimes I can’t help but think you’ll wake up one day and come to your senses and leave me for someone who actually deserves you,” He sighed. It felt foreign to him to talk about his feelings but you made him feel safe enough that he could. You always brought out the best of him and it was one of the many reasons he wanted to marry you. “John Price, I am never going to leave you,” You told him, placing your hands on his muttonchops, framing his face. You hated it when he talked so badly about himself. “I love you so much and you deserve everything,” You said, gazing up at him. “Even if I am a grumpy old man?” He asked. “Yes even though you’re a grumpy old man,” you teased. “Hey! Easy now,” He said in mock annoyance. You placed your lips on his, capturing him in a heated kiss. You felt him kiss you back and the tension from his shoulders melted away. He groaned and pressed your bodies together, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass. He chuckled quietly when you whined as he pulled away. “In that case, there’s something I need to ask you,” He slipped his hand into his pocket while dropping down onto one knee. It’s now or never Price. He told himself. Your eyes went wide and filled with tears as you realized what was happening. “Y/N, will you marry me?” He asked, hoping, no silently begging, for you to say yes. “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you John Price,” you cried.

******

“FUCK!” You screamed. The headboard practically hit the wall with each harsh thrust from John. The room was filled with obscene yet erotic sound of panting and skin slapping against skin. “Fuck you’re taking me so well love,” John panted out, taking a glance down to where your cunt practically swallowed his cock. The sight drove him mad and he let out sounds he didn’t know he had in him. Those sounds he was making, the breathy groans and whimpers almost made you come then and there. “Fuck John!” You panted, feeling yourself get closer with every snap of John’s hips that hit perfectly inside you. John could feel you squeezing him like a vice and he knew you were close to coming. He grabbed the head board and pushed your legs to your chest to better plow into you and get as deep as he could into your pulsing cunt. “That’s it love,” He breathed out, his pace unrelenting. “Come for me love, come for me,”. John’s voice sounded strained as he focused on making you come before he did. You keened as you felt yourself go over the edge, coming on John’s cock. You squeezed him so tightly he swore he saw stars and came deep inside you, thick ropes of white staining the inside of your cunt. John rested his forehead against yours, strands of his hair sticking to the sweaty skin. You felt the sheer sheen of perspiration that had covered your own body begin to dry and cool off the longer the two of you stayed in each other’s embrace. "You okay love?” He asked, still out of breath as you both waited for your heart rates to slow. “More than okay,” you smiled lazily. Price gingerly pulled out his softened cock and walked to the bathroom, you admiring his bare ass as he walked away. John used a warm wash cloth to gently clean you up before grabbing a celebratory cigar and lighting it. You watched and admired his naked body as he poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter sitting on the small table in the room before sliding back into bed with you.

You and John lay slightly tangled in the sheets with your head resting on his chest and his arm around you, relishing in that wonderful, hazy post sex daze. You couldn’t help but stare at the ring on your finger and smile; John was your fiancée and you could hardly believe it. “Careful now or I’ll think you love the ring more than me,” John’s deep baritone voice reverberating in his chest. “Well the ring is pretty great. And all I have is an old man,” you teased, looking up at him knowing he just proved himself to be anything but an old man. Your remark earned you a playful pinch on your ass. You squealed and laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

“Don’t worry Mr. Price I only have eyes for you my love,” You said, planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you,"

“I love you too soon-to-be Mrs. Price,”

#captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #modern warfare x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price fanfiction #captain price fanfiction

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twistedchatterbox · 7 months

Text

Halloween Collab 2023 - 17/31 ; open !

Why hello there, loyal customer; Today I'm here to announce a collab for everyone's favorite holiday which starts on august and lasts 'till the end of October; spooky season!

Accepting collaborators 22nd-30th of September; This Halloween collab will be an advent that focuses on canon x reader/viewer content; you can join as an author/artist, with a minimum of 300~ words and no upper limit. -if you're interested, take a seat.

Here is how it'll work;

Everyone who participates in this collab will pick a prompt, and post their work on the day corresponding to the prompts number; it is mainly centered around writing, though artwork can be included !

Here are a few other things you should keep in mind v

To join the collab you have to reblog this post + choose a prompt! + You can ask to pick your prompt through replies instead, if you'd like that; as long as you reblog the post afterwards!

Remember to tag me on the post so that I can see it ; All the entries for the advent will be reblogged on @/jade-s-nymph and added to the masterlist !

One prompt per person; each person can only claim one prompt *

No Dead Dove: Don't Eat content !

All entries have a minimum of 300 words but no upper limit ; + Artwork can be entered as long as it is accompanied by writing ! + Your writing can be formatted however you'd like as long as it meets the minimum word count, just have fun with it !

Tag your works properly ! including but not limited to; if there are references to how the reader looks or is described, content warnings, phobia-specific warnings (ex. blood, cramped spaces)

Even though event mainly centers around canon x reader content Original Characters are very welcome to join in; whether it be Fanon x reader / Fanon & reader or just to make a cameo! Take the wheel and see where it leads you. ^^

Prompts that are taken/claimed by someone will be crossed out in text (like this) ; followed by the @ of the author/artist(s) who will post their work(s) on the prompt's day !

First Halloween - @magicluckystars

Sweetness

Tricked (or is it a treat..?)

Pumpkin(s)

Makeup - @cupids-chamber

Secret invitation - @savanaclaw1996

Decor

Love at first fright - @cyn-write

Undead(?)

Fangs - @rendy-a

Bewitched - @cecilebutcher

(Love) potion - @bunnwich

Phantom Thief - @yume-yuurei

Opera - @fungifanart

Knight

Sleeping Beauty - @siren-serenity

Haunted House - @leonistic

Graveyard - @galra-empress-dowager

Hunting - @snappit-the-snek

Full Moon

Siren's Song - @/twistedchatterbox ie.@/Jade-s-nymph

Yokai - @ginruko

Bandages

Angelic

Detective - @fate-muse-club-house

Dress-up (together) - @linawritestwst

Possessed - @darling-in-wonderland

Devilish - @da-birb-writes-sometimes

Cerberus

Red Hood - @juno-of-wonderland

"Once upon a time.." - @whatevermywpis

Ps. if you'd like to collab with someone on a prompt, you can! * ex. Two authors writing a 2-part fic together or writing 2 separate fics that reference each other / An author writing a fic and an artist making an illustration to go along with it. -Just remember to post the entries on the correct day, yeah?

Everyone who joins can tag their work with the tag #Spooky Chattering 2023 .

-Once again, before i finish this post; please Reblog this post so that more people can see and join, even if you don't intend to join in yourself- a collab this size needs a lot of people, after all ^^'' ...

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland x reader #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst kalim #twst idia #twst Vil #twst Malleus #twst #twisted wonderland disney #twst disney #twisted wonderland #twst halloween #twst OC #twst wonderland #💬.Twisted Halloween advent 2023

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tender-rosiey · 2 years

Note

OMG UR BLOG >>> I LOVE UR WRITING😭😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶 can i maybe request dazai, atsushi, chuuya, and akutagawa x reader where they’re hugging and they go to pull away and reader pulls them backs asking them “just a little longer”? feel free to ignore, and remember to hydrate!!! ( ◠‿◠ )

“JUST A LITTLE LONGER.”

— wanting to hug dazai, chuuya, atsushi and akutagawa longer

a/n: AHHHH I AM HONORED PLS, hope you like this as well <3

DAZAI OSAMU:

dazai perks up instantly when he notices your presence, “hey dear!” but you don’t respond and just walk towards him.

he laughs softly as he feels you wrap your arms around him and press your face into his chest, “this is a pleasant suprise,” he muses before engulfing you in a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

the both of you relish in each other’s warmth for a bit before he gently tries to pull away, but notices you are still holding on so he softly speaks up, “ belladonna? you okay, love?”

your grip on him tightens and you nod gently before murmuring, “can we stay like for a little longer?” you sigh, “just a little longer,” you feel him smile into your hair before sighing happily.

“you know, I am actually in quite the mood for cuddles,” he quips before picking you up and heading to the bedroom, “I don’t plan on letting you go for tonight so best be prepared,” he winks and his heart flutters at the laugh that erupts out of you.

NAKAHARA CHUUYA:

"what is it, dove?” he asks when he notices you at the door of his office, “is it urgent? I still have some stuff left to do,” chuuya says lookin at you.

you decide to shake your head, “I just wanted a hug; I will just come later, don’t worry,” you assure but you see him throwing the papers on his desk and striding towards you, “chuu?--” you don’t get to continue as you’re pulled to his chest.

you stay like that for a while with chuuya occasionaly stroking your hair, “feeling better?” he asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

“just a little more,” you decide before closing your eyes, getting lost in his warmth, “sorry that I am disturbing your work.”

you feel a small pinch to your side which makes you yelp and glare at him, “hey!”

“shut up, you didn’t disturb me and I wanna hug you for a little longer so deal with it,” he grumbles pulling you in once again and patting your back slowly, “I love you,” he says, it’s soft, barely audible but you hear it and kiss his jaw to reciprocate it.

NAKAJIMA ATSUSHI:

“y/n, you’ve been staring for a while,” he chuckles, “did I do something wrong?” you do not reply. instead, you open your arms and stare intensely at him.

thankfully, your boyfriend is a smart cookie and quickly walks to you and pulls you in ahug and you happily wrap your arms around him.

you notice that the tip of ears turn red making you laugh lightly and he pulls back to see what you are laughing at but is pulled back into the embrace right away, “not now, please,” you mutter and he hums confused so you elaborate, “can we stay like this for a little longer?”

he purses his lip, nervous before nodding perhaps too eagerly and tightens his grip on you, “thank you,” he sighs and you quirk an eyebrow confused, weren’t you the one who’s supposed to say that?

but, in the end, the hug was for him as much as for you and you both wanted and needed it.

AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE:

akutagawa feels a little tug on his sleeve so he turns around and is faced with a pouting you who is looking at the ground.

he waits for you to say something but you don’t so he ushers you, “is something the matter?”

“a hug,” you mumble but he does’t hear and furrows his eyebrows so you repeat, “I would like a hug.”

“oh,” he holds you by the arm and pulls you in awkwardly, one arm wrapped around your shoulder and the other one by his side. you tug at his free arm so he wraps it arounf you as well, “is this okay?”

you nod, “can we stay like this for a bit longer?” he hums quietly and his body slowly relaxes and the embrace is no longer awkward. just two lovers exploring the wonders of love and touch together.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @waosobii

do not copy or plagiarize or you’re sleeping on the couch

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lis-likes-fics · 1 year

Text

Apple of My Eye

Pairings: Dream of the Endless x Reader Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: Angst, torture, injuries... A/N: I really love this idea and this character, she’s just so fcking sarcastic and dramatic while literally being tortured, and I think that’s beautiful. Enjoy!

"I give you the sweetest apple blessed with Asmodeus' curse."

Roderick Burgess stood before a summoning circle as his cult of worshippers surrounded him in dark cloaks and darker magic. The room was silent, other than the silent chants of his followers underneath his demanding voice.

"I give you the rare black lily of the calla."

Eight years after his failure to capture Death, and now Burgess has decided to take a new approach. If he couldn't summon Death, he would try for a different type of being. One who would have no choice but to give him what he wants. Someone bound to him.

"I give you a feather plucked from the wing of a sacred dove."

A muse.

As he discarded the pure, white feather, he felt the force of his magic under his palms. He reached off to the side where Alex slowly stepped forward to offer a small knife to his father, who all but snatched the blade from his hand with the urgency of a bitter old man.

"I give you the blood from out of my veins." He watched the thick, red liquid seep from the cut made in his wrist and into the concoction of offerings.

A follower presented him with a silver platter, which lay a still organ fresh from an animal's chest. "And I give you the heart of the sacrificial goat, for you to feast upon the darkest desires which reside within it."

He felt the air swirl around him, frantically grasping onto whatever stillness it could as magic disrupted it with the stench of greed.

"I summon you with love." A bright light shone from above their heads. "I summon you with agony. I open the threshold, I open the gates. I summon you in the names of the lords of desire. Himeros, Pothos, Eros, Asmodeus."

The circle began to glow, a bright light shining from its boundaries in white light. "We summon you together. Come!"

Burgess' demand resounded along the large room. A bright flash blinded them all, and they covered their eyes to protect themselves from its glow.

Then the light disappeared and the room stilled at an abnormal speed, drenching it in shadows once again. Each person slowly peaked out of their shielded stances to see what had changed. Their breaths were held as they saw a woman, a beautiful woman in a gown lying on the cold floor with weak eyes and a limp body.

"Get the chains, go," he demanded Alex, who quickly moved to grab the freezing metal to pass over.

Roderick bent down to fasten them to the woman's hands, the thick shackles binding her as she lay still on the floor. He watched her eyes blink slowly, so hooded and nearly shut from the exhaustion of his spell.

His lips pulled into a small smirk, cockiness flooding his gaze as he stared at her. "You belong to me."

She didn't respond, she simply stared back at him until her eyes slowly fell shut and she was consumed by darkness.

A breath suddenly filled your lungs as you opened your eyes. Consciousness slipped into your skin, soaking into you as you awoke. You felt the ice cold pinch of the ground against your face, your bare arms burning with the sensation. You let out the breath, shifting to sit up in a more comfortable position as you willed your body to wake before you did something rash and got yourself killed.

Your eyes flicked to the shackles on your wrists and the summoning circle around you. The cold metal chaining you here was attached to the ground, embedded so deeply that, with all your strength, you could not move it. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get out. They were unordinary, they magical bound you in a way that made escape impossible.

You were trapped.

You heard footsteps, along the rhythmic tap of a cane against the stone floor. You turned your gaze to the man advancing toward you, your gaze hard and dangerous.

"You're awake," the older man spoke. He was the one you saw before you succumbed to the darkness, your captor. "So good of you to join us."

Your lips formed a hard line as you watched him. Your gaze raked over his form. His suit was highly expensive, his cane even more so, and his hair was golden with strands of grey and white in its mix. He was a tired, old man whose eyes gleamed with greed.

You licked your lips and let out another sigh. "Where am I?"

"Oh, good," he breathed, glancing away as if looking at something before turning his cold gaze back to you. "You aren't silent."

Your gazes never wandered from one another, not when a boy behind him shifted uncomfortably, not when men flanking the door that was her escape shuffled on their feet as they stood at the ready.

"I am Roderick Burgess," he said, "and you are, as I gather, one of the nine muses." You tilted your head to the side as his evaluation. He raised a brow, "Am I correct?" You mirrored his expression, head tilted and brow raised. He was getting impatient. "Well, which are you? Clio? Melpomene? Calliope?"

You rolled your eyes but relented, almost humorously at his terrible assumptions. "I am not a muse."

Burgess hummed, "Oh? Then what are you?"

You didn't respond. You did, however, allow the smallest hint of a smirk to grace your features as you looked up at him.

He took your silence with an exasperated sigh. "Now you are speaking, are you? Just like him?" His voice raised slightly, paranoia sinking in. "Are you with him?"

He pointed his cane toward something. You turned your head in the direction he gestured to.

You nearly gasped at the sight, eyes widened slightly as you took in a man. No, he was no man. He was Endless.

You looked at him, the Endless you knew could only be known as Dream. The Dream, Ruler of Dreams and Nightmares, kin to Desire—your ruler.

You watched him stare at the both of you, watching your interaction with silent lips and guarded eyes. His pale skin seemed to glow, his dark eyes sparked with the galaxies that were held within them.

You turned away before you couldn't. You shook your head at Burgess, steeling your face once more as you returned to stubbornness. "No."

"Hm," is all he said in return. He contemplated for a moment, taking in the sight of you with calculating eyes.

You sighed, "Why am I here?"

He considered before telling you. "I want something. Give it to me, and I shall set you free."

You glanced over your shoulder, but did not look at the Endless behind you. "And him, too?"

Burgess furrowed his brow. "What is he to you?"

You didn't respond, offering your silent alternative to your cooperation as you gave him a look to let him know.

He rolled his eyes and huffed. "If you can give me what I want," he looked at you, "you will both walk free."

You smiled, leaning onto your side with a sudden lax. If all you had to do was your job, then you would.

"What do you desire, Roderick Burgess?"

He was quiet before he spoke. "My son was stolen from me by Death, lost during the Gallipoli Campaign." Your smile faltered a moment. "If you can return him to me, alive and well, you both may leave."

You sighed, your smile falling from your lips as you looked down at his shoes. You sat up again, "Your desire is beyond me."

He tilted his head, not as upset as you thought he'd be. He must be used to the rejection then, "You won't give him to me?"

"I can't give him to you. I can only grant certain desires, not fabrications like," you had to contain your laugh at the prospect, "life after death." You shook your head, locking your bottom lip before facing him again.

His exasperation was sinking in as he huffed angrily. "Can no one give me what I want?"

You shrugged, "What you ask to is improbable, impossible."

He focused his hard gaze on you once more. "What can you give me?"

"What do you desire that would set me free?"

"I want my son back."

You sighed, granting him a look full of pity, taunting and teasing. "Then I will say no more."

You did just that, sitting back and showing the end of your cooperation as you stared at him.

"Very well, then," he said. "I will take what I can." Then he turned his back and began to depart from the cellar you were trapped in. The sound of his footfalls were soon accompanied by those of the boy who trailed quickly behind him.

"I will get what I want."

You rolled your eyes as the doors shut, your shielded face falling slightly as you turned away. You looked straight at Dream, his prison of glass and gold binding rendering him just as imprisoned as you as you stared.

He shared your gaze with a look of sympathy and knowledge.

For a couple of times, Burgess ignored you entirely. He came in once a day to go to Dream, to demand from him gifts he did not deserve and or could not, only to be met with more silence from the dream lord that would not speak.

But something changed when he came in and made his way directly to you. The determination in his eyes was near elation as the smile on his face gave you a paranoid look. He knew.

He stopped in front of you, looking down on you like you were a creature meant to be crushed under his boot. He spoke after a long silence as you simply stared back at him.

"Since you will not give me what I want, I will simply have to take it from you." The words lingered in the air as you remained silent.

His hands, which were clasped behind him, moved to reveal a book he had hidden behind his back. He showed it to you, a grimoire filled with old magic and you would rather not have laid eyes on.

"It is amazing," he started, "what information you can find in a book." He opened it up, flipping to a page with a self-satisfied grin. "And it appears to me that the Malum are creatures that come from the Endless called Desire."

Your eyes widened slightly at his revelation, a confirmation of what you suspected he'd figured. He knew. He knew who you were, what you were.

He knew the Malum were beings made from Desire, beings who granted desires to those who asked. He knew how to summon you, he knew how you granted desires, and he knew how to force you to give it.

"So I am right?" he chuckled, closing the book loudly. You clenched your jaw. He shook his head, no sign of annoyance in his face as he smiled triumphantly, confidence oozing from him.

"That's alright. I don't need your words." He pulled a pocket knife, small and ornate with small details made with golden design. He set the book down, out of your reach. "I only need your pain," he said as he knelt. He took your right arm in his, forcing the chains up to reveal the inside of your wrist. He just needed the confirmation as he revealed to him the dark little marking of an apple's silhouette.

You tried to scoot away, but he was stronger with your chains on. He grasped your arm tighter, pulling you toward him.

For a moment, for a reason you could not explain, your eyes found Dream. And, in that moment, your eyes pleaded for aid you both knew he could not give. He raised his hand against the glass, wanting to reach you, to help you. But he just watched, lips parted in regret as Burgess' blade sliced a small incision in your skin. A few droplets of blood seeped from the wound, pooling there but hardly dripping in a more merciful wound than you knew he was capable of.

You winced at the slight pain that bloomed there. "Let's start small, shall we?" he wondered, sliding his knife back into his pocket. He held your arm in a vice grip, squeezing it in a way that allowed more blood to bubble from the wound. He looked at you, his icy gaze sending a tremor through your spine.

"Give me the riches that I asked from him when he wouldn't give it." A sickening smile spread over his lips. "This is my desire."

You felt as he forced the magic out of you. He saw the flash of crimson in your eyes, a signal that his desires were being granted to him. He let go of you, dropping your arm carelessly with a force that shoved you to the ground.

"That's more like it."

You glared at him, holding your arm to cover the wound. You brought your hand up to see the flood staining your fingers before covering the wound and looking at him. "I cannot bring back your son. I don't have the power."

"I know," he promised. "But I have use of you yet."

With that, he left you behind to sit on the cold floor. You looked at your arm again, watching the blood smear.

Your eyes met Dream again, his gaze softer than you expected as a bubbling anger lay beneath them. You looked back down to the ground, shrinking under his gaze.

You let out a long breath and laid down on the cold floor, your mind racing with everything that has just happened in merely a few minutes.

And what might continue to happen to you for what felt like a long time to come.

You recognized you were caught in the remnants of a dream as soon as you saw it. You recognized Dream even quicker, the way he stood among the meadow uncharacteristically placed within your sleeping mind. You moved to stand next to him, sighing gently. You breathed in the scent of open freedom, you could almost smell it.

He stood silently next to you, his cloak flowing in the imaginary breeze, hands stuffed in his pockets. You both stayed like that, standing next to each other in silence as you enjoyed with him what you believed to be the first dream he has entered since his capture.

The guards never slept for fear of his escape, but you could never escape, so you had that freedom at least. Sweet, sweet dream.

"Will they come for you?"

His words were deep and bellowing in a voice smooth as sweet vermouth. But you shook your head, looking out onto the horizon you longed to see again in person.

"No one will come for me."

"Not even Desire?"

A gentle chuckle rose from your chest, and you shook your head. "They either do not care or have too many Malum to notice that I'm gone." You ignored the sinking feeling in your chest at the reality of your words. "I am alone."

He hummed deeply. "Perhaps not entirely."

You looked over at him, and he finally looked at you. A slow smile spread over your lips before you turned away again. Both your gazes fixed on the setting sun in your dream, the time you had left.

"What is your name?" he asked.

You thought for a moment before you told him, granting him another glance. Dream repeated it, staring across the landscape to compare it to the sunset.

"I am truly sorry for the life to come," he said. If you hadn't been listening, you would have missed how deeply his sincerity reached.

You hummed in response, nodding gently before turning your body to look at him. He tilted his chin toward you, but continued to face the horizon.

You tilted your head and smiled. "What is it you desire?" you questioned, examining each detail of his face with a new appreciation to his beauty.

"Our freedom." He put it simply, inclining his head away from you and toward the sky. You hummed and examined the splotches of pink on his pale cheek.

He spoke again, a new edge to his voice as his steely gaze hardened on the sun. "And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

You smiled, mischievous and satisfied as you turned back toward the sunset, which had almost disappeared from view. You took a leap, hooking your arm through the crook of his still left open and taking a step closer into his side. You didn't look at him as you did so, opting to avoid any unwanted looks that may be waiting for you if you did (although, there were none to be found).

"One day," you promised.

Two years later, your promise had still been unfulfilled. But Burgess' was.

Burgess had desire after desire, each more selfish than the last as he granted himself riches and wealth and power and fame. Soon, he opened the offer to those appointed at your guards. Some of them were more than happy to exploit that offer, to take from you their own selfish desires and expose them to be the cruel beasts you had always known them to be.

One day hope came, and it seemed as though men were all too eager to prove their evil.

All you heard was the frantic flapping of feathers, loud and beating as you slowly sat up from the icy ground. A bird flew into the cellar, a white bellied raven who beat and tapped against Dream's cage. His eyes glittered, sparking with a sense of joy you had yet to see on him until then. And, for the first time in years, he smiled. He watched her, watched her struggle to free her master—her friend—from his containment.

But you saw Alex. You saw him and Burgess and the guards at the door as he held a shotgun tight within his grin. You moved without thinking, reaching toward the bird to grab her attention before the unspeakable could happen. But your chains ripped your hands back down to the ground as you tried to move, willing your body to get closer and protect her.

You let out a shout, drowned in the sound of a thunderous gunshot. The blood spattered along the glass, red dotted your face and skin. You stared wide eyed at the animal shot dead on the cold, hard ground. The chains shuffled as you tried to reach out to take her after coming from your statue-like state.

The movement and the sound startled Alex, too sudden and too much for his adrenaline packed mind as he suddenly pointed and shot at the first moving target he saw. A shout clawed its way out of your throat, falling back against the ground from the force of only a few of the bullets lodging into your flesh. He'd mostly missed.

You lay on the ground, breathing thickly as your head swarmed with signals that shouted Pain! Pain! Pain! Blood pumped loudly in your ears, your heart thumping heavily to try to focus on what to do in response without the use of your hands.

You couldn't hear anything of what was going on. Your pulse was too loud, your heart thunderous. It took your mind a long time to clear before you could gather enough thought process to shift enough to be able to bring your hands to your right shoulder, where the most pain was coming from.

You looked down, watching the blood stain your dress. Moments later, a woman came toward you with a case at her side. She was dressed in white from head to toe as she set down the white case in front of you. The Burgess' were gone, only Dream and the guards were left. You had not noticed them leave, or the guards sit, or the nurse even come in.

She knelt beside you and began working to fix your wounds. You were too useful to Burgess for you to die, weren't you? No, he would be keeping you. A gunshot wound from his sun was just an inconvenience. You would be spared for the use of more torture later on.

Your hazy gaze met Dream's teary eyes after a moment, your brain too slow to process too long a look as you stared at him, committing him to memory like you had done so many times before.

Night had taken over. You were sitting in your poorly cleaned spot, staring at the chains shackled to your wrists as you tried not to move too much. Your shoulder was plagued by sharp pain, stitched and patched to let it heal. You were trying to fall asleep, to rest so that you could at least spend a short dream with your fellow captive, but the pain was too great.

The guards had stepped out of the room, something about a smoke break. It was late enough that they would not be caught neglecting their duties if they stepped outside for a few moments.

When you heard the door open, you suspected the guards. You were wrong as the soft, slow footsteps of Alex Burgess resounded along the room. Both your gazes dragged up to him, darkened and dangerous, daring him to come closer.

He was holding a plate in his hand. You can smell the fragrance of the fruit on the plate as he takes slow, hesitant steps forward. His face is drenched in sorrow and regret, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"I thought you might like something to eat," he mumbled when he had enough courage to speak.

You tilted your head and said nothing. His eyes shifted between you and Dream before he finally took slow steps to get to you. He sat just outside of your reach to set the plate down, scooting it over for you to take.

You looked down at the plate, sliced honeycrisp apples.

"I don't know if," he trailed off, looking between you and the fruit and adding another regret to the mix, "if you like apples..."

Your gaze finds him again.

He sighed hopelessly, thinking through his next words. "I'm sorry...for what I did." His gaze lifted to Dream for only a moment, his glare far too intense for Alex to withstand. "To both of you."

He was met with no cooperation, only silent stares.

He swallowed thickly. "What can I do?" He winced at that question, realizing his mistake as soon as it left his mouth. "Nothing, I suppose."

You sighed, licking your lips as you thought about how to put your thoughts into words. You leaned forward, unblinking as you watched a flash of hope cross his face at the prospect of you answering him.

"You fucking shot me."

He winced at your words, and that satisfied you enough. You leaned back, sighing as you felt the request from his desire seething beneath the surface. You tilted your head, scowling at him as you whispered like you were telling a secret. "That hurt."

He thought for a moment before surmising, "You want me to claim my desire..."

"That's all men care about: their own selfish desires," you looked him up and down with a huff. "Claim it and leave me, I have nothing to say to you."

He shook his head, staring at his lap to avoid your harsh eyes. "I don't want to claim it."

"You have to," you snapped.

There was silence as he contemplated an idea before speaking it aloud. "Could I...Could I wish for your freedom?"

Your eyes widened slightly at the idea, but you nodded anyway. "You could," you put it simply.

He scooted forward, looking down at your chains to pick them up in his palms. "I want to," he breathed.

"Then say the words."

"I will," his voice was urgent. Then a sobering thought crossed his mind, and you knew you had lost him. He looked up from the chains and at you once more, apprehension heavy in his eyes.

"But how do I know you won't come after me?"

"..." You stared blankly at him.

"I want you to promise," he nearly whispered. "Promise you won't hurt me—or m-my father."

You opened your mouth slightly, but no words came out. You stared.

"Please," he begged. "I don't want to trap you here, but I can't have you taking revenge to hurt us. Me."

You shook your head, his words sour on your tongue as you leaned a little more away from him. You looked down at your shackles, over to Dream's prison.

You huffed out a breath, eyes darkening. "You will get what's coming to you," you promised. "That is my desire."

He shook his head, blinking, "I'm sorry. I can't."

You hummed, leaning forward until you were invading his personal space. Your lips curled in disgust as you looked his face up and down.

"Selfish."

He refuted meekly, "I'm trying to protect my family."

"You're trying to save yourself," you disagreed, sitting up straight again.

He was frantic, desperate to prove he wasn't selfish and greedy like his father as he shook his head. He leaned forward, perching atop his hand and reaching out to you, hoping to change your mind about him. "No. No, that's not true."

The door opened, the two guards returning. Alex turned away from you quickly at the shock of being caught.

"Alex, what are you doing here?"

Was it necessary? Probably not. Could it have gone better? ... Probably not. But you did it anyway.

You leaned forward while he was distracted and clamped your teeth down on the hand extended to you. It was more rage-filled than it was plan-filled.

Alex startled, trying to remove you from him, but your grip was too tight. You only let go when your ears rang and a horrible pain bloomed from your arm. You stumbled back, stifling your shout into a pained moan as you closed your eyes shut. Alex stumbled to his feet.

The guard who shot you just sighed and rolled his eyes. "A fucking holiday," he spat. "That's my fucking desire. God, I hate this job." He mumbled the last part to himself, shaking his head as he moved to sit. He threw his feet on the desk and tossed his gun, which clattered metal on metal.

Alex watched you grasp at your arm, eyes shut tight and mouth filled with air to keep the sounds in. The bullet missed, just grazing your arm, which was now leaking blood that stained your hands and your clothes once more. The other guard sighed, exhausted, "Go get the nurse, Alex. Shit."

Alex's eyes lingered on you a while longer before looking back up to Dream. Their eyes locked for merely a second before he was rushing away from eyes filled with angry blackholes that bore into his soul.

You tried not to cry, you tried to keep it all in. You should not—you could not—appear weak in front of these people. But you had been shot twice in one day, and you were well-beyond your limit.

You hid your face in your knees, your body dissolving into shuddered breaths and a few escaped whines as the tears fell without your consent.

Dream's heart squeezed in his chest, his throat tight as he watched you. He didn't have to watch, he could have just looked away and ignored you. But how could he? How could he leave you to suffer alone? He simply could not, he would not.

And for a moment, your red-rimmed eyes locked across the room and you saw the promise in his gaze. He raised his hand to the glass, setting his palm against the cold prison. You set your chin on your knees and stared back.

Your witty comments had become far more scarce in the years to come. After your assault against Alex and, quite frankly, mostly for your sarcastic remarks and the exasperation they brought Burgess, he had further reduced himself to fitting you with a muzzle. The leather of the constricting piece of wear was constantly covering your mouth, keeping you from speaking your mind with more than eye rolls, sighs, and muffled mumbles.

For seventeen years, you wore that muzzle. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, and just downright uncomfortable. Some old scars healed, more took their places, but your gunshot wounds were embedded too deeply within your skin to be removed. You had to live with them now. They were a part of you. They always would be.

The days have begun to drone together, long and tiring periods of time from sunup to sundown. A day for an immortal was hardly even a blink of time, sure, but a day of suffocating monotony, filled with pain and torture and more boredom was a lifetime of its own.

Sleep was far and few as time passed, and you missed finding what felt like just a few minutes talking to Dream and listening to the rich honey of his voice. Mostly, you just sat there and waited for the end of another continuous day. Sometimes, you spent hours staring at Dream, mapping him out in your mind. Other times, he stared at you, mapping you out in his mind (and sorrowing in the many scars you have gathered over the years). Sometimes, you watched each other and got lost in the many stories hiding behind the eyes of the other immortal.

As Burgess' steps sounded down the halls before he even reached the door, you noticed the difference in urgence as he thrust his presence into the room with his overbearing stature. He ignored you as he had done for years, except for the days when he actually decided that he wanted your forced service, and made a beeline for Dream's cage.

He was quiet for a while, examining him and disregarding you like a grain of sand on his boot or speck of lint on his expensive coat. "The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune," he finally admitted, leaning on Dream's dome with one hand as he supported his weight on his cane. You snorted, but he ignored you with the roll of his jaw in favor of continuing to speak to a very unyielding Dream. "She's also robbed you. She's taken your helm, your sand, and your ruby."

"Now, I can unlock this, you can go after her...if you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality." You rolled your eyes at his tedium, but found a sense of pleasantness rising in your chest as his frustration creeped into his voice. "Oh, you're a god. These things are nothing to you."

There was a long pause as he continued to bore into Dream's face. "Don't you want your weapons and your freedom?" Dream tilted his head but gave no other response.

Burgess' anger got the better of him, and he lost his composure. Impatient, angry. "Speak to me! Speak to me! Speak to me!" He punctuated each word with a sharp strike at the glass with his cane, making his rage quite evident. "Come on! Speak to me!"

You began to laugh, unable to contain your elation at his complete lack of control. The bubbling sound was muffled by the muzzle, but your joy was obvious and his frustration ran deeper. He turned to you quickly, finally paying you mind after so long barely sparing you a sidewards glance. "What's so funny?"

You just raise your brow at him, your smirk covered as you gave him an answer that only hastened his impatience and rage. He walked over to you, ripping the muzzle from over your head. You flexed your jaw, stretching it out and getting used to the feeling of being able to use it again. It wasn't often he was annoyed enough to allow you to trick him into letting you speak and worsen his personal experience with celestials.

You tilted your head, smiling at him slyly. "I enjoy watching you squirm," you admitted.

He wasn't in the mood for your sharp comments and contemptuous attitude. But, to be fair, he was never in the mood. It only added to your fun. He leaned forward, invading your personal space as he curled his fist into the neckline of your dress and pulled you forcefully to him. "Then you must love a bullet in your pretty little skull, too. I will put one there."

You tilted your head, unphased by his constant harshness as you gave him a tearful smile. "Aww, you think I'm pretty." His face screwed up in half-disgust, half-vexation. You shrugged a shoulder, "Either way, you won't."

He stared at you long and hard before letting you go in favor of towering over you from your spot on the ground. "What makes you so sure?"

You gave him a smile, a shit-eating grin, before answering his question. "You already found use of me. You won't give me up so quickly." if you could have tapped his nose, you would have as you scrunch your nose up to feign awe. "You like me."

His disdain was clear. "I wouldn't be so sure. I can just as easily replace you. There are hundreds of you." He gestured toward you with his cane, pressing it to your chest and shoving you down. You sat back on your elbows and raised a brow.

You hummed, shrugging a shoulder, "Thousands, actually."

He was fed up, his voice raising in his irritation. "Do you want to die? Because I can certainly help with that very easily, pesky demon."

You laid down on your back, closing your eyes shut as you feign hurt and sorrow, bringing the back of a chained hand up to your face and over your forehead. "Oh, ouch. Owie!" you cried. "You called me a demon. Whatever shall I do?"

Dream's lips nearly curled at your show of dramatics. You smirked and rolled your eyes and flailed your arms as much as you could, having a field day in making this man's life a living hell in return for all the hell he'd brought down upon you.

But Burgess had had enough, and Dream's entertainment was gone just as quick as the old man raised the cane above his head, ready to put you back in your place for however long the beating lasted (it would likely only be a few seconds of silence before another regrettable remark fell from your lips). You raised your hand to protect yourself, turning toward the ground to shield your face from his upcoming blow and nearly cowering with panic.

Alex, ironically, came to your rescue, snatching the cane and stopping its descent as he caught Burgess' attention. "It's alright, father!"

"Get away from me," Burgess insisted, twisting out of his grip. "If you were any kind of son to me–" He swung his cane at the boy, but he simply dodged it. They fought for a moment as Alex scrambled not to get hid with the hard stick before he caught it again with another firm grip. "If Randall were alive today–"

"If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do."

Burgess huffed curtly, forced Alex away from him and not anticipating his refute. He stumbled back, losing balance as he was pushed away suddenly. His head smacked against the glass quite loudly, causing you to flinch slightly at the sound, and he grunted. He brought a hand back to see the blood smeared on his fingers. He slumped to the ground barely a distance from you.

You stared down at him, solemn and unfeeling as your cold gaze glared into his fading one. His eyes were wavering between the two of you, immortal beings watching a miserable mortal life come to an end. He shook his head, wasting his last remnants of life on resentment and contempt. "You're never getting out of there," he said, eyes drifting. "Never."

His gaze stuck on you as you watched him fade, watched the life drain from his eyes and become a void of death and emptiness. You leaned forward, your lips curled in a scowl as you stared at his face that has more feeling in death than it ever did in life. Under your breath, leaking venom and bitter toxins, you spoke to his corpse.

"This is my desire."

You spared him one last glance before disregarding him forever. Alex backed away from his father's body, disoriented and dazed as the shock sunk in and muddled his mind. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and looked around with confused eyes. Alex's gaze found Dream's, and something happened.

Dream stood in his glass dome. His lean body stretched tall as he reached out toward the glass. The boy's eyes focused on him, beholding his power with a special kind of reverence. He reached out for him.

The guards, who had flocked to Burgess, were nervous as they watched the scene play out. "Don't do it, sir," he begged, ignoring the glare you shot at his interference. "He'll kill us." Alex didn't listen, lost in Dream's will as he continued to allow himself to be drawn by his glory.

"What would your father say?"

And, just like that, Alex stopped. Reality came crashing down on him all in one moment as he returned his hand to his side. He backed away from the glass with a deep frown embedded into his face. "I need to think."

Alex swiftly turned and left. You dropped your head in a sigh, but felt a weight lift from your shoulders at the realization that this tyrant of a man was gone. But you would have to suffer with the remnants he left behind in a son conditioned to obey, one conditioned to fear.

You shared a long glance with Dream before monotony returned to you once more.

"Oh, my God."

The voices roused you from your shallow rest as you slowly sat up to see who had just entered the cellar. You rubbed at your eyes and blinked a couple of times as you took a breath in, watching as Alex and a boy walk in, his guests looking between you and Dream with wide eyes and a face a mix of terror and wonder. "Alex?" he muttered, unbelieving as his eyes saw.

"Hello," Alex greeted the both of you instead. "This is my friend, Paul." You looked him up and down, taking in the sight of him and deciding whether or not you would waste your breath. Alex turned. "Paul, these are our unwilling guests."

He stared, unbelieving as he took in the sight of you. You tilted your head at him when his gaze fell on you, furrowing your brows as you looked him up and down. When Alex spoke again, it was to you and Dream again with another plea for peace.

"Look, we've been talking, Paul and I, and if I let you out, will you promise not to harm us?" he asked. His insistence had faded slightly, past attempts returning to his mind as he knew that you still would not budge on your position. "If you could just speak to us," he urged.

You both stared blankly at him, not giving even the slightest hint of aid. The last sparks of Alex's hope flickered behind his eyes as he shook his head. "You see, I told you."

Paul refused to give up so easily. "I'm telling you, you have to keep trying." He drew straws in his attempt to persuade Alex to persuade you. He motioned toward you, "Or claim your desire to set them free."

You raised a brow, turning your head at his suggestion. Alex was quick to shake his head, "No, they'll hurt us."

Paul kept trying. "Show them that they can trust you. Show them that you mean it."

Alex's eyes turned back to the both of you once more. That same gleam of hopefulness fills his gaze again as he steps forward. "I do mean it," he promised. "Just promise that you won't harm me or Paul, and I will let you out."

And even as his plea rang through the air with a special kind of desperation, you didn't give him what he wanted. You did not give him what he desired. So Alex gave up, head hung low and defeated as he muttered his sad response to Paul. He finally accepts it, turning to leave with Alex.

You licked your bottom lip. "Paul." He turned around quickly at the sound of your voice, eyes wide as he heard you for the first time. You gave him a smile, small and gentle. "I want to ask you a question."

He glanced between you and Alex before clearing his throat and responding with the nod of his head. "Um...yes?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice just above a whisper. "What is it you desire most in this world?"

He was caught off guard by your question, raising a hand to the back of his neck. He scratched it before shrugging limply. "I... I don't know."

"Come now," you chuckled. "There must be something?" When he didn't answer you, you began listing off suggestions. "Wealth? Fame?" You noticed his eyes shift between you and Alex again. "Love?" You put special emphasis on the word. "You only need to wish it, and I will give it...as an exchange for our freedom, of course."

Paul sighed, stepping back again with the shake of his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't."

Paul turned his back on you. Your gaze found Alex again, a knowing look piercing his gaze as the word formed in your mouth but did not articulate into the space between you. "Selfish."

Alex looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet before he shook the word off his shoulders. "Come on, Paul," he breathed. "Let's go. This was useless."

And they both left you alone to swap out one captor for another.

"I miss this place." You looked around the little apartment, dark tones and paintings depicting scenes of passion or agony. Deep reds accented the rooms of the small home, rugs and curtains and trims on furniture. You sat on the plush couch in the tiny living room, reaching for the mug on the coffee table with an apple painted on it. You turned it in your hands, smiling at it as you showed it to Dream. "I love symbolism," you confessed, like it was some naughty secret you were telling him to keep quiet.

"Your home?" he wondered, glancing around the overall tidy apartment and ignoring the bra hanging from a lamp shade. You noticed it and threw it under the couch with an off-handed request for him to forget he saw it—not out of embarrassment, but more out of consideration for his comfort level.

You shrugged a shoulder at his question, "Away from home." You pat the spot beside you to offer him a seat, giving him a teasing smile. "Don't worry, everything's clean." You shoot him a playful look, "For now." And then you winked.

He knew it was a joke, it was just in your nature, but he didn't laugh. You didn't seem very phased by his lack of amusement. You had been trapped with him long enough to separate his stoic amusement from his stoic boredom or disappointment.

He sat next to you, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He was quiet, as usual, looking around the room with curiosity to see what it was you used to live like.

You watched him look around, examining the slight shifts in his face at the information he was taking in with each little detail your brain managed to rebuild in your little illusion. "Do you miss the Dreaming?" you asked after a while, tilting your head.

He glances at you, but his gaze did not stick. "Constantly," he responded after a long break of silence. He removed his hands from his pockets to fidget with his long, slender fingers. His brows furrowed in deep concentration. "This is the closest I get."

You fell silent, rubbing your hands together before sinking further into the couch and turning your body to see him clearer. "What was it like?"

You saw the slightest tilt of his lip into a smile. "The stars were everywhere, countless," his eyes gleamed with remembrance. "So many planets and moons. The most precious of flowers, the tallest of trees. The rivers sang, and the oceans were mighty. Life was everywhere." His words were so poetic, distant liberation shining in his gaze as he remembered the feeling of the Dreaming's sun on his skin, the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, the joy of the dreams that resided in his realm.

You sighed, sitting back and staring at the lamp casting a golden glow over the room. "It sounds perfect," you muttered, imagining the paradise he'd explained to you.

You looked at him again, your gazes lingering for too long before you took in the room again. You shook your head quickly and slid off of the couch so you were sitting on the floor, your arms propped up on your knees and your face in your hands. "This is dangerous."

Dream looked around, watching the warmth and intimacy of the room disappear into the cold, sterile echo of the cellar they had spent decades trapped in. You were chained again, wearing the same shabby dress and covered in your scars once more. Dream's prison is gone, leaving the room empty of everything but you and your shackles.

You sat on the cold floor, tugging at the metal bolted into the floor. "All this reminiscing," you shook your head and faced Dream again, "we can't keep doing it."

Dream walked over to you, his steps slow. He knelt in front of you, reaching for your hands. He took them, tracing his thumbs over the back of your palms. He reached down, his fingertips brushing the searing chains. They clattered to the floor, and he took your hands to slowly stand with you again.

He held your eye contact until you were turning away from him again. "I keep wasting my dreams with this illusion of freedom, instead of just accepting the reality of things."

Your eyes found the wall, and Dream quickly realized that the door that served as the only exit was gone. Come to think of it, Dream hadn't seen a door in the wall or windows behind the curtains of your apartment living room before.

"We're never getting out of here."

Dream's frown deepened. "There is always hope," he tried.

"Not now there isn't," you shook your head. "It's just you and me. Alone and powerless."

Dream stood in front of you, invading your space as he towered over you, his chest nearly touching you. His eyes stared at you. From so close, you can see how magnificent they really are in the light of dreams. A thousand galaxies, infinite stars glittering with the hope he tried to give to you.

"We are not alone," he said. He was so close, you could feel his words on your cheeks.

You watched him closely, taking in his endless beauty. Your lips parted, and you held your breath. You stepped forward, raising a hand to his chest.

Dream stepped back, ducking his head almost bashfully, like a scolded child. He was soft when he spoke again, you thought he might stutter. "I only meant that–"

You stepped forward again, throwing your arms around his neck and just staying there. Your face buried in the crook of his neck as you relaxed against him, sighing gently and holding him tight.

Dream stood there, arms awkwardly at his sides and eyes wide with shock. It took him a long time to catch up, to get over his surprise and realize what this was. A hug. You were hugging him, seeking comfort in an embrace meant only for him. "I know what you meant."

Slowly, but surely, he raised his arms to hug you back, holding you close and leaning into your comfort. He sighed, pulling away after too long and risking a curled finger under your chin. "We will get out," he promised, putting his hand back down by his side. "Have hope, little apple."

You smiled slyly at him, your teasing remarks returning a little with a gentle laugh. "You got a nickname for me now, dreamer?"

He hummed, and you could see the traces of a smile on his lips. You felt your heart swell in your chest. You could have sworn you saw Dream's eyes flicker to your lips. You could have sworn you saw his hand raise to your cheek. You could have sworn you saw him lean in close...

Alex chose to remain ignorant. Every day, he and Paul came down to bargain their safety for your freedom. Every day, they were rejected and sent away until the day came where your revenge would rain down on them all.

The guards were not kind. Hardened by unethical work, they ignored Alex's orders not to hurt you. When he wasn't looking, when he turned his back and closed his eyes, they would be there with a new desire of their own to pull from your skin.

The years passed and the torture continued with you being scarred by greedy men and Dream having to watch, powerless to help. Years turned to decades and decades turned to a century.

Alex got older, and as time passed, he still had not sired an heir to ensure you stayed locked up. With no Burgess to stay in charge, the guards would likely discuss amongst themselves who would take on the role. Who would continue to torture in the name of fame and wealth and power. That made you restless, worried for what was to come when ignorance was returned to cruelty.

You feared how much the future could become.

"I could have asked you for wealth, like my father did."

Your attention was caught again by the voice of Alex Burgess, elderly and confined to a wheelchair. He looked tired, exhausted by life's hardships. Most of which consisted of a silent god and a snarky demon (although, you were not technically a demon) trapped in his basement.

"But all I wanted was to be free of you," he said, the dejection clear in his tired voice. "Surely, you want that, too."

Paul placed a hand on his shoulder, the golden ring on his finger flashing slightly. His worry translated through his words as he shook his head. "Alex, darling, please."

There was a silence as Alex acknowledged his husband's words with a gentle nod. "Take me upstairs, Paul." He sighed and turned toward you and Dream again, "I won't be coming down here again."

It was a farewell, your last chance to claim his offer before you never saw him again and were stuck to be tossed over to your next captor. Paul wheeled Alex's chair away, turning it as it creaked slightly. Then he paused in the middle of a step as he turned to look at the floor. You followed his gaze to where the golden seal surrounding Dream's cage was now broken.

Your lips parted as the sight brings a swell of hope to you. It was happening. It was really happening. You would be free as Paul's gaze lifted again to meet Dream's.

It was purely an accident, breaking the seal. But upon that accident, Paul figured that it was one last deed in service to something much more powerful than him. Laying an issue to rest instead of letting it fester into something terrible that the world could never imagine.

He walked away, leaving the two of you alone for the last time. You looked at Dream, your eyes meeting as a promise he made to you decades ago echoed in your mind.

"What is it you desire?"

"Our freedom. And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

Dream nodded to you in acknowledgement of your new opportunity for freedom. It was so close, you could taste it as the doors were closed with a loud clunking noise. You could hear the guards beginning to chatter about something, little remarks about "draculas" and "demons". You almost rolled your eyes. Why did everyone assume you were a demon?

But you were preoccupied with Dream. He shifted his body, adjusting himself so that he was leaning against the glass, crouched down like he was hunting something. His eyes dangerously trained on the guards, who remained entirely unaware of the threat that had begun to stalk them. You watched as one of the guards yawned, being taken by sleep under the dark influence of Dream's power while the other droned on about a vacation.

Trapped in vivid hallucination, the guard stood to his feet with his gun in his hands and approached swiftly. He aimed it at the glass and shot, a look of complete terror grasping his features as the other rushed toward him. You turned and shielded yourself uselessly from the fire, though you were never touched by the bullets.

As soon as the glass shattered, Dream was free and a blinding light burst into the air. Wind raged and whistled as Dream's power dominated the space between them. He ignored the shouts of the guards as he climbed out of his prison, tall and stalking.

Dream, without breaking the gazes of the guards, knelt down and took your shackles in his hands. They simply clattered to the floor, as though they were nothing, and he set you free. You could have cried! Finally being able to rub away the cold bite of the metal that had been searing into your skin for a century. Your wrists were bruised, the nastiest of colors left behind due to years of captivity. You almost could not see the apple on your wrist, discolored and discernible.

But you were free. Your power had returned. You could claim your own desires.

Dream dealt with the guards, knocking them unconscious with a fistful of sand. With wind still whistling in the air, Dream turned to you, his face fallen in solemnity. "The boy is mine," he demanded, and you were in no position to disagree.

You smiled at him and gave him a simple nod. "All yours."

Dream's gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he allowed himself to be taken by the blinding power source that had been a portal. The blaring lights dismissed and left you in the cold cellar once again. But instead of being chained to the floor, you were the one chaining them up, confining every guard in the manor to this room and rendering them useless to stop you with the whisper of a command and a kiss to your wrist.

As you looked over them all, you could not help the sense of pride swelling in your chest. It felt good to be the most powerful being in the room again (or at least having power enough to be able to say so). Most of them looked around, dazed and confused to figure out where they were and how they got there. You walked toward the two sleeping guards, the ones knocked out by Dream, and slapped each of their cheeks to wake them.

They shook their heads, coming to before they finally saw you standing in front of them. "What the...?" the man asked, brows furrowed in confusion before a look of fear flashed behind his face. You smiled at the influence you were seeing in his eyes.

You backed away from him, looking over everyone staring nervously at you. "What are you going to do?" one brave soul finally asked you, voice trembling.

You thought about what you were going to say carefully before the words left your mouth. "Desires are dangerous things, you know," you began. "It's so interesting how men forget that your greatest desires are just reflections of your greatest fears."

"So?" She was the current guard's partner, the one who'd tried to stop him from freeing Morpheus. Your talk of "men" and their desires made her question whether or not she was even supposed to be there, you supposed.

"So," you exaggerated, "I know the deepest, darkest desires that lay in your hearts, and the hearts of all those that pierced my skin to obtain their selfish wants." You smacked your hand against your forearm to accentuate your point. You sighed, "You see, I personally believe in an eye for an eye policy, but that would take far too long, and I'd rather be anywhere but here. So instead..." Your expression shifted, turning into something much darker and much more dangerous than anywhere could have ever imagined seeing on you. They were used to your snark and sarcasm, not this looming threat that could turn their lives into waking nightmares. That was what they feared of the trapped dream in the basement. But you could be just as worse, it seemed.

Your voice was low, your face fallen in malice and ill-contempt. "To every person who forcefully claimed a wish from me, I lay upon you the curse of a plague made of the very things you fear worse above all else in this world...for as long as Death has planned of the rest of your miserable lives."

One of the staff shook his head and stuttered out the words he tried to say to you, frantic and terrified of your wrath, which was very clear to him as you cursed them. "You can't do this," he pleaded meekly.

You turned to him quickly, your eyes wild and your lips curled in a crazed smile. "But, you see, I can." You brought your wrist to your face and pressed your lips to the bruised apple on your skin. It flared with warmth, its color seeping into a dark red. "Because this is my desire."

Nearly everyone in the room slipped into unconsciousness as your power took its first hold of them. There were only a few of the staff left awake, those who had not committed a crime against you and you had deemed innocent enough to leave be. They stared at you in frantic worry as you simply flashed them a smile and let them go unharmed and uncursed, disappearing like a flickering flame.

It was late. The night had taken hold of this part of the Earth, and there was a small commotion upstairs. Upon finding yourself in the doorway of a room, you leaned against the frame and peered into the room. Alex lay in a bed, twitching and flinching as visions flashed behind his eyes, terrible nightmares cursed to him by Dream as punishment for all the crimes he'd committed during your captivity.

Paul's head was ducked as he clutched Alex's hand, sorrow filled him at the state of his husband. You merely watched, face fallen this time in the same solemnity that Dream had casted to you before he left. Paul stood after a moment, turning around to leave the room for something before stopping short at the sight of you.

Then he stepped forward with a pleading face. "Can you help him, please?"

You turned your gaze toward Alex, still struggling in his sleep, and then back at Paul, unphased and uncaring. Your cold expression pierced his soul and made him shiver. "I probably could," you said, filling him with a false hope that you quickly crush beneath your heel. "But I won't."

He fell to his knees as you pushed yourself off the door frame to stand up straight. He clasped his hands together, shaking his head as his eyes continued to pour tears down his cheeks. "After what I did for you?" he shook his head, unbelieving. "I set you free."

You let silence linger for a moment. "But not soon enough."

"How could you...?"

"Paul," you silenced him, your voice raised a little louder as you spoke. A shudder rushed through him at your tone, and he shrunk into himself. "I was trapped there. For decades, for a century. I was chained in that cellar with no one but a silent cellmate and guards who hurt me to get what they wanted. You were innocent, until you weren't. So, Paul, freer or not, I must have my revenge on the ones who hurt me. I will not interfere with Dream's punishment, but I can take my vengeance through you. And that is exactly what I'm going to do."

He trembled as a silent cry shuddered through him. "What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?"

You shook your head, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I won't beat you. I won't cut you the way they cut me. I won't shoot you the way they shot me," you told him, tucking your finger under his chin to make him look at you. "But I will claim the desire that is rightfully mine without Alex to claim it for himself."

You dropped your hand from his face and sighed. "For a century, Dream of the Endless was trapped in that cellar with me. For years, he had to watch me bleed without being able to lift a finger to help me." You shook your head, "I won't make you bleed, but I will make you watch as Alex suffers in his slumber for the rest of his life, and there will be nothing you can do about it. You cannot leave this room, you cannot calm his mind. You're helpless, he's hopeless. And it will be like that until Death comes to take whoever is first to perish."

Paul shook his head, wiping at his face to be rid of the tears falling from his eyes and onto his cheeks. "Please. I didn't do anything."

You shook your head gently. "No, you didn't. But he did, and he will know." You raised your wrist once more, whispering your words into the space between you as you sealed your promise with a kiss to your apple. "Because this. Is. My...Desire."

And when Paul blinked, you were gone.

It felt like forever since you laid eyes on Dream again. After you parted ways in the cellar, you suspected he had been quite busy repairing his realm and fixing the patches that have risen within humanity. His absence was felt.

But it seemed like yours was not.

You returned to the Threshold after you were freed. Nothing had changed, the sameness was unnerving. A century gone, and a few of the Malum welcomed you back warmly, some were indifferent, and others just could not have given less of a shit that you were gone. When you went to Desire, they greeted you with a smile and good wishes before you were off again. You thought they wanted to show more affection, to prove they cared about what happened to their Malum, but they just didn't want to risk losing their edge.

You understood, it was how all the Malum were. One of the most basic desires in the hearts of humans was love, and the closest most of them ever got to it was sex. You were all born of those desires, and your Endless was a reflection of them, so it was natural for affection to be...minimal in cases of care and concern for the type of relationship between your ruler and their servants.

So you left. You left the Threshold, and you returned to the human world to explore a century of development. It did not take long for you to settle in, despite how different everything had become, more difficult. But you were free. Out of that cellar and out of that life, ready to take on what else the world had to offer you, and that seemed to be a lot.

With your power back, your scars had begun to fade a little more. Some small ones disappeared, but most were whispers of cuts and healed wounds that were hardly discernible from normal flesh. You were back to granting desires, more wary and cautious of every person you granted them to.

It was nice to be back.

After a long day, you were back in your new home. Dark tones and red accents decorated this just as much as the last, but the intimacy was of a different nature. Stepping into the living room with a hot mug in your hands, you let the cool air of night seep into the room through your slightly ajar windows.

You felt the shift in the air and smiled, turning around to see your visitor in the night. "Dreamer," you smiled, sighing gently at the sight of the Endless standing in your living room. His coat was longer, a dark cloak which hung off his shoulder and cast stars in the underside of its trim. You only saw them for a moment before they disappeared. You raised a brow at him, smirking as you spoke into your mug, "Been busy?"

"Quite," he responded, almost amused. His face was not as stern as you had grown used to, much more at ease as he cast his gaze upon you. "How have you been keeping, little apple."

You smiled at the nickname, shrugging your shoulders and moving to sit on the couch in the living room. "I'm wonderful," you told him. "There's fresh air and strong drinks and the smell of sweet, sweet freedom in every day."

He looked around your home as he listened, taking in the comfort and feeling it seep into his body. "I saw how you punished the guards," he said. "Clever. Even in their dreams, they are plagued by nightmares."

You smirked at his subtle praise, chuckling gently. "Thank you. I took a page out of your book."

The corner of his lip turned up in a small smile, so slight, you would miss it if you weren't paying attention. You couldn't help your happy grin at the way he smiled at you. "Now, isn't that a sight?" you muttered.

Dream moved to sit beside you, a little too close as your thighs touched just a bit. "Have you returned to the Threshold since you got out?"

You paused for a moment at the mention of Desire's realm before nodding gently, taking another sip from your cup. "Once. Right after," you hesitated as you thought about it. "It didn't feel the same."

He did not verbally respond, merely nodding his head in a silent agreement as he turned his gaze away. He sighed gently, the sound was almost inaudible. You turned to him with another teasing smirk, "Quite the talker, aren't you?"

There it was again, that little smile that curled the end of his lips. You sighed gently, letting the quiet linger for a while as you both stared again for too long. "Would you like some tea?"

He shook his head, "No, thank you."

"A snack? Perhaps, an apple?" You wiggled your brows at the suggestion, laughing gently when he refused your offer with a chuckle of his own.

"Perhaps not."

You set your mug down on the coffee table and make your way to the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a small bowl on the counter and beginning to slice it up after taking a long sniff of its skin. Your knife cut through the apple with ease as you spoke up again. "So why have you come, Morpheus?"

He breathed out a silent chuckle. He didn't think you knew that name, you had always referred to him as "Dream". But you were just being you, he supposed. He stood from the couch and made his way to join you in the kitchen. "I wanted to see you," he stated blatantly.

You looked up at him and shook your head, laughing gently. "You watched me for a hundred years. You want to see more?" Dream didn't laugh. In fact, his face fell slightly as he looked away from your face. You mentally scolded yourself for your attempt at humor. "Bad joke," you muttered, a silent apology.

He turned his gaze to you again, watching you slice your apple as his eyes caught sight of the scars you thought were mostly unnoticeable. There were plenty of slits, but most of them had gone by now. The tank top you wore offered a perfect view of the bullet scar on your right shoulder and the graze on your left. They were more obvious than the mostly-healed cuts. The bruises around your wrists were mostly gone, too. They were slightly discolored, but you would not notice them unless you were paying far too much time and attention to them.

You looked down to where his gaze had traveled, realizing what he was staring at. "They've healed well," you said. "Some of the scars have gone away without my chains."

Dream reached out, grabbing your hand gently and holding onto it as he stared regretfully, punishing himself all over again for something out of his control. "I'm sorry for what they did to you." His voice was so soft, full of a special kind of sorrow.

You turned to him, "You have no reason to apologize. There was nothing you could do."

He didn't argue with you. He just inspected your scars a little more before bringing his gaze back up to yours. "I could take the scars away," he said after a moment, offering a way to help even after all of this time.

You looked down at them, your eyes glazing over the bullet scars with the shake of your head. "No. I think I'll keep them," you said, looking up at him again with the shrug of your shoulders. "The ones that heal with heal, but..."

"But?" He raised a brow.

You sighed. "I got these scars with you. They mean something to me. I don't want to let it all go."

He fell silent, processing your answer before looking back down at your arms. He let go of your hands, and spoke slowly. "You gave Paul my curse."

You nodded once. "I did."

"Why?"

You stared at Dream, bringing your hand up to his cheek to brush his skin for a moment before pulling away. "You watched them abuse me. You didn't have to look, but you did every time so I never felt alone...but I know that it hurt you, too. I didn't want you to be alone," you confessed. "Alex will share my pain while he endures your punishment. He will have to continue on knowing that the one he cares about most will have to watch him suffer every minute of every day, and there's nothing he can do to change it."

Dream blinked, thinking about your response. "The one he cares about most..." he echoed, making your cheeks heat under the revelation of his words but discarding it.

"I do care about you, Dream," you said. "With all that time, how could I not?" Silence lingered between you, heavy in the air but in a way that was comfortable, rather than unnerving as you did that thing where you both just stared at each other for far too long. You licked your lips, "I've never cared about anything the way I care about you. You were there when I was alone. Whether you wanted to be or not, you were there."

He reached out and grabbed your arm, supporting the back of your elbow to just feel your skin. "I'm glad I was there with you."

Your lips twitched in a small smile. You found yourself confessing these words without meaning to, "I lied a little earlier. I'm not wonderful." He tilted his head. "Truth is, freedom is lonely without someone to share it with."

Dream raised his hand from your elbow to your cheek, cupping your face in his hand and bringing you closer to him as he put aside all of his inhibitions in favor of just doing what he wanted to. He kissed you, his lips brushing your and inviting you in a gentle embrace that filled your soul and made your chest swell with affection for him.

You leaned into him, breathing a sigh against his lips as you stepped closer into his space. His hand shifted down to your waist, holding you close to him as you brought your hands to cup the sides of his neck. He pulled away from your lips to lean into your touch, his eyes still closed for a moment before he opened them to take in the sight of you, so close and so entirely beautiful.

He whispered to you, his breath fanning gently over your face. "I want to be your freedom," he confessed, taking your hand and raising your wrist to his lips before setting a gentle kiss to the apple. He stroked your skin, "This is my desire."

You smiled at him, bringing your own wrist to mirror his actions. "Then let it be so." You leaned forward and kissed his lips again as he breathed freedom into your soul.

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cherryslyce · 11 months

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The Avarice Files (III) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

— Chapter Synopsis: A confrontation ensues and Regulus provides enlightening truths.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Exactly 5.2k words. Apologies for the wait!

Every fiber of muscle in your body draws taut with primal fear, adrenaline bleeding into your senses as you stare at the wand pointed at you. Despite the physiological distress surging through your being, your face slackens into an unimpressed scowl. The mystery man sneers at you and emphatically jabs his wand toward you, eyes narrowing further. “I said, who the hell are you?”

“And what the hell are you saying?” You cross your arms, eyebrows drawing together as you steadily hold his gaze.

The man faintly lowers his wand, beginning to circle around you with an intrigued gaze. “Fascinating. You really have not done your research.” A derisive chuckle crackles into the stiff air as your eyes find him again.

Even if you could, there was no use trying to convince the man, you couldn’t leave any witnesses anyway. Spinning on your heel, you frown and move across the room toward the bar, snatching a decanter containing amber liquid and a whiskey glass from the shelves. “How insulting.”

Your musing has the man raising his eyebrow, wand dropping to his side as he cautiously watches you. “Insulting?” He echoes, voice tinted with unadulterated curiosity. The change in his demeanor has you sniffing into the air as you pour yourself a glass.

“Yes. To be confronted by someone like you of all people.” You hum, taking a sip of the alcohol. Scotch.

Tipping back the rest of the drink into your mouth, you slam the glass onto the polished bar and smile caustically at the man. Slipping your wand into your hand, and concealing your movements behind the wide bar, you tilt your head and hum out to him in your normal voice, “Who are you anyway?”

“Henry Mulciber.” The man’s knuckles whiten as a triumphant grin mars his face, “Decent accent, by the way. Pity that you couldn’t fool me, hm?”

“I’ll give credit where it’s due. How’d you know?” You ask with light curiosity, running your thumb along the handle of your wand.

A chuckle slips past his lip, “Asking to move to private quarters? My dove could have cared less about being found out.” He twirls his wand and gives you a look of deep consideration. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad. I’ll let Clyde decide what to do with you, you did break into his home after all.”

“Charming,” you snark back, licking your lips as you discreetly cast a silencio over the room. “But apologies, you know how business can be.” You smile cryptically at him, momentarily relishing in the confused look that flashes across his gaze. Before he can retort, your hand flies over the counter and the words are streaming from your mouth in a flat mutter, “Petrificus Totalus.”

To your dismay, Mulciber manages to duck quick enough to avoid your jinx, the spell missing him by a hair’s length. The man flies up from his crouch not a second later and has you taking cover as his arm snaps towards you, a reverberating Crucio spewing from his mouth cruelly.

The red bolt crashes into the shelf behind you, splintering the mahogany wood and sprinkling the floor around you with pins of polished red. You grit your teeth and swiftly shuffle to the end of the bar, leaping up from your new spot as you throw a potent reducto at the glass coffee table beside him. The thick panes burst into the air in shimmering fragments before evanescing as they flee the light of the chandelier. Mulciber instinctively raises his arm to guard his face as his body tilts away from the destruction.

“Incarcerous!” You grit out, rounding out of the bar as the spell knocks the man off his feet, his body crashing into the glass-strewn floor with a resounding thud. The binds around him tighten as he begins to wiggle and grunt, but just as you point your wand at him again, the door bursts open.

Your head snaps up in shock as you peer at the intruder, breathing out a sigh of relief when you see Regulus with a deep purple tome tucked by his side. “Dear merlin. You’re finally here. I may have made an error in judgment.”

Regulus goes to say something, eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the scene, but he is interrupted by a strangled yell from Mulciber. “Diffindo!”

The orange beam shoots toward your neck and you feel your entire soul evaporate away before a thundering stench of impending death wraps itself around your body. Throwing yourself away from the approaching cutting spell, you grunt out as it slices through the muscles of your shoulder.

Molten pain erupts from the flowing laceration, warm blood pouring down your attire as you feel a biting chill drip down your spine and to your toes. Regulus flies from the doorway and toward Mulciber’s body just as a million tingling needles settle down your arm. Assessing your injury, you nearly reel back in shock as you see red everywhere. The spell probably severed a few ligaments—and Merlin, is that your bloody bone?

You pay no mind as you hear a loud grunt from in front of you. Regulus could be kicking in the man’s face for all you know, but you are too enraptured by the sight of whatever was left of your shoulder.

Another day at work, another injury.

Huffing, you raise your eyes just in time to see Regulus releasing the binds from an unconscious Mulciber. “Thanks.” You mutter, moving your gaze to fixate on the artifact that was now lying on one of the lounge chairs. It was emitting a faint pulse of magic that whispered indecipherable promises through your head, causing you to step back in wonderment.

Definitely not an ordinary artifact.

Regulus maneuvers Mulciber from the floor, propping him up on the opposite chair before turning to face you. “You’re bleeding.”

“Astute observation.” You huff out, grunting when Regulus gently pushes you to sit down by the tome with your good shoulder.

He lifts his wand up to the wound, muttering a quiet Vulnera Sanentur under his breath and only releasing a pleased hum when your wound begins to heal under the coat of your blood. “You handled it well.” He swiftly follows up his words by repairing the tear through your sleeve.

You smile wobbly at the man and sink into the cushions behind you. “I’m surprised as well. You’re good with healing spells, do you get hurt a lot?” Your curious eyes flicker from the tome beside you to Regulus as he holsters his wand.

“Not too badly anymore.” He grunts, turning to face the unconscious man across from you. You both grimace as a trail of drool slides down his chin, hair now resembling disheveled foliage as his head tips awkwardly onto his shoulder.

Gently rolling your newly healed shoulder, you get up and prop a hand on your hip, shaking your head in amusement at the sight. “Oh how the mighty have fallen so.”

Regulus shakes his head, but you can see the inkling of a self-satisfied smirk on his face. You walk over to the obliterated shelves and search for any surviving bottles of alcohol, bringing your wand up to repair the mess. “Reg, can you undo his collar a bit?”

You huff as you clear the mess of glass fragments and spilt alcohol, eyes frantically scouring over the never ending mess.

“Aha.” You mutter to yourself, wrangling a hefty wine bottle from a lower cabinet. Regulus complies with your previous request wordlessly, only offering a look of bemusement when you wander back over with the bottle and a glass.

“Oh. You fixed it.” You falter in your steps as you see the glass table sitting spotless in its original spot.

“Are we toasting?” He quietly hums, standing back as you crack open the bottle.

“Not quite, maybe later.” You reply, pouring the wine into the cup. Pushing the glass in front of Mulciber’s unconscious body, you pull your wand out and dispel the rest of the wine from the bottle.

Putting the empty bottle in Mulciber’s slack hand, you turn to look at Regulus with a proud grin. “Do you want to do the honors of waking him up?”

“Sure.” Regulus says, raising his eyebrows at your elaborate set up. The man shuffles by you before raising his wand up and casting a swift Rennervate. You ready your wand as Mulciber’s eyes fly open in panic, pupils darting from side-to-side before they settle on you both.

You were sure that if he had the energy, he’d be frothing at the mouth. “You!—”

Before he can continue, you point your wand at his sluggish figure, “Obliviate.” You channel all your magical energy into ensuring that any suspicion of your infiltration and duel is wiped clean from his memory. The man slumps back down in a daze and Regulus gives a low huff as Mulciber’s expression droops with a glassy-eyed look.

“Best we get going then.” You mumble, beginning to retreat from the room as Regulus strides after you with the file. “Does this place have a back door or something?”

Regulus takes another once over of the room to check for missed damage before shutting the door behind him with a small exhale. “Yeah, we should hurry before the potion wears off.”

“My joints are tingling a bit.” You quietly confirm, falling back to let Regulus lead you through the maze of hallways.

The winding corridors eventually come to an end once Regulus locates a narrow entryway seemingly at the end of the west wing. The walls are noticeably less vibrant, with a haze of dust dimming the atmosphere around you. Regulus continues forward through the slim doorway, turning to peer at you once he steps through. “Watch your step, these stairs are a bit worn.”

Mutely nodding, you both swiftly descend down the stairwell until you step onto a small landing between two sturdy green doors. Regulus deftly twists the right door open, cautiously peering through the crack before swinging it open for you.

You have to squint as you make your way through, the bright light of the daytime sky stinging at your eyes as your shoes crunch against the verdant grass. “Where did the other door lead to?” You ask smally once Regulus falls into step beside you.

“The kitchen.” Regulus mutters, sighing once you both near the wards, likely tired of the repetitive process.

You pull out your wand and perform the interception charm again, feeling a shiver vibrate across your body as the Polyjuice Potion in your system nears the end of its life. Regulus waits for you to step through and into the edge of the forest before he continues behind you, “I’ll go fetch those two.”

He hands you the file before disappearing into the dense forestry with one last glance toward you, beginning to undo his overcoat as his body starts to morph back. You clear your throat and make your way over to the tree hollow, relieved to see that your bag is still tucked away inside the inky pocket.

As you haul the woven bag out, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes toward you, indicating that Regulus had arrived with the two stunned Italians. Turning around, you smile faintly as Regulus hurries over, the two bodies resting along his shoulders swaying as he carefully lowers them to the ground.

You begin to pull out all of your clothes, remembering to be careful with Regulus’ mask as your fingers graze against its hard surface. The next few minutes are painted with a busy silence as you both work to tear off your outfits before you both completely transform back, a mutual understanding blossoming as you both turn away from each other to get situated.

“Are you decent?” You ask awkwardly, relief sinking into your muscles as you adjust to your familiar robes.

“Yeah.” Regulus replies back, his cadence indicating that he had already put his mask back into place.

You turn around and step toward the two limp bodies between you both, placing the formal wear down beside their feet just as Regulus slowly spins on his heel. “I can do it.” His soft mutter has you agreeing easily, opting to instead move away to place the retrieved file into your bag. Just as you close the opening of the bag, Regulus’ wordless Rennervate has the body beside your feet twitching before you see his eyes slowly peel open, eyebrows furrowing from the light. Before he has the opportunity to regain awareness, you watch as Regulus raises his wand again.

“Imperio,” He firmly commands, one hand tucked away inside his robe pocket, as if his actions were the most casual thing in the world. The man’s eyes glaze over immediately before a milky fog stirs across his iris and pupils as he awaits Regulus’ commands. “Get dressed, head back inside using the back door, and grab yourself a couple of drinks.”

Like a doll being maneuvered by strings, the man silently complies with stiff movements and unwavering precision in his task. Regulus barely bats an eye before repeating the same process with the second victim, watching as they both slowly rise up and walk out of the small clearing and toward the door you both exited from.

“One file down, two more to go.” You huff out with a tired smile, fiddling with the chain of the time turner.

Regulus nods quietly and strides toward you, throwing the chain around him before releasing a patient hum as you continue to turn the handle of the device. Lifting your fingers away, the rings of the artifact begin to spin sporadically and you feel the ground beneath your feet rumble faintly.

Your eyes squeeze shut as the spinning of time rapidly picks up speed, melding together days and nights and weeks to years. After a flurry of arbitrary thoughts to busy yourself, you feel Regulus’ gloved hand fall against your shoulder, “We’re here.”

Nodding, you slowly open your eyes and roll your shoulders back. “Thank you.”

The forest remained as lively as ever, the only decipherable change to your environment being the position of the sun in the sky. Tucking away the time turner, you turn your gaze to Regulus’ masked one as he offers up his arm again.

“Do you think Gawdry will tell us why the files are so valuable?” You ask, looping your arm with his.

“Not a chance.” Regulus muses, his words followed by the swift pull of apparition.

Wind bats against your ears for a few moments before you feel smooth tile press against your feet, spurring you to fall back into reality. Blinking, you step back and survey the area Regulus brought you both to: a dim alcove in the Ministry atrium. The walk to the Department of Mysteries was a far one, but you both would be able to hug against the shadows nearby to avoid wandering eyes until you reach the elevator.

“How do you navigate around the Ministry without being seen?” You hum out curiously, treading by the tall brick pillars.

Regulus seems to slow his steps to match yours as he tugs his hood down further once your passage conjoins into the main chamber of the Ministry. “I don’t. Not usually, anyway. My assignments are delivered to my place of residence.”

“Aside from work, you don’t get out much, do you?” You huff out in both consolation and worry. “We’ll have to change that.” You mutter under your breath, feeling Regulus’ eyes dart to your face.

The buzzing of chatter and clicking of shoes against the polished floor grows in tandem with the illumination of your surroundings, thrusting you and Regulus into the milling clusters of Ministry workers.

“Might want to keep your head down.” You sigh out, holding your elbow out once you are both near the elevators.

Regulus wordlessly grabs onto your sleeve and drops his head, allowing his hood to fall over and veil the glow of his mask. You lead him to stand in line, keeping an eye out for any suspicious looks or double takes.

By the time you both manage to clamber inside one of the lifts, you can feel the remnants of adrenaline in your body dissipate, leaving you feeling boneless in the cramped box. Regulus shuffles behind you, slotting himself into one of the back corners as an older man turns to you.

“What floor?” He asks pleasantly, eyes never straying to look at your cloaked companion.

“Ninth, please.” You nod at him, shooting a small smile in thanks.

He simply nods back before punching the milky button just as the golden grille door slides across the aperture. A peaceful lull ensues as the lift jostles slowly from floor to floor, the faint creaking of the grille and the melodic announcement of each floor number occasionally flowing into the air.

When the lift begins to ascend past the eighth floor, only you, Regulus, and the man at the button panel remain inside. You shift your weight from foot-to-foot as you can sense the man’s growing anticipation. The jangling of chains shoves itself into the peripheral of your mind as he finally turns to face you, a cryptic gleam casting over his eyes.

You’re able to get a good look at him now that he’s fully facing you, eyes running across his worn expression and grey-streaked combover that evidently used to be tinted a deep tawny.

“Apologies for my frankness, but do you happen to be Auror L/N?” He asks, head tilting imperceptibly as your eyes widen at the unexpected question.

Nodding slowly, you plaster on an uncertain smile. “Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met before though?”

“Ah, how rude of me, I am Lord Grey.” He clears his throat, just as the lift halts in its movements. “I just wanted to introduce myself to such an esteemed Auror. I’ve heard such high praises about your ability to find things.”

You incline your head toward him and release a sheepish chortle, “That’s me. Just a little penchant for tracking is all… Well it’s nice to meet you, Lord Grey.”

The grille doors are wrought aside not a moment later, and you turn to gesture for Regulus to exit first, much to his confusion. Just as Regulus steps out of the elevator, Lord Grey leans towards you and shoots you an indecipherable grin, “You are also renowned for your… impartiality, Auror L/N, no?”

“Yes?” You confirm lightly, masking your disconcertion with the sudden eerie atmosphere. Lord Grey simply nods before he slides something toward you, and one glance downward has you realizing it is a business card.

“I hope you give it some thought.” He mutters equivocally.

Raising an eyebrow, you take the card and slide it into your pocket before shuffling away. “Good day, Lord Grey.”

“Yes, good day.”

The odd exchange imprints itself into your mind as Regulus shoots you a questioning look once you reach him. His eyes slowly move from you and over your shoulder, gaze narrowing and causing you to peek back around. You aren’t able to catch another glimpse of the man, but the lift continues to descend until the echo of chains fades away.

“Are you okay?” Regulus asks once you trudge over to his side.

You nod and fiddle with the card in your pocket before making up your mind. “Yeah, he just handed me this all ominously.” Regulus eyes you as you slip the card out of your pocket, remaining soundless as you bring the thick rectangle between you both.

Your eyebrows slant further down as you realize that the card is blank save for a black emblem at the center. The symbol sends a shiver down your spine as you continue to stare at it; a thick black line curves uniformly into a soft, open triangle, the proud snake head at its end seeming to jitter against the ivory paper.

“Bloody hell.” You murmur dryly, “Not creepy at all.”

Regulus looks just as confused as you feel, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide the mounting tension in your posture.

“Let’s keep this between us for now.” Regulus mutters, straightening up to turn away, but even as he moves forward, you can still identify the calculative glint in his eyes.

Tucking the card away again, you readjust your hold on the woven bag on your shoulder as you both pace through the looping corridors. You aren’t even aware of your proximity to your destination until you’re nearly pedaling into Regulus’ back as he waits for the imposing doors to flutter open.

Gawdry’s office is a welcomed sight, the nebulous glow from the light beams enveloping your fatigued figure. The dour expression across his face lifts slightly once he takes in your approaching figures, eyes immediately connecting with yours as he gazes at you with heavy expectation.

“Agents, what a surprise.” He grumbles out, leaning back against his chair as you both stop a few feet short of his desk.

“Save the confetti and cake for later,” you hum out, beginning to dig in your bag.

Gawdry remains unfazed as his attentive eyes lock on your movements. “If you wish,” his drawl is accompanied by a wry smile as you wrestle the thick purple tome out of your bag. Handing the sturdy object to the man, you suppress the chill that storms through your body as you feel the densely packed magic ingrained in the file.

“By the way, a warning would have been nice. A patrimony ball of that degree was hardly an ideal event to blindly jump into.” Your tone is light despite the visceral feeling of doom that still crawled around the cavity of your chest.

“You’re both here in one piece, aren’t you?” Gawdry raises an eyebrow, bringing a hand up to wave you both off, “Nicely done, though. It seems that I chose wisely.”

You hum out in agreement before you glance at Regulus’ indifferent gaze and nod your head toward the doors. “Right. Well we’ll be back tomorrow, boss.”

Without waiting for a response from the preoccupied man, you and Regulus spin on your heels and retrace your steps toward the exit. As your badge’s magic tediously weaves through the locks of the doors, you bring your palm up to rest on your chest, feeling the imprint of the time turner jump against your skin.

“Ten hours to cool down, I think.”

Regulus glances at you and shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement before releasing a small breath of exhaustion, “Right, well, see you later.” Your shoes beat against the tiles as you begin to make your way down the hallway.

“What?” You slowly turn around at Regulus’ voice, watching as he blinks at you through his mask, eyes blank with blatant confusion.

“Oh, well ten hours of downtime…” You trail off, hands awkwardly gesturing to your right.

Regulus blinks at you before humming, “Yeah.”

You clear your throat as you feel a flush of heat bloom across the blades of your shoulders. “Uh, but… Actually, I’ll go with you. It’ll be quicker that way, anyway. Y’know to get moving onto the next assignment.”

“Yeah.” Regulus agrees plainly, eyes darting away as you shuffle back over to him.

Somehow in the whirlwind of your lethargy and incessant thoughts, you and Regulus manage to make it back to the elevator and down toward the floo networks in record breaking speed. You tilt your head as Regulus juts out his elbow for you to take, and you wordlessly comply as he leads you to the farthest network all whilst keeping his head down. Once you both step into the wide space of the network, Regulus grabs a handful of floo powder before throwing it onto the ashy ground. “Abscondita terra.” His voice rumbles out lowly and the clear words spur green flames across your vision.

When the lurid fire flees into nothingness, you’re left standing in front of a dim living room. Regulus shifts out of the network first and offers you an assessing look before gesturing for you to sit on the grey couch. You barely contain the gape threatening to materialize on your face as you swallow harshly, “Is this place yours?”

The man merely nods and watches as you teeter toward the plush cushions, dropping down stiffly onto the firm seat. You clear your throat and look to Regulus as he moves to lean on the doorway to your left. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He bats his hand in a show of casualness before cracking his neck. “You can only come here if I allow it, so.”

“Right, witness protection and whatnot.” You say quietly, clasping your hands in your lap.

Regulus nods jerkily and gazes at you for a moment before speaking up again, “You could have died earlier. With Mulciber’s attack.” He mutters, eyes sliding to look at your shoulder.

You hum and hug one of his throw pillows to your chest, “I dodged in time. Luckily, he didn’t hurl the killing curse at me.”

“Because he wanted you to die a slow, agonizing death in front of me.” He quickly retorts, clearing his throat as he kicks off from the doorway. “That spell would have severed through half of your neck.”

A shiver blooms from the base of your spine as you envision the gory picture. “Ah… Well, that’s the risk of the job.”

Regulus keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds before he sighs and disappears somewhere off into the kitchen, momentarily leaving you to your devices. You hear distant clanking and the sound of cabinet doors being shut, lulling you to reminisce on the day’s events.

He soon reemerges into the room with a glass of water, blinking sluggishly as he approaches you. Somehow, seeing him in his tired state eases the awkwardness in the air and you slouch back to get comfortable.

“But are you okay?” You couldn’t help but prod, still remembering his tense demeanor during Clyde’s toast.

“Yeah,” Regulus hums, gently placing the cup of water in front of you. He sits down on the opposite side of the couch as you quietly thank him, and you nearly break your neck when you see him slowly push his cloak off.

Turning away with wide eyes, you swallow harshly before trying to distract yourself by breaking the silence. “So, Clyde’s toast was a bit…”

“Creepy?” Regulus supplies, tone lilted with amusement.

You shake your head and lean over to grab the cup, “Yeah, I thought I’d accidentally joined a cult.” Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you chance a side glance to your companion and see the glow of flesh in the dimming room, a stark contrast to the perpetual veil of black that always covered his skin.

Sipping your water, you relax against the cushions behind you as Regulus clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “You remember my father, right?” His voice is level, growing serious as he departs from his previous amusement.

You nod, it was unlikely you’d ever forget the stern man—and then realization dawns on you. “The man who stepped out during the toast… that was Orion?”

“In the flesh.” Regulus says, cracking his knuckles as he leans his elbows on his knees.

Frowning, you place your half-empty glass down on the table as you debate over what approach to take in the conversation. “I’m glad you got out.” You admit honestly, unable to suppress the images of twelve-year-old Regulus’ mischievous smiles and twinkling eyes from your mind.

“Me too.” Regulus breathes out, “Only killed him in the process.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you lean back, turning to him and gesticulating slowly with your hands, “Like, run out the door and throw an expulso behind you—kill, or…”

Regulus’ shoulders shake as he muffles a laugh, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the toned muscles of his arms, webby veins trailing down from his forearm to his hands. Your mouth parts slightly at the sight, but you quickly dart your gaze back up, grateful that Regulus was still looking straight ahead and not toward your gawking face.

However, it seemed that you couldn’t catch a break.

As your eyes stray from his arms, they catch themselves on the raven tresses which were slightly disheveled from his hood. The flowing waves fall a bit past his ears, not unlike how he maintained it when you were both younger.

Before you can fall into a mental tangent about the sight in front of you, Regulus’ head turns to you, eyes practically glowing behind his mask. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid. When he got the news that I helped Dumbledore take down the Dark Lord, his heart stopped on the spot.” Regulus breathes out harshly and pushes a hand through his hair, “At least that’s what I was told.”

“Merlin.” You mutter, fully turning to Regulus now. Bringing one leg up onto the couch, you tilt your head as you and Regulus maintain eye contact, “Are you alright, though?”

Regulus nods slowly and mirrors you by sitting up and tilting his body toward you. “I made peace with it. Seems he couldn’t handle two rebellious heirs.”

“Inbreeding tends to promise a life with faulty organs.” You say offhandedly, only freezing when Regulus’ eyes light up in humor. Backtracking, you let out a small laugh, “Uh, no offense.”

“You’re not wrong.” Regulus admits, throwing an arm across the back cushions.

You flash a small smile as you lay your head against the pillowy surface, eyes falling to the single cushion of distance between you both. “Do you ever miss Hogwarts?”

Regulus’ eyes close for a few moments before he opens them again and you’re greeted with a faraway look. “Sometimes. You?” He hums out, fingers aimlessly drawing patterns against the cushion.

“Sometimes,” you intone quietly. “I miss all the Quidditch games and even the late hours in the library. Helga, studying for our N.E.W.T’s was so taxing.”

Regulus nods and blinks slowly, his silence prompting you to continue. “Anyway, I’m glad our paths crossed again.” Your words are firm with genuinity, but you can’t ignore the flutter of bashfulness that pulses through your veins at the admission.

“I always thought you were going to be a Curse Breaker.” Regulus whispers, dropping his head back onto the couch cushion to rest.

You muffle a yawn as you peer at the man in inquiry. “Maybe at first. How’d you know that?”

Regulus fixes you with a light look, and you feel your breath leave your lungs as he pins you down with a warm gaze—one you haven’t seen in years. “It was hard not to be intrigued by someone who watched me from a distance so diligently.”

Your words get caught in your throat as you blink owlishly in surprise. “And now? Are you still intrigued by me?” You breathe out with searching eyes.

Regulus holds your gaze before quietly replying, voice barely a whisper: “Even more so now.”

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cvlutos · 1 year

Text

“Divine nor Forsaken” Ch.Two

| 02.10.23 | 4.7K | Rated R |

Multi-Character X Fem!Reader [TWST: DEMON AU]

T.Manor.Notes: Please heed warnings. Okay, but chapter two. Finally finished it.

| Masterlist | Male Version | Gender-Neutral Version |

“There are some things, my little dove, that we cannot change. Such is the way with people.”

Your mother’s voice is gentle—calming, as she tucks you in, making sure you’re all tight and warm. Most nights she’ll sing a little bedtime song, stuffing you in your thick blankets, to where you couldn’t move, and forcing you to wiggle like a little worm. Yet tonight, she settles on reading you a story. A story about a girl who befriended all that met her, but none could save her from fate. One who told in a daze-like state, faltering in some parts and stronger in others.

She holds a somber look upon her face, with still a smile placed across her lips as if even in her own sorrow, she can’t help but smile when she sees you. However, her gaze falters for a moment, brows crinkling as her posture changes. She shifts her eyes from you. As if almost regretful. The room is still cold, and you can’t help but shiver and slide deeper into your densely woven covers.

“My little Songbird,” she muses, her hands gripping the red dress fabric across her knees. She keeps her head bowed, “… Promise me… That you’ll find the good within everything and put trust in strangers.” She has a mournful smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if these were words that she never wanted to be spoken. Never uttered past her tight-lined lips. She lives with regret.

“MOVE!”

A large body hurries past you, frantic hands shoving you to the ground. Your mind takes a moment to register what happens, as a sharp pain shoots through your skull. Your head slams into the dirt floor, a pained cry slipping past your dried, cracked lips. The bubble in your ears seems to pop, another shot of pain, as your hands blindly press against your aching ears, trying to dull the pain.

Screams.

Yells.

Voices on top of voices.

The sounds of rushing feet, pained screams as people trampled over people. A huge crowd formed as all ran towards the woods or into random buildings to hide, pushing those they deemed too slow to the ground or into others. Some shout in rage, to move, to run, to survive. Yet your ears pick up the crying of children, separated from parents, and sobbing mothers clinging desperately to their little ones. And oh, so desperate fathers, swinging useless weapons, doing what a father should. Protecting his family. Even if he fails.

The air smells of fire. The smells of burning wood and burning flesh. Those unfortunate get trapped within a collapsed house, screaming for help, only for a demon to ravage through the destroyed building. Screams for help turn to gurgles and cries of pain.

And the wind does nothing but fan the flames. That forces the voices to travel further and makes the scared crowd worse. Like frightened sheep. The fires grow at fast speeds and ravage the town.

You were shoved; your hands slid from your ears and push against the ground. You lift your head up, then your upper body. Your lip bleeds, and your eyes water as dust gets in. You rub your eyes, gritting your teeth. Your legs scraped along the dirt, blood slowly seeping into the dirt road, your dress torn and filthy. Everything seems to move around you in a fast blur, as if taken picture by picture and put together, yet you still, as if you were the one behind the camera, taking multiple photos at once in hopes of a single good shot. You struggle to move as if your own body was carved out of the heaviest stone and the ground was paper, mere fabric, ready to give way at any moment.

You would fall.

You drop your dirtied hands from your eyes. Letting out a choked breath before trying to move again. Eyes darting around the burning town. To think that only a few hours you walked through, ready for work. Yet now.

It’s ruined. Demons ruined it.

Demons. Looming figures, hunched beasts. With snarling jaws and lanky arms and bodies, with no rhyme nor reason to how they moved. Some staggered as if half-dead, others crawled, and some walked. Or those that few above with torn wings and unhinged jaws, picking up people—prey larger than themselves.

They growl and yell, spitting black saliva as they speak--taunting, eating, and absorbing humans. Sucking them into their gooey flesh.

People you knew.

You struggle to keep yourself together, your breath comes out in short wheezes, and your heart rises to your throat which makes it impossible to breathe. You could die. You watch familiar faces become lifeless, and you can’t breathe. Your hands seize the fabric of your shirt, it’s too tight. The ground seems to give way beneath you. You can’t move—you can’t move. Your legs feel like heavy weights, filled to the brim with sand and became your legs, and as if the pain of feeling like your legs weren’t your own wasn’t enough. You tried to move, to pull yourself forward by your hands, yet it felt as if metal poles plunged into your flesh, forcing you in place. You feel sweat gathered on your skin.

It’s hot.

You feel surrounded. Covered in a layer of your own sweat and dirt, like a heavy blanket, whose threads were coming undone to wrap around your throat and chest. You struggle to stand. Nails clawing into the side of the building, using it to stabilize yourself. You cry out in pain, feeling your legs and head throb.

You should be running, screaming, sobbing. You should be. Yet you feel tired—you are tired. As if all your energy was sucked from your very being. You cough, squinting as smoke stings your eyes. Home. You need to go home. You feel dizzy as you stagger forward, staring through the smoke, through the ever-thinning crowd. Your eyes land on green. The quickest flash, as if almost lightning. A shiver runs down your spine, and your eyes widen.

The demon from before.

He holds a weighty axe, one that isn’t his. Far too small for his large hands, yet coated in red. You feel your stomach lurch, and the smell of blood oozes off of him. He holds the axe as if merely a stick as he swings it lazily, sending only a mere glance to those he struck, his eyes landing on you. Your hands shake, and he makes his way towards you, striking those in his way, whether demon or human. Most know well to remain out of his way. Your body screams at you to move. Move. Move. Move.

“Move.”

As if some foreign voice enters your head, warm and oddly bored, as if it rather be doing anything else. Nonetheless, you blindly listen. You shove off the wall with a panicked sound, stumbling and nearly tripping, ignoring the pins and needles as you force yourself to a gallop sorta like a run, hissing in pain. You push yourself to go as fast as you could, ignoring the burning in your throat as bile rose. The burning of your lungs. It all seems a blur as your falter and slip, yet you don’t stop running. If you do. You’ll die.

You run instinctively home, darting in-between bodies and demons far too focused on their meals. The sky slowly becomes darker, as the fire doesn’t spread towards the trees. You run still, even in the dark, with no moon to guide you and no torch to light your way. You know this path.

You know it well. Your father always made sure you knew the way home.

Your feet barely graze the stone steps in front of your home, nearly slipping, and your body rams into your door. Fumbling with the doorknob, before turning it and hurling yourself inside. You slam the door behind you, scrabbling with the locks, gasping for breath.

Your home is draft. Cold. Unchanged. You step away from the door, eyeing it carefully, letting your body slowly rest. Forcing your tense muscles to relax. You allow yourself to breathe, slightly proud of making it out of the town and fighting off whatever spell was forced upon you. Ridding you of your ability to move. It all seems calm.

BANG

Your body jolts, hands flying over your lips to muffle a scared shriek.

BANG

A series of bangs, thuds, and forcefully panicked hits and kicks, and your door flinches at each one. Yet it doesn’t break.

“[NAME]! PLEASE!”

“PLEASE—”

“I DONT WANNA DIE—”

“HELP! OPEN THE DOOR—”

Your name is screamed like a broken symphony. Equal to a band of shrill untuned instruments that are rusted and worn. As voices—voices that are oh so familiar to you—cry for you. Scream. Beg. Plead for you to only open the door. To let them in. To save them. Voices you know far too well.

Save them.

The old grandma down the street who shares her pies with you—while telling you stories of magic from when she lived in the city. The hardworking miner and his newly pregnant wife, who spent years unable to conceive until early this year, who prayed to the very gods for a healthy baby that they wished to have. The two daughters to the schoolteacher, who always gives you seeds for a garden every time you saw them. The door shakes against its hinges and you step forward, tears close to spilling as your lips quiver. Yet a cold shiver runs down your spine. You weren’t alone.

Your door was unlocked.

The tip of a blade grazes along the center of your back, a silent warning, as a hand ushers you forward. Grip tight and bruising on your shoulder as you pressed up against the door. Which shakes and jolts. You can hear the wood groan and creak, yet still, it remains standing. And the voices. They won’t stop begging.

But it grows. From desperate—frantic—animalistic. On par with the growls and screams of demons. You can feel their desperation change into resentment. Each plea changes into a curse. Each condemning you to hell, to rot with the very demons that will kill them and soon you. Your hands shake violently and you want to help them. To let them inside.

You need to—

“Don't.”

The voice is weighty and cold as if a blizzard took form and made itself comfortable within his throat. You feel a chilly breeze fan across your skin and you shiver, violently. He’s a demon and there’s a portion of you that tense—afraid—yet you feel no intent to harm you.

He’s calming.

It’s a mild threat that freezes your motions. He makes no motion to stop you, expecting you to simply obey. While reminding you of the situation you’re in. And you listen. You press your palms against the jolting door, feeling your heartbeat in your throat, feeling the door shake against your sticky forehead. The one behind you doesn’t make any effort to move nor speak. Letting you—forcing you to wallow in their suffering.

“To think you could run.”

The voice is distant. Beyond your home and outside your door, annoyed and angry. Your heart drops and you squeeze your eyes closed, feeling your throat constrict.

The demon from the tavern.

Your muscles lock and you feel weak. Shaking your head from the oncoming headache. It’s like you could hear him. Feel him. His every breath. Every threatening step he took. The raging hatred from humans. It burns. As if you were tossed into a fire pit and left to painfully thrash around. It burns.

Those that try to run. Try to flee deeper into the forest, are met with howls and distorted laughter as demons that hid within darkened woods take them. Rip them apart and leave them nothing.

You hear final prays.

Final whispers of ‘I love you’.

As the man embraces his wife, hugging her so tightly as if he alone could defy fate. Demons tear them apart. Laughing. Taunting. Faking pity. Yanking them from each other. You hear him shrieking for his wife. His love. Only for his voice to cut off with a roar and the sounds of bones snapping. While the demons laugh. The mother with an unborn child, who prayed for years to become a loving mother. She screams and curses you, curses you for the loss of her husband and her child. She too is met with the same fate.

There’s no pounding on the door, yet the soft whimpers of the daughters, holding each other, while the old grandma is dragged away. Hands clasped and praying still. “[Name]…” The softest calling of your name. A final plea. You don’t hear the two girls scream.

Your knees feel weak, gravity pulling you down as your body trembles. You choke on your breath. The demon lets you fall, removing the blade from your back and taking a large step back. Watching you hold yourself as you cry against the door, shoving your face in your hands.

“Even if you let them inside. They would have still died. It is better they died outside than inside.” It feels like his own twisted way of comforting, yet it doesn’t help. They died hating you.

“Though, I apologize. I wish that it did not have to happen this way.”

His voice is monotone, yet sincere. You try and calm your crying, resting your head against the door. The sound of his shoes echoes as he moves from you. He casually explores your house. You can’t speak to him.

“... Your home is nice and quaint... familiar.” You don’t move. Yet you can tell that it is out of his own nature to speak, but he does. He falls silent and continues searching, using his sword to glance at paintings, pick up pieces of clothing, and open and skim the pages of books, using the blade to flip the pages.

You hear his sword tap the glass of a photo, and his voice breaks the silence. “You remind me of her.” You glance at him, his sword grazing along the glass of a photo of you, your mother, and your father. Your force yourself to look back at the wood of the door. “A splitting image, almost. You look the same as she did when she was young—She acted the same when we had done away with her family—” The air grows cold as if a growing snow storm and dread fills your stomach and grows.

“I hope that you do not end up like your mother.”

That gets a reaction. Your head immediately snapped over to him, brows furrowed and lips down, turning. He isn’t looking at you, but out the window, surveying the land. He seems unbothered by it all. With shoulder-length, silver hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes of light blue that held a sliver of pity.

“What—”

Your voice cracks, unbearably dry and scratchy. He turns his head to you after a moment, looking over you. He seems to almost frown when gazing. “Yet you look like your father as well.” he takes a step forward and his gaze seems to freeze you. You look down.

With your body still facing the door, the tip of his sword stings against your skin as he raises your head gently, forcing you to look up at him. He tilts his head to the side before crouching down quickly, yet oddly, gracefully.

“... You must head North...”

His words are simple and transparent and he steps away, glancing towards your dining room table. He strides slowly to the table, the heels of his shoes clicking. He picks up the letter and looks over it. You want to tell him to put it down. Yet his brows scrunch up and for a moment you think he’s going to take it.

Yet he doesn’t.

“The course has been set for you. You must merely find the signs.”

He drops the letter, and with a frosty breeze, you’re alone. At the disappearance of the demon, your body drops, a sudden wave of exhaustion makes it hard to move. You let out a shaky breath, and after a moment, you pull yourself to your feet and wobble away from the door.

It’s silent. Far too silent. You need to leave.

You stagger up the old stairs, feeling one almost give way, breaking beneath your feet. Yet you’re quick to dart over the broken step, stumbling to your room and shoving open the door. You pack blindly, throwing only the most travel-fit clothes and shoes. Anything you could need, throwing spare money, tools, anything, and everything as you take your bag and stumble down the steps, preparing loads of food to take with you. The ramshackle isn’t safe.

You stand in front of the wooden door. There would be no returning. No do-overs. Nothing. You would never come back home. You drop your bag and slowly look over your home. A home you’ve lived in for years. Your parents’ home. You ignore the anxiety that fills you, as your turn back to the door.

Slowly, you undo every lock and hold the knob, counting the seconds before pulling the door open. The foul stench of copper paints your tongue and feels your senses completely, as blood paints the ground, soaking into the dirt and staining the trees. Bodies upon bodies lay ripped, torn, destroyed. Each resting at the oddest angles, heads turned in ways they shouldn’t. You take a hesitant step back, only to bump into something solid. You freeze, your hands and body shaking as cruel arms wrap around you. “You caused this.” His voice is husky in your ears and he tightens his hold, your knees nearly buckling as he slowly rests his weight on you. The demon from before, with the green hair. He continues squeezing, and it hurts.

He’s hurting you.

“Bugs. Should be with bugs.” There’s a sentiment of hatred, and you groan in pain, unable to move an inch. You can feel your bones crack. “They lived together. It’s only right you die together.” He sneers viciously, tightening his hold, and you wheeze and wiggle like a fish forcibly removed from the water. Fighting a fight you can’t win, and from the corner of your eyes, lime green eyes seem to glow, with a vicious grin spread across his slips, revealing red-stained canines. “Humans truly are pathetic.” As you feel every bone was shattered, your ribcage collapses into each other.

Your life flashes before your eyes. Your mother. Your father. You scream in pain, thrashing around more on reflex than consciousness. The letter. Blood slips past your lips, as bones break through your skin.

You haven’t read the letter from your father.

══════ ♡ ══════

“It is rare to hear from you.”

Bored grey human eyes stare into the richly colored crimson liquid. The coppery smell filled his nose and swarmed around his brain in the most delightful way. The thick liquid rests idly in his porcelain teacup, which he holds delicately. He occasionally sips, taking his time to slowly drink the warm, fresh blood. Bringing the glass up to his lips and slowly partook in the thick fluid, a pleasant sigh vibrating in his throat. For a moment, he forgets that he isn’t alone and has an unexpected guest.

One from the Kingdom and the seventh army.

“Though it is not an unpleasant surprise, General.” The grey-eyed demon gives a small smile, and the demon general gives a pleasant greeting in turn, large eyes in taking the nicely decorated tent that smelled of blood and roses. The commander’s favorite smells, though the demon of pride would never speak of it. Magenta eyes move from the decor to the commander himself. It has been quite some time since he last saw the young demon. He hasn’t changed. Same small stature, with often cold grey eyes, and flushed peachy skin, with two black obsidian ram horns, with rose red tips, framed perfectly on the side of upper foreheads with straight red hair. A human form that the demon commander took great pride in. Spending days to fashion the perfect look, based on an old human monarch.

The commander shifts in his seat, offering a small smile, his white-gloved hand silently motioning to the empty chair across from him.

The General chuckles. The commander has always been so respectful and tries best to make the best out of surprised visits. Especially from demons of higher rank, and the General from the seventh is exactly that. Even as he takes the form of an innocent short man, yet speaks like an old wise bat.

“And a pleasure. As always to see you, Riddle.” The general bows as he floats above his chair, a small gust of wind blowing from the release of his magic as he plops into his seat, gently rocking the table.

“I hate to go so long without visiting. I have quite missed our tea times, Sanguinum.”

The commander of the first army, Sanguinum. Or Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle lets out a low hum, once again picking up his cup and sipping from it, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His eyes flutter open, “As have I. 38 years since the last time, I believe.” The demon of Pride places his red and white porcelain teacup back on its saucer and stands. Waving his hand, letting magic pour the guest “tea”, before with another wave returning the pot black to its place.

“Has it been that long?” the general’s eyes widen in disbelief before laughing, “oh my! How time flies.” The General with pink and black hair sighs in delight the moment he takes a sip of the blood. He can taste the sweetest, probably from a woman of middle age. Riddle always did prefer sweeter-tasting humans.

“Indeed. It goes quite fast.”

The commander waits a moment, his mood going from relaxed to uptight, his posture slowly straightening. “Then you must be here for good reason.” The general tilts his head to the side in faux confusion, taking another long gulp.

“And can it not be here to merely see a friend?” He batters his lashes, and Riddle’s face falls, giving a knowing look. The general only laughs, placing his cup on the table, propping his elbows up, and interlacing his fingers to rest his chin upon.

“Tell me what troubles you.”

Riddle hesitates for a moment, before sighing. “If I’m not needed to fight, then I should be sent back.” The room drops a couple degrees, and Riddle’s face dips for a moment, and he forces his gaze to his cup, gently swirling the glass. The general wears an apprehensive expression. “Riddle...”

The general’s voice falters, eyes once again scanning around the pseudo-room. It’s filled with different trophies and winnings from the last 15 years since the war started. Such as prized tea sets, clothing, tools, jewelry, and anything and everything he and his army took from the villages and towns they raided.

15 years. But to be sent back. Back to beneath to the realm of Demons.

A part of the general agrees, the first army has been out on the front lines for a few years, 20. Five years merely searching for the pact bearer and another 15 for when the war began. Yet it is only the North conquered. With still the west, east, and south that have yet to be within the King’s control. And well…

“I am honored to have fought for the king.” Riddle’s voice breaks his through the process, hand subconsciously rubbing over the back of his hand, where his pact once was. A once calming action now... torturous. To lose the one who knew your mind and body, it must hurt—it does hurt. The general’s hand itches to move, yet he stops himself.

“I—I cannot guarantee anything, but I will talk to him.” The commander seems to brighten up, a relieved look crossing his features, before settling into a more relaxed posture. The two talk for an hour, telling stories and telling, catching up on the last 38 years. There’s a feeling of familiarity.

“Before you go, General.” The general stops mid-stretch, listening to the sound of the teacup gently clinking against the matching saucer. He glances over his shoulder, face changing from a grin to one of full perturbation. Riddle has a dark expression as if just remembering something gravely important.

“We must speak about Callidus.”

══════ ♡ ══════

You awake with a gasp, your body automatically jumping as if leaping from death’s hands. Pain shoots up from your right leg and you screech, unprepared and confused. You try and gather your thoughts, feeling sweat accumulate on your skin, your stomach churning, and head pulsing achingly. You feel nauseous.

You try to move, hands clutching the wood that held you, your head turning to look down. Half of your leg, up to your mid-thigh, was bleeding and disappeared beneath the broken wooden step. It had broken beneath you when you tried going upstairs, and you slammed your head and fell unconscious. You were alone and before… what happened before was a dream.

Only a dream.

Even if it was a dream, you still have to leave. But with your leg, you grimace, you’d have to wait. And you’re also exhausted and sure that sleep wouldn’t greet you. You groan in pain, hands clawing at the wood and slowly pulling yourself up. You wince, careful to not move your bleeding leg.

It doesn’t feel broken.

Your face scrunches as your use the wooden banister to pull yourself. It feels like hours until you’re free, using your bruised good leg, to carefully climb the rest of the stairs, using the wall and railing to support you. You hop to your room, groaning at every moment. Your body ached, painfully so. Pushing the half-lidded door to your dark bedroom, hobbling over to your vanity, and rummaging inside the top drawer. You keep your head down, using the very limited light to search for any cloth to wrap your leg and medicine would be in the bathroom.

“It has been—what—18 years since I last saw you. Barely two years old.”

You freeze, hands clutching random pieces of cloth, the voice came from behind you, from the furthest corner of your room. You can’t will yourself to look. Yet you do, looking through the mirror, across your room, a man shrouded in darkness, yet with striking green eyes. Boredom radiates off of him in waves, yet a sense of blatant honesty. Not because he values honesty, but moreso, lying to him would be pointless. It feels like he knows you, every move you’ll make, every thought you’ll ever have. He can read it off as if it was merely a book, a book that he wouldn’t be bothered to read.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

Yet his plain words don’t reassure you. He moves from his corner, and you blindly step away, momentarily forgetting about your leg and yelping out before landing on your side. As if he knew that would happen, he snorts under his breath, staying in the darkest parts of your room, deliberately closing the space between you. Like predator circling prey, but as well as if he wasn’t an intruder. But someone who lived here and had every right to be here.

“Then—Then, why are you here?” Your voice falters and he shrugs almost, tilting his head to look at a carved wooden box you were gifted, before placing it down after deeming it uninteresting. It does this with several different objects, looking at them, before finding them boring and placing them down where it was.

You watch at him, and you can tell he has long hair that goes down to his shoulders, and warm brown skin, with a tail and ears, but horns that were broken off, jagged edges gleaming. He was a demon. You can see him roll his eyes at your sudden conclusion as if it wasn’t completely and utterly obvious.

He drags out a long sigh, falling into an old rocking chair your father made, rolling his neck as to remove the aching. Very human action and your shoulders drop. You should be scared, yet he reminds you a little bit of your mother. The tiniest familiarity, like when you hang around someone long enough, you pick up their habits.

“… I’m here to,” he thinks for a moment, looking over you before letting out a low annoyed sigh, as if what he was about to say would kill him, “to make a pact.”

279 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Darkening Hour

prompt: the turmoils of court can wear on nerves.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.4k+ words

warnings: language, cursing, small angst. i don't think this one is too bad...

previous: part two: High Noon

next: part four: Total Eclipse of the Heart

The pounding at your chamber door made both you and Daemon jump slightly, only a few in the entire castle with active permission to disturb either of you; making curiosity stir in the air. Your mind was foggy with sleep, and your confusion almost tangible as the door swung open and Mary scurried inside.

"Oh, my Lady!" She breathed with a tut, glaring lightly at the Prince laid behind you; his arms tight around your waist. She turned to rip the curtains over the windows open, flooding the room with new light, and scolding you, "You are late!"

"For what?" You mumbled, a hand raising to shield your eyes from the harsh light as Daemon simply pushed his face into your neck.

"The courting season starts today," she rushed, opening your trunk to reveal dress options. "You're needed in the throne room."

"For what?" You repeated.

"You're a veteran now," she sighed. "And you're sponsoring the young Lord Jamie, are you not?"

You sighed, "Mary, court doesn't start for hours. Now, please - "

"You both slept well past lunch!" She tutted. "What time did you even get to bed?"

You chuckled from bed, "I remember seeing the sunrise."

She sighed, slapping her hands to her thighs. "I will be back in twenty minutes - twenty! Make yourself decent, and then we can go to the throne room. Jamie will be here soon and you'll want to greet him."

You sighed, "All right, Mary. Twenty minutes."

"Thank you," she sighed, moving for the door again. "And good morning to you, too, Prince Daemon."

"Yeah, hi, Mary," he grumbled, the maid slipping out the door, and shutting the door to leave us alone. "She's attentive, yeah?"

"We're taking her with us wherever we go," you sighed lightly, turning over against his chest. "Hi, love."

"Morning, my dove," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "How'd you sleep?"

You chuckled, "Barely did, as you know."

"Hmm, too true," he mused. "Are you ready for today?"

You hummed, "Maybe..."

"What if I promised to only speak to you," he smirked. "Fend off other suitors for us both, hey?"

"Whatever makes you happiest," you whispered. "I will be aiding Jamie in his journey."

He nodded, "And I am only counting down the weeks till I can marry you."

"Soon," you grinned against the column of his neck. "What're we at now? Hmm? 8 more weeks?"

Daemon snorted lightly, "Hmm. Too long. But I will wait..."

"Good," you whispered, nuzzling into his warmth. "I do not wish to rise, this is where I want to spend my life."

"In a tower of the Red Keep?"

Your eyes rolled lightly, "With you, my Prince."

"Good," he smirked down at you, caressing your cheek, "because this is where I will live me life - right at your side."

You breathed him in, "So we are in agreement?"

"Usually are," he teased, leaning in to press his lips to yours. "Are you hungry, my pet?"

You sighed lightly, "The welcome feast will start soon. I'm all right for now, thank you."

"Nonsense," he whispered, kissing you again. "Stay with me, my darling, I'll get us something to eat."

You chuckled as he climbed over you, mouth latched onto yours the whole time - letting you hold his cheeks to keep his lips on yours while he climbed. "All right," you whispered when his feet hit the ground. "Feed me, my Dragon."

"I'll escort you after," he chuckled, easing up to shoulder a simple tunic and head out the door. You sighed lightly and stretched in bed, feeling your heart lighten in pride; hardly able to contain your excitement to marry your Targaryen Prince.

Not 10 minutes later, Daemon was returning with a tray; chuckling as he shut the door and set the assortments of food and drink to the table. "What did you do?" You wondered, still laid bare in bed.

"Mary has entrusted me to aid you in getting dressed," he mused, "and said that she will return to do your hair. Though, I had an idea. Here, love," he handed over a bowl of fruits.

"Thank you," you whispered, accepting the bowl and cocking your head while setting a berry to your mouth. Between chews, you wondered, "What's your idea?"

"Let me braid your hair," he asked, easily tugging his shirt off again and with plates set to the end of the bed, joined you again in his spot. "Hmm?" He wondered when you didn't answer.

"You want to braid my hair?" You asked softly.

"Well, if you'd be okay with it," he smirked.

"Might I strike a different bargain?" You smirked, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

"Anything you want," he nodded.

"Your brother and I took tea the other day," you mentioned, watching him nod.

"Yes, I remember."

"And he told me how you've made mention of marrying me," you smirked, "and that you wanted a wedding. Is there truth to your brother's gossip, my sweet Prince?"

He chuckled and nodded slowly, "Perhaps."

"Then he made mention that he'd be honored to host another Royal Wedding," you sighed gently. "What's that about?"

Daemon shrugged, "I proposed only a five-day celebration because he wanted seven."

You chuckled, "Why does he want - "

"He's happy for us, dove," Daemon smirked.

You nodded, "Then my favor?" He nodded. "If I agree to this tournament... You would braid my hair the first morning of our marriage."

Daemon nodded, fingering another berry to your lips; his own suckling over your collarbone as you accepted the fruit. "I believe that could be agreeable," he whispered, boldly licking a stripe up your neck to make you shudder. "I will cloak you in my House colors, bestow you with the finest of jewels, and I will braid your hair - to show that we are one."

"Good," you nodded, pecking his lips. "Who would think you became the romantic, hmm?"

"I do not think I was ever without it, but perhaps you give me reason to be romantic. Hmm? My sweet?"

You nodded, "So long as I am the only one to see this side of you."

He winced, "The court might see it - for I do not intend to hold back my desire for you."

Chuckling, you agreed, "Fair enough, my love. But go easy today, Jamie is joining court and is detrimentally nervous."

Daemon's eyes rolled lightly, "You do not owe him anything, pet."

"I know," you assured, "but their mother's all died - and though the girls are as old as me, or older, the boys are still younger and have been looking for someone to love them. Now that their Lord father is passed, I feel obligated to make sure they are okay."

Daemon smirked lightly, "What a perfect creature you are."

"Sh," you quipped, reaching for a piece of toast. "It's the least I can do."

"I beg to differ, but for you, my Lady, I will endure your step-children."

"How sweet of you. Come, help me pick a dress for the welcoming celebrations."

Daemon nodded and leaned back on his elbow, watching as you presented a series of colorful dresses. Being months of wearing black to show mourning, you were back to your 'usual' wear of different colors and silks, but your heart knew you'd be back in black soon - for completely different reasons. It will become a celebratory color.

"And this?" You chuckled as you presented a royal green colored dress.

"No, no," he sighed lightly, waving the option off.

"This one, then?"

His eyes narrowed upon this sixth option, nodding slowly, "I like this one. Might you have something... Hmm... Red?"

"Red?" You pondered, fearing the color too bold for you.

But Daemon nodded, "Wear red, darling. You look ravishing in it. And what better way to make your debut back into court."

You sighed and shifted through your dresses, finding the only red gown you owned and holding it up. "Are you sure?"

"Positive, dove," he assured, nodding with his bottom lip rolling between his teeth. Then, when a grin stretched across your lips, he was wondering, "What is it?"

"Might I help you dress?"

Daemon nodded, "Any particular reason, love?"

"Practice?"

He snorted a bit, "All right, then. Go on." He stood from the bed, shifting the thinned plates back to the table as you shifted through his wardrobe. His hands slid around your waist as you presented your selection, smirking. "This? Pet - "

"You look almost too good in this," you pouted lightly. "Maybe you should only wear this for me, then..."

Daemon's teeth pressed to your shoulder as he grinned, "I'll wear it, my love. Thank you."

You hummed and moved behind the changing screen to do what you needed; hearing Daemon doing the same, and peering around to see him tightening his scabbard around his hips. "Love?"

"Yeah, dove?"

"Could you lace me in?"

"Course, c'mere," he smirked, finishing yanking his boots on to watch you near him. "See? You look beautiful," he complimented, taking the cords of your corset to tug it tight, and closed. "Though I'd love to take it off, not tie you into it."

"Soon," you teased, turning to face him when his hands pulled your waist. "I will see you there?"

"Course," he nodded, pecking your forehead.

The rest of the afternoon passed with Mary fixing your hair and make-up, before you were mingling with the other Ladies of the court before welcoming the new Lords and Ladies to the city. You waited patiently in the courtyard, beaming when your two step-sons, Jamie and Kase, dismounting their horses.

"Boys!" You laughed, arms wide when they caught sight of you. They spoke your name with relief and surged into your embrace, letting you happily smooth over their hair and cheeks. "Safe travels, was it? I did not think I'd see you, Kase."

"Jamie convinced me," he shrugged.

"He's of age," Jamie nodded. "Figured it wouldn't hurt to introduce him at the same time..."

"Was a fantastic idea, love," you nodded in assurance. "For now, we should head for the banquet hall. The King's prepared a welcome feast to mark the start of the season."

"Right," Kase sighed, glancing back. "And our stuff...?"

"Is being taken to your rooms, your horses will be fed and stabled," you informed them, taking either of their arms. "Now, would you escort me in? Or would you prefer to be fashionably late?"

"No, no," Jamie cleared his throat, "we should make for the hall."

"Come on," you spoke softly, leading them into the castle. They peered around with opened mouths and you figured there was a bit of time as the other Ladies preened themselves; leaving you to give the boys a small tour.

By the time you finished with the basic outline of the castle, you made for the banquet hall. As usual, the members of court - all participating members of this season's match-making - took their seats as the King sat above them all with the Queen, and his heir, the Princess Rheanyra. Sat beside the Queen Alicent Hightower was none other than Prince Daemon Targaryen, and by Gods, did he look delectable in the dim lighting and high-rise seating.

Instead of making eyes at the Prince, you focused on speaking to your step-sons quietly, assuring Kase that you would happily sponsor him this season, as well; and then pointing out who everyone to the lads. You knew they were handsome and surely would be sure-catches this season, but you leaned in and told them that they deserved a chance at love - and to really explore while here.

If they didn't have "that" connection with anyone, they could return the next season - and so on.

Kase looked relieved, and Jamie only nodded; stoically surveying the room as he sipped sine wine from a golden goblet. As the other noble men and women filtered in to find their seats, Jamie turned to you and lowered his voice, "Step-mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you an eligible participant this season?"

You nodded slowly, "Yes, technically... But I am not looking for any matches this season, Jamie, I am here for you and your brother."

He nodded, "Then why's the Prince staring at you like you're a piece of meat?"

You heaved a sigh, "Worry not, Jamie. He's only looking over the prospects this season. His wife passed, too."

"Right..."

"Oi," you clipped your tone, "none of that, neither of you will fall to the gossips of court because they are barely right. There is veiled half-truths behind all those whispers, do not allow yourselves to take those petty words for truth."

Kase turned to you, asking, "So, he didn't do it?"

"I don't know what could've made you think as such, but no - "

"The new Lord Royce has a loud mouth," Jamie muttered. "He speaks to any who listens. Do not worry, we do not take gossips for truth, but only wanted to ask for clarity."

You hummed, "Your poise has improved these short months, Lord. It's becoming."

He smirked, "Though I am trying to get used to it, I would appreciate it if you would not call me Lord. Not you..."

Your heart wept gently for the orphans, nodding, "What an honor."

Before anyone could reply, the King's arrival was announced, and all stood from their seats out of respect. While everyone was watching the entrance hall for the King and Queen, your eyes snuck over towards Daemon - just to find him already staring you down.

He smirked and let his eyes rake down your body, his mouth opening in appreciation before clamping over his bottom lip and causing heat to flush through your body. You tried to reprimand him with your eyes, but he was far too amused to notice; and that, made you smile in return before forcing your eyes forward.

After the King gave his welcoming speech, dinner was served, and the mingling began. When the meal was done, the tables were cleared, and the music shifted tempo to encourage couples to take to the dance floor. You subtly kept to the walls with your hands occupied only by wine goblets, keeping an eye on your step-sons as they dipped their toes into the courting scene.

As time passed, you were set to retire, when a hand brushed down your arm to seize your elbow. When you turned, your eyes met lilac orbs, and air was sucked from your lungs. "My Prince," you greeted smoothly, aware of a few eyes lingering.

"My Lady," he greeted. "Are you enjoying yourself tonight? I did not see you dancing."

You nodded with a small shrug, "Two left feet."

"I do doubt that," he smirked. "Might I have the honor?" He asked, offering his hand with a twinkling smirk. And when your hand slid into his to squeeze, you swore you saw his neck and cheeks flush with heat. His hands settled over your waist as he lead you in a slower-paced dance, lips near your ear, "Having fun, love?"

You sighed, "I forgot how exhausting these events are."

"We do not have to attend them all," he assured. "They are mingling events, and Viserys often likes the attention."

You hummed, "And you don't?"

"Not entirely, my dove. How are the lads?"

"All right from what I can tell," you spoke softly, letting him lead you in your dance. "But it is only the first night, I do imagine their opinions will change a bit. Perhaps they will not find what they are looking for this season."

"Perhaps," he agreed softly. "Not all can be as fortunate as us."

"We are fortunate?"

"All things considered, look where we are now," his lips smirked against your ear. "I consider myself fortunate, for I would be a scorned man without you in my arms. I thank the Gods for their timing in this."

You sighed gently, "You cut my husband down and made me an option, Daemon."

"I'd do it all again," he promised. "I've only ever wanted you, pet."

You sighed and naturally fell into a comfortable sway, "I know, love, I know... And you're all I've dreamed of. There wasn't a single day I did not think of you."

He sighed, "The very same goes for me, my sweet girl." His gaze lifted when movement caught his eye, glancing up to see Viserys crossing the dance floor. "Dove," he warned, lifting away from your neck and shoulder. "My King," he greeted his brother, turning from your embrace to simply snake an arm around your waist.

"Your Grace," you greeted, both of you bowing to the King.

"Brother, my Lady," he greeted happily. "You are both a sight for sore eyes. I was wondering, might I?" He asked Daemon, offering his hand to you.

"Course," Daemon nodded, bowing backwards; and with a burning look and knowing smirk directed at you, walked away.

King Viserys offered his hand still, and you wasted no more time in accepting his invitation; the two of you stepping amongst the other couples. "How are you finding the festivities, my Lady?" The King asked gently, leading you in a lively dance.

"Very well, Your Grace, thank you," you smiled. "And might I thank you, again? For allowing me residence as your guest."

"The pleasure is mine," Viserys nodded. "My brother was adamant on your stay here."

"An honor, truly," you assured. "Daemon's flawed, of course, but he's been only kindly to me, Your Grace."

He chuckled, "'Kindly'? Is that what we're calling it?"

Your embarrassment felt tangible, making you stutter lightly, "I-I know it is unseemly, but I assure you - "

"Worry not, my Lady," Viserys chuckled, giving you a hearty shake. "I am thrilled by this, honestly. In my opinion, you should've been wed to my House long ago."

This time, you stuttered from pride, "T-Thank you, Your Grace."

"Daemon's lucky," Viserys nodded slightly, gazing at you fondly. "He's loved you everyday..."

"Truthfully?"

"There are some things that only a sibling can understand, and when he was first wed to the Lady Royce, he was devastated. Truly broken up about the turn of events, he loved you... But now, you are both newly single, and he's adamant on not letting you slip from his fingers again."

"I would not stray far, Your Grace," you assured gently.

He hummed, "I imagine not. Now, tell me, where are your step-children?"

"Of course, I will make introductions," you breathed. "Wait, might I ask you something?"

"Of course," he agreed.

"I do understand that... Though they are not mine, with the passing of their father, my husband's children do not have anyone. I would take charge of their well-being, I think. They... They do not have many other living family."

Viserys beamed, "An honorable task to take on, my Lady."

"Only until they are all married, or of age," you rushed to assure.

"And how old is the youngest?"

"Ten and five."

"Ah," he nodded, "so, they would be married soon?"

"With hope," you answered.

He nodded slowly, "I think it's admirable what you want to do, and by my judgement, I see no issue. Now... Is there a reason you speak this now?"

You gulped, "I love your brother, Your Grace, I do - but I feel this obligation, because the children are innocent. I would... Take charge of them before I am married to Daemon," your voice lowered as Viserys let you take his arm, the two of you walking along the hall as you spoke quietly.

"So that he might not do away with them," Viserys sighed.

"I do not think he would, truly - he seems changed," you rushed. "But I would not want to risk their safety after losing their mother, and now their father."

"Of course," Viserys nodded in understanding. "I will let it be known that until they come of age, or marry, you are their intended parent."

You sighed gently, "Thank you, my King."

"Does that mean you'd stay?"

"In the city?" You checked, watching him nod. "For the time, yes. I think I'd like the two youngest to stay here with me...? So I might attempt to make a match for them?"

Viserys nodded, "Very doable, I will see what I can do, my Lady."

"You do too much, Your Grace - "

"Nonsense," he beamed, "you and I are to be family soon. I would do what I could to aid you, Lady. Now..."

"Right," you cleared your throat, leading the King up to your two step-sons, who were speaking to a pair of twin Ladies. "Jamie? Kase? Might I introduce you both to King Viserys Targaryen - "

"No need for the titles," Viserys assured gently, smiling at your step-sons. "I am deeply moved to meet you both, your father was a good and honorable man."

You didn't show any emotion - but how you LAUGHED at the words.

"And how terrible I felt to hear of his passing," Viserys ended, nodding at the lads with meaning.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Jamie nodded, shaking the King's hand. "That means more to me than you can imagine. Our father was a good man, yes, but had his faults. Or so I am discovering as I take over the estate."

"Jamie," you warned.

"Might you be aware already, my King?" Jamie prompted Viserys, who smirked lightly.

"What's that, my Lord?"

"Our homestead provides over 50% of the Crown's armor and weapons now," he nodded. "Yet it was logged that we also provided much of the vegetation - but our books tell a different story."

Viserys lifted his chin, "I'm sorry?"

"With reason, my brother and I believe our father was stealing from the country, Your Grace," Jamie nodded with conviction, ignoring your blown-wide-eyes. "And allow me to assure you, his Lady wife had no idea, nor any doing in this matter. It was evident by the sloppiness of the accounts that she had no hand in the matter."

Your chest burst with seeds of pride over his words.

"We'd like to extend an offer to rectify this wrongdoing," Jamie finished, letting both his hands clasp in front of himself.

"What might that be?" Viserys asked.

However, your ears tuned the men out as your eyes had caught sight of a flash of aquamarine; looking over the King's shoulder to spy Daemon leading a different Lady in a sweeping dance. The Lady's dress fanned around her with flare, and her face had written desire etched into it. While you knew you understood your step-sons talking to Viserys, and the King responding with enthusiasm, yet you couldn't focus on that - because you were focused on that!

Daemon wore a deep smirk; so deep that his dimples were evident, and the Lady looked fully enraptured, a moony, starry-look to her full, doe-eyes; and you swore you saw red.

Jealousy was never a good look, but you were swelling with anger that you didn't know where to put it - nor what to do - that you turned to the men, and smiled at them, "I'm terribly sorry, my Lord - my King," you nodded, patting Viserys' arm, "but I am feeling faint and think I should retire for the evening. I will see you all tomorrow, yes? For the start of the hunt, yes?"

"Oh, yes," Viserys beamed, looking to the two young Lords, "surely, you're joining us, yes? The Lords and men go on a hunt to commence the start of the season - and legend has it, who ever slaughters our prey will be successful in court."

You smiled, "I'm sure the lads will consider this, my King. For now, I must be off."

"Would you like me to walk you back?" Kase asked.

"No, love, you stay - mingle, and have fun," you waved gently. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, step-mother," he whispered, kissing your cheek. Jamie followed after, nodding as if to ask if you were truly okay; to which you replied 'of course' by genuinely smiling at him and letting your hand squeeze over his.

You swiftly dodged around the remaining people to push into the foyer, and with a hand to the stone wall, took a sobering breath. For some reason, the sight of Daemon dancing with another Lady drove you up the wall - and the fact that he was dancing (again) with the newly-of-age Lady Laena Valyeron just sent your heart to your feet.

Wiping a hand down your face, you sighed deeply, and figured Daemon would seek you out eventually - and considering you shared chambers now, it was inevitable and unavoidable.

Yet, your heart couldn't help but feel detrimentally heavy because the truth was, despite the King's support, you and Daemon were not yet courting "officially" and while he spoke of your marriage often, it wasn't something set in stone yet... Meaning there was room for anyone else to slither between you.

The idea hollowed your heart and you swiftly made for your bed chambers. When you burst through the second door, into your room, you saw Mary jump in fear. "Lady!" she gasped, "I did not hear you coming - you gave me a fright!"

"My apologies, Mary," you mumbled, distracting yourself with removing your jewelry at your vanity.

"Is everything all right, Lady?"

And for some reason, the sound of your longest-standing companion and only, true confidant's voice shattered your heart, and your mouth was spewing all of your worries to her. You busied yourself around the room so much that she eventually sat down to just watch as you tore jewels from your neck, ears, wrists, and fingers, setting them all delicately into their velvet boxes, before hastily removing your evening gown as you ranted.

Mary just watched as your eyes had narrowed, then blown wide to fight off tears, eventually ending on your most pressing worry, "Court is officially in season and there are plenty of beautiful women abound. What if he... What if he doesn't choose me?"

Mary frown, "Are you sure you're thinking straight, Lady?"

"My mind's never felt more clear than before now, Mary," you sighed, tugging your singlet on and slouching into your vanity's chair. Mary softly started to untangle your hair.

"He loves you, Lady."

"Odd way to show it," you frowned.

"No," she smiled at you through the vanity mirror. "He is playing the field right now - you were adamant you wanted your coupling to appear as natural and scandal-free as possible. Perhaps, he is giving a show, I mean... We are talking of Prince Daemon Targaryen, after all. Gods know if anyone loves a good deal, it's that lad."

You sighed, "Perhaps... And yet, he can have anyone he wants."

"And he still wants you," she tried to assure. "I think you worry too much, and jealousy - "

"It is not jealousy, Mary," you whispered sadly, "but sheer worry that he will see clearer now. I want to wait for this courting season to appear natural, yes, but what if that was the wrong idea? What if this allows him the freedom to find a Lady he truly wants?"

"Has the Prince ever alluded to wanting anyone other than you, Lady?"

"No, Mary, he's not, but now that court's in session - I might have to endure changes I did not ever want to confront."

Mary sighed and gently plaited your hair in two thick, scalped braids. She patted your shoulders, "Try to get some rest, Lady."

"Thank you," you whispered with a sad sigh. "I'll see you in the morning, yes?"

"I'll be here."

After your maid let herself out, you cleaned your chambers of out-of-place items moved around during your preparations earlier that day. When done, you selected a book from the shelf Daemon liked to keep updated, and snuggled into your shared bed - feeling more alone than ever before.

You were unsure of the time that had passed; opened window letting you know that the festivities were lasting well into the night and you wondered if Daemon was partaking this evening. As your fingers deftly turned pages, you let your emotions swell to the point of tears; letting golden-banded fingers wipe your cheeks.

Your tears must've dried due to the wine you sipped, mind slowly loosening of the worry you felt hours before. Your mind wondered into the world of the novel resting in your lap, fire crackling in conversation at the end of the bed, and muscles slowly relaxing into the feather-stuffed mattress beneath you. And when your ears heard the portrait door's mechanisms whirl to life, your throat involuntarily tightened and your emotions came crashing back.

When the bedchamber door's open, you did not tear your eyes from the inked parchment, and only took a slow pull of your goblet.

"There you are," Daemon breathed, the smile on his lips evident. "I was looking for you, darling."

"And here you've found me."

"Hmm," he considered, door shutting firmly, "yes, and here I've found you, but it seems as if something's wrong, my love. What's happened?"

Your jaw clenched, "Nothing Daemon - "

"Does not seem as if it's nothing," he pointed out with a frown, discarding his boots. "Come, dove, just talk to me."

"Daemon, perhaps I am at a loss for words."

"Why is that?"

"I feel irrational," you sighed, eyes staring at the same passage.

"Dove," Daemon spoke softly, nearing the bed to take a seat beside you. "You know you can say anything to me."

"Yes, but it is silly," you huffed.

His hands reached out to confiscate both book and goblet, setting them aside before readjusting so you faced one another. His hands replaced your previous items, giving a loving squeeze. "My dove," he spoke softly, "is this about how I noted your absence after I shared a dance with the Lady Laena?"

You fought off the urge to roll your eyes, "Are you mocking me?"

"Not a bit."

"It's just... I am unaccustomed to this. Before, my husband bedded whores more than he serviced the crown. I never craved him, never desired him, and I never cared if he did not pay me any attention. But with you, my Prince?" Your voice turned soft and somber, eyes diverting to where your hands were conjoined. "Yet with you, I cannot control the way my heart absolutely constricts and weeps when I even see you with other ladies, yes. Call it jealousy, call it childish, I do not care - but I do care about us. And how seeing you with any other Lady makes me feel replaceable - "

"What?" He demanded, hands tightening yours; drawing your eyes to his. "You are not replaceable, my love, no where close to it. You understand me? You are not replaceable in my life - for all the love the Gods give us, I have much more to give to you. You're more than enough for me, and you must understand that."

"I do - "

"Then, please, pet, do not let the shows we put on for the public ever make you doubt my love for you."

You sighed, feeling foolish tears well in your eyes. "Does it make a difference that you were dancing with the Lady Laena? A daughter who can offer you more than I, including white-haired babes?"

Daemon looked vividly confused, "You think that is what I care about?"

"I know you better than most, Daemon, please, do not taunt me," you snipped.

The man before you scoffed, "Perhaps you do not know me at all."

"I'm sorry?"

"Perhaps you were right," he nodded, releasing your hands to stand, "and that too much time has passed. We are different now than when we were children."

Confusion twisted your stomach, "What're you saying? Daemon!" You gasped when he pulled his boots back on.

"I am taking my leave for the night, my Lady," he didn't look at you, gathering a cloak. "Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision for us to cohabitate."

"Daemon!"

"Goodnight," he threw over his shoulder, slipping out the door. You stood in shell-shock for a moment, unsure what to do as your heart felt like it cracked and you were left gaping for air like a fish.

Your confusion lasted into the following day, where Daemon avoided you as if you carried the plague. There was a mock tournament starting as a sporting event to showcase the men's skills, and while Daemon was easily the strongest competitor, he did not seek your favor as he has nearly every other time.

He asked nor accepted any favor, being the one silver lining - but still!

You were dreadfully bored of avoiding other Lords and mentoring your step-sons, praying Daemon would provide something of a relief; but his eyes never found yours during meals and you felt invisible to his eye. Yet, the Lady Laena was not, and you were forced to watch the young Valyeron Lady eat it up as if he meant to shower her with his attention. You tried to keep in mind that it was all 'for show', yet, with his distance from you, it was hard to believe.

You took your meal quietly, and when Kase asked if you were feeling all right, you knew your face must've held your emotions. "Yes, love," you assured gently. "Sorry, must've zoned out for a moment."

He nodded, "That's for sure."

"Kase," you warned gently, reaching for your goblet of wine.

"Well, you only missed your father arriving with your little sister - " Kase stopped himself when you choked lightly on your sip of wine, leaning forward to block your view as you tried to uselessly dab at the spilt wine down your dress.

Your only luck was that it was burgundy in color already.

"What?" You demanded, looking up the banquet table instantly. Your heart froze in your chest, your eyes widened, and your hands shook when you caught sight of the man who sired you - the same man who sold you off at age 14 to marriage and (literally) never looked back.

"Step-mother?" Kase wondered gently, unaware of the panic swelling in your chest.

Your eyes searched for an exit route, but you were trapped as the King was rising for a toast - welcoming your Lord father - and commending the 'beautiful matches' he's already bore witness to blooming. In the meantime, both Kase and Jamie were watching you with worry as sweat broke out on your brow and upper lip.

When your hands turned white from the bruising grip you held on the arms of your chair, either boy on your sides placed a comforting hand over your own to try and pry them free. It was like all you could hear was a high-pitched whine, eyes swelling with tears as your father, a 'respected' Lord of the courts, looked all too smug to parade your newly-turned-15 sister.

She was easily a beauty, and he knew her appearance would warrant much attention; feeling far too smug about his position now. You were forced to remain through the rest of the meal, yet not a single thing was eaten from your plate out of sheer anxiety of your father's booming laughter. Kase muttered to you softly, leaning back in his chair to lower his voice and keep your conversation private; doing an effective job of distracting you, as Jamie silently glowered.

The young Lord had become protective of you and though he didn't know why, your father's arrival had set you on edge, and he wasn't okay with that. When King Viserys dismissed everyone for the evening, you were ready to skip the mingling portion of the evening and just get the hell out of there - but fate had another plan.

"Sister!"

Your throat tightened as your smiled at the young girl. "Jasline," You breathed. "Safe travels?"

"Oh, yes," she nodded, but before she could continue, your father was looming into the circle.

"Daughter," he greeted grimly.

"Father," you nodded. "Um, might I make introductions? Father, sister, these are my step-sons, the Lords Jamie and Kase. Lads, this is my sister, Jasline, and my - "

"Charmed," Jamie perked a brow, eyeing the two up and down. "Might there be a reason for your late arrival? Our step-mother did not warn us that was customary."

Smirking at the innuendo, you feigning, "No, Jamie, typically not for those who respect the King's time and resources."

"Hmm, thought so," he mused, turning back to your father just as Viserys, Alicent, and Daemon were nearing the group. You swallowed nervously and thread your hand around Kase's upper arm, who subtly shifted closer to you as a sign that he was at your side.

"Well, isn't this nice!" Viserys beamed, unaware of the growing tensions.

"Yes, yes, like a family reunion," Daemon smirked. "Lord," he nodded to your father.

"Prince Daemon," your father stiffly greeted. "Might I introduce my daughter, Jasline?"

Your skin grew cold to the touch as Daemon's hand reached for your sister's to press a kiss to the back of her hand. Your throat bobbed, unable to tear your eyes away, and missing the way your father smirked. Your ears suddenly caught your father saying, "Yes, yes, well, with the Prince's newly-single status, I was hoping to make a match with the crown - since it failed the first time."

"What?" You asked, throat drying.

Your father smirked, "Tis a handsome match, isn't it? Your sister, the Prince of the City - what a couple they'd make."

"Yes, well," Viserys looked nervous, "both of your daughters are fetching, my Lord - "

"Yet, I only sponsor Jasline this season," he smirked, gesturing to the young thing. "So, I am only interested in one match, since my other daughter no longer bares our family name."

You were shocked by the blatant disrespect.

"Good thing our step-mother is here to simply sponsor my brother and I," Kase assured gently. "And it's been a long day, has it not?"

"Indeed," You agreed quietly.

"Might I escort you to your room, step-mother?" He asked, not waiting for an answer before leading you away. You felt suffocated as you bowed to the Royal Family before swiftly turning, not sparing your father or sister a glance, and let Kase sweep you from the hall with Jamie following closely.

"Lads?" You whispered, six feet storming down the halls.

"What do you need?" Jamie checked.

"Your aid," You sniffled.

"With?"

"Moving my belongings..."

"Anything you need," Kase nodded, "we'll do our best to help with."

"Whatever you need," Jamie agreed.

part four: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #daemon hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd smut

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